University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE DEADLY QUARREL.

The voyage of our adventurers down the Ohio
River was, to some of them, comparatively pleasant,
and to others quite the reverse. The scouts took
charge of the boats so far as to direct their movements.
At night they generally drew near the
Kentucky shore and anchored in still water, but no
one except an experienced woodman was permitted
to land. Their progress was necessarily slow, but
safety rather than speed was the object of those in
command.

It could not be otherwise than that the acquaintance
of Henry and Isaline, begun and continued
under the circumstances we have mentioned, should
ripen into intimacy far more speedily than would
have been the case in an ordinary state of affairs.
There was something congenial in their natures;
both were young, educated, and refined; to both the
world was full of beauty, poetry, and romance; they
were bound together by general interests and general
perils; and there was an absence of that restraint
imposed by formal society, and the cold,
watchful care of calculating guardians. Thus
thrown together, with many an hour for uniterrupted

conversation, a few days brought them to a
knowledge of each other which months might not
have effected under the usual conditions of conventional
society.

Of the two, however, it may not be amiss to say
that Henry was the most direct, earnest, single-minded
and sincere. We have before remarked
that, though not at heart a coquette, there was a
certain want of steady balance in the nature of Isaline
that permitted a strong leaning that way—an
insecurity of youth and general love of admiration
that inclined her ear to what a sounder or perhaps
a more mature judgment would have rejected. She
was disposed to rejoice in an extreme admiration
rising almost to the strength of a passion, for which
she had no adequate reciprocity of feeling; and
while she was one to exact all and wholly the love
of him to whom she was most inclined, she was
ready to claim the right of dividing her own affections
among as many as her caprice might choose.
Thus far she had never met another who had made
on her so profound an impression, had so completely
filled the void of her soul, as the young roving
hunter and artist; and yet her manner was such as
to give his handsome rival, against whom the instincts
of her nature secretly revolted, almost as much
encouragement as himself.

Of course there was no friendship, nor even show
of friendship, between two such opposite natures,
brought together under such circumstances, as

Charles Hampton and Henry Colburn. They had
been formally introduced to each other by Isaline,
who had playfully remarked, that, as she regarded
both as her lawful protectors and defenders, she
hoped they would henceforth be companions and
friends. Both had bowed civilly but coldly, had
exchanged a few common-place remarks, and had
scarcely spoken since. Being both on the same
boat, and coming in contact with the same lady,
they had often been compelled to meet; but either
a cold, haughty bow, or a studied disregard of the
presence of the other, had invariably been the result.
Of course Isaline had not failed to perceive this
mutual dislike; but she had apparently taken no
notice of it, dividing her attentions between the two
as if she had thought them the best of friends.
Hampton, however, had gradually become moody,
discontented and peevish. He was not popular
among the passengers and crew, and he knew it.
Though no further words had passed between him
and Rough Tom, the latter had not failed to express
his opinion of him in the most contemptuous language;
and among his companions, and men of that
class, the opinions of the old woodman always carried
a good deal of weight.

Such was the state of affairs, when, on a calm,
pleasant day, as the three boats were quietly floating
down the river—the one containing the passengers
a few feet in advance of the others—a large bird, of
very bright, many colored plumage, came flying

over the foremost, on its way from the Ohio to the
Kentucky shore.

“Oh, how beautiful!” exclaimed Isaline, who, with
many others, including Hampton and Colburn, was
standing on the deck: “how I wish its bright
feathers were mine!”

“And so they shall be!” said Hampton, catching
up his silver-mounted rifle, which was leaning
against a box, within a few feet of his hand, and
firing with a quick aim.

Apparently the bird was either slightly touched,
or sensibly felt the wind of the ball—for it made
a quick dart downward, of some fifty feet, and then
seemed to increase its speed in the same horizontal
direction as before.

“A miss is as good as a mile!” said Isaline, turning
playfully to Hampton.

As she spoke, there was another sharp crack—
this time from the rifle of Henry, who had seized his
weapon and fired with as quick an aim as the other
—and the gay bird, checked suddenly in its flight
by the swift messenger of death, dropped lead-like
down upon the water. There was a light skiff
fastened to the boat, and in less than a minute the
lithe form of young Colburn was seen standing in
this and using the paddle with the grace and skill
of a French voyageur. Gliding round his prize, he
seized and held it up in triumph, amid the plaudits
of the spectators; and almost the next minute he

was back again upon the deck, and at the side of the
flattered beauty.

