"ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL."
AS the death-rattle was heard in McGable's throat, Mansfield felt his
head fall back upon his arm. He looked down and saw that all was over.
Laying his head gently back upon the leaves, he straightened his limbs,
and arose and looked around for his companions. Peterson and Jenkins
approached.
"It is all over," said our hero, sadly. "Poor man! he has paid dearly
for his sins. I pray Heaven, I may never witness another such a death!
Have you found any other bodies?"
"We have not looked; Dingle is searching."
"Let us look further. We will return this afternoon and bury McGable.
Ah! here comes Dingle! What can be the matter with him, he looks so
flustered?"
The ranger approached them, pale and agitated.
"Boys, the FRONTIER ANGEL SITS OUT YONDER ON A LOG, AND SHE IS DYIN'!"
Without a word, Mansfield dashed toward the point indicated. The others
followed less rapidly, for that singular fear of the mysterious being
forsook them not, even at the last moment. A few rods brought them to
the spot.
That personage, known as the Frontier Angel in these pages, was sitting
upon one of the trees, felled by the choppers, her hand pressed to her
forehead, and her elbows resting upon her knees. She sat perfectly
motionless, and a sickening fear that she was already dead took
possession of Mansfield. The blood could be seen dropping from her face
down upon one of her moccasins, which was clotted and stained with it.
She did not look up as our friends approached, and Mansfield paused
before her and asked:
"Are you hurt much?"
"Oh! I feel wretched--"
Mansfield sprang forward and caught her head as she fainted. The sight
made even the hardy rangers shudder. A rough wound was seen at the
temple, from which a great amount of blood had issued. Her dark, waving
hair hung loose around her shoulders, while her half-closed eyes gave an
unearthly terror to her countenance.
"Quick! water! she has fainted!" exclaimed Mansfield.
[Illustration: "'Quick! water; she has fainted,' exclaimed
Mansfield."]
Peterson sprang away, and in an instant returned with a jug of water
which had been brought by the woodmen in the morning for their use.
Mansfield sprinkled some in her face, and in a moment she revived.
Dingle, with ready wit, had prepared a bandage by tearing his
hunting-shirt to shreds, and this was carefully bound over her forehead.
"She must be taken to the block-house at once. Bear a hand, friends,"
said Mansfield to the two rangers who were looking on. That absurd fear
made them hesitate for a moment; but, as if ashamed of their weakness at
such a time, they sprang forward and made amends by sustaining her
entire weight themselves.
"Run ahead, Jenkins, and notify the commander of this," said Mansfield,
"and see that no crowd is in our way."
Jenkins darted away, and the three moved carefully through the wood
toward the clearing. An occasional moan from their burden was the only
sign of life she gave. Not a word was spoken by the three, as they made
their way forward. The rangers hardly dared to look down upon the form
their arms sustained, but gazed anxiously toward the block-house,
evidently in fear of a curious multitude of people. The commander, with
praiseworthy foresight, had unbarred the gates, and prepared the
block-house for her reception. Though nearly struck dumb with Jenkins's
intelligence, he did not allow it to interfere with his duty. He briefly
informed those gathered around what had happened, and besought them to
retire and leave the way clear for him. So, when Mansfield and the
rangers brought their charge, there were only one or two to receive
them.
"Is it a bad wound?" he asked, as he closed the doors of the block-house
behind him.
"I fear so; you will have to take charge of her."
"Place her on the litter, and remain with me a moment."
The commander of the fort was the physician of the settlement. It may
seem strange that a man holding his position, could find time to attend
to the duties thus devolving upon him. But he did find abundant time;
for it must be remembered, that such a thing as sickness is rarely known
in a frontier settlement. The time when his services were in
requisition, was upon an occasion like the present, directly after an
engagement with an enemy.
After the sufferer had been placed in the lower room of the block-house,
the commander desired all to depart, so that he might be left alone with
her. His determination was to make an examination of her wound at once.
