University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Charles determined to seize the first opportunity, both
to propose to his father the reception of friendly visitors
and to expostulate upon the impolicy of occupying so mean
a house.

It was with this bold resolution that he arose the second
morning after his interview with Mr. Schooley, and occupied
the rude seat opposite his father at the morning repast.
Mr. Cameron was not exceeding sixty years of age,
although his bleached locks and profuse grizzly beard
had created the impression that he was much older. His
form was tall and erect, and his frame, though not robust,

was not fragile. His face was very pale, and his eyes
dark, clear, and piercing.

Hugh McSwine moved backward and forward between
the table and the broad fireplace, serving his patron and
his son.

After partaking of the viands in silence, Charles broached
the subject of erecting a better habitation. His motive,
he delicately hinted, was the comfort of his parent, and
not a matter of convenience to himself, for he had been
accustomed to the rude wigwam of the children of the
forest. And he regretted that his indulgent parent had
not used a portion, if not the whole, of the money expended
on him at college, in the erection of a better tenement.

“Do you suppose, my son,” said Mr. Cameron, “that
this is to be your permanent abiding-place?”

“No, father. Yet the woods, the rocks, the streams,
and the skies, here, are no doubt quite as pleasant as elsewhere,
and I could soon become attached to them and feel
that this was my home. But it has ever seemed to me that
I was destined to mingle in more stirring scenes than those
likely to occur in this quiet valley. I have dreamed of
going forth to battle—”

“Nature—NATURE, sir!” said McSwine.

“Peace, Hugh!” said Mr. Cameron.

“But when I returned, it was to some such place as this,
surrounded by crags and deep impenetrable forests.”

“And such may be thy destiny. But, until you shall
have returned in safety, where is the necessity of a better
house? If you did not return to inhabit it, it would be
tenanted by strangers.”

“It would be occupied by you, sir. Oh, I assure you, I
feel many a bitter pang after lying long on my sleepless
couch, imagining I have achieved honours in battles or
science, to revert in thought to the mean hut which shelters
the head of my parent. If we are poor in purse, still
McSwine and myself have strong arms, and there is abundance
of material, both wood and stone.”

“I might have a better house, Charles. There is gold
sufficient in my chest to build one. But wherefore? I am
comfortable, and have my health. I could convince you
that my abode would be less agreeable in a better house,
and will do so very soon.”

“But, sir, this hut is made the subject of contemptuous
remark by the people.”

“I know it. I desired it.”

“Will you not tell me why such was your desire?”

“Not now; but soon.”

Charles then delivered the message from Mr. Schooley,
and repeated the request that a meeting might be had at
an early day.

A startling frown darkened the pale brow of his father;
but it vanished when he learned the object of the Quaker's
pursuit was merely gold, and a smile of derision parted his
lips.

“Ah!” said he, “the Quakers retain but a limited portion
of the Old Testament. The command that `thou shalt
have none other Gods but me' is received with certain
reservations, according to the monitions of the spirit. But,
less wise than the Indians, it may be doubted sometimes
whether they know the difference between the promptings
of the Kacha and the Malcha Manito.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” was heard in guttural sounds.

“Peace, Hugh!” said Mr. Cameron. “It is the same
thing throughout the earth. Many men make choice of a
religion for their worldly convenience rather than their
eternal welfare. But this prying Quaker, and the cupidity
of the idle gossips of the country, would fill my poor house
and overrun the premises. I will see him, however, under
the elm at the margin of the brook, and treat with him as
the savages did with Penn; only, he must offer me no gaudy
presents.”

“I will inform him, sir. But, father, may I ask why it
was, when I mentioned the request of Mr. Schooley, your
brow contracted and your frame seemed agitated?”

“You may,” said his father, after a long pause. “There
could be no better time than the present, perhaps, to make
known to you—”

“Right!” exclaimed McSwine, clapping his hands.

