University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

When Roland recovered his consciousness, he
was no longer a prisoner extended beneath the
Indian cross. His limbs were unbound, and he
himself lying across the knees of a man who was
busily engaged sprinkling his head and breast with
water from the little well, to which he had been
borne while still insensible. He stared around him
with eyes yet filmy and vacant. The first objects
they fell on were two lifeless figures, the bodies
of his late savage masters, stretched near the half-extinguished
fire. He looked up to the face of
his deliverer, which could be readily seen, for it
was now broad day, and beheld, with such a
thrill of pleasure as had not visited his bosom for
many weary days, the features of his trusty guide
and emissary, honest Nathan Slaughter, who was
pursuing the work of resuscitation with great
apparent zeal, while little dog Peter stood by
wagging his tail, as if encouraging him to perseverance.

“What, Nathan!” he cried, grasping at his
hand, and endeavouring, though vainly, to rise
from his knee, “do I dream! is it you?”

“Verily, thee speaks the truth,” replied Nathan;
—“it is me,—me and little Peter; and, truly, it is
nobody else.”

“And I am free again? free, free!—And the

savages? the vile, murdering Piankeshaws? Dead!
surprised, killed,—every dog of them!”

“Thee speaks the truth a second time,” said
Nathan Slaughter, snuffling and hesitating in his
speech: “thee wicked enemies and captivators
will never trouble thee more.”

“And who,—who was it that rescued me?
Hah! there is blood on your face! your hands
are red with it! It was you, then, that saved
me? you that killed the accursed cut-throats?
Noble Nathan! brave Nathan! true Nathan!
how shall I ever requite the act? how shall I ever
forget it?” And as he spoke, the soldier, yet lying
across Nathan's knees, for his limbs refused to
support him, grasped his preserver's hands with
a fervour of gratitude that gave new life and vigour
to his exhausted spirits.

“And thee does not think then,” muttered Nathan,
snuffling twice as much as before, but growing
bolder as Roland's gratitude reassured him,
—“thee does not think,—that is, thee is not of
opinion,—that is to say, thee does not altogether
hold it to be as a blood-guiltiness, and a
wickedness, and a shedding of blood, that I did
take to me the weapon of war, and shoot upon
thee wicked oppressors, to the saving of thee life?
Truly, friend, it was to save thee life,—thee must
remember that; it was as a thing that was necessary,
and not to be helped. Truly, friend, it was
my desire to help thee in peace, and with a peaceful
hand; but, of a truth, there was thee enemies
at thee side, with their guns and their knives,
ready to start up and knock out thee unfortunate
brains. Truly, friend, thee sees it could n't be
helped; and, truly, I don't think thee conscience
can condemn me.”

“Condemn you indeed!” cried the young man;

“it was an act to bind my gratitude for ever,—
an act to win you the admiration and respect of
the whole world, which I shall take care to make
acquainted with it.”

“Nay, friend,” said Nathan, hastily, “the less
thee says of it the better: if thee is theeself satisfied
in thee conscience of its lawfulness, it is
enough. Do thee therefore hold thee tongue on
this and all other matters wherein thee has seen
me do evil; for, truly, I am a man of a peaceful
faith, and what I have done would be but as a
grief and a scandal to the same.”

“But my friends,—my poor Edith!—wretch
that I am to think of myself, or of others, while
she is still a captive!” cried Roland, again endeavouring
to rise. But his limbs, yet paralyzed from
the tightness with which the thongs had been
bound around them, tottered beneath him, and but
for Nathan, he must have fallen to the earth.
“The emigrants,” he continued with incoherent
haste;—“you brought them? They are pursuing
the savages? they have rescued her? Speak,
Nathan,—tell me all; tell me that my cousin is
free!”

“Truly, friend,” muttered Nathan, his countenance
losing much of the equanimity that had begun
to cover it, and assuming a darker and disturbed
expression, “thee doth confuse both theeself
and me with many questions. Do thee be
content for awhile, till I chafe thee poor legs,
which is like the legs of a dead man, and tie up
thee wounds. When thee can stand up and walk,
thee shall know all I have to tell thee, both good
and bad. It is enough thee is theeself safe.”

