University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.
REMINISCENCES.

O'er Lake Erie's dark, deep waters,—across Ohio's
broad, rich lands, and still onward, among the graceful
forest trees, gushing springs, and fertile plains of Kentucky,
rests in quiet beauty, the shady hillside, bright
green valley, and dancing waterbrook, known as Glen's
Creek. No stately spire or glittering dome point out the
spot to the passing traveler, but under the shadow of the
lofty trees, stands a large brick edifice, which has been
consecrated to the worship of God. There, each Sabbath,
together congregate the old and young, the lofty and the
lowly, bond and free, and the incense which from that altar
ascends to heaven is not the less pure, because in that
secluded spot the tones of the Sabbath bell never yet were
heard. Not far from the old brick church are numerous,
time stained grave-stones, speaking to the living of the
pale dead ones, who side by side lie sleeping, unmindful
of the wintry storm or summer's fervid heat.

A little farther down the hill, and near the apple tree,
whose apples never get ripe, stands a low white building,
— the school house of Glen's Creek. There, for several
years, “Yankee schoolmasters,” one after another, have
tried by turns the effect of moral suasion, hickory sticks,

and leathern straps on the girls and boys who there assemble,
some intent upon mastering the mysteries of the
Latin reader, and others thinking wistfully of the miniature
mill-dam and fish-pond in the brook at the foot of the
hill, or of the play-house under the maple tree, where the
earthens are each day washed in the little “tin bucket,”
which serves the treble purpose of dinner-pail, wash-bowl,
and drinking-cup.

But not with Glen's Creek as it now is has our story
aught to do, although few have been the changes since, in
the times long gone, the Indian warrior sought shelter
from the sultry August sun, 'neath the boughs of the shady
buckeye or towering honey locust, which so thickly stud
the hillside of Glen's Creek. Then, as now, the first
spring violet blossomed there, and the earliest crocus grew
near the stream whose waters sang as mournfully to the
dusky maiden of the forest, as they since have to the fair
daughter of the pale-face.

The incidents about to be narrated are believed to have
taken place near the commencement of the nineteenth
century, when the country of Kentucky, from Lexington
to Louisville, was one entire forest, and when, instead of
the planter's handsome dwelling, now so common, there
was only the rude log hut surrounded, perhaps, by a few
acres of half cleared land. Brave, indeed, must have been
the heart of the hardy yeoman, who, forsaking the home
of his fathers, went forth into the wilds of Kentucky, and
there, amid dangers innumerable, laid the foundation of
the many handsome towns which now dot the surface of
that fair state. Woman, too, timid, shrinking woman,
was there, and in moments of the most appalling danger,
the daring courage she displayed equaled that shown by
her husband, father and brother. Often on the still midnight
air rang out the fearful war-cry, speaking of torture

and death to the inmates of the rude dwelling, whose
flames, rising high over the tree tops, warned some other
lonely settler that the enemy was upon his track.

But spite of all dangers and difficulties, the tide of emigration
poured steadily in upon Kentucky, until where
once the Indian hunter and wild beast held undisputed
sway, there may now be seen fertile gardens and cultivated
fields, handsome towns and flourishing cities.