Vol. V.] [No. 56.
AUGUST 19, 1876.
JOE NAPYANK;
OR,
THE RIVER RIFLES.
BY BILLEX MULLER.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
CONTENTS
I. On the Ohio 9
II. Night on the Ohio.—A Visitor.—An Original
Character.—Premonitions of Danger 19
III. Teddy O’Donnell and His Love Adventure. Startling Catastrophe 28
IV. On the Island.—Environed by Peril.—Sad Forebodings.—Young
Smith’s Desperate Adventure 33
V. Sad News.—Recovery of a Rifle 45
VI. A Reckless Adventure.—Capture of Teddy.—A Visit to the
Flat-boat.—Thoughts of Rescue 52
VII. Death and Capture.—The Companions in Captivity 59
VIII. A Night Voyage Down the River.—Singular Appearance.—The
Departure 65
IX. In the Dark and Bloody Ground.—The Separation 74
X. A Vain Hunt.—The Indian Camp.—Discovery.—Pursuit.—Desperate
Conflict.—A Meeting 81
XI. Teddy O’Donnell and Ruth McGowan—Irish Shrewdness—A Pugilistic
Triumph—The Indian Fight—Liberation 90
XII. The End 98
JOE NAPYANK.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE OHIO.
“I’ve had a pretty good tramp to-day, that’s sartin!” Such was the
exclamation of a tall, gaunt, ungainly hunter,—Joe Napyank, as he
dropped the butt of his rifle upon the ground, and folding his arms over
the muzzle, looked out upon the broad Ohio, rolling by in quiet
grandeur.
“I’ve tramped nigh unto twenty miles without once stopping; and, when a
fellow goes that distance through woods, cane-brakes, and thickets,
dodging the redskins and varmints, it’s no wonder if he’s a _leetle_
blowed. Can’t be I’m too late after all.”
The thought seemed to bring him some discomfort for a moment.
“No; it can’t be, no need of thinking that. I’ve made pretty good time,
and have struck the river low ’nough down.”
From his position, a view of the Ohio, for several miles below was
afforded him, but the prospect above was cut off by a sweeping bend in
the river. The hunter—for such he evidently was—took a long searching
scrutiny of the river below, as if in quest of some object. Suddenly he
started.
“Yonder _is_ something that’s sartin, but it must be an Injin canoe.
Yes, I know it is.”
The object referred to was simply a dark speck, gliding straight across
the stream. In a few moments, it struck the other shore and as speedily
disappeared.
“Yes; that’s a canoe, that can be told by the way it acts. It’s plain
McGowan has not reached this point yet.”
Thus satisfied beyond all conjecture, Joe took a seat upon a tree,
prepared to wait the appearance of some object. As we have already
remarked, he was very tall and remarkably attenuated,—his weight barely
a hundred pounds, while his height was fully six feet. His features were
sharp and angular, characteristic more of the New Englander than of his
native state of New York. His face seemed as devoid of beard as a
child’s; but he had a pleasant blue eye, and there was an expression of
good nature on his face, more prepossessing than otherwise. When he
talked or laughed he displayed a fine set of teeth, and a remarkably
musical voice. His hair was sandy and almost as long and straight as an
Indian’s.
Joe Napyank sat some time in a reverie, when chancing to raise his head,
he saw in full sight, coming around the bend above, a goodly sized
flat-boat, such as were frequently seen upon the western waters,
three-quarters of a century since. The hunter’s eyes sparkled.
“That’s McGowan! I knowed he couldn’t be far out of the way. I don’t see
any of ’em on the look out, which, howsomever, is a good sign, as it’s
one that ought to do the looking out,—that is such looking out as makes
me show myself.”
Joe kept his seat for a few minutes longer, and then withdrawing into
the wood so as to conceal himself, he deliberately raised his gun and
discharged it in the direction of the flat-boat and then, dropping his
piece, looked to see the result.
He caught a glimpse of two or three hats moving around near the stern of
the boat. Enough to satisfy him, that his friends were not asleep, nor
so reckless as to expose themselves, when no possible good could result
from it. The hunter now stepped forward, and called out,
“Helloa there, you, can’t you take a poor fellow on board?”
All this time, he was careful to keep his body concealed; and,
observing, that his call attracted no notice, he speedily repeated it,
still hiding his body, and disguising his voice as much as possible.
“I say you, won’t you take a poor fellow on board, that’s been badly cut
up by the Injins, and can’t get off.”
Still there was not the least sign that his words were heard, which
perhaps rather curiously did not seem to displease the hunter. By this
time, the flat-boat had approached a point directly opposite, so that he
was compelled to begin walking to keep pace with it. This he managed to
do, without exposing himself to the inquiring eyes, that he knew was
piercing out upon him.
“I say, be you so cruel as to leave a poor wounded man of your own race
and blood to perish among these outrageous Injins?”
Still no response, and the hunter tried it once more.
“Can’t you let me know that your hear me?”
A moment later, a huge red face appeared over the gunwale,
“Git out! you can’t come that game over me.”
