THE ENCAMPMENT OF THE RENEGADE.
It was about ten o'clock on the evening in question, and Simon Girty was
seated by a fire, around which lay stretched at full length some six or
eight dark Indian forms, and near him, on the right, two of another sex
and race. He was evidently in some deep contemplation; for his hat and
rifle were lying by his side, his hands were locked just below his
knees, as if for the purpose of balancing his body in an easy position,
and his eyes fixed intently on the flame, that, waving to and fro in
the wind, threw over his ugly features a ruddy, flickering light, and
extended his shadow to the size and shape of some frightful monster.
The clouds of the late storm had entirely passed away, and through the
checkered openings in the trees overhead could be discerned a few bright
stars, which seemed to sparkle with uncommon brilliancy, owing to the
clearness of the atmosphere. All beyond the immediate circle lighted by
the fire, appeared dark and silent, save the solemn, almost mournful,
sighing of the wind, as it swept among the tree-tops and through the
branches of the surrounding mighty forest.
What the meditations of the renegade were, we shall not essay to tell;
but doubtless they were of a gloomy nature; for after sitting in the
position we have described, some moments, without moving, he suddenly
started, unclasped his hands, and looked hurriedly around him on every
side, as if half expecting, yet fearful of beholding, some frightful
phantom; but he apparently saw nothing to confirm his fears; and with
a heavy sigh, he resumed his former position.
What were the thoughts of that dark man, as he sat there?--he whose soul
had been steeped in crime!--he whose hands had long been made red with
the blood of numberless innocent victims! Who shall say what guilty
deeds of the past might have been harrowing up his soul to fear and even
remorse? Who shall say he was not then and there meditating upon death,
and the dread eternity and judgment that must quickly follow
dissolution? Who shall say he was not secretly repenting of that life of
crime, which had already drawn down the curses of thousands upon his
head? Something of the kind, or something equally powerful, must have
been at work within him; for his features ever and anon, by their
mournful contortions--if we may be allowed the phrase--gave visible
tokens of one in deep agony of mind. It would be no pleasant task to
analyze and lay bare the secret workings of so dark a spirit, even had
we power to do it; and so we will leave his thoughts, whether good or
evil, to himself and his God.
By his side, and within two feet of the renegade, lay extended the
beautiful form of Ella Barnwell--with nothing but a blanket and her own
garments between her and the earth--with none but a similar covering
over her--with her head resting upon a stone, and apparently asleep. We
say apparently asleep; but the drowsy son of Erebus and Nox had not yet
closed her eyelids in slumber; for there were thoughts in her breast
more potent than all his persuasive arts of forgetfulness, or those
of his prime minister, Morpheus. Was she thinking of her own hard
fate--away there in that lonely forest--with not a friend nigh that
could render her assistance--with no hope of escape from the awful doom
to which she was hastening? Or was she thinking of him, for whom her
heart yearned with all the thousand, undefined, indescribable sympathies
of affection?--of him who so lately had been her companion?--for
the heart of love measures duration, not by the cold mathematical
calculation of minutes and hours, and days and weeks, and months and
years, but by events and feelings; and the acquaintance of weeks may
seem the friend of years, and the acquaintance of years be almost
forgotten in weeks;--was she thinking of him, we say--of Algernon? who,
even in misery, had been torn from her side, had said perchance his last
trembling farewell, and gone to suffer a death at which humanity must
shudder! Ay, all these thoughts, and a thousand others, were rushing
wildly through her feverish brain. She thought of her own fate--of
his--of her relations--pictured out in her imagination the terrible doom
of each--and her tender heart became wrung to the most excruciating
point of agony.
By the side of Ella, was her adopted mother--buried in that troubled
sleep which great fatigue sends to the body, even when the mind is
ill at ease, filling it with startling visions--and around the fire,
as we said before, lay the dusky forms of the savages, lost to all
consciousness of the outer world. The position of Ella was such, that,
by slightly turning her head, she could command a view of the features
of the renegade; whose strange workings, as before noted, served to fix
her attention and divide her thoughts between him, as the cause of her
present unhappiness, and that unhappiness itself--and she gazed on his
loathsome, contorted countenance, with much the same feeling as one
might be supposed to gaze upon a serpent coiling itself around the
body, whose deadly fangs, either sooner or later, would assuredly give
the fatal stroke of death. She noted the sudden start of Girty, and the
wildness with which he peered around him, with feelings of hope and
fear--hope, that rescue might be at hand--fear, lest something more
dreadful was about to happen. At length Girty started again, and turned
his head toward Ella so suddenly, that she had not time to withdraw her
eyes ere his were fixed searchingly upon them.
"And are you too awake?" he said, with something resembling a sigh.
"I thought the innocent could ever sleep!"
