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The sole intention of the tales comprised in the following pages is to convey accurate descriptions of the scenery and population of the country in which the author resides. The only merit he claims for them is fidelity. It will be for others to decide whether this claim is well supported.
The legends now presented to the public are entirely fictitious; but they are founded upon incidents which have been witnessed by the author during a long residence in the western states, or upon traditions preserved by the people, and have received but little artificial embellishment. They are given to the American reader with great diffidence, and with a disposition to submit cheerfully to any verdict which public opinion may award.
The beautiful forests of Kentucky, when first visited by the adventurous footsteps of the pioneers, presented a scene of native luxuriance, such as has seldom been witnessed by the human eye. So vast a body of fertile soil had never before been known to exist on this continent. The magnificent forest trees attained a gigantic height, and were adorned with a foliage of unrivalled splendour. The deep rich green of the leaves, and the brilliant tints of the flowers, nourished into full maturity of size and beauty by the extraordinary fertility of the soil, not only attracted the admiration of the hunter, but warmed the fancy of the poet, and forcibly arrested the attention of the naturalist. As the pioneers proceeded step by step, new wonders were discovered; and the features of the country, together with its productions, as they became gradually developed, continued to present the same bold peculiarities and broad outlines. The same scale of greatness pervaded all the works of nature. The noble rivers, all tending towards one great estuary, swept through an almost boundless extent of country, and seemed to be as infinite in number as they were grand in size. The wild animals were innumerable. The forests teemed with living creatures, for this was the paradise of the brute creation. Here were literally "the cattle upon a thousand hills." The buffaloe, the elk, and the deer roamed in vast herds, and all the streams were rich in those animals whose fur is so much esteemed in commerce. Here lurked the solitary panther, the lion of our region, and here prowled the savage wolf. The nutritious fruits of the forest, and the juicy buds of the exuberant thickets, reared the indolent bear to an enormous size. Even the bowels of the earth exhibited stupendous evidences of the master hand of creation. The great limestone beds of the country were perforated with spacious caverns, of vast extent and splendid appearance, many of which yielded valuable minerals; while the gigantic bones found buried in the earth, far exceeding in size those of all known animals on the globe, attested the former existence in this region, of brutes of fearful magnitude.
Such were the discoveries of the first adventurers; such the inducements which allured them onward, and inclined them to linger in these solitudes, enduring the severest privations, and beset by dangers which might have shaken the firmest manhood. But the pioneers were men whose characters were not now to be formed in the school of adversity or danger. They were the borderers, already trained to war and the chase upon the extensive frontiers of our country; men cradled in the forest, and accustomed from their infancy to the bay of the prowling wolf, and the yell of the hostile Indian. Trained to athletic sports and martial exercises, their military propensities were cherished throughout their whole lives, and became engrafted in their nature. Martial habits mingled in all their rural pursuits. If they travelled or walked abroad, it was with the wary step, and jealous vigilance of the Indian: with an eye continually glancing into every thicket, and an ear prepared to catch the slightest alarm of danger. They slept upon their arms, and carried their rifles to the harvest field, to the marriage feast, and to the house of worship. Simple, honest, and inoffensive in their manners, kind and just to each other, they were intrepid, fierce, and vindictive in war. Under an appearance of apathy, with a gait of apparent indolence, and with careless habits, they were muscular and hardy, patient of fatigue, ardent in their temperament, warm hearted, and hospitable. They were the borderers of Virginia and North Carolina, where they had long formed a rampart between the less warlike inhabitants and the savage tribes. In the war of the revolution they had engaged with ardour; but while the acknowledgement of our national independence brought peace to the rest of our country, it left the frontiers still embroiled with the savages.
The backwoodsmen therefore, when they first emigrated into the western forests, had not to learn the rude arts of sylvan life, or to study the habits of the Indian and the beast of prey. These were enemies with whom they had long been familiar, and with whom they delighted to cope.
They lived in cabins hastily erected for temporary shelter, and as hastily abandoned when a slight allurement at some distant spot invited them to change their residence. Their personal effects were of course few, and their domestic utensils rude and simple. Their horses, their rifles, and their herds, constituted their wealth; and with these they were prepared at a moment's warning to push farther into the wilderness, selling their habitations for a mere trifle, or abandoning them to any chance occupant who might choose to take possession, and conquering for themselves a new home, from the panther and the Indian.
In the settlement of Kentucky, the pioneers emigrated singly, or in small parties. Unused to congregate in large bodies, unless on special occasions, and unaccustomed to military discipline, they chose to rely for defence on their own personal courage and vigilance. The boldest went foremost, traversed the country fearlessly, and having selected the choicest spots, however remote from other settlements, built their cabins, surrounded them with palisades to protect them from the Indians, and set all enemies at defiance. Others followed and settled around them, forming little communities, detached from each other, and each organized independently, for its own defence; and it was not until these insulated settlements extended, so as to come into contiguity, that the arm of government was felt, and the mild operation of law diffused. In the mean while the vast deserts by which they were separated, retained their pristine wildness, traversed in common by the Backwoodsman and the Indian, who never met without a conflict, which was usually of the most exterminating character.
The ferocity of the Indian was not likely to be tamed, nor his animosity to the white man to be conciliated, by this state of things. He had to do with men who had long been taught to consider the savage as a natural enemy, as hateful as the serpent, and as irreconcilable as the wolf; men whose ears had been accustomed from infancy to legends of border warfare, in which the savage was always represented as the aggressor, and as a fiend stimulated by hellish passions, and continually plotting some detestable outrage, or horrible revenge. Most of them had witnessed the Indian mode of warfare, which spared neither age nor sex; and many of them had suffered in their own families, or those of their nearest friends. They were familiar with the capture of women and children, the conflagration of houses, and the midnight assassination of the helpless and decrepid; and they had grown up in a hatred of the perpetrators of such enormities, which the philanthropist could hardly condemn, as it originated in generous feelings, and was kept alive by the repeated violation of the most sacred rights and the best affections.
As the settlements expanded, the wealthy and intelligent began to follow the footsteps of the pioneer. Virginia, the parent state, had rewarded the patriotism of many of her distinguished revolutionary officers, by large grants of land in Kentucky, and some of these emigrated among the early settlers. Many young gentlemen with elevated views and liberal educations, followed; and some of those who thus came with the rifle in hand, and commenced their professional career amid the commotion of the battle field, have since been widely known to fame, as among the most distinguished lawyers and statesmen of the nation.
There were others of a character still more essentially peaceful, who at an early period braved the dangers and privations of that unsettled region, stimulated by a noble and self denying sense of duty. While the tomahawk and fire brand were still busy; when to travel from one settlement to another, required the courage and hardihood of the hunter; the ministers of the gospel penetrated into the wilderness, and zealously pursued their sacred calling in defiance of every danger. They learned to endure fatigue, to provide for their wants, and to elude the common enemy, with the sagacity of woodsmen; and those of them who lived to enjoy the dignity of grey hairs, and the luxury of peaceful times, could narrate a series of strange adventures, and "hair breadth 'scapes," such as seldom occur in the lives of the clergy.
The incidents of the following tale have their date at a period when the settlements, though still detached, began to be so strong as to be considered permanent. Some of them were now regularly organized, and felt no longer any dread of predatory incursions of the neighbouring savage. The one particularly in which the scene is laid, had experienced a long interval of uninterrupted peace; agriculture was beginning to flourish, and the civil arts had been introduced. The woodsmen still retained their cabins, pursued the wild game for a livelihood, and joined in distant expeditions against the savages, and in defence of feebler settlements; while a number of the class who might more properly be called farmers, and several intelligent and wealthy families, had moved into the neighbourhood. Civil institutions had been introduced and the spirit of improvement was awake. The sound of the axe saluted the ear in every direction; roads were opened; magistrates had been appointed, and were assuming the authority of their stations; and females who had heretofore confined themselves within doors, brooding over their offspring like watchful birds, and who had found even the sacred fortress of women, the fire side, no protection from violence, now felt at liberty to indulge the benevolent propensity for visiting their neighbours, and talking over the affairs of the community, which is said by those acquainted with human nature, to be peculiar to the sex.
Among other novelties, a camp meeting was about to be held for the first time. This popular mode of worship was familiar to the emigrants from Virginia and North Carolina, where it had long been practised, and found highly beneficial and convenient in new settlements, where public edifices had not yet been erected, and where private habitations were too small to accommodate worshipping assemblies; and the effort now about to be made for its introduction in the west, was hailed as a happy omen for the country. The spot was selected with great care; the whole neighbourhood united in clearing the ground, erecting huts, and making the most liberal arrangements for the accommodation of the concourse which was expected to be assembled. For the convenience of obtaining water, a place was chosen on the margin of a small rivulet, and near a fine spring. The ground was a beautiful elevation, sloping off on all sides, and crowned with a thick growth of noble forest trees. The smallest of these, together with all the underbrush, were carefully removed, leaving a few of the most stately, whose long branches formed a thick canopy, at an elevation of fifty feet from the ground. The camp was laid off in a large square, three sides of which were occupied by huts, and the fourth by the stand or pulpit. The whole of the enclosed area was filled with seats roughly hewed out of logs.
A busy scene was presented on the day before the meeting commenced, occasioned by the arrival of the people, some of whom had travelled an immense distance. The larger number came on horseback, some in wagons, and some in ox-carts. They were loaded with beds, cooking utensils, table furniture, and provisions. These articles, however, were chiefly furnished by the inhabitants of the vicinity, who claimed the privilege of entertaining strangers. The persons resident in the immediate neighbourhood had each erected his own hut, with the intention of accommodating, besides his own family, a number of guests; large quantities of game had been taken, beef, pigs, and poultry had been killed, and the good wives had been engaged for several days in cooking meat, and preparing bread and pastry. The loads upon loads of good things for the body, which were accumulated, were marvellous to behold; not that there was any indulgence of luxury, or extravagant display, but as was very judiciously remarked on the occasion by a veteran hunter, "it took a powerful chance of truck, to feed such a heap of folks," and the generous Kentuckians, accustomed to practise the most liberal hospitality, could not be backward on a public occasion.
The meeting commenced on Thursday, and lasted until Monday, the whole of each day being occupied with religious exercises. At day-light in the morning, the voice of prayer was heard in each hut, were the families were separately assembled, as such, for worship. Shortly afterwards, the fires were kindled around the encampment, and a few of the females were seen engaged in cooking. A few individuals then collected on the seats in the area, and raised a hymn; others joined them, and the number swelled gradually until nearly the whole company was collected. They sang without books; the pieces being those of which the words were generally known. Some of the tunes were remarkably sweet, and thus sung in the open air, under the broad canopy of Heaven, and as it were in the immediate presence of the great object of all worship, were indescribably solemn and affecting; some were peculiarly wild, and some cheerful; many of them being the beautiful airs of popular ballads, which were in this manner appropriated to Divine worship. The balmy freshness of the morning air, the splendour of the rising sun, the stillness of the forest, and the wild graces of the surrounding scenery, gave a wonderful interest to this voluntary matin service. It was thus our first parents worshipped their Creator in Paradise, thus the early Christians assembled in groves and secluded places; and so close is the union between good taste and religious feeling, that while civilized nations have set apart the most splendid edifices for worship, ruder communities, in a similar spirit, assemble for the same purpose at the most genial hour, and the most picturesque spot. The heart powerfully excited by generous feelings always becomes romantic; the mind elevated by the noble pursuit of a high object becomes enlarged and refined; and although such impulses may be temporary, the virtuous actions which they produce have a tendency towards the soft, the graceful, and the picturesque, in their development. After the morning hymn, the preachers ascended the stand , and service was performed before breakfast. The rest of the day, with the exception of short intervals for refreshments, was filled in the same manner. But nothing could exceed the solemn and beautiful effect of the meeting at night. The huts were all illuminated, and lights were fastened to the trunks of the trees, throwing a glare upon the overhanging canopy of leaves, now beginning to be tinged with the rich hues of autumn, which gave it the appearance of a splendid arch finely carved and exquisitely shaded. All around was the dark gloom of the forest, deepened to intense blackness by its contrast with the brilliant light of the camp.
