University of Virginia Library

2. THE KNIGHTS
OF THE
HORSE-SHOE; A TRADITIONARY TALE
OF THE
COCKED HAT GENTRY
IN THE
OLD DOMINION.
VOLUME II.

CHAPTER 1.
THE GOVERNOR'S LEVEE.

Williamsburg, one of the ancient capitals of Virginia, was first laid out
in the shape of the letter W, in honor of the Prince after whom it was
named, and through whose munificence its principal ornament was first endowed.
This strange and even enigmatical plot of the town was, however,
soon abandoned for one more consonant with the natural features of its admirable
position.

The houses of the gentry were principally built upon one great thoroughfare,
and this was then called the Duke of Gloucester street—for shortness,
Gloucester street. At one end, and immediately at right angles to it, stood,
and yet stands, William and Mary College; and at the other, about three-quarters
of a mile distant, the capital.

These two edifices at once gave a character and dignity to the place; and
the traveller even now turns his head naturally, first to the one and then to
the other, as he enters the ancient city. We have entered the modern Babel
of our country, and, like all other neophytes, have been deeply impressed with
the tumultuous and thronging ideas and sensations which they produced, but
never have we been so deeply impressed as while entering for the first time
the scene where those old ruinous walls were once vocal with the eloquence
of Patrick Henry, on the one hand, and the academic shades on the other,
where Jefferson and Madison wandered in the days of their boyhood, and
where was concocted the first germ of that rebellion which eventuated in the

most glorious structure of civil liberty which the eye of man has ever yet
looked upon.

Strange, that the thousands who live under its benign influence—and Virginians
especially—have no curiosity to visit this ancient cradle of our liberties.
It lies gradually mouldering to decay, and only saved from utter demolition,
by the noble literary institution, which has survived alike the royal and
republican capital. Long may it rear its noble head above the ruins which
surround it, the great conservator, of all that remains of Virginia's ancient
metropolis, as well as the stern republican principles which first had their
growth beneath its portals.

About the centre of Gloucester-street, two parallel avenues of noble trees
led through a green lawn, near two hundred yards, to the front of the Palace.
A little to the left of this opening, as you faced the Palace, stood the Episcopal
Church, then recently built. On the opposite side of the street, its line
was again broken a little nearer to the Capitol, by a public square, in which
were contained the Market-House and the military round tower, already
alluded to as having been erected by Governor Spotswood. Facing this public
square, was a small Theatre,[1] and nearly opposite to all these again, on the
other side of the street, was the hotel frequented by the gentry and Burgesses,
when the assembly was in session.

The Palace was a large brick building, flanked on the right and left by two
smaller ones, nearly adjoining it, one of which contained, the dormitories and
offices connected with the culinary department, and appropriated exclusively by
the servants—the other contained the Governor's library, official departments,
&c., &c., so the whole of the main building was appropriated to the elegant
and extensive hospitalities, at all times considered as appertaining to the Gubernatorial
mansion in Virginia.

It was a few days after Hall's departure from prison, upon his melancholy
pilgrimage, that the well known sound of a trumpet startled the denizens of
the city—many of them from their early dinners. It proceeded from the Governor's
body guard, not yet visible in the city, but the enlivening blast of the
bugle could be heard, from time to time, as they wound along the turnings of
the road—the breeze sometimes wafting its mellow sounds to the ear, and, at
others, suffering them to fall faintly in the distance, as it lulled with the breeze.

It was always a glad day to the citizens when the Governor and his family
returned from his summer residence. Joy was visible upon the countenances
of the portly dames and merry urchins, as they crowded round their respective
doors, to welcome back the loved inmates of the Palace. Near the gate
of the mansion, among the trees of the double avenue, stood a long line of little
girls all dressed in white, with flowers in their hands, waiting to strew the
path of the ladies from the carriage to the house. They were pupils of a
female school, of which Lady Spotswood was chief patron.

First came a company of Rangers, which had been detailed to escort the
Governor, followed by the veteran body guard, all in full regimentals. Then
his Excellency, with his staff, and male guests, on horseback—next, the state
coach with the Governor's immediate family, and Dr. Evylin's carriage containing
his daughter, alone; the rear of the cavalcade brought up by the family
servants, in carriages and on horseback, old Essex riding at their head, like a
field-marshal, and June bringing up the extreme rear, awfully carricaturing the
Major's stately equestrianism.

The troops on duty at the capital, consisting mostly of Rangers—under the
command of Duke Holloway, second to John Spotswood—were drawn up on
the green in front of the Palace, and presented arms as the Governor approached:

the military escort filing to the right and left as they entered the
avenues.

Dr. Evylin's carriage drove on to his private residence, which stood a little
back from Gloucester street, between the Church and the College, embowered in
trees and vines, and presenting to the eye one of the sweetest retreats it was
possible to imagine, in the midst of the capital. Every thing about the premises
gave evidence of the ministering hand of that gentle and tasteful spirit,
which, since the death of the Doctor's lady, had conducted all his household
affairs. The good old physician stood at the wicket gate, almost as impatient as
a lover, to throw his arms round the neck of his cherished idol. Even before
entering the house, they walked hand in hand among the fast fading shrubs and
flowers, the old man giving an account of his stewardship, during his daughter's
absence, and having a little history ready for each favorite plant. How these
gentle and humanising, affections, throw a mellow hue over such trifles as these,
and how the heart loves to toy with them on the surface, while its depths, like a
deep and silent stream, are tossed all the more for the serene calm above. The
servants too, loved their young mistress, and came flocking round, dropping
their rude curtsies and awkward bows, and asking about her health as if she
had crossed the Atlantic. Each one expressed delight at the renovated bloom
of their favorite, and the old Doctor himself, seemed so happy at the change,
that he became almost as puerile as any of them. Once more seated in their
quiet parlor, Ellen's arm thrown affectionately round her father's neck, we
will leave her to detail all the transactions of the Governor's country establishment,
while we return to the Palace, where the bustle and excitement of
the important arrivals still continued.

The city was thronged with visitors, brought together by the proclamations
of the Governor inviting them thither; and also by the arrival of many of
the Burgesses, who came in obedience to the call of his Excellency for the
assembling of their body, somewhat in anticipation of their usual time of
meeting.

In the evening, a levee was held, where all the gentry, without distinction
of party, were expected to call and pay their respects.

The Governor was very much gratified to find that his proclamation, containing
the scheme for new conquests of lands, had fired either the cupidity
or ambition of most of the young men of the colony; but while he listened,
with sparkling eye and gratified feelings, to the plans of his young friends, he
could not resist the feelings of regret which the subject brought with it, for
the young Secretary who had originated the scheme. His eve turned anxiously
to the door at each successive arrival of guests, but Hall made not his
appearance. He had been greatly prepossessed in favor of this young man,
and notwithstanding the powerful array of circumstances against him, he
was loth to give him up entirely. He still hoped that something would turn
up, to prove at least that he was not criminal. In these hopes, he was seconded
by most of the females of the family. Kate and Dorothea at all times
expressed their most decided convictions, that he would yet turn out to be a
gentleman of untarnished name; and Ellen, before her departure from the
country seat, could brook no suspicions of his integrity or honor. She maintained
openly, that there were no charges against him, except those brought
by Harry Lee, and that she was ready at any time to lay as great ones at his
own door, if necessary, and, consequently, that he was not an unimpeached
witness.

It was expected by the young ladies that something would turn up during
the evening, by which Mr. Lee might understand, that Hall's case was
espoused by them, and that they intended to carry the war home to him if he
continued his persecutions against their favorite. Only one thing prevented
an open rupture between the parties. Lee was a member of the House of

Burgesses, as before stated, and the Governor wanted his vote. He had consequently
warned them against a premature move in the matter. Those however
who are experienced with the world, will understand how difficult it was
for him to make the ladies of his establishment understand any thing of political
expediency.

Lee was among the earliest arrivals, and it may be well imagined that his
movements did not pass unnoticed by any of the parties just mentioned. His
first demonstration however was in quite an unexpected quarter, on encountering
Bernard Moore, soon after paying his respects to the Governor and his
Lady, he treated him with the utmost hauteur and disdain. Not a hand was
extended by either party. Moore was quite taken by surprise, but, in a moment
recollected his late interference in Lee's schemes of revenge. He passed on,
after a cold and distant bow, a smile of derision playing about his mouth.
Could he have seen Kate's eyes flashing fire and indignation, as she witnessed
the interview, he would have been truly flattered and pleased and, perhaps
might have sought a renewal of the experiment, but he did not; he passed on,
and joined himself with more congenial spirits than Harry Lee, and soon forgot
that young gentleman, amidst the animated discussion going on relative to
the tramontane expedition. Not so with Kate, she followed with her eyes,
the haughty young aristocrat's movements wherever he went. She was
moved by strong impulses, which brooked no control from cold political expediency.
She was all a woman in her feelings; and like a woman would
she have acted, had the opportunity offered. Fortunately for her father's interests,
no occasion was presented for the execution of the plans of the female
trio, those developements were destined to fulfilment in another quarter.
Ellen Evylin was not present at the Levee, seeing which, Mr. Lee soon absented
himself from the party, and bent his steps toward the Doctor's house.
He rejoiced in his own mind, that it was so; for he now imagined, that he had
placed the man who had interfered with his movements in such a light, that
Ellen must feel nothing but gratitude towards him for his efforts in the cause.
Such were his anticipations as he lifted the knocker of the Doctor's door—he
was admitted. What occurred at the interview will be related in the next
chapter.

2. CHAPTER II.
PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

How delightfully fell the impress of all he saw upon the cold nature of
Harry Lee? How his intense selfishness warmed itself by the cosy fire blazing
in the hearth? The pictures that hung round the walls, too, delighted
him, because they were many of them painted by a hand that he hoped to
call his own. He stood before them in succession, and pleased himself to
think, how the same gentle hand would sketch the glorious landscapes presented,
in many aspects upon his own thousand acres. The sweet flowers,
too, snugly stowed away from the rude September blasts, in a little glass conservatory,
separated from the room in which he was, but by a single step.
He walked out into the green artificial summer, the lights of the parlor windows
threw their bright rays over and around, revealing a little aviary, high
up among the green shrubbery. Henry Lee knew every nook and corner
about the charming little dove's nest which he intended to rob. He was like
a boy climbing a tree in search of such an object—his head grew dizzy, as the
prospect of clutching the prize seemed just within his grasp. He walked

back—the nest was still warm, but he had frightened the pretty songster away
A score of music was lying open upon the table, which she had evidently just
left, in her precipitate retreat, for some of her female parapharnalia was lying
beside it. He walked up and read the title of the song—it was in his brother's
own hand writing. Hurriedly he closed the book, and wheeled upon his heel
to another part of the room. He picked up a book, lying open in a rocking
chair, the face turned down, as if it had likewise received a share of the lady's
recent attention. He picked it up, and seated himself; the leaves fell over
of themselves, as even they acquire habits sometime, and there again was his
brother's name as the donor. It seemed as if his ghost was haunting him at
every turn. He threw down the book hastily, and strode through the room
with his head down, determined to see nothing more which might recall painful
memories. At this moment, the old Doctor entered, cloaked up to the
neck, a shawl tied over his cocked hat and under his chin, and his thin legs
cased in warm cloth spatterdashes, buttoned up close to his knee buckles.

“Ah, good Doctor!” said Lee, advancing to meet him, “still administering
to the sufferings of the sick and the afflicted? What a noble calling is yours?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, rather gruffly, as he took the proffered hand, before
he seated himself over the blazing pine knots in the hearth. “Yes, it is indeed
a noble profession, and all those should earn the crown of martyrdom
who practise it.”

“You surprise me, sir—I thought, if there was a man in the world satisfied
with the lot which had fallen to him, it was Dr. Evylin!”

“And so I am; but that makes the remark I made none the less true. I
am content to be a martyr. It is true, that I am sometimes a little chafed,
that men look upon our paths as if they were strewed with flowers.”

“Well, Doctor, I confess that I am one who looked upon your profession
as affording the highest gratification to its followers. You are always relieving
the pains and sufferings of others.”

“No, not always; we stand by a dying patient powerless, and feeling as
nothing before the great Ruler, who holds the destinies of man in his hands.
But that is not all; we are forever shouldering the troubles of other people—
always looking upon the black shadows of the picture of human life—it is
impossible for one of my profession to be uniformly cheerful. Then, its dreadful
responsibilities weigh down all those who have any sensibility, and only
such are fit to enter a family when the hearts of all its members are laid bare;
when the lacerated affections require to be ministered to as well as the physical
suffering. One advantage we have over other men: we see less of the
hypocrisy of our race than they do; suffering stamps a solemn sincerity upon
every countenance around a sick couch. I was called, the other night, to
visit one of the comedians of our little Theatre—he was very sick, and his
bedside surrounded by his brethren of the sock and buskin in the same dresses
which they had just worn upon the stage. Farce and Comedy sunk
abashed before the Tragedy of real life. The sufferer himself, though the
principal comedian, was one of the most captious and fretful men I ever attended.
The scene impressed me powerfully—yet, somewhat of the same
thing is presented to me daily. The sick couch disrobes every man of his
masquerading dress.”

“Yes,” said Lee, musing, “you have fine opportunities to study human nature.
You see it in its undress.”

“Aye,” replied the Physician, “we do see it in a state of nudity truly, and
the disrobing adds nothing to the beauty and symmetry. One half of our race,
at least, is presented in entirely different aspects from what it appears to other
men. The male portion appear in new and untried lights on the sick couch.”

“Ah! is there then so much difference in the sexes?”

“Aye, truly—women, in civilized countries, are constant inhabitants of the

house, and often even of a single room, and sickness makes no such great
change in this respect to them, but there are characteristic differences besides
those produced by habit and occupation—and all telling in favor of the weaker
sex. They are much purer in heart than we are, Mr. Lee, much more elevated
in sentiment, more patient and hopeful in suffering, with a much livelier
and realizing faith in the power and presence of an overruling Providence.
Seeing these thing, it almost looks wrong, to one of my profession, to see
them excluded from active participation in more than half of all the concerns
of life. They have not yet, with all our boasted refinement and civilization,
their due influence.”

“That is made up. Sir, by their sway over the hearts of men.”

“Ah, that may do very well for a very young man to say, at such an age, it
is boasted of and paraded as an excuse for our wrongs, but old men know how
long it lasts, especially old Physicians—it lasts a much shorter time than the
honey money.”

Ellen entered at this moment, and returned Lee's salutation with a cold and
formal inclination of the head. Her lips were compressed in a way quite unnatural
to them, and giving a rather harsh expression to her usually pensive
and mild countenance. Her health seemed still on the mend; she walked
firmly and actively to the seat which her father had just vacated. She threw
a beseeching glance at the older gentleman as he left the room, as much as to
beg him to remain and supper her through the interview; but he seemed to
have a sly suspicion of the subject about to be brought upon the tapis, and he
retired—a quizzical, and half humorous smile playing about his mouth as he
shut the door, and gave one glance back at his daughter.

The two, thus left alone, sat for some moments without exchanging a word
the gentleman, for once in his life, very much embarrassed, and the lady
more at her ease. The former, at length, broke the silence. “Your father,
Miss Ellen, has just been complimenting your sex in a way, which was quite
new to me; he was giving me, as you entered, his professional testimony in
their behalf.”

“The best men are the best witnesses in such a cause.”

“True, but your father was giving me much higher testimony than ordinary
men could give. He need not go far, Miss Evylin, for his sources of
inspiration on that subject.”

“No,” said Ellen, quite unmoved, “only to the bed side of his nearest
patient.”

“You are invulnerable, Miss Evylin, to those weapons of our sex, usually
considered so potent.”

“That, now, I consider a real compliment, while your general staple article
of the other sort, seems to me to belong to any body that will appropriate
them—they are like the wind, or the atmospheric air we breathe, or the water
we drink.”

“Mine shall not be so wide of the mark, I assure you—the purpose of my
visit to night was to renew the highest compliment which a gentleman can
pay to a lady. I went to the Governor's country seat for the same purpose,
but my object was there frustrated by some unfortunate occurrences, which
it is nedless now to allude to more particularly. I hope I shall find you more
inclined to listen to me, than I have found you hitherto. Always some unfortunate
interruption, either designed or accidental, has prevented me from
laying open my whole heart to you. Is this to be the lucky time?”

“I will not profess to misunderstand you in any particular, Mr. Lee, either
with regard to the object of your late and present visit, or the occurrences at
Temple Farm. I am, indeed, now ready and willing to listen to you.”

Lee was immediately on his knees before her, and made an effort to seize
her hand, but she rose up on the instant, and said, “But not in that posture,

Mr. Lee, it does not become the relations which henceforth we must bear to
each other. I professed myself willing to hear you, and I expect to have
something to say myself; and that you will be equally courteous to me; more
than that we can never be to each other.”

“You shock me Miss Evylin, inexpressibly, both by the manner and matter
of your discourse. I see now that there is displeasure in your eye, but let me
hope that I shall by a frank and full explanation of every thing be enabled to
remove it.” He had again seated himself, as had the lady.

“Every thing Mr. Lee!” exclaimed she, putting particular emphasis upon
the words.

“Yes, Miss Evylin, every thing, why do you question me so pointedly?”

“Because I doubted, and still doubt, whether you will be explicit upon every
thing which you have said and written concerning this matter.”

“The very object of my visit is, to have just such an unreserved conversation
with you. I have long seen that it was necessary to rip up those old matters
which at first I avoided out of delicacy to you; I have seen that it was necessary,
before we could properly understand each other.”

“I am all attention, Sir, proceed.”

“Since my late visit to the Temple Farm, I am more than ever convinced
of it, excuse me therefore, if I touch upon subjects, which I once understood
were forbidden in this house.”

“If you allude to my engagement to your brother, you are free to speak.

“Lee seemed surprised for a moment, at the prompt and unembarrassed
manner in which she spoke of the long forbidden subject, but proceeded: “I
will not pretend to conceal from you Miss Evylin, that I rather more than suspected
the fact, which you have just acknowledged, at the time of its occurrence.
I mean your engagement to my brother, and as long as he lived, you
know that I never openly interfered or expressed those feelings which animated
me as well as him. (Ellen's eye flashed and she could scarcely restrain
an indignant exclamation.) Even had he lived, I cannot even yet see why my
claims would not have been equal to his own, unless indeed I were to attribute
those mercenary motives to you, from which I know too well, no human
being is more free. My attachment was at least coeval with his own, and
though he possessed greater powers of address, you know enough of human
nature, to be aware that the strongest passions like the deepest rivers, run the
most smoothly and silently. I was always firmly persuaded that his love was
far less deeply rooted than my own, indeed I might have given way altogether,
had I not been so firmly persuaded of the evanescent nature of his. Had you
not some evidence of this even before his death?”

“Such as I had, or rather have, you shall see, before we conclude this interview;”
replied Ellen, with compressed lips, and struggling to appear calm
and unmoved.

“I am sure that such was the fact, I could exhibit evidence of it myself,
were it necessary, but we will take it for granted for the present. After the
sad affair which deprived me of an only brother, all those impediments which
had so long restrained me, were removed. You cannot deny that up to that
time, I was governed by a scrupulous delicacy towards you both.”

Ellen again became restive, she could no longer restrain herself, and she
exclaimed pointedly: “Mr. Lee, recollect yourself! before that time, had
you not spoken to my father on the subject?”

“True, true, I had,” replied he somewhat embarrassed, “but my offence
proceeded no farther; nor was my suit prosecuted afterwards until I supposed
your lacerated feelings had entirely recovered from the blow. From the time
of my first unsuccessful proposal to you up to the time of my late visit to
Temple Farm, I have lived but with a view to prosecute it. I have studied
nothing but your pleasure. I have devoted myself to you and followed you like

your own shadow; nothwithstanding the oft repeated partial reduffs with which
my devotion has been rewarded, I have still persevered, in hopes that when the
recollection of your first attachment had softened away by time, it would naturally
glide into that strange store-house of childish things which every memory
contains, and at last give place to the more matured and rational feelings of the
woman.”

“And your letters to your brother, was there nothing in any of them inconsistent,
with what you have just said?”

“Nothing, so help me heaven, so far as I can recollect.”

“Mr. Lee,” said Ellen with a severe expression of countenance which he
had never before witnessed, “I must refresh your memory: I would not
question your veracity, but I cannot suffer you to go farther without convincing
you that I am far better informed on this subject than you suppose me to be.
You may have forgotten what you wrote then—I hope you have, but you will
never forget it again, as long as you live, when you have read that letter.”
Here she handed him Frank's last letter, and continued. “I hope and pray that
it may soften your heart towards your brother, (she hastily corrected herself)
towards his memory I mean. You will find there that not a few of his troubles
were produced by the very interference, which you have just so emphatically
denied. Read it, and reflect upon it. I am sure it will move every generous
and feeling impulse within you.”

He took the letter with a trembling hand, and drawing the light towards him,
commenced its perusal. His eye dilated as he did so, while the cold perspiration
gathered upon his brow and lip, and his whole frame shook with ill concealed
excitement. Before he had half finished, he turned it over and examined
the superscription carefully—he seemed reassured by it, and became
rather more composed as he finished the remaining portion.

“Whence did you obtain this letter, and through what conveyance. I see
it has no post mark.”

“It matters not, Mr. Lee, how I obtained it, it is sufficient for me, and for
you too, I suppose, that it is genuine. You will not deny that it is poor
Frank's hand writing?”

“I will not deny that it is admirably imitated, but I must know from whom
you obtained it, before I grant that it is genuine.”

“Well then, I obtained it from one who had suffered alike with him—from
one who received it from his own hands—from one whom you have treated in
a manner very poorly calculated to recompense your brother's last and dearest
friend.”

“From the arch impostor Hall.”

“I did receive it from Mr. Hall, but he is no impostor, Mr. Lee.”

“He is the veriest impostor and swindler that breathes. He has assumed
another man's name, has swindled me, if not others, out of money—and he
has forged every word of that letter. There is not one word of truth in it, as
I verily believe.”

“Mr. Lee, I will not quarrel with you; it would neither become my sex
nor inclination to do so; but I as firmly believe in the genuineness of that letter
as in the truth and honor of its bearer, as I believe in my own existence.
Indeed I would rather surrender my life than doubt either.”

“Very well, Miss Evylin, very well; the time will speedily come when
you will repent this hasty decision. I pledge my word, before many weeks
have elapsed to produce such evidence of the falsity of this man at least, that
none can doubt. I will not only confront him with the real person whose
name he has assumed for the most diabolical purposes, but I will put the
matter beyond all question, by the testimony of a disinterested witness who
knew the real Hall and all his family in Scotland.”

“It will be time enough for me to believe it, when you do so, in the mean

time, let me at once and forever close the main subject between us. I have
already said that I would no longer profess to misunderstand the motives with
which you pursue me so constantly. Now, let me undeceive you: If you
can establish all that you say, if you can fortify your own honor, so that it
will be entirely free, even from suspicion, if you can make out Mr. Hall the
swindler that you say you believe him to be, it can make no alteration in my
feelings towards yourself. We can never be more towards each other than
we are at this moment!”

“Time may work wonders, Miss Evylin, as it has done before; are you
willing to allow me the poor contingencies which it may produce.”

“I am not; because you have already satisfied me that you could not
calmly wait its developements, even if there was a possibility of any such
contingencies as you suppose—there is none. I tell you frankly, Mr. Lee,
that I would not marry you, if there was not another man in her Majesty's
Colony. Will you believe, now, that my purpose is fixed?”

“I am answered,”—taking his hat, and standing in the doorway—“I have
only to bid you now a long farewell. I trust, indeed, that you may fare well
in the hands into which you seem, by some strange and wayward destiny, to
have fallen. Should you see me, or hear of me prosecuting, virgorously to
punish the man whom you are so unwilling to give up, do me the justice,
at least, to believe that I am actuated by no motives of petty revenge against
yourself. Farewell—farewell!” Exit Mr. Lee.

“No, no, said Ellen, musingly, but bitterly, as she heard him slam the door,
no one could suspect the gentle, amiable, forgiving Mr. Lee, of harboring revenge
against any one. Thank God! my father is no way in his power!”
The old gentleman entered as his name passed her lips, having exchanged his
spatterdashes for black silk stockings and gold buckles, and all the other corresponding
articles of dress befitting his presence at the Levee, late as it was.
There was a mischevious smile upon his mouth, as his daughter threw her
arms about his neck, and burst into tears; her bitter and sarcastic mood already
gone. The father looked down upon her with untold stores of affection
beaming in his eye, but still that playful smile lingered, as he said, “So you
have given that proud boy his quietus at last! I am glad of it, my Ellen, glad
of it—indeed I am!”

“How did you know what happened, dear father?”

“Oh, I knew it from the way he slammed the door, if I had had no other
evidence, but your expression about his power over me, as I entered, would
have been enough without that.”

“Well then, go, dear father, and leave me to myself, while you pay your
respects to your friend the Governor.”

“And Ellen,” he called out, as she left the room, what report shall I make
to your young friends, they have doubtless missed Mr. Lee, from the saloon
and will know full well his whereabouts.”

She came back again, threw her arms round his neck, as she said, beseechingly,
“Make no report at all dear father, however much you might be amused
at Mr. Lee's pompous absurdities, you cannot exhibit him in a riduculous light
without involving me too—and I would like every thing connected with the
affair which has terminated to night, forgotten forever. Let Harry Lee be to
us, as if he had never been. I do not like to think of him, because I cannot
think well of him; and, for the sake of one, whose memory is dear to me, the
next thing is, not to think of him at all. Do impress this upon the dear, mischevious
girls at the Palace. I see the smile upon your face has already given
place to a tear, but let me kiss it away, and then a long adien to Mr. Harry
Lee. Good night, dear father, good night.”

“God bless you, my child!—God bless you!”—said the old man, as he drew
down his broad cocked hat over his eyes, and took his long ivory headed cane,
to trudge his way to the Palace.

3. CHAPTER III.
MEETING OF THE BURGESSES.

The great day at length arrived—that day, the events of which were to fulfil
the highest hopes of the chivalrous and enterprising Governor of Virginia,
or blast them forever. The Burgesses, at the previous session, had refused to
vote the necessary supplies; and should the present representatives be governed
by the same feelings and opinions, there was forever an end of the
great tramontane expedition. Very different means and exertions had been
used this year, however, from those which preceded the former election.
Though the Governor was not formed by nature so much for a politician as a
soldier, he was compelled to learn by experience. His frank and noble nature
was coerced to adopt those measures of policy and expediency — always
found inseparable from high political station. Governor Spotswood, soon
learned, like all others who have trod the devious ways of politics, that human
nature must be dealt with, by means suited to its grovelling propensities. Not
that we would insinuate, for a moment, that any improper or criminal influences
had been used to secure the election of his friends—far from it. Dearly
as he desired the fulfilment of that long thought of, and anxiously studied enterprise,
he would have sacrificed his highest hopes and aspirations, before he
would have stooped to any thing mean or unworthy to accomplish it. But he
had taken pains to have the counties actively canvassed; and had, in several
places, suggested the most proper persons to be run by his friends, while no
means were spared to diffuse correct information among the people. After
all those means had been used, however, the Governor was well aware, that
the fate of his darling hobby rested with some half dozen grave old planters
in whose hands was the balance of power. They were friends and followers
of Mr. Bird, the celebrated traveller and journalist, who was, at the time of
which we write, a member of council. The Governor had been closeted with
him half of the previous night, and, up to the meeting of the House of Burgesses,
had received no assurances calculated to ally his anxious fears. The
neutrals were known to be under the influence of Mr. Bird; and thus, as it
were, he held the fate of the whole expedition in his hands.

It was known that the Governor was to make a speech to the Assembly,
and, consequently, the town was thronged at an early hour. Even before
daylight, crowds were pouring into the city, insomuch that long before the
first meal, the taverns were full. The back streets and lanes in and around
the city presented the appearance of a great camp-meeting. Horses were
tied to the fences in continuous lines, wherever the eye could reach, while
Gloucester street, the Palace, Capitol, and Market Greens, were filled with a
dense crowd of men. Of course, not a tithe of these could squeeze within
the walls of the Capitol; but it mattered not, it was a great public day, and
the Governor was to make a speech, and it was sufficient that they were on
the ground. As characteristic of the times, let our readers just cast their
eyes over one of these groups collected round the tail of a cart, from which
was sold eatables and drinkables. The old planter, at the right extremity of
the semi-circle, with a pewter mug in his hand, has on a hat which was perhaps
cocked in London, but it now bears indubitable marks of having passed
through perils of flood and field, it is of a foxy red color, and the loops by
which it was held in shape being all gone, the brim is rolled up on each side,
so as to give it the shovel shape in front and rear. His coat is homespun,
and of a grey color, the flaps falling almost to his heels, and containing pockets
equal to a modern pair of saddle bags. His waistcoat is made of a web
with staring figures, as large as our curtain calico, and the pockets covering
the hip bones, where it is met by his inexpressibles, made of the same

materials as his coat, and terminating at the knee and fastened by huge
buckles; homespun stockings cover the remainder of his legs, and his shoes
are fastened with the same sort of buckles as those at the knee.

His wife stands next him, waiting for the pewter mug most patiently; on
her head is a fur hat, exactly such as the male sex wears in our day, with
less stiffening. It is kept on her head by a shawl tied over the top and under
her chin. Her dress is made of materials which bears a striking resemblance
to those of her husband's waistcoat—the same straggling large red figures.
The waist terminates just above the hips; and below, on each side, are
pockets to match those in her husband's coat tail. The other parties of the
group were dressed very much after the same general fashion, varying somewhat,
perhaps, with the taste of the wearer. At every corner and cross street,
such a group might be seen. It mattered little to those primitive tobacco
planters of the humbler sort, how eloquently the Governor might discourse
at the other end of the city—the tail of a gingerbread cart was their exchange,
tavern, and reading-room; there they received all the information
they ever acquired.

The next grade above them were seated round tables in the tavern, covered
with bottles and glasses, and there the same theme occupied their attention.
What strange ideas were then developed of that great country, which now
gives character to our land. They thought the mountains inaccessible, in the
first place; and even if crossed, that the French and the Mississippi were
both immediately beyond. We would like to stand near, with the reader,
and take down a few of their dialogues, but time presses—the Capitol bell
is ringing, and the crowd is in motion. Carriages filled with elegantly
dressed ladies are sweeping up the Capitol green in one direction, and, after
depositing their inmates, pouring out at the other in a continuous line. The
young bloods, on fine prancing steeds, are endeavoring to force their way
through the dense throng. The police officers are cracking the crowns of
the obstreperous lads, trying to force their way in; while the white teeth of a
grinning cuffee or two might be seen shining from every tree in the neighborhood,
staring with all their eyes, to see they knew not what.

At length the booming sound of a cannon announces that the Governor has
set out from the palace. Immediately the crowd breaks away to the right and
left, and soon a troop of cavalry passes through, and file to the right and left
on each side of the avenue; next, the body guard, and then the state coach,
with the Governor in full dress, attended by two of the council. There was
an expression of anxiety on his countenance as he entered the Capitol, which
he could but illy conceal; he was evidently laboring under apprehensions for
the fate of his cherished enterprise; at the same time, no doubt, reflecting
upon what he should say, in order to fire the enthusiasm of his auditors.

The members rose respectfully upon his entrance, and were gracefully
saluted by him in turn. He took the seat appropriated to him for a few
moments, a profound silence obtaining the while. He rested his head upon
his hand, as if he would still its tumultuous throbbing.

The house was packed as tight as it was possible, and at least one half the
member's seats given up to the ladies, their gay feathers and brilliant colors
contrasting strangely with the grave faces and dresses of the members.

The Governor rose and stepped forward a pace or two, and commenced
slowly and under some embarrassment. He related the history of the inception
of the undertaking—said that while carrying out the benevolent views
of Mr. Boyle, with regard to the Indian scholars in the college, he had been
induced to make the effort to accomplish a double purpose, i.e. he had taken
the Indian prisoners of the proper age to school, instead of to prison—that
some of them had been taken by the tributaries from beyond the mountains,
and it was from them that he had obtained his first information of that

glorious country. He said that he saw some of those then in the crowd, who
were willing and ready to testify, if the Burgesses desired to hear them. The
old veteran began to warm as he described the glories of the conquest, and
the beauty of that Eldorado, which his imagination constantly presented to
his mental vision. Most eloquently did he also present it to the minds of his
hearers. He gave a faithful and graphic detail of the then known geography
of the continent—passing rapidly from the Northern lakes to the Gulf of
Mexico. He declared that nearly every other colony had hitherto done more
toward the advancement of the great interests of civilization than Virginia,
and that it was peculiarly incumbent on her, the representative in America
of the intelligence, the religion, and the liberty of her father-land, to prosecute
what Smith and Raleigh had so nobly begun. When he arrived at the
military aspect of his subject, the old “war horse” was roused up, as if he
smelled the battle afar off. He fired up the ardor and enthusiasm of the most
lethargic by his historical and classic allusions, and wound up his address by
describing Virginia as holding in her hands the very key to all that rendered
the discoveries of Columbus available.

“If we are tamely to fold our hands,” said he, “and suffer this mighty
inheritance to pass from us, we may as well return at once to Old England.
If we are to be content with a sparse settlement along the seacoast, and
never make an effort to enlarge our boundaries, I have no hesitation in pronouncing
the whole scheme of British colonization in America nothing but a
splendid failure. France has already seized upon both ends of the cornucopia,
while we are penned up within the horn—too feeble or too inert to strike a
blow for our extrication. Shall it be said in after times, that the descendants
of the noble cavaliers and gentlemen who conquered and reclaimed this
country had become so degenerate as to suffer this great inheritance to pass
from us? Oh, never let it be said. Gird on your armor, Virginians, and follow
me at least to the mountain's brow. Take one glance over those hitherto
impregnable barriers, the great Apalachee, and I will show you a finer country
than that promised land which Moses beheld, but never reached. It may be
as my enemies predict, that I too must fall by the way side, but if it must be,
I trust that God will grant to me as to his servant of old, to view before I
depart, that land which my waking and sleeping fancies have so long held
before my, I trust, prophetic vision. I ardently desire to see before I die, the
western half of this great, glorious and gigantic picture. In the language of
our eloquent red brethren, I long to travel towards the setting sun, and behold
his golden rays as they reveal the beautiful savannas, and boundless prairies
and forest-crowned hills upon which the foot of an European has never yet
trod. Is there nothing in this idea to fire the ardor of my young friends
whom I see around me? Have they no desire to experience the sensations of
Columbus, when first he planted his foot upon the maiden soil? Follow me,
all ye who are desirous of new sensations—all ye who would live hereafter
in the pages of history, along side of Columbus and Americus—all ye who
would grow rich as well as famous—all ye who would carve out that which is
greater and better than a deathless name—the future scene of the grandest
enterprises yet in the womb of time and destiny. No military or scientific
eye can rest for one moment upon the map of Virginia which I hold in my
hand, without being struck with the fact, that such an achievement is immediately
within our grasp. Look at these noble rivers, forever pouring their
rich tributes into the bosom of our loved Chesapeake! shall it be said by our
children that their fathers were afraid to seize upon the fountains—the streams
and lands of which they already possessed? Does any planter purchase land,
the fountain-head of whose springs lies within his neighbors farm?—and shall
we, as a people, be less wise than any one of us would be individually? Shake
off the lethargy which oppresses you, and go with me to this great, this boundless

country—this future seat of empires. Cast your eyes forward into a
probable futurity, and behold the rich resources which your discoveries and
conquests may pour into the lap of our loved colony. Behold the rich
meadows, and meat farm houses, and the gilded spires as they point towards
heaven. Think of the thousands and millious of happy emigrants and their
descendants from the crowded marts of the old world for whom you will
have carved out homes.

“But there are broader and more profound bearings to this subject than even
these, grateful as they are to the philanthropist and christian. We have arrived
at a crisis, not only in the affairs of the colony, but of the world. No statesman,
no man of enlarged views can cast his eyes over the boundless field
which Providence has opened up to the irrepressible energies of our race,
without being impressed with the critical position in which we are placed.

“It is needless to disguise that, from this time forward, there is to be a
contest for supremacy on this continent, between the French and the English,
between the Protestant and Catholic religions. Thus far, the race has been
equal, or nearly so; now, however, Virginia holds in her hands the pass, the
key, the gates of the mightiest empire ever conceived of by the most towering
ambition. Is she to close this entrance of the world to the far West—
to suppress the energies of our race—to stifle the great onward enterprises,
upon the threshold of which we have barely entered. Rouse ye up, Virginians,
and sleep no longer at the portals of the world. It is not merely to
explore a few insignificant water-courses, and thread an unknown mountain
pass, that I would urge you, but it is to enter upon that grand inheritance
which Providence opens to our acceptance. Beyond the mountains,
spreads out the most wonderful country ever dreamed of by the most daring
imagination. I base this opinion, not alone upon the evidence of the
Indian hostages, but upon other and irrefragable testimony within our reach.
Compare the distance from the lakes to the Gulf of Mexico—examine the
mouths of the vast rivers pouring into that sea. Whence come they? Is it
consistent with the known geography of the world, and the philosophy of its
construction, to suppose that they burst suddenly from the ground? No, my
fellow-subjects, there is a vast unexplored region between us and the mouth
of the Mississippi, which it almost beggars the imagination to conceive of
So far from the poor hostages having exaggerated its wonders, I believe that
the half has not, and cannot be told—at least by them. Their poor bewildered
intellects become numbed and paralyzed, in the vain effort to grasp the outlines.
It requires the far-reaching eye of an intelligent and cultivated
mind, of a philosopher, a statesman, a philanthropist, a christian—in the
largest aceptation of the term—to comprehend these things. I trust there
are many such in this enlightened assembly. Certainly the interests of our
sovereign and country never required their presence more. Trusting that
your deliberations will redound to the honor and interests of both, as well as
to your own lasting reputation, I leave the subject with you, to make such
response as to you may seem wise and proper. The needful documents will
be furnished you in due time.”

After the Governor had retired, there was a considerable murmur of applause
and some stamping of feet and clapping of hands; more among the spectators,
however, than the Burgesses. With the common people, as distinguished
from the gentry, as we have before remarked, the proposed expedition was
extensively popular, but with the latter, especially with the elders among
them, it was not so much so.

The discussion of the response necessary to be made to the Governor's appeal,
and which was also a test of the fate of the bill for subsidies, which would
follow of course, was long and animated, and enchained the attention of the
crowded hall until a late hour of the night.

In this debate, Bernard Moore took a leading and distinguished part. Kate
slightly hung her head, and drew down her veil when she saw him rise, and
color to his ears and clear his throat, through the awkward exordium of his
maiden speech, but it was not a long while before her veil was thrown to one
side, and her ringlets parted from her face, which now responded to her lover's
eloquence, in the brightest glow of her enthusiastic and ardent temperament.
We know not if the young Burgess caught back any of his own fire, so beautifully
reflected; but he might have done so, and probably did. Certainly it
was a fair mirror in which to view the effects of his first effort. Her fine
eye sparkled most brilliantly, while the young orator descanted upon the glorious
achievement before them, and when he turned round and addressed himself
to the younger members, in particular, with a power and eloquence which
was natural to him; Kate's eye roamed over the face of each one thus appealed
to, with an anxious, enquiring solicitude for the fate of her father's
darling project.

Moore felt and spoke as if his own fate hung upon the success of the measure
before them. He had somehow or other, brought himself to consider his
own suit as connected with the expedition. He had so long, jestingly with
Carter, put it upon this footing, that he really began to think that there was
some sort of mysterious link between the two dissimilar affairs. No one
would have laughed more heartily at this than the Governor, could he have
divined the secret thoughts of the young Burgess, but they were confined entirely
to his own breast. And Kate, could she have penetrated those secret
thoughts, and felt that Bernard, while he appealed so feelingly to his fellow
representatives, was, at the same time, pleading his suit to her; what would
have been her feelings on the already exciting subject. But she was far too
disinterested for that, and too entirely absorbed in her father's interest in the
great scheme. She believed that his assistance was none the less effective on
that account. When he had concluded, there was a breathless silence for
many minutes—there was a “counting of noses”—and the Governor's friends
trembled for the result. The opposition, it is true, had already spent its force,
and no one seemed disposed again to take the floor in answer to Moore! But
then there was one member absent, who had been calculated upon certainly
to vote for, if not advocate the measure—namely, Henry Lee—he was most
unaccountably absent. The Governor's friends, as soon as it was discovered,
had sent messenger after messenger for him, but no where was he to be found.

The Governor was sitting in the General Court-room, surrounded by some
of his old friends, and members of his Council, and most anxiously canvassing
the probable state of the vote, when Moore hastily entered, and whispered
to him the disappearance of Lee. “Damn him,” said the old veteran, striking
his hand upon the table and speaking in an under tone, through his clenched
teeth, “If I had supposed that he could have deserted me at such a moment
as this, I might have saved a deal of expensive politeness. Send for him again
Moore!”

General Clayton, who was sitting near, and hearing Lee's name pronounced,
and suspecting the cause of the Governor's excitement, came up to the latter
and told him, that Lee had left town some time before, he believed, in pursuit
of some young man who had swindled him. The Governor and Moore
exchanged glances of mutual understanding and indignation; and the former,
exclaimed, rising, and with some vehemence, as he strode about the room,
“Go back, Bernard, and let the issue be tried—if it is destined to be disastrous
as at former trials, by Heaven, I will march without them and their aid; keep
up your spirits, my lad, I will as surely lead you over the mountains as the
sun shines, and that before the world is a month older.”

Moore did go back to his place, very much disheartened however, by the
untimely desertion of Lee, for he knew that the vote would be a very close

one, and a single aye might be of immense importance. Some stupid proser
was concluding as he returned. He walked round among his friends and
communicated the disheartening news. Several of the young men had determined
to speak against time, until Lee could be found; but the plan was now
useless, and they suffered the question to be taken. Respiration almost seemed
suspended during the short and exciting period. The audience rose to their feet,
and crowded round the Clerk's table so much, that the officers had to be called
in to preserve order. The votes were at length counted, and the Speaker
announced that there was a tie. So that had Lee been at his post, the victory
would have been gained by one vote. His absence was, however, not long
a subject of regret, for the speaker gave the casting vote in favor of the
measure. There was an instantaneous rush from all parts of the house for
the green in front of the Capitol; and when the eager throng without caught
the bright glow upon the faces of those who rushed out, and, even before the
result could be embodied in words—a loud and deafening shout of applause
made the welkin ring again—the boys and the soldiers about town, and all the
other idlers took up the peal and echoed it again with interest. All that day,
nothing but songs of the mountains were heard, and every popular ballad that
could be at all tortured into any thing having the slightest allusion to the subject
was sung. It was a great day, also, at the Barracks and the Taverns.
Such victories, from time immemorial, require to be moistened with plentiful
libations, as if Bacchus alone presided over the contest. Partizans of the same
school drink in congratulation; the victors offer the wine cup to the vanquished,
at once as a pledge of still enduring good will, at the same time, as a fitting
opportunity to meet again on the middle ground of the social board.

There was one, in that thronged assembly, however, who, though feeling as
deep an interest as any one in the vote just taken, quietly stole away, without
manifest exultation and really feeling the heart's heaviest oppression in the
midst of her friends' rejoicing.

Ellen Evylin sought her father's carriage alone, while every one else of
the Governor's party mingled in the scene of mutual congratulation. She
threw herself back in the carriage, and thought how Frank Lee would have
rejoiced to be present. These regrets were far from being selfish; she knew
that he would have pressed forward with the young chivalry of Virginia,
towards the high prize which was then firing the imaginations of all the youth
of the colony. She knew that it was an enterprise exactly suited to his
temperament and impetuous impulses; and she could not but regret that his
already disastrously spent energies had not been reserved for an occasion so
well calculated to develope them with advantage to himself and benefit to his
fellow creatures. She had so long interwoven every thought and feeling of her
own with his, that it was impossible for her to mingle in any such exciting
scenes as she had passed through, without placing him in her imagination
as one of the actors. This total absorption of the mind and affections towards
one beloved object for any great length of time, bears a striking resemblance,
and has not a little affinity to that one featured mania, so much better understood
since that time.

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE LAST MEETING.

The doors of the Palace, the next day, were thrown open to all the gentry
in the city of whatever party, and the Governor received the congratulations of
his friends with beaming eyes and outstretched hands. He was now indeed

the frank, hearty, joyous old soldier which he had been in former days. The
doubts and difficulties which had so long weighed down his spirits, no longer
clouded his brow, and his broad jokes and merry laughter were once more
heard within the Gubernatorial mansion. Indeed the horizon in every direction
seemed brightening to his vision. The ministry no longer interfered with his
operations—the faction in the council was silenced—public opinion gathered
strength and power from the victory in the house of Burgesses, and above all,
his son and heir, seemed now entirely relieved from the dominion of the monster
passion, which, as he supposed, had so long thrown that air of mystery and
reckless dejection about him.

John entered fully into his father's views, and was eager to plunge into the
bustle and business of preparation. There was, it is true, an impetus given
to his movements towards the opposite extreme, from his late sudden legarthy
and gloomy misanthropy, which an acute observer well versed in the human
heart would have distrusted, but his father was too much pleased with his
renovated spirits and new born energy, to criticise it closely.

This was the last day which he was to spend in the capital. It had been
determined, that he was to proceed at once to the fort at Germana, and there
take command of several companies of Rangers, which the Governor had
ordered to concentrate at that point, and from thence, he was to join his father
on the march.

As he walked out of the Palace gate, and up the avenue toward Gloucester
street, he had not proceeded many rods before his steps were arrested by an
object directly in his path, It was star light, and he could not see distinctly
who it was, and made an effort to pass to the right or left, but still he found
the same object in his way. He brought his face close up to the person thus
way-laying him, and now discovered that it was Wingina wrapped up in her
brother's cloak.

“What, Wingina!” exclaimed he, in a suppressed voice, but hoarse, from
excitement, “Do you dog my footsteps? Do you watch me to my father's
home. Am I secure from your persecutions nowhere?”

“Oh, Capt. Spotswood! you are very unjust, very cruel. I heard you were
going to set out to-night to my own country, and I come to beg you, for God's
sake to take me along. I cannot much longer conceal my dreadful secret.
Before you get back, it will be not only discovered but I shall be killed; my
brother strongly suspects it now.”

“But, Wingina, Chunoluskee goes with my father as his guide, and, before
he returns, in all probability, your troubles will be over.”

“Alas! they will indeed be over; but my life will pass away with them.”

“What an inconsistent creature you are, Wingina; but lately, you professed
to be willing to court death, and now you whine over its possible occurrence,
like some sick child!”

“It is a very different thing to court it, when the resolution is worked up to
it, and to be in continual dread of it from an angry brother of whom one has
lived in constant dread, and always under his constant authority. You know
how arbitrary it is among our race; the male over the female.”

“Why, he always appears mild and gentle to me, Wingina?”