"Not when the guilty are abroad, with deeds of death, and friends
exposed," returned Ella, bitterly.
"Ah! true--true!" rejoined Girty, again looking toward the fire, in a
musing mood.
"Well may you muse and writhe under the tortures of your guilty acts,"
continued Ella, in the same bitter tone; "for you have much to answer
for, Simon Girty."
"And who told you the past tortured me?" cried Girty, quickly, turning
on her a fierce expression.
"Your changing features and guilty starts," answered Ella.
"Ha! then you have been a spy upon me, have you?" said Girty, pressing
the words slowly through his clenched teeth, knitting his shaggy brows,
and fixing his eye with intensity upon hers, until she quailed and
trembled beneath its seeming fiery glance; which the light, whereby it
was seen, rendered more demon-like than usual; while it made shadow
chase shadow, like waves of the sea, across his face: "You have been
a spy upon my actions, eh? Beware! Ella Barnwell--beware! Do not
put your head in the lion's mouth too often, or he may think the bait
troublesome; and by ----! had other than you told me what I just now
heard, he or she had not lived to repeat it."
"Far better an early death and innocence, than a long life of guilt and
misery," returned Ella, at once regaining her boldness of speech; "Far
better the fate you speak of, than mine."
"And would you prefer being wedded to death, rather than me?" asked
Girty, quickly, in surprise.
"Ay, a thousand times!" replied Ella, energetically, rising as she
spoke, into a sitting posture, and looking fearlessly upon the renegade,
her previously pale features now flushed with excitement. "I fear not
death, Simon Girty; I have done no act that should make me fear the
change that all must sooner or later undergo; but I could not join my
hand to that of a man of blood, without loathing and horror, and feeling
criminal in the sight of God and man; and least of all to you, Simon
Girty, whose name has become a word of terror to the weak and innocent
of my race, and whose deeds of late have been such as to make me join my
voice in the general maledictions called down upon you."
During this speech of Ella, Girty sat and gazed upon her with the look
of a baffled demon; and, as she concluded, fairly hissed through his
teeth:
"And so you would prefer death to me, eh? By ----! you shall have your
choice!"
As he spoke, he grasped Ella by the wrist with one hand, seized his
tomahawk with the other, and sprung upon his feet. His rapid movement
and wild manner now really frightened her; and uttering a faint cry of
horror, she endeavored to release his hold; while the warriors, aroused
by the noise, bounded up from the earth, weapon in hand, with looks of
alarm.
Turning to them, Girty now spoke a few words in the Indian tongue; and,
with significant glances at Ella, they were just in the act of again
encamping, when crack went some five or six rifles, followed by yells
little less savage than their own, and four of them rolled upon the
earth, groaning with pain; while the others, surprised and bewildered,
grasped their weapons and shouted:
"The Shemanoes!" "The Long Knives!" not knowing whether to stand or fly.
Girty, meantime, had been left unharmed; although the shivering of the
helve of the tomahawk in his hand, in front of his breast, showed him
he had been a target for no mean marksman, and that his life had been
preserved almost by a miracle. For a moment he stood irresolute--his
nostrils fairly dilated with fear and rage, still holding Ella by
the wrist, who was too paralyzed with what she had seen to speak or
move--straining his eyes in every direction to note, if possible, the
number of his foes and whence their approach. The whole glance was
momentary; but he saw himself nearly surrounded by his enemies, who
were fast closing in toward the center with fierce yells; and pausing
no longer in indecision, he encircled Ella's waist with his left arm,
raised her from the ground, and keeping her as much as possible between
himself and his enemies, to deter them from firing, darted away toward
a thicket, some fifty yards distant, pursued by two of the attacking
party.
Just as Girty gained the thicket, one of his pursuers made a sudden
bound forward and grasped him by the arm; but his hold was the next
moment shaken off by the renegade, who, being now rendered desperate,
drew a pistol from his belt, with the rapidity of lightning, and laid
the bold adventurer dead at his feet. Almost at the same moment, Girty
received a blow on the back of his head, from the breech of the rifle of
his other antagonist, that staggered him forward; when, releasing his
hold of Ella, he turned and darted off in another direction, firing a
pistol as he went, the ball of which whizzed close to the head of him
for whom it was designed; and in a moment more he was lost in the mazes
of the forest.
Meantime the bloody work was going forward in the center; for at the
moment when Girty darted away, the report of some three or four rifles
again echoed through the wood, two more of the red warriors bit the
dust, while the other two fled in opposite directions, leaving Boone and
his party sole masters of the field.
Eager, excited, reckless and wild, several of the young men now rushed
forward, with yells of triumph, to the wounded Indians, whom they
immediately tomahawked without mercy, and began to scalp, when the voice
of Boone, who had been more cautious, reached them from a distance:
"Beware o' the fire-light, lads! or the red varmints will draw a
bead[11] on some of ye."