But we must hasten to our narrative. On Sunday morning a company consisting of three persons, was seen approaching the camp-ground. The elder of these, who rode alone in advance of the others, was Mr Singleton, a gentleman who had recently emigrated from Virginia. He was a farmer, a well educated man, in easy circumstances, who not being religious, nor in any manner connected with the sect under whose auspices the meeting was held, contented himself with participating no further in its proceedings, than by being a regular and respectful attendant on the daily services. Miss Singleton his only daughter, and Edward Overton her affianced lover, were his companions. They were to be married in a fortnight from this time. It is unnecessary to inform the erudite reader, that the young lady, who was just turned of seventeen, was beautiful and interesting, and her lover tall and handsome. Had they been otherwise, their lives might have slept in oblivion, with the fame of the "mute inglorious" rustics in Gray's elegy. Dennie, who has been called the American Addison, once amused himself by criticising an advertisement of a man who had stolen "a chunky horse," and with such a lesson before our eyes, we should hardly venture upon a chunky young man for a hero, or a hard favoured lady for a heroine. The decree of literary ostracism by which short gentlemen have been banished from the pages of fiction, is, in our humble opinion, unjust, believing, as we do, that to be an interesting man, and a tender lover, it is by no means necessary to possess the corporeal altitude of a grenadier. For the homely and the dull we put in no plea: it is a standing rule among writers, having a laudable care of their own fame, not to waste their midnight oil upon ugly or insipid people. The reader is therefore desired to understand distinctly, that the young couple now introduced, were not only worthy and amiable, but were in point of appearance all that the most romantic peruser of these veracious pages could rationally desire.
As they rode slowly along, they were deeply engaged in conversation; but it was easy to see from the sedate demeanour of Ellen Singleton, that the subject was suited to the day and the occasion. She was naturally gay and volatile; but latterly her thoughts had been turned to the subject of religion; and as the day approached when she was to take upon her the vows of wedlock, and to enter upon new and solemn duties, she felt more and more the necessity of directing her life agreeably to the precepts of the gospel. To these virtuous resolutions a new impulse had been given by the exercises of the camp-meeting. Her heart was sensibly awakened, and her judgment fully persuaded; and after serious reflection and preparation she was now ready to make a profession of her faith, by uniting herself with the church, and assuming those engagements which are imposed upon the disciples of the Redeemer. These duties she expected to take upon her that day; and Edward Overton felt deeply affected as he noticed the solemn tone, the deep conviction, and the firm determination of her mind; for however a false shame may sometimes induce the concealment of devotional feelings, under the mistaken notion that they will be considered as the evidence of weakness, the truth is, that a young lady is never so interesting in the eyes of her lover, as when conscientiously engaged in the performance of her duty. The senses of a young man are easily excited by beauty, wit, gaiety, and the thousand attractions of feminine loveliness, but there must be moral energy and pure principle, to secure his affections. Edward had admired Ellen when he saw her in the pride of beauty, and the flush of overflowing spirits; he had long known her to be refined and generous, and loved to contemplate her soft attractions and delicate graces; but he now witnessed the operations of her mind under a new aspect, and when he saw the good sense, the energy, and the strength of principle, which supported her in the determination to act up to her sense of duty, his love rose to a sentiment of devotion. Formerly Ellen had been in his eyes a beautiful vision, floating along in the tide of youthful enjoyment; but now that she had assumed an individuality of character, asserted her independence as a moral agent, and acknowledged her accountability to God, she became invested with a dignity, which gave an almost angelic sacredness to her charms.
On that day the concourse was greater than it had been before; and those who had been for years accustomed to the solitude of the forest, to alarm, toil, and privation, felt their hearts elevated with a new species of joy and gratitude, when they found themselves surrounded by their countrymen, and united with them in social and sacred duties. With many of them the sabbath had long passed unhonoured and even unnoticed, and its public acknowledgement called them back to holy and happy feelings; for there is in the observance of this day something so noble, so heart-cheering, so appropriate to the most virtuous impulses of our bosoms, that even the thoughtless cannot divest themselves of its influence. It is, to all who submit to its restrictions, a day of repose, when "the weary are at rest, and the wicked cease from troubling;" a day from which care and labour are banished, and when the burthens of life are lightened from the shoulders of the heavy laden. But to him who sincerely worships at the altar of true piety, and especially to one who has been led in infancy to the pure fountains of religion, the return of the long neglected sabbath brings up a train of pure and ecstatic recollections. To all it was the harbinger of peace, security, and civil order. It was delightful to see a whole community, who but recently had assembled only at the sound of the bugle, or by the glare of the beacon fire, now coming together by a spontaneous impulse, to mingle their hearts and voices in the rational and solemn exercises of religion. Insulated as that congregation was from the rest of mankind, the individuals composing it felt as if they were reunited with the great human family, when they resumed the performance of christian duties, and knelt before the Redeemer of men, in common with all Christendom, on his appointed day. Many of them had reared the altar of worship in their own families, and the sweet accents of praise had been heard, ascending through the gloom of the forest, mingled with the fiendish sound of the war-whoop, and the dissonant yell of the beast of prey; and they had seen days of moral darkness, of bodily anguish, of almost utter despair, when it seemed as if their prayers were not heard, and that God had abandoned that land to the blackness of darkness forever. But now He had set his bow in the heavens; His altar was publicly reared, and His presence sensibly felt; and they who believed in the reality of religion, felt assured that a sign was given them that they should not be destroyed from off the face of the land. Never did those simple and affecting words seem more appropriate, "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace."
In the evening, when Mr Singleton and his daughter were about to return home, Edward Overton hastened to join them. Ellen had that day been among the number who became attached to the church, and deeply absorbed in devotional feelings, had abstracted her senses and thoughts from all other subjects. Edward had watched her with deep emotion, and he now approached her with a feeling of reverence, such as he had never felt towards her before. She extended her hand, and spoke to him with her usual kindness of manner, but in a tone in which seriousness was mingled with unwonted tenderness; and as he assisted her to mount her horse, whispered to him not to accompany them: "I cannot converse with you this evening, Edward," said she, "I wish to be alone, and I am sure that you will gratify me—come tomorrow." He saw the propriety of her request, and pressing her hand affectionately, bade her adieu, with a promise to visit her early the next morning.
The sun had just set as Mr Singleton and his daughter left the camp-ground, but having only a short distance to go, they were in no haste. It was a serene evening in September. The air was still and soft, and the sky had that richness and brilliancy of colour, which travellers describe as peculiar to the genial atmosphere of Italy. The leaves still hung upon the trees, and some of them retained their verdure, while others were tinged with yellow, brown, or deep scarlet, giving to the foliage every variety of hue. The wild fruits were abundant. The grape vines were loaded with purple clusters. The persimmon, the paw-paw and the crab-apple, hung thick upon the trees, while the ground was strewed with nuts. Ellen, who was fatigued with the confinement of the day, enjoyed the exercise, and the balmy air of the evening, and felt that the passing moments were among the most delightful of her life. They were in unison with her feelings, and emblematic of her situation: she had passed the joyous spring of life, and a season of riper enjoyment, of serene quiet, and useful virtue was pictured to her fancy in agreeable perspective.
They had nearly reached home when they met one of their neighbours, with whom Mr Singleton wished to converse for a few moments; he therefore stopped, desiring Ellen to ride slowly forward. Absorbed in her own reflections, and not dreaming of danger, she gave the rein to her spirited horse, who, impatient to return to his stable, quickened his pace imperceptibly, and she was soon out of sight of her parent. But their dwelling was now in view, and she felt no alarm, until her horse suddenly stopped, and snuffed the air, as if in great terror. She had heard of the keenness of scent by which these animals discover the approach of an Indian, and the affright that they evince on such occasions; and feeling confident that nothing but the vicinity of a savage, or of some ferocious beast, could thus alarm her gentle nag, she attempted to rein him up, in order to return to her father. But the horse stood as if fixed to the ground, trembling, and snorting with an accent of agony; and before she could form any other resolution, a party of Indians, lying in ambush on each side of the road, rushed forward, and dragged her from her horse, while the high bred animal, becoming frantic with terror, tore the bridle, which they had seized, from their grasp, and made his escape at full speed.
The savages having secured their prize, immediately began to retreat towards their towns at a rapid pace, forcing the afflicted girl to exert her utmost strength to keep up with them. It soon however grew dark, and they proceeded at a more deliberate gait, but still pursued their journey through the whole night, groping their way amid dense thickets beset with thorns and briars, and over ravines and the trunks of fallen trees, with ease to themselves, but with brutal violence to the delicate frame of their captive. Poor Ellen had need now of all the consolations which the religion that she had just professed could afford. She had been told that day that she would meet with afflictions that would try her faith, but that God would never forsake those who believed on him; and she now threw herself entirely upon him for protection. She prayed earnestly and sincerely, and felt a conviction that she was heard. Her courage rose with her confidence, and she went forward without a murmur, resigned to meet her fate, whatever it might be. Ellen, too, was naturally a girl of good sense and high spirit, and while she humbly relied upon divine protection, saw also the propriety of exerting herself; and knowing that the Indians would soon be pursued, she deliberately laid plans to retard the retreat, and disclose their path. Keeping up an appearance of diligence and obedience, she contrived to linger at the various obstacles which obstructed their way, while she employed herself, whenever she could do so without attracting notice, in tearing off small pieces of her dress, and dropping such articles as she could dispense with, in places where they would be likely to attract attention. The darkness of the night favoured this scheme; her reticule, handkerchief, &c. were thus strewed by the way, and in brushing through the thickets she broke the twigs with her hands, as signals to her pursuers.
The morning added to her griefs. The warrior who claimed her, and who seemed to be the leader of the party, having led her during the night by thongs of skin bound round her wrists, now removed the bands, and seemed to contemplate his prize with complacency. He assured her, in broken and barely intelligible English, of kind treatment, and promised that, if she behaved well, he would make her his wife. When Ellen shook her head in alarm, as if dissenting from this matrimonial arrangement, he said, "May be, you think I cannot support you. That is a mistake. The Speckled Snake is a great hunter. My lodge is on the bank of a great river, where the water is cold, and the big fish love to swim. The plains all round my village are covered with deer and buffaloe. The stars in the heavens are not so many as the cattle on our hunting grounds. The white man does not come there to destroy every thing that the Great Spirit made for his red people, like the hurricane when it sweeps through the woods. I can outrun the elk; I am stronger than the buffaloe; I am more cunning than the beaver. They call me the Speckled Snake, because I can conceal myself in the grass, so that my enemies step on me before they see me. I have only three squaws. I can support another very well, and my lodge is big enough for three or four more. You need not be afraid of my women treating you ill. I will beat them unmercifully if they strike you. My squaws fear me; I whip them severely when they quarrel with each other. Women need a great deal of whipping."
Late in the morning they halted to eat and rest. Ellen had no appetite for food. She had now been walking for fourteen hours without cessation, over hills, and through swamps and thickets. Her feet were swelled and lacerated, and her hands and arms torn with briars. Worn down by extreme fatigue and mental exhaustion, she began to suffer intense thirst and violent pains. But her bodily afflictions were light in comparison with the gloomy anticipations of her mind, and the shock already inflicted on her sensitive heart. She found her companions more brutal and loathsome than even prejudiced description had painted them. They had urged her forward with pointed sticks, and would have beaten her, had she not endeavoured to anticipate their wishes. They devoured their raw and almost putrid meat with the gluttony of beasts; and exhibited altogether a ferocity which seemed to belong to fiends rather than to human beings. The idea of remaining in their power was dreadful; death she thought would be infinitely preferable to such captivity. Like all generous minds, she had, too, in the moment of her severest sufferings, a sympathy for others which was more poignant than her own afflictions. She thought of her father, who had no child but herself, and whose heart would be wrung with intense agony by this event; and of Edward Overton, the devoted lover, whose affections were so closely linked with her own: and pictured to herself the misery they would endure upon her account. Still her courage remained strong, and her confidence in heaven unshaken; and as her captors swallowed their hasty meal, she sunk upon her knees, clasped her hands together, and with a countenance beaming calm resignation, engaged in audible prayer, while the Indians gazed at her with a wonder not unmingled with awe.
