Ella Barnwell Part 18

Since we last beheld her, days of anxious solicitude, and sleepless nights, had been apportioned Ella; for memory--all potent memory--had kept constantly before her mind's eye the images of those who were gone, and mourned as forever lost to the living; and her imagination had a thousand times traced them to the awful stake, seen their terrible tortures, heard their agonizing, dying groans; and her heart had bled for them in secret; and tears of anguish, at their untimely fate, had often dimmed her eyes. Even now, as she apparently gazed upon that group of individuals, whom she saw not, and whose voices, sounding in her ear, she heard not, her mind was occupied with the probable fate of her uncle and Algernon, the still all-absorbing theme of her soul.

While seated thus, Mrs. Younker approached Ella from behind, unperceived by the latter, and now stood gazing upon her with a sorrowful look. The countenance of the good dame had altered less, perhaps, than Ella's, owing to her strong masculine spirit; but still there was an expression of anxiety and sadness thereon, which, until of late, had never been visible--not even when on her march to what, as she then believed, was her final doom--the excitement whereof, and the many events that occurred on the route, having been sufficient to occupy her mind in a different manner from what it had been in brooding over the fate of her husband for months in secret, and in a place of comparative safety. At length a remark, in a loud voice, of one of the individuals of the group before alluded to, arrested the attention of both Mrs. Younker and Ella.

"I tell you," said the speaker, who was evidently much excited, "it was that infernal cut-throat Girty's doings, and no mistake. Heaven's curses on him for a villain!--and I don't think he'll more nor git his just dues, to suffer them h.e.l.l fires of torment, hereafter, that he's kindled so often around his victims on arth."

At these words Ella started to her feet, and exclaiming wildly,

"Who are they--who are Girty's victims?" sprung swiftly towards the group, followed by Mrs. Younker.

All eyes, from all quarters, were now turned upon her, as, like a spirit, she glided noiselessly forward, her sweet countenance radiant with the flush of excitement, her eyes dilated and sparkling, and her glossy ringlets floating on the breeze. Curiosity could no longer remain unsatisfied; and by one spontaneous movement, from every point of compa.s.s, women and children now hurried toward the center of the common, to gather the tidings.

The quiet, modest, melancholy air of Ella, had, one time with another, since her first appearance in the Station, attracted the attention, and won the regard of its inmates; most of whom had made inquiries concerning her, and learned the cause of her sadness; and now, as she gained the crowd, each gazed upon her with a look of respect; and at once moving aside to let her pa.s.s, she presently stood the central attraction of an excited mult.i.tude, of both s.e.xes, all ages and sizes.

"Who are they?" cried she again, turning from one to the other, rapidly, with an anxious look: "who are the victims of the renegade Girty?"

"We were speaking, Miss Barnwell," answered a youth, of genteel appearance, doffing his hat, and making at the same time a polite and respectful bow: "We were speaking of the defeat, capture, and burning of Colonel Crawford, by the Indians, in their own country, in which the notorious Simon Girty is said to have taken an active part[19]--news whereof has just reached us."

At the mention of the name of Crawford, so different from the one she was expecting to hear, the momentary insanity, or delusion of Ella, vanished; she saw her position at a glance, and the hundred eyes that were upon her; and instantly her face became suffused with blushes; while she shrunk back, with a sense of maidenly shame and bashful timidity, almost overpowering to herself, and really painful for others to behold. She now strove to speak--to give an excuse for her singular conduct--but her tongue failed her, and she would have sunk to the earth, only for the support of Mrs. Younker, who at this moment gained her side.

"Never mind it. Miss Barnwell--it don't need any excuse--we understand your feelings for lost friends," were some of the remarks from the crowd, as the throng again made a pa.s.sage for her to depart.

"Goodness, gracious, marcy on me alive! what a splurge you did make on't, darling!" said Mrs. Younker to Ella, as they moved away by themselves. "Why, you jest kind o' started up, for all the world like a skeered deer; and afore I could get my hands on ye, you war off like an Injen's arrow. Well, thar, thar, poor gal--never mind it!" added the good dame, consolingly, as Ella turned towards her a painful, imploring look; "we all knows your feelings, darling, and so never mind it.

Mistakes will happen in the best o' families, as the Rev. Mr. Allprayer used to say, when any body accused him o' doing any thing he hadn't oughter a done."

"Mother," said Ella, feebly, "I feel faint; this shock, I fear, may be too much for my nervous system."

"Oh! my child, darling, don't mind it--every body knows your feelings--and n.o.body'll think any thing strange on't. In course you war thinking o' your friends--as war nateral you should--and so war I; and when I heerd the name o' that ripscallious renegade, it jest set my hull blood to biling, like it war hot water, and I felt orful revengeful. But the Lord's will be done, child. He knows what's best; and let us pray to him, that ef our friends is among the land of the living, they may be restored to us, or taken straight away to His presence."

As Mrs. Younker said this, she and Ella entered the cottage.

"Poor girl!" said a voice among the crowd, as soon as Ella was out of hearing; "they do say as how she eats but little now, and scarcely takes any rest at all lately, on account of the trouble of her mind. Poor girl! she's not long for this world;" and the speaker shook his head sadly.

"But what is it?--what is it as troubles her so?" inquired an old woman, in a voice tremulous with age, who, being somewhat of a new-comer, had not heard the oft-repeated story.

"I'll tell it ye--I'll tell it ye," answered another gossiping crone, standing beside the querist, who, fearful of being forestalled, now eagerly began her scandalous narration.

Meantime, the male portion of the crowd had resumed their conversation, concerning the unfortunate campaign of Crawford; during which manifold invectives were bestowed upon the savages, and the renegade Girty. Some of the more reckless among them were for raising another army, as soon as possible, to pursue the Indians, even to the death, and spare none that fell into their hands, neither the aged, women, nor children; but these propositions were speedily overruled by cooler and wiser heads; who stated that Kentucky had scarcely fighting men enough to protect one another on their own ground--much less to march into the enemy's country, and leave their wives and children exposed to certain destruction.

While these discussions were in progress, the attention of each was suddenly arrested by the cry of some person from the right hand block-house, looking toward the south, announcing that a single horseman was approaching with a speed which betokened evil tidings. These were times of excitement, when news of disaster and death was borne on almost every breeze; and consequently all now sprung rapidly to the southern pickets, where, through loop-holes and crevices in the partially decayed pallisades, they perceived an individual riding as if for life.

"How he rides!--Who is it?--What can have happened?" were some of the remarks now rapidly uttered, as the horseman was seen bounding forward on his foaming steed. Instantly the nearest gate was thrown open; and, in less than two minutes, horse and rider stood within the enclosure, surrounded by a breathless mult.i.tude, eager for his intelligence.

"Arm!" cried the horseman, a good looking youth of eighteen: "Arm--all that can be spared--and on to the rescue!"

"What's happened, d.i.c.k Allison?" asked one who had recognized the rider.

"I have it on the best authority," answered d.i.c.k, "that Hoy's Station has just been attacked, by a large body of Indians, and Captain Holder and his men defeated."

"But whar d'ye get your news?" inquired another voice; while a look of alarm, and resolute determination to avenge the fallen, could be seen depicted on the upturned countenances of the a.s.semblage.

"I was riding in that direction, when I met a messenger on his way to Lexington for a.s.sistance; and turning my horse, I spurred hither with all speed."

"Have the red devils got possession of the fort?" inquired another.

"I am not certain, for I did not wait to hear particulars; but I'm under the impression they have not, and that Holder was defeated outside the walls."

"Well, they must have a.s.sistance, and that as soon as it can be got to 'em," rejoined a white-haired veteran, one of the head men of the garrison, whose countenance was remarkable for its n.o.ble, benevolent expression, and who, from love and veneration, was generally called Father Albach. "It's too late in the day, though, to muster and march thar to-night," continued the old man; "but we'll have our horses got up and put in here to night, and our guns cleaned, and every thing fixed for to start at daylight to-morrow. Eh! my gallant lads--what say ye?"

and he glanced playfully around upon the bystanders.

"Yes--yes--yes--father!" cried a score of voices, in a breath; and the next moment a long, loud cheer, attested the popularity of the old man's decision.

"Another cheer for Father Albach, and three more for licking the ripscallious varmints clean to death!" cried our old acquaintance, Isaac Younker, who, having been otherwise occupied during the discussion concerning Crawford's defeat, had joined the crowd on the arrival of the messenger.

"Good for Ike," shouted one: "Hurray!" and four l.u.s.ty cheers followed.

All now became bustle and confusion, as each set himself to preparing for the morrow's expedition. Guns were brought out and cleaned, locks examined, new flints put in place of old ones, bullets cast, powder-horns replenished, horses driven within the enclosure, saddles and bridles overhauled, and, in fact, every thing requisite for the journey was made ready as fast as possible.