Scarcely were the words uttered, ere his warning was sadly fulfilled;
for the two savages finding they were not pursued, and thirsting for
revenge, turned and fired almost simultaneously, with aims so deadly,
that one of the young men, by the name of Beecher, fell mortally wounded
and expired a moment after; and another, by the name of Morris, had his
wrist shattered by a ball. This fatal event produced a panic in the
others, who at once fled precipitately into the darkness, leaving Mrs.
Younker, who had by this time gained her feet, standing alone by the
fire, a bewildered spectator of the terrible tragedies that had so
lately been enacted by her side. To her Boone now immediately advanced,
notwithstanding the caution he had given the others; and turning to him
as he came up, the good lady exclaimed, in a tone of astonishment:
"Why, Colonel Boone, be this here you? Why when did you come--and how
on yarth did ye git here--and what in the name o' all creation has been
happening? For ye see I war jest dosing away thar by the fire, and
dreaming all sorts of things, like all nater, when somehow I kind o'
thought I'd all at once turned into a man and gone to war a rale
soldier; and the battle had opened, and the big guns war blazing away,
and the little guns war popping off, and the soldiers war shrieking and
groaning and falling around me, like all possessed; and men a trampling,
and horses a running like skeered deer; and then I sort o' woke up, and
jumped up, and seed all them dead Injen wretches; and then I jest begun
to think as how it warn't no dream at all, but a living truth, all 'cept
my being a man and a soldier, as you com'd up. Well, ef this arn't a
queer world," resumed the good dame, catching breath meanwhile, "as
Preacher Allprayer used to say, then maybe as how I don't know nothing
at all about it."
"Your dream war a very nateral one, Mrs. Younker," returned Boone,
who, during the speech of the other, had been actively employed in
scattering the burning brands, to prevent the recurrence of another sad
catastrophe; "and I'm rejoiced to see that you've escaped unharmed, amid
this bloody work. Allow me to set you free;" and as he spoke, he drew his
scalping knife, and severed the thongs that bound her wrists.
"Gracious on me!" cried the dame, chafing the parts which had been
swollen by the tightness of the cords; "how clever 'tis to get free
agin, and have the use o' one's hands and tongue, to do and say jest
what a body pleases; for d'ye know, Colonel Boone, them thar imps of
Satan war awfully afeared o' my talking to 'em, to convince 'em they
war the meanest varmints in the whole univarsul yarth o' creation;
and actually put a peremshus stop to my saying what I thought on 'em;
although I told 'em as how it war a liberty as these blessed colonies
war this moment fighting for with the hateful red-coated Britishers.
But, Lord presarve us! gracious on us! where in marcy's sake is my dear,
darling Ella?" concluded Mrs. Younker, with vehemence and alarm, as she
now missed her adopted daughter for the first time.
"She's here, mother," answered a voice close behind her; and turning
round, the dame uttered a cry of joy, sprung into the arms of her son
Isaac, and wept upon his neck--occasionally articulating, in a choked
voice:
"God bless you, Isaac! God bless you, son!--you're a good boy--the
Lord's presarved you through the whole on't--the Lord be praised!--but
your father, poor lad--your father!" and with a strong burst of emotion,
she buried her face upon his breast, and wept aloud.
"I know it," sobbed forth Isaac, his whole frame shaken with the force
of his feelings: "I--I know the whole on't, mother--Ella's told me. I'd
rather he'd bin killed a thousand times; but thar's no help for it now!"
"No help for it!" cried Ella in alarm, who, having greeted the old
hunter, with tearful eyes, now stood weeping by his side. "No help for
it! Heaven have mercy!--say not so! They must--they must be rescued!"
Then turning wildly to Boone, she grasped his hand in both of hers, and
exclaimed: "Oh! sir, speak! tell me they can be saved--and on my knees
will I bless you!"
A few words now rapidly uttered by Isaac, put the old hunter in
possession of the facts, concerning the forced march of Younker and
Reynolds, of which he had previously heard nothing; and musing on the
information a few moments, he shook his head sadly, and said, with a
sigh:
"I'm sorry for you, Ella--I'm sorry for all o' ye--I'm sorry on my own
account--but I'm o' the opinion o' Isaac, that thar's no help for it
now. They're too far beyond us--we're in the Indian country--our numbers
are few--two or three o' the red varmints have escaped to give 'em
information o' what's been done--they'll be thirsty for revenge--and
nothing but a special Providence can now alter that prisoners' doom. I
had hoped it war to be otherwise; but we must submit to God's decrees;"
and raising his hand to his eyes, the old woodsman hastily brushed away
a tear, and turned aside to conceal his emotion; while Ella, overcome by
her feelings, at the thought of having parted, perhaps for the last
time, from Algernon and her uncle, staggered forward and sunk powerless
into the arms of Mrs. Younker, whose tears now mingled with her own.
