University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

The party were soon remounted, and resumed the
flight at a brisker pace than ever. Charles rode at the
side of Julia, a little in advance of the rest, and their
course was over the eminence in the plain where they had
at first discovered the Indians.

Julia was very pale, for she had seen the dead Scots
placed on the horses; and, as they still bled quite freely,
Charles directed them to be kept behind, that no traces of
their gore might be seen in their path.

“Miss Julia,” said Paddy, who had been riding just behind,
expatiating on his feats to Mr. Jones, who listened
carelessly, singing one of the thanksgiving psalms of
David, “I was the last man who shot an Indian. I was
before all the rest of our men when the savages fled away.
I was down on me face—”

“Down, Paddy?” asked Julia, in surprise.

“Yes, be jabers! down, and almost sculped! A dead
chafe was lying across me—”

“Paddy, are you really in earnest?'

“Arnest, is it? Raal arnest! Isn't it, Misther Charles?”

“That part is true,” said Charles, with a slight smile.
“Kenton had broken the Indian's head as he stooped down
to scalp Paddy, whom he supposed to be dead. And I, too,
at first supposed you were gone, Paddy, and am rejoiced
to find it was a mistake.”

“And so am I, upon me sowl! But it was me who
caused the blackguard savage to make the mistake, and
that was the raison of his death; and I may dacently say
I killed him. Yes, Miss Julia, he fell upon me, and he lay
on my stomach as heavy as a nightmare. I couldn't move
hand or fut. Then prisently the others came and lifted
him off; and one of the blackguards had the impidence to
saze me by the fut, and pull me toward the bushes to

sculp me—och, murther!” cried Paddy, placing his hand
on his head. “But I sent him sprawling in the laves with
a kick, and he let go his holt; and I'm sure he was as pale
as ashes at the thought of a dead man kicking him. Then
I pulled up my pisthol and fired at the whole crowd o' 'em,
and that was the last gun shot off in the battle.”

“And so you were the last to fire, Paddy,” said Julia.

“The last to fire, is it? Yes—that is,—I mane,—och,
now, Miss Julia, don't be afther saying that same! And,
if it's true I didn't shoot before, I was down flat on me
face, wid no tra before me and in full view of the whole
army of savages. And didn't Mr. Kenton tell me to lie
still, and if I budged they'd raddle me with their bullets?”

“What caused you to fall, Paddy?” asked Julia, her
curiosity somewhat excited.

“Och, murther! And to-be-sure it was one of their ondacent
bullets. I was jist paaping from behint the root of
the tra, and one of the blackguards had the ill-manners to
aim his rifle at me head. The bullet, I suppose, would have
hit me atwane the eyes if I hadn't dodged. As it was, it
struck the top o' me cap, and cut off me cone-tail be the
roots!”

“And did that make you fall?”

“Didn't it? Miss Julia, you were niver shot in that
way, I know, or you wouldn't ask the question. I was
stunned, and fell down and rolled over. And the savage
who kilt me, not saaing Mr. Kenton near by, ran out to
snatch me sculp. Then Mr. Kenton missed cutting his
tail away and struck him in the forehead. Down he fell
as dead as a door-nail. And then the battle began in
arnest, fighting over his worthless corpse and over Paddy's
body! And that's the truth of it, Miss Julia, and I hope
it'll be in the London papers. I'm covered all over wid
blood, and I've jist come out of the thickest of the fight.
And here's the hill where we first saw the inemy. Murther!
Och, Lord!” cried he, darting past Charles and
Julia, and evincing the greatest terror on beholding an Indian
child crouching in the tall grass near the path.

“The poor infant,” said Charles, pausing, “has been
placed there by its mother, not supposing we would pass in
this direction.”

“Poor thing!” said Julia. “See how still it is. Paddy's

horse has thrown dust in its face, and yet it does not
cry.”

“No,” said Charles. “Like the young partridge, it
remains in silence where its mother placed it. It is not
two years old, and yet would bite your finger if you attempted
to seize it. We will pass on. But I will assure
its mother of its safety.” And he did so, in a loud voice,
in the Indian dialect. A moment after, the mother, who
had been lying concealed only a few paces apart, in a small
chasm, sprang forward, seized the child, and fled toward
the woods.

“For shame, Paddy!” cried Julia, seeing the valorous
Indian-fighter aim his pistol at the flying woman and pull
the trigger.

“Och, it's not loaded, Miss Julia,” said he. “I didn't
know if there mightn't be others with guns and tomahawks
all around us. Misther Charles knows they can hide in
grass not an inch long. And sure you won't belave it
was the baby that made me dodge. It was the twinty
warriors I didn't know but there might be hid and aiming
at us.” And Paddy hastily rejoined the Rev. Mr. Jones,
and listened in silence to the song he had never ceased to
articulate during the incident of the Indian infant and its
mother.

“This is a specimen of life in the wild woods, Julia,”
said Charles, “such as you have heard related during winter
evenings before the cheerful fire. But you find it not so
pleasant as you anticipated.”

“If it were only relieved of its dangers—its butcheries!”
said the pale girl, with a faint smile. “Still, it would be
no sport that a poor maiden should voluntarily witness;
but captives must submit to circumstances. I hope there
will be no more slaughter. Do you think there will be
more fighting?”

