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ELLA BARNWELL:
A Historical Romance of Border Life
BY EMERSON BENNETT,
AUTHOR OF
"PRAIRIE FLOWER," "LENI LEOTI," "FOREST ROSE," "MIKE FINK," "VIOLA,"
"CLARA MORELAND," "FORGED WILL," "TRAITOR," "FEMALE SPY," "ROSALIE DU
PONT," "FAIR REBEL," ETC., ETC.
CINCINNATI:
PUBLISHED BY U.P. JAMES,
No. 177 RACE STREET.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, BY J.A. &
U.P. JAMES, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States, for the District of Ohio.
PREFACE.
In putting to press a new and revised edition of the following story,
the author would state, that his original design was to combine fact and
fiction, in such a way, as, while making his story move forward to a
proper _denouement_, to give the reader a correct picture of the dress,
customs, and social and war-like habits of the early pioneers of the
west; and also embody a series of historical events which took place on
the frontiers during that revolutionary struggle by which we gained our
glorious independence. For this purpose, Kentucky, in her infancy, was
selected as the scene of action; and most of the existing records of her
early settlements were read with care, each compared with the others,
and only the best authenticated accounts presented to the reader. So
much in fact did the author labor to make the present story historical,
that there is scarcely a scene or character in its pages that had not
its counterpart in reality.
He would only add, that, for important reasons, the original title has
been changed to that which now heads its title-page. "What's in a name?"
queried the great bard. Had he lived in our day, and been a novelist
instead of a poet, he would either not have asked the question, or
answered it very differently than he did.
ELLA BARNWELL.
CHAPTER I.
THE STRANGER.
That portion of territory known throughout Christendom as Kentucky, was,
at an early period, the theatre of some of the wildest, most hardily
contested, and bloody scenes ever placed on record. In fact its very
name, derived from the Indian word Kan-tuck-kee, which was applied to it
long before its discovery by the whites, is peculiarly significant in
meaning--being no less than "the dark and bloody ground." History makes
no mention of its being inhabited prior to its settlement by the present
race; but rather serves to aid us to the inference, that from time
immemorial it was used as a "neutral ground," whereon the different
savage tribes were wont to meet in deadly strife; and hence the
portentious name by which it was known among them. But notwithstanding
its ominous title, Kentucky, when first beheld by the white hunter,
presented all the attractions he would have envied in Paradise itself.
The climate was congenial to his feelings--the country was devoid of
savages--while its thick tangles of green cane--abounding with deer,
elk, bears, buffaloes, panthers, wolves and wild cats, and its more open
woods with pheasant, turkey and partridge--made it the full realization
of his hopes--his longings. What more could he ask? And when he again
stood among his friends, beyond the Alleghanies, is it to be wondered at
that his excited feelings, aided by distance, should lead him to
describe it as the El Dorado of the world? Such indeed he did describe
it; and to such glowing descriptions, Kentucky was doubtless partially
indebted for her settlement so much in advance of the surrounding
territory.
As it is not our purpose, in the present instance, to enter into a
history of the country, further than is necessary to the development of
our story, the reader will pardon us for omitting that account of its
early settlement which can readily be gleaned from numerous works
already familiar to the reading public. It may not be amiss, however, to
remark here, what almost every reader knows, that first and foremost in
the dangerous struggles of pioneer life, was the celebrated Daniel
Boone; whose name, in the west, and particularly in Kentucky, is a
household word; and whose fame, as a fearless hunter, has extended not
only throughout this continent, but over Europe. The birth place of this
renowned individual has been accredited to several states, by as many
writers; but one, more than the rest, is positive in asserting it to
have been Bucks county, Pennsylvania; and the year of his birth 1732;
which is sufficient for our purpose, whether strictly correct or not. At
an early period of his life, all agree that he removed with his father
to a very thinly settled section of North Carolina, where he spent his
time in hunting--thereby supplying the family with meat and destroying
the wild beasts, while his brothers assisted the father in tilling the
farm--and where he afterwards, in a romantic manner, became acquainted
with a settler's daughter, whom he married; and whence, in the spring
of 1769, in company with five others, he set out on an expedition of
danger across the mountains, to explore the western wilds; and after
undergoing hardships innumerable, and losing all his companions in
various ways, he at last succeeded in erecting the first log cabin, and
being the first white settler within the borders of Kentucky. To follow
up, even from this time, a detail of his trials, adventures, captures by
the Indians, and hair-breadth escapes, to the close of his eventful
career, would be sufficient to fill a volume; therefore we shall drop
him for the time--merely remarking, by the way, that he will be found to
figure occasionally in the following pages.