“Aye, and so does the fiercest warrior of our tribe when mingling with
your race, but in the wigwam it is different. An Indian girl should never be
enlightened at all, unless she is to be permanently removed from the tyranny
of the wigwam. It was a thorough knowledge of this, which made me fall
so easy a prey to—I will not say to you, but my love for you;” and she laid
her hand gently upon his arm, and looked up in his face, as if she would fain
discover by the doubtful light, whether his mood towards her was softe ned.

“Hush, Wingina; saw you not a tall shadow pass from behind the trees
towards Gloucester street?”

The Indian girl wheeled her head suddenly in that direction, at the same
time clinging with both hands to the young officer's arm, as she exclaimed: “It
is! it is my brother! Oh, John, I am now lost indeed, unless you save me.
I will never return in life to my brother's house.”

Spotswood took her arm and hurried her along through the shadows of the
trees and across the common, until he arrived at the brick wall of the grave
yard, and following this—still keeping close within its protecting shadow, they
were soon within its enclosure, and seated upon a low tomb stone.

“Now tell me Wingina—and think and speak quick, for I have not a moment
to lose, whether you can ride on horseback?”

“Oh yes, indeed.”

“And if I procure you a suit of boy's clothes, will you wear them and pass
for my servant if I take you with me, until I can find some of your people.”

At first she hung her head, as if pressed down with hopeless dejection.
Spotswood mistook her feelings and supposed that maidenly delicacy prevented
her from at once acceding to the plan, but her thoughts were running upon
a very different point of the discussion as her next question will show. “And
should we happen to meet some of our people, will you go with me and be a
great chief among them,as your father is here?”

“Poh, poh, Wingina, I thought you had given up all that nonsense long
ago. How can I go with you, when I am to lead part of this army over the
mountains? Come decide quick about my plan, I am to set out for Germana
to night, and if you agree to my plan, I will take you at once to an acquaintance
of mine in the suburbs, to wait while I procure the dress and order
round the horses.”

“I have no choice left, Capt. Spotswood, I am compelled to go with you, I
dare not present myself before my brother again.”

They were soon hurrying through the cross streets of the capital until they,
came to a small shanty occupied by an old negro woman. There they entered
and John taking the crone to one side, made her understand that she was to observe
secrecy about what they were goining to do, and that she was to cut
off the girl's hair and assist her to put on the clothes which he would bring, so
as to have her ready by the time he came with the horses.

In about half an hour he returned and handed in a bundle to the old woman
at the door, and again hurried off.

The negro assisted, as she had been ordered, at the strange toilet of Wingina,
the first step of which was to cut off her long black hair. When it was completed,
it would have been difficult to find in the colony a neater and trimmer
little page than she presented. John scarcely knew her himself, when he
alighted to see that all was ready, so complete had been the metamorphosis.
Still he fould her dress not complete, for she had resisted all the old negro's entreaties
to exchange her moccasins for a pair of boots. John soon convinced
her that, all the other changes were useless, unless she completed it by the
change proposed; that her Indian moccasins were the most dangerous mark
she could wear about her. At length she complied, but with great reluctance,
for she had been partly ruined by flattery addressed to her diminutive foot,
and her prettily ornamented moccasins. John understood well what was passing
in her mind, and he could not avoid cursing himself, that he had undone
such a mere child of nature. The fact was, all his reflections and observations
upon her character and peculiarities came too late. A lustful imagination
had blinded him to every thing but her personal attractions. These attractions
were still the same, yet how powerless now.

We must leave them to pursue their midnight journey, while we turn our
attention to the main thread of our narrative.

5. CHAPTER V.
A FRONTIER SETTLEMENT.

Some three day's journey from Williamsburg, there stood a settlement
which would puzzle an European traveller of our day to tell what it was.
It was neither house, barn, stable nor fort—but a compound of the whole, or
rather of many of them. It was called in the language of the country, “a
block house.” There was a strong picket fence running round an open
area, and round the inside of these, built in with the fort, were various houses
or shantees—some one story and some two; the latter having loop holes to
shoot through, and commanding the approach to that side of the pallisade.
Out side again, were some twenty straggling huts or cabins, which were all
occupied in day time, but closed at night, for the owners slept within the fort.

This was not the great frontier station, Germana, to which more than one
of our characters are now wending their way, but had originally been a
trading station for similar purposes. It was now a sort of half way house, a
convenient protection for travellers as well as the small planters and traders
around.

It was about dusk several days after the one alluded to in the last chapter,
when a traveller on foot with a bundle of clothes tied up in a handkerchief
and thrown over a stick which he carried upon his shoulder, arrived at the
settlement. He was weary and wayworn and his shoes covered with the
dust of the road. About his face there was a settled dejection, at the same
time a winning grace which would have commanded the sympathy of any
one not hardened by constantly rubbing against a cold and unfeeling world.
The women and children around the block house were driving in their cows
and sheep and poultry, for at night the open area was a sort of stock pen.
Hall, for it was none other than the late Tutor, took his bundle in his hand
and rested upon his cane, watching listlessly the while, the proceedings of
the women and children in their rural occupations.

“You need'nt wait for an invitation,” said one of the women—“the block
house is free to all travellers—the only thing is to get something to eat when
you are in there.”

“And will you not furnish me, my good woman, either for love or money?”

“Faith and with that bonny face of yours you may well ask, but I doubt you
have been a wild blade in your day, from that same cut across your cheek.”

“That, my good woman, was got in no private brawl.”

“It matters not to me if it was, you shall have your supper all the same.”

Hall was soon seated near one corner of a log fire, with his plate of
smoking viands on one end of a rude bench and himself on the other. From
the rapidity of his operations he was neither dainty nor fastidious in his appetite,
and what was still less romantic, he was very soon after leaning with his
head against the logs, and snoring away at a great rate. He had not long
been thus occupied, before a loud noise at the entrance announced other
arrivals, bearing which, he rose and lifted the rude seat upon which he had
been reclining to the farthest and darkest corner of the room, and again
seated himself, wrapped up in his cloak, that he might examine unobserved
the new comers. The same woman soon after entered, ushering in Capt.
Spotswood and the young Indian, followed by his servant bearing his portmanteau.
Every one about the place was soon afoot when it was ascertained that
the son of the Governor was within the block, and he consequently found no
difficulty in obtaining such accommodations as the place afforded. He walked
round the enclosure and examined into the condition of the place. He found
the lowest state of discipline prevailing, and since the erection of the fort at

Germana, and the general peace with the Indians, that all precautionary
measures had been abandoned, and the place literally turned into a fold for
cattle, rather than a military post. One of the primary Indian schools was
also kept at this place, and this also he found in the most languishing condition.
For an hour he was engaged examining the orderly who had charge of
the establishment, and the master who had charge of the school, together
with such Rangers as were left, their horses, equipments, &c., in order to
ascertain if he could press any of them into the service of the expedition.
The horses he found to consist of some dozen wretched skeletons, which he
declared the ravens were only prevented from carrying off by their poverty.
The arms were very little better; the holsters of one soldier carried a single
pistol without a flint—another presented his sword rusty and without scabbard
or belt, and so on. John swore, that Falstaff's company were veteran soldiers
compared to this remnant of the Rangers of the district. While he was
laughing alternately over the ridiculous figure which they cut, and cursing
the orderly by whose neglect such a state of things had been brought about,
a gentleman and his servant rode into the enclosure, without let or hindrance.
“Ah, Lee,” said John as he recognized that young gentleman, as he came
full under the reflection of the pine torches which one of the wiry haired
urchins of the forest bore—“just from the capital?”

“No Captain Spotswood, I left the city several days ago, and come now
from another direction, but what have you here, is it possible your are marching
toward the frontier with such a troop as this!”

“Oh, no, not so bad as that either”—and he laughed immoderately at the
idea—“I was only inspecting the condition of the garrison, to see how many
troops I could muster into my father's tramontane army. You see he has litle
dependence in this quarter—ten equestrian skeletons—twelve Rangers, with
ragged uniforms—one stupid orderly, (or disorderly,)—five rusty sabres—three
pistol barrels—and saddles which it would puzzle a philosopher to tell which
would win the victory—they, by cutting the horses in two, or the horses by
cutting them in two. If the enemies of the expedition could only have
paraded this troop upon the Capitol green, while the subject was under
discussion, they would have turned the whole thing into ridicule.” Here
both the young gentlemen and even the soldiers and servants went off into a
merry fit of laughter, in the midst of which the torch light review was
adjourned, and the two young gentlemen retired to the same room into which
we have already introduced previous arrivals. John cast a hasty glance round
the apartment, in order to whisper a few words into the ear of his page, but
it was entirely empty, with the exception of Lee and himself. He saw that
the sleeping traveller had vanished as well as the person whom he sought,
but the circumstance made no impression, and he remarked not upon it—
apparently satisfied that his young protegee had discretion enough to keep out
of sight of those by whom they were known.

Hall had quietly withdrawn, upon perceiving through the logs of the hut,
the new additions to the party. He remained in the shadow of one of the
buildings, until he saw the two young men fairly seated at their rude supper,
and then without any guide or conductor, entered what appeared to be one of
the most remote and retired buildings of the establishment, and threw himself
down upon some straw already spread upon the floor, and worn out with
fatigue and exhaustion of mind and body, fell into one of those profound slumbers
which only those know who inure their bodies to labor and fatigue.
Rude as his couch was, he had accidentally stumbled into the best chamber in
the establishment, and that one appropriated as the sleeping apartment of the
stranger and wayfarer. One by one the other travellers found their way into
the same apartment. Each one as he entered rolled his cloak about him and
threw himself upon the straw without inquiry as to his bedfellows. Few even

of the gentry at the time of which we write, but had roughed it, after a
similar fashion, whenever business or pleasure led them toward the frontier,
and though this was by no means on the extreme borders of civilization, yet
the settlements were becoming few and far between, and even these were
mostly upon the low lands of the rivers. Upon nearly every public road,
there was to he found at convenient distances, these military posts, and the
traveller through the wilderness did not inquire in the morning before setting
out, how many miles to such a tavern, but if it is possible to arrive at such
and such a block house before night. His provisions for the noon meal, and
often for the day and night, he carried with him.

After all the male portion of our travellers were snugly stowed away upon
their straw pallets, and more than one of them giving loud evidence of the
sincerity with which they worshipped at the shrine of the drowsy God—
Wingina, with the stealthy tread of a cat, entered the same apartment.
Spotswood had secretly sought a few words with her ere he retired to rest, and
positively ordered the arrangements differently, and the poor, care-worn creature
had indeed endeavored to find repose elsewhere, but an undefinable dread of
coming evil, which her superstitious nature could neither withstand nor resist,
prevented her from sleeping so far away from the only protector which she
had in this world, and she surreptitiously entered as we have seen. She
paused at the threshold, to listen to the deep breathing and loud snoring of the
sleepers to assure herself that they all slept ere she laid herself down to follow
their example. A blanket nailed across the entrance, supplied the place of a
a door, and neither sentry nor guard was stationed there, or at the great
entrance of the block-house, though she had heard Capt. Spotswood positively
order the sergeant, that a corporal's guard should do alternate duty at the
gate. She had gone the rounds herself, and if any sentry pretended to guard
the great entrance, he slept too soundly to be disturbed by her light tread.
She walked among the sleepers and stooped to examine their countenances
by the star light, until she could find the one she sought.

The first one she examined was Hall, and she gazed upon his face and
hastily withdrew to the one who slept next—it was the one she sought. Long
and earnestly she gazed upon the sleeping countenance of him she loved, by
the doubtful light afforded. She crouched down beside him, and watched
over his slumbers for some time, occasionally, however, her eye roaming over
the other sleepers. Becoming accustomed to the darkness of the place, she
soon discovered the various positions of the parties. Lee slept on the other
side of Spotswood, from that occupied by Hall, but at a greater distance; and
further still, towards the door, lay the two servants. Folding a cloak about her
person, which Spotswood had furnished her for the purpose, she laid herself
down immediately across the door way so that should she even fall asleep, she
might be the first aroused by any one moving, and thus escape before it was
clearly daylight. She, too, was worn out by the fatigues of the long and
weary days' journey and though for a while wakeful with her foreboding fancies,
nature, or rather matter, obtained the mastery over mind, and she slept as
sound as the rest.

6. CHAPTER VI.
A DARK DEED.

An hour before day-light next morning, Hall rose from his straw couch and
bundling up his small stock of clothes, and taking his staff in hand, carefully
stole out of the room which he now, to his surprise, discovered, was occupied

by other sleepers. It was yet very dark, and a drizzling rain was falling as
he walked abroad into the wild dark forest. He took the road toward Germana,
and travelled along with cheerfulness and alacrity, rejoiced to think
how fortunate he had been to escape the observation of his pursuer, for he
doubted not, that Henry Lee was seeking him for some purpose or other.

The circumstances of a young man must be unfortunate indeed, and the
weather far more unpropitious than that described, if exercise in the early
morning does not produce a bright rebound of the spirits. Hall experienced
bright and glowing sensations, as he trudged along the muddy road; having
left his enemies far behind, as he supposed, and anticipating great pleasure in
once more beholding his friends of the voyage and the masking adventure, and,
above all, he pictured to himself, that calm and delightful repose which he
thought must surely be found in a settlement so far removed from the scenes
of trade, and politics, and intrigue, which he was so rapidly casting behind
him. “There,” said he, “I will live, in the profound solitudes of nature,
where the turbulent passions of men come not to disturb me—where I may
hope to escape from the storm which has so long tossed me about at its pleasure.
There the consequences of the one great error of my life cannot pursue
me—there nature in her primitive simplicity and purity reigns forever; beneath
my humble log cabin I may sit and smoke my pipe in peace, until these lowering
clouds have passed away. But while we leave him to pursue his
onward way through the forest, as well as the train of reflections upon which
he struck, we will glance at the block-house once more, which he had just left.

About day-light a shrill scream was heard from the sleeping room alluded
to, which roused every inmate within the stockade, even to the drowsy sontinel
at the gate.

It was a prolonged and agonized scream, such as is never heard except
on occasions of mortal extremity. How quickly the ear detects these heralds
of death or disaster. Instantly the shantees and cabins were seen to pour
out their tenants as if roused by one simultaneous impulse, all rushing toward
the place from whence the sound issued.

Some fifteen or twenty persons in all, were assembled, crowding thickly round
some object which lay upon the floor. Among the others stood Harry Lee,
gesticulating wildly, and his eye dilated with horror and astonishment.
Immediately in the centre of the group lay the body of John Spotswood,
wrapped up in the same cloak which he had borrowed from Lee the night
before (having lent his own to Wingina) and perfectly dead. He had been
killed by a single blow of a dagger driven through his heart, and sent with
such force that the long formidable weapon (worn in those days by Indian
fighters,) had actually penetrated the floor and pinioned him to the puncheons
beneath. As if the attrocity of the deed was not sufficient, an attempt had been
made to mutilate his person by a circular incision upon his crown.[2]

Lee immediately ordered a guard posted at the entrance of the fort, and that,
no one should be permitted to escape until he had investigated the matter,
about which he immediately set to work. He found that the room had been
occupied by two sleepers who had already escaped, and the woman had proceeded
no farther in her description of the one who had lain next to the deceased,
than the whiskers and the big scar, before Lee called to the orderly and
commanded him to divide his corps into two bodies, and pursue the fugitive
until he should find him, and bring him back, dead or alive.

The other absentee was described as a small Indian boy, and as having come
with the deceased officer himself. Lee was sorely puzzled to imagine who
this could be, and Spotswood's servant could give him no information, except

that he had been picked up in the capital, just before they had set out, and that
he had ridden with his master more as a companion than a servant. The
woman who had received the travellers on the previous evening, and from whose
throat the scream had issued, stated that the boy had slept in another apartment,
by Capt. Spotswood's own orders, while one of the servants declared that he
had seen him lying across the door-way of that very room, during the night.
The instrument with which the deed had been committed, was a silver mounted
two edged dagger, highly ornamented, which several recollected, and Lee
himself knew to have been worn by the deceased himself.

From this circumstance, some of those present were disposed to believe
that the deceased had committed the rash act upon his own person, but this
surmise was put entirely at rest, by the gash upon the head, as well as several
distinct finger marks upon the throat, showing that whoever had perpetrated
it; had held his victim by a powerful grasp, to prevent noise while the
blow was inflicted.

Hall had deviated from the great military road to take a near cut by an
Indian path, and thus his pursuers passed him. About ten o'clock in the
morning he again emerged into the great thoroughfare, (if two wagon ruts
through a pine forest could be called such) and was seated, with his bundle
open before him, and helping himself to some cold provisions with which he
was provided. He ate with great relish and a fine appetite, and seemed to be
disturbed by naught under the sun. The drizzling clouds had blown away,
and he looked forward to a cheerful and happy day, amidst the almost unexplored
beauties of nature; in one of her wildest and grandest phases. His
spirit was buoyant with the idea that at last he had cast off the cares of
civilized life and above all, that he had broken loose from those entangling
meshes, either of designing men, or fortuitous circumstances, under which
he had so long suffered. There was a shade of sadness over his face it is
true, it could hardly be otherwise with one who had so lately and so severely
suffered—he was more cheerful, however, than at any former period when
presented to the reader. He rejoiced in the anticipation of soon enjoying the
society of two persons who were now situated so much like himself—Mr.
Elliot and his charming daughter. He recollected well the wiser determination
of the old gentleman, when they last parted, to abandon at once the crowded
thoroughfares of life, and the arguments they had held upon the subject, and
he now freely confessed, that the elder was the wiser man of the two. But
he had objects to accomplish in daring the frowns of that society, which he
had offended, and many of those objects he had more than accomplished,
while on the other hand his adventure had resulted more disastrously, in some
respects, than he could have anticipated. One subject gave him poignant
regret; it was the difficulty of his now accompanying the tramontane expedition.
His heart had been fixed upon the Governor's grand scheme, and he
had forseen that it would be an admirable offset, could he distinguish himself
in that enterprise, for the real offence which he had committed against society.

Alas, he little imagined that he was soon about to be brought to the bar of
justice, for the commission of a crime far more heinous than any with which
he had yet been charged. With all his previous sufferings, he was not fully
aware of those strange and mysterious links which observing men have discovered
in the chain of successive misfortunes, insomuch that no adage is
of more common use than that “misfortunes never come single-handed.” It
is a most inexplicable law of Providence. There is such a crisis of greater
or less magnitude in the life of every man. Doubtless, to brave and noble
spirits, these storms are tempered with more severity than those decreed to
the “shorn lamb.” One thing is certain, that no one ever attains to preeminence
in this world, without having passed through this terrible gauntlet.
Tamer spirits shrink from them, or succumb at once, while the more daring

and heroic natures bare their hearts to the storm, and manfully buffet them to
the last.

Hall was still seated at his rude and homely breakfast, when he heard the
distant tramp of horses. His eye was first directed down the road towards the
stockade which he had left in the morning, seeing nothing in that direction
but the long and monotonous road, he turned his eyes to the other end, and
soon perceived five or six horsemen galloping towards him. His mind was
relieved at once on perceiving that they belonged to his own race, for he had
been for a few moments painfully reflecting how defenceless was his condition,
should the new comers prove to be Indians with any hostile intent.

The whole guard immediately dismounted and proceeded deliberately to
tie their horses to each other, while the sergeant walked up and tapping him
upon the shoulder, pronounced him his prisoner. When informed of the death
of Capt. Spotswood, and that he was charged with the murder, he was awestruck.
A clap of thunder and a bolt falling at his feet from a cloudless sky,
could not have more truly astonished him; but when informed farther, by the
sergeant, that his face was even then sprinkled with the blood of his victim,
his whole frame trembled like an aspen, under a superstitious dread of that
unseen power which seemed so relentlessly to pursue him.

7. CHAPTER VII.
RETURN TO THE CAPITAL.

Hall was mounted upon one of the trooper's horses, and conveyed back to
the stockade. When brought into the room where the diabolical deed had
been perpetrated, no one could express more horror and astonishment than
the prisoner. Up to that moment a sort of stupefaction had seized upon his
faculties—he scarcely seemed to believe that the murder had actually been
committed, or if he did, could not fully realize the fact in all its dreadful particulars,
until he saw them with his own eyes; much less could he realize the
position in which he stood, and those circumstances tending to induce the
belief that he had done it. When he heard the evidence detailed, he was
scarcely surprised that others suspected him, for he would have suspected
another under similar circumstances. It made him almost superstitious, when
his faculties were sufficiently relieved from the astounding blow to contemplate
it, that any one could be placed in such a situation. If he had been
disposed to fatalism, here was ample materials to fortify his philosophy, but we
have seen already how he scouted the tempter under circumstances much less
urgent. So overpowering was the first weight of the blow, that the fact of
Henry Lee, his chief enemy, appearing as his accuser, witness, and judge,
for the time being, scarcely attracted his attention. All these minor affairs
were swallowed up in the astounding fact, that he must appear to the world as
a murderer. Then there came over him the recollection of all the late
disasters from which he had just escaped, but which now, when once brought
back before they were cleared up, would appear as so many corroborating
circumstances. When asked by Lee to explain the position in which he
found himself, he sank into a seat and covered his face with his hands. He
was bewildered and confounded. To the spectators, this looked exactly as
they supposed he might; it had a very natural appearance for a murderer,
who, if not detected in the very act, was apprehended with the blood of his
victim still upon his hands. At length, however, he rallied, and made an effort
to tell all that had happened within his knowledge during the previous night.

He stated that he had sought the room in which he slept for the purpose of
privacy, and that so far from seeking to have any thing to do with the other
travellers, that he had particularly designed to avoid them by going there—
that he was entirely unaware that the room was occupied at a later period of
the night by others, until he awakened about an hour before the break of day—
that as soon as he discovered it, he stepped lightly over the sleepers as he
supposed them to be, and pursued his journey straightway. He professed to
know nothing of the other traveller who was missing—the young Indian—
that he had neither seen him during the night, nor in the morning. He heard
no noise in the night, and was, he said, entirely unconscious how the blood
came upon his face—that he was as much shocked and surprised to find it
there as any one, and was wholly unable to explain it. He called the attention
of those around him, however, to the fact, that his cloak, in which he
slept, was also stained with blood, which he had discovered since his arrest—
that it was impossible for him to have committed the murder, wrapped up as
ho was—that the stains upon the garment corresponded exactly with the position
which he had described as the one in which he slept—and that his hands
and not his face would have been stained—his other garments, and not his
cloak, had he been the murderer. He stated, also, that there was no ill will
between him and Capt. Spotswood—that the last interview between them had
been of a friendly nature, and that he had actually left Temple Farm on the
Captain's business.

The whole of this statement, and much more which we have omitted, was
written down at the time by Henry Lee, and signed by the prisoner; after
which, he was secured on horseback—the corpse put into a cart, and with a
guard of half dozen troopers, set out upon their return to the capital.

It is much easier to conceive than describe the sensations of Hall, as he thus
began to realize the fact that he was a prisoner once more, and for an ignominious
offence.

At first, his whole nature shrunk from the disgrace and exposure, and he
thought that he never could or would survive its publicity. He could not help
contrasting his present situation—riding between two troopers and tied upon his
horse, like a petty larceny thief—with his youthful days, when he had travelled
surrounded by those willing and anxious to minister to his slightest wish.
He thought, too, of his late bold promises to himself, while in jail, and how
brave then he thought his spirit. “But merciful heaven, who could have
conceived that I should ever be brought to this!” and with this inward exclamation,
he wrung his manacled hands, and the scalding tears ran down his
manly cheeks. But this melting mood did not last long—the mind under the
heaviest depression rebounds exactly in proportion to that depression, just as
the spring of a piece of machinery when bent with great force in one direction
flies back in the opposite direction with a corresponding force. For a
while his heart sunk down and down, until there was a blackness over all
the landscape—the sun itself seemed to shine unnaturally—though it had
cleared off beautifully since the morning. The ribald jests of the vulgar men
at his side sounded ill-timed. It seemed to him as if the world itself was
coming to an end, and talking of the things of to-morrow, the greatest absurdity
imaginable. There are few people in this world of sorrow and trouble,
who have not experienced more or less of this feeling, just as they happen to
be endowed with much or little sensibility, and to be tried with heavy or light
afflictions.

Black and dreary would be the colors of the landscape in such a case, did
not the tender and gentle emotions of the heart glide in to soften it. Hall
was speedily approaching a point of recklessness and desperation, which
would but poorly have prepared him to fulfil the high and heroic resolves of
his prison chamber, until his memory began to wander back along the bright

and glowing path of his youthful days. Then it was that the tears burst
forth—and they were succeeded by a calm repose and a high settled purpose
of endurance and perseverance to the end. He thought that the wheel of
fortune—to speak in the language of the world—was now down to its nadir,
and must needs soon commence its revolution towards the zenith.

He had ample time to summon up his courage and his energies, for they
were nearly three days in making their way back to the capital—very little
faster than Hall had walked the same distance.

It is impossible to describe the consternation produced in the city by the
news that Hall had murdered the son of the Governor. How it got there no
one knew, but such news always seems to be borne ahead by some winged
messenger. We have known rumors of such facts outstrip any possible
carthly conveyance.

The cart conveying the corpse was surrounded by hundreds before it
entered even the suburbs of the city, and Hall found himself a spectacle for
idle boys and negroes to gaze at, even before he had entered the scene where
he had expected it. For this abject humiliation, he was wholly unprepared.
He could have raet the scorn of gentlemen with scorn, but against the jeers
and ribaldry of the mob he had nothing to oppose—he was wholly defenceless.
Public opinion was fast gathering head against him—eager gossips picked
up the horrid details from the soldiers and negroes who accompanied the
corpse, as the more respectable persons drawn thither by the crowd caught a
few brief words and an ominous shake of the head or two from Harry Lee.
While the cart containing the body rested in the public square, Lee rode on
to the Palace, to communicate the heart-rending news. The scene which
there preseuted itself beggars description—the news had preceded him, and
the ladies of the mansion were already frantic with grief. His ears were
saluted with the wild shrieks of despair, and the Governor was locked up in
his room and would not see even him. He sent him a message to take the
prisoner before a magistrate, and have him examined.

This was done accordingly, and the same evidence detailed which we have
already condensed. Not the slightest hesitation was manifested by the
magistrate in making out Hall's commitment, for there appeared no redeeming
circumstances whatever, save those thrown into his former statement, which
of course passed for nothing, at the present stage of the proceedings.

The unfortunate, or the guilty young man, as the case might be, was loaded
with irons, and deposited in the same prison which he had left but a few days
before. Very few persons ventured to question his guilt—indeed, the general
opinion settled down at once, that Hall had killed young Spotswood, in mistake
for Harry Lee; there was very little room for surmise in the matter—there
was no one else to suspect—no one else upon whom suspicion could fasten.

There were some mysterious and unexplained circumstances attending the
dreadful deed, as there generally is attending all murders, such as the presence
of the Indian boy. Public ingenuity was at fault in fastening upon any one
whom the description would suit, and that feature of the tragedy was soon
overlooked or forgotten in the absorbing horror of the plain, straight forward
matters of fact. The previous circumstances connected with the history of
the prisoner—such as his reputed change of name—obtaining money under
false pretences, with a hundred other things which he had never done—soon
accumulated into such a torrent of public indignation, that his personal safety
might have been endangered in a large and more populous city. In a few days,
however, this all settled down into the undoubted conviction, that John Spotswood,
the son of the Governor of Virginia, had been murdered by a young
man named Hall, who had found his way into the Governor's family as private
tutor.

8. CHAPTER VIII.
VISIT TO THE PRISONER.

There was one strange circumstance almost contemporary with the murder,
which ingenious minds endeavored to connect in some way with that
mysterious affair. Three nights before the deed was perpetrated, every
Indian pupil in the college absconded, and had not since been heard of. The
interpreter, his mother and sister, were also missing. If the desertion from
the College had taken place a few days earlier, so that any of them could
have arrived at the half way station, then the presence of the mysterious boy
might have been accounted for, but all the testimony tended to prove that
Spotswood himself had conveyed the boy there, and it was clearly impoesible
that any one of “Mr. Boyle's disciples,” (as they were called,) could have
reached there on the very night of leaving the city. As the public mind
became calmer, all these things were discussed, without however elucidating
the dark deed much more than the first investigation had done.

Same few persons maintained Hall's innocence, even under present adverse
circumstances, and notwithstanding the cloud of witnesses who were ready
to appear against him. Among the most staunch and active of these, was
old Doctor Evylin, who busied himself in his behalf, by setting about a private
investigation into the mysterious circumstances attending the murder—those
that as yet had no light thrown upon them from the first moment of the
occurrence. Such as the affair of the Indian boy—and the disappearance of
the pupils from the College. The sagacious old man knew that if these two
circumstances could be unravelled in all their bearings, that much light
would be thrown upon the dark transaction, but all his inquiries were fruitless,
Spotswood had taken such precautions, when he left the city, that it was
impossible to trace the place from whence he had procured the boy, and all
the preparations of the Indian pupils had been conducted with such secrecy,
that not a trace of them could be obtained, nor could any cause be imagined
for their sudden departure. There had been no very recent outbreak between
the two races in College, indeed there had been for the few days preceding
their departure, uncommon quiet and peace.

The Doctor had paid one visit to the prisoner in jail, in order to learn
something from which he might persue his investigations more understandingly,
but except the plain tale which he had already told he could say nothing.
The Doctor found him in rather a strange state of mind, for one of his intelligence,—he
seemed to think, that as he had been placed in his present unfortunate
position by the unforeseen concurrence of providential circumstances,
that his deliverance would come from the same quarter, and by means equally
startling and mysterious. The Doctor endeavored to reason him out of this
superstitious looking for of miracles, and to convince him, that the exertions
of himself and friends must be in proportion to the strength of the testimony
which would be brought against him; but it was to very little purpose, for up
to the termination of the interview, the prisoner maintained a state alternating
between mental stupor, and that wild dreamy hopefulness already described.
The old man left the prison, much affected and deeply pained for the condition
in which he found him, he in fact feared mental alineation. Nevertheless, he
went to work as industriously as ever, but with the same results as before.
He at length determined to try what a visit from his daughter would do in the
way of bringing the prisoner to a plain common sense view of his situation.
She had already been struggling in the same unpromising cause, but she was
now precluded from her usual resource, of consulting with Kate, as the family
at the mansion, were wrapt up in profound grief, and of course could not be

expected to take any part in the endeavor to exculpate the supposed anthor
of their afflictions. No one knew what their opinions were, as to his guilt or
innocence—indeed, as is usually the case, under such circumstances, they
thought very little about the perpetrator of the deed; their thoughts were
wholly absorbed by the death of one so near and dear to them, and it mattered
little how the sad event had been brought about. The funeral was just over,
and they were not visible to any body, except Ellen—she was like one of the
family, but of course Hall's name was now one of those dread talismanic
words which brought all the horrid tragedy to view in revivified colors, not
because of any revengeful feelings towards him—profound grief is incapable
of revenge—but that the associations of his name alone were painful. Ellen
was thus, so far as female council was concerned, thrown upon her own
resources, and she naturally turned to her father, that dear confidential friend
from whom she concealed no secrets. She found him already actively engaged
in the business, and forthwith they united their councils. She was not so
ready to adopt the old gentleman's suggestion of a visit to the jail, as he had
expected, but when he described the alternate lethargic and wild moods into
which the prisoner was plunged, she consented at once.

It was after dark, and they found him sitting upon his wretched three legged
stool, and a small taper burning on the table, within reach of the chains which
hung down from his hands. His feet were free, and he could walk round a
semicircle of four or five feet. On the table was a bible open, and upon it his
eyes rested as they entered.

“Oh,” said the old Doctor, “I am glad to see you so much more profitably
employed than at my last visit; but see here I have brought you a visitor to
cheer a solitary hour.”

Ellen was leaning heavily upon her father's arm, her veil still drawn close
over her face. Hall made an inclination of the head, and rose and stepped
forward as if to seize her hand, but was jerked suddenly back by his chains, his
head fell immediately upon his chest, and the scalding tears stole down his
cheeks.

All reserve was gone from Ellen at this sight, and she threw back her veil
and her ringlets, and advanced and offered him both her hands. He seized
and held them for some time; when he raised his face again, it was almost
convulsed, so fearful was the working of his spirit, brought to a full consciousness
of his position by the presence of one who had once before, as it were,
brought him back to life and hope. At length he spoke—“Your presence
here, Miss Evylin, is an assurance to me, that at least, there is one of your
sex, who believes me innocent of the horrid crime laid to my charge.”

“Oh, Mr Hall, we have never for one moment supposed you capable of
crime, much less such an one as this.”

“Miss Evylin, I have tried to think, but I cannot. My faculties are benumbed
by the appalling severity of the blow. I have tried in vain to rally my
scattered thoughts, and reflect over my past life, to try and ascertain what I
have really done to deserve the affictions which have fallen in such quick
succession upon me.”

“The judgments of the Almighty are not always proportioned exactly to
our past offences, they have also reference to the future.”

“Ah, Miss Evylin, when the poor faculties of the mind are paralyzed as
mine have been, it is very difficult to discern nicely, the designs of the great
and mysterious power, which rules us. If my sufferings are indeed but the
chastening rod, administered in mercy and not in anger, it seems to me that the
punishment has been meeted out rather beyond my capacity.”

“It is only your sex,” replied Ellen quickly, “that runs into these nice hairsplitting
questions, ours seize upon the broad lines before us—we see, and see
quickly, that this is a world of suffering and not of pleasure—of probation and

not of enjoyment. Yours only finds that out in old age, but the heaviest
denunciations of the curse falling upon us, we are endowed with quicker
perceptions of the uses of this world.”

“If it is wholly a world of trial and not of enjoyment, as you say, it appears
to me as if there were studied deception about it.”

“You astonish me.”

“I say it in no irreverent spirit, I merely speak the honest impressiona of
my mind—your views are somewhat new to me, and I frankly present the
difficulties in the way.”

“I am impatient to hear them.”

“Look at the beauty of the natural world around us—the clear blue sky—
the pure air—the solemn and magnificent ocean—the towering mountains—
the majestic rivers—the beautiful meadows—the sweet landscapes, and then
dot them over with flocks and herds, and scatter here and there a few of man's
handy works—a ruinous tower, an old vine clad castle, around which the
memorles of the past may gather, and tell me if this beautiful, beautiful globe,
looks as if it had been made for the grand penitentiary of our race.”

“I do not perceive the point at which you aim.”

“It is the inconsistency between God's natural and moral governments.
If this is indeed but one great prison house for the purification of our race
from sin, why is it not clothed in the habiliments of the penitentiary?”

“Why, Mr Hall! would you have the heavens hung eternally in black,
our mountains dark precipices and beetling crags—our rivers driving torrents;
our beautiful landscapes nothing but dreary wilds, inhabited by howling
monsters? Why this would lead the thoughts down to hell, and not up to
heaven. Think of the first glories of the natural world upon your own heart,
give scope to your imagination and reinvest the pictures which you have just
drawn, and see and feel if they do not point to heaven and tell of God! All
the poetry of this life—the real poetry—is nothing more than the overpowering
aspirations after still brighter regions and sunnier skies, elicited by the
faint sketches which we catch here and there from these beauties which are
scattered around us for this very purpose. Poetry is the true language of
heaven, and not a breath of inspiration ever fed to man, but was drawn, if
not from God, at least from his glorious works.”

Hall forgot for the time his sorrows and his chains. He replied, “You
overpower my benumbed faculties with your delightful enthusiasm, but still
my reason is not wholly convinced. We know that deception is the result
of all the beauties of nature of which we have been speaking. Men bow
down before these bountiful works of God and forget the maker in that which
he has made. Does it not seem to our poor mortal vision, that it would have
been better, had the scene of our probation been less seductive?”

“Why what difference does it make whether the sufferings with which we
are surrounded are of a spiritual or a physical nature. Surely there is mercy
as well as wisdom in the present arrangement. If we are in a penitentiary,
as you call it, it is certainly mercy to us that our prison house is so beautiful,
and filled and surrounded with so many comforts. God does not wish to
punish but to purify us. Moreover, when our trials are mostly of a spiritnal
nature, it enables the great ruler of our destinies to measure out the chastisement
to the capacity of the creature. If all nature had been shrouded in
gloom and our physical necessities constantly kept on the stretch as the meana
of purifying us for a better state of existence, then all men must have been
afflicted alike, and the poor grovelling unintellectual creatures of our race
have suffered unnecessarily. As it is, only those who are highly endowed,
ever suffer the afflictions which surround you. You never saw a mere animal
man schooled and purified in this manner. There is no truer precept in
that holy book, than the one which says, `whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.”

Rest assnred, Sir, that you are reserved for some great purpose yet,
even in this world. I have suffered in the same school, and therefore I have
presumed to lecture you.”

“May God always send me such a teacher!”

The old physician meanwhile, slowly walked the narrow cell, and occasionally
as some remark of one or other of the speakers arrested his attention, he
leaned his hands upon his cane and his chin upon his hands, raising up his
benevolent visage between the speakers, with a beaming smile lightening up
the parchment like wrinkles. He was delighted to see how Ellen, with all a
woman's tact, succeeded in her errand, so much better than he had done.

“You see, Mr. Hall,” said the old man, “that we do not even entertain the
question of your guilt or innocence, we take it for granted that you are unfortunate
and not criminal, but, my dear Sir, you know enough of the world to
be aware that the public is not so easily satisfied, where appearances are
against a man. You must now look about you, and take the necessary steps
to make your innocence apparent; and, if possible, ferret out the real criminal.
Have you no suspicions of any one?”

“None in the world. I am as ignorant of the person who murdered Spotswood—the
manner of its accomplishment—and nearly all the attendant circumstances,
as your innocent daughter. I was so shocked and benumbed on the
morning of my arrest, that I scarcely noted the wretched details taken down
by Henry Lee; and since then I have had less opportunity than others to
learn anything of them.”

“Have you any suspicion that Lee himself did the deed?” and the old man
stopped and looked searchingly into his face, as he waited for his answer.

Hall mused a moment, and then replied, “No, no—he could not be guilty
of such a crime, he had no earthly motive. Had it been me, now, that was
killed, I am not so sure that he would not be liable to suspicion”—hastily
checking himself, he said, “but no, it is too bad, I must do even him the justice
to say, that he could not commit murder upon his enemy.”

Ellen's beaming eye rewarded him for his magnanimous admission, as she
said, “you are right, Mr. Lee, with all his faults, is no murderer; but think
you he will be as generous towards you on the day of trial?”

“I know not, nor does it matter much—luckily, neither my condemnation
nor deliverance will come from him. My reliance is upon the discovery of
the real criminal.”

“Well, Mr. Hall,” continued the Doctor, “if you can throw no light upon
the murder, at least you can relieve yourself from your doubtful position
before that time. I understand from your counsel whom I sent to you, that
all suspicious circumstances anterior to the date of the murder become now
of immense importance, and—”

Hall waved his hand impatiently—“No more! no more! my dear Sir. Had
this thing not happened, then indeed it might have become me to clear my
good name from reproach, and to tell you the truth. I only waited to hear from
the other side of the water to do so, but now I must begin the work of purification
at the bottom. If I am destined to die the death of a felon, it will
make very little difference in what light I stood previously. If, on the other
hand, it is the will of Providence to point out the real criminal, so that I may
stand forth before all men, free even from a shade of suspicion, then I will
indeed resume my station in society.”

He was much agitated while touching upon these delicate matters, and
walked the length of his chains like a chafed lien in his cage, and when he had
concluded, threw himself upon his rude seat, and buried his face in his hands.

The father and daughter seeing his deep distress, approached to take their
leave. He rose up, and taking both of Ellen's hands within his, shook them
with great feeling, and evidently struggling to maintain his composure, and
then wrung the old man's hand, without uttering a word.

As the two left the prison, the former said, “Did you ever see such a man
as that, in like circumstances before—such an one charged with a crime so
wholly foreign to his whole nature.”

“Ah, my Ellen, if you will look through the State Trials of our father-land,
you will find gentlemen and noblemen, whose whole lives gave the lie to the
charges brought against them, and guilty, too, and for which they suffered.
It is not that upon which I found my confidence of his innocence, it is the
absence of all motive.”

“But they say, he supposed it was Harry Lee, because poor John was
wrapped up in his cloak.”

“Aye, but did you hear him just now say, that he could not suspect Lee
of the deed, and would a man murder another of whose character he was thus
tender. No, no, my child, he neither committed it intentionally nor by mistake.”

Thus they discussed the subject until a late hour—between them devising
the best means they could to assist the prisoner on the morrow, when he was
to be brought out for examination before the Grand Inquest of the County, or
rather of the Colony, for the General Court had jurisdiction to its utmost
limits.

9. CHAPTER IX.
TRIAL FOR LIFE.

It is sufficient to say, that a true bill was found against the prisoner for the
murder of John Spotswood, and as the evidence was pretty much the same
as detailed at both trials, we will not fatigue the reader with the long preliminaries
of the law's proverbial delay, but convey him at once to the court-room,
where Hall was put upon his final trial for life. Some time had intervened
since he was last presented to the reader—in that time a good deal of
alteration had taken place in his personal appearance. He was very well
dressed, but looked thin and pale. Never at any time robust, care, confinement,
and excessive wear and tear of mind and body, had reduced him
to great attenuation—his large whiskers, and the scar across his face,
made him look cadaverous, as he stood up to plead guilty or not guilty to
the charge—the latter of which he did in a deep, clear, manly voice, which
rung through the court-room with something of the assurance of innocence to
those who were interested in his fate. It was impossible for disinterested
strangers, or those who were no way pledged against him, to look upon that
intellectual forehead—clear sparkling eye—fine chiselled, and new wax-like
features—without being interested in his fate. Nevertheless, there was something
unnatural about his appearance—his eye was wild and bright, and his
mouth was compressed with a solemn compactness, such as often produces a
painful impression when looking at fine statuary. Those best acquainted
with him were struck with his appearance; and Moore, in the benevolence of
his heart, and shaken in his faith by the reputed unanswerable testimony
against him, moved round to where he saw old Dr. Evylin sitting, and asked
him if he did not think that there was a maniacal look about the prisoner's
eyes, which might account for the deed of guilt. The old man gazed long
and steadily at him, and then shook his head, and turning to Moore, whispered
to him, that “Hall was as innocent of the death of John Spotswood as he was,
who was more than a hundred miles distant.”

Over this court the Governor usually presided in person, but on the present
occasion, the chair was occupied by the venerable Commissary, the senior
counsellor, surrounded by his associates. No difficulty was made by Hall

whatever to empannelling the jury, notwithstanding the earnest remonstrances
of his counsel and the old Doctor, who came across the court-room and seated
himself near them.

The room was crowded to suffocation, and not a few of those present, ladies
of the first families of the Colony. Ellen Evylin was not there, she could
not trust herself, or rather her father would not trust her, but she had delegated
her zeal and interest in the issue of the cause to the keeping of her
venerable parent. She followed him to the gate issuing into the street, as he
was leaving home to come to the court-house, and hung upon his arm, and
charged and enjoined upon the old gentleman to leave nothing updone to make
Hall's innocence manifest. “Recollect father,” said she calling after him,
“that it is not enough merely to pronounce such a man not guilty, but he
must be raised above suspicion; and remember, too, that if it becomes necessary
to show Harry Lee in his true character, I must be summoned. Be sure
I will not shrink from the trial in such an extremity.”

All eyes were turned towards the prisoner, when he rose as before descrided
to respond to the challenge—seldom, or never before, had such a prisoner
stood within that bar. There had, it is true, been interesting trials; for the
old Roman at the head of the Colony had just hung in chains six pirates, who
had infested the coast during the previous years of his administration, and
who had been pursued and caught through his energy alone, but never had
there stood such a man charged with such an offence within that bar before.
There was a death-like stillness pervading the room, (after the crowd had
become once settled down,) showing the absorbing interest of the trial even
to the multitude. This multitude, however, was of a higher grade than usually
made up the throng of the court-house, for the tramontane army was to set
out as soon as the Governor was sufficiently resfored to himself to conduct it;
and most of the youthful chivalry of the Colony were present—the very men
who were soon to march across the great Apalachee.

Hall seemed to feel that far more than life was upon the issue of that trial.
It might have been seen in his countenance, that charaeter and standing in
society once gone, he would not value mere animal life at a “pin's fee.”

The Attorney General rose and stated the case of the crown plainly and
succinctly. He lamented that he was called upon by imperative duty to lend
his professional efforts to unfold a career of crime almost unexampled on this
side of the water, especially among that class which he had understood the
prisoner was so well calculated to adorn. He said he had heard of his elegant
accomplishments and brilliant abilities, and however much these were calculated
to add to our regrets that such a man should so demean himself, and
however much they might seize upon our sympathies, those in whose hands
was placed the administration of justice, were more bound than usual to prosecute
to the utmost extent of the law. He said that no one within the walls of
that court-room would rejoice more sincerely that he would, if it should turn
out differently from what he supposed; but he expected to prove that the
prisoner had landed at Yorktown, with some Scoteh Irish emigrants sometimes
before; that immediately upon his arrival, he had, with other accomplices, taken
the usual means of burglars to spy out the condition of the wealthiest houses
in the neighborhood; that in the night time, and during a thunder-storm, he
had found his way into the Governor's country house, with his features secured
behind a mask, as well as his two associates, one a male and the other a female.
He was not, he said, absolutely certain that he could prove this link in the
chain of testimony by admissible evidence, because the reconnoitre had been
undertaken when all the white family were from home. However, from this
point, he said the chain of testimony was unbroken—that he had soon after
the mask adventure presented himself to the Governor, as a young man
anxious for employment—that His Excellency had him then examined by the

Reverend Gentleman then presiding over the court, and finding him competent,
had out of the abundance of his benevolence and kind-heartedness, for which
he was well known by all present, given him the employment—that he had
most shamefully abused the trust reposed in him by his patron—first, in presenting
himself under a false name; and, secondly, in using that name to
obtain moneys to which he had no earthly claim, and for which he would have
been indicted as a swindler, had not the minor offence been swallowed up in
the monstrous one with he now stood charged. That he had gone on from
step to step, until he had wound up his career of guilt, by murdering the son of
his benefactor and patron, if, indeed, the prisoner himself knew who it really
was that he had slain. He thought it would appear in evidence, that he harbored
deadly malignity against one of the most honorable and respectable
young men in the colony, who slept in the same room on the night of the
murder, and who was at that very time in pursuit of the prisoner. That the
young gentleman in question, Henry Lee, Esq., had lent the deceased his
cloak, and that in the dark he had been murdered, in mistake for Mr. Lee;
that the prisoner had fled as soon as the dark deed had been perpetrated, and
when apprehended, was making his way with the utmost expedition towards
the frontier, and had actually left the military road and taken to the woods,
until he supposed himself out of the reach of pursuit; that upon his arrest,
he had manifested unequivocal symptoms of guilt, and, moreover, that the
blood of his victim was still reeking from his clothes and person.