“It is probable. But we shall be able to repel any
attack. I do not think they have exceeding twenty warriors
at Chillicothe capable of pursuing us. They are still
killing buffalo.”

“And Mr. Kenton, I learn, has deprived them of their
best horses. But, if twenty pursue, and unite with as
many others on the battle-ground we are leaving, still they
will greatly exceed us in number.”

“But we shall surpass them in skill. Boone and Kenton
are equal to twenty ordinary warriors. Then there is
Hugh McSwine! Oh, Julia, he is terrible in battle, and
slays his foe with the keenest delight. Some one dear to
him must have been a victim: he seems actuated by an insatiable
thirst for blood.”

“And have you not killed some of them, Charles?”
asked Julia.

“No. I am sure I did not; and I hope it may never
be necessary for me to do so. They will follow us, however,
and probably more blood will flow. If we had none
of their horses, they might abandon the pursuit when they
learn we have been the victors in the first battle.”

“Then why not leave them?” asked Julia.

“I should have no objection. But the rest would never
consent. Yet we shall reach the river in safety. We
cannot conceal our trail; but there are many narrow
ravines suited for ambuscades, and our foes will be very
circumspect and tardy in the pursuit. And these exciting
perils, Julia, will make our narrative the more interesting
when, in old age, we sit by the blazing hearth, of winter
evenings, and describe them. You must keep a journal,
beginning with your capture and ending with our nuptials!”

The maiden blushed, but did not chide him; and she
determined, if she escaped death in the wilderness, to preserve
in writing a narrative of her adventures. This she
did in letters to Kate Livingston and in a journal which
we have been permitted to read and transcribe.

“Mercy on us! What is that?” asked Julia, hearing
an awful sound, when they had proceeded only a mile or
two from the scene of the recent conflict.

“Murther!” cried Paddy, spurring forward. “We shall
have to fight agin. I know that voice!”

“Ah!” said Julia, “I recognise it too. It is Peter
Shaver's ass, scenting the blood of the slain. Our pursuers
have arrived!”

“They will be likely to pause at the scene of the recent
action,” said Charles, “when they learn its disastrous
result. And Peter is among them. No doubt he had
sense enough to escape killing by denouncing us and offering
to join our enemies. But he will do no injury, and he

must not be fired at if he appears within range of our
rifles. He will desert to us the first opportunity.”

A shot was heard fired by one of the party who had
lingered behind. This attracted no especial notice at the
time. But soon after Hugh McSwine and Skippie (the
latter still having the bundle he had brought from New
Jersey) came up at full gallop; and Skippie, pausing an
instant near Charles, said—

“He did!”

“Who?” demanded Charles.

“Hugh.”

“It was his gun, then. And Hugh never misses his
mark.”

“No. Got the scalp.”

Charles turned his head and beheld Hugh, some few
paces behind, stretching a scalp on a hazel-hoop as he rode
along.

“This is horrible!” said Julia, pale and shrinking, for
she comprehended all, and had even glanced at the bloody
Hugh. And, besides, the ass of Peter Shaver was still
faintly heard in the distance.

Boone came forward and pointed to some dim and distant
heights before them, which were joyfully announced as
the northern barriers of the Ohio River. There was, however,
no assurance that they could elude their pursuers and
pass the broad stream in safety. A raft would have to be
constructed; the weather must be calm, and the water
smooth, before they might venture to embark.

These difficulties and contingencies being apparent to
Boone and Kenton, a hasty consultation was held, as they
proceeded at a smart pace; and it was determined by the
majority—and Hugh McSwine, of course, voted with the
majority—that they would fight another battle. Charles
saw the necessity of repelling their pursuers, but did not
urge it.

They were now arrived at the beginning of a series of
narrow ravines running between lofty hills, and here it was
resolved to rebuke the foe. It was in the second of these
ravines the first ambuscade was formed, it being deemed
good policy to embolden their pursuers by permitting them
to pass through the first in safety.

The men were stationed in places of concealment behind

detached rocks and under evergreen bushes, commanding
the path through the narrow defile. The Rev. Mr.
Jones, although he had no special objection to fighting the
heathen in defence of his Christian friends, yet thought it
proper, in view of his peaceful calling, to ride forward and
remain with Julia during the carnage. But, before doing
so, he made one of his characteristic prayers in presence
of the assembled party, and the Scotchmen, particularly,
responded with a loud “Amen!”

Not more than an hour had elapsed before the foremost
of the savages came in view. They had passed through
the first valley in safety, and did not seem to apprehend an
ambush in the second one. Kenton recognised the owner
of his steed in the foremost Indian, who seemed to be
pointing at the foot-prints of his horse, which he could
doubtless distinguish from the rest. They came in a long
file, not more than two abreast, and the foremost of them
were suffered to pass the concealed whites before the word
was given to fire. Then a volley, consisting, by prearrangement,
of but one-half the rifles, was discharged.
Never were savages more completely surprised. They
sprang in every direction, hoping to elude the aim of their
foes. “Ugh! ho! yough!” were uttered by some, and by
others the anglicism “Dern!” And yet, as Boone and
Kenton were among those who had reserved their fire for
the second discharge, only two or three fell under the aim
of the Scots, and one, of course, by the fatal lead of Hugh
McSwine. Most of the men had fired too high.

