A GIRL OF THE OZARKS
In one of the loveliest valleys in the heart of the Ozarks lived Judge
Marion Chittenden. He was the youngest son of a Kentucky pioneer, one
who did much in the building up of that commonwealth when it was known
as "The Dark and Bloody Ground."
In his youth, Marion Chittenden--that was not his name then--was wild
and wayward, and became involved in numerous brawls and personal
encounters. When about twenty years of age, in a drunken brawl he shot
and killed one of his best friends. Filled with horror, and knowing the
consequences of his crime, he fled. Although a large reward was offered
for his apprehension, all efforts to find him proved unavailing. As
years passed and nothing was heard from him, his relatives breathed
sighs of relief and considered him as one dead.
The fact was, he had fled beyond the Mississippi and became lost in the
wilds of Missouri. Here he changed his name, and no one ever knew but
that he always had been Marion Chittenden.
In the Ozarks he made his living by hunting and fishing, and for some
years lived almost the life of a hermit. In one particular his crime
made him a changed man; from the moment he fled he never touched another
drop of liquor.
One day while hunting he came across a lovely valley. Through it ran a
purling stream, its waters as clear as crystal. Around and about the
valley the hills rose to a height of from five to eight hundred feet,
clothed to their tops in a forest of living green.
When he first saw the valley it was from the top of one of the hills
where he had trailed and shot a bear. As he stood and looked, the scene
was so peaceful, so beautiful, that a longing for rest came over him.
The wild and wandering life he had led for years all at once palled upon
him. The memory of his childhood came like a flood. His waywardness, his
crime, arose before him with startling distinctness. He was naturally a
lover of the refinements of civilization, and the rough, lonely life he
had led was the result of his crime, not of inclination.
Standing there, he suddenly exclaimed, "Here will I make my home; here
will I forget the past; here will I begin a new life."
He descended into the valley, startling a herd of deer that bounded into
the forest which clothed the hills. But they need not have been
afraid--for the time being he had lost the instinct of a hunter.
He stood by the side of the little river, its clear waters showing the
fish darting to and fro, as if in wanton play. A little back was a knoll
crowned with noble trees. "Here," thought he, "will I build my house.
Here will I begin my new life. It is beautiful. The stream is beautiful.
It shall be called La Belle, and this the valley of La Belle." And the
valley of La Belle it became.
He went to St. Louis and preempted the land, for he had no fears the
rough, bearded hunter would be taken for the immaculate young dandy who
had fled from Kentucky.
He built him a home; the range of thousands of acres of land was his,
and his flocks grew and flourished. Time passed, and other settlers
began to invade the seclusion of the Ozarks.
One day there came into the hills a man by the name of Garland. He had
seen better days, but had become impoverished and fled to the Ozarks,
thinking that in that wilderness he might make a home, and in a measure
retrieve his fortune. His family consisted of his wife and one daughter,
a young lady about twenty years of age.
Mr. Garland settled some miles from where Chittenden lived his lonely
life; but in a wilderness those who live miles away are considered
neighbors. Mr. Chittenden visited them, and, though charmed by the
beauty of the daughter, he had no thoughts of giving up his bachelor
life.
But misfortune seemed to have followed Mr. Garland. He had not been
there a year before his wife died, and in a few months he followed her.
Before this Mr. Chittenden had not thought of marriage, but now the
helplessness of the girl appealed to him. He proposed and was accepted.
He never had cause to regret his action, for beautiful Grace Garland
made a wife of whom any man might be proud.
His marriage also made a great change in Mr. Chittenden. The house was
enlarged and beautified. He greatly prospered, and in time became one of
the prominent men in his section of the country. He was called Judge,
and sent to the Legislature, and was even pressed to run for Congress.
Against this he resolutely set his face. The ghost of the past arose and
frightened him. As a congressman his past might be traced.
A couple of years after his marriage a daughter was born and was named
Grace, after her mother.
Mr. Chittenden continued to prosper, and in time bought a few slaves.
This put him on a higher plane, for to be a slave-holder was to belong
to the aristocracy, and it was a matter of pride among the Ozarks that
Mr. Chittenden owned slaves.
Little Grace grew up a true child of the mountains, as wild and free as
the birds. When she was about ten years of age her mother died. If it
had not been for his daughter, Mr. Chittenden would have lost all
interest in life. Now everything centered in her, and she became a part
of his very life.
The death of his wife left him without a competent housekeeper, so one
day he informed Grace he was going to St. Louis to see if he could not
buy a colored woman recommended as a good housekeeper, and that if she
liked she might go with him.
