University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

In something less than an hour from the close

of the events detailed in the preceding chapter, a
single horseman was riding swiftly through that
range of country lying between the Osage and
the great “Father of Waters”—as it is sometimes
called—and extending south of the Missouri some
thirty miles. Ever and anon this horseman would
pause beside some peace-looking cottage, and
sound three clear distinct blasts on a bugle; and
then a dark figure or two would be seen to glide
forth from his covert, a few hurried words would
be said in a low voice; and then again the single
horseman would dash on, as though riding for
life, while shortly after, from the place he had just
quitted, another horseman—sometimes two or
three—would ride forth with speed, as though in
hot pursuit of the one who had gone before.

When the grey dawn of morning had begun to
trace the outline of hills, and trees, and streams,
in a soft, hazy relief, it revealed too the dim outline
of that same horseman, far to the eastward
of where he had been seen at the hour of midnight,
still speeding on as before, yet ever and
anon pausing to sound three musical blasts on a
bugle, which he bore in his hand. As the sun
rose in beauty over the eastern hills, and poured
his gentle rays into deep green woods, into pleasant
valleys, on to sparkling streams, they occasionally
cast back the shadow of that horseman,
still speeding on, and the shadows too of various
other horsemen—some directly in his trail, some
in different points of compass from him—all
speeding eastward. As the day wore on, he was
seen mounted on a different horse, still urging on
the noble animal, which at every step and bound
neared him to the great Mississippi. When the
sun had far declined toward the western horizon,
that horseman drew rein beside an old hovel,
which stood on the west bank of the great river,
and but a short time since inhabited by old David
the Jew. Scarcely had he paused, when a tall
figure darted out of the hovel, and Ronald Bonardi
stood beside him.

“Welcome, Piketon, welcome!” cried the latter,
joyfully. “I feared you would be too late. I
said I should be here before you; but your task
has been much the hardest, as I can perceive by
your wearied looks; and your horse too hangs his
head sadly, and drips water like rain. But what
news of the others? Will the main body of them
be here in time?”

“I trust it will, captain. They cannot be far
behind.”

“By the way, Piketon, ten of them have already
arrived, and are concealed—horses and all—
in the bushes just below here. As the boat leaves
St. Louis at an hour so late, I think this will be
our best point of attack; and by heavens! since
we are here, the attack shall be made, whether
the others arrive or not. But come, go in, go in
and refresh yourself. You will find wine and
food on the table; for the one who came down
with the small boats, had the good foresight to
provide both, as well as plenty of grain for the
horses. Go in, Piketon, while I lead your horse
into the covert below, when I will immediately
join you.”

“Thank you, captain! I feel that wine and
food are every thing to me now;” and Piketon
entered the hovel. In a few minutes Bonardi
was with him.

“I hear the tramp of more horses,” said the
latter, as he entered, “so that doubtless our party
will soon be increased; and in fact it needs be
soon, to be of any service to us, for the sun al
ready dips in the trees of the western mountains,
and the boat will probably pass here at early dark,
though I hope not till a later hour. Hark! they
come;” and Bonardi turned back to the door, just
as three horseman rode up from different points
of compass—their horses dripping water, and
themselves looking much fatigued.

Scarcely had Bonardi given them directions
how to dispose of themselves, when up rode two
more—and then another, and another. In fact
they were now gathering fast; and in less time
than an hour, the party of twelve had swelled to
upwards of forty, all strong and well armed men.
The sun, in the meantime, had gone down, and
grey twilight was already deepening into night,
when Bonardi, thinking that longer delay might
prove fatal to his design, now ordered his men to
take up their positions, and be in readiness for action.
Some five or six boats, lying concealed in
the water below, were instantly manned, while
four of the party were stationed above, at different
points, as look-outs or sentinels, ready to give
warning in case of danger, and likewise directions
to the new comers, as fast as they should arrive,
which they were continually doing. Three others
were to hail the steamer, and, should she send out
a small boat, which was probable, six more were
to be in attendance to seize and gag the oarsmen.
In fact the attack was to be made precisely according
to the plan given out by Bonardi, as detailed
in a previous chapter.