He concluded by assuring the court and jury, that in all his professional
experience, he had never been able to present to that court or any other, such
an unbroken chain of circumstantial evidence. That though he was not
seen in the actual moment of committing the offence, that he would be able to
trace him in a career of crime, from the first moment of landing to that of
his arrest. That the motive was apparent—the usual steps of criminal
graduation were also present, so that the enlightened jury, would feel at no
loss to trace in their own minds the whole criminal process, by which this
most gifted but criminal individual had reduced himself to his present state of
degradation.

The first witness called on the part of the crown was Kit Carter. He was
proceeding to relate the adventure of the mask, as he had heard it on his return
to Temple Farm on the night of the adventure, but he was stopped by
the counsel for the prisoner, and told that he must relate no hearsay evidence.

Hall exclaimed in a loud clear voice, “Let him go on. I was one of those
masked visitors!” His counsel assured him that he would throw up the case,
unless he entrusted the whole management to him.

Carter then went on to relate what is already well known to the reader,
about Hall's introduction as Tutor—his conduct while acting as such, and his
general deportment so far as he had observed it. His evidence upon the
whole was rather unfavorable to the prisoner.

Moore was next called to the stand, and he related pretty much the same
story with the exception of his conduct in prison, and their private intercourse,
which had made a rather more favorable impression than the prisoner's conduct
had done upon the previous witness. The facts were mostly the same—
the general impressions more favorable.

Henry Lee was then called on to give his testimony. There was a general
restlessness in the crowd, and a disposition to get nearer and hear better, as
this witness was called. It was known that he would bear hard upon the
prisoner, and would give nearly the whole of Hall's history since he landed
in the country. Nor was this anxiety to hear him, confined to the rude and
the vulgar—the mutual acquaintances of the parties, were also curious to
hear him relate all the circumstances of their quarrel, for it was generally
reported that they had quarrelled. Moore suspected that the quarrel had proceeded

to blows, and he knew that there was a deadly enmity on the part of
Lee, at least.

The witness stated that on a recent visit to Temple Farm, he found the prisoner
acting as Tutor to the Governor's youngest son, and occasionally as his
draftsman and private secretary. That he was surprised to find that he was
of the same name with a young relation of his in Scotland, to whom he had
but recently written—preceding his visit, that one morning he had expressed
this surprise to the prisoner, when he immediately stated that he was the
very man himself; that he stated to the prisoner that he had written
such letters, but he the prisoner, said he had never received them, which
seemed reasonable, as there was scarcely time for those letters to have
arrived out before the prisoner at the bar must have set sail: that he,
(Lee,) was taken by surprise by the prisoner's statement, but backed as he
was by Governor Spotswood, had yielded to his ready assent; that he had
stated to the prisoner the fact, that he had fallen heir to a snug little property
here, and that he, (Lee,) had surrendered into his hands part of the available
funds of said estate, without any other voucher or guarantee than the prisoner's
note of hand—that money however, had since been repaid by Mr.
Bernard Moore. He stated farther, that he had very soon after forming an
acquaintance with the prisoner, and after having admitted his claims to relationship,
began to suspect him—he did not exactly know why, unless it had
been the impression made by his general deportment; that they had several
unpleasant altercations before the witness left Temple Farm; that the prisoner
had never taken any steps to prove his identity—that he could show no
letters from any one, either credentials of character or letters of credit—and
moreover could show no letters from his venerable relation deceased, although
there were several found among her papers from Henry Hall—the individual
whom the prisoner pretended to be. The prisoner evaded this by saying that
he would be able to show them when the remainder of his baggage arrived,
but so far as he knew, to this day no such letters had ever arrived. He stated
that he had lately received answers to those very letters which he had written
to Mr. Henry Hall, in Scotland, purporting to be written by Mr. Hall, then in
Scotland, so that there were two Henry Halls, if the prisoner at the bar established
his claims to the name.

As to the murder, he stated that he had pursued the prisoner, after he had
been liberated by Mr. Moore, and must by some accident or other, have passed
him on the road, as he was on his return to the capital, when he stopped for
the night at the stockade where the deed was committed. He said he had
not seen the prisoner on the night of the murder at all, and was entirely
unconscious that they had slept in the same room, until the investigation of
the next morning had convinced him of the fact. He said he had lent Capt.
Spotswood a cloak usually worn by himself, at the request of the Captain,
who stated that he had lent his own to a boy who accompanied him, and who
had none. Who that boy was, and whence he had come and whither gone,
he could form no idea. All search for him had proved fruitless, although
troopers had been despatched along both ends of the road at day-light.

He described the position in which the body lay when found at daylight,
as well as that occupied by the prisoner during the night—and stated
that the prisoner had escaped before any one was stirring—that there were
distinct foot-prints in blood on the puncheous of the floor, and on the ground
leading to the gate of the stockade—and that these when measured, corresponded
exactly with the size and shape of the prisoner's shoes—and, moreover,
that when the shoes were taken off to be compared with the foot-prints,
blood was still distinctly visible, having deeply stained the leather beneath the
mud; that his face and person were also stained with blood, and that he had
offered no explanation whatever of all these suspicious circumstances when
arrested, except that he had left the block-house about an hour before day

light. When asked why he had stolen off without seeing any one, and without
even thanking the woman who had furnished him with his supper, he acknowledged
that he had done so to avoid observation. The prisoner, he said, wore
no weapons about him when arrested. The dagger with which the deed was
done belonged to the deceased, and was so driven in when the fatal wound
was inflicted, as could only have been conveniently done from the side on
which the prisoner lay. Such was about the sum and substance of Lee's
testimony, elicited by the questions of the Attorney General. He was then
turned over to the prisoner's counsel, who proceeded to cross-question him
very minutely, not, however, by any prompting from Hall, who now sat with
a solemn serenity upon his features, and scarcely taking an ordinary interest
in the details of the evidence. Occasionally he would start as some answer
of the witness seemed to surprise him, but speedily relapsed again into his
former mood. He declined prompting his counsel altogether in his cross-examination
of Lee, and that gentleman was compelled to call Dr. Evylia
and Moore, each side of him, in order to learn more accurately the various
relations of the parties touched upon by the witness. Moore very soon discovered
that this was a conjunction by no means propitious to the objects in
view by the Attorney, and he wrote as much on a slip of paper; soon after
which, he whispered to the old Doctor, who retired for a while. When he was
gone, the cross-examination commenced.

Question. Did you form a bad opinion of the prisoner upon your first acquaintance?

Answer. I cannot say that I formed any very definite opinion of him. He
occupied at that time very little of my thoughts. I thought him rather out
of place in the society in which I found him.

Question. Did you, Mr. Lee, see anything wrong in the prisoner, until
you discovered him to be your rival for the favor of a very estimable young
lady, to whom it is generally understood you were paying your address?

[Lee curled his lips with high disdain, and at first seemed to think of declining
a reply, but the counsel insisted upon an answer.]

Answer. However presumptuous I might have thought the prisoner, I
scarcely esteemed him a very formidable rival, if one at all.

Question. Will you tell the court and jury in what way he was presumptuous?

Answer. By intruding himself into society where he had no claims whatever.
It is not usual, I believe, for tutors to associate on terms of equality
with the female members of his employer's family, and more especially when
that employer occupies the exalted station of Governor of the Colony.

Question. Was it, Mr. Lee, so much the prisoner's forcing himself into
the society of the ladies of the Governor's immediate family, which gave you
offence, as into that of the young lady before alluded to?

[The witness refused to answer, until ordered to do so by the court.]

Answer. It was not.

Question. Did his presence seem offensive to that lady?

Answer. Not until after I had informed her of the ungrateful return
which the prisoner made of her kindness, by representing her as having
sought him.

Question. Was there not a quarrel between the prisoner and yourself
which grew out of that very representation which you made to the lady?

Answer. He was rather insolent to me, Sir, and I threatened to chastiso
him, and perhaps in the heat of anger, I made a pass at him with my sword.

Question. What did the prisoner do then—did he tamely submit?

Answer. By an accidental and fortunate use of his walking cane he disarmed
me for the moment.

Question. For the moment, Mr. Lee! Were you not completely at his
mercy, and did he not act with the greatest magnanimity towards you?

Answer. I was perhaps somewhat in his power; but the matter was adjourned,
not concluded.

Question. Well, Sir, the prisoner seems to have been victorious in war—
who triumphed in love?

The witness appealed to the court for protection against the trifling and
impertinence of counsel.

The counsel hereupon stated that he considered it a very important question—that
he wished to show by it, that the witness had every earthly reason
for cherishing deadly hostility against the prisoner, having been triumphed over
by him in two most tender points.

The court ruled, that if within the witness's knowledge, he must answer
the question.

Answer. I know nothing as to the result of the prisoner's love affairs, if
he had any.

Question. Has not your own terminated disastrously, since the prisoner's
acquaintance with the lady?

Answer. It has, Sir.

Here there was a general titter throughout the courtroom.

Many other questions were put to this witness and answered, but mostly
touching points already made known to the reader, we shall therefore intermit
them and pass on to the next, who was Mr. McDonald, a man originally from
Scotland, and who now lived in the neighborhood of the deceased lady who
had willed her property to Henry Hall. He was asked if he knew the individual
to whom that property was intended to be given? He said, he had
known him almost from his infancy! He was then asked to look upon the
prisoner, and say whether he was the individual named Henry Hall?

“There was an intense interest manifested to hear the old man's reply, as
he turned his head and gazed long and searchingly at the prisoner. Once or
twice he turned his head away as if satisfied, and then turned his eyes upon
him again, evidently baffled and perplexed.

The Attorney-General put the queston to him again: “Is this man—the
prisoner at the bar—the Mr. Henry Hall you knew in Scotland?”

For his life, he said, he said he could not tell, “at times when he looked at
him, he thought it was, and then again when he moved his head, he thought
it was not. He is certainly very much like, if it is not the man himself.”
He said further, that he had not seen him for some years, and in a young man,
doubtless great changes might have taken place.

Lee was confounded—he now sat near the Attorney-General, and consulted
with him anxiously,—he had supposed that McDonald would not hesitate, and
that Hall would stand forth before all men, not only a convicted murderer, but
one who had run a long career of deception and guilt. He had no doubt of
McDonald's honesty, from the Attorney-General's character of him, and he
was utterly at a loss to account for his hesitation.

General Clayton next asked the witness, “if Mr. Hall, when he knew him
had that large scar across his face.”

“No; he had not.”

“Was the color of the hair and eyes the same?”

“Yes; precisely.”

“Did Mr. Hall, when you knew him, wear whiskers?”

“No; he did not.”

“Did the height of the two correspond exactly?”

“No; the prisoner was taller by several inches, but then he might have
grown that much.”

“Were they about the same weight?”

“No; this gentleman is broader in his shoulders, and a larger frame.”

“Then, except the hair and eyes, they were totally dissimilar?”

“He could not say what it was about this man that reminded him of the one
he had known, but there was something—whether it was in the features, or
the expression, he could not tell, but still he would not swear that this was not
Mr. Hall.”

There was a grim smile of some sort of gratification playing about the
corners of the prisoner's mouth during the whole of this examination. He
looked straight at the witness, and his eye never quailed for an instant. It was
the only time during the whole trial that he conferred with his lawyer, and
seemed to take an interest in what was going on.

The witness being now turned over to the prisoner's counsel, several
questions were asked which evidently came from the prisoner himself.

“Did you not know of Henry Hall's having met with an accident—a fall
from his horse—by which one of his arms was dislocated?”

“Yes; I remember it well.”

“Is not the mansion house of the Hall's, one of peculiar structure, one that
a man would not easily learn from mere description?”

“It is very peculiar, and it would be almost impossible for one to learn its
localities from paper.”

“Was there not a picture of a celebrated battle hung just between the
windows of the gallery facing to the east?”

“There was.”

“Had not the frame of that picture been penetrated by a ball from a pistol
discharged by accident from the hands of this young man himself?”

“I must believe it to be so, for no one could well know those things but
himself.”

The witness sat down. His testimony had evidently a little shaken that
fickle thing, popular opinion, and in a much greater degree re-assured the old
Doctor and Moore, and such other friends of the unfortunate prisoner at the
bar, as dared to adhere to him

The witnesses of the stockade were now called in—the woman who had
waited upon the prisoner—the soldier who had seen him on the fatal night as
well as those who arrested him. By these pretty much the same testimony
was given as had been already given by Lee, or else made known to the reader
at previous investigations. Very few were called in on the part of the prisoner,
few indeed knew him, except those who had already testified against him,
Old Doctor Evylin, was the chief one relied upon.

He stated, “that he had known the prisoner almost from the moment of his
landing in the country—that he had felt great interest in him from the very
first—partly, he supposed, from the circumstances of his being an elegant
scholar, and a polished gentleman in every respect, and from his friendless
condition when he had made his acquaintance. He saw from the first, that
he was in a false position—that his circumstances at some period of his life
must have been far higher. He drew this opinion, from certain habits of
thought as well as actions, from deep and inherent tastes, not as he believed,
the growth ever of one generation. He expressed the opinion unhesitatingly,
when questioned—that the prisoner himself, was not only a gentleman of the
highest toned feelings and instincts, but that his fathers before him had been,
and that he was utterly incapable of a mean or dishonorable action, much
more of a cold blooded and deliberate murder. There was a general smile
throughout the court-house, at the old Doctor's warmth of feeling, more than
at his thorough and inbred aristocratic notions. The evidence having been
all gone through on both sides, and it now being quite dark, the court was
adjourned until the next day at 10 o'clock, and the jury handed over to the
care of the Sheriff. The remainder of the proceedings, will be treated of in
the next chapter.

10. CHAPTER X.
THE DEFENCE.

Punctual to the hour, the court assembled, and along with it, even a
greater crewd of anxious spectators than had attended on the previous day.
This was partly occasioned by the previous appointment of this very day,
for the meeting of the young gentry at the capital in order to make arrangements
for the immediate marching of the tramontane expedition. But even
the great enterprise itself, was forgotten in the intense interest manifested by
all classes in the trial going on.

The prisoner was again placed at the bar. The court in their judical
wigs and robes, and the jury in the box. Old Dr. Evylin and Bernard
Moore sat together in melancholy silence—the excitement produced by their
exertions in behalf of the prisoner as long as it could avail anything, served to
stimulate them, but now it had died away and left them sad and dispirited,
and with a gloomy foreboding as to the fate of the unfortunate young man.
Except these, there was a very general feeling of indignation against him.
Amidst all these discouraging circumstances, the counsel for the prisoner
rose and commenced a most labored and ingenious defence. He argued that
there was not one particle of positive testimony against the prisoner, and
none that would not equally lie against the very witnesses who had most
strongly testified against him. Indeed, he said there was more impelling
motives urging Mr. Lee himself to the deed than him, not that be would insinuate
so foul a charge against that gentleman—he only pointed the minds of
the jury to the possibilities of the case—aye, and to the probabilities—in order
to show that the matter was still shrouded in the profoundest mystery—that
one of the persons in that room was as liable to have done it as another—that
no more probable motives for the diabolical deed had been traced to the prisoner
than to any of the others.

Indeed, that a motive might be imagined on the part of one of the witnesses,
but none in the world on that of the prisoner. As to the miserable story
about his mistaking young Spotswood for Lee, it was not worth one moment's
consideration. Could the prisoner, who was in the habit of daily association
with the two gentlemen, mistake the arms of a Ranger, constantly worn by
John Spotswood, and with which the deed was done—as well as mistake his
gold laced uniform? It was in evidence that the deceased had been throttled
by a powerful adversary—could the prisoner have approached him in such an
attitude, without discovering who it really was, if he had been laboring under
a mistake—and above all, could that feeble and almost consumptive figure
grapple in the death struggle with such a man as Spotswood was known to
be—nearly, if not entirely restored to health?—it was absurd and ridiculous.

“I say then, again,” continued he, “that there is just as much evidence
that Lee committed the murder as that Hall committed it. If it is a groundless
assumption in the one case, it was in the other also. I see the Attorney
General smile; but, sir, let me suppose a case which I think quite as probable
as the one he has made out. It is known that there was a deadly enmity
existing between the prisoner and Mr. Lee—they were rivals—the former,
whatever he was in reality, supposed to be the successful one. They meet
in a dark room at a frontier settlement, the latter finds an opportunity of
throwing the odium of the blackest offence known to our laws upon his rival.
Circumstances so turn out that the prisoner from his position in that room
must be suspected, let who may have committed the deed. Now, is this hypothetical
case more improbable than that made out by the Attorney General?
I merely make it—not to cast suspicion upon the young gentleman who has

been the principal witness in this case, but to show that the matter is still
so much involved in obscurity, that it is capable of being laid at this, and that
man's skirts. This it could not be, if the evidence was sufficient to warrant
conviction.” He went into a long legal discussion to show that the law
compelled the jury to acquit the prisoner, when there were grounds of reasonable
doubt, and that there was ground in this case, and they were therefore
bound to give the prisoner the benefit of those doubts; and finally wound
up by a manly and thrilling appeal to the feelings of the jury.

Several times during the delivery of this speech, of which we have merely
given a rude synopsis—the prisoner caught his counsel by the coat tail and
tugged at it, as if he would have him desist; at which the legal gentleman
would turn round, almost in a passion, and beg in a whispered voice not to
be interrupted. So troublesome did his client become at last, that he was compelled
to request Mr. Moore to set by him, and prevent the unreasonable interruption.

The Attorney General then summed up in behalf of the crown. He linked
together most ably all the circumstances which we have already detailed to
the reader, from the landing of the prisoner to the night of the murder, not
forgetting the prisoner's admission as to the mask scene at Temple Farm.
He did not for a moment contend that he had murdered young Spotswood
knowingly, but that he had perpetrated a cold-blooded and deliberate murder,
and it made no difference in the eye of the law, that the object or the party
had been changed in the meantime or mistaken. He laid down the law and
called upon the court to bear him out in it, that the crime was precisely the
same. He even went farther, and contended that if the blow had been felonionsly
aimed at his victim's dog or his horse, and had killed him instead, the
law still held him guilty, not only of the homicide, but of the malice prepense.
He lamented that he was called upon to perform so irksome a task as the
prosecution of one, who, from the testimony, was so well calculated to adorn
the highest circles in the land; but at the same time contended that exactly in
proportion as he was pre-eminent for abilities, or distinguished for accomplishments,
were the court and the jury bound to protect their fellow-subjects from
such dangerous weapons in such unprincipled hands. He knew, said he, the
ingenuity and the eloquence of his legal adversary, and that he would attempt
to excite the sympathies of the jury in behalf of the friendless and accomplished
stranger; but he advised them to turn their sympathies into another
channel—to look at the cold corpse of his noble and gifted victim, cut off in
the first bloom of youth, without a moment's preparation, with all his sins
upon his head; and then to turn their eyes to the distinguished family, and
listen there to the wailing and weeping which ascended constantly to heaven
from that bereaved house. He concluded by a judicious and high wrought
invocation in behalf of the injured laws of the country, and called upon the
jury to pronounce that verdict of condemnation which he could see public
opinion had already awarded to him, and which he solemnly believed he so well
merited.

This speech had considerable effect in rather confirming, than changing the
opinions of the court and jury, and indeed of the public generally, for there
were scarcely two opinions in the court-house, as to his guilt or innocence.

The lawyers having concluded on both sides, that awful moment of suspense
arrived, when the court paused, previous to summing up the evidence
and charging the jury.

It fell to the lot of the Reverend Commissary to perform this unpleasant
duty from which, however, whatever might have been his feelings, he did not
shrink. He summed up the testimony in the most lucid manner, and charged
the jury to suffer no ingenuity of the prisoner's counsel, nor affecting appeals
to their sympathies, to swerve them from the strong and irrefutable circumstances

of the case, and from performing their duty to the crown and the
country, however disagreeable.

The jury brought in a verdict of “guilty of wilful murder,” without leaving
the box; and as was usual in Virginia, the prisoner was immediately arraigned
to receive sentence. A death-like silence reigned throughout the crowded
court-room, when he was asked if he had aught to say, why sentence should
not be pronounced against him. He clapped his hand to his forehead for a
moment, ere he arose to his feet. He stood at length in the full dignity of his
height, and in one moment had thrown all agitation to the winds. There
was something attractive about the man, even to that indignant court and
audience—the deathly paleness of his visage—his bright, but serene eye,
and that solemn voice, when it first thrilled high over the heads of the people—
altogether, had no ordinary fascination in them.

Every eye was bent upon the prisoner, and every car strained, as he
exclaimed, “Have I anything to say, why sentence of death should not be
pronounced upon me? I have not—too much has been said already; but I
call the court and these good people to witness that it was not with my consent
or approbation. God is my witness, that I crave not the poor boon of mere
animal life, when it has been stripped of all that distinguishes it from grovelling
natures. By the strangest concurrence of circumstances that, I solemnly
believe, ever befel an individual before, I have been stripped, one by one, of the
ties which bound me to life—the sweet charities—the domestic affections—
the warm friendships—the noble aims—the bright aspirations—the daring
enterprises—have all been struck down. Every fibre of my heart has been
rudely torn asunder, and trampled upon by this cruel array of circumstances.
Why should I desire to live longer, when in living thus long I have met
nothing but disaster. I shudder with superstitious dread when I look back to
the days of my young and bright hopes, and see how they have been fulfilled.
Oh! those gorgeous dreams of youth are but too bitter delusions? Who could
have foreseen then that the brilliant promise of such a sunrise, would so soon
set in utter darkness. 'Tis not that I fear death; on the contrary, I court it, in
an honorable field—but my whole mental organization shrinks from the
reproach and the odium which has already been, and will still more be cast
upon my memory. Great God! the wildest fears of my diseased imagination
during the delirium of fever, never dared approach the gibbet—neither
sleeping or waking have I thought such a thing within the range of possibility.
But to live, after what has passed, is even worse than a disgraceful
death. One is a short and sudden pang, and the fitful and feverish dream of
life is o'er—its painful illusions, its hollow friendships, and its fleeting and
deceitful pleasures; but the other is a living and breathing death—a walking
target for the shafts of slander and calumny. What man is there within this
vast throng, reared at the feet of a sweet and angel mother, to all the softest
and tenderest sympathies of a gentle nature, (here he dashed a tear hastily
from his eyes, and proceeded,) and all the instincts of the gentleman—who
could have the stamp of Cain officially branded upon his forehead, and then
walk the earth, as God created it, with his face towards Heaven. Oh, it is
too much! This seat of the passions and affections which throbs so tumultuously
within me, will surely burst the barriers of its prison, before the final
seal is put to this legal wrong. Not that I would insinuate aught against
the purity or impartiality of court or jury, both have done every thing that
the poor means within their reach permitted. The offended majesty of the
laws, according to ils forms, demand my death, and most willingly is life
offered up to those bald and barren forms.

“But be assured that the death of the victim will only keep up the cruel
mistake for a brief while; the time will surely come, when the real murderer
of the Governor's son will stand revealed to the world. For a while, the

unfortunate train of circumstances which compassed me about on that fatal
night, must appear stronger than the poor, tame truth. No one who has
lived long in this world of cheating and deception, but must have discovered
that truth generally lies far beneath the surface in the ordinary current of its
affairs. I shall not undertake the now useless task of showing where the
really wonderful body of circumstantial evidence brought to bear against me
fails, and where a single link of the real truth would point the whole in
another direction, because, as I have already intimated, the truth would appear
almost ridiculous, when brought into comparison with the splendid logical
conclusions of the Attorney General. Sufficient for me here, in the presence
of this court and this good people, to call Heaven to witness my entire innocence.
I am not only innocent of the special crime laid to my charge, but
may the lightning of Heaven strike me dead where I stand, if such a conception
as murder ever entered my heart. I cannot realize it—I cannot
imagine how any one could commit a murder; and yet I am convicted by
the laws of my country, after a patient and laborious investigation, of that
crime—of the foullest crime known to those laws. It all seems to me, even
now, like some fearful dream! That I, whose whole soul has been fired
almost from infancy with longing aspirations after some legitimate means to
benefit my fellow-men—that I, who have aimed at and struggled after unattainable
perfection, whose ambition soared to none but lofty eminences, and
to whom, for a long time, the honest and every day occupations of men appeared
poor, and tame, and mean—should at last fall to such a degradation—so low
as this. Oh! 'tis overwhelming. It is hard to die a violent death at all
times, doubtless; but it is doubly hard to fall thus, with the unjust execrations
of all men ringing in my ears. But surveying the whole ground as impartially
and as calmly as I can, I can see no false step of mine since I arrived in
the Colony, by which I could have avoided my present position. I have done
and suffered every thing which a mere human agent could do, and I leave the
result in the hands of that righteous Judge to whose decrees I bow with resignation.

“Now, with my hopes blasted—my aspirations crushed—all the sweet
charities of life trampled upon and outraged—my affections blighted—no,
thank God, they are enshrined beyond the reach of evil—.”

At this point, there was great confusion near the door, and the officers in
vain endeavored to keep silence. At first, some supposed a rescue was to
be attempted; and the court directed the sheriff to the prisoner, who had
sat down and was calmly waiting with others to see what had produced the
disturbance. Presently a servant of Dr. Evylin was seen foreing his way
among the crowd, holding a letter as a sort of passport for his intrusion.
Some one seeing the superscription plucked it from his hand, and conveyed
it at once to the old man. He tore it open and read it hastily—great drops
of perspiration still standing upon his brow and lip from the painful excitement
of the trial; but he had no sooner ran his eye along the lines, than
his eyes brightened, and the whole man was instantly transformed. He
sprang upon one of the benches with the activity of a boy, and leaning his
chin upon the bannister surrounding the platform on which the court sat,
motioned to the judge that he had something to communicate. That venerable
functionary moved his chair, so as to bring his ear near enough to hear,
alone, what the old Doctor had to say. The first words whispered by the
latter startled him, and they were instantly engaged in the most earnest conversation—a
few moments after which, he took the letter handed by the
Doctor, and read it himself. He consulted a few moments with his colleagues,
and then rose—standing, however, many minutes, before the confusion
incident to so unusual an interruption could be subdued. He stated to
the lawyers, on both sides, that a most providential revelation had come to

light—that he held in his hand a note from a lady, who could have no motive
in deceiving them, stating that a most important witness had that moment
arrived in the capital—one who was present at the murder, and had seen the
very act committed. “Of course,” said the old man, “no mere forms of law,
to whatever lengths we may have gone, can prevent us from retracing our
steps, if we have unknowingly done injustice. The note does not state who
the witness is who saw the murder committed—but I presume from the
eagerness with which the writer demands that her witness may be heard,
that some other person must have committed it than the prisoner at the bar.
God grant that it may be so—for though still a human being has done the
foul deed, it would be difficult to find within the Colony one to whom it would
attach with the same moral turpitude as the prisoner; and let me add, as a
necessary consequence, that my joy at the prospect of his deliverance is proportionably
great. I would not willingly have condemned such a man to a
felon's death.”

The eager crowd was now busy with the startling news. Groups were
gathering here and there, wondering who the witness could be, and the
prisoner was heard to exclaim, “My God, I thank thee.”

Bernard Moore grasped his hand cordially, and congratulated him upon his
prospect of deliverance. Hall motioned for him to be seated beside him, and
then said in a low tone, “Moore, should I live a hundred years, I will never
forget that you dared befriend a stranger, when the whole current of public
opinion was setting strong against him. Any man may have mere physical
courage, but that is what I call true moral courage; and the good old Doctor
stood by me manfully to the last, and he would have followed me to the
gibbet, if all the world hooted at him. Such are the materials, Moore, of
which true friendships are formed. A man passes through the trials of life,
and they all drop off but one or two—those that are left are the ones to cling
to. In a few days, perhaps, should I ride through those streets in my carriage,
how vastly enthusiastic this now indignant mob will be. They would shout
long life to Harry Hall! But listen—they already shout something; what
is it?

Moore pushed his way to the door and looked down Gloucester street, and
saw the Governor's carriage approaching the Capitol, surrounded by the mob,
endeavoring to see some one inside, but apparently without success, for the
old guard rode in front and rear, and kept them at a respectful distance.

Arriving at the Capitol green, the Governor first descended, clad in deep
mourning, and much bowed down with grief since we last presented him to
the reader—then came Ellen Evylin—and lastly an Indian girl, whom the
reader has already devined to be Wingina. She had doffed her male garments
and now appeared uncommonly well dressed, for she had been furnished
from Ellen's own wardrobe, and dressed out by her own hands for the
occasion.

The Governor did not take his seat upon the bench, or rather with the
court, but sat apart with the two females. Hall's lawyer now approached and
conversed earnestly with them for a few moments in an under tone. He was
apparently remonstrating with Ellen about something and did not prevail
until her father joined them. She then gave way, and placing her hand in
her father's, walked with him to the witness stand.

After being sworn, she stated that during the morning a strange looking
Indian, very much wearied and worn, rode into her father's grounds and
demanded instant speech of him, and upon being informed that he was gone
to the court-house and could not be disturbed on any account, he wrung his
hands and appeared greatly distressed. Supposing that some one was very
ill and that my father's professional services were required, I begged him to
make his wants known to me. I was very much surprised at his calling me

by name and demanding that we must be alone—for the servants were standing
around—before he could communicate his errand. At first I refused
this, as there is more or less suspicion attaches to the race, but I was then
informed that the business was urgent and connected with the trial then
going on at the court house.

I hesitated no longer, but led the witness into the house. The head was
then uncovered, and she announced herself to me as Wingina, the sister of
the Interpreter—that she was present at the murder and had stolen away
from her brother and his friends, and been on horseback almost constantly
for three days and good part of the nights. I immediately despatched a note
to my father, and sat about preparing her to appear here. The rest, she can
tell, herself, better than I can.

Such was about the amount of her testimony, condensed into a small compass.
During the whole of its delivery she never once cast her eyes towards
the prisoner. Not so with him, however—his eye was rivetted upon her face.
He leaned forward with the most intense interest, as if he would gladly hear
his name, and fame vindicated by such lips. He had not manifested such an
interest in any part of the trial, and seemed disappointed when she moved
away and was led out to the carriage by her father.

Wingina was now called to the witness stand and closely questioned as to
her belief in a future state of rewards and punishments, and her knowledge
as to the nature of an oath. The court were satisfied on both points, and
ordered her to be sworn, The first part of her testimony related to the interview
with John Spotswood, on the night he left the city under the trees of
the avenue in front of the Palace, and their having been watched by some one.
She then went on to detail circumstances sufficiently well known to the reader;
many of which, however, were drawn from her with great reluctance
on her part. It was almost impossible to understand her testimony, or why
Chunoluskie should watch her and young Spotswood; and why she should
fly with him, unless she told all, and that all, neither age nor sex ever deters
lawyers from obtaining; and they succeded on the present occasion in worming
from the witness the whole story of her shame and ruin. Woman
like, however, she took the whole blame upon herself, and almost wholly
exonerated her deceased lover; for whose memory she wept bitterly many
times during the delivery of her evidence. Having revealed all this part of
her sad tale, she arrived in her narrative to the fatal night at the stockade.
She confirmed what had already been stated by one of the witnesses, that
she had not slept in the place assigned to her by Capt. Spotswood, but had
risen in the night and laid herself down across the door of the apartment
where the young gentleman and their servants slept. That sometime after
midnight as she supposed, she was awakened by the grasp of a powerful hand
upon her throat and another over her mouth—that she was held in this posture
by a young Indian whom she named, (and who was well known as one of
Mr. Boyle's disciples, and who had for a long time been paying unsuccessful
court to Wingina,) that while she was thus held her brother repeatedly flourished
a drawn dagger over her, plainly imitating that if she raised her voice or
her hands, he would strike her dead—that the young Indian mentioned held
her firmly, while Chunoluskie examined the sleepers. She stated that he
was at first baffled by Spotswood's having slept in Lee's cloak, but that he
was not long in ascertaining the one he sought; which he had no sooner
done, than he seized him by the throat and stabbed him at the same moment;
that he had also attempted to scalp him, but the convulsive efforts of his victim
hurried them off. She stated that the area of the stockade was filled with young
Indians, many of whom she had seen about the College and knew. After the
murder was completed, she said some one of them were for setting fire to the
premises, but her brother, who appeared to be in command, would not permit

it, as he said it would put the Governer too soon upon his trail, and
before he had done other work which was before them. She said she was
placed on a horse before her brother, and the whole of them set off at full
speed for Germana, where they arrived the next night, only pausing once to
refresh themselves and their horses.

She said the military discipline of the stockade at the latter place, though superior
to that of the first mentioned, was by no means active and vigilant—that
the Indians dismounted in the forest, when they came in sight, and approached
stealthily on foot, that her brother sprang upon the sentinel on duty and dispatched
him, (as he had previously done Captain Spotswood,) without the
slightest alarm being communicated to the garrison; that the whole band,
except, the one who held her, then rushed in and slaughtered the sleeping
soldiers and inmates, with the exeception of a single person—a young lady,
whom they carried off, as they said, to supply her place, as a wife, to the young
chief for whom her brother had intended her. This was about the amount
of her testimony, except that she had made her escape while they caroused
on a certain night, and that she had left the young lady still their prisoner.
When asked why did she not assist her to escape, she said she looked so
delicate, she knew it would be impossible for her to escape their pursuers, that
she had taken one of their horses, and rode for life and death to communicate
the tidings—thinking that the surest way to afford her relief. That she had
heard, when she approached the city, of the trial going on, and for some time
her whole attention had been absorbed by the act of injustice which she
feared would be perpetrated. The Governor and the prisoner were much
affected by the appalling news just detailed. The trial itself, and all interest
attached to it, seemed swallowed up by the startling account of the massacre.

The court consulted together for a few moments, and after calling the Attorney
General into their councils, ordered the prisoner set at liberty. His
appearance on the green seemed to revive the public interest in him for a
while, and the mob set up a shout of triumph. Poor Hall had almost forgotten
already that he was lately all but a convicted murderer, so greatly was he
suffering for the death of his friend, Humphrey Elliot, and the captivity of his
daughter.

11. CHAPTER XI.
PREPARATIONS FOR THE MEETING OF “THE TRAMONTANE
ORDER.”

No sooner was Wingina released from the witness' stand, than she went
straightway to Dr. Evylin's, as she had promised his daughter.

“Now, Wingina,” said Ellen, as the former re-entered her room, “now we
have succeeded in releasing Mr. Hall, for one of the servants tells me he is
already at liberty, you can tell me of the captive lady, and the message she
sent by you to this strange and unaccountable Mr. Hall.”

“You must know, Miss Ellen, that we were closely watched, and that it
was only as chance occasions offered, that I could hold even five minutes
conversation with her, and therefore I may not have caught her meaning
exactly.”

“Well, well, tell me what you did learn from her, and perhaps I may understand
it better than you can.”

“As I was about to tell you, on one of those stolen interviews of a
moment, she asked me if a young man, by the name of Hall, had arrived in
the Colony? I told her yes—that I had seen such a young gentleman I

believed, and had heard a great deal more about him—that he had been living
with the Governor's family, and, I believed, teaching his youngest son. She
said it must be the same; but she could not see why he should undertake the
business of teaching—but she told me, if I succeeded in escaping, to go
straight to this Mr. Hall, as soon as I arrived at the capital, and tell him that
Eugenia Elliot is a captive in the hands of the Indians, and her father murdered,
and if he indeed loves me, to save me from a fate worse than death!”

“Did she say that?” exclaimed Ellen, pacing the room.

“As near her words as I can recollect, and that was the reason that I discovered
the situation of Mr. Hall as soon as I did. The first person I met, as
I approached the city, I asked if he knew whether Mr. Hall was in the
capital—`yes,' said he, `snug enough, they're trying him for his life.' From
the next, I received almost the same answer, and then I knew there was something
wrong, and thinking over the position in which he slept at the stockade,
and how little any one here could know of the real circumstances of the murder,
I hurried on to you. Now, that we have succeeded, must I still seek him out,
and deliver the captive lady's message?”

“By all means, Wingina, and hark you, be sure and tell him that you have
told all she said to me, and haste back here, and tell me what he says, when
you have done.”

Wingina went immediately in pursuit of Hall, and after hunting over most
of the town, found him again at his old quarters, the Governor's, who had insisted
on taking him to the Palace at once.

“Oh my little deliverer,” said Hall, as he saw her approaching him, “I wonld
have sought you out, had I known where to find you, not only to return you
my sincere thanks for your heroic exertions in my behalf—for I understand
you have traversed a wild wilderness to save me—but to make farther inquiries,
concerning the fate of some dear friends whom you mentioned in your
testimony.”

“That, is the very business which induced me to disturb you now.”

“Oh! Miss Elliot! tell how I can best undertake to deliver her from her
cruel captors.”

“We were fellow prisoners and almost the last words she uttered to me,
was a charge to find you out, and tell of her sad state; she told me moreover,
of the near and dear ties which bound you together, and said she trusted her
whole hopes of deliverance upon you.”

“She told you this! poor girl, her misfortunes have surely touched her
brain, nevertheless I will exert myself to the uttermost to restore her to her
friends.”

“Poor young lady, she said she had no friends in the world except yourself.”

“She has many, the Governor himself among the number, and when I
received your message we were even then discussing the question whether an
expedition to set out immediately, would be of any avail; but here he comes
to speak for himself. I was just mentioning the subject of our conversation,
your Excellency, to my little deliverer here, and asking her about the prospect
of success?”

The Governor appeared greatly moved at the sight of Wingina, and took
her hand and turned his head away to hide a tear, but quickly dashed it away
and joined in the conversation.

“You can, indeed, tell us Wingina, whether an expedition to set out this
night, would have any prospect of overtaking your brother and his mad
companions.”

“That depends entirely upon the question, whether they have returned in
pursuit of me, or have pursued their way to the mountains. I think they have
gone on to the mountains, at least the main body of them, because they
intend to oppose your passage over the Apalachee, and as they knew nothing

of the causes of the delay of the expedition here, they would be expecting you
to have set out by this time. My brother, may indeed be even now on the look
out for me round the city, but if it is even so, the young lady has gone on
with his friends.”

“What!” exclaimed the Governor, “do they hope to oppose my passage
with a handful of raw pupils from College—tut, tut, I will cut them to pieces
with my old guard.”

“Oh no, Sir, they hope no such thing—they intend to rouse up every Indian
on the frontier. I heard them discussing the matter, and each one is to visit
his own people—for you know they are all of different tribes—stir up their
wrath against your Excellency, and meet you hand to hand at the mountain
pass.”

“They will meet me at Philippi, will they, damn their impudence, if it were
not for the poor girl in the case, I would wish no better sport than teaching
my little army how to flesh their maiden swords!” and here the old veteran
strode about at a magnificent rate, almost forgetting the urgency of the case
he came to consult about, in the fire of his military ardor, he had even began
to hum a martial air, but checked himself suddenly, and was again seated
near the other two.

“Well, Hall,” said he, what think you, will you take the troop I offer, and
and a trusty guide, and precede us to the scene of massacre, or will you wait
for the rest of the expedition?”

“I leave the case entirely with your Excellency, if you think I would stand
the slightest chance of overtaking the crafty marderers by preceding you, I
will set out this very afternoon.”

“I do not think you would, said the Governor promptly, nor do I think I
ought to let you go—you have no experience with these red men, they would,
even if you should overtake them, lead you into an ambush, and perhaps scalp
you all before we could come to the rescue—nay, nay, no impatience, my lad,
it is no impeachment of either your soldiership or discretion. Moreover, you
know that there is to be a meeting of the young gentry in the Capitol to night,
at which I am particularly anxious you should be present.” Here the Governor
placed his finger upon his lip, and then called a servant to whom he consigned
Wingina, telling him to lead her to his daughters. When she was
out of hearing, he resumed. I am particularly anxious that you should be
there, for I understand that Harry Lee intends to object to your name being
enrolled among the young chivalry of the Colony.”

“Ah! upon what new tack is he now?”

“He says, I hear, that you have only cleared your name from one of the
charges with which it is blackened, and that he for one will not be of the expedition,
if you are permitted to be. He says that the other Hall has arrived
and he has sent an express to York for him.”

Hall appeared a good deal agitated at this news and walked the floor with
some perturbation—the Governor eyeing him the while in any thing but a
satisfactory manner, he would rather have heard him speak out promptly and
manfully to the challeuge of his enemy. At length Hall discerned what was
passing in the frank old veteran's mind, and he approached him and said,
“Governor Spotswood, I have too long taxed the patience and credulity of you
and your friends. I acknowledge that there has been a mystery about my
movements, but not one played off in any idle prank, nor yet for sinister purposes.
I have merely acted hitherto, from the necessity of case. I must
ask you to forbear with me only until to-night. I must indeed attend this
meeting, and if I do not then and there put the blush of shame and deep mortification
upon my enemies, then you are fully at liberty to set me down for all
they would represent me to be.”

“Well, my man, no one can, after what has happened to-day, shake my

confidence in you, but yourself. I grant you that I was a little shaken just
now by your hesitation, but that is all over, and I will wait patiently, and in
full faith until the time you name; and by the by, when you and Harry come
to hard words, don't forget to throw into his teeth his shameful desertion
from the House of Burgesses, when, for all he knew to the contrary, the whole
enterprise hung upon his vote.”

“Never fear, Sir, never fear, I will give him something harder to swallow
than that; but before this meeting takes place, I have a great favor to ask of
you, it is that you will furnish me with a fleet horse and a trusty messenger,
for a couple of hours.”

“Certainly—certainly! but for what object?”

“I must contrive some means, to slip a note into the hand of this new Mr.
Hall, before they produce him at the capital to confront me.”

The Governor was taken all aback again, and did not pretend to disguise
his doubts and gathering indignation. His eye rested upon the
young man as if he would penetrate his very soul, but he quailed not beneath
the prolonged examination. The old veteran lowered his grey shaggy eyebrows,
into an awfulfrown of gathering wrath, and every instant Hall expected
to see the storm burst, but he had lately been through various ordeals, well calculated
to steady his nerves, and he stood up under the gathering storm in a way
at once so meek, and yet so dignified, that the old soldier was partially satisfied,
and characteristically exclaimed, “Damn me, if there is another man in the
Colony, who would have dared to ask me to be a party to such a scheme, and
yet you brave it out, as if there was nothing in it.”

“Nor is there any thing in it, your Excelleny, except a little innocent counterplotting,
an ambuscade perhaps—nothing more, I assure you.”

“Is it so indeed, and no more of these infernal mysteries after all. Forgive
me, my boy, here is my hand upon it, you shall have my assistance, but the fact
is, you have been so long wrapt up in the clouds that I did not know but this
was some new freak of yours to mystify us all again.”

“And so it is, your Excellency, but only for a few hours, you shall yourself
be witness to the explanation, and I think, you will say it was well done.”

“Well, well, there is my hand upon it, I will trust to your honor and discretion,
you have come out so well thus far, that you must be knave as well as fool, to
sacrifice all now to a silly manœuvre.”

“Trust me, General Spotswood, that I am the last man in the Colony (to use
your own words in part,) who would ask you to be a party in the smallest degree
to any scheme which would sully those laurels which you have so nobly won
and so nobly wear.”

“Tut, tut, man, I am ambitious of no laurels except those which grow upon
the highest peaks of the great Apalachee, I would rather wear a sprig of that
in my cocked hat, legitimately earned, than wear the honors of Marlborough
himself. By the by, did you ever see this scar which I wear here to match
that one of your own, (bareing his breast, and exhibiting a wound which
must indeed have put his life in imminent peril) that was received as I led
a charge at the battle of Hockstadt,[3] right under the glorious old veteran's
eye. He had me carried from the field himself, and actually shed a tear over
my bier, as he supposed it to be. No one thought I could survive for twenty-four
hours. This is a mere scratch to many others which, you see, has
marked me with a premature old age; but it is only the outside, my boy—
the fire burns as brightly within as if these old locks were not decked out in
their frosty garb, and I will yet show an ungrateful ministry, that I am a better
servant to our royal mistress, than they are, with there old wives' factions.

But we have no time to lose, you must prepare for the meeting, and so must
I—remember, now, that you are pledged to clear up all this mystery—you will
have a glorious opportunity—for your enemies, and they are numerous and
powerful, will make a combined attack upon you, and I have even received
an intimation that it will be extended to me, and that I may yet peril the expedition,
unless I throw you overboard.”

“I trust, your Excellency, that I may be enabled to right myself in the
eyes of all men; at all events you shall not suffer by me, nor shall any of my
short comings attach their odium to your enterprise. Either I enter upon it
as a gentleman of untarnished name and lineage, or I enter it not at all.
Such, I understand, indeed are the pre-requisitions to enter your chivalrous
band. I will not say, that my past life has not been fruitful of errors, but
there is no personal stain in all the sad retrospect, at least none that I think
your Excellency will consider as such; but I will not anticipate the work of
the evening, by recounting to you the only thing which could be tortured
into matter for my exclusion. I will make a clean breast of it, when we
meet—it may produce a stormy meeting and that far, I regret the necessity
on your Excellency's account.”

“Pooh, pooh. I have heard thunder too long to be frightened at a fow pop
guns let off by some run-mad boys in the Capitol. I was once as mad as any
of them, and I have not forgotten it, nor do I mean ever to forget it. I love
the wild spirit of the untamed colt, provided it is only the impetuous impulses
of young life, and nothing vicious in it. I shall keep my eye upon one
youngster, who will doubtless figure largely there to-night, however. I have
hitherto found it impossible to decide, whether he was of the true metal or
not, and only spoiled in the training, or whether he has innate deviltry so deeply
imbedded in the texture of his composition, that the ups and downs, even of
a campaign, will not wear it out.”

“I think I know to whom your Excellency alludes, and without presumption
I think I know him better than you do. You allude to Mr. Henry Lee!
Be under no apprehension for the harmony of your expedition, at least for
any disturbance that he may create on my account; for I predict now most
confidently that one or the other of us will withdraw entirely from the enterprise.
It is next to impossible that we can unite in any undertaking of the
sort, after what must necessarily come to light at the meeting. He has
hitherto had the whole game in his own hands and I have suffered him full
swing, but the time has now arrived for me to assert my just rights in this
community, so that you may possibly see a double unmasking.”

“Well, well, only do as well as you talk, my boy, and I assure you there is
no one who will be more gratified than myself. I have seen for some time
that you were in a false position, and that he maintained some unaccountable
power over you, and I thought indeed that you had given him full swing sure
enough. I rejoice to hear you say that it is now about to end. I cannot tell
you how many remonstrances I have had addressed to me on your account.
Some hinted one thing and some another, but all thought it unseemly in me
to countenance you without credentials of any sort. So, you see, it is
full time to unmask, as you say. By the by, did I not hear that you were
one of the masking party at my country house?”

“No more, your Excellency, no more; have patience only until one telling
of my tale may answer.”

“Well, good day, and remember what is before you!” and with these
words Hall was left alone. There was no need to remind him that he had an
arduous task to perform—he well knew it, and felt it keenly. He knew that
he was in a delicate position—that he was a mark, as well for the shafts of
envy and malice, as for the eager eyes of all men.

He retired to prepare the note for the Governor's trusty messenger, which
he did in a few minutes.

12. CHAPTER XII.
LAST EVENING AT THE CAPITAL.

Since we last presented the Governor's daughters to our readers, they had
suffered the first great afiliction of their lives. 'Tis an era in the life of
every one, and by its results may be marked the forming character of either sex.