At the second discharge five or six fell, killed and
wounded, and the rest fled precipitately, yelling terrifically,
and without striking a blow.

The whites did not pursue them, nor even scalp their
fallen victims, but resolved without delay to resume their
march toward the Ohio River. One of the Indians, however,
(whom Kenton recognised,) had sprung forward between
them and the place where Julia had been deposited.
They had not aimed at him, because he was the foremost of
the party and separated from the rest.

This Indian soon came to where the horses had been
placed, in a little nook out of range of the rifles. Paddy
had charge of them, and, not scanning the savage closely,
supposed him to be Kenton; and they really resembled

each other in stature, and were costumed and painted
similarly.

“Mr. Kenton,” said Paddy, “and is it all over so soon?
But what have ye done wid yer gun?” The Indian had
thrown down his rifle, and his tomahawk had fallen from
his belt as he plunged through the ravine.

“Dern!” said the Indian. “My hoss! Kenton d—
hoss-steal! A white-man tief!” and he proceeded, with all
the haste in his power, to mount one of the horses ere
Paddy could recover his presence of mind. Hearing the
whites returning, the savage dashed away, and was no sooner
out of sight, having turned an abrupt angle of rocks, than
Paddy fired his pistol; and a few moments after the Rev.
Mr. Jones's pistol was heard.

“Och, ye cowards!” cried Paddy, meeting the party
returning. “Or did you mane to let that big blackguard
savage come to me on purpose?”

“What have you done with him?” asked Hugh.

“Where's my horse?” shouted Kenton, seeing his best
steed was no longer with the rest of the animals.

“The blackguard savage mounted him! And, as St.
Pater is my judge, I thought it was you. But you naadn't
fume and fret about it, Misther Kenton! Paddy's the boy
to fax the prowling red thieves. Didn't ye hear me
pisthol?”

“I heard two,” said Charles.

“It was only the acho,” said Paddy, “which desaved
ye. I peppered him!”

“Where is he?” asked Boone.

“And where's my horse?” demanded Kenton.

“Be aisy, Misther Bone. If that is a spare rifle you
have,” (he had picked up the Indian's,) “plase let me have
it. This pisthol won't kill at wanst. I shat the varmint
through the lungs, but he won't fall for a few manutes, and
thin we'll git yer horse agin, Misther Kenton.”

Kenton uttered a fierce malediction, while the rest only
vented peals of laughter, and the whole party hastened
toward the jutting rock where the Indian had disappeared
before Paddy fired.

“Good!” cried Kenton, his face wreathed in smiles, as
he beheld his fine steed standing near the place where Julia
had awaited the issue of the strife. “And there's the yellow

rascal who stole him,” he continued, seeing Mr. Jones
gazing at the prostrate Indian, who lay perfectly motionless
in the path, while the horse stood over him, snorting,
with distended nostrils, arched neck, and eyes flashing
fearfully.

“I told you so, be jabers!” cried Paddy, running forward.
“Didn't I say me pisthol had done his basiness?”

“I have no taste for such exercises,” said Mr. Jones;
“and I would not be sorry if it could be made to appear
that it was not my ball which smote the heathen.”

“Yer ball? Did ye say yer bullet? And did ye shoot
at him too, Mr. Jones?”

“I held out my weapon and pulled the trigger. He
fell.”

“And have you forgotten how it was when ye shot the
turkey? And was not the report of yer pisthol but the
revarberation of mine?”

“Unluckily, Paddy,” said Charles, blowing the smoke
from the barrel of the reverend gentleman's weapon, “Mr.
Jones's pistol is empty this time, and yet warm from the
recent discharge.”

“And warm is it from the racent discharge? And
mine is cowld, because it was discharged first. And are not
our bullets of the same size? And would any blackguard
Indian fall, after being kilt by a pisthol, before riding
some distance? I shall claim the credit of killing him meself,
in spite of your inganious argyments. And I'll sculp
him too!”

But when he laid hold of the Indian, finding he still
breathed, he sprang back in alarm and begged the loan of
a rifle or tomahawk to dispatch him.

“No!” said Julia, advancing, pale and tearful, “do not
imitate the savages. Rather set them an example of forbearance
and humanity!”

“He is not dead, and will immediately recover,” said
Boone, finding that the ball had glanced from his temple,
having only stunned him. This proved true; and, after
the lapse of a few minutes, the Indian was so far recovered
as to be able to ride one of the horses—a silent, sullen
captive.

The party now urged forward their steeds, and soon
entered another narrow ravine. This they passed through

without halting, and continued their journey toward the
river.

They knew that considerable time would be consumed by
their pursuers in burying their dead, and that they would
hesitate long before plunging into the next defile. Hence
they hoped to escape further molestation.

During the afternoon they arrived on the northern bank
of the Ohio; and many of them cast longing looks at the
opposite shore, which once attained, it was the general
supposition they would be in a place of safety. But Boone
and Kenton would not consent to the prevalent desire of
the less experienced to halt and set about the construction
of a raft. There were no natural defences at that point
to enable them to keep a hostile party of superior numbers
at bay during the preparations for the passage. And, besides,
a strong wind prevailed, and the waves ran too high
for any raft to ride in security. Nor would it answer to
remain stationary until the subsidence of the gale, for
the Indians would be upon them. Kenton had been captured
once with a fine lot of horses, by thus remaining inactive
until the foe, following his trail, surprised him.