Here we shall leave her for the present, while we introduce another character to the reader's acquaintance. At a distance of some fifteen or twenty miles from the place of holding the religious meeting above alluded to, a solitary hunter was "camped out" in the woods. He had selected a spot in a range of low broken hills, on the margin of an extensive flat of wet alluvion land, to which the wild grazing animals resorted at this season, when the grass and herbage were beginning to wither upon the uplands. His camp was simply a roof resting on the ground, formed by leaning stakes of wood together, so as to make them meet at the top, and covering them with bark. It was not more than four feet high, and intended only to accommodate a single person in a reclining posture; and was placed in a thicket, so concealed by vines and branches, as not to be discoverable, except by close inspection, while the aperture, which supplied the place of a door, commanded a view to some distance in front. Not far from it was an Indian war path, leading from the flat to the uplands; and the hunter seemed to have purposely placed himself in a position from which he would be likely to see the war parties of the savages, should any pass, without being discovered by them.
The hunter was a man of middle height, not remarkably stout, but with a round built, compact form, happily combining strength with activity. His countenance was mild and placid, showing an amiable and contented disposition; and his eye was of a quiet contemplative kind. The muscles of his face were rigid, and strongly developed, and his complexion darkened by long exposure to the weather; but there were no lines indicating violent or selfish passions. It was a bold, manly countenance, but the prevailing expressions were those of benevolence and thought. There was an archness, too, about the eye, which showed that its possessor was not deficient in humour. He was evidently a man of strong mind, of amiable propensities, and of great simplicity of character. The quiet courage of his glance, the self possession and calm vigilance of his manner, together with a certain carelessness and independence of mien, would have pointed him out as a genuine pioneer, who loved the woods, and was most happy when roaming in pursuit of game, or reclining in his solitary retreat, with no companion but his faithful dog. Nor was this fondness for the silence of the wilderness the result of unsocial feelings: the hunter loved his friend, and enjoyed the endearments of his own fireside; but he forsook them in the same spirit in which the philosopher retires to the seclusion of his closet,—to enjoy unmolested the train of his own reflections, and to follow without interruption a pursuit congenial with his nature. Though unacquainted with books, he had perused certain parts of the great volume of nature with diligent attention. The changes of the seasons, the atmospherical phenomena, the growth of plants, and the habits of animals, had for years engaged his observing powers; and without having any knowledge of the philosophy of schools, he had formed for himself a system which had the merit of being often true, and always original.
On the same night in which Ellen Singleton was captured by the Indians, the hunter whom we have described slept in his camp. It was dark, but perfectly still, and his slumbers were undisturbed until near the dawn of day, when his dog, who lay on the outside, suddenly started up and uttered a low whine. The watchful hunter, accustomed to awake at the slightest alarm, raised his head and listened. The dog snuffed the air for a moment, and then crept cautiously into the camp, as if to apprise his master of approaching danger. The latter seized his rifle, and crept from the place of concealment, while the dog, with bristling hair, crouched on the ground, uttering at intervals a low suppressed moan, intended only for the ear of the master. The hunter looked cautiously around, and having satisfied himself that no enemy was within striking distance, directed his scrutiny to a spot where the war-path crossed the summit of a small knoll, which was bare of timber, and beyond which the blue sky could be seen. As he watched, a human figure was seen dimly traced on the horizon, passing rapidly over the summit of the knoll, along the Indian trail. Another, and then others followed, until the hunter had counted seven; but their forms were too indistinct to enable him to make any guess as to their character. He had other data however upon which to form a judgment. "Indians!" muttered he to himself, "yes, Drag would not crouch between my feet, trembling, and whining, and bristling, like a scared pig, if he did not scent a red skin. I can almost think I smell them myself. They have been in some devilment now, the abominable wretches! How they sneak off like thieves!" Then, while the last figure was yet in sight, he placed his mouth against a hollow tree to give a more sepulchral tone to his voice, and imitated the screech of the owl. The figure halted, and uttered a low short sound resembling a different note of the same bird; but the hunter continued his mournful serenade in loud prolonged accents, until the human prowler, apparently satisfied that it was the night song of the real bird, and not the signal of a friend, resumed his silent march. An owl, the tenant of a neighbouring oak, and who was the identical music master of our hunter, took up the strain with increased vivacity, but in a tone so nearly resembling that which had just ceased, as to have deceived the nicest ear, and the hunter resumed his reflections.
"Well, I've fooled them—and not the first time either. They are my old acquaintances, the Mingoes; and that is the signal of the Speckled Snake— the prince of mischief—the head devil of his tribe. Oh, the beggarly cut-throat villains! If I had Billy Whitley here now, or Simon Kenton, or Ben Logan, the way we'd fix these seven Indians would be curious. Some honest man's cabin is blazing now, I warrant, and his wife and children butchered. It is ridic'lous, I declare. They have no more bowels of compassion than a wolf. But, after all, the Indians have some good qualities. They are prime hunters, I will say that for them, and they are true to one another. I don't blame them, a grain, for their hatred to the Long Knives. That game is fair, for two can play at it. But their thirst for human blood, and their cruelty to women and children is ridiculous. It does no good to nobody, and is ruinous to the pleasant business of hunting; for a man cannot take a little hunt of a month or two, without the danger of having his cabin burnt, and his family murdered in his absence. Well, it is no use for me to sit here; I'll take another nap, and look after the Speckled Snake in the morning."
At the first appearance of day-light, the hunter sprang from his bed of skins. No time was required for the toilet, for he had slept with all his accoutrements about him, and came forth equipped at all points. His whole dress was of tanned buckskin, fitted closely to his form, and so arranged as to protect every part of his person from the thorns and briars which might assail it, in passing rapidly through the brushwood of the forest. Under one arm hung a large powder horn, which had been selected for the beauty of its curve and texture, carefully scraped and polished, and covered with quaint devices, traced with the point of the hunter's knife; under the other was suspended a square pouch of leather, containing flints, patches, balls, steel, tinder, and other "little fixens," as a backwoodsman would call them, constituting a complete magazine of supplies for a protracted hunt. On the belt supporting the pouch, in a sheath contrived for the purpose, was the hunter's knife, a weapon with a plain wooden handle, marvellously resembling the vulgar instrument with which the butcher executes his sanguinary calling. From a crevice in a neighbouring rock, where it had been artfully concealed, our pioneer supplied a small wallet with a store of dried venison, in order to be prepared for a march of several days, should occasion require. A broad leathern belt, secured round the waist by a strong buckle, confined the whole dress and equipment, and supported a tomahawk.
Thus clad, and prepared for action, the hunter, after carefully examining the priming of his rifle, scraping the flint, and passing his eye along the barrel to see that all was right, strode off towards the place where he had seen the Indians. "To think of their having the impudence to walk along a footpath, like white people," muttered he; "they must know that, if they have been in mischief, the settlements will be raised, and the horsemen will follow this trail. They didn't keep it long, I judge, but only fell in to here on the broken ground, to get along a little faster." Having reached the path, he examined it closely, but the hard ground afforded him but little satisfaction, and he proceeded cautiously towards a rivulet, or in the vernacular of the country, a branch, that meandered along the foot of the hill. Here he was again disappointed, for the Indians had cunningly diverged from the path, and crossed the water by a log, leaving no trace of their footsteps. "Aye, they are cunning enough," soliloquized the hunter, "I couldn't expect them to cross the branch at a ford, like a mail-carrier in the settlements. But they can't fool me; I have not been raised to the woods to be outwitted by a gang of thieving Mingoes. The Speckled Snake is famous for these tricks, and has done his best, there is no mistake about that; but no animal that moves upon feet can walk these woods without making a sign."
"Well, it is a pleasant life that the hunter leads, after all, though it is a hard one," continued he, as he opened his collar, bathed his face and hands in the clear stream, and seated himself on a log, to enjoy the cool morning air. "Nature did not make these clear waters, and beautiful woods, merely for the use of treacherous Indians,—no, nor for land speculators and pedlars. Here is quiet and repose, such as they know nothing of who toil in their harvest fields, or bustle about in crowded cities. And what is the use of all their labour? The enemy steals into the settlement, and in a moment their stacks, their barns, and their houses are all in flames, or the pestilence walks abroad, and they die by hundreds, like the Indians in a hard winter. The hunter avoids both extremes: he lays up provisions for the winter, but does not accumulate so much property as to tempt the Indian to rob, or the lawyer to fleece him. It makes me sorry when I go into the settlements, where the people are getting so crowded that there is no comfort, and where there is so much strife. It is so with all animals: confine cattle in a yard, and they will hook each other, or chickens in a coop, and they will peck out each other's eyes. But there is no stopping them; the pedlar's carts will be along over this very spot, before many years, and the time will come, when there will not be a buffalo in Kentucky. It is bad enough now. There are settlements already, where a woodsman cannot find his way for the roads and farms."
At this moment the tread of a horse was heard. The hunter threw his rifle over his arm, and stepped behind a large tree, to be prepared for friend or foe. In a moment, Edward Overton made his appearance, dashing along the war-path. His horse was panting and covered with foam, his dress torn, and his countenance haggard. The hunter emerged from his concealment to meet him. They were strangers to each other, but no time was lost in useless ceremony or unnecessary questions, and Edward soon related the catastrophe of the preceding evening.
"Mr Singleton's daughter, eh?" said the hunter coolly, "I have heard tell of the gentleman, though I never saw him. Very much of a gentleman, I expect—he came from Culpepper—I killed a deer once in sight of his plantation—though I never saw the man, to know him. Well the way these Indians act is curious."
"Shocking!" exclaimed the youth, "this atrocious act exceeds all former outrages."
"Well, I can't say as for that," replied the hunter, "though I am sorry for the young woman— they took my own daughter once, and I can feel for another man's child. But where is your company?"
"I became separated from them in the woods, and accidentally struck this path."
The hunter then related what he had seen, and the youth, elate with new hope, urged an instant pursuit.
"There are six of them, and but two of us," said the hunter.
"No matter if they were a hundred," replied the inpatient Overton, "she is suffering agony, and every moment is precious. Even now she may be at the stake."
"That is true. The savages treat their prisoners very ridiculously sometimes. But, young gentleman, I see you carry a fine looking rifle,—can you handle it well."
"As well as any man. Never fear me—I will stand by you. I would die a thousand deaths for that dear girl."
"I reckon you would; I see it in your eye. If there is not good Virginia blood in you, I am mistaken. The misfortune is that a man can only die once, however willing he might be to try it over again. Well, there is nothing gained without risk— and I feel for this poor child. Don't be in a fret, young man, I am just waiting to let you take breath. I will go with you provided you will obey my instructions. Now, mark what I say: hitch your horse to that tree, and leave him—examine your priming, and pick your flint—then fall into my track, tread light, keep a bright eye out, and say nothing. It will be curious if we two cannot outgeneral a half a dozen naked Mingoes."
The former apathy of the hunter's manner had entirely vanished. The excitement was sufficient to call out his energies. His eye was lighted up with martial ardour, his lips were compressed, and his step firm and elastic. Without waiting for further parley, he dashed forward, with a rapid stride, followed by his young and not less gallant companion. With unerring sagacity he struck at once into the trail of the enemy. "Here is plenty of Indian sign," said he, pointing to the ground, where the youth could see nothing, "and a beautiful plain track it is—almost as plain as some of the roads in the old dominion —there is the place where they crossed the branch, on that log, and here is the print of a woman's foot, a small slender foot with a shoe on, such as the ladies wear in the old settlements—it is narrower than our women's shoes, that we make in these parts—there is the other foot, without a shoe—she has lost one, poor thing—and there is a drop of blood on that leaf!"
Overton groaned, the tears started from his eyes, and his limbs trembled with emotion.
"Keep cool, young man—be a soldier—no one can fight when he is in a passion. Blood for blood is the backwoodsman's rule. We shall have them at the first halt they make. They cannot travel all the time, without stopping, no more than white folks."
