University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

The sun had disappeared behind the mountain, but the calm
twilight of an autumnal eve still lingered in the valley. The song
of the mocking-bird was yet heard among the plum and crab-apple
trees, tangled over with grape vines, that fringed the brooks on
either side of the palisaded enclosure. Even the chirp of the
katy-did was prolonged beyond what would be the usual limits of
its season in a more eastern and rigorous clime. And these were
evidences of a generous temperature in that region, which did not
escape the observation of our adventurers.

But the cattle had been driven within the gates, panting with
the burden of luxuriant grass which they had cropped from the
natural pasture; the fowls had gone to the roost provided for them;
and everything betokened a tranquil night after the labors of the
day which had completed the final precautionary arrangements for
the security of the party.

Tea was over in the large dining-room, on the left of the hall,
and the servants had partaken of a bounteous repast in the
kitchen.

“Now,” said Mr. Roughgrove, leaning back in his homely chair,
where he still sat at the table, and from which none had yet risen,
“my little Juliet's petition must not be forgotten.”

“No, grandpa,” said the sweet little girl, who sat at Mary's
elbow, “don't forget the poor birds, and antelopes, and ponies!
For if they shoot the poor things, and make them suffer and die,
how can it be the `Happy Valley?”'

Glenn and Mary, William and La-u-na, smiled at the child's innocent
conceit, while little Charles, who had been playing with a
miniature cross-bow, looked archly at his cousin, and shook his head
dissentingly.

“This is the proper time to attend to that matter,” continued
Roughgrove; “for sport will follow laborious duties in the wild-woods,
as certainly ad day will succeed the night. Let the men in
the kitchen be called hither, so that all may hear the law which
this little child has dictated.”

“Go, Joe, and call in the negroes,” said Glenn.

“Oh, yes, lay down the law to them,” said Joe, rising from the
bench which he and Sneak were in the habit of occupying.
“Cæsar, Pompey, Hannibal!” cried he, from the door, with a loud
voice, “come here and have the law laid down to you—and see
that you obey it!”

“Joe,” said Sneak, who had followed him, “I have a notion the
law is more for us than the tarnation niggers, and I want you to
help me oppose it.”

“What do you mean, Sneak?” asked Joe. “I hope you don't
suppose they're going to put us down on a level with the niggers?”

“No, not 'zactly that—but I'm afeard they're a goin' to elevate
'em up to our high level. They've given 'em guns to shoot game
with, and that's a beginnin'; and now they're a goin' to tell them
over our heads, but for our ears, that nobody's to shoot anything in
the valley. I heard 'em whisperin' about it. 'Taint child's play,
though little Jule did start it!”

“Sneak! that would spoil our fun,” said Joe, in a lower tone.
“They promised to take the vote on any thing, you know. Now
let's you and I electioneer with the niggers before they go in, and
get 'em to vote down that proposition. I despise a nigger, and
above all, nigger equality; but if they can be made useful, why
not use them?”

“That's it, Joe; but let me manage 'em. Do you go in. They'll
believe me quicker than an Irishman.”

“Yes, maybe they like a Yankee better than a gentleman,” said
Joe, stepping back.

“What do you mean?” cried Sneak, looking after him. “Never
mind; I'll make him answer some other time,” he added, finding
Joe was out of hearing, and seeing the slaves approaching. After

whispering with them a few moments, he led them into the dining-room.

“Now, my children and friends,” said old Mr. Roughgrove, “I
want to observe to you that as God has been pleased to spare us
through so many perils, and up to this moment of time, it is fitting
that we should, besides continually returning thanks for such great
mercies, manifest our gratitude by some instance of forbearance,
and by some act of mercy to the creatures over which we have
been given dominion. And as we have been taught that we must
become as one of these little children,” and he placed his hands on
the heads of little Jule and Charley, “before we can enter the
Kingdom of Heaven—so, it seems to me, we may safely act upon
their guileless thoughts and promptings with a perfect confidence
that it will not be displeasing in the sight of Him who marks even
the fall of a sparrow.”

“But,” said Joe, interrupting him, “it was a sparrow-hawk I
wanted to shoot at—and he was after the chickens.”

“Massa!” said Cæsar, “he was too big for dat; and der's a big
owl, with eyes as big as your spectacles, comes arter de chickens in
de night. Let me kill 'im, massa, I vote agin not shootin'.”

“Hold your peace!” said Glenn.

“My children and friends,” continued Roughgrove, “you all
remember reading that when our first parents bestowed names on
the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air, they did not fly at
the approach of man; that was because man had not yet sought to
deprive them of life.”

“Powder and guns was'nt invented then,” said Sneak.

“No,” said Roughgrove, “and there was no necessity for such
inventions. Man could then lay hold on the victim for sacrifice;
but as man became wicked, even the beasts feared him, and kept
afar off, and so it became necessary to invent contrivances to reach
them.”

“Sneak,” whispered Joe, “don't say anything more, or he'll
keep us here all night. He'll begin at the beginning of creation,
and branch off and follow every subject from that day to eternity.”

“But I will not detain you with long references to matters so
remote,” said Roughgrove; “nevertheless there is instruction in
them; for the beasts would not run away, nor the birds fly from
us, if they knew we would not injure them. Then let us not injure
them in this happy valley. Let us set apart one place where
all may be in peace and security. Let us agree that we will not
shoot buffalo, or deer, or antelope, or horse, or hare, or any of the
feathered tribes, within the limits of this beautiful island, or on
the borders thereof; far beyond the line of forest which fringes
these precints, and frames us in like a fair landscape on canvas,
an abundance of game of every description may be found. Is it
not so, William?”

William smiled, and answered in the affirmative.

“But the varmints!” said Sneak, his large eyes dilating into
still larger dimensions; “are you going to spare the varmints,
too?”

“No, Sneak,” continued Roughgrove; “if panther, or wolves,
or bear, or foxes, should come into the valley, it is not proposed to
spare them. By shooting or worrying only such mischievous and
destructive beasts, the other animals will become more gentle and
confiding; and in time, having experienced the good effects of our
protection, they will no more strive to avoid us than our domestic
animals. I want to see the antelope and the wild horse lick salt
from the tiny hands of Jule and Charley.”

Jule and Charley clapped their hands in delight.

“But the other varmints, Mr. Roughgrove,” said Sneak. “I
came out here to catch beavers, otters, musk-rats, minks, coons,
and sich like.”

“Oh, you may catch them; but there will hardly be any necessity
for shooting them. I hope we shall never be startled by the
report of a gun in this valley.”

“Joe,” said Glenn, who observed the frequent whispered conferences
with the slaves, “I shall vote for them.”

“If massa Charles 'll vote for us, dat 'll do!” said Cæsar.

“Yes, I will vote for you when it is necessary to vote at all,”
said Glenn. “But there are questions upon which no vote will be

taken, and this is one of them. What Mr. Roughgrove has stated
is not a mere proposition, but a law. William and I, and La-u-na
and Mary, as well as the little children, have sanctioned it. Beyond
the shelving embankments of the stream enclosing this green
island, William and I have ascertained there is game of every description
in abundance—which must suffice. Therefore, the exemption
from molestation in the valley is a decree. Now listen to
the penalty for any violation of the law. For the first offence, the
gun of the offender shall be taken away from him for such length
of time as the ladies and the little children may decide, after a fair
hearing. For the second offence, extra labor in the field, or whatever
else the jury may decide upon.”

“But, massa Charles,” said Cæsar, speaking for Pompey and
Hannibal likewise, “is we to lose our guns, too? We is'nt to have
'em only Saturday arternoon hollidays?”

“If you offend, Cæsar, you must suffer the penalty,” said Glenn,
“whatever it may be. Your best course is not to offend.”

“I won't break de law, massa.”

“Dar now,” said Pompey; “Spose de enemy come in de night
when we's on duty at de picket?”

“If he be really an enemy,” said Glenn, “you will be excused
for firing.”

“A man aint a wild beast, you fool!” said Joe, disgusted at the
tame acquiescence of the negroes.

“But he's like 'em, sometimes,” said Sneak; “one time in Missouri,
I shot at a wild hog in the night and killed a Indgen.”

“I remember it,” said Roughgrove, smiling. “But now we understand
the rule adopted in this peaceful retreat; and I hope there
will never be any necessity for the shedding of human blood, or the
blood even of the wild animals, in this green valley.”

“Go, now,” said Glenn, to the slaves, “and see that your arms
be in order. To-morrow we shall commence our explorations
around the valley. And you, Joe, and Sneak, to your posts. This
is your night to watch, until relieved by William and myself.”

Soon after the negroes were all sound asleep in their apartments,
and Joe and Sneak were silently promenading round the quiet

dwelling, within their allotted limits, ever and anon peering out
through the loop holes in the palisade. The semi-circle beat of
Joe was on the north, and Sneak's on the south side of the enclosure;
and when they met on the east and on the west, they lingered
a few moments, and conversed in whispers.

“I like this place better than the other, Sucak,” said Joe, when
they came together on the west side, and after gazing out in silence
at the mountain in the distance, which resembled a rising stormcloud
under the bright rays of the full moon.

“What other place?” asked Sneak.

“Glenn's place on the mad Missouri.”

“I'm not sure that I agree with you,” said Sneak. “No doubt
it's a better place for beaver and other—but who's to buy the
skins?”

“Glenn is bound to buy 'em,” said Joe; “I'm a witness to his
obligation.”

“Yes, Joe, he promised to buy 'em all. But how kin we agree
about the price? If I won't take what he offers, who else will
give me my price? That's the trouble.”

“Trouble, your granny! What's the use of having any trouble
about it?”

“That's my business.”

“Yes, it's your business and your nature, too, to be snappish.
Always thinking about bargains, and making money. Now what
can you do with money out here?”

“I kin lay it up for a rainy day. I kin count it, and look
at it.”

“I thought so!” said he, contemptuously. “And so can little
Jule and Charley look at their tops!”

“And don't they please 'em? You're a fool, Joe!”

“And you're a philosopher, Sneak. Pleasure is pleasure with
you—and the filthy lucre makes you happy just to look at it, as the
toys do the little children. Now listen to me: I'm thinking about
real happiness, and I'm going to have it out here in the wilderness.
I've got a mighty project!”

“What is it, Joe?” asked Sneak, with interest.

“It is this—no, I won't tell you, upon second thoughts.”

“You're bound to tell me, now; what is it?”

“It's my secret, and I'll keep it.”

“No, don't, Joe. You know Mr. Glenn made us swear to be
friends, even if we did differ in opinion and quarrelled every day.
Now, why not, like good friends in earnest, share together that real
mighty project, you're a going to git?”

“Why not? I have reasons for it. It can't be shared by you,
and that's enough.”

Saying this, Joe turned away, and strode the length of his semi-circle
in double-quick time. But Sneak was even with him, and so
they met again on the eastern side of the enclosure.

“Why do you like this place better than the other?” asked Sneak,
reverting to Joe's remark at their first meeting.

“Because, Sneak—and you mus'nt laugh at me, for I'm not
afraid—this place is out of reach of arrows. You remember
Glenn's first house was between two hollows, where the Indians
could hide and rain down burning arrows on us.”

“But they did'nt hit us,” said Sneak. “Joe, sometimes I used
to think you was'nt a coward, and then agin sometimes that you
was.”

“What do you think now?” demanded Joe.

“I hav'nt made up my mind yet.”

“Well, you'll make it up some of these days,” said Joe, shaking
his head.

“May be so,” said Sneak, “and then I'll tell you what it is.
But I'm afeard I shant like this place as well as t'other. I'm
afread the dod-rotted Indgens won't attack us here, and I shall soon
be spiling for a fight.”

“You can brag,” said Joe, “but the first time I saw you, you
were hiding from the Indians in a buffalo's belly.”

“That's a lie, Joe, and you know it is—hold back your arm—
you can call me a liar when I tell a lie, and I aint to hit you.
That's our agreement. I was hiding from the fire in the prairie—
and not from the Indgens.”

“But the Indians were not so bad as the fire—and so I would'nt
brag any more about it. And you're mistaken, Sneak, about no
Indians being able to find us here. Mr. William, who knows more
about 'em than any one among us, except the squaw—”

“Dod rot it! don't call Mrs. La-u-na a squaw! She's a Christian
now, or soon will be one, and she'll be an angel in heaven.”

“Well—I mean his wife—and he says this place is well known
to the chiefs of the Camanches and the Apaches—the fiercest
warriors in the plains.”

“How does he know that?”

“Know it? Can't he read the figures on the rocks? The sides
of the big cave over yonder, he says, is written all over with the
histories of many tribes—and some of the marks, he's quite sure,
were made hundreds and hundreds of years ago.”

“I should like to know how he kin tell that,” said Sneak.

“Don't you think the Indians date their writings as well as we
do? Well, he says, from their writings, that this place has always
been kept as a neutral ground between the tribes.”

“And now I see where little Jule got her notion from about
sparing the game here. And perhaps its the reason you like this
place better than t'other on the old Mad Missouri.”

“It's no such thing, Sneak; for Mr. William says, that although
the heads of the nations agreed never to let their warriors fight
each other on this neutral patch, that would'nt prevent all of 'em
from agreeing to fight against us.”

“Good—I like that, Joe! for I shall get the blue devils, if thar's
to be no fighting here.”

“Yes, and you'll get blue pills if there is. That is'nt the happiness
I'm after.”

“Well, what is your project? If it's better than mine, why not
let me have a sheer of it?”

“You don't know what you're talking about!”

“That's it, Joe; but I want to know—and I must know—for
you've raised my curiosity.”

“Well, find it out.”

Saying this, Joe wheeled round, and retraced his steps to the
opposite side of the enclosure.

“Where's Pete, Joe?” asked Sneak, when they met again.

“Which Pete? You know the pony's dead.”

“Of course I do—then what other Pete can I mean but your
dirty, little fice dog? You had no right to call a mangy little dog
arter a horse.”

“I had a right to do as I pleased. But where is he, sure enough?
Is'nt that his bark?” he continued, listening to some slight yelping
in the direction of the great cave on the northern bank of the
stream.

“If it is'nt, it's as like it as two peas,” said Sneak. “And it
can't be anything else, for I know the sounds of all the wild animals.
Over yonder in the west, I hear a painter, and in the south,
a whole pack of wolves. I hear constantly catamounts, coons,
otters, and now and then the grunt of a bear; I know 'em all, as
well as my a, b, c's; and none of 'em, no critter, beast of the
woods, the mountains, or the valleys, can make so nasty a noise as
that ugly little fice, Pete!”

“I'll make him bite you for that,” said Joe. “Pete! Pete!
Here, Pete!” cried he, turning his face towards the house. But no
Pete came. “Sneak,” he continued, “it must be Pete! But how
did he get out?”

“He? He can git through a dozen places. He's not bigger than
a common sized cat. Listen! Now it's like two tarnation Petes.”

“It's a fact,” said Joe, listening intently. “It's precisely as if
two were barking at once—and not in anger either—for I know
when Pete's mad, by his bark.”

“And when he's mad,” said Sneak, contemptuously, “I wonder
what it amounts to? His bite's like a flea-bite.”

“But he can make more noise than big Ponto.”

“Yes, dod rot him, he's made me lose many an hour's sleep,”
said Sneak; “I shot at him once, and I'm sorry I missed him.”

“Sneak,” said Joe, placing his hand on his comrade's shoulder,
“did you ever shoot at Pete?”

“I did, Joe; but it was purely accident. Mr. Glenn saw me
when I done it—and he saw Pete, too—and like me, he thought
he was a otter.”

“Otter! Well that's an explanation.” Then Joe turned away
again and strode round to the other side, looking through the loop-holes
as he proceeded, and listening for the bark of the dog, which,
however, had soon ceased to be heard.

This time Joe was ahead of Sneak; and when the latter came
up he found Joe in a most interesting attitude. He was gazing intently
through the loop-hole, his feet and hands apart, and his body
bent down and motionless

“Dod rot it! What do you see?” exclaimed Sneak.

Joe made no answer for some time; but presently he turned his
face, now quite pale, towards his companion, and every limb seemed
to be trembling.

“What is it—an Indgen?” continued Sneak.

“Sneak,” said Joe, in a mournful voice, “do you believe in apparitions?”

“In what?”

“Apparitions—ghosts—supernatural things!”

“Super what? Ghosts? Yes, I do. But dod rot 'em, they never
hurt any body. I seed one once in a swamp, and it was like a ball
of fire sailing through the air; and as I tried to ketch it, it vanished,
and I fell up to my neck in muddy water.”

“That aint what I mean,” said Joe; “but I've seen an apparition—and,
Sneak, although I don't care so much for flesh and
blood, I'm frightened at this thing. I confess I am.”

“You need'nt confess it, unless you've a mind to—for I can see
it by moonlight. You're as pale as chalk. But what is it? Let
me see.” Thrusting Joe aside, he applied his eye to the orifice.

“Don't you see?” asked Joe.

“I see your tarnel Pete, that's all,” said Sneak. “No—stop—
yes—dod—why, Joe, there's two Petes! Where did the other
come from?”

Joe was silent. And in truth, it was quite enough to stun him.
There was his darling Pete, playing in the grass with another little

dog, of the same brown color, cropped ears, and short tail; and
they were so much alike he could'nt tell “which from which,” as
he declared, when he whistled and called Pete. Both seemed to
recognize his voice, for both looked up at the loop-hole, and wagged
their tails precisely alike.

“Go out and ketch 'em,” said Sneak, pointing to the nearest
gate, “and I'll watch.”

“Hold my gun, Sneak,” said Joe, giving his musket to his companion,
and unbarring one of the entrances, through which he
passed. “Here, Pete,” cried he, as he timidly approached the
place where the dogs were playing, and where the grass had been
much cropped by the sheep and goats. Both dogs came to him,
and both wagged their short tails.

“Now pick up your Pete,” said Sneak, through the loop-hole.

“I don't know which he is,” said Joe, “they're both so much
alike. Here, Pete!” he continued, stooping down. Then they
wagged their tails more energetically than ever, and approached
within a few inches of him. “I've got one, anyhow,” he exclaimed
the next moment, as he seized it by the back of the neck.