“Permit me the honor, fair lady,” he said, in a
gay tone, “of laying my beautiful trophy at your
feet!”

Before Isaline could reply, Charles Hampton
stepped quickly forward, with a pale face, burning
eye, and quivering lip, and, in a marked and sneering
tone, said:

“A questionable trophy, Miss Holcombe! since,
as you are aware, it was only obtained by robbing
another of his right!”

Henry flushed to the temples, and his clear blue
eye had a peculiar gleam, as he rejoined:

“Miss Holcombe and all others will bear me witness,
that I only robbed the bird of a life it was
bearing away unharmed from the bullet of an uncertain
marksman!”

“It is false!” cried Hampton; “it was my ball
alone that killed the bird!”

“It requires a wonderful conceit to think so!”
said Colburn.

“It requires only the truth, to which you are a
stranger!” retorted Hampton, quivering with suppressed
passion.

“Sir,” said the young artist, advancing to his rival
and speaking in a low, determined tone, “these are
insults only to be borne in the presence of ladies!”

“Which I will repeat when there are no such
reasons for a lack of manhood!” rejoined Hampton,

with an expression that might well have become a
fiend.

“Come, come, gentlemen,” said Isaline, beginning
to grow alarmed, “there must be no quarrelling
here! Already I regret the expression of a wish
which has given an occasion for angry words!”

“The angels above are not more innocent of any
wrong intent than yourself,” said Henry, “and for
one I am heartily ashamed of what has passed in
your presence! That the like may not be repeated
or continued, permit me to withdraw for the present!”
and with a low bow he turned on his heel and went
below.

“And are you not ashamed of yourself too?”
said Isaline, turning to Hampton.

“No! why should I be?”

“Because it was all your fault.”

“How so?”

“You claimed that which was not your own.”

“I deny it, Miss Holcombe! That bird was mine
—I killed it.”

“Why did it not fall, then, before Mr. Colburn
fired?”

“It is a common thing, when the breath is in, for
a bird, shot directly through the heart, to fly some
considerable distance, and then fall dead,” replied
Hampton. “If my ball did not strike it, why did
it so suddenly drop downward on the discharge of
my piece?”

“Possibly you may have hit it, Mr. Hampton!”

“Possibly I may have killed it, Miss Holcombe!”

“And even granting you did, was it becoming
for a gentleman to have so many angry words about
it?”

“It is always right for a gentleman to claim his
own, and not suffer himself to be robbed by a mere
adventurer!”

“I hold, sir, that you are to blame!”

“Of course you do! I could not expect any
other verdict from you, considering in whose favor
it is made!” said Hampton, with a covert sneer.

“You forget yourself, sir!” said Isaline, proudly
and coldly, with the color mounting to her temples;
and, turning abruptly away, she walked to another
part of the boat, leaving the angry Hampton alone
with his own dark thoughts.

This affair caused some excited discussion among
the passengers—a few, if only for the sake of obstinate
argument, contending that Hampton was right
—but neither he, Colburn, nor Isaline exchanged
another word with each other during the day.

At sunset the three boats were anchored as usual
near the Kentucky shore, in a pleasant little cove,
where, on the lower headland, the shore descended
abruptly, with trees and bushes overhanging the
water, while on the upper bank, as if by some peculiar
freak of nature, an open, level wood stretched
back for some considerable distance. The sun set
in a cloud, which soon spread a thick pall over the
heavens, and the night became so intensely dark that

the shore was completely hidden from the view; but
as no Indians, nor signs of Indians had thus far been
discovered, no one felt much alarm on this account;
and if the occasional howl of a hungry wolf, or
gloomy hooting of an owl, or sharp, tremulous cry
of a loon, did sometimes make the more timid quite
nervous and uneasy, the majority gave little heed
to sounds that they knew as much belonged to the
wilderness as the trees of the forest.

The boat occupied by our voyagers, had been constructed
with a view to the accommodation of passengers.
In its general appearance it was not unlike
a modern scow. The middle portion of it was
roofed over, and the interior was contrived with
stationary and hanging berths, sufficient for the
lodging of the women and children—the men, for
the most part, preferring to camp down in their
blankets wherever the fancy pleased them. A
regular watch was set every night, and such precautions
taken as were considered necessary and
prudent in passing through the country of a savage
enemy. One of the rules laid down by the scouts
was, that no one, except an experienced woodman,
or some one especially under his charge, should be
permitted to land on either shore, either in the
day time or night time; and this regulation being
regarded as one which concerned the safety of all,
no one made the least objection to the imposed restraint;
and therefore all the cooking for the different
parties was done on board, and the boat became as

much a home to the adventurers as they would have
found in a larger vessel upon the great deep.

The evening meal had been prepared and eaten
by the different families and messes, and the women
and children had mostly retired for the night,
when Charles Hampton, who was seated in the forward
part of the boat, brooding over his fancied
wrongs, received a gentle tap on the shoulder. He
started quickly, looked round fiercely, and confronted
the shadowy figure of a man, standing in a skiff
along side of the larger craft, but whose approach
he had not heard.

“Hush!” whispered a voice; “don't be alarmed!
but tell me if you're Charles Hampton?”

Hampton rose, stepped back a pace, laid his hand
upon a pistol, and answered, but in a whisper also:

“I am! And now who are you? and what do
you want?”

“I'm Jim Davis, one of the scouts, and the friend
of Henry Colburn.”

“Well?”

“I'd like you to pick your friend and rifle, and
come along with me!”

“Where to? and for what purpose?”

“Where you can try your skill on a man, instead
of a bird!”

“Oh, I am challenged, them?”

“You're expected to fight. But don't let anybody
hear us talk about it—for if the women get
hold on't it, there'll be the deuce to pay!”

“I don't understand this backwoods way of doing
business!” said Hampton, in a loud tone, as if he
was willing, if not anxious, to have other listeners.
“In my country a man is openly challenged, and his
reply waited for, and he is not asked to sneak off in
the dark, the Lord knows where; and besides, if his
challenger is not his equal, he is at liberty to refuse
a meeting altogether; and moreover he can, if he
accepts, choose his time, place, and weapons, and not
have everything picked out for him by his enemy.”

“Well,” returned the other, “I don't pretend, of
course, to know what every man means who talks in
this here roundabout way; but I reckon I won't be
a great ways from the mark, if I puts you down as
one of them that's much better at fighting with your
tongue nor your rifle—a squaw-man, as the Injuns
say.”

“What means this insolence?”

“Oh, if you're going to bluster, say so! and if
you're a going to fight, say so! for I can do a heap
better with my time nor fool it away with you!”

“I'm willing and ready, at any and all times, to
fight an equal,” said Hampton, assuming a proud,
haughty tone; “but as for giving every upstart and
adventurer a meeting, that is out of the question!”

“I can't say how it is in England,” rejoined Davis,
“but out here, in the wilds of free America, every
man's the equal of every other man, till he does
so thing to disgrace himself, as you're doing now, if

you don't just come along and give the man you
insulted satisfaction.”

“Let him first convince me he is a gentleman, and
then he shall have satisfaction in any manner he
pleases!”

“I'm to understand, then, that you won't fight
Henry Colburn?”

“Under present circumstances, no!”

“Then I'll go back and report what you've said,”
returned Davis.

The next moment the little boat shot away in the
darkness, with so light a dip of the oar that it was
scarcely heard. Thirty paces carried it to one of
the other large boats, where Henry Colburn and his
companions were awaiting the return of their messenger.

“He's a coward, and won't fight!” reported Davis,
as he appeared among his friends.

“I thought as much,” said Henry.

“The —— finiky slink!” growled Rough Tom,
with an oath we need not repeat.

“What's his reason for refusing?” inquired one of
the others.

“He puts on that he's a gentleman, and says
Harry must prove himself one before he'll give
him satisfaction!” replied Davis, who, though not a
man of education, was superior to some of his companions
in the use of language.

“Woofh!” grunted old Tom; “he's a gintleman,
is he? I'll fix him! We've got hosses aboard the

to'ther boat, that keep the niggers busy. They'd
like a little rest, I know. We'll guv 'em help—
we'll send 'em a fresh hand. Ef Mr. Lord Hampton's
a gintleman, he'll know what hosses is; and ef
he backs down from this yere fight, we'll put him
thar, under the niggers, and let him work his passage.”

“One or two of the horses are his own,” said
Henry.

“All the better, then.”

“But you can hardly carry out your threat, Tom.”

“Can't I? Let me alone for that! Jest you go
back, Jim Davis, and tell him what we've fixed on—
that he's eyther got to fight Harry Colburn to-night
by fire-light—fa'r, squar', and stand up, with rifles—
or else we'll turn him into a nigger hostler! Woofh!
I've said it!—me—old Rough Tom—and whar's the
use?”