The hunter now advanced with astonishing rapidity, for although his step seemed to be deliberate, it had a steadiness and vigour, which yielded to no obstacle. His course was as direct as the flight of a bee, and his footsteps, owing to a peculiar and habitual mode of walking, were perfectly noiseless, except when the dry twigs cracked under the weight of his body. His eye was continually bent on the ground, at some distance in advance of his course; for he tracked the enemy not so much by the footprints on the soil, as by the derangement of the dry leaves or growing foliage. The upper side of a leaf is of a deep green colour and glossy smoothness; the under side is paler, and of a rougher texture, and when turned by violence from its proper position, it will spontaneously return to it in a few hours, and again expose the polished surface to the rays of light. The hunter is aware of this fact, and in attentively observing the arrangement of the foliage of the tender shrubs, discovers, with wonderful acuteness, whether the leaves retain their natural position. So true is this indication, that where the grass is thick and tangled, a track of lighter hue than the general surface, may be distinctly seen for hours after the leaves have been disturbed. The occasional rupture of a twig, and the displacing of the branches in the thickets afford additional signs; and in places where the ground is soft, the foot prints are carefully noticed. Other cares, also, claimed the attention of the woodsman. His vigilant glance was often thrown far abroad. He approached every covert, or place of probable concealment, with caution, and sometimes when the trail passed through dangerous defiles, where the enemy might be lurking, suddenly forsook it, and taking a wide circuit, struck into it again far in advance. Thus they proceeded for three hours, with unremitting diligence and silence, when the pioneer halted.
"Here are fresh signs," said he, "the enemy are at hand; sit down and let us take breath."
The youth, whose confidence in his guide was now complete, obeyed in silence. The hunter again examined his arms.
"This is a charming piece," said he, in a low voice, "she never misses when she has fair play. It is a pleasant thing to have a gun that will not deceive you in the hour of danger. But then a man must do his duty, and have every thing in order."
Overton had been accustomed all his life to hunt occasionally for amusement. He was a young man of considerable muscular powers, and possessing the high spirit, and the apitude in the use of weapons, which are so characteristic of the youth of his country, was no mean proficient in the exercises of the forest. He now followed the example of his guide. They laid aside their coats and hats, drew their belts closely, and began to advance slowly, taking every step with such caution as not to create the slightest sound. They soon reached the summit of a small eminence, when the backwoodsman halted, crouched low, and pointed forwards with his finger. Overton followed with his eye the direction indicated, and beheld with emotions of indescribable delight, mingled with agony, the objects of his pursuit. At the root of a large tree sate the Indians, hideously painted, and fully equipped for battle, voraciously devouring their hasty meal. At a few yards distance from them knelt Ellen, in the posture already described, awaiting her fate with all the courage of conscious innocence, and all the resignation of fervent piety. Overton's emotion was so great, that the hunter with difficulty drew him to the ground, while he hastily whispered the plan of attack, a part of which had been concerted at their recent halt. "Let us creep to yon log, and rest our guns on it when we fire. I will shoot at that large warrior who is standing alone—you will aim at one of those who are sitting; the moment we have fired we will load again, without moving, shouting all the while, and making as much noise as possible;—be cool—my dear young friend — be cool. Overton smothered his feelings, and during the conflict emulated the presence of mind of his companion.
They crept on their hands and knees to the fallen trunk of a large tree, which lay between them and the enemy, and having taken a deliberate aim, the hunter gave the signal, and both fired. Two of the savages fell, the others seized their arms, while our heroic Kentuckians reloaded, shouting all the while. Ellen started up, uttering a shriek of joy, and rushed towards her friends. Two of the enraged Indians pursued, with the intention of dispatching her, before they should retreat. Edward Overton and his companion rushed to her assistance. One of the Indians had caught her long hair, which streamed behind her, in her flight, and his tomahawk glittered above his head, when Edward rushed between them, and received the blow, diminished in force, on his own arm. Undaunted, he threw himself on the bosom of the savage, and they rolled together on the ground, in fierce conflict. The hunter advanced upon his adversary more deliberately, and practising a stratagem, clubbed his rifle. The Indian, deceived into the belief that his piece was not charged, stopped, and was about to throw his tomahawk, when the backwoodsman, adroitly bringing the gun to his shoulder, shot him dead. Two other foemen remained, and were rushing upon the intrepid hunter, when the latter perceiving that the struggle between Overton and his antagonist was still fierce and doubtful, hastened to his assistance, and with a single blow of his knife, decided the combat. Edward sprung up, reeking with blood, and stood manfully by his friend, prepared for a new encounter; but the parties being now equal in number, the two remaining savages retreated.
In another moment Miss Singleton was in the arms of the heroic Overton. We shall not attempt to describe the joy of the young lovers. Ellen, who had thus far sustained herself with a noble courage, and whose resignation to her fate, dictated by an elevated principle of religious confidence, had won the admiration of her savage captors, and perhaps preserved her life, now felt the tender affections of the woman resuming their gentle dominion in her bosom. The faith, the hope which had supported her, though resulting from rational deductions, had been almost superhuman in their operation; but the gratitude to Heaven that now swelled her heart, and burst in impassioned eloquence from her lips, was warm from the native fountains of sensibility. Sudden deliverance from all the horrors by which she had been surrounded, was in itself sufficiently joyful; but it came infinitely enhanced in value, when brought by the hand of her lover; and when Edward Overton found that, though fatigued and bruised, she had suffered no material injury, his joy knew no bounds.
As for the hunter, he was engaged, like a prudent general, in securing the victory. He had carefully reloaded his gun, and having with his dog pursued the fugitives for a short distance, to ascertain that they were not lurking near, began to inspect the bodies of the slain, and collect their arms.
"Not a bad morning's work," said he, "here are four excellent guns, tomahawks and knives. Some of our people want arms badly, and these will just suit."
As he surveyed the field of battle, a flush of triumph was on his cheek; but it was evident that his paramount feelings were those of a benevolent nature, and that his sympathies were deeply enlisted. "There they sit," said he, glancing at the young couple, "as happy as a pair of blackbirds in a new ploughed furrow. This has been a sorrowful night to both of them, but they will look back to it hereafter with grateful hearts. They did not know before how much they thought of each other." He then approached the young lady, and with the kindness of a father, inquired into her sufferings and wants; and began to provide for her comfort.
In a few minutes a shout was heard, and another hunter, clad like the first, joined them. "Ah, here you are," exclaimed the new comer, as he gazed at the scene of action; "the work's all done, and here's the Speckled Snake as cold as a wagon tire. I have been on the trail all the morning."
"Pity but you had been here," replied the first hunter, "we have had a smart brush, I assure you."
"A pretty chunk of a fight, I see; there's no two ways about that. I knew the crack of your rifle, when I heard it, and hurried on. But I could n't get here no sooner, no how. Well, there's always plenty of help when it's not wanted. The woods is alive with rangers."
"Is my father among them?" inquired Miss Singleton.
"Oh yes—and the old gentleman is coming along pretty peart, I tell you. I took a short cut about a mile back, and left them. I never saw such a turn out, no how. The camp ground was emptied spontenaciously, in a few minutes after the news came. How do you stand it, Madam?"
"I am dreadfully bruised, but no bones are broken," replied Ellen, smiling.
"That is a mere sarcumstance," replied the rough son of the forest, waving his hand, "it's a mercy, madam, that the cowardly varments had n't used you up, body-aciously. These Mingoes act mighty redick'lous with women and children. They aint the raal true grit, no how. Vile on them! they ought to be essentially, and particularly, and tee-totally obflisticated off of the face of the whole yearth."
A party of horsemen now arrived, among whom was Mr Singleton. A litter was soon prepared for the rescued lady, who was borne on the shoulders of men, in joy and triumph, to the settlement, and found herself repaid for her sufferings by the assiduous attentions and affectionate congratulations of her friends and neighbours. When Mr Singleton had heard the particulars of the rescue, he pressed the happy Overton to his bosom, and looked round for the brave hunter, to whom he owed so deep a debt of gratitude, but he was no where to be seen. On the arrival of the horsemen, he had given the trophies of the fight in charge to one of them, and retired with his companion. Mr Singleton was deeply chagrined, for he felt a sense of obligation to the generous backwoodsman, which, as he knew that no other compensation would be received, he wished to acknowledge.
"Where can he have gone?" exclaimed he, "I must see him!"
"You will hardly have that pleasure to-day," replied one of the company. "No one ever saw him sitting down to chat, when there were Indians about. He is on the trail of the two that fled, and will have them before he sleeps."
No sooner was this communication made, than a party set out to join in the pursuit, and it was afterwards understood that they overtook the veteran pioneer, only in time to participate in the last scene of the tragedy of that eventful day.
Ellen Singleton recovered her health rapidly, and the wedding took place on the day that had been appointed. Agreeably to the hospitable custom of this country, a general invitation was given, and the whole neighbourhood was assembled. They had already collected, when Mr Singleton joined them, in company with the veteran woodsman, the most conspicuous character in this legend. He was now dressed like a plain respectable country gentleman. His carriage was erect, and his person seemed more slender than when cased in buckskin. Though perfectly simple and unstudied in his manners, there was nothing in them of the clownish or bashful, but a dignity, and even an ease approaching to gracefulness. His countenance was cheerful and benevolent, and in his fine eye there was a manly confidence mingled with a softness of expression, which afforded a true index of the character of the man. His hair, a little thinned, and slightly silvered with age, gave a venerable appearance to his otherwise vigorous and elastic form. His agreeable smile, his well known artlessness of character, and amiability of life, as well as his public services, rendered him an universal favourite, and his entrance caused a murmur of pleasure.
"I have had some trouble," said Mr Singleton, "in finding our benefactor, whose modesty is as great as his other good qualities. But as the happiness of this occasion would have been incomplete without him, I have presevered. And now, my friends and neighbours, allow me to acknowledge publicly my gratitude for his intrepid conduct on the late mournful occasion, when my only child was rescued from a dreadful captivity by his generous interference; and to exert the last act of my parental authority by decreeing that the first kiss of the bride shall be given to the pioneer of the west—the Patriarch of Kentucky."
"Thank you," replied the veteran, "but as I have no wish to take such a liberty with any gentleman's wife, I shall apply now for my reward to Miss Singleton, leaving it to Mrs Overton to compensate a certain brave young gentleman, to whom she owes a great deal more than to me."
And so the matter was settled, greatly to the satisfaction of all parties.
