OLD TUMULT TO THE RESCUE.
My pen is inadequate to the task now before me--the task of
describing that savage surprise, and the horrors that followed.
A desperate conflict at once began. Where peace and the enjoyment of
religious exercise prevailed but a few moments previous, now death
and carnage ran riot.
The yells of the demoniac savages, the shouts of the brave settlers
as with knife and pistol they flew to the conflict, the shrieks
of women and children, all mingled in one awful sound, and rolled
through the forest like a voice from Pandemonium.
At the beginning of the conflict, Town. Farnesworth seized Madge
and attempted to carry her beyond danger; but she tore herself from
his arms and bravely dashed into the midst of the combatants. Town.
attempted to follow her, but fell unconscious from a blow upon the
head.
The armed guards came running in from the woods, and joined their
friends in the conflict; and presently another voice was added to
those of the combatants, but his was a voice resembling the roar
of a maddened bull more than a human voice, and a tall, bony and
muscular-looking man, with long, shaggy eyebrows, from beneath which
two orbs of fire, a shock of grizzly gray hair, and a mouth so
“extensive,” that the upper part of his head seemed set on hinges at
the back--made his appearance in behalf of the settlers.
This man of giant frame and cavernous mouth, was Old Tumult, the
hunter and scout.
He came like a whirlwind among the savages, his rifle grasped in one
hand--a heavy club in the other.
The savages recoiled before him. They had felt the power of the giant
hunter’s iron arm before.
The dull thud, of the hunter’s club, accompanied with a yell, told
how fearful and deadly was his work.
“Away, demons o’ fury, away!” he shouted; “down to the brimstone
pit--the sulphurious region!”
The savages wavered, rallied again and strove hard to beat down Old
Tumult, but in vain. He seemed to bear a charmed life.
Finally the savages gave way, and took to the cover of the forest,
leaving a number of dead and dying comrades behind.
The settlers did not pursue the fleeing enemy. They were glad enough
to get rid of them, and at once turned their attention to their own
dead and dying comrades.
A frightful spectacle was now presented to the gaze of the settlers.
A score of savages lay killed and wounded upon the grassy lawn, and
among them, with their heads cloven, lay several of the settlers
dead, and several wounded. The women and children, with a few
exceptions, had fled into the forest at the commencement of the
attack. Thus, a new fear for their safety now preyed upon the minds
of the settlers.
When the battle was over, Old Tumult, to whom the settlers gave the
credit of defeating the red-skins, leaned his tall, gaunt form upon
his heavy rifle, and gazed silently over the scene before him, with a
sad look upon his hard, stony features.
“Ah, me! ah, me!” he sighed, heavily, “if I’d ’a’ known all, this
’ere would never ’a’ been, friends.”
“Yes, if any of us had dreamed of such an attack being planned, we
might have prevented it,” said the Reverend Paul Earnshaw.
“I knowed thar’ war sumthin’ up this mornin’, but for the life o’
me I couldn’t find out what it war till it war a’most too late. You
see, I war scoutin’ around the Ingin camp this mornin’, when I see’d
’bout fifty o’ the fiends o’ torture leave camp and p’int thar noses
this away. I follered ’em to the lake, and thar’ I see’d ’em strip
o’ every thing but their loincloths, tie a tomahawk to their waist,
and then cover their heads with the skin o’ a duck, with feathers,
head and all on. This done, the cunnin’ pukes waded into the water,
and submerged themselves to the ears, and I couldn’t have told fur
the life o’ me, if I hadn’t knowed it, that thar’ war an Ingin head
in every one o’ what seemed a genuine, livin’ duck. I tell you it
war devilish cunnin’ o’ the red hounds of Satan. Anxious to know
what they war up to, I kept under kiver and watched ’em, and not
until they war a’most onto you did I see their intention. I war
then too fur away to git here afore them, so I told ole Vibrator
here”--patting his heavy rifle--“to speak out the word o’ warnin’.
Vibrator spoke. Then I foddered her ag’in, with the avowed purpose
o’ jerkin’ a red-skin outen the lake. I took a dead set--Vibrator
let fly her venom, and sure enuff, out popped a red-skin with a hole
through his duck’s nest.
“I knowed the ball war opened now, and I detarmined to have a hand
in it; so I set out, and if ever a pile of ole bones flew ’round
Wildwood lake, they war Old Tumult’s.”
