NEW HOPE; 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE RESCUE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE GREAT KANAWHA. 
 
 
 ' Thfre'i a Divinity thnt ih.ip> onr tnd*, 
 Roneh how thorn how w will." 
 
 SlUKSPKAKX. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 BUNCE & BROTHER, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 1J NASSAU STREET.
 
 ENTEBKD according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 
 
 BUNCE & BROTHER, 
 IB tie Clerk't Office of the Diitrict Coort for the Southern District of Xw York. 
 
 W. H. Tixioir, Streotj-pr. TAWS, RCSSEI.L & Co., Printer*. G. W. ALEXAXDKR, Binder.
 
 NEW HOPE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ON a fine day in October, 1798, a young gentleman 
 and lady were standing near that remarkable canal 
 worn down by the action of the swiftly-rushing water 
 of the falls of the Great Kanawha. 
 
 The weather had been dry ; the river was low, and 
 much of the rock-covered bottom, which is usually un- 
 der water, was now exposed, and afforded a pleasant 
 and interesting promenade. They had been examin- 
 ing those singularly smooth, regular cavities in the 
 rock which are called pot-holes. In some of these 
 were fishes, which the receding waters had left im- 
 prisoned. In all of them was the instrument of their 
 formation a stone, which, whirled around by the cur- 
 rent in some indentation of the rock, had, by its attri- 
 tion, worn a deep hole, and had itself become a smooth 
 and polished pebble. 
 
 While they were gazing on the clear, deep blue 
 water, which, with arrowy swiftness, was darting 
 through the chasm on the edge of which they stood, 
 the sharp report of a rifle quite near made Matilda 
 Ballenger start. They looked up, and her brother, 
 William Henry Ballenger, saw the smoke of the gun 
 curling above the high and craggy cliff that overhangs 
 the narrow valley at the falls, and wafted away in fan- 
 tastic wreath by the gentle wind. 
 
 The body of some animal, which, for a moment, 
 seemed suspended in the air, tumbled down the side 
 of the mountain, and, after a spasmodic struggle of 
 momentary duration, lay motionless on the ground.
 
 14 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 As the smoke passed off, there appeared on the brow 
 of the beetling cliff the form of a man with a rifle in 
 his hand, which he was already reloading; and as his 
 quick eye, in ranging over the scene below, perceived 
 the lady and gentleman standing near the water, in a 
 clear voice, which rang through the valley, he cried out, 
 
 " Stranger, you with the gal thar at the river, look 
 out : he's making for the water, and if I hain't kilt him, 
 he'll make fight like any nat'ral varmint." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," said William to his sister ; 
 " the deer is dead, or entirely disabled ;" for he saw, 
 from the sudden paleness of her cheeks, that she was 
 alarmed. She came close to his side as he said, 
 " Why, Mattie, you will never make a heroine if you 
 permit an incident like this to chase the roses from your 
 cheeks. No gallant knight or chevalier will ever 
 throw himself at the feet of such an arrant little cow- 
 ard : the girls in the days of chivalry could fight as 
 well as paint on all proper occasions." 
 
 " Mention them not to me," replied Matilda. " I 
 never did admire the hoydenish, half-masculine lady- 
 loves of those plumed and spurred disturbers of the 
 public peace called knights and chevaliers ; and I am 
 sure, brother, that you admire them more in the pages 
 of fascinating fiction than you would in real life." 
 
 Her colour returned, and as her apprehension of 
 danger was over, she continued : " Is this Miss Helen 
 Templeman that you saw the other day, and praised 
 so outrageously, one of those nymphs who ' not only 
 has black eyes herself, but can furnish a friend with a 
 pair too, if wanted ?' " 
 
 " Come, come, Mattie, that is too bad. I've seen the 
 young lady you have mentioned but once, yet ; -if you 
 were a man, I should consider myself bound to call 
 you out for so rude a remark." 
 
 " Well, brother, I suppose I must take it for granted 
 that she is all your fancy painted her ; and as such 
 paragons of perfection must be very rare in these wild 
 woods, I must already consider her as my sister-in- 
 law that is to be."
 
 THE RESCUE. 15 
 
 '' Enough of that, sweet sister, if you please. But 
 wait till you see her, Maltie ; and I advise you not to 
 let Victor (/'arrington lay his eyes on her when he 
 strays oil' from Richmond across the mountains here, 
 and has to call at our house to inquire the way back 
 again." 
 
 " Pshaw ! William, do you not think I have more 
 reason to fear from the courtly and polished belles of 
 London than from this beauty of the Loop ? Howev- 
 er, I am too vain to fear the rivalry either of city belles 
 or forest maids." 
 
 " Ah ! Mattie, beware of Helen Templeman. The 
 wild flower that springs up beside the brink of some 
 lonely rivulet in the forest has often a lovelier tint and 
 richer perfume than all the flaunting flowers the green- 
 house can boast." 
 
 The hunter was now seen coming down the side of 
 the mountain towards them. 
 
 " Really," said Matilda, " it was very kind in Ben 
 Bramble to warn us of our danger from the animal he 
 had shot."^ 
 
 "There is seldom need of warning against any of 
 the inhabitants ol these hills after Ben has levelled his 
 rifle at it ; though a kinder heart than his, I've heard, 
 is not to be found on the mountains or valleys except 
 towards what he calls varmints. But how did you 
 know who it was, Mattie!" 
 
 " Oh ! I saw him last summer at the White Sulphur 
 Springs, whither, as he said, he had stepped over to 
 sell venison and skins, and to buy gunpowder and 
 something lead, I suppose, which he called the raal 
 critter" 
 
 William smiled, and was about to explain to her the 
 meaning of this Western phrase, and the near rela- 
 tionship of the raal critter to what, in the Highlands 
 of Scotland, is called mountain dew, when his sister 
 continued : 
 
 " 1 shall never forget Ben's first appearance among 
 the fashionables at the Springs, and the sensation he 
 produced. See what a striking figure he presents as
 
 16 NEW HOPE ; OB, 
 
 he comes towards us. He has on the same wolfskin 
 cap, blue hunting-shirt with white fringe, a buckskin 
 girdle, with that horrid knife sticking out from its 
 sheath ; the otter-skin pouch and powder-horn, breech- 
 es of buckskin, and moccasins the colour of the fallen 
 leaves of the forest. But what is he doing ? Did you 
 see how like lightning he leaped behind that large syc- 
 amore ?" 
 
 Before William could answer, the rifle again waked 
 the echoes of the mountains, and they heard Ben say, 
 
 " Lay still, now, you horned devil. You ain't the 
 fust four-legged critter that's tried to take rne onawares 
 in these here hills." 
 
 The deer, it seems, had partially recovered, risen 
 suddenly to its feet as the hunter approached, and 
 lowering its head, was about to rush at him, when, 
 leaping aside, he fired the second time. It now lay 
 quivering in its last agony. Ben was standing over it 
 with the knife in his hand, dripping with blood. Will- 
 iam, with some difficulty, prevailed on his sister to ac- 
 company him to the spot. Ben looked up as they ap- 
 proached, and said, 
 
 " It's well for you, mister, and that young 'oman, 
 that Long Nancy don't miss fire, and this here Lewis- 
 burg death-dust" (touching his powder-horn) ' is quick 
 and strong ; for a more vig'rous buck I never kotched 
 playin' possum afore ; and if I hadn't come upon him 
 pretty quick, he'd a had some* on you screechin' in 
 that, deep blue water yonder, whar you were standin' 
 jist ready for him to jerk you in as he tuck the plunge." 
 
 It was now evident that their situation on the mar- 
 gin of the deep, rapid current had not been free from 
 danger from the large and powerful animal that lay be- 
 fore them. Matilda drew back, and Ben, mistaking 
 her feeling at the sight, said to her, 
 
 " No danger now, honey ; life and fight's all out on 
 him. The fun's all over, and he's only fit for knife- 
 handles, breeches, and the like o' that, except the meat, 
 and that's fit for the gineral himself, for a fatter var- 
 mint I hain't kilt for this many a long day."
 
 THE RESCUE. 17 
 
 " Come, Mattie." said her brother, " keep your sen- 
 sibilities for a buck of another species ; no fainting 
 here at the sight of a little blood. I should be loath 
 to go into the falls for water, even to bathe that lily 
 brow of yours." 
 
 " I do not feel like fainting," said Matilda ; " but 
 the sight of that free and noble ranger of the forest 
 weltering in his blood calls up many touching associa- 
 tions." 
 
 "If he had tech'd you with them horns," said Ben, 
 " you'd never have gone to a nuther 'sociation in this 
 here sinful world." 
 
 William smiled, and his sister was recalled from 
 her train of wandering thought by Ben's remark. 
 
 " Venison like this is becoming scarce, I believe," 
 said William, looking at Ben. 
 
 " Yes, mister, just around here ; but they are rife 
 yit 'bout Cotton Hill, over yander on tother side, whar 
 this one was makin'. In the Loop thar's no eend to 
 the varmints. If old Vandal was alive now, you'd 
 sure to have hearn the crack of his Killbuck this day 
 over among them breaks 'bove the falls." 
 
 " In crossing the mountains between this place and 
 Lewisburg this fall," said William, " we found excel- 
 lent venison at almost every public-house." 
 
 " Well, now," replied Ben, " atween Big Sewell and 
 little, and a most as fur down, as the Hawk's Neest, 
 Bill Sturgeon finds many a fat buck, and now and then 
 a bar ; but panters and wild-cats is scace. Bars are 
 gettin' so, too. We can't kill enuf now to kiver the 
 trunks and saddles of them Tuckahoes and Carlinians 
 as comes over here every summer, foolin' away thar 
 money, eating up riiggars, and drinkin' sulphur-water, 
 that's jist about equal in smell and taste to the wash- 
 ings of my gun barrel." 
 
 " Eating negroes !" said Matilda. 
 
 " He means," said William, in an under tone, "hav- 
 ing to sell their negroes to pay their tavern bills at the 
 Springs." 
 
 " And they git so hongry," continued Ben, " drench- 
 1*
 
 18 NEW HOPE J OR, 
 
 ing with the water, and dancin' and gallivantin', that 
 they eat up all the varmints in creation, and all the 
 mutton in Greenbrier .besides. Sich cooking, and 
 scrougin', and eatin', and drinkin', I never seed afore 
 among Christian people no, not even 'mong the In- 
 juris on the Massassippy." 
 
 As Ben finished these remarks, William and his 
 sister turned away, not, however, before Ben had re- 
 ceived their thanks for his warning, and a kind invita- 
 tion to the house of their father, a few miles below the 
 falls. William and Matilda mounted their horses, 
 which had been tied to the pliant limbs of a sugar- 
 maple near the road which leads from the falls to 
 Point Pleasant, and passing down the bank of the river, 
 were soon at the house of their father, Mr. Edward 
 Ballenger. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PERHAPS the curiosity of some of our gentle readers 
 may induce them to inquire, How came any of the 
 Virginia aristocracy at this early period to be settled 
 on the banks of the Kanawha ? for we are sure their 
 sagacity has discovered that the gentleman and lady 
 introduced to them in the preceding chapter belong to 
 that class. It is true ; but we must hasten slowly, and 
 tell our tale in our own way. 
 
 Patience is a great virtue in a reader as well as in 
 a listener. Although it is the privilege of writers, and 
 sometimes right and proper, to begin at the beginning, 
 I shall not go back to Adam and Eve, the debarcation 
 of Noah and his family on Mount Ararat, or of the Pil- 
 grims on the Rock of Plymouth. After the latter 
 event, however, and the settlement of English colo- 
 nists at Jamestown, in Virginia, it is proper to say th?.t. 
 strong inducements were offered by the King of Eng-
 
 THE RESCUE. 19 
 
 land to the settlement and subjugation of the new lands 
 of the Western World. Grants of large tracts of coun- 
 try were made to noblemen, and to some, too. who 
 were rather ignoble, for very small temporal and pecu- 
 niary considerations, although the royal grantor was 
 moved thereunto by taking into his " consideration the 
 propagation of the Christian faith, and the manifold 
 benefits arising to the Church of God, together with 
 the welfare of multitudes of his loyal subjects, by the 
 undertaking and vigorous prosecution of plantations 
 of foreign parts, and particularly in his dominions in 
 America." 
 
 Charles the Second was a generous monarch of 
 what it cost him little 1 to get, or to give, or grant. 
 In his grant of lands to Ralph Lord Hopton, and 
 others, by letters patent, under the great seal of Eng- 
 land, bearing date, in the first year of his reign, at 
 St. Germain's en Ley, the 18th day of September, he 
 not only gave and granted to them, their heirs and as- 
 signs forever, all that entire territory bounded within 
 the heads of the Rivers Rappahannock and Quiriough, 
 or Potowmac, and Chesapeake Bay, but also great and 
 important portions of the royal prerogative, to wit : 
 " The royalty of hawking and hunting all sorts of fish, 
 as well whales, sturgeons, and other royal fishes, and all 
 sorts of deer, wild beasts, and fowl, with power to 
 erect parks for breeding and sustentation of deer and 
 other wild beasts of chase ;" and all this for the paltry 
 contingent consideration of one full fifth part of all 
 gold mines and gold ore, and one tenth of all silver 
 mines and"silver ore, and the certain sum of six pounds, 
 thirteen shillings, and fourpence yearly, to be paid at 
 the feast of St. John the Baptist, at the receipt of 
 Jamestown, in Virginia. Thomas Lord Culpepper 
 bought out these patentees, and James the Second 
 confirmed to him, by other patents, this grant, which 
 the Lieutenant-governor, the Council, and Burgesses 
 of Virginia confirmed, in the year 1736, to his heir, 
 Thomas Lora fairtax, baron of Cameron. It was, 
 however, provided that the patentees should not act or
 
 20 NETV HOPE; OR, 
 
 intermeddle in military affairs within the said tract of 
 land, or with the government of, or command of, the 
 castles, forts, &c., and that the tenure of lands under 
 the proprietors should be in free and common soccage. 
 
 This instance sufficiently displays the liberal munifi- 
 cence and wise policy of the kings of England in 
 forming settlements in America. The colonial govern- 
 ment of Virginia followed up this policy, but not in the 
 same liberal spirit. Instead of six pounds, thirteen 
 shillings, and fourpence, for a territory that would 
 cover a dozen German principalities, they actually 
 raised the price of lands to two dollars for every hundred 
 acres ; but, to compensate for this, threw in all the 
 whales, sturgeon, and other royal fishes, with all the 
 deer and other wild beasts : and as for hawking, it had 
 already, at so great a distance from the throne, become 
 obsolete. 
 
 The colonial governments, too, adopted the plan of 
 paying for military services in land. When the French 
 war broke out, before the Revolution which severed the 
 colonies from the mother-country, the officers and sol- 
 diers of Virginia received land-warrants for their ser- 
 vices. But the tenure was riot like that which had 
 prevailed in Europe for similar services. The feudal 
 system yielded here to the more liberal allodial right. 
 Men who had " left their native land in search of free- 
 dom, and found it in a desert," preferred to hold their 
 lands of no superior but the Lord of hosts. True it is, 
 there were landlords and tenants ; but those were not 
 feudal lords, nor these villeins. The officers and sol- 
 diers who survived the defeat of General Braddock, 
 who were from the colony of Virginia, received at least 
 a part of their pay in land-warrants ; and the Revolu- 
 tionary soldiers, at a subsequent period, were paid in 
 similar coin. The lands granted to them were gener- 
 ally west of the mountains, in a wild, unsettled coun- 
 try, infested by wild beasts, and either inhabited by the 
 native tribes of Indians, or traversed by them in their 
 warlike and marauding or hunting expeditions. The 
 district of Kentucky, which, by the common consent of
 
 THE RESCUE. 21 
 
 the neighbouring tribes, had been their unsettled hunt- 
 ing-ground the dark and bloody ground for which the 
 red man of the forest and the long knives of Virginia 
 and Carolina contended, was filling rapidly with a 
 white population. The banks of the Great Kanawha, 
 too, near which the family of Logan had been exter- 
 minated, and the great chieftain Cornstalk had been 
 slaughtered in the fort by a suddenly-excited and en- 
 raged soldiery, had ceased to be the scene of Indian 
 hostility. The battle at Point Pleasant, long before, 
 had checked, but did not entirely restrain, the incur- 
 sions of the savages. They occasionally crossed the 
 Ohio River, and committed murders and depredations, 
 till Wayne's campaign ; and many a traditionary tale, 
 of thrilling interest, is told by the descendants of those 
 who dwelt around the fort at the Mouth of Elk. 
 
 To pay the officers and soldiers in Western land so 
 situated, not only served to liquidate a debt on easy 
 terms, but tended to throw a cordon of military popu- 
 lation around the interior settlements, and to extend 
 them over a wider surface. By the timid, the igno- 
 rant, and those who had acquired habits of dissipation 
 in the army, or who were driven by their necessities, 
 these lands were alienated, exchanged, or sold for little 
 or nothing, while by the prudent and far-seeing they 
 were retained, although by many they were never set- 
 tled, or even subjected to actual possession. In many 
 instances, a horse, a rifle, a gun, and even a bottle of 
 rum, was the only consideration paid for tracts of land 
 which would now command fifty thousand dollars, be- 
 ing in the heart of a dense population, and of exhaust- 
 less fertility. 
 
 Many gentlemen whose fortunes failed them in the 
 Old Dominion, repaired, with sorrowful hearts, to their 
 Western lands as to a forlorn hope, and in a few 
 years found their fortunes quadrupled. Others, unwil- 
 ling to encounter the toils and anxieties of removal. 
 died poor, and bequeathed to their posterity these wild 
 lands. The latter, in many instances, influenced by 
 the feelings of their fathers, could not prevail on them-
 
 22 KE\V HOPE; OR, 
 
 selves or their families to remove to the West. They, 
 at a later period, sold them to some squatter, or to 
 some speculator in land, or forfeited them for the non- 
 payment of taxes, or were swindled out of them by 
 their own perfidious agents in the West. 
 
 Most of those who ventured to cross the mountains 
 or passed down the Ohio River, settled in the district 
 of Kentucky. There the lands were reported to be 
 of the best quality in the Western country. But some 
 gentlemen, even much earlier, preferred the fend on 
 the Great Kanawha to those farther west, and located 
 their surveys in the rich alluvial valley of that river. 
 Among these were General Washington, Major Fry, 
 Doctor Craick, Captain Edward Ballenger the elder, 
 and others who had served in the French war before 
 the Revolution. Savage's patent, still farther west, 
 covered thousands of acres on Guyandotte River. Mr. 
 Ballenger, whose son and daughter we have introdu- 
 ced at the falls, after the death of his wife and the loss 
 of his fortune by endorsing the paper of his friends, 
 who permitted him to pay sixty thousand dollars for 
 them, removed from Alexandria, on the Potomac, to a 
 remnant of his father's military lands on the Kanawha. 
 This patrimonial farm, or, rather, forest, was on the 
 northeast side of the river, a few miles below the falls. 
 Here he arrived late in the summer of 1798. He had 
 tarried a few weeks on the way, at the watering-pla- 
 ces among the mountains of Virginia, for the benefit 
 of his own health, impaired by exertion and anxiety. 
 Here he parted with old and valued friends, who were 
 spending the hot months of summer in these cool re- 
 treats ; and here his son and daughter bade farewell 
 to classmates and bosom-friends, about to wend their 
 way back to the banks of the Potomac and the James 
 River, the seats of civilization, refinement, and happi- 
 ness, while they were about to plunge into the deep 
 and dreary forests of the West, far from their native 
 home, and no more to enjoy the society and sweet 
 converse of their early associates and friends. At the 
 White Sulphur Springs they had seen Ben Bramble, 

 
 THE RESCUE. 23 
 
 whom Matilda so quickly recognised at the falls, 
 whither she and her brother had ridden for the first 
 time since they passed them on their way to their 
 new abode. Struck, in their transient passage by 
 them, with the sublime and picturesque beauties of the 
 scenery, they had seized the- first opportunity of visit- 
 ing the falls, to survey at their leisure the cataract 
 itself, and the surrounding objects of interest. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Wnv, he's a pretty fellow," said William to 
 his sister, as they sat by the fire on a cold even- 
 ing in December, tossing to her a letter which he 
 had been reading : " he's a pretty fellow to be talk- 
 ing to us of the Mersey and the Thames, and the 
 Avon of Plinlimmon, and the Vale of Llanjrollen, 
 and the Highlands and lakes of Scotland. He has 
 seen the Powhatan and the Potomac, the Peaks of 
 Otter, Harper's Ferry, and the Warm Spring Mount- 
 ain." 
 
 " Ah, brother," replied Matilda, eagerly seizing 
 the letter, " Victor has never descended yet the 
 cliffs of New River; has never stood upon the 
 brink of the Hawk's Nest, or looked down upon 
 the Valley of the Great Kanawha from the rock- 
 raised parapets above the falls. He has never seen 
 Cotton Hill in October." 
 
 "Well, I pity the boy," said William, "and I 
 fear he will return from Europe a most insuffera- 
 ble coxcomb, Mattie." 
 
 "If he does," said Matilda, " which I don't be- 
 lieve he ever will, still he will have most travelled 
 young gentlemen to keep him in countenance, and 
 so/ne, too, who have never travelled very far." 
 
 "I don't know who the gentleman mought be
 
 24 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 that you ar talkin' on, Master Will/' said Ben 
 Bramble, who at that moment looked up from the 
 mysteries of a Dutch puzzling iron, while Matilda 
 was deeply engaged in reading the letter : " I don't 
 know nothin' of him j but if he's never seed Cotton 
 Hill in the fall of the year, no matter whar he's 
 travelled, he's got something to see yit. It's one 
 of the beauties of God's, own makin' round, and 
 smooth, and plump as a young gal when she's jest 
 a womanlike ; them grape-vines a curlin' round the 
 heads of the high trees on the top, like Miss Mat- 
 tie's hair when it falls down on her shoulders j and 
 then the redbirds, and the dogwoods, and the sas- 
 safras, and the sugar-trees, with thar leaves of all 
 colours a playin' in the wind and a shining in the 
 sun thar's nar a calico gown that I ever seed yit 
 to be compared to it." 
 
 Matilda, who had finished reading the letter, 
 looked at Ben, and asked him, u What's that you 
 said about my hair 1" 
 
 "Only," said Ben, "that it puts me in mind of 
 the grape-vines all covered with green leaves, that 
 hang curlin' down from the tops of the trees on 
 Cotton Hill." 
 
 "That's the most poetical compliment, papa," 
 said Matilda to her father, " that ever was paid to 
 me." 
 
 " True, my dear," replied he : " ' poeta nacitur? " 
 
 A tap was heard at the door. Mr. Ballenger laid 
 down the book he had been reading when inter- 
 rupted by the observation of his daughter, and 
 opened the door, saying to a man whose figure the 
 light of the candles disclosed, " Walk in, sir." 
 
 The person who entered was a well-set man of 
 middle size, with a blanket overcoat and broad- 
 brimmed white hat on, both of which had seen 
 some service. There was nothing remarkable in 
 his face or its expression, both of which would by 
 most persons be thought good-looking, except a 
 restless roving of his eyes, which rested not a mo
 
 THE RESCUE. 25 
 
 ment on any one object, and seemed never, except 
 by positive glances, to meet the eyes of other per- 
 sons. A slight tinge of red on his nose, if not 
 caused by the sharp, chilling air through which he 
 had just ridden, indicated the recent commence- 
 ment rather than the long-continued habit of in- 
 temperance. On those who are not close ob- 
 servers of men, the wandering expression of his 
 eyes would have impressed the idea that he was a 
 diffident, if not a timid man j but their continual 
 glancing xvas like that of a wild animal seeking its 
 prey, or caught and confined, looking for some hole 
 through which to escape. His first words, how- 
 ever, would have dissipated all ideas of his diffi- 
 dence or timidity, if such had been produced. 
 
 "My name is Isaac Forster," said he. "It's on 
 my letter of introduction : but that's in my sad- 
 dlebags, Mr. Ballenger, with other papers of busi- 
 ness." Saying this, he drew a chair close to the 
 fire, and spreading his legs and hands to receive 
 its genial warmth, and looking all round the room, 
 continued, "It's too late for business to-night, Mr. 
 Ballenger j to-morrow, sir, will be time enough for 
 that." . 
 
 "If you have business with me, sir," said Mr. 
 Ballenger, returning from the door, "and such is 
 your pleasure, we will attend to it in the morning, 
 Mr. Forster. A sharp evening, sir, is this for the 
 beginning of December." 
 
 " Pretty sharp," said Forstev ; " but I never mind 
 the weather. 1 don't regulate that. It's not my 
 business." 
 
 William, in an under tone, remarked to his sis- 
 ter, " That man has lived all his life in taverns. He 
 thinks he's in one now." 
 
 Matilda, in turning her head towards her brother, 
 caught the eye of Ben Bramble, who was beckoning 
 to her from an adjoining room, into which he had 
 passed unobserved as Isaac Forster entered the 
 front door. Ben Bramble, since meeting with Will
 
 26 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 iam and his sister at the falls, had been frequently 
 at New Hope, for such was the name which Mr. 
 Ballenger's children had given to his place of resi- 
 dence on the Kanawha. .He had evidently become 
 much attached to the family, and felt at home in 
 their house. Many were the inquiries he had made 
 about Old Viginny, and especially in relation to 
 persons living in Fairfax and Fauquire, for so he 
 called a well-known county in Eastern Virginia, 
 whence his father had removed to the West while 
 Ben was yet a youth. 
 
 Shortly after the death of his father, which hap- 
 pened two years ago, caused by the bite of a rat- 
 tlesnake, which struck him on the leg above his 
 moccasin as he was on a hunting excursion on the 
 hills above the mouth of Ganley River, Ben had 
 been toFauquier to dispose of some interest which 
 his father had held in two small undivided tracts 
 of land in that county. The companions of his 
 youth persuaded him to remain in the old settle- 
 ment, but in vain. He loved the wild woods of the 
 West, returned to his woodcraft, in which he took 
 the greatest delight, and rarely entered the dwell- 
 ings of any except those who had come from that 
 part of the country in which he was born. Of 
 these there were very few ; and as the new-comers, 
 Mr. Ballenger and his family, were nearest to his 
 range in the woods, he soon became a frequent vis- 
 iter. The kindness of Mr. Ballenger, the frank and 
 friendly manners of his son, and the gentle, sweet, 
 and winning behaviour of Matilda, had won the 
 hunter's heart. Often did he linger at New Hope 
 till twilight was stealing over the earth, listening 
 to the conversation of the family, or amusing them 
 by the recital of wildwood stories and the thrilling 
 incidents of his hunting excursions. 
 
 When Matilda saw Ben beckoning to her, she 
 glided out of the sitting-room. Mr. Ballenger did 
 not perceive that Ben had left it. Turning to a. 
 gray-headed servant who had brought Mr. Forster's
 
 THE RESCUE. 27 
 
 saddlebags into the room, he said to him, " Thomas, 
 have this gentleman's horse taken to the stable." 
 
 " Ay, ay, do, Tommy," added Mr. Forster : " feed 
 him well, and a little currying and rubbing won't 
 hurt him, you know, my boy." 
 
 As the servant retired, with a somewhat con- 
 temptuous look at his master's guest, Matilda re- 
 turned, and approaching her father, said something 
 to him in a low tone, on which Mr. Ballenger left 
 the room, apologizing to Forster for a few mo- 
 ments' absence. 
 
 "Tell your daddy to come here," Ben had said 
 to Matilda when she obeyed his signal. " But jist 
 stop, honey, twell I say that he that would harm 
 you or yourn must be wus than a wildcat ; and, 
 to my notion, Zac Forster's jist that man." 
 
 Indeed, he who would have harmed such a crea- 
 ture as Matilda Ballenger must have been the vic- 
 tim of the worst passions, or destitute of all the 
 finer feelings of our nature. To persons of sensi- 
 bility and cultivated taste, her very presence was a 
 fascinating charm. Even to the hardy, rough, un- 
 cultivated, but honest, manly hunter, who, if he pos- 
 sessed not refined feelings, had eyes to see and a 
 heart to feel, her uncommon beauty, grace, and 
 loveliness, and her soft and silver-toned voice, were 
 delightful. They could not fail to touch the soul. 
 She was just seventeen not tall'or very slender 
 but her person was finely moulded ; so finely, that 
 the sculptor might have taken it for the model of a 
 Grecian grace. Her hands and feet, although not 
 the smallest of the small, were so nicely propor- 
 tioned and delicately finished, that they seemed 
 smaller than they really were. Her white and ta- 
 per neck, seen through her luxuriant locks of dark 
 auburn hair, rising from a bust of unsurpassed love- 
 liness, like a column of alabaster half concealed by 
 a clustering vine, supported a head a fit capital for 
 such a column. Its Attic elegance of outline the 
 smooth and oval brow of snowy whiteness the
 
 28 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 curved and delicately -pencilled eyebrow the 
 straight, finely-chiselled nose the lips, which, 
 when parted to speak, displayed her small, regular, 
 white teeth, were like the opening bud of a Da- 
 mascus rose. Her long and dark eyelashes seem- 
 ed to separate and soften the glances of her eyes, 
 which were not those of a gazelle, but of an intel- 
 ligent, sensitive, benevolent being, beaming with 
 the expression of every thought and every feeling : 
 all, all would strike the dullest eye, and reach the 
 hardest heart. 
 
 To persons of ordinary discernment, these were 
 the mere decorations of the temple, shadowing 
 forth the divinity that dwelt within. The thoughts 
 of her mind, the emotions of the heart, might be 
 seen to pass over her face, and vary its expression 
 as the shadows of light summer clouds on an even- 
 ing in May, moving through the serene and sunlit 
 sky, pass over the verdant plain below, and check- 
 er it with light and shade. Yet over the sunny 
 brightness of her countenance there was a slight, 
 but perceptible, shade of melancholy, subdued, in- 
 deed, and softened by what religion, faith in the 
 Redeemer, and an abiding sense of gratitude to 
 God, and an humble dependance and cofTfuling 
 trust in his Divine protection, never fail to impart 
 to the human face. 
 
 Oh, how touching! oh, how tender and affecting 
 is that expression ! It was a veil which shaded, 
 but did not conceal, the brightness and playful 
 sprightliness of her nature. Perhaps the death of 
 her mother, which had happened not only since 
 Matilda Ballenger was old enough to become most 
 strongly attached to her, but to appreciate her 
 worth, and to feel the irreparable loss which she 
 herself had sustained in being deprived of all the 
 blessings and all the tender and endearing associa- 
 tions connected with the hallowed name of mother, 
 might have left some abiding traces of sorrow on 
 the face of her daughter. The pecuniary embar-
 
 THE RESCUE. 29 
 
 rassments of her father, too, their visible effect on 
 his health, and the tearing asunder of the ties which 
 bound them to the place of their nativity and to 
 their early friends, could not fail to throw tempo- 
 rary clouds, at least, over the brow of those who 
 naturally possessed the most elastic and buoyant 
 spirits. 
 
 But the constitution of our nature, in this re- 
 spect as in all others, manifests the benevolence 
 of an all-wise Creator. In youthful bosoms grief 
 and depression soon yield to the stronger influen- 
 ces of joy and gladness, which will assume their 
 rightful sway, although for times and seasons the 
 former may usurp a short-lived empire. From his 
 more active employments, William Henry Ballen- 
 ger, since the removal of his father, had recovered 
 his usual flow of spirits, and frequently rallied his 
 sister on her pensive airs. It was not strange that 
 Ben Bramble, alone as he was in the world, had 
 become attached to this family. Attachment to 
 something of-its own kind is a want, almost a ne- 
 cessity, of a generous and noble mind. Ben not 
 only desired to see Mr. Ballenger and his family 
 comfortable in their new home, but determined to 
 guard them against any and every evil that might 
 menace them. He had no favourable opinion of 
 Isaac Forster, whom he knew as a land agent, land 
 speculator, and surveyor. Ben had been a chain- 
 carrier for him on several surveys, and had either 
 seen or heard things which had impressed him 
 strongly and unfavourably towards him.
 
 30 NEW HOFE ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WE are eft to conjecture what communications Ben 
 Bramble made to Mr. Ballenger in the private inter- 
 view which he sought with him, for the confidence re- 
 posed in Mr. Ballenger was never violated by that 
 gentleman. Ben did not return to the sitting-room. 
 We incline to think that he did not wish Mr. Forster, 
 whose quick eye he had escaped by quickly passing 
 into the adJoinins" room as Mr Forsta*- entered at th? 
 tront door, co Know o\ ms pieseiite mat evening a u 
 New Hope. Ben did not return to the sitting-room, 
 but in leaving the house he met Thomas, the servant, 
 coming from the stable. 
 
 " Thomas," said he, " did you ever hunt a pole- 
 cat ?" 
 
 " No, Massa Ben. Thar's none of um 'bout Alex- 
 andry, whar I come from." 
 