On a pleasant evening in the autumn of the year 18—, two travellers were slowly winding their way along a narrow road which led among the hills that overhang the Cumberland river, in Tennessee. One of these was a farmer of the neighbourhood— a large, robust, sunburnt man, mounted on a sleek plough horse. He was one of the early settlers, who had fought and hunted in his youth, among the same valleys that now teemed with abundant harvests; a rough plain man clad in substantial homespun, he had about him an air of plenty and independence, which is never deceptive, and which belongs almost exclusively to our free and fertile country. His companion was of a different cast—a small, thin, grey haired man, who seemed worn down by bodily or mental fatigue to almost a shadow. He was a preacher, but one who would have deemed it an insult to be called a clergyman; for he belonged to a sect who contemn all human learning as vanity, and who consider a trained minister as little better than an impostor. The person before us was a champion of the sect. He boasted that he had nearly grown to manhood, before he knew one letter from another; that he had learned to read for the sole purpose of gaining access to the scriptures, and, with the exception of the hymns used in his church, had never read a page in any other book. With considerable natural sagacity, and an abundance of zeal, he had a gift of words, which enabled him at times to support his favourite tenets with a plausibility and force, amounting to something very nearly akin to eloquence, and which, while it gave him unbounded sway among his own followers, was sometimes not a little troublesome to his learned opponents. His sermons presented a curious mixture of the sententious and the declamatory, an unconnected mass of argument and assertion, through which there ran a vein of dry original humour, which, though it often provoked a smile, never failed to rivet the attention of the audience. But these flashes were like sparks of fire, struck from a rock; they communicated a life and warmth to the hearts of others, which seemed to have no existence in that from which they sprung, for that humour never flashed in his own eye, nor relaxed a muscle of his melancholy, cadaverous countenance. yet that eye was not destitute of expression; there were times when it beamed with intelligence, moments when it softened into tenderness; but its usual character was that of a visionary, fanatic enthusiasm. His ideas were not numerous, and the general theme of his declamation consisted of metaphysical distinctions between what he called "head religion," and "heart religion;" the one being a direct inspiration, and the other a spurious substitute learned from vain books. He wrote a tract to show it was the thirst after human knowledge, which drove our first parents from paradise, that through the whole course of succeeding time school larning had been the most prolific source of human misery and mental degradation, and that bible societies, free masonry, the holy alliance, and the inquisition, were so many engines devised by king-craft, priest-craft, and school-craft, to subjugate the world to the power of Satan. He spoke of the millennium as a time when "there should be no king, nor printer, nor Sunday school, nor outlandish tongue, nor vain doctrine—when men would plough, and women milk the cows, and talk plain English to each other, and worship God out of the fulness of their hearts, and not after vain forms written by men." In short, this worthy man was entirely opposed to the spread of religious knowledge; "when a man has head religion," he would say, "he is in a bad fix to die—cut off his head, and away goes his soul and body to the devil." The remainder of his character may be briefly sketched. Honest, humane and harmless in private life, impetuous in his feelings, fearless and independent by nature, and reared in a country where speech is as free as thought, he pursued his vocation without intolerance, but with a zeal which sometimes bordered on insanity. He spoke of his opponents more in sorrow than in anger, and bewailed the increase of knowledge as a mother mourns over her first born. He was of course ignorant and illiterate; and with a mind naturally vigorous, and capable of high attainments, his visionary theories, and perhaps a slight estrangement of intellect, had left the soil open to superstition, so that while at one time he discovered and exposed a popular error with wonderful acuteness, at another he blindly adopted the grossest fallacy. Such was Mr Zedekiah Bangs. His innocent and patriarchal manners insured him universal esteem, and rendered him famous, far and wide, under the title of Uncle Zeddy; while his acknowledged zeal and sanctity gained for him in his own church, and among the religious generally, the more reverend appellation of Father Bangs.
Our worthy preacher, having no regular stipend— for he would have scorned to preach for the lucre of gain, cultivated a small farm, or as the phrase is, raised a crop, in the summer, for the subsistence of his family. During this season he ministered diligently among his neighbours; but in the autumn and winter his labours were more extensive. Then it was that he mounted his nag, and rode forth to spread his doctrines, and to carry light and encouragement to the numerous churches of his sect. Then it was that he travelled thousands of miles, encountering every extreme of fatigue and privation, and every vicissitude of climate, seldom sleeping twice in the same bed, or eating two meals at the same place, and counting every day lost in which he did not preach a sermon. Gentlemen who pursue the same avocation with praiseworthy assiduity in other countries, have little notion of the hardships which are endured by the class of men of whom I am writing. Living on the frontier, where the settlements are separated from each other by immense tracts of wilderness, they brave toil and hunger with the patience of the hunter. They traverse pathless wilds, swim rivers, encamp in the open air, and learn the arts, while they acquire the hardihood of backwoodsmen. Such were the labours of our worthy preacher; yet he would accept no pay; requiring only his food and lodging, which are always cheerfully accorded, at every dwelling in the west, to the travelling minister.
Among his converts was Johnson, the farmer in whose company we found him at the commencement of this history. Tom Johnson, as he was familiarly called, had been a daring warrior and hunter, in the first settlement of this country. When times became peaceable he married and settled down, and, as is not unusual, by the mere rise in value of his land, and the natural increase of his stock, became in a few years comparatively wealthy, with but little labour. A state of ease and affluence was not without its dangers to a man of his temperament and desultory habits; and Tom was beginning to become what in this country is called a "Rowdy," that is to say, a gentleman of pleasure, without the high finish which adorns that character in more polished societies. He "swapped" horses, bred fine colts, and attended at the race paths; he frequented all public meetings, talked big at elections, and was courted by candidates for office; he played loo, drank deep, and on proper occasions "took a small chunk of a fight."
Tom "got religion" at a camp-meeting, and for a while was quite a reformed man. Then he relapsed a little, and finally settled down into a doubtful state, which the church could not approve, yet could not conveniently punish. He neither drank nor swore; he wore the plain dress, kept the Sabbath, attended meetings, and gave a cordial welcome to the clergy at his house. But he had not sold his colts; he went sometimes to the race ground; he could count the run of the cards and the chances of candidates; and it was even reported that he had betted on the high trump. From this state he was awakened by Father Bangs, who boldly arraigned him as a backslider. "You've got head religion ," said the preacher, "you're a Sunday Christian—on the Sabbath you put on your straight coat and your long face, and serve your Master—the rest of the week you serve Satan; now it does n't take a Philadelphia lawyer to tell, that the man who serves the master one day, and the enemy six, has just six chances out of seven to go to the devil; you are barking up the wrong tree, Johnson,—take a fresh start, and try to get on the right trail." Tom was convinced by this argument, became a changed man, and felt that he owed a heavy debt of gratitude to the venerable instrument of his reformation, whom he always insisted on entertaining at his house when he visited the neighbourhood. On this occasion, the good man, having preached in the vicinity, was going to spend the night with his friend Johnson.
As the travellers passed along, I am not aware that either of them cast a thought upon the romantic and picturesque beauties by which they were surrounded. The banks of the Cumberland, at this point, are rocky and precipitous; sometimes presenting a parapet of several hundred feet in height, and sometimes shooting up into cliffs, which overhang the stream. The river itself, rushing through the deep abyss, appears as a small rivulet to the beholder; the steam-boats, struggling with mighty power against the rapid current, are diminished to the eye, while the roaring of the steam and the rattling of wheels come exaggerated by a hundred echoes.
The travellers halted to gaze at one of these vessels, which was about to ascend a difficult pass, where the river, confined on either side by jutting rocks, rushed through the narrow channel with increased volocity. The prow of the boat plunged into the swift current, dashing the foam over the deck. Then it paused and trembled; a powerful conflict succeeded, and for a time the vessel neither advanced nor receded. Her struggles resembled those of an animated creature. Her huge hull seemed to writhe upon the water. The rapid motion of the wheels, the increased noise of the engine, the bursting of the escape-steam from the valve, showed that the impelling power had been raised to the highest point. It was a moment of thrilling suspense. A slight addition of power would enable the boat to advance,—the least failure, the slightest accident, would expose her to the fury of the torrent and dash her on the rocks. Thus she remained for several minutes; then resuming her way, crept heavily over the ripple, reached the smooth water above, and darted swiftly forward.
"Them sort of craft did n't use to crawl about on the rivers, when we first knew the country, brother Johnson," said the preacher.
"No, indeed," returned the other.
"And the more 's the pity," continued the preacher; "does not the apostle caution us against the inventions of men? We had vain and idle devices enough to lead our minds off from our true good, without these smoking furnaces of Satan, these floating towers of Babel, that belch forth huge volumes of brimstone, and seduce honest men and women from home, to go visiting around the land in large companies, and talk to each other in strange tongues."
"I am told," said Johnson, "that some of them carry tracts and good books, for the edification of the passengers."
"Worse and worse!" replied the preacher; "tracts! what are they but printed snares for the soul? There was no printing-office in Eden—oh no! and when all the creatures of the earth were gathered into the ark, there was no missionary, male or female. But go thy way," he exclaimed, raising his voice, "thou floating synagogue of Satan! soon shall the time arrive when there shall be neither steam boat, nor sunday school, nor other device of vain philosophy!"
"Others of these boats," said the farmer, "have cards and music and wine, with every sort of amusement, on board."
"These are bad things," returned the preacher; "men and women should not drink rum, nor swear, nor gamble, nor make uncouth noises with out-landish instruments; but all these are not so bad as tracts—for these former are open enemies, while the latter catch a man's soul asleep under a tree, and kidnap him when he is camped out afar from home."
"In our day, father, the merchants were well enough satisfied to tote their plunder upon mules and pack horses. And that puts me in mind of a story that happened near about where we are now riding."
"What is that, brother Johnson?"
"In an early time, some traders were crossing the country, and aimed to make the river at the ford just below this. They had a great deal of money, all in silver, packed upon mules, for in them days we had n't any of this nasty paper money."
"No—nor much of any sort," said the preacher slyly.
"If we had n't," replied the former sturdily, "we had what answered the purpose as well. I mind the time when tobacco was a legal tender, and 'coon-skins passed currenter than bank notes does now. In them days, if a man got into a chunk of a fight with his neighbour, a lawyer would clear him for half a dozen muskrat skins, and the justice and constable would have scorned to take a fee, more than just a treat or so. But you know all that—so I'll tell my tale out, though I reckon you've heard it before?"
"I think I have," said the other, "but I'd like to hear it again—it sort o' stirs one up, to hear about old times."
"Well, the traders had got here safe, with their plunder, when the news came that Indians were about. There was no chance to escape with their loaded mules; so they unloadened them, and buried the money somewhere among these rocks; and then being light, made their escape. So far, the old settlers all agree; but then some say that the Indians pursued on after them, a great way into Kentucky, and killed them all; others say that they finally escaped, the fact is, that the people never came back after the money, and it is supposed that it lies hid somewhere about here to this day."
"Has not that money often been searched after?"
"Oh, bless you, yes; a heap of times. Many a chap has sweated among these rocks by the hour. Only a few years ago, a great gang of folks came out of Kentucky, and dug all around here, as if they were going to make a crop; but to no purpose."
"And what, think you, became of the money?"
"People say it is there yet."
"But your own opinion?"
"Why, to tell you my opinion sentimentally," replied Tom, winking and lowering his voice, "I do n't believe in that story."
"How?" exclaimed the other incredulously.
"It's just a tale—a mere noration," said Tom, "there's no two ways about it."
"Indeed! how can you think so?"
"Why, look here, father Zedekiah,—I know, very well, that every man, woman, and child within fifty miles, thinks there is certainly a vast treasure buried in these rocks; but when I almost as good as know to the contrary, I am not bound to give up my opinion."
"Very right, that 's just my way; but let us have your reasons."
"I have fought the Indians myself," said the farmer, "and I know all their ways. They never come out boldly into the open field, and take a fair fight, fist and skull, as Christians do; but are always sneaking about in the bushes, studying out some devilment. The traders and hunters understand them perfectly well; the Indians and they are continually practising devices on each other. Many a trick I've played on them, and they have played me as many. Now it seems to me to be nateral—just as plain as if I was on the ground and saw it, that them traders should have made a sham of burying money, and run off while the Indians were looking for it."
"That's not a good argument, brother Johnson."
"I have great respect for your opinion," replied the farmer, but on this subject I have made up my mind—"
"So have I," interrupted the preacher, and reining in his horse, he fell in the rear of his companion, as if determined to hear no more.
Johnson, in broaching this subject, had not been aware of the interest it possessed in the mind of his friend. The fact was, that Bangs in his visits to this country had frequently heard the report alluded to, and it was precisely suited to operate upon his credulous and enthusiastic mind. At first he pondered on it as a matter of curiosity, until it fastened itself upon his imagination. In his long and lonesome journeys, when he rode for whole days without seeing a human face, or habitation, he amused himself in calculating the probable amount of the buried treasure. The first step was to fix in his own mind the number of mules, and as the tradition varied from one to thirty, he prudently adopted the medium between these extremes. He found some difficulty in determining the burthen of a single mule, but to fix the number of dollars which would be required to make up that burthen, was impossible, because the worthy divine was so little acquainted with money, as not to know the weight of a single coin. For the first time in his life he lacked arithmetic, and found himself in a strait, in which he conceived that it might be prudent to take the counsel of a friend.