The girl was overjoyed, for she had never been away from her lovely
valley home. The hills to her had been the boundary of the world, and
often as she gazed at them she would wonder and wonder what was beyond.
The birds were her friends, and they seemed to sing of things she did
not know. They had wings and could fly and explore that wonderful
beyond. She often wished she too had wings, so she might fly with the
birds--then she would know too.
Her mother early had taught her to read, and Mr. Chittenden had gathered
quite a library. Grace read every book in it with avidity, but they told
her of a world she could not understand.
But now she was to go beyond the barrier; she was to see the world, and
she could hardly wait for the time to start.
At last the day came and the journey was begun, first on horseback and
then by a lumbering stage coach.
In due time they reached the city, and what she saw filled her with
wonder and surprise. But when she woke in the morning and heard no
singing of birds, but instead the din and roar of the street; and when
she looked out and saw no lovely valley, no stately hills, no La Belle,
its waters sparkling in the sun, but instead row upon row of great
buildings, she sighed--she hardly knew why.
The next day when her father showed her around the city she said, "It's
all very wonderful, papa, but it isn't like home. The houses are not as
beautiful as the hills, and even the great river does not sing as
sweetly, and its waters are not clear and sparkling like La Belle."
One day Mr. Chittenden told Grace there was to be an auction of slaves,
and he would go and try to get one for a housekeeper. The little girl
was eager to go with him, but he would not allow it. She wondered why
and rebelled, but her father was obdurate and left her crying.
Grace's slightest wish was generally law to her father, and to be
refused and left alone was to her a surprise. She did not realize that
her father did not wish her to see the distressing scenes which often
took place at an auction of slaves.
In due time Mr. Chittenden returned, accompanied by a comely mulatto
woman about forty years of age. The woman's eyes were red with weeping,
and now and then her bosom would heave with a great sob which she would
in vain try to hold back.
"This is Tilly, Grace," said her father. "She is said to be a good
housekeeper and a famous cook."
"Why do you cry?" asked Grace. "Papa is a good man; he will use you
well."
"It's not that," sobbed the woman: "it's mah honey chile, mah little
Effie. I'll neber see her moah." And she broke down and sobbed
piteously.
Grace turned with a distressed countenance. "Did Tilly have a little
girl?" she asked.
"Y-e-s," answered Mr. Chittenden, rather reluctantly.
"Why didn't you buy her too?" she asked indignantly. "What if someone
should take me from you?"
Mr. Chittenden winced. "That is different, child," he answered. "As for
Tilly's child, a trader from New Orleans bought her, paying an enormous
price. She was nearly white, and gave promise of becoming quite a
beauty. Rich people give large prices for such for maids. I could not
afford to buy her. As it was, I had to pay a big price for Tilly."
Grace said no more, but from that time new thoughts entered her mind,
and when alone with Tilly she tried to comfort her.
Tilly proved as good a housekeeper and cook as Mr. Chittenden could have
desired, and in time seemed to have forgotten her child. But Grace knew
better, for when alone with her Tilly never tired of telling her about
her "honey chile," and Grace was learning what it meant to be a slave,
and all unconsciously to herself she was drinking in a love of freedom.
As for Tilly, she came to worship the very ground that Grace walked on.
Willingly she would have shed every drop of blood in her veins for her.
Years went by and other settlers came into the Ozarks, but they were a
rough, uneducated class, and Mr. Chittenden had little in common with
them. In time a Mr. Thomas Osborne settled about four miles from him. He
was a northern man, well educated, and had come to the Ozarks for his
health, being threatened with consumption. He had a daughter, Helen,
about the age of Grace, and the two became inseparable friends.
When Grace was about fifteen years of age it was evident that she would
be a very beautiful woman. She was by no means an ignorant girl, for her
father had employed a private teacher for her, and she was far better
acquainted with the elementary branches and with books than most girls
who attend fashionable boarding schools.
But she was still a child of nature, the birds her best companions. The
wind whispering through the forest told her wonderful stories. She could
ride and shoot equal to any boy who roamed the Ozarks, and was the
companion of her father as he looked after his flocks and herds.
The father saw she was fast budding into womanhood, and sighed, for he
felt she should know something beyond the rough life of the mountains,
and, although parting from her was like tearing out his own heart, he
resolved to send her to a boarding school in St. Louis. His daughter
must be a lady; he had not forgotten his early life.
Grace heard his decision. She had not forgotten her visit to that
wonderful city five years before, and, now that she was older, thought
she would like to see and know more of it.
"But how can I leave you, papa?" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around
his neck and pressing kiss after kiss upon his brow.
Mr. Chittenden clasped her to his breast. "It will not be for long,
child," he said huskily, "and I would have my little girl a lady."
"Am I not a lady, now?" she asked, pouting.
"Yes, yes, Grace; but I would have you know something of the ways of
society. I do not want you to be always a mountain girl. You are worthy
to adorn the grandest palace in the city."
"I don't want to adorn a palace. I love the valley of La Belle," she
replied. "I want to live and die here."
"You may think differently some day, child. It is only for your good I
would have you go, for, Grace, you do not know how hard it is for me to
part from you."
Again the girl threw her arms around him. "Don't make me go, papa," she
sobbed. "I thought I wanted to go, but I don't now. I don't want to be a
fine lady. I want to stay with you."
"No, Grace; it is for the best." And so it was fully decided.
The time came for her to go. The parting with Helen Osborne was a
tearful one, but Tilly was inconsolable. "All de sunshine will be gone
frum de house," she moaned. "When Missy Grace goes, Tilly want to die."
"Oh, no, Tilly; you want to be here to welcome me when I come back,"
said Grace.
Grace was taken to St. Louis and placed in one of the most fashionable
schools in the city. Lola Laselle and Dorothy Hamilton were members of
the same school, but as they were day pupils, Grace did not become very
well acquainted with them.
Grace's gentle, unaffected ways soon made her a favorite, but there were
a few of the pupils who looked down on the mountain girl as beneath
them. But gentle as Grace was, there was the blood of a fiery and proud
race in her veins, and she soon taught those girls she could not be
snubbed with impunity. She was an apt pupil and soon became the most
popular girl in the school, and the haughty ones were proud to be
classed as her friends.
The rules and restrictions of the school were irksome to her, and she
became the leader of a bevy of girls who delighted in having a good
time, and many were the little luncheons they enjoyed together after the
teachers thought all good girls were in bed.
One day Grace heard the girls discussing a book which at that time was
creating a sensation.
"It's dreadful," said one of the girls. "Every copy printed ought to be
destroyed, and the woman who wrote it burned at the stake."
"Have you read it?" asked one of the girls.
The first girl raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Read it!" she
exclaimed. "I would as soon touch a viper as that book."
"How do you know it is bad, then?" persisted the second girl.
"Because I have heard papa say so. It's all about slavery, and makes out
that the people that own slaves are the wickedest people in the world.
Papa says the book will cause a war yet."
"My papa says," spoke up another, "that the South is going to secede,
and when it does he says there may be war."
"Pshaw! the Yankees will not fight," exclaimed a girl from Mississippi.
"Brother Ned says they are a cowardly lot, and that one Southern
gentleman can whip ten of them."
The conversation now took a general turn over what would happen if war
came, and it was the opinion of most of the girls that it would be just
grand.
Grace listened eagerly to the conversation, but took no part. So far she
had given little attention to the strife which was agitating the
country. Even the conflict which had raged along the borders of Missouri
and Kansas had only come as a faint echo among the Ozarks. But now she
asked, "What is the name of the book you girls are talking about?"
"Uncle Tom's Cabin. It's a horrid book," replied one of the girls.
Grace said no more, but she determined to have that book; she wanted to
see what made it so terrible. The first time she had leave to go
downtown she made an excuse to go into a book store and purchase a copy.
She concealed it in her clothes and then made a few other purchases.
"Why, Grace, what made you so long?" asked the monitor in charge of the
girls when she returned.
"Couldn't get waited on before," answered Grace demurely.
That evening Grace swore her room-mate to eternal secrecy, and then
showed her the book.
The girl was horrified. "What made you buy it?" she wailed. "Why, if I
should take that book home I would be arrested and sent to prison."
"I am determined to see what kind of a book it is," answered Grace,
doggedly. "When I see, I can burn it up if I don't like it."
"I wouldn't touch it for the whole world," exclaimed her room-mate.
"Burn it up. Burn it up now, Grace. What if the girls found it out! We
would be disgraced, ostracized, perhaps expelled!"
"If you don't tell, I will take care that no one else sees it," said
Grace.
The next day Grace feigned a headache, and remained in her room to read
the book. That evening her room-mate asked about it.
"You will never see it," replied Grace. "I looked into it and concluded
you were right; it would never do for that book to be found in our room.
I have destroyed it."
"Grace Chittenden," cried the girl, "I believe you pretended to have a
headache so you could stay in our room and read that book! I have a mind
to report you. What kind of a book was it? Tell me."
"Do you want me to corrupt you too, Mabel?" laughed Grace. "No; the book
is destroyed, and that ends it. It is not the kind of a book I thought
it was--not so horrid; but it makes one think. I am almost sorry I read
it."
That night Grace lay awake a long time thinking of Uncle Tom and Little
Eva, and more than once she sighed, "Tilly is right. Slavery is
wicked--wicked!"
Grace had been in school two years when the war opened. Even the
seclusion of a girl's boarding school could not help being penetrated by
the fierce excitement which swept through the whole country. The streets
were filled with marching troops. Many of the girls had brothers in
Frost's militia. Then Camp Jackson was taken.
Grace heard the distant firing, saw the surging mob in the streets, but
in the midst of the excitement her father came. He had hurried to the
city to take her home--to take her to the heart of the Ozarks, where he
hoped the red waves of war would never come.
Marion Chittenden was by nature fierce and combative, but the horror
from which he had fled had so changed him that it was only when some
great excitement moved him that his passions were aroused. He was a
strong partisan of the South and believed the North wholly wrong. It was
only his age and an injury that forbade protracted riding on horseback
that kept him from offering his services to the State.
Mr. Chittenden's fierce denunciation of the North alarmed Grace. What
would he say if he knew she was for the Union? She resolved to keep
still and say nothing. She noticed a large number of rough men calling
on her father, and a great number of secret consultations were held.
The first great shock came to Grace when one day her father said,
"Grace, I wish you would cease visiting Helen Osborne, and by all means
do not invite her here. I want no intercourse between the two families."
Grace opened her eyes in astonishment. "Why, father, what is the
matter?" she asked.
"Osborne is a sneaking Yankee, an abolitionist, and the old fool can't
keep his mouth shut."
"What difference should that make as far as Helen and I are concerned?"
asked Grace, her eyes flashing.
Surprised at the feeling his daughter showed, Mr. Chittenden said more
gently: "Grace, you do not understand, you do not realize the feeling
throughout the country. To be friendly with the Osbornes would bring
suspicion on me. Even your visits would be misconstrued. Do as I ask
you, Grace, for my sake."
She promised, though very reluctantly. More than once she resolved to
tell her father her true feelings, but shrank from the ordeal.
After that Grace did not leave the valley. Rough, uncouth men came to
visit her father more frequently than ever, and she heard enough to know
that the waves of war had rolled clear down to Springfield and that the
whole State was becoming a vast armed camp.
One day her father seemed much perturbed, and at last rode away in
company with several men. Grace noticed they were all armed. Feeling
alarmed as well as lonely, she resolved to take a ride. Ordering her
favorite horse saddled, she soon was galloping down the valley towards
the Osbornes. Why she took that direction she hardly knew. She rode as
near to the Osbornes as she thought prudent, and was about to turn back,
when she saw a great cloud of smoke arising.
"It must be the Osborne house," she exclaimed, and urged her horse
forward. When she came to where she could see she reined in her horse
and gazed at the scene in horror. Not only was Mr. Osborne's house in
flames, but his barn and outbuildings, as well as stacks of grain.
But it was not so much the fire as what else she saw that made her face
pale and her breath to come in gasps. A little apart from the fire stood
a group of men, and in their midst Mr. Osborne, with a rope around his
neck. His wife and daughter were clinging to him, and even from where
Grace was their shrieks and cries for mercy reached her ears. She took
one look, then struck her horse a sharp blow and, like a whirlwind, came
upon the scene. Astonished, the men stood like statues.
"You pretend to be men, I suppose," she cried, "and call this war.
Cowards! Poltroons! Murderers!"
[Illustration: "You pretend to be men and call this war!"]
Just then she caught sight of her father in the group. "You too!" she
gasped, and fell fainting from her horse.
When she came to she was in her father's arms, the men had gone, and
bending over her was Helen Osborne, bathing her face. She opened her
eyes and then, shuddering, closed them again. She had looked into the
face of a man stricken as unto death.
"Grace, Grace," he moaned, "another such look as that will kill me. You
do not understand. I was trying to save life, not take it."
A shiver went through her body, but she did not open her eyes nor
answer.
"Grace, hear me. I am not what you think. O God!"
"What did you say, father?" she whispered.
"That I was trying to save Mr. Osborne, not hang him."
Once more her eyes opened, but now they looked with love into her
father's face. "Thank God!" she murmured, and her arms went around his
neck. The strong man wept as he clasped her to his breast and kissed her
again and again.
"Take me home," she whispered weakly. "I feel, oh, so faint!"
On the invitation of Mr. Chittenden the Osbornes accompanied him. The
next day he sent them out of the country.
When Grace was strong enough to hear, her father told her all. Mr.
Osborne's pronounced Northern principles had made him very obnoxious to
those who sympathized with the South. "It was for this reason, Grace,"
he said, "I forbade your visiting Helen. Even a friendly intercourse
between you two would have brought suspicion on me. You cannot
understand the terrible feeling towards all Yankees and those who
sympathize with them. Mr. Osborne was repeatedly warned to leave the
country, but he paid no attention to the warnings. Instead, he became
active in giving information to the Federal authorities. Some time ago
it became known that he had sent to the Federal commander at Rolla the
name of every active Southern sympathizer in the country. My name was on
the list as one of the leaders.
"This was too much for the boys, and they decided on summary punishment,
but, knowing that I was opposed to extreme means, they tried to keep
what they were to do from me. I found it out and did all in my power to
save him, but a vote was taken, and it was decided he should be burned
out and then hanged. It was only your timely arrival that saved him. He
is well out of the country now, for which I am thankful."
Grace listened to his account in silence, then said: "I'm so glad,
father, you tried to save him. I thought--oh, I can't tell what I
thought, it was so dreadful."
She then seemed struggling with herself, as if she wanted to say
something and dared not.
"What is it, child?" asked Mr. Chittenden gently.
Looking at him with yearning eyes, she whispered, "Do you love me?"
"What a question, Grace! Better than my life! You should know that!"
"And will you let anything come between? Will you always love me, even
if I am not what you think?"
"Grace, what do you mean?" he cried, brokenly. A terrible suspicion came
to him that her mind was wandering, that the shock she had received had
unbalanced her reason.
"Father, I must tell you. I cannot think as you do. This war is
terrible, and I believe the South is all in the wrong."
Mr. Chittenden could only gasp his astonishment, then he commenced
laughing. "Is that all, Grace? I thought--well, it hardly matters what I
thought. It was unworthy of me. But what makes you think the South is
all wrong?"
"I do not know as I can make you understand, but, father--I hate
slavery! I think I was born with a love for freedom. I have drunk it in
from my childhood. This valley, the grand old hills around it, all speak
of freedom. La Belle murmurs it as her waters dance and sparkle on their
way to the sea. The wind in the trees sings of freedom, the birds warble
it."
"Grace, you are poetic; it is only these fancies that make you think as
you do."
"No, father. You know I love history, and you have some good histories
in your library. I have learned how slavery came into this country, how
it grew; and I also know something about what is called State Rights. I
believe the South claims any State has a perfect right to withdraw from
the Union at pleasure."
"Yes, the doctrine is true. We are no rebels."
"I can't believe it. To trample on the flag of our common country is
rebellion. Father, I love the starry flag. I carry it next my heart." To
her father's surprise, she put her hand in her bosom and drew forth a
tiny flag. "I made it, father, at school. While the other girls were
making Confederate flags, I made this one."
Mr. Chittenden could only say, "Thank God, you are not a boy."
"Father, you do not hate me?"
"No, child; I look at what you have said as only the foolish fancies of
a girl. You will laugh at them yourself when you are older. But, Grace,
let me ask you a question. According to your ideas I am a rebel. Does
that make you love me less?"
For answer she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "No,
father, for you are doing what you think right. If you were in the army,
riding at the head of your regiment, I would be proud of you--pray for
you."
"Would to God that I could," cried Mr. Chittenden, "and, old as I am, I
would if it were not for this infernal rupture. But, Grace, I can never
forget that look you gave me when you thought I was one of the gang
about to hang Osborne. If I had been, would you still love me?" His
voice trembled as he asked the question.
The girl shivered and was silent for a moment, then said: "When--when I
thought you were, it was as if a dagger had pierced my heart. I believe
I would have died then and there if I had not learned differently. It
would have been my love for you that would have killed me. To think my
father was a mur----"
She did not finish the sentence. A look of anguish, of terror, came into
the father's face. He trembled like a leaf--what if his daughter knew
his past!
"What is it, father?" cried Grace in alarm.
With a tremendous effort Mr. Chittenden recovered his composure.
"Nothing now, Grace, but your words were so terrible. Don't say them
again, Grace. I--I would die if I lost my daughter's love."
"You never will, father. You are too good, too noble," and she drew his
head down and kissed him again and again.
Oh! the past! the past! How it stung that father as he felt his
daughter's pure kisses on his brow!
"Father, you are not angry with me, are you?" asked Grace, wondering at
his silence.
"No, darling; only, for my sake, keep your belief to yourself."
"For your sake I will be just as little a Yankee as possible," answered
Grace, smiling.