 | Mad Ann. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West |  |
8. Mad Ann.
Toward the close of the last century, there lived in the
interior of Virginia, in the very heart of the Allegheny
mountains, a strange, eccentric woman, who bore the soubriquet
of Mad Ann, but whose rightful name was Ann
Bailey. She was a native of Liverpool, England, and in
her younger, and perhaps better, days, had been the wife
of a British soldier. How she found her way to this
country, and why she chose to spend the remainder of her
life in the backwoods of the frontiers, going on lonely journeys
through the dark, heavy forests, and exposing herself
to hardships and perils innumerable, was never probably
known to many, perhaps to none beside herself.
During the wars of the early white settlers with their
savage foes, Ann Bailey performed much efficient service
for the frontier, in carrying messages between distant forts,
over long and dangerous routes, as between Fort Young
and Point Pleasant—a distance, as the way led, of some
two hundred miles, up steep mountains and down dark
valleys, through deep woods and dense thickets, and across
passed by swimming.
But Ann Bailey seldom went afoot and alone. She was
the owner of a remarkable horse, an animal almost as
sagacious as its singular rider. This beast she had named
Liverpool, in honor of her birth-place, and she bestrode
him in the fashion of a man.
She was a short, dumpy woman, with large, muscular
limbs, and a full, bluff, coarse, masculine countenance; and
her dress was such an odd mixture of the two sexes, that
one would have been puzzled from her appearance, especially
when mounted in the manner described, to say to
which she belonged. She disdained a gown, as being altogether
too feminine for her taste; but after putting on
buckskin breeches, with leggins and moccasins, she effected
a sort of compromise, by adding a linsey-woolsey petticoat;
which was in turn again partially overlaid by the regular
hunting-frock of the opposite sex; and her head, with its
coarse, bushy hair, in that condition which nature must
perforce display it when untouched by a comb, was surmounted
by a raccoon cap.
Thus dressed, and armed with a rifle, tomahawk, and
hunting knife—weapons which she could use with the skill
and strength of the best woodsman of the day—Ann
Bailey, though a woman, was no mean antagonist against
either wild beasts or savages.
She likewise had a few other qualifications, which belong
almost exclusively to the sterner sex. She could swear
like a trooper, drink whiskey like a bar-room lounger, and
box with the skill of a pugilist. She was withal rather
intelligent, could read and write, and could narrate her
wild adventures, trials and sufferings, with a power and
pathos that alternately thrilled, charmed, and deeply
affected her sympathizing listeners, the simple and single-minded
settlers among whom she made her home.
Her strange appearance and eccentric ways led the
mountaineers to bestow on her the appellation of Mad
Ann—but they loved rather than feared her, and she was
always a welcome guest beneath their sheltering roofs and
at their humble boards.
One cold, autumnal night, when the frosty breeze swept
sharp and keen over the high mountains and through
the deep valleys around the almost isolated station of Fort
Young, and while most of its inmates were sitting half
dreamily before their blazing log fires, there came a series
of loud, impatient knocks upon the gate of the pallisades.
For the moment these sounds startled all, both old and
young—for in that lonely region those were days of peril
to the little band of pioneers who had boldly ventured
thither—and the arrival of a stranger was an event to be
followed by a feeling of peace and security, or by a general
of good or evil tidings.
“Who's there?” challenged the sentry on duty.
“Mad Ann!” returned a loud, gruff voice.
All had listened eagerly for the response, and breathed
freer when it was heard—though the news might still be
either good or bad—and several of both sexes went forth
into the area, to meet and welcome the messenger.
As the sentry threw open the gate, the heroine of a
thousand perils, astride of her coal-black palfrey, and with
her rifle over her shoulder and her knife and tomahawk
in her belt, rode quietly into the station, and, without
deigning a reply to the dozen eager questions concerning
the news, dismounted deliberately, and strode silently into
the largest cabin of the row which formed one side of the
station.
As she came to the light of the fire, however, there arose
several quick exclamations of surprise and alarm, from
those who were there and those who followed her; for it
was immediately discovered that her face (and much of her
person) was covered with blood, which was even then
slowly oozing and dropping down from a long, ugly gash
that crossed the upper portion of the left temple and
extended from her forehead to her ear.
“Good heavens! what's happened?” exclaimed one.