Profiting by his experience on that melancholy occasion,
Kenton led the way along the path down the river, so that
the distance between them and their pursuers might not be
diminished.

Mr. Jones expressed his fervent thanks that he had not
been made an instrument of death in the hands of his
heavenly Master, and often congratulated himself, as he
rode along, during the pauses in his song, on the recovery
of the savage.

Paddy was chagrined that he did not die, and die by his
hand. He could no longer claim the credit of the stunning
wound, as the effect of the concussion was evidently instantaneous.
But he was consoled in some measure by receiving
the Indian's rifle, which Boone loaned him, and by
the loss of Van Wiggens's dog, which had not been seen
since the battle, if battle it could be called. The latter incident
afforded him a sort of malicious pleasure, inasmuch
as the Dutchman insisted upon having seen the mark of
Paddy's ball some twenty feet high on the face of the perpendicular
cliff, and had otherwise depreciated the merits
of the Irishman.

And, as they rode along the path, which sometimes
diverged from the river where enormous masses of rocks
had descended to the water's edge, the inquiry was passed
along the line if any one had seen Peter Shaver in the
ambuscade. No one had recognised him, but several had
heard the familiar voice of his ass after the slaughter.
Van Wiggens had no doubt Peter was among the savages,
and seemed to think that Watch, his dog, had seen him
and followed him. This was a source of hope, for he
doubted not he should some day see Peter's face again.

Thus they continued without interruption until the autumnal
sun, blood-red and magnified apparently to an
enormous size, sank down before them; for their faces were
toward the West. They now searched for one of those
impregnable fastnesses in the hills, with its natural defences
of rocks and fissures, in which to encamp for the
night; and, when it was found, the tents were erected,
the hungry permitted to eat and the weary to rest. The
wind continuing somewhat boisterous, it was the opinion of
Boone and Kenton that a passage over the river could not
be effected until the following day.

A consultation was then held in regard to the fate of their
prisoner; and as Boone and Kenton, as well as Julia, were
in favour of liberating him, it was so determined. But he
was compelled to swim across the river a few miles back, in
full view of two of his captors. Pushing a dry log before
him, he launched out in the stream, and was soon beyond
the reach of rifles. Then he yelled like an enfranchised
demon, and abused his enemies. It was feared their mercy
would be productive of only evil, as is sometimes the case
when extended to unworthy objects. However, they dismissed
this Ground-Hog (for such was his name) from their
minds.

After a hearty repast, Kenton and several of the most
active men started back on their trail to discover, if possible,
the camp-fire of their pursuers.

The scout proceeded several miles, and then ascended a
high eminence, from which they could see eastward a still
greater distance; but no fires were visible. It was possible
the pursuit had been abandoned, and such was their report
on returning.

And now a sense of comparative security pervaded the

encampment. Julia and Charles sent for Skippie, resolved
to read the letters he had brought from their friends. But
Skippie was nowhere to be found, although he had been
seen since twilight. Doubtless, as Hugh McSwine asserted,
he was out alone, reconnoitering the country in every
direction.

Disappointed in this, Charles and Julia congratulated
themselves upon the prospect of a speedy deliverance from
their perils.

An hour after, Skippie came hastily into the tent, followed
by Paddy.

“And you won't tell me what you've sane?” exclaimed
Paddy. “But I'll hear it in spite o' ye, ye unfinished son
of a sawny!”

“Dirk!” said Skippie, exposing the handle of his weapon,
and darting a look of defiance at Paddy.

“Dirk, is it? Well, don't dirk me! I'm Misther
Charles's friend, you know, and the deadly inemy of the
blackguard savages.”

“Your news, Skippie?” said Charles.

“Twenty!” said Skippie, pointing in a westerly direction
and in the line of their march for the next day.

“Twenty Indians in front of us!” said Julia, in tones
of sadness.

“They are not our pursuers, at all events,” said Charles.

And, when Skippie had described them and the location
of their camp in his laconic but graphic manner, Boone
announced without hesitation that it was a party from Paint
Creek going over into Kentucky on a predatory expedition;
and, no doubt, the object of their attack was his station on
the Kentucky River, called Boonsboro'. He had seen their
trail, but did not mention it, as it was not fresh. They
must have been encamped several days where Skippie discovered
them, perhaps awaiting the arrival of reinforcements.

A council being held, it was resolved to attack them in
the night. They occupied an important position in the line
of march for the next day. The Indians had, no doubt,
been making preparations for crossing over into Kentucky,
and probably possessed canoes, which, if captured, would
serve an excellent purpose.

Arrangements were made to set out immediately. Skippie,
who could move with less noise than any one in camp,

was despatched on their back trail to guard against any
sudden surprise from that quarter. They did not apprehend
immediate danger from their repulsed pursuers; but
some other roving party, led by renegade white men, might
possibly fall upon their camp.

