University of Virginia Library

1. ’BEL
OF
PRAIRIE EDEN.

1. CHAPTER I.

—MSS. of a Texan.

`Come brother, it is a beautiful view—look
yonder.'

The boy advanced from the shadow of the
oak and gazed upon the prairie, bathed in the
light of the setting sun. He was but a boy,
slender and girlish in form, and yet he grasped
a rifle in his hand and carried a knife in
his belt.

His brother did not seem to heed him, but
stood leaning against the trunk of the oak, his
arms folded over his rifle, while his downcast
eyes were fixed upon the sod. The sun in
its last glow cast a warm light over his broad
chest and muscular form, and invested with a
golden flush, his fine aquiline features, shaded

by a dark beard and flowing black hair. It
was altogether a striking face; the eyes,
somewhat sunken beneath the well-defined
brows, were large, black, and strangely brilliant.
He would have been observed and
gazed at in any company, and even now, as
he stood beside the oak, the boundless prairie
around, and the Great God above, there was
something noble in his look and bearing. It is
true he wore a plaid grey frock, reaching to
the knee and edged with fur, yet this unpretending
garment displayed a broad chest, supported
by a waist, at once slender and pliable,
and revealed the iron outline of his sinewy
arms. Its color, pale grey, gave a richer
lustre to the sunset glow which bathed his
face.

On the sod before him lay his hat, a rude
thing of grey felt, with skull-crown and wide
slouching brim. It was decorated with a
single black feather.

`Come, brother John; look! is it not a
beautiful view? Our men, the volunteers of
Prairie Eden, encamped on the prairie; near
this knoll, their horses grazing on the rich
grass, as gathered in a circle, their rifles near
them, they build the camp-fire and prepare
for their evening meal. Look at the sky,
John—not one cloud! Yes, one; a little
cloud, hovering like a bird, in the west, just
over the setting sun, and turning, blue, purple
and gold, as the light grows brighter ere
it fades. The prairie, John,—the grass moving
like waves at sea, with all kinds of beautiful
flowers, starting from the sod. Come,—
don't stand muttering there; come I say.'

And the slender boy laid his hand upon his
brother's arm, and playfully sought to raise
his head.

The brother, still absorbed in his thoughts
did not heed him.

`Here we are, thirty miles from San Antonio.
Shall we go forward?—shall we return
home?'

`Home!—pshaw! Did not we leave Prairie
Eden this morning—we—'

`We!' echoed the older brother, raising
his eyes and surveying the girlish form before
him.

`Yes, we!—the Voluntears of Prairie Eden
—composed of Mr. Jacob Grywin's two sons,
forty white laborers—some civilized people
from the States, others German emigrants—
and ten black slaves; not to mention Ewen
McGregor, who now comes up the knoll to
speak with Captain John Grywin.'

John raised his eyes, surveyed for a moment
the smoke of the camp fire in the prairie,
not one hundred yards from where he
stood, and then his gaze rested upon the new
comer.

You will observe that the knoll on which
the brothers stood was one of those delicious
green islands which dot the rolling surface of
the wild Texan prairie, and are seen by the
wayfarer sometimes at the distance of thirty
miles. It was crowned by a solitary tree, a
greak oak, whose trunk three men could not
have spanned with their extended arms.—
Broad and wide above the brothers' head,
stretched out the rugged branches, clad in a
glorious drapery of silvery moss, which floated
like a shining shroud, among the deep
green leaves.

`Captain John, while the boys take their
supper, I've come up here to have a little
talk with you.'

It was a harsh, grating voice. The figure
was that of a giant, so towering in stature, so
massive in the bull-like chest, and formidable
long arms, whose corded sinews were impressed
upon the folds of the grey sleeves.—
The face was like the form, huge and burly.
A red visage, with white eyebrows and eyelashes,
short stiff red hair and an immense
red beard, matted like the mane of some wild
animal. It was not the most prepossessing
form in the world, nor the prettiest face, yet
an air of bluff, hearty frankness, seemed to
pervade each feature—even the mouth, with
thick lips and the large eyes with yellowish
balls—and govern the movement of every

limb, as Ewen McGregor drew near the
oak.

`Well, Ewen, or rather, Lieutenant McGregor—'
said John.

`You see, when we left Prairie Eden this
morning, bound for San Antonio, in obedience
to a proclamation of the President of Texas,
which summoned `all good citizens' to the
western frontier, menaced as it is by a fresh
Mexican invasion—when we left, I say, there
was some things which we did know, and
some things which we ought to know, but did
not know, by —!'