 " Well, I tell ye, if you ever have the luck to get 
 arter one, don't pinch him too close ; tain't agreeable, 
 nor safe, nother, to be nigh him. With one switch 
 of his tail he'll blind and pison all creation. Thar's 
 many on um 'bout here, and thar's one sort that goes 
 on two legs, and them's the wost varmints in natur." 
 
 " Law ! Massa Ben, you don't say so ?" 
 
 " Yes I do, Thomas, and thar's one about now." 
 
 " Bless my soul ! does he look all round every way 
 and nowhar, like that gemman in de house, wid nose 
 like pokeberry ?" 
 
 " No," said Ben ; "" he looks ahead, and goes the 
 way he looks. But Zac Forster looks one way and 
 goes another." 
 
 " Look one way, you say, Massa Ben ? Fore God, 
 when I brought his saddlebags in de house, he was 
 lookin' a hundred ways at once, and I couldn't tell 
 whar he was lookin' neither."
 
 THE RESCUE. 31 
 
 " Well, Thomas," said Ben, " if ever he falls into 
 deep water, don't you jump in and risk your own lite 
 to pull him out." 
 
 " Why, Massa Ben, who tell you I ever jump in de 
 water to pull anybody out ?" 
 
 " i was in Fairfax two years agone," said Ben, " and 
 heard it a'mosi albre you was dry. But I know'd lofg 
 afore that, that a blacK ir.an may have a white soul, 
 while some white men has souls as black as a mink." 
 So saying, Ben strode away in trie dark, cold 
 night with the bold and free step of an American mount- 
 aineer. His rifle was in his hand, his knife at his 
 side, and his dogs, Captain Rover and Young Kate, 
 followed his footsteps. The lock of his gun was cov- 
 ered bv a kind of Jeather mask which eft'eetuallv keiv 
 tne IOCK dry, arm pnneciec. me powae. .n .ne pan irom 
 de\v or rain. Percussion locks and caps were not 
 then in use ; and even if they had been, so steady was 
 his nervous arm and so certain his aim, that he needed 
 not the assistance which these recent inventions of 
 chemical and mechanical science have afforded to less 
 expert users of fire-arms. 
 
 Ben's path followed the course of the river up to the 
 foot of the falls, where his light canoe was moored be- 
 neath the giant trunk of a sycamore which stood upon 
 the brink of the river, and to which it was fastened by 
 a chain and padlock. While he is unlocking it, wo 
 will take the liberty of bringing the reader acquainted 
 with the circumstance to which Ben alluded in his 
 conversation with Thomas, Mr. Ballengcr's servant. 
 
 The kindness and consideration with which this 
 aged domestic was treated by his master and his chil- 
 dren, was remarked by all who visited at the house ; 
 and the humble, and active, and cheerful performance 
 of his duties by Thomas, a thing not so common in 
 these modern days of liberty and equality impudence 
 and idleness, as it was then also attracted attention 
 even at that time. 
 
 Thomas had saved his master's life at the imminent 
 peril of his own. Mr. Ballenger was attending to the
 
 32 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 landing of a cargo of sugar and coffee on one of the 
 wharves of Alexandria, in which articles he was an 
 extensive wholesale dealer, when he was accidentally 
 precipitated into the river. The tide was ebbing, and 
 a brisk wind blowing down the Potomac. He had 
 never learned to swim, and before he was perceived 
 he had drifted fifty yards below the ship. He sunk, 
 and although he rose several times to the surface, he 
 was unable to cry out for assistance. He was, how- 
 ever, seen by a sailor, who was instantly in a boat and 
 rowing in the direction in which Mr. Ballenger was 
 last seen, when his attention was attracted by a loud 
 splashing in the water on his right. 
 
 Looking in that direction, he was astonished to see 
 a man rapidly approaching on a horse, swimming to- 
 wards the spot where Mr. Ballenger was last seen to 
 rise, and just below the boat. A moment after, the 
 man was off the horse and under the water, while the 
 horse turned off, and was swimming towards the shore. 
 So long did the man remain under the water and in- 
 visible, that the sailor thought that he, too, was lost, 
 when unexpectedly he saw him emerging. No soon- 
 er was his head above the water than he cried out, 
 " Save massa ! for God's sake, save my massa !" For- 
 tunately, he rose so near the boat that ihe sailor seized 
 him by the coat as the tide was sweeping him past it, 
 and held on till another boat, which had been manned 
 and was following, came to his assistance ; and Thom- 
 as, and the apparently lifeless body of his master, 
 which he had found, and, grasping, had brought up 
 with him, were taken into the boat and conveyed to 
 the wharf. 
 
 Most happily for Mr. Ballenger, this attached and 
 faithful servant was riding a horse to water when the 
 accident happened. He saw it, and putting the horse 
 to his speed, had plunged into the stream just in time 
 to save his. master. On reaching the wharf, the usual 
 means for the resuscitation of drowned persons were 
 resorted to, and Thomas had the great satisfaction of 
 seeing his master restored to life.
 
 THE RESCUE. 33 
 
 The citizens of the town justly appreciated this no- 
 ble action. They treated old Uncle Tom with great 
 kindness and respect. His master offered him his 
 freedom and an annuity of two hundred dollars. Uncle 
 Tom positively refused both. He said he was as free 
 as he wished to be ; that he would rather be his mas- 
 ter's slave than a free nigger 'mong white folks, for a 
 free nigger ain't half so well off as them that's got a 
 good muster. 
 
 " Look at them poor devils down town any real 
 gentleman's servants is fur before them lives better, 
 is more 'spectabul-like. And as for money, de little 
 dat I wants is sure to cum. I ain't afeard of wanting 
 anything in this mortal world so long as ole Master 
 and young Master Will and Miss Mattie is above 
 ground. Why, no longer than yistidday, I pulled off 
 my hat to Mass Will, and says I, ' You got any change 
 to spar, massa ?' Widout even axin' me what for, he jist 
 pulled out his puss, and handin' me a dollar, says he, 
 ' Uncle Tom, that's all I can spare you for de present 
 time I'm going to the party, you know, to-night.' 
 Shugh ! dis black child ain't a fool. He ain't gwine 
 to give up his family for freedom, nor money, nor nuth- 
 in' else. Dinah, my ole 'oman, is dead, and ole miss- 
 us is dead, and' gone to heaben, I'm sure ; and if I 
 should take sick wid de rhumatis agin, who's gwine to 
 nuss me like Miss Mattie did last winter, jist as tender 
 as ole missus herself? Miss Mattie is missus now, 
 an' de gemman dat gits her gits me and old master 
 too. He must take de whole lot, dat he must. I ain't 
 gwine to turn myself out on house an' home caze ole 
 master can't swim, an' I help to pull him out on de wa- 
 ter when he happen to fall in. Who gwine set de 
 sideboard to rights and dribe the carridge ? We is 
 born to wuck anyhow, black and white." 
 
 Such were Thomas's feelings, and such his reason- 
 ing ; and they are not confined to him. They equally 
 belong, or did belong, to a large portion of the slaves of 
 the Southern States, till misguided, reckless fanatics 
 had imbued some of them with different feelings, and 
 2
 
 34 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 taught them to reason erroneously, and to believe that 
 kindly-treated slaves are in a worse condition than 
 harder-labouring, care-consumed white free labourers. 
 
 Abstract truth is not of universal application. Regard 
 must be had, and is had, by all wise, and patriotic, and 
 benevolent men, to the existing state of things, when- 
 ever they attempt to apply it for the amelioration of 
 the condition of the human race, or any portion of 
 them. 
 
 Uncle Tom acted out his principles. He remained 
 w.lth his master in prosperity and in adversity, and had 
 driven the carriage which conveyed him and his two 
 children in their fallen fortune to the banks of the 
 Kanawha. 
 
 Ben Bramble was thinking of these circumstances 
 as he pursued his lonely way to his canoe, and he was 
 contrasting in his mind the conduct of Thomas with 
 vague conjectures of the design of Isaac Forster's visit 
 to Mr. Ballenger. In a few moments his light bark 
 shot across the current of the river, and passing up a 
 ravine along the course of a mountain streamlet which 
 winds around the western base of Jenkins's Mountain 
 (Cotton Hill), Ben soon reached his humble cabin, and 
 forgot in sweet repose the heroism of Thomas arid the 
 supposed designs of Isaac Forster. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 NOT so did either Isaac Forster or Mr. Ballenger 
 spend that night. After retiring to their respective 
 chambers, they went to bed, but not to sleep. The 
 bitter thoughts of better days, of disappointed hopes, 
 of ruined fortune, and decaying health of his beloved 
 children, deprived of their mother, and separated from 
 the scenes and society in which they had been raised 
 and accustomed to move, kept Mr. Ballenger awake,
 
 THE RESCUE. 35 
 
 feverish and restless on his bed. He never thought 
 of Isaac Forster, of whom he knew nothing, and mere- 
 ly supposed that he was a tax-gatherer or commission- 
 er of the revenue. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger had been a prosperous merchant, and 
 had indulged fur his children all the expectations 
 which the equal and elevating laws of the United 
 States have a tendency to excite, to cherish, and to 
 gratify. His intellectual powers, his taste and feelings, 
 had been cultivated, refined, and rendered acute by an 
 education of the first order in America, superintended 
 and directed by his father, an able lawyer and a sol- 
 dier. His mother, who was the daughter of a British 
 officer, came to this country to nurse her father, who 
 was dangerously wounded at Braddoek^s defeat, and 
 after lingering many months, died in this country. She 
 was a most accomplished lady, married Captain Bal- 
 lenger, and having been brought up and educated after 
 the fashion of the most intelligent class in the father- 
 land, had inspired her only son, of whom we are speak- 
 ing, with all her noble sentiments, and not a little of 
 her national and family pride. 
 
 In order to a just appreciation of his feelings, it is 
 necessary also to inform the reader that, in the prose- 
 cution of his commercial business, Mr. Ballenger had 
 visited France and England, and had spent several 
 months with his maternal relations at their beautiful 
 country-seats near Crucis Abbey, in Derbyshire. All 
 these concurring causes had formed a character but ill 
 prepared to descend into the vale of obscurity, and to 
 contend with the privations of poverty without bitter- 
 ness of spirit. 
 
 It is not strange, therefore, that, although not entire- 
 ly destitute, Mr. Ballenger, in his retreat on the Ka- 
 nawha, felt keenly the change of his condition, and 
 that anguish which a fond and proud parent cannot re- 
 pn .-..- when he foresees that his children, raised in the 
 lap of luxury and ease, and educated for high places 
 in society, will be forced to descend to the level of the 
 humbler classes, and not onlv be deprived of those ad-
 
 86 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 ventitious sources of enjoyment which are accessible 
 only to the wealthy and well educated, but repine, 
 waste away, and sink into despondency, if not into 
 vice, from the force of vain regrets or ill-directed ef- 
 forts to drive them off. 
 
 These melancholy forebodings would come into 
 strong contrast with his long-cherished anticipations, 
 rationally entertained a short time before, of seeing 
 his daughter move in the highest circle of fashion, the 
 object of admiration, the jewel of price, and the cen 
 tre of attraction to the chivalry of the country ; and his 
 son, well educated, useful, and popular, winning hi& 
 way, by well-directed efforts, to the highest offices 
 of the government. Such were the sleep-dispelling 
 thoughts of Mr. Ballenger. 
 
 Isaac Forster was kept awake by cogitations of a 
 very different kind. In order to forestall all conjec- 
 tures in regard to this gentleman, and to prevent any 
 mischiefs that frolicsome little flirt, imagination, might 
 produce, the reader hall at once be told who he was. 
 What he was his acts will best declare. 
 
 Isaac Forster was a widower, without children, 
 about forty years of age, in search of a wife, more 
 land and more money, than the ample amount of both 
 which he already possessed. A very common char- 
 acter, this : yet he was no common man. He had 
 heard of the arrival and settlement of Mr. Ballenger 
 on the Kanawha, quite near his own residence ; that 
 he had a very pretty daughter, and a son, who would 
 be his only heirs ; and although Mr. Ballenger was a 
 broken merchant, Isaac had an impression, from some 
 facts known to himself, that the wreck of this gentle- 
 man's fortune might be more valuable than a gold- 
 freighted Acapulco ship. The son of Mr. Ballenger, 
 he had heard, was in delicate health. But this was 
 all a mistake. Isaac thought that the change of cli- 
 mate from the eastern to the western side of the mount- 
 ains might render Miss Ballenger her father's only 
 heir, or some accident might occur to cause that event : 
 such as exposure at pleasure-parties, the upsetting of
 
 THE RESCUE. 8* 
 
 a boat above the falls, the accidental j,*ing off of a 
 rifle, or some poisonous herb gathered thnxigii mistake 
 for a salad to be served up to him on nis reui.n, altei 
 the usual dinner hour, from some hunting or fishing 
 excursion. 
 
 Isaac was an excellent accountant, and mought he 
 understood the calculation of probabilities and chances 
 He had removed from Eastern Virginia some years 
 ago, and since his settlement in the West, had acteq 
 as land-agent, land-jobber, surveyor, and tax-payer for 
 many gentlemen in Virginia arid Maryland as well as 
 for himself. He was, perhaps, the best penman in tiie 
 United States ; he could write and imitate every son 
 of chirography, and very few persons could distinguish 
 their own handwriting from Isaac's imitation. He had 
 been brought up in a clerk's office, and thought him- 
 self a lawyer, as many other persons do from a mere 
 acquaintance with the forms of law. He had a very 
 extensive courthouse-green and clerk's. office acquaint- 
 ance with the inhabitants of Fauquier, Fairfax, Prince 
 William, and Stafford counties, and he really knew, or 
 seemed to know, the person, business, and pecuniary 
 circumstances of every man of any note in the West. 
 His reputation for accurate, punctual, industrious, hon- 
 est business habits caused him to be much employed 
 and full of business. 
 
 He was the land-agent of more persons in the Old 
 Dominion than any other man living west of the mount- 
 ains. Among those who employed him were the 
 houses of Smith and Bird, Buchanan and Alexander, 
 of Alexandria. He had a power of attorney from 
 them as their agent to pay taxes, form settlements, 
 and sell very extensive tracts of land in Western Vir- 
 ginia, Kentucky, the Western Territory, and New- 
 York. This power of attorney gave him almost un- 
 limited action in regard te the promotion of the inter- 
 ests and the security of the rights of his employers, 
 all his acts for their benefit, done in good faith, and in 
 conformity with the laws of the United States and of 
 the states in which the lands lay, being declared valid,
 
 88 NEW HOPE J OR, 
 
 and of as much force and effect as if done by the par- 
 ties themselves. But these lands were thought to be 
 of very little value by the rich merchants to whom 
 they belonged ; for they had been received by them 
 as their share in the dividend of the fragments of an 
 extensive mercantile establishment in London, which, 
 at the time of its failure, was largely indebted to them 
 on account of tobacco shipped to them from Virginia. 
 The London creditors, in the division of the scanty 
 spoils, preferred doubtful debts at home to wild lands 
 in America, and they therefore saddled the American 
 creditors with them. London surveys was the popular 
 name in Virginia for large mountainous, worthless 
 tracts of land, intended originally for speculation in 
 Europe. One of this kind in the county of Kanawha 
 covered one hundred and twenty thousand acres, not 
 worth, in 1810, three cents per acre. The merchants 
 of Alexandria, therefore, received the land papers 
 rather as a memento of the loss they had sustained 
 than as a valuable consideration for their tobacco. 
 They thought, too, they might be an evidence of the 
 desire of Mr. Williamson, a land-agent of foreigners 
 in New-York, to have some wealthy persons in Amer- 
 ica interested in the settlement of large tracts of land, 
 or in their profitable sale, and a partner in the pay- 
 ment of taxes on them, which, as the country became 
 settled, he knew would bacome, if not an onerous, at 
 least a never-forgotten or avoidable expense to large 
 landholders in America. 
 
 Just before Isaac Forster's removal to the West, 
 these merchants had been annoyed by many badly- 
 written letters, postage not paid, inquiring if they 
 would sell, and at what price, some five hundred or a 
 thousand acres of these lands, stated to be worth a 
 cent an acre, and hardly that except to squatters for 
 hunting, &c., &c. They answered but few of these 
 epistles, for some they could not read ; others were 
 on matters so small that the mere expense of sale and 
 transfer would actually have exceeded the proceeds of 
 the sales, and even these were proposed to be paid in
 
 THE RESCUE. 39 
 
 skins, truck, or other trade ; so they were much pleased 
 when honest Isaac offered to look after these l?nds, 
 for such was his expression, and they deemed it a re- 
 lief from a teasing and unprofitable annoyance. When 
 subsequently, he voluntarily offered to pay the taxes 
 and give a forty-dollar horse annually as a considera 
 tion for the rent of the whole of these lands for thr 
 term of the ensuing five years, in closing with hir 
 proposition they thought they were driving an excel- 
 lent bargain. Before Isaac made this proposition, ho 
 had paid a six months' visit to the West. At the end 
 of the said five years he renewed his lease for five 
 years more, stating, in his letter, that, by great laboi * , 
 he had made some settlements, had turned some squ? 
 ters into tenants, and hoped, if he should have goo- 1 
 luck, to see, by the end of his last lease, his owv 
 again in the bad bargain which he had at first mad < 
 with his good friends in Alexandria. 
 
 On his removal to the West, Isaac had carried with 
 him several thousand dollars, and by the judicious use 
 of these, and by active industry, regular business hab- 
 its, and his ability to bear great fatigue, he had become 
 a great man in the West in the estimation of many 
 others as well as in his own. This was apparent in 
 his free and easy manners everywhere, and with every 
 respectable person. So constantly was he travelling 
 on business, that it was impossible to tell where he might 
 be found, except when he had made an appointment: 
 then and there you would surely find him in time at the 
 place, in spite of storm, tempest, fire, or water. He took 
 pride in this thing, and found it productive of reputation 
 and money. At other times, when everybody thought 
 Isaac was at home, he was at Louisville, Pittsburgh, 
 New-York, New-Orleans, or where nobody knew. The 
 natives at first stared and wondered, but they got used to 
 it, and thought no more of his absence or of the distance 
 he might be from home than if he had been a comet. 
 It was during one of these trips from home that Mr. 
 Ballenger arrived with his family on the Kanawha ; 
 and on Isaac's return to his own house, he found the
 
 40 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 following letter on his table, which had been left du- 
 ring his absence. 
 
 '" To Mr. Isaac Forster, below Lewisburg, on the Great 
 Kanawha. 
 
 "Alexandria, August 20th, '98. 
 
 " DR. ZACK, 
 
 " Blown sky-high, by jimminy ! Smith and Bird, 
 Buchanan and Alexander, broke all to smash. Lands 
 all, every acre of them, transferred to Ned Ballenger 
 (don't believe you know him that's strange !) by bona- 
 fide deeds recorded, to indemnify him for some sixty 
 thousand dollars which the fool paid as their endorser. 
 Thinks himself a ruined man has moved to Kanawha. 
 This comes in haste before him, to give you an item 
 to keep dark and lay low. Has a son devilish keen 
 fellow, they say. You must take care of him and a 
 daughter. 'Twould be well to marry her, friend Isaac : 
 easy way to settle things, specially if Ballenger won't 
 renew your lease and power of attorney. Before he 
 smells a rat, you must be wide awake. But I needn't 
 advise you, who can manage, I guess, a dozen of Ned 
 Ballenger. Hope this will come to hand in time to 
 prevent his falling into worse hands. Son Sam will 
 be out next summer, or early in the fall, with the pa- 
 pers, &c., &c., you will want in other cases. He 
 knows nothing about them or any of our business trans- 
 actions, and ought not. He's too thoughtless a chap. 
 Tin won't do here. Look out. Thafs the time of day. 
 The western counties and the district of Kentuck is the 
 hunting-ground. Horses will do here. 
 
 " Yours in the bonds, 
 
 " JONES CARTER. 
 
 " P.S. Letter of introduction enclosed. J. C." 
 
 Some parts of this letter are plain and comprehensi- 
 ble enough ; others are obscure and dark to us. On 
 its reception, much later than the writer intended, in 
 consequence of Mr. Forster's absence from home, and 
 after the arrival of Mr. Ballenger at his new home, 
 Isaac set off instantly for the house of that gentleman.
 
 THE RESCUE. 41 
 
 and arrived there, as we have seen, on a cold evening 
 in December. The importance he attached to the 
 contents of this letter m;iy be inferred from the fact 
 that, although he had ridden nearly fifty miles during 
 the day, yet in ten minutes after reading the letter, not- 
 withstanding he was weary and hungry, and it was 
 cold and dark, he was on the road to Mr. Ballenger's. 
 The lands leased to Isaac Forster, now the proper- 
 ty of Mr. Ballenger, were not London surveys, at least 
 the greater part of them were not, as the merchants 
 supposed when they leased them to Isaac. Mr. Bal- 
 lenger did not know even of the existence of thesa 
 lands, much less of any value they might possess, 
 when he unexpectedly received the deeds for them, 
 together with the mournful news of the utter failure of 
 the merchants for whom he had paid so much money. 
 Their really great value was known only to Isaac and 
 his confidential allies, and to persons who thought him 
 their owner. When Isaac received his last lease, and 
 was paying annually a forty-dollar horse and the taxes 
 as rent for them, they were worth at least half a 
 million of dollars. And he was receiving from the 
 " squatters that he had turned into tenants" a hand- 
 some revenue in money, horses, grain, skins, &c. 
 Besides this, he was selling odd ends, and slips, and 
 offsets, the surplusage of large tracts which he had 
 re-surveyed ; for then old surveys were very loost ly 
 made, the corners being on this " hill side" on " a 
 prong of the branch," "seven hundred poles lower 
 down," &c., containing often hundreds of acres more 
 than were called for in the patent. Nobody knows 
 how much Isaac was realizing from them; and Mr. 
 Ballenger never dreamed that they could be worth a 
 fiftieth part of the $60,000 which he had lost by those 
 who had conveyed them to him. In their letters cov- 
 ering the conveyances to him, and informing him that 
 the original patents, deeds, and other papers were in 
 the hands of their agent in the West, not even the name 
 of the agent was mentioned by the merchants. They 
 2*
 
 42 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 took it for granted, \ve suppose, that everybody knew 
 that honest Isaac Forster was the man. 
 
 Parts of many tracts sold by Mr. Forster, and not 
 paid for, were reconveyed to Isaac himself on his as- 
 sumption of the payments of the very small sums for 
 which they had been sold by him as agent. Who will 
 blame him for making a good bargain, in the first in- 
 stance, by taking advantage of the ignorance of the 
 merchants ? or for making it better by the means men- 
 tioned ? Are not such the practices of business men 
 at this time, in this age of enlightened morality ? Are 
 not half the commercial speculations of the world found- 
 ed on the rise and fall of commodities or stocks, which 
 happen to be known to the fortunate (yes, that's the 
 expression) purchaser or seller, and unknown to the 
 other party ? Do merchants, when privately informed 
 of a sudden rise in the price of cotton, flour, or tobac- 
 co, inform those of whom they are in such a hurry to 
 buy, of the rise before they purchase ? Who will not 
 buy a horse or a house, if an opportunity offers, for less 
 than prime cost less than he believes the property to 
 be worth ? If any such there be, they are few and far 
 between among what are called thriving, prudent busi- 
 ness men. Let such throw the first stone at Isaac 
 Forster. How different things look in a book and in 
 life in others and in ourselves ! 
 
 To return to the lands : they covered large portions 
 of what are now Clarke and Bourbon counties, in Ken- 
 tucky, and Hamilton, in Ohio ; a very large tract near 
 Seneca Lake, in New-York ; another on Mad River, 
 in Ohio ; another in Virginia, on the Ohio, below the 
 mouth of the Kanawha ; one, though not the largest, 
 on Beargrass Creek, which empties into the Ohio on 
 the Kentucky side, just above the falls ; one below the 
 falls and above the mouth of Salt River ; and the last 
 and worst, in the Loop, in Kanawha county, not far 
 from the residence of Mr. Ballenger. Men of busi- 
 ess will know that the power of attorney to Mr. For- 
 ster was superseded and virtually revoked by the trans- 
 fer of the lands to Mr. Ballenger, and in the course of
 
 THE EESCUE. 43 
 
 the next year Isaac's lease would expire. He there- 
 fore knew that no time was to be lost in coming to 
 some understanding, and in making some comfortable 
 arrangement with Mr. Ballenger, the present owner of 
 the lauds. Our readers are now acquainted with the 
 cause of his visit to New Hope. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 INFOKMED of the facts detailed in the last chapter, 
 our readers will be at no loss to conjecture the 
 nature of the thoughts that accompanied Mr. For- 
 ster to his chamber at New Hope, and which kept 
 him awake turning and twisting on his bed. No 
 such thing. He neither turned nor twisted, but 
 lay still, and thought as calmly and deliberately as 
 any other really great rnan who is arranging in his 
 mind the details of a plan of operation in some 
 weighty matter, after he has conceived the plan 
 which he intends to execute. True, he was awake 
 wide awake and deeply engaged in thoughts 
 only to be known from their results, for Isaac had 
 thoughts which he never told. 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast perhaps some 
 of our gentle readers may wish to know of what 
 the matutinal meal consisted at that day in the 
 West. Well, we are very accommodating in ac- 
 companying our fair friends to a breakfast-table, 
 and, in order to gratify their laudable curiosity, we 
 will give the bill of fare at Mr. Ballenger's for that 
 morning only ; and be it known that it was consid- 
 ered very abundant and of great variety for the 
 time and country : indeed, Mr. Forster observed 
 to .Miss Ballenger, who presided at the table, that 
 the fare was like the Old Virginia ladies them- 
 selves, "first rate ;" and that expression conveyed
 
 44 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 all that could be said on the subject by a land- 
 agent ; for land in the West was classed as first, 
 second, third, and fourth rate, and to say that any- 
 thing was first rate made it equal in value to the 
 most valuable of all earthly things, to wit, the rich- 
 est land in the West, the most coveted and prized 
 of all possessions. A large dish of fried homony, 
 brown and crisp, and smoking hot, graced the low- 
 er end of the table. It was flanked on the one side 
 by a plate of broiled venison, and on the other by 
 one of fried bacon. Higher up, on one side, was a 
 bowl of milk, and opposite to it a deep dish of corn- 
 meal mush. A plate of butter, and one of brown 
 hoecakes and corn pones, were to the right and left 
 of Miss Ballenger, and immediately before her was 
 a porringer of squirrel broth. 
 
 Such were the viands : and I blush to say it, 
 but the truth must be told in this veritable narra- 
 tive, although I fear it will destroy all the romance 
 which might be thrown around our heroine Miss 
 Matilda Ballenger not only helped others to squir- 
 rel broth for breakfast, but ate it herself! After 
 this, I am sure none of my fair female readers will 
 ever doubt my truth or candour. They will have 
 had the best reason to know that I conceal nothing, 
 naught extenuate, even when such important inter- 
 ests are at stake ; and the more especially will 
 they credit me for strict veracity, recollecting, as 
 they no doubt do, where and how Miss Ballenger 
 was born and brought up. At Alexandria she had 
 been accustomed to tea, coffee, French rolls, and 
 English biscuit for breakfast. To be sure, just a 
 morsel of salt fish, potted lobster, or soft crab, in 
 their season, may have given a relish to them ; or, 
 if she had been to a party the night before, these 
 may have been preceded by a very small cup of 
 cream-chocolate, taken before breakfast in her 
 chamber. 
 
 After breakfast at New Hope, to which all did 
 ample justice except Mr. Ballenger, whose ill health
 
 THE UESCUE. 45 
 
 restricted him to milk and mush, he and Mr. For- 
 ster retired to the sitting-room, when the latter 
 asked for his saddlebags, and, taking out a bundle 
 of papers, drew forth and presented to Mr. Ballen- 
 ger a letter of introduction. After reading the let- 
 .ter, Mr. Ballenger said, 
 
 " I owe you an apology, Mr Forster, for not rec- 
 ognising you last evening as the late attorney and 
 tenant of my friends in Alexandria, who have con- 
 veyed to me their Western lands. But no name 
 was mentioned in their letter, from the presump- 
 tion on their part, 1 suppose, that I had the pleas- 
 ure of knowing you personally." 
 
 "No doubt," replied Isaac, "as I am pretty well 
 known there and here. But that's of no conse- 
 quence now, sir, as I hope we shall soon be better 
 acquainted, Mr. Ballenger. Those under whom 
 you claim and hold have had my services many 
 years for little or nothing, and the lands for which 
 1 have been paying to them a valuable horse and 
 the taxes yearly are London surveys, as perhaps 
 you know." 
 
 "I have been informed that such is their charac- 
 ter, or, at least, that such was the impression of 
 their former owners. I know nothing of them my- 
 self; I have very lately, as you are no doubt in- 
 formed, Mr. Forster, received deeds for them. But 
 a regard for rny interests will induce rne to take 
 measures to ascertain their present and prospective 
 value so soon as my health will permit. Your 
 lease, I understand, expires in October next, and 
 the rent for the present year is to be paid to my- 
 self." 
 
 " Unless," said Forster, " there is some provis- 
 ion to the contrary." 
 
 " There is none," replied Mr. Ballenger ; " and 
 as it is well for gentlemen, in all business matters, 
 to understand each other perfectly, you will excuse 
 me for saying there was some slight inaccuracy 
 in your designation of the nature of my title to
 
 46 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 those lands. I do not hold them under Smith and 
 Bird, Buchanan and Alexander, hut from them. 
 The conveyance to me is absolute, unconditional, 
 and in fee-simple, for and in consideration of sixty 
 thousand dollars which I have actually paid for 
 them." 
 
 "Sixty thousand dollars!" said Mr. Forster ; 
 " that is too bad. You'll never, I fear, sir, see 
 the hundredth part of that sum for them. But we 
 must make the best of it, sir. I might, as your 
 agent, knowing the lands and the people in this 
 country, lighten your loss some little, to be sure. 
 With longer time, and a renewal of my lease for 
 five, or, rather, ten years, something might be done 
 by myself; but, under ordinary management, they 
 will yield nothing for many years, if ever." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Ballenger, "I must make the 
 best of it, as you say, Mr. Forster. You are aware, 
 sir, that the power of attorney to you was render- 
 ed null and void by the transfer of the lands to rne, 
 and that you are bound in law to make not only a 
 return of all the papers, and a report of all transac- 
 tions by yourself as attorney, but, as my tenant 
 now, attornment to me, the present landlord." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, Mr. Ballenger ; all that the law 
 requires, in good time, sir. But I have called at 
 this time, Mr. Ballenger, merely to give you an 
 opportunity to renew the power of attorney, which 
 your own interest requires ; and it is only to pro- 
 mote the welfare of an old Virginian that I would 
 now again undertake so troublesome and unprofita- 
 ble an agency. I thought, too, that you might 
 wish me to renew my lease, if we can agree on the 
 terms. They were high, I know, and the whole 
 business attended with more labour than profit ; 
 but as it is in the line of my business, Mr. Ballen- 
 ger, and keeps me moving about, I suppose I must 
 consent to undertake both. There are few per- 
 sons, sir, in the West able to attend to their own 
 affairs, as you, I hope, will soon be, for whom I
 
 THE RESCUE. 47 
 
 would do so much. We must help one another 
 when our friends need it, and are in difficulties, out 
 of which we only can see a chance of drawing them. 
 It is our duty to use our knowledge and experi- 
 ence, in matters in which we are better versed than 
 our friends, for their benefit and advantage." 
 
 " True very true," said Mr. Ballenger : " as I 
 am in the habit, Mr. Forster, of transacting all mat- 
 ters of business in writing, will you do me the fa- 
 vour to make your proposals in that form! There 
 are pens, ink, and paper on the table near you." 
 
 Isaac's face lighted up, and his gray eyes twink- 
 led with pleasure as he turned his chair round to 
 the table. Nothing gratified him more than to dis- 
 play his penmanship. It flattered his vanity in a 
 point on which he piqued himself. The subject, 
 too he imagined himself on the point of accom- 
 plishing at once his cherished designs, and of do- 
 ing the thing, too, at the request of another. The 
 bird, thought he, has fluttered up to the very mouth 
 of the charmer : I have only to open it, and in he 
 will pop. In the most beautiful, clerk-like hand, 
 Isaac dashed off* and presented to Mr. Ballenger the 
 following proposals : 
 
 " I propose to receive a full power of attorney 
 from Edward Ballenger, Esq., of Kanawha county, 
 Virginia, to transact all business in relation to the 
 lands to him conveyed by Smith and Bird, Buchan- 
 an and Alexander, for the consideration of five per 
 cent, on all sales, transfers, rents, and other delini- 
 tive arrangements of the same, or any part or parts 
 thereof, effected by me as his agent. And I farther 
 propose to renew my lease of the same lands, on 
 
 the terms of the former lease, for the term of 
 
 years after the 15th of October next, when my 
 present term, derived from the former owners, will 
 expire. All sales or transfers made by me to take 
 effect, as to actual possession, on the expiration of 
 
 the said years. In witness whereof, I have 
 
 this day, the first of December, 1798. at the house
 
 48 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 of the said Edward Ballenger, Esq., on the Kanaw- 
 ha River, set my hand and affixed my seal. 
 