Near the residence of the reverend man dwelt an industrious pedagogue. He was a tall, sallow, unhealthy looking youth, with a fine clear blue eye, and a melancholy countenance, which at times assumed a sly sarcastic expression that few could interpret. In the winter, when the farmers' children had a season of respite from labour, he diligently pursued his vocation. In the summer he strolled listlessly about the country, sometimes roaming the forest with his rifle, sometimes eagerly devouring any book that might chance to fall into his hands. Between him and the preacher there was little community of sentiment; yet they were often together: the scholar found a source of inexhaustible amusement in the odd, quaint, original arguments of the divine, and the latter was well pleased to measure weapons with so respectable an opponent. They never met without disputation, yet they always parted in kindness. The preacher, instead of wondering, with the rest of the neighbours, how "one small head could carry all he knew," derided the acquirements of his friend as worse than vanity; and the latter respectfully, but stoutly, maintained the dignity of his profession.
It was not without many qualms of pride that the worthy father now sought the school-master, with the intention of gaining information which he knew not how to get from any other source. Having once made up his mind, he acted with his usual promptness, and unused to intrigue or circumlocution, proceeded directly to his point.
"Charles," said he, "can you tell me how many dollars a stout mule might conveniently carry?"
"Indeed I cannot."
"Do none of your trumpery books treat of these things?"
"They do not, Uncle Zeddy; but they lay down the principles upon which such results may be ascertained."
"Very well; let us see you resolve this question by your arithmetic."
"You must first give me the data: what is the burthen of a mule?"
"Can't tell; never backed one in my life."
"Well, let us see:—we will say that a stout animal of this class might easily carry you and me, with all our books, money, and learning; now we cannot rate our two selves at more than two hundred and fifty pounds, and for our luggage, tangible and intellectual, we may set down ciphers; a dollar weighs an ounce, and there is the question stated: if one dollar weighs one ounce, how many dollars will it take to make two hundred and fifty pounds? Work it by the rule of three, and there is the answer."
The preacher's eyes glistened as he saw the figures; a long deep groan such as he was in the habit of heaving upon all occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, burst involuntarily from him.
"Charles, my son," said he, gasping for breath, and lowering his voice to a whisper, while his eyes, riveted upon the sum total, seemed ready to start from their sockets, "suppose there were fifteen such mules?"
"In that case," replied the pedagogue carelessly, as he multiplied his former product by the sum named, "in that case the result would be so much."
"Read the figures to me," said the preacher, groaning again, "I am not certain that I can make them out."
"It is only about forty-five thousand dollars."
"Only! oh the blasphemy of learning! Young man, the wealth of Solomon was nothing to this— yea, the treasures of Nebuchadnezzar were as dust in the balance compared with this hoard!" and he walked slowly away, muttering "it is too much! it is too much!"
It was indeed a vast sum! more than honest Zedekiah had even thought or dreamt of; and to a mind like his, confined heretofore to a single subject, it developed a new and an immense field of speculation. He seemed to have opened his eyes upon a new world. He conjured up in his mind all the harm that a bad man might do with so much money; and trembled to think that any one individual might, by possibility, become master of a treasure so great, as to be fraught with destruction to its possessor, and danger to the whole community in which he lived. He thought of the luxury, the dissipation, the corruption, that it might lead to; and rising gradually to a climax, he adverted to the ruinous and dreadful consequences, if this wealth should fall into the hands of some weak minded, zealous man, who was misled by false doctrines: how many Sunday schools it would establish, how many preachers it would educate, how many missionaries it would send forth, to disseminate a spurious head religion throughout the world!
Turning from this picture, he reflected on the benefits which a good man might with all this money confer on his fellows. Ah! Zedekiah, now it was that the tempter, who had been all along sounding thee at a distance, began to lay a regular siege to thy integrity! Now it was that he sought to creep into the breast, yea, into the very heart's core, of worthy Zedekiah! He had always been poor and contented. But age was now approaching, and he could fancy a train of wants attendant upon helpless decrepitude. He glanced at the tattered sleeve of his coat, and straightway the vision of a new suit of snuff-coloured broadcloath rose upon his mind. He thought of his old wife who sat spinning in the chimney corner at home; she was lame, and almost blind, poor woman! and he promised to carry her a pound of tea, and a bottle of good brandy. In short, the Reverend Mr Bangs set his heart upon having the money.
Such was the state of matters, when the conversation occurred which I have just related. It was again renewed at Johnson's house, that night, after a substantial supper, and ended as such conversations usually do, in confirming each party in his own opinion. Indeed the old man had that day got, as he thought, a clue, which might lead to the wished for discovery. He had heard of an ancient dame, who many years before had dropped mysterious hints, which induced a belief that she knew more on this subject than she chose to tell.
On the following morning, the preacher rose early, saddled his nag and rode forth in search of the old woman's dwelling, without apprising any one of his intention. He soon found the spot, and the object of his search. She was a poor, decrepid, superannuated virago, who dwelt in a hovel as crazy, as weatherbeaten, and as frail, as herself. She was crouched over the fire smoking a short pipe, and barely turned her head, as the reverend man seated himself on the bench beside her.
"It 's a raw morning," said the preacher.
"I've seen colder," was the reply.
"So have I," returned Zedekiah; and there the tete a tete flagged. The old man warmed his hands, stirred the fire with his stick, and being a bold man, advanced again to the charge.
"Pray, madam, are you the widow Anderson?"
"That's my name; I'm not ashamed to own it," replied the woman sullenly.
"You're the person then that I was directed to; I wished to get some information on a particular subject."
"Aye; you're after the money too, I suppose— the devil 's in all the men!"
"The devil never had a worse enemy than I am," said the old man archly.
"I do n't know who you are," replied the woman, "but you may travel back as wise as you came."
The preacher mentioned his name, his vocation, and the object of his visit. The virago, in spite of her ill-nature, was evidently soothed when she learned that her visitor was no less a person than the Reverend Mr Bangs. "Who'd have thought that the like of you would come on such an errand?" said she; "well, well, it's little I know, but you are welcome to that."
Now came the secret. The husband of Mrs Anderson had been a water-witch, a finder of living fountains. These he discovered by the use of the divining rod, which is well known to possess a virtue in the hands of a favoured few, of which it is destitute when used by others. Anderson wielded the hazel twig with wonderful success, and became so celebrated that he was sent for far and near to find water. Inflated with success, he became ambitious of higher distinction and greater gain. He imagined that the same art by which he discovered subterranean fountains, would enable him to find mineral treasures in the bowels of the earth. He fancied his fortune already made by the discovery of mines of precious metals; the hidden silver on the shores of the Cumberland would of itself repay his labours. He put all his ingenuity in requisition, and busied himself for years in endeavouring to find a wand that would "work" in the vicinity of minerals, as the ordinary divining rod operates in the neighbourhood of water. In the latter process, much depends on the kind of wood of which the rod is composed; the hazel, the peach, the mulberry, and a few others, all of rapid growth, are the most approved. Proceeding upon the same principle, he endeavoured to find a tree or shrub which should possess an attractive sympathy for metals. Success at length crowned his operations; he found a tree whose branches had the desired virtue. He discovered veins of iron ore in the surrounding hills, and had announced to his wife that he was on the point of finding the buried money, when death, who respects a water-witch no more than a beggar or a king, arrested his career.
But when she came to speak of the manner of his death, her voice faltered. She had often warned Anderson that it was dangerous to meddle with hidden treasures. They were generally protected by supernatural beings, who would not allow them to be removed with impunity; and several persons who had been engaged in the same search before Anderson, had been alarmed by appearances which caused them to desist. One day he came home to his dinner in high glee, and throwing aside his rod, for which he declared he had now no further use, he swore that he would have the money before he slept. It was deposited, he said, in a certain cliff, which was very difficult of access, and which he was determined to visit that afternoon. It was midnight before he returned. He crawled into his cabin and sunk with a groan on the floor. His wife struck a light, and hastened to his assistance, but he was speechless, and soon expired. His body was covered with bruises, and the general opinion was that he had been precipitated from the rocks by some invisible hand.
The rod remained in the possession of his wife, but its existence was a secret to all others. Fear had prevented her from ever trying its efficacy, and inasmuch as it was useless to herself, she took the wise and spirited resolution, that no other person should profit by its virtues, and uniformly turned a deaf ear to the applications frequently made by those who, knowing the habits of her husband and his researches in relation to the matter, applied to her for information. She now presented to the preacher the long treasured wand, the bark of which having been peeled off, it was impossible to discover from what tree it had been taken.
For several days after this event, the reverend man continued to traverse the neighbourhood, carefully concealing himself from observation, and exploring with the metallic rod every spot where it was probable the treasure might be hidden, and particularly the cliffs near to Anderson's cabin. One day he returned to the house of Johnson with a look of triumph, and desiring a private interview with his host, informed him that he had found the spot! It was so situated that he could not reach it without assistance, and having described the place accurately to his friend, he concluded by offering him a liberal share, if he would accompany and aid him. To his surprise Johnson briefly and peremptorily refused.
Offended at the obstinacy of the farmer, Father Bangs left his house. On the road he met a stranger travelling on foot, with whom he entered into conversation, and finding him prompt and intelligent in his replies, he engaged him as an assistant, and appointed a spot at which they were to meet on the following morning.
At the hour appointed Uncle Zeddy proceeded to the rendezvous, where the stranger soon appeared, bearing on his shoulder an immense coil of rope. They proceeded to a tall cliff, which, springing from the margin of the river, towered into the air to the height of two hundred feet. The summit on which they stood presented a table surface of rock, to which they had ascended by a gentle acclivity. Few ventured to the edge of that precipice, for its verge, projecting over the river, overhung it at such a fearful distance that the boldest trembled as they looked into the abyss. The face of the precipice as viewed from the opposite shore seemed to be nearly perpendicular, the slight curve by which the summit projected over the water, being not observable from that direction; and about one-third of the way down, might be seen the mouth of a cave, which was deemed inaccessible to all but the birds of the air. The preacher, after due consideration, had arrived at the conclusion, that the money was in this cave; and having fastened the cable about his own waist, he required his assistant to lower him into the gulf.
It would have been edifying to have seen the courage with which that old man passed over the verge, and the steady eye with which he looked down upon the deep abyss, the jutting rocks, and the foaming torrent below; while his companion, having passed the end of the rope round a tree, advanced to the edge of the rock, and gazed after him with wonder. Uncle Zeddy found no difficulty in descending; but on getting opposite to the mouth of the cave, it was no small exploit to achieve an entrance, for as the cable hung perpendicularly from the projecting peak, he found himself swinging in the air, several feet in advance of the face of the rock. The only chance for it, was to swing in by an horizontal movement, and to do this it was necessary first to give the rope a motion like that of a pendulum. It was not easy to produce this effect, for as the preacher hung suspended by the middle, like the golden fleece, it was difficult to throw his weight in the desired direction. This, however, was at last accomplished; and, after swinging to and fro for half an hour, Uncle Zeddy succeeded in grasping the rock at the opening, and drew himself into the cave.
The cavern was small, and our worthy adventurer soon satisfied himself that it did not contain the object of his search. The sides were all of solid rock, without a crevice or other place of concealment. Being ready to return, he gave the signal agreed upon, by jerking the rope; he waited a few minutes and jerked again—and again—and again, but without success. Was it possible that his assistant could be so depraved as to abandon him? He crept to the mouth of the aperture, and looked out. Under different circumstances he could have enjoyed the rushing of the water, and the pleasant fanning of the breeze as it swept along the valley. But now the wind seemed to murmur dolefully, the waves looked angry, and the cragged rocks had a fearful aspect of danger. He shuddered at the thought of being forsaken to die of hunger. He shouted; and his voice echoed from rock to rock. An hour, and another hour, passed. A steam boat came paddling along, and he screamed for help. The crew looked up; they saw the cable, and a man's head peeping out of the cavern at a dizzy height above them, and shouted loud in admiration of his daring exploit. He waved his neckcloth in the air, and uttered piteous cries, but they understood him not, and only shouted and laughed the louder as they beheld what they supposed to be the antic bravadoes of some daring hunter. The boat passed on. Night came, and he gave himself up for lost. The sun rose and he was still a prisoner. The morning wore away wearily; loss of sleep, hunger, and terror, had nearly worn the old man out—when he felt the rope move! A thrill of joy passed through his chilled frame. He sprung to his feet, and jerked it violently. The signal was successful; he felt that a strong and steady arm was drawing him, as it were from the grave, into the regions of the living. In a few minutes he passed over the verge, and found himself in the arms of Johnson. The latter, alarmed at the unusual length of his friend's absence, had set out in search of him, and knowing his plan of visiting the cave, had hastened to this spot, where, finding the cable attached to a tree, he was so fortunate as to save the life of his friend in the manner described. The assistant had absconded with the preacher's horse.