“There must be Injuns about!” cried a second.
“Is there danger for us?” demanded a third.
“Speak!” almost shouted a chorus of excited voices.
Mad Ann gave no heed to any, however; but taking the
best seat in front of the fire, she bent partly over it, and,
with hands extended to the cheerful blaze, and eyes fixed
steadily upon the glowing coals, proceeded to warm herself
with the indifference of one who was not aware of being
in the least degree an object of interest.
But those around her were too much excited to remain
quiescent; and though fully aware that her eccentricity
would keep her silent till the whim seized her to talk, they
still continued to importune her to reveal what all were so
anxious to know.
“See here, folks,” exclaimed Mad Ann, at length, drawing
the back of her large, rough hand across her face, to
clear away some of the blood, and looking ghastly and
hideous, as she turned her eyes glaringly around upon the
group, who instinctively drew back a pace, as if fearful of
a sudden assault: “See here, folks,” she repeated, slowly
and deliberately, but adding a wicked oath—“if you don't
know me well enough to know that I won't tell you any
thing till I get ready, you don't know me as well as you
ought to, and I'll just keep my mouth shut for a month to
I'arn you.”
“Look you, Ann,” replied a large, strong, robust man,
the commander of the garrison, “if this here matter only
but if thar's Injuns about, we ought to know it at once, and
be gitting ready to defend ourselves.”
“Put up Liverpool, and fodder him well, and fetch me
some whiskey,—quick!” rejoined the strange woman, turning
again to the fire, and deigning no reply to the last
speaker.
Knowing that the shortest way to her favor lay in obeying
her instructions, two or three of the group bestirred
themselves actively; and presently it was announced that
Liverpool was in the best of quarters, and that Mrs. Ann
Bailey would much honor her friends by drinking their
healths, the speaker at the same time presenting her a
pewter cup containing nearly half a pint of her favorite
beverage.
Mad Ann seized the cup, looked steadily at its contents
for a few moments, and then poured it down her throat as
if it were so much water. She then turned her attention
once more to the fire, but had not watched it many
minutes, when she suddenly burst into a loud, hoarse laugh,
and exclaimed:
“Cap'n Bolder says if there's Injuns about, he ought to
know it. Why, there's Injuns about somewhere most
always, as Mad Ann knows to her cost; but there's been a
few mean, sneaking devils right nigh, as you can all tell
from these here;” and thrusting her hand into the bosom
to the astonished gaze of those around her, two
Indian scalps, from which the fresh blood was yet dripping.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Mad Ann; “did you ever see
a cleverer sight than two such topknots, took by a woman's
hand? Beat that if you can, you big, robust, blustering
male fellows, who call yourselves the lords of creation!
Do more'n that, and show it, any one of you, and I'll
eyther beat you ag'in or stand treat. But it's your treat
now, my masters, and so fetch on the whiskey.”
Another drink, nearly equal to the first in quantity, put
Mad Ann in a good humour and communicative mood;
and bidding the anxious and excited parties around her
get seats and listen, she waited till all had complied, and
then began and told her story in her own peculiar way.
“You see, Cap'n Bolder,” she commenced, addressing
individually the commander of the station, “I left here to
go to Point Pleasant, to carry a message from you to the
Cap'n there, somewhere about the last of August, or the
first of September, and a right dreary time I had on't.”
“And what news do you fetch from thar?” inquired the
commander, thinking there might be something important
for him to know.
“See here! am I telling this story, or you?” inquired
Mad Ann, deliberately folding her arms and looking
steadily at the other.
“You, in course.”
“Then,” rejoined Mad Ann, with another wicked oath,
“just s'pose you keep quiet and listen.”
She then proceeded, in a kind of wild, rambling, incoherent
manner, to give an outline sketch of her long
journey out and back—what she had seen, what she had
heard, what she had felt, and what she had suffered—while
her listeners, eager for the sequel, were obliged to wait,
with what patience they could, till she came to it in her
own time and way.
But once she had fairly launched herself upon the incident
of deepest interest, her whole appearance and manner
changed, and she drew the closing picture with that graphic
power for which she was at times remarkable.
“It was about five miles back from here,” she said “just
as dark was setting in, that I first got warning of danger.