From the first appearance of Boone in the wilds of Kentucky, we shall
pass over a space of some ten or twelve years, and open our story in the
fall of 1781. During this period, the aspect of the country for a
considerable distance around the present site of Lexington, had become
materially changed; and the smoke from the cabin of the white settler
arose in an hundred places, where, a dozen years before, prowled the
wolf, the bear, and the panther, in perfect security. In sooth, the year
in question had been very propitious to the immigrants; who, flocking in
from eastern settlements in goodly numbers, were allowed to domiciliate
themselves in their new homes, with but few exceptions, entirely
unmolested by the savage foe. So much in fact was this the case, that
instead of taking up their residence in a fort--or station, as they were
more generally called--the new comers erected cabins for themselves, at
such points as they considered most agreeable; gradually venturing
further and further from the strongholds, until some of them became too
distant to look hopefully for succor in cases of extreme necessity.
Among the stations most prominent at this period, as being most secure,
and against which the attacks of the Indians were most frequent and
unsuccessful, may be mentioned Harrod's, Boone's, Logan's, and Bryan's,
so called in honor of their founders. The first two named, probably from
being the two earliest founded, were particularly unfortunate in drawing
down upon themselves the concentrated fury of the savages, who at
various times surrounded them in great numbers and attempted to take
them by storm. These attacks not unfrequently lasted several days, in
which a brisk fire was maintained on both sides, whenever a foe could be
seen; until wearied out with fruitless endeavors, or surprised by a
reinforcement of the whites, the Indians would raise the siege, with a
howl of rage, and depart. One of the longest and most remarkable of
these on record, we believe, was that of Boonesborough, which was
attacked in June, 1778, by five hundred Indians, led on by Duquesne, a
Frenchman, and which, with only a small garrison, commanded by Boone
himself, nobly held out for eight days, when the enemy withdrew in
despair. But, as we before remarked, it not being our purpose to enter
into a general history of the time, we will now proceed with our story.
It was near the close of a mild, beautiful day, in the autumn of 1781,
that a young man, some twenty-two years of age, emerged from a wood into
an open space or clearing, at a distance of perhaps fifteen miles
eastward from Lexington. The general appearance of this individual
betokened the hunter, but at the same time one who followed it for
pleasure, rather than as a means of support. This was evident from his
dress, which although somewhat characteristic of the time, was much
superior to that generally worn by the woodsman. He had on a woolen
hunting frock, of fine texture, of a dark green color, that came a few
inches below the hips. Beneath this, and fitting closely around his
shoulders, neck and breast, was a scarlet jacket, ornamented with two
rows of round, white metal buttons. A large cape, with a deep red
fringe, of about inch in width, was attached to the frock, and extended
from the shoulders nearly to the elbow. Around the waist, outside the
frock, passed a dark leather belt, in which were confined a brace of
handsome pistols, and a long silver-hilted hunting knife. Breeches of
cloth, like the frock, were connected with leggins of tanned deer skin,
which in turn extended over, and partly concealed, heavy cow-hide boots.
A neatly made cap of deer skin, with the hair outside, surmounted a
finely shaped head. His features, though somewhat pale and haggard, as
if from recent grief or trouble, were mostly of the Grecian cast. He had
a high, noble forehead; a large, clear, fascinating gray eye; a well
formed mouth, and a prominent chin. In height he was about five feet and
ten inches, broad shouldered, straight, heavy set, with handsome
proportions.
Upon the shoulder of the young man, as he emerged from the wood, rested
an elegant rifle; which, after advancing a short distance, he brought
into a trailing position; and then pausing, he dropped the breech upon
the ground, placed his hands over the muzzle, and, carelessly leaning
his chin upon them, swept with his eye the surrounding country, to which
he was evidently a stranger.
