THE ANGEL OF THE PRAIRIE.
In the awful sufferings to which communities and companies are
sometimes doomed, it is often found that the most delicate and refined
females display the greatest fortitude and the truest heroism. When
the terrible calamity came upon Captain Shields and his party, it
was generally supposed that the first to succumb, from sheer terror
alone, would be the frail, blue-eyed, laughing Lizzie Manning, whose
gentleness of heart, and mirthful ways, had won the affections of all,
before the journey from St. Louis was fairly begun.
There was a blanching of the damask cheek, a faint scream of fear,
when the half naked Comanches suddenly burst forth to view, and sent
in their first volley, and she scrambled nimbly into the “fort,” as
the refuge wagon was termed, thoughtful enough, however, to be the
very last one to enter. By the time she had taken her place upon the
straw-covered floor upon the bottom, her courage had returned to her,
or more properly speaking, she rose to the situation, and displayed
a lofty courage and a rare good sense that excited the wonder and
compelled the admiration of all.
By her aid, the screaming, terrified children were speedily quieted,
and the scarcely less frantic mothers were made to realize that
their own safety lay in retaining their self possession, and keeping
themselves and their children out of range of the rifle-balls that
were clipping the canvas covering of the wagon, and burying themselves
in the planking all about them. By this means something like order
was obtained in the crowded little party, and they had nothing to
do but to watch furtively the fighting going on all around them, to
look at the horrid Comanches circling back and forth, with wonderful
contortions upon their horses, to see their frightful grimaces, and the
flash of their rifles almost in their very faces, as they seemed to be
rushing down as if about to overwhelm and crush the little party out of
existence.
It was a thrilling sight that they looked upon, as they saw these
Indians pitching headlong from their saddles; but their hearts were
wrung with anguish as they saw more than one of their own number
fall, some at full length beneath the wagons, and others among the
floundering horses, where their deaths were frequently hastened by the
hoofs of the frantic animals.
Suddenly Lizzie Manning sprung from the wagon, and heedless of the
hurtling bullets, started to run across the open space inclosed by
the irregular circle of wagons. She had taken but a few steps, when a
young man dashed out from the rear of one of the lumbering wagons, and
excitedly waved her back.
“For Heaven’s sake, Lizzie, back this instant!” he called out, walking
rapidly toward her in his anxiety; “it is sure death to advance. Wait
not a second!”
She paused, as if the voice had a familiar sound, and stared in a
bewildered way at the speaker, a fine, manly-looking young fellow,
whose hair was blown about his face, and whose pale countenance and
flashing eyes showed that he appreciated the danger, and had the
courage not to flinch before it.
Only for a moment did the young maiden pause, and then (only a few
feet separating them, as he had continued advancing from the first) she
pointed to the prostrate figure of a man beneath the wagons.
“There is Harrison, who has been so kind to me, ever since we
started--he fell just now, and stretched out his arms for help. I must
go to him.”
“He is past all help,” said the man, solemnly, “and you will only lose
your own life if you venture near him, for he took one of the most
dangerous posts of all.”
“Nevertheless, he may be alive, and I may be of help to him.”
And as she spoke, the maiden hurried on to where the prostrate and now
silent figure of one of her defenders lay. The distance was short, but
as Egbert Rodman had declared, it was encompassed with death; and for
one moment he meditated seizing the arm of the girl, and compelling
her by main force to return to the shelter of the wagon; but something
in her manner and appearance restrained him; and, forgetful of his own
peril, he gazed with an awed feeling, as he would have watched the
tread of an angel upon this sinful earth of ours.
With a somewhat rapid tread, but without any undue haste, and certainly
without any fear, Lizzie advanced straight to the wagon where the
poor fellow lay, flat upon his back, and directly between the wheels,
motionless and with one knee drawn up, as if asleep.
Kneeling down she took the hand still warm in her own, and with the
other brushed back the dank hair from the forehead of the man, and
asked, in that wonderfully sweet voice of hers:
“Oh, Mr. Harrison, is there nothing I can do for you?”
He opened his eyes, and looked at her with a dim wildness, his face
ashy pale, and then something like a smile lit up his ghastly features,
as he pointed to his breast.
“My wife--my babe--darling Nelly--”
She understood him, and drew from his breast-pocket a photograph of his
wife--with a rosy-cheeked, smiling cherub of a little girl, laughing
beside her knee.
“Tell them--my last thoughts--my last prayers were of them--” he
stammered.
“I will--I will,” said the girl. “Is there nothing more I can do--?”
He made an effort to speak, but the words were choked in their
utterance, and with his eyes fixed upon hers, he died without a
struggle.
But that one soulful, grateful look of those dark eyes, as they faded
out in death, amply repaid the brave-hearted Lizzie Manning for the
noble deed she had done, and she rose to her feet, glad that she had
heeded the mute call of the dying man, who could have scarcely hoped,
at such a time and under such circumstances, any heed would have
been paid to it, unless it were the mocking taunts of the merciless
Comanches.