I always have warning when there's danger about—not
from man—not always from beast—not from winds, and
trees, and earth—things I can hear, and feel, and see—
but—”
She stopped, looked around mysteriously, and then,
lowering her voice, added, with a strange impressiveness
that caused more than one of the superstitious listeners to
shudder:
—“From the t'other world.
“Yes,” she resumed, “something whispered me, `There's
who answered me by raising his head and snuffing the
tainted air.
“I rode on further, with my eyes all about me; and then
something come and touched me—something from t'other
world—and I knew the danger was nigh and great—for
when something from t'other world touches us mortals, it's
always for a last warning before death.
“Then I got down ever so gentle and quiet off the back
of Liverpool, and told him in a whisper he mustn't run
away; and if his poor old mistress didn't ever come back
to him, to go on to Fort Young—where the kind folks,
who'd always been good to poor old Mad Ann, God bless
you all for it—would see that he'd never want for attention
and care; and the bonnie black beast (bless his noble
heart!) answered me with a rub of his nose and a whinney,
that said he understood me and good-bye as plain as any
human could.
“Then I started on afoot before the beast, and kept
looking sharp all about me, till I seen the twinkle of what
might have been a dreadful demon's eye in the black wood
before me—but which wasn't, that I knows on—but the
light of a fire, about which was three painted Injuns, that
fetched all my blood to b'iling with rage and fury.
“ `They musn't live to work mischief!' said I; and I
went creeping, creeping, creeping, toward 'em, with my
and knife where my hands could grapple them for close
work.
“Creeping, creeping, creeping, like a painter on to a
deer—I come up, up, up—nigher, nigher, nigher—till I
could see their eyes glisten as they talked, and their faces
wrinkle as they smiled, and their teeth show white as they
laughed—whilst they toasted their meat at the fire, and eat
it like hungry men—and then something whispered to me
and said:
“ `Ann Bailey, them beasts of men are in the road to
take your life, and you must eyther kill them or die yourself.'
“ `Yea, Lord!' I answered the spirit voice; `even so
will I kill or die!' ”
“And I raised my rifle, and looked along the barrel,
and seen the sight, by the light of the ruddy fire, cover the
eye of the middle one, just as he was raising a piece of
meat to his opening mouth; and then I pulled the trigger,
and sent the bullet whizzing through his brain. And
then wildly mad with a kind of fiendish joy, I bounded
forward, crashing through the bushes, and shouting as I
went:
“ `The Lord fights for Mad Ann, and she must slay all
before her!'
“But I like to have spoke with the vain boast of a silly
but t'other didn't; and when I jumped forward into his
camp, the snap of his gun, with the muzzle not more'n ten
feet from my breast, showed me how nigh I'd been to
death without knowing it.
“Then, with a yell of fury, he threw down his gun, and
leaped on to me with his tomahawk. I hadn't time to
guard, or parry, it was so quick and sudden and surprising;
but I did the best I could, and the blow came down
without splitting my skull, as you see here, though it
grazed the bone and stunned me some, and fetched me
down on to my knees. Ag'in the weapon was whirled
aloft, and another blow was coming; but, with all my
might and strength, I jumped forward and wrenched the
legs of the savage from under him, and he fell heavy by
my side. He never got up ag'in—for my right arm was
quick raised in wrath, and my tomahawk came down on to
his skull and laid him quivering.
“I got up then, and took the scalps of the two, to prove
my words—but the coward that run I didn't see ag'in. I
went back for my horse, and here I am; and if you want
to see the bodies of the savages, and get their arms, go out
to-morrow and do so.”
Such was one of the most remarkable adventures and
exploits of Mad Ann, told, in her own peculiar manner, to
a group of excited listeners. A search which was made
guided to the scene of the tragedy, proved the truth of her
statement so far as regarded the killing of the savages.
Mad Ann remained for a number of years in the vicinity
we have named, even after the Indian wars were over, and
spent her time in roving about from place to place, and
hunting for wild beasts, whose skins supplied her with the
means of procuring the few necessaries that her somewhat
primitive mode of life required. She was, in the true
sense of the word, a border heroine. She subsequently
removed to the frontier of Ohio, and died, as for many
years she had lived, in the great wilderness, deeply
lamented by those who had reaped the benefits of her
eccentric life of border deeds and border heroism.
| Mad Ann. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West | |