“Indeed, to you, Raynor,” said Lionel Clontarf, “it is owing that we
were not all slain; but, where is Father Ainesley?”
True enough. Reverend Israel Ainesley was missing from the crowd, and
no one knew what had become of him, unless he had taken to the forest.
The wounded were now cared for, and litters constructed upon which
the dead and wounded were conveyed to the post.
It was sunset ere the women and children had been gathered in from
the forest, and even then, two of them could not be found.
The two were Madge Taft and Clara Bryant.
As no one had seen them after the beginning of the attack, nor could
give any information of them, all concluded that they must have been
captured and carried off, or were lost in the dark mazes of the
forest.
Night was coming on apace. A gray mist was rising along the river
and over the forest, threatening a dark night. Besides, the air was
hot and sultry, and there were many indications of an early autumnal
storm. Town. Farnesworth shuddered at the thought of Madge and Clara
being gone, and no doubt exposed to many dangers, if they were not
already suffering the tortures of captivity. Every energy of the
young man was aroused, and he became sorely impatient to be off in
search of the missing maidens.
But he could do little alone, and the attention of the rest of the
settlers was required at the post, to attend to the dead and wounded,
and secure the place against a night attack.
Old Tumult, the hunter and trapper, volunteered his services to Town.
Town. gladly accepted, for, of all others, there were none he would
have selected in preference to this daring scout.
Ere night had fully set in, they had crossed the river, and were
threading the trackless aisles of the great woods. They had no hopes
of striking the trail of the enemy that night, owing to the darkness.
Knowing, however, that if the girls really were taken prisoners,
their captors would hurry them away toward the village, and by a
forced march the two hoped to cut them off from their stronghold;
for, once there, there would be little chance for the captives.
Being well acquainted with almost every foot of the country, Old
Tumult had no difficulty in keeping his course, and so they were
thereby enabled to move quite briskly.
At the cabin of Talbott Taft they stopped to inquire about Madge, but
finding no one at home they pushed on.
Leaving Wildwood lake to the left, they pursued a course which would
eventually bring them back to the Sioux river, though many miles
above the post. As they would have to follow the course of the river
after it was reached, they resolved to make part of the journey by
water, as Old Tumult knew where a canoe was concealed along the river
bank.
Fortune, however, lay in waiting for the two pursuers.
In a little valley not far from the river, gleamed the cheerful light
of a camp-fire, and within its radius _sat five human forms_. Two
of these were Madge Taft and Clara Bryant. They sat a little in the
background, with hands bound, and heads bowed in grief. The third
form was the reverential figure and face of the Reverend Israel
Ainesley. He was not bound, but sat before the fire smoking a huge
pipe, and exercising a will of perfect freedom. The other two persons
were painted and plumed Arapaho Indians!
But a single glance was sufficient to convince the keen-eyed scout
and his young companion that Israel Ainesley _was in league with the
Indians_.
Town. Farnesworth shuddered with disgust when he realized what a
mockery of God Ainesley had proven himself to be; while Old Tumult
could scarcely keep down the revengeful wrath that, like an internal
volcano, was surging within his breast.
Patience, discretion and self-control, however, were characteristic
traits of the old scout, born of necessity. In this lay his great
success as an Indian-fighter.
The enemy seemed to have no fears of being pursued, and were quite
boisterous and regardless of danger.
“I don’t understand it,” said Old Tumult, when he and Town. had
crawled within easy earshot of the camp.
“What?” questioned Town., in an undertone.
“The hilarity o’ them ’ere red pups. Inguns ’re generally more
keerful.”
“Ah! _that’s_ the cause!” whispered Town., on seeing the gray-haired
hypocrite, Israel Ainesley, draw from his bosom a flask containing
some kind of spirits, place it to his lips, and drink, then pass it
on to his companions; “the damnable wretch!”
“Smoke o’ torture! wuss then that!” exclaimed the old scout; “the
dubble-distilled essence o’ the brimstone-pit.”
“Well, what’s the programme now?” asked Town., growing impatient, as
he feasted his eyes upon the sweet, fair face of Madge.
“We must git the gals to wunst. It’d be a easy matter, too, to sour
their captors’ red ca’casses by dashin’ in onto ’em full tilt, but,
maybe thar’s several guards skulkin’ ’bout, and sich a drive might
git us inter trubble; but I’ll tell ye what I’ll do.”
“Well?” said Town., growing more impatient.