He saw that she was hurt only in the corner of the forehead, where it
seemed was a slight fracture of the bone.
As he approached the bed, the Frontier Angel sprang to her feet and
screamed for him to keep away. He did his best to pacify her, but she
became more frantic each moment, until he desisted out of fear of the
consequences. After a time she seated herself upon the bed, and speaking
in a soothing manner, he gently approached her again. But she was wilder
than before, and he retreated at once. From her actions, she seemed to
imagine him to be the renegade McGable, and no words upon his part could
change the impression.
The good physician sat a while in a dilemma. He saw it was imperatively
necessary that her wound should be attended to, and it was impossible
for him to do this alone. After debating a moment, he called in
Mansfield and Peterson.
The latter entered, and the sufferer meekly submitted at once. Mansfield
took her gently but firmly by one arm, and the ranger held the other.
The physician then stepped forward, and, with a simple instrument,
examined the wound. A moment showed him the entire truth. A bullet,
years before, had glanced over the forehead in such a manner as to
press inward a thin strip of bone directly upon the brain. This simple
fact had caused that singular hallucination which she had so long
evinced. The wound had become cicatrized, leaving the bone in this
position. Another shot, precisely similar, had glanced in the same
manner, reopening the wound and increasing her aberration. A simple
action of the physician removed this cause of her insanity.
"Just wash the wound, Mansfield," said the commander, "and we will then
let her rest until morning."
Our hero proceeded to do as requested. A moment later he exclaimed in a
suppressed voice:
"My heavens! see here--SHE IS WHITE!"
Such was indeed the case, and the astonishment of all was unbounded. The
water had washed off that species of paint so commonly used among the
American Indians, and left the skin perfectly clear and transparent.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed the commander, "what can it mean? As it is nearly
all removed from her face, it shows what a beautiful woman she is.
Hello! what's the matter with Peterson?"
The ranger had turned as pale as death and fainted--a weakness of which
he had never been guilty before. Mansfield instantly dashed some water
in his face and he came to. He stared about him totally bewildered.
"Why, what's the matter, Jim?" laughed the commander. "Are you so
tender-hearted that you must faint when a female is hurt?"
"Get me out of here, quick, if you value _her_ life!" he said,
staggering to his feet.
He was assisted to the door, where the physician asked:
"What does this mean, Jim?"
"I'll tell you in the morning; don't say anything to me about it now.
Just bring _her_ to her senses as soon as you can."
Wondering and perplexed, the commander passed into the room again. As he
entered, he naturally turned his eyes toward his patient, and it was now
his turn to evince the agitation that had seized the ranger.
"What's the matter with you, doctor?" asked Mansfield.
"_My heavens! I know that girl!_"
"Who is she?"
"Never mind now. I understand the meaning of Peterson's conduct. Leave
me alone, Russel, and it shall all be made plain to you in the morning."
Our hero withdrew, and the commander was left alone with that being who
has figured as the Frontier Angel in these pages. She sat bolt upright
in the bed, staring at him with a look as fixed and intense as that of a
wild animal.
"Lie down, _Myra_!" he spoke gently.
"Lie down!" she repeated half to herself. "What does all this mean?--Why
am I here?--Have I been wounded?--Why is my head bandaged?--Am I
dreaming?"
The commander approached and laid her head back upon the pillow. In this
position she pressed her hand to her forehead and commenced muttering to
herself. The commander listened, and now and then caught her words.
"Reason has returned, or is now striving to regain its place," he
thought. "She is, in fact, in her right mind already, but it is no
wonder that her recollections still confuse her. Strange! strange! who
would have thought the Frontier Angel could have been _her_?"
Soon the patient slept--a troubled, dreamy sleep. She talked
incessantly--now in soft, beseeching tones to Peterson and Holmes (the
commander), then fairly shrieking the name of McGable, and once or twice
she spoke the name of _Marian Abbott_!