The day had been one of those mild and smoky ones, peculiar to the
climate and season; and the sun, large and red, was near to sinking
behind the far western ridge, giving a beautiful crimson, mellow tinge
to each object which came beneath his rays. The landscape, over which
the stranger gazed, was by no means unpleasing. His position was on an
eminence, overlooking a fertile valley, partly cleared, and partly
shaded by woods, through which wound a crystal stream, whose gentle
murmurs could be heard even where he stood. Beyond this stream, the
ground, in pleasing undulations, took a gentle rise, to a goodly height,
and was covered by what is termed an open wood--a wood peculiar to
Kentucky at this period--consisting of trees in the regularity of an
orchard, at some distance apart, devoid of underbrush, beneath which the
earth was beautifully carpeted with a rank growth of clover, high grass,
and wild flowers innumerable. In the rear of the young hunter, as if to
form a background to the picture, was the wood he had just quitted,
which, continuing the elevation spoken of, but more abruptly, rose high
above him, and was crowned by a ledge of rocks. Far in the distance, to
his right, could be seen another high ridge; while to the left,
spreading far away from the mouth of the valley, if we may so term it,
like the prairies of Missouri, was a beautiful tangle, or cane-brake,
containing its thousands of wild animals. The open space wherein the
hunter stood was not large, covering an area of not more than half a
dozen acres. It was of an oblong form, and sloped off from his position
to the right, left, and front, and reached from the wood down to the
stream in the valley, where stood a rather neat log cabin, from which a
light blue smoke ascended in graceful wreaths. The eye of the stranger,
glancing over the scene, fell upon this latter with that gleam of
satisfaction which is felt by a person after performing a long fatiguing
journey, when he sees before him a comfortable inn, where he is to
repose for the night; and pausing for a couple of minutes, he replaced
his rifle upon his shoulder, and started forward down the hill, at a
leisure pace.
Scarcely had the stranger advanced twenty paces, when he was startled by
a fierce yell, accompanied by the report of a rifle, the ball of which
whizzed past him, within an inch of his head. Ere he could recover from
his surprise, a sharp pain in the side, followed by another report,
caused him to reel like one intoxicated, and finally sink to the earth.
As the young man fell, two Indians sprung from behind a cluster of
bushes, which skirted the clearing some seventy-five yards to the right,
and, with a whoop of triumph, tomahawk in hand, rushed toward him.
Believing that his life now depended upon his own speedy exertions, the
young hunter, by a great effort, succeeded in raising himself on his
knees; and drawing up his rifle with a hasty aim, he fired; but with no
other success than that of causing one of the savages to jerk his head
suddenly aside without slackening his speed. There was still a chance
left him; and setting his teeth hard, the wounded man drew his pistols
from his belt, and awaited the approach of his enemies; who, when within
thirty paces, discovering the weapons of death, suddenly came to a halt,
and commenced loading their rifles with great rapidity.
The young hunter now perceived, with painful regret, that only an
interposition of Providence could save him, for his life was hanging on
a thread that might snap at any moment. It was an awful moment of
suspense, as there, on his knees, far, far away from the land of his
birth, in a strange country, he, in the prime of life, without a friend
near, wounded and weak, was waiting to die, like a wild beast, by the
hands of savages, with his scalp to be borne hence as a trophy, his
flesh to be devoured by wolves, and his bones left to bleach in the open
air. It was an awful moment of suspense! and a thousand thoughts came
rushing through his mind; and he felt he would have given worlds, were
they his, for the existence of even half an hour, with a friend by, to
receive his dying requests. To add to his despair, he felt himself fast
growing weaker and weaker; and with an unsteady vision, as his last
hope, he turned his eye in the direction of the cottage, to note if any
assistance were at hand; but he saw none; and nature failing to support
him longer in his position, he sunk back upon the ground, believing the
last sands of his existence were run.
Meantime, the Indians had loaded their rifles; and one of them, stepping
a pace in front of his companion, was already in the act of aiming,
when, perceiving the young man falter and sink back, he lowered the
muzzle of his gun, and, grasping his tomahawk, darted forward to
despatch him without further loss of ammunition. Already had he reached
within five or six paces of his victim, who, now unable to exert himself
in his own defence, could only look upon his savage enemy and the weapon
uplifted for his destruction, when, crack went another rifle, in an
opposite direction whence the Indians approached, and, bounding into the
air, with a terrific yell, the foremost fell dead by the young man's
side. On seeing his companion fall, the other Indian, who was only a few
paces behind, stopped suddenly, and, with a yell of fear and
disappointment, turned and fled.