“Peace, Hugh! Close the door and barricade it,” said
the old man; and then, turning to his son, while Hugh
lighted a torch, (for no particle of the glittering sunlight
now penetrated the hut,) he proceeded:—“Charles, you
have no doubt met with many of your name and country.
There are hundreds of them driven forth by tyranny from

their native soil and dispersed over the world. Did you
not learn from the books in the college library, or from
Dr. Witherspoon, that there was once a race of lords of
this clan, each of whom led to battle a thousand followers?”

“I did, sir. And the doctor referred to them in the
last conversation I had with him. He told me to be worthy
of my name.”

“A noble, a glorious name and lineage!” exclaimed
McSwine.

“Be silent, faithful Hugh!” said his master. “He advised
thee well, my son.”

“But, father, can it be possible that I am a lineal descendant
of the lords of the clan Cameron?”

“It is. You are the last of the line in more respects
than one.”

“How, sir?” cried Charles. “Was not the `Gentle
Lochiel,' as his prince called him, stricken down on the
fatal field of Culloden, as had been predicted by the Highland
seer?”

“He was stricken down, but rose again; and the seer
spoke falsely.”

“The seer said he would die at the stake,” said McSwine,
despondingly; “and it may yet come to pass.”

“Peace, Hugh!” said his master.

“Then he must be living still,” said Charles.

“He does,” said his father. “After the escape from that
fatal field, he entered the service of the King of France.
He fought against the armies of the British tyrant both in
Europe and America.”

“America!” said Charles. “Am I—can I—”

“Thou art his son. I am Lochiel!”

Charles threw his arms round his father's neck, and long
remained silent.

“Yes,” continued his father, gently disengaging himself,
“I am the Gentle Lochiel, and thou art my son. But know
you not there is a price upon my head? A reward of a
thousand guineas was offered for my arrest, and it has not
been revoked.”

“But, father, George II. has descended to the tomb, and
surely the decree would not now be enforced if you were
apprehended.”

“You know not that. My brother returned to Scotland,
many years after the battle of Culloden, for the treasure
of the family he had secreted. He obtained it, and it was
transmitted to me in Paris. But he lingered in Scotland,
supposing the enmity of the usurpers might be extinguished.
He was arrested — executed! He and I were
among the proscribed, and were already condemned to
death. No trial was accorded him. The king had only to
sign the death-warrant, which was done, while he uttered
hollow regrets—merely enticements, hoping I, too, would
return to the land of my fathers. His crown sat uneasily
on his head while an honest chieftain asserted that he had
no title to it! But enough of that. When peace was
made, I did not return with my regiment to Europe, because
the Indians had stolen my son. I sought you and
found you. But then the last of the royal Stuarts had
been arrested and conveyed from Paris by the orders of
Louis, and I resigned my commission, (which was not accepted,)
resolved to bestow an education on my son and die
in some peaceful seclusion. Now you know the reason of
my standing aloof from society. The thousand guineas
would induce many a wretch to cut short my existence.
You need not frown. You could not prevent it, but you
might avenge me.”

“I will be avenged upon King George!” said Charles.

“I know thou wouldst, my son,” said the old man. “I
know you would contribute to sever this vast country from
his empire. It will be lost to him and his line forever without
our instrumentality. Such is the decree of Providence,
who rewards or punishes every good or evil action. But
more of that hereafter. Let it suffice that I have ample
intelligence of the great political events, and can, from my
obscure hut, notwithstanding the umbrage I conceived,
wield no mean influence at the court of Versailles. As for
thee, thou art already, I fear, entangled in the silken fetters
of love—”

“I, father?”

“I think so. What think you, Hugh?”

“Gone! noosed!” said McSwine, grimly smiling.

“And, pray, how was such information obtained?” demanded
Charles, with a burning blush suffusing his face.

“Ha! ha! Ask Solo!” said McSwine.

“Solo? Ha! were you in the thicket that night?”

“I was,” replied the shaggy, broad-shouldered Scot.

“Beware how you dog my trail, McSwine!” said the
indignant youth. “If my tomahawk had been in my
belt, your brains might have manured the roots of the
brambles!”

