Summer had resigned her sway to Autumn in the green valleys of the
Susquehanna and her tributaries, which spread out among the hills like
the branches of some mighty forest tree, over whose curving and playful
waters the green plumes of the forest trees had waved during the summer,
now changed with the season; and Summer, the queen of flowers and
ripening fruit, had wrapped herself in a mantle of green, and laid down
to die as the sun gradually declined to southern skies and the Autumn
Queen put on her gorgeous robes of many colors. The squirrel was seen to
play on nimble feet through oak and chestnut groves gathering in his
winter store. The deer, with her fawn, wandered through the grove
unmolested, excepting at such times as Mayall needed venison for his own
table.
One day, while seated beneath the vine-clad porch of his cabin, where
the vines had been trained by his wife to tie in leafy coil over the
door, he saw a woman in homespun dress advancing with hurried steps,
weeping and mourning as she advanced towards him, and fell exhausted at
his feet. Mayall raised her from the ground and inquired the cause of
her grief. She soon recovered sufficiently to inform him that a party of
nine Indian hunters had been prowling about her cabin for a couple of
days, and that morning they had stolen her little daughter Nelly, but
four years old, and bore her away in triumph without any regard to her
screams or the lamentations of her mother for her only child.
Mayall listened with pity and grief to the poor woman's tale of woe, and
impatiently said, "Why did not your husband follow the black thieves and
bring back your child?"
"Oh dear," cried the poor woman, "what could he do with so many
Indians?"
Mayall replied, "Follow them, and when a good opportunity offered, kill
them, shoot the thieves and bring back your child. Better die like a man
than live a coward here in this forest land, dreaming of robber band
that bore away his only child to be a slave in some proud savage's smoky
hut."
At this reply the woman became frantic with despair and cried out, "Oh,
Mayall, for mercy save my child. You are the only man now living that
can do it, and I will give you all I possess on earth and be your slave
in the bargain."
Mayall was not deaf to sympathy. The fire of revenge began to kindle in
his bosom; but how should he withstand the power and vengeance of nine
brave men skilled in battle and the chase? He sat silent for a few
moments. The flames of revenge began to burn in his iron will, which,
when aroused, was terrible. He inquired the direction the Indians had
gone with the child, and where their trail could be found, then told the
woman to go home and take a good night's rest; he said the Indians had
gone, and of course would not return unless they came to bring her Nelly
back, and further she could do nothing to recover the child herself. He
thought the child would be returned in the morning.
These words seemed to pacify her, and she returned home. As soon as his
only neighbor, Miss Murphrey, was out of sight, Mayall examined his
trusty gun and prepared cartridges equal to twice the number of Indians,
placed his tomahawk and hunting-knife in his belt, then turned to his
wife and said, "You must not look for me until I return. I will be back
as soon as my mission is accomplished."
His mind then became calm and he sallied forth from his cottage as
cheerful as a hunter in quest of game, and soon disappeared in the
forest that surrounded his dwelling. The sun was descending towards the
western hills in all her flaming glory as Mayall reached the summit of
the dividing ridge between the Otego Creek and the Susquehanna Valley.
Cautiously and slowly he descended the hill, keeping on the Indian
trail.
As the shades of night hovered over the forest, Mayall left the trail
and took his post on a small hill not far from the river, where he could
hear the Indians preparing wood for their evening fire, and occasionally
he could hear the child, Nelly Murphrey, crying for its mother. Mayall
cautiously advanced through the thick forest, guided by the sound of the
child's voice weeping and often calling for its mother, who lay wrapped
in wakeful dreams several miles away. The voice of this weeping child
nerved the old hunter's arm with the strength of a Samson, and filled
his heart with a vengeance not his own. The hours seemed to linger into
days as he lay crouched in the dark. At last the camp-fire of the
Indians blazed up and illuminated the forest. Mayall lay secreted in a
little thicket behind a knoll, where he could hear every word that was
said, and he well understood the Indian dialect.
One Indian, who seemed to be their leader, said there would be no danger
unless they got the old hunter on the trail, and to avoid him they must
be up and away as soon as the day-star appeared.
The Indians partook of their evening meal and laid down to slumber and
rest, not dreaming that the bold hunter, like the panther, was crouching
near with sharpened tomahawk and knife, panting for an opportunity to
avenge a woman's wrongs.
As the night wore away all became silent, excepting an occasional
outbreak from little Nelly Murphrey, calling for her mother. The
camp-fire no longer blazed, but the dying coals were yet red, and gave
sufficient light to see the nine dark forms stretched on the forest
floor. Mayall now began to move forward with cautious steps. He soon
discovered by the flickering of the embers that the Indian on the watch
had fallen asleep, with the stolen child nestling between him and the
Indian warrior beside him.
Mayall took a cautious look. No Indian in his blanket stirred. All was
silent, excepting the low murmuring of the Susquehanna rolling by. He
noiselessly rested his gun behind a tree, and leaped like a tiger upon
his prey, with his tomahawk in one hand, which he swung as fast as death
could deal a blow, and his long knife gleaming by the light of the fire
in the other. The last Indian in the circle, wakened by the screams of
the child, leaped from his leafy bed and fled into the forest with the
speed of a panther. Mayall, seeing his retreating form, sprang to the
Indian's guns and fired three in quick succession after him, to speed
his flight, and then, gathering up the remaining guns as quickly as
possible, threw them upon the coals with the muzzles in the direction
the Indian had gone, in order to keep up the firing until he could get
out of hearing with the affrighted child before the Indian returned. He
then took up Nelly, who was half dead with fright, and hurried off in
the opposite direction as fast as possible. The sharp report of one gun
after another broke the stillness of night until Mayall had got more
than two miles from the bloody conflict with his prize, and had soothed
the child's fears by softly whispering in her ear that he was carrying
her home to her mamma.
Mayall now diverged from the trail and reached the place of his
destination by a circuitous route, at times traveling in the channel of
small brooks, in order to deceive the Indians, should they undertake to
follow on the trail, to avenge the blood of his tribesmen. Mayall
hurried on with his prize. The stars had faded from his view, and the
morning sun had lighted up the concave of the skies, before he could
reach the weeping mother with her little Nelly. Her mother had passed a
sleepless night, and her wakeful eye had been turned in every direction
to see if she could catch a glimpse or a sound from her little Nelly.
None but a mother could realize her pain and anguish at the loss of her
lovely child. As she stood looking she fancied she heard the faint sound
of her prattling voice. A moment later she saw Mayall come in full view
with little Nelly in his arms. The fond mother, now as frantic with joy
as she had been the previous day with grief, rushed to meet Mayall. She
met him some distance from her cabin, and little Nelly leaped with joy
into her mother's arms as she fell at the feet of Mayall, to thank him
for restoring to her loved embrace her only child. Mayall raised her to
her feet and said, "I have done no more than my duty, and I have no time
to waste. Swear to me before the God of Heaven that all that pertains to
the loss and return of this child shall be kept a secret whilst I live."
After receiving her sacred promise not to reveal the secret, he
disappeared again in the forest, and there was no human being left at
liberty to tell the frightful story of the Indians' fate, excepting the
Indian that made good his retreat.
The seasons rolled around, Autumn had again hung out her flag of many
colors, and Nelly Murphrey, under the fond care of her mother, had grown
to be a beautiful little girl, with her auburn hair drooping fondly in
ringlets upon her shoulders, and appeared in all the beauty of
innocence.
Whilst the mother was seated at her door, playing with little Nelly, she
raised her eyes and saw a tall, stately Indian standing before her at a
respectful distance. As soon as her eyes rested upon the Indian, she
recognized him as being one of the band that stole her child. As Nelly
saw him she screamed and flew back into the house. The sudden scream
seemed to freeze her mother's blood, and she sat as immovable as a
statue. The Indian stood perfectly quiet, without coming nearer. When
she had recovered, he said he would not harm her nor her child; but she
must tell him who brought back her child. She told him she found the
child in the edge of the woods the next morning, and supposed that he
had returned it. He then told her he had not, and she must find out who
it was and let him know when he came around again. The mother watched
the Indian until he disappeared in the forest, and then stealing away
slyly in the opposite direction, and by taking a circuitous route, soon
reached Mayall's cottage, and told Mayall that one of the same Indians
that had stolen her Nelly had been at her house, trying to find out who
brought her back. "I told him where I found her, and thought he had got
tired of her and brought her back." Mayall then told her to go into his
cottage and remain there with his wife and children until he returned.
Taking good care to keep the doors securely bolted, and the axe in the
house to use if they were molested, Mayall then took down his gun,
prepared some cartridges, put on his belt, with his tomahawk and knife
depending from it, and hanging by his side, and left the cottage.
Night came, but the hunter did not return. There was no moon, but the
stars shone forth in tranquil loveliness as the night wore away. About
midnight they heard a noise outside and near the cottage, and they crept
cautiously to the window, which was nearly as high as one's head, but
not of sufficient size to admit a common sized man, and looked
cautiously out, and Mayall's cow was in his garden. Mrs. Mayall then
told her that the Indian was near, and she must not show her head at the
window, or she might be taken for her husband. The minutes now seemed to
drag into hours, when that hungry cow was walking over the choice melons
and devouring them, and in a few moments more she was eating and
stamping down the corn which they had cultivated with care for their own
domestic use. But time wore away, and all was still, excepting the cow
in the garden. The sharp report of a gun was heard, and loud groans
followed, which seemed to shake everything within like a clap of
midnight thunder, and my brain seemed to reel, for deeds were going on I
dare not look upon.
Soon after, some one, whom I took to be Mayall, for I could see by the
light of the stars he had a gun in his hand, came and drove his cow out
of the garden. Mrs. Mayall then told me her husband would be back in the
course of an hour, and they would then be out of all danger; that her
husband was then near the house. Our fears seemed to vanish, and we
commenced talking and anticipating what had happened. Mrs. Mayall said
the report was from her husband's gun; that she knew the sound from all
other guns, and that, when in the hands of her husband, was sure death
against prowlers of the night, whether they walked on two feet or four.
She then said she knew their game. The Indian had let the cow into the
garden, expecting that her husband would come out, whilst he lay
secreted to kill him. She said Mayall never slept in his house when he
knew there were Indians watching for him, but always kept near enough to
protect his house and family. Whilst we were anticipating what had been
done in the dark, Mayall suddenly knocked three times on the door, then
paused and struck one. Mrs. Mayall, without farther hesitation, sprang
to the door and opened it. I said, "How dare you open that door?" She
replied that his knock was different from all other men; she said she
could tell by the day of the week, and no one knew the secret but
herself.
Mayall entered the house without saying a word, bolted the door after
him, laid down his gun, knife and tomahawk, and after telling me that I
could go home in the morning if I chose, there would be no danger, he
then laid down on his bed of straw, and was sound asleep in less than
five minutes; and when I left his cottage in the morning he was still
asleep. I took my little Nelly and returned to my cabin. Many strange
thoughts passed through my troubled brain. Occasionally I seemed to hear
the sharp report of a rifle; and then how came the blood on that
tomahawk? The Indian never appeared again, nor could there be any trace
of him found.
Roam on the high mountain's crest, fearless ranger,
The Indian no more shall dye his coarse blanket
In citizens' gore; he has left, aye, forever, the vales
Where you met him, and fought for my Nelly,
So gifted, so fair and so young.