With the battle at the Black-Vulture's town, the interest of our history
ceases; and there it may be said to have its end. The deliverance of the
cousins, the one from captivity and death, the other from a fate to her
more dreadful than death; the restoration of the will of their uncle; and
the fall of the daring and unprincipled villain to whose machinations
they owed all their calamities, had changed the current of their
fortunes, which was now to flow in a channel where the eye could no
longer trace obstructions. The last peal of thunder had dissipated the
clouds of adversity, and the star of their destiny shone out with all its
original lustre. The future was no longer one of mere hope; it presented
all the certainty of happiness of which human existence is capable.
Such being the case, it would be a superfluous and unprofitable task to
pursue our history further, were it not that other individuals, whose
interests were so long intermingled with those of the cousins, have a
claim upon our notice. And first, before speaking of the most important
of all, the warlike man of peace, the man-slaying hater of blood, the
redoubtable Nathan Slaughter, let us bestow a word upon honest Pardon
Dodge, whose sudden re-appearance on the stage of life so greatly
astonished the young Virginian.
This resuscitation, however, as explained by Dodge himself, was, after
all, no such wonderful matter. Swept from his horse by the violence of
the flood, in the memorable flight from the ruin, a happy accident had
flung him upon the raft of timber that bordered the fatal _chute_; where,
not doubting that, from the fury of the current, all his companions had
perished, and that he was left to contend alone against the savages, he
immediately sought a concealment among the logs, in which he remained
during the remainder of the night and the greater part of the following
day, until pretty well assured the Indians were no longer in his
vicinity. Then, scaling the cliffy banks of the river, and creeping
through the woods, it was his good fortune at last to stumble upon the
clearings around Brace's Station, at which he arrived soon after the
defeated Regulators had effected their return. Here--having now lost his
horse, arms, everything but life; having battled away also in the
midnight siege some of those terrors that made Indians and border life so
hateful to his imagination, and being perhaps seduced by the hope of
repairing his losses, and revenging the injuries he had suffered--he was
easily persuaded to follow Colonel Bruce and the army of Kentuckians to
the Indian territory, where Fate, through his arm, struck a blow so
dreadfully yet retributively just at the head of the long-prospering
villain, the unprincipled and unremorseful Braxley.
It was mentioned, that when Nathan first burst upon the astonished
Bruce, where he lay with his vanguard encamped in the woods, his
appearance and demeanour were rather those of a truculent madman than of
the simple-minded, inoffensive creature he had so long appeared to the
eyes of all who knew him. His Indian garments and decorations contributed
somewhat to this effect; but the man, it was soon seen, was more changed
in spirit, than in outward attire. The bundle of scalps in his hand, the
single one, yet reeking with blood, at his belt, and the axe of Wenonga,
gory to the helve, and grasped with a hand not less blood-stained, were
not more remarkable evidences of transformation than were manifested in
his countenance, deportment, and expressions. His eye beamed with a wild
excitement, with exultation, mingled with fury; his step was fierce,
active, firm, and elastic, like that of a warrior leaping through the
measures of the war-dance; and when he spoke, his words were of battle
and bloodshed. He flourished the axe of Wenonga, pointed grimly toward
the village, and while recounting the number of warriors who lay therein
waiting to be knocked on the head, he seemed, judging his thoughts from
his gestures, to be employed in imagination in despatching them with his
own hands.
When the march, after a hasty consultation, was agreed upon and resumed,
he, although on foot, maintained a position at the head of the army,
guiding it along with a readiness and precision which argued
extraordinary familiarity with all the approaches to the village; and
when the assault was actually commenced, he was still among the foremost,
as the reader has seen, to enter the village and the square. To cut the
bonds of the Virginian, and utter a fervent expression of delight at his
rescue, was not enough to end the ferment in Nathan's mind. Leaving the
Virginian immediately to the protection of the younger Bruce, he rushed
after the flying Indians, among whom he remained fighting wherever the
conflict was hottest, until there remained no more enemies to encounter,
achieving such exploits as filled all who beheld him with admiration and
amazement.
Nor did the fervour of his fury end altogether even with the battle. He
was among the most zealous in destroying the Indian village, applying the
fire with his own hands to at least a dozen different wigwams, shouting
with the most savage exultation, as each burst into flames.