“Alas, I read it all from your looks,” cried the
soldier; “Edith is still a prisoner: and I lie here
a miserable, crushed worm, incapable of aiding,

unable even to die for her! But the emigrants,
my friends? they are at least urging the pursuit?
there is a hope they will retake her?”

“Truly, friend,” said Nathan, “thee shall know
all, if thee will but have patience, and hold thee
tongue. Truly, the many things thee says doth
perplex me. If thee loves thee poor kinswoman,
and would save her from cruel bondage and sorrow,
thee must be quiet till I have put thee again
upon thee legs; which is the first thing to be
thought about: and after that, thee shall have my
counsel and help to do what is good and proper
for the maiden's redeeming.”

With these words, Nathan again addressed himself
to the task of chafing Roland's half lifeless
limbs, and binding up the several light, though
painful wounds which he had received in the conflict:
and the soldier submitting in despair, though
still entreating Nathan to tell him the worst, the
latter began at last to relate his story.

The bold attempt of Nathan to pass the line of
besiegers at the ruin, it seemed, he had accomplished
without difficulty, though not without risk;
but this part of the narrative he hurried over, as
well as his passage of the river at a solitary and
dangerous ford in the wildest recesses of the
forest. Then striking through the woods, and
aiming for the distant Station, he had arrived
within but a few miles of it, when it was his
fortune to stumble upon the band of Regulators,
who, after their memorable exploit at the
beech-tree, had joined the emigrants, then on
their march through the woods, and convoyed
them to the Station. Here passing the night in
mirth and frolic, they were startled at an early
hour, by the alarming intelligence, brought by a
volunteer hunter, who had obtained it none could

tell how, of the presence of the Indian army on
the North side; and leaving their friends to arm
and follow as they could, the visiters immediately
mounted their horses to return to Bruce's Station,
and thence to seek the field of battle. To these unexpected
friends, thus opportunely met in the
woods, Nathan imparted his story, acquainting
them, in the same words, of the presence of
enemies so much nearer at hand than was dreamed,
and of the unfortunate dilemma of Forrester
and his helpless party,—an account that fired the
blood of the hot youths as effectually as it could
have done if expressed in the blast of a bugle. A
council of war being called on the spot, it was
resolved to gallop at once to the rescue of the travellers,
without wasting time in seeking additional
assistance from the emigrants or their neighbours
of the Station just left; which indeed, as from
Nathan's observations, it did not seem that the
numbers of the foe could be more than double
their own, the heroic youths held to be entirely
needless. Taking Nathan up, therefore, behind
him, and bearing him along, to point out the position
of the Indians, the gallant Tom Bruce, followed
by his equally gallant companions, dashed
through the woods, and succeeded by day-break
in reaching the ruin; where, as Nathan averred,
so judiciously had they laid their plans for the
attack, the Indians, if still there, might have been
surprised, entirely worsted, and perhaps the half
of them cut off upon the spot; `which,' as he
rather hastily observed, `would have been a great
comfort to all concerned.' But the ruin was deserted,
besiegers and besieged had alike vanished,
as well as the bodies of those assailants who had
fallen in the conflict, to find their graves under
the ruins, among the rocks, or in the whirling
eddies of the river. The tracks of the horses being
discovered in the ravine and at the water's
edge, it was inferred that the whole party, too
desperate, or too wise, to yield themselves prisoners,
had been driven into the river, and there
drowned; and this idea inflaming the fury of the
Kentuckians to the highest pitch, they sought out
and easily discovered among the canes, the fresh
trail of the Indians, which they followed, resolving
to exact the fullest measure of revenge. Nathan,
the man of peace, from whom (for he had
not thought proper to acquaint the young men
with the warlike part he had himself taken in the
battles of the night,) no further services were expected,
was now turned adrift, to follow, or protect
himself as he might; and the young men
betook themselves to the pursuit with as much
speed as the wild character of the woods permitted.