`Well Ewen?' said John, calmly surveying
the bluff form hefore him, while Harry
looked on with a sort of comical wonder dilating
his clear blue eyes.

`We are going to San Antonio,' resumed
Ewen, resting his rifle on the sod. `For
days there has been a rumor of the approach
of the Mexican general who commands at
Presidio del Rio Grande. How do we know
that at this very moment this General, Don
Bascus, is not in possession of San Antonio?'

`If we dont know we can easily ascertain.
A ride of thirty miles after dark will bring
us to San Antonio before midnight.'

This cool respone seemed to disconcert the
bluff Ewen.

`But, Capt. John, suppose the town should
be occupied by some thousand Mexican
devils—'

`That would make us equal. Fifty white
men of Texas are equivalent to one thousand
Mexicans, any day. That computation is in
some degree unfair, for it gives one Texan and
his good rifle for twenty Mexicans. You see
Ewen, General Bascus and his thousand men
must not stand in the way of fifty volunteers
from Prairie Eden.'

`Not mentioning the ten niggers,' laughed
Harry, as he mischievously pulled Red Ewen
by the heard. `We'll fling the darkies in,
and not make any charge for them.'

Was it a flush of anger that crossed Ewen's
face? He was silent for a moment, and then
in a voice and with a manner which indicated
a man of some education, he resumed—

`Let us dismiss all jesting on the subject,
John. General Bascus, whose approach is
indicated by a rumor that grows more like
truth every hour, has not merely a thousand
men, but ten thousand incarnate devils with
him. Suppose you go on to San Antonio to
night and fall into his clutches? Just think
of it, John—you and your brother, and all
your laborors and slaves, dragged away to rot
in a Mexican prison, while your father and
Isabel await your return at Prairie Eden.'

This picture touched John with great force.
Harry's smile died away and tears filled his
blue eyes.

`O, John! Ewen speaks the truth! What
would become of father and Isabel, in case
we were taken prisoners?'

`Yes, I see it now; I was wrong this morning
to leave them so utterly unprotected at
Prairie Eden. To be sure, our home is isolated;
their is not much danger from the Indians,
and as for the neighbors, the nearest
is ten miles from Prairie Eden. But what
would you propose?'

`Remain encamped here to-night. It will
be time enough for us to go on our way to-morrow
morning. And in the meantime—
but look to the East; do you see that knoll,
distant some ten miles?'

They followed the direction of his brawny
hand, and saw the knoll, rising dim and
vague among the mists, which began to
whiten the eastern prairie.

`I know Ben Davis, the scout, who has
pitched his cabin there. If any one can give
us any news of the Mexicans, he's the man to
do it. By your leave, I will take my horse
ride over there, and have a talk with him. I
can be back long afore midnight.'

`John's face manifested some thought. `It
seems about the best course.'

`Oh let him go—think of Father—Isabel!'

cried Harry, sezing his brother by both his
hands.'

Ewen smiled at Harry's earnestness, and
smiled until his thick lips parted, and his decayed,
irregular teeth were visible.

`Well, Ewen, you'd better go; and mind
ye, let your return be as speedy as possible.'

`Trust me for that!'

And Red Ewen turned away, without a
moments delay, and descended the knoll,
bending his steps towards the encampment.—
They saw his broad knife glistening in the
sun, as he crushed the grass with his long,
heavy strides.

`Do you remember Ewen in Philadel—
Harry began, as he surveyed the peaceful
group of the encampment of rugged hunters
encircling the fires which sent their volumes
of pale blue smoke into the sky.

`Hush!' and John's brow grew dark; his
eye flashed with sudden intensity; `we never
mention that name in the prairie.'

`There he goes, the Giant with Red Head
and Thick Lips! Look how he rides!'

Wishing to drive his brother's thoughts
from a painful topic, he stretched forth his
small white hand and pointed towards Ewen,
who was seen dashing towards the east,
mounted on one of those fiery horses, peculiar
to the prairie, with eyes like coals, and
long, black, matted mane.

John stood buried in thought. The twilight
was gathering over the prairie, and in the
broad west glowed the last flush of the departed
sun. A fresh breeze arose and came
tossing the grass like waves, as it gathered
perfume from the innumerable flowers.

Henry gazed with some awe in the face of
his older brother, and saw his brow grow
darker, his eye more wild and absent in its
glance.