It was not indeed until the work of destruction was completed, the
retreat commenced, and the army once more buried in the woods, that the
demon which had thus taken possession of his spirit, seemed inclined to
relax its hold, and restore him once more to his wits. It was then,
however, that the remarks which all had now leisure to make on his
extraordinary transformation, the mingled jests and commendations of
which he found himself the theme, began to make an impression on his
mind, and gradually wake him as from a dream that had long mastered and
distracted his faculties. The fire of military enthusiasm flashed no more
from his eyes, his step lost its bold spring and confidence, he eyed
those who so liberally heaped praise on his lately acquired courage and
heroic actions, with uneasiness, embarrassment, and dismay; and cast his
troubled eyes around, as if in search of some friend capable of giving
counsel and comfort in such case made and provided. His looks fell upon
little Peter, who had kept ever at his side from the moment of his escape
from the village, and now trotted along with the deferential humility
which became him, while surrounded by so gallant and numerous an
assemblage; but even little Peter could not relieve him from the weight
of eulogy heaped on his head, nor from the prickings of the conscience
which every word of praise and every encomiastic huzza seemed stirring up
in his breast.
In this exigency, he caught sight of the Virginian,--mounted once more
upon his own trusty Briareus, which the younger Bruce had brought with
him to the field of battle,--and remembered on the sudden that he had not
yet acquainted the former with the important discovery of the will, which
he had so unexpectedly made in the village. The young soldier was riding
side by side with his cousin, for whom a palfrey had been easily provided
from the Indian pound, and indulging with her many a joyous feeling which
their deliverance was so well suited to inspire; but his eye gleamed with
double satisfaction as he marked the approach of his trusty associate and
deliverer.
"We owe you life, fortune, everything," he cried, extending his hand;
"and be assured neither Edith nor myself will forget it. But how is this,
Nathan?" he added, with a smile, as he perceived the bundle of scalps,
which Nathan, in the confusion or absence of his mind, yet dangled in his
hands,--"you were not used so freely to display the proofs of your
prowess!"
"Friend," said Nathan, giving one look, ghastly with sorrow and
perturbation, to the shaking ringlets, another to the youth, "thee looks
upon locks that was once on the heads of my children!" He thrust the
bundle into his bosom, and pointed with a look of inexpressible triumph
to that of Wenonga, hanging to his belt. "And here," he muttered, "is the
scalp of him that slew them! It is enough, friend: thee has had my
story,--thee will not censure me. But, friend," he added, hastily, as if
anxious to revert to another subject; "I have a thing to say to thee,
which it concerns thee and the fair maid, thee cousin, to know. There was
a will, friend,--a true and lawful last will and testament of thee
deceased uncle, in which theeself and thee cousin was made the sole heirs
of the same. Truly, friend, I did take it from the breast of the villain
that plotted thee ruin; but, truly, it was taken from me again, I know
not how."
"I have it safe," said Roland, displaying it for a moment, with great
satisfaction, to Nathan's eyes. "It makes me master of wealth, which you,
Nathan, shall be the first to share. You must leave this wild life of the
border, go with me to Virginia,--"
"I, friend!" exclaimed Nathan, with a melancholy shake of the head; "thee
would not have me back in the Settlements, to scandalise them that is of
my faith! No, friend; my lot is cast in the woods, and thee must not ask
me again to leave them. And, friend, thee must not think I have served
thee for the lucre of money or gain: for, truly, these things is now to
me as nothing. The meat that feeds me, the skins that cover, the leaves
that make my bed, are all in the forest around me, to be mine when I want
them; and what more can I desire? Yet, friend if thee thinks theeself
obliged by whatever I have done for thee, I would ask of thee one favour,
that thee can grant."
"A hundred!" said the Virginian, warmly.
"Nay, friend," muttered Nathan, with both a warning and beseeching look,
"all that I ask is, that thee shall say nothing of me that should
scandalise and disparage the faith to which I was born."
"I understand you," said Roland, "and will remember your wish."
"And now, friend," continued Nathan, "do thee take theeself to the
haunts of thee fellows, the habitations of them that is honest and
peaceful,--thee, and the good maiden, thee cousin; for, truly, it is not
well, neither for thee nor for her,--and especially for her, that is
feeble and fearful,--to dwell nigh to where murdering Injuns abound."
"Yet go with us, good Nathan," said Edith, adding her voice to the
entreaties of her kinsman: "there shall be none to abuse or find fault
with you."
"Thee is a good maid," said Nathan, surveying her with, an interest that
became mournful as he spoke. "When thee goes back to thee father's house,
thee will find them that will gladden at thee coming; and hearts will
yearn with joy over thee young and lovely looks. Thee will smile upon
them, and they will be happy. Such," he added, with deep emotion, "such
might have been _my_ fate, had the Injun axe spared me but a single
child. But it is not so; there is none left to look upon me with smiles
and rejoicing,--none to welcome me from the field and the forest with the
voice of love--no, truly, truly,--there is not one,--not one." And as he
spoke, his voice faltered, his lip quivered, and his whole countenance
betrayed the workings of a bereaved and mourning spirit.