Having seen his men disposed of according to
his directions, Bonardi went to each of the sentinels,
and charged them to be vigilant, as it was
not impossible that Webber, in a spirit of revenge,
had already blown the scheme, and, by being
sharply on the look-out, been enabled to learn
of their sudden movements, the time of the steamer's
departure, and also to collect a force sufficient
to attack them. Should they see or hear any
thing they might judge indicative of danger,
without being positive, they were to give the signal
by a shrill whistle—if positive, by discharging
a pistol. In case of an attack, they were to fight
in any manner they might see proper; but in case
they heard a blast from the bugle, they were to
make their way, quickly as possible, to the spot
whence it proceeded. Having given these directions
to the sentinels, Bonardi repaired to the
members whose duty it was to act on land—told
them his suspicions—his orders to the sentinels regarding
signals, and an attack—the latter of which
referred equally to themselves. This done, he returned
to the boats, repeated all he had said, and
took his station in one of them, ready to lead
them on when the proper moment should arrive.

All now gradually sunk into deep silence, for
each one of that band of outlaws was busy with
thoughts of his own. They were awaiting, under
cover of darkness, to make an attack, where, in all
probability, more or less lives would be lost; and
doubtless many a one felt a secret foreboding that
this might be his last night on earth. Although
Bonardi, after giving his orders, said nothing, yet
he appeared very restless, and seemed greatly disturbed
by some inward trouble. In this manner
passed some fifteen minutes, when he leaped suddenly
ashore, and merely saying he would be
with them again presently, strode directly up the
hill, and entered the hovel. Here he found a bottle,
which he applied to his lips, and, judging by
the time he held it there, drank much. He then
returned to the boats with a heavy step.

“Strange,” said he, as he approached, “that I

hear nothing of her! Piketon, it is possible Ellis
may have been mistaken in the time.”

“It is possible, captain,” answered Piketon,
“though but now I fancied I heard her.”

“Hark!” exclaimed Bonardi, suddenly. “You
are right, Piketon, you are right; by heavens she
comes! Be ready, men, be ready—then be silent!”

A few minutes fully confirmed the approach of
a steamer; for although not in sight, yet the puffing
sound produced by the escape of steam, was
clearly audible to the anxious listeners. Ere she
rounded the point just above, it became evident
by the change of sound, that she was effecting a
landing; but presently she was again in motion;
and then on she came, like some terrific monster,
with great red eyes of fire, and smoke and flame
issuing from its nostrils. On, on she came, bearing
down apparently directly towards those dark
spirits, who were impatiently waiting their time
for action. Soon she was within speaking distance,
when she was immediately hailed from the
shore, which was answered by the ringing of a
bell. The steam was next thrown off, and she
commenced rounding to, apparently with much
difficulty.

“We cannot land,” said a voice from on board,
“and our boat has been stove. If you have no
boat, we shall be obliged to leave you.”

“Ha! this looks suspicious!” ejaculated Ronald,
mentally. “But the trial must be made. Quick,
Jeffrey,” cried he, leaping ashore, and running
up to the group of three, who stood as though
awaiting further orders, “cry back there is a boat
here, and a man who will row you to them! and
then hie to it, and do not forget your instructions.
You,” continued he, turning to another group of
twelve, standing a few feet distant, six of whom
had but lately arrived, “will remain here to cover
us. I am suspicious, from various slight causes,
that we shall be attacked. If we are, fight, men,
fight like devils, and we will soon join you!”—
Saying this in a low, rapid tone, Bonardi hurried
back and sprang into his boat.

In the meantime, Jeffrey had done the captain's
bidding, with great rapidity, and was even now,
with his two comrades, shoving off from the shore.
It was by this time so dark, that a small boat on
the water could be seen only at a short distance,
save when it crossed the lights gleaming out from
the larger one; consequently the other boats remained
in close obscurity. Scarcely a minute
elapsed, ere a boat, containing three individuals,
was seen crossing the bow of the steamer.

“Stand to your oars, men!” said Bonardi, rapidly.
“You will hear the signal in a moment; and
then, as you love money, forget not to row! Ha!
there it is!” As he spoke, there came several reports
of firearms, and the next instant five boats
shot out into the stream, with lightning rapidity.
But a few seconds elapsed ere they were alongside
the steamer, when, just as Bonardi was on
the point of leaping aboard, the engineer suddenly
let on a full head of steam, the wheels turned
quickly, the boat shot forwad instantly, crushing
one of the smaller ones, and at the same time a
murderous fire was directed among the bandits,
from a hitherto concealed enemy, doing terrible
execution. Several of them sprang up and fell
back dead, against their comrades, or into the
water, while others sank down wounded, amid
shrieks, groans, and direful imprecations. To add
to the consternation and horror of Ronald and his
men, the pistols of the sentinels on the hill were
now heard in quick succession, followed by a roar
of musketry, rapid discharge of pistols, fierce
yells and groans, and the noise of a hand-to-hand
combat. By the light of the discharges, Ronald
saw the men he had left on shore, hemmed in by
overwhelming numbers, fighting desperately.