The wind howled around the old block-house, moaning through the forest
and ridging the Ohio till the dismal beat of its waves could be heard,
when an occasional lull occurred. The rain rattled through the village
like the incessant volleys of shot, and the pale flickering light
shining through the loop-holes of the fort was the only visible sign of
life.
The commander paced the floor a while and then sat down and gazed into
the face of the sufferer. Her eyes were closed and her face was of
unearthly whiteness. Now and then the thin lips moved and the broken
words came forth. Once the brow compressed as if a twinge of pain ran
through her, and then she started and gasped:
"Oh, don't! don't! McGable, you will kill her! Let her alone!"
"What can she mean?" wondered Holmes. "Yes--it is Marian--there! she
spoke her name then."
All at once, the patient come to the sitting position, and opening her
eyes to their fullest extent, stared apparently through the very walls
of the block-house out into the wilderness. Then, raising her hand, she
repeated these words:
"I see them!--they are hastening to the cave!--they will kill her!--she
cannot get away!--she will die."
"You are excited--lie down again!" pleaded the commander. But she
heeded him not. Her dark eyes glowed with tenfold light, and she added:
"I see them! they are Indians going to kill Marian Abbot! There are two
Shawnee warriors, and they are now picking their way through the forest.
She will die! she will die, if she is not saved at once!"
The patient seemed as if speaking in a trance. She was in that state
which baffles all human knowledge to understand, and, without attempting
to explain what never can be understood, we give the facts alone. What
the Frontier Angel saw on that stormy night, when neither the
impenetrable walls of the block-house, nor the miles of wilderness could
bound her vision, was really occurring. And the commander, rapt,
wondering, and believing, listened. When she had finished, she turned
toward him.
"Franklin Holmes, I understand all, not all either; but I feel I have
passed through some dreadful darkness, and light is again dawning upon
me. There is a white captive in danger this moment. She must be rescued!
I can lead the way!"
"But--but, Myra, you cannot. Hear how the storm rages," pleaded the
commander.
"Have I not passed through more fearful storms than this?" she asked,
stepping upon the floor and confronting him. "Yes," she added in a low,
meaning tone, "if you value the life of Marian Abbot, _who is now
living_, it must be done. Get me one or two companions and I will lead
the way."
Holmes believed that it was his duty to do so, and answering her that
her wish should be gratified at once, he passed out. He aroused Dingle
and Mansfield, but Peterson was nowhere to be found. He imparted to the
ranger the identity of their guide, and the absence of Peterson was then
understood. Preparations were made at once to start, and the impatience
and excitement of Mansfield was painful to witness.
The Frontier Angel--as we shall call her for a time--arrayed herself in
her usual garments, wrapping a large shawl around her form, and covering
her head securely, and was ready when Holmes reentered the room.
"How many are going?" she asked.
"Two well-tried and reliable men."
"That is plenty. Let us wait no longer."
She passed out without a word, and the two men joined her. The commander
unbarred the gate and saw them move off in the darkness, adding no
unnecessary caution or question.
"Keep close to me and move as fast as possible," she said as soon as
they were alone.
The rain was still falling, and the wind howled dismally overhead. The
Frontier Angel led the way to the river, where they entered one of the
canoes that were always there, and were propelled across by Dingle. As
they reached the Ohio side the ranger saw a dark form suddenly appear
beside him and glide along as silently as a shadow.
"Hello! who are you?" he demanded.
"You know well enough--don't speak my name. I knowed you'd be on some
such a tramp as this."
Mansfield recognized the voice of Peterson, and to set their fair guide
at ease, he informed her that it was merely a friend who had joined
them.
The speed with which the Frontier Angel moved through the wood was
wonderful. She neither seemed to run nor walk, but to glide as silently
and swiftly as a specter over the ground. Her companions did not run,
but they executed an amount of what might properly be termed "tall
walking."