`Its always the way with him when I mention
that name,' he said and turned away to
the western edge of the knoll.

It was a very beautiful thing to see the
last flush of the day imparting its soft golden
warmth to that boyish face, whose white brow
and clear blue eyes seemed animated with a
deep, tranquil delight.

The boy was gazing to the west, far, far
over the boundless view, as the night seemed
hovering above the prairie, pausing for a moment
ere it came down to kiss its flowers and
sleep upon its breast.

Far in the north-west, the level line of the
horizon was broken by an almost imperceptible
elevation which shone like a golden point,
from the shadows which sheltered around and
beneath. Henry gazed upon that elevation,
earnestly and long, until his breath came in
gasps, his blue eye acquired a light, well-nigh
as intense as his brother's.

`That must be Prairie Eden,' he said, as
sinking on the sod, he crossed his hands upon
his knees, and thought, while the night came
down, of home, of Father and Isabel.

The night came slowly in its starlight drapery,
and still the boy Harry sat in silence on
the edge of the Prairie knoll, his slender form
couched artlessly on the tall thick grass, while
his eyes were raised to the heavens, and an
indefinable emotion stole over his face. Believe
me, it was a face to love, so much of
woman in its every outline, and yet a firmness
like that of tried manhood, manifested
in the sudden flash of the blue eyes, the quick
nervous compression of the warm lips.

And the breeze tossed his soft brown hair,
and floated it in glossy masses over his forehead,
but could not hide the tears that came
imperceptibly into his eyes, and made them
shine the brighter in the deep starlight.

`I know what they are now doing now at
Prairie Eden. I can see the wide hall lighted
up, and father sitting near the table with
the Bible on his knee. Sister is near him,
bending over his shoulder as he reads. Yes,
yes; I can see her black ringlets touching his
grey hair, and floating upon his fore head. It
is a happy home, and—'

His fancy dared not look upon the picture
of the future, for a vision of war and battles
rose up before him, and while his young blood
danced with the raptures of a soldier's life, he
seemed to hear a voice which said,—`And
that home you will never reach again!'

Long he sat there, absorbed in his own
thoughts, while from the other side of the
knool, the songs and merry voices of the encamped
volunteers of Prairie Eden, broke unheeded
on his ear. At last his waking thoughts
melted in a dream, and sinking on the sod,
with the rifle in his hand, he slept the sound
sleep of boyhood—that sleep worth all the
gold and power in the world, for angels watch
over it, and fan the sleeper's cheek with their
invisible wings.

He unclosed his eyes at last, and started up
half-dreaming and but half awake. The
morn was rising over the prairie. Far in the
east a globe of pale gold was seen on the verge
of the horizon, gleaming a sad and solemn
light, as it was about to launch away into the
great ocean of the sky.

As Harry started to his feet a dark object
interposed between his sight and the moon.
He passed his hand over his forehead, and
with the peculiar nervous fear of one suddenly
aroused from a sound slumber, uttered an
ejaculation that broke with startling emphasis
on the dead silence of the prairie.

For all was dead and still. The camp fires
had gone out, the song of the hunters died
away. Not a voice nor sound—no vision
but the great prairie stretching forth in the
light of the rising morn, with that unknown
object towering black and dark before him.

`Who comes there?' He stood with the
rifle in his grasp, his finger on the trigger.

A voice answered him—could it be his brother's,
so changed and hollow?—`Harry it is
I!'. It scarcely rose above a whisper—
`Hush!—not a word. Our horses are ready
at the foot of the knoll—come!'

Wondering whether he was awake or
dreaming, he suffered that extended arm to
lead him silently down the knoll. He saw his
own horse and his brother's standing there,
the saddles on the horses, the reins flung over
their necks, and for the first time recognized
his brother in the dusky figure.

`Mount!' And his brother's face was turned
to the moon; Harry saw with indefinable
fear, that the features were changed, his eyes
unnaturally vivid and glaring, the broad forehead
marked with swollen veins.

`Brother—' he faltered out as he placed
his feet in the stirrups.

`Not a word! Turn your horse towards
Prairie Eden, and ride as though a thousand
deaths were dogging at his heels. Do not
spare the spur,—follow me!'

John's horse plunged beneath the merciless
iron, and dashed through the grass, as
though possessed by a devil.

Henry saw his brother's form, rising boldly
in the moonlight, and urged his own horse
forward at the top of his speed.

`But, the volunteers, brother,' he cried, as
he gasped for breath.