“It was not without my permission, Charles. But the
lady, as I have learned—”

“As you have learned, father?”

“Oh, yes. The mode of obtaining my intelligence is no
doubt sufficiently mysterious; but it is ample and reliable.
I say I am gratified to learn the lady is altogether worthy
of the son of Lochiel. I shall not oppose the union, when
the time arrives for its consummation, should I survive to
see it,—for the event cannot transpire immediately. It will
be obstructed by others, and in the mean time I may be
seized and led to the block.”

“Never!” said Charles. McSwine pointed significantly
toward the dying embers on the hearth.

“I understand you, Hugh,” said the old man, smiling.
“Charles shall know all. Follow me, my son,” he continued,
lifting the torch, and striding toward the broad
fireplace, that had been apparently cut from the solid rock,
being a portion of the perpendicular cliff against which the
hut was constructed. After removing the soot on one side
of the rock, and introducing a strong iron bar into an orifice
hitherto concealed, the entire rear wall, in one piece,
began to swing forward on hidden hinges, like the ponderous
door of a vault. The torch was then extinguished, and
Charles was amazed to behold the subdued rays of the sun
falling across the passage revealed within.

In silence he followed his father, and the next moment
was standing in an elegant room, with an arched ceiling,
through which the rays of the sun were streaming in a
hundred places. The floor was strewn with rushes, and
in the corners were several couches covered with velvet.
The walls were hung with Gobelin tapestry, commemorating
events in the history of Scotland and France. A small
ebony table on one side was covered with books richly
bound; and on the other, supported by a small stand, was
an open Bible and an Episcopal prayer-book. In the
centre of the room gurgled a stream of transparent water,

which filled a pool hollowed in the rock, and then flowed
out at the side by a channel cut in the floor. In the pool
disported a number of speckled trout, seemingly familiar
with the presence of man.

“This is not the work of enchantment,” said the exiled
chief, gazing at the surprised countenance of his son, “but
partly of these hands. It is never good to be idle. While
Hugh tilled the soil and you were at college, it was my
daily task to excavate the rock and provide a refuge. You
may learn from this the magnitude of results obtained by
incessant application, however slow the progress. If the
idea be conceived, unceasing application will sooner or later
accomplish the end. But you have not seen all.” He
then led the way into two smaller rooms, some ten feet
square, and both likewise illuminated by rays of the sun
struggling through small fissures. In one of these rooms—
the centre one, for they were in a suite, after the plan of the
palaces in France—were arranged a great number of warlike
implements. In the farthest was the wardrobe and
the treasure, the latter secured in a strong iron-bound
oaken chest. The lid was lifted, and Charles beheld
several bags of coin. There were also costly jewels, and
pieces of massy plate, the presents of princes and the heirlooms
of the family.

“This is thy heritage,” said the exile. “If it please
thee to build a finer house, have thy will; but thy father
will still abide in his stronghold.”

“No, sir!” said Charles, with firmness. “Every thing
shall be subject to thy will—not mine. Thou wert right in
constructing such an abode. And, if I were thee, I would
not see Mr. Schooley, nor satisfy the curiosity of prying
neighbours. Permit me, sir, to turn back all intruders.
Against me no accusation can be brought; but some one
whom thou hast met in foreign lands might recognise thy
features.”

“No, no. Hugh will watch and guard the premises.
He is faithful. And they may not know me. I had no
exuberance of beard, and my hair was dark, until thou wast
stolen. No, no! there is no danger now; and I will see
this Quaker under the elm. No doubt they believe I find
gold in the cliff, since they must have observed the dust
from my excavations swept away by the freshets. Let us

return to the humble hut. Hasten to thy friend, and say
I will see him.”