Kenton was the guide selected to lead them against the
warriors encamped near the river. Familiar with the features
of the country, having often traversed every hill and
ravine, the few words uttered by Skippie had made him
sufficiently acquainted with the locality of the Indians. He
had himself encamped there repeatedly.

Paddy desired to guard the camp, and especially to protect
Miss Julia. But this was objected to by Charles, and
the Rev. Mr. Jones was designated for that purpose. Nor
would Kenton suffer Paddy again to have the care of the
horses. Therefore, much against his will, he had no alternative
but to march.

They set out, treading noiselessly in each other's tracks,
marching in single file, in the manner of the Indians.
Boone had drilled them so well that the whole party stepped
simultaneously, making but one sound, and that a low, dull
one, the foremost man (Kenton) having carefully removed
or softly crushed the leaves that lay in the path.

“Be jabers!” said Paddy, speaking to Van Wiggens,
who was the next man in front of him, “it would be a good
thing now to have your dog wid us.”

“Tam dem!” said Van Wiggens; “if tey hurt a hair of
my Vatch—”

“You must not speak so loudly,” whispered Charles, who
brought up the rear, stepping in the footprints of Paddy.

The moon was shining brightly, for there was not a cloud
in the sky. A long silence ensued, interrupted only by the
low sound of more than twenty feet falling softly to the
earth. And, as they drew near the smouldering embers
round which the slumbering Indians reposed in fancied
security, their progress became very slow, and their scarcely-perceptible
advance was no longer attended with any noise
which might have been detected by the keenest ear at the
distance of a dozen paces.

“Misther Charles,” said Paddy, in a low whisper, “do
you think there is ginerally as much fighting done by the
tail of a line like this as the head o' it?” He asked this

question when a curve in the path enabled him to see the
men in front winding along like a huge serpent under the
trees, through whose boughs the rays of the moon were
streaming brightly.

“It is often the post of honour,” said Charles.

Paddy thought he would prefer a post of safety; but he
could not comprehend how the rear of the line would be
exposed to as much danger as the head of it, and he so expressed
himself. But he was informed that the whole line
would glide silently round the sleeping Indians and be
formed in the shape of a crescent.

“Plase, Misther Charles,” said he, “have me put in the
maddle,—in the bow of the moon.”

“It cannot be done now, Paddy, without danger of discovery.
You have the position you asked for, and you
must keep it. Say no more, for yonder is the enemy's
camp.”

The camp of the Indians was situated near the mouth
of a valley opening on the river. But a stream of water,
emptying into the Ohio, with its steep alluvial embankments,
was now between the sleeping Indians and their
assailants, and the latter had to pass down the brook some
twenty paces before there was any possibility of crossing
over. Kenton and Boone stood several minutes in breathless
silence opposite the slumbering Indians, the outlines of
whose forms were dimly visible, and then moved on noiselessly
toward the moss-covered trunk of an enormous tree
that lay across the stream a few paces farther below. This
tree, some eight feet in diameter, Kenton remembered distinctly,
having often passed over it. It had been lying
there, perhaps, for a century, and its damp moss and soft
exterior afforded a sure and noiseless footing.

The head of the line passed over the tree and returned
up the stream on the opposite side, diverging from it, however,
so as to enclose the enemy. Paddy shivered with
dread when he saw the foremost of the men thus counter-marching
and closely surrounding the unconscious savages.
It was a moment of painful suspense. Charles could distinctly
hear poor Paddy's heart palpitating violently when
they were midway on the huge trunk and the word to halt
was whispered back along the line. A wolf had crept up
to the smouldering fire and snatched a bone, with which it

sprang away growling. Several of the Indians moved and
uttered some words, but did not lift their heads, for they
recognised the sound and were familiar with the prowling
habits of the animal. It is probable the consciousness of
the proximity of the wolf served to lull them; for it was
not likely an enemy could be near when the ravenous beast
was in their midst. None but Boone and Kenton could
have approached so noiselessly; and the Indians did not
suppose those renowned and dangerous foes were in the
vicinity.

The slumberers being composed, the sign was made for
the men to resume their cautious approach. But, when a
single additional step had been taken, another pause was
ordered. An owl flapped up from the feet of Boone, where
he had been assailing the eyes of a deer's head thrown
aside in the bushes. It was one of the largest specimens
of those birds of ill omen; and it now hooted loudly,
perched on a bough immediately over the prostrate Indians.

“Och, murther!” said Paddy.

Charles reached forward and placed his hand on Paddy's
mouth.

Several of the Indians stirred again and uttered incoherent
words. But the owl was a familiar bird, and,
supposing he had been alarmed by the wolf, they slept
again.

Boone and Kenton, having reached the designated point,
only awaited the closing up of the rear of the line to begin
the slaughter. Their guns were at their shoulders, their
knives loosened in their sheaths, and each had selected
his victim for the supposed indispensable sacrifice.

But when Will Van Wiggens, who, from his corpulency,
was the heaviest man of the party, made his next step
midway of the tree, the huge rotten trunk sank down suddenly,
precipitating the men, with a thundering sound and
a mighty splash, into the water and mud beneath!

