MORE VILLAINY.
From the presence of Miss Fleming, Durant went to an obscure old cabin near
the river, where he met an accomplice in villainy, a tool of his, by the
name of Ramsey, whom he often employed to do hazardous and dirty work, he
himself was too cowardly or too _aristocratic_ to perform. The object of
the present interview was to learn on what boat the Waltons had taken
passage. He was scheming again.
"Ramsey," said he, "what boats have left in the last two weeks to go down
the river?"
"Only three, sir."
"Three! Did you see them all?"
"I did."
"Did you know any of the passengers?"
"I did. Colonel Thomas Marshall commanded one of the boats, with whom there
were a number of Virginians, several of them personally known to me."
"Was there a family by the name of Walton among them?"
"Walton--Walton? I don't know them."
"A father, mother and daughter; the girl eighteen, and uncommonly good
looking--present a much richer appearance than is usual with emigrants."
"I remember them; they went in another boat."
"Do you think they have reached Maysville yet?"
"If unusually lucky, they have; but most probably not."
"Then there is a possibility of their being overtaken, you think?"
"There _may_ be; particularly if any bad luck has attended them."
"Quick, then, quick! away!--Have the boat decoyed to the shore, and
captured by the Indians! You understand, _captured_: the girl must on no
account be killed."
"You don't mean that I shall start out to-night in this storm and
darkness?"
"Yes, and without a moment's delay. Set the red dogs on the scent--capture
the girl, and you shall be rewarded on your own terms. Go, or it will be
too late!"
With some hesitation Ramsey obeyed, and when once in for the business,
pushed it forward with all the energy he could master. This fellow was on
friendly terms with the Indians, a band of whom--kind of
renegades--whenever he could come across them, would follow his orders, or
do his bidding. With a dispatch that would have done credit to the swiftest
courier in the days of chivalry, he pushed forward through the wilderness
to the usual place of rendezvous of this band, hoping to find and enlist
them in the enterprise on hand; but they were absent on some expedition of
their own. Not to be discouraged by one disappointment, Ramsey paused only
long enough to determine that his expected coadjutors were not to be found
in or about their usual lurking place, then continued his course down the
Ohio with unabated ardor, and on the second day came in sight of a boat
just at dusk of the evening. A momentary scrutiny convinced him that it was
the one he was in pursuit of, and he concluded it must have been delayed by
some misfortune, as he did not expect to come up to it so soon, if at all.
However this might be, one thing was certain, the boat was there, and more
still, the crew were careless, a certain sign that they felt secure and
free from any dread of danger. So much the better for his purpose, thought
the villain.
Driving on through the forest, at a speed far exceeding the slow motions of
the boat, he resolved to collect a body of savages, and intercept the
prize. Fortune seemed to favor him; for on the next day he fell in with a
large force of warriors, who were "on the war-path," and ready for any work
that gave promise of blood, booty, or scalps. They were easily induced to
further the designs of Ramsey, of whose character they were well aware; and
placing themselves under his guidance, he soon posted them along the banks
of the river to watch for the coming boat. At dark it was descried, but
being too far out to admit of being attacked, the enemy silently withdrew,
and hastening forward, took a second position below the first. This was
done several times, and, at last, Ramsey had the satisfaction of seeing the
boat near the Ohio shore. When within fifty yards of the bank, the Indians,
to the number of several hundred, suddenly came down to the edge of the
water, and opened a heavy fire upon the crew.
The boat was commanded by Captain James Ward--was a crazy old thing, with
only a single pine board for a bulwark. The captain was at one oar, and his
nephew, a young man, at the other. Knowing that all depended on reaching
the middle of the stream, the captain used his best exertions to force the
vessel out; but his nephew let go his oar, and took up his gun to fire. As
he did so, he was pierced through with a ball, and fell, mortally wounded.
His oar dropped into the river; and the exertions of the captain only
tended to force the boat nearer the shore. Seeing this, the savages gave a
yell of triumph, and prepared to take possession of the prize. Ward,
however, seized hold of a board, and with it took the place of his nephew,
giving his own oar to one of the men, and made renewed exertions to gain
the current, the enemy, meanwhile, pouring upon the crew an incessant
volley of balls, thick as the falling hail of the storm, which soon riddled
everything above the plank breastwork, and killed or wounded all the horses
on board--seven in number.
During this time most of the crew were too badly frightened to do or be
conscious of anything, excepting danger. One large, fat old Dutchman, in
particular, was so taken aback, he threw himself down flat, with his face
to the deck, hoping thus to escape with his life. Unfortunately for his
peace of mind, however, his posterior protuberance was of such enormously
aldermanic dimensions, that it projected above the defenses, and became a
fine and laughable target for the savage marksmen, who aimed the great
majority of their shots thereat. As the bullets tore through the old
fellow's unmentionables, and raking his hide, made it smart, he would shift
his position, and endeavor to shield himself all over; but it was of no
use. In spite of all the efforts he could make, the young mountain _would_
remain in view in its exposed situation, to the great annoyance of its
owner, and the equally great merriment of the enemy. In this sad
predicament the phlegmatic hero of the flesh mountain lay, piteously
bemoaning his fate, and cursing his foes.
As the balls would rake the subnascent appendage, making it twinge with the
sharp sting, he would cry out:
"Oh! oh, Lort! haf' mercy on _me_ and _mine_!"
But his cries availed nothing; and so losing all patience, he raised up his
head, and, looking at the enemy, called to them:
"Oh, now, t'ere! quit t'at tam nonsense, will you?"
The boat was, finally, saved, with all on board, except the young man and
the horses. (For further particulars of this affair, see "Western
Adventure," page 275-6.)
Ramsey discovered at the commencement of the fray that this was not the
boat he was in quest of, and so, leaving the Indians to accomplish its
capture as they pleased, he hastened onward in the hope of still overtaking
the right vessel. In this he failed; already had it reached its
destination, and the Waltons were in their new home. He returned, and
reported his ill success to Durant, who was greatly vexed at the issue of
his undertaking, but resolved to renew his efforts to obtain possession of
Ellen, or in some way work her ruin.