Isaac, on the present occasion, was by no means indolent; for having examined his rifle, and found it in a good condition, he immediately brought forth an old saddle and bridle, somewhat the worse for wear, and set himself down to repairing them, wherever needed, by thongs of deerskin. While engaged in this laudable occupation, a young lad came running to and informed him, that there was a stranger down by the gate who wished to speak with him immediately.

"A stranger!" replied Isaac, looking up in surprise. "Why, what in the name o' all creation can a stranger be wanting with me? Why don't he come and see me, if he wants to see me, and not put me to all this here trouble, jest when I'm gitting ready to go and lick some o' them red heathen like all nater?"

"Don't know, sir," answered the lad, "what his reasons be for not coming, any more nor you; but he said to the man as opened the gate for him, 'Is Isaac Younker in the fort?' and the man said, 'Yes;' and then he said to me, 'Run, my little lad, and tell him to come here, and I'll gin you some thing;' and that's all I knows about it."

"Well, I 'spose I'll have to go," rejoined Isaac, rising to his feet; "but I don't think much o' the feller as puts a gentleman to all this here trouble, jest for nothing at all, as one may say, when a feller's in a hurry too. Howsomever," continued he, soliloquizing, as he walked forward in the proper direction, "I 'spect it's some chap as wants to hoax me, or else he's putting on the extras; ef so, I'll fix him, so he won't want to do it agin right immediately, I reckon."

Thus muttering to himself, Isaac drew near the front gate, against which, within the pallisades, the stranger in question was leaning, with his hat pressed down over his forehead, as though he desired concealment. His habiliments, after the fashion of the day, were originally of a superior quality to those generally worn on the frontiers, but soiled and torn in several places, as from the wear and tear of a long, fatiguing journey. His features, what portion of them could be seen under his hat, were pale and haggard, denoting one who had experienced many and severe vicissitudes. As Isaac approached, he raised his eyes from the ground, turned them full upon him, and then, taking a step forward, said, in a voice tremulous with emotion:

"Thank G.o.d! Isaac Younker, I am able to behold you once again."

As a distinct view of his features fell upon the curious gaze of the latter, and his voice sounded in his ear, Isaac paused for a moment, as one stupefied with amazement; the next, he staggered back a pace or two, dropped his hands upon his knees, in a stooping posture, as if to peer more closely into the face of the stranger; and then bounding from the earth, he uttered a wild yell of delight, threw his hat upon the ground in a transport of joy, and rushed into the extended arms of Algernon Reynolds, where he wept like a child upon his neck, neither of them able to utter a syllable for something like a minute.

"The Lord be praised!" were the first articulate words of Isaac, in a voice choked with emotion. "G.o.d bless you! Mr. Reynolds;" and again the tears of joy fell fast and long. "Is it you?" resumed he, again starting back and gazing wildly upon the other, as if fearful of some mistake.

"Yes! yes! it's you--there's no mistaking that thar face--the dead's come to life again, for sartin;" and once more he sprung upon the other's neck, with all the apparent delight of a mother meeting with a lost child.

"Yes, yes, Isaac, thank G.o.d! it is myself you really behold--one who never expected to see you again in this world," rejoined Algernon, affected himself to tears, by the n.o.ble, heart-touching, affectionate manner of his companion. "But--but Isaac--our friends here--are they--all--all well, Isaac?" This was said in a voice, which, in spite of the speaker's efforts to be calm, trembled from anxiety and apprehension.

"Why," answered Isaac, in a somewhat hesitating manner, "I don't know's thar's any body exactly sick--but--"

"But what, Isaac?" interrupted Algernon, with a start.

"Why, Ella, you know--"

"Yes, yes, Isaac--what of her?" and grasping him by the arm, Algernon gazed upon the other's features with a look of alarm.

"Now don't be skeered, Mr. Reynolds--thar han't nothing happened--only I 'spect she's bin a thinking o' you--who every body thought war dead--and she's kind o' grown thin and pale on't, and we war gitting afeared it might end badly; but as you've come now, I know as how it'll all be right agin."

Algernon released the speaker's arm, and for some moments gazed abstractedly upon the ground; while over his countenance swept one of those painful expressions of the deep workings of the soul, to which, from causes known to the reader, he was subject. At length he said, with a sigh:

"Well, Isaac, I have come to behold her once again, and then--"