By this time the whole party had gathered silently around their noble
leader, and were observing the sad scene as much as the feeble light of
the scattered brands would permit, their faces exhibiting a mournfulness
of expression in striking contrast to that they had so lately displayed,
previous to the death of their comrade. To them Boone now turned, and
running his eye slowly over the whole, said, in a sad voice:
"Well, lads, one o' our party's gone to his last account, I perceive,"
and he pointed mournfully to the still body of Beecher, some three or
four paces distant; "another I see is wounded, and a third's missing.
I hope no harm's befallen him, the noble Master Harry Millbanks!"
"Alas! he's dead, Colonel!" answered Isaac, covering his eyes with his
hand.
"Dead?" echoed Boone.
"Dead?" cried the others, simultaneously.
"Yes," rejoined Isaac, with a sigh; "He and I war chasing that thar
infernal renegade Girty, who war running away with Ella thar; and he'd
jest got up to him, and got him by the arm, when Girty shuk him off like
it warn't nothing at all, and then shot him dead on the spot. Ef he
hadn't a bin quite so quick about it, I think as how it wouldn't a
happened; for the next moment I hit him a rap on the head with the
butt-end o' my rifle, that sent him a staggering off, and would ha'
fetched him to the ground, ef it hadn't first struck a limb. Howsomever,
it made him let go o' Ella, and start up a new trail--jest leaving his
compliments for me in the shape of a bullet, which, ef it didn't do me
no harm, it warn't 'cause he didn't intend it to. I jest stopped to look
at poor Harry; and finding he war dead, I took Ella by the hand and come
straight down here."
"Who's that you said war dead, Isaac?" inquired his mother, who had
partially overheard the conversation.
"Harry Millbanks, mother."
"Harry Millbanks!" repeated the dame in astonishment. "What, young
Harry?--our Harry?--Goodness gracious, marcy on me! what orful mean
wretches them Injens is, to kill sech as him. Dear me! then the hull
family is gone; for I hearn from Rosetta, that her father and mother and
all war killed afore her eyes; and now she's bin taken on to be killed
too, the darling."
"Ha! yes," said Boone, as if struck with a new thought; "I remember
seeing the foot-prints of a child--war they made by this unfortunate
young man's sister?"
"I reckon as how they war," answered Mrs. Younker; "for the poor thing
war a prisoner along with us, crying whensomever she dared to, like all
nater."
"Well," rejoined the old hunter, musingly, "we've done all we could--I'm
sorry it didn't turn out better--but we must now leave their fates in
the hands o' Providence, and return to our homes. We must bury our dead
first; and I don't know o' any better way than to sink thar bodies in
the Ohio."
Accordingly, after some further conversation, four of the party
proceeded for the body of Millbanks--with which they soon
returned--while Boone conducted the ladies away from the scene of
horror, and down to where Ella informed him the canoes were hidden,
leaving his younger companions to rifle and scalp the savages if they
chose. In a few minutes from his arrival at the point in question, he
was joined by the others, who came slowly, in silence, bearing the
mortal remains of Millbanks and Beecher. Placing the canoes in the
water, the whole party entered them, in the same silent and solemn
manner, and pulled slowly down the Miami, into the middle of the Ohio;
then leaving the vessels to float with the current, they uncovered their
heads, and mournfully consigned the bodies of the deceased to the watery
element.
It was a sad and impressive scene--there, on the turbid Ohio, near the
midnight hour--to give to the rolling waters the last remains of those
who had been their friends and companions, and as full of life and
activity as themselves but an hour before;--it was a sad, impressive,
and affecting scene--one that was looked upon with weeping eyes--and
one which, by those who witnessed it, was never to be forgotten.
There were no loud bursts of grief--there were no frantic exclamations
of woe--but the place, the hour, and withal the various events which
had transpired to call them so soon from a scene of festivity to one of
mourning--together with the thoughts of other friends departed, or in
terrible captivity--served to render it a most painfully solemn one--and
one, as we said before, that was destined never to be forgotten.
For a short space after the river engulphed the bodies, all gazed upon
the waters in silence; when Boone said, in a voice slightly trembling.
"They did their duties--they have gone--God rest their souls, and give
peace to their bones!" and taking up a paddle, the noble old hunter
pulled steadily for the Kentucky shore in silence, followed by the other
boats in the same manner. There they landed, placed the canoes in
safety, in case they should again be needed, rekindled their fire, and
encamped for the night.
On the following morning, they set out upon their homeward journey;
where they finally arrived, without any events occurring worthy of note.
[Footnote 11: A hunter's phrase for taking sight.]