When Father Bangs was a little recovered from his terror, he said, "I have not found what I went for, but I have discovered something that convinces me I am not far from the spot. It was here that Anderson met his fate."
"How did you find that out? there was a heavy fall of rain, the night of his death, and we could afterwards find no marks to satisfy us where he fell."
"As I passed over the edge of the cliff I found this watch lying in a crevice of the rock. It seems to have been a long time exposed to the weather, and must have been in Anderson's pocket, when the demon, or whatever it was, cast him over."
"You still believe in this story, then?"
"I have seen nothing to shake my belief; but I begin to feel sort o' dubious that if there be money buried here, it is not altogether lawful for any but the right heirs to search after it. Anderson was punished for making the attempt, and you see what a fix I am in. This thought came over me while I lay confined, and I trembled for the young man whom I left on the rock, lest he should have been spirited away, or brought to an untimely end."
"He has been spirited away by that good horse of yours, and if ever he comes to a violent death it will be under the gallows."
"Well, be it so; but my own confinement and suffering, I cannot but think, was meant as a punishment."
"Have your own way," said the farmer, "if you do but quit money-hunting, I am satisfied, but I must say, when I hear you talk of spirits and such like, that I am sorry to find you are still barking up the wrong tree.
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i had a classmate at college whose name was Jeremy Geode. Circumstances threw us together at that time, and we became attached friends. We occupied the same room, and the same bed, and freely communicated to each other our most secret thoughts. I am not philosopher enough to account for the principle of attraction which operated upon us; the adhesion was very strong, but the cause that produced it was as deeply hidden from my feeble powers of perception as the properties of the load-stone. I once read a very learned and unintelligible book of philosophy, from beginning to end, for the purpose of finding out why it was that two human beings should be stuck together like particles of granite: but I had my labour for my pains. The reason was inscrutable; stuck together we were, and yet never were two individuals more unlike each other. We were perfect antipodes, and our friendship a moral antithesis. My readers will enter fully into the perplexities which this subject afforded me, when I inform them that my friend was dismally ugly, while I was, not only a great admirer of beauty, but in my own opinion, at least, very good looking. He was a sloven, I was neat and dressy. He loved books, I loved men—particularly those of the feminine gender. He was devoted to figures, and so was I—but then his affections settled upon the figures of arithmetic and geometry, while mine were running riot among those of the cotillion. He was studious, grave, and unsocial, and I gay, volatile, and fond of company. I could talk by the hour about any thing, or about nothing, while my friend was taciturn, seldom opening his remarkably homely mouth, except to utter a syllogism, or demonstrate a problem. There were occasions, it is true, when his eloquence would burst forth like the eruption of a volcano. I have seen him rant like a stump orator, over a geological specimen, or pour forth metaphors, in all the exuberance of poetic phrensy, while commenting upon the wonders exhibited in the structure of a poor unfortunate musquito which had fallen into his clutches. Strange as it may seem to those who are unacquainted with the organization of such minds, he was a wit of the highest order. A sly inuendo, a sententious remark, a playful sarcasm, uttered with the most inflexible gravity, would excite in others a paroxysm of laughter, while he was apparently unconscious of any feeling akin to mirth. That he enjoyed his own exquisite vein of humour, and the humour of others, I have now no doubt, for every man who possesses any strongly marked faculty of the mind, experiences a high degree of pleasure in its exercise. But he passed for a misanthrope, an unfeeling selfish man, who, wrapped up in the abstractions of his own mind, had no sympathies in common with his fellow creatures; and he was willing to pass under any character, which might secure him from intrusion, and leave him at liberty to pursue the leadings of his own genius. His equanimity under these surmises, and under all the crosses of life, was absolutely miraculous; the truth was that his vigorous understanding, and native good temper, enabled him to look down upon the accidents that vex other men. I alone suspected that he was kind and generous, because I had seen his eye moisten, and the rigid muscles of his face relax, as he persued the tender epistles of a doating mother; though it was only in after years that I learned that he earned his own subsistence, and that of his parent, by the labours of his pen, while he pursued his college studies. I could have wept, when this fact came to my knowledge, and when I recollected how I had sometimes ridiculed his parsimonious habits, and his unceasing devotion to labour.
Another trait in the character of my friend shall be chiefly noticed. Although he diligently eschewed the company of women, and regarded men with careless indifference, he seemed so perfectly enamoured of the society of children and other irrational animals, that I sometimes suspected him of being a believer in the Pythagorean doctrine of transmigration. When fatigued with mental exertions, he would steal off to join his little play fellows, on the green beyond the town, which was their place of evening resort. There he would be seen stretched upon the grass, gazing at them with an eye of interest and of complete satisfaction. The youngsters quickly struck up an acquaintance, and clave to him with instinctive affection. They soon learned to bring him their hats and coats to take care of, when they drew them off for play; he became the umpire in their contests, and the peace-maker in their disputes; and he might often be seen with the whole posse around him, the smallest hanging on his knees and his great shoulders, and the biggest forming a dense circle, with open eyes and mouths, while he related some strange legend, or explained the curious phenomena of nature. These facts were not generally known in college; and it was well for him—for had the erudite and dignified sophomores detected him in such childish pursuits, my friend Jeremy Geode would undoubtedly have been put in Coventry. He had a mocking-bird, too, in a cage, a martin box at his window, and an industrious family of silk-worms in a small cabinet. A lean, hungry, ferocious-looking cat, whose love of mice or of mythology had brought her to college, who had been expelled from one room, and kicked out of another, and suffered martyrdom in so many shapes, that, but for the plurality of her lives, she would long since have ceased to exist, at last took refuge in our room. She entered with a truly feline stealth of tread, and sought concealment with the cowardice of conscious felony. But no sooner did she attract the eye of Jeremy, than a mutual attachment commenced, a single glance revealed to each a kindred spirit; in a few hours puss was running between the student's feet; before the close of the day she was reposing in his lap, and a firm friendship was cemented. Under his care she grew fat, social, and contented, and justice requires me to say, that a more intelligent or better behaved cat never inhabited the walls of a learned institution.
After the completion of our collegiate course, we commenced the study of our respective professions. Now it was that a principle of repulsion began to operate, which carried us perpetually in opposite directions. Our minds, which had heretofore, to some extent, inhabited the same sphere, began to diverge as it were, from a common centre, so that we entered upon the great theatre of life by different paths. My friend, who was cautious and plodding, betook him to the dusty turnpike of science, carefully noting the indications of the innumerable finger-posts and mile-stones, which have been set up by the industry of sundry worthy men, on either side of that great highway. He was willing to reach the ultimate point of his ambition by the beaten road, which experience has marked out. Wisdom's ways are said to be pleasant ways, and all her paths peace, and I dare say he found them so; but I must confess that I had not sufficient taste to discern, wherein that peace and pleasantness consisted. I betook myself to that flowery path, which, without having any particular course or destination, meanders through the regions of fancy, and the resorts of pleasure. But I was unwilling, at first, to part with my friend; I grieved to see his youth withering in monastic seclusion, and his energies wasted in a severe course of unproductive studies.
"What do you expect to gain," said I to him, one day, "by this incessant toil of the mind, this rigid self denial, this total abstraction from the ordinary pursuits of youth?"
"Knowledge!" was his laconic reply.
"And will the accumulated stores of knowledge be worth so dear a purchase? Are you not acting the part of the miser who keeps up a mass of useless wealth, at the expense of all the courtesies of life, and all its enjoyments? Is this a rational way of spending time?"
"I like it," said he.
I was nettled at his perfect composure. "So does your cat like to sleep," I exclaimed, "and pardon me for saying that I see little difference,"— I was going to say, "between you and your cat," but I had the grace to modify the comparison—"between dozing over the fire, or over musty books."
"The books are far from musty," replied he very placidly, "and as for poor puss, she is quite happy and respectable, in her way."
"But my dear Geode, to what end is this slavery of the mind?"
"Usefulness."
"Usefulness! to whom, pray?"
"To myself, to my country, to mankind."
"And the reward? Come tell us that. What do you expect in return for becoming the benefactor of an ungrateful world?"
"The approbation of good men, and of my own conscience."
He had reason and virtue on his side, and my logic would hold out no longer. I was awed, but not convinced; and we parted.
My friend studied medicine, a choice upon which I had often rallied him as growing out of his love for the occult sciences; for with his more solid acquirements, he had mingled an acquaintance with alchemy, witchcraft, and all the mystic lore which is found in black letter books. He could draw horoscopes, and tell fortunes like an adept, and so gravely would he talk upon such subjects, that had it not been for a lurking roguishness of the eye, which he could never wholly command, I should have feared that he was in earnest. I chose the science of law, because this profession is considered the path to office and honour. I had no relish for the drudgery of a practising attorney. Framing declarations, and exploring the intricacies of law reports, had no attractions for me. My ambition soared higher; and I imagined, as multitudes of young men do, who crowd to the bar in the hope of leading a life of ease and dignity, that my labours would cease, and my triumphs begin, with my maiden speech. In common with all who have been deluded by this fallacy, I have discovered my error. The labours of the lawyer who pursues his profession with energy, are as severe as those of the farmer or mechanic, while his pecuniary gains are less certain. But then the farmer is a drudge, and the mechanic is not an esquire. The legal profession confers a patent of gentility on its members; they are gentlemen of the bar; and the man who wishes to become a gentleman by a short cut, and to remain one during life, has only to procure a license to practise in a court of record, which confers an indefeasible title to that distinction, whatever may be the properties of his body, mind, or estate.
But I sat down, not to write of myself, but to indite the veritable history of Doctor Jeremy Geode, who having obtained his diploma with great distinction, emigrated to the western states. He called to take leave of me, previous to his departure. A suit of mourning announced that he had lost his mother, the only human being, in memory of whom he would have thought it necessary to exhibit this outward symbol of grief. "I nursed her," said he, "in her last illness, and received her blessing. It was mournful to sever so dear a tie; but I felt that I had gained, in her approbation of my conduct, a richer legacy than any that the whole earth could bestow." He spoke of his future prospects with confidence, though with that peculiar bashfulness with which a modest young man, accustomed to seclusion, faces the world for the first time. There is no sight more touching to a considerate heart, than to behold a highly gifted and ingenuous youth, embarking in the voyage of life, with no companion but enterprise and indigence. Bright may be his career, and noble his triumphs; but the chances that those buoyant hopes, those modest graces, those virtuous emotions, which render youth so engaging, will be blighted by vice, by disappointment, and by sordid cares, are so many, as to fill the benevolent heart with trembling apprehension.
Doctor Geode settled in an obscure town, far in the wilderness. It was a village newly laid out, upon the borders of an extensive prairie; a beautifully undulating plain, fringed with woods, and dotted with picturesque clumps and groves of trees. The grass, as yet but little trodden, exhibited its pristine luxuriance, and a variety of gorgeous flowers enlivened the scene. The deer still loitered here, as if unwilling to resign their ancient pastures, and at night the long howl of the wolf could be heard, mingled with the fearful screechings of the owl. The village was composed of log cabins, and was, with the neighbourhood around it, inhabited chiefly by backwoodsmen—a race of people who, delighting in the chase, and devoted to their wild, free, and independent habits, precede the advance of the denser population, and keep ever on the outskirts of society. Ardent, hospitable, and uncultivated, the stranger is as much delighted with the cordial welcome he finds at their firesides, as he is struck with their primitive manners, their singular phraseology, and their original modes of thinking. Accustomed to long journeys, to frequent changes of residence, to protracted hunting expeditions, to swimming rivers, and encamping in the woods, they bear fatigue and exposure with the patience of the Indian: their figures of speech are numerous, and drawn from natural objects: and they have a fund of that intelligence which arises from extensive wanderings, from a close observance of nature, and from habits of free discussion, mingled with the simplicity induced by the absence of literature.