“By all the holy saints!” cried he, “we are betrayed!
To shore! To horse!”

Scarcely were the words uttered, ere every
boat seemed almost to leap from the water—so
powerfully were the oars applied by desperate
men. But a landing was not to be effected without
trouble. As the boats touched the shore, a
party in waiting poured a destructive fire among
them, and numbers fell.

“Onward!” shouted Bonardi; and leaping on to
the bank, pistols in hand, he shot down the two
nearest him—dashed out the brains of a third with
one of his discharged weapons—seized the fourth
as though he were a child, and threw him over his
head into the Mississippi—drew his knife, and
literally cut his way through them, unharmed,
followed by Piketon, and some twenty of his
band—all fighting like fiends, neither giving nor
asking quarter.

“Sound the bugle, and to horse!” shouted Bonardi.

Instantly a loud, clear blast, rang out upon the
air; and following their brave leader, the bandits
rushed down the stream some thirty yards, to
where their horses stood in waiting—not having
as yet been discovered by the attacking party.—
Bounding into their saddles, with the agility of
men well trained to horsemanship, with their
knives still in their hands, reeking with blood,
they cut the reins that attached them to the small
trees of the thicket, in which they were concealed,
and, plunging their spurs into their sides, rode
wildly out, with a fierce yell of triumph, just as
their pursuers were coming up.

“Charge, comrades, charge!” again shouted, in
thunder tones, the voice of Bonardi. “Down in
your saddles, and knives to their hearts!”

Never was a terrible order obeyed more rapidly.
At the word, each wheeled into a line with his
leader—threw himself forward, until his head
touched his horse's neck—extended his arm, until
the blade of his knife reached beyond the nostrils
of the animal he rode—and then, like a sweeping
avalanche, the whole party spurred down upon the
main body of their opponents, whom they stabbed
and rode over, with a havoc that, in honorable
warfare, would have rendered the charge immortal.
But all was in vain. The bandits had
been surprised and taken at too great a disadvantage
to themselves, by nearly double their numbers,
to cope successfully with their adversaries
now; and the more so, as the latter had discovered
the remaining horses, and were already mounting
them. In the charge just made, five more of his
party had gone down; so that out of all his stout,
hardy followers, Bonardi found, on sounding the
bugle again, only some fifteen who answered to
the summons. The remainder he supposed either
killed, wounded, or taken prisoners, as the firing
and noise of combat had ceased.

“We are lost!” said he, sadly, reining in his
horse, some hundred yards from the scene of action.
“Comrades, our day is over. All that men
could do, under the circumstances, we have done.
You, comrades, have fought like men—most
bravely—but, alas! to what avail? Oh, treachery,
treachery! But, comrades, you may yet escape.
If you wish to go, I give you freedom.—

For myself, I shall back to the cave, and, if necessary,
die defending it. My time I feel is near.—
Forty brave fellows—all lost—all lost! Oh God,
what a thought! What say you, comrades; will
you leave or follow me?”

“Follow, to the death!” shouted all.

“'Tis well. Let us away then, ere these hell-hounds
get too close upon our track; for they
have mounted our own horses, and are now on the
move. Ha!—the steamer—look! Great God,
what a sight!”

What a sight indeed! for just as Bonardi spoke,
there came a tremendous explosion, and the heads,
legs and arms of some fifty human beings—but a
moment before in all the vigor and passion of life
—were now hissing and whizzing through the air,
in every direction, while shrieks and groans were
heard, of the most agonizing description. To
add to the awful spectacle, the boat immediately
took fire, and lay perfectly unmanageable—floating
down with the current—while some few, who
had escaped the explosion, could be seen running
to and fro, calling for help, or plunging into the
watery element, and thus avoiding one terrible
death only to meet with another. The light from
the burning wreck now gleamed across the dark,
rolling waters of the Mississippi, upon the banks
and trees, with a sickly effect—displaying the outlines
of a hundred dark figures, on foot and on
horse, some standing, some running to the small
boats, and pushing out from the shore, to the assistance
of their fellow creatures, while others
were lying scattered here and there on the ground,
mangled and bloody, dying and dead. It was a
sight to be seen but once; but once seen, never to
be forgotten. Had we time and space, we might
call up the picture to the reader's eye far more
vividly; but it would only be a sad, heart rending,
bloody picture—and 'twere better that it pass.