So sudden, so unlooked-for, so ludicrous, was this
event, that the men who aimed their rifles, standing within
a few feet of the heads of the Indians, became irresistibly
convulsed with laughter, and fired without effect. The Indians
escaped without injury. They disappeared in the
bushes, their ears assailed only by the sounds of immoderate
laughter! But they fled away, leaving their guns behind,

amazed at such ill-timed merriment, and believing
themselves beset by evil spirits.

“Murther!” cried Paddy.

“Tam it!” shouted Van Wiggens, floundering in the
quicksand. The wolf howled from the summit of a cliff.
The owl was mute, his glaring eyeballs fixed in astonishment.

“Oh Lord! Don't sculp me! I'll surrinder!” continued
Paddy, as Charles succeeded in dragging him out
of the stream by the heels.

“Open your eyes,” said Charles, inexpressibly diverted.

“I can't saa wid 'em! They're full of mud! Oh,
don't hit me on the head, brave Misther savage! I've been
adopted meself, and belong to a dacent family. Me mither
is Diving Duck, and—is it you, Misther Charles?” said
he, opening his eyes. “Upon me sowl, I thought I was
draming! Ye see, I was shocked by the fall, and me
sinses was wandering. Don't mind me hasty words, if ye
plase, Misther Charles. And I hope we have put to rout
the nasty blackguards. Have we kilt 'em all?”

“Not one remains to hurt you, Paddy,” said Charles,
who still heard the distant yells of the flying enemy.

“And have we kilt 'em all?”

“Tam dem! Not a single von!” said Van Wiggens,
who had extricated himself and learned the result.

After the prolonged laughter had in some measure subsided,
a search was made for canoes, and several were
found tied in the mouth of the creek. These they took
possession of, and, placing the arms of the Indians in them,
left a guard to watch until all the baggage could be removed
thither from the camp. The wind had ceased its
violence, and, as the surface of the Ohio was as smooth as
a mirror, they determined to cross over early in the
morning.

They were met, however, on their return to the camp,
by Skippie, who, in unusual excitement, briefly informed
them that their pursuers were advancing, led by Girty,
who had joined them after the ambuscade. He said they
were within three or four hours march of them, approaching
cautiously, and apparently resolved to make a desperate
struggle before permitting the fugitives to escape with
their horses.

“I'll have all the horses in Kentucky in less than an
hour!” said Kenton.

“And I'll see that the people get over,” said Boone.
“We are safe now, my young friend,” he continued, addressing
Charles, “at least for some days to come.”

“True, sir,” said Charles, quickening his pace, and with
difficulty keeping at the side of Boone, whose giant strides
usually impelled him forward beyond his companions;
“and I am extremely thankful for it.”

Julia seemed pleased to learn that the enterprise against
the Indian encampment had resulted without bloodshed,
and the patriotic Baptist gave thanks for the easy victory,
not doubting the hand of Providence had shaped the expedition
and produced the bloodless end. The great trunk
over which multitudes had been passing from time immemorial,
and upon which numbers had stood that night,
seemed to have fallen precisely at a juncture admirably
adapted to facilitate the escape of the Indians. A little
sooner or later, and human lives would have been sacrificed.

Such were the deductions of Mr. Jones and the maiden.
But Hugh McSwine and Will Van Wiggens ascribed the
escape of the savages to the devil, who had first assumed
the form of a wolf and then an owl.

No time, however, was lost in such idle speculations.
The maiden was soon mounted, and the whole party pushed
on toward the river with all the expedition in their power.
And when Julia reached the scene of the recent accident
Kenton's voice was heard urging the horses into the
stream. It was a frosty night, though calm, and the
animals, plunging and snorting, evinced their reluctance to
swimming. They were nevertheless constrained to submit,
and were soon gliding toward the Kentucky shore.

Julia was placed in one of the canoes and rowed over by
Charles. At every stroke of his oar the poor girl's spirits
rose, and her eyes sparkled in unison with the glittering
drops that fell from the oars in the moonlight.

They spoke of their friends and homes in New Jersey,—
of Charles's Indian mother and sister, whom they loved
and pitied, but did not regret being separated from them,—
of the beautiful country and pleasant climate they were
about to enter,—and of the means of returning thence to

their Eastern abode. Not one word was uttered of their
deep and ineradicable love. It was too sacred for words—
too manifest to be questioned.

The horses were soon landed in safety. The event was
announced by three loud huzzas from Kenton; and, striking
a light, his locality was marked by a great bonfire on
the southern shore.

McSwine and Van Wiggens were the last to embark;
and after entering their canoe they lingered under the
clustering boughs of the trees that hung over the water,—
the one hoping to add another victim to his catalogue and
the other watching for his dog. Nor did they wait very long
before the pursuing party came in view upon their trail,
and Hugh had the satisfaction of putting an end to the
existence of another human being. The one he had killed
came to the bank, after the discovery that the fugitives
were beyond his reach, and gazed in disappointment at
Kenton's great fire, in the broad glare of which the smoking
horses were plainly visible. He stood within six paces
of Hugh's muzzle, and fell, without a groan, into the deep
water.

But the discharge of McSwine's rifle was followed by a
rush in that direction, and the bloodthirsty Scot became
aware of his danger. He could not now leave the sheltering
willows without being seen and fired upon; nor could
he remain long concealed from their view where he was.
So he recharged his gun, and determined to have another
victim before he fell, if such was to be his end. But the
Indians, fearing an ambush, kept themselves hidden, in
readiness, however, to fire upon any canoes that might
push out from under the clustering willows.