Kate's life hitherto had been unusually brilliant and happy, not a cloud
obscured her serene horizon—every thing was seen couleur de rose, and the
native enthusiasm of her character had burst into full fruition, unchecked by
the frowns of fortune or misadventures of a tenderer sort. If we have succeeded
in presenting her properly before our readers, they have seen in the
records of her young, and innocent, and happy life, almost a perfect contrast
to the melancholy and heart-stricken experience of her intimate friend.
Happy was she, that such a one was near her, and that she knew what misfortunes
were, or the blow would have been more dreadful than it really was.
For a brief space, they had almost changed places, and while Ellen's prospects
brightened, she became the constant comforter of her sanguine and
enthusiastic friend. True, their trials were somewhat different—the one
bemoaned an absent lover, but not entirely without hope, and the other mourned
a brother. It may be well imagined, then, that the first sight of Wingina,
ushered into Kate's presence without notice or warning, was anything but
soothing to the lacerated feelings of the poor girl. She hid her face and
wept afresh, when she saw her—for she had heard the whole of the sad
story of her shame—indeed her appearance began now to put secrecy any
longer out of the question. It was impossible for Kate to allude to the melancholy
affair, and she could only weep and wring the hand of the poor forlorn
creature. Kate looked and expressed in pantomine a thousand promises of sympathy
and protection, but she could do no more. Dorothea left the room,she could
not look upon the sister of her brother's murderer with the same Christian
forbearance as her sister. She expressed no feelings of hatred or indignation,
but obeyed her youthful impulses, and left the room upon the instant. Poor
Wingina could not fully understand all this—she could not appreciate the
feelings of either sister; for though brought up in many of the outward and
conventional forms of civilized life, her education had been very defective in
all that touches the heart, either through the ministrations of religion, or even
the refinement which may be acquired without them. There was no sentimentality
about her. It is true, indeed, that a rude and savage heart may be
touched by an influence from above, which softens and humanizes the character,
but even then, there is something still wanting in the point we have
alluded to. We have never seen an Indian, converted or not, possessing
this delicacy of feeling. But Wingina could not comprehend the full measure
of her disgrace. Her previous distraction was made up of fear of her
brother, and dread of being separated from the one she loved, and but for her
subdued and meek natural deportment, might have been considered brazenfaced
and shameless. She could not comprehend her fallen position in the
eyes of those around her; she felt bereaved, but much in the way she would
have done had she lost a husband, after the aboriginal manners and customs.
All through the house she met the silent tear and the averted face, and perhaps
the patronising air of pity and commiseration. Lady Spotswood could
not see her at all. This was all very different from her former reception in
the same place and from the same people, and she was about to make a speedy
retreat; but Kate seeing the nature of the case, begged her to wait a few
moments, and she sat down and wrote a note by her to Ellen. As this note
was somewhat characteristic, and at the same time expressed better than we
can do the state of feeling we have attempted to describe, we shall transcribe
it. It ran as follows:

This note was sealed and handed to Wingina, who was nothing loth to
depart—in fact, she was more than half offended, and arrived at the Doctor's
in rather a sullen mood. She found Ellen herself not in the most amiable
state of calmness and repose. She, too, was beginning to be offended in
another quarter. She had expected a visit from Hall, and was disappointed
that he did not come. Her father made many excuses for him—mentioned
the meeting at the capital among others, but they were not satisfactory. She
had reasons of her own for wishing to see him previous to that very meeting,
and he had reasons of his own why he wished to avoid it, until that meeting
was over. Our readers will soon perceive that his were substantial ones. He
was engaged during the remainder of the afternoon in one of the upper rooms
of the Palace, before a large table entirely covered with printed and manuscript
papers, from which, from time to time, he took notes, while others he
tied up in a bundle, and marked for use. Occasionally he rose from his
engrossing occupation and strode through the room under an excitement of
feeling, which he strove in vain to calm. He was, in fact, laboring under
the most painful suspense as to the result of his message to York. Could
he have been assured that all was right in that quarter, he might have prepared
himself for the coming contest more calmly. He knew that the crisis
of his fate had arrived, and under his present want of recent information
from Europe, he knew not what evidence might be brought against him for
the share he had taken in the affair of Gen. Elliot. He knew not but his
enemies might prove him an attainted rebel, and thus baffle one of the greatest
desires of his life, (to bear an active part in the tramontane expedition,) as
well as throw him out once more from the association of that circle which he
loved so well.

His reasons for not presenting himself at the Doctor's house, were the
farthest possibly removed from ingratitude. He thought of the interpretation
which Miss Evylin and the Doctor might put upon his conduct, but he
resolved to risk their present displeasure for their future approval. Such,
indeed, was the whole constitution and character of his mind—he had ever
sought future good by present sacrifices, and denied himself that others might
be gratified.

It will be readily gathered from what has been said, and from what is
already known of his past history, that he was in a poor state of preparation

for a defence of all that was dear in life to him. He was about to throw off
a masquerading dress, which had been adopted at first from the sternest
necessity, and perhaps place himself thereby in defiance of the laws of his
country—those laws for which he had now come to feel an uncommon reverence.
Now, he knew what it was to attempt in the roisterous and thoughtless
days of youth to revolutionize the whole current of society, according
to the immature views of that period—he knew that it was better to suffer
partial evils, in an otherwise wholesome and benign government, for the general
good, rather than that every mad youth should set himself up for lawgiver
and judge. In short, his futile aims at unattainable perfections were put to
flight by the most profound consideration of the utter debasement of human
nature. This is a point of knowledge not often attained in young life, without
bitter personal experience; and he that comes into active life without this
experience, and after sailing always upon summer seas, is very apt to become
an amiable (but nevertheless) fool.

But, however much his spirit was grieved, and the immature notions of his
sanguine youth ground down, he had yet to suffer for the follies which they
had engendered. Repentance, alone, will not always answer in this world—
there must be restitution, and retribution, as far as possible. Hall's business
now was with the present, and not with the past. He was now to chalk out
a new career for himself, but he had first to overcome the one great error of
his youth, and to which he could now distinctly trace all his subsequent misfortunes.
He reviewed hastily his past career—thought over the successive
difficulties in which he had been involved, and from the most important of
which he had just been delivered by a manifest interference of Providence.
This conviction nerved his heart for the contest, and all his late despondency
and want of confiding trust in a benign and overruling power vanished. He
rose up from his papers re-invigorated, and thrusting his bundle into his pocket,
walked down stairs. He had not been there long before he was called out
by a servant—he was met at the door by the messenger who had been despatched
to York, who placed in his hands a large paper package, covered
with tape and sealing wax, and a note of apparently more recent date. He
tore open the latter, and read it by the light of the lamp, (for it was growing
dark.) The old Governor had followed him, and was anxiously waiting to
hear the result of his message. Hall did not appear to be aware of his presence,
or if he was, forgot in the exultation of the moment. He jumped
straight up from the floor, whirled himself round—kissed the letter, and then
ran out upon the green, where he walked rapidly among the trees for ten or
fifteen minutes talking away and gesticulating to himself in the strangest manner
and performing anties, which not a little surprised if they did not amuse
the old veteran who was still eyeing him. At length he became conscious of
the ridiculous figure which he was cutting, and walked back to the Palace and
met the Governor at the portico, and seizing his hand, wrung it warmly with
the simple exclamation, “It is all right, Sir,—all right—now, indeed, I am a
free man.”

“I am none the less rejoiced,” said his Excellency, “that I know not the
cause of your wild exultation, but I trust it bears upon the point we talked of
during the day.”

“It does—it does—and right to the point—strikes the nail right upon the
head.”

The Capitol bell was now pouring a merry peal over the tewn, and announcing
to the young chivalry of the Colony, that the time appointed for their
meeting had arrived. The carriage soon alter drove up to the door, and not
many minutes had elapsed before Dr. Evylin's also drove up, to accompany
the party from the Palace. Hall walked to the window, the blinds of which
had been let down, and shook hands with the Doctor, but Ellen did not extend

hers, contenting herself with a slight inclination of the head. The cause of
this we will explain at another time, but our readers should not attach inconsistency
to our favorite, from which, indeed, none of her sex was more free.
The party from the Palace was soon made up, and as the carriages turned
from the avenue into Gloucester street, they encountered many more pursuing
the same route.

Seldom, since the foundation of the Colony, had there been a meeting
which attracted so large a share of public attention. It was the last meeting
of those who were to set out on the morrow for the mountains, an undertaking
at that day quite as perilous as one in ours to the Rocky Mountains. Indeed
the route was far less known, and had never been traversed at all by that
Anglo-Saxon race which was and is destined to appropriate such a large portion
of the Globe to themselves, and to disseminate their laws, their language,
and their religion, over such countless millions. Grand and enthusiastic as
were the conceptions of Sir Alexander Spotswood and his young followers, they
had little idea that they were then about to commence a march which would be
renewed from generation to generation, until, in the course of little more than
a single century, it would transcend the Rio del Norte, and which perhaps in
half that time may traverse the utmost boundaries of Mexico. But the sober
old granddads of the Colony thought the Governor visionary enough in his
present views, bounded as they were by the Apalachee and the Mississippi,
and that he had led the youngsters of the Colony sufficiently astray already,
without extending his prophetic vision to Texas and Mexico.

13. CHAPTER XIII.
MEETING OF THE TRAMONTANE ORDER.

The Capitol was brilliantly lighted, and already crowded to excess, when
our party arrived. The seats appropriated to the members of the expedition,
were already pre-occupied by ladies, and the galleries were crowded to suffocation
by many of the rank and file of the little army, who had crowded in to
hear their leaders talk of the campaign. There was a feverish anxiety and
restlessness already visible among the elite on the lower floor, and when Hall
followed the Governor's party into the midst of them, there was a general cessation
of the buz and hum of eager gossip, and all eyes were turned enquiringly
towards him. It seemed as it the public mind had been prepared to expect a
renewed encounter between him and his persecutors. Seats had been preserved
for the Governor's party, just in front of the Speaker's chair, but Hall
after waiting to see them all comfortably provided, did not assume so conspicuous
a place himself—he walked to one of the farthest and most obscure corners
of the room and seated himself, and rested his head upon his hand in a
meek meditative mood, and so as to elude the painful gaze of the multitude.
He had scarcely thus enscounced himself before the purient eyes of the people
were attracted by the entrance of the well known champion of the opposite
side—Mr. Henry Lee. He walked up the main vestibule, arm in arm with
young Carter, and holding quite ostentatiously a bundle of papers under his
arm. After he was seated near the centre of the room, and exactly in front of
the Governor's party, he cast his haughty eye round the hall in search of his
antagonist, but he was not successful in detecting his whereabouts, and he
doubtless concluded that he had not yet arrived—consequently he kept his eye
anxiously and eagerly upon the door. The room, however, was now as full
as it could hold, and by general consent they were ready to proceed to business.

Dr. Blair rose up and said: “As this is a meeting for the purpose of
deciding the best means of advancing the cause of civilization and of carrying
the cross of our blessed Redeemer into unknown heathen lands, I propose
that it be opened with prayer!”

As this was one of those propositions which none in those days thought
unconstitutional, it was adopted nem. con. and the old prelate offered an
eloquent appeal to the throne of mercy, that the expedition might be crowned
with success and all its arrangements distinguished by that harmony and good
will to men, which should ever characterize missionary enterprises. After
the prayer was concluded he rose to his feet and addressed a few words to the
young gentry present, and distiuctly characterized them as young missionaries
about to herald the cross to heathen lands, and begged them to preserve
their characters and conduct pure and above reproach—that they might consistently
look to Heaven for its approbation upon their undertaking.

This proceding of the old Doctor took the sanguine and impatient youths
all aback. They had been dreaming of naught but military conquest, and
magnificent landed acquisitions, but this suddenly converting them all into
missionaries of the cross, was what they were not exactly prepared for.
Besides it seemed to awe into silence the turbulent passions which they had
expected to see burst into fierce and angry contention—it converted, as it
were, the arena of personal contention at once into a sacred place.”

However, some one rose and nominated Governor Spotswood to the Chair.
The question was put and carried unanimously, and two of the young gentlemen
escorted him to his seat. On assuming the chair, he stated that he
understood the meeting to consist only of the young gentry of the land who
intended to march on the morrow for the mountains—of such as had marched
their retainers or followers voluntarily to his standard—and that their object
was to adopt certain regulations and arrange preliminaries, so as best to
accomplish the noble ends of the enterprise, by such means as had been so
well set forth by his Reverend friend who had preceded him. He said he had
understood that it was to be proposed there, that none but those of gentle
blood should be admitted into this exclusive association. He hoped that no
such proposition would be offered. Let the noble objects of our ambition be
open to every gentleman of fair fame, and to all the officers of the Rangers.

Here he undertook to prove to them, that it was absolutely necessary for
the purposes of military discipline, that there should be but one order among
his subordinates in command, and therefore that the officers of the Rangers
must come into their association.

He sat down amidst no murmurs of applause; on the contrary, there was
marked disapprobation of his views on more than one countenance. Of this
party, Carter became the spokesman. He said, after the draft of the constitution
had been read, if the line already drawn by those appointed to that
duty was once broken down, there was no telling where it would stop—that
if they commenced with the officers of the Rangers, the non-commissioned
officers might come in under the same rule. He undertook also to rebut the
Governor's position as to military discipline—said that this was entirely a
private association of gentlemen, intended in no way to interfere with the
Governor's proper authority in the field or camp—that like all other chivalrous
asscciations which had gone forth to do battle, either in the cause of
religion, humanity, or the more general purposes of righting the wronged,
they were desirous of purifying themselves; and here he instanced the
prolonged fasts, vigils, and religious ceremonies preceding the outset of other
knightly bodies; and “though,” said he, “we may not yet have received the
acolade, who knows but our sovereign may honor many of these noble
youths here assembled upon our return. Like honors have often been
bestowed for less services.”

Here there was a general smile among the ladies, and the speaker himself
had a half serious half comic expression upon his face. He little knew then
what those services and hardships were to be. His speech was well received
by all the exclusives, those who were for confining the honors entirely among
the young gentry of the Colony. There was a large party, however, of opposite
views, and of these, Bernard Moore became the spokesman. He said,
“that this discussion was what might be called, in military language, firing
from a masked battery. That the gentlemen on the other side had certain
objects to attain by all this machinery—certain persons to exclude. Now he
could not see that they could attain more by one plan than the other. The
Governor's rule would exclude every improper person from the Tramontane
Order, and the other could do no more, while the latter was burdened with
odious features—it put every gentleman upon his pedigree—a matter not at
all times and places fit for public discussion and investigation. He called upon
the opposite side to come out manfully and show their hands—to say at what
they were aiming. He would not ask them to point out who it was they aimed
at, but their objects, if praise-worthy and legitimate, could be attained by general
regulations such as he before alluded to. He concluded by an earnest
appeal to their patriotism, and called upon all the real friends of the enterprise
and its distinguished author, to mark these initiatory proceedings by harmony;
assuring them, that should they commence with heart-burning and discord,
much of the pleasure which they all anticipated would be destroyed.”

These remarks called up Henry Lee. He said that for his part be had
nothing to conceal; that he wished to make the badge of the Tramontane
Order not only a distinction to be sought after, but to elevate the requisitions
for membership, so as to ensure its future honors. “If these rules and regulations
be adopted,” said he, “I predict that our order will be one that will live
in the future history of the Colony, and to have been a member of it, will
confer honors worthy of being transmitted to our descendants. The gentleman
who has just taken his seat calls upon our side of the house to come out
manfully, and show our hands. We are ready and willing to do so, as far as
the nature of the case will admit. It has been currently reported that a certain
individual who has now become quite notorious in the Colony will attempt to
force himself upon us, and I acknowledge frankly, for one, that my design is
to exclude him. I had hoped to have seen him present before I took the
floor.”

Here Hall rose—he said “not for the purpose of interrupting the gentleman,
but to show him that he was present and ready to meet him.”

Lee exclaimed, when Hall resumed his seat, “ah! I am g'ad of it, then we
have not been misinformed. The issue is now made up, and there can be no
more complaints of masked batteries. I leave the question with the meeting.”

Moore made the attempt to take the floor, as well as several others on the
same side, and the chairman became very restless, as if he too desired to take
a hand in the game, but all gave way to Hall, as soon as they saw that he
desired to speak. He said he had but few words to say—that he would not
have intruded at all at this stage of the proceedings, if he had not been so
pointedly alluded to, that he could not misunderstand it. He called upon his
friends to cease their opposition and suffer the regulations to be adopted, that
he was ready and willing to abide by them.

We have not given these regulations in detail, because we did not wish to
fatigue or readers with the whole constitution of a society, in much of which
they could feel no interest. The scope and object of it may be abundantly
gathered by what has been and will be said. There seemed now no longer
any neccessity for opposition, though the friends of the last speaker could
not tell what he was aiming at. They thought that by his easy acquiescence,
he was voluntarily entering into a snare, set for him by his enemies, but they

could not very well hold out when he had yielded. The articles of association
were now read seriatim, and adopted nem. con. The first of these, of
any interest to our readers, required the unauimous election of six out of the
whole number of names handed in as candidates for admission, This was a
very difficult thing to accomplish, and consumed considerable time. The
whole six were ballotted for at once, after having been put in nomination by
their friends. It will be perceived that this plan required that each candidate
should receive every vote. Bernard Moore obtained this distinction at the
first ballot. Carter at the second, and so on, until the board was complete.
Harry Lee, after running the gauntlet of every trial, was excluded by two
votes only, much to his chagrin and disappointment. It had nearly upset
the whole scheme which he had so ingeniously concocted.

The candidates for admission were now to advance singly to the clerk's
table and record their names, provided there was no dissenting voice of the six
censors. If there should be—then the case was postponed to the last, when
it was to be decided by a vote of the whole association—two-thirds being
required to effect an admission.

The Tramontane order was now rapidly filling up its ranks, and nought
further had occured to disturb the harmony of the meeting, until Hall rose
from his secluded corner, and walked to the table of the Secretary, took up
the pen to record his name. Carter immediately rose and objected, and the
candidate fell back to bide his time. The proceedings went on smoothly
enough again, until Henry Lee approached to record his name, which he
had half accomplished before he could fully comprehend that there was objection
made. It was by Hall, of course, so that they stood as the challengers
of each other, in fact, for all understood who Carter's prompter was, and
were fairly pitted for the contest.

It was now incumbent on Lee to state his objections first, and make them
good. He rose, and stated to the meeting that he had objected, through his
friend, to the candidate, first, because of the general circumstances of mystery
and suspicion which attached to him, and now pretty generally known
throughout the Colony. This, he presumed, would be sufficient of itself, but
he would not leave the matter even doubtful and, therefore, he would state his
second objection to be, that he stood before the meeting under an assumed
name, and that name adopted for dishonest and disreputable purposes. Thirdly,
that he was an attainted rebel and an outlaw, with a price set upon his
head.

Hall rose up to answer to these grave charges, neither with an exulting nor
a desponding air, but quite calm and dignified. He repelled, indignantly, the
first charge, inasmuch as most of the suspicions which had been engendered
against him in the Colony, had been the coinage of his accuser's own brain—
on that very day he had, by an evident interposition of an all-wise and overruling
Providence, been triumphantly freed from the meshes of one of the most
ingenious plots ever contrived to destroy an innocent man. Such, said he,
are all the gentleman's suspicious circumstances. As for the second and
third counts, he put him upon his proofs. Lee beckoned to some one in the
gallery to come down, and for a few moments the whole assemblage were left
in breathless suspense, for it had somehow been rumored that Lee was to confront
Mr. Hall with the real personage whose name he had assumed. It was
not long before a young man, of elegant exterior and carriage, entered the
door of the lower floor, and walked up the passage towards the centre of the
room. Hall, so far from shrinking from the encounter, rose up also, and approached
the table, to which all eyes were now attracted. The stranger was
not quite so tall as Mr. Hall, nor of so large a frame, but the hair and whiskers
were exactly of the same color, and there was, besides, a striking general resemblance
in the two. Those on the back seats rose up, and those in front

were pressed forward, and for an instant there was some confusion in the general
rush to see the strange encounter. Still they approached each other, and
many supposed they were bent only upon a rude and hostile encounter. But
what was the surprise and astonishment of the people, and of Henry Lee, in
particular, when the two rushed into each other's arms and embraced most
cordially. Both the young men seemed much affected by the meeting, and
each stood gazing upon the other, as if each waited for the other to speak.
Henry Lee, who was standing upon his feet, exclaimed in a hoarse and agitated
voice:

“Mr. President, this jugglery requires explanation!”

Hall waved his hand, and appealed by his looks for a moment's patience
and silence in the crowd, that he might be heard. In the mean time many
voices cried out, “which is the real Hall? Which is the real Hall?”

The President begged the members and the association to be seated, and
suffer the young gentlemen to explain their own mystery—that it was impossible
to hear amidst the present confusion. When order and silence were
once more restored—Hall, or the young gentleman who had assumed that
name, arose and taking the stranger by the hand, led him to the foot of the
table, and said:

“Mr. President, and good people all, I take pleasure in introducing to you
the real Henry Hall, whose name I have so long borne. The idea of first
assuming it was suggested by the resemblance in our persons, having often
been mistaken for each other. I took up another name because it had become
dangerous for me to wear my own. My offence, I acknowledge frankly, was
a grave one; but it was wholly political, and I am happy in being able, at the
same time, that I resume my own, to state to this enlightened meeting, that it
no longer rests under the proscription of our sovereign. I hold in my hand
a free pardon, one of the first acts of clemency of our new King, for I am
under the necessity of informing you at the same time, of the death of her
gracious and most excellent Majesty, the late Queen Ann. She died on the
first of last month.”

There was a general exclamation of surprise and regret, which was followed
by the buz and hum of conversation—carried on in an under tone
throughout the room, and during which the speaker temporarily resumed his
seat.

Silence being once more restored, the President reminded the gentleman
last on the floor, that he had not yet completed his explanation. He resumed.
“I have but few words more to utter, Mr. President, it only remains for me to
resume a name once honored in this Colony—Francis Lee!” Here a deafening
shout of applause shook the Capitol to its foundations, in the midst of
which, both the spokesman, together with Harry Lee, were seen wildly
gesticulating, but not a word could be heard for some moments from either.
Frank, (as we shall henceforth call him,) seeing his brother's frantic gestures,
ceased his own and stood back a moment to hear what it was he said. “I
protest, Mr. President, against this new phase of this arch impostor's jugglery—I
disclaim all kindred with him, and I call upon all those present who
remember my brother, boy as he was, whether he had not light hair.”

Frank stood forward, with a playful smile upon his countenance, and putting
his hand deliberately to his head, in a single instant denuded it of its dark
flowing locks, revealing at the same time a fine turned head, closely matted
over with short light curls. The transformation was instantaneous, and many
voices testified aloud, “it is Frank Lee! it is Frank Lee!” Old Dr. Evylin
rushed forward and seized his hand, but at the very same moment Ellen
fell over into the arms of one of her female friends. Frank's eye had hardly
ever for a moment been entirely removed from her eager and agitated countenance,
and quick as thought, he flew to where she had fallen, and bore her
out of the crowd in his arms.

14. CHAPTER XIV.
RETROSPECT.

We must turn back, only for half a chapter, and we are sure our fair readers
will forgive us, when they recollect it is the only indulgence of the kind
we have asked—that we have spun the thread of our story straight forward,
without turning to the right or the left. We stated in a former chapter that
Ellen Evylin, when she drove up to the door of the Governor's mansion,
was rather cold and distant to the young gentleman then called Hall, and
for fear our fair readers might think her fickle and capricious, we will explain
why it was so. It will be recollected that the Indian girl had expressly
stated, that the young lady then in captivity, had sent a most
urgent appeal to Mr. Hall in her behalf, and such an one as only a lady
betrothed would send to her lover. Now, supposing that Miss Evylin had
had for some time a shrewd suspicion who this Mr. Henry Hall really
was—a sort of half doubting, half confident possession of his secret, how
could she explain satisfactorily his equivocal position between herself and
Miss Eugenia Elliot. She knew from the young gentleman's own statement,
that this very young lady accompanied him across the ocean—that
she was a party to the masking adventure; that her father had been involved
in the same political troubles with himself; and she, moreover,
remembered tha the was under the impression at the time of the voyage,
that she (Miss Evylin) was either affianced or married to another. What
more probable then, than that he should seek consolation from such a
charming source. She most ingeniously tormented herself in imagining
what an embarrassing position he had thus placed himself in, between
two young ladies, and most innocently too, if her surmises were correct.
Thus she accounted for much of the studied mystery and reserve of the
young man; and our readers may readily imagine what was her resolution
upon the painful subject—it was to surrender up all claims upon the
instant.

So admirably, however, had Frank Lee (for we shall henceforth call
him by his right name) mystified even his oldest and best friends, and so
constantly had he worn his masquerading dress, and pertinaciously had he
continued to carry out the delusion through trials and difficulties, that she
was by no means certain that her suspicions as to his identity were correct.
Nothing but this constantly harrassing doubt prevented her from
sending for him at once and releasing him from his early engagement,
which she had tortured herself with supposing, was now so embarrassing
to him.

She was carried from the meeting of the members of “the Tramontane
Order” by Frank Lee, it will be remembered, and that ardent and emancipated
young gentleman seemed determined to make amends for his past losses, and
let loose his long suppressed affections in a burst of endearments to his half
dead mistress. How ardently he folded his lovely burden in his arms, and
with what glowing animation he pressed his lips to her cold and clammy
cheeks. We know of no restorative like it. The olfactories may be, and no
doubt are, very sensitive, but a ladies sensorium is sooner reached through
those thrilling thermometers of vitality, the lips. So it proved in the present
instance; and by the time Frank had reached the green in front of the
Capitol, Ellen was pleading, at first most eloquently, and at length indignantly,
to be set down and left alone. And what sounded not less strange in his
ears, she called him Mr. Lee. Now, it might have sounded strange to him,
from the fact of his having so long suffered it to fall into disuse himself—
that was not the idea here, however—there was a chilling and distant tone

and manner in it, which he had never encountered but once, even as the poor
adventurer Hall, and he was consequently taken all aback—he had anticipated
a very different reception, and was utterly at a loss to account for it. His
failure to present himself after his acquittal, was the only thing which he
could in his rapid review of his conduct surmise as the cause, and he commenced
his protestations accordingly, but it was all met by a cold wave of
the hand, and an earnest supplication to be conducted to her father's carriage.
Of course such an appeal, or rather demand, was not to be resisted, and he
reluctantly escorted her to the carriage. Most wistfully did he gaze by the
dim light to see if there was no relenting—no hint or look implying a desire for
his company in her solitary ride home, but there was none, and his pride coming
to his relief, he closed the door with a hasty good night, and strutted off in
high disdain. He was marching thus, like a grenadier, with his nose in the
wind, and gesticulating with great animation, when Moore walked up, and
touched him on the arm. Frank gazed at him as if he had fallen from the
moon, so completely had he forgotten his whereabouts.

“You are unanimously admitted into the Tramontane Order,” said Moore,
with a bright smile.

“Oh, the plague take the Tramontane Order,” responded Frank, still striding
on and Moore following' down Gloucester street.

“Your brother decamped from the meeting instanter.”

“Well, I hope he may never return.”

“Why, Frank?” exclaimed Moore in surprise, “this in the first moment
of your restoration and our mutual recognition? You have not given up the
mysteries yet, I see.”

“Forgive me, Bernard,” said he, suddenly wheeling round, and seizing his
friend's hand. “Forgive me—the fact is, I have been thrown all out of
sorts by an inexplicable piece of capriciousness in one whom I believed too
far exalted above such little feminine arts.”

“Hah! a petticoat in the case is there? I'll tell you a secret, my fine
fellow—there's none of them above caprice—always except Kate.”

“Bernard, an hour ago I would have thrown down my glove upon it,
against all comers, that there was not such another model of constancy—ingenuousness—frankness—firmness—modesty—gentleness;
in short, my dear
fellow, a very personification of all the female virtues, with many borrowed
from ours. This has been my solace under every trial and difficulty; and
then to turn round in the very moment of my triumph, and descend to the
little arts of her sex, and dash my brimming cup to the ground. Oh, it was
too bad.”

“Nay, nay, Frank—it was certainly a better chosen moment than the
period of your adversity would have been—you must admit that; but there is
some mistake, you may depend upon it—I know her too well to suppose that
she would indulge in any idle caprice at such a moment.”

“I'll call at the Doctor's upon the spot, and demand an explanation. I
cannot stand this cruel suspense, just upon the eve of what I supposed would
be one of the happiest moments of my life—what I supposed would compensate
me for a life of unexampled misfortunes.”

“Do so, Frank—I am sure there is some misunderstanding—perhaps there
is some charge which she has deferrred preferring until you were entirely
clear of all difficulties—i. e. if she really penetrated your disguise, as I am
told many did, now that the eclaircisement is made. What wonderful sagacity
the many-headed monster is blessed with! But to return—the surmise that
I ventured just now is the true solution—it is very much like her, depend
upon it.”

“No, no, Bernard—Ellen penetrated my mask at least, I am sure, and we
played a sort of mutual masquerade, under which nearly every subject of

personal interest or otherwise was discussed; and oh, Moore, when she first
began to peep behind my mask, and I to reproduce the shadow of her long
lost lover, as his best friend, Henry Hall, what exquisite moments I enjoyed.
Can it be possible that she designs now to revenge herself on me, for thus
surreptitiously plundering her heart of its secrets?”

“It is not in character, Frank, she has no revenge to accomplish—it is
some higher object, real or imaginary, that she has in view—perhaps she
fears a deadly encounter between your brother and yourself—that's it—that's
it, Frank.”

“But how could her snubbing me in this fashion prevent Harry and me
from coming to high words, perhaps blows?”

“Perhaps she caught a glimpse of him eaves-dropping?”

“No, no, Bernard. With all his malice and uncharitableness, he is not so
mean as that; but I will solve the riddle before I am an hour older. I will
merely call at the Palace to deposit these papers, and then for a trial of my
fate.”

Together they proceeded on foot, when just as they entered the avenue
leading to the Palace, they discovered the Doctor's carriage driving away,
and Kate hastily retreating from the door. Now, as this avenue was always
lighted at night, they could see that Ellen still sat alone upon the back seat,
and that she was weeping. She also caught a glimpse of them, and drew
herself up in the corner of the carriage, out of sight. This was all very
strange and inexplicable to the young men, especially on such a night, and
after all that had happened at the Capitol. It was just the reverse of what
Frank had anticipated, but he proceeded on his course, none the less bent on
clearing up the mystery from what he had just seen. He was destined to
some farther experience in the matter, earlier than he expected; for no sooner
had he entered the hall of the Palace, than a servant presented him with a
message from Miss Kate—she desired to speak a few words with him. He
followed and was led into one of the sitting rooms on the lower floor, where
Kate awaited him with a bundle in her hand. She congratuated him upon
his restoration to his proper name and station, and said she was sorry to be
the bearer of unpleasant news at such a time, but her friend Ellen had charged
her with the mission, and she was compelled to perform it. She said that
Ellen had commissioned her to deliver into his hands that package and a
miniature of himself, with a complete discharge from all engagements to her.
Frank was speechless with astonishment—he seemed as if he would choke, so
parched became his throat, and so vain his attempt at utterance. Kate seeing
his pitiable condition, and that he still gazed at the things she held in her
hand without taking them, and that his face was almost convulsed, so intense
was the working of his troubled spirit, she handed him a chair, and begged
him to be seated. Her efforts at consolation were at first not very successful,
for her auditor seemed not to be listening to a word she said. His eyes
were riveted upon the locket, the early memento of his youthful passion.
What overwhelming recollections of days and joys gone by forever poured in
upon his memory, with all their blended associations of sorrow and joy; that
picture, which he had not seen before that day, since he had plighted his
faith, upon the occasion of its being given? How vividly it brought back the
bright morning of his youthful love—those halcyon days that have but one
dawn, one bright morning, ere they are closed over forever by a long, and
dark, and bitter night. The long years which had intervened, with their sad
and blighting experience and bitter memories, were rolled back, and he stood
before the youthful beauty in his mental vision, as he stood before her with
her hand clasped in his, as when he had presented her with that picture. Was
it any wonder that he spoke not? Such memories have no voice.

Frank Lee had perhaps came as near acting out and preserving the first

freshness of his early romantic love, as is ever permitted to mortal man,
but his self-condemnation, upon the return of that picture, knew no sophistry
or deception. He stood abashed, in recollection of the bright purity and
unwavering constancy of his mistress—of these, he had indubitable evidence—
he was compelled,therefore, to make a hasty retrospect of his conduct towards
her; and though self-condemned in many respects, as we have said, for his
life he could not divine in what he had offended towards the object of his
early, undivided, and constant attachment, and he at length resolved to vindicate
himself before his offended mistress. Scarcely was the resolution formed,
ere he seized upon the package and the picture, and rushed from the house.

As he passed out, he had nearly upset the Governor, who, with his party,
were just returned from the Capitol. The hardy old soldier turned round and
looked after his retreating figure, with a dubious and amusing stare of astonishment.

“Gad,” said he, “that fellow will die in a mystery,” touching his forehead
at the same time with his finger, as much as to express a fear that all was
not right in that quarter.

Frank scarcely knew that he had passed, much less been rude, to any one.
He soon found himself knocking at the Doctor's door. Now, as the old Doctor
was one of those who accompanied the Governor, the coast was clear—
there was nothing to prevent his having the interview and explanation he
sought. Yet he trembled more when ushered into the presence of the little
offended beauty, than when recently on trial for his life. And to say truth,
the young lady herself was not in the most serene mood in the world.
They stood before each other like two culprits. Frank, with the letters
and the trinkets, like stolen goods, still in his hand. He made many
efforts to speak, and nearly choked at the formality of calling her Miss
Evylin, but at length burst through all embarrassments and restraint,
and exclaimed, “Ellen, will you, can you, tell me what all this means?”
pointing to the things he held in his hand.

She motioned him to be seated, and began, “Mr. Lee!”

But he held up his hand in a deprecating mood, and begged her, “For
God's sake, no more of that—I shall die upon it!”

“Well, then, Frank,” resumed she, “I have accidentally learned that
you had most innocently, as I presume, engaged yourself to another and
most excellent and beautiful lady. Nay, be not so impatient, I will conclude
all I have to say in one moment.”

“No,” said he, hurriedly, and striding impatiently about the room, “not
another word will I listen to of the sort—it is all an infamous falsehood, and
the coinage of the same prolific brain which has devised so many disasters for
me already.”

“Indeed, indeed, Frank, you are mistaken,” said Ellen, very much softened
in her manner, however.”

“Well, then, Ellen, go on until I see from whence the story came.”

“Of that I can inform you in a moment. It came from the lady herself,
Miss Eugenia Elliot, and you know that you gave me such a description of
her, yourself, as none but a lover could give.”

Frank was bewildered, he had stopped, and stood facing his partially appeased
mistress. “You astonish me!” said he, “for I know that Eugenia
Elliot is incapable of falsehood or deception.” He was wrapped in a deep study
for a moment, and then striking his forehead and capering about the room
like one wild, cried out, “I have it! I have it!”

Ellen was agitated, and began to think somewhat like the Governor, that his
misfortunes had touched his brain, and she rose up from her seat, as if about
to escape, but Frank caught her in his arms, and after imprinting sundry most
extravagant kisses upon her forehead, cheeks and lips, seated her nolens volens.

“I have it, my Ellen! I have it! The mistake has originated in the confusion
of the two Halls. It is the real Henry Hall who is engaged to Eugenia
Elliot; fool that I was not to think of this, when that little Indian girl
delivered the message, but of this you shall be certain within the half hour;”
and he put on his hat and was hurrying out, but Ellen, with a sweet smile of
forgiveness on her face, called him back.

“It needs not, Frank,” said she, as he returned into the room, “you see I
have taken you at your word, and resumed those precious treasures of our
childish days,” and she held out her hand at the same time.

It may be readily imagined that Frank was not satisfied with a mere shake
of the hand, or even carrying it to his lips, but over that evening we dare not
venture to intrude the stranger's gaze. Their hearts and their memories
poured forth their long pent up treasures without stint.

Happy, happy are they, who, after whatever trials and afflictions, maintain
their first pure affections uncontaminated by the world. It is a god-send, and
sufficient for most men, that the memory preserves these delicious dreams of
youth, to be called up at pleasure to reinvest with their bright colors the otherwise
sombre views of the present and the future. A large majority of mankind
are only thus partially blest—it is enough to vibrate a single cord of the
instrument, but with our now happy young couple, their whole hearts throbbed
in perfect unison, not a jar was heard in the beautiful concord of sweet words.

Is it because such delicious hours so intoxicate the senses, that no durable
record has ever been taken of these too fleeting joys; or, is the impression so
evanescent that no durable impression is left? That it is not the latter, the
heart and memory of every one can testify; the impression is more lasting
than life; many a miserable sufferer in this world lives out his dreary pilgrimage
upon the bare hope of living o'er all these scenes again in another
stage of existence. The wish, the hope, is never perhaps embodied into language,
but they nevertheless exist under grave visages, and quaint garbs and fashions
of the world. The heart of every man, and especially of every woman, is a
store-house of these hidden things, treasured up through every trial and vicissitude,
where they lie buried along with the cherished memories of other
youthful dreams, only to be revived once in a long time, by some sudden turn
of circumstances or some unforeseen providential occurrence.

We could multiply instances and illustrations, were we disposed to digress,
and show at the same time that “truth is stranger than fiction,” but we leave
the matter to be tested by the experience of each reader, and to be admitted
or thrown aside, as to each may seem best.

Though we will not intrude upon that portion of their discourse which occupied
a large part of the night, during this their delightful reunion, we must
nevertheless touch upon the conclusion of their meeting, because it bears
upon the subject of our narrative.

Frank had several times made an effort to tear himself away; he was at
last conscious that the night was far spent, but then the approaching departure
on the morrow furnished an admirable excuse. “Your father, too,” said
he, “is still at the Governor's, surely I may stay here as long as he stays there.”

“I will sit up all night if you choose, Frank,” replied Ellen, her hand
clasped in that of her lover, and her eyes looking so bright that one would
suppose that sleep never approached them, much less that they had lately
been dimmed by sickness and suffering.

The fact was, the old Doctor was long ago comfortably stowed in bed—he
had learned from the servant at the door that Mr. Lee was there, and supposing
how the matter stood, very discreetly retired and left them to themselves.

“No, no,” said Frank, “that would never do, it would dim your bright eyes
to-morrow before their time, for you must know, my Ellen, that I flatter myself

that you will not see me again depart upon an indefinite absence without a
tear—just one little pearl.”

“Oh, Frank, how can you talk lightly upon such a subject, after such an
absence and such a return—bear with me,therefore, if I turn your gay thoughts
for a moment to a serious matter.”

“No, no, Ellen, no serious subjects to-night—I have resolved to be happy
while I may. For the brief hours, nay, minutes, that are left us, let dull care
be thrown aside.”

“But, Frank,” and she laid her hand imploringly upon his arm,” your
brother!”

He bounded to his feet in an instant, and strode through the room, and
sawed his arm vehemently in the air, as if he would dispel a disagreeable
spectre which she had conjured up, she following all the while, and her
countenance wholly changed from its late happy, placid expression to one
of anxiety and distress.

“Oh Ellen!” he at length exclaimed, “how could you obtrude that
hated name at such a time?”

“Hated, Frank?”

“Aye, hated!”

“What! hate your own brother, Frank? How different your present
feelings from your noble and magnanimous defence of him while in prison!”

“No, no, Ellen, hate is too strong a word, or, at all events, I will only
hate his actions, while I commiserate the man.”

“Ah, Frank! Frank! that is a nice distinction for so young a moralist—search
your heart, and see how inseparable are the actions and the
actor—it is a refinement, which I fear, Frank, is not only beyond your strength,
but beyond human power.”

“Well, my Ellen, what would you have me do? Must I profess to love
him, and clasp the monster to my heart, while my whole nature revolts at
the hypocrisy?”

“No! not that either, but forgive him, Frank, and do him justice.”

“Do him justice! then I should become his executioner; I should dye
my hands in his blood!”

Ellen shuddered at the ferocious expression of his countenance, which
she had never seen before; all formed for gentle emotions, as it seemed
to her, and ever ready to melt at a tale of sorrow and distress. She sat
down and covered her face with her hands. Seeing which, he approached
already softened and repentant.

“Forgive me, my Ellen—I have offended you?”

“No, not offended, Frank,” said she, and looking up with a tear glistening
in her eye, “but I confess to you that I am disappointed. I thought
that your trials had wholly changed that ardent and impetuous nature of yours.”

“Would you have my nature changed, Ellen?”

She returned his ardent and steady gaze for some moments, and then
laying her hand affectionately in his, she said steadily and firmly, “Yes!”

He let her hand drop, as he said, “Now, Ellen, I in my turn am disappointed.
I thought we knew each other thoroughly, and that in the language
of the marriage ceremony, we had determined `to take each other for better
for worse,' that you loved me for myself—as I am, with all my faults.”

“And so I do, Frank, and have said already—how often, I am ashamed to say,
that I will be yours `for better for worse' when you return, but—”

“Oh stop there, Ellen, and let me go now, let me depart to-morrow
with those sweet words still ringing in my ears,” and he imprinted a kiss
upon her lips, and broke away.

An hour afterwards he returned, and gazed upon the now black and dreary
looking house, wrapped in profound darkness. Well was it that he did so—

most providential was the prompting that led him to that spot at such a late
hour of the night, or rather morning; for he had not stood there many
moments ere he saw a light spring up in a wing of the Doctor's house, the
lower part of which was the old physician's office, and the upper scarcely
ever used. He watched it from the time it was no bigger than his hand,
until the whole curtain was in a bright blaze, and he could no longer doubt.
He sounded the alarm of fire, and running to the enclosure, laid his hand
upon it and sprung lightly over. He was very much surprised to hear the
tramp of several horses feet leaving the enclosure as he entered. If it were
the old Doctor just setting out upon one of his nightly pilgrimages, why did
he not return, at the alarm of fire? He repeated the cry still louder than
before, and several voices in the street re-echoed it, and he could hear the
people running in towards the front entrance, but still the flying horsemen
seemed but to increase their speed. He found the back door of the wing,
where he had seen the fire, wide open—he ran up stairs, the first to arrive
there, and found the curtains of the window and those of the bed, from
which some person seemed just to have escaped, all in a blaze. He tore
down the fast consuming combustibles, and with such things as he could
hastily find, thrust out the sashes and the burning fragments after them;
and with the assistance of others, who now arrived on the spot, soon tumbled
the burning bed-clothes and the curtains out of the window. In a
shorter time than we have taken to relate it, the fire, except the burning
things in the yard below, was entirely extinguished; and in a very few
moments after, the old Doctor in his nightcap, and Ellen in her dishabille,
entered. Their whole concern and anxiety were for Wingina, whom Ellen
said she saw safely in bed herself not an hour before. Frank was as much
surprised to see the old Doctor as he was to see Frank, the latter supposing
the old Doctor cantering away upon an errand of life and death, while
the Doctor thought Frank snugly in bed at the Palace. Diligent search
was now made for Wingina. It was supposed, that frightened at the fire,
she had run out into the grounds below, or perhaps into the street. Her
outer garments were still hanging over the chair, where Ellen had seen her
place them when she retired to bed.

While they were yet prosecuting the search in the court below, the
garden and the shrubbery, several reports of fire-arms were heard in quick
succession, which those present most conversant in such matters pronounced
to be by the picket guards beyond the College. Our readers must know
that the little army then encamped in and around the city, was already
assuming that order and discipline for which the old chief in command was
so noted. Notwithstanding this rigid military discipline, it now became
pretty evident to Frank Lee and the Doctor, who were holding together
anxious council on the subject, that those lines had been surreptitiously
entered by the Indians, and Wingina spirited away by her brother. Such
were their hasty surmises, and they were speedily confirmed by the reports
which soon came in from the sentinels. It appeared that the horsemen,
whose retreating figures Frank Lee had really seen, were those of a party
of the dare devils headed by Chunoluskee—that he bore his sister on the
horse before him, and that they had dashed through the line of sentinels
without sustaining any material damage, though repeatedly fired at. It
now became a matter of anxious inquiry, how they had obtained ingress; and
when the business was investigated, it turned out that the footsteps of the
Indians as usual were tracked in blood. A drowsy sentinel had been
stolen upon and tomahawked before any alarm could be given, and thus
they had found their way into the very heart of the city, and borne off the
prize—hostage or victim, as the case might prove.

This daring deed, upon the eve of the march of the expedition, opened

the eyes of the careless young cavaliers, upon whom mainly rested its fate.
Many of them were carousing in their tents at the very hour when they
had been stolen upon.

The novelty of a camp life, and some difficulty in procuring lodgings,
had induced many of them thus early to spread their canvass upon the common,
and some were sleeping, some drinking, and some singing and telling
stories of adventure, when the report of fire-arms startled them from
their various attitudes. Some forty or fifty of them were speedily mounted,
Frank Lee among the number, taking the road indicated by the sentinels,
in pursuit. How well Frank remembered that road! He had but
recently travelled it—first flying from prison, and then returning to it again
in irons. Dark as it was, he knew every foot of it. How gaily
bounded his steed, and how elastic his spirits now, in comparison with what
they were then. Even a night alarm and a recent murder scarcely threw
a shadow across his bright visions of the future. It must be confessed, too,
that his thoughts were scarcely, as they should have been, devoted solely to
the enterprise in hand—they were still lingering in the capital. Yet he rode
first of the band, spurring on his mettled charger. We pity the horse of a
lover, for he is required to keep pace with the thoughts of his rider. Frank
would have ridden, perhaps, till day-light, and never perceived that his companions
had halted, had they not shouted after him. It was found, after
several miles pursuit, to be a vain effort. The road had been examined
several times, and the trail was already lost. Doubtless the marauders had
taken to the woods, as soon as they left the capital. It was therefore determined
to return to the city.

15. CHAPTER XV.
THE DAY OF DEPARTURE.

The eventful day at length dawned upon the thronged capital of Virginia—that
day pregnant with so many bright hopes—so long looked for,
and so ardently desired, in particular by the chivalrous Governor of the
Colony.

At the first peep of ay, the drums and trumpets were in requisition, and
the young gentry were seen marshalling their little bands of followers in
separate squads, over the common and in the by lanes and streets. Any
one who has ever seen a militia training, or a “general muster,” in Old
Virginia, may form a pretty accurate idea of these raw troops and their
manœuvres.

The Rangers, or regular troops, as they may be called, presented quite a
different aspect. They were paraded in Gloucester street, in full uniform,
well equipped and mounted. They had long been under the supervision of
the old veteran their commander, and presented an array never before seen
in Virginia, for they had never before paraded at the capital in one body.