“I'll not be long in fetching his answer,” said
Davis, who immediately departed on his errand.

In about a quarter of an hour he returned, accompanied
by Charles Hampton himself. As the latter
came aboard the freight-boat, and joined the group
of men who were seated around a small fire kindled
on some sand near the bow, it was observed that his
dark features were deadly pale, that his lips were
so compressed as to drive the blood from them, and
that his black, snaky eyes had a very wicked, murderous
look.

“I have come here,” he said, in a cold, haughty

tone, “almost on compulsion, to answer any demands
that may be made on me. I know I have no friends
among you, and that physically I am unable to resist
your power; but, in the name of civilization, I
demand fair play and the rights of a gentleman!”

There never was a class of rough men more
favorably disposed to the justice of such a claim
than the early pioneers of the West. Fair play was
all they asked for themselves, and what they were
always ready to grant even to an enemy. Whether
he knew it or not, Charles Hampton had luckily
chosen a manner and selected words the best calculated
to excite the sympathy and touch the manhood
of men whose admiration of true courage was only
equalled by their detestation of cowardice; and
though, on his first appearance among them, they
had regarded him with scowls of angry contempt,
they now, one and all, even to Rough Tom, felt disposed
to accord him a certain degree of respect.

“By heavens,” replied Davis, “I'll see you have
fair play as far as I'm concerned!”

“And so we all will!” cried another.

“Yes, young man, I'll sw'ar to 't, even ef you is
a lord, or any other —— foolish finiky—anything,
in fact, cept the cussed, sneaking slink I tuk you
for!” joined in old Tom. “You shall hev a good
rifle, ef I even has to lend you mine, and good
ground too, and a fa'r show; and arter you're killed,
as I 'spect you will be, we'll see that you're put

under ground like a Christian, and not left lying
around loose for the wolves and buzzards to feed on!”

“I am much obliged to you,” returned Hampton,
with a covert sneer; “but if it is all the same to
you, I would rather not be buried just yet; and as
for your rifle, I should not need it, even were I to
use one, seeing that I have one quite as good of my
own. I do not expect this affair to be settled with
rifles, however. I am the challenged party, and as
such, by the code of honor, have a right to name
the weapons, time, and place. Mr. Davis, as you
have so kindly volunteered to see fair play, I call
on you to act as my second!”

“Hold up!” interposed Tom. “Thar's agwine to
be fa'r play, fur that I've swore to; and to hev fa'r
play, thar's got to be rifles!”

“I shall choose pistols,” said Hampton.

“Pistols? bah! woofh! wagh!” cried Tom, with
all the contempt he could express. “Whar's the
use? As well say pop-guns to onct!”

“They are gentlemen's weapons,” rejoined Hampton,
and I am a gentleman. Mr. Davis, as my
friend in this matter, you will speak for me!”

“See he-yar,” roared Tom, with a burst of anger,
“don't come any of your—follumdicum-fiddle-de-diddles
over me, about your gintlemen, pistols, and
them things! Whar's the use? You're on old
Kaintuck waters, now; you insulted your man thar,
and you've got to take Kaintuck rigelations! Boys,
see he-yar!” pursued Tom, more particularly addressing

his companions; “what war all this yere rumpus
about, hey? I'll tell ye. Both of these yere young
fellers shot at a bird, and both claimed they killed
it. Then one insulted t'other afore the woman, for
which he's axed to fight. Ef both is sich good shots
with the rifle, why don't they let the rifle settle it,
hey? It's a Kaintuck we'pon, it's a Varginee we'pon,
it's a backwoods we'pon, and, by —, it's good
enough for anything as wears ha'r!”

This argument settled the point; for all agreed
with the old scout, that the rifle was the only proper
weapon for the occasion—more especially as the
quarrel was directly connected with the use of it.
The next two points to be considered, were time
and place; and for various reasons it was decided
there was no better time than the present, and no
better place than the neighboring forest, beyond the
hearing of the women.

“As I'm to have no voice in the matter, notwithstanding
all your boasted fair play,” said Hampton,
“I may as well prepare myself to be murdered in an
honorable way!”

“You'll hev to take your chance,” answered
Rough Tom; “and ef you're as good with the rifle
as you brag on, I'spect thar'll be two dead men for
us to kiver; but arter the insult you gin Harry Colburn,
thar's nothing to be done 'cept fight him, beg
his pardine afore the women, or git kicked into a
nigger hostler—you kin hev your choice of them
thar three!”

“Lead on, then!” rejoined Hampton; “for sooner
than ask the pardon of an upstart adventurer like
him, I would see myself sunk a thousand fathoms in
the bowels of the earth!”

Henry was within hearing of all this, but he made
no reply, though his lips were observed to compress,
and there was a peculiar gleam of his deep blue eye
that boded no good to his deadly foe.

Everything was soon prepared for the fire-light
duel, and the several parties went ashore in three
small boats, leaving only two men in charge of the
larger ones—all the others, including the boys and
the negroes, having camped down for the night.
Landing on the level—where the wood, as before
mentioned, was open and clear of bushes—they
pushed directly back for nearly half a mile; and
then, with some resinous pine-knots which they had
brought with them, they kindled two fires, about
thirty yards apart. Some distance back of these,
just so that their figures began to grow shadowy, with
the smoking, wavering flames between them, they
stationed Hampton and Colburn. The object of such
an arrangement will readily be perceived. Both of
the young men were quick and deadly marksmen;
and a duel by daylight, with rifles, would give neither
a chance for his life; but the flickering fire-light
would be likely to render the momentary aim of
each uncertain.

All the preliminaries having been settled, the
principals duly placed, and the rifles loaded and put

in hand, the seconds retired a few paces, and Davis
announced that he was to give the word.

The scene was novel, picturesque and impressive.
Here, under one of the long arches of the
grand old forest, with trees of many centuries'
growth around them, stretching upward their huge
trunks like so many mighty pillars for the support
of the leafy canopy above, stood two men, rifles in
hand, prepared to deal out death and receive it, with
two flickering fire-lights between them, casting grim,
ghostly, changing shadows over their pale, determined
faces, seemingly making them scowl and grin
like demons, and flashing out upon the seconds and
the group of borderers standing back watching them,
and pushing uncertain light far out into the mysterious
darkness, filling the fanciful mind with a
weird-like dread and awe. There were a few moments
of deadly silence, during which each felt the
deep solemnity of the place and the occasion; and
then the clear words rung sharply out, and went
echoing and re-echoing far away through the long,
dim, and dark forest aisles, like so many voices calling
to judgment:

“Ready, gentlemen!”

Were they ready for eternity?

The rifles of the two deadly adversaries were instantly
brought into position for the awful work
before them, and each man held his breath, listening
for the signal which might send one or two living
souls beyond the confines of earth and time.

At that awful moment, instead of the expected
signal, the whole forest seemed to resound with a
strange, wild, shrill, prolonged, quavering shriek,
that apparently rose from earth to heaven, and floated,
danced, and died out in mid air. It was fearful
and unearthly, and well calculated to make the
stoutest heart quake and quail. The scouts looked
at each other with faces blanched with terror. They
who could brave the dangers of the wilderness like
heroes, and face death like stoics, trembled and grew
pale before the mystery that stretched out beyond
their mental grasp.

“Good God, save us!” cried old Tom; “it's eyther
the Phantom or the Devil!”

He turned and dashed away through the forest,
and the others followed him, all save Hampton and
Colburn, who still remained on the ground where
their seconds had placed them.

A devilish gleam of triumph now shot over the
dark features of Hampton, amid the fiendish shadows
of the fire-light, as he beheld his rival apparently in
his power.

“I came to kill him, and I will!” he muttered.

He raised his rifle, took a steady aim, and fired.
At that instant Henry chanced to move his head, and
the ball grazed his cheek.

“Villain!” he cried; “it is my turn, now!”

But Hampton gave him no opportunity for a shot.
Finding he had himself failed to bring down his

enemy, he darted behind the nearest tree, and fled
swiftly through the forest, and into that darkness to
which his vile spirit belonged.

What was it that followed him? As he fled,
Henry saw some dark object, in size and form not
unlike a human being, leap down from a tree near
him, and dart away after him, uttering a wild shriek,
similar to that which had so terrified his companions.
The next minute he heard the yell of Hampton, succeeded
by a shriek of his mysterious pursuer. These
sounds were several times repeated, and gradually
died away in the far distance; and then Henry found
himself all alone in the deep, gloomy forest, with
the two flickering fire-lights causing strange, fantastic
shadows to dance all around him. A feeling
of awe and dread now took possession of him, and he
also turned and fled from the eventful scene.