“Dere he is!” said Van Wiggens, in a whisper, hearing
a dog yelp. “Dat's Vatch! I know his cry. Let me
out, and I'll vistle for him.”

“What, mon!” said McSwine, “lose your life for a dog?
I dinna' ken how much your life is worth, but I value mine
at a price aboon that.”

“Dere he is! It's Vatch!” continued Van Wiggens,
hearing a dog whining distressfully on the bank, and afterward
seeing him indistinctly through the intercepting
boughs.

“It won't do, mon!” said Hugh; “we maun awa' from

this. They're cooming down the creek. Lift your gun
and we'll fire thegether.” They did so, and under cover
of the smoke from their rifles, which descended upon the
water, and during the momentary consternation produced
among the Indians, (for two more of them had fallen, one
mortally and the other severely wounded,) McSwine made
several vigorous strokes of the oars, which caused the
canoe to glide out rapidly from the shore. “Noo fa' doon
on yer face, mon!” he continued, setting the example to
his companion, and knowing that the impetus he had given
the light bark would soon carry it beyond the reach of the
enemy's balls. But, before attaining that distance, the
yelling savages sent a leaden shower after it. The water
was ripped up around them, and the frail canoe was perforated
in several places, but its occupants fortunately
escaped without serious injury. Van Wiggens was slightly
scratched on the most prominent portion of his body, his
corpulency preventing an entire concealment of it.

McSwine and Van Wiggens, upon landing, were much
applauded. But, when conducted to the great fire, upon
which an enormous quantity of wood and brush had been
piled, as if an illumination had been the design, poor Van
Wiggens's spirits sunk again upon hearing the melancholy
howl of his dog on the opposite side of the Ohio. He
ran to the water's edge and called to “Vatch” to swim
over; but in vain, as the dog either would not, or was not
permitted to obey him.

Then the ears of the whole party were saluted with a
familiar sound. This was the deep intonation of Peter
Shaver's ass. Upon scenting the blood, he brayed forth
his sense of the horrid deed upon the solemn midnight air;
and the melancholy reverberations rumbled from shore to
shore up and down the river.

This was succeeded by nine lusty cheers from the whites,
while the furious savages made the night more hideous
with their demoniac yells. The river was some six hundred
paces wide, and at that distance Kenton could easily
make himself heard and understood. And so he not only
boasted of the number of horses he had captured, but
ostentatiously paraded them in view of their recent owners.
(Nevertheless, some of them had been stolen from the
whites in Pennsylvania by the Indians.) He not only

exhibited the horses, but descanted on their superior qualities,
and pointed at the deep shoulders, the broad forehead,
and clean limbs, of the steed which had belonged to
Ground-Hog, whom he said he would scalp the next time
he fell into his hands. Then an impromptu dance of victory
followed, in imitation of one of the exultant ceremonies
of the Indians, at which Charles smiled but faintly,
for he thought no good could result from thus wantonly
exasperating the enemy.

And when it was over, Simon Girty, standing on the
opposite shore near a fire he had kindled, and in the light
of which, under the shadow of an overhanging tree, he
could be recognised, said, in a loud voice, “War is now
declared! There are not one hundred white men in Kentucky.
We'll see you again; you steal horses, and huzza
over it before the faces of their owners!”

“Shut up, you renegade traitor!” answered Kenton.
“The blackest nigger is a gentleman at the side of Simon
Girty! I'll change my name from Simon to Sam, and call
my mangy old sheep-killing cur `Simon'—Simon Girty!”

“Ah, Kenton,” said Girty, “such is your gratitude!
I saved your life, and thus you thank me. Very good!
I will be the wiser next time!”

Kenton was silent for several minutes. It was known
that Girty had truly interposed and saved him from being
tortured at the stake.

“I don't deny it, Girty,” said he; “and I thank you
for it. But I have twice spared your life since then, when
you were within reach of my rifle; and I am bound in
honour never to kill you, if I can help it. But I owe you
nothing. You lead the savages in their attacks, and they
slaughter our women and children,—your own people, and
perhaps your own kin. I must defend them, and if you
should fall by my hand it will be no fault of mine. Kentucky
is my home, and it shall be my grave,[4] before I leave
it at the bidding of you and your baby-murdering savages.”

Kenton said no more, but sought the repose so much
needed after the exciting scenes he had passed through.

Nevertheless, the eyelids of Charles and Julia were not
oppressed by slumber. They eagerly broke open the letters

from home brought by Skippie. The first one perused
was from Mr. Schooley. It ran as follows:—“Esteemed
Julia:—If this should reach thy hands, thee will be informed
that thy guardian and friends have been sorely grieved at
thy capture and at the supposed privations thou hast been
exposed to in the wilderness; and thou wilt learn that
it is not credited by thy guardian and others that the Indians
were the authors of thy abduction; but we think it
was the work of thy pretended friend, the rebel—”

“That must be me,” said Charles.

“How could he be so much deceived?” said Julia, a flush
of deep indignation overspreading her forehead.

“He is not deceived, Julia,” replied Charles.