 , " ISAAC FORSTER." [SEAL.] 
 
 "For how many years shall I fill up the term 1" 
 said Isaac, raising the paper from the table. 
 
 "It matters not," said Mr. Ballenger: "I think 
 you proposed ten or twenty." 
 
 "Very well," said Isaac, rapidly replacing the 
 paper on the table, arid inserting twenty in the blank 
 which he had left; and handing the paper to Mr. 
 Ballenger, he added, " You will find it all right, sir, 
 and in due form, and quite satisfactory, I hope." 
 
 Mr. Ballenger took the paper, read it over care- 
 fully, folded it up, and put it into his pocket, re- 
 marking to Mr. Forster that the proposals were 
 very distinct and explicit ; that he would give them 
 all due consideration, and would give Mr. Forster 
 an answer, either accepting or rejecting them, on 
 the 15th of October, when his lease would expire. 
 
 Isaac was thunderstruck. Here he was, in the 
 first sitting, in the first game for an enormous stake, 
 in check to the knight whom Jones Carter had 
 written to him he could manage a dozen of. And, 
 besides, his adversary for such henceforth he will 
 consider Mr. Ballenger had gained two most im- 
 portant points on the board : an acknowledgment 
 of notice of the conveyance of the lands to Mr. 
 Ballenger, and the consequent annulment of the 
 power of attorney after that date, and a recogni- 
 tion in writing of the day on which the lease would 
 terminate. "This comes of eager and unguarded 
 fishing in water before we know its depth." Isaac, 
 however, hoped that these things might not be ob- 
 served ; they were surely not artfully drawn out. 
 Mr. Ballenger had made no suggestion. He might 
 only be a slow man, without being astute or delib- 
 erate, much less cautious or cunning. His having 
 paid sixty thousand dollars as security for other 
 people forbade all such, ideas. He must wait on
 
 THE RESCUE. 49 
 
 him watch him closely sound him to the bottom, 
 and take his measures according to circumstan- 
 ces. 
 
 " Well, 'sir," said he, "your will must be my 
 pleasure in this matter. But delays are dangerous 
 (Isaac felt the full force of this truism), and yu 
 may find it so, Mr. Ballenger. /thought that your 
 true interests were so plain in providing at present 
 for their advancement, that the business might have 
 been done, as it ought to be, sir, in half an hour 
 to-day as well (certainly better) than at any future 
 time." 
 
 "Perhaps so," said Mr. Ballenger. "But my 
 health is not good, and therefore I have fixed a 
 day for my answer somewhat distant, that if, in the 
 spring, I should recover my wonted strength, I may 
 improve it by riding. In that case, I hope to see 
 some, at least, of the London surveys, and judge 
 for myself of their value." 
 
 "Nothing but his death or his daughter, then," 
 thought Isaac Forster, " can carry me through. 
 He must die or I must marry before November 
 next. His daughter is a fine-looking girl, rather 
 too fond of dress, I perceive, and high-minded 
 the daughters of the Virginia aristocrats are all so. 
 Let me get her, though, and I'll manage all that." 
 
 The object of his thoughts was just entering the 
 room as these thoughts passed through his mind. 
 " This is my daughter Matilda, Mr. Forster," said 
 Mr. Ballenger, formally introducing her, although 
 she had been both at the supper and breakfast table 
 with Mr. Forster. Yet he was not known to Mr. 
 Bnllenger in such a manner, according to his no- 
 tions of etiquette, as to be introduced to his daugh- 
 ter till his letter of introduction had been delivered. 
 
 Miss Ballenger made the acknowledgment usual 
 in those days a low and very graceful courtesy 
 which is more agreeable even now to the eyes of 
 old gentlemen, especially, than the short bob or
 
 50 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 hardly perceptible nod which is fashionable at the 
 present day, 
 
 " I hope you are pleased, miss, with the West- 
 ern country," said Isaac, addressing the young lady. 
 
 " Quite so, sir, especially with the scenery," she 
 replied, with that grace and quiet dignity of man 
 ner which marks the demeanour of well-bred Vir 
 ginia ladies. 
 
 "You must be very domestic, I think, for I have 
 never seen you out j I should not have forgotten 
 it, I am very sure." 
 
 "I have had but little time as yet, sir, to form 
 acquaintances, and there are few public places in 
 the country at which the presence of ladies is ex- 
 pected except those of public worship, and they 
 are not numerous, I believe, in this neighbourhood." 
 
 " I am sorry to say that is true, miss." 
 
 "Religion is a great thing and a good thing 
 too, sir the best of all things." 
 
 " To what denomination, may I ask, Miss Bal- 
 lenger, do you belong V' 
 
 "My father is an Episcopalian, sir, and I have 
 seen no reason to abandon the church to which he 
 is attached." 
 
 " That, I think, is right, miss. Those who think 
 their fathers right, are apt, when they marry, to 
 think their husbands right dutiful daughters make 
 dutiful wives." 
 
 "I did not view the question of church-member- 
 ship in that light," said Matilda, smiling. 
 
 "I presume not," said Mr. Forster; "but you 
 may, though, for young ladies are apt to put one 
 in mind of a church, you know, if they never think 
 of it themselves." 
 
 " Oh, I don't pretend," said Matilda, " never to 
 think of that to which you allude." 
 
 " If you did," said her father, "neither Mr. For- 
 ster nor any other gentleman would believe you." 
 
 Mr. Forster looked at his watch a very showy 
 one requested his horse to be brought out, took
 
 THE RESCUE. 51 
 
 his leave, and departed. "Well, Tom, my boy," 
 said he to that servant, as he handed him the bri- 
 dle and held- the stirrup for him to mount his horse, 
 "my horse looks well this morning I am sorry 1 
 haven't a fourpence for you. That young mistress 
 of yours is a handsome girl, Tommy make an ele- 
 gant wife, eh ! Good-by." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " SORRY he ain't got a fourpence for me," said Un- 
 cle Tom, looking at Mr. Forster as he rode away. 
 " He's sorry he ain't got more for his self. What he 
 think I want wid fourpence from sich as he ? He ain't 
 no gentleman. If you vvus to run all the raal gentle- 
 men in Ole Viginny through a wheat-fan, you couldn't 
 shake out nor blow out sich tail eends as dat man 
 ha ! ha ! hah ! My missus a hansom gal ! Make an 
 illegant wife ! Lor bless my soul ! ha ! ha ! hah ! I 
 don't no what's gwine to happen when sich trash as he 
 takes her name in his mouf. 'Tain't fitten for a spit- 
 box for her. I 'clar fore God, she shouldn't sile her 
 shoes by walkiri' on him over a mud-hole. Illegant 
 wife ! What he gwine do wid illegant wife ? ha ! ha ! 
 hah ! He inity illegant heself, I spose ain't he ? 
 The 'oman what does his washin' will have nasty 
 wuck if what's in him swets out through his lether 
 Wife ! I 'clar, he must be a born fool to think of sicb 
 a thing. Lord a massa ! what is dis world cummin to !' 
 
 Old Tom was entirely mistaken. Isaac Forstei 
 was neither a born fool nor tail-ends. His natural 
 powers of mind were far above mediocrity ; not highly 
 cultivated, to be sure, but improved by the usual exer 
 cises of country schools, and greatly strengthened and 
 sharpened by active intercourse with the world i'\c/ 
 since he left school. No intervening time of idleness
 
 52 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 had blunted or rusted his powers. And as for old 
 Tom's taunt of tail-ends, it was still wider of the mark. 
 By his own exertions, Isaac Forster had made a for- 
 tune, was rich, could sport a carriage if he chose, and 
 had built up, by industry and attention to business, a 
 reputation among his fellows of no common kind. He 
 had been nominated by " many voters" to represent 
 the county in the General Assembly, and was himself 
 seriously thinking of Congress. He* very politely and 
 patriotically declined the call of " many voters," be- 
 cause there was another candidate of the same party 
 in the field, and he could not consent, in the critical 
 condition of the country, to divide the party or weaken 
 its force by permitting his humble pretensions to be 
 urged at this lime. Thus it is manifest that, so far 
 from being tail-ends, he was a member of the modern 
 aristocracy of America. 
 
 The ancient aristocracy of Old Virginia, as is well 
 known, rested on obsolete and absurd abstractions 
 on high birth, high intellectual and moral qualities, 
 chivalrous sentiments of honour, and polished manners. 
 Some of these, it is true, were sometimes received as 
 evidences of the existence of the others, when no bet- 
 ter testimony could be obtained ; whereas the modern 
 aristocracy is based upon no metaphysical abstractions, 
 but on solid physical foundations factories and hard- 
 working " operatives" wharves and warehouses, tea 
 ships and whale ships, and white oak ; on farms, plan- 
 tations, and negroes black operatives cotton-bales, 
 cattle, hogs, horses, and hemp. It is true that a small 
 section of the more modern aristocracy rests upon 
 i basis somewhat equivocal, unsubstantial, and ver- 
 ging on the abstract, paper constituting its principal, 
 and, not unfrequently, its only solid material plats 
 of cities in futuro, water lots, fancy stocks (not for 
 the neck, though they ought to be), shin-plasters that 
 increase the cancer on the Legs bank stocks and 
 Biddleism a new term, which I can find in no dic- 
 tionary, ancient or modern, and am therefore at an ut- 
 ter loss how to render in our honest old vernaculai
 
 THE RESCUE. 53 
 
 tongue, for the best reason in the world I do not 
 know what it means, and very much doubt whether it 
 has any real meaning. But this 1 do know, that this 
 section of modern aristocracy rises highest and sinks 
 lowest in the scale. To-day its members live in palaces, 
 and to-morrow have not a place to lay their head upon. 
 To-day they drive chariots, shine in splendid array, roll 
 in the luxury of princes ; to-morrow the glitter is gone 
 the golden goblet dashed from their lips, and their 
 very names only to be found in the bankrupt list. 
 
 Uncle Tom's notions of gentility and gentlemen 
 were entirely out of date. He was behind the times. 
 He could not conceive of any other sort of gentleman 
 but the old Virginia stock, and obstinately persisted in 
 excluding from the class all parvenues, however rich 
 and popular they might be, if their breeding, knowl- 
 edge, morals, and manners especially, did not come up 
 to or sink down to his abstractionary standard. We 
 must not condemn this old gray-headed servant too 
 hastily for thus remembering when and among whom 
 he was born and had lived all his life ; we must make 
 allowance for the deep-rooted prejudices which had 
 grown out of the circumstances in which he had been 
 placed ; and, above all, we must not forget that he was 
 but an ignorant negro slave. 
 
 Even some poor, though proud old men, claiming to 
 be gentlemen, but whose pretensions are sneered at, 
 are still to be found, who are so besotted as to contend 
 that the word gentleman ex vi termini implies some de- 
 gree of education, polish, and refinement, and that a 
 man without these, or the appearance of them at least, 
 however honest, worthy, well-meaning, and even rich 
 and popular he may be, is not entitled to the appella- 
 tion of a gentleman. We advise them to give utter- 
 ance to no such sentiments ; for verily, if they do, 
 they will get their noses pulled by some gentleman 
 negro-driver, whose splendid equipage is obstructed on 
 the highway by their old, rusty, broken-down buggies. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger's carriage began to look rather weath- 
 er-worn, to the great annoyance of Uncle Tom, who
 
 54 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 did all that varnish, arid blacking, and rubbing, and 
 scrubbing could do to keep up its respectable appear- 
 ance ; and, fortunately for his pride at least, there 
 were but few carriages of any kind, except carts and 
 wagons, on the Kanawha at that period. The state 
 of the roads, too, at that time, helped to save appear- 
 ances. The roads passed along between the river on 
 the one side, and the cliffs on the other, sometimes 
 beneath the overhanging rocks projecting from them, 
 and then, again, approaching arid running along on the 
 alluvial bank of the river. At frequent intervals they 
 were intersected by deep, dry runs or streams passing 
 down from the hills through the bottom-lands, and 
 cutting their channels through the rich, loose soil. At 
 high water these were impassable, and the traveller 
 had to diverge from the road into the hills to find some 
 pass through them by which he could ascend the 
 cliffs and find a ford. Over some of the worst of 
 these deep guts or nullahs, pole bridges were thrown, 
 on which the traveller passed them. But these bridg- 
 es were often washed away, or the poles disarranged 
 by high water. 
 
 The Kanawha Valley, from the falls to the mouth 
 of the river, ninety miles distant, forms an acute delta, 
 with its base on the Ohio. There is no land in Amer- 
 ica of a richer soil or greater fertility ; and in so nar- 
 row a valley, shut in by mountains and traversed by so 
 large a river, the climate is more equable and milder 
 than on extensive plains in the same latitude. The 
 peach, pear, and apple, the plum and the grape, are 
 rarely killed by variations in the temperature ; and 
 they all mature their fruit in great perfection. The 
 fields of grain and grass exhibit the most luxuriant 
 crops. Indeed, nothing can surpass, in the eyes of an 
 American agriculturist, the deep green, cloud-like ap- 
 pearance of a field of Indian corn in the Kanawha 
 bottom, just before it throws out its feathery tassels 
 and silken shoots. 
 
 In its primeval state, this valley was covered by trees 
 of an enormous size and height. The tulip-tree (Ly-
 
 THE RESCUE. 55 
 
 riodendron), the walnut, the hickory, the sugar-maple, 
 the buckeye, but, above all, the button-wood or syca- 
 more (Platahus Occidentalis), throwing out from its 
 giant trunk its large white spectral arms high in the 
 air and over the stream, marked the course of the 
 Great Kanawha to the eye of every traveller. The 
 undergrowth of papaw, spice-wood, dog-wood, redbud, 
 and sumach, twined with vines and creepers, filled 
 the intervening spaces between the trunks of the lar- 
 ger trees ; and beneath these bloomed a profusion of 
 wild flowers : the puccoon, the violet, the ladies' slip- 
 per, the columbine, and a thousand other beautiful 
 children of the woods. The sassafras (Laurus) does 
 not, on ordinary lands, grow to a large size, but in this 
 valley many of their trunks are three feet in diameter, 
 and rise to a height of fifty feet without a limb, and 
 then form a superb conical head, crowned with clus- 
 ters of dense green leaves and coral-cupped berries 
 of jet. 
 
 Through this valley, and along such a road, the day 
 after Mr. Forster's visit to New Hope, Mr. Ballenger's 
 carriage was rattling. Uncle Tom was driving Miss 
 Matilda and her brother from a meeting-house, whith- 
 er they had been to hear the Gospel preached. In 
 passing over one of those pole bridges, it suddenly 
 gave way, and the carriage, horses, and driver were 
 precipitated into the water below. Most fortunately, 
 the sleeper or joint on the lower side remained un- 
 broken, and the cross-poles, with the carriage, slided 
 down, and in overturning, the carriage rested against 
 them. A man on horseback, riding just behind the 
 carriage, saw the accident, and the imminent danger 
 to those within it. He leaped from his horse, plunged 
 into the water, tore open the door on the upper side, 
 seized the lady by her cloak, and dragged her out and 
 on the bank. 
 
 William Henry Ballenger had broken through the 
 top of the carriage, believing that the door could not 
 be opened in time to save his sister ; but now, seeing 
 her in safety on the bank, leaped out, and turned to se
 
 56 NEW HOPE J OR, 
 
 what had become of Thomas, the driver. He had 
 been thrown off the seat into the water, and before he 
 rose to the top, had been carried down between the 
 loose, broken poles below the bridge. He swam to 
 the nearest bank, and seeing his young master and 
 mistress safe on the shore, he ran up the bank, pulled 
 out his knife, and plunged in again to cut the traces 
 of the horses. But it was too late. Before he could 
 accomplish his purpose, both the horses were drowned. 
 
 It was but a short distance to Mr. Ballenger's house. 
 The gentleman who had rescued Matilda offered his 
 horse for her use, but she declined the offer, alleging 
 that, as it was quite cold, she preferred walking with 
 her brother. He then rode on to the house, mentioned 
 the accident, the safety of the son and daughter, and 
 the loss of the carriage and horses, which were soon 
 swept down by the rising water into the river. He 
 politely refused Mr. Ballenger's invitation to alight, and 
 rode an to the tavern above. That man was Isaac 
 Forster. 
 
 " 'Twas monstrous kind, and right bold and venter- 
 some too, in him to jump in de water 1o delibber Miss 
 Mattie," said Uncle Tom. " But dat don't make him 
 a gentleman yit. I helped to pull ole master out on 
 de Potomac, whar it's a hundred times wider and deep- 
 er dan dis nasty gully, and dat didn't make me a gen- 
 tleman," 
 
 Uncle Tom, after this accident, treated Mr. Forster 
 with more deference and respect ; but he was incor- 
 rigible on the subject of gentility. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AFTER Miss Matilda and William Henry had chan- 
 ged their clothes and returned to the sitting-room, 
 where a blazing fire had been made, and after the ac-
 
 THE RESCUE. 57 
 
 cident at the bridge had been, as is common, talked 
 over and commented on, Mr. Ballenger handed to Ma- 
 tilda a letter which he had received in their absence. 
 This was customary with him. He kept no secrets 
 from his children, and they had very few, if any, which 
 were not communicated to him. They had the most 
 implicit confidence in him. They knew that he loved 
 them with his whole heart ; that their welfare and 
 happiness were objects of which he never lost sight ; 
 that they were next, in ail his thoughts, to the love 
 and service of God, in whom his faith and trust were 
 strong and abiding principles, not only producing hope, 
 humility, and confidence, but they were also princi- 
 ples of action, as well in relation to his fellow-crea- 
 tures as to his Creator. Religion and morality, in his 
 opinion and practice, were cause and effect the tree 
 and the fruit. His children were taught to believe 
 that they could not consult, under any circumstances, 
 safer advisers than their parent ; none more deeply in- 
 terested in directing them aright ; none having a great- 
 er stake in their well-being. 
 
 With many young gentlemen and ladies most inju- 
 diciously educated, Mr. Ballenger and his children 
 will pass for very oldfashioned people. The parents 
 of such are the last persons to hear of any embarrass- 
 ment or affaire du cceur in which they become involv- 
 ed ; while a mere acquaintance of a day or week receives 
 their confidence, and becomes the depository of their in- 
 most thoughts and feelings, and even of their honour. 
 This is one among other causes of ill-assorted marriages 
 and early repentance of desired separation and di- 
 vorce. With Mr. Ballenger's son and daughter it was 
 not a mere admitted truism that parents should be the 
 confidential friends of their children ; it was acted on 
 not an abstract notion, the useless lumber of the brain. 
 
 Matilda, in reading the letter, blushed deeply ; yet, 
 when she turned her eyes to her father, their expres- 
 sion told that no secret of hers previously unknown to 
 him was divulged in it. She did not even pettishly 
 exclaim " I wish Mr. Bird would mind his own busi- 
 8
 
 58 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 ness, and not write stories about me." Here, gentle 
 readers, is the letter. 
 
 " Alexandria, Nov. 10th, 1798. 
 " ED. BALLENGER, ESQ., 
 " MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 " We have not had the pleasure of hearing from you 
 directly since you left us, though we heard of you in- 
 cidentally at the White Sulphur Springs through our 
 mutual young friend, Carrington. He gave us the 
 welcome information that your health was better, and 
 that the young folks, Miss Matilda and William Henry, 
 were recovering their usual flow of spirits, and were 
 even anticipating much pleasure from the novelty of a 
 settlement in the woods. I have no doubt, though, 
 that there was some little sighing, if not crying, at 
 parting with Victor Carrington. Poor fellow ! the 
 parting with Miss M. was a severe trial to him. I 
 should not have mentioned this matter, were I not cer- 
 tain that your penetration had discovered his penchant 
 for my dear god-daughter, even, if you had not been 
 made her confidant, which I have no other reason to 
 believe than is afforded by my knowledge of her pru- 
 dence and the unreserved confidence which she repo- 
 ses, very properly, in you, her father, on all occasions. 
 
 " Our commercial misfortunes have lately thickened 
 around us, but, as you have released us from your 
 heavy claim in consideration of the lands conveyed to 
 you, we shall, I hope, ultimately work through, and 
 have a decent competency left. We ardently hope 
 that the lands will indemnify you, though, from Mr 
 Forster's account of them, we can hardly expect thai 
 they will ever bring a tithe of the money. Would 
 that the}' might be worth a million to you, my dear sir 
 
 " Victor sails next week for Liverpool. I suppose 
 he will be absent nearly a year. His father insisted 
 on his taking this trip before thinking of getting marri 
 ed and settling down to the practice of the law, foi 
 which the judges and lawyers at Richmond and here 
 say he is eminently qualified. Tell my little god 
 daughter that if she does not find some beau, or, rath
 
 THE RESCUE. 59 
 
 er, if some beau in the wild woods of the West does 
 not find her, and cut out Victor in his absence, I shall 
 expect, on his return, a bidding to a merry-making on 
 the Kanawha. Old and gouty as 1 am, I'll try to hob- 
 ble over. Kiss the dear little prude for me, and ac- 
 cept for yourself and William Henry assurances of the 
 sincere regard and respect 
 
 " With which I am, my dear sir, 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 
 " EDWIN BIRD." 
 
 After reading the letter, she passed it to her brother, 
 and patting her foot on the floor for some time, looked 
 up into her father's -face with a smile, though the tears 
 were in her eyes, and said, 
 
 " Father, you have 'not complied with Mr. Bird's 
 request." 
 
 Mr. Ballenger took his daughter in his arms, and 
 kissed her for Mr. Bird once, and twice at least for 
 himself. 
 
 " Well !" said William Henry, " it is strange a 
 great mystery to me, Mattie." 
 
 " What is, brother ?" 
 
 " Why," said he, " the doctrine of the association 
 of ideas that my father here should not have thought 
 of Mr. Bird's request, and you, on the mention in a 
 letter of the name of somebod " 
 
 Matilda put her hand over his mouth, and said, 
 
 " Do, if you dare, sir ! Now isn't he a pretty fel- 
 low, father, to talk in that way, so philosophically, too, 
 when he came home the other day (I'll tell of you, 
 William, indeed I will), and actually bragged of his 
 generalship yes, that was his word in managing to 
 kiss Miss Helen Templeman the second time he ever 
 saw her." 
 
 " It was only a philosophical experiment, Mattie, 
 you know very well," said William. 
 
 " No doubt," interposed Mr. Ballenger : " he is dis- 
 posed to be a great philosopher. But I shall advise 
 Squire Templeman to have an eye on his experi- 
 ments "
 
 60 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 " Oh, sir," said William, " he was present, and 
 might have seen it, although I confess I used all pos- 
 sible caution In conducting it, merely to avoid any ac- 
 cidental explosion, like that which took place just 
 now, when you performed a similar experiment for 
 Mr. Bird, or yourself, I don't know which. But 
 where can Ben Bramble be ? He promised to be 
 here this evening, to initiate me in the mysteries of 
 bear hunting. We set out to-morrow on an excursion 
 of that sort, and are going even into the Shades of 
 Death, Mattie." 
 
 " Oh !" said Mattie, " although I never heard of 
 any place having that name, except near Wyoming, I 
 can give a shrewd guess as to their location some- 
 where in the Loop, or, at least, not far from Mr. Tem- 
 ple man's, I'll be bound." 
 
 " Entirely out, sister mine," replied William. " They 
 are beyond the Loop, and on this side of the river, be- 
 tween the ferry on New River and Sewel Mountain. 
 But here comes Ben." 
 
 * Stop, now," said Matilda, " and don't say a word 
 till I ask him a question. You know, Ben," said she, 
 saluting him, " the ladies are entitled to the first word, 
 are they not ?" 
 
 " I don't know, for that they ginerally contrive to 
 git the last, I've hearn," said Ben. " Howsumever, 
 ax your question, honey, and I'll answer it if I can." 
 
 " Which way, Ben, do you go to get to the Shades 
 of Death?" 
 
 " Why, you ain't thinking of gwine thar ? It's the 
 lonesomest, darkest, awfullest place in natur nothrn' 
 but deer, and bar, and wild-cats, and painters, and rat- 
 tlesnakes." 
 
 " Well, never mind them, only tell me the way to 
 that dreadful place." 
 
 " If so be you don't think of gwine thar, I'll tell you." 
 
 " Oh, I promise you, Ben, never even to think of 
 going." 
 
 " Well, then," said Ben, " thar's two ways from 
 here. The roundabout way is by the Mouth of Gan-
 
 THE RESCUE. 61 
 
 ley, up by the Hawk's Nest, and so between Big and 
 Little Sewel, and up the New River tjdtttapu strike 
 the Lewisburg trail, that runs right tfl ^Bt. But 
 the nigh way is through the Loop by Squire Tcmple- 
 man's to the ferry, over that, and up the cliffs." 
 
 " I thought so," said Matilda, looking archly at her 
 brother. " And that's the way you and William are 
 going, Ben, is it not ?" 
 
 " Oh, sure, it's the shortest cut." 
 
 " I was sure of it," said Matilda. " There's fine 
 hunting about the squire's, ain't there, Ben ?" 
 
 Ben looked amazed, and stared first at Matilda and 
 then at William Henry. 
 
 " Why, what in the world is the gal arter ?" said 
 he, turning to her brother. 
 
 " You'd better ask him, Ben, what he's after." 
 
 Ben looked at William for at least a minute, and 
 then broke out into a loud laugh. 
 
 " Was thar ever the like of that !" said he ; " thar 
 ain't nothin' that they don't find out. I hardly suspi- 
 cioned him myself, though I've bin with him constant. 
 I can't tell whar a varmint's gwine, and what he's arter, 
 without tracking him ; and she's sot down in the house 
 here at home, and larnt it like a book. Women must 
 have a gift 'bout them things. It's in thar natur, or it 
 couldn't go so straight to the mark. She hit him as 
 true as if she had took aim with a rifle." 
 
 " Take care of that boy, Ben, I pray you," said Ma- 
 tilda ; " and if he ever gets lost, be sure to hunt the 
 woods around Squire Templeman's. There's a deer 
 there that he wishes to catch, I'm sure." 
 
 " Tain't no use, you see, Master Will, to try to hide 
 from um. They'd disciver you, and what you was 
 arter, even in the Shades of Death, I b'leve," said Ben.
 
 62 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 EARLY the next morning Ben Bramble and Will* 
 iam Henry Ballenger set out on their hunting ex- 
 pedition. That propensity which manifests itself 
 in boys at so early a period of their existence, in 
 chasing chipping squirrels, minks, and weasels, and 
 can hardly be repressed when it breaks out in even 
 worrying their sisters' favourite cats found out of 
 the yard hunting their own prey, which in youths 
 gains strength, and grows into a passion in the pur- 
 suit and capture of the hare, the opossum, and the 
 rackoon, and is fully developed in men of every 
 age and country in hunting the fox, the stag, the 
 wolf, the wild boar and buffalo, the tiger, and even 
 the lordly lion himself, is found in men of the no- 
 blest nature, and of the most manly, generous, and 
 tender feelings ; in the rude savage and uncivilized, 
 in the cultivated, polished, and the most re-fined. 
 The most humanizing influences of civilization do 
 not destroy it. Its exercise in the Indian of the 
 East and of the West is a necessity as well as a 
 pleasure. But with the Anglo-Saxon race, over 
 which this propensity seems to exert the strongest 
 influence, it is merely an exciting pleasure, in the 
 pursuit of which they recklessly risk limbs, and life 
 itself. Whether it be the mimic representation of 
 war, the most stirring game which mere animals, 
 as well as men, delight to play at, or the simple 
 pleasure derived from strong excitement, is a ques- 
 tion of metaphysical speculation with which we at 
 present have nothing to do. 
 
 Although reared in a city, and all unused to field- 
 sports, William Henry Ballenger, excited, no doubt, 
 by the homely, but vivid wild-wood tales of Ben 
 Bramble, was soon urged by this natural propensi-
 
 THE RESCUE. 63 
 
 ty to join him in hunting and fishing excursions ; 
 and so docile and apt a pupil he was ^keasily 
 we learn what we love to acquire Bt the 
 schoolmaster, who, we are now so con^BPty told, 
 is abroad, take the hint 1), that in a very short 
 time he could, with unerring certainty, spear the 
 buffalo perch and the blue cat-fish in the clear wa- 
 ters of the Kanawha scalp a squirrel with a rifle 
 ball on the highest tree in the forest cut ofFthe 
 head of a wild turkey, or bring down a buck at a 
 hundred yards' distance. In the phraseology of 
 Ben, he " was gittin' to know a thing or two ;" and 
 he was becoming a great favourite and pet with his 
 instructer. 
 
 " You've only to learn the use of the knife and 
 tomahawk now," said Ben to him, " and a scrim- 
 mage with a wild-cat, or a tussle with a painter, or 
 a rough roll and tumble with a bar, will finish yer 
 eddication. You ar gittin' along pretty piert for 
 one that's bin fotch'd up in them prison walls of a 
 city in the old settlements, and 's seed nothin' of 
 natur. I must take you to the head waters of Coal, 
 or on the knobs of Big Sandy, this winter. Nat 
 Colly, Sam Dyer, and that young ring-tailed roar- 
 er, Charley Vandal, if he can leave the fiddle and 
 the gals this Christmas, may look out for us 'bout 
 that time. Sam Dyer's got more sense now than 
 he had when he was a boy, jist arter he was marri- 
 ed, and got into that tight fix in the box elder. Sam 
 said it was a close fit, and confined him sorter." 
 
 " How was that 1" inquired William Henry. 
 
 " Why, Sam," said Ben, " when he was first mar- 
 ried, was monstrous fond of his young wife not so 
 young a 'oman nuther. She tuck a mity likin' to 
 'possum. Just about that time his old dog Ran- 
 ger died, and Sam had nothin' but a young thing 
 that hardly know'd the scent of one varmint from 
 another. Howsumever, 'possum his wife wanted, 
 and 'possum she must have ; so Sam gits up one 
 moonshiny night afore day, and starts off* into the
 
 64 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 woods with young Pomp and his axe on his shoul- 
 der. JMft^tly Pomp gits on a trail right up the 
 brancfl followed it pretty fierce till he treed it 
 in a b^^nollow box elder. Sam comes up, and 
 looking at the tree, he says, ' Why, Pomp, you ar 
 barking up the wrong tree, or this is no 'possum. 
 Sal won't tech a coon. Howsumever, I'll have him.' 
 With that he begins to cut the tree. It was as hol- 
 low as an elder stalk, and arter a while down it 
 cum. In rushes Pomp, and meets the coon a com- 
 in' out, who washed his face arter sich a fashion 
 that he backed right on the tree, while the coon 
 turned round and went tother way, furder in the 
 holler. Sam looked in, and could see his eyes a 
 shining, but he couldn't pissuade Pomp to go in, 
 anyhow he could fix it. So he gits a short stick, 
 and in he goes himself, to punch the coon to death. 
 The coon backs, and Sam crawls arter him, though 
 'twas tight squeezing twell he could jest reach him, 
 and only make him growl. ' I'll make you talk 
 plainer than that afore I'm done with you,' said 
 Sam, as he scrouged furder in, and punched the 
 coon to death. He then reached forard, and gittin' 
 him by the paw, tried to get back. But it was no 
 go. His jacket got rucked up on his shoulders, 
 and he couldn't move a peg. He twisted and strug- 
 gled, but he only got jammed tighter. ' This is a 
 fix,' said Sam, ' that Sal's got me in? layin' the blame 
 on his wife, as some men will do when they git 
 into a close place all by ther own fault. He worked 
 and worried twell he was fairly done up ; he hol- 
 lowed and he cussed, and he swore and he prayed, 
 but thar he was tighter than ever. 
 
 "Pomp got tired of waitin' for his master, and 
 so, 'bout breakfast-time, arter whining a while, he 
 trotted off home. Sal, seeing the dog come home 
 without Sam, and going backward and forward 
 howling and oneasy-like, got oneasy herself, and 
 says she to Josiah Huff, her brother (her name was 
 Sally Huff afore she married Sam), ' Somethin's hap-
 
 THE RESCUE. 65 
 
 pened to Sam as sure as a gun. We must go and 
 sarch for him, I tell ye !' So off they sot, and 
 Pomp carried 'utn smack to the tree. Thar was 
 Sam's axe leaning agin the stump. Josiah looked 
 in, and seeing Sam's legs, he cried out, ' Why, 
 Sam, what in the world ar you doing thar 1' ' Try- 
 ing to git out,' said Sam. ' Why didn't you think 
 of that,' said Sal, ' afore you got in V ' Gaze young 
 men is sometimes too eager to do what they ar 
 sorry enough for arterward,' replied Sam to the 
 shrill, objurgous inquiry of his wife. 'You always 
 was a fool, 1 b'leve,' said she, 'and you ar gittin' a 
 bigger fool than ever. You'll find it out yerself 
 some o' these days, Sam Dyer.' 'I is found it out 
 already afore to-day,' said Sam. The young folks 
 in the neighbourhood," continued Ben, " said that, 
 afore Sam put at Sal to have him, she was an ole 
 inaid-like ; that she used to lean to him mighty 
 lovin' in the chimbley corner, and wore her tucker 
 mighty low and tempting, and fashonable-like, but 
 that now the gray mare was the better horse, and 
 Sam had raather a hard time with her. Well, they 
 fairly hauled Sam out on the tree. But it gin him 
 sich a scare 'bout losing his breath in a close place, 
 that he wouldn't sleep without his cabin door wide 
 open. You could hardly git him into a yard with 
 the gate shut, or a five-acre lot with a fence round 
 it. He wouldn't bear a joke about it ; for Charley 
 Vandal once axed him which was the tightest fix, 
 matrimony or a box elder, or which was the clo- 
 sest fit, a wooden jacket or the suit Parson Jinkins 
 made for him. And if the stone he throw'd at Char- 
 ley's head, and barked the sugar-maple with, had 
 hit him, Charley would never have carried that keg 
 of whiskey up and down the New River cliflf'bove 
 the Hawk's Neest that he did at the wedding of 
 Darnell's darter." 
 
