THE HINTON FAMILY AND THEIR FATE.
Eight years before the opening of our story, Elisha Hinton, removing
from his New England home, with his wife and three children, had
located in the western land of promise. Being frugal and industrious, a
few years found the happy family comfortably settled, surrounded by all
the abundant blessings conferred by the productive soil and the ancient
forest.
But to them, as all others, bitter was mixed with the sweet. The pet of
the family—little Ella—the youngest daughter, sickened. All the medical
skill of the region round about was resorted to, but in vain. Day by
day she wasted away, becoming paler and thinner, until it was fully
apparent to the sorrowing friends that she could not long survive.
And, while they hung grief-stricken about her couch, she clasped those
little transparent hands, murmured fondly of the bright home above, and
passed away.
Shortly after this bereavement, the settlement in which Elisha resided
became involved in factious quarrels and divisions. Nothing was further
from the character of the man, and, as the last alternative, he
resolved to remove to the very verge of civilization. Here, far from
all disturbing causes, Mr. Hinton had passed five years, devoting his
time to the instruction of his remaining children, George and Emily.
The latter, especially, was it the delight of her parents to instruct
and prepare for the life before her. Emily proved an apt scholar—far
exceeding educational acquirements others of her position.
One year, before this tale opens, the wife and mother had suddenly
sickened and died. With breaking hearts they made her a grave beneath
the wide-spreading branches of an old oak, and here consigned her to
that unbroken rest where there should be no more of sorrow or pain.
The afternoon which initiates this story had been the first mournful
anniversary of the day when she was laid to rest. As the sun sunk from
sight, the family group gathered about the cabin door. Elisha Hinton,
as was his wont, took from its rest the worn family Bible, and read
from its pages the words of hope and consolation: “I will not leave
you comfortless; I will come to you. Yet, a little while and the world
seeth me no more; but ye shall see me; because I live, ye shall live
also.” With moving pathos the words fell from the lips of the father,
and, as the last sound floated upon the calm evening air, he closed the
book, and bowed his head upon his hands.
“My children,” he said, after a slight pause, “this is to me a solemn
day. One year since your dear mother passed away, leaving us weary
pilgrims to follow, and meet her in the fullness of time in a happier
land. I know not why it should be so, but, it has seemed to me to-day
that her spirit was near, whispering me to hasten and meet her in that
blissful land, where partings are unknown. _There_ sin and suffering
never come, and turmoil and dissensions are never known!”
The simple worshippers sat thus, conversing of topics most closely
connected with their present, till darkness settled about them; then,
with a cheerful good-night, they separated, each seeking their quiet
cots.
Little did they dream of the impending fate so soon to burst upon them.
The father and daughter were ere long wrapped in quiet slumber, but
George remained awake. He could not sleep. He listened to the chirping
cricket, the quiet breathing of his father, and the gentle sighing of
the winds without. Gradually he lost that keen consciousness, and from
a state of indistinctness and confusion, sunk into a pleasant sleep.
Soon wild fancies obtruded into his brain, and after rolling from side
to side under their influence for some time, he suddenly awoke, as
fully as at noonday. For a moment he wondered _what_ had awakened him.
He listened. Surely there could be no mistaking that sound! The sharp
crackling of a fire fell upon his ear.
Directly above his couch was a narrow aperture, which had been
constructed for a loop-hole, but which had thus far been used only for
the purpose of ventilation. He rose quickly, and applied his eye to the
opening, but a fierce current of heat and smoke caused him to recoil
instantly. Leaping from his couch he found that the room was filled
with smoke. The mystery was then solved. The house was on fire!
Springing quickly to the cot of his father, the startled young man
aroused him, and briefly communicating his discovery, hastened to awake
his sister. Then he turned to a window and endeavoured to gaze out.
Vain effort! The smoke whirled past it in dark masses, while alternate
jets of flame mingled with the dusky clouds. By this time both Emily
and her father had thrown on their garments, and before George could
unbar the door they were at his back, white with alarm and anxiety.
The father had seized his rifle, but the young man did not pause for
weapons. He threw open the door, and the entire party stepped quickly
forth.
For a moment they were blinded by the whirling smoke, but, passing
beyond it, they turned to view the extent of the conflagration.
Simultaneously, the yells of a hundred savage throats burst upon their
horrified ears—the rapid reports of a score of rifles followed—and
father and son sunk to the earth, pierced by many bullets. Although
Emily felt the garments she wore cut and torn by the whistling shots,
she was uninjured by the deadly shower. She saw her father and brother
fall, knew that they were killed, and, with a terrible heart-sickness
of horror, she sunk upon the ground, almost unconscious of the dread
scene around her.
Emily was barely conscious that a yelling warrior rushed upon her—that
a gleaming hatchet was raised above her head. She hoped and expected
that her last moment had come, but it was not to be so. A rough
voice interposed, and the blow was stayed. Then all became blank
unconsciousness.
Despite her terrible surroundings, it was but a brief time that Emily
remained insensible. The faint light of the moon, in concert with the
glare of flames, rendered objects quite distinct, and the poor girl at
once saw that she was a close prisoner.
She looked up at her captors. Nothing could she gather from those grim,
exultant guards. To her entreaties they gave not even the slightest
heed, scarce removing their gaze from the wild scene of the burning
cabin. A dull pain at her ankles caused her to look down. A deeper pang
went to her sensitive heart as she saw that her limbs were securely
bound with thongs of dried deerskin. This, indeed, seemed to unloose
the fountain of her tears, and, bowing her head upon her hands, she
gave way to violent and heart-breaking sobs.
Now that her sorrow was unloosed, she wept long and violently, utterly
oblivious of all around her. She did not heed the guttural “Ugh” with
which one of her dusky guards directed the attention of his comrades to
some interesting movement. A nondescript figure emerged from the throng
and came toward the group, leading a horse, saddled and equipped for a
lady rider. Though dressed in the costume, and affecting the manners of
the savages, and flowing black hair, beard of the same hue, and general
contour of the features, proclaimed him unmistakably a white.