Joe Napyank now stepped forth to view, and swung his hat with a loud
laugh.
“That’s right, McGowan, belive every man in these parts an enemy till
he’s proved a friend.”
The same rubicund face rose like the moon over the horizon of the high
gunwale, and a cheery laugh rolled over the water—
“Ha! ha! ha! you can’t hide that voice of yours, Joe; I knowed you all
the time.”
“You did, eh?” replied the hunter somewhat crestfallen, “why didn’t you
answer me then?”
“You didn’t apply in the proper manner,—that’s it, ha! ha! ha! Now when
you show yourself like a man, I’ll notice you. I suppose you want to
come on board.”
“If you’ve no objection, I should like to do so.”
“How do you propose to do it?”
“I ’pose you work your old pile of lumber into shore.”
“No, you don’t. It would be a little better if you should work yourself
a little _out_ from shore.”
The hunter could not avoid laughing at the good natured shrewdness
displayed by McGowan.
“I’m glad to see you’ve larned something. ’Twouldn’t be safe to get
along the shore when there’s no current.”
“What made you ask me to do it then?”
“Just to see whether you had enough sense not to mind me. I tell you
what you can do though, McGowan,” added Napyank in a more serious voice.
“What’s that?”
“Work the boat a little toward this bank so that I can wade out to you.
A few yards will answer.”
“I suppose there is no objection to that, but you will have to go down
stream a little further.”
“Of course.”
The long sweeping oars that were hung at either end of the flat-boat
were now called into requisition and applied by seemingly invisible
hands. Under their influence, the huge unwieldy mass of lumber began
sidling toward the bank, somewhat after the fashion of a cautious
turtle, that had not made up his mind as yet, whether he was doing an
exactly proper thing or not. The hunter kept pace with it, manifesting
considerable anxiety, and surveying both shores, as though he were not
satisfied with their appearance. One or two things had caught his eye
that gave him some uneasiness, and he was rather impatient to get upon
the boat. This perhaps made the movements of McGowan and his friends
unnecessarily tardy.
“There! I think that will do!” exclaimed the man on the flat-boat. “Now
see whether you can walk out to us.”
But Joe was already several yards out in the stream, carefully feeling
his way. The water slowly rose, so that he was to his arm-pits before he
had passed half the intervening distance.
“Ay g-r-a-c-i-o-us!” he shivered out, as he tediously made his way
along. “This is awful cold, and is getting deeper and deeper.”
“Keep along. You’re in the deepest part,” cheered McGowan.
“I—I—don’t know about that.”
“A few more yards and you will be here.”
“I—oogh!”
The last exclamation was forcibly ejected, as he suddenly dropped out of
view. Just as McGowan’s hearty laugh was ringing over the water, he shot
upward again and struck out vigorously for the flat-boat.
“Confound it! Why didn’t you tell a feller?”
“How could I know there was a hole there? Let your feet drop and see if
they don’t touch bottom.”
The hunter did as was requested and was surprised to find that he was
again in five-foot water.
“That’s better,” he added, as he rapidly neared the flat-boat. “In a
minute——”
Joe Napyank suddenly paused, at the sharp crack of several rifles upon
the bank, and the whizz of the bullets in alarming proximity to his own
person.
“Indians!” exclaimed McGowan, excitedly. “Quick Joe, for God’s sake;
you’ll be killed!”
The hunter was fully impressed with the danger, and was making all haste
toward the flat-boat. He sank down so that nothing but the upper part of
his head was visible above water. The bullets rained like hail around
his head but still he was unharmed.
“McGowan, can’t you give ’em a shot?” he called out.
“I can try.”
Saying which his gun was speedily raised and discharged among the
shouting savages, who took no pains to conceal their bodies. The shot
seemingly was a good one, for they scattered to cover like a flock of
frightened partridges. During the temporary lull the hunter reached the
flat-boat and with the assistance of two or three friendly hands was
received on board.
The Indians disappeared with almost the suddenness of magic. Not another
yell was heard, not another gun fired. Five minutes after the discharge
of the first shot, a stillness deep and profound reigned over wood and
river.
For a long time those in the flat-boat maintained an unremitting watch
upon both shores. More than once they were certain they saw some
redskins leaping stealthily from cover to cover—they were in momentary
expectation of another volley. But none came. It seemed as if the
savages had been controlled entirely by the desire to slay or obtain
possession of Napyank, and failing in this, they had quietly withdrawn.
“They have left, I guess,” finally remarked Napyank.
“I don’t know,” replied McGowan, “it seems to me that every rod of these
bordering woods, contain a dozen of the creatures, and it _does_ seem as
if they had all taken a great notion to watch us.”
“No doubt about that, and they _will_ keep on watching us till we reach
the settlement. Haven’t they attacked you previous to this?”
“I should think they had. There hasn’t been a night since we got fairly
into the West, that they haven’t tried to board us.”
Joe Napyank, although an experienced hunter, seemed really surprised to
hear this. McGowan added by way of qualification.
“I speak the literal truth when I say there hasn’t a night passed
without some hostile attempt upon their part; but I must say, that it
does seem to me that they didn’t try very hard.”
“That is qu’ar. When Injins try such things, they’re apt to do the best
they can.”
“Perhaps they had a good fear of the mettle of those on board this
boat,” smiled McGowan.
“Per-h-a-p-s,” drawled the hunter, in a voice that was far more
significant than a simple denial could have been.
“I don’t think any of them have learned how many we have on board,”
added McGowan.
“It is well they didn’t.”
But it is high time the inmates of the flat-boat should receive a more
special introduction to the reader.
Theophilus McGowan, the author of this emigration scheme, was a middle
aged man of large frame, weighing considerably over two hundred pounds.
He came from Western Pennsylvania, where he was a prominent citizen,
greatly respected, having performed a very important part in the
Revolutionary war, now brought to a close. He procured a wife as obese
and genial-natured as himself, and a daughter as pretty and plump as it
is safe to imagine. This was their only child, and, at first, it may
seem hard to find a reason why he should leave his comfortable home and
emigrate to this great solitude, the abode of the deadly red man. But it
requires no prophetic eye, to see that this very region—the great
West—was destined speedily to become settled, civilized, and one of the
most important sections of the young nation. His experience in camp life
and the vicissitudes of the great contest, had nurtured a roving
disposition in him, and he had entered into the scheme with as much
zest, as if he were a young man, and was in quest of a bride and a new
home.
Associated with him was Abram Smith, a man somewhat younger than
himself, who brought with him his two sons, Abram and Stoddard. Abram
was a quiet, reserved sort of man like his father, and nearly thirty
years of age. Both had the true mettle of the pioneer in them. Reticent
and undemonstrative, yet they possessed that noiseless, unwavering
determination, which could be checked by no obstacle that it was
possible for human will to overcome. Every trial and difficulty they
took as a matter of course, and it may be safely ventured that if father
and son ever knew that it was appointed to run a gauntlet of Indians, in
order to reach their destination, they would not have hesitated or
turned aside for an instant.
Mrs. Smith was a cypher,—meek, uncomplaining, faithful, she went through
her routine of duties, greatly after the manner of a machine that is
regularly wound up and runs itself down. She would no more have dreamed
of questioning the authority and wisdom of her husband, than a slave
would have dared to dispute with a despot.
Stoddard Smith, who was several years younger than his brother, (it may
as well be expressed at this point,) was prompted more by admiration of
Ruth McGowan, than a love for this outrageous solitude. Brought up in
the neighborhood, he had learned to look upon her with admiring eyes,
and came in due time to be accepted as her lover, in preference to
scores of others, who had cast longing looks in that direction. His
disposition was such that he would have been pronounced a son of
McGowan, far sooner than one of his rightful father. Free, open-hearted,
brave almost to recklessness, sometimes noisy in his exuberance of
spirits, he was the very antipode of his family.
“Friend and companion! I greet you,” was his salutation, as Joe Napyank
came over the gunwale. “You seem rather anxious to see us.”
“And so would you be,” answered the hunter, as he turned towards
McGowan, and the other two devoted themselves to the danger that had
sprung so suddenly upon them. A few more words which have been already
recorded, and the conversation was reduced to disjointed sentences,
principally occasioned by what was happening around them. Finally, when
it became certain there was no fear of further molestation from the
savages, they mingled more freely with each other. Mrs. McGowan and
Smith came above and greeted the hunter, who was a most welcome addition
to the party, and after remaining a few moments went below. Ruth,
however, staid on deck in converse with her father, lover and Napyank.
Abram Smith and father were at the bow, where they had abundant
opportunity for their favorite pastime—silence.
“It seems to me you don’t look very much scart,” replied the hunter,
addressing Ruth McGowan.
“I have been frightened for all that—but we are getting so accustomed to
these Indians, that I am in constant expectation of their guns.”
“She was frightened enough when the first shot was fired the other day.
She believed it was certainly all over with us,” said her father. “She
ain’t so brave as you are trying to make out. I’ve no doubt she would
run into the cabin, if we should be boarded by a half hundred of the red
skins.”
“I’ve no doubt of it either,” returned Ruth, not detecting the quiet
humor of her father, beneath the serious surface.
“Yes; she is a regular coward; I don’t know what we shall do with her in
this western country. I almost wish we had left her at home.”
“I am sure you can’t wish it any more than I do,” rejoined the daughter,
with some feeling. The father looked her quietly in the face a moment,
and then with a pleasant smile drew her affectionately to his heart.
“No, my darling,” he said, as the tears came in his eyes. “I would not
have left you behind for the world.”
Ruth covered her face, and for a few moments complete silence held
reign. Joe Napyank considered the tableau quite interesting. Stoddard
Smith was reflecting how truly he might appropriate the words just
uttered by McGowan, and how decidedly agreeable it would be if he were
her father for the time being.
In the meantime, the keen eye of the hunter was scrutinizing the Ohio
and Kentucky shore in search of signs that it may be said were hardly
ever invisible.