 " Where shall we stay to-night, Ben 1" inquired 
 William Henry; "at Squire Templeman's 1" 
 
 " That's out on our way to the Shades of Death," 
 3*
 
 66 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 said Ben. " We shall find no bar till we get 'mong 
 them dark hollows, all kivered with bamboos, green- 
 briers, ivy, and yew-trees. It's the wildest place 
 and the solemnest 'tween Big Sewell and the fer- 
 ry, and so thick and dark even in the daytime, t. at 
 it makes one feel awful to pass through it, I tell 
 ye. But soon as I said wedding, Master Will, it 
 sot you to thinkin' of the squire's darter, Miss Hel- 
 en, I guess. Young folks will be young folks, so 1 
 'spose we must give 'um a call." 
 
 "You were young once, Ben," said William, 
 " and you are not too old now to be pleased with 
 a pretty girl." 
 
 " That's true," said Ben ; " but Sam Dyer's tight 
 fix has made me sorter skittish and wary-like. 
 Thar's some things that it's raather dangerous to be 
 lookin' at, Master Will ; and a pretty gal, old or 
 young, that you don't know nothin' about (no dis- 
 respect to the squire's darter), is, accordin' to my 
 notion, one of them things." 
 
 Thus conversing, they arrived at Squire Temple- 
 man's. Ben was well known to the squire, had 
 served under him in the army, and was always wel- 
 come to his house. The evening passed very 
 pleasantly away. After Helen had retired, the 
 squire related many anecdotes connected with the 
 early settlement of the Western country, with 
 which we may, at some future time, amuse our 
 readers. In this work, we have room only for one, 
 which interested William Henry very much. 
 
 " On the bank of the New River," said the squire, 
 u I was once called out to fight a duel by an officer 
 of the old fort at the Mouth of Elk. But, as you 
 are a new-comer to this country, and can know lit- 
 tle of New River, as is the case, I find, with almost 
 all people in the United States even, except those 
 who are settled on its wild, remote, and mountain- 
 ous banks, I will describe it to you, as it is well 
 worth a description ; and I have had occasion, at 
 various times, to trace its devious and obstructed
 
 THE RESCUE. 67 
 
 course almost from its source to the Valley of the Kan- 
 awha. It rises, as I presume you know (for the geog- 
 raphers tell us this, and where it empties, and that is 
 all), in North Carolina, and is throughout an emblem 
 of embarrassment, perseverance, success, and ultimate 
 repose its reward. In passing from North Carolina into 
 Virginia, it attempts to enter the great Valley of the 
 Mississippi, by uniting with the south fork of the Hol- 
 ston. But it is stopped in its early career by the 
 Whitetop Mountains and the spurs of the Alleghany. 
 It then turns to the east, seeking to join the Dan Riv* 
 er, but is repelled by the southern barrier of the Blue 
 Ridge. Onward it moves to the northeast, and agaic 
 attempts to h'nd a passage to the east, and unite with 
 the Roanoke, but it is again turned back to the north- 
 west by the Blue Mountains. No longer looking to 
 the east, and now re-enforced by many mountain tor- 
 rents, it rushes against the Alleghany, breaks through 
 its ramparts, and dashes onward to the northwest. 
 Strengthened by the East River, the Blue Stone, and 
 the Greenbrier, raging and foaming, and furious as a 
 wounded and maddened war-horse, it darts down the 
 western declivity, tearing down every obstacle, and 
 rushing through every ridge, till it finds the Ganley 
 Mountain frowning in front, and opposing a solid wall 
 of rock nine hundred feet high to its farther passage. 
 Here, collecting all its mighty energies for a last eflort, 
 its deep and angry waters rise higher and higher, till 
 they reach the pinnacle, and with irresistible fury it 
 brings their whole weight and force to bear upon the 
 mountain. It bursts asunder, and the mighty river cuts 
 down to the foundation of the mountain a yawning 
 chasm for its passage. This is the Hawk's Nest, a ta- 
 ble rock on the side of the Cleft Mountain, projecting 
 over the stream deep down below, how far I dare not 
 say. From this point the river, hurling along the 
 enormous rocks which it had torn down, as if they 
 were but pebbles in its course, encounters the Ganley 
 River, also on its westward way. They unite, and 
 turning to the left, leap down a cataract, and seek re
 
 68 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 pose in the verdant valley of the Great Kanawha, which 
 gives its name to the united streams. The river be- 
 low, having lost its character with its name, pursues 
 a quiet, peaceful course to the Ohio, la Belle Riviere, 
 but, in my opinion, surpassed by the one I have de- 
 scribed in the variety and sublimity of its scenery, if 
 not in beauty itself. 
 
 " Being called out, as I said, by an officer, a young 
 man to whom, as I thought, I had given no just cause 
 of offence, and to whom, of course, I could offer no 
 other amende than a statement to that effect, insisted 
 on my fighting him. This I was strongly tempted to 
 do ; but, on a calm and dispassionate consideration of 
 the whole subject of duelling, I positively refused. He 
 had been stationed in the fort at the Mouth of Elk, 
 on the Kanawha. When the commander of the fort, 
 having good reason to believe that it was surrounded 
 by Indians, determined to attack it, found his supply of 
 powder inadequate to its defence, if the siege should 
 continue longer than a day or two. He paraded his 
 men and officers, stated their perilous condition, and 
 asked who would volunteer to go to Lewisburg for a 
 supply, observing that he hoped he should not be un- 
 der the painful necessity of ordering anybody to per- 
 form so hazardous, but necessary a duty. ' Let any,' 
 said he, ' who will volunteer, step out and march to the 
 front.' Not a man moved. ' I will go,' said Anne 
 Bailey, a woman in the fort. She did so, alone and 
 unattended ; slept out three nights in the wilderness, 
 and returned in safety with pack-horse loads of gun- 
 powder. In speaking of that remarkable circum- 
 stance," continued Squire Templeman, " I had said 
 they were a cowardly, unfeeling set of men. I think 
 so still, and that the officer who challenged me, who 
 was one of them, had no just cause of offence. He 
 might have volunteered himself, as the commander's 
 invitation was to his officers as well as the privates. 
 But, after mature reflection, I could not have fought a 
 duel under any circumstances. If I had done him any 
 wrong, as a man of honour I was bound to make amends
 
 THE RESCUE. 69 
 
 without putting his life in peril. Duelling is a prac- 
 tice tint reason and religion condemn. There is a 
 want of moral courage, of real firmness, in abandoning 
 the citadel of reason. But enough of this," said the 
 squire ; " and if, Mr. Ballenger, in your hunting ex- 
 cursions, you would look upon the grand, the awful, 
 the terrific, you will find them all along the course and 
 on the cliffs of New River ; if the picturesque and the 
 beautiful, with some touches of the sublime too, you 
 will behold them in your own immediate neighbour- 
 hood, in the upper part of the valley in which you 
 live." 
 
 Yes ; and I will add to Squire Templeman's account 
 of this part of Virginia, that if now your thoughts are 
 turned to objects of utility alone, you will only have to 
 pass a little lower down in the Valley of the Great 
 Kanavvha to find a navigable river, a soil unsurpassed 
 in fertility, mountains of coal, inexhaustible sources of 
 salt water, a stream of carburetted hydrogen gas issuing 
 from the earth, a flourishing town, turnpike roads, and 
 steamboats ; and if you will accompany me in my next 
 tour to that most interesting part of the Western World, 
 I will ensure to you, gentle reader, a kind reception 
 and excellent accommodations at my friend Ruflher's. 
 just above Charleston, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WE are sorry we cannot get along a little faster 
 with the principal incidents of our story ; it might be 
 more agreeable to the reader, and it certainly would be 
 to ourselves. But what are we to do ? We cannot 
 go faster than the persons who are actors in it. If 
 Ben Bramble and William Henry Ballenger would stop 
 at Squire Templeman's ; if the squire could relate an- 
 ecdotes of the oldea time ; if William Henry would sit
 
 70 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 in the porch the next morning, conversing with Helen 
 Templeman, when he ought to be on his way to the 
 Shades of Death with his rifle in his hand, I canriov 
 help it or myself. As to leaving them behind, that is 
 out of the question. It would reduce this veritable 
 narrative to an abstraction. 
 
 Ben Bramble was as impatient as you are, gentle 
 reader ; the horses were ready, and had been for half 
 an hour. The dogs, except Young Kate, who had 
 been left at New Hope, or, to say the truth, would not 
 leave Matilda even to follow her master, were whining 
 in the yard, and going backward and forward from Ben 
 g> the horses. Ben was walking off his impatience 
 near the horses, occasionally glancing at the gentleman 
 and lady sitting in the porch ; yet he did not start off 
 and leave his companion behind. 
 
 But the worst of it was, that neither he nor ourselves 
 gained anything by the delay ; for William Henry and 
 4iss Templeman spoke in so low a tone that not a 
 dyllable of their conversation could be heard. I can 
 therefore only describe her person, and tell you what 
 she was doing while they were sitting together. Her 
 form was very much like that of William Henry's sis- 
 ter, which we have attempted to describe, but on a 
 scale somewhat larger. Her neck was not so tapering, 
 her arms more rounded, and her bust more full. Her 
 hair was black and glossy as a raven's wing, her fore- 
 head high and smooth, her nose slightly aquiline, hei 
 eyebrows more arched, her eyelashes long, separating 
 the flashes that darted from her full black eyes. \Vords 
 are inadequate to convey a just idea of their expression, 
 it was such a combination of mischievous archness and 
 liquid softness. Her lips were more full and ruddy 
 than those of Miss Ballenger, but not less finely form- 
 ed. Her teeth were regular, small, and white ; her 
 complexion brunette, but her skin smooth and clear as 
 the interior of a conch-shell. There was something 
 in the cast of her countenance that brought, before the 
 mind's eye that lovely shepherdess, the beautiful daugh- 
 ter of Bathuel ; yet no drop of Jewish blood ran in her
 
 THE RESCUE. 71 
 
 veins ; but the truth must be told : she was of Indian 
 extraction, lineally, though remotely, descended from 
 that princess who saved the life of Captain John Smith 
 in Virginia. Her mother was a Randolph, and nearly 
 related to one of that name who, at a subsequent period, 
 filled a large space in the public mind : the enthusi- 
 astic admirer and extensive owner of fine, high-bred 
 horses the accomplished, classic, eloquent orator the 
 fearless, sarcastic, bitter denouncer of political delin- 
 quencies, whose long, slender finger, pointed at an ad- 
 versary in debate, caused him to feel as if an Indian 
 arrow were aimed at his bosom the most extraordi- 
 nary man, in person and in mind, of the age in which 
 he lived the most erratic and eccentric. 
 
 Miss Templeman was knitting a woollen stocking: 
 it is true, young ladies, upon my honour. The de- 
 scendant of Pocahontas was knitting a woollen stock- 
 ing, for her father, I presume ; and she had finished it to 
 about the middle of the foot : what happened made me 
 take particular notice of that. At first she was moving 
 her delicate, taper little fingers slowly and regularly, 
 but as the conversation went on, so did her fingers fast- 
 er and faster, until I could see that she was dropping 
 stitches much faster than the young gentleman did 
 words, if I could judge from the motion of his lips, for 
 I could not hear a word ; and as he drew to a close, 
 so did the stocking. It was the shortest, dubbidest, 
 most shocking foot that ever was seen to a woollen 
 stocking. Just at that time Ben Bramble put his closed 
 fists, with his thumbs parallel, up to his mouth, and 
 blew out a blast so loud and clear that the lady start- 
 ed from her seat. The young gentleman seized her 
 hand, and making a hasty adieu, sallied out. Mount- 
 ing their horses, he and Ben moved off. 
 
 " That whistle," said Ben, " has started many a 
 young critter in the woods afore now ; I thought I'd 
 try it, any how." 
 
 " You are in too great a hurry this morning, Ben; 
 you've made me forget my rille." 
 
 You worn'' in no hurrv though. The sun raough
 
 72 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 have gone down afore you'd have found it out," said 
 Ben. " Here's your shootin' ir'n : I fotch'd it out, 
 suspicioning that you'd want to go back to look for it. 
 That sister of yourn, Master Will, is an oricommon 
 sharp-sighted gal. When she was axin' me the way 
 to the Shades of Death, I couldn't make out what she 
 was arter : she seed it all as plain as a wolf's track 
 around a sheep-pen, and she didn't know, nuther, that 
 Squire Templeman's darter warn't raised out here in 
 the Loop. She's a new-comer like, as well as you, 
 Vlaster Will, and like will take to like it's nat'ral. 
 They came two year ago from the old settlements in 
 Viginny. Her mammy died soon arter they got here, 
 and the squire wanted to carry Miss Helen back to her 
 relations 'bout Williamsburg ; but she said, ' No ; where 
 you stay, father, I'll stay.' I heard her say it myself. 
 Them ar the sort of gals, accordiu' to my notions." 
 
 " And mine too," said William. 
 
 " You needn't tell me that," said Ben. " I've seed 
 the signs plain enuf." 
 
 They pursued their way to the ferry on the New 
 River, where Nat Colly and Charley Vandal were to 
 meet them. The road down the cliff from the Loop 
 to the river is one of the most remarkable in the Uni- 
 ted States. Every person should see it who is apt to 
 be disheartened by difficulties at first sight insurmount- 
 able. Let him see a wagon go up that road, and take 
 courage in any enterprise. Despair was afraid of that 
 man who first drove a team up that cliff. It rises to 
 an elevation of nearly two thousand feet, and the top 
 is not more than that distance from the river. The 
 road, or, rather, path, runs down the river to the right 
 from the ferry, gradually ascending the bank till it 
 gains an elevation of twenty or thirty feet ; then it 
 turns by a short semicircular cut to the left, and pass- 
 es back and above so near the first line that it seems 
 parallel to it till it reaches a point immediately above 
 the starting-place at the ferry ; then another turn is 
 made to the right, and in this way the track runs Sack- 
 ward and forward on the eastern face of the cliff to the 
 
 r
 
 THE RESCUE, 73 
 
 very top. The turns are exceedingly short and steep, 
 requiring a skotch behind the wheels at every step. 
 When the summit is reached, although miles have 
 been travelled, you look down into the river, and think 
 you could pitch a biscuit into it. To get up this road 
 on horseback without a breastband to the saddle, or 
 down without a crupper, is out of the question. 
 
 As Ben and William descended to the river it be- 
 gan to snow, and the dogs, Captain and Rover, who 
 frequently lagged behind, smelling on the logs and 
 bushes by the roadside, in attempting to cut across 
 from one reach in the road to another, would slip and 
 slide on the newly-fallen snow, and roll down, so steep 
 was the side of the mountain. When they were about 
 half way down, Ben suddenly stopped his horse, and 
 before William Henry perceived that he had done so, 
 he heard the crack of his rille. 
 
 ' I've stopped yer gobbling," said Ben, as the flut- 
 tering of a wild turkey was heard fifty yards to their 
 right; and William Henry, turning his eyes in the di- 
 rection of the sound, saw the bird flapping his wings 
 upon the snow in the dealh struggle. 
 
 " Lost, Captain, lost !" cried Ben. 
 
 The dog darted off', and with great difficulty lugged 
 the large gobbler to their horses' feet, where Ben was 
 standing reloading his gun. He had sent the ball 
 through the head of the turkey, a tioble bird, with his 
 glossy russet plumage, and a beard of black hair near 
 a foot long projecting from his breast. Ben tied him 
 by his feet behind his saddle, and as he mounted old 
 Skewbald, as he called his horse, he said, 
 
 " If they've got no meat at the ferry, we sha'n't want 
 something for supper, for we stay thar to-night. This 
 is a fifteen or twenty pounder, and as fat as butter. 
 We can do nothing till it stops snowing, which it won't 
 do afore night, if it does then." 
 
 "What's Long Nancy bin barkin' at?" cried Nat 
 Colly, as they approached the ferry, where he and 
 Charley Vandal had arrived before Ben and William 
 Henry, and were waiting for the boat.
 
 74 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " Nothin' but a turkey," said Ben. 
 
 " I tell you, he's a whopper," said Charley, raising 
 the bird from the side of the horse. 
 
 " You were right, Nat, when you said, coming down 
 the cliff, you heard a gobbler talking to himself, for 
 here he is, sure enough." 
 
 It was wonderful to see how the dogs of these men, 
 and even their horses, recognised each other the in- 
 stant they approached. It was as manifest that they 
 were familiar acquaintances and cronies as their mas- 
 ters. Nat had four dogs, and Charley five ; and they 
 all met Captain and Rover wagging their tails, and 
 rubbing their noses against each other with great ap- 
 parent pleasure. And the horses, as they came up, 
 whinnied and closed up. As Charley's mare came 
 up to old Skewbald, she thrust herself between him 
 and William Henry's horse, laying back her ears, and 
 nipping at him as if she was protecting him. 
 
 " Look at that," said William ; " she knows my 
 horse is a stranger." 
 
 " Why, she knows old Skew as well as I do," said 
 Charley. " Many a scramble they've had together 
 over these hills, and many an hour they've eaten the 
 pea-vines in these woods, or stood tied to the limbs of 
 the trees side by side. She believes in old Skew 
 strong. She'd let him take a ear of corn out of her 
 mouth any time without backing her ears." 
 
 They crossed the deep-blue waters of the river in 
 a crazy old ferry-boat, and ascended the bank to the 
 house. On reaching the door, Charley bawled out, 
 
 " Hellow ! the Loop's on ye, Boyer, dogs, horses, 
 and all." 
 
 " Come in, come in," said a tall, raw-boned, dark- 
 haired man. " Where away now, Charley ?" 
 
 "Only up the cliff a bit, to give this young gentle- 
 man from the old settlements Mr. Ballenger, Captain 
 Boyer a notion of what's in the Shades of Death." 
 
 " Glad to see you, Mr. Ballenger ; walk in. Why, 
 here's Ben and Nat, too, as I live. Come in, boys, 
 out of the snow. I'll have the critters put in the lot
 
 THE KESCUE. 75 
 
 and tended to. Faith ! here's a fine turkey. I thought 
 it \v;is the crack of Long Nancy I heard a while ago. 
 So, Ben, you can't let my fowls alone ? You mistook 
 this for a wild one, I suppose. But he's been raised 
 in my corn-field here. I'll have a warrant agin you, 
 Ben." 
 
 " Why," said Ben, " I know'd you'd want him for 
 supper to-night, and I only thought to save you the 
 trouble of calling him up." 
 
 " Well, if that's the case, I must let it pass this 
 time," said Boyer. " But all the pheasants and tur- 
 keys in these woods is my domestic fowls. You Ro- 
 ver, what the devil you arter thar, pullin' down that 
 bar-skin ? Walk in, Ben." 
 
 Ben accepted the invitation, and in a short time was 
 followed by Boyer himself, who, shaking the snow 
 from his coat arid hat, and going to a side cupboard, 
 brought out a large case bottle and a horn tumbler. 
 
 " Come, boys, here's a little of the raal critter old 
 rye, all the way from Rockin'ham. Take a pull, Mr. 
 Ballenger, and melt them snow-flakes on ye." 
 
 Every one except William Henry took the raw, 
 undiluted spirit, and after it a draught of water. 
 
 " What's the chance for a bar in the Shades, cap- 
 tain ?" asked Charley. 
 
 " Not good," replied the captain. " This little sniff 
 of snow'll drive 'em all into winter-quarters. They 
 can smell it long afore it comes down, and they get 
 under cover, like prudent people. That one that you 
 see the skin on nailed agin the house, if Rover hain't 
 pulled it down, come down here yesterday, jest as if 
 he wanted me to ferry him over the river into the 
 Loop. His quarters is over there, I guess, and smell- 
 in' this snow, he was makin' for home, when I hap- 
 pened to see him, and tuck him up for hog-stealin' this 
 side the river. I wish, Charley, you'd keep your 
 rogues at home. It's ongenerous to let 'urn rob. us poor 
 folks over here." 
 
 " We can't," said Charley. " They've got so many 
 relations and friends this side, they must be visitin' on
 
 76 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 'em constant. What'll you take, captain, to ferry them 
 over by the year, backward and forward ?" 
 
 " Ten pounds of powder and forty of lead," said the 
 captain, " if you'll throw in a good wad of tow and a 
 dozen flints." 
 
 In this bantering, half-jesting, half-earnest style of 
 conversation, these men spent the evening. It still 
 continued to snow ; but Ben Bramble, who had been 
 out of doors, said the morning would be fair, clear, 
 and cool. "The wind," said he, "has changed, and 
 blows fresher, and the flakes fall bigger, and furder 
 apart." 
 
 Just at nightfall, a rough, keen-eyed fellow, and an 
 elderly woman, whom he called Mrs. M'Cloud, asked 
 for quarters. The man was walking, and the woman 
 riding a shabby horse, followed by another, carrying a 
 large, heavy pack. They were conducted into an ad- 
 joining room at the request of the woman, who insist- 
 ed on helping the man to carry in the pack, as well as 
 her own bundle. When supper was ready, they de- 
 clined Captain Boyer's invitation to partake of it, and 
 soon laid themselves down, in different corners of the 
 room, on blankets taken out of their pack. There we 
 will leave them for the present, and return to the lar- 
 . ger room, in which the hunters were, and in which 
 the supper-table was set out. We shall say nothing 
 of the eating of that supper, nor of the good appetite 
 with which it was discussed ; but as the cocking was 
 in a style somewhat different from that which is usual 
 at the present day, we will step into thfe kitchen, and 
 see how that important art was performed on turkey 
 and bear meat in that country at that time, for of these 
 and dried venison, ham, and corn bread the supper 
 consisted That same square bottle that we have 
 mentioned was still on the table, though it did not 
 stand still during all the time. After the turkey was 
 prepared in the usual way for roasting, a long, sharp, 
 narrow knife was passed around the thigh bone up to 
 the hip joint, separating the flesh from the bone ; the 
 bone was then extracted. In the same manner, the
 
 THE RESCUE. 77 
 
 wing bones were taken out. An incision was then 
 inadu from the inside of the body, and the breast bone 
 was taken out, and those articulated to it, passing on 
 to the back below the neck. These operations were 
 performed with a facility which proved the perfect 
 knowledge of the cook with the anatomy of turkeys at 
 least. Flitches of fat bacon, peppered and salted, and 
 rolled in flour, were inserted into the legs and wings ; 
 and the internal cavity was filled with a compound of 
 cold, light bread, crumbled fine, and kneaded up with 
 bear's fat, salt, and pepper. All the apertures were 
 closed, a string tied around the neck close to the body, 
 and the turkey was then suspended by the legs by a 
 cord before the bank of clear coals that filled the whole 
 fireplace. A short-handled frying-pan was placed 
 beneath to receive the drippings. 
 
 The lean, fresh bear's meat was cut into steaks, and 
 the fat pieces into similar steaks ; these latter were 
 salted and peppered, and a wooden skewer or spit, 
 three feet long, was thrust through the middle part of 
 a lean steak, and then of a fat piece, alternately, till 
 the stick was full. This was also hung up before the 
 fire perpendicularly, but it was occasionally taken 
 down, slightly dredged with flour, held horizontally 
 over the coals, and again suspended over the skillet 
 which caught the gravy. The bear meat and bread 
 were not put to the fire till the turkey had been revolv- 
 ing before it for one hour and thirty-seven minutes. 
 They were all brought in brown and smoking hot. 
 The gravies were placed on the table in two tin pans. 
 While William Henry was smacking his lips, after ta- 
 king a piece of bread which had been dipped into a 
 portion of the turkey gravy, Captain Boyer said, 
 
 " I've seen somewhere before this man in the other 
 room, and I've been trying to recollect, but I can't 
 make it out. Indeed, I see so many strange faces 
 nowadays at the ferry, that it's hard to remember 
 them." 
 
 " He's a queer-looking chap," said Charley, " from 
 Buncombe, in North Carolina, I'll lay a wager."
 
 78 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " I've seen the woman," said Ben Bramble, " a* 
 Lewisburg, selling chickens and eggs, and a drunken 
 old man with her, that I tuck for her husband." 
 
 " I noticed the man's hands particular," said Colly, 
 " and he's no common workin' man, that I'll swear to." 
 
 As we happen to know more about this man and 
 woman than any of the party at the table, and as they 
 are connected with our tale, we shall, while the turkey 
 and other viands are disappearing from the table, give 
 our readers some information relating to them. Polly 
 M'Cloud had been the wife of an old soldier, original- 
 ly possessed of a strong mind, which, in his latter 
 days, was destroyed by strong drink. Although poor, 
 he had bought and added to his own the lands of many 
 of his comrades ; but, before he could either improve 
 or sell them, his insidious foe, bald-faced whiskey, had 
 rendered him inert in thought arid action. Isaac For- 
 ster heard of him and his lands, went to see him in 
 Greenbrier, where he lived in a miserable cabin on 
 rented land, wheedled the old dotard into an agency 
 for the management of his lands, and made a will for 
 him, which, in fact, would render Mr. Forster execu- 
 tive owner of all that he should leave behind him, 
 which, except his lands, was almost nothing. Old 
 M'Cloud had often heard of honest Isaac and his able 
 management of landed estates in the West for the gen- 
 tlemen of Old Virginia. 
 
 Shortly after these transactions, old Billy M'Cloud 
 died, leaving his widow and a daughter Catharine, a 
 very pretty girl of fifteen. Isaac took a liking to her 
 as well as the lands, and the old woman favouring his 
 attention to the daughter, Isaac succeeded in making 
 her, not his wife a thing he never intended but the 
 wretched victim of his heartless passion, promising 
 most sacredly afterward, in the words of the mother, 
 " to make her an honest woman." The mother, though 
 apprehending now the worst, and determined, if possi- 
 ble, to conceal the shame of her daughter, smothered 
 at its birth the offspring of the unhappy, deluded girl. 
 Whether she was intoxicated for she, like her hus-
 
 THE RESCUE. 
 
 79 
 
 band, had yielded to this destructive habit or, being a 
 very silly woman, had been influenced by Isaac For- 
 ster's saying to her that little children, when they die, 
 go straight to heaven, we know not. Both may have 
 strengthened her determination to put the child out of 
 the way. The poor mother thought of the hapless 
 babe, and perhaps suspected some foul play, for she 
 raised herself on her bed, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh ! mammy, give me my child. I call Heaven 
 to witness, Mr. Forster, that it is yours, and if any 
 harm comes to it, you will have to answer for it, as 
 well as for my ruin, to the God of heaven, before 
 whom you promised to marry me. Oh! Mr. Forster, 
 take care of my poor, innocent child. Oh ! sir, you 
 know it is yours as well as mine. Hand it here, 
 mammy." 
 
 " The poor thing is dead," said Polly M'Cloud. 
 
 " Dead !" shrieked the mother. " O God ! I know 
 it was alive. Give it to me, oh ! my mother." 
 
 She took the child in her arms, looked at its livid 
 face, pressed it to hers, screamed aloud, and fell back 
 on the bed in convulsions. She never rose from it. 
 Fit succeeded n't, and she died in delirium. The 
 mother and child were placed in the same grave, and 
 Isaac Forster returned to Kanawha. Nothing was 
 known of these transactions but the death of Catharine 
 M'Cloud and her child ; nor were the causes of her 
 death or of her child's known to any persons except 
 Polly M'Cloud and Isaac Forster. The people of the 
 neighbourhood never dreamed of connecting them with 
 Isaac Forster; for it was thought that a young man 
 who, some time before, was known to be a suiter of 
 Catharine M'Cloud, had been her seducer. He had 
 left that part of the country. Isaac Forster spoke of 
 him in strong terms of indignation, openly attributing 
 his disappearance to his maltreatment of Mrs. M'Climd's 
 daughter. He called him a villain, a seducer, and the 
 murderer of an abused young woman. ^p 
 
 In a short time after these events, Isaac paid a visit 
 to Polly M'Cloud. She threatened him \\ith disci. >-
 
 80 NEW HOPE; OB, 
 
 sure, and extorted money from him. He promised to 
 pay her more in a short time, and then returned to his 
 own house. Instead, however, of going again, he sent 
 this man, who stayed some weeks, and he and Polly 
 M'Cloud are now on their way to his house, or to some 
 place to which she has thought fit to accompany him. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WE left the hunters with Captain Boyer at the sup- 
 per-table. After discussing a portion of the good 
 things before them, and the probabilities of finding 
 game on the following day, which would certainly be 
 fair, as the clouds had dispersed, the wind lulled, and 
 the stars shone out on the cold, bright dress in which 
 the earth was arrayed laid out in a winding-sheet of 
 snow they laid themselves down to rest on blankets 
 before the fire. Captain Boyer offered a bed to Will- 
 iam Henry Ballenger, but he declined the offer, say- 
 ing, " I mean to be a veritable backwoodsman in sleep- 
 ing as well as in eating ; and you have seen, Captain 
 Boyer, that I can play my part in the latter, at least, 
 as well as Nat or Charley." They were all soon 
 asleep. 
 
 How beautiful is a cloudless morning in December, 
 when the earth is covered with snow, and the rays of 
 the rising sun are reflected, and broken, and thrown 
 around by the clear, cold crystals of hoar frost ! The 
 glitterings of the short-lived diamonds are flashed forth, 
 and mingled, and interwoven, forming a dazzling and 
 meshy web of solar light over the surface of the earth, 
 and every tree, and twig, and fence is incrusted with 
 the glittering grime, throwing around them an atmo- 
 sphere of roseate light. And that feeling of vigour arid 
 elas^fe energy that comes over us on such a morning, 
 and braces us for its enjoyment, oh ! it is delightful. To
 
 THE RESCUE. 81 
 
 breathe the fresh air and look abroad inspire us with de- 
 light. Such was the morning on which, after an early 
 and hearty breakfast, Ben Bramble and his companions, 
 with William Henry Ballenger, left the ferry-house on 
 New River, and ascended the eastern, precipitous path 
 that leads towards the Shades of Death. 
 
 " Is it meat or sport, boys, you want to-day ?" in- 
 quired Nat Colly ; " for I've brought the cow-bell from 
 the ferry." 
 
 " Cow-bell !" exclaimed William Henry ; " what in 
 the world has a cow-bell to do with hunting ?" 
 
 " Nat," said Ben Bramble, " you must tell the boy. 
 He's axin' in arnest, and don't know the use of nothin' 
 yit, 'cept the rifle. He's larnt to shoot, and that's all." 
 
 Nat stared hard at William Henry, and said, " Why, 
 it's true, I b'leve, he don't know the use of a cow-bell 
 in huntin' when you only want the meat. Well, young 
 gentleman, thar's three sorts of huntin' deer in these 
 woods : Stand huntin', Still huntin', and Bell huntin'. 
 When some of the hunters, with their dogs, goes into 
 the drive and chases the deer out, we know the places 
 where they will come out ; men stand at them places, 
 and shoot 'ern down as they run by: that is stand 
 huntin', or drivin' for deer ; but onless the man at the 
 stand can hit a streak of lightnin', thar's more fun than 
 meat. To be sure, good dogs may run 'em down and 
 kill 'em ; but they oftener gets clean away, or takes 
 water. This sort of huntin' is for gentlemen who's 
 got a meat-house, and something in it. In still huntin' 
 thar's no dog needed ; you go about whar you know, 
 from experience, the deer feeds, laming to stand as 
 still as a dead tree, and when you move, movin' as 
 light and quick as moonshine from behind a cloud : 
 see quick, step quick, shoot quick, and you'll git meat 
 and skins enuf when deer's plenty. The Injuns most- 
 ly kill deer in this way. Bell huntin' is done when 
 the ground is kivered with snow, as it is now. When 
 the track of a deer is found, or they are started up, a 
 man with a.bell atin klin', like as it were a cow, follows 
 the track, and the rest of the hunters, ridin' or runnin' 
 4
 
 82 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 a good way off, hearin' the bell which way it's gwine, 
 rides or runs off ahead that way, and when the deer, 
 who ain't afeard of the bell, comes along not far before 
 the bell-man, they shoot him down. I don't say nothin' 
 of standin' at a lick in the night, and shootin' 'em down 
 like a steer at a salt-trough ; nor of shinin' their eyes 
 with a light in the dark, caze that's onfair and danger- 
 ous to other critters, as Charley can tell you, Mr. Bal 
 lenger." 
 