On--on she led them like the _ignis fatuus_, brushing through the
dripping branches, tumbling over the gnarled and twisted roots,
splashing through the watery hollows, tearing their way through the
tangled undergrowth, until after many a mile had been passed and hours
had elapsed, she halted and said:
"Here is the spot."
At first, our friends were unable to pierce the darkness; but, after
gazing steadily for a few moments, they discerned the faint outlines of
a hill or swell in the ground in front. Still at a loss to understand
how this could be their destination, Mansfield inquired:
"What is there here that can assist us in our search?"
"--Sh! some one approaches!" admonished the guide.
The snapping of a twig was heard, and presently the footsteps of
persons. Our friends sank to the earth and silently waited their
approach. Scarcely more than ten feet away they halted, and presently
the guttural voice of a savage was heard. What he said was of course
unintelligible to Mansfield, although Frontier Angel and Peterson
understood every word. Despite the rain which was still falling, a huge
torch instantly flashed out and displayed the gleaming visages of two
Shawnees, stealing forward like the panther. At the very base of the
hill or knoll alluded to, they halted. Here by the aid of the flickering
torches, our friends were enabled to gain a view of its peculiarities.
It merely resembled a mass of solid green earth, with a number of stones
piled at the base. A moment later, the dusky warriors entered the cave,
and swinging their torch overhead called out: "Pauquachoke!
Pauquachoke!"
A shuffling, sliding over the ground was heard, and a bent, withered,
old squaw appeared. For the benefit of our readers we will translate the
Indian tongue into the English.
"What seeks the Shawnee chiefs?" asked the old squaw.
"The captive pale-face, bring her at once."
Thus commanded, the squaw clapped her hands three times, and with
feelings which we leave to the imagination of the reader, our friends
beheld _Marian Abbot_ approach! She said nothing, but stood with her
head meekly bent as if awaiting her doom. She appeared the same as when
Mansfield had last seen her, except she was paler and more dejected.
The Frontier Angel had entered the cave behind the savages, so that all
save Peterson were now within it. He had purposely remained outside to
conceal his identity. The savages standing with their backs toward the
entrance failed to see the shadows behind them, which might be said to
be in fact a part of the gloom itself, so faint was the light of the
torch.
There was no mistaking the meaning of the savages. Their glowing
visages, doubly hideous in their horrid war paint, their weapons, their
attitude, all showed they were upon the work of death. Mansfield felt
ready to spring forward and rend the demons limb from limb; but an
emotion, that was ever after unaccountable to him, held him in his
place.
One of the savages, placed his hand upon the knife in his belt and
addressed Marian in broken English.
"White man, McGable dead--white gal die too."
"I am ready if you wish to kill me," she replied meekly.
"Pale-face wan't die. McGable say kill white gal ef he no come back. He
no come back--white gal must die."
"I have told you I am ready--why do you wait. Strike, now, and may God
forgive you both."
Still the savage hesitated. A baleful light glittered in his black eye
as he surveyed the vision of loveliness before him. His hand toyed with
the buckhorn handle of his knife, and his chest sank and rose like the
billows of the sea. Several times the knife was partly withdrawn, until
Marian wondering at the stillness and inaction, looked up and
encountered the fiery gaze of the Indian. The latter forced his knife to
its place, and sucking his breath between his teeth, demanded,
"White gal no want to die?"
"I have not deserved death, and I do not wish to die, but I am prepared
for death and expect nothing else at your hands."
"Be Indian chief's squaw?" asked the Indian with the rapidity of
lightning.
Marian started, as if stung by an adder, and gazed into the eyes which
fairly scintillated their electric light into her own. She comprehended
the meaning of the words in an instant.
"No, Indian, I cannot be your squaw."
"Then die--think two, tree time, afore speak agin."
"No, never, Indian, kill me if you will."
"Then die--!"
[Illustration: "Then die--!"]