Charles was impatient to deliver the answer of his father,
but paused near the door of the hut, and carefully surveyed
the premises. The hut, as we have said, was built against
a perpendicular portion of the cliff. It was where the
range had been divided at right angles by one of the narrow
ravines that opened into the larger valley, which ran parallel
with the principal ridge. Thus the tenement was above
the reach of high-water, and the rooms excavated in the
rock received their light from the many perforations in the
cliff fronting on the largest stream, and were quite inaccessible
to any one without. There were a few well-cultivated
acres on one side of the small brook, on which were
a rude stable and cow-house. And in this manner the
recluse lived in security and independence.

Charles directed his steps toward the abode of Julia
with feelings very different from any he had hitherto experienced.
His hatred of the king became inextinguishably
violent, and he was glad he had resisted the artful
suggestions of Governor Franklin.

When he drew near the house, Paddy addressed him.

“What is it, Paddy?” he asked, pausing near the garden.

“Nothing matarial, Misther Charles, only we've no
wathermelons in Ireland, and, as I niver seed 'em grow, I
can't ricognise thim whin I mate them face to face. They
tould me they growed among the savages, and I thought
you might be famaliar with 'em, and would be oblaging
enough to say which is which.”

“That is a watermelon-vine at your elbow, Paddy,” said
Charles, laughing very heartily.

“Be my life, I thought so, though I niver saw one before.”

“But you are cultivating it in a most singular way,”
continued Charles, much diverted on finding the imported
gardener had driven a long stake in the ground and
wrapped the vine around it.

“I shouldn't wonder, Mr. Charles; for what is right
in a savilized country is wrong in sich a wild place as this.
And it reminds me of the corn Lord Bute, whose gardener
my father was, tried to raise in Scotland. His lordship
tasted the laves of the bush, and they cut his tongue. He
had thim biled, like granes, and tasted thim sasoned, but

threw thim to the pigs. Well, Mr. Charles, the great philosopher,
Franklin, the nathural father of the prisent
governor of this colony, was there, looking on, laughing
and whaspering something to her ledyship. At last he
hinted that the ear ought to be biled and aten, as it was
done in America. `Och,' said his lordship, `is that the
way? I thought the grane was the sade, and not to be aten,
but planted.”'

“Paddy,” said Charles, “when the Indians get you, if
you tell them that tale it may save your scalp.”

“I wouldn't spind my breath on such blackguards,” was
Paddy's reply, as he proceeded to detach the vines from
the poles, and muttering something about the “falthiness”
of permitting fruit to grow on the ground.

Mr. Schooley and Mr. Green did not delay when informed
that Mr. Cameron would receive them. They mounted
their horses and trotted briskly away. And, while Mrs.
Schooley's foot was in rapid motion at the little wheel,
furnishing the threads for the loom, Julia and Charles
wandered away toward the grove near the end of the lane.

On one side of the lane, Richard and the negroes were
at work planting the late corn.

“I suppose, Julia,” said Richard, his hoe suspended in
the air, as the couple passed slowly along, “thou hast
been telling thy friend about our claim to the land. Thou
mayest promise, if there be much gold in the cliff, that a
share of it shall remain for his father.”

“Oh, pray don't be too liberal, friend Richard,” said
Charles. “My father don't value gold as much as you do
the common dust; and as for me, no doubt Julia will speak
kindly in my behalf.”

“Do so, Julia,” said Richard; “and whatever thou dost
promise will be approved by me.”

The amused couple pursued their way, and never paused
until they reached the great sycamore on the margin of a
trout-brook at the eastern extremity of the farm. Here
they sat upon a moss-covered stone partly buried in the
soil, placed there, perhaps, by human hands, to mark the
spot of a battle between hostile tribes of the forest.
Animals, arrows, and birds, were cut on one side of its
surface. On the other, and almost illegible, were rude
figures of men wielding the tomahawk and scalping-knife,

besides many nondescript marks and characters. Charles
read the meaning, and not only understood the number of
warriors that had been engaged, but the name of the tribe
which had conquered. He could not tell when the conflict
had taken place, but it was evidently at a remote
period.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, upon lifting his eyes and beholding
recently-made figures on the smooth bark of the sycamore,
“a Seneca chief has been here within the last
twenty-four hours!”