“Now snatch the other,” said Sneak, “and come in; it's agin
the rules for you to be out.”

“Confound you! what do you mean?” demanded Joe, still holding
his captive by the neck. “Sneak,” said Joe, “I'm afraid I've
got the wrong Pete. My Pete never showed his teeth at me. He
never was so ungrateful.”

“If that's the wrong Pete you've got, the other must be the right
one—and why don't you snatch your'n?”

“Come here, Pete,” said Joe, to the other. It came and licked
the hand held out to caress him—while the other struggled and
growled menacingly.

“Now, if you can't bring 'em both in,” said Sneak, “you kin
bring the right one, and let the wrong one go.'

“I'm afraid he'll bite me,” said Joe. “These little dogs are as
quick as lightning. Sneak, I'm afraid to let him go.”

“You're always afraid of somethin'. Don't you see it's only a
dream, and he can't hurt you? You know we brought here only

one Pete, and there aint another white man in a thousand miles of
us. That's proof this is a dream. Pinch yourself and see. If it
hurts, it'll be only 'magination in your sleep. But waking or dreaming,
you must come in, or you may lose your scalp.”

“My scalp! Oh, Sneak!” said Joe, looking round, “do you see
or hear any signs of Indians?”

“I hear every kind of wild animal and varmint in creation,”
said Sneak, “and you know the Indgens can imitate 'em all. I
would'nt swear they were'nt Indgens!”

“I won't stay here,” said Joe, rising up with his own Pete under
his left arm, and holding the other by the neck with his right hand.
“Go to the d—l!” said he, and he hurled the counterfeit Pete some
twenty feet away. He then ran with all his might towards the
narrow gate in the palisade; but before he could get in, the little
dog he had so roughly used, sprang after him and nipped him on
the calf of the leg. “Where's my gun? give me my gun, Sneak,”
cried he, passing through, and rushing towards the loop-hole. But
Sneak, laughing very heartily, was so tall that he could easily hold
the gun above the reach of Joe.

“Give me my musket. I'll shoot the confounded dog. He's bit
me, Sneak; give me my musket,” he continued, releasing his
own Pete, and intent on killing the other.

“Well, take it,” said Sneak, after casting a glance out and seeing
the little dog vanish in the distance; “but don't make sich a dod
rotted fuss about it, or you'll alarm the house.”

Joe seized the old musket and thrust the barrel through the
loop-hole.

“Why don't you shoot?” asked Sneak.

“It's vanished!” said Joe.

“It was only a shadow,” said Sneak. “Don't you see the moon's
shining brightly, and of course Pete could'nt frolic about on the
grass without being follered by his shadow.”

“That's confounded nonsense, Sneak,” said Joe, standing his
gun against the palisade, and then rolling up his breeches. “See
here!” he continued, turning to where the unobstructed moonlight
fell upon his calf, and exhibiting the marks of the dog's teeth.

“That looks 'zactly as if you had been nipped by some real
rascally little fice dog. Does it smart, Joe?”

“Smart? It hurts like fury! Could a shadow do that? Besides,
did'nt I hold him by the back of his neck, while he was
trying all the time to bite my hand? Could a shadow do that?
And when I let him go, and ran off with Pete in my arms, will
any body try to persuade me it was his shadow that followed and
bit me on the leg?”

“I don't say it was a real shadow done all that, Joe,” said
Sneak; “but you know Mr. Glenn calls dreams merely shadows;
and it's my opinion this is a dream.”

“It's no such thing,” said Joe; “I'll swear to it! My leg aches
like blazes!”

“You think so, Joe; but's only fancy,” said Sneak, smiling.
`In the morning, when we wake up there'll be no marks of teeth
on your calf. But we mus'nt stay here. You go your beat, and I'll
go mine.”

“Stop, Sneak,” cried Joe; “if it's really a dream, what's the
use of keeping sentry?”

“Why, can't people be killed in their sleep, you gump, you?”
aid Sneak, indignantly. “It's the very time to be most watchful.”

“Go ahead,” said Joe, shouldering his gun, and muttering half
conceived maledictions as he traversed his round, and stopping
every ten or fifteen paces to peer through the loop-holes. And
when the watchers were yet some paces apart, Joe was startled by
a shrill whistle outside, and dropping his gun, sprang rapidly,
although he had limped before, towards Sneak. Sneak only laughed
at him. It was a buck which had been browsing near the palisade,
and had lifted his head near the loop-hole just when Joe looked
through it. Joe, saying now it was only a dream, returned for his
gun, and continued his walk.