In addition to this solid column of soldierly looking men, there was drawn
up on the other side of the street a long line of sumpter mules, loaded with
every kind of dried provisions, clothing, cooking utensils, tools and iron.
Many carts and wagons were also in requisition, with the heavier baggage
and provender. These were intended to go no farther than the frontier,
when the tents and baggage would be transferred to the backs of the
mules, and the wagons would return.

Even thus early in the morning, Gen. Spotswood was mounted upon his
horse, and was busily superintending the delivery of arms from the round

tower, to the militia, of whom we have already spoken. The old hero could
scarce preserve his gravity, as he, one after the other, ordered up the militia
in review before him. He had yet to learn, in actual service in the field,
the worth of these hardy tatterdemalions. They were mostly dressed in
hunting shirts and foraging caps, rudely put together, from the fur of
every sort of wild animal—many of them still flourishing the tail which
belonged to the animal. To any but the stern military eye of their
camp drilled commander, their appearance would have been quite picturesque.

Such a parade, it may be readily believed, was not without interest to
those who were not to be of the expedition—the ladies filled every window,
balcony or cupola, and gaily fluttered their white handkerchiefs in
the wind, as some well known young cavalier rode by with his troops.

Frank Lee and young Nathaniel Dandridge had been appointed aids to
the Governor, and their occupations on this busy morning were arduous
indeed. They were kept constantly on the gallop—bringing up one troop,
and marching off another—both, doubtless, though glorying in their appointments,
would have far preferred another occupation on this particular occasion.
There remained a hundred unsaid things to their lady-loves, which
they now recalled for the first time; but they did not yet despair of saying
at least farewell, once again. Often they caught the beam of a bright eye
upon them, as they rode though the streets. The Governor's two daughters
already had their horses saddled at the court of the Palace, intending
to accompany the expedition for some miles on the journey.

There was yet one solemn public ceremony which remained to be performed,
after the distribution of arms and ammunition was completed. A
platform had been erected in front of the new church, on Gloucester
street, and here, it was understood, the Reverend Commissary would dismiss
the little army, with an exhortation and solemn benediction.

After the morning meal was completed, the troops were set in motion
towards this point. The open space, enclosed for a cemetery, was already
filled with a crowd of spectators, and the troops now closely packed in
front of the church and along the square, in front of the Palace, formed quite
an imposing array. The bell had ceased its summons, and a solemn silence
pervaded the assembly, when the Reverend Commissary, accompanied by the
Rev. Hugh Jones, appeared in front of the church. Instantly every hat was
doffed, and the clear voice of the good old prelate was heard in earnest exhortation.
He approved decidedly of the enterprise, and urged them to go forward
in the great march of civilization, and told them that thousands yet
unborn would bless the hardy pioneers then about to set out upon the exploration
of a new and unknown country. He told them that it was no idle
military conquest, barren of all useful results—no pageant, to result in unmeaning
and fruitless trophies, but emphatically an enterprise in behalf of their
country—of the age—of the world. He trusted, he said, that their conquests
would be bloodless ones, and their message to the benighted inhabitants of
the regions to which they were bound, one of peace, and mercy, and good
will—that the past conduct of his excellent friend, their commander, in
behalf of the aborigines, was a sure guarantee of his future conduct towards
them.

He said that his chief aid in the ministry, the Reverend Gentleman then
present, would accompany them, and he trusted that they would continue to
render homage to that Being, in whose hands was the success or defeat of
their enterprise.

Every knee was then bowed, to supplicate the divine favor for the undertaking,
in which they were all about to engage with so much enthusiasm. It
was a solemn sight—to behold those gay young cavaliers and their rude followers,
and the more disciplined Rangers, all kneeling beside their horses,

and every tongue hushed to a solemn stillness, while the venerable prelate
poured forth his honest and eloquent appeals in their behalf.

Then followed a scene of indescribable confusion—the leave taking.
Wives rushing in among soldiers and horses, to have one more shake of the
hand, or one more parting word. Lassies taking a parting good by of their
lovers, and fathers of their sons. Few old men joined the enterprise—the
Governor himself was, perhaps, the oldest man of the little army. After a
grand flourish of drums, something like order was once more resumed, and
the troops began to deploy into line, preparatory to their final departure.

The old veteran rode along the line, with real pride and a martial glow
mantling his cheeks, which had long lain dormant, for want of proper occasions
for its display. Like most successful military leaders, he felt as confident
of success on that day as he did on the day of his return, for he knew
that he possessed the energy and the knowledge to ensure it. To us, at this
distant day, with all the results before us, this does not seem strange or improbable;
but it was by no means so then. His grand hobby, as it was called
by the elderly gentry, met with far more ridicule than support and countenance.
As we have before said, many over prudent fathers opposed their
sons accompanying him at all; and wiseacres were not wanting in abundance,
who predicted its total failure, and that the final catastrophe would be an
Indian massacre in some mountain defile. This last surmise had gained not
a little ground, since the daring inroad of a band of the Indians during the
night, into the very heart of the capital—garrisoned as it was by their whole
army. And they reasoned not very unjustly, that if such things could be
done with impunity there, what might not be done among their own mountain
fastnesses, whose intricate defiles were known only to themselves?

A white guide had been provided hastily in Chunoluskee's stead. He was
a hunter, and had penetrated farther towards the mountains than any one
known in the colonies. He was of tried metal, too, for he had fought the
Indians in his day. His name was Jarvis—son of the old fisherman, whom
we introduced to the reader, in the early part of our narrative. Joe Jarvis—
commonly called Red Jarvis—was of a class which is fast gliding from notice
in the older settlements of the States. They were called in that day, and
indeed long afterwards, scouts.

The troops were now in motion, and the front lines were already passing
the College square, the long line of sumpter mules and wagons bringing up
the rear. The Governor and his suite had not yet left the city. They waited
for the scout, who had gone on a farewell visit the night before to his father
at Temple Farm. While the Governor and his aids, with many of the young
gentry, sat upon their horses, near the round tower, in the market square, and
while they were beginning to express doubts and misgivings of their second
guide, the very man himself glided into their midst; and such a man—so
remarkable, and he performs such an important part in the grand expedition,
that we must describe him. He was a tall specimen, in every sense of
the word—six feet and more in his stockings, (if he ever wore any.) On the
present occasion, his feet and legs were clad in buckskin leggings and moccasins
fitting close to the members. His breeches were of homespun, and
his hunting shirt of the same material, held together by a broad leather strap,
into which were stuck various utensils of the woodman's craft, with others of
a more warlike character, among which was a knife cased in a leather sheath,
which, in a single-handed encounter, would be a most deadly weapon. His
face expressed any thing but daring and decided character. Its principal
characteristic was fun and frolic, but of a quiet and subdued sort. There
was a constant inclination of the head to one side, with one eye partially
closed at the same time, and a quiet smile about the mouth. His excessive
self-confidence would have given him the appearance of boldness and presumption,
had it not been for the sly peculiarities we are attempting to

describe. He had large red whiskers, extending under his throat, the only
protection it had, and these were burnt and faded to a sandy or yellow shade,
at their extremities, by long exposure to sun and rain. Hence his soubriquet
of Red Jarvis. Upon his shoulder he carried a long gun, much longer
than the pony upon which he was mounted. Thus accoutred, he rode into
the midst of the gentry, who awaited so impatiently his arrival, followed by
a large dog, which was just about as much used to such company as his
master. There was this great difference between them, however, the dog
slunk about the horses legs, quite confounded and abashed; while Joe rode into
their midst, one eye cocked, with as quiet a leer as if he had rode to the
front of his father's cabin. As he glanced around, his eye naturally fell
upon the short carbines slung across the backs of the young gentlemen who
sat on horseback around him and then wandered along the huge thing which
he carried himself. The result of the mental comparison was a sly inward
chuckle, which, however, he subdued into his habitual cock of one eye, as it
rested upon the Governor, who was surveying him, from the coonskin cap on
his head to his feet, which almost touched the ground. The result of the
Governor's examination was pretty much like Joe's survey of the young
men's armaments, a laugh—he could not resist Joe's outre appearance.
“Well, Jarvis,” said he, “how far do you expect to carry that pony?”

“Jist as far as he'll carry me, your honor.”

“Well said, but I fear that will not be far.”

“Hoses is like men, Governor—it is not always the smoothest coats has
the bravest hearts inside on 'em;” and his half closed eye ranged again over
the gandy attire and gold lace around him, which gradually grew into an
unsuppressed chuckle, the cause of which the Governor was induced to
inquire.

“Why, I was thinkin', Sir, how all this gold and flummery would look the
day we marched in again.”

“True, true, Joe, these lads will be glad to have your hunting shirt and
moccasins before they return, and so I have been telling them.”

“There won't be a whole shirt, Sir, in the army, when we come back; and
for that reason, I left mine behind;” and here he gave another quiet laugh, as
he surveyed the magnificent lace ruffles and collars flowing about him.

Some of the young cavaliers had a curiosity to know what substitute he
had in place of a shirt.

“Why here,” said Joe, handling the red hair under his throat, as if he was
bearding a lion, “is my ruffles;” and pulling open his hunting shirt, he
displayed a buckskin, tanned with the hair on, and corresponding so near in
color to the ruffles of which he had just boasted, that it looked like part and
parcel of the same animal. He enjoyed highly the stare of astonishment
with which his garments were examined by the ball room soldiers, as he
called them.

“But, Jarvis,” said the Governor, “how comes it that you are so dilatory
this first morning of the march—we thought you were the very soul of
punctuality and promptitude.”

Joe looked a little confused for a moment, and tugging at his coon skin cap,
so as to place the tail exactly behind, and coughed and hemmed several
times ere he answered:—“You see, your worship, as I was comin' to town
this mornin' fore day, I heard the news of the rupture of the savages last
night, and I jist tuck a turn or two through the woods on my own hook, to
see if I could find the trail.”

Here one of the young gentlemen bending over, whispered to the Governor
that Joe had formerly been an admirer of Winginia.

“Aye, aye,” said the old veteran, “I see! well, did you fall upon their
trail?”

“Yes, Sir, I rather think I did. It would take a cunning Indian, and more

'specially a dozen of 'em, to march through these pines and leave no trail
that I could'nt find. I blazed a couple of miles or so, and then turned back
for fear you mought be awaitin' on me.”

Blazing was performed in those days by the scouts, or pioneer, taking the
lead in a new or untried route, by striking a chip off one side of a tree. They
may be seen at night, if not very dark. New roads were laid off in the same
primitive manner. Joe carried his tomahawk in his belt, ready for such service,
not a little of which he was about to perform; for the army once beyond
the ruins of Germana, every foot of the route had to be marked out by him
after the manner described.

The Governor, after some consultation with his aids and the scout, came
to the conclusion that it was useless to follow the trail marked out by Joe, at
present, as he assured them that they would fall upon it again before night,
at such a distance from the settlement as would render pursuit more likely to
result in success.

The last sumpter mules were now passing the suburbs of the city, and the
little party round the military tower separated to bid a last farewell with those
near and dear to them. The Governor's two daughters were already mounted,
as likewise were little Bob, Dr. Blair, and several servants, intended as their
return escort. The Governor, therefore, only dismounted for a moment, entered
the Palace, folded his lady in one long embrace, and then mounted and
galloped off, followed by his veteran life-guard, the bugles enlivening the
scene by their martial airs. By the side of Kate, rode Bernard Moore; while
Dorothea was escorted by young Dandridge, now quite proud at his elevation
into the Governor's military family.

Whether Moore's rival knew that the Governor and suite were to be thus
accompanied, or whether his military duties required him elsewhere, we know
not; but certain it is, none of the company regretted his absence. Indeed,
Kate was quite offended with him for the part he had taken against Frank
Lee, and perhaps, knowing this to be the case, he had voluntarily absented
himself.

The lovers rode quite by themselves, and to have seen the earnestness and
eagerness with which they conversed, one would have supposed that the whole
success of the expedition depended upon their sapient conclusions. That
they were looking far into futurity, no one will doubt who knows any thing of
the proverbial impatience and imprudence of lovers. Moore had, despite of
his jocular pledge to his rival, more than once pretty broadly hinted the state
of his heart, and his hopes, and his aspirations, preceding the sad catastrophe
which had so long (as he thought it) shut them up within the walls of the Palace.
He had longed, above all things, for just such an opportunity as now presented
itself, to complete the matter. Yet, when he glanced at the proud and brilliant
beauty cantering at his side, looking still more beautiful and bright from the
contrast of her sable riding habit, his heart almost misgave him. He dreaded
more the bright beams of those eyes, that occasionally encountered his own,
than the glare of an hundred hostile Indians. The precious moments were
fast gliding by—never did time so gallop by a true-hearted lover. The fact
is, that Kate coquetted just a little with him. She had hitherto succeeded in
listening to his protestations without committing herself by any reply. It had
so happened, that she was favored by circumstances in this respect. With
feminine sagacity in these matters, she at once now penetrated the objects of
her lover, and saw plainly his embarrassment and its cause, and instead of
helping him out of his difficulty, or even remaining silent to afford him an
opportunity, she rattled away in the most brilliant style, compelling him to
answer. But such answers! They were mere monosyllables—and more
than half the time he said no, for yes; and yes, for no. Kate was compelled
to laugh, at length, and ask him “what was the matter?”

“To tell you the truth, Kate, I feel sad—sad at leaving you;” and his voice
became husky.

Kate broke into the midst of this exordium—“What! so sentimental Bernard?
Don't you know that papa ordered us to put on our brightest smiles,
and that he hates a gloomy good-by!”

“I was going to say, Kate, that your wit is all lost upon me this morning,
because my heart is not in the subject of your merriment. Let me intreat
you to be serious for five minutes—my time is short, and you know that I
have been banished from your presence by the sad accident which we all
deplore so much.”

Kate was as solemn as a judge in the twinkling of an eye, and replied, “Oh
cruel, cruel Bernard, how could you dash all my bright morning's efforts by
such an allusion!”

“Forgive me, dearest Kate, but it was accidental, and fell from my lips
without reflection, and now let me banish the dreadful past by holding up a
bright future. Oh, Kate, how bright, my imagination scarcely dares contemplate,
if you will only consent to blend your hopes and destinies with mine.”

He paused for a reply, but not a word escaped her now sealed lips.

He continued. “You have held me in probation a long, long time. You
are sufficiently acquainted with all my habits, even of thought, to know by this
time whether you can consent to place your future happiness in my keeping,
and surely you will not suffer me to depart upon such a long journey without
letting me know my fate—a journey, too, Kate, undertaken more through your
influence than your father's. You have driven me into exile, and it is for you
to say whether I shall return.”

“Oh, Bernard, how can you say so; I never urged you to go by word or
sign of any sort—indeed I was opposed—” There she left the sentence
unfinished.

“Go on, Kate, go on,” said Moore eagerly. “Were you indeed loth to see
me go.”

Kate blushed, but finished not the sentence.

“Would you have me turn back now?” eagerly inquired he.

“Oh, not for the world!” she exclaimed suddenly, “it would be disgrace in
the eyes of my father.”

“Oh, Kate, Kate,” said Moore, after gazing at her thoughtfully for a moment,
“you may as well confess that you take an interest in my movements,
whether I go or stay. Say, then, should I return victorious with your father—
for I hear we shall have some fighting—will you crown my young triumphs
with that hand which I have so long and so devotedly sought?”

Kate placed her hand in that of the eager youth, exclaiming suddenly,
“there.” And there we shall leave them cantering away on the road, having
fallen far behind the cortege of the Governor. How the more youthful pair
settled their quarrels, for every one said that Dandridge's and Dorothea's
love-making was more like quarrelling than any thing else, we shall not venture
to say, but certain it is, that Nat had his face slapped with her fan more
than once during the ride. The Governor was in the habit of calling them
his Catherine and Petruchio. But we must leave them to make the best of
their way, while we turn back and see what has become of Frank Lee and
the scout, both of whom were left in the city and still remained there.

Where they were, or where the principal was, will not be hard to imagine.
Frank was at the Doctor's house, and his new attendant sat astride of his
rugged little pony at the wicket gate, holding Frank's horse, and cracking his
rough jokes upon his acquaintances that passed. It will be readily perceived
from this, that Joe was not entirely disconsolate at the abduction of his lady-love—that
he was by no means one of the sentimental sort. Whether he was
aware of the ugly stories circulated through the town, to the great discredit of

her good name, we shall not undertake to say, nor to speculate upon his probable
course, should it appear that he was fully aware of the whole scandal;
sufficient for our purpose to state, that he was fully determined to follow the
“bloody varmints” to the end of the world. Where that end of the world was,
Joe had very little thought or care. He was ripe for the tramontane expedition,
and perhaps of all the number who that day set out in its accomplishment,
he was the best informed of its hazards, and the best prepared to endure
its hardships. He had heard of Frank's late perils and adventures, and at
once taken a fancy to him; it was fully reciprocated by his more accomplished
friend, which will account for the present position of the parties. Frank told
him when he jumped off his horse and threw him the reins, that he would be
gone just five minutes. He had already been absent an hour, and Joe having
exhausted his jokes, was becoming rather impatient. He turned round to the
servant, who sat upon his horse at a respectful distance, and exclaimed, “I
say, you darkey, are your master's five minutes always like this?”

“Can't say,” replied Cuffy, “I is just arrived from the plantation.”

So we will give our readers a glance-for themselves into that little
parlour, flanked by the aviary and green house, and which so captivated
Henry Lee's heart.

Frank and Ellen were seated side by side, talking as earnestly as if
poor Joe and his pony were over the mountains, while the old Doctor
promenaded the veranda rather impatiently.

“Oh, Frank!” said Ellen, “I cannot bear the thoughts of your leaving
me again, now that the parting moment has come, and yet I would not
have you stay.”

“No indeed, my Ellen, I know you would not tempt me to desert my
excellent friend, the Governor, just upon the eve of accomplishing one of
the great designs of his life.”

“And yet, Frank, when I think of our former parting and and all that
followed—how long I mourned you as dead—my woman's heart shrinks
from the trial.”

“I would not part with the blessed certainty which I derived from
those trials and afflictions, of your devotedness, for all the suffering which
they brought. Besides, my Ellen, my name has been somewhat tarnished
as a rebel. I go forth now to redeem my good name.”

“I care not a fig for worldly honors, Frank, and did hope that you too,
were weaned from such empty vanities.”

“And so I am from all empty vanities. We are impelled by higher
motives, I assure you.”

“Ah, Frank, Frank, you are still the same ardent, impetuous, sanguine fellow,
that I knew you to be when a boy in my father's house.”

“And to whom you pledged your young affections, children as we were.
Oh most nobly have you kept that pledge, my Ellen, and I but ask you
to pardon the unworthy truant for another short, short absence, and then—
and then. Oh such visions are death to the tramontane expedition. Farewell,
Ellen—farewell.”

“You will write to me, Frank, by every returning courier. I understand
that the Governor will despatch messengers at stated intervals informing
us of his progress. Send me a journal of every day, Frank.”

“I will—I will.”

Amidst such parting exclamations and sundry other little remembrances
too tedious to mention, he tore himself away, wrung the old Doctor's
hand—sprung upon his horse, and was soon on his way towards the
mountains. Joe was trotting at a murderous rate to keep by his side,
but all in vain, for the first mile or two; at length, however, he succeeded
in arresting the attention of his companion; when he addressed

him after the following manner; “I say, Squire, is that black leather thing
behind your nigger filled with ruffled shirts, like the rest on 'em”

“Why, Joe, to tell you the truth, there is some useless finery there, now that
I think of it.”

Joe laughed, and continued. “And not a pair of shoes or moccasins, not a
flint, nor a powder-horn, nor ere a spoon, nor a fork, nor a screwer, nor a frying-pan?
Ha! ha! ha! Now, do tell me, what is in them, besides the ruffles
and the spangles?”

“Well, Joe, there are a dozen shirts, sundry inexpressibles, an extra coat,
some writing paper, an ink-stand and drawing materials, and lastly, a pair of
small pistols.”

“Well, all I've got to say, is, that your black mail bag will come back filled
with another sort of plunder, that's all.”

16. CHAPTER XVI.
A GLIMPSE OF THE FUGITIVE.

Frank Lee did not ride many miles further, before he met the return party
of ladies. Kate was riding on ahead of the now melancholy little cortege,
weeping quite bitterly, and her eyes were so blinded, and her thoughts so
absorbed, that she did not perceive the horsemen approaching, until Frank
reined up right along side of her.

A smile broke over her sunny face, as she perceived Frank shaking his
finger threateningly at her.

“I will give a good account of those bright drops, some of these long
nights, around our watch fires, and will guarantee that I find one interested
auditor, at least.”

Kate waved her hand in adien, and putting whip to her horse, cantered off on
her way, calling out after him, over her shoulder, “Filial tears, filial tears,
Mr. Lee.”

And thus the last link was severed between the daughters of the city and
the mountain adventurers.

It must be remembered that the vast territories since claimed for Virginia,
extending almost, if not quite, to the Pacific Ocean, owed their titles to the
very expedition which we have been thus departing from the ancient capital.
But it was quite different in those primitive days; the whole population was
contained in some twenty or thirty counties, and the present sites of some of
our most populous cities were then actually on the frontier, so that our adventurers
had to march but a short distance before they were beyond the reach of
the thickly settled regions.

Our readers must cast their thoughts back to the days far anterior to McAdamized
roads, steamboats, and railroads, and imagine to themselves, if they
can, a state of things in the Old Dominion, when sumpter mules and baggage
wagons of a rude sort, performed all the offices now so rapidly accomplished
by these modern inventions. Some idea may be realized of the primitive state
of the country, and how completely the population was shut up within the
tide water region, when we state, upon undoubted authority, that among the
great number of horses employed in the enterprise which we have just seen
under way, not one had ever been shod. Those persons living in the sandy
regions of the United States will readily conceive this, but it will be almost
incredible to those who now dwell in those favored vales, first discovered and
appreciated by this very expedition. Such was the fact, as will be seen hereafter,

by the remarkable circumstance from which our humble narrative takes
its name.

For the first day, however, no inconvenience was inexperienced. Never
did a happier or more jovial little army set out in search of adventures. The
old military veteran, their commander, was so well pleased himself that his
long desired scheme was really about to be accomplished, that he did not, for
the present, quarrel with the rude gaiety of those around him. Those, however,
who knew him well, knew, also, that this state of things would not last
long—that, in a day or two's march, they would enter a country filled with
savages.

With the route of the first few day's journey, the Governor was perfectly
familiar. He had more than once passed over the ground, and had, as we
have before stated, established Indian preparatory schools throughout the districts
inhabited by the tributary Indians.

He was now quite anxious to see what influence Chunoluskee and his associates
had been able to exercise over these, and he had it in contemplation
to time the march, so as to arrive at the end of the sacred day at the first of
these schools, lying within his proposed route.

Though we have seen the Governor permit a somewhat lax discipline to
prevail upon emerging from the city, there were already symptoms that this
state of things would not last long. He soon summoned his aids and the
scout to his side, and was busily detailing to them his commands, as to the
conduct of the men during the march and in camp—and consulting with the
latter as to the route, forage, and subsistence. The latter subject gave him
far more uneasiness than any apprehended danger from the savages; and how
hundreds of men, and as many horses and mules, were to be subsisted in an
entirely new and uncultivated country, an unexplored wilderness in fact, was
a subject of anxious reflection with him. He knew that the supplies contained
in his baggage wagons and haversacks would scarcely last him beyond the
extreme frontier settlements. Though he was a tried soldier from his very
infancy, it must be recollected that his present adventure was as new to him
in practice, as to the youthful aid by his side.

Our readers may think that he consulted strange counsel in the person of
Red Jarvis, but so it was; and of all that army, perhaps, he was the very
man best calculated to give advice—in his own way, to be sure. He felt no
doubts and misgivings like his superior—he felt as confident as he had done
many a time before, when a hundred miles from the settlements, with no other
protection and provision for the morrow except his trusty firelock. And as he
had done, so he advised the whole army to do—literally to turn it into a
great hunting party. The Governor was amused at the conceit, but he
would not hear of the scheme for a moment. Nevertheless, the idea was
serviceable, for it suggested the plan of detailing each day, parties for the
purpose of killing game for the subsistence of the party.

He was pleased to find, as they emerged deeper into the forest, that the
foliage became richer, and the grass more abundant. These were matters
which now became of great moment, insignificant as they appear at the first
glance, the whole success of the expedition in fact depending upon them.

Joe Jarvis was no sooner dismissed from the conference with the Governor,
than he struck out into the woods, ahead of the troops, and began blazing
away at the trees, as already described. He seemed to Frank Lee, who
accompanied him, to know every foot of the ground, and likewise when game
might be looked for, and when not. They had not travelled many miles
through the wild and solitary forest, before Joe dismounted from his tackey,
and handing the bundle to Frank, motioned with his hand for him to pause,
and be silent. He moved stealthily through the bushes, examining his priming
as he went, until he entirely disappeared from sight. In about fifteen
minutes Frank heard the report of his gun, and as it appeared to him, but an

instant after, a fine herd of deer came leaping over the tops of the bushes,
and almost within pistol shot of where he sat upon his horse, his gun being
unfortunately slung to his back. While he made a movement to bring it
around, they all stopped and stared at him for a moment, and then bounded
away like the wind. Joe had been a spectator of this scene, and emerged
from the bushes, wiping his bloody knife, and laughing in his chuckling way,
at Frank's discomfiture and chagrin.

“Now,” said he, “you see the reason why I alway carry my gun in my
hand. You asked me a while ago, and I promised to show you.”

Frank immediately unstrapped his firelock, and wound up the leather straps
and put them by, as if to show his teacher that he was determined to improve
by his practical lessons.

“Well, Jarvis, what did you kill?”

“As fine a buck as ever you laid your eyes upon; you remember the
Governor's talk, about the subsistence of the army?—you see, I'm going to
show him the way we hunters provide for our daily wants.”

By this time they had arrived at the head of a small stream, where Joe said
the deer were in the habit of drinking, the water being a little brackish, of
which they are very fond. He slung the fine animal, whose throat he had
just cut, across his pony, and after securing it with thongs, and reloading
his piece, proceeded by the side of Lee, talking all the while. He told him
that more of the ruffle shirt gentry, as he loved to call them, would unsling
their arms, before they had proceeded many days into the wilderness. Frank
observed that Joe's attention was carnestly directed to each side of the path
on which they were travelling, notwithstanding his constant stream of talk,
and stopping every minute to blaze a tree. He saw that Jarvis stooped down
and examined the bushes attentively every now and then, and when they
came to the ford of the little stream upon whose banks they had been some
travelling, Joe laid his hand upon the other's bridle rein, and then stooped
down, and most attentively scanned some tracks of horses' hoofs, left in the
soft mud of the opposite bank, and then carefully counted them. Frank asked
him what was the meaning of all this, and if he had fallen upon the Indian trail?

“I rather suspicion I have,” said Joe; “and more nor that, there is some
one with them that would as soon be out of their clutches.”

“How do you know, Jarvis?”

“Why, at every place where they have stopped, I find a twig bent down
or broken. I reckon it is that little coquit, the interpreter's sister. She
would be glad enough to see me now, I suppose.”

“How long do you think it is since they forded the little stream, whose
banks you have examined so carefully?

“Jist about daylight; and they were riding at a devil of a rate, you may
be sure—look here,” said the scout, and he placed his foot in one track and
the butt of his gun in the other, to indicate the length of the leaps which
the animal had taken.

“A slapping pace, indeed,” said Frank, thoughtfully; “but tell me, Joe,
how can you compute the time since they passed?”

“Why jist so; if they had jist now passed, you would see the splashing
of the water around the tracks—if a little longer, you would see that all dried
up, and the tracks themselves only moist—and longer still, the tracks would
be entirely dry.”

“Which latter is the case, is it?”

“Very near, very near—they mout a' passed a little arter daylight, but not
much; we'll hear from 'em to-night—the red devils—depend upon it.”

“Do you think so?”

“To be sure I do—I know the critters better nor the Governor and old
parson Blair, with all their schooling and christianizing of the ungrateful
varmints. An Ingin's an Ingin.”

“What is there so absurd in the idea, Joe?”

“Did you ever see a wolf tamed?”

“No, I cannot say that I ever did, but I think it possible.”

“Yes, I'll warrant; and so the Governor thinks of the red devils; but I
saw a tamed wolf once, and he had a wonderful good charecter for a while.
He was better behaved nor any sheep, and he would walk about among the
flock as if he was bound to teach 'em good manners; but bime by the lambs
began to be missed, and nearly every dog on the plantation was killed, on
suspicion of being suspected. Still the lambs went, and after a while they
laid a watch, and caught wolfy in the very act.”

“And what then?”

“Why they stretched his bloody neck, of course.”

“And do you think this an analagous case to that of the interpreter and
his associates?”

“Exactly! no good kin come out of an Ingin. I've hearn tell of all the
grand talk about their native gifts, and all that, but if you will listen to my
racket, you may build a college over every son of a gun of 'em, and clap a
church on the tip top o' that, and after all, he will have a turkey buzzard's
heart in him. God never made an Ingin for a human critter.”

“Pooh, pooh, Joe, you have imbibed all the prejudices of the early hunters
against the race. Do you know that our ancestors on the other side of the
water, many hundred years ago, were quite as savage and barbarous as these
poor red men?”

“Bless my soul—you don't tell me so. Well, that beats all natur, I never
hearn tell of that afore. I thought they were white, and came down Christians,
along side of the Bible, the whole way.”

“So they were always white, Joe; but what do you mean by coming
down Christians, along side of the Bible?”

“Why, you know that old Adam was a white man—you'll give that up,
I reckon?”

“I suppose I must, Joe.”

“Well, that's what I mean; that we came down straight from old Adam,
and brought the Bible all the way down with us.”

“You are entirely mistaken, Joe; neither the Old nor the New Testament
was given to our British ancestors. Even when our Saviour appeared upon the
earth, they were as great savages as these very red men, against whom
you are so prejudiced.”

“Good, gracious Heavens! you don't say so! then we are not Christian
born under the covenant, as my old dad used to say, after all! Well, this
puts a patching over any thing I hearn tell of; but you're making game of
me, with all your book larnin.”

“No, Joe, I am not; I've told you nothing but the plain truth.”

“Well, then, how come we to be white, tell me that?”

“A red skin and a savage nature are not always inseparable; all the
learning and refinement of the world have been transmitted to us through
dark skins.”

“Oh! you are a bamboozlin' of me, that's plain.”

“No, I am not; but tell me, Joe, how is it that you are supposed to have
a fancy for one of these red skins yourself.”

“Oh, Squire, there you have flung me. I give it up now, you've clean got
the upper side of me in the argument.”

“But explain it, Joe—how could you fall in love with the daughter of a
race you so thoroughly despise?”

“Well, now, it does beat all natur', that's a fact. How it ever came
about, was jist a little touch above my larnin'.”

“You plead guilty to the charge, however?”

“It's not worth the while to deny it, seeing every body seems to know it.

Even old dad got wind of it somehow; and he told me if ever I married an
Ingin squaw, he would disinherit me. Poor old man, the only thing he ever
had to leave me, I've got already.”

“What's that?”

“Why, his red head—and I believe it was this infernal red mop of mine
that got me into the scrape, too.”

“How was that?”

“The Ingins, you know, have all sorts of a likin' for red heads, and blast
my hind-sights if I don't think they're more nor half right. Don't every body
fancy red birds and red feathers? Look at the old Governor, when he gets
on that velvet coat of hisen, all bespangled with gold lace. Look at the
ladies, God bless 'em—they're never dressed without some red garment or
other about 'em.”

“A pretty forcible defence of your head, Joe, but it would be equally forcible
in favor of red eyes.”

This was a poser to Joe, and he scratched the debatable ground unmercifully
for an answer, but nothing could be got out of it; seeing which,
Frank gently led him back to the point from which he had digressed, his
love for Wingina, or rather his passion.

“And so the interpreter's sister fell in love with your red hair first, did
she?”

“Yes, she axed me for a cut of it one day, and I was mighty proud of it,
till I saw it floatin' in that everlastin' cap of her brother's, along side of the
cock and eagle feathers.”

“What! did that queer faded tuft of bair grow upon your head? I
thought it had been some proud trophy of his prowess, perhaps the scalp of
an enemy.”

“By the long hollows, he's got as much of my sculp as he'll ever git; and
if he don't take care, I'll take my locks back, with interest—a piece of the
hide stickin' to it.”

“What, Joe, you would not scalp a man?”

“No, I would'nt sculp a man, but I would sculp an Ingin, howsomever.”

“And is not an Indian a man, with a soul and body like yourself?”

“No, no more nor that dog. That stuff, now, you got from old parson Blair.
We never heerd tell of the like in these parts 'till he got to preaching of it
about, and putting the varmints to school—he and the Governor. Now, look
what it's all come to—the Governor's got his son killed by the very man he
helped most of 'em all; and the interpreter would a' worn the parson's sculp
at his girdle, if he had cotched him in such a place as he cotched Squire John.”

“Ay, but Joe, you forget that John Spotswood is said to have deeply
wronged his sister.”

“Now, are you so green as to believe all them old wives' tales. What the
devil does an Ingin keer for such wrongs as these, even supposing, for the
sake of argument, it mout be so?”

“Chunoluskee has been taught to feel the shame by associating with us.
But what reason have you to doubt the common rumor on the subject?”

“The very best in the world; for I tried to sleeve her myself the very day
she begged that tuft of hair of me, and she looked like one of them tragedy
Queens that I saw on the stage down to Williamsburg.”

“And still you loved her, notwithstanding such a rebuff?”

“Why, you see, Squire, I thought it was only a grand way she had picked
up from the Governor's darters at second-hand, of sayin' that she was only to
be had for the marryin'.”

“And why did'nt you marry her, Joe, and thus have saved the Governor
and his family this deep affliction, and the poor girl what was to her more
than life?”

“Why, in the first place, I never axed her consent; in the second, you

know dad would a' disinherited me; and third and lastly, as Parson Blair
says, this story of Squire Spotswood tuck me so by surprise, that I had'nt
time. Now, you know the whole story. I rather reckon that I'll be at the
truth of the business afore I'm done.”

“So you have a settled purpose in going to the mountains of your own?”

“Yes, I've got a leetle speculation on my own hook. Don't you be surprised,
Squire, if you see me stay up among them mountains, and hear afterwards
of my bein' head chief among the Shawnese. I'm told they have a
plague of a fancy for red hair up in them diggins.”

“And so you calculate after all, upon making amends for the old man's
disinheritance of that wonderful legacy of his, your red hair?”

“I don't see, Squire, why I should'nt make my fortune by my head as well
as my betters. There's the two parsons, Dr. Blair and Parson Jones, they
lives by their wits; and there's the Governor, the heaviest tool he ever handles
is a sword; and there's Gen. Clayton and the other lawyers, they lives by
their wits; and there's Dr. Evylin, he lives by his wits; and there's all them long
gown fellers in the College, they lives by their wits; indeed, I don't see but the
most on you here in our mountain company, lives by their wits. But I guess
there'll be more nor head work afore they gets back. Well, as I was a sayin'—I
don't see why my head should'nt make my tortune, too. To be sure, mine lies on
the outside, and yours on the inside. It's all head work, any way you can fix it.”

“It is true enough, Joe, I believe that the Indians have a peculiar veneration
for a red head, but how are you going to take advantage of it? Suppose
these ruinous stories to the discredit of your mistress should prove true—and
I fear they are but too true—what will you do then? Will you still take her
for better for worse?”

“By George, I never knowed what that better for worse in the marriage
doins meant before; that's jist it, no doubt. As to what I will do in sich a
case, why I hav'nt exactly considered of it yit, seein' as how I did'nt believe it.
In sich a case she will be a sort of Ingin-in-law to the Governor, and a great
bite for the likes of me. Could you tell me now, by your head mathew matticks,
what kin I would be to the old Gineral?”

Frank turned away his head to indulge in a suppressed laugh ere he answered.
“I suppose you would be step-father to his natural grandchild.”

“Quite a natural thing, sure enough, but would there be any parquisites?”

“Oh, if you are in earnest, and really desire to bring about such a thing, I
have no doubt but the Governor would favor your suit and give you some of
the perquisites too, as you call them. It would be an arrangement to be desired,
and far more than the girl has a right to expect, or indeed deserves.
But tell me, how is it that you, professing such derogatory opinions of the
Indians, are still willing to take a wife among them?”

“Oh, Squire, as to my opinions about their skin, that's my rael belief—well,
my leanin' towards the gal, is rael too—now when a man's head pulls one
way, and his feelin's another, it will be mighty apt to pull the haslets[4] out of a
fellow; besides I'm a hunter by trade, and settlements have been crowding on
me for some time, and this here mountain scheme of the Governor's—though
the old codgers laugh at it—is going to make things a heap worse with me.”

“As how, Joe?”

“Why it will extend the settlements to the mountains. There's scarce an
elk or a buffalo to be found now this side of the hills, and he's a gwine to drive
them all clean over the ridge.”

“And so you are determined to emigrate with the game? Your head seems
to be as full of schemes of your own as the Governor's.”

“Yes, and I reckon that I have counted the costs a leetle better nor most of
'em he's got in his train, and mout be than he has himself. You'll see who's

the best man among us, when we get among the mountains, and when neither
money nor larnin' can do much for a man. Them's the times to try what
men's got in 'em.”

They were now several miles ahead of the army, and Joe knew the privations
of the forest well enough to call a halt at a fine spring, which threw its
sparkling waters across their path. He unslung the deer from his poney's
back, slipped the head stall over his neck, and turned him loose to graze
among the bushes—advising Frank to do the same with his, showing him, at
the same time, how to fix the halter, so as to impede his more impatient
temper.

These arrangements being completed, he carefully examined the priming
of his gun, and set it against a tree, within the reach of his hand, and then
took a wallet, which he had removed from behind his saddle, and spread a
cold collation before Frank; not a tempting one, it is true, to a dainty appetite,
but substantial and tempting enough, to one who had been on horseback
from early morning. Out of the same greasy looking receptacle, Joe next
drew a bottle, and after wiping the neck carefully upon the sleeve of his coat,
handed it to Frank. The latter declined the aquavila, but turned in manfully
upon the jerked beef and corn dodgers. Joe laughed in his sleeve at Frank's
refusing the bottle, and then took a long and hearty draught himself. Drawing
a long breath and smacking his lips, he said, “Every drop of this here liquor
mought be sold for all the gold lace in the Governor's troop, afore we're among
the mountains a week, and you, Squire, will not refuse it, when we come this
near home again.”

“Perhaps not—perhaps not, Joe, but sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.”

“Yes, you may well say that, Squire, for evils there will be enough on 'em
for every day after the provisions give out. Do you see that dog of mine
hopping so frisky over the bushes yonder?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I almost cried, as I looked at him comin' along the road this morning,
when he kept jumping upon me and licking my hand.”

“For what, I pray?”

“Why, to think that I should see the day when some of your young gentry
would eat a fine dinner off of his carcass.”

“Pooh! Joe, have done, you take away my appetite. You are only trying
to choke me off from your jerked beef, upon which I have been making such
inroads.”

“Not I! not a bit of it. I tell you, Squire Lee, as sure as you're a settin'
there, you'll see hard times afore we git back. That dainty Mr. Carter, that
I heer'd a talking about pheasants and woodcocks, will be glad enough to git
a mess of young kittins afore many weeks.”

“Why, Joe, I cannot eat a morsel more if you talk thus. I did not know
before, that you were such a croaker.”

“No more am I, but I can't help seeing how out of fix, for a mountain
jaunt, is all them ribbons, and ruffles, and gold lace, and silver and gold spurs,
and swords made for parade. And look at the cattle, too! Every one of
them horses is gwine to give out afore they reaches their journey's eend—
and yours among the rest.”

“Mine, Joe! why he's the best blood in the Colony.”

“Oh, as to that, my pony's got blood in him too. How could the critter
live without it? But I'm not talking of the blood, I'll show you what I'm
driving at”—and with that he gave a whistle, and his pony came trotting
through the bushes and ate a piece of corn bread from his hand. Joe then
caught him and held up one of his feet for Frank's inspection. “Do you see
them little iron shoes—well I put them on yisterday with my own hands—
that's what I call preparation for the mountains. Now, among all the horses
of the Governor's troops, there's not a shoe among them; they've been used

to the sand of this here tide water region. The Governor and you young
gents, seem to think that the mountains are made of sand too. I've seen
enough of the rough hills, far, far this side, to know better nor that. Now,
Squire, which is agoin' to be the best stand by, the blood in your horses'
veins, or the shoes on mine's feet?”

“I confess, Joe, there's reason in what you say—I never thought of that
part of the preparation before. I will speak to the Governor about it this very
night.”

“No, don't you! you'll spile sport if you do. Some of these mornings you
will see the funniest army of cripples you ever laid eyes on.”

“But it may be a fatal error, Joe, and it is my duty to speak out”

“Not a bit of it—not a bit of it. You can't mend the matter now, and I've
seen already to providin' the materials, when the time comes. I put the
Commissary up to providin' the materials to make shoes of—though he arn't
in all the plans. He don't know what it's for, and no doubt thinks for trado
with the Ingins.”

Thus assured, Frank acquiesced in Joe's scheme to keep quiet until the
emergency occurred. After conversing upon these matters for an hour or
two, Joe caught the horses and slung his buck over the pony, and then saddled
and readjusted the bridle of Frank's, ready for him to mount. The latter
asked him why he prepared to resume their journey before the troops came up.

“Case,” said Joe, “they're acomin' now, not more nor a mile off.”

Frank looked down the long vista of blazed trees as far as his eye could
penetrate, but he could not see even a bush shake, and seemed not a little surprised
at Joe's confident assertion.

Joe chuckled as usual, and then threw himself on the ground, and beckoned
to his companion to do likewise. Frank did so, and instantly perceived the
tramp of cavalry upon the ground.

“You see,” said Joe, “I'm agoin' to make a scout of you. You're a pickin'
up my craft smart, I swear. I heard that ere sound when I was lying on
the ground a quarter of an hour ago.”

The advanced guard having at length hove in sight, and the bugles now
being distinctly heard, our two adventurers resumed their journey, Joe blazing
the trees as he went, and initiating Frank into the mysteries of a scout's life,
his pony following quietly all the while, and bearing patiently his huge burden.
Occasionally Lee dismounted and walked by his side for a mile or two, which
not a little gratified Joe's pride.

17. CHAPTER XVII.
A LETTER FROM THE CAMP.

That night the expedition arrived, (owing to the foresight of Joe) at the
ruins of a deserted Indian village, with water, and a clearing suitable for a
large encampment in the centre, and fine forage, of nature's providing, for the
horses, around.

It was the first night in the forest, and not wanting in wild adventure and
novelty for the amusement of the young gentry.

The white tents stretching out in picturesque lines against the fading green
of the forest; the bright blaze of the camp fires, throwing fantastic shadows
of the wagons and horses, and moving objects around; the merry laugh of
those within; the rude jest; the recounting of the adventures of the day; the
loud song of the old soldiers of the life guard; the measured tramp of the sentinels
on duty; the neighing of the horses in the forest, the braying of the asses

and mules; the lowing of cows, (for even this luxury had been provided,) altogether
presented an enchanting scene amid the primeval forests of nature.
About a hundred yards from the Governor's marquee, stood Frank Lee and
Bernard Moore, leaning in the shadow of a tree, while old June sat nodding
over a great log fire, where the Governor's venison was roasting on a rude
spit, and at which old June with a watery mouth cast a wistful glance every
now and then, as he rose and fell in the cadences of his song. Lee had
called the attention of Moore to this effort of the old banjo-player, because he
was evidently the hero of his story. He was celebrating his love for Miss
Kate, and bemoaning the separation.

They had not stood there long amusing themselves with old June, before
Jarvis touched Frank upon the arm, and beckoned him into the forest. As
they passed the last camp fire, Joe seized a large lightwood knot, and
holding it for a few moments in the burning coals, produced a bright light,
with which he guided his companion some hundred yards beyond the sentinels.
He stopped at a secluded nock among the bushes, where horses
had evidently been picking around, and where several persons had recently
been seated in the centre; for bones and pieces of bread were scattered
about in all directions. Joe suffered Frank to satisfy himself about them,
and then led him a few yards farther into the bushes, where a white
pocket handkerchief of fine texture, was suspended to the top of a stick
and leaned against a tree. Joe said he had not disturbed it since the
discovery, as he wanted Frank to observe first, the cautious manner in
which it had been placed behind the tree, so as to be out of view of those
who sat around the fire. Frank took it down, and examining it carefully,
discovered a name which it thrilled his heart to meet in that strange
wild place. It was Ellen Evylin in full, and in her own handwriting.
They readily imagined that it had been placed there by Winginia, that
very day, and that it was intended to signify to them that she was borne
away against her will. Joe pointed out to the young cavalier, also, several
twigs, which had been snapped off, marking distinctly a pathway from the
spot where the handkerchief had been found, to the spot where they had
mounted their horses. He called his attention again to the slapping pace at
which they rode, as evinced by signs before pointed out.

“Well, Joe,” said he, “what more can we do for her deliverance than we
are doing now; does anything suggest itself to you?”

“Yes, lots—lots. You see, Squire, these cunning varmints will jist play
hide and seek with this great company of the Governor's, which he marches
through the woods with flags a flyin' and trumpets a soundin' every now and
then. He mout as well send me ahead to shout to these red devils, `git out of
the way you yaller varmints, the Governor's acoming!”

“Well, Joe, how can we help it?”

“No, it's not well, it's very wrong. The old Gineral, he's used to fighten
grand battles in an open field with white men like himself, but it's a very different
game he's got to play now, and he ain't found it out yit, but take my
word for it, he will afore long, if he don't take advice from them as has experience
in Ingin fightin'. Now, if he would give you the command of about
ten men, that I could pick out of them huntin' shirt boys, and let me be among
'em, we could push ahead, and I would jist like to show you, that there's more
nor Ingins can play at the game of hide and seek.”

Lee was quite taken with the proposition, and returned with Joe to the
Governor's marquee, and sent in to request an audience. After waiting a
short time, they were admitted. The Governor was sitting upon a camp
stool, and busily pouring over his maps, and at his old employment of sticking
pins along his contemplated route. On the ground near him, young Dandridge
was seated, and drawing out, according to the Governor's instructions,
from time to time, a diagram of the route they had already traversed. The

Governor listened with much interest to the discoveries which Joe had made
and gave a respectful consideration to his scheme for cutting off the marauders,
but at length shook his head as much as to say, that it would not do. He
pondered upon it for some time, hastily walking about the marquee, but after
a while seated himself again, and turning to Joe, said it was a good idea, but
could not be adopted on account of its taking him from his present indispensable
employment; and he told Frank that he would not trust him, as yet, with
any other guide, because the savages would pick them off singly, and destroy
the whole of them finally, without accomplishing any good. Joe did not want
Frank to go unless he could himself be of the party, and therefore he readily
acquiesced in the latter part of the Governor's argument. He went off with
Frank, however, telling him that they would see what this fighting Indians on
a grand parade, would come to.