But it formed no part of honest Nathan's designs
to be left behind. His feelings were too
deeply involved in the fate of the unhappy individuals,
whose misadventures he could, or thought
he could, so clearly trace to his own indiscretion,
to suffer him to rest, while it was yet wrapped in
obscurity. He had accepted the charge and responsibility
of extricating them from their perils;
and his conscience could not be appeased, until
he had determined for himself whether in truth
they were yet beyond the reach of assistance.
Making his own observations from the appearance
of the different tracks in the ravine, and
satisfying himself there was among them one
more christian foot-print than could be accounted
for, he followed after the young men, examining

the Indian trail in places where it had not been
effaced by the Kentuckians, until he became convinced
that the fugitives had, in some unaccountable
way, escaped alive from the river, and were
still struggling in retreat, led by some friendly
guide, although closely pursued by the foe. This
discovery, it was also probable, had been made
by the Kentuckians, who had, in consequence,
urged their horses to the utmost, and arriving on
the hill where the savages lay in ambush, rushed
to the attack, and fought and lost the battle, before
Nathan could reach them. He met them, indeed,
retreating in full route before the victors, many
wounded, all overcome by panic, and none willing,
or able, to throw any light upon the cause
of defeat. One, indeed, checking his horse a moment
to bid the man of peace look to himself and
avoid the savages, who were still urging the pursuit,
hastily assured him that the defeat was all
owing to Captain Ralph's ghost, which had suddenly
got among them, yelling for vengeance on
his executioners; for which reason the conscience-stricken
Regulator called Nathan to witness his
oath, which he now made, `that he would never
Lynch a man again as long as he lived.' And
the worthy warrior, having added, with another
oath, which he called a still superior power to attest,
`that he had seen Stackpole fly off with Tom
Bruce's soul on the back of a devil in shape of a
big black horse breathing flames and sulphur,'
struck spur again into his own charger,—not,
however, until he had first generously invited
Bloody Nathan to get up behind him, to escape
the savage pursuers, who were now seen close
behind. Declining the heroic offer, and bidding
the youth effect his own escape, Nathan immediately
dived, with his inseparable friend and adviser,
little Peter, among the canes; where he lay
concealed until well assured the victors had abandoned
the pursuit, and returned to the field of
battle.

“Then, friend,” said the man of peace, who
may now be permitted to tell his own story, “I
took counsel of Peter as to what we should do;
and, truly, it was our opinion we should creep
after the murdering Shawnee creatures, (though,
verily, there was more than Shawnees engaged
in this wicked business,) and see what had become
of thee, and thee poor women; being that we
were in a manner, as I may say, the cause of thee
troubles, in carrying thee to the very place where
we should not, wicked sinners that we are—that
is, wicked sinner that I am; for, truly, little Peter
had nothing to do with that matter, having done
his best to keep us from the ruin. Well, friend, as
soon as we thought it safe, we crept to the spot
on the hill-side; and safe enough it was, the savages
having departed, leaving nothing behind
them, save two young Kentuckians, and the coloured
person, whom they had prevailed over, and
hewn to pieces with their hatchets; besides four
corpses of their own, which they had stuck in a
cave, where Peter snuffed them out—truly, friend,
thee don't know what a nose little Peter has!—
Well, friend, I saw then that thee enemies had
divided, the main body departing one way over
the hill, while a smaller party had crossed the
river with a horse and prisoner. Truly, it was
Peter's opinion that this prisoner was theeself,—
thee own very self, (a thing I could not be so certain
of on my part, seeing that I had never
tracked thee save by thee horse-prints only,) and

that, if we followed thee, we might, in some way,
aid thee to escape, thee captivators being so few
in number. And so, friend, we waded the river,
and followed thee trail until night came; when
little Peter undertook to nose thee on in the dark;
which he did very successfully, until we reached
the place where the savages had killed their
horse, and broken their cask of liquor; when,
truly, the scent of the same did so prevail over
Peter's nose, that I was in fear he never would
smell right again in all his life; which was a
great grief to me; for, truly, Peter's nose is, as I
may say, the staff of my life, my defence, and
my succour—(Truly, thee don't know the value
of little Peter's nose!) And, moreover, the savour
of the dead horse did somewhat captivate
his attention; for, truly, little Peter is but a dog,
and he loves horse flesh. Well, friend, this was
a thing that perplexed me: until, by and by, having
brought little Peter to reason in the matter of
the horse, and washed his nose in a brook which
it was my fortune to discover, he did bethink him
what he was after, and so straightway hunt for
the track; which being recovered, we went on
our way, until we lighted right on thee captivators'
camp-fire; and, truly, we lighted upon it
much sooner than we expected. Well, friend,”
continued the narrator, “having crept up as near
as I durst, I could see how thee was fixed, tied to
the poles so thee could not help theeself, and the
three savages lying beside thee with their guns
in the hollows of their arms, ready to be seized
in a moment. Truly, friend, the sight threw me
into another perplexity; and I lay watching thee
and thee cruel oppressors for more than an
hour, marvelling in what way I could give thee
help.”

“An hour!” cried Roland; a friend lying by
me during that hour, the most wretched and distracted
of my whole existence? Had you but
cut the rope, and given me the knife to strike a
blow for myself!”

“Truly,” said the man of peace, “I did so desire
to do, seeing that then thee might have killed
the Injuns theeself; which would have been more
seemly, as being a thing thee conscience would
not disapprove of; whereas mine, as thee may
suppose, was quite averse to any such bloody doings
on my own part. But, truly, I durst not adventure
upon the thing thee speaks of; for, first,
I saw by the stick on thee breast, thee was tied
so tight and fast, it would be an hour's work to
cut thee loose,—thee captivators lying by all the
while; and, secondly, I knew, by the same reason,
thee limbs would be so numb thee could
neither stand upon thee legs, nor hold a weapon
in thee hand, for just as long a time; and, besides,
I feared, in case thee should discover there
was help nigh at hand, thee might cry out in thee
surprise, and so alarm thee sleeping captivators.
And so, friend, I was in what thee may call a
pucker, not knowing what to do; and so I lay
hard by thee, with Peter at the back of me,
watching and revolving the matter for that whole
hour, as I told thee; when suddenly down fell a
stick into the fire, and the same blazing up brightly,
I saw two of the savages lying beside thee,
their heads so close together thee might have supposed
they both grew from the same pair of
shoulders, and so nigh to me withal, that, verily,
I might have poked them with the muzzle of my
gun. Truly, friend,” continued Nathan, looking
both bewildered and animated, as he arrived at
this period of his story, “I can't tell thee how it then

happened,—whether it was a sort of nervousness
in my fingers' ends, or whether it was all an accident;
but, truly, as it happened, my gun went
off in my hands, as it might be of its own accord,
and, truly, it blew the two evil creatures' brains
out! And then, friend, thee sees, there was no
stopping, there being the third of thee captivators
to look after; and, truly, as I had done so
much, I thought I might as well do all,—the killing
of three men being but a little worse than the
killing of two; and, besides, the creature would
have hurt thee, as thee lay at his mercy. And so,
friend, I did verily spring upon him, sinner that I
am, and strike him a blow with my hatchet,
which I had taken from my belt to be ready;
whereupon he fled, and I after him, being in great
fear lest, if he escaped, he should return upon
thee and kill thee, before I could get back to cut
thee loose. And so, friend, it happened that—
that I killed him likewise!—for which I don't think
thee can, in thee heart, blame me, seeing that it
was all over and over again on thee account, and
nobody else's. Truly, friend, it is quite amazing,
the ill things thee has brought me to!”

“Had there been twenty of the villains, and
you had killed them all, I should have held it the
noblest and most virtuous act you could have performed,”
said Roland, too fiercely agitated by his
own contending passions to note the strange medley
of self-accusing and exculpatory expressions,
the shame-faced, conscience-stricken looks, alternating
with gleams of military fire and self-complacency,
with which the man of peace recounted
his bloody exploit, or the adroit attempt with
which he concluded it, to shuffle the responsibility
of the crime, if crime it were, from his own to

the young Virginian's shoulders. At another moment,
the latter might have speculated with as
much surprise as approval on the extraordinary
metamorphosis of Nathan, the man of amity and
good will, into a slayer of Indians, double-dyed in
gore; but at that juncture, he had little inclination
to dwell on any thing save his own liberation
and the hapless fate of his cousin.