“So,” said Ronald, musingly, gazing upon the
scene, with a melancholy air: “So, then; in attempting
our destruction, they have sent themselves
to eternity. Well, one God sees all—overrules
all—orders all—at least my mother taught me
so when a child Oh, that I were a child again!”
and he drew his hand across his eyes, and turned
his head away. Suddenly he started, and the whole
aspect of his features changed, from the sad and
mild, to the fierce and terrible. “Look!” cried he,
rising in his stirrups, and grasping the arm of Piketon,
who was sitting his horse along side him.—
“Look! Piketon—look! comrades—yonder, yonder!
Gods! do you see nothing?”

“I see nothing but men on horseback, quietly
gazing on the burning vessel,” answered Piketon.

“But one of those—a tall figure—a little separated
from the rest—is the accursed traitor, John
Webber!” hissed Ronald, rapidly. “He does not
see us, and thinks, doubtless, with the others, that
we are all taken, killed, or fled.” Let us remark
here, that Ronald and his men were now occupying
a position on the hill--in a thicket—where
they could observe all that was taking place below,
and remain themselves concealed. “Now,
then, comrades,” continued Bonardi, “for one
more act ere we die. Draw your knives, men,
and swear by the mangled corses of your dead
comrades, that unto death you will follow yon
traitor, so long as a man of you remain alive!”

“We swear!” cried all, vehemently, touching
the blades of their knives to their lips.

“Enough! Now, Piketon, to cut him off, ere
he joins the main body. You, with six men, will
defile carefully down on this side; but slowly, so as
not to attract attention. I, with the rest, will ride
around and suddenly come in before him, when,
to save his life, he will be forced to turn and fly.—
If he do so, follow; and Heaven save him if he escape
us!”

In a moment the party of Bonardi was in motion.
In a few more, his manœuvre was successfully
executed; and John—who supposed
Bonardi either killed or taken, and was now quietly
gazing upon the awful sight on the river—
suddenly found himself confronted by the only
man he feared, and cut off by his followers from
joining those who might render him assistance.—
His only safety was now in flight; and with a yell of
despair, he turned and fled. That yell was echoed
by some fifteen sturdy horsemen, who immediately
joined in pursuit, all eager for his heart's
blood.

The cries of John, and his pursuers, were heard
far around—ringing out upon the night air like
those of so many fiends; but they were quickly
drowned by still louder shouts of, “The bandits,
the bandits!—Bonardi, Bonardi!” and suddenly
wheeling their animals, some twenty horsemen
dashed madly forward, to join in the wild chase.
Ere we follow them, however, let us briefly
glance at the causes which led to these results,
take one more look at the scene before us, and
then close it forever.

After the escape of John, from Piketon and his
companions—as related in the chapter preceding
—he had ridden directly for home, with dark
thoughts of revenge uppermost in his mind. He
knew if taken, death would assuredly follow,
as he had that evening had ample witness in the
case of the Jew. His only safety he now felt was
in the total overthrow of Bonardi and the banditti;
and to effect this as soon as possible, was his only
theme, as he spurred rapidly on. In doing this,
he would not only secure his own life, but obtain
the revenge he sought on those who had dared
to come between him and his victim. But how
to effect this suddenly, was the main object. At
first he thought of seeking his father, and acquainting
him of the whereabouts of Emily, and
the rendezvous of the bandits—stating that she
had been seized, carried off, and was now held in
durance by them. This he knew would rouse
the ire of his father—who was as yet ignorant of
Bonardi being in the vicinity—and that as soon
as possible, he would raise a large company from
the surrounding country, go forth to rescue
Emily, and exterminate the band. But this,
even at the best, would consume much time, and
doubtless prove of no avail; from the fact that
most of the bandits themselves were known as settlers,
and so scattered through the country, that
the least stir of this kind would be known to them
in season to effect an escape, or, what was more
probable, rally themselves into a body, ambush,
and slaughter their opponents. This project,
therefore, was a hazardous one; the more so, as
in the meantime they might seek him out and kill
him; and he knew sufficient of Ronald Bonardi,
to render this thought a not improbable, and,
consequently, a startling one. They might even
now be on his trail—such a thing was not unlikely—and
he urged his beast up hill and down, over
hollow and plain, through forest, thicket and
stream, at his greatest speed.

At length he found, to his regret and consternation,
that the noble animal was beginning to
falter. There was but one course—his place must
be supplied by another; and in this, chance favored

him; for shortly after, he rode past a cottage,
where he perceived several horses lying
down. Immediately reining in, he alighted, selected
the best, transferred bridle and saddle, and,
in less than five minutes, was again speeding on,
leaving his own horse behind him. When the
sun rose, he was within twenty miles of his father's
cottage; and for the first time he slackened
his speed, to meditate upon the wisest course for
him to pursue. A thought struck him! He
would ride at once to St. Louis, learn at what time
the steamer was to leave, and possibly he might
hear of something advantageous to his foul design.