`Ride, I say! That star in the north-west
— you see it? Don't take your eyes from it.
On, in the name of God! That star shines
above Prairie Eden.'

Away they dashed without a word, their
horses maddened by the sharp steel points,
bounding over the sod with an accelerating
speed that seemed rather like the flight of a
bird than the pace of an animal.

Not a word passed between the brothers,
for Harry, panting for breath and racked by
the plunging gait of his horse, looked on the
form of John wiih an unknown feeling, something
between wonder and awe.

Once or twice a word trembled on his lips
—but still his brother, without turning his
head, muttered between his teeth,—

`Ride!—spur! It is thirty miles to Prairie
Eden—we must reach it in two hours or we
are accursed for ever!'

There was something terrible in the sight!
—these black horses, with snorting nostrils

and starting eyeballs, plunging over the prairie,
while their riders dug the spurs into their
flanks until the blood spouted forth and mingled
with the white foam.

The moon shone over them as they dashed
away, and flung their shadows far and black
upon the waving grass. John never once
turned his head, but kept his eye fixed on the
star. Harry could not keep his gaze from
his brother's changed and ghastly face,—it
held him like a spell.

At last—it was when the moon was high
above the horizon, and an hour and a half had
passed away—Harry's horse stumbled and
fell, the blood pouring in torrents from his
nostrils.

Severely bruised and half-stunned, Harry
struggled from beneath the flanks of his dying
horse, and saw John reining his steed back
on his haunches.

`Your horse is dying—come! Give me
your hand! Spring up before me—now then!
Yonder is the Island knoll of Prairie Eden—
only five miles distant.'

Harry felt his brother's strong arm around
his chest, and saw his eyes—almost touching
his cheek—flash with the same unnatural fire
—he felt that his brother was mad, and grew
cold as ice, although the breath that fanned
his cheek was like the air of a furnace.

`Only four miles—do you see the knoll,
Harry? The house among the trees—
ah!'

Down came the horse upon his knees—he
made an effort to rise, trembling in every
nerve—it was in vain, With that desperate
effort he rolled upon the sod, the brothers
half bruised beneath his quivering flanks. It
was scarcely an instant before John had gained
his feet and rescued his brother from his
perilous situation.

`Harry—are you hurt? Have you strength
left to run those four miles? Take your rifle
and come,'

He clutched his brother in an iron grasp,
add hurried him away, rather dragging him
along than running by his side.

`It may have been a dream,' he muttered;
`but no, no!—I saw him! With my eyes—
before me!'

`Saw him?' Harry gasped, as all the
blood in his body seemed rushing to his
eyes.

`Yes; I saw him—no vision—reality, my
brother, horrible reality! My God! the moon
fades, the day is breaking. We've at least
four miles to go. Do not fall, Harry, do not
faint—a firm heart, my boy, and God will
bless us! You know I am not superstitious,
but to-night, as I stood beside the oak, while
you lay sleeping near me, I saw him, with
his white beard and spectral eyes, and—he
was dressed like an old hunter, Harry,—you
have heard the old prairie hunters tell of him,
—how he walks the prairie at dead of night,
and starts suddenly upon you, from the earth,
at your horse's side, or even from the sod,
where you lay sleeping. He wakes you with
an ice-cold hand—so the hunters tell the
story. But you know they are superstitious.
I believe in nothing of the kind—I—but to-night,
I saw him at my side! Look, Harry,
the sun is rising, and we're three miles from
the Knoll!'

Thus gasping these incoherent words, as
he dragged his awe-stricken and fainting brother
along, John kept his eyes upon the knoll
and his face grew even yet more pale, his
eyes more frenzied, as the first ray of the
rising sun shot like a golden thread, across
their path.

`Saw whom? Speak, John! Your face
frightens me—I believe I'm dying—' he
sank on one knee.

`Harry, my dear boy—my child!—Oh do
not faint now! in a little while and we are
there! You are strong, Harry, it is but fancy
—come, I will carry you! But I saw him to
night, and talked with him, The Old Man of
the Prairie! that spectre of these horrible
solitudes, who comes to the dwellers in the

wilderness, and tells them of coming evil—
nothing but evil. He told me—look, Harry,
the sun is shining on the knoll!'

Ere we record the full history of the event
ful night—it was in the spring-time of 1842,
that these incidents occurred,—let us, in order
to understand the history in all its details,
gaze on a scene which occurred some ten
years before.