A few months passed away delightfully with Doctor Geode. He roamed the forests and the prairies with the eagerness of one who had fallen upon a new world, more beautiful than that of his nativity. He walked and rode, hunted and fished, not for sport, but in search of scientific truth. The cabin which he occupied as a study, soon grew into a museum of natural curiosities. Every day brought some novel and interesting subject under his investigation. The treasures of knowledge which he had accumulated over the midnight lamp, seemed now to swell, and burst forth into life, as the exuberant flower springs from the folds of the bud. The world around him was teeming with living and beautiful illustrations of those abstruse principles that had been gathered into his memory with so much toil, and arranged with so much care. Not a wind blew, nor a shower fell; not a flower regaled his senses with its gaudy beauties or rich perfumes; without filling his mind with a sensation of pleasurable emotion. To him the phenomena of nature were all eloquence, and music, and symmetry. He had studied these things in the closet as mere abstractions, but now they came before him as sensible objects, bearing the stamp of reality, and glowing with the freshness of life.
But in the midst of these pursuits, my worthy friend entirely forgot to employ the ordinary means of getting into practice. He made no display of his skill, nor courted the acquaintance of any of his neighbours. No flashy advertisement extolled the merits of Doctor Geode, and informed the public that he was their humble servant. A wily competitor, taking advantage of this improvidence, represented my erudite friend as an insane gentleman, who roamed about gathering roots, and catching prairie flies; and the neighbours felt no inclination to consult a mad doctor. His own habits confirmed these mercenary slanders. His homely face was pale and sallow; his thick black beard was often allowed to remain a whole week unshaven; and in his total carelessness of every thing relating to his own comfort, he sometimes walked from his shop to his lodgings without his hat, or with one boot and one shoe. His collection of stuffed birds, impaled insects, and pickled reptiles, might well bring his sanity in question with those who could see no advantage in this hideous resurrection of dead bodies. Moreover he had tamed a crow, a bird held in particular aversion, in consequence of its depredations upon corn fields, and pronounced by a popular verse to have been, Ever since the world began, Natural enemy of man; and a black cat, who of her own accord had taken up her residence with him, was his constant companion. He soon found himself avoided, like a mad dog in a populous town, or a freemason in the enlightened state of New York. Week after week rolled away, and not a patient called the skill of Doctor Geode in requisition. He wondered at this circumstance, and perplexed himself with vain endeavours to conjecture the reason. He saw that he was even shunned; but his modesty, as well as his independence, prevented him from inquiring into the cause. In the mean while his finances were exhausted, and poverty, with all its inconveniences and mortifications, stared him in the face.
There is one truth, as regards the moral government of this world, to which there are few exceptions; it is, that good deeds always have their reward. So it happened to my friend. He was one day induced to enter a solitary cabin, in the outskirts of the village, by hearing as he passed the groans of a person who seemed to be in pain. A decent widow who supported a large family by her labour, was suffering under a high fever, and in a state of delirium. Beside her sat a fair haired girl, about fourteen years old, the daughter of a neighbouring gentleman, bathing her temples, and vainly endeavouring to soothe her torture. Without asking any questions, the humane physician rendered such assistance to the sufferer as her case required; nor did he quit her bed side, until every alarming symptom was removed. The young girl, who at first shrunk back in alarm, was soon drawn to his assistance by the kindness of his tones, and now witnessed his promptness and success with astonishment. He continued to attend her from day to day until his patient was completely restored, and then refused any compensation for what he considered a slight and a voluntary service. Being an intelligent woman, who had been accustomed to attend the sick, she readily discovered, from his tender manner, and skilful prescriptions, that he was no ordinary man; and she now, in the warmth of her gratitude, revealed to him the arts by which his competitor had deprived him of the confidence of the public.
Doctor Geode never did things like other men. Instead of getting angry, he was amused at the ingenuity of his rival, and at his own ridiculous predicament. He was born too far east to be overreached by a specious pretender; and as his necessities were at that moment particularly pressing, he soon devised a plan for present relief, and for the utter discomfiture of his rival. Although his bashfulness, and habits of abstraction, had kept him aloof from an intercourse with his neighbours, he had not been unattentive to their traditions and modes of thinking; while he spoke little, he had listened and observed much. Some of their superstitions had struck him as remarkably amusing, and he was even then preparing an essay on this subject. With these landmarks to assist him, his scheme was soon digested. Having prepared a neat card, and drawn upon it a circle and a triangle, with red ink, he proceeded to trace over it several words in the Greek character. He then advertised that "Doctor Jeremy Geode, the seventh son of a celebrated Indian doctor, would cure all diseases, by means of the wonderful Hygeian Tablet, or Kickapoo Panacea, of which he was sole proprietor." It was a happy thought! the virtues of a seventh son have long been well known; and however our sturdy borderers may dislike their savage neighbours, the Indian doctor has always been in high repute among them. The reputed lunatic was at once elevated into an inspired mediciner; the crow, the black cat, and the collection of natural curiosities, became objects of respectful curiosity. In vain did the regular physician of the village denounce him as an impostor; in vain an incredulous few professed their entire disbelief. The doors of the seventh son were soon crowded with the halt and the sick. Among the first that came was Mr Jones, the father of the fair haired girl, a gentleman of information and property; a frank, hospitable man, who had taken up a favourable opinion of the doctor, and who became now, by his daughter's account of the incident she had witnessed, warmly engaged in his interest. What passed at the interview need not be repeated; Mr Jones at its conclusion exhibited evident symptoms of having enjoyed a hearty laugh, and Doctor Geode had received some new views of western character. They remained firm friends, and Mr Jones never spoke of the seventh son, but in terms of high respect. The success of the mystic tablet was triumphant, and its fame spread far and near. Nauseating and dangerous drugs were decried, as useless and pernicious. It even became a matter of general remark and wonder, that people should be so stupid as to swallow deadly poisons, while health could be so much more cheaply purchased by looking at a card. Faith alone was requisite to give efficacy to the spell. It is true that the charm sometimes failed; but this was always attributed to the unbelief of the patient, and the doctor forthwith proceeded to treat such cases secundum artem, concealing the fact that he used the subtle minerals of the pharmacopoeia, and leaving the world to suppose that he practised only with the simples gathered in his botanic excursions. The consequence was that his practice spread not only through the country around, but an immense number of patients were brought to him from a distance. As for the regular physician, he was obliged to quit the village.
Happening to pass through that region, when the fame of Doctor Geode was at its zenith, I was astonished to hear the name of my old classmate, of whom I had lost sight for some years, coupled with miraculous cures by faith; and I determined to pay him a visit. Muffled in my cloak, and disguised still further by the alteration that time had made in my features, I entered his dwelling. It was a spacious log house, divided into several apartments, all of which, except one, were occupied by the sick. In the audience room, if I may so call it, sat the doctor; his black beard, which he had suffered to grow, overhanging his breast, and his raven locks almost concealing his features; while his mountainous nose, his calm but piercing eye, and his sarcastic lip, revealed to me, at a glance, my former classmate. He was surrounded by a group of persons, who sought relief from real or imaginary diseases.
"I have a desperate misery in my side," said one.
"I've got the billiards fever," groaned another.
"I am powerful weak," drawled a third.
"My limbs are sort o' dead like," whined a fourth.
"Oh, doctor, I've got the yaller janders powerful bad; I feel jist like I'd naaterally die off; and I can't hope myself, no how."
"Can you cure the rheumatiz?"
"I've an inward fever."
"Doctor, my peided cow is in a desput bad fix with the holler horn."
"Ah, doctor Geeho, you never seed sich a poor afflicted crittur as I be, with the misery in my tooth; it seems like it would jist use me up bodyaciously."
"Oh, doctor, doctor, I've got the shaking ager, so mighty bad, I aint no account, no how."
"Mr Geehead, I wish you'd look at my boy; he's got in the triflingest way you ever seed; he can't larn his book, and does nothing but jeest tell lies and steal, study, all the time; he aint in his right mind, no how."
"Canst thou minister to a mind diseased?" inquired I in a feigned tone. His quick eye, which had more than once rested on me, since I had entered the room, was turned hastily towards me in eager scrutiny. Failing to penetrate my disguise, he civilly inquired my business.
"I know," said I in a mock heroic tone, "that knowledge is thy idol, usefulness thy creed, the approbation of good men, thy reward. I seek advice."
"Your complaint?" inquired he in a tremulous voice, for he more than suspected who was his visitor.
"The cacoethes scribendi."
"Oh si sick omnes!" exclaimed the seventh son, waving his hand over his valetudinarian levee, who stood gasping in awe, at this outlandish dialogue.
"It hath afflicted me from my youth," rejoined I.
"Get you gone," cried he in a tone of grave sarcasm, while a joyful recognition sparkled in his eye, "get you gone, it is a loathsome, incurable disease, which criticism may correct, but the grave only can remove. It hath afflicted the world for ages, carrying with it revilings, and jealousies, and war. It maketh a man lean in flesh, and poor in substance. A hollow eye, a sunken cheek, a soiled finger, and a tattered coat are its symptoms."
"I crave a private consultation, learned doctor," said I, and accordingly, after dismissing his patients, he led me into his sanctum, and embraced me with the fervour of affectionate friendship.
I remained with him that day, and we consumed nearly the whole night in conversation. After he had recounted his adventures, I inquired how he, whose moral principles I knew to be rigid, could justify himself in assuming a character which did not belong to him.
"There is less of imposture," he replied, "in the character which I have assumed, than you imagine; my father was a physician, and I am his seventh son."
"But is it right to delude the ignorant, and give your sanction to an idle superstition?"
"I will not say that it is right. Nothing is right, but truth and plain dealing. Yet I am not prepared to say that it is morally wrong, to do good to men through the medium of their own weakness. One half the diseases which afflict mankind are imaginary, and should be treated as such. I practise upon this rule, and have found faith quite as valuable as physic."
"But is it possible that you can pursue this life with satisfaction?"
"So far as there has been deception in it, it has been irksome. But it has afforded me a fund of amusement, and has given me an insight into the human heart, which I consider invaluable. I have acquired an intimate acquaintance with the peculiarities of a most original people; have seen the workings of superstition in one of its most powerful forms; and have closely studied one of the most curious incidents of the mysterious connexion between mind and matter."
"Then you have some confidence in your system?"
"Oh yes: how can I help it? I have seen the sturdy hunter, who could face the painted Indian, or wrestle with a hungry wolf, quailing under a fancied or unimportant disorder, and suddenly, at my bidding, by a mere volition of will, resuming his vigour, and returning to his manly exercises; I have seen the drooping maiden, who was withering like the autumn leaf, call back her smiles and her bloom, by a simple exertion of faith. I must acknowledge, however, that my plan has been extended farther, and continued longer, than I intended. It was embraced partly in jest, partly under the goadings of stern necessity. My success astonished me. I saw no way to retreat. I was doing good to others and enriching myself. I am now possessed of a sufficient sum to establish me wherever I please. Besides, the bubble must soon burst; ours is not a country, nor an age, in which delusion can live long."
I left him on the following morning. Shortly afterwards he abandoned the scene of his success, after presenting the mystic tablet to the poor widow, who had proved so valuable a friend to him in the hour of adversity, and instructing her in the real secret of its efficacy.
Three years had passed away since the interview just related, when one day Doctor Geode, who was now a regular physician, of high standing, in a city not far from that of my own residence, entered my room. I was astonished at the change which a short time had wrought in his person and appearance. He was now in his thirtieth year, and had just reached the vigour of manhood. He was plainly but neatly dressed. Good living and active employment had clothed his muscles with flesh, and brought a healthy bloom to his cheek. The sharp angles of his face had become rounded, and the clouds of care were dispersed. The clownish manners of the student had given place to the deportment of a plain intelligent gentleman. A smile of benevolence and placid contentment sat upon his