When he reached home, some two hours later,
he found that the party—consisting of his father,
Merton, Bernard and Tyrone—had just started on
a third day's search for Emily, and that Rufus
was lying in a very critical state. This latter,
however, troubled him not; and without heeding
anything further, he changed his horse, and immediately
set off for St. Louis, where he arrived
about two o'clock the same day. He knew from
Bonardi's plan, that three of the band were to be
on board when the boat should leave; and accordingly
he at once repaired hither, to learn if anything
new had occurred. Two of them he found
without difficulty, and learned, to his surprise and
joy, that the boat was to leave that evening; that
the third had been gone some thirty-six hours to
inform Bonardi of the fact; and that it was supposed
the latter would get the information in
time, by hard riding, to be at the general rendezvous,
where the boat, owing to some slight delays,
would probably pass at early dark.

Than this information, nothing could have
suited John's purpose better; and he immediately
hastened to a magistrate informed him of the
whole affair, and, to give it an air of truth, stated
that he himself was a member of the band, whose
conscience had forced him to betray the wicked
course his fraternity were pursuing. This information
of course was of the most startling character
to the magistrate—who believed Bonardi and
his men had quitted the country some three years
before—and instantly making out warrants, he
sent off and had the two men on the boat arrested.
On confronting them with John, one of them became
much alarmed, and, on the promise of a pardon,
immediately corroborated his statement.—
The affair resulted in the whole matter being speedily
made known to the governor, who promptly
ordered two companies of militia, consisting of over
a hundred men, several of whom had served in
the late war, to act as a posse to the Sheriff, in arresting
or exterminating the outlaws.

The Sheriff himself was a man of extreme
measures, who cared little for the sacrifice of life,
so his ends were by such means accomplished.
His plan was, to have the boat start at the
given time, as though nothing had been discovered,
and, with his posse, to go down on her himself;
that ere fully in sight of the rendezvous,
some seventy-five should land, and proceed thence
on foot; that the steamer, when hailed, should
round to, but manage to avoid sending out a boat
—well judging, if the banditti were there concealed,
they would not allow their scheme to be frustrated
by a circumstance so trifling,—that the
steam should be compressed until the boats came
along side, so that the steamer might start suddenly,
and by this means throw them into confusion;
that at the same time the party concealed on
board, should pour among them a well directed
fire, which was also to be a signal to those on
shore to be ready to intercept their landing. In
fact, the attack was carried out exactly as planned,
and the reader has already seen the result. The
grand oversight was in compressing the steam,
and then throwing it suddenly upon the engine,
which shortly after produced the terrible explosion
we have recorded.

Having thus briefly explained the matters most
directly connected with our story, and trusting
the reader is as anxious to quit this scene of wholesale
slaughter as ourself, we shall, after giving a
slight summary of what followed, leave it at once
and forever.

But few of those poor beings on board the ill
fated steamer at the time of her explosion, were
saved; and these mostly by the aid of the boats,
which had been brought hither by the orders of
Bonardi, for a very different purpose. Some two
or three of the number who leaped into the stream,
swam to the shore—the rest were drowned. In
less than an hour, the boat burned to the water's
edge and sunk--bearing down with her the gold
and silver coin, the primary cause of the dire mishap
and loss of life. In the meantime a messenger
was despatched, post haste, to St. Louis; which
resulted in the arrival, some three hours later, of
another steamer. This, ere morning, bore back a
strange medley of citizens, soldiers, and bandits;
some well, some wounded, some dying, some
dead. Of the party of Bonardi, some few were
taken prisoners; but these, generally speaking,
consisted of those who were too severely wounded
to fight or escape, and who afterwards, with but
few exceptions, died of their wounds—the main
body having either fled or been killed. Of the
soldiers, a number were killed in the fight, and
many wounded. The prisoners who survived
their injuries, together with some three or four
others, captured unharmed, were afterwards tried
by the authorities, and disposed of according to
the evidence found against them.

On that same night, a steamer, chartered for
the purpose, having on board a large body of
armed men, and two six-pound cannon, departed
for the Osage; the object of the expedition being
to find the grand rendezvous of the banditti, arrest
or exterminate the remainder of the band,
and, particularly to secure, living or dead, the
body of Ronald Bonardi.