A SURPRISE.
“The Indians are coming! the Indians are coming! to arms! to arms!”
This was the startling cry that ran from lip to lip throughout
Clontarf’s Post, as the hardy yeomanry of the settlement flew to
their cabins for their arms, and hurried their wives and little ones
away to the block-house. Those living just outside of the stockade
were soon within the inclosure, whose gates were then securely barred
and bolted against the party of Indians that had been discovered
crossing the river a short distance above the post.
Old Captain Storms, the military head and center of the post, was
the first to discover the enemy, and he gave it as his firm belief
that a hot time might be expected, for he said the enemy numbered
two hundred strong--that they were a war-party bent upon death and
destruction.
In a few minutes the settlers were prepared for defense, although
they were not, by any means, prepared for a lengthy siege.
Father Earnshaw and Captain Storms now ascended to the top of the
block-house to watch the movements of the enemy, while the settlers
stood, rifle in hand, ready for the conflict.
The two sentinels on the block-house were not a little surprised to
see the enemy marching boldly down the river toward the stockade.
“Ah! here they come, boys, three hundred strong!” the old captain
shouted to the men below; “stand by your arms, for a bloody time is
coming!”
Father Earnshaw looked at the enemy until his eyes grew misty--he
then took off his spectacles, wiped them--put them on again--glanced
at the enemy, then turned to the old man-of-war at his side, and said:
“Surely, captain, your eyesight is failing you, for according to my
estimate of the enemy’s force, you have exaggerated their number in
the ratio of about ten to one.”
“Your eyes deceive you, Mr. Earnshaw,” returned the stern old
warrior; “long experience in just such matters has enabled me to tell
the number of the enemy, or a body of men, at sight.”
“Excitement sometimes, captain, multiplies the amount of danger in
the mind’s eye, as I think it has in your case; for, come down to the
fact of the matter, I don’t believe that it is a war-party at all.”
“Man! man!” exclaimed Storms, “do not let the thoughts of a
battle--of danger, destroy thy throne of reason. Better go down into
the block-house.”
Father Earnshaw could not help laughing at the old captain’s wild
excitement.
“Look there, captain!” he finally exclaimed; “as I live Old Tumult
and Town. Farnesworth and Clara Bryant are at the head of _your_
war-party of three hundred.”
The captain looked long and closely at the approaching party, rubbed
his eyes, chafed his bald crown--glanced at Earnshaw, then at the
party again, moved uneasily, and at last, burst into a roar of
laughter, which, of itself, was sufficient to show his perplexity and
embarrassment.
“I thought, Mr. Earnshaw--”
But Mr. Earnshaw was gone. He had slipped away from the captain, who
was a little hard of hearing as well as defective in seeing, and
descending from the block-house, he approached the men and told them
of the captain’s scare, and the real nature of the approaching party
of savages.
The gate of the stockade was at once thrown open, and Old Tumult,
Town. and Clara, and the Indian escort of about a score in number,
admitted amid ringing shouts of joy and welcome.
Town. conducted Clara to the cabin of her father, while Old Tumult
explained to the settlers why Mahaska and his warriors were there.
The joy of Mr. and Mrs. Bryant was exceedingly great, when their only
child was once more restored to their hearts. And the settlers all
partook of their joy.
After the excitement of the happy meeting was over, and Clara and her
mother found themselves alone, the former drew near the latter and
said:
“Mother, am I your child?”
Mrs. Bryant started.
“Why, Clara, you surprise me!” she exclaimed.
“I see I do, mother,” replied Clara, “but Dick Sherwood told me that
I was _not_ your child.”
Mrs. Bryant turned very pale, and Clara saw at once that she was
greatly agitated.
“Is it true, mother?” she asked, her arms stealing softly around the
matron’s neck.
“It is, it is, Clara! alas, it is too true; but how could that
villain, Dick Sherwood, ever have gained the truth? What did he say
about it, Clara?”
Clara told her all that Sherwood had said, and even of her marriage
with him, and the reason why she had married him, and of the
subsequent death of Sherwood and Madge Taft.
Mrs. Bryant was completely overwhelmed by this revelation of matters,
and after trying to unburden her perplexed mind, she said:
“No, Clara, you are not my child. I took you to raise when you were
but two years old.”
“Are either of my parents living?” Clara asked.
“Your father may be, but your mother is dead, and it is by her dying
request that I have never told you before of your being an orphan.”
“And have I no relations living?”
“Your mother said she had a brother living, but she had not heard of
him for ten years, up to the hour of her death.”
“And you said my father _might_ be living, did you not?”
“Yes; since the worst is known, I may as well tell all. Domestic
trouble separated your parents. Your father enlisted as a soldier in
the Mexican war, and as he never came back, it was supposed that he
fell at the battle of Chapultepec. Your mother died shortly after the
separation. Your father I never saw.”
“And so none of the settlers here know but what I am your child?”
“No. We came from the State of Maine here, while most of the other
settlers are from Ohio, that is, we went from Maine to Ohio, and from
there came here.”
Clara bowed her head and wept sadly, bitterly.