University of Virginia Library

CONCLUSION.

Seven years after these events, there was a
general clearing out of the outlaws, from the
swamp retreats of Conelachita. The circumstances
distinguishing the movement of that popular
phrenzy, by which this great result was effected,
have already been chronicled in history
and illustrated by romance. Under less circumspect
leaders, the outlaws had lost much of their
prudence and adroitness; and, indeed, the condition
of the country had become less favorable to
their operations. Population of a more permanent
and industrious, and, consequently, more
honest description, had been steadily pouring in,
and the ultimate extinction of the Indian title to
the lands, was an event, of itself, to strike a fatal
blow at the security of the `government-against-law'
in Conelachita. How the people, furious
in consequence of the most frequent and audacious
murders, to say nothing of robberies, rushed
en masse into the swamp-fastnesses, and, with
shot, and sabre-stroke, and halter, put an end to
the dynasty of the outlaw, in that quarter, needs
only to be glimpsed at here. The affair was one
of immense interest to the country at large, and
of a peculiarly delicate interest to me. I read
the accounts of the progress of the regulators, as
they appeared from time to time in the papers of
the Southwest, with an exciting and painful anxiety.

The fate of the poor father—of the really
good Bush Halsey—unfortunately cursed with
so bad a brother—was, in particular, a matter
upon which I brooded with an almost unremitting
thought. I could not forget how dear he
was to me, not only as the father of my wife, but
on his own account. From him I had met with
nothing but what was considerate in kindness,
and affectionate in consideration. I resolved
finally, in order to quiet my own thoughts, to seek
out his fate—to see whether he had perished with
the rest—in the indiscriminate massacre which
had befallen the miserable wretches, with whom
he was, but of whom he was not! Circumstances
were now not so unfavorable to such a search.
The country along the route was tolerably settled.
The rogues had generally given way to a
better race of men. Even `Plain Yannaker'
had made tracks, and removed with his teraphim
into the wilderness. Travelling was secure.
Broad roads were opened through regions once
traversed only by the Indian foot-trail; and, with
bitter-sweet recollections rising at every step, I
once more penetrated the well-known and once
mysterious recesses of Conelachita. How, as I
went along, the present dilated in homily upon
the past. I flattered myself that I had grown
wiser, and this notion reconciled me to many a
gloomy recollection. But in these I will not indulge.

Once more I found the cottage in the Swamp,
in which I had wedded my poor Helen. It was
in the possession of a squatter, whom I bought
out, taking care that my titles in the land-office
should supply any deficiencies in his. But, ere
this was done, taking a boat, with a single servant
I made my way down the stream upon which I
had sped that fatal night with Helen and her

father. I recognized, with a thrill of the keenest
emotion, the little bayou, in the scoop of which
our bark had lain, hidden by the overhanging
shrubs and willows, in waiting for Bush Halsey.
It was there that she had rested in my arms—
silent, tearful, with the love within her heart,—
and O! how little dreaming of the sudden and
terrible fate which stood in waiting for her, but a
little mile below. I turned from the spot with a
heart too tremulous to be trusted to contemplation.
Then, as the fatal point rose in view, on
which, crouching with his myrmidons, Bud Halsey
issued the stern order, and sped the murderous
shot, I shuddered with horrors such as did
not thrill me then. Little then did I foresee the
brutal haste, the reckless resolution, with which
that fierce uncle would carry out his threat. I
groaned from the bottom of my heart,—and the
paddle escaped my grasp. This incident awakened
me, and I recovered myself. It was not a
long while before we reached the island. There,
we drew the boat ashore, and I hurried, without
delay, toward the secluded spot where the woman
of my heart lay buried. I was met by a bowed
form—a diminutive, withered, white-headed old
man—almost bent double. His hair, of the most
silvery whiteness, covered his back. His beard
was similarly white and long. It was he! It
was the father! He knew me at a glance; and,
as if I could have but a single object, he took me
by the hand gently, and said:—

“Come”—in the sweetest accents, and led me
at once to the grave of Helen!