A REWARD GREATER THAN PROMOTION
Rodney had risen from his seat to step inside when the arrival of a
coach, which bore the marks of a long journey, attracted his
attention.
The light from the small paned windows shone dimly, but he saw that
only two passengers alighted, one a young woman accompanied by an old
man who appeared to be very feeble and leaned heavily on her. "Father
and daughter," was Rodney's thought, but his words were, "May I
assist," as he went to meet them.
The girl turned a white, tired face toward him, the face of Elizabeth,
but, oh! so unlike that which had mocked him three years before!
"Rodney!" The girl's voice trembled.
"Aye, lass," said the old man in a weak, quavering voice. "Would the
laddie were here the noo. I'm a sair burden for your frail strength."
For an instant Rodney's face was whiter than Elizabeth's.
"Father! I am here," he cried and took the tottering man in his strong
young arms.
It was a strange story to which Rodney listened that evening, one of
thrilling interest and unusual even in the annals of wild frontier
life.
Not all Indians were grateful, especially when maddened by lust for
war and vengeance. In the gray light of the dawn of the morning, after
the fierce conflict at Point Pleasant, the savage who, because of his
greed for scalps, had skulked behind when his fellows had crossed the
river the night before, bore little resemblance in his war paint to
the Indian David Allison once had warmed and fed within the walls of
the stockade on a cold winter night; but he instantly recognized his
benefactor. For hours David Allison had lain unconscious in the place
where he had fallen. During the night he had regained consciousness,
but could make no outcry louder than a moan. He had thought to drag
himself toward the camp where he might attract the attention of his
comrades, but had failed, and lay back against a fallen tree, his face
gray and ghastly.
The morning mists hung low over the river, and, under cover of these,
the savage paddled away unobserved, his captive lying in a faint on
the bottom of the canoe. No prisoner ever received kinder treatment at
the hands of an Indian than did David Allison. As he gradually
regained his strength he yearned for home and pleaded to be taken back
to Virginia, but his captor was obdurate; he wanted the man for a
companion and in many ways gave evidence of affection for him.
One day, in a quarrel with another savage, the Indian was killed.
Shortly after, Allison made his escape and in a canoe drifted down
the Ohio. He felt unequal to attempting to work his way back as he had
come and so decided to go with the current down the Ohio into the
Mississippi. His utmost endurance and shrewdness were put to many
severe tests before he reached a white settlement and eventually New
Orleans. There, when about to take ship for Norfolk, he was taken sick
with a fever which left him without strength or money.
The desire to return home, whatever might be the sacrifice, became
almost a mania with him, but he would not beg his way. And so he
struggled on, meeting with disappointment again and again, yet never
yielding in his purpose. Then, on the threshold of success, when he
landed in Philadelphia without money and without friends, he was taken
seriously ill. By what seemed the merest chance Elizabeth learned of
him, and it was through her efforts and sacrifices that he was spared,
to enjoy in the comforts of home and family, years, scant in number
but abundant in happiness.
Rodney Allison won promotion--the esteem of all who knew him--and who
could wish for greater? A few years later, on the spot where had stood
the lodge of Ahneota, he built a home such as he planned that night,
years before, when he lay by the spring looking down on the sleeping
Indian village; and Zeb was his neighbour, prosperous and respected.
Some called Rodney "Colonel" Allison because of his military
experience and influence, but he preferred the title of "Squire," and
by this he was generally known among neighbours and friends. In the
Indian wars he was serviceable in securing peace, for he was trusted
alike by red people and white. Through influential friends, of whom
General Morgan was one, he was able to accomplish much that was of
benefit to the pioneers with whom he had cast his lot.
Soon after Benedict Arnold's treason, Rodney received a letter from
Donald Lovell, then a captain in the army. "Uncle Dick," the letter
said, "exclaimed when he heard of it: 'what a pity that a British
bullet had not taken his life before a British bribe killed his good
name!'" It became a custom for Rodney and Zeb to yearly exchange
letters with Donald Lovell who, later in life, established his home
down on the far-away Kennebec River.
"Squire" Allison's children were David, and Harriet, and Elizabeth,
and Rupert, and Donald; and Elizabeth's eyes were very dark blue with
long lashes, at times as serene as the eyes of the beautiful lady
whose portrait had greeted those who came to "The Hall." At other
times they flashed, as did those which her father, when a shivering
soldier lad, saw looking out of the old coach and mocking him as he
stood guard one bleak winter night.
THE END