Marian darted backward with a piercing shriek, as the torch was dashed
to the ground, and the savage sprang toward her. She had caught sight of
a pale, horror-struck face that shot in from the mouth of the cave, and
heard the words:
"We are here, Marian! Don't be frightened. We'll clear the cave of these
monsters in a second!"
With ready wit, Marian had sprung one side, when the torch fell to the
ground, and thus escaped the well-nigh fatal blow. All being blank
darkness her assassin was at fault, even had he repeated the attempt.
But the Indians scented danger that second, and dashing the torch to the
earth, whisked out of the cave and were gone in a twinkling, escaping
the murderous onslaught Peterson had prepared himself to give them as
they emerged.
A few moments of necessary confusion followed the announcement of
Mansfield's presence. Guided by the unerring instinct of love, he soon
had Marian clasped in his arms. A fervent embrace and he led her forth.
As they passed out of the entrance, the dark body of the old squaw
brushed by them and scurried off in the darkness.
"Thank God, the dead is alive!" exclaimed Mansfield impulsively,
pressing a kiss upon the cold cheek of Marian. "Can you bear the walk,
dearest? it is a long way to your home; let me wrap this blanket around
you."
"I can bear _anything now_!" she replied in a low tone. "Are the Indians
gone?"
"None but friends are around you."
"I saw some one just now move by me."
"It is Pe--a friend."
"Let us go on then. Is this dear, good Frontier Angel here."
"It is to her your life is owing. She is no longer crazy."
"Oh, this must be a dream!" cried Marian, as she was locked in the arms
of her devoted friend. "It cannot--cannot be real."
For a few moments nothing but the sobbing of the two was heard. Peterson
seemed restless, and moved uneasily but said nothing.
"Let us go," said the Frontier Angel, "for there is a long distance to
travel."
The storm had partly ceased, though the wind was stronger than ever.
Through the woods again--through swamps and thickets--over brooks and
the matted undergrowth--brushing through the dripping bushes--until as
the misty light of morning was breaking over the scene, they once more
appeared upon the banks of the Ohio, opposite the block-house.
* * * * *
It was a happy reunion--one whose perfect joy our feeble pen can never
give. There were two persons who, it seemed, had risen from the dead.
The Frontier Angel and Marian Abbot. When the identity and remarkable
history of the former became known through the settlement, there were
many, even of the most intelligent, who believed it nothing less than a
miracle.
If the reader, who has followed us through these pages, will examine the
history of the West, he will find that in the summer of 1788, three
flat-boats were attacked by the Shawnees, a short distance below the
mouth of the great Sciota, and nearly all of the inmates massacred. Two
of the boats were sunk, and history states that every one on board were
slain. On the remaining boat was a Methodist missionary by the name of
Tucker, who fought as only those valiant old Methodist pioneers can
fight. There were several women, who loaded their dead husband's rifles
and handed them to him, while he fired with such deadly effect, that his
boat finally escaped, and he reached Maysville, where, a few days after,
he died of his wounds.
In one of the boats which were sunk by the savages, was a man named
William Orr, with his family. Every one of these, it is stated by
historians, fell a victim to the fury of the Shawnees. And here we take
the liberty of saying that, not for the first time, the historical
accounts are in error. The writer traveled over that section, where most
of our scenes have been laid, some years since, and obtained from an
aged man (who had known the rangers, Jim Peterson and Dick Dingle, years
before) the following account of the affair:
The boat which contained Orr and his family was the hindmost, and upon
the second volley of the Shawnees, every one was killed, except Myra
Orr, the youngest daughter. Even she was wounded. A bullet grazed her
forehead, pressing a piece of bone inward upon the brain, in such a
manner as to render _her crazy_!