Those only who have been placed in peril sufficient to extinguish the
last gleam of hope, and have suddenly been relieved by a mysterious
interposition of Providence, can fully realize the feelings with which
the wounded hunter saw himself rescued from an ignominious death. True,
he was weak and faint from a wound which was, perhaps, mortal; still it
was a great consolation to feel that he should die among those who would
bury him, and perhaps bear a message to friends in a far-off land. With
such thoughts uppermost in his mind, the young man, by great exertion,
raised himself upon his elbow, and turned his head in the direction
whence his deliverer might be expected; but, to his surprise and
disappointment, no one appeared; and after vainly attempting to regain
his feet, he sunk back, completely exhausted. The wound in his side had
now grown very painful, and was bleeding freely; while he became
conscious, that unless the hemorrhage could be stanched immediately, the
only good service a friend could render him, would be to inter his
remains. In this helpless state, something like a minute elapsed, when
he felt a strange sensation about his heart--his head grew dizzy--his
thoughts seemed confused--the sky appeared suddenly to grow dark, and he
believed the icy grasp of death was already settling upon him. At this
moment a form--but whether of friend or foe he could not tell--flitted
before his uncertain vision; and then all became darkness and nonentity.
He had swooned.
When the young stranger recovered his senses, after a lapse of some ten
minutes, his glance rested on the form of a white hunter, of noble
aspect, who was bending over him with a compassionate look; and who,
meantime, had opened his dress to the wound and stanched the blood, by
covering it with a few pieces of coarse linen, which he had torn into
shreds for the purpose, and secured there by means of his belt.
As this latter personage is destined to figure somewhat in the following
pages, we shall take this opportunity of describing him as he appeared
to our wounded friend.
In height and proportion--but not in age--these two individuals were
somewhat alike--the new comer being full five feet, ten inches, with a
robust, athletic frame, and all the concomitants of a powerful man. At
the moment when first beheld by the young man, after regaining his
senses, he was kneeling by his side, his cap of the wild-cat skin was
lying on the ground, and the last mellow rays of the setting sun were
streaming upon an intelligent and manly countenance, which, now rendered
more deeply interesting by the earnest, compassionate look wherewith he
regarded the other, made him appear to that other, in his peculiar
situation, this most noble being he had ever seen. Of years he had seen
some fifty; though there was a freshness about his face, owing probably
to his hardy, healthy mode of life, which made him appear much younger.
His countenance was open and pleasing, with good, regular, though not,
strictly speaking, handsome features. His forehead was high and full,
beneath which beamed a mild, clear blue eye. His nose was rather long
and angular; his cheekbones high and bold; his lips thin and compressed,
covering a goodly set of teeth; his chin round and prominent; the whole
together conveying an expression of energy, decision, hardy recklessness
and manly courage. His dress was fashioned much like the other's,
already described, but of coarser materials--the frock being of
linsey-woolsey; the breeches and leggings of deerskin; and the
moccasins, in place of boots of the same material. Around his waist
passed a belt; wherein, instead of pistols, were confined a tomahawk and
scalping knife--two weapons which were considered as indispensable to
the regular white hunter of that day as to the Indian warrior himself.
So soon as the elder of the two became aware of consciousness on the
part of the younger, a friendly smile succeeded to the look of anxiety
with which he had been regarding him; and in the frank, cordial,
familiar tone of that period, when every man's cabin was the traveler's
home, and every strange guest was treated with the hospitality of an old
acquaintance, he said:
"Well, stranger, I'm right glad to welcome you back to life agin; for I
war beginning to fear your account with earthly matters had closed. By
the Power that made me! but you've had a narrow escape on't; and ef
Betsy (putting his hand on his rifle, which was lying by his side,)
hadn't spoke out as she did, that thar red skin varmint (pointing to the
dead Indian) would have been skulking now like a thief through yonder
woods, with your crown piece hanging to his girdle."