"Think not of this," said Roland, deeply affected, as his cousin also
was, by this unexpected display of feeling in the rude wanderer: "the
gratitude of those you have so well served, shall be to you in place of a
child's affection. We will never forget our obligations. Come with us,
Nathan,--come with us."
But Nathan, ashamed of the weakness which he could not resist, had turned
away to conceal his emotion; and, stalking silently off, with the
ever-faithful Peter at his heels, was soon hidden from their eyes.
The Virginian never saw his wild comrade again. Neither Nathan's habits
nor inclinations carried him often into the society of his fellow-men,
where reproaches and abuse were sure to meet him. Insult and contumely
were, indeed, no longer to be dreaded by the unresisting wanderer, after
the extraordinary proofs of courage which he had that day given. But,
apparently, he now found as little to relish in encomiums passed on his
valour as in the invectives to which he had been formerly exposed. He
stole away, therefore, into the woods, abandoning the army altogether,
and was no more seen during the march.
But Roland did not doubt be should behold him again at Bruce's
Station, where he soon found himself, with his kinswoman, in safety;
and where,--now happily able to return to the land of his birth and the
home of his ancestors,--he remained during a space of two or three weeks,
waiting the arrival of a strong band of Virginia rangers, who (their term
of military service on the frontier having expired) were on the eve of
returning to Virginia, and with whom he designed seeking protection for
his own little party. During all this period he impatiently awaited the
re-appearance of Nathan, but in vain; and as he was informed, and indeed,
from Nathan's own admissions, knew, that the latter had no fixed place of
abode, he saw that it was equally vain to attempt hunting him up in the
forest. In short, he was compelled to depart on his homeward journey,--a
journey happily accomplished in safety,--without again seeing him; but
not until he had left with the commander of the Station a goodly store of
such articles of comfort and necessity as he thought would prove
acceptable to his solitary friend.
Nor did he take leave without making others of his late associates
acquainted with his bounty. The pledge he had given the dying renegade he
offered to redeem to the daughter, by bearing her with him to Virginia,
and providing her a secure home, under the protection of his cousin; but
Telie preferring rather to remain in the family of Colonel Bruce, who
seemed to entertain for her a truly parental affection, he took such
steps as speedily converted the poor dependent orphan into a person of
almost wealth and consequence. His bounty-grants and land-warrants he
left in the hands of Bruce, with instructions to locate them to the best
advantage in favour of the girl, to whom he assigned them with the proper
legal formalities; a few hundred acres, however, being conveyed to
Captain Ralph and the worthy Dodge,--of whom the latter had given over
all thought of returning to the Bay-State, having, as he said, "got his
hand in to killing Injuns, and not caring a fourpence-ha'penny for the
whole everlasting set of them."
Thus settling up his accounts of gratitude, he joyously, and with Edith
still more joyous at his side, turned his face towards the East and
Virginia,--towards Fell-hallow and home: to enjoy a fortune of happiness
to which the memory of the few weeks of anguish and gloom passed in the
desert only served to impart additional zest.
Nor did he, even in the tranquil life of enjoyment which he was now
enabled to lead, lose his interest in the individuals who had shared his
perils and sufferings. His inquiries, made wherever, and whenever,
intelligence could be obtained, were continued for many years, until, in
fact, the District and Wilderness of Kentucky existed no more, but were
both merged in a State, too great and powerful to be longer exposed to
the inroads of savages. The information which he was able to glean in
relation to the several parties, was, however, uncertain and defective,
the means of intelligence being, at that early period, far from
satisfactory: but such as it was, we lay it before the reader.
The worthy Colonel Bruce continued to live and flourish with his Station,
which soon grew into a town of considerable note. The colonel himself,
when last heard from, was no longer a colonel, his good stars, his
military services, and perhaps the fervent prayers of his wife, having
transformed him, one happy day, into a gallant Brigadier. His son Dick
trode in the footsteps, and grew into the likeness of his brother Tom,
being as brave and good-humoured, and far more fortunate; and Roland
heard, a few years after his own departure from Kentucky, with much
satisfaction, that the youth was busily occupied, during such intervals
of peace as the Indians allowed, in clearing and cultivating the lands
bestowed on Telie Doe, whom he had, though scarce yet out of his teens,
taken to wife.