Having left Joe to pursue his vocation, Frank folded up the handkerchief
which had been discovered, and put it near his heart. The sight of that name
and that handwriting, called up vividly the image of her who had so long engrossed
his most ardent affections. He thought over all that she had said and
done since his landing at York, and his early attachment drew new strength
from the approbation which his maturer judgment stamped upon his youthful
fancy. He was experienced enough in life to know that this very seldom
happens—that the “sweet hearts” of beyish days seldom stand the test of
man's matured examination. If all is right as regards the object herself—interest
and ambition find their way like the tempter into Eden, and destroy the
first, and brightest, and purest emanations of the young heart. But Frank Lee
was an independent man in every sense of the word. His fortune was ample,
and his ambition, chastened as it was in the school of adversity, threw no impediments
in the way. Had he been poor and friendless, it cannot be doubted
that his decision would have been the same. He strolled at length into his
tent, which he found empty, and taking out his writing tackle and spreading
them upon a rude camp seat, sat himself down upon the ground to communo
with his affianced wife after the following manner:

Camp Chick-a-hominy

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
ADVENTURES ON THE ROUTE.

After a somewhat rainy and stormy night, the morning broke brightly and
beautifully clear. The air was fresh and invigorating, and a long and sound
sleep after the fatigues of the day's march, left the luxurious young cavaliers
with elastic and buoyant spirits. The brilliant songsters of the feathered
tribes were startled from their first essay by the reveille from the martial
instruments. The leaves of the trees were glittering with rain drops, and
the autumnal forest flowers bursting into life and beauty with the heat of the
morning sun. All nature looked calm and bright and beautiful, and mere existence
seemed a pleasure, but it was a pleasure inviting to repose and contemplation.

The officer of the guard had some half hour gone upon his rounds to
march the pickets in, when all at once the repose of the scene was disturbed
by the idlers and followers of the camp running in a particular direction, as if
something unusual had occurred there during the night. Frank Lee, and
Dandridge, and Hall, mounted their horses and galloped to the scene. The
officer of the guard had halted his men and was just about to despatch a messenger
to the Governor, when his aids were discovered approaching. When
the three young cavaliers rode up, they discovered the sentry who had been
stationed there during the last relief, sitting against a tree, and most cruelly
tomahawked. Joe Jarvis was stooping over him, examining the wound most
critically; he looked up when he saw the officers approaching and laying his
finger upon the wound, said to Frank, “Did'nt I tell the Governor that the
varmints were not far off; he's warm yit, its been done since the rain;” and
away he started through the woods to examine the trail.

When the three returned to make their report to the old chief, they found
him breakfasting upon some of Joe's venison steaks. He was startled by the
daring atrocity of the act, but pronounced at once that the man must have
slept upon his post. Jarvis was sent for, and soon made his appearance,
scratching his red mop as he entered. He had the same cunning squint of the
eye, and waggish leer as when before presented in the same presence.

“Well, Joe, I understand, you say that this thing was done since the rain;
you have, doubtless, then, been able to fall upon the trial, and can tell us how
many of them ventured into the camp, and what they came for.”

“It is true enough, your honor, I did say so, and I stick to it, but as to the
trail and all that, it would bother an older scout nor me. The critters are a
growin' cunninger Sir, every day of their lives. There's not the print of so
much as a man's hand round the premises, much less of a moccasined foot.”

“You don't mean to insinuate, scout, that this man has been murdered by
one of our own men?”

“Not I, Sir, no such thing, he was tomahawked from behind the tree by an Ingin.”

“And yet there are no footsteps in the soft mud behind that tree, and leading
to it? Why how have they contrived to obliterate them?”

“That's just it, you've struck the nail right on the head; how did they
contrive it? I'll tell you how they did it. They borrowed the legs of other
varmints.”

“What! they did not approach on horseback.”

“No, Sir, but they come whole-hog fashion. If your honor will jist condescend
to ride down there, I will shew you that there is not the print of a living
creter's foot 'scept an old sows, any where about.”

The Governor and Lee followed Joe to the spot and there, sure
enough, were the distinct prints of a hog's feet, on a straight line to the tree,

leading from a small stream, on the banks of which, many of the horses and
mules were yet tied.

“Now, sir,” said Joe triumphantly, “did you ever see a dumb brute walk a
straight line like that?”

“True enough, Joe, swine do not gather mast thus, but how in the name
of Heaven did they manage it?”

“Nothing easier, sir; they jist take a hog's shanks into their hands, and makes
erutches on 'em. You see 'em here, Sir, to the water's edge, and then they
mounted and rode off. But, Sir, this was'nt all for nothin', it was'nt all unmeaning
deviltry; there's a meaning in it. They're not College-larned for
nothin', depend upon it.”

The Governor did not like this thurst, and wheeled his horse and rode away,
first leaving orders to have the man decently interred.

Joe sat about investigating the cause of the strange visit, and he first observed
that the sentinel's arms had been stolen, next that a sumpter mule had
been led through the water some distance up the stream, for he followed it upon
his poney until he discovered the place where they had emerged. He then
came back and had the Commissary summoned, and requested him to have
the mules counted; and sure enough one of them was missing. Still Joe
persevered—he said he was determined to find out what else they had stolen.
At first, it could not be ascertained that any thing more was missing. The
provisions were all safe, and the arms were out of their reach, or rather too near
the grasp of those who were full ready and willing to use them. Joe continued
to rummage among the wagons and mules, until at length he lit upon the
ammunition, when it was found they had carried off several canisters. Joe
went straightway to the Governor's marquee, and there meeting the Aids-de-camp,
he related to them his discovery.

“Did you ever see sich cunning brutes? how in the name of old scartch they
found out where the things lay, beats me all to flinders; but this convinces
me, Squire, that what I told you before is true, that these varmints mean to
keep us from the mountains if they kin. Howsomdever, they didn't know
that Red Jarvis was to be of the party. The Interpreter is laughing in his
sleeve now, to think how you're all bamboozled with them hog-tracks, and he
thinks moreover, that the powder will never be missed—that you'll all be so
taken up with the onaccountable death of yon poor fellow—and that ain't all,
they mean to try it agin, or they would'ent a taken so much pains to cover up
their deviltry.”

“Well Joe,” said Lee “what do you aim at by the pains which you are
taking to ferret out their cunning.”

“Why, you see Squire, they're not comin' back to-night, but to-morrow
night they'll think we're sound enough asleep. I guess there'll be one wide
enough awake for 'em. Do you jist give the Commissary his orders that I'm
to sleep in that there ammunition wagon—that's all.”

The troops were again in motion, and in an hour after their departure, all
traces of the gloom and melancholy of the funeral had disappeared even from
the mess of the buried soldier. Such is miliary life. The soldier seems to
take pride in marching from his comrade's grave to a lively air and with buoyant
step, and we suppose it will always be so, while men organize themselves
to slay each other.

The route up to this time had been nearly in a straight line to the mountains,
for the river along the banks of which they mainly marched, lay fortunately
in that direction; but it became necessary now to diverge to the east,
in order to take Germana in their way. It was fully a day's march, or more,
out of their route, but such were the Governor's orders, and all obeyed with
alacrity.

This day they began to exchange the monotonous pine barrens for forests
more genial to the eye. The country, although nearly in a state of nature,

was rich in all that pleases the eye, and enlivens the heart. For the first time,
regular parties were detailed to precede the main body of the troops, and
skirt their flanks on each side, for the purpose of hunting. One of them accompanied
the scout immediately in front, and it was the Governor's orders
that each, in succession, should be under the direction of the veteran woodsman.
As Joe predicted, however, they had but poor luck, a single herd of
deer was encountered, and they, after a hot pursuit, only lost two of their number.
Jarvis told the Governor's aids, at night, that “them everlasting trumpets
would have to be spiked, else they would all starve when the provisions
gave out.”

That night they encamped among the head waters of the Mattapony river,
having left the beautiful banks of the Pamunky far in their rear, and accomplished,
during the day, even a better journey than on the previous one. All
were now in fine spirits, notwithstanding the fortune of the hunting parties,
upon which in a short time, not only the fate of the enterprise, but their very
lives were to depend. As yet, however, provisions were abundant, without
even trenching upon the stores of jerked beef, and hard bread and parched
corn laid up in their wagons, and on the backs of their mules. With the
young, and the gay, and the thoughtless, sufficient for the day were the evils
thereof.

The camp fires were enlivened with many a song and story, and to tell the
truth, the sparkling wine cup was not wanting to enliven the festivities of
the gay young cavaliers. The novelty of the scene around them had not yet
worn off, and bright hope painted to their mental vision more enrapturing
beauties and brighter landscapes beyond. The Governor failed not to encourage
their glowing anticipations, from his own store of imaginary pictures.
It is true, he had ceased to quote Chunoluskee as authority, but nevertheless
he retailed many of his stories under new titles and editions. In fact he believed
them himself, and far more than had ever been told. He was a very
imaginative man, but regulated by a sound judgment, and great military experience.
He had, however, so long suffered his fancy to well upon the El
Dorado beyond the mountains, that he had come to look upon those imaginary
scenes almost as certainties, which were in fact very far from the truth. Not
that he overrated the country, to which he was bound, but that he had erroneous
conceptions of it, and still more erroneous views of the difficulties to
be encountered to get to it. The poor scout, ignorant as he was, had a far
truer conception of both, but the time had not yet come, to consult such counsels
on any material point. Though Joe was required to blaze the route, the
Governor was himself on foot, a greater part of the time, compass in hand,
with young Dandridge by his side, taking notes of his observations. As they
crossed the river they came to an Indian village, on an island, one of the loveliest
spots in nature. The young gentry were in raptures with the beauty of
the site. Not so with their old chief. He was pained to observe that the Indians
even here had been induced to desert their homes and were retreating
before the march of his little army. Every indication, thus far, tended to confirm
the suspicion that his enterprise was looked upon with fear and distrust
by the Indians. He knew, full well, from what source all this came, but how
they had all been moved, by one accord in so incredibly short a time, confounded
all his calculations. He could only settle the difficulty by supposing his
late hostages and beneficiaries treacherous; far antecedent to the time of their
desertion. He was loth to believe all this, for he was a true friend to the race
and as genuine a philanthropist as ever lived. But here was one of the locations
of his primary schools, and every inhabitant of the village was gone,
with all their stores and plunder, and the schoolmaster was perhaps murdered.
Of that, however, they had no evidence. He might have been carried off a
prisoner, beyond the mountains.

Poor Hall! for hours he detained his friend Lee, wandering among the

deserted wigwams, long after the sound of the trumpets and the tramp of the
horses had ceased. He had looked forward with eagerness to their arrival at
this spot, he had expected here to see some of that race in whose possession was
all that he prized on this earth—he had expected to be re-assured of her safety,
and had even hoped to procure a runner to send on after his lost Eugenia to
assure her of his speedy approach. To him the deserted wigwams looked
like her funeral pile. His heart sank within him as he beheld this new evidence
of the old hostility still subsisting between the races. The fires of the
ancient feud had only been smothered for a time. During the three years of
Governor Spotswood's stewardship he had succeeded in making them believe
that he was their true friend, because he had never committed any aggressions
upon them, but now he was about to outstrip all his predecessors in the
daring strides of his adventurous spirit. Hall would have lingered on among
the tenantless wigwams of the deserted village, but his friend Lee almost forced
him upon his horse.

That night. although encamped in a beautiful country, and general joy and
hiliarity pervaded the camp, he sat in one corner of his tent, and leaned his
head upon his hands in the most listless attitude imaginable. He took no notice
of the entrance and departure of any one, and really performed the routine
of his military duties in such a dead and alive manner, that Frank had
to apply to the Governor to have him invalided. So deeply absorbed was he
with his brooding sorrow that he scarcely noticed this change. Though cards
and wine and songs and revelry resounded all around him, and made the old
woods merry again with the dissipation and the wild mirth of the mad young
cavaliers, it passed all unheeded by poor Hall.

The same night Frank Lee, Nat. Dandridge, Hall and Moore, being invited
to the Governor's marquee, Jarvis asked permission of the former to write a letter
in his tent, and to furnish him with the materials.

“What! can you write, Joe?” inquired Lee, with surprise.

“No, not much Squire, but I can turn the pot-hooks and hangers into some
sort of signs that the man'll understand I'm goin' to write too.'

“And who may that be, pray?”

“An old croney o'mine, Squire, and as his readin' aint no better nor my
writin' it'll be a dead match.”

“The worse you write Joe, the better he should read.”

“Oh, that's his business, so here goes”

Frank stood for a few moments on the eve of his departure, and laughed immoderately
at the awful faces which Joe made, as he turned his pen in its travail.
`That's harder work than fighting Indians, Joe!”

“Aye, Squire, you may say that—I reckon I could make a round O on one
of 'em in a leetle shorter time than I can fetch up one of these, but do you go
Squire, you put me out a lookin' at me.” Frank departed accordingly, dragging
poor Hall with him, and leaving Joe already bathed in a profuse perspiration.

The Governor had kindly invited his young friends in hopes to cheer up the
stranger whose unfortunate story he had hitherto been prevented from listening
to with that attention which he desired, on account of his engrossingengagements.
He felt a deep interest in this young man, partly because of his connexion
with Frank's strange adventures, and the mystery which he had hitherto
thrown around his name, and partly on account of his known engagement
to his unfortunate young kinswoman. Indeed the interest felt on account
of the latter, extended to many of the young gentry, who had heard Frank's
description of the ill fated but charming girl. In that day such a captivity was
not at all uncommon with the wives and daughters of the humbler farmers,
and we have seen individuals of the gentler sex in ours, who had spent years
in captivity among the aborigines; but seldom within the knowledge of the
young men had one so beautiful, so highly connected and so gently nurtured,
been carried off. Her misfortunes excited a profound interest among all such,

and not a little added to their eager desire to come up with their enemies—for
enemies they were now acknowledged to be even by the Governor.

But we will leave Hall to drag out his weary game of whist among his kindly
disposed friends, while we take a glance at Joe's epistle to his friend.

Camp Nigger-foot.

19. CHAPTER XIX.
ADVENTURES IN CAMP.

The next day's trail varied but little from the preceding one, except that it
was shorter, owing to the necessary fatigue of man and beast. At night the
scout, having received permission from the Commissary, quietly took his berth
in the wagon which had been before robbed, and which he stated had been

marked. Truth to say, however, the said mark looked very much like a dozen
other stains upon the cover, from the red clay which had soiled it by the
splashing of the wheels. The scout, however, was an important character,
and displayed so much more knowledge of the country and the habits of the
Indians, than had been anticipated, that he was suffered to have his own way,
in those things not pertaining to military discipline. The early part of the
evening was spent by the Governor and his associates, very much as the
previous ones had been, except that the latter began now to seek their rude
pallets much earlier than at first. Nothing occurred to disturb the solemn
tramp of the sentinels, and the more selemn cry of the whippoorwill, as they
resounded through the silent forests at midnight. Scarcely a soul stirred in
all that little city of canvass, except poor Hall, who walked about on the outskirts
of the camp, like some disturbed spirit. The melancholy flickering of
the camp fires, as they died away, and the solemn moaning of the tree-tops
seemed more in unison with his depressed spirits, than the revelry of his companions.
He had just taken a walk within the line of sentries, and was
standing in front of his tent and gazing at the clear cold moon—its silvery
tints falling over tree and shrub, and flower, when he was startled by a stealthy
tread. He drew himself within the shadow of a large tree, which stood near,
and watched and listened for a renewal of the sounds which had alarmed him.
But a few moments had elapsed before he heard a sharp ringing sound like the
springing of machinery, followed by a most hideous and unearthly screech,
and the next moment Joe's merry laughter was ringing through the woods.
He followed the sound toward the baggage wagons, and beheld, what he then
supposed, to be an enormous dog, with his forefoot fastened in a wolf-trap
and cutting the strangest antics on his hind legs, he had ever seen a quadruped
perform. Joe had sprung upon the ground and was performing others
very little less extravagant, and exclaiming “I told you I would trap the
varmints, I told you I would trap the varmints!” By this time several of the
nearest sentinels also came running in to see the cause of alarm. To these
Joe consigned his prisoner, and darted off into the woods in the direction of
the river, which was some fifty yards off.

The dog turned out to be a young Indian, enveloped in the skin of the animal,
and he had passed the sentinel on all fours, doubtless, as they all averred
that no biped had crossed their walks. Lee, with many others of the young
officers had, by this time, gathered around, and the former ordered the young
rascal to be released from his agonizing position, which he was increasing
every moment, by his vain efforts to work himself loose. The wolf-trap was
made of parallel steel bars, without teeth, but clasping together with great
force. Nothing but the thick dog's hide had prevented it from crushing the
bones of the prisoner's wrist. He was now standing on his legs, and before
the bright pine torches at midnight, presented one of the strangest sights imaginable.
His very writhings and tortures from the pain of the steel-trap,
produced merriment among the soldiers, as he looked through his canine
mask, and whisked his tail about. While the crowd gathered around the
young Indian, each indulging his curiosity or his merriment according to the
taste of the new comer, the report of Joe's gun was heard, but a short distance
off, immediately followed by that startling sound to all civilized ears, the
war-whoop.

The captive was quickly deserted by all except the two soldiers who had him
immediately in charge. When the party arrived at the bank of the river they beheld,
by the light of the moon, Joe in a truly perilous position. He was standing
in a canoe in the middle of the stream, and defending himself most manfully
against four stalwart warriors, and a negro, each scarcely inferior in size to
the scout himself. He had what appeared to be a handspike in his hand, with
which he was laying about him at a tremendous rate, while his foes each in
a separate canoe, (with the exception of the negro who sculled for one of the

party,) attempted to surround him at first, but when they discovered what a
formidable giant they had to deal with at close quarters, they changed their
method of attack and attempted to drown him. The anxious spectators on
shore could render no assistance, for there was not a canoe or plank to float
upon, along the shore. Frank Lee dashed down the banks with frantic speed
in search of some such thing, but to no purpose. The savages had been careful
enough to leave only one for the escape of the young rogue who had been
caught in the steel-trap. By this time, Joe had reduced the numbers of his
antagonists to the warrior in the canoe with the negro, but the others were in
the water and would speedily swamp his canoe. He saw them approaching,
and knew that his scouting days were ended if they once got round him, and
he was powerless as to all direction of the frail thing in which he stood. At
this stage of the desperate rencounter, young Hall threw off his outer garments
and would have thrown himself into the stream, had he not been forcibly
detained by Lee. At the same time Joe made a coup de grace worthy of a
more veteran scout. At one bound he sprang into the enemies' canoe and lit
right upon the negro sculling with a paddle in the stern. Down went Indian,
scout and negro; but in less time than we have taken to relate it, Joe rose to
the surface, dragging the negro by the hair with one hand, while he struck for
the shore with the other. Fortunately the negro came up with his back towards
him, and whenever he made an effort to change his position, Joe submerged
his nose until he completely cooled his courage. The Indians made
an attempt to follow, but the scout in a few yards touched bottom, and then the
crowd from the shore rushed in pell mell to his rescue. As soon as he was
completely separated from his antagonists, the bullets began to whistle and
skip over the water among the swimming heads, while the savages dived like
ducks. They tried hard to save their canoes, but so hot became the shower
of lead around them, that they were glad to escape with the broken crowns
which the scout had given three of them.

“Why Cæsar,” exclaimed Lee, “is it possible?” “Why Cæsar,” repeated
many voices. He was but lately a servant near the person of Harry Lee.
Every one from the capital knew him at once. Joe shook off the water from
his mane like a lion, and then gave a snort to blow it from his pipes, which if it
had been on the ocean might have been mistaken for a whale's.

The Governor was roused by the first report from the scout's gun, and by
the time the party from the river returned, he was dressed and met them on
the way. “Old times you see a coming back, Governor, with the Ingins—they,
hav'nt all gone to Heaven yit.”

“No Jarvis, and I am afraid you will not teach them the way there soon.”

“I don't know that Governor, if you had seen some of the hard knocks I
give some of their knowledge boxes jist now, you would 'a sworn I was in a
fair way to sendone or two on 'em to the happy huntin' ground.”

At this moment the Governor cast a scrutinizing glanoe at the shrinking
negro, whom the scout still continued to drag by the hair.

“Why Cæsar!” exclaimed he also; but in a moment after, a dark suspicion
seemed to cross his mind, and he turned to one side and led Frank by the arm
a few yardsdistant, and then they talked and gesticulated with great earnestness
for a quarter of an hour, when they resumed their walk towards head
quarters, Frank expostulating and the Governor insisting upon some measure
which he had proposed.

“Well, well, Lee,” said the latter at length, “I will send the rascal back
to the capital in irons, and we can investigate the matter privately when we
return.”

“No privacy on my account your Excellency—tuck him up now, and learn
the extent of the treachery at once; it may be important to the success of our
expedition.”

“Impossible—impossible, it requires a laborious and pains-taking investigation

to get at the bottom of such affairs. As for the treachery, I think the scout
has pretty well blown their present schemes of annoyance. One thing I want
to know of him—here Jarvis! Was the interpreter in that cut-throat gang?”

“I'll tell you how it was your Excellency—when I tuck yon young varmint
in the steel trap, (here he had to stop and indulge in one of his heart-some
chuckles,) when I tuck the varmint in the trap,” he was compelled to
give way in a loud guffaw.

“Why, what is there so amusing in it, Jarvis?—it seems to me quite a serious
business.”

“You know Governor, the first day out, you snubbed me off short about
callin' of 'em varmints, and said they had souls as much as we had. Well
jist step here and look if this is'nt a varmint I've tuck in my wolf, trap?”
Saying which he walked up to the wagon where the guard held the young
rogue a close prisoner, and taking him by the throat led him into the
presence of the old chief. Governor Spotswood started back as the strange
animal stood before him, apparently on its hind legs.

“Now,” said Joe, “do you see this here wolf in sheep's clothin'—if that is'nt
a varmint, I don't know what is?”

“Well,” said the Governor, “I give it up for the present—go on with your
account of this affair.”

“Jist so—as I was a sayin', when I saw this here dog's hide, I know'd it
in a minute, the yaller niggers ai'nt got no such dog among 'em, and thinkin'
of the nigger track we saw on the trail last night, I jist popped out of the
wagon, give this here thing to the guard, and made chase. When I came to
the bank of the river, it was swelled monstrous with the rains, and not a thing
in sight but a leetle bark canoe. In I jumped, determined to scout along the
banks, and catch the nigger if I could. You see I thought it was that ere
snow ball all the time, kase I know'd his dog, or the varmints would'nt a
caught me nappin' as they did. Well, when I got into the canoe, there was
nothin' to paddle with but a club which this son of a bitch left in it.”

“Fie, fie, Jarvis, remember in whose presence you speak.”

“I beg ten thousand pardons; but I thought if ever so mout be I could use
the word at all, now's the time, seein' he's made a dog of himself! But that's
neither here nor there. When I had got some twenty yards or more from
shore, I hearn a sort of snake in the grass, and when I looks round, what
should I see but four canoes stealin' out of the bushes from round a point of
land, and cutting me completely off. I soon seed how the cat jumped; there
was five on 'em to me one. So I ups with old Sally Wagoner (his gun,) and
let fly at the biggest lookin' of 'em; they did'nt know I had her a layin'
asleep in the bottom.”

“Did you kill him?”

“I'm ashamed to say I did'nt, but I commenced a sculpin of him, which I'll
finish some day, please God.”

“Scalping him?—why how did you commence scalping him?”

“I sent a bullet, you Excellency, a scoutin' right along the top of his
knowledge box, for I seed the blood a tricklin' down his face, arter the water
had washed all the paint off.”

“You have not yet answered one of my questions, Jarvis?”

“Oh, I ax your pardon, Sir; but I can't say whether the interpreter was
one on 'em or not. The one I shot is exactly his size; but if so be it's him,
he's changed all them ere red cloaks, and gold lace, and grand feathers, he
used to wear down to Temple Farm. If it was him, I guess he smel't hell.”

“Jarvis, Jarvis, this sort of disrespectful language will never do—for tho'
not belonging to the regular command, your example breeds disrespect and
insubordination among those who are;” saying which, he walked off in such
an offended manner, that Joe was alarmed, and appealed in a whisper to.
Frank Lee, to know if he was really angry.

“It will all blow over, Joe, by morning, especially when he remembers the
timely and excellent services which you have rendered to-night.”

The Governor did not proceed far, before he stopped and called Nat. Dandridge
to him, and told him to have the dog's hide taken from the young rogue,
and to put handcuffs upon Cæsar, and have them carefully guarded till daylight

“Egad! I think Cæsar had an idea of imitating his great patronymic,”
said Carter to Moore, as they turned away to seek their tents again.

“Yes,” replied Moore, “if we may take the poetical license of naming this
stream the Rubicon.”

“It's a far nobler one, I assure you, but poor Cæsar looks very little like
the hero now.”

The same dark suspicions crossed Moore's thoughts as he was thus forcibly
reminded who Cæsar's master was, and of all the other suspicious circumstances
of the case, and knowing Carter's friendship for Harry Lee, and
not wishing to provoke a quarrel by giving utterance to them, he changed the
subject, and they soon after separated for the night.

20. CHAPTER XX.
THE CAPTIVES.

Cæsar, the captive negro, was, as we have before represented him, not
only a family servant, brought up about the house, but he was a personal
attendant upon the younger Lee. As soon as Frank heard the exclamations
of surprise from those who knew the negro, he at once drew back in the
crowd, and did not again present himself before him, until complete quiet was
restored in the camp. Then he sought the solitary quarters of his father's
old servant, and it may readily be imagined that it was a painful meeting on
both sides. Frank had not seen Cæsar before, since he left College, and the
first sight of such a living memento of by-gone years, would under any circumstances
call up painful reflections, but when he thought of the old negro's
equivocal position, and the suspicion which others entertained as well as himself,
that he was not there of his own accord, he could have wept over the
deep degradation and mortification of the African. Cæsar looked as if he
could have fallen down at his young master's feet and wept too, and yet he
did not dare to approach him. Frank, on his part, was in fully as painful a
position towards the old servant—he felt for him, on account of the considerations
before mentioned, but he could not accept the negro's atonement, through
the inculpation of his only brother.

“I will tell you all—de whole trut, 'fore God, Mass Frank,” exclaimed the
poor penitent.

“Not a single word to me, Cæsar—I will not hear it. You are to be sent
back to the capital to-morrow, and it will be time enough to make your disclosures
when the Governor returns; but even then he will not listen to you,
unless you have white testimony to corroborate your statements. You see,
therefore, unless you produce that testimony, you are likely to suffer in your
own person. Nay, do not answer me. I understand all you would say, and
it is with the hope of saving you from punishment, that I have called to see
you. I will endeavor so to explain the matter to the Governor, that he will
make your punishment at all events light, if not remit it altogether; but it
can only be brought about by your master and yourself leaving the country.
I will write to him this night, or rather this morning, and point out to him his
proper course. I did purpose, likewise, to ask you many questions about the
old place, but I had not anticipated how painful the sight of you thus would

be. I will, therefore, defer it to a more fitting opportunity. By that time, I
trust you will be far from scenes that may bring back to your recollection
this degradation. Little did I think when last I saw you, as one of the time
honored servants of my father, ever to look upon you in chains as a criminal.
I am as much mortified as if you had been one of my own kinsmen. Farewell,
Cæsar!”

The old fellow stretched out his hand, amidst a plentiful shower of tears,
and could only exclaim, between his agonizing sobs, “Oh! Mass Frank, God
bless you!”

Frank returned at once to write the promised letter, for it may be readily
imagined that he felt little disposed to sleep. It was short, but to the point.

Camp Negro Foot.

While Lee thus communed with his father's once faithful servant, and afterwards
with his brother in writing, the Governor held a very different dialogue
with the other captive. In this emergency, the scout was found to be a real
treasure; for besides his woodman's craft, he could converse so as to be understood
by the young rogue whom his own ingenuity had taken prisoner. Having
ascertained this, the Governor ordered Joe and his captive into his marquee.
We will not take the reader through the tedious process of the double questions
and answers, but give Joe's version of the old chief's talk and the young
savage's replies, at least so far as they are pertinent to our narrative. And
thus he rendered his patron's exordium. “Do you know, you d—d young
raseal, that the great Father of all the white folks between the herring pond
and sun-down is a goin' to stretch your wind-pipe?” Here there was a
pause—after which, the captive made one or two short guttural exclamations.

“What does he say, Jarvis?” exclaimed His Excellency impatiently.

“Why, Sir, he says he does not understand a word of your talk, nor what I
mean in his own lingo by a stretchin' of his wind-pipe. I reckon he never
seed the operation performed. As you've got to hang the snow-ball any how
down yonder, would'nt it be as well jist to let me tuck him up before this
young varmint? I guess he'd understand that, and then you could jist make
what you please out of him.”

“Pshaw, pshaw, Jarvis, don't make yourself out more brutal than you
really are. You would be the first man to rescue even that poor negro from
a watery grave.”

“You may say that, your Excellency, seein' I pulled him out of the water
no very long time ago; but to speak the truth and shame the devil, it was kase
I hated to see the gallows cheated out of its due.”

“Well, well, have your own way, but make this fellow understand that he
has fairly forfeited his life.”

“Look here, stranger, (in the Indian language,) you've got to pull hemp, a
standin' on nothin'.”

“Ugh!” a sort of note of interrogation from the captive.

“Oh! you don't know what hemp is, don't you? Well, it's a weed that
grows plenty in this Colony, one of the wholesomest bitters as grows, but
howsomdever it kills lots of people. What! you don't understand that
neither. Well, may be you'll understand this”—(and he took a cord laying
in one corner of the tent, and making a running noose, slipt it over the lad's
head, and began to tighten it apace.) “You understand that, don't you?
Oh, I thought so—well, the Governor wants to know if you are willing to save
your neck by bein' of use to him?”

To this he replied in the affirmative. The Governor then asked him through
Joe, if he had ever been over the mountains. He said he had often. When
asked if he would pilot the expedition over—he said he would. This matter
being arranged, he was next interrogated as to his agency in the massacre and
burning of Germana. He stoutly denied that he had been there at all, but
acknowledged that his father and brother had. He was next asked if he knew
anything of the young lady (Eugenia Elliot) who had been abducted from that
place. He said that he had not seen her, but he had heard that she had been
taken over the mountains, with the people from the Indian villages, who had
fled before the Governor's troops. After many other inquiries as to their
treatment of female captives—their customs with regard to the marriage of
such persons to native chiefs, the nature of the country beyond the mountains,
&c., &c., he was remanded to the care of the guard on duty. These latter
replies were of such a consolatory nature, that the Governor, as soon as the
day had dawned, threw himself in the way of young Hall, to cheer him also
with the news. He stated to him (upon the authority of his captive) that his
people were in the hahit of disposing of female captives to the nearest relations
of those who had fallen in the battle where such captives were taken.
But as no lives were lost in the sacking of Germana, he had understood that
the young lady (pale faced squaw) was to be given to the young Chief for
whom Wingina was originally intended, and that that very Chief had been
Joe's formidable antagonist last night.

All this was truly heart-cheering to poor Hall, especially that part which
assured him that the Chief for whom his Eugenia was intended, was still hovering
upon their outskirts, and was likely to be, until the expedition was triumphantly
completed, or abandoned in despair. He knew Gov. Spotswood's
character too well, to believe for one moment that he would ever abandon the
poor girl to her fate. There was one point that he interceded hard for, and
that was that the Governor would permit him to take the captive as his own,
set him free and go with him over the mountains, ahead of the troops. To
this, of course, the Governor would not listen for a moment.

It was a gallant sight to behold that bright and joyous band of cavaliers, in
their plumes and brilliant dresses and fluttering banners, not yet soiled by the
dust and toil of travel, as they wound through the green vistas fresh from the
hands of nature, and their prancing steeds still elastic and buoyant with high
blood and breeding. It cheered the heart of the veteran warrior, their commander,
to see the columns file off before him as he sat upon his horse and
received their salutes. The expedition numbered in its ranks some of the
most hopeful scions of the old aristocratic stock of Virginia, some, whose
descendants were destined to make imperishable names in the future history,
of their country, and many whose descendants still figure honorably in the
highest trusts of the republic.

The route to Germana was little varied by adventures or mishaps of any
kind; but the country through which they passed was hourly becoming more
bold and picturesque, and the scenery more grand and imposing. The land
commenced to be what, in the language of the country, is called rolling. It
was broken into long wavy or undulating lines, scarcely amounting to a hill,
and yet relieving the eye, in a great measure, from the monotony of the dead
level tide water country. The romantic and excited youths who surrounded
the Governor, were already expressing themselves in raptures at the new
views every moment bursting upon their vision. Many of them had never
in their lives beheld any thing so lovely. At these raptures the old chief
would smile, and sometimes encourage their enthusiasm, but always foretelling
them of the Apalachian wonders which they would behold. Indeed, being
a native of a bold and mountainous country himself, he longed as much as
any of them to feast his eye on the top of a crag, from which he could
behold a horizon with mountains piled upon mountains, one behind another,
reaching, as it were, to meet the clouds.

Sometimes he would descant upon these mountain wonders, and tell of his
own boyish adventures in his native land, until his moist eye told of his still
clinging affections to that glorious land, rich in whatever delights the heart of
the patriot, and richer above all, in a border minstrelsy and traditionary
treasures, now consecrated to everlasting love and remembrance, with the
name of him who has made them familiar as household words in every civilized
family, from the rising to the setting sun. We thank God that we have
lived in the days when those tales of witchery and romance were sent forth
from Abbotsford, to cheer the desponding hearts of thousands, and tens of
thousands. He not only threw a romantic charm around the scenes of his
stories, but he has actually made the world we live in more lovely in our
eyes. The visions which his magic wand created before our youthful eyes,
rise up in every hill and vale in our own bright and favored land. Who is there
that has not, ere now, found his imagination clothing some lass, as she burst
upon his view from a mountain defile in full canter, with the imperishable
vestments of Die Vernon?

Gov. Spotswood was by no means singular in his ardent attachment to his
native hills. It has often been remarked how ardent is the attachment to
home of every mountaineer, and as this homely feeling is the basis of all
true patriotism, it is a feeling to be admired and cherished. Philosophers
may wonder why it is that the natives of these cloud capped regions should
be more devotedly attached to them, than the tide-landers are to their ocean-washed
homes, and they may endeavor to fathom the why and the wherefore,
with no more success than hitherto. We simply state the fact from personal
experience. It has been our fate to exchange a home, combining the grandest
and the loveliest extremes of nature—the green valley and the rugged mountain
cliff—the serenest pictures of domestic comfort, in juxtaposition with the
wildest ravines and most towering precipices—for one within the reach of old
Neptune's everlasting roar—and our heart still yearns towards our native
mountains.

Germana, was alas! in ruins. The mill, which benevolence, more than
any hope of gain, had induced the Governor to have erected there, was a mere
shell, its stone walls black and disfigured with smoke. The water wheel was
still in perpetual revolution to a fruitless end, set in motion, no doubt, by the
wanton wickedness of the savages. But these things, seen from a distance,
were soon displaced by one of horror, which arrested their attention upon
the halt of the army at the ruins of the old stockade. The dead bodies of
their friends lay unburied and half consumed by wild beasts and birds of prey
or partially blackened and disfigured by fire.

As Frank Lee walked away in melancholy reverie from this disgusting
sight, his footsteps were followed by the scout, whom he heard muttering
every now and then, “I'm glad of it! I am glad of it!”

Lee wheeled upon him, almost fiercely, and demanded what there was to
rejoice him in such a sight?

“Oh! I beg your pardon, Squire, I'm not glad the poor fellers were sculped!
by no manner o' means; I only meant to say, I was glad the Governor had
seen it. Now, he'll know how we scouts come to hate the yaller niggers as
we do. This will cure him of all the love he ever had for the etarnal critters,
and when we come to meet 'em face to face, if so be that ever is, why then
he'll let us go at them with a will.”

“Is that all, well here's my hand upon it, Jarvis—you are right—for it has
produced exactly the effect on me, which you have predicted of our commander.”

“I know the critters, Squire, like a book, and a great deal better.”

21. CHAPTER XXI.
FORE-SHADOWING OF THE HORSE-SHOE.

Notwithstanding the horrors of the massacre at Germana, many of the
remains of which stared our adventurers in the face, upon their arrival there
the night was spent pretty much as the others had been, by the young gentry,
viz. over their wine and cards. Carter and some of his friends were thus
engaged during the evening, when Moore and Lee entered with the hope of
dissipating the melancholy feelings engendered by the ghastly sights which
still haunted them. As they entered, the former could not help but observe
that he had been the subject of conversation, for an embarrassing silence
ensued, some meaning smiles might have been detected, and one young gentleman
unable well to control his risible faculties, burst into a loud laugh. Moore,
being a frank and straight-forward fellow, told them that he saw that he had
been the subject of their conversation, and begged to be informed of its cause.
To this appeal Carter was compelled to respond, for the eyes of all his companions
turned to him at once.

“Why, Moore,” said he, “I was only telling my messmates of the bargain
which you and I made in jest, about not prosecuting our suits with Kate until
our return, and how handsomely I had stolen a march upon you, before our
departure from the city.”

“Oh!” said Moore, with a sly but bitter smile, “and so you violated the
compact, and met with a rebuff for your pains?”

“I plead guilty to the first charge, Moore, but I have not spoken as to the
second count”

“Then, I suppose, we are to understand that you were successful, by the
cheerful manner in which you relate it?”

Carter made no reply, but plied his cards busily, and Moore continued,

“Silence is one sort of affirmation; am I so to understand you, Carter?”
Still no reply, but renewed attention to the game. He evidently designed only
to annoy Moore, and amuse his friends with him. But placed as the latter
was, (as the reader has already been informed,) he felt bound to rescue the
fair name of his lady-love from the imputation of double dealing. In that light
he knew her conduct would appear to Lee, to whom he had confidentially
communicated her gracious answer to his proposal. Accordingly, he renewed
the attack pertinaciously and with some warmth. “I insist, Carter, that you
give me an answer; now that you have carried the matter thus far, I demand
it as a right!”

“The devil you do!” said Carter, dropping his cards, “then I shall not give
any other answer than I have already given.”

Moore rose to leave the tent in anger, but Lee begged him to stay a moment.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “remember your positions, and think well of
whom you are about to quarrel—no less than the daughter of our commander.
If it comes to the light, which it will do if you prosecute it farther, it
must annoy the Governor excessively, and throw a damp over our whole
enterprise.”

Carter was excited with wine, and had been losing heavily at the game,
and was not in the most placid humor imaginable. True, he had been consoling
himself with a laugh at his adversary, but that, too, was now turned to
bitterness, and he sat sullen and without a word of reply to Lee's appeal.
Truth to say, he liked not the source from which it came. The other gentlemen
present, however, seeing the force of Lee's view of the case, interfered
and argued the matter with both belligerents, until they prevailed upon them
to drop it, at all events until their return to the capital. This armistice having
been thus concluded, Lee and Moore continued their walk, and the latter remarked
as they went, “did I not tell you that Carter would never resign his
pretensions without seeking a cause of quarrel? He betrayed me into a
basty acknowledgment of my rights, purposely. It was a settled and premeditated
design, and not accidental, as it seemed.”

“But how could he know that we were coming to his tent?”

“Oh, that as well as the subject of discourse at the moment of our entrance,
was accidental, but the turn given after that to the conversation, was in furtherance
of a preconceived design.”

“Well, well, Moore, let us drop the subject now, as you have agreed to
adjourn the point for a long time; meanwhile he will grow sober, and I hope
less bellicose.”

The sentinels were placed this night with unusual care, as the Governor
had a suspicion that the Indians would make a combined attack upon him here,
this having been for some time the centre of their operations. But the night
passed with unusual quiet, and though the scout and his band were out most
of the time, no fresh signs were discovered. Young Hall accompanied them,
in the hope of discovering some trace of his lost Eugenia. Jarvis assured
him that she was already beating hominy and carrying water for the old
squaw—the mother of her intended husband. Joe did not perceive that he was
every now and then thrusting a dagger into the heart of his new friend, by his
free and unbridled discourse, for the poor youth writhed in secret. The rude
scout was no sentimentalist, and had not the slightest conception of such sorrows
as were weighing down his silent and moody companion. The reader
has seen how he bore his own troubles of the same sort, and he imagined that
there was a remarkable congeniality and fellow feeling between them, owing
to the similarity of their misfortunes. Every effort at consolation, however,
only made the matter worse, as will be perceived by the following portion of
their dialogue:

“How is it, Jarvis, when a young woman is thus set apart for the wife of a
chief? Is her will nothing, or is she forced to compliance?”

“Why, Squire, the will of a woman does'nt pass for much among 'em, but
to tell you the truth and shame the devil, I believes they do sort o' ax their consent
at first, for they carries corn and hominy, and skins, and other plunder,
to the wigwam of the gal's father, and if she takes 'em, then he carries her off
some night, by force.”

“And have they no rites—no marriage ceremony?”

“Oh, as to that, they may jump the broom stick, or the likes o' that, but
cuss me if I think they're even so much christenated as that comes to. As to
this gal of yourn, you see she's got no father among 'em to cozen with the
skins and plunder, and as she's already in the wigwam of that he rascal that I
knocked on the head tother night, what's the use of rites and ceremonies, as
you call 'em? When he gets to home, if ever he does—consarn him—he'll
no doubt consider her as his'en already.” Here a groan from his auditor
averted the flow of his discourse for a moment, but he speedily resumed, “I'll
tell you what you've got to do, Squire Hall, you've got to slit his wind-pipe.”

“Oh, Scout, if I could only meet him in any sort of an encounter, however
unequal, how gladly would I seize the opportunity?”

“That's talking like a man, now! jist throw away them blue devils and
stick to that, and I'll bring you up with the rascals before we're clean over
the mountains. There's no need for you to take on so, any how, kase we've
to give them an etarnal thrashing afore they'll let us over the mountains,
or they will sculp us, in which case, you know, you won't want the gal.”

Leaving Germana, the course of the expedition was directed for several
days in a diagonal line towards the direct route to the mountains. That time
brought our adventurers into a region of country such as many of them had
never seen before. The land was thickly strewn with rocks, and stones, and
pebbles. These were a subject of curiosity and admiration at first, but soon
turned to one of annoyance, as will be seen as we progress with our narrative.

Several spurs of mountains stretching in broken lines from the main chain
of the Blue Ridge, already presented their formidable barriers before them, and
being able to grasp an extended view from their base, they thought that they
had already arrived at the long desired point of their journey. Eager were
the emulous young cavaliers in their struggles to see who should first lead their
followers to the top of these heights, but, alas! they were only destined to
meet disappointment, for the same interminable view of broken and rolling
country met the view beyond, bounded still by that dim blue outline in the
back ground, and seeming rather to recede as they advanced. Hearty was the
laughter of the Scout—in which even the Governor joined—as they stood
upon the highest summit of the first of them, and surveyed with dismay the
mountains piled upon mountains beyond.

Governor Spotswood now, for the first time, began to have clear conceptions
of the vast region which lay before him—the difficulties of the undertaking,
and the hardships which would have to be endured before he accomplished
his design. Already the hunting department had been greatly
enlarged, and as they progressed farther into the wilderness, game became
more abundant. Several buffalo had been encountered and taken, after a
severe chase and many hair breadth escapes. Still they encountered not
their great adversaries—the combined savage forces, those who had sworn
that they should never cross the mountains alive. But a new difficulty,
wholly unanticipated, began now, for the first time, to present itself. The
baggage wagons had been left at Germana, and of course the burdens of
the sumpter mules and the supernumerary horses required to be doubled.
These were nearly all lame already. The first day the lame animals were
relieved by others taken from the soldiers, while the latter were required
to walk. But the substitutes in their turn became lame. Small as the
difficulty at first seemed, not many days elapsed ere the whole expedition
was brought to a complete stand-still, and what added not a little to their

discomfiture, their saddle horses began to share the same fate, insomuch
that the stragglers, with their crippled animals, strewed the route for miles.
The experienced judgment of the commander quickly perceived that this
was exposing them to the hazard of a murderous attack from the Indians,
and a general halt was ordered for several day's encampment, to recruit
the cavalry. The encampment was pitched upon a beautiful plain, in that
region of country now called Albermarle, one of the most charming spots
in America. The mountains were distinctly in view, on more sides than
one, but the dark blue boundaries of the horizon in the West, were apparently
as far off as ever.

So badly were many of the horses lamed, that some of the stragglers did not
arrive until after midnight, and even then some of them had not made their
appearance. The Governor became alarmed, lest they might have been cut
off by the ever watchful enemy, and he ordered the scout and twenty followers,
with the soundest horses to return and bring them in, while large fires
were kindled to show the position of the encampment. Lee and Moore determined
to be of the party—partly to amuse themselves and partly on account
of Moore's uneasiness about old June, who was among the missing. Indeed
Kate had specially charged her lover to have an eye to the safety of the faithful
old fellow.

They found the wearied soldiers, some tugging along leading their limping
chargers, with loud and bitter curses, while others, less persevering, were
sitting in despair by the way side, and the worn out animals were lying down
to die, as it seemed.

For miles along their route, they encountered nothing but lame horses and
worn out soldiers. Many of the latter having lost the blazed track, were shouting
despairingly to their companions from remote distances in the forest. Some
cried lustily for help, their horses having laid down in utter helplessness. The
darkness of the night only served to render their accumulating disasters more
annoying to the soldiers.

Lee, seeing how much this state of things could be remedied by keeping
the soldiers together, ordered those in the lead to halt until their lost companions
were found, and until those in the rear should come up. At the same
time he directed pine torches to be kindled and held aloft as a guide to the
poor stragglers. The whole scene resembled a defeated army during a retreat,
and the feeble minded and the wavering were already sunk in gloomy despair
at the prospect of such a termination of their enterprise. The distant mountains
in view, only seemed to render their despair more hopeless, for they
seemed rather to recede as the expedition advanced, and such glimpses as had
been caught from the tops of the highest spurs which they had yet ascended,
presented one continued pile of mountains behind mountains, seemingly
interminable in their breadth. These things it must be confessed, were very
disheartening to the timid, but not so to the old veteran, who commanded the
expedition. All day he marched on foot in the front ranks, cheering those
around him and carrying his instruments and his arms upon his person, while
his noble war-horse, as yet but slightly lamed, was given to a sick soldier.
The reader's particular acquaintances “of the order”—Lee, Dandrige, Moore,
and Carter, followed the Governor's example, and cheered up the drooping
spirits of the weary and despairing.

The former especially, now shone out in his true colours. He was every
inch a soldier, and the Governor relied on him now, with unreserved confidence—twitting
him the while, notwithstanding, concerning his vagaries at
the capital.