“What?”

“He is well convinced I had no agency in it.”

“He certainly would be, if he knew all. But what does
he say further? Yes,” she continued, reading:—“Rebel,
Charles Cameron. But I have sent £100 to Governor
Hamilton for thy redemption. And if thee will say so
to any of the Seneca or Mohawk chiefs, they will conduct
thee to Canada, where thou wilt be ransomed; and I have
requested them to send thee by a safe guard to New York,
which thee should be rejoiced to learn is now held by the
army of George, our liege lord and sovereign; and from
thence thou wilt be permitted to pass with a flag through
the rebel army to thy home, where thou wilt be received
with affection. The £100 was truly thy money, upon
which thou wert entitled to interest, and which, with other
matters of business, we will adjust when thou returnest
hither. Mary sends her loving greeting to thee; and she
sends thee divers articles of apparel which thee will probably
stand in need of. And now I will repeat to thee
the great danger thou wilt incur by retaining thy partiality
for the rebel youth. The British army is soon to possess
all of New Cæsarea, (New Jersey,) New York, and Philadelphia;
and thee must be aware that when the rebellion is
put down its adherents will be subjected to forfeitures and
other pains and penalties. So, if thee should commit thyself
with the young man, it will be out of my power to
serve thee. The whole of the fine estate left by thy father
will be lost, and thou wilt be a beggar, mourning over the
execution of thy unworthy lover.”

“I shall read no further!” cried Julia, throwing the
letter into the fire. Then, tearing open another, she read
as follows:—“Esteemed Julia, I pine for thy return. I
would have followed thee, and remonstrated with thy abductors,
but it was necessary to secure the harvest which is
to supply us with bread.”

“Richard loves good eating as well as his sweetheart,”
said Charles.

“Oh, better!” said Julia. “And thou knowest, besides,”
she continued, reading, “it hath been decreed in
the rebel legislature that all those who abandon their lands
shall not possess them again. I would take no part in the
awful conflict. I am a loyal subject; but I would not fly
from my home. I am a non-combatant, and cannot
abandon our society in conscience or for interest. I hope
thee will return and attend the meetings. If thou wilt, I
will agree to have our nupitals published—

“That will do!” said Julia, laughing heartily, and likewise
consigning the epistle to the flames.

Charles then read a brief letter from his father, charging
him to take care of himself and to remain true to the
cause of the tyrant's enemies. He said it was probable
the armies and fleets of the usurper would seem to prevail
at the commencement of the conflict, but that the cause of
justice would triumph in the end. France was secretly
favouring the Revolution, and would, before its termination,
become an open ally of America. He charged his son to
suffer no uneasiness on his account. There were men
anxious to effect his capture, set on, he believed, by Mr.
Schooley, for he was in correspondence with the British,
and had already caused some beeves to be driven to them
on Staten Island: but they would not succeed. His few
Scots remaining with him were vigilant, and his little fortress
impregnable. Besides, it was believed by many,
since he escaped burning, that he bore a charmed life.
His health was good, and his hours were pleasantly passed
over the pages of Shakspeare and the productions of other
sons of genius. Commanding him sacredly to guard the
captive maiden from every harm, he concluded by imploring
his Maker to spare his son for the comfort of his declining
years.

Charles then, his eyes suffused with tears and his bosom

swelling with reverence and affection for his parent, would
have prevailed on Julia to seek the refreshing repose he
fancied she stood very much in need of. But he knew not
the extent of the capacity of the sex for prolonged watching,
and she merely smiled at his solicitude and declared
that no slumber would visit her eyes if she were to lie down;
but she would be silent while he slept, and guard his peaceful
repose. This he objected to, and begged her to read the remaining
letter,—an epistle from Kate Livingston, marked
“Liberty Hall, near Elizabethtown Point.” It began thus:—

When Julia ceased reading, the dawn was apparent in
the east. Charles heaped fresh wood on the fire, and prevailed
on her to sleep until the breakfast should be prepared.
He knew that the meat for her repast was then
living and would have to be found and killed; so she
would, in all probability, have ample time for refreshing
slumber. He likewise sought repose himself at the side of
the deeply-breathing Mr. Jones, who sometimes uttered
prayers in his sleep, but more frequently sang snatches of
the Psalms of David.

It was a calm, frosty morning, rosy with the deep red
rays of an autumnal sun in what is termed the Indian
summer. Boone and Kenton rose perfectly refreshed.

“I don't know how you feel, Mr. Boone,” said Kenton,
stretching back his broad shoulders, “but I am comfortable.
I can breathe freely on the glorious soil of Kentucky; and
the climate is a thousand times better than it is over the
river yonder.”

“The soil and climate are well enough, Simon,” said
Boone, sighing, “and there's plenty of game. But it
makes me unhappy to see so many people coming to cut
the trees and shoot the buffalo and deer. If you and I
could only live here alone, I wouldn't ask a better paradise.
No matter! When neighbours get too thick, Daniel Boone
can go farther west.”

“I like having enough neighbours to keep back the Indians

and to sell horses to,” said Kenton. They then
disappeared in the cane-brake in quest of game for breakfast,
and, before many minutes had elapsed, the sharp reports
of their rifles were heard.