No very certain information was ever obtained in regard to the fate of
Pardon Dodge; but there was every reason to suppose he remained in
Kentucky, fighting Indians to the last, having got so accustomed to that
species of pastime as to feel easy while practising it. We are the more
inclined to think that such was the case, as the name is not yet extinct
on the frontier; and one individual bearing it, has very recently, in one
of the fiercest, though briefest of Indian wars, covered it with immortal
lustre.
Of Ralph Stackpole, the invader of Indian horse-pounds, it was Captain
Forrester's fortune to obtain more minute, though, we are sorry to say,
scarce more satisfactory intelligence. The luck, good and bad together,
which had distinguished Roaring Ralph, in all his relations with Roland,
never, it seems, entirely deserted him. His improvident, harum-scarum
habits had very soon deprived him of all the advantages that might have
resulted from the soldier's munificent gift, and left him a landless
good-for-nothing, yet contented vagabond as before. With poverty
returned sundry peculiar propensities which he had manifested in former
days; so that Ralph again lost savour in the nostrils of his
acquaintance; and the last time that Forrester heard of him, he had got
into a difficulty in some respects similar to that in the woods of Salt
River from which Roland, at Edith's intercession, had saved him. In a
word, he was one day arraigned before a county-court in Kentucky, on a
charge of horse-stealing, and matters went hard against him, his many
offences in that line having steeled the hearts of all against him, and
the proofs of guilt, in this particular instance, being both strong and
manifold. Many an angry and unpitying eye was bent upon the unfortunate
fellow, when his counsel rose to attempt a defence;--which he did in the
following terms: "Gentlemen of the Jury," said the man of law,--"here is
a man, Captain Ralph Stackpole, indicted before you on the charge of
stealing a horse; and the affa'r is pretty considerably proved on
him."--Here there was a murmur heard throughout the court, evincing much
approbation of the counsel's frankness. "Gentlemen of the Jury,"
continued the orator, elevating his voice, "what I have to say in reply,
is, first, that that man thar', Captain Ralph Stackpole, did, in the
year seventeen seventy-nine, when this good State of Kentucky, and
particularly those parts adjacent to Bear's Grass, and the mouth
thereof, where now stands the town of Louisville, were overrun with
yelping Injun-savages,--did, I say, gentlemen, meet two Injun-savages in
the woods on Bear's Grass, and take their scalps, single-handed--a feat,
gentlemen of the jury, that a'n't to be performed every day, even in
Kentucky!" Here there was considerable tumult in the court, and several
persons began to swear. "Secondly, gentlemen of the jury," exclaimed the
attorney-at-law, with a still louder voice, "what I have to say,
_secondly_, gentlemen of the jury, is, that this same identical
prisoner at the bar, Captain Ralph Stackpole, did, on another occasion,
in the year seventeen eighty-two, meet another Injun-savage in the
woods--a savage armed with rifle, knife, and tomahawk--and met him
with--you suppose, gentlemen, with gun, axe, and scalper, in like
manner!--No, gentlemen of the jury!--with his _fists_, and" (with a
voice of thunder) "licked him to death in the natural way!--Gentlemen
of the jury, pass upon the prisoner--guilty or not guilty?" The attorney
resumed his seat: his arguments were irresistible. The jurors started up
in their box, and roared out, to a man, "_Not guilty!_" From that moment,
it may be supposed, Roaring Ralph could steal horses at his pleasure.
Nevertheless, it seems, he immediately lost his appetite for horse-flesh;
and leaving the land altogether, he betook himself to a more congenial
element, launched his broad-horn on the narrow bosom of the Salt, and was
soon afterwards transformed into a Mississippi alligator; in which
amphibious condition, we presume, he roared on to the day of his death.
As for the valiant Nathan Slaughter--the last of the list of worthies,
after whom the young Virginian so often inquired--less was discovered in
relation to his fate than that of the others. A month, or more, perhaps,
after Roland's departure, he re-appeared at Bruce's Station, where he was
twice or thrice again seen. But, whether it was that, as we have once
before hinted, he found the cheers and hearty hurrahs, in token of
respect for his valiant deeds at Wenonga's town, with which Bruce's
people received him, more embarrassing and offensive than the flings and
sarcasms with which they used in former days to greet his appearance, or
whether he had some still more stirring reason for deserting the
neighbourhood, it is certain that he, in a short time, left the vicinity
of Salt River altogether, going no man knew whither. He went, and with
him his still inseparable friend, little dog Peter.
From that moment the Jibbenainosay ceased to frequent his accustomed
haunts in the forest; the phantom Nick of the Woods was never more beheld
stalking through the gloom; nor was his fearful cross ever again seen
traced on the breast of a slaughtered Indian.