Lee and his friends pursued their backward route for some miles and until
the soldiers with their lame horses were becoming few and far between, and
yet no tidings were heard of poor old June. He had not been seen since the
noon meal, and the last straggler declared that he had not heard a single

voice in his rear. Still they pursued their route, determined to persevere
until day light, rather than give up the old banjo player. When they had
passed the last horseman, some five or six miles, and were just coming to the
conclusion that they would find him at the lunch ground, still some four miles
off, Moore halted abruptly behind a projecting point of hill, descending to a
creek which they were just about to ford, and laid his hand upon the bridle of
Lee's horse. The latter drew his pistol upon the instant, and placed himself
so as to be ready for action, but presently his ear caught a well known sound,
which induced him to return his weapon to its holster, while he could scarcely
suppress a laugh, so strange did old June's voice and banjo sound in the still and
solitary forest. They moved as close as possible, so as to catch a glimpse of
the old fellow and yet not to be seen. He was leaning against the saddle
and portmantean, his horse lying dead by his side, while he chaunted the following
words to one of his most melancholy airs,

“Why June,” exclaimed Moore, “has every one deserted you?”

“Oh, Mass Bernard, I glad to see you for true. I tought de Governor left
old June for good and all.”

“But your horse,—could you not get him along at all?”

“Oh, Mass Bernard, he settle all he account in dis world—he dead as a
makeral, and June glad ob it too.”

“Glad! why what are you glad for.”

“Case he grunt so solemcoly, go right trough June's heart like a funeral
sarmon.”

Moore mounted the old fellow on behind his servant, proposing to leave the
saddle, portmanteau, and even the banjo, until he could send back for them, but
to the latter part of the proposition, June stoutly objected, and they were fair
to take him, banjo and all, as it was getting to be late.

Before day dawned, all the stragglers with most of their horses were brought
safely into camp without the Indians having discovered their helpless condition,
if indeed they still watched the movements of the troops. Jarvis and
those most conversant with their habits argued from this circumstance, that
they no longer hovered upon the outskirts of the army.

22. CHAPTER XXII.
HORSE-SHOE ENCAMPMENT.

Strange that neither the Governor or any of his subordinates in command
had yet discovered the true reason of the disastrous condition of their cavalry;
but they had so long dwelt along the sandy shores of the Chesapeake and the
alluvial soil of the rivers, that they were not aware of the effects of the hard,
stony ground upon their horses' feet. A general council of “the order,” was
summoned after breakfast to take into consideration the condition of the army
and what it behooved them to do, under the circumstances. Various opinions
were expressed. Some were for abandoning the horses altogether, and continuing
their route on foot, and some were for remaining in their present
encampment until their horses could be sufficiently recruited to prosecute the
journey. To this latter opinion the Governor was inclined. Lee, who had
been in consultation with his staunch friend and counsellor Jarvis, stated that
the latter had predicted this very state of things in his hearing, and he attributed
it entirely to the want of shoes upon their horses' feet, to protect them
from the pebbles and small stones, which made them sore by the constant
wear and friction of travel. Jarvis was summoned and required to explain
the matter. Several of the lame horses were led up before the marquee,
where they were assembled, and Joe, taking up one of the poor animal's feet,
commenced quite an erudite lecture upon the complicated structure of that
admirably contrived apparatus. True, the scout indulged in no high sounding
technicalities, nor was he acquainted with the art of farriery, as laid down in
books, but he understood the true philosophy of the subject, upon which he had
undertaken to enlarge. By way of enforcing his views he brought his own
pony which he had shod himself, and holding up his foot to the astonished
young gentlemen pointed out to them how well he could stand the pressure
of his knife handle rudely thrust against the frog, and from which all the
other animals had shrunk with pain. It now became a subject of anxious
deliberation, what they were to do? Any one could now see that little would
be gained by rest alone, for no sooner would they have recommenced the
journey, than the same difficulty would occur again with ten fold aggravation
as the route yet to be traversed was of course more stony and precipitous.
Besides they were every day approaching nearer and nearer to the country of
the hostile Indians, where the Governor's peaceful tributary and missionary
systems had scarcely penetrated.

The only alternatives left seemed either to abandon the expedition and go
home, or to abandon their horses and pursue the route on foot. In their secret
hearts many preferred the former and hoped it would be forced upon the old
chief, whether he would or not, but no one dared to make such a proposition.
He must, however, have discovered their secret leaning that way, for he told
them that any one who was home-sick, or who felt disheartened by such obstacles
as they had already encountered might return; as for himself he intended
to scale the mountain if he left his bones bleeching on the top. All responded
to his hardy perseverance, whatever some of them may have felt, while the
scout could scarcely refrain from raising his coon skin in triumph over those
of his comrades, who had confidently predicted to him their speedy return.

What was to be done? That was the question; and one which, small as it
may appear at this distant day of graduated and McAdamized roads, was of
vital interest to them. To shoe several hundred horses, without the proper
artificers to do the work seemed such a chimera of the brain, that when the
Governor proposed it, he was answered by a general shout of laughter, in
which he joined as heartily as the youngest of them. Nevertheless, he said
be would show them that it could be done, and that he would set the example

himself. Accordingly, he ordered a shed to be immediately erected for a
blacksmith shop—into which the scout was installed as chief artificer. Joe
said that his father had once bound him apprentice to the trade of a blacksmith,
but that he was always mending old gun locks and pistols on his own hook,
for which his master licked him so often, that he ran away before his time
was half out. He expressed his sorrow, that he could not foresee at the
time, that he would have the Governor and all the young gentry, one day
under him as apprentices, in which case he would have acted very differently.
However, he went manfully to work, and really turned out horse-shoes, which
would have been creditable to his old master.

During the first day, most of the youngsters stood around and watched
Jarvis teaching the Governor of Virginia, the art of horse-shoeing. Frequently
he required the assistance of the sledge hammer, which the old
veteran would suffer no one wield but himself, and most gallantly did the
old hero of many battles bare his brawny arms to wield the ponderous instrument.
More than once Joe had to let go his read hot iron, and fall back
against his rude forge, and laugh out right. He said he had never expected
to see the day when the Governor would be striker to him.

“My old master,” continued he, “used to tell me that the devil would make
me striker to him when he cotch'd me, but I reckon he missed the figure.”

By the second day, the Governor could make a very passable horseshoe,
and Jarvis nailed a set of his own making upon his old war-horse. When
the job was completed, the Governor mounted him and cantered round the
encampment, his whole face flushed with the double effects of his triumph and
his work at the forge. The young men were no longer sceptical, but turned
in, each one to shoe his own charger. Some were not gifted with mechanical
tact and ingenuity, while others fully equalled the Governor in skill. The
former were allowed to hire Jarvis, and such ingenious soldiers as he had
pressed into his service, to do the work for them, by which operation the
scout lined his pockets handsomely. He declared to Frank Lee that he had
never possessed as much money in all his life, as he made in that one week—
but we anticipate. A new difficulty now presented itself, for all the iron,
which the foresight of the scout had provided, had given out, and great numbers
of horses remained yet to be shod. In this emergency, some one luckily
remembered the wagons left at Germana, and a detachment was immediately
despatched with the horses already provided, to bring the tire from off the
wheels, and such other pieces of the metal as they could gather from them.

This expedient furnished an abundant supply, and the army was rapidly
recruiting its strength and spirits, while the horses were as fresh as the day
they left the capital. Game was found in great abundance, and the tables
of our adventurers smoked each day of their unwonted labors with haunches
of venison, which their sovereign might have envied, and truth to say, they
did not render tardy justice to the good things set before them. Celebrated
as the Cavaliers of Virginia were for their love of good eating, the members
of the Tramontane Order surpassed all the feats of their forefathers; never
were such trencher men seen; venison steaks and buffalo humps disappeared
with marvellous rapidity. Nor was the convivial glass wanting—a few bottles
here and there had been preserved from their previous wassail, which
were generously produced on these now joyful evenings. Songs and toasts
once more enlivened the festive board.

On the last night but one of the horse shoe encampment, the Governor
invited the whole of the order to sup with him, and as his stock of wines
were known to be almost untouched, most cheerfully was the summons
answered. Long tables—rude, it is true—were set out under a fine grove of
oaks, from the branches of which were hung such lamps as could be found
through the camp.

About eight o'clock the Governor gave the signal for the onslaught, taking

the head of the table himself, and assigning the second post of honor to Frank
Lee. On the right hand of the giver of the feast, sat the Rev. Hugh Jones,
“Chaplain to the General Assembly of His Majesty's Colony in Virginia,”
as he styles himself in the work which he has left behind him, and in which
he gives a short account of the “Tramontane Expedition,” though the work
was professedly written for other purposes.[5]

The old hero felt that he had achieved a greater triumph over surrounding
obstacles, than when he led the charge at Blenheim, and he was consequently
neither chary of his wine nor his wit. After the saddles of venison, wild
turkeys, and pheasants, had all disappeared, the Governor led the way to the
festivities of the evening by his standing toast, as in duty bound, now altered
of course by the ascension of a male Sovereign to the throne. It was varied
also by the services which he supposed himself to be rendering to his royal
master. Every one rose up with him, as he filled his glass and gave, “Our
new Sovereign! may the `Tramontane Order' push the boundaries of his empire
in America to the banks of the Mississippi.”[6]

It was drunk with three times three. It must be recollected by our readers,
however, that they supposed the Mississippi to be just beyond the mountains
before them.

Strange enough, that both Columbus and Spotswood, the one the pioneer
across the ocean, and the other across the mountains, should have both been
led on to their grand achievements by a geographical illusion—the one, in
search of the Indies, discovering America—and the other, in search of the
Mississippi, discovering the fairest portion of what is now the United States.
The discoveries of the latter may fairly claim that much, for he was in reality
the great pioneer, who first led the chivalrous youths of the Old Dominion
upon those tramontane pilgrimages, which have already been so gloriously
commemorated upon the plains of San Jacinto, by one of the same peripatetie
race, and which we confidently predict will never rest this side of the gates of
Mexico. Never was there an individual so chiefly instrumental in the great
onward movements, which have since so distinguished our country and our
countrymen, and whose memory has been suffered to fall into such utter forgetfulness,
as the far-sighted soldier and statesman, to whose name we have
attempted to offer an humble tribute. How vast were the results of this expedition!
While we write, the Congress of the United States is endeavoring to
distribute those very lands to which his hardy enterprise and indomitable gallantry
first led the way. We hear of Daniel Boon, and other hardy western
pioneers of a later day, but the name of the real first conqueror and disoverer
of that vast and almost boundless country is never mentioned, except by historians,
and by them, in the most meagre and unsatisfactory manner.

It is well that the old chief could not foresee the ingratitude which awaited
him even in his life-time, and doubly fortunate that he could not see that to
which we have alluded, else the festivities of the evening might have been
marred. As it was, every thing went on swimmingly, toast succeeded toast
in rapid succession, and the conversation began now to grasp the objects of
the enterprise, as something almost within their reach. The Governor told
them that he intended to offer a brilliant prize to the gentleman who should
first plant the British standard upon the summit of the great Apalachee. This
was the first faint adumbration of the Golden Horse Shoe which we can discover.
It was received with glowing enthusiasm, and every youth professed
himself ready to die in the attempt. The old tactician knew well how to fire
the ardor of the gallant youths under his command, and having brought their

spirits and their emulation to that point which he desired, and for which the
feast was given, he retired with his reverend friend, and left the youngsters
to their unrestrained merriment.

After the veteran had withdrawn, his health was drunk with great enthusiasm,
but it is doubtful whether the toast would have gone down so unanimously
on the night of their arrival at the “horse-shoe encampment,” so
disheartened were many of the young cavaliers, and so fickle is popular
opinion. A toast to the lasses they had left behind them, was received and
drunk with much feeling. As the Chairman (Frank Lee) resumed his seat,
he discovered the scout leaning against a tree near, with his bare and brawny
arms folded, while they, as well as his face, were black with the smoke of his
smithy, which he had just deserted for the sounds of merriment in his near
neighborhood. Lee led him forward, and placed a flagon of undiluted
spirits in his hand, which he would have quaffed without much preface, but
that many youths gathered around him, and sang out for a toast. “A toast
from the scout!—A toast from the scout!” was carried by acclamation. Joe
scratched “his inheritance,” as he called his red flock, and advanced one foot,
but his ideas did not seem to flow so readily under the process, as the sparks
from under his herculean hammer. At length, however, his eye was seen to
sparkle, and his fingers to cease the cultivation of “his inheritance,” at which
demonstration the chairman thumped the table with his knife for silence and
attention. “Gents,” said Joe, “as you've drunk to the gals you have left
behind you, here's to the gals we have got before us,” slapping poor Hall upon
the back, who was just sitting before him, leaning his head upon his hand.
Hall could not resist such an appeal, especially when urged by all the company
to join the scout in a bumper. Thus passed the evening, or rather the night,
for they kept up the revelry until a late hour, and then separated in a good
humor with themselves and all the world.

23. CHAPTER XXIII.
OLD FASHIONED LOVE LETTERS.

During the lengthened encampment of the horsemen, a courier arrived
from the Capitol, bringing letters for the Governor, and for many of the young
gentry who were with him. Numerous were the epistles of the anxious
mothers and not less solicitous fathers, beseeching their sons to caution and
prudence in the hazardous enterprise in which they were embarked; but
with these we have no immediate business. We hope, however, that the following
epistle may possess some interest for our readers:

It would have been quite amusing to a disinterested spectator to have sat
at the same camp-table, and watched Frank Lee and Bernard Moore reading
their several epistles. There was a spectator in the tent, and disinterested
enough in all conscience—Jarvis the scout. He was sitting upon a portmanteau
in one corner, availing himself of the light, to fix an old gun lock, which
had lost some of its proper functions. From time to time he ceased his filling
and screwing, and turned his blackened and greasy face towards the young
men, at first with an inquiring glance, as much as to say, “why do you read
those letters over again, when you have already read every line?” But when
they both, as if moved by one impulse, and wholly regardless of each other,
turned them over and over again, and read and re-read them, he could hold
in no longer, and burst out into a laugh. Both of them started as if roused
from one of the sweetest dreams imaginable, and laying their hands upon the
table, still holding the epistles, stared at Joe in turn. Their movements and
the expression of their countenances were so exactly alike, that Joe went off
again “half cocked,” as he called it, in the rude apology which he attempted
in his own justification.

“Well well,” said Lee, “now that we are all attention, will you be so good
as to enlighten us as to the cause of your merriment?”

“Why, Squire, you and Mr. Moore put me so plagidly in mind of the time
when I used to go to school a gittin' my lessons over and over agin, that for
the life of me I could'nt a help'd larfin. Then Mr. Moore, he worked his
mouth and waved his hand so grand like, that he looked exactly like the
player men down to Williamsburg. I guess you're a goin to have some play
actin' here in camp some of these nights, aint you?—or is them real ginuine
letters, sure enough?

“As true letters, Joe,” replied Lee, after the young men had indulged in their
laugh, both at their own ludicrous behavior and the impressions it made upon
their rude friend; “as true letters, Joe, as ever were written—at least I can
vouch for mine, and I think for Moore's, with safety. But how comes it, Joe,
that every one received letters by the courier but you? It strikes me you
have a correspondent. Were you not writing to some one but recently?”

“O aye, and the Governor gin me a letter too, out of the letter bag, from

the same feller I was a writing to—one William Bivins—we calls him Billy,
for short.” And Joe drew out of his shot pouch lying on the ground beside
him, a blackened and disfigured letter, which already looked worn enough to
take the heart of an antiquarian. But we will not detain the reader with
Joe's correspondence, as it in no way related to the interests of the expedition,
nor to the development of our story. In its stead, we will transcribe the
other letter alluded to. It was from Kate, of course.

It is not consistent with our allotted limits to ransack the mail bag any
further at this time, though we may again present such of the correspondence
of the parties on the other side as relates to their adventures,
or the progress of the great enterprise. Preparations were now busily
making to break up the celebrated encampment of the “horse-shoe.”
Nearly the whole cavalry had recovered their feet, and an abundance of
jerked venison, and dried buffalo and tongues, &c., had been also provided,
so that they were prepared to set out with renewed strength and spirits.
The murmnrs of the discontented had now nearly ceased, and the young
soldiers began to relish the rude, but exciting life of the camp. The old
chief at their head was in his glory. He had gained in health, and strength,
and spirits, with every day's journey, though he had performed as great a
share of it on foot as the meanest soldier in his ranks.

The scout, too, was in his true element, and besides, was now in high
favor with His Excellency, to the success of whose grand enterprise he was
found so indispensable an auxiliary. Many times a day the Governor would
exclaim, what a god-send it was that he had exchanged his promised guide
for the one he had picked up at the eleventh hour. He now saw that the wary
Indian had purposely deceived bim from the beginning, and especially with
regard to the face of the country. He was now, too, fully persuaded that the
young chiefs recently in College, had been preparing to dispute his passage
across the mountains, exactly as he advanced in his preparations to effect
that object. Already more than one had bnen seen and encountered, who had
never been at the College, a positive proof that far more were concerned
than the pupils. Then the desertion of the village, and the retreat of its
inhabitants before him towards the mountains, all showed that they either
intended to abandon the country wholly before the march of his troops, or
else to dispute the mountain passes with him, hand to hand. He knew too
well to suppose the former for a moment, and their constant annoyance of
his outskirts was proof enough, if any additional had been wanting, that
they entertained no such design.

Little information as to the movements of his people was gained from
the captive, though each night he had been brought to the Governor's marquee
to be interrogated, and though Jarvis repeated more than once the
hempen admonition before administered. It is very questionable whether
Joe's feelings of philanthropy and benevolence were not such, that he would
willingly have extended that admonition, had the Governor permitted it. He
assured the old chief that the young rascal would tell every thing, if he
would only permit him (Jarvis) to hang him a little—just a little; but the
Governor had seen too much of the scout's tender mercies towards the race,
to trust the captive in his hands.

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
FIRE IN THE MOUNTAINS.

At length the army was again in motion—the horses having recovered the
use of their legs, and the riders their spirits. They were now passing thro'
a country wholly new, even to the scout, and one of surpassing magnificence
and beauty. The forest crowned hills, and the bright sparkling streams

tumbling over their rocky beds, succeeded each other with astonishing
rapidity, exhibiting some of the finest landscapes in nature.

The general course of the expedition was along the banks of these water
courses—supposed to have their rise near or beyond the mountains—but their
devious windings were not pursued—so that they often crossed the same
stream some twenty times a day, in pursuance of the more direct compass
line of the old chief.

Towards night of the first day's march after leaving the “horse-shoe,”
some twenty miles, the great range of mountains began to appear distinctly
in view, so that it was confidently predicted that another day's journey would
bring them up to the base.

How gloriously the blue mountains loomed up in the distance to the
astonished and delighted gaze of the young Cavaliers, who supposed
themselves just ready to grasp the magnificent prize for which they
had so long toiled! But as the next day's march drew towards
its close, they were very much surprised to find the mountains still
apparently as far off, as though they pursued an ignis fatus—so delusive
were the distances to eyes accustomed so long to view objects on a dead
level. These daily disappointments and vexations at length, however,
began to revive the Governor's youthful experience and recollection of
such things. Still that experience was not exactly in point, because here,
the towering heights were clothed in dense forests, over which the changing
seasons were now throwing the gorgeous drapery of their autumnal
hues, so that he was nearly as much at fault as his juniors.

In enthusiastic admiration of the matchless succession of panoramas which
hourly greeted his sight, he was not a whit behind any of them. Often
would he halt his suite, as they preceded the main body over some high
hill, and all, with one voice, would burst out in admiration at the new
scenes presented, sometimes stretching far away into green secluded valleys,
and then towering up from their very borders into the most majestic
and precipitous heights. As they advanced nearer and nearer to the mountains,
these characteristics gradually thickened upon them, until now the
army was often closed up entirely between surrounding hills, and at other
times the front ranks of the imposing array would be ascending one hill.
while the rear guard was descending another. Often, too, were the echoes
of the mountains awakened by the martial music of the trumpets and bugles,
notwithstanding the oft repeated remonstrances of the scout. Any one
who has not heard a bugle among the mountains, can form but a faint
idea of the charming effect, produced by the reverberation resounding from
hill to valley, and from valley to hill. For the greater part of the journey,
it was more like a triumphal procession, than an army marching to new
conquests through an unknown country.

On one of the last nights spent on the eastern side of the mountains,
after the usual bustle of pitching tents and building fires had somewhat
subsided, when soldiers and officers were lying about in lazy attitudes,
seeking that repose made so necessary by the fatigue of a long day's
march, powerfully induced, likewise, by one of those delightful Virginia
autumnal twilights—Lee and Moore were resting themselves on the grass
and exchanging congratulations upon their prosperous journey, thus far,
and the fine prospects of the morrow, when they observed the scout, instead
of seeking that repose in which so many of his superiors were indulging,
bustling about at a great rate. Our two adventurers soon discovered
that something more than common was in hand, and they called
the scout to them and inquired what new scheme against the “varmints”
he was now plotting?

“Oh, Gents,” replied Joe, “its another sort of cattle I'm arter now—rare
sport a comin' Gents, but its a secret.”

“No, no, Jarvis,” replied Lee, as they both rose from their recumbent
position, “no secrets from us, that is against our compact.”

“Well then,” said Joe, “we are to have a grand fight to night.”

“What! to night?” exclaimed both with one accord, springing to their
feet, “where, and with whom?”

“Ha! ha! ha!” not so fast, not so fast, its not with the yaller niggers.”

They both turned away disappointed, and as they walked off, Joe called
after them. “It's a grand cock fight, Gents.”

Both turned again almost as eagerly as before, and enquired of the scout
how, in the name of all the wonders, the game cocks had been brought so
far from home. Joe told them that the servants of some of the young gentry
had brought them by their master's orders, and as they found it impossible to
carry them farther, they were determined to have one fight out of them, before
they were abandoned to their fate. “To tell you the truth” continued the
scout, “I thought the critters would 'a been made into cock broth afore now
along with that dog 'o mine, Squire Lee,” and he indulged again in a sort of
inward chuckle, at the idea of eating the tough fowls, and dining from his
dog's carcass, to which he still persisted in saying, they were to come, before
they reached their journey's end. As the walked toward the hastily arranged
cock pit, he went on to tell them what the Governor had said, when he
(Jarvis) had made the prediction to him, that they would at last have to return
for want of forage and provisions. “The Governor said, says he to me, do
you see those military boots, scout?” “Yes Sir,” says I. “Well,” says he,
“when I have supped upon them, and dined upon my saddle, then we may
talk about going back without crossing the mountains. That's the sort of
commander for me, there is no back out in his breed, depend upon it. They
do say among the messes of the old life guard that he's eat his boots afore
now, and June swears he had a bull frog cooked the other night, and that he
eat him up. Now I reckon that's the next thing to eating tanned leather.”

By this time they arrived at the place already designated, by many torches
and a crowd gathered round a rope fastened to stakes driven in a circle of
considerable extent, on the borders of the encampment. A couple of cocks,
belonging to some of the soldiers, were already engaged by way of prelude,
while they waited the arrival of the young gentry. They fought without
gaffs;—nevertheless it was a bloody encounter, and one of them was soon
gasping in the death struggle.[7]

When the rest of the young gentry had arrived and the cocks were pitted,
how eagerly were the bets offered and taken!—how excited became every
eye! The rope was bent almost to the ground, with the eager pressing forward
of the excited men. The exclamations flew round “ten to one on the
red and white”—“done!”—“an even bet on the brindle,”—“hurra! that
was a home thrust!” &c., &c.

Now it so happened, that the tents of the encampment were pitched just
under one of those spurs of the mountains, which they were daily encountering
and which had more than once deceived them with the idea that they
had at last arrived at the foot of the real Apalachee. Whether this was the
real Blue Ridge, (for the Blue Ridge and the Alleganies were then all confounded
together,) they had not yet ascertained, but an incident now occurred
which induced them to believe, that they had at last arrived at the base of the
true mountains. While so many were crowded round the cock pits absorbed
in the national amusement, an astounding crash was heard, like an avalanche
coming down the mountains. Some huge object seemed to be coming directly
toward them, bending and crashing the trees, and tracking its course in
sparks of fire. Some thought a volcanic irruption had occurred—while

others supposed it to be an avalanche; but in far less time, than we have
taken to record it, a huge fragment of reck, weighing several tons, and carrying
before it a shower of lesser bodies of the same sort came leaping and
bounding toward the very spot where the cock pit was located. Fortunately
a large tree stood directly between the crowd and the track of the fragment,
or hundreds would have been instantly killed. As it was, several were badly
hurt by the bursting of the rock and the scattering of its fragments. Jarvis
shouted at once, that it was the Indians, and in a few moments his sagacity
was verified, for the whole side of the mountain seemed suddenly belted with
a ribbon of fire. Appalling as the salutation had been, the young cavaliers
stood lost in admiration at the grand and novel sight, which now saluted their
wondering eyes, until roused from their dangerous trance, by the loud and
commanding voice of Lee, who was already on horse-back, and calling his
comrades to arm, by the command of the Governor. When he had drawn
them sufficiently away from their dangerous propinquity to the base of the
mountains, and while they were speedily mounting, a thought occurred to
him, which was productive of the happiest results. He had ordered the
camp fires extinguished, but suddenly countermanded the order and directed
them to be furnished with fresh fuel, while he galloped off, to communicate
his scheme to the Governor.

He found the veteran already in the saddle, and eager for the contest,
which he supposed about to ensue. His first order was to remove the tents
and horses away from the base of the mountain, and out of reach of the new
sort of artillery with which they were threatened. This was executed with
alacrity and promptitude—the opposite side of the plain or valley furnishing
an equally commodious site for the encapment and sure protection against
the enemy. The next was to extinguish the fires, as before ordered at first,
by Frank Lee, but here the latter interposed, and suggested to the Governor
to have them burning, and to avoid all signs of the kind at the new camp
ground. Scarcely were the tents and horses removed, before the wisdom of
this course was made manifest—for the thundering missiles were again heard
crashing down the mountain.

Frank also suggested, that a body of volunteers should be sent round the
spur or projection from the main body of the mountain, and thus out-flank the
enemy, while they were engaged in loosing and hurling down the huge fragments
of rock. He expressed his belief that such a force, might ascend on
foot, before daylight, and either get above them, or hold them in check, while
the main body ascended more leisurely with the baggage.

The Governor listened with attention to his scheme and proposed that they
should ascend the eminence behind them on the other side of the valley and
reconnoitre, and suggested that then they could form a more accurate idea of
the position of the enemy and the feasibility of the plan. Accordingly he
took his aids-de-camp and those in whose sagacity he had confidence, and
ascended the eminence. By the time they had attained the desired elevation,
however, the whole scene on the opposite mountain had changed its appearance.
The wind, which had been sometime blowing a moderate breeze from
the north-west, suddenly chopped round to the north-east and blew almost a
gale, sweeping the belt or cordon of fire with which the savages had surrounded
themselves on three sides, into magnificent eddies, and curling and
sweeping over the mountains with a rapidity inconceivable to those who have
never witnessed such a scene. For some moments, the Governor and his
party were lost in admiration at the grandeur of the spectacle, and the army,
the threatened battle, and every thing else, but the sight before them, were
forgotten for the moment. The towering objects around, threw fantastic and
collossal shadows over the sides of the mountain, and sometimes the entranced
officers imagined that they could see spires, and domes, and huge edifices,
encircled with the flames, when suddenly these fairy creations of the furious

element would vanish and leave nothing behind but a cluster of pine trees,
with the curling flames encircling their now livid trunks, and occasionally
pouring in one continuous sheet from their centres, presenting again an
almost exact resemblance to the stock of some huge furnace, burned white
hot with the ungovernable fury of its own fires. Sometimes too, they
imagined they saw a fearful array of grim warriors marshalled behind the
long line of fire, but as the fury of the latter would become exhausted for
lack of new combustibles in the course of the wind, or by the interposition of
a ledge of rock, the warriors would dwindle into the trunks of black jacks,
and mountain laurels and other products of the soil. The leaves were hung
with magnificent festoons of crimson and purple, constantly changing its
hues like the dying dolphin, as the fire burnt out over one track, and pursued
its resistless career to another.

Every one saw now, that they had indeed arrived at the veritable Blue
Ridge, for the fire that had commenced in the spur beneath which the army
had encamped, had by this time, swept around its base, and entered upon the
wider field of the main mountain, revealing what the Governor had been so
fearful of not being able to find, the gap of the mountains. This was a depression
made by nature, as if on purpose to afford a passage for man. The
buffalo first make their path along the winding track of these, and the
Indians with true savage sagacity, are sure to follow in their foot-steps.
While one party on the hill were expressing their delight at this discovery,
the scout was heard, ascending just beneath them on foot, singing in loud
and joyous tones, the old song beginning:

When Jarvis had attained to the same level, the Governor suffered him to
run his eye over the scene, before he addressed him. The sagacious woodsman
saw into the whole geography of the scene before him at a single survey,
and no sooner had he done so than he seized his old coon skin cap, and
tossed it into the air with boyish delight, exclaiming with the action, “we've
caught 'em in there own trap! we've caught 'em in their own trap!”

The Governor rode round to his side, and asked him if he thought it possible
to convey the horses and baggage over the gap!”

“Sartin, sure, your honor,” replied Joe without the least hesitation, “haven't
they gone over before us, and is'nt there a buffalo path all the way over,
beginning at the hollow!”—(a ravine which separated the spur from the
main mountain,) and with his finger he traced out, along the sides of the
mountain, the probable course of the winding path. He was then told of
Lee's scheme of ascending with a picket company on the other side of the
spur, and getting behind the savages.

“The very thing itself,” said Joe, “the very idee, I was going to propose to
you, and I'll tell you what it is, Governor, as fine a scout was spiled when
Squire Frank was made a gentlemen of, as ever wore a moccasin.”

At this regret of Joe's, all the young cavaliers laughed.

It was evident enough to the veteran leader, that here the savages had
concentrated their whole force to make one last and desperate effort against
the encroachment of the whites. They were evidently determined to dispute
the passage of the mountains.

25. CHAPTER XXV.
THE ENROLLMENT.

When the Governor and his suite had descended once more into the valley,
then about ten o'clock at night, all the young gentry and the officers of

the Rangers were summoned to the Governor's presence. It was a solemn
eonclave in the open forest, without any other lights than those afforded
by the starry firmament above, and the fantastic reflections from the fires
in the mountains, which latter seemed sometimes to hang almost over them.
Every now and then, as they gravely deliberated upon the subjects before
mentioned, they were startled by the ponderous fragments of stone, leaping
and plunging against some old time-honored king of the forest, which would
stagger and quiver for a moment, and then plunge into the dark chaos
beneath, sending up a shower of sparks and fragments of burning branches
and living coals, until the whole scene beneath was as light as day for
an instant, and then covered with a pitchy darkness from the contrast.

The characteristic exclamations of Joe at these occasional interruptions,
as he sat smoking upon an old dead tree near by, would almost upset the
more youthful of the counsellors. Such as “Oh the yaller rascals—old
Saatan never had better journeymen nor them, and the intarpreter he's boss.”

“Oh, if Dr. Blair could only 'a seed this here night's work, he'd never
preach another sarmint to the varmints—no, never—never.” Then he would
break out into his old song again, “Run boys, run boys, fire in the mountains,
&c., &c. Meanwhile the deliberations proceeded. The Governor
laid the case before his youthful counsellors, pointing out to them,
with his sword, the probable route the Indians had taken—where they
would be likely to make a stand—and the difficulties to be encountered.
He then unfolded to them Lee's scheme, and told them that he approved of it
highly, after having maturely examined its feasibility. At the same time he
did not disguise its difficulties, telling them that it would have to be undertaken
on foot, until they joined the main force. He placed Lee's claims to the command,
on the ground of his being the author of the plan. With most of them
this appeared reasonable enough, but there were others who were manifestly
reluctant to march under his orders, and others, perhaps, who preferred the
easier route along the beaten path. The old voteran assured them, that in his
opinion they would have fighting to then heart's content on either route. The
difficulty was soon settled, however, suffering the new scheme to be a voluntary
thing with them. Such as chose to be of the expedition were invited to
step to one side, while those who preferred to remain under his immediate
command, filed to the other. Lee's party happening to place themselves near
the old log where Joe was entertaining Nat Dandridge with his songs and
stories, the scout immediately stood upon the log, intimating thereby that he,
too, intended to accompany the more desperate adventure.

The new expedition was to start within the hour; consequently, all of them
were soon in motion, filling their knapsacks with provisions, and replenishing
their stock of ammunition. Moore gave Lee one hearty grasp of the hand,
ere he entered the Governor's tent for his last instructions.

“Farewell, Lee,” said he, “you, it seems, are going to make an attempt to
outflank the enemy, we will meet you, my fine fellow, more than half way.”

By the time that Lee had received his commander's parting orders, the whole
of the adventurous band was drawn up immediately in front of the latter's quarters.
The old veteran stepped out, bare headed, and told them that he knew perfectly
well that they required no incentive to daring deeds from him; that his object
in having a few parting words was to charge them on the contrary to
caution and prudence in dealing with the wily enemy. “Remember,” continued
he, “that you are all young, and comparatively inexperienced, and that
young blood is proverbially hot. I feel deeply my responsibility to your parents
and friends, now more especially when I am about to trust you to your own
guidance for a short time. Do nothing to shake the confidence which I have
placed in you, or to bring our expedition into discredit. Twenty-four hours
will decide whether we are to become laughing stocks to the whole Colony,
or whether we are to earn glorious names, which shall live long after these

mountains are traversed with the king's high way, I have only to add that I
have the highest confidence in the cool courage and judgment of your commander;
remember that there is no such thing as success in any military enterprise,
without discipline, and consequently without one recognized source of
command. I am the more particular in enforcing this, because each of you is
a gentleman born, and perhaps capable of taking the lead in his own person.
I have designated to your leader his successors in their order, should he
unfortunately fall, or be disabled. May the God of battles watch over you.”

After this each of the young adventurers were permitted to stop in rotation
and shake the old veteran by the hand. Following close in their
wake came Joe, who doffed his coon skin and even took his pipe out of
his mouth. The Governor, unreservedly held out his hand to him too,
which Jarvis seized eagerly, and wrung with the gripe of a vice, and
would have passed on then, but the Governor called out, “Hark ye, Scout,
remember these lads are now greatly dependant for their success on the
manner in which you pilot them!”

“Aye, aye, your honor, I'll lead 'em right on the tip-top of yon yaller
camp, depend upon it; they shall have their bellies full of fightin' for once
in their lives, or you may call Joe Jarvis a liar at sight.”

“I shall draw no such drafts on you, Scout. I depend upon you fully.”

Only picked men, of course, were taken by each of the young gentlemen who
had volunteered, because if each had taken his fifty men, the party would have
been entirely too unwieldy—besides weakening too much the main body, upon
whom, in any event, much the heaviest part of the fighting would in all probability
fall. They numbered something less than a hundred and fifty, all told.
The foremost of these were already, ascending, by a winding path, the spur
beneath which the main army were encamped, and in an opposite direction,
as it seemed, to that route in which the Governor contemplated marching at
daylight. Simply, one party purposed marching up the ravine on one side of
the mountain, and the other party were to encircle it until they should meet
the first, near the head of the gap. To one accustomed to the mountains, in
our day, this would seem no very difficult undertaking, but it must be remembered
that this sort of travelling was wholly new to every one, except the
scout, and even he had never been tried upon such a gigantic scale. Any one
who has ascended a mountain for the first time, through a trackless forest,
may form some idea of the excessive toil and fatigue which our luxurious
youths endured that night. Often and often did Lee and his inseparable companion,
the scout, seat themselves upon some flat rock, or piece of table land,
and wait for their wearied and straggling companions. For more than half a
mile beneath, they could distinguish the sounds of the rolling stones, as they
were precipitated beneath the tread of their followers, and every now and then
the shrill whistle of some straggler, who had wandered from the main body.
This last device was one of Jarvis's suggesting, in order to exclude the possibility
of alarming the savage camp on the other face of the mountain, or, perchance
of arresting the attention of some straggling party of hunters, who
might be out on that side, for the purpose of supplying the camp. The latter
danger was the scout's whole dread, and therefore he pushed so far ahead of
the main body. His gun he kept constantly ready for use, not for game, for
every one had been charged not to fire upon any sort of animal short of a two
legged one, as Joe expressed it, and even the noise of this he deprecated, if
the flight of such an one could be arrested by any other means.

When they had ascended about half way up the mountain, (on the opposite
side from the encampment,[8] ) about the first hour after midnight. the scout
(who was now some hundred or two yards ahead even of Lee,) suddenly

pounced upon a fire between two projecting rocks; and before the bright red
coals of which some fine venison steaks were even then broiling, suspended
upon sharpened sticks, after the Indian fashion. The fine buck, from whose
loins the meat had been taken, was also found neatly suspended on a stick in
the crotch of a small tree. The scout was very much alarmed at these indubitable
signs of the near neighborhood of an Indian hunting party, not that he
feared anything such a party could do of themselves—but he feared that the
whole plan of the attack would be blown by the hunter's running in and sounding
the alarm, and thus bring down the whole force of the savages upon their
small party. Joe's dog immediately commenced running about and whining,
and snuffing the ground in the most unusual manner, until at length he struck
a trail and followed it to the foot of a large and thickly leaved black jack. There
he commenced barking furiously until the scout was compelled to choke him
off, and even then he would return to the charge. Jarvis took up his station
at this tree, and here also Lee followed him with many others, when they arrived
at the same level. The young commander now despatched his fleetest
men up the sides of the mountain, to intercept any of the hunters who might
have escaped.

“As for this varmint,” said Joe, “I guess he's treed as snug as any coon.”

And yet no one could see him except the scout, and Lee even doubted
whether the scout and his dog had not both been mistaken. Joe rose up from
the stone on which he had seated himself, with his gun cocked and ready to
fire in case the savage should make a spring, and poking the end of it among
the leaves pulling them to one side, “There Capting, don't you see his red
breeches now?”

“Yes,” said Lee. “I see what you mean, but they are no breeches, Joe.”

“Well, the old coon's there any how, and if his breeches aint long, his leggins
makes up for 'em. We've got the longest end of ours fastened to our
waistbands, and he's got his'n fastened to his moccasins. I reckon if he could
get out of this tree, he would run leggins and breeches and all off, to let the
yaller niggers on tother side of the mountains know we're a commin.”

The scout now addressed him in one of the abosiginal languages and ordered
him down, but he either would not or could not understand, more probably,
the latter. “You don't understand that, hey? Well, here's talk I reckon's as
good Shawnese as 'tis English,” and with that he unslung an axe from his
back and commenced cutting down the tree. He had not made a dozen
strokes, however, before the savage commenced sliding down like a bear.
“Ho! ho! ho! ha! ha! ha!” screeched Joe, “there's no mistakin' that
ere kind of talk. Oh, Squire, if we had nothin' else to do, what fun we mont
a had a smokin' of this feller down.” The scout, after he was down, again
attempted to make him understand, but he received nothing but guttural answers
unintelligible to him. The parties which had been sent up the mountain
now returned without any tidings of others of the hunting party, if such
there had been, and the scout was of opinion, after a careful examination of
the sticks of meat, the foot marks, or the trail, as Joe expressed it more
technically, that he was alone. He was, therefore, speedily bound, with his
hands behind him, and marched immediately in front. Too much time had
already been lost with this unexpected interruption. However the scout was
now in fine spirits, as he supposed they had encountered the only difficulty of
that sort which they were likely to meet. They were drawing towards
the summit of the first half of the gap. We say first half, for they discovered,
even before the dawn of day, that there was an intervening piece of table land,
between the spur and the mountain, and upon this the savages had encamped.
The fires could occasionally be seen by our company, as they wound round the
mountain. It was, therefore, necessary for Lee and his party to make a detour
still farther round this table land, in order to be above the Indians, as
agreed upon with the old chief. This was accomplished with as much secrecy

and celerity as possible, Joe took the precaution, however of gagging his
prisoner, while they were circum venting the hostile encampment. A single
war-whoop, or the accidental discharge of a gun, would have been instant
destruction. The whole of the little band of adventurers now trod as lightly
as veteran scouts, for each one could see for himself the hazard. For more
than an hour they were winding round the hostile encampment, and every
moment dreading some momentary surprise. Jarvis even tied a withe round
his faithful dog's throat and held it in his hand, so that by a single twist he
could throttle him and stop his wind. He said he had two dogs in his charge
and both on 'em gagged, but that the four legged one was much the more to
be depended on of the two. Several times he raised the glittering blade of
his huge knife; and made a sign of drawing it across the Indian's wind pipe, and
pointing at the same time to his mouth, as much as to say that if he so
much as screeched through the gag, he would stop hiswar whoop forever.
It was a truly trying and perilous undertaking to conduct so many men
almost entirely round and above an Indian encampment, and within rifle
shot, sometimes, and not rouse those ever watchful sons of theforest. They
could see the smouldering fire beneath them, now that they were ascending
the main mountain, and occasionally the parties engaged in hurling
stones upon the white encampment beneath. It was fortunate for our
party that the Indians were so engaged, else they might not have passed so
easily. By the dawn of day the whole party was snugly stowed away behind
projecting rocks, trees, and undergrowth, so that not a glimpse of them could
be obtained by any eye in the savage encampment. Indeed the Indians seemed
wholly engrossed with the movements of the Governor's party below, which
Lee judged to be already in motion, from the great stir among their enemies.
The latter were, all hands, engaged with renewed energy hurling fragments
down the mountain. This, Lee and the scout, could distinctly see from their
well chosen retreat. The latter had placed a sentinel over the captive and the
dog, while his services were in requisition by his youthful commander.

As soon as Lee discovered the exact position of the enemy's encampment
he had despatched a trusty messenger to the Governor, informing him of
every important particular.

By the time this messenger reached the foot of the mountain, the Governor's
party was already under way, threading their tedious and winding path,
far remote from the buffalo track across which the savages were hurling
their missiles; but the old veteran very soon perceived that it would be
entirely impracticable to convey his horses and sumpter mules by this route,
in time to co-operate with his aid. By the time, therefore, that Lee's messenger
overtook him, he had already called a halt, and was detailing a small
party to return with the horses, mules and baggage, back to their late encampment.
He was delighted to hear of the admirable manner in which his
youthful adjunct had thus far conducted his secret and dangerous adventure,
and not less so to hear of the exact position of the enemy. This last information
enabled him to lay down his own route definitely. He determined
to abandon the path entirely, and to strike higher up the mountain,
still winding round it, so as to avoid the point, where the savages were hurling
their new and formidable artillery. We shall leave them to plod their
way up the sides of the mountain, and in the next chapter relate the result of
the adventure.

26. CHAPTER XXVI.
THE BATTLE.

About two hours after meridian, the Governor let fly the signal agreed
upon with his reserve, which was nothing less than a volley of musketry upon

the astounded enemy, who were still engaged in hurling stones and firing
the mountains along the supposed route of those who so unexpectedly presented
themselves upon their flank, and rather above them. The Governor's
fire was answered by a sound, which made the hair of many a gallant youth
stand erect—it was the war-whoop from fifteen hundred savage throats at
once—a thing once heard, never to be forgotten while memory lasts. The
Governor himself, veteran as he was, dropped his compase, and seized his
arms. The very trees of the forest seemed to have become moved by the
unearthly discord. The enemy, though completely taken by surprise and
disconcerted for the moment, were not long inactive. As if moved by one
common impulse, each warrior seized his arms and took to a tree or log, so
that, in a few moments, they seemed to have disappeared as if by magic, and
except for the stealthy fire, which they now commenced, the field might have
been supposed entirely abandoned. If any labored under this delusion, they
were ere long undeceived. Never had Gen. Spotswood been placed in such
a position before. He and his little army seemed stationed upon the mountain
side, only as targets for his unseen enemy. He was just beginning to
wonder what had become of his adjunct, when the reserve came swooping
down behind the enemy like an avalanche—Lee and Jarvis seeming to vie
with each other in their eagerness to spring first to the deadly encounter.
At the same instant, the Governor's party advanced to the charge, so as to
assail the enemy at the very moment he was dislodged by the party in the
rear.

Such was the impetuosity of the charge, however, on both sides of the
field, that whites and Indians were very soon indiscriminately mingled in one
general melee, fighting hand to hand, in many instances—while in others,
one of each party fired from behind neighboring trees. Jarvis had early in
the engagement thus ensconced himself, and was loading and firing with
the greatest coolness and deliberation, picking off here and there the most
conspicuous of their leaders. He had been for some time thus engaged,
when, as if by a sudden impulse, he rushed from behind his hiding place,
and closed in deadly encounter with a warrior, his swarthy visage, naturally
frightful, rendered still more hideous, by the ghastly effect of the paint
with which it was besmeared. The encounter between them was long doubtful,
but, as is generally the case in such struggles, the scout was triumphant.
He was not content with a mere nominal victory; for he tied his prisoner,
and immediately regained his arms and commenced firing from the very tree,
behind which his late antagonist had hid himself. The slaughter of the
savages was dreadful, for more than half of them were only armed with
bows, and arrows, and the tomahawk. Nor would they have maintained
their ground as long as they did, but for the precipitate manner in which the
two parties of whites rushed to the encounter—thus giving their enemies
a chance to use their deadly knives and tomahawks. As soon as the Governor
became certain that victory perched upon his standard, he issued orders
to his troops to deal in mercy with the enemy.

While the main body of both parties were thus engaged, in a hand to hand
conflict for the most part, on the very ground of the late Indian encampment,
other portions of the field presented different aspects of the battle.
Lee and a large part of his force had swept down the mountain side with
such impetuousity, that they were borne far past the table land, on which the
general battle raged—carrying with them an equal number of the enemy.
These were engaged in a straggling sort of warfare far down the defile, so
that the whole side of the mountain presented one great battle-field—stretching,
in some instances, for half a mile from the encampment. Long after that
portion of the enemy with which the Governor and his command were engaged,
was entirely vanquished or captured, straggling shots were heard down
the mountain, as if parties still pursued the retreating enemy. In vain the

Governor ordered his bugles to call in the scattered troops. Many of them
lay bleeding and helpless on their rocky beds. As Lee and his party returned
from the pursuit, most of his men were ordered by him to the assistance of the
wounded—in many instances, four or five being required to carry one man up
the steep activity. When that young officer returned to the presence of
his commander, he fell prostrate, with exhaustion and loss of blood. The
Governor ordered his outer garments to be stripped off, and proceeded in person
to examine his wounds. Luckily they were not found to be mortal. The
old veteran dressed them and bound them up with his own hands, and had him
carried to his tent. Here a new difficulty presented itself. No surgeon had
been provided for the expedition, and many of the troops were wounded with
poisoned arrows, and were suffering great pain. In this emergency, it was
remembered that a student of Dr. Evylin, who had made considerable
progress in his studies, belonged to the expedition. He was speedily required
to doff his military gear, and resume his instruments. Never had
the poor fellow seen such a day of surgery; for the old chief required
the wounded Indians, as well as his own wounded, to be ministered to.

These behests of mercy all attended to, the Governor assembled the
young gentry and the officers of rangers around him, to witness the interesting
ceremony of planting the British standard upon the highest peak
of the Blue Ridge, in the name of his sovereign. They still, however,
called it under the general term of Apalachee, under the mistaken
impression with which they set out, that there was but one chain of
mountains.