“I’ll string them ’ere two Ingins on a thread o’ fire-light, and
punch the hole with a chunk o’ lead spit from the black jaws o’ ole
Vibrator, then we’ll dash in and settle dad Ainesley’s hash for ’im.”
As he concluded, the old scout drew the ramrod from his rifle, and
fixing a screw upon one end of it, inserted it into the barrel.
“You see, lad,” he said, twisting the rod around, “I’m goin’ to feed
a little heavier, fur I calculate _one_ bullet to fix both o’ ’em
’ere reds, for ye see they’re settin’ in range.”
In a moment he drew out the bullet from the rifle, and doubled
the usual charge of powder. He then rammed the bullet home again,
replaced the ramrod and said:
“Thar, sir, ole Vibrator is so full her sides toot out, and now hear
her speak.”
Our friends were about a hundred paces from the enemy, who were
plainly visible in the light of their camp-fire. The two savages sat
side and side, and it was this fact that suggested to the old scout
the idea of killing both with the same bullet.
Carefully he raised his long, heavy rifle and fired.
Town. started to his feet. The report of the piece sounded like the
roar of a cannon, and the young man was sure it had exploded.
Close on the crash of the rifle came the death-wail of the two
savages. Then Old Tumult leaped from his covert with a roar that
would have done credit to an African gorilla, and shouting to his
companion to follow, he dashed into the camp.
Israel Ainesley sat half reclining upon the ground when his two
companions fell dead and for an instant he seemed totally paralyzed
by the terrible surprise. But the shout of Old Tumult aroused him,
and springing to his feet he attempted to escape into the black
shadows of the forest.
But Old Tumult had marked the reverend hypocrite’s movements, and in
an instant he was at Ainesley’s heels. A well directed blow in the
back from the scout’s sledge-hammer fist, sent the white-haired man
to grass with such velocity that his heels described a half-circle
through the air.
Town. Farnesworth sprung to the captives. But for the presence of
Clara Bryant, his first love, he would have embraced Madge with a
shower of kisses.
Not knowing whether he was friend or foe at first, Madge shrunk from
his grasp, a vindictive gleam in her dark eyes. She would have fled
into the forest, had not the hand of her lover staid her.
“Fear not--it is me, darling,” said the young man.
The gleam of fear and vengeance in her eyes died out, and she yielded
to the support of her lover.
In the mean time, Israel Ainesley was struggling to escape from the
powerful clutches of Old Tumult, and the confusion they created now
drew the attention of Town. and the maidens.
Ainesley attempted to gain his feet, but each effort was attended
with a blow from the fist of Old Tumult that sent him back to mother
earth again.
“Oh, Mr. Raynor!” cried Madge, “why do you treat Father Ainesley
thus? He was a prisoner like us.”
“Not a bit o’ it gal, ye blind leetle critter. He’s a cussed traitor.
Didn’t ye see that he wer’n’t bound?”
“But, he gave his word upon the honor of a Christian that he would
not escape!” pleaded Clara.
“But he drank from the flask with the Ingins, and that are a sure
sign o’ thar bein’ in ca-hoots,” persisted Old Tumult.
“But the Indians com_pelled_ him to,” said Madge.
At this juncture Ainesley attempted, by a sudden leap, to get clear
of the old scout, but Old Tumult was on the alert, and thrusting out
his long arm and bony hand he clutched the aged hypocrite by the
snowy beard in a vice-like grip.
Ainesley surged backward like a stubborn horse, and losing his
balance, fell heavily to the earth. But Old Tumult stood erect, his
face elongated with surprise, for in his hand he still clutched the
gray whiskers of Ainesley. He held them to the light and saw that
they were _false whiskers_!
Madge turned almost deadly pale, and a smothered cry burst from
her lips. Clara involuntarily shrunk toward Town., with fear upon
her sweet young face, while the young man himself seemed terribly
agitated, as he gazed upon the fallen man.
“Smoke o’ holy torture!” roared Old Tumult, and leaping forward he
seized Ainesley and dragged him before the fire, then, in addition to
the false whiskers already stripped from the villain’s face, he tore
from his head the wig of snowy hair.
The aged face of Israel Ainesley was no longer before them, but there
was the face of one whom the settlers of Clontarf Post had hung in
the forest long weeks before, and whom they supposed dead.
It was the handsome, yet wicked face of the renegade, Dick Sherwood!