In a few moments, the savages came up and proceeded to scalp their
victims, when noticing that she was still alive, she was taken as a
prisoner to the shore. It was subsequently ascertained that she was
demented and no harm was offered her.[A] In time, she dressed and
painted like the Indians, but she was never one of their number. She
mingled with them, but her singular manner impressed them with the
belief that she was something more than mortal. After a year or so, she
took to the woods, and somewhere in its recesses she built herself a
home. In the year 1790, she appeared before a settlement, and warned
them of an intended attack, and from this time up to the closing scenes
of our story, she devoted her life to the one object of befriending the
whites. In time she became known all along the frontier, and the
unaccountable mystery which hung down over her, gave rise to the
superstitious belief that she was in reality an _angel_. Many attempts
were made to discover her history, but none succeeded, until her reason
was restored and she gave it herself.
[A] A crazy or idiotic person is always regarded with
superstitious reverence by the North American Indian.
But what is perhaps nearly as singular, is that Myra Orr, the "Frontier
Angel," and Jim Peterson, the ranger, were lovers in their younger days.
They had separated much in the same manner that Mansfield and Marian
had. When the tragic fate of his love reached the ears of Peterson, he
turned ranger and acted with the celebrated Dingle in that capacity. He
rarely referred to his great bereavement, but there were several who
knew it. Among these, was Franklin Holmes, commander of the block-house,
who was acquainted with the Orr family, before they removed from the
East.
It will be remembered that Peterson left Marian Abbot, as he believed,
in a dying condition, when the flat-boat was attacked. She was
desperately wounded, and without the utmost care would have died.
McGable recognized her as he boarded the flat-boat, and carried her to
the shore, where he gave her in charge of an Indian runner, with
instructions to carry her at once to Pauquachoke, one of their old
"medicine women." McGable instantly returned and joined in the massacre.
A few days after, he visited the medicine woman, and learned that Marian
would recover, although it would necessarily require a long time. In
fact, she had not been able to walk until a month previous to her
rescue. Escape was impossible, as Pauquachoke had been instructed never
to permit her to pass out of the cave. By an accident, the Frontier
Angel became aware of the state of things and visited the captive on
several different occasions. This reached the ears of McGable, and
fearful of losing his prey through her means, he determined to kill her.
His attempts and failures to do this, have been referred to. The fearful
exertion through which Myra Orr went, on the night of Marian's rescue,
well-nigh proved fatal to her. Reason flickered and fled for a time, but
it finally returned in its full strength.
Marian for a long while was nearly delirious with joy--and so were the
father and mother, and Mansfield, too. And Jim Peterson, the genial,
good-hearted ranger, was heard to exclaim scores of times, "It beats
all! it's powerful queer that I've met my gal here for nearly ten years,
and was afraid she'd kill me ef she touched me. It's queer! Powerful
queer!"
We wish our readers could have been down at the settlement, on the night
of October 20, 1798. It would have required immense room, to have
accommodated them we suppose, but the woods were large enough. This
double wedding was a greater one than Seth Jones' and George Graham's.
Yet it was much the same, and we will not describe it, but close our
story with a paragraph.
Jim Peterson gave up the ranger's life and settled down as a farmer. He
had several children, and two of his grandsons are now prominent
merchants in the city of Cincinnati. In the war of 1812, Russel
Mansfield acted as Colonel, and at its close retired to his farm near
Maysville, covered with honor and glory. Here he lived with his children
and grandchildren, and it is only a few years since that he followed his
wife to her last resting-place. Dick Dingle and Peter Jenkins became
bosom friends, and spent many years of adventure and peril together. We
will dismiss them, with the promise that their experiences shall not be
withheld from the reader, and that they both shall be heard of again.
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Transcriber's Corrections
Following is a list of significant typographical errors that have been
corrected.
- Page 69, "Petetrson" changed to "Peterson" (added Peterson to
himself).
- Page 84, "Harmer" changed to "Harmar" (offered by Harmar).
- Page 90, "CAPTER" changed to "CHAPTER" (CHAPTER VII.).
- Page 166, "discoved" changed to "discovered" (renegade was
discovered).