“And with an evil intent, think you?” asked Julia,
with emotion, observing the excited gaze of the young
man.

“I fear so, Julia,” said he. “He threatens us. Do
you not see the serpent winding round the eagle, and the
arrow piercing the antelope?”

“And they call you the White Eagle and I the Antelope!
Why should they threaten us?”

“They would have me with them again. And they suppose
the Antelope withholds me from returning to the
Brown Thrush, the sister of Thayendanegea.'

“And perhaps she loves you!”

“She called me brother.”

“But I have learned that the white captives often marry
their brown sisters.”

“True. But I will never do so.”

“But does she not love thee?”

“She does. But what then?”

“Fly to her!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Julia, I love only thee, and will remain.”

“You never said so before,” replied the girl, after a long
pause.

“But I have long felt it, and you could not have been
wholly ignorant of it. Even Shawuskukhkung, who came
hither with me, and is now on the lakes, pleading with his
kindred to remain at peace, observed it. Mr. Livingston
suspected it; and now I avow it. Oh, do not drive me
back to the wild forest! I never regarded the Brown
Thrush otherwise than as a dear sister. Do not drive me
away. I am not the outcast they suppose. My father is

of gentle blood. Only permit me to love thee, and let thy
friendship continue, and that is all I will require, until a
proper time arrives for me to claim your hand in the face
of the world.”

“Charles, you know I have ever esteemed you; but I
cannot promise.”

“Not promise to continue your friendship? to ramble
with me as usual over the hills and through the valleys?
—to—”

“Oh, I think I may promise that—but—”

“That is all I ask at this time. I know that, until you
arrive at a certain age, your guardian has power over you.
This both himself and Mrs. Schooley have repeatedly assured
me.”

“He possesses the power of withholding my fortune until
I arrive at a certain age, if I marry without his consent.
That is all. But I promised my father to be guided by
his advice until I had attained my majority, and, you
know, long years must elapse before the fulfilment of that
period.”

“True. But the time will come. I asked nothing but
a continuance of your friendly regard until a proper moment
arrived for me to apply to your guardian. There was one
other thing, however:—that you would make no pledge,
under any circumstances, to Richard.”

“To Richard! Do you know the Quakers must marry
within the society?”

“I know it; and I know also there are many ways of
whipping the devil round the stump.”

“They would not attempt to whip me; but surely you
could not mean such a thing.”

“No, certainly not; the allusion was to the Malcha
Manito, which may sometimes be mistaken for the Good
Spirit in one's breast; and, according to the Quaker doctrine,
its monitions might be the highest decrees—higher
than any human laws. But you do not promise!”

“I do, Charles! And let it be a solemn compact!”

“Solemnly between us!” said Charles, pressing her
hand against his heart. “For, Julia, the time may come
when we must be separated,—when I may be a captive, or
an outlaw with a price upon my head; for I will never
draw sword or wield tomahawk in behalf of King George.

[ILLUSTRATION]

CHARLES AND JULIA SURPRISED BY MOODY—P. 55.

[Description: 622EAF. Illustration page. Image of a startled man and woman facing a rough-looking man with a rifle.]

Mr. Livingston, Mr. Stockton, Doctor Witherspoon, and
most of the leading characters, will resist the tyranny of
the king. And my father says that when a rebellion is
headed by the great personages of a country, after due
deliberation and formal confederation, the people must
win their freedom.”

“The devil he does!” said a broad-chested, red-haired
man, of vigorous step and scowling features, who came
from the opposite side of the huge sycamore and confronted
the unsuspecting pair.

“Who are you?” demanded Charles, leaping up and
grasping his tomahawk, which he had carried in his belt
after hearing the history of his father.

“I am a loyal subject of King George III., and you are
a rebel!”

“And you have been eavesdropping? But you shall
not repeat what you have heard!” And the youth hurled
his tomahawk at the head of the intruder. Julia uttered
a scream at the moment, and strove to defeat his aim.
She was successful. The instrument penetrated the tree
several inches above the mark, and remained firmly fixed
in the wood.

“Now is my time!” said the stranger, pale and quivering;
for the assault had evidently not been anticipated, and
he had made but a hairbreadth escape.”

“Nay! do not fire!” exclaimed Julia, throwing her
slight form between his rifle and her lover. “I saved thy
life,” she continued, “and you shall not take his without
first killing me!”

“I believe you would die to save him,” said the stranger,
lowering his gun. “But you must teach him better manners
than to throw his tomahawk at every one he meets,
and before he learns whether they are his friends or his
foes.”

“Sir, you could not be the first,” said Charles; “and I
defy thee still, although unarmed.”

“Merely because I happened to hear the words you
were speaking to this maiden? Know, sir, that the tree is
hollow, the entrance being on the opposite side. I was in
it before you came hither.”

“And what were you doing there?”

“I will tell you, seeing you have no secrets from me.

Know, then, that I, too, can read the picture-writing as
well as yourself — nay, better, for I understood by the
figures that the Seneca chief would return in a few hours.
I fell asleep awaiting him, and was awakened by you. I
know you both, and will not retain the advantage. I am
Bonnel Moody, at your service, and bear a commission in
the service of the king. And I am now on duty, being
sent hither by one of the royal governors to ascertain the
sentiments of the people.”

“And you have learned the sentiments of one of them,”
said Charles, smiling.

“But sentiments change, like the seasons; and, when
you hear what I have been charged to speak to Mr.
Schooley, perhaps your opinions may be modified. My
mission is to spread information as well as to obtain it; to
conciliate, rather than to incense. Hence, I trust there
will be no further strife between us.”

“I thank you for those words, Mr. Moody,” said
Julia.

“And fear not that I will repeat the speeches I have
heard, unless forced to do so in the discharge of my duty,”
continued the intruder, with a slight smile.

“I warn you, sir!” said Charles. “Utter but one word
you have heard, and we are deadly enemies forever. Let
us return, Julia. You still tremble.”

Charles had not gone many paces before he was overtaken
by Moody.

“Take your tomahawk, sir,” said Moody, placing the
glittering hatchet in the hand of the youth. “You have
a strong arm, sir. I could hardly loosen it. And, as the
maiden may not always be present when we meet, I hope
it will never be aimed at the same target again. Let us
be friends.”

“It cannot be. Avoid my path, and I will not seek
yours.”

“It must be as you decide,” said Moody, gravely. “But
I may keep your company until we arrive at the house,
since I have important messages for Mr. Schooley.”

“He is not at home, sir,” said Julia. “He and Mr.
Green have visited Mr. Cameron, Charles's father.”

“The old man of the gold-mine? Then I will join
them there; and I know a nearer way than through the

lane. A fair morning to you both,” he continued, bowing
very low, and striding through the wood in a divergent
direction.

“And be careful that you do not again play the eavesdropper,”
said Charles; “for Hugh McSwine has a sharp
tusk.”

“Do not irritate him, Charles!” said Julia, clinging
with increased tenacity to his arm.

“Julia,” said Charles, in a sad tone, “that man is the
only witness to our vows.”

“No, Charles. One in heaven heard them! They say
such vows are registered in heaven, and there is no reason
to doubt it. And if it be so, it must be a grievous thing to
break them! I hope you made no similar pledges to the
sister of the Mohawk chief.”

“Indeed, no, Julia. And she will acquit me of it; but
she knows not of my regard for you. She is meek and
forgiving, and seldom swayed by passion; but her brother
is sometimes fierce and furious. He loves me, but
would kill me rather than lose me; but we must be
separated.”

“And will he not kill you?”

“Not if I can help it. But he is patient, too, at times,
and prudent and wise, as well as affectionate. He is only
terrible when in one of his ungovernable spasms. He still
hopes I will return and marry his sister; and I do not
think he would listen to the words of this Moody, if he
were to repeat what he heard at the sycamore.” In this
manner they conversed until they were joined by Richard,
who, having faithfully done a half-day's work, was repairing
to the house for his dinner.