"A thousand thanks," returned the wounded man, pressing the hand of the
other as much as his strength would permit, and accompanying it with a
look of gratitude more eloquent than words: "A thousand thanks, sir, for
your timely shot, and subsequent kindness and interest in behalf of one
you know not, but who will ever remember you with gratitude."
"See here, stranger, I reckon you've not been long in these parts?"
"But a few days, sir."
"And you've come from a good ways east o' the Alleghanies?"
"I have."
"I knew it. I'd have bet Betsey agin a bushel of corn, and that's large
odds you know, that such war the fact, from the particular trouble
you've taken to thank me for doing the duty of a man. Let me assure you,
stranger, that you're in a country now whar equality exists; and whar
one man's just as good as another, provided he is no coward, and behaves
himself as he should do; and whether stranger or not, is equally
entitled to the assistance of his fellows; perticularly when about being
treed by such a sneaking varmint as that lying yonder. Besides, I don't
want any body to thank me for shooting Indians; for I always do it,
whensomever I get a chance, as Betsey would tell you, ef she could speak
English; for somehow thar's no perticular agreement atween us, unless
it's for each to make the most he can off the other; and so far I reckon
thar's a ballance in my favor, though the wretches are ever trying
desperate hard to get even. But come, stranger, it won't do for you to
be lying thar with that hole in your side; and so just have patience a
minute, till I've secured the top-knot of this beauty here, and then
I'll assist you down to yonder cabin, whar I doubt not you'll be well
cared for."
As he spoke, the old woodsman rose to his feet, drew his knife, and
turning to the dead Indian, to the surprise of the other, who was but
little familiar with Kentucky customs of that day, deliberately took off
the scalp, which he attached to his belt;[1] and then spurning the body
with his foot, he muttered: "Go, worthless dog! and fill the belly of
some wolf! and may your cowardly companion be soon keeping you company."
Then, as he turned to the other, and noticed his look of surprise, he
added: "Well, stranger, I reckon this business looks a little odd to
you, coming from away beyond the mountains as you do."
"Why, if truth must be told, I confess it does," answered the other.
"Don't doubt it, stranger; but you'll do it yourself afore you've
wintered here two seasons."
"I must beg leave to differ with you on that point."
"Well, well, we'll not quarrel about it--it arn't worth while; but ef
you stay here two year, without scalping a red-skin and perhaps skinning
one, I'll agree to pay you for your time in bar-skins at your own
valuation."
"I am much obliged to you for the offer," answered the young man--a
faint smile lighting his pale features; "but I think it hardly probable
I shall remain in the country that length of time."
"Not unless you have good care, I reckon," returned the other; "for that
thar wound o' yourn arn't none o' the slightest; though I don't want you
to be skeered, for I've seen many a worse one cured. But come, I'll
assist you down to yon cabin, and then I must be off--for I've got a
good distance to travel afore daylight to-morrow;" and bending down as
he spoke, the veteran hunter placed his arms under the arms of the
wounded man, and gently raised him upon his feet.
Although extremely weak from loss of blood, the latter, by this means of
support, was enabled to walk, at a slow pace; and the two descended the
hill--the elder, the while, talking much, and endeavoring by his
discourse to amuse and cheer up his companion.
"Why," he continued, "you think your case a hard one, no doubt,
stranger; but it's nothing compared to what some of us old settlers have
seen and been through with, without even winking, as one may say. Within
the last few year, I've seen a brother and a son shot by the infernal
red-skins--have lost I don't know how many companions in the same
way--been shot at fifty times myself, and captured several; and yet you
see here I am, hale and hearty, and just as eager, with Betsey's
permission, to talk to the varmints now as I war ten year ago."
"But do you not weary of this fatiguing and dangerous mode of life?"
inquired the other.
"Weary, stranger? Lord bless ye! you're but a young hunter to ax such a
question as that. Weary, friend? Why I war born to it--nursed to it--had
a rifle for a plaything; and the first thing I can remember
particularly, war shooting a painter;[2] and it's become as nateral and
necessary as breathing; and when I get so I can't follow the one, I want
to quit the other. Weary on't, indeed! Why, thar's more real
satisfaction in sarcumventing and scalping one o' there red heathen,
than in all the amusement you could scare up in a thick-peopled,
peaceable settlement in a life time."
"By the way," said the other, "pray tell me how you chanced to be so
opportune in saving my life?"
"Why, you must know, I war just crossing through the wood back here
about a mile, on my way home from the Licks, when I came across the
trail of two Indians, whom I 'spected war arter no good; and as Betsey
war itching for something to do, I kind o' kept on the same way, and
happened round on the other side o' this ridge, just as the red varmints
fired. I saw you fall, but could'nt see them, on account o' the hill;
but as I knowed they'd be for showing themselves soon, I got Betsey into
a comfortable position, and waited as patiently as I could, until the
ugly face of that rascal yonder showed clar; when I told her to speak to
him, which she did in rale backwood's dialect, and he died a answering
her. I then hurried round on the skirt of the wood, loading Betsey as I
went; but finding the other varmint had got off, I hastened to you and
found you senseless: the rest you know."
By this time the two had reached nearly to the foot of the hill, and
within a hundred yards of the cabin. Here they were joined by a tall,
lank, lantern-jawed, awkward young man, some twenty years of age, with
small, dark eyes, a long, peaked nose, and flaxen hair that floated down
over his ungainly shoulders, like weeping willows over a scrub oak, and
who carried in his hand a rifle nearly as long and ugly as himself.
"Why, colonel, how are ye? good even' to ye, stranger," was his
salutation, as he came up. "I war down by the tangle yonder, when I
heerd some firing, and some yelling, and I legged it home, ahead o' the
old man, just to keep the women folks in sperets, in case they war
attacked, and get a pop or so at an Injen myself; but thank the Lord,
they warn't thar; and so I ventered on, with long Nance here, to see
whar they mought be."
"Well, Isaac," returned the one addressed as colonel, "I don't doubt
your being a brave lad, and I've had some opportunity o' seeing you
tried; but being is how thar's no Indians to shoot just now, I'll ax you
to show your good qualities in another way. This young man's been badly
wounded, and ef you'll give him a little extra care, you'll put me under
obligations which I'll be happy to repay whensomever needed."
"It don't need them thar inducements you've just mentioned, colonel, to
rouse all my sympathies for a wounded stranger. Rely on't, he shan't
suffer for want o' attention."
"Rightly said, lad; rightly said; and so I leave him in your care.
Tender my regards to your family, for I must be off, and can't stay to
see them." Then turning to the wounded man, he grasped his hand and
said: "Stranger, thar's something about you I like; I don't say it of
every man I meet; and so you may put it down for a compliment or not,
just as you please. Give me your name?"
"Algernon Reynolds."
"Algernon Reynolds, I hope we shall meet again, though in a different
manner from our introduction; but whether or no, ef you ever need the
assistance of either Betsey or myself, just make it known, and we'll do
our best for you. Good bye, sir--good bye, Isaac!" and without waiting a
reply, the speaker sprung suddenly behind a cluster of bushes near which
the party stood, and the next moment was lost to view in the gathering
darkness.
"A great man, that thar, sir!--a powerful great man," observed Isaac,
gazing with admiration after the retreating form of the hunter. "Always
doing good deeds, and never looking for pay nor thanks; may God give him
four-score and ten."
"Amen to that!" returned Reynolds. "But pray tell me his name."
"And you don't know him?"
"I do not."
"And you didn't inquire his name?"
"I did not."
"And ef you had, sir, ten to one but he'd a given you a fictitious one,
to keep clar o' your surprise and extra thanks. Why that, sir, war the
great white hunter, Colonel Daniel Boone."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Reynolds, in no feigned surprise--"the very man I
have so longed to behold; for his fame has already extended far beyond
the Alleghanies. But come, friend Isaac, my wound grows painful; my
exertions thus far have weakened me exceedingly; and with your
permission, I will proceed to the cottage. Ah! I feel myself growing
faint--fainter--fa-i-n-t;" and he sunk senseless into the other's arms;
who, raising him, apparently without an effort, bore him into the house.
[Footnote 1: However barbarous such a proceeding may appear to thousands
in the present day of civilization and refinement, we can assure them,
on the authority of numerous historians of that period, that it was a
general custom with the early settlers of the west, to take the scalp of
an Indian slain by their hand, whenever opportunity presented.]
[Footnote 2: Backwoods name for a panther.]