After a toilsome struggle from the table land before described, and
upon which the battle had been fought, they at length found themselves
on the real summit of the long sought eminence, and the Governor
planted the British standard upon the highest rock, with due form, and
in the name of his royal master.

It was a bleak and barren spot, made up wholly of huge fragments of
rock, piled up one upon the other, as if in some far remote age, they had
been cast there by a violent convulsion of nature. It was fortunate, however,
that it was thus barren of vegetation in one respect—for it gave
them an uninterrupted view of what has since been called the Valley
of Virginia! What a panorama there burst upon the enraptured vision
of the assembled young chivalry of Virginia! Never did the eye of mortal
man rest upon a more magnificent scene! The vale beneath looked
like a great sea of vegetation in the moon-light, rising and falling in undulating
and picturesque lines, as far as the eye could reach towards the
north-east and south-west; but their vision was interrupted on the opposite
side by the Alleghanies. For hours the old veteran chief stood on the identical
spot which he first occupied, drinking in rapture from the vision which
he beheld. Few words were spoken by any-one, after the first exclamations
of surprise and enthusiasm were over. The scene was too overpowering—
the grand solitudes, the sublime stillness, gave rise to profound emotions which
found no utterance. Nearly every one wandered off and seated himself
upon some towering crag, and then held communion with the silent spirit of
the place. There lay the valley of Virginia, that garden spot of the earth,
in its first freshness and purity, as it came from the hands of its Maker. Not
a white man had ever frod that virgin soil, from the beginning of the world.
What a solemn and sublime temple of nature was there—and who could
look upon it, as it spread far out to the east and west, until it was lost in the
dim and hazy horizon, and not feel deeply impressed with the majesty of its
Author.

Governor Spotswood carried his thoughts into the future, and imagined
the fine country which he beheld, peopled and glowing under the hands of
the husbandman, and all his bright anticipations were more than realized.

At length he turned to Moore, who sat near him not less entranced, and said,
“They call me a visionary, but what imagination ever conjured up a vision
like that? Oh! 'tis a magnificent panorama; but tell me do you not see,
smoke curling up there among the trees like a blue thread?”

The young officer rose instantly, and gazed into the leafy world below,
and after a long and searching inspection, confirmed the Governor's suspicion.

“It is doubtless the camp of the Indian women and children, waiting for
their warriors, whom they suppose still engaged with us on the east side of
the mountain. It is a happy discovery—haste Mr. Moore, and call our
young men together, and ascertain who is willing to bear a flag of truce to
them. Now is the time to rescue Miss Eiliot, before they hear the disastrous
news respecting their own party from other lips.”

“It requires no prophet to tell who will go, even without summoning
them,” replied Moore.

“You mean Hall! true, true—but would it be prudent, think you, to suffer
him to set out upon such an errand?”

“I do not know, Sir, but Lee says that he fought like a lion, and behaved
in every way in the most prudent as well as gallant manner.”

“Then bring him here, with the scout.”

In the course of little more than an hour, young Hall stood before the
Governor, with the scout by his side.

“Are you willing to carry a flag of truce to the enemy's camp or village,
as the case may be?” enquired His Excellency.

“I desire that privilege of all things, Sir, and am ready to set out.”

The Governor then turned to Jarvis, but started back, and said, “Why,
who the d—l have you got there?”

“This is one of the yaller niggers, your honor—I fout him myself, and
hearin' that you was a goin' to send this young gent with me to the Ingin
village, I thought it best to take him along, 'case he can tell his folks that
we've got lots more of 'em up here, and that your honor will hang one on
'em for every hair in Mr. Hall's head that they meddle with—for your Excellency
knows that they've got quite a curious way of medlin' with people's
hair sometimes.”

“A good idea, Jarvis; but I did hear that you had captured the interpreter,
Chunoluskee—is it so?”

“Sartin sure, but I am, too old a coon to take him down yonder. He's the
best card we've got in our pack, and you know, Governor, it aint always the
best plan to lead off with your trumps, unless you've got a desperate bad
hand, which aint the case with us, by no manner o' means.”

Without farther parley, the Governor instructed Hall to go with Jarvis, and
search out the spot from which the smoke rose, and if he found out the encampment
or village, to offer ten of their best warriors among the prisoners for
the release of Miss Elliot—indeed, to go to any extent in like offers, if necessary,
besides promising them valuable presents, “which,” said he, “we
will ratify when we descend to the mountain. Should they, however, turn
a deaf ear to all your overtures, and break up the encampment and move off,
kindle fires on their trail, Jarvis, and we will station parties ready to cut off
their retreat in either direction.”

The Governor then returned to his own encampment, and our adventurers
commenced their perilous enterprise.

27. CHAPTER XXVII.
A RESCUE.

Hall and the scout, with their captured warrior, proceeded down the
mountain, guided by the smoke from the Indian wigwams, Jarvis beguiling

the way, as usual, with his rude humor, and every now and then making the
woods ring with his merriment, but a more inattentive auditor he could
not have selected from the entire encampment. Hall's whole mind and soul
was absorbed with the intensely interesting business on hand—with the
hope, the near prospect of soon beholding and releasing the youthful idol
of his heart. Before they had near descended into the valley, however, night
was approaching; still they pursued their way, invigorated by what Jarvis
drew from the captive warrior, viz: that they would find the pale-faced
squaw in the very encampment to which they were bound. Hall was no
longer oppressed with lethargy. He bounded over the rocks and precipices,
as if he would annihilate both time and space. After several hours
of such running and leaping, our adventurers found themselves at sun-set
in a beautiful valley, watered by one of those sparkling mountain streams,
which gathered its waters from the ravines of the mountain itself—here
receiving a tributary, tumbling in beautiful cascades over its rocky bed,
and there taking up some quiet little brook, which bubbled along its course
in more modest guise. On the banks of the main stream, about half a
mile distant, they could plainly perceive the fires of the savages' encampment.
And here they called a halt, while the scout should reconnoitre
the enemy's position. He was gone about half an hour, which seemed to
Hall an age, so impatient was he to hear tidings of Eugenia. The scout
came back quite chop-fallen, and proposed their instant retreat up the mountain.

The very first piece of information which he communicated, (and Hall
would listen to nothing else until he heard that,) determined the young officer
to proceed at all hazards to himself. It was, that the scout had seen
with his own eyes the object of their search. He stated, moreover, that
the stragglers who had escaped from the battle were pouring into the encampment,
and that the squaws and relations of the slain were already setting up
their hideous lamentations, which indeed they could hear from where they
stood.

Jarvis told him that it would be certain death, and perhaps torture, to present
themselves under such circumstances, and while they were smarting
under defeat and the loss of their kindred. Hall pointed with a confident air
to the white handkerchief, which he was busily fastening to its staff.

“They won't mind it, Squire, to the vally of this,” said the scout, tossing
out of his mouth a huge chew of tobacco.

“Well,” said Hall, “you may return, with or without the prisoner, scout,
but as for me I go forward with this flag of truce, if I were certain that they
would tear me to pieces the next moment with red hot pincers.”

Jarvis seemed irresolute what to do. He did not like to suffer the young
man to go forward by himself, and yet he knew, if he accompanied him, he
would thereby render himself powerless as to all assistance, in case of Hall's
being detained. Besides, he considered the young man, though his superior
officer, as really under his guidance. He scratched his head for full a quarter
of an hour, and thought maturely of all the perilous circumstances surrounding
them. In fact, he considered the responsibility of the adventure upon
his own shoulders. At length he seemed to have formed his plans, and taking
Hall a little distance from his bound captive, still keeping his beagle eye on
him, however, whispered to the young man that he (Hall) had better take
the warrior, and go on to the camp alone; that in case they should detain
him, then he (Jarvis) could make the signal agreed upon with the Governor,
and be at hand moreover to attempt his release, in case they should practice any
of their bloody experiments upon him, before a party could come to the rescue.

This plan, although putting Hall forward into the post of immediate danger,
was by no means desired by the scout, in order to avoid any such thing
himself, but because he knew that it was impracticable to leave his companion

to wait patiently while he should venture into the camp. He knew that
Hall was not in a proper state of mind for such a thing, and was besides ignorant
of that stealthy and wary mode of watching, necessary to avoid the
Indians and accomplish any thing, in case of the worst. He adopted his plan,
therefore, with a single eye to Hall's ultimate safety, and without the slightest
consideration of self. When the time came for the trial, he walked along
with Hall, as if he intended to bear him company all the way, but soon left
him, carefully concealing his whereabouts from the wary and sly old warrior,
who kept his stealthy eye always upon their movements, as much as he could
without attracting attention.

After the scout had left the young man, the latter bethought him of a difficulty
which had not before occurred to him, and that was how he was to communicate
with the enemy. He was in a state of mind, however, not to be
deterred from his purpose by even greater difficulties than this, and he moved
steadily forward, keeping the captive immediately in front—the stream on one
side, and the foot of the mountain but a few yards distant, on the other—
until they arrived immediately opposite the encampment, and separated from
it only by the small creek, upon the surface of which were reflected the
Indian fires and wigwams. He could see the groups of savages as they sat,
and lounged, and stood around the various fires—and the frantic gestures of
those who had lost husbands and sons in the late battle. It was but a few
moments that he took to examine the various attitudes of those with whom
he would so soon have to deal, or who might so soon have to deal with him.
He was nothing daunted by all those sinister portents which had alarmed
the more experienced scout, but loosing his prisoner, pointed across the
stream, an intimation that he was at liberty. He did not require a second
telling, but bounded across the narrow stream like a deer, and soon stood in
the midst of his friends. His arrival was received with many demonstrations
of joy; but when he had exchanged a few words with them, and pointing
and gesticulating all the while in the direction where Hall stood, and
where they had left Jarvis, such a hideous yell as they sent up might well
have appalled a stouter heart than Hall's. The savages immediately seized
their weapons, and some score of them dashed down the stream, where the
scout had been last seen.

Hall saw that now was the time to approach, if at all, and he walked
deliberately across the stream, bearing his flag of truce aloft. Never was
joy, exultation and malignity more manifest than it was in the countenances of
the demoniacs who now crowded around the bearer of that flag, not excepting
even the women and children. Not that they were ignorant of the meaning
attached to a flag of truce. Hall was bewildered—his faculties already
weakened—he was lost in the whirl and excitement of the moment, and he
stood like a statue in the midst of his enemies. His face was pale, but his
eye bright. He made a faint effort to speak at first, but seeing that he was
not understood, and that his late captive was still haranguing his people—gesticulating
all the while, and pointing to him and the flag, and the spot where
he had left the scout, he remained a passive prisoner in their hands. That he
might consider himself a prisoner, he did not doubt for a moment.

When his late prisoner had got through with his harangue or narrative or
whatever it might be, one of the oldest warriors took the flag from his hand
and then calling to a hideous old parchment faced hag placed it in her hands
amidst the peculiar merriment of Indian women and children. He then
proceeded to disarm the young man, and to strip him of his garments. While
these preparations were going forward others of more fearful portent were
also under way. Armsfull of finely split pine wood were in a pile
and some of the squaws and children were already building them into the
peculiar shape required for the immolation of a victim. Luckily Hall was
not familiar with the horrid details of their barbarities and he was, therefore

spared the dreadful anticipation. When they had stripped him to a state of
nudity, and during a calm and quiet moment, which had succeeded to the
late strong exhibitions of triumph—the wild and solemn scene was disturbed
by a scream which might have waked the dead. Scarcely had its echoes died
away among the solemn forest ere a youthful and beautiful creature, dressed
something after the Indian fashion came bounding like a deer through `the
bushes, dropping one of the rude earthen vessels of the Indians, as she ran,
and clasped the captive in her arms. There she clung like a vine which had
grown to a sturdy oak, but Hall could return no corresponding endearments,
for his hands were already tied behind him. Once or twice she turned her
head partially around and caught glimpses, first, of the grim warriors around,
and next of the fearful pile in the course of construction, and then she would
bury her head in his bosom as if she would seek protection there, exclaiming
in agonized sobs, “Oh Harry, your efforts to save me have destroyed you—
they are going to put you to the torture. Why, oh why, did you come alone?”

Hall, in a whisper, informed her that he had borne a flag of truce from the
Governor and that the scout could not be far off, as he had accompanied him
within sight of the camp. While they thus exchanged a few hurried explanations,
a sudden thought seemed to strike the distressed maiden, and she
ran off toward the spring, to which she had been when Hall first made his
appearance. In a few moments she returned, dragging along with feeble
steps our old acquaintance, Wingina. When she had brought her face to
face with the chiefs, she, with the energy and eloquence of despair, bid
Wingina inform her cruel kinsmen of the sacred nature of a flag of truce,
and what signal vengeance the Governor would take upon them if they violated
it. To all this the same old chief before pointed out, answered that
before the Governor was done his breakfast, they would be half way across
the valley, and hence their hasty preparations for the torture. Eugenia
clasped her hands and wrung them in frantic despair, alternately praying, and
wailing in the most distracted and heart-rending appeals. But it all fell
powerless upon the strong hearts of the grim savages who surrounded her.

While they were in the very act of dragging poor Hall to the spot appointed
for his last agonies, a bright light burst upon the scene, followed by another,
and another, encircling the camp at the distance of a quarter of a mile, with
a complete helt; and so rapidly were they kindled that the Indians supposed
themselves surrounded, and stood upon their arms. Poor Eugenia fell upon
her knees and alternately calling upon her earthly friends for help and
returning thanks to her God for the prospect of deliverance. The horrors of
Germana were still rising up vividly before her mental vision with renewed
terrors.

The Indians knew not what to do. They were afraid to move in any
direction, for their enemies seemed to be all around them. Yet the death-like
stillness of the forest was uninterrupted, except by the wailing of the
white maiden, and she was soon effectually silenced by the threatened attitude
of a warrior with uplifted tomahawk. There stood the savages, each warrior
behind a tree—stealthily peeping out every now and then, in the direction of
the fires, and the women and children flat upon the ground, behind logs, if
they could find them, but all as far as possible from their own fires, so that
they did not approach too near the light of those that surrounded them. After
remaining in this position for some twenty minutes, the savages began to
wonder why their enemies did not close in upon them as they at first apprehended
they would. Then one warrior was seen to steal to the hiding place of
another, until they were soon broken into little groups again, still keeping
within the shadows of the trees, and without the light of the fires. Hall, Eugenia
and Wingina, were in bright relief, surrounded with all these dark and
stealthy figures, and for somes minutes the two latter had been consulting
together, the result of which was made manifest in an attempt of Wingina to

put out the fire, and Eugenia to loose her lover. The latter movement, was,
alas, discovered instantly, by their enemies, and one of them occupying a tree
nearest to them came out from his hiding place, threw the blazing faggots
again into a heap, and approached with uplifted tomahawk to make short work
with the punishment of Hall and effectually prevent his escape. The glittering
blade was suspended almost over his head, when a deadly messenger
arrested the murderous arm. It was shot from the mountain side. In that
direction there were no fires. Every Indian again darted to his hiding place
and the squaws and papooses who had risen to their knees to see the
savage sport fell prostrate again, and all was as quiet as the grave. Nothing
was heard, but the solemn moaning of the majestic forest, swayed by the
night breeze, as they bent their towering heads to the majesty of the
winds. 'Twas just before dawn—the moon having gone down and a night
to make a savage, even, superstitious, and the mysterious circumstances
surrounding them, added not a little to their terror; for whatever may have
been said or sung to the contrary the aborigines of this country are superstitious
to the last degree. After waiting another half hour, again the attempt
was made to approach the group near the middle of the original encampment
and with the same unerring result, only that the shot came from a different
direction. Hall, Engenia and Wingina, now began to wonder, themselves,
why their friends did not close in upon their enemies, when the former
seemed to have the latter so completely in their power. The same solemn
and mysterious calm again reigned throughout the forest, and this time it
lasted until the suspense to our three sufferers became almost unsupportable.
The savages maintained their position, and the squaws even put their
papooses to sleep as they lay, but they were destined to a fearful wakening.
The measured tramp of troops, apparently at some little distance, was now
distinctly heard, and this again mystified the savages, as well as their captives.
Were they approaching or departing? It was not long left doubtful.
Nearer and nearer approached the glad and welcome harbingers to the prisoners.
The former only waited to ascertain from which direction the sounds
proceeded, when they simultaneously burst from their hiding places, dodging
from tree to tree, as they ran. More than one attempted to wreak his vengeance
upon the captive, before they departed, but the same unerring aim
seemed to be pointed always ready to pick them off. When the whole body
of savages had approached near to the fires in the opposite direction from
that whence the tramp of troops had been heard, they were unexpectedly saluted
with a volley or carbines. Such as escaped the deadly weapons ran back in
the opposite direction, and there met the same welcome. Many of them
escaped, nevertheless, and for many hours, even after daylight the woods rang
with the report of fire arms, that sort of stealthy warfare pecullar to the
American savage, having been kept up.

No sooner was the original encampment cleared, however, than Jarvis
stood beside the bound captive, and with one stroke of his knife severed the
thongs which pinioned him in his painful position. In the very act of freeing
his late companion and fellow-adventurer, the same low guttural chuckle was
heard. “You may think it strange,” said he, “that I larf at such a thing as
this, but by the long chase I cant help it, just to think that I, one, by myself
one, surrounded a whole camp of the yaller niggers. Let no body tell me
arter to night, that they ain't cowards, and fools to boot.”

“You dont mean to say,” enquired Hall, in surprise, “that you were alone?”

“I am dad shamed if I dont mean to say jist that same thing. For two
long hours I sot yonder on the hill and popped off the rascals as they started
up at you. I kindled the fires you know, 'case that was the signal agreed upon
with the Governor, and as we were to mark the route they took by the fires,
I thought like as not if I kindled one all round, even the old codger would
know what it meant, and sure enough he did too, know more than I thought

for, 'case he must a started the boys long before he seed these fires from the
top of the mountain. Lord, Mr. Hall, with a leetle, jist a leetle more practice,
he'd be the very devil among these Ingins. He suspicioned 'em, he
did. He warnt a going to trust you and that dilicate young thing there with
nothing but a flag o' truce over your heads. He knowed a devilish sight
better nor that. A flag o' truce to an Ingin!! Why, Mr. Hall, you mout
as well whistle jigs to a mile stone, or sing psalms to a dead horse. But
mercy on us, do jist see how that little sweet-heart of you'rn is a takin on
when the danger's all over—she'll cry her eyes out. What! larfin and cryin
at the same time? Well, I'm smoked up a holler tree if that aint woman all
over. I have seed a man—even a man, cry in my time, but I never seed a
man cry and larf too at the same time. It looks exactly like rain when the
sun's a shinin'. Come go to her Squire, I guess she's about the prettiest
squaw you ever seed with moccasins and leggins on, while I have a word or
too with this tother one, and she's a real squaw sure enough. No larfin and
cryin' there Squire.” Saying which, the scout snubbed Wingina with his
thumb, by way of a friendly salutation.

We will leave him to advance his suit as best he might, and Hall to resume
his clothes, while we inform our readers of Eugenia Elliot's costume and
how she looked in it.

She was dressed partly in the Indian and partly in the European style.
She wore the leggins and moccasins of the former, while the remainder of
her dress was made up of such articles as she had preserved from Indian
cupidity. About her person was an old riding dress—the skirts cut short,
while her hair floated in natural ringlets, about her neck. Every ornament,
with which she was wont to confine it, had been either purloined or given by
her as peace offerings to her captors. As long as none but savage eyes rested
upon her, she felt neither shame nor embarrassment, but no sooner did she
find herself alone with her lover, even in that strange wild scene, than all her
conventional feelings returned.

It may be conceived how interesting was the conversation between the
lovers—how much they had to tell—yet she every now and then cast her eyes
over her strange appearance, and then covered her face with her hands.

On the horrors of the massacre at Germana, and her father's cruel murder,
and her own subsequent sufferings, Hall would not suffer her to dwell. He
barely listened to a short and abbreviated narrative, because he saw that it
was necessary for her to disburden her distracted thoughts. Then he led
her gently to more hopeful themes—to the bright prospect which was still
left to them. He told her of Lee's free pardon, the news of which he had
the happiness to be the first to bring over. After two hours of conversation
upon such interesting matters, he succeeded in restoring her to something
like hope and composure. Her fitful moods of crying and laughing—which
had excited Jarvis's special wonder—were now supplanted by a gentle and
winning melancholy. She walked about the encampment, her hand clasped
in her lover's, with the fondness of a child. She seemed to dread the separation
of a moment, and was even yet startled at the continued but distant report
of fire-arms.

At the suggestion of Hall, she took Wingina as a guide, and went about
among the tents to collect such pieces of her wardrobe as the squaws had
left in the hurry of their flight, and of which they had previously robbed her.
They found Jarvis seated on the ground beside the Indian girl, apparently not
having made much progress in his suit, for they were conversing in a sharp
and rather angry mood. The fact was, Wingina had been rather effectually
spoiled for Jarvis's purpose—in other words, her notions were too high for the
poor scout, and he could not exactly comprehend it. The home-thrusts which
he gave her towards the conclusion of their conversation, about her loss of
easte, and all that, it would not be exactly proper for us to repeat in his

homely and rude phraseology. Suffice it to say, that when they were separated
by the approach of Hall and Eugenia, they were thoroughly angered
with each other.

Eugenia was compelled to forego the protection of her lover's hand for a
time, while she and Wingina rummaged the tents, and while Hall turned his
attention once more to his military duties.

He soon found, however, that one superior in command to himself had headed
the party to whose timely interference he owed his life, and the rescue of his
mistress. Bernard Moore met them as they were making the rounds of the
camp, and the three proceeded on together, to call in the scattered troops. Jarvis's
tongue was in no measure silenced by the presence of the commander of the
scouting party. He had been too much exasperated and disappointed for that.
While Moore and Hall conversed together upon other matters, the scout would
break out into a soliloquy, after the following fashion:

“The pampered heifer, to turn up her yaller nose at an honest man's son
like me. I reckon there's as good fish in the sea as ever was cotched. And
she to tell me—the likes of her—to tell me, that she was the daughter of a
King! I reckon she wants for to come for to go to marry Mr. Lee, or Mr.
Moore, or Mr. Hall, at the very least.”

“What's that, scout?” said both, as they turned round, upon hearing their
names mentioned.

“Oh, it's nothin' worth talking about gents—I was only arguin' the matter
betwixt that sassy little yaller baggage and me. She curls up her royal
nose so high at me, that you would a thought I had just come in from a skunk
huntin'. I reckon an honest white man's as good as an Ingin—whew—fal,
lal de liddle”—and here he cut a few fandangoes to his own music, and
snapped his fingers; after which, he continued:—“I reckon I am as well
out of the scrape as she is—if it war'nt for Bill, and Ikey, and them fellers
to Williamsburg, a larfin at me, I would'nt care a chew tabacco. What a
fool I was to go and balb the thing beforehand.”

The troops were by this time dropping in from pursuit of the enemy, and
such as had been wounded or killed in the skirmish were borne into camp,
upon rude litters. Moore's attention was now required to his military duties,
and Hall, being relieved, he returned once more to the presence of her
whom he had followed to the wilderness. She clung to him like a frightened
bird, and all night long they sat by the camp-fire and conversed of the past,
and sometimes, too, of the brighter future. Truth to say, however, her young
life had suffered a blight in its first morning bloom, which was not to be dispelled
in an hour, even by one who was now all in all to her. There was a
shade of melancholy cast over her most cheerful glimpses of the future, and
there was that constant looking forward to, and dread of, some new horror,
about to be enacted, so common to those who have suffered appalling disasters.

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
ENTRANCE INTO THE VALLEY.

As the morning dawned, the main body of the Governor's force was perceived
coming down the mountain. The shouts of the soldiers could be
heard from time to time. These were led by one of the younger officers.
The old chief himself was detained by two causes—first, to bring up the
horses and mules left behind; and secondly, lay out a wide military road
from the gap down the western side of the mountain. Some days after this
a similar one was cut on its eastern side.

Every one was now in the highest spirits—the main objects of the expedition
were already attained. They had cut their way across the mountains—
defeated the savages, who had sworn they should never penetrate beyond the
mountains, except over their dead bodies—and they had discovered that long
looked for El Dorado, so ardently desired by the Governor and his friends.
True, they nowhere discovered the sources of the Mississippi, but that was
now sufficiently explained, by the towering barriers which every where presented
themselves along the western horizon, verifying exactly the descriptions
which Chunoluskee had given to the Governor, as detailed in the early
part of our narrative. They had, however, discovered a beautiful and extensive
country between the mountains, and they were satisfied for the present.
Towards evening the Governor, with the horses and wounded, joined the
main force, and pitched his encampment upon the very ground lately occupied
by his enemies, and where Hall had so nearly lost his life. The first
person who presented himself at the Governor's quarters was the scout. He
had left a captive on the other side, about whom he was very solicitous.

“Well, scout,” said the Governor, “so you have come to claim your
reward, I suppose, for capturing the traitor and murderer, Chunoluskee; but
why did you not bring him to me immediately after the battle?”

“To tell you the truth, Governor, I was afeer'ed you would exchange him,
as he would be a big bate among his people, but I hope you have made sure of
the yaller rascal.”

“Aye, certainly; but you had no design to propitiate his sister, by retaining
this captive upon your own account?”

“What! me, your honor? none in the world! the deuce take his sister, I
say; she turns up her royal nose at your honor's scout, as if she would'nt
let me touch her with a ten foot pole.”

“So, then, you have met with a rebuff already! What reason did she give
for her refusal of such an advantageous offer?”

“None, Sir, none—except that it was the woodpecker seeking to mate
with the eagle!”

The Governor laughed, and so did Joe—nothing discomfited, apparently, by
his recent rejection. He seemed already to have forgotten almost that such
a scheme had ever entered his head. In fact, he was at the time at which we
have arrived, upon a very different errand—he was waiting to receive his
reward for capturing the interpreter. And while we are upon the subject of
the traitor, we may as well despatch it at once. Some days after, he was
summoned before a court-martial, tried, found guilty, and condemned to death.
He was, however, never executed—the Governor was so much elated with the
success of his grand enterprise, that before his departure from the valley, he
set all the captives free, and fully pardoned the murderer of his own son. He
required but one condition to his clemency, and that was, that they and their
people were to abandon the valley at once and forever. He charged them that
if ever they were found; this side of the western ridge, that they
would be shot down like wild beasts. All this was done to the utter horror
of the scout and all his class. It is true, the former was somewhat
mollified, by seeing that the Governor no longer attempted to put in force
his christianizing and tributary systems.

He was heard to declare, “that the licking which the Governor had
given them on the other side of the mountains, had done more to humanize
'em, than all the book larnin' they had eyer got to Williamsburg, and
at schools among the nations.”

On the second day of the encampment in the valley, the usual notice
was posted up, that the Governor would the next morning despatch a
courier for the capital. Many letters were written on the joyful occasion,
some of which we will give to our readers.

29. CHAPTER XXIX.
LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS.

Two delightful weeks were spent in the valley of Virginia by the Governor
and his followers, during which time the magnificent forests of that region
underwent a daily transmutation. At first, the leaves began to wither,
and then fade to a sickly green—before they assumed their gorgeous autumnal
dress. The tenderest and earliest of their kind had already fallen and
strewed the ground with a carpet little less rich than the canopy over head.
The migratory birds were already on their passage southward, sometimes
making their encampments in the near and dangerous neighborhood of their
human contemporaries. The tops of the highest mountains were already
covered with snow, and though the days were of a delightful temperature, the
nights were bitter cold to our thinly clad adventurers. All these signs and
changes admonished the Governor that it was time to turn his face homeward.
He was reluctant to leave the country which he had discovered and conquered.[10] Gladly would he have pitched his tent there for life, but his responsible
position at the head of his Majesty's Colony, required that he should be elsewhere,
and orders were accordingly issued for striking the tents and recrossing
the mountains. Nearly all his followers obeyed the summons with alacrity.
The wounded and the sick (many suffering with cold) were sufficiently
recovered to travel on horseback. Lee, looked pale and wan, but his eye was
bright, his countenance cheerful, and his spirits elastic as ever. A sort of
side-saddle had benn constructed out of one of the dragoon saddles for Eugenia,
and she professed herself fully able to undertake the journey. The Governor
had her carried across the mountain in a litter, over his new military road,
which, by the by, was nothing but an enlargement and widening of the Indian
and buffalo paths. Even in its improved state, it would have made McAdam
laugh. Wingina professed herself desirous of returning to her civilized
friends. Whether this determination, so different from the instincts of the
native savage—was produced by fear of her now liberated brother, or by delicate
considerations of another nature, it is not for us to determine. She was

also mounted on horse-back, and formed one of the Governor's own immediate
party. Though there was this general willingness and alacrity to commence
the return march, there was one exception to it. The Governor had
his foot in the stirrup, when the Scout approached with his coon skin in
hand, and unusually polite.

“Well Jarvis,” said the Governor, casting his eye to the Indian girl at the
same time, “what's your will now? Do you wish to form one of our escort?”

The Scout saw the direction of the Governor's eye and readily understood
his meaning, and he replied accordingly, “Not I, your Excellency, a woodpecker
would make but a sorry show a flying along side of an eagle;” and
he chuckled as he looked up at the scornful Indian beauty, seated upon her
high horse in more senses of the word than one.

“What, then, is it, Jarvis?—you have but to ask any thing reasonable, at
our hands, to have it granted forthwith.”

“I'm mighty glad to hear your Honor say so, 'case I am come to ask a whoppin'
big thing—It's a plantation!”

“A plantation, Jarvis? why, are you going to retire to the shades of private
life?”

“Jist exactly the very words Governor, only they wer'nt no where in
my dictionary. You've struck the very trail. I want to retire to the shades
of private life, and I guess you'll call this private life, and them shades enough
down here in this valley.”

The Governor, laughed at the conceits of the woodsman ere he replied:
“Certainly, Jarvis, you have fully earned your plantation, and I think I may
guarantee that a grant[11] will be made out for you in due time, but you have
no idea of remaining here at present.”

“Yes, but I have though, got that very idea in my head, and if your Excellency
will just let me collect about fifty recruits from these hunting shirt boys,
we'll fall to work out of hand, and by the time you come back, you will see
log cabins a plenty sprinkled about these woods.”

The Governor meditated upon this strange proposition a few moments, and
then replied; “Not now, Jarvis—not now—I want you to return with us to the
Capital. It will be time enough next spring. Then your fifty shall be increased
to a thousand.'[12]

Jarvis knew that it was useless to talk farther on the subject, when the
Governor had once made up his mind. He was, nevertheless, disappointed
for the moment. No one would have found it out, however, two hours after,
when his merry voice was heard on the mountain side. His unsuccessful
love-making soon became bruited about among his boon companions, and it
may readily be imagined with what avidity they showered their jeers and jibes
upon one so ready to crack his jokes upon others. He bore it all patiently
for a while, but his naturally pugnacious temperament, broke forth at last,
and as he said, “when they gave him mustard he sent them back pepper.”

Poor Wingina came in for not a few of his sallies. Not that he durst offer
her any indignity in the Governor's presence, but as she would appear occasionally,
in windings of the mountain defile, he would let fly a few shafts at the
eagle in her lofty flights.

It is not our intention to follow the party step by step on its return, over
the same ground which we have once already conducted it. Suffice it then
to say, that in due time the Governor and his followers encamped within a
day's march of the Capital, and the same night a courier was despatched to

the senior councillor, Dr. Blair, informing him that he had arrived safe so far
on his return.

Great was the rejoicing next day at Williamsburg—and the expected arrival
of the Governor of the Colony was announced early in the morning by
the discharge of cannon, bon-fires, and ringing of bells. Large parties of
ladies and gentlemen were all day leaving the city to escort the mountain
adventurers home; so that toward evening when they came once more in
sight of the Capital, their numbers were greatly increased.

As Lee rode along side of Ellen Evylin, the old Doctor being on the other,
the Scout came cantering up on his poney, and hailed the former loudly. So
absorbed, however, was that young gentleman with the interesting conversation,
that Jarvis had almost to shout in his car before he could command his attention.

“What is it Jarvis?” said he almost petulantly.

“I didn't know, Squire, that you were so much engaged, but as I was a
ridin' along the ranks jist now I couldn't help a wonderin' what had become
of all the gold lace and ruffles that travelled over this road a few weeks ago.”

This remark of the Scout induced Lee to cast his eye over his own
outward man, and to remove his now slouched (instead of cocked) hat from
his head. The result was a hearty laugh from the whole party, including
the Scout of course.

Seldom had such a way-worn, dusty and ragged army made their appearance
in any city, since the days of Jack Falstaff. It was hard to imagine
the contrast which they presented to their former selves on the day of their
departure, at which time they literally glittered with finery. But if their
outward man was shabby and ragged—their inward man was in a corresponing
ratio, bright and joyous.

Ellen at first looked with apprehension at the pale and emaciated features
of her lover, but when she heard once more that joyous laugh which had
made her father's house merry in the days of their infancy, she was satisfied.
Her heart was full, she did little as she rode by Frank's side but to listen to
the narration of their tramontane adventures.

Eugenia Elliot was seized upon and monopolized by Kate and Dorothea,
her cousins, much to the discomfiture of poor Moore. He might well have
been called the Knight of the rueful countenance. He ought, however, to
have been satisfied, for Kate was doing nothing but her duty, and besides, if
lovers were not the most unreasonable creatures in the world, he would have
been fully compensated by the glances of pride and affection which the now
subdued beauty cast upon him. If he had had more reason and less passion
about him, he would have seen a visible improvement in Kate at a single
glance. The very shake of her hand was more hearty, frank and confidential
than, it had ever been before, and even her countenance had undergone
a change. There was before almost a boldness in her free and easy
carriage, but now this was softened down into the most winning grace—
a little arch, sometimes, perhaps, as she could not resist the really absurd
and ludicruous deportment of Moore.

There was one keen and close observer of all these things, not far off, and
he was abundantly gratified. It was Carter. He was not enough behind
the curtain to understand all this by-play, but he saw enough to know that his
rival was discomfited and morfied. The Governor rode into the city in the
highest spirits imaginable. The sun was just sinking behind the western
horizon as the troops defiled own Gloucester street, and arrived in front of
the Church. There stood the same platform which had been erected a few
weeks ago, and upon it the good old Doctor in his canonicals, and his prayer-book
in his hand. The Governor took the hint, and the troops were formed
as before, and the adventurous band kneeled down to return thanks to Al

mighty God for their safe return. Thus did our chivalrous ancestors; let
their children go and do likewise.

30. CHAPTER XXX.
THE KNIGHTS OF THE HORSE-SHOE.

We do not know why it is (and always has been) that winter is described
in gloomy colors. It may be that the hoar frosts, and the glittering icicles,
and the snow clad fields and the leafless trees and plants, convey such impressions
to a majority of mankind, but it is not so with all. There is something
bracing and invigorating in a snow storm to some, (we speak not of the
bleak and extreme north,) one of those old fashioned steady falls of large flat
flakes, which sometimes herald in the Christmas Holidays. Such a day was
the twenty-fifth of December, seventeen hundred and fourteen. There was
little wind, the cold was not intense, and the merry lads let loose from school,
and the negroes freed from labor were making merry with the snow balls in
the ancient city. But beside the usual gaiety and freedom from care of the
festive season, there were indications abroad that this day had been set apart
for some extraordinary ceremony other than those incident to the season.

Martial music was heard in various directions, and soldiers almost blinded
by the snow—the same troops who but a few weeks ago presented such a tatterdemalion
appearance—were threading their way towards the capital. The
bells, too, were pouring a merry peal over the town, and carriages and horses
lined the way from the church in Gloucester street to the aforementioned edifice.
Many of the ladies, occupying the vehicles, had just come from attending
the usual church service on that day, but now the altars and the church
hung with mistletoe, were deserted even by the Rev. Prelate[13] who statedly
officiated there. He was still robed in his canonicals, and occupied a seat in
one of the carriages. When the Hall of the House of Burgesses was thrown
open, the Governor was presented to the people, occupying the elevated seat
usually filled by the speaker. On his right hand sat the chaplain to the General
Assembly, the Rev. Hugh Jones, in his sacred robes, and round them in a
semi-circle sat the members of “the Tramontane order.” After the usual
solemn opening of the meeting by the chaplain, the Governor stepped down
the small flight of steps which led to a platform still elevated above the people.
He was dressed in full court costume, wig—crimson velvet coat—ruffles at
the throat and wrist. Before him was placed a table on which were spread
out various ornaments of jewelry, many of them studded with gems and precious
stones, but all of them wrought into the shape of horse shoes. He
took one of them in his hand and read the inscription on one side, “The Tramontane
Order,” and turning it over, read also the motto on the other, “Sic
juvat transcendere montes.” Here a great clapping of hands and waving
of ladies' handkerchiefs in the gallery arrested its progress for a moment, during
which time a happy and benignant smile played over the noble old man's
features. He was evidently well pleased, but struggling with his emotions,
for his eye glistened unwentedly. Whether he was thinking at the moment
of other important ceremonies which were soon to be performed and in which
those near and dear to him were deeply interested—or whether he was thinking
of the separation which was about to take place between him and his
young associates in arms, and some of them perhaps, forever, we know not.
His address was brief, and something like the following: “Friends and mem

bers of the order. I hold in my hand a simple and unostentatious ornament,
designed for the purpose of perpetuating the remembrance of one of the most
glorious achievements of our lives. I am sure it is of mine (which has been
longer and more eventful than that of any of my late associates in arms) and
I would fain hope it is so considered by them. [Appleuse.] I knew that you
would dearly cherish the remembrance of our mountain expedition, and it is
my wish that you may continue to do so through whatever may be your future
adventures. From a military experience now somewhat extended, I am
proud to say, that I never yet was in command of a nobler little army. Your
conduct, gentlemen, one and all, during the trying scenes through which we
have passed, met with my most hearty approbation. Such a commencement
of your martial career is a sure guarantee, that should our Sovereign again
require the aid of your arms, no second call will be necessary to bring you
forth again from your peaceful and happy homes. Some of you I learn are
about to embark for the shores of our father-land in pursuit of a wider and
more extended field of observation—and in furtherance of a laudable ambition
to improve your understanding by examining the institutions of the old
world. These insignia which I am about to present to you, will be new to
the chivalry of that time-honored country, but I trust not unrecognized. I
am sure when you bear these to the presence of Majesty itself, and when you
inform our gracious Sovereign what a new and glorious empire you have
added to his dominions, he will recognize you as a part of the chivalry of the
empire—of that glorious band of Knights and gentlemen who surround his
throne like a bulwark. [Applause.]

I have only now to say farther, that I have been authorized by his Majesty's
council to invest each of the following named young gentlemen with one of
these badges.

Francis Lee, Ralph Wormley, Mann Page, John Randolph, Dudley Diggs,
John Peyton, Thomas Bray, Theodoric Bland, Wm. Beverley, Benjamin Harrison,
Oliver Yelverton, Peyton Skipwith, Peter Berkly, William Byrd,
Charles Ludweli, John Fitzhugh, Thomas Fairfax, Bernard Moore, Nathaniel
Dandridge, Kit Carter, Francis Brooke, John Washington, Hugh Taylor,
Alexander Nott, Charles Mercer, Edward Saunders, William Moseley, Edmund
Pendleton, George Hay, George Wythe, John Munroe.

May you wear them gentlemen through long and happy lives, and when
you descend honored and lamented to your graves, may they descend as heirlooms
to your children. When the wilderness which you have discovered
and conquered shall blossom as the rose,—as most assuredly it will—these
badges may be sought after by the antiquarians of a future age, as honored
mementos of the first pioniers of their happy and favored country. Let them
be religiously preserved then, I charge you. The simple words which form
the inscription, may some day reveal the history of a portion of our country
and its honored founders, when the revolutions of empires and the passing
away of generations, may have submerged every other record.

Your own names, gentlemen, honored and distinguished as they now are,
by illustrious ancestry, may by the mutations and instability of human greatness,
be yet rescued from oblivion by these simple memorials.

The members of the order then kneeled down and were invested in due
form with the insignia of the “Knights of the Horse Shoe.'[14]

After which the assembly dispersed, the Knights to dine with the master
and founder of their order, and the people to join in the festivities of the season.

CONCLUSION.

During the same Christmas holidays, when the cheerful fires burned bright,
and the serene and happy faces around them beamed brighter still, and when
the snow storm had blown over and the sun poured his cheerful rays over the
bright winter scene—on such a day, a plain but elegant carriage and four
stood before the modest and vine-clad dwelling of Dr. Evylin; and sundry
other vehicles of different kinds, were packed with travelling trunks—and
servants, male and female, were marshalled in the rear. The one first described
was, as yet empty, and various groups of idlers stood round the gate
to catch a glimpse of those whom madam rumor assigned as its intended occupants.

As the hour hand pointed to a certain figure on the dial plate, and the last
tones of the bell died away, the Old Doctor and his daughter rose simultaneously
and were locked in each other's embrace. Lee stood by, and any one, (if
not by his dress, at least by his bright face,) might have told that he was the
happy man. Ellen shed tears, as she saw the gittering drops falling fast
from her father's eyes, and as she felt his trembling frame locked in the last
embrace. Lee brought the old gentleman's cocked hat, and handed him his
gloves, and assisted him in wrapping up his feeble frame in a fur-lined cloak,
after which all three entered the carriage and drove to the church.

When they arrived at the door two more bridal parties already awaited
their arrival. We need scarcely say that they consisted of Moore and Kate,
and Hall and Eugenia. There was a serene melancholy upon the faces of
most of those present—especially on those of the brides. Even Kate looked
subdued and rather apprehensive, not that she doubted the man at all, to whom
she was about to plight her faith, but the ceremony was so solemn—the
change so important—the new relations about to be assumed for weal, or wo,
so enduring. These were far more oppressive to her at the altar, than to
Ellen, because the latter had longer and more maturely deliberated upon
them. Eugenia was the most melancholy of the three, but it was pleasing,
and had more relation to things past, than to those future. As Ellen walked
up the aisle, hand in hand with her lover, and her father immediately in the
rear, she really looked charming in her simple white dress, and her slightly
flushed cheeks. Some one in the gallery uttered a sort of exclamation of
applause. Lee looked over his shoulder and discovered Jarvis screwed up into
one corner near the organ, and making a feint with his coon-skin cap, as much
as to say that he would wave it over his head and shout if he dared. Lee
placed his finger on his lip to enjoin silence, which the scout answered by
placing his hand over his mouth. Few observed these things but the actors.

Kate's toilet had been more elaborately and expensively made than Ellen's,
but it was still elegantly simple. A single necklace was the only costly ornament
of jewelry which she wore, and it her mother had worn before her on a
similar occasion. The Rev. Dr. Blair was already at the altar with his book
open before him; all the parties, except Eugenia and Hall, were more to him
like his own children than ordinary parishioners, and the good old man's eye
betrayed his deep sympathy with the parties, and his solemn appreciation of
the importance of the change which was about to pass over so many of his
former pupils. The Governor gave away his own daughter as well as his
young kinswoman, and the old Doctor gave away Ellen.

The bridal ceremony concluded, the whole party drove to the palace where
a cold collation was served up for them preparatory to their departure to their
several places of destination. Lee and Hall with their brides, were to spend
the Chrismas holidays at the country establishment of the former, and old
Doctor Evylin had been persuaded to acompany them for the visit only.

Kate and Moore determined to spend their honey-moon at Temple Farm,
partly because their happiest days of courtship had been spent there, and
partly because it would give such unmeasured delight to their humble dependants,
old June among the number. The old fellow was now—since his
mountain adventures—quite a hero in the kitchen chimney corner, and Kate
had presented him with a new banjo, which, together with his new materials of
song, had quite set him up in business.

Time and death have both set their seals upon these marriages, and contrary
to what is usual at the announcement of such events, we can look forward
at once to their results. We know that they were eminently happy, that the
parties lived long in as much felicity as is ever vonchsafed to mortals on this
earth. With the descendants of Gen. Bernard Moore and Catherine Ann
Spotswood, we have long been intimate, and we can pronounce from a knowledge
so attained, that many of their fine qualities still adonrn, the lives and
characters of those who fill their places.

Ellen and Frank lived with the old Doctor, and fulfilled together to the
utmost those filial duties which the former had made so much the business
and pleasure of her days of single blessedness. The old man lived, to fondle
on his knee several of the descendants of his happy children, and was at last,
full of honors and full of years, buried beneath the stones of that Church,
which he had helped to build, and in which he had so long been a devout and
faithful worshipper. A tablet to his memory, erected by Gov. Spotswood,
and stating on its face the grief of his Excellency at the death of the old
man, still adorns one of the niches of the Church at Williamsburg; at least it
did but a few years ago.

Jarvis moved to the valley of Virginia and built a log cabin on the side,
where he had first fallen in love with that beautiful country. Whether he
married a Squaw or not we have no means of knowing. Those of the same
name inhabiting the same region to this day, have, however, a slight bronze
tinge to their complexion.

Governor Spotswood ruled over the affairs of Virginia for six years from the
date of the Tramontane Expedition, and after his surrendering the Gubernatorial
chair, was appointed Post Master General of His Majesty's Colonies,
and subsequently Commander-in-Chief of an expedition against the Spaniards
in Florida. He, however, died at Annapolis, Maryland, on his way to assume
that command. His mortal remains lie there to this day, unhonored we believe,
even by a tablet.

And now our story is told, and as in duty bound, we would most respectfully
make our bow to those kind readers who have followed us thus far. Before,
however, we bid them farewell, we would gossip with them a little longer—
we would fain prolong our pleasant evening talks by the fire-side, and discourse
still farther of the cocked hat gentry in the old dominion. And were we to
consult our own feelings alone, most assuredly they would be prolonged, and
our story should have engrafted upon it a sequel, or another concerning the
same old time-honored gentry, but when we cast our thoughts back over the
time of our kind readers, which we have already engrossed, we are admonished
that it is indeed time to bring our story to a close. We have now only to
effer some evidence that our story was indeed founded upon the traditions
which have descended to our times. The venerable jurist from whom the
following letter was received has so long adorned the highest judicial tribunals
in Virginia, and is, therefore, so extensively known, that it would be useless to
multiply testimony upon the point to which he alludes; if it were, we could do
so, to any reasonable extent. Many are the persons still living in Virginia,
who have seen with their own eyes these Golden Horse-Shoes. Indeed we
were some time upon the trace of one of the curious relics itself, and were
only prevented from pursuing our researches to a successful issue, by the want

of time and the distance of our present residence, from the scene of the celebrated
adventure.

To the descendants of Governor Spotswood and General Bernard Moore, we
are under many obligations for the materials with which they have so kindly
furnished us. To Colonel Spotswood of Indiana, and Charles Campbell, Esq.
editor of the Petersburg Statesman, in particular, we are greatly indebted, and
we return them our hearly thanks, and only regret that we have not been able to
do greater and more merited justice to the character of their common ancestors.

Western Virginia should erect some enduring monument to the memory of
the far-sighted statesman and gallant soldier who first discovered that noble
country.

The following is a copy of Judge Brooke's letter to the Author: