University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

When the soldier recovered his senses, it was
to wonder again at the change that had come over
the scene. The loud yells, the bitter taunts, the
mocking laughs, were heard no more; and nothing
broke the silence of the wilderness, save the stir
of the leaf in the breeze, and the ripple of the
river against its pebbly banks below. He glanced
a moment from the bush in which he was lying,
in search of the barbarians who had lately covered
the slope of the hill, but all had vanished; captor
and captive had alike fled; and the sparrow
twittering among the stunted bushes, and the
grasshopper singing in the grass, were the only
living objects to be seen. The thong was still
upon his wrists, and as he felt it rankling in his
flesh, he almost believed that his savage captors,
with a refinement in cruelty the more remarkable
as it must have robbed them of the sight of his
dying agonies, had left him thus bound and wounded,
to perish miserably in the wilderness alone.

This suspicion was, however, soon driven from
his mind; for making an effort to rise from his
feet, he found himself suddenly withheld by a powerful
grasp, while a guttural voice muttered in his
ear from behind, with accents half angry, half exultant,—“Long-knife
no move;—see how Piankeshaw

kill Long-knife's brudders!—Piankeshaw
great fighting-man!” He turned his face with
difficulty, and saw, crouching among the leaves
behind him, a grim old warrior plentifully bedaubed
over head and breast with the scarlet clay of
his native Wabash, his dark shining eyes bent now
upon the rifle which he held extended over Roland's
body, now turned upon Roland himself,
whom he seemed to watch over with a miser's,
or a wildcat's, affection, and now wandering
away up the stony path along the hill-side, as if
in expectation of the coming of an object dearer
even than rifle or captive to his imagination.

In the confused and distracted state of his mind,
Roland was as little able to understand the expressions
of the warrior, as to account for the disappearance
of his murderous associates; and he
would have marvelled for what purpose he was
thus concealed among the bushes with his grim
companion, had not his whole soul been too busily
and painfully occupied with the thoughts of his
vanished Edith. He strove to ask the wild barbarian
of her fate, but the latter motioned him fiercely
to keep silence; and the motion and the savage
look that accompanied it being disregarded, the
Indian drew a long knife from his belt, and pressing
the point on Roland's throat, muttered too
sternly and emphatically to be misconceived,—
“Long-knife speak, Long-knife die! Piankeshaw
fight Long-knife's brudders—Piankeshaw great
fighting-man!” from which all that Roland could
understand was that there was mischief of some
kind still in the wind, and that he was commanded
to preserve silence on the peril of his life. What
that mischief could be he was unable to divine;
but he was not kept long in ignorance.

As he lay upon the ground, his cheek pillowed

upon a stone which accident or perhaps the humanity
of the old warrior, had placed under his head,
he could distinguish a hollow, pattering, distant
sound, in which, at first mistaken for the murmurring
of the river over some rocky ledge, and then
for the clatter of wild beasts approaching over the
rocky hill, his practised ear soon detected the
trampling of a body of horse, evidently winding
their way along the stony road which had conducted
him to captivity, and from which he was
but a few paces removed. His heart thrilled
within him. Was it, could it be, a band of gallant
Kentuckians, in pursuit of the bold marauders,
whose presence in the neighbourhood of the settlements
had been already made known? or
could they be (the thrill of expectation grew to
transport, as he thought it,) his fellow emigrants,
summoned by the faithful Nathan to his assistance,
and now straining every nerve to overtake the
savages, whom they had tracked from the deserted
ruin? He could now account for the disappearance
of his captors, and the deathlike silence that
surrounded him. Too vigilant to be taken at unawares,
and perhaps long since apprized of the
coming of the band, the Indians had resumed their
hiding-places in the grass and among the bushes,
preparing for the new-comers an ambuscade similar
to that they had so successfully practised
against Roland's unfortunate party. “Let them
hide as they will, detestable miscreants,” he muttered
to himself, with feelings of vindictive triumph;
“they will not, this time, have frighted
women, and a handful of dispirited fugitives to
deal with!”

With these feelings burning in his bosom, he
made an effort to turn his face towards the top of
the hill, that he might catch the first sight of the

friendly band, and glut his eyes with the view of
the anticipated speedy discomfiture and destruction
of his enemies. In this effort he received unexpected
aid from the old warrior, who, perceiving
his intention, pulled him round with his
own hands, telling him, with the grim complacency
of one who desired a witness to his bravery,
“Now, you hold still, you see,—you see Piankeshaw
old Injun,—you see Piankeshaw kill man,
take scalp, kill all Long-knife:—debbil great fighting-man,
old Piankeshaw!” which self-admiring
assurance, repeated for the third time, the warrior
pronounced with extreme earnestness and emphasis.

It was now that Roland could distinctly perceive
the nature of the ground on which his captors
had formed their ambush. The hill along
whose side the bison-path went winding down to
the river with an easy descent, was nearly bare of
trees, its barren soil affording nourishment only
for a coarse grass, enamelled with asters and
other brilliant flowers, and for a few stunted
cedar-bushes, scattered here and there; while, in
many places, the naked rock, broken into ledges
and gullies, the beds of occasional brooks, was seen
gleaming gray and desolate in the sunshine. Its
surface being thus broken, was unfit for the operations
of cavalry; and the savages being posted, as
Roland judged from the position of the old Piankeshaw,
midway along the descent, where were but
few trees of sufficient magnitude to serve as a
cover to assailants, while they themselves were
concealed behind rocks and bushes, there was little
doubt they could inflict loss upon any advancing
body of footmen of equal numbers, and perhaps
repel them altogether. But, Roland, now impressed
with the belief that the approaching horsemen,

whose trampling grew heavier each moment, as
if they were advancing at a full trot, composed
the flower of his own band, had little fear of the
result of a contest. He did not doubt they would
outnumber the savages, who, he thought, could
not muster more than fifteen or sixteen guns; and,
coming from a Station, which he had been taught
to believe was of no mean strength, it was more
than probable their numbers had been reinforced
by a detachment from its garrison.

Such were his thoughts, such were his hopes, as
the party drew yet nigher, the sound of their
hoofs clattering at last on the ridge of the hill;
but his disappointment may be imagined, when, as
they burst at last on his sight, emerging from the
woods above, the gallant party dwindled suddenly
into a troop of young men, only eleven in number,
who rattled along the path in greater haste
than order, as if dreaming of any thing in the
world but the proximity of an enemy. The leader
he recognized at a glance by his tall figure, as
Tom Bruce the younger, whose feats of Regulation
the previous day had produced a strong
though indirect influence on his own fortunes;
and the ten lusty youths who followed at his heels,
he doubted not, made up the limbs and body of
that inquisitorial court, which, under him as its
head, had dispensed so liberal allowance of border
law to honest Ralph Stackpole. That they
were now travelling on duty of a similar kind, he
was strongly inclined to believe; but the appearance
of their horses, covered with foam, as if they
had ridden far and fast, their rifles held in readiness
in both hands as if in momentary expectation
of being called on to use them, with an occasional
gesture from the youthful leader, who seemed to
encourage them to greater speed, convinced him

they were bent upon more serious business, perhaps
in pursuit of the Indians with whose marauding
visitation some accident had made them
acquainted.

The smallness of the force, and its almost entire
incompetence to yield him any relief, filled the
soldier's breast with despair; but, hopeless as he
was, he could not see the gallant young men rushing
blindly among the savages, each of whose
rifles was already selecting its victim, without
making an effort to apprize them of their danger.
Forgetting, therefore, his own situation, or generously
disregarding it, he summoned all his
strength, and, as they began to descend the hill,
shouted aloud, “Beware the ambush! Halt”—
But before the words were all uttered, he was
grasped by the throat with strangling violence,
and the old warrior, whose left hand thus choked
his utterance, drew his knife a second time, with
the other, and seemed for an instant as if he would
have plunged it into the soldier's bosom.

But the cry had not been made in vain, and
although, from the distance, the words had not
been distinguished by the young Kentuckians,
enough was heard to convince them the enemy
was nigh at hand. They came to an immediate
halt, and Roland, whose throat was still held by
the warrior and his bosom threatened by the
vengeful knife, but whose eyes neither the anguish
of suffocation nor the fear of instant death
could draw from the little band, saw them leap
from their horses, which were given in charge of
one of the number, who immediately retired beyond
the brow of the hill; while Tom Bruce, a
worthy scion of a warlike stock, brandishing his
rifle in one hand, and with the other pointing
his nine remaining followers down the road, cried,

in tones so clear and manly that they came to Roland's
ear,—“Now, boys, the women's down
thar, and the red-skins with them! Show fight,
for the honour of Kentuck and the love of woman.
Every man to his bush, and every bullet to
its Injun! Bring the brutes out of their cover!”

This speech, short and homely as it was, was
answered by a loud shout from the nine young
men, who began to divide, with the intention of
obeying its simple final instructions; when the Indians,
seeing the design, unwilling to forego the
advantage of the first open shot, and perhaps
hoping by a weak fire to mask their strength, and
decoy the young Kentuckians into closer quarters,
let fly a volley of six or seven guns from the
bushes near to where Roland lay, but without
doing much mischief, or even deceiving the
young men, as was expected.

“Thar they go, the brutes!” roared Tom Bruce,
adding, as he sprang with his followers among
the bushes, “show 'em your noses, and keep a
good squint over your elbows.”

“Long-knife big fool,—Piankeshaw eat him
up!” cried the old warrior, now releasing the
soldier's throat from durance, but speaking with
tones of ire and indignation: “shall see how
great Injun fighting-man eat up white man!”

With these words, leaving Roland to endure his
bonds, and solace himself, as he might, he crept
away into the long grass, and was soon entirely
lost to sight.

The combat that now ensued was one so different
in most of its characteristics from all that Roland
had ever before witnessed, that he watched
its progress, notwithstanding the tortures of his
bonds and the fever of his mind, with an interest
even apart from that, which he necessarily felt

in it, as one whose all of happiness or misery depended
upon its issue. In all conflicts in which
he had been engaged, the adverse ranks were
arrayed face to face, looking upon each other as
they fought; but here, no man saw his enemy,
both parties concealing themselves so effectually
in the grass and among the rocks and shrubs, that
there was nothing to indicate even their existence,
save the occasional discharge of a rifle, and the
wreath of white smoke curling up from it into
the air. In the battles of regular soldiers, too,
men fought in masses, the chief strength of either
party arising from the support which individuals
thus gave to one another, each deriving
additional courage and confidence from the presence
of his fellows. Here, on the contrary, it
seemed the first object of each individual, whether
American or Indian, to separate himself as
far from his friends as possible, seeking his own
enemies, trusting to his own resources, carrying
on the war on his own foundation,—in short, like
the enthusiastic Jerseyman, who, without belonging
to either side, was found, at the battle of Mon-mouth,
peppering away from behind a fence, at
whatever he fancied a foeman,—`fighting on his
own hook' entirely.

It did not seem to Roland as if a battle fought
upon such principles, could result in any great injury
to either party. But he forgot, or rather he
was ignorant, that the separation of the combatants,
while effecting the best protection not merely
to any one individual, but to all his comrades, who
must have been endangered, if near him, by every
bullet aimed at himself, did not imply either fear
or hesitation on his part, whose object, next to
that mentioned, was to avoid the shots of the
many, while seeking out and approaching a single

antagonist, whom he was ever ready singly to
encounter.

And thus it happened, that, while Roland deemed
the antagonists were manœuvering over the
hill-side, dragging themselves from bush to bush
and rock to rock, to no profitable purpose, they
were actually creeping nigher and nigher to each
other every moment, the savages crawling onwards
with the exultation of men who felt their
superior strength, and the Kentuckians advancing
with equal alacrity, as if ignorant of, or bravely
indifferent to their inferiority.

It was not a long time, indeed, before the Virginian
began to have a better opinion of the intentions
of the respective parties; for, by and by,
the shots, which were at first fired very irregularly
and at long intervals, became more frequent,
and, as it seemed, more serious; and an
occasional whoop from an Indian, or a wild shout
from a Kentuckian, showed that the excitement of
actual conflict was beginning to be felt on either
side. At the same time, he became sensible, from
the direction of the firing, that both parties had
gradually extended themselves in a line, reaching,
notwithstanding the smallness of their numbers,
from the crest of the hill on the one hand, to the
borders of the river on the other, and thus perceived
that the gallant Regulators, however ignorant
of the science of war, and borne by impetuous
tempers into a contest with a more numerous
foe, were not in the mood to be taken either on
the flank or rear, but were resolved, in true military
style, to keep their antagonists before them.

In this manner, the conflict continued for many
minutes, the combatants approaching nearer and
nearer, the excitement waxing fiercer every instant,
until shots were incessantly exchanged, and,

as it seemed, with occasional effect; for the yells,
which grew louder and more frequent on both
sides, were sometimes mingled with cries of pain
on the one hand, and shouts of triumph on the
other; during all which time, nothing whatever
was seen of the combatants, at least by Roland,
whose mental agonies were not a little increased
by his being a compelled spectator, if such he
could be called, of a battle in which he was so
deeply interested, without possessing the power to
mingle in it, or strike a single blow on his own behalf.
His fears of the event had been from the
first, much stronger than his hopes. Aware of
the greatly superior strength of the savages, he
did not doubt that the moment would come,
when he should see them rush in a body upon the
Kentuckians, and overwhelm them with numbers.
But that was a measure into which nothing but an
uncommon pitch of fury could have driven the
barbarians: for with marksmen like those opposed
to them, who needed but a glance of an
enemy to insure his instant destruction, the first
spring from the grass would have been the signal
of death to all who attempted it, leaving the survivors,
no longer superior in numbers, to decide
the contest with men, who were, individually, in
courage, strength, and skill, at least their equals.
Indeed, a bloody proof of the extreme folly of
such a course on the part of the Indians, was
soon shown, when the Regulators, fighting their
way onwards, as if wholly regardless of the superior
numbers of the foe, had advanced so nigh
the latter as to command (which, from occupying
the highest ground, they were better able to do,)
the hiding-places of some of their opponents.
Three young warriors, yielding to their fury,
ashamed perhaps of being thus bearded by a
weaker foe, or inflamed with the hope of securing
a scalp of one young Kentuckian who had crept
dangerously nigh, suddenly sprang from their
lairs, and guided by the smoke of the rifle which
he had just discharged, rushed towards the spot,
yelling with vindictive exultation. They were the
first combatants Roland had yet seen actually engaged
in the conflict; and he noted their appearance
and act of daring with a sinking heart, as
the prelude to a charge from the whole body of
Indians upon the devoted Kentuckians. But
scarce were their brown bodies seen to rise from
the grass, before three rifles were fired from as
many points on the hill-side, following each other
in such rapid succession that the ear could scarce
distinguish the different explosions, each of them
telling with fatal effect upon the rash warriors,
two of whom fell dead on the spot, while the
third and foremost, uttering a faint whoop of defiance
and making an effort to throw the hatchet
he held in his hand, suddenly staggered and fell
in like manner to the earth.

Loud and bold was the shout of the Kentuckians
at this happy stroke of success, and laughs
of scorn were mingled with their warlike hurrahs,
as they prepared to improve the advantage
so fortunately gained. Loudest of all in both
laugh and hurrah, was the young Tom Bruce,
whose voice was heard, scarce sixty yards off,
roaring, “Hurrah for old Kentuck! Try 'em
agin, boys! give it to 'em handsome once more!
and then, boys, a rush for the women!”

The sound of a friendly voice at so short a
distance fired Roland's heart with hope, and he
shouted aloud himself, no Indian seeming nigh,
for assistance. But his voice was lost in a tempest
of yells, the utterance of grief and fury,

with which the fall of their three companions
had filled the breasts of the savages. The effect
of this fatal loss, stirring up their passions to a
sudden phrensy, was to goad them into the very
step which they had hitherto so wisely avoided.
All sprang from the ground as with one consent,
and regardless of the exposure and danger, dashed,
with hideous shouts, against the Kentuckians.
But the volley with which they were received,
each Kentuckian selecting his man, and firing
with unerring and merciless aim, damped their
short-lived ardour; and quickly dropping again
among the grass and bushes, they were fain to
continue the combat as they had begun it, in a
way, which, if it produced less injury to their
antagonists, was conducive of greater safety to
themselves.

The firing was now hot and incessant on both
sides, but particularly on the part of the Regulators,
who, inspired by success, but still prudently
avoiding all unnecessary exposure of their persons,
pressed their enemies with a spirit from
which Roland now for the first time drew the
happiest auguries. Their stirring hurrahs bespoke
a confidence in the result of the fray, infinitely
cheering to his spirits; and he forgot his tortures,
which from the many frantic struggles he had
made to force the thong from his wrists, drawing
it at each still further into his flesh, were
now almost insupportable, when, amid the din of
firing and yelling, he heard Tom Bruce cry aloud
to his companions, “Now, boys! one more crack,
and then for rifle-butt, knife, and hatchet!” It
seemed, indeed, as if the heavy losses the Indians
had sustained, had turned the scale of battle entirely
in favour of the Kentuckians. It was evident

even to Roland, that the former, although yelling
and shouting with as much apparent vigour
as ever, were gradually giving ground before the
latter, and retreating towards their former lairs;
while he could as clearly perceive, from Bruce's
expressions, that the intrepid Kentuckian was actually
preparing to execute the very measure
that had caused such loss to his enemies, and
which, being thus resolved on, showed his confidence
of victory. “Ready, boys!” he heard him
shout again, and even nigher than before;—
“take the shoot with full pieces, and let the skirmudgeons
have it handsome!”

At that conjuncture, and just when Forrester
caught his breath with intense and devouring expectation,
an incident occurred which entirely
changed the face of affairs, and snatched the
victory from the hands of the Kentuckians. The
gallant Bruce, thus calling upon his followers to
prepare for the charge, had scarce uttered the
words recorded, before a voice, lustier even than
his own, bellowed from a bush immediately on his
rear,—“Take it like a butcher's bull-dog, tooth
and nail!—knife and skull-splitter, foot and finger,
give it to 'em every way,—cock-a-doodle-doo!”

At these words, coming from a quarter and
from an ally entirely unexpected, young Bruce
looked behind him and beheld, emerging from a
hazel-bush, through which it had just forced its
way, the visage of Roaring Ralph Stackpole, its
natural ugliness greatly increased by countless
scratches and spots of blood, the result of his
leap down the ledge of rocks, when first set upon
by the Indians, and his eyes squinting daggers
and ratsbane, especially while he was giving utterance
to that gallinaceous slogan with which he

was wont to express his appetite for conflict, and
with which he now concluded his unceremonious
salutation.

The voice and visage were alike familiar to
Bruce's senses, and neither was so well fitted to
excite alarm as merriment. But, on the present
occasion, they produced an effect upon the young
Regulator's spirits, and through them upon his
actions, the most unfortunate in the world; to understand
which it must be recollected that the
worthy Kentuckian had, twenty-four hours before,
with his own hands, assisted in gibbeting honest
Ralph on the beech-tree, where, he had every
reason to suppose, his lifeless body was hanging
at that very moment. His astonishment and horror
may therefore be conceived, when, turning in
some perturbation at the well known voice, he
beheld that identical body, the corse of the executed
horse-thief, crawling after him in the grass,
`winking, and blinking, and squinting,' as he was
used afterwards to say, `as if the devil had him
by the pastern.' It was a spectacle which the
nerves of even Tom Bruce could not stand; it did
what armed Indians could not do,—it frightened
him out of his propriety. Forgetting his situation,
his comrades, the savages,—forgetting every
thing but the fact of his having administered the
last correction of Lynch-law to the object of his
terror, he sprang on his feet, and roaring, “By
the etarnal devil, here's Ralph Stackpole!” he took
to his heels, running, in his confusion, right in the
direction of the enemy, among whom he would
have presently found himself, but for a shot, by
which, before he had run six yards, the unfortunate
youth was struck to the earth.

The exclamation, and the sight of Ralph himself,
who also rose to follow the young leader

upon what he deemed a rush against the foe,
electrified the whole body of the Regulators, who
were immediately thrown into confusion; of
which the savages took the same advantage they
had taken of Bruce's agitation, firing upon them
as they rose, and then rushing upon them to end
the fray, before they could recover their wits or
spirits. It needed but this, and the fall of their
leader, to render the disorder of the young men
irretrievable; and, accordingly, in less than a
moment they were seen,—all, at least, who were
not already disabled,—flying in a panic from the
field of battle. It was in vain that the captain of
horse-thieves, divining at last the cause of their
extraordinary flight, roared out that he was a living
man, with nothing of a ghost about him
whatever; the panic was universal and irremediable,
and nothing remained for him to do but
to save his own life as quickly as possible.

“'Tarnal death to me!” he bellowed, turning to
fly; but a groan from Bruce fell on his ear. He
ran to the side of the fallen youth, and catching
him by the hand, exclaimed, “Now for the best
leg, Tom, and a rush up hill to the hosses!”

“You ar'n't hanged then, after all?” muttered
the junior; and then fell back as if unable to rise,
adding faintly, “Go;—rat it, I'm done for.—As
for the —'l—savages, what I have to say —'l—
'l—. But I reckon scalping's not much; —'l—'l,
—one soon gets used to it!”—

And thus the young Kentuckian, his blood
oozing fast, his mind wandering, his utterance
failing, muttered, resigning himself to his fate, ignorant
that even Stackpole was no longer at his
side to hear him. His fate did indeed seem to be
inevitable; for while Stackpole had him by the

hand, vainly tugging to get him on his feet, three
different Indians were seen running with might
and main to quench the last spark of his existence,
and to finish Stackpole at the same time.
But in that very emergency, the ill-luck which
seemed to pursue the horse-thief, and all with
whom he was associated, found a change; and
destiny sent them both assistance in a way and by
means as unexpected as they were unhoped for.
The approach of the savages was noticed by
Roaring Ralph, who, not knowing how to save his
young executioner, against whom he seemed to
entertain no feelings of anger whatever, and
whose approaching fate he appeared well disposed
to revenge beforehand, clapped his rifle to his
shoulder, to make sure of one of the number;
when his eye was attracted by the spectacle of a
horse rushing up the stony road, neighing furiously,
and scattering the Indians from before
him. It was the charger Briareus, who had broken
from the tree where he had been fastened
below, and now came dashing up the hill, distracted
with terror, or perhaps burning to mingle
in the battle, which he had heard and snuffed
from afar. He galloped by the three Indians,
who leaped aside in alarm, while Stackpole, taking
advantage of the moment, ran up and seized
him by the bridle. In another moment, he had
assisted the fainting Kentuckian upon the animal's
back, leaped up behind him, and was dashing with
wild speed up the hill, yelling with triumph, and
laughing to scorn the bullets that were shot vainly
after.

All this the unhappy Roland beheld, and with a
revulsion of feelings that can only be imagined.
He saw, without, indeed, entirely comprehending
the cause, the sudden confusion and final flight of

the little band, at the moment of anticipated victory.
He saw them flying wildly up the hill, in irretrievable
route, followed by the whooping victors,
who, with the fugitives, soon vanished entirely
from view, leaving the field of battle to the dead,
and to the thrice miserable captives.