 " What if I did kill Huff's old mare ?" said Charley ; 
 " she wara't worth nothin', though I paid for her. 
 You never will forget that, Nat. You used to hunt 
 yourself at night till you got that scare at the burning 
 spring, and sot the Kanawha River on fire." 
 
 " Come, now," said William Henry, " don't be po- 
 king your fun at me. Mr. Charley Vandal, so slyly in 
 that style." 
 
 " It's a fact," said Charley ; " ask Ben ; he knows 
 it's the real truth." 
 
 " He sot the river a fire," said Ben, " that's sartain ; 
 and he said he was scared, but I don't know how that 
 is ; I never seed him so yit, and we've bin together in 
 fixes whar a man's mity apt to show what's in him." 
 
 " If you'd bin with me that night," said Nat, " you'd 
 have believed it, and seed it too. There's no use ly- 
 ing about it : I was scared a little of the worst ; and 
 I had cause to be. If it warn't a ghost or a sperrit, it 
 was somethin' onnat'ral, any how, and I warn't gwine 
 to stand thar in the woods of a dark night by myself, 
 and be done I don't know what to by somethin' that I 
 never seed the like on afore nor since. I was a hunt- 
 in' on the hills, Mr. Ballenger, and had a light along, 
 and I thought I seed somethin's eyes a shinin' in the 
 bushes about a hundred yards from me on the hill side 
 above me ; so I stopped a minit to make sure, and then 
 went on towards it. Every now and then it seemed 
 to shut its eyes, so that I couldn't see 'em for half a 
 minit, and when its eyes was shot it made the most 
 oncommonest, onnat'ralest noise that ever was heard. 
 'Twas like the mixin' of a blacksmith's bellows and the
 
 THE RESCUE. 83 
 
 hissing of a thousand spreadhead snakes. Then its 
 eyes would open, and it seemed to be cotnin' right to- 
 wards me. Agin they shot up, and the noise was 
 worse than ever, and gittin' mity close to me. When 
 they opened, it seemed all but teching me. Just as I 
 raised my gun to fire, it shot up agin, and I could see 
 nothin' but a sort of a wavering mist like, that nobody 
 on arth could take aim at, and the noise begun agin. 
 I know'd, if it travelled as it did when it shot its eyes 
 afore, 'twould be on me, and thar was no time to lose 
 that I must either shoot or run ; but I couldn't see 
 nothin' to aim at, so I cut loose, and let down the hill 
 to the river, and if I didn't leave a streak of light be- 
 hind me, lightnin' never did. I thought, once or twice, 
 I heard it behind me, and close too. I believed I was 
 runnin' my best before, but no man knows how fast he 
 can run till he feels as I did that night. Powell's 
 quarter horse, Catchpenny, couldn't have siled me corn- 
 in' across the Kanawha bottom. I made but one jump 
 from the bank into the dug-out, and like to have went 
 beyant her ; it sent her out like a shot from a shovel. 
 I dashed the light into the water, and seezed the pad- 
 dle. Instead of the water's puttiri' out the light, as I 
 am a livin' man the river kotch'd a fire, and blazed up 
 nearly as high as my head. I didn't paddle slow, I 
 tell ye ; I thought the world was comin' to an eend 
 pretty quick. I never know'd how I got out on that 
 canoe, nor whar I was till I found myself a matter of 
 two miles from the river by Sam Dyer's potater patch. 
 I didn't know then thar was a burnin' spring thar on 
 the bank, and 1 guess, now, as I knows it, that some 
 of the water from that had run down into the river, 
 which kotched a fire from my light instead of squench- 
 in' it." 
 
 " That must have bin it," said Ben, " for common 
 water won't burn, any how you can fix it. But I never 
 could conjectur what it was that first scared you, and 
 gin you sich a race down to the river." 
 
 " Nor I nuther," said Nat. " But you don't catch 
 me night huntin' on that side of the river agin, nor no-
 
 84 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 whar's else by myself, and that's the naked truth. Ever 
 since I'm always joubous and wary like, 'specially in 
 the dark, if I sees or hears anything onnat'ral. That 
 night took more courage out on me than's ever bin put 
 back since." 
 
 " Tain't the lack of courage," said Ben ; " it's a sort 
 of superdition like. Horses has it as well as men. 
 Let one get thoroughly scared in harness, and he nev- 
 er forgits it arterward. It's no use reasonin' with 
 him. When he begins to trimble, it's come upon him, 
 and he runs like Nat across the Kanawha bottom, 
 and is no more fit for harness than Nat is for a night 
 hunt. Why, they say Colonel Will Washington, as 
 brave as all creation, has it so bad that he's obliged to 
 take a nigger boy up behind him, in going in the night 
 from one neighbour's house to another, to keep that 
 feeling from scaring him to death." 
 
 " Well, God knows," said Nat, " I pitys them as has 
 it, as I kotch it that night ; and now, when I sees or 
 hears anything oncommon in the night, I feels it a 
 creepin* over me." 
 
 The hunters had now ascended the precipitous hills 
 near the river, and the dogs, who were well trained, had 
 been trotting behind the party, when Charley Vandal's 
 old Ruler rushed suddenly to the front, and setting up 
 his bristles, began to growl and run forward, and then fly 
 back under the horses' heels. They were on a steep 
 ridge above the western edge of the Shades of Death. 
 
 " Look out," cried Charley : " old Ruler is true as 
 steel nothing but a painter or a wild-cat can bring the 
 old fellow to them capers." 
 
 " Stop him, Charley !" said Ben ; but. before he could 
 even majte the effort, the other dogs were also in front, 
 and they dashed off like a whirlwind. 
 
 Such a crash and yell William Henry had never 
 heard before. Charley Vandal was off in an instant 
 at full speed, cheering the dogs with a halloo that made 
 the woods ring. 
 
 " Hark !" said Nat : " did you hear that rush through 
 the ivy bushes to the right ?"
 
 THE RESCUE. 85 
 
 " Yes," said Ben : " he's waked up scared, and will 
 take a tree if they don't come upon him too quick." 
 
 " What is it?" said William Henry. 
 
 " A painter, sure," said Ben ; " and see, here he got 
 his supper last night, and laid down directly after- 
 ward. Look at his track in the bloody snow ; he's no 
 kitten, I tell ye." 
 
 The snow was all ploughed up, and stained with 
 the blood and entrails of a deer. There lay the horns 
 and legs, and a part of the carcass. This was said 
 and seen as they rode rapidly on in the direction of 
 the dogs. 
 
 " Stop," said Nat. " They've turned, and are coin- 
 in' over the ridge to us like a thunder-gust." 
 
 A moment alter, and all was silent for half a minute, 
 and then such a burst of sound from the dogs as never 
 rang through those woods before. 
 
 " Oh ! that's glorious !" cried William Henry. " It 
 excels all the music I ever heard." 
 
 " He's tuck a tree," said Ben. " When he made 
 his leap, and the dogs come up, they lost the scent, 
 and circled round. But when they found where he 
 was, up in the tree, they told him so, pretty quick and 
 loud, too. Only hear 'em wakin' all creation." 
 
 Onward they rode rapidly towards the dogs, and 
 had got within a hundred yards, when the sharp crack 
 of Charley's rifle was heard, the heavy fall of the an- 
 imal, and the piercing shriek of a dog, and a most sav- 
 age growl. 
 
 " On, boys ! on !" cried Ben, " or there won't be a 
 piece of Charley big enough to bury. He won't stand 
 off and see the dogs die." 
 
 Ben got first to the spot, and there was Charley in 
 the midst of the dogs, within a few feet of the wound- 
 ed, raging animal, with his knife in one hand, and the 
 large limb of a tree, about five feet long, in the other. 
 It was impossible to fire without killing him or the 
 dogs. 
 
 Just as Ben, who had leaped from his horse, ap- 
 proached Charley, and before he could get his hand
 
 86 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 on him to jerk him away, Charley got the stick into 
 the panther's mouth, and leaning forward on it with all 
 his might, and stooping over, could just reach the 
 breast of the beast with his knife. At that instant the 
 stick snapped in two, and he fell forward on the ani- 
 mal ; but so true was his aim with the knife, and so 
 admirable his presence of mind, that he sent the sharp 
 instrument into the very heart of the panther, not with- 
 out receiving a severe wound himself; for as he fell, 
 the panther struck at him with his paw, and raked off 
 his coat-sleeve, shirt, and a part of the flesh from his 
 right arm and shoulder to the elbow. 
 
 Ben pulled him away from the dying animal, and 
 from out the crowd of dogs, who were growling, and 
 shaking, and tugging like infuriated fiends. 
 
 " Why, what's got into you, Charley, to turn fool all 
 at once, and git to clawing with a painter in the woods 
 before anybody could come up to see fair play ?" said 
 Ben. 
 
 " Thar was no time to lose," said Charley : " some- 
 thing turned my ball, and, instead of hitting him in the 
 heart, I shot him through the loins ; and he no sooner 
 tech'd the ground than the dogs was on him. He 
 made the fur fly, I tell ye. Didn't you hear old Ru- 
 ler cry out for help ? I couldn't stand that." 
 
 " If you had no time to lose, you had a life to lose, 
 and you've come off mity well, I tell ye, with that rag- 
 ged coat-sleeve. Why, boy, he's tore your arm, too, 
 and spiled your fiddling, I fear, for one Christmas." 
 
 " It's nothing but a scratch," said Charley, " and I'd 
 have given half the flesh on my arm to save Ruler 
 from his infernal claws. Whar is the old dog? I fear 
 he's hurt worse than I am." 
 
 " Thar he lies," said Nat : " he's gin his life to save 
 yourn. It's all over with him ; thar he lies, with his 
 entrails torn out, a dying, and yit he's looking right up 
 in your face." 
 
 Charley turned to the dying hound, who, so soon as 
 he saw his master's eyes upon him, wagged his tail 
 and attempted to crawl to his feet, and actually expi-
 
 TUB RESCUE. 87 
 
 red in the effort. Charley Vandal bent over him, burst 
 into tears, and sobbed like a child. 
 
 Ben, in an under tone, said to William Henry, 
 
 " That boy'll lose his life some day for a dog, or 
 some gal that he thinks has her feelings insulted. 
 When his heart's tech'd he forgits that he has but one 
 life to lose." 
 
 Nat Colly had stretched the panther out to see his 
 size and form. The dogs were lying panting on the 
 snow, cold as it was. 
 
 At last Charley said, looking at the panther, 
 
 " He shall rot without a skin, any how, darn his in- 
 fernal soul." 
 
 "He ought to give you his jacket to mend yourn, 
 Charley," said Ben : " so let's off with it, boys. Char- 
 ley, you ain't to tech a knife agin to-day ; come here, 
 and let me bind up your arm." 
 
 This he did, and taking out his own handkerchief, 
 made a sling, into which he placed Charley's arm. 
 
 " Now set down on that log, with Master Will, and 
 see how nicely Nat and I will onrip that gentleman's 
 yallcr jacket thar," said Ben, pointing to the panther. 
 
 It was surprising to see with what dexterous rapid- 
 ity they flayed the animal, leaving the claws attached 
 to the skin. It was then fastened on Charley's mare, 
 behind the saddle, and the party mounted and moved 
 slowly away. 
 
 William Henry had loaded Charley's rifle, and of- 
 fered to carry it, and insisted on it, but Charley would 
 not permit it. 
 
 " Well, boys," said Nat, " we can bell a deer or 
 two, I reckon, a little furder on, if this mulatter devil 
 that Charley's kilt hain't scared 'em all off. Charley 
 and I will ride together ; my horse carries a bell equal 
 to any cow. The cry of the dogs has roused 'em, and 
 we shall find tracks enough in the snow. We must 
 keep the dogs back, though, or we shall see no meat." 
 
 " Let 'em follow me," said Ben ; " there are no 
 young 'uns among 'em, to be rattling ther tongues like 
 boys and gals when the old folks leaves 'em alone."
 
 88 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 He got down and put a small leather collar around 
 the neck of Rover. Every dog seemed to understand 
 this, for they slunk to the rear of old Skewbald, and 
 followed his heels as if they had been in slips or lead- 
 ing-strings. 
 
 They had not gone more than half a mile when Nat 
 said, " Here's the track of a deer making off in a long 
 lope. Come, Charley, let's follow him, and Mr. Bal- 
 lenger and Ben can make the circle as they hear the 
 bell." 
 
 He took the bell from his pocket and attached it to 
 his horse's neck, and the parties separated. Nat and 
 Charley followed the track, and Ben Bramble and 
 William Henry remained stationary. 
 
 After some time, when the sound of the bell became 
 indistinct from distance, Ben said, " Hear that ! hear 
 that ! Nat has made a sign, by a shake of the bell, 
 that he sees the deer. Now we must ride for it away 
 in front of whar the bell is going." 
 
 Off they went at a rapid pace through the woods, 
 followed by the dogs. In a little time the distinct 
 sound of the bell denoted its approach. 
 
 " Stand on this ridge, and if he comes on either side 
 or on the ridge, and you keep a sharp look-out, you 
 will see him. Look and listen, though he makes 
 mity little noise he'll pass one or t'other, sure." 
 
 As the sound of the bell came nearer and nearer, 
 William's heart began to beat, and, turning his head a 
 little to the left, he saw in the open woods the form 
 of the beautiful, agile creature, about a hundred yards 
 from him, bounding lightly over the bushes, then stop- 
 ping to listen, then again clearing the copse so lightly 
 that it made no noise. It was approaching obliquely, 
 so that it would pass very near. William could now 
 hear his own heart beat. Now it is within thirty paces. 
 He raised his gun and fired. Away darted the deer. 
 A moment after, he heard the sharp report of Ben's 
 rifle. Mounting his horse, he rode to the spot where 
 Ben was standing. 
 
 " Where is the deer ?" said William.
 
 THE RESCUE. 89 
 
 " I mought ax you that," said Ben. " I see you fire 
 at him when you could all but tech him with yer 
 gun." 
 
 " I missed him, however," said William Henry. 
 " It is amazing ; I would have laid any wager that I 
 should have hit his heart, and didn't touch him at all.'" 
 
 " I know'd how it would be the first time you seed 
 one in the woods," said Ben. " You looked at him, 
 but forgot to look along the gunbarrel. Well, yonder 
 he lies in the hollow." 
 
 " This is astonishing ; he was running like the wind, 
 bounding high into the air at every leap, and was at 
 least seventy yards off' from you," said William. 
 
 " Practice," said Ben, " makes parfect. You'll do 
 better next time. Most young men has the buck-ager 
 the first time they see a deer comin' towards them, if 
 they've got a gun in their hands." 
 
 Up came the bell-men. 
 
 " Whar's the meat?" said Nat. 
 
 " This young man said he seed it ; ax him," said 
 Ben. 
 
 " It's no use," said Charley : " I had two fair shots 
 within forty yards when I first begun, and didn't touch 
 a hair." 
 
 " That's some comfort," said William, " for I missed 
 the deer standing still not thirty yards from me ; but 
 Ben here brought him down at full speed seventy yards 
 off, I should think. Isn't it ?" said William to Char- 
 ley, pointing to the deer. 
 
 " Fully," said Charley ; " nearer eighty, I guess." 
 
 William got off" his horse and stepped the distance 
 to the deer, and cried out, when he reached it, "Sev- 
 enty-six yards." 
 
 " Why, that's nothing for Ben ; he'd have hit him 
 just as sure at a hundred," said Nat: " I've seed him 
 do it often." 
 
 The deer was disembowelled, and hung up to a sap- 
 ling bent down, which, rising again, suspended the 
 deer above the reach of the wolves. Nat said, " We'll 
 have another, presently ; I crossed the track of one 
 4*
 
 
 90 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 making down this ridge not half a mile back ; so come 
 on." 
 
 On they went, as in the pursuit of the first ; but in- 
 stead of one, there were two deer. And William Hen- 
 ry was so fortunate this time as to kill a fine buck. 
 The doe was wounded at a great distance by Ben, 
 who then let slip the dogs, which caught it in less 
 than a mile from the place where she was shot. The 
 party now returned to the ferry, well satisfied with the 
 day's sport. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WE must now return to Polly M'Cloud and the 
 man who was seen with her at the ferry. From 
 the time of Isaac Forster's last visit to this woman, 
 he had determined to remove her by some mefens 
 from the neighbourhood of Lewisburg, the scene 
 of her wickedness and his. He feared lest she 
 might be induced, in some paroxysm of anger or 
 remorse, or in some fit of intoxication, to tell tales, 
 even at the risk of her own life, which might be 
 attended with serious consequences to him might 
 affect at least his fair fame. He had good reason 
 to know that she loved money, for she already had 
 made use of her secret to extort it from him, and 
 he thought it probable that she might take it into 
 her head to demand more than he was willing to 
 give. 
 
 Isaac did not like extortion from himself. He 
 had seen, or thought he had seen, some signs that 
 she did not think herself too old to marry again. 
 He determined, therefore, to take advantage of 
 Polly's feelings to save both his reputation and his 
 money. He invited to an interview with him a cer- 
 tain man of industrious habits "but of rather sus-
 
 THE RESCUE. 91 
 
 picious character, who was occasionally seen in 
 that part of the country, and then disappeared for 
 months. Nobody knew where he lived. Perhaps 
 at that time Isaac did not, though we strongly sus- 
 pect he did. 
 
 Isaac began the conversation, which was held at 
 his own house, at night, by saying that he was 
 the executor of an old man whose widow greatly 
 needed and wanted a protector and a home at pres- 
 ent ; that, so soon as he could have the lands to 
 which the old man had been entitled surveyed, his 
 widow would have for her portion more land than 
 she had any idea of; that she was quite well-look- 
 ing, much younger than her husband had been, and 
 he thought would marry again if a suitable offer 
 should be made ; that he had a small sum of money 
 to send her by any friend who would undertake to 
 carry it, and if that friend should be pleased with 
 the widow M'Cloud, he might, in all probability, 
 take her home with him instead of bringing her to 
 his'house, to which, if she did not find some pro- 
 tector, it would be necessary to invite her. 
 
 Isaac said it was very convenient and safe for 
 men who carried on certain trades to have their 
 cooking and washing done by a worthy woman at 
 home. It saved expense, and that was a great 
 thing, without taking into the consideration the 
 pleasure of female society and the comfort of a 
 good wife ; that this lady, he believed, could keep 
 a secret, a rare quality in man or woman ; that she 
 was of a very domestic turn, and loved to stay al- 
 ways at home. 
 
 " Now," said Isaac, " if any friend of mine should 
 not be sufficiently pleased with this lady to marry 
 her, but would offer her a home in his house, and 
 his protection, I will support her till her land is al- 
 lotted to her ; and, in the mean time, his friend 
 would have the pleasure of her society, and the 
 cooking and washing done gratis." 
 
 While Mr. Forster was thus programming, his
 
 92 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 friend watched the expressions of his face like a di- 
 plomatist, expecting to understand him rather from 
 them than from those of his tongue. 
 
 " I'm your man," said he to Isaac : " marry or no 
 marry, she'll suit me exactly. There is no visit- 
 ing at my house, and the woman that goes there 
 will have to stay, whether she likes it or not. The 
 one that I had last, and the only one, never set her 
 foot over the door-sill till she died. Women ought 
 to stay at home and mind their business. Out-door 
 work has to be done by men ; and many of them 
 are hardly to be trusted, let alone women." 
 
 " True," said Isaac. " But you had better not tell 
 her all that, though, till you get her home." 
 
 "Devil a word," replied his friend: "I know 
 women too well for that, friend Isaac. Let them 
 see nothing but the bait till the trap falls that's 
 the way to work it." 
 
 "There's good judgment in that," said Mr. For- 
 ster. "But what is to be the bait 1" 
 
 "How can you look at me, Mr. Forster, and ask 
 that question 1 Why, my likely self, and a plenty 
 of truth and lies, too, if need be, of what I can do 
 for her ; what a nice place I've got, and your 
 friendship into the bargain, Mr. Forster." 
 
 " Well," said Forster, " you may add a couple 
 of hundred dollars to yourself, my friend, to buy 
 new furniture, so soon as I know you have the bird 
 in the cage." 
 
 " I'll do it to a certainty," said the man, " wheth- 
 er she's willing or not. They will hardly let you 
 kiss them, you know, sometimes, without a little 
 struggle a little force : they like it in men. Be- 
 sides, I have business up in Greenbrier ; part of 
 my tools are there, and I was just going after 
 them." 
 
 " Well," said Isaac, "bring her here first, if you 
 like, provided she takes the bait, and comes will 
 ingly ; if not, you'll have to wait till she gets in the 
 humour."
 
 THE RESCUE. 93 
 
 " Or," said Isaac's friend, " till I run away with 
 her." 
 
 "There will be no need," replied Isaac. 
 
 "Widows make up their minds very quickly 
 when a tempting offer is made by a likely man, 
 especially if they are a little oldish, as I suppose 
 she is," said Isaac's friend. "I'll lay you a wager 
 of fifty dollars I carry her straight home in three 
 weeks." 
 
 " Done !" said Isaac, " and fifty more, if you dare. 
 I don't doubt but that you'll do it in time ; but in 
 three weeks bless me why, that's too short a 
 time to court, and marry, and carry home even a 
 widow." 
 
 "I hold you to the bet," said the man. "Mind, 
 a hundred in addition to the two hundred if the 
 thing's fixed, leaving out the marrying, if I see 
 cause, in three weeks from this day 1" 
 
 "Agreed," said Isaac; "and you are to let me 
 know, that I may come to the infair." 
 
 "I'll let you know; but as for the infair, I can't 
 afford that." 
 
 "Then I must take the will for the deed," said 
 Isaac. "And now, my friend, I must make you 
 acquainted with some of Mrs. M'Cloud's fanciful 
 notions, that you may be the better prepared to 
 carry out your little plan for her advantage and 
 comfort. She thinks that a man never goes near 
 a woman, or looks at her, or pays her the least at- 
 tention, unless he is prompted by certain feelings, 
 which women call love. They have so much of 
 that in their own hearts towards us, that it is natu- 
 ral for them to think the same of us. When they 
 look at a man, it is always either to know whether 
 they can love him or let him love them. Mrs. 
 M'Cloud's husband was much older than she is, and 
 for several years before his death gave all his love 
 to the bottle, so that you may say she has been a 
 widow, in fact, for several years. She had a daugh- 
 ter, quite a nice young woman to look at, to whom
 
 94 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 that wild young scamp, Harry Dunton, made love ; 
 and the rascal succeeded in gaining her love, and 
 in making her believe that he intended to marry 
 her ; but instead of that, he took advantage of her 
 feelings, and after gratifying his passion, left her, 
 and has gone off nobody knows where. The girl 
 had a child, and both she and it died immediately 
 after its birth. Now Mrs. M'Cloud believes, and 
 will believe to the day of her death, that every man 
 who paid the least attention to that pretty daugh- 
 ter of hers was in love with her ; that even I, who 
 was there only occasionally on business with the 
 father in his lifetime, flirted with Catharine ; and 
 in order to please my vanity, or her own, I don't 
 know which, throws out hints that I may have been 
 the father of Dunton's child. She may have her 
 private views, and deeper, too, in this I can't tell 
 what perhaps to get a present from me now and 
 then .is the amount of it all. I give you this in- 
 formation, that you may make any of these circum- 
 stances work for you in your intercourse with her. 
 It is perfectly vain, and utterly useless, either to 
 contradict her, or to gainsay any of these fancies; 
 for if she takes a thing into her head, and only 
 imagines it, either in regard to her late husband's 
 faults or failings, or her daughter's charms or lov- 
 ers, she'll swear to it." 
 
 "I understand I see it all," said Mr. Forster's 
 friend. " I'll abuse the old man and praise the 
 daughter, dead though they be, to her heart's con- 
 tent ; and swear, too, that you must have been the 
 father of Dunton's child, if it is necessary to come 
 round her." 
 
 "She hated Dunton," said Isaac, "and dec. ares 
 that he was no more the father of Catharine's child 
 than she was ; that her daughter never took up 
 with such trash as Harry Dunton. If, after all, she 
 should refuse to come with you, you might hint 
 that the money sent was only to bear her expenses, 
 and pay off any little debts j that I had a consider-
 
 THE RESCUE. 95 
 
 able sum here for her on her arrival ; and, besides 
 that, I want to consult her about the lands, and to 
 learn from her on which of the tracts she would 
 like her dower to be assigned. As there are no 
 houses on the lands, she would have to stay here 
 (for her rent where she lives is due, and the lease 
 out already), and she might take it into her head 
 that your humble servant, on better acquaintance, 
 might be pleased with the mother as well as she 
 fancied he was with the daughter. Wilder notions 
 have entered the heads of some women. They like 
 to have two strings to their bow, and we might as 
 well have two to ours. This will be better than 
 the little force you hinted at better than running 
 away with the lady." 
 
 " Mr. Forster," said his friend, "you are quite 
 too deep for me. As the lady has such valuable 
 lands, and you are the executor, I begin to fear 
 that, if I bring her here, you might make love to 
 her or the lands in earnest, and cut me out ; so I 
 shall try to be beforehand with you, and mean to 
 court her in the way a widow should be courted, 
 not forgetting that the cooking and washing, which 
 I shall keep to myself, are more necessary to me than 
 to you. How far does she live from Lewisburgl" 
 
 "Not more than three miles to the northeast," 
 said Isaac. " If the thing cannot be managed other- 
 wise, the miserable cabin in which she lives might, 
 while you are there, catch on fire some night, and 
 you might save her life by dragging her out of the 
 flames. Women are very grateful creatures, and 
 she might marry you from gratitude, if not for love." 
 
 " Or," said his friend, " might be driven for shel- 
 ter to your hospitable roof, Mr. Forster. Well, I 
 must say, and it is no flattery, sir, that you are a 
 great man a truly great man. Good-by, sirj I 
 shall be off to-morrow." 
 
 " Success attend you," said Isaac j " here are ten 
 dollars for Mrs. M'Cloud, with my compliments 
 and best wishes."
 
 96 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 While these persons were thus concerting plans 
 for the future comfort and accommodation of the 
 widow M'Cloud, Richard Winter, alias Peter Wil- 
 cox, alias Joe Swinton, &c., &c. for this gentle- 
 man had an assortment of names, from which it had 
 been, and might be again, convenient to select one 
 for temporary use had looked into the wavering, 
 wandering eyes of Isaac Forster, and read his char- 
 acter. He knew, before this interview, that Isaac 
 loved money, and was not over-scrupulous as to 
 the means of making it ; but he now knew not only 
 that, but that, to save his money and to make more, 
 and to guard his reputation, there was nothing, ab- 
 solutely nothing, which he would not do ; that he 
 was artful, deeply designing, and disposed to use 
 other men as mere instruments for the accomplish- 
 ment of his purposes, whatever they might be ; and 
 he arrived at the conclusiojj, and rightly, too, that 
 Mrs. M'Cloud was in possession of some means or 
 secret of deep interest to Isaac ; that she was to 
 be conciliated, or put in a situation where she could 
 not give publicity to something that he greatly 
 wished to be forever concealed. 
 
 Joe Swinton, therefore, determined to penetrate 
 this mystery for his own advantage. He was re- 
 solved, if possible, to have some hold on Isaac 
 which should bind him to Joe Swinton ; and in this 
 resolution he found still stronger motives to urge 
 his suit with the widow. Should he succeed, he 
 doubted not that, in some unguarded hour, or in 
 some moment of tenderness, he could take advan- 
 tage of the " mollia temporal to steal into her heart, 
 and possess himself of its hidden secrets. 
 
 Isaac Forster knew this man only as a counter- 
 feiter and forger, whose home, wherever it might 
 be, was not accessible to the world not visited by 
 any except his confederates; and if he could get 
 Mrs. M'Cloud into their dwelling, and acquainted 
 with their trade, he would have tolerable security 
 for her privacy and silence. But Richard Winter,
 
 THE RESCUE. 97 
 
 alias Joe Swinton, was in some respects as great a 
 man as Isaac. He was an Englishman who had 
 held some place in the mint had been convicted 
 of some delict or delinquency in relation to mon- 
 ey had made his escape to America, and now, in 
 a smaller way, was furnishing the people of the 
 West with a circulating medium of specie and pa- 
 per, which he was so kind as to manufacture with 
 his own hands. It was certainly as sightly and as 
 intrinsically valuable as that which has been issued 
 by chartered companies and corporations sanction- 
 ed by law; yet legislators punished the former and 
 shielded the latter from punishment by positive en- 
 actments. The only real moral difference was, 
 that Joe Swinton cheated on a more limited scale 
 than they for himself and a few others ; while the 
 officers of these large counterfeiting institutions 
 cheated for many as well as themselves. They 
 were more liberal in supplying the people, lived 
 in finer houses, and sported finer carriages and 
 clothes ; but in all other respects, it is strange such 
 difference should be made "between Tweedledum 
 and Tweedledee." 
 
 Joe Swinton had seen much of the world had 
 read the book of human nature, a volume which 
 reveals more depravity, wickedness, and crime 
 than has ever been sketched in all the works of fic- 
 tion that have ever been written. In this, it may 
 be said that " truth is stranger than fiction." He 
 had seen so much vice, such an ever-rolling under- 
 current of deceit, hypocrisy, and lies, beneath the 
 stream of fair and plausible life so much sin in 
 seeming saints, that the very face of virtue seemed 
 to him only a mask to hide the hideous features of 
 vice. It is no wonder, then, that he looked beneath 
 the surface for the real motives of Isaac Forster. 
 Swinton was quite a handsome man, if features rath- 
 er than expression can make a human being hand- 
 some. He was about thirty-five years old, and pos- 
 sessed of a large stock of self-confidence and
 
 98 NEW HOPE ; OK, 
 
 whiskers, both of which are thought to increase a 
 gentleman's chances of success with the ladies. A 
 few days after his interview with Mr. Forster, Joe 
 Swinton, which we prefer to call him, though he 
 most commonly called himself Richard Winter, 
 well dressed, and with money in both pockets, ar- 
 rived at Lewisburg, and contrived to notify Mrs. 
 M'Cloud that a gentleman, a friend of Mr. Isaac 
 Forster, would call on her the next day. He was 
 true to his appointment, as people generally are 
 when they expect that punctuality will advance 
 their important interests I mean those in which 
 their feelings are most concerned. He found Mrs. 
 M'Cloud a better-looking woman that he expected, 
 dressed in deep, but plain mourning. There was 
 something, however, about the cap and neck-dress 
 that, to the practised eye of a man who had lived 
 in London, told that, although she was a widow, 
 she thought of being a wife ; that, although she 
 might still mourn for her buried husband, she could 
 be moved to take pity on living men j and he thought 
 he could see lurking in one corner of her eye the 
 slight shadow of personal vanity. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mrs. M'Cloud," said he. "I 
 promised my friend Forster to give you a call while 
 in this neighbourhood, and hand you this trifle" 
 (disengaging the ten-dollar note from what seem- 
 ed to her a large bundle of bank-notes), "with his 
 compliments, madam. Richard Winter is my 
 name." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, Mr. Winter," said she, 
 receiving the note and courtesying. " Take a seat, 
 sir, if you please. It is very kind of Mr. Forster 
 to remember a lone woman like me," she said, with 
 a smile, as she surveyed his fair proportions and 
 fine whiskers. 
 
 "Upon my word," said he, fixing his eyes upon 
 her with as much admiration as they could express, 
 "I must give Isaac a lecture for deceiving me so 
 completely. Only think, madam, of his telling me
 
 THE RESCUE. 99 
 
 that you were quite an elderly lady, and that I should 
 run into no danger in delivering his message. Con- 
 found the fellow, he must think that everybody is as 
 cold-hearted as he is himself." 
 
 " Law ! now, Mr. Winter, you men are such flatter- 
 ers can hardly look at a lady without trying to put 
 some nonsense into her head." 
 
 " 'Pon my soul, madam, you do me wrong. I am no 
 flatterer I despise the character ; but I must candidly 
 say it, I am an admirer of the ladies." 
 
 "Here, Nancy," said Mrs. M'Cloud, "bring some 
 fresh water. I can offer you nothing, sir, this cold 
 day but a drop of rye whiskey." 
 
 She went to a cupboard, and brought out a bottle 
 and tumbler, and a sugar-dish and teaspoon. 
 
 " Why, madam," said Mr. Winter, " that is the most 
 wholesome spirit, and when qualified with a little su- 
 gar and water, very palatable too. Permit me to mix 
 you, madam, just a little ; I shall feel as if I was doing 
 wrong to indulge alone in your house." 
 
 " I scarcely ever taste a drop" replied the widow ; 
 " but, for the sake of good company, I will take a very 
 little to make you welcome, Mr. Winter." 
 
 He mixed it, if mixing it could be called when he 
 put at least fifty parts of spirit to one of water, but he 
 did not spare the sugar, and handed it to the lady with 
 great grace. She sipped a little, and returned the tum- 
 bler to him. 
 
 " I need not drink to your health or good looks, my 
 dear madam," said he, raising the glass to his mouth, 
 '* but I do drink to your happiness, and to our better ac- 
 quaintance and friendship." So saying, he emptied 
 the glass. 
 
 " Now don't be talking so to me," said the widow ; 
 " are you not afraid I should believe you to be in ear- 
 nest? Oh ! Mr. Winter, you men are too bad." 
 
 "In earnest, madam 1 I never was more so in my 
 life ; and as a proof of it, I, who have seen much of 
 the world, and know the value of punctuality, promised 
 
 gentleman in Lewisburg, with whom I have business,
 
 100 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 that I would not be absent two minutes, and I've been 
 here half an hour," said Mr. Winter, pulling out his 
 watch, which was a very showy one. 
 
 "Bless me," said the widow, "you are in a great 
 hurry," as he took up his hat to depart. " I hoped 
 you would spend the day with me ; but this is a lone- 
 some place, sir, for a gentleman, I suppose." 
 
 " I'll prove to you, madam, that I do not think so, if 
 you will permit me, for I have business that will detain 
 me some time in this neighbourhood, and I shall cer- 
 tainly trouble you with a call whenever I can. Lone- 
 some place indeed ! no place is lonesome where we 
 meet with a cheerful, pleasant, fine-looking woman. 
 I pity the man, I must say it for it is the truth that 
 would be lonesome here." 
 
 " How you do talk !" said the widow. " Well, I sup- 
 pose I must pretend to believe it all, and ask you to 
 call, Mr. Winter, whenever you can. How long, sir, 
 will you be in this neighbourhood ?" 
 
 '" That will now depend on circumstances ; but a 
 week or two, certainly. How far, madam, does the 
 widow Smith live from you ? and, by-the-vvay, is she 
 young and handsome ?" 
 
 " Not far off, sir," said Mrs. M'Cloud. " She's 
 young enough, to be sure, but, in rny opinion, not at all 
 handsome or agreeable. If you will go, Mr. Winter, 
 I hope I shall see more of you, if you will only restrain 
 that flattering tongue of yours. Suppose you come and 
 eat a bit of dinner with me to-morrow ?" 
 
 " With all pleasure in the world, madam ; but I warn 
 you that I shall bring my teeth as well as my tongue, 
 and you will have more reason to complain of them 
 than of it, I assure you ; so fare you well, madam, 
 till to-morrow." 
 
 She kindly presented her hand, and when Mr. Win- 
 ter released it, there could be seen on the widow's face 
 an expression of surprise and pleasure. Why the 
 mere shaking of hands should have excited such feel- 
 ings, we cannot tell. As he rode away, the widow 
 M'Cloud drew a long breath, which was very like a 
 sigh, and said to herself,
 
 THE RESCUE. 101 
 
 " Well ! this Mr. Winter is one of the likeliest, and 
 politest, and most agreeable men I ever saw in my life, 
 and I've seen many smart men too. He's so sociable, 
 and easy, and gentlemanly in his manners. But oh 
 my ! what a tongue ! I wonder what in the world he's 
 going to see that primpish, forward, ugly thing, the 
 widow Smith, for ? I'll declare he made ine feel I 
 hardly know how, it's been so long since I felt so be- 
 fore. Nancy, come here ; get ready to go to Lewis- 
 burg ; bring out the old horse, and put on your new 
 dress afterward while I am writing a note to Miss Sal- 
 ly Tomkins ; and get the big basket that we carry 
 things to market in. Put the things that you buy I'll 
 tell you what in the bottom, and the things that she 
 gives you in the bandbox on the top." 
 
 Nancy went to Lewisburg, and returned in the even- 
 ing. What was brought back in the basket I do not 
 know, and the only clew to what the bandbox contained 
 is a speech that Miss Sally Tomkins made as she was 
 putting some of them into it, after hearing that a strange 
 man had been to Mrs. M'Cloud's, and was to dine there 
 on the morrow ; but she might have been influenced 
 by envy or ill-nature, or the mere love of talking, and, 
 therefore, might have mentioned things which she did 
 not put into the bandbox. 
 
 " Well, I do declare," said she, as she did put some 
 things into it, " only to think of old Polly M'Cloud's 
 wearing these things ! and her husband's not been dead 
 long enough to get cold in his grave ! The old wom- 
 an must be in her dotage, to be thinking of the men at 
 her time of life. Why, these strings would be almost 
 too gay for me .'" Sally Tomkins was only forty-eight, 
 whereas the widow M'Cloud was forty-nine. " A lace 
 tucker, side curls, and silk gloves and stockings !" con- 
 tinued she. " Good Lord ! if old Billy M'Cloud's 
 ghost don't rise to-morrow, a ghost never had cause to 
 rise. If I thought that when I got old, I should turn 
 such a fool as that, I'd pray to die while I'm young, in- 
 I would."
 
 102 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DID it ever occur to any of my very numerous gentle 
 readers, that 
 
 " When lovely woman stoops to folly, 
 And finds, too late, that men betray," 
 
 she is the victim of her own passions, and that the 
 men are only the devil's instrument willing ones, I 
 admit of her downfall ? Our own passions are our 
 own seducers from the path of rectitude, and virtue, 
 and happiness. What an awful truth is implied in 
 " Lead us not into temptation" the wisest of all suppli- 
 cations ! 
 
 It is not wonderful that Richard Winter should have 
 proved a temptation too strong to be resisted by the 
 weak head and the strong and willing passions of Pol- 
 ly M'Cloud. The devil only availed himself of Isaac 
 Forster and Richard Winter to accomplish her utler 
 destruction. Notwithstanding the horrible crime she 
 had committed in the murder of her own grandchild, 
 led on to it by Forster's declaration that when little 
 children die they go straight to heaven, and urged by 
 the desire of concealing her daughter's shame, and still 
 more by pride, that sin which caused even angels to 
 fall, from my soul I did pity her when, on the sixth 
 day succeeding that mentioned in the last chapter, I 
 saw Polly M'Cloud, heated with food and whiskey, and 
 gross adulation, seated, after dinner, by the fire in that 
 wretched cabin, with the counterfeiter's arm around her 
 waist, and his cheek pressed to hers. The rest need 
 hardly be told. There was no necessity for his resort- 
 ing to any of the alternatives suggested by Isaac For- 
 ster in case of one passion's proving too weak to drag 
 her down to the accomplishment of their designs, and 
 to perdition.
 
 THE RESCUE. 103 
 
 In less than a fortnight all the little personal proper- 
 ty of this woman was sold, the money in the pocket 
 of her dear, dear Mr. Winter, the cabin deserted, and 
 she on her way with him to she knew not whither ; 
 and so blinded was she by her passion for him, that 
 when he stated to her that it was absolutely necessary 
 to his safety that he should take off his finery, and trav- 
 el in the disguise and miserable style in which they 
 presented themselves at the ferry-house on the snowy 
 evening preceding the hunt by William Henry Ballen- 
 ger, it did not open her eyes to his character or her 
 own situation. She unhesitatingly agreed to accompa- 
 ny him, and it was they who appeared at the ferry- 
 house as we have related. 
 
 This total self-abandonment of woman, when one 
 passion usurps the empire of her soul, would be one of 
 the greatest mysteries of our nature, if its cause had 
 not been revealed by the Almighty himself. In the 
 Bible, the blessed revelation of God's holy will to men, 
 we learn why and wherefore it is thus. Listening to 
 lies, and " beguiled" by them, as she herself declared 
 in the presence of her Creator, the mother of mankind 
 exercised the power of temptation over man, and caus- 
 ed his fall. The bitter fruit is now returned to her 
 own lips. Man not only beguileth woman, but it is 
 denounced against her, " Thy desire shall be to thy 
 husband, and he shall rule over thee." Is it not so 1 
 Is not her desire to him who now succeeds in tempting 
 her to taste the apple of love or lust ? Does he not 
 rule over her 1 Look at the conduct of woman, in all 
 other respects wise, and prudent, and cautious ; let 
 man but excite her desire, and she becomes foolish, 
 rash, and reckless. The feeling by which she is gui- 
 ded, for good or for evil, is truly expressed in the 
 words of the poet: 
 
 " I know not, I care not, if guilt's in that heart : 
 I know but I love thee, whatever thou art." 
 
 Do any of my fair female readers tremble at this ex- 
 hibition of the truth ? Let them recollect that the de
 
 104 NEW HOPE ; OB, 
 
 nunciations of God are made in mercy to man. Is it 
 not a blessing rather than a curse to men who labour 
 in honest and innocent callings, that it was denounced 
 to the father of the human race, " In the sweat of thy 
 face shalt thou eat bread ?" It is a curse to the coun- 
 terfeiter, and to all engaged in illicit, sinful modes of 
 gaining their bread. So in the denunciation against 
 woman : if her desire is wrongly directed, or to an un- 
 worthy object, who can tell the misery she is doomed 
 to suffer and to inflict ? But when rightly directed, 
 and to a worthy object, who can declare the bliss she 
 enjoys, the bliss she confers ? " Her price is far above 
 rubies ; she is a crown to her husband ; tho heart of 
 her husband doth safely trust in her. She will do 
 him good, and not evil, all the days of her life ;" and 
 these blessings conferred on her husband secure her 
 own happiness. We cannot minister to the happiness 
 of others without promoting our own ; we cannot sin 
 against others without sinning still more against our 
 selves. Mrs. M'Cloud was not a woman that feared 
 the Lord; hence her desire was to a wicked man, and 
 in wickedness he ruled over her. She had it not 
 bound to her heart that " Favour is deceitful and beau- 
 ty is vain, but a woman that feareth the Lord, she 
 shall be praised." 
 
 After passing the ferry, nothing more was seen of 
 them together. They returned not to Greenbrier, nei- 
 ther did they visit the house of Isaac Forster ; yet we 
 know, from some conversation between him and an- 
 other person, that their designs were fully accomplish- 
 ed, and that she was entrapped, and made the misera- 
 ble drudge of an unprincipled villain. 
 
 Three or four days after they passed the ferry, a 
 man arrived at Isaac Forster's after nightfall. His 
 knock at the door was answered by Isaac's asking, in 
 a low tone, 
 
 " Whafs the time of day ?" 
 
 The reply from without was, 
 
 " One o'clock^ 
 
 The door opened, and as the man entered, Isaac said,
 
 THE RESCtTE. 105 
 
 "I thought Dixon was with you." 
 
 " Didn't I answer ' One o'clock?'" said the man. 
 
 " Yes, you did not say two o'clock, I know, but I 
 thought, maybe, you did not think it of any conse- 
 quence to mind the number anywhere except at home." 
 
 " I tell the truth to keep in practice," said the man. 
 " It's so apt to be forgotten : it slips away from one so 
 easily, you know, like accuracy in shooting at a mark." 
 
 " Well, let's see you take a crack now," said Isaac. 
 
 " Here goes, then, right to the mark," said the man. 
 " Mr. Isaac Forster, you owe me three hundred dol- 
 lars." 
 
 " Haven't hit the mark," said Isaac. " In the first 
 place, how do I know that the bird's in the cage ? In 
 the next, if I knew that, it's only two hundred." 
 
 " The devil it is ! Where's the bet of fifty on three 
 weeks that you dared me to double, and I did 1" 
 
 " Oh ! that was only a joke, you know," said Isaac. 
 
 " Mr. Forster, you are getting terribly out of prac- 
 tice, to shoot so wide of the mark," said the man, 
 scowling on Isaac with a frown as black as night or 
 as the heart of either of them. " Try again, sir." 
 
 " Well, if you were in earnest, and mean to hold me 
 to it, we won't quarrel about that," said Isaac. 
 
 " That'll do ; in the bull's eye this time, friend For- 
 ster; but it's only an accident, for you know that Dix- 
 on was not with me, and that the bird is in the cage. 
 Dixon was here last night, and told you all; and I 
 can hit the mark again, Mr. Forster, when I am watch- 
 ed, and reported every day by Dixon or some other. 
 I take care, also, to know what other people are about. 
 I could even now go straight to the centre as to what 
 a certain gentleman, ten days ago, while I was in 
 Greenbrier, gave to Tom Hockley to transfer to him a 
 certain tract of land, which the said Hockley could 
 not pay for." 
 
 Isaac stared at the man for a moment, and said, 
 
 " Well, Joe, you are a keen fellow a man of business 
 
 of the right sort. I've been only sounding the bottom 
 
 deep deep just such as I like. Here's your three 
 
 5
 
 106 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 hundred ; I wish I could afford to make it three thou- 
 sand. Now, as we, have settled our business, tell me 
 how you managed so soon with the widow." 
 
 " Why, it was the easiest job I ever undertook 
 never earned three hundred so easily in all my prac- 
 tice." 
 
 '' What was the bait ?" 
 
 " How can you look at me and ask that question, 
 Mr. Forster ?" 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Forster ; " your whiskers settled 
 the business ; and a fine pair they are, I must admit." 
 
 " There was no nibbling, Mr. Forster. I looked 
 love, told her she was handsome, and that I could not 
 withstand the charms of a handsome woman. The 
 old woman seized the bait like a hungry pike, and 
 gorged it immediately. Her own vanity, my flattery, 
 and a little whiskey, made me a happy man the sec- 
 ond day that I saw your mother-in-law, friend For- 
 ster." 
 
 " What ! she's been attempting to thrust that lie 
 down your throat already ? Well, I suppose I must 
 humour Mrs. what shall I call her ?" said Isaac. 
 
 " Call her by her own name Polly M'Cloud, Mr. 
 Forster. I shall never cheat her out of that, nor her 
 dower either ; it is in safer hands." 
 
 " Oh, you wicked deceiver," said Isaac : " see, now, 
 what it is to have a fine person, London manners, and 
 an eloquent tongue." 
 
 Joe Swinton had a weak point in his character (who 
 has not ?), and Isaac had discovered it. He was vain 
 of his person, and his successes as a man of gallantry. 
 Isaac knew, also, that he loved wine as well as wom- 
 en. He therefore produced the former, or something 
 that, with those who drink, answered as well, and in 
 a short time the counterfeiter was in excellent spirits, 
 or, what amounts to the same thing, they were in him, 
 and then Isaac was playing the same game on him 
 that he had played but too successfully on Polly 
 M'Cloud. 
 
 After feeding his personal vanity, and expressing
 
 THE RESCUE. 107 
 
 great deference for his opinion, Isaac inquired, almost 
 in a whisper, 
 
 " How long before you will be ready with the tin 
 and the echkinx .<"' 
 
 " About a month," said Joe. " They require some 
 finishing touches, and the rubbing off of the tin and the 
 eelskins darkening the tin, to make it look as if it 
 had been some years in circulation. The etlskins, 
 too, have to be handled a good deal, by taking out and 
 putting back into a pocket-book, and slightly soiled and 
 rumpled, some more than others, to give them a natu- 
 ral face. None but a fool tries to circulate a bright 
 dollar or a new-looking note. Their very faces excite 
 curiosity." 
 
 " It requires, I perceive," said Mr. Forster, " great 
 judgment and skill to prepare a circulating medium ; 
 and none but men of talents, who can be trusted, should 
 be employed in that department. I have some notion 
 of the tact to be used in sending moneys on their trav- 
 els." 
 
 " That, Mr. Forster," replied Joe, " is also a deli- 
 cate operation, and requires able and experienced di- 
 rectors." 
 
 We forbear to give the conversation between these 
 worthies, in which were discussed and detailed the 
 means of throwing large quantities of false money into 
 circulation with the least possible chances of detec- 
 tion. The ingenuity, finesse, and profound combina- 
 tions by which it was effected, made it certain that the 
 guilty perpetrators of fraud would not be detected, and 
 that the risk and losses would fall on the innocent and 
 the defrauded. More harm than good would result 
 from giving publicity to the means of carrying on their 
 ingenious but nefarious operation. Bad men might be 
 induced to make experiments dangerous to themselves 
 and others ; while the innocent and unsuspecting could 
 hardly be guarded against a kind of cheatery and fraud 
 which, in obedience to given laws and principles of 
 combination, can be made to assume a thousand forms 
 of deception, not one of which would be suspected or
 
 108 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 recognisable from a knowledge of those previously 
 practised on the public. 
 
 After Joe had elucidated the principles, and given 
 several illustrations of their practical application, Mr. 
 Forster observed, 
 
 " It is as plain as day, or as a sum in alligation me- 
 dial, after you know the rule." 
 
 " You see," said Joe, " that it is the same in princi- 
 ple as discounting good paper and dealing in race- 
 horse bills, when you can't and don't mean to pay your 
 own notes given for them in specie or other good 
 funds. Our money is as good as that of these corpora- 
 tions, or as government forced into circulation by legis- 
 lative authority. The Revolutionary paper money 
 made here, and the assignats in France, did not an- 
 swer so good a purpose as ours. The people on 
 whom they were forced knew that they were cheated 
 and robbed from the beginning were dissatisfied when 
 they took it. Not so with ours : it passes from hand 
 to hand at par, performing all the functions of money 
 till the last stage in the journey of circulation is reached. 
 There's no loss, no dissatisfaction, no depreciation, no 
 unpleasant apprehension of loss, no startling discovery 
 till then ; and then the loss falls only on the unlucky 
 holder. And this, Mr. Forster, brings to mind your 
 man, Job Terry, the rascally pedler. I call him your 
 man, because it belongs to your department to see to 
 him. He's a keen fellow, that, or he could not have 
 so readily distinguished some of our coin, that I'll be 
 sworn are as sightly as any that ever came out of the 
 mint in Lunnun. You must have an eye, Mr. Forster, 
 to such curious, intermeddling disturbers of the public 
 tranquillity." 
 
 " That man," said Isaac, " travels too much, and 
 talks too much. If he happens to receive a bad dollar 
 or note, he carries it all over the country shows it to 
 everybody points out the differences between it and 
 what he calls good money, the fool. Why, it is now 
 well established in political economy, that the less in 
 insic value any substance has, the better is it adapt-
 
 THE RESCUE. 109 
 
 ed to perform all the functions of money ; and the fel- 
 low preaches circumspection and watchfulness as ear- 
 nestly as any other sixty per cent, mercantile saint, 
 selling counterfeit needles for real While Chapel." 
 
 " Friend Forster, you must have a care of such men. 
 Good-night I have stayed here too long." 
 
 " Take another glass, to keep out the cold," said 
 Isaac, " before you expose yourself to the cold night 
 air." 
 
 Joe Swinton swallowed half a glass of whiskey, and 
 departed. 
 
 " That fellow knows too much of my private affairs," 
 soliloquized Isaac. " I must ascertain how the devil 
 he gets his information. I, however, have him in my 
 power, and he knows it. He little thinks that a double 
 purpose is answered by Polly M'Cloud's being with 
 him. Out of my way and in his. Acquainted with 
 his trade and workmen, and not loving him at least, 
 after a short time, will not love him as much as she 
 loves money, and whiskey, and flattery, all of which 
 shall make her more mine than his for all useful pur- 
 poses. As for her love, such as it is, for him, I want 
 none of it. That pedler, too, must look sharp, or 
 some accident will befall him. Gone to Old Virginia 
 for a supply of goods well, he'll return in the spring 
 or summer. Of all people, those who are forever med- 
 dling with other people's business are the most disa- 
 greeable and annoying ; and they are such mischief- 
 makers, too, that they are constantly setting friends at 
 variance, or exciting suspicions against men more hon- 
 est than themselves." 
 
 Isaac Forster verily thought himself to be a more 
 honest man, and a better one too, strange as it may 
 seem, than nine tenths of mankind. And this belief 
 arose from his observation and experience of human 
 nature. He had watched closely the course of specu- 
 lating, trading people, deemed entirely honest, and 
 who would have been highly offended at the slightest 
 imputation on their characters. By such he had seen 
 old, worm-eaten furniture varnished before its expo-
 
 110 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 sure to sale. He had seen an old, broken-down horse 
 fattened up, and rubbed, and curried, and blanketed, 
 and sold at the price of a sound horse. He had heard 
 most respectable merchants say, " We cannot afford 
 the article, madam, a cent cheaper ; it barely pays cost 
 and carriage at the very low price at which we offer it 
 to you," when Isaac knew, in fact, that they were ma- 
 king twenty-five per cent, clear profit. 
 
 In every department of business, and in every class 
 in society, he had seen similar things. He had even 
 heard of marriages for money, and he verily believed 
 that such legal prostitution- was practised and tolerated 
 in men, and even women, without their losing caste in 
 society. He had known reputations murdered irAna- 
 licious spite, and also in mere wantonness, by persons 
 who, perhaps, would have shuddered at the idea of 
 killing the body or abstracting the purse. He thought, 
 with the wizard poet, 
 
 " He who steals my purse, steals trash : 
 'Twas his 'tis mine has been the slave of thousands. 
 But he who filches from me my good name, 
 Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
 But makes me poor indeed." 
 
 Isaac generalized too extensively, and thought that 
 other men took as comprehensive views as he did. In 
 this he was mistaken. The loafer, he thought, who 
 stole ninepence from the pocket of his sleeping com- 
 rade, was as great a rogue in principle as the bank 
 officer, collector of customs, or other official who runs 
 off with fifty thousand dollars, or the man who buys 
 his neighbour's house in town, or farm in the country, 
 sold under execution for one half of what he had of- 
 fered for it at private sale, and knew the property to 
 be worth. 
 
 Now this is carrying the principle too far, perhaps 
 (we will think of it, however), for what are called very 
 honest men will do the one if not the other, and sleep 
 soundly after it yes, as soundly as honest Isaac slept 
 this night ; for he retired to rest immediately after the 
 departure of Joe Swinton, and slept soundly all night.
 
 THE RESCUE. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WE left William Henry Ballenger and the hunters at 
 the ferry-house on New River, to which they had re- 
 turned late in the evening, after their successful excur- 
 sion to the Shades of Death. Here they learned that 
 the man and woman whom we now know to be Joe 
 Swinton and Polly M'Cloud had crossed the river early 
 in the morning. They said they were going down to 
 Kanawha ; and William Henry and Ben Bramble ex- 
 pected to overtake them the next day, or hear of them 
 on the road in the Loop. 
 
 On their return from the hunt, Captain Boyer told 
 them he recollected the man now, and believed him to 
 be the same who had been brought before Squire Tem- 
 pleman for passing counterfeit money ; an arrant scoun- 
 drel, who had there escaped through some informality 
 in the proceedings. 
 
 Parting with Nat Colly and Charley Vandal at the 
 ferry, Ben Bramble and William Henry went their way 
 to the falls, not calling at Squire Templeman's. They 
 neither saw nor heard anything of these suspicious- 
 looking people. Ben Bramble said they must be as 
 well acquainted with the Loop as the oldest foxes in 
 it, to find their way anywhere, if they left the trace to 
 the falls ; and this they certainly had done. 
 
 " Mayhap," said Ben, " the fellow's got a par of 
 wings for himself and the 'oman in that big bag. With- 
 out them I don't see how they're to get over these cliffs, 
 except in the reg'lar way by the road." 
 
 Ben and William Henry continued their journey to 
 Mr. Ballenger's, and soon forgot Joe Swinton and Pol- 
 ly M'Cloud. The deer which William Henry had 
 killed was strapped behind his saddle. Young men as 
 well as little boys like to carry home themselves the 
 trophies of the chase. The panther-skin which Char-
 
 112 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 ley Vandal had presented to William Henry, Ben Bram- 
 ble carried for him. They knew how to dispose of 
 the venison at Mr. Ballenger's, and Ben said he would 
 be proud to teach Uncle Tom how to dress a varmint's 
 overcoat with brains, leaving the hair on for Master 
 Will. 
 
 The whites of Uncle Tom's eyes dilated, and he 
 drew back from the skin, saying, 
 
 " Dress him wid brains and de hair on ? Massa 
 Will sha'n't tech it. It'll kill him stone dead. Why, 
 Lor' bless my soul, nothin' but a dog's stomac kin dis- 
 jest skin with the hair on, and de brains can't sofien 
 sich a tough hide as dis." 
 
 Ben, perceiving Uncle Tom's misconception, said, 
 
 " The claws will carry it through, Uncle Tom : the 
 meat of a painter is only fit for the buzzards, but the 
 skin and claws is first-rate for a gentleman ; it makes 
 him feel jist right." 
 
 " Well, well !" said Uncle Tom ; " 'tis live and larn, 
 sure enuf, out here in de woods. Doctor Craick couldn't 
 cure de colic dat dish would perdoose in de ole settle- 
 ments. You chop him mity fine, don't you, Massa Ben, 
 like sassage-meat or mince-meat ?" 
 
 " Oh no," said Ben ; " that would spile all. He 
 must take it whole." 
 
 " Whar," said Tom, " de mouf gwine cum from dat 
 kin do it ?" 
 
 " Mouth ?" said Ben, feigning astonishment. " Why, 
 he ain't to eat it, Uncle Tom ; arter it is dressed, it's 
 to kiver his saddle. He's to set on it." 
 
 " Tank God !" said Uncle Tom. " But when you 
 talk'd 'bout dressing him wid brains, I made sure 'twas 
 for to eat ; for when we dress anything 'cept a gen- 
 tleman or lady whar I come from, 'tis to eat ; and I 
 thought that eatin' a painter-skin wid de hair on was 
 like eatin' oysters widout guttin' 'urn, or skilpots and 
 snipes roasted, shells, feathers, guts, and all ; and we 
 do dat constant at de houses of de big gentlemen t'oth- 
 er side the mountains." 
 
 Tom seemed greatly relieved when he found the
 
 THE RESCUE. 113 
 
 skin was not to be eaten, and proceeded with great 
 alacrity to assist Ben Bramble in the preparation of it 
 for a saddle-cover. 
 
 It may be presumed (for it is but a presumption, and 
 often a presumptuous one, too) that a merchant, when 
 he fails, has but little money. This was, in fact, the 
 case with Mr. Edward Ballenger when he removed to 
 Kanawha. That little was nearly exhausted. The 
 expenses of setting up anew to housekeeping, of clear- 
 ing land for cultivation, the loss of his carriage-horses, 
 which were also used for the wagon and plough the 
 purchase of another carriage was out of the question, 
 but of others to supply their place for the plough had 
 required a large portion of his scanty stock of money ; 
 and he was obliged to go in debt. When he left 
 Alexandria he had paid every dollar that he owed. 
 This was a great consolation to him, that none but 
 himself and his own family would suffer by him. But 
 he looked forward with sad anticipations to the future. 
 The gloom seemed to thicken around him, and the 
 farther he looked this side the grave, the deeper it 
 grew. How his heart bled for his children ! He 
 scarcely gave a thought to himself. 
 
 Matilda would deem it proper, whatever it might 
 cost her heart, to insist on releasing Victor Carrington, 
 her lover, from engagements formed when her father 
 was a rich merchant. Her delicacy and sense of jus- 
 tice would revolt at the idea of marrying any man when 
 so great a disparity existed, when so great a pecuniary 
 obligation would be imposed upon herself. Her lover 
 would think her mean and mercenary, and she pre- 
 ferred the respect and good opinion of Victor even to 
 his hand. Besides, she respected herself and the dig- 
 nity of human nature. She had a proper pride of char- 
 acter, as well as the strongest sense of justice, and 
 she believed that Heaven would not bless a union in 
 which either of the parties knowingly and willingly 
 violated any principle of moral rectitude in forming it. 
 
 These were the considerations that had made their 
 parting at the Springs so painful. She had released 
 5*
 
 114 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 him then. But he pointedly refused to be free, decla- 
 ring that the changed condition of her father had ren- 
 dered her still dearer to him had developed traits of 
 character in her of more value to him than the wealth 
 of the Indies ; that to defend and protect her from the 
 cold blasts of poverty would not only be his duty and 
 pleasure, but a privilege of which he should be most 
 proud ; that, being independent himself, he even re- 
 joiced, so far as he was concerned, at circumstances 
 which would prove the strength and singleness of his 
 attachment to her. 
 
 His pleadings did not convince her. He entreated 
 her, then, for time ; not to cut off all hope not to 
 break off' their intercourse. Many unfortunate mer- 
 chants, he said, taught by adversity, had not only re- 
 covered their former standing, but become more wealthy 
 than before, and this might be the case with Smith 
 and Bird, Buchanan and Alexander, honourable, hon- 
 est, industrious gentlemen. 
 
 With so much plausibility did Cupid, wearing the 
 mask of Minerva, present this view of the subject, that 
 Matilda consented to delay her final answer for a year, 
 that, in the mean time, he might write as he had done. 
 With this understanding Victor parted with Matilda, 
 much better satisfied than he had reason to be. But 
 he was a lawyer, and having consulted all the author- 
 ities and cases reported in the court of love, he found 
 that reprieve had been in all cases followed by pardon. 
 No precedent to the contrary could be cited. 
 
 Having done all that she thought she ought to do, 
 Matilda was supported by the consciousness of recti- 
 tude of intention ; but still more was she sustained by 
 her Christian faith, and abiding confidence in the pro- 
 tecting providence of God. Daily did her prayers as- 
 cend to the throne of the Most High, and daily was 
 her strength renewed. She was resigned and cheer- 
 ful, if not happy. She confided to her father all that 
 had passed between Mr. Carrington and herself, and 
 although he doubted the prudence of their course un- 
 der existing circumstances, he left the matter to them-
 
 THE RESCUE. 115 
 
 selves, merely remarking that they might be, perhaps, 
 thus sharpening the arrows of affliction that might 
 pierce their hearts. 
 
 A new cause of anxiety and alarm was now added 
 to those which already surrounded Mr. Ballenger and 
 his family. Mr. Hockley, already mentioned in this 
 narrative, owned the land adjoining Mr. Ballenger's. 
 The patent under which he claimed was older than 
 that of Captain Ballenger, from whom his son, Mr. 
 Edward Ballenger, derived his title. Hockley was a 
 litigious man, greedy of gain, and unscrupulous if the 
 law was on his side. He either believed, or pretend- 
 ed to believe, that Captain Ballenger's patent had been 
 shingled on that under which he claimed, and he ac- 
 cordingly brought a suit against Mr. Ballenger for the 
 recovery of the land on which he lived. If he should 
 succeed, Mr. Ballenger would be houseless homeless 
 utterly ruined. 
 
 This, though, had nothing to do with the legality of 
 Hockley's claim. Mr. Hockley was a great stickler 
 for legal justice. A great lawyer once said, " There 
 are two sorts of honest men honest men, and law- 
 honest men." Mr. Hockley belonged to the latter 
 class, Mr. Ballenger to the former; and the process 
 had no sooner been served on Mr. Ballenger than he 
 determined to have the titles, both to Hockley's land 
 and his own, carefully examined ; and if it should ap- 
 pear that the land on which he lived was legally or 
 equitably the property of Hockley, he meant to offer 
 no delay or technical obstacle to the judgment of the 
 court in his favour. Mr. Ballenger was a Christian, 
 and his rule of action was the morality of the Bible. 
 To depart from that would have rendered him more 
 unhappy than to lose the last of his earthly possessions, 
 or even life itself. The language of his heart was, 
 ' The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away ; bless- 
 ed be the name of the Lord." 
 
 It is proper to make the reader acquainted with the 
 circumstances which led to the suit of Hockley vs 
 Ballenger. Isaac Forster had lately purchased of
 
 116 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 Hockley a small tract of land below that on which the 
 latter lived, and Mr. Ballenger resided immediately 
 above him. Hockley had said to Isaac that his home- 
 tract did not hold out in quantity according to the sur- 
 vey. The latter, knowing that Hockley's patent was 
 an old one, determined to ascertain if the deficiency 
 would have to be made up from his purchase or Mr. 
 Ballenger's land. On visiting the clerk's-office, he 
 found that he was safe, as the land sold to him was 
 part of a survey of a date prior to that on which Hock- 
 ley lived, whereas Ballenger's was subsequent. Be- 
 sides, Isaac well knew that Hockley could in no event 
 recover against his own warranty. Isaac had also 
 lately sold to Hockley a thousand acres of land as the 
 agent of the Alexandria merchants, and as he could 
 not pay for it, as Isaac well knew when he sold it to 
 him, it was resold to Isaac, who very generously paid, 
 or, rather, retained in his hands, the purchase-money 
 for Hockley, with a private understanding that, so soon 
 as the title was complete in Hockley, he should recon- 
 vey to Isaac for the consideration of fifty dollars. 
 Hockley made the fifty dollars clear by the transac- 
 tion, and Isaac obtained a thousand acres of very fine 
 land for less than a tenth of its value. 
 
 We have mentioned, in the conversation between 
 Isaac and Joe Swinton, or, rather, Joe and Isaac both 
 mentioned the name of Dixon, who was more general- 
 ly known by the name of Stretch-blanket Jimmy, and, 
 verily, Jimmy deserved the title ; for this same blanket 
 was so stretched, and torn too, that it could not be rec- 
 ognised as the mantle of truth at all. His ostensible 
 business was that of horse-dealer and jockey, though 
 he was, in reality, one of the gang of counterfeiters em- 
 ployed by them in the sale of horses, and in the es- 
 pionage and intelligence department of the concern. 
 The love of trading and swapping horses was his pas- 
 sion. He it was who, overtaking a man travelling on 
 foot, asked him how he would trade horses ; the man, 
 looking at Jimmy's horse, replied, 
 
 " Don't you see, stranger, I've got no horse ?"
 
 THE RESCUE. 117 
 
 I see," said Jimmy ; " but how would you trade, 
 supposing you had a horse ?" 
 
 Now Isaac Forster, after his visit to the clerk's-of- 
 fice, meeting Jimmy in the road, said to him, 
 
 " Dixon, I want you to do a small job for me. Hock- 
 ley is going to sue somebody, either me or Ned Ballen- 
 ger, for his land don't hold out. Mine is the older 
 survey, and Ballenger's is not so old as his. I have 
 lately paid him some money, and he won't rest till the 
 lawyers and clerks get it. I wish you to hint to him 
 that the sooner he sues the better, as Ballenger is go- 
 ing down hill as fast as he can, and he may sell the 
 land to somebody who will give him more trouble than 
 Ballenger." 
 
 Isaac's motive for wishing to reduce Mr. Ballenger 
 to distress may not be quite apparent to all our readers ; 
 some will penetrate his design, and be able to desig- 
 nate the card he intended to play, if all others should 
 fail him. 
 
 " Why, I was going straight to Hockley's now," 
 said Dixon. 
 
 " So much the better," said Isaac, " if you have any 
 business with him, for then any hint you may give him 
 about the suit for the land will seem to be merely ac- 
 cidental, and not the cause of your visit, for he is al- 
 ways suspicious that everybody is trying to overreach 
 him." 
 
 " I'm going there now to cheat the old rascal," said 
 Jimmy. 
 
 " Very veil," said Isaac ; " but take care he don't put 
 it to you. It's not easy to come round that man, I can 
 tell you, Jimmy." 
 
 " Leave him to me, Mr. Forster ; I've got a tongue 
 in my head." 
 
 " So has he, and eyes too, my lad," said Isaac. 
 
 They parted, and Dixon rode straight to Hockley's. 
 He had two fine match horses that Jimmy had longed 
 to own ; ho had heard lately that they had the pole- 
 evil, which he believed he could curt; ; and if he could 
 get the horses now for little or nothing, and should
 
 118 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 succeed in curing them, he would make a handsome 
 speculation. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Hockley." 
 
 " Good-morning, Jimmy Dixon : come 'light ; you are 
 the very man I want to see : my fine match horses 
 have both got q, slight tech of the pole-evil, and I am 
 told you can cure it." 
 
 " Cure the pole-evil ?" said Jimmy, alighting, and 
 tying his horse to the fence ; " I should like to see the 
 man that can do that ; not one in a thousand that has 
 that complaint ever gets well. Tain't worth while to 
 see them it's no manner of use." 
 
 " Nevermind," said Hockley ; " come along ; it won't 
 hurt to look at them." 
 
 The horses were in a lot, and they went into it. 
 Jimmy examined them, shook his head, said they were 
 too far gone to do anything for them, and swore he 
 would not give five dollars for the pair. 
 
 " What a pity it is : if they were sound horses, they'd 
 fetch a power of money." 
 
 " How much ?" asked Hockley. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know ; but as they are now, they are 
 worth no more than their hides," said Jimmy. 
 
 " What shall I do ?" inquired Hockley. 
 
 " Knock them in the head, and put them out of their 
 misery," said Jimmy. 
 
 " Will you give me a hundred dollars for the pair, 
 Jimmy ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Jimmy, " when horse-skins sell at 
 seventy-five dollars apiece." 
 
 " Make me an offer, Jimmy Dixon, for you have 
 come here to buy these horses." 
 
 " Have it your own way, old gentleman," said Jim- 
 my. " I'll give you five dollars apiece for them." 
 
 "No, you won't to-day, Jimmy Dixon. Give me 
 forty dollars for a choice." 
 
 " No ; but I'll tell you what I'll do, just for the 
 sake of making an experiment : I'll give you ten dol- 
 lars for, the one that's got the natural star in his fore- 
 head."
 
 THE RESCUE. 119 
 
 " Say twenty, and the means you use if you cure 
 him, and I'll give him away to you at that." 
 
 " No," said Jimmy ; " you are too hard for me, Mr. 
 Hockley. Good-morning;" and Jimmy walked away 
 towards his horse ; he, however, turned and said, 
 
 " Oh! Mr. Hockley, I've lately been .to the clerk's- 
 office, looking over some old papers for the patent of 
 a tract of land left me by my grandmother" (Jimmy's 
 grandmother never owned a foot of land in all her life), 
 " and I chanced to see that your patent is older than 
 Ballenger's, and his land, I've heard, overlaps yours ; 
 you haven't got your right quantity, I'm sure. You'd 
 better look to it soon ; I've heard he's on a bargain with 
 lawyer Tighttwist for his land, and if he sells to him 
 before you bring your action, good-by to the land as 
 well as the horses." Jimmy mounted his horse. 
 
 " Stop a minute, Jimmy," said Hockley. 
 
 They conversed some time, while Stretch-blanket 
 was sitting on his horse, about the land, during which 
 several large rents, in addition to those already made, 
 rendered Jimmy's name anything but a misnomer. At 
 length Hockley said, 
 
 " Well, Jimmy, for the sake of what you've told me 
 about this land business, I'll split the difference, and 
 take fifteen dollars for the horse." 
 
 " It's a small matter, any how," said Jimmy, " so I'll 
 take him. Lend me a rope to lead him home." 
 
 The money was paid, and the horse led away by 
 Dixon. Three days afterward he returned to Hock- 
 ley's. There were several persons there ; and after 
 the usual salutations, he said to Hockley, 
 
 " Well, old friend, I got the wrong horse, after all ; 
 you've got the one / wanted, and I'll give you five dol- 
 lars to swap." 
 
 " Well, there ain't much choice, I think," said Hock- 
 ley ; " it's a bargain ; hand over the cash." 
 
 ' Mind, gentlemen," said Jimmy, " I give him fivo 
 dollars to boot between the horse I got of him with tho 
 pole-evil, and his that has the same complaint." 
 
 " Yes, that's it," said Hockley.
 
 120 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 Jimmy then, looking with a sly smile at Hockley 
 said, " The horse I got of you is dead." 
 
 " Is he?" said Hockley : " I'm mighty sorry to hear 
 it, for the other's dead too, and I've only got twenty 
 dollars out of you for both, Jimmy." 
 
 Dixon was completely chopfallen for a few moments, 
 but he soon rallied again, and laughed heartily at this 
 faux pas in horse-swapping, saying it was the last 
 time he would swap horses unsight unseen with his 
 old friend Hockley. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WE have scarcely alluded to the domestic pur- 
 suits of Mr. Ballenger and his family since their 
 settlement on the Kannwha. Retired merchants 
 are said to make excellent farmers ; and there is 
 some truth in the remark. They generally have, 
 on their retirement to the country, some capital to 
 stock and improve their farms, and having been in 
 the habit, in their commercial pursuits, of laying 
 out capital to make money, they bring- to their ru- 
 ral business the same habit. Hence they lay out 
 liberally on their farms, in order to receive liberal 
 returns. They do not calculate on large profits 
 without the outlay on which their profits are the 
 interest. A merchant cannot understand the too 
 common practice of attempting to increase the in- 
 terest by diminishing the principal employed in any 
 business. He therefore attempts to improve his 
 lands instead of skinning them, as the phrase is in 
 regard to those who make no returns of fertilizing 
 substances to their fields to supply the exhaustion 
 produced by the crops taken off. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger had not the means of improving 
 his land ; he and his son, however, worked with
 
 THE RESCUE. 121 
 
 their own hands. They assisted the few hired la- 
 bourers employed on the farm in clearing land, fen- 
 cing, and ploughing, and his delicately-nurtured 
 daughter might be seen in the garden preparing 
 beds for a crop of spring vegetables, and assisting 
 old Uncle Tom in laying out the walks and borders. 
 Ben Bramble, too, much of whose time was spent 
 at New Hope, and who knew nothing more of ag- 
 riculture or horticulture than the ploughing and 
 planting of a patch of corn and potatoes required, 
 would saunter into the garden whenever he saw 
 Matilda there, to lighten her labours. He assisted 
 her, to be sure, but would say, shaking his head, 
 
 "Making these beds for sparrowgrass, and sala- 
 ry, and cresses, is like shooting good powder and 
 lead at ground squirrels and snowbirds." 
 
 " Why, Ben," she would reply, " I can't make 
 corn and wheat, but I can raise these vegetables, 
 and my father likes them. Whatever ministers to 
 his comfort I ought to try to do, he works so hard 
 for mej" and the tears would steal into her eyes j 
 to hide her emotion, she would then work hard- 
 er than ever, and Ben would fix his eyes on her for 
 a moment, and drive his hoe into the ground with 
 so murh energy that you would think he was try- 
 ing to find the very centre of the earth. Her filial 
 aflection touched him to the heart, and he looked 
 upon her rather as an angel descended from heav- 
 en than a human being. 
 
 At the bottom of the garden Matilda had plant- 
 ed a little avenue of shrubbery, and two willows at 
 the end of it. When she left the garden, Ben 
 Bramble asked Uncle Tom what they were for. 
 The old man said he never heard Miss Matilda say, 
 " But it's jist like the place in the garden at Alexan- 
 tlry, where they laid ole missus when she was tuck 
 :i\\;iy. They put a great marble stone, wid letters 
 on it, over the grave, and called it a rnonniment; 
 ind master and Miss Mattie used to go there of an 
 evening. I could see she had bin cryin' when she
 
 122 KKW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 come away. But they needn't put that heavy stone 
 a top of missus to keep her ghost from rising, for 
 if she was to cum back, she wouldn't hurt a Jiving 
 creetur; she never did when she was alive, and I 
 shouldn't be afeard to meet her ghost the darkest 
 night that ever come, or to go to her grave, if so 
 be 1 could be sartin she'd know me/' 
 
 " Why, Tom, you don't believe that dead men 
 ever rise from thar graves'? It's onnat'ral." 
 
 "I don't know 'bout men, but ole women does," 
 said Uncle Tom ; " that is, ther sperrits does. I've 
 seed oue myself, Massa Brambel." 
 
 " You've seen a ghost, Tom 1 You deseve yer- 
 self, old man. The mortal body rots, and sperrits 
 without a body couldn't be seen if they was to rise. 
 Nobody can't see what's onvisibul. Besides, the 
 good sperrits goes to God, and the wicked to the 
 devil. Them with God is too happy ever to leave 
 him, and the devil never lets go what he gits for 
 a single minnit." 
 
 " I tell you," said Uncle Tom, " I've seed a ghost 
 myself, and de debil is de very one dat does send 
 'em back to torment de wicked ; and dey cthur 
 makes mistakes, or they gits so like de debil his- 
 self dat dey scares and tries to git good people. I 
 ain't gwine to trust 'um 'bout me, 1 know." 
 
 " Whar, now, did you see a ghost T' said Ben. 
 
 "Why, I'll tell you de truf, Massa Ben, jist as it 
 happened. Dar was an ole 'oman nigh Alexandry 
 dat lived by herself in a lone house ; she used to 
 cuss and swar, and drink and quarrel. She was 
 de most obstropolus human I ever seed. Dey said 
 she had a power of money, but nobody ever seed 
 it. She had a neflew that was a sailor, and when- 
 ever he cum to Alexandry he used to stay wid her. 
 When his money gin out, as it did pretty quick ar- 
 ter he got ashore, for he was a disinpated, wild 
 dog, as wicked as he could be to live, he'd put at 
 the. ole 'oman for money to frolic on. He said 
 she was as rich as cream and too stingy to live ;
 
 THE RESCUE. 123 
 
 so they used to quarrel and cuss one another ebery 
 time he \v;is thar. One mornin', arter he had bin 
 thar, the ole woman was found dead in her bed, 
 and he couldn't be found nowhar. He warn't in 
 none of the ships at the wharf, nor in none of the 
 bad houses 'bout town. The doctors said she was 
 kilt by vi'lence, and eberybody laid it to her nef- 
 few. They said Billy Dark done it. They couldn't 
 find no money in de house. Well, de ole 'oman 
 was buried between the house and de main road. 
 I was thar when dey put her in de ground, and de 
 grave was at least five foot deep, and the yearth 
 piled up a top of that, 'nufF, I thought, to keep her 
 from ever rising. Not long arter dat I was ridin' 
 long dat road into town, thinkin' 'bout her, when 
 I got not fur from de grave (I had bin noddin' from 
 a dram Mr. Custis gin me) ; all at once I seed her 
 in her windin' sheet as plain as I see you, Massa 
 Ben. She riz right up out on de ground, and was 
 a comin' towards me so fast that I clapped spurs 
 to de horse, and neber stopped twell I got home." 
 
 " You was scared, Tom, by yer own thoughts," 
 said Ben, " and then remagined you seed her." 
 
 " No," replied Uncle Tom ; " she had riz, for 
 Billy Dark the next day come and gin hisself up, 
 and said she tormented him so he had no peace in 
 his mind; that he did not know what brought him 
 back to town, but he couldn't help comin' ; and the 
 miiinit he laid down to sleep his Aunt Phebe (dat 
 was her name) cum to his bedside in the dark, and 
 said to him, 'Billy, you've sent your soul to hell 
 for thirty dollars.' He said he jumpt right up, and 
 tried to seize her, but she was gone ; so I know'd 
 it was she 1 seed the evenin' before dat is, 'twas 
 her ghost, sure enough ; for she was gwine then ar- 
 ter Billy. 'Twas she lotched him back to town to 
 git him hung, as he was, you may be sartin." 
 
 "People that believe in things," said Ben, "can 
 see 'mu when they ain't thar; and them as does 
 wicked things is so tormented by that feelin' that
 
 124 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 God has put in us to keep us from doing wrong, that 
 thar own wickedness rises up before 'em in the 
 shape of them they've injured, and they take it for 
 a ghost or a sperrit ; or if they ain't done no harm, 
 but is timorsome, and has bin scared when they 
 was young by ghost stories, ther own fear rises afore 
 'um : that's the sperrit they sees. Billy Dark kilt 
 his aunt, and his conshance raised his own crime 
 in the shape of his aunt. Conshance, Uncle Tom. 
 is a powerful ghost-raiser. 
 
 "Many a time, when I've shot down a buck feed- 
 in' in the woods, and not suspicioning that any- 
 thing was nigh to hurt him, and arterward laid 
 down to sleep, and was jist dozing-like, I've seed 
 the creetur fallin' down and quiverin' in the death- 
 .struggle jist as when I shot him in the wood. 
 Now 'sposin' it had bin a man or a woman I had 
 shot down, and I was all a trimblin', half awake 
 and half asleep, then, 'stead of a deer, 'twould have 
 bin a sperrit or a ghost certain, and it would have 
 haunted me jist like his Aunt Phebe's ghost did Bil- 
 ly Dark. I tell ye, Tom, them as dies now, by fair 
 or foul means, never rises till the great day of the 
 gineral insurrection." 
 
 " Wouldn't you, if you was kilt by onfair means, 
 Massa Ben, want to haunt them as did it 1" 
 
 " No, Tom, I should want to keep away from 'em 
 even arter I was dead ; and when they lay me in 
 the ground, I want to lay 'longside of good peo- 
 ple." 
 
 " Lor' ! Massa Ben, you fear'd. if they berry you 
 'mong de wicked, dat when de debil come to get 
 his own, he make mistake and take you 1" 
 
 " No, Tom ; but I want to be 'mong good people 
 in life and in death. I've got nobody to care for 
 me now on this yearth no father, nor mother, nor 
 brother, nor sister ; and if so be I die anywhar here- 
 abouts, I want to be laid in the ground here in this 
 garden. Mr. Ballenger and his children fear God, 
 and love him, and ther fellow-creeturs too."
 
 THE RESCUE. 125 
 
 Old Tom was moved even to tears; he- sobbed 
 aloud, and so soon as he could express his feelings 
 sufficiently to speak, he said, 
 
 " Don't talk so, Massa Ben ; you make me feel 
 ike a child. What I gwine do if ole massa and 
 Miss Mattie die 'fore me 1 I can't think of dat ; 1 
 ,vant dem to lay me in de ground, too, arid not 
 leave me out here in de woods by myself." 
 
 Ben Bramble walked away to the two willows, 
 and sat down between them, while Uncle Tom re- 
 mained standing for some time leaning on his hoe 
 as if in deep thought, and then dropped the hoe 
 and went off to the house. 
 
 " Where is Ben Bramble V said Matilda to him, 
 as he entered the door ; " I've got a present for 
 him." 
 
 "He's down in dc bottom of de garden, madam, 
 settin' down whar he is to be buried." 
 
 u Good heavens ! is he ill 1 Has he been hurt 1" 
 
 " Oh no, missus ; but he an' I got to talkin' 'bout 
 ghosts and sperrits, and so 'bout graves ; and he said 
 he wanted to lib and be laid in de ground whar 
 good people lay whar you an' massa lay, if so be 
 he should be tooken away hereabouts." 
 
 "And he shall be, Thomas," said Mr. Ballenger, 
 " if he wishes it; but here he comes. Why, Ben, 
 you are not thinking about dying, and leaving us, I 
 hope ] Thomas has just told us you have been 
 looking for a place in the garden to be buried. 
 You will live many a long year yet, my good friend, 
 I hope. You are hale and hearty, and may outlive 
 all of us." 
 
 " We must all go when we are called," replied 
 Ben, "and that's when God pleases." 
 
 " True," said Mr. Ballenger, " and we should try 
 to be always ready ; and if we are, it matters little 
 when we are taken from this world of trial, and 
 still less where our perishing bodies are laid. Yet 
 it is a natural, and a good feeling too, to wish to be
 
 126 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 laid in the grave beside those we loved while living, 
 and whose memory is dear to us when dead." 
 
 "That's what I 'was thinkin' of," said Ben, with a 
 look of earnest inquiry at Mr. Ballenger. " I'm a 
 stranger-like in this country now, and I i'eel, sir, more 
 like 1 was at home here, 'mong friends that I vally, 
 than anywhars else." 
 
 " Come and live with us, then," said Matilda. 
 
 " No, honey," replied Ben : " my ways ain't like 
 gentlefolks' ways ; I can't be comfortable long any- 
 whars now but in the woods." 
 
 " Then," said Mr. Ballenger, " if you can't live with 
 us always, be with us whenever it gives you pleasure, 
 Ben ; and when you die, if you desire it, and we out- 
 live you, you shall be buried where we will be bu- 
 ried." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," said Ben, evidently with deep 
 emotion. " It is a favour I shall vally." 
 
 " pon't talk about dying, Ben," said Matilda ; " I've 
 just got a present for you. Now guess what it is." 
 
 " I mought as well whistle at a mark," said Ben : 
 " I should never hit it." 
 
 " Never mind if you miss," rejoined Matilda. " It's 
 not often you do that, I believe." 
 
 Ben raised his hand to his chin, and a sudden thought 
 seemed to strike him. With an apology for a smile, 
 turning to William Henry, he said, 
 
 " It's a cake of soap, I guess, Master Will a sort 
 of a hint 'bout not shaving this week. But I never 
 could make out why the women objects to beards, see- 
 ing that they are nat'ral : scrapin 'em off is only a 
 fashun. The dunkers don't do it, and I've hearn thai 
 their wives uses their husbands' beards for a toweL 
 Whar's the soap, Miss Mattie ?" 
 
 " I'll declare, Ben, you must be a wizard to guess 
 so well ; and I recollect, now, that they always have 
 long beards." 
 
 " No, I ain't a wizard," said Ben ; " my father was 
 a Bramble, and my mother a Dennison Mary Den- 
 nison was her name ; and if any of my ancient poster-
 
 THE RESCUE. 127 
 
 ity was a wizard, it must a bin so fur back I never 
 heard on 'urn." 
 
 Matilda ran out of the room, and presently, after call- 
 ing a young hound of Ben's, and saying to her, " Here, 
 Kate, carry the soap to your master," returned, follow- 
 ed by Kate. 
 
 The young hound seemed to know what was in- 
 tended, for she walked straight up to Ben, wagging 
 her tail, and carrying the present suspended to her 
 neck. Ben's eyes dilated with admiration and pleas- 
 ure as he detached from her neck a powder-horn of 
 curious and beautiful workmanship, accompanied by a 
 pouch not less remarkable. 
 
 " Bless my soul !" said he, " this is of more vally 
 than twenty barls of soap. I guessed clean wrong." 
 
 " Indeed you did not," said William Henry. " I'll 
 be security the soap's there." 
 
 " In this nice bag, then ?" said Ben, inquiringly. 
 
 "No, indeed," said William Henry, "but in the 
 powder-horn." 
 
 "Soap in a powder-horn hal ha! ha! Master 
 Will, you can't fool an old hunter arter that fashion. 
 Soap in a powder-horn ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Look in the end of the horn, Ben there's the 
 glass to shave by, and why not the soap f" 
 
 Ben looked, and., to his amazement, found a mirror, 
 deeply set in a rim of silver, at the larger end of the 
 horn. 
 
 k " Well," said he, " this is the beat of all I ever seed 
 yit a looking-glass in a powder-horn, to shave by in 
 the woods. But soap and powder can't go together, 
 no how" (holding up the horn to the light). " Thar's 
 nothin' but powder in thar." 
 
 "Yes there is," said William Henry, touching the 
 silver knob of the spring that confined the glass in its 
 place. The mirror moved out on its hinge. 
 
 " Look in there behind it." 
 
 He could hardly believe his own eyes, when, peep- 
 ing into the cavity, he beheld a circular silver basin 
 with a cake of soap in it.
 
 128 NEW HOPE : OR, 
 
 " Pull the basin out by that little chain." 
 
 Ben withdrew the basin with the soap, and while 
 he was admiring it, Matilda said, 
 
 "You see, Ben, you guessed right after all." 
 
 " So I did, onknovvinly ; but I mought as well have 
 thought to find a dinner-pot, washing-tub, and frying- 
 pan in a powder-horn as a looking-glass, shavin'-cup, 
 and soap. This is the ingeniousest contrapsion my 
 eyes ever lit upon ;. and here's something else in here 
 yit," said he, peeping into the still smaller cavity dis- 
 closed by the removal of the basin. " As I live, here's 
 flints and a screwdriver." 
 
 " Yes," said William Henry, " and that all in the 
 horn except the powder, from which you can see they 
 are entirely separated." 
 
 Ben's hands actually trembled as he placed and re- 
 placed these articles in their proper places a dozen 
 times over, and touched and retouched the spring of 
 the glass. Matilda hung the strap which was attached 
 to the horn over his shoulder. 
 
 " It fits his side exactly," remarked William Hen-ry, 
 " though the maker took no measure." 
 
 " He that made this," said Ben, " could work with- 
 out any measure ; and here's the picker for the tech- 
 hole, and the stopper, both fastened by strings, to keep 
 'ern from being lost in the hurry of loadin'." 
 
 Ben examined the pouch. It was made of the skin 
 of the vicuna of Peru. In its false bottom it contained 
 a case with two razors, a brush and comb, and above 
 were the usual divisions for small game, bullets, pel- 
 lets, &c. Ben was at some loss to discover how to 
 get at the lower compartment, till William Henry 
 showed him a false flap, buttoned to the upper edge 
 of the pouch, under the exterior flap or cover proper. 
 On unbuttoning this, the case came out below the upper 
 divisions. After replacing all, and slinging the pouch 
 over his shoulder, Ben looked up at Matilda, and said, 
 
 " I never had sich a present afore since I was born ; 
 and I prize it mighty high, but not so high, Miss Mat- 
 tie, as I vally the good-will of the giver. I'll try to
 
 THE RESCUE. 129 
 
 keep that, and these too, as long as there's breath in 
 my body." 
 
 We do not certainly know how Matilda obtained 
 these curious and costly articles, evidently of Euro- 
 pean manufacture, which she presented to Ben Bram- 
 ble ; but we suspect that a certain young gentleman, 
 then in England, had received so graphic an account 
 of Ben from one of his male correspondents in Ameri- 
 ca, that he had them made expressly for him. But 
 this we do know, that they, and sundry other articles 
 and packages, were contained in a large deal box, 
 which arrived at Mr. Ballenger's a few days before, 
 directed to " Miss Matilda Wynne Ballenger, Kanaw- 
 ha county, Virginia, U. S. of N. A. To the care of 
 Edwin Bird, Esq., Alexandria, Virginia. This side 
 up. V. C." 
 
 We supposed that the initials U. S. of N. A. and 
 V. C. might be translated " United States of North 
 America" and " very carefully" But some of our 
 young lady friends pretend to know more about it than 
 we do, and they declare that the V. C. means no such 
 thing they are positively certain. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ALTHOUGH Mr. Ballenger and his children were 
 destitute not only of the elegancies and luxuries, but 
 even of most of the comforts to which they had been 
 accustomed, not a murmur, not a querulous expression 
 escaped them. They indulged no vain and useless 
 regrets. They scarcely ever alluded, in their conver- 
 sations, to their former prosperity. There seemed to 
 be a tacit agreement on this subject, dictated by true 
 wisdom, and founded on their religious faith. They 
 were really thankful for the past as well as the present 
 mercies of God, and they thought it would be ingrati- 
 6
 
 130 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 tude and rebellion to repine, or complain of their altered 
 condition, and comparatively light afflictions. These 
 they viewed in the .light of merited chastisements, in- 
 flicted by their heavenly Father to correct their hearts 
 and purify them. Their confidence in his justice and 
 mercy was unshaken. Their reliance on his protec- 
 tion never deserted them. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger felt deeply for his children, and they 
 felt as deeply for him ; but they gave no utterance to 
 their feelings except in their silent chambers, whence 
 their prayers ascended to the throne of grace. The 
 low, sweet voice of Matilda could sometimes be heard 
 in the watches of the night accompanying her harp, the 
 only costly piece of furniture in the house, the gift of 
 her godfather, Mr. Bird, which he had sent to her in a 
 box with the other one mentioned in the last chapter. 
 The harp had been left at his house when Mr. Ballen- 
 ger removed to Kanawha. Whether it had been for- 
 gotten or left intentionally, we are not informed. When 
 the boxes were unpacked and the harp taken out, nei- 
 ther Mr. Ballenger nor William Henry asked Matilda 
 to play, although both of them were very fond of mu- 
 sic fearful, we suppose, of awakening in her bosom, 
 if not in their own, recollections too tender and touch- 
 ing. They saw that the sight of the instrument brought 
 the tears into her eyes. What a finely-stringed instru- 
 ment is the heart of woman ! Pity it is that any rude 
 touch should ever bring out any but its softest, sweet- 
 est tones. 
 
 Matilda's harp was placed in her chamber. That 
 night Mr. Ballenger and his son were just falling to 
 sleep, when Matilda's voice, accompanied by the harp, 
 stole into their ears like those low, soft sounds that we 
 sometimes hear in our dreams. Thus she sung : 
 
 " When night in darkness shrouds the sky, 
 
 Or gloomy clouds obscure the day ; 
 When not a star appears on high, 
 
 And on the earth no sunbeams play, 
 We know by Him the order's given, 
 Who rules on earth and reigns in heaven.
 
 THE RESCUE. 131 
 
 At His command the night will fly, 
 
 The glorious light of day return ; 
 The clouds that curtain all the sky 
 Will vanish, or with splendour burn. 
 
 The darkness of the night he sends, 
 
 To weary man a time of rest ; 
 The bounteous rain the clouds distend: 
 
 Jt falls their daily toils are blest. 
 
 To eyes of faith the night of sorrow 
 
 Is but the harbinger of brighter day; 
 The veil of clouds will on to-morrow 
 
 Reflect the light or pass away. 
 
 Then. O my soul ! when sorrows lower, 
 
 And darkest clouds obscure His face, 
 In them behold His love and power, 
 
 And humbly seek His pard'ning grace." 
 
 There was no originality of thought or expression in 
 her song, no high poetic merit, yet it touched Mr. Bal- 
 lenger's heart more than the most admired lyrics in the 
 language had ever done. No love-ditty, no poetical 
 praise of woman, war, or wine, the usual burdens of 
 punished pianos and theatrical throats, could have 
 charmed him half so much ; and he did not sleep un- 
 til long after he had again invoked the blessing of the 
 Most High on his lovely daughter. We say again, for 
 Mr. Ballenger never slept without previously praying 
 for himself, his family, and all the fallen race of man. 
 
 But we must take occasion here to express our fears 
 that, in these modern days of the march of mind, Mr. 
 Ballenger will hardly pass for a real converted Chris- 
 tian with many of our readers, when we inform them 
 that, although he was a firm believer in the divinity 
 of Jesus of Nazareth, and rested all his hopes of sal- 
 vation on faith in him ; that conversion implies both 
 conviction and repentance for sin and newness of life ; 
 chat good works are only the points of faith, constitu- 
 ting no claim to the mercy of God, which is free grace, 
 vet he had the misfortune to differ with many Chris- 
 tians in many respects. We do not mean with those 
 >ious persons only who consider a certain snuffle in 
 singing and the long sound of the adverbial termination 
 li} as signs of grace, or with those who would be scan
 
 132 NEW HOPE J OR, 
 
 dalized by wearing any but straight-cut coats or broad- 
 brimmed hats ; but with others, as to the posture and 
 place in which the Lord's Supper should be received 
 as to the quantity of water, and the mode of apply- 
 ing it, in the emblematic rite of baptism as to the sub- 
 jects of that ordinance, and in his willingness to com- 
 mune on earth with all believers, with whom he hoped 
 to meet in the kingdom of heaven. The microscope 
 of his mind was not sufficiently powerful to magnify 
 these things so that he could see their importance in 
 the great plan of salvation. He thought that, in regard 
 to them and other disputed points, if every man acted 
 up to his best lights and in obedience to his Scripture- 
 taught conscience, he would be as apt to be guided 
 right as if he put his own light under a bushel and fol- 
 lowed that of any one of his neighbours, who might bo 
 fallible men like himself. To follow them all was im- 
 possible, as they did not follow one another, nor go in 
 the same direction. And it seemed very strange to 
 him, and unaccountable too, that some of these ritual 
 ly sharp-sighted people, whose vision was so clear i> 
 some things, should be so dim-sighted in others, whicl 
 to him were so plain, that, while they were so scrupu 
 lous as to rites and ceremonies, and could tell to a droj 
 how much water constituted the quantity necessary U, 
 valid Christian baptism, they were rather regardless o( 
 the things typified. Some of these, he was sorry to 
 hear, who were great sticklers for their own inter- 
 pretation of Scripture in ceremonial matters, and very 
 clear-sighted as to the errors of others, could not distin- 
 guish the pound and half pound notches on a steelyaru 
 beam could not tell the difference between their 
 neighbour's mark and their own on a hog's ear, and 
 sometimes made sad mistakes, even in the daytime, in 
 taking other handsome women for their own wives. 
 
 The duty of providing for one's family, enjoined by 
 the Scriptures, received a very broad and liberal inter- 
 pretation ; and " Take a little wine for thy stomach's 
 sake" was a soul-reviving command. The first was 
 not limited by some to the earnings of honest industry
 
 THE RESCUE. 133 
 
 and the profits of fair and equal exchanges, but over- 
 reached the rights and invaded the interests of all oth- 
 ers. " Thou shall not covet thy neighbour's goods" 
 they considered a prohibition to the Jews only, and 
 was not to be so construed as to interfere with the 
 duty of providing for one's household. The latter, the 
 soul-reviving command, was equally clear. Wine was 
 a general term for all exhilarating liquors, and would, 
 of course, include brandy, gin, whiskey, rum, &c., &c. ; 
 and everybody knows that the word stomach means 
 appetite or desire. It would therefore be a base sur- 
 render of Christian liberty, arid unscriptural, to aban- 
 don the use of liquor. Total abstinence would be a 
 positive violation of the soul-reviving injunction, a sin- 
 ful invention of men. True it was that a little wine 
 limited its use to moderate drinking ; and what was 
 " a little" what was moderation, every man could de- 
 termine for himself. There was no practical difficul- 
 ty in that : a gill was little for some, a pint for others, 
 a quart too little for many. Some men drank too much 
 became drunkards ; they were immoderate drinkers. 
 Moderate drinking could not lead to immoderate ; that 
 would be a confounding of terms. The men, therefore, 
 who now became drunkards, never could have been 
 temperate men, could not have gradually passed from 
 the class of moderate drinkers, but from those who 
 taste not, touch not, handle not ; like the man who, 
 refusing to drink, was funnelled and made drunk, and, 
 on his waking out of his drunken sleep, asked his com- 
 panions who had done it if it was not time to serve 
 him so again, and who has been serving himself so 
 ever since. Sudden drinking, argued they, like sud- 
 den prosperity, intoxicates the brain ; moderate and 
 gradual drinking brings men cautiously up to the mark, 
 the quantity appetite demands, and which they can 
 comfortably carry, and there they always stop. Ask 
 the miserable wives and children of the besotted ine- 
 briate if their husband and father ever was a moderate 
 drinker took a little wine, brandy, or whiskey for hi 
 stomach's sake ?
 
 134 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 The same liberal construction that was given to 
 scriptural passages in relation to the acquisition of prop- 
 erty and the gratification of the appetite was not ap- 
 plied to other passages of the Scriptures : such as, " Go 
 ye, therefore, and teach all nations ;" " He who giveth 
 to the poor lendeth to the Lord." These were en- 
 joined upon the apostles alone ; and as to Missionary 
 Societies, Sunday-schools, Tract Societies, the trans- 
 lation of the Scriptures, and the diffusion of Chris- 
 tian knowledge among men, they were the devices of 
 the devil ; that, the conversion of souls being the work 
 of God, all ideas of instrumentality were unauthorized ; 
 that, because in the physical world God uses the cloud 
 to bring the fertilizing shower, and the light and heat 
 to raise the plants and bring them to maturity, no ar- 
 gument could thence be drawn, or from his Word, that 
 he made use of human agency or any other means in 
 his moral government of the world, or in bringing sin- 
 ners to repentance ; that all intervention of men was 
 an attempt to do God's work, and that it was no limita- 
 tion of the omnipotence of God to say that his Holy 
 Spirit could not use a tract or a translation to convert 
 a single soul ; that the Holy Ghost acted directly, and 
 made no use of any means whatever. 
 
 Now we fear that many of our readers, as well as 
 those of Mr. Ballenger's neighbours who held these 
 doctrines, will think that he who construed the Scrip- 
 tures so differently was so uncharitable as not to be- 
 lieve them to be Christians, if, indeed, he was one 
 himself. But he did not think because of these inter- 
 pretations, in his opinion so erroneous, that they were 
 not Christians, nor that the reading of the Scriptures 
 should be confined to the priesthood and forbidden to 
 the laity ; for the former are but men, and might fall 
 into errors themselves. He could find in the Bible no 
 authority for the " Ora pro nobis" addressed to the 
 Virgin Mother of his Saviour ; for prostration before 
 images, or even for auricular confession. The errors 
 of the people and of the priests made his heart sad, 
 but not cold. He believed that men might be sincere
 
 THE RESCUE. 135 
 
 Christians who still entertained many erroneous notions. 
 He therefore did not read out of the Church all who 
 difleretJ from himself, for he no more expected to find 
 men while in the flesh free from errors of opinion than 
 from errors of action. He looked for perfection and 
 freedom from error only in another and a better world 
 than this, when this corruptible shall put on incorrup- 
 tion, and this mortal must put on immortality. He 
 could pray in any house, of any sect, dedicated to the 
 worship of the Triune God ; considered every baptism 
 valid to him who, believing in the mode in which it 
 was administered to him, received it, in the name of 
 the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, as the em- 
 blem of purification, of the regenerating influence of 
 the Holy Spirit, as a burying with Christ, whether it 
 was performed in the River Jordan or Potomac, or in 
 a house, by plunging, pouring, or sprinkling. He 
 could receive the sacred emblems of the body and 
 blood of Christ with any professing Christians of any 
 sect, whether he received them kneeling, standing, or 
 sitting or reclining, if he received them as the body 
 given and the blood shed for him. The words of the 
 Saviour, " This do in remembrance of me," conveyed 
 to his mind the essential object of the Lord's Supper. 
 How could he refuse to take it with any man profess- 
 ing to be a Christian, when Judas Iscariot was permit- 
 ted to be present at its institution 1 He considered it 
 the Lord's table, and that no man should presume to 
 decide who were unworthy to receive it, much less 
 refuse it to them, if they professed belief and requested 
 to partake of it. This seemed to him a greater want 
 of charity than to refuse a crust of bread and a cup of 
 cold water to a starving fellow-creature because we 
 did not know whether he was worthy of our bounty. 
 Such were Mr. Ballenger's opinions. We hold not 
 ourselves answerable for them, gentle reader ; we have 
 our own, and so have you. 
 
 Matilda Ballenger, in a conversation with Isaac For- 
 ster, said, I think, that her father was an Episcopalian. 
 To what sect or denomination Isaac belonged, or
 
 136 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 whether he belonged to any, I never could learn ; the 
 documents from which we have derived the principal 
 events of this narrative are silent on the subject. He 
 sometimes went to places of public worship, we know, 
 for it was in returning from one that he saved Matilda, 
 in all probability, from a watery grave at the broken 
 bridge. He spoke of religion, too, as a good thing, 
 we remember; whether he meant for others or him- 
 self, our readers must determine for themselves. He 
 certainly thought himself better than the generality of 
 mankind, and we do not undertake to say that he did 
 not think himself possessed of as much religion ; it 
 would not be a grosser self-deception than many per- 
 sons, we verily believe, are subjeted to. 
 
 While we are speaking of Mr. Forster, that gentle- 
 man made his appearance at Mr. Ballenger's appa- 
 rently a new man, so far, at least, as new and very 
 fashionable clothes could make him such. Although 
 he had an utter contempt for all who judge of things 
 and persons from their external appearance, yet he had 
 found what an influence it has on mankind, and wom- 
 ankind also. Gentlemen well and fashionably dressed 
 attract the attention especially of young ladies, and are 
 received by them with more consideration than those 
 whose attire is older or plainer. Having seen enough, 
 I do not say of what, to determine him to fall in love 
 with and to address Miss Ballenger, he very wisely, we 
 think, resolved to avail himself of all the adventitious 
 aids in such cases made and provided. Indeed, how 
 he or any other single man of taste and discernment 
 could see and converse with Matilda without coming 
 to the same determination that Isaac did, we are at a 
 loss to conceive. All men, though, do not arrive at 
 their conclusions or come to their determinations by 
 the same route. When a gentleman becomes very at- 
 tentive to a young lady, she is naturally led to believe 
 that it is herself, her attractions personal, I mean 
 that have fixed the arrow in his heart, whether she is 
 very attractive or not ; and if she is poor, as Matilda 
 believed her father, and, consequently, herself to be
 
 THE RESCUE. 137 
 
 she has confirmatory reasons for thinking herself the 
 object of regard. It was therefore very natural for 
 this young lady, not only from his appearance and 
 sundry speeches which this gentleman addressed to 
 her in a very low tone, but from sundry other signs, to 
 conclude that he was in love with her, and in due 
 time meant to propose. She was certainly half right 
 in her conclusions. We need not say it gave her 
 pain. Having been taught to acknowledge the right 
 of every gentleman to address any lady, and that every 
 lady is bound to hear him with politeness, if not with 
 patience, she dreaded the avowal of his passion, and 
 regretted the necessity of indicting the pain of a posi- 
 tive rejection. How sharp-sighted even the most art- 
 less, unsophisticated, and unpractised women are in 
 discovering in men the symptoms I do not say of 
 love it would be well for them if I could, but of love- 
 making ! It must be instinctive. They not only dis- 
 cover them before they are known to the man himself, 
 but not unfrequently before they exist they think they 
 see them, if, with longing eyes, they are looking hard 
 jfor them. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger and his son were sitting at a table with 
 a deed, a map of a plat of land, and an open case of sur- 
 veying instruments before them, when Mr. Forster en- 
 tered the room. Matilda was sitting in the corner near 
 the fireplace, sewing. After the usual salutations, Mr. 
 Ballenger said, 
 
 " Pardon us for a few moments, Mr. Forster, and we 
 shall be at leisure." 
 
 " Let me not interrupt you, I pray, gentlemen," said 
 Isaac : " I hope you will not permit my entrance to in- 
 terfere in the slightest degree with whatever occupies 
 you." 
 
 Matilda had risen to leave the room, but resumed 
 her seat. " I have to thank you, Mr. Forster," said 
 she, " and I seize the earliest opportunity of doing so, 
 for your most timely and efficient assistance at the bro- 
 ken bridge. I really believe I should have perished 
 but for your gallantry. I hope, sir, you sull'ered no in- 
 6*
 
 138 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 jury from the wetting of which I was the unwilling 
 cause." 
 
 " Not the slightest. Miss Ballenger, I assure you ; 
 and we do not often suffer, I believe, from any effort 
 made for the welfare or security of a friend or fellow- 
 creature. But you greatly overrate my services on 
 that occasion. There was no danger of your being 
 drowned, I think ; you would, perhaps, have been only 
 a little longer in the water." 
 
 " At any rate, sir, I thank you most sincerely," said 
 Matilda. 
 
 Mr. Forster bowed so gracefully before seating him- 
 self near her, that Uncle Tom, who was coming into 
 the room to replenish the fire, and whose eyes were 
 stretched wide open on seeing him in his new and fash- 
 ionable attire, bolted right back, and actually pulled off 
 his old hat and combed his head before he re-entered 
 the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE conversation of Mr. Forster with Matilda con- 
 tained so much good sense and good feeling, and even 
 touches of refinement his manner was so different 
 from what it had been at his last visit was so unas- 
 suming, and deferential, and diffident, that Matilda 
 listened and looked with astonishment. She hoped, 
 and even inclined to believe, that Ben Bramble was 
 mistaken in his estimate of Isaac's character and feel- 
 ing ; that, from some cause, he was prejudiced against 
 him, and had done him injustice. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger and William Henry were sitting near 
 enough to catch snatches of their conversation, and 
 they both frequently looked up and listened, exchan- 
 ging glances with each other and Matilda. They were 
 surprised and pleased. A copy of Shakspeare was Iv-
 
 THE RESCUE. 139 
 
 ing on the window-sill near Mr. Forster. He took it 
 up, and observed what a wonderfully gifted man this wri- 
 ter was. " I am almost ashamed, Miss Ballenger, to 
 confess to you that I have never till lately read his wri- 
 tings. But it was my misfortune in early life to re- 
 ceive but a very limited education, and I have been 
 since that time, from the force of circumstances, so im- 
 mersed in the toilsome cares of business, that I have 
 had little leisure for improvement, and still less for en- 
 joying the beauties of literature. I regret this exceed- 
 ingly, and mean to become less a man of business and 
 more a man of pleasure, so far, at least, as enjoyment 
 is to be derived from the perusal of books." 
 
 " Then you have most of the feast before you," said 
 Matilda : " only the more to enjoy, Mr. Forster." 
 
 " I fear not," replied Mr. Forster. " To enjoy the 
 higher branches of literature, I think I can perceive 
 that we must not only have the desire, but the cultiva- 
 ted taste which constitutes the power of enjoying. In 
 music, I know, from some little experience, that we 
 cannot appreciate, much less enjoy, the finest compo- 
 sitions without a practised and cultivated ear, if I may 
 be allowed the expression." 
 
 Matilda never dreamed that Isaac Forster had any 
 music in his soul, much less that he knew anything of 
 it as a scientific art. Yet he was no mean performer 
 on the flute, and read and executed at sight the most 
 difficult pieces with perfect ease. While living in a 
 clerk's-office with a man who was a sort of musical ma- 
 niac, he had become a musician as well as a clerk. 
 But so lightly did Isaac think of this accomplishment, 
 that in his heart he was almost ashamed of its posses- 
 sion ; although he might be said to enjoy music, ho 
 deemed it a frivolous waste of time to play. Time em- 
 ployed in any other way than in making money, or 
 reputation in order to make money, he considered very 
 foolishly thrown away. 
 
 li This," said he, turning to " Measure for Measure? 
 " is my favourite play. The mode in which that para- 
 gon of excellence, Isabella, ie made to develop the
 
 140 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 workings of the heart, and to delineate her own char- 
 acter unconsciously, in her conversations with her 
 brother and the duke, is among the highest efforts of 
 genius." 
 
 In Matilda's estimation, this play was the best of the 
 immortal bard's, and the character of Isabella the very 
 impersonation of female perfection. The combination 
 of the tenderest feelings and the most sympathetic af- 
 fections, with moral firmness and principles of purity 
 not to be shaken or abandoned in the most trying cir- 
 cumstances her eloquent, appeals her appalling de- 
 nunciations her unanswerable reasoning, evincing the 
 clearest perceptions, the highest degree of moral cour- 
 age, and deep devotion to the eternal principles of truth, 
 and justice, and mercy her clear conception of the 
 boundary between our duties and our feelings be- 
 tween what is due to others and to ourselves all had 
 made the strongest impression on Matilda, and, it is 
 not improbable, had tended in some degree to form her 
 own character. She was surprised at the coincidence 
 of sentiment between herself and the man with whom 
 she supposed there was nothing in common with her- 
 self but humanity in its unrestricted sense. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger and his son removed from the table 
 and joined in the conversation. The latter could 
 hardly recognise in the man before him the individu- 
 al of whom he had said to his sister, " That man has 
 lived all his life in a tavern, and thinks he's in one 
 now." 
 
 " What instrument do you prefer, Mr. Forster ?" in- 
 quired Matilda. 
 
 " The instrument of God's own making, miss the 
 most perfect of all the human voice. Next to that, 1 
 think, is the organ. Have you any new music, Miss 
 Ballenger, for I have heard that you play and sing ?" 
 
 " I attempt both, sir, but with indifferent success." 
 
 " May I ask to see your new music ?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir. Brother, will you be so kind as to 
 bring it to Mr. Forster ? You will find it loose in the 
 portfolio."
 
 THE RESCUE. 141 
 
 William Henry brought them. Mr. Forster ran his 
 eyes over them, and selecting one a song which hap- 
 pened to be Matilda's favourite, and which she had 
 just (mastered ? mistressed ? what is right?) request- 
 ed her to sing it. " I will attempt to accompany you," 
 said he, taking from his pocket and adjusting the joints 
 of a superb German flute. 
 
 Matilda laid the music on the table, and without any 
 excuse of cold or hoarseness, began the song. Mr. 
 Forster stood behind her, and looking over her shoul- 
 der at the score, accompanied her in tones at first so 
 low as scarcely to be audible, but gradually swelling 
 out into such rich and perfect harmony, and blending 
 so completely with her voice, in " linked sweetness 
 long drawn out," that Mr. Ballenger and his son were 
 delighted, and Matilda herself was near being put out 
 by her pleased astonishment. 
 
 The song being ended, Mr. Forster thanked Matilda, 
 and said he would, with her permission, take some op- 
 portunity of copying that song, as it was extremely 
 beautiful, and quite original. She offered it to him, of 
 course, and complimented him on his performance. 
 After conversing some time in the most agreeable 
 manner, perceiving the effect he had produced, and 
 wishing to leave it behind him, Mr. Forster rose to de- 
 part. 
 
 " Perhaps, William," said Mr. Ballenger to his son, 
 "Mr. Forster could lead us out of the difficulties of 
 this survey. 1 presume, sir," said he, turning to Isaac, 
 " you have heard, as it is a matter of notoriety, that my 
 neighbour, Mr. Hockley, has brought a suit against me ? 
 He thinks, no doubt, that his survey of land has been 
 overlapped by mine. We have been looking over the 
 patents and deeds, arid attempting to run out the ori- 
 ginal lines : but we have been unable to do so, either 
 from our own ignorance, or from some inherent difficul- 
 ty in the thin- itself." 
 
 Mr. Fnrster's eyes twinkled with pleasure, for, next 
 to his chirography, he valued himself most on his skill 
 as a surveyor.
 
 142 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 " I shall be most happy," said he, " to render you 
 this or any other se.rvice in my power." 
 
 Mr. Ballenger handed him the papers, and offered 
 him a seat at the table. He ran his eyes over the pa- 
 pers, took up the scale and dividers, rapidly sketched 
 for a few moments, stopped, referred to the deed, and 
 observed, " It is no wonder, gentlemen, you were per- 
 plexed ; there is a mistake in two of the courses. 
 These cannot enclose a space ; reverse them, and you 
 will reach the sycamore mentioned as the corner on 
 the bank of the Kanawha." 
 
 They looked at his work, and perceived it at once. 
 Mr. Ballenger thanked Isaac, and invited him to stay 
 to dinner ; but he declined the invitation on the plea 
 of a business appointment, and rode away ; not, how- 
 ever, before he expressed his regret at Hockley's con- 
 duct, and hinting that, if he had been Mr. Ballenger's 
 land-agent, Hockley would not have ventured on this 
 course ; or even if he had, it might have been amica- 
 bly and advantageously settled. 
 
 On his first visit to New Hope, Isaac had laboured 
 under great disadvantages. From Carter's letter to 
 him, and the humble and plain appearance of Mr. Bal- 
 lenger's dwelling, and almost everything about it, he 
 had presumed that Mr. Ballenger and his family were 
 common, ignorant people, of the lower class of retail 
 merchants, and that his free and easy, assuming busi- 
 ness character was the one he should wear, as he did 
 during at least the early part of his first visit. It would 
 give him consequence, and favour his success, he 
 thought, in his meditated enterprise. He quickly dis- 
 covered his mistake the next morning. Indeed, that 
 night, in the chamber appropriated to him, and on the 
 toilet, he saw several things that served to undeceive 
 him. Among the rest, the identical copy of Shakspeare 
 mentioned above. He had taken it up. It opened to 
 " Measure for Measure" and there, on a slip of paper, 
 in a delicate female hand, he found observations on 
 several characters in the book Othello's, Macbeth's, 
 Falstaff's, Desdemona's, and Isabella's which last
 
 THE RESCUE. 143 
 
 was particularly the subject of analysis and of admira- 
 tion. It is a pity that lago's was not among them. H 
 might, perhaps, have learned something that he did noi 
 know. But of this we have our doubts, as Isaac was 
 tolerably well versed in the general principles, at least 
 of the arts practised by that worthy. He copied the 
 paper in pencil, and replaced the original between the 
 very leaves where he found it. There was also a 
 splendid copy of the New Testament on the toilet. 
 This he also opened, and left it open at the twelfth 
 chapter of Paul's Epistle to the Hebrews. We do not 
 say that he read it. We hope he did. He resolved, on 
 going away the next morning, to rectify his mistakes, 
 and to wear in his subsequent visits at New Hope a 
 different character, both external and internal. We 
 have seen that his success was signal fully as great 
 as he calculated on : for the opinions of Mr. Ballenger 
 arid his son, and especially of Miss Matilda, were un- 
 dergoing a change very favourable to Mr. Isaac For- 
 ster. Uncle Tom, too, saw him a changed man. His 
 ideas of gentility were considerably shaken by Isaac's 
 saying to him, as the old man handed to him, on mount- 
 ing his horse, the beautiful, highly-ornamented riding- 
 whip which Mr. Forster sported on that occasion, 
 " Well, friend Thomas, I've got the fourpence for you 
 to-day, and thank you heartily for your care of my 
 horse ;" so saying, he handed to him a silver dollar. 
 
 Uncle Tom looked after him, as he rode away, for 
 some time, and then at the money, and exclaimed, 
 " Thankee, Massa Forster ; thankee, sar. God bless 
 my soul! it's mity hard to find out people at fuss in de 
 woods out here !" 
 
 Uncle Tom was right. It is not only a matter of 
 difficulty to find out people at first " in de woods," as 
 he expressed it, but everywhere else. And the diffi- 
 culty is increased to us when we are placed in new 
 situations, and among a people differing from those to 
 whom we have been accustomed ; hence the mistakes 
 and misconceptions of travellers in regard to national 
 character, manners, customs, habits, laws, and policy
 
 144 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 of foreign nations, and the false estimates of individu- 
 al character. The indications on which we can rely 
 at home, and in regard to those who are affected by 
 the same physical and metaphysical causes that affect 
 ourselves, either become non-significant, or lead us 
 astray. We have to learn a new system of signs of 
 notation before we can calculate correctly. Our plus 
 may be a minus ; our sign of involution may indicate 
 evolution ; and when our opinions, even of individuals, 
 undergo a change, it is often by such imperceptible 
 Degrees, or owing to circumstances so slight or eva- 
 nescent, that although we feel the change itself, we are 
 at a loss to know whence it has arisen. 
 
 In Old Virginia, where Uncle Tom had received all 
 iris impressions in regard to character, gallantry to 
 women, fashionable dress, fine horses and equipage, 
 including the riding-whip, liberality to servants, and a 
 certain style of manners, were to servants the signs of 
 gentility. In their eyes, no man devoid of these could 
 by any possibility be a gentleman. Though some 
 might possess them who did not properly belong to 
 the class and these were hard to find out all others 
 were seen at a glance to be poor folks mean white 
 people the most despicable of all creatures, in the es 
 timation of an aristocratic slave, the consequence and 
 importance of whose master is reflected upon himself. 
 
 It was manifestly impossible that Uncle Tom could 
 conceive Isaac Forster, on his first visit to New Hope, 
 to be a gentleman. That blanket greatcoat, and old 
 flopped hat, and brusque manner of speech, settled the 
 matter at once in his mind, and his conversation with 
 Ben Bramble confirmed it. Now, at his second visit, 
 all the signs were changed. Massa Forster had risk- 
 ed his life to save Miss Mattie. Every part of his 
 dress was " comme il faut" even to his gloves. His 
 horse was a splendid animal, in fine condition. His sad- 
 dle, bridle, and whip unexceptionable ; even in the crit- 
 ical eyes of Uncle Tom, the parting words to him were 
 kind and respectful, and the fourpence was a Spanish 
 milled dollar. Which of all these weighed most in.
 
 THE RESCUE. 145 
 
 the scales of Uncle Tom's mind it is impossible to de- 
 termine ; but we do not think it was the piece of mon- 
 ey, except as being the outward sign of the liberal 
 generosity of the donor. Thomas had given the strong- 
 est proof of his disregard of mere pecuniary consider- 
 ations in refusing the annuity offered to him by his 
 master at Alexandria. Tom was, however, perplexed 
 and puzzled. His opinions were modified, but not en- 
 tirely changed, varying from the chrysalis to the phae- 
 lina state from the worm to the butterfly. 
 
 It so happened that, just as Isaac Forster passed 
 out of sight, Ben Bramble came up to Uncle Tom with 
 two wild turkeys, which he had killed on the hills 
 northeast of New Hope. 
 
 " iMassa Ben, you ought to've cum leetle sooner, to 
 see Mr. Forster. He's jest gone away. I 'clar, 1 
 hardly know'd him. He's fine as a fiddle got ebery- 
 ting bran new. He look slick like dat gobbler you got 
 dar. He ain't no more like he was dan a silk pus is 
 like a sow's ear. He look like a raal gentleman." 
 
 "A copperhead sheds his skin," said Ben, "and 
 looks mity brite, but that don't change his natur. He's 
 the same creepin', crawlin', venomous creetur with the 
 new skin that he wus with the old. Them snakes 
 ain't to he trusted ; they strikes without gain' any no- 
 tice, and they charms the very birds that they first 
 kivers with slime, and then devours. A rattlesnake's 
 got some generosity in him ; he gives warning, and 
 says as plain as a dum creetur can say, * Look out, 
 and defend yerself ; and if you'll let me alone, I'll let 
 you alone.' " 
 
 " Mr. Forster gin me this dollar, anyhow," said Un- 
 cle Tom, tossing up the bright coin. " Thar's gener- 
 osity in that, Massa Ben ; what he gwine for to try to 
 charm rue lor ? He can't swaller dis nigger, no mat- 
 ter how hard he try." 
 
 Ben shook his head, saying, " Zac Forster's arter 
 no good here, nor nowhars else. Tain't in him, and 
 couldn't be dragged out with ox-chains if it was." 
 
 u He behaved mity purty," said Uncle Tom, " and
 
 146 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 laffed, and talked, and played de flute wid Miss Mat- 
 tie, and sot down at de table wid ole master, whar dey 
 had land business, papers, and de sarvayin' 'struments, 
 and he showed 'em somethin' wrong 'bout de land. 
 Master axed him to dinner; but I was monstrous glad 
 he didn't stay, for we had nothin' but bacon and greens, 
 and taters and milk for dinner, and I don't like to see 
 master set down to dinner wid cumpany, and only dat 
 on de table. Tain't zactly right to ax anybody to din- 
 ner, widout 'tis poor folks dat step in widout fust assult- 
 in' de lady ob de house, onless 'tis so long before de 
 dinner hour dat she can pervide for de 'casion ; and 
 den dey mought give her a hint." 
 
 Ben thought all this intelligence very strange, and 
 the latter part of it not the least so. He had no con- 
 ception of that pride of appearances for their masters, 
 as well as themselves, which actuates the slaves of 
 Virginia gentlemen. Thomas was unwilling that his 
 young mistress should go even to a place of worship, 
 because she had no carriage to ride in ; and he would 
 have been infinitely more mortified than his master to 
 see Isaac sit down to the table with only bacon and 
 greens, and potatoes and milk on it. These Ben Bram- 
 ble thought enough, and good enough, for anybody. 
 How often had he invited a wayfaring man, who was 
 wending his way down the rocky path that led by his 
 cabin, to partake with him of a piece of broiled ven- 
 ison and corn bread, without a sense of shame, or any 
 cause for it, gentle reader, ever crossing his mind. 
 
 Ben Bramble gave the turkeys to Uncle Tom, tell- 
 ing him they were for his master, and walked into the 
 house. ^ His face was sad and thoughtful, the truthful 
 index of his heart and mind. He had vague but strong 
 fears of some sinister design on the part of Isaac For- 
 ster against Mr. Ballenger, and they were greatly in- 
 creased by whai he had just heard. He believed that 
 Isaac never used money but to make money, and 
 his having given a dollar to Thomas he could not see 
 in any other than the most unfavourable light. How 
 that dollar was to be returned to him, with interest, he
 
 THE RESCUE. 147 
 
 could not imagine, yet he was firmly convinced r hat it 
 was given with that view. He did not doubt Thom- 
 as's good-feeling towards his master and his family, or 
 his fidelity to them ; and he took it for granted that 
 Isaac was as well acquainted with the feelings of 
 Thomas as he was, and this increased his perplexity. 
 He did not know, as Isaac did, that a few dollars 
 given to servants had gained for many a man a rich 
 wife, or a good bargain out of the master. 
 
 Ben Bramble found Matilda still sitting by the fire, 
 at work with her needle. Mr. Ballenger and his son 
 had walked out. Depositing his gun and hunting ap- 
 paratus in a corner of the room, he took a seat by the 
 fire. The cloud on his brow attracted Matilda's atten- 
 tion, and she said, 
 
 " I hope you are not unwell, Ben ; you look weary 
 and low-spirited to-day." 
 
 " Not sick nor tired, but sorry, honey," said Ben. 
 
 " Why so ?" said she. 
 
 " Zac Forster's been here to-day tryin' to make his- 
 self agreeable." 
 
 " And ought not everybody to try to make them- 
 selves agreeable ?" said Matilda. 
 
 " Yes, when they do it from good natur, and mean 
 it in nat'ral arnest. But when Zac Forster's most 
 agreeable-like, it's my notion he's most dangerous ; 
 just like a snake that makes his skin shine with the 
 most beautiful colours when he's charmin' a bird. I 
 'spose you know what he does that for." 
 
 Matilda blushed, and thinking that Ben had by some 
 means discovered that Mr. Forster was in love with 
 her, she said, 
 
 " Ben, he may charm me as much as he can, I shall 
 hardly fall in love with Mr. Forster. I am not a bird 
 to flutter up to the mouth of the charmer." 
 
 Ben looked up at her, all lovely as she was, and suf- 
 fused with the deepest tints of the rose. A new Iiht 
 broke upon his mind. The object of Forster's designs, 
 he thought, stood before him, and he iiad had no IIIOIT 
 idea of Forster's loving her, or aspiring to the hand of
 
 148 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 Matilda Ballenger, than of his attempting to pluck a 
 star from the heavens. He rose from his seat, and 
 with a look of blasted terror, and an energy of expres- 
 sion that made Matilda tremble, he exclaimed, fixing 
 his eyes upon her, 
 
 ' Matilda Ballenger, I'd rather see a painter lapping 
 yer heart's blood, or Simon Grety and the wild In- 
 juns roast you alive after tearing off that beautiful hair 
 from your quiverin' scull, than to see you the wife of 
 Zac Forster. I love you, Matilda Ballenger, God 
 knows, but not with a lovyer's love ; I ain't such a 
 fool as that. Bewar of that man. Don't let him come 
 nigh you ; a young, innocent creetur like you don't 
 know what some men can do. A power is gin 'em 
 over the hearts of women. They has means that no 
 mortal woman knows on or can hold out ;igin. They 
 has the gift of charmin' the same as the wicked sar- 
 punt ; and the poor gal they fixes thar glarin' eyes 
 upon comes nigher and nigher, while he circles round 
 and round, and shines brighter and brighter, till the 
 faschinated gal, like the poor bird, enable to fly, is 
 seized, and gives the death cry too late, too late : 
 all the brite colours is gone, and the poor innocent 
 creetur, lookin' on him with her dyin' eyes, sees noth- 
 in' but a rough, scaly snake, with his pison fangs in 
 her heart." 
 
 " Oh ! don't talk so," said Matilda ; " my dear, kind 
 friend, you make me shudder. You don't know what 
 a frightful picture you have drawn." 
 
 " It ain't a pictur," said Ben : " it's the truth ; I've 
 seed it. I want you to know its true, to guard yerself 
 agin it, that vou may never have a feelin' experience 
 of it." 
 
 " Thank you, Ben, thank you ; but be assured there 
 is no danger." 
 
 " Thar is danger; and them that don't see it is apt- 
 est to fall into it. I've seed women that hated a man 
 like pison wouldn't let him tech 'em ; and yet, arter 
 he had conjured 'em in some onaccountahle way, they'd 
 resk life for him, though he was wicked, and mean,
 
 THE RESCUE. 149 
 
 and ugly. It's a gift, Miss Mattie, as sure as you are 
 born a secret gilt. Thar was one Vincent Wash in 
 Old Vigirmy mayhap you have hearn of him. He 
 was an onfavoured, onlarnt man of the common sort, 
 ongentlemanlike in his manners, and not rich ; yet he 
 married seven wives, one arter another, as fast as they 
 died : and some on 'em was quality, high-larnt gals, 
 and butiful, that had plenty of other men to ax 'em, 
 too ; so it warn't for the lack of a husband they took 
 him. Some women marries whether or no, just to be 
 married (more fools they) ; but that warn't ther case 
 that married that man through conjuration : some said 
 it was powders; some said it was his breath, or some- 
 thin' that come out on his eyes. He said if he could 
 only git nigh enough to put his hand upon any mortal 
 woman, she'd be sure to give up. Many women that 
 heard on him, and some on 'em not the puniest in the 
 world, was so afeard of the man, that they said, ' Please 
 God, he shouldn't tech 'em with a forty-foot pole.' 
 Many men, I b'leve, has the power of that man, that 
 don't know it twell they try, like them as can find wa- 
 ter with a green twig, or can put thar thoughts arid 
 feelin's into sum other people by lookin' in ther eyes 
 and holdin' ther thumbs. I tell you, bewar of Zac 
 Forster. I've seed him do strange, onnat'ral things 
 with my own eyes." 
 
 (i Why, Ben, the days of witchcraft are passed," 
 said Matilda. 
 
 " Don't you b'leve it, honey. Men and women be- 
 witch one another yit ; and some men can do other 
 onnat'ral things, and Zac Forster is one on 'urn. I 
 was once a carryin' a chain for him, Nat Colly and 1. 
 He was on afore with his compass, and when he got 
 to the bank of the New River, we seed him walkin' 
 up and down the bank, starin' at somethin' on t'other 
 side. So, when we measured up to the water, he says, 
 ' Well, boys, the line crosses here to that tree on the 
 bank. You can't measure it with the chain, but I know 
 the distance.' ' It's in the deed,' says I. ' No,' says 
 he, ' the man that measured afore was no conjurer, and
 
 1 50 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 has put it wrong in the deed; but I've measured it 
 while you were comin' up.' Now I know'd he hadn't 
 crossed the river, and had never bin thar before, ibr it 
 was jist arter he come out here from the old settlements. 
 ' How fur is it ?' says I. ' If I was to tell you in poles 
 and links,' says he, ' you wouldn't know ; but it's ex- 
 actly one hundred and seventeen yards and nine inches.' 
 And off he went to the ferry. Nat Colly and I stared 
 at one another. 'It's guess-work,' says I. 'Let's 
 measure it,' says he ; ' I've got a trout-line jist below 
 here long enough to stretch across.' So we went and 
 got the line and Nat's canoe, and we measured from 
 the last stick to the tree. It was a box elder, and, as 
 sure as I'm a livin' man, it was exactly as he said 
 one hundred and seventeen yards and nine inches ; for 
 Nat had a two-foot rule in his pocket, and we cut a 
 hickory sprout, and made a yard stick, