University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

In the space of five years after this event, the two fathers
yielded their scalps to the Cherokees, and upon the young men,
now stretching to manhood, devolved the task of providing for
their families. The patriarchal sway was at an end, and, with
it, all those restraining influences by which the external show of
peace had been kept up. It was to be a household in common no
longer. But a short time had elapsed, when a domestic storm of
peculiar violence determined the dames to separate for ever; and,
while the family of Holt, under the management of young Arthur,
remained at the old settlement near Reedy River, the Houstons
proceeded to Paris Mountain, some seven miles off,—in the
neighbourhood of which may be found, at this day, some traces
of their rude retreat. The settlement at Reedy River, meanwhile,
had undergone increase. New families had arrived, and
the first foundations were probably then laid of the flourishing
village which now borders the same lovely stream. The sons
grew up, but not after the fashion of their fathers. In one respect
only did John Houston resemble his parent—he was a hunter.
Arthur Holt, on the other hand, settled down into a methodical,
hard-working farmer, who, clinging to his family fireside, made it
cheerful, and diffused the happiest influences around it. He
grew up strong rather than handsome, good rather than conspicuous;
and, under his persevering industry and steady habits, his
mother's family, now his own, reached a condition of comfort before
unknown. The family of young Houston, by which we
mean his mother, sister, and a younger brother, did not flourish
in like degree. Yet Houston had already acquired great reputation
as a hunter. In the woods he seemed literally to follow in
his father's footsteps. He had his accomplishments also. He
was certainly the handsomest youth in all the settlements; of a
bold carriage, lofty port, free, open, expressive countenance, tall
of person and graceful of movement.

It was some qualification of these advantages that the morale
of John Houston was already something more than questionable
in the public opinion of the settlement. His tastes were vicious,
—his indulgences in strong drink had more than once subjected
him to humiliating exposures, but as yet they had produced caution
rather than dislike among his associates. Among the women,
however, they were not suspected to exist, or, if known or
suspected, weighed very little against the graces of a fine person,
a dashing, easy carriage, and a free “gift of the gab,” which
left him quite as unrivalled among the debaters as he was among
the dancers.

Among the families settled down upon Reedy River, was that
of Marcus Heywood, a Virginia cavalier, a fine hearty gentleman
of the old school, polished and precise, who had seen better
days, and was disposed very much to insist upon them. He
brought with him into the little colony a degree of taste and
refinement, of which, before his coming, the happy little neighbourhood
knew nothing; but, unhappily for all parties, he survived
too short a time after his arrival, to affect very favourably,
or very materially, the sentiments and manners of those about
him. He left his widow, a lady of fifty, and an only daughter
of sixteen, to lament his loss. Mrs. Heywood was a good woman,
an excellent housewife, a kind matron, and all that is exemplary
at her time of life; but Leda Heywood, her daughter, was
a paragon;—in such high terms is she described by still-worshiping
tradition, and the story that comes down to us, seems, in some
respects, to justify the warmth of its eulogium. At the period of
her father's death, Leda was only sixteen; but she was tall, well-grown,
and thoughtful beyond her years. The trying times in
which she lived—frequent travel—the necessity of vigilance—
the duties which naturally fall upon the young in new countries
—conspired to bring out her character, and to hurry to maturity
an intellect originally prompt and precocious. Necessity had
forced thought into exercise, and she had become acute, observant,
subdued in bearing, modest in reply, gentle, full of womanly
solicitude, yet so calm in her deportment that, to the superficial
observer, she wore an aspect,—quite false to the fact,—
of great coldness and insensibility. Her tastes were excellent;

she sang very sweetly—and when you add to the account of her
merits, that she was really very lovely, a fair, blue-eyed, graceful
creature,—you need not wonder that one day she became a heroine!
A heroine! poor Leda! Bitterly, indeed, must she have
wept, in after times, the evil fortune that doomed her to be a
heroine!

But Leda was a belle before she become a heroine. This was,
perhaps, the more unfortunate destiny of the two. She was the
belle of Reedy River, called by hunter, and shepherd, and farmer,
“the blue-eyed girl of Reedy River,” to whom all paid an
involuntary tribute, to whom all came as suitors, and, with the
rest, who but our two acquaintances, John Houston and Arthur
Holt. At first they themselves knew not that they were rivals,
but the secret was one of that sort which very soon contrived to
reveal itself. It was then that the ancient hate of John Houston
revived, in all its fury. If Arthur Holt was not conscious of the
same feelings exactly, he was yet conscious of an increased dislike
of his old companion. With that forbearance which, whether
the fruit of prudence or timidity, Arthur Holt had always been
careful to maintain in his intercouse with his former associate,
he now studiously kept aloof from him as much as possible. Not
that this reserve and caution manifested itself in any unmanly
weakness. On the contrary, no one could have appeared more
composed, when they met, than Arthur Holt. It is true that, in
the actual presence of Leda Heywood, he was rather more embarrassed
than his rival. The reader will not need to be reminded
that we have already described him as being naturally
shy. This bashfulness showed badly in contrast with the deportment
of John Houston. If the difference between the manner of
the two young men, in approaching their mistress, was perceptible
to herself and others, it was little likely to escape the eyes of
one who, like John Houston, was rendered equally watchful both
by hate and jealousy. But, unconscious of any bashfulness
himself, he could not conceive the influence of this weakness in
another. He committed the grievous error of ascribing the disquiet
and nervous timidity of Arthur Holt to a very different
origin; and fondly fancied that it arose from a secret dread which
the young man felt of his rival. We shall not say what degree

of influence this notion might have had, in determining his own
future conduct towards his rival.

Some months had passed away, since the death of Colonel
Heywood, in this manner, and the crowd of suitors had gradually
given way to the two to whom our own attention has been more
particularly turned. Events, meanwhile, had been verging towards
a very natural crisis; and the whisper, on all hands, determined
that Leda Heywood was certainly engaged, and to John
Houston. This whisper, as a matter of course, soon reached the
ears of the man whom it was most likely to annoy.

Arthur Holt could not be said to hope, for, in truth, Leda
Heywood had given him but little encouragement; still he was not
willing to yield in despair, for, so far as he himself had observed,
she had never given any encouragement to his rival. At all
events, there was a way of settling the matter, which the stout-hearted
fellow determined to take at the earliest moment. He
resolved to propose to Leda, a measure which he would sooner
have adopted, but for a delicate scruple arising from the fact that
he had made himself particularly useful to her mother, who, in
her widowhood, and in straitened circumstances, was very glad
to receive the help and friendly offices of the young farmer.
These scruples yielded, however, to the strength of his feelings;
and one evening he had already half finished his toilet with more
than usual care, in order to the business of a formal declaration,
when, to his own surprise and that of his family, John Houston
abruptly entered the humble homestead. It was the first visit
which he had paid since the separation of the two families, and
Arthur saw at a glance that it had its particular object. After a
few moments, in which the usual civilities were exchanged,
John Houston, rising as he spoke, said abruptly to Arthur—

“You seem about to go out, and perhaps we may be walking
in the same direction. If so, I can say what I have to say, while
we're on the road together.”

“I am about to go to see the Widow Heywood.”

“Very good! our road lies the same way.”

The tones of Houston were more than usually abrupt as he
spoke, and there was a stern contracting of the brow, and a
fierce flashing of the eye, while he looked upon the person he

addressed, which did not escape the observation of Arthur, and
excited the apprehensions of his mother. On some pretence, she
drew her son into her chamber ere he went forth, and in few, but
earnest words, insisted that John Houston meant harm.

“If you will go with him, Arthur, take this pistol of your
father's in your bosom, and keep a sharp look-out upon him.
Man never meant evil if John Houston does not mean it now.”

We pass over her farther remonstrances. They made little
impression upon Arthur, but, to quiet her, he put the weapon into
his bosom—half ashamed—as he did so—of a concession that
seemed to look like cowardice.

The two young men set out together, and the eyes of the anxious
mother followed them as long as they were in sight. They
took the common path, which led them down to the river, just
below the falls. When they had reached the opposite shore, and
before they had ascended the rocks by which it is lined, John
Houston, who had led, turned suddenly upon his companion, and
thus addressed him:

“Arthur Holt, you may wonder at my coming to see you today,
for I very well know that there is no love lost between us.
You like me as little as I like you. Nay, for that matter, I don't
care how soon you hear it from my lips,—I hate you, and I shall
always hate you! We were enemies while we were boys,—we
are enemies now that we are men; and I suppose we shall be
enemies as long as we live. Whether we are to fight upon it, is
for you to say.”

Here he paused and looked eagerly into the eyes of his companion.
The latter regarded him steadily, but returned no answer.
He evidently seemed to await some farther explanation
of the purpose of one who had opened his business with an
avowal so startling and ungracious. After a brief pause, Houston
proceeded:

“The talk is that you're a-courting Leda Heywood—that you
mean to offer yourself to her—and when I see how finely you've
rigged yourself out for it to-night, I'm half inclined to believe
you're foolish enough to be thinking of it. Arthur Holt, this
must not be! You must have nothing to do with Leda Heywood.”

He paused again—his eyes keenly searching those of his rival.

The latter still met his glance with a quiet sort of determination,
which betrayed nothing of the effect which the words of the other
might have produced upon his mind. Houston was annoyed.
Impatiently, again, he spoke, as follows:

“You hear me,—you hear what I say?”

“Yes, I hear you, John Houston.”

“Well!—”

“Well!—you want my answer, I suppose? You shall have
it! This it is. If you are a madman or a fool, that is no reason
why I should not do as I please!”

The other was about to interrupt him,—but Holt persisted:

“Let me finish, John Houston. I heard you patiently—now,
hear me! I am no fighting man, and as heaven is above us, I
have no wish to quarrel; but I am ready to fight whenever I
can't do better. As for being bullied by you, that is out of the
question. I am not afraid of you, and never was, as you should
have known before this, and as you may know whenever the
notion suits you to try. I am now, this very moment, going to
see Leda Heywood, and I mean to ask her hand.”

“That you shall never do!” exclaimed the other, whose passions
had been with difficulty kept down so long—“That, by the
Eternal! you shall never do!”—and as he spoke, drawing a
knife from his belt, he rushed upon Arthur Holt, with a promptness
and fury that left the latter in no doubt of the bloody and
desperate purposes of his foe. But the coolness of the young
farmer was his safeguard in part, and to the weapon, so thoughtfully
furnished him by his mother, he was indebted for the rest.
He had kept a wary watch upon the movements of Houston's
eye, and read in its glance the bloody purpose of his soul, the
moment ere he struck. Retreating on one side, he was ready,
when the latter turned a second time upon him, with his presented
pistol.

“It is well for both of us, perhaps,” said he, quietly, as he
cocked and held up the weapon to the face of the approaching
Houston, “that this pistol was put into my hands by one who
knew you better than I did; or you might this moment have my
blood upon your soul. Let us now part, John Houston. If you
are bent to go from this to Widow Heywood's,—the path is open

to you,—go! I will return home, and seek some other time,
when there's no chance of our meeting; for I neither wish to kill
you nor to be killed by you. Which will you do—go forward or
return? Take your choice—I yield the path to you.”

The fury of the baffled assassin may be imagined. It is not
easy to describe it. But he was in no condition of mind to visit
Leda Heywood, and, after exhausting himself in ineffectual
threatenings, he dashed once more across the foaming torrents of
Reedy River, leaving Arthur Holt free to pursue his way to the
cottage of his mistress. This he did, with a composure which
the whole exciting scene, through which he had passed, had entirely
failed to disturb. Indeed, the events of this interview
appeared to have the effect, only, of strengthening the resolve of
the young farmer, for, to confess a truth, the good fellow was
somewhat encouraged—by certain expressions which had dropped
from Houston, in his fury,—to hope for a favourable answer to
his suit. We may as well say, in this place, that the frenzy of
the latter had been provoked by similar stories reaching his ears
to those which had troubled Arthur.

When they separated, and Arthur Holt went forward to the
cottage of Widow Heywood, it was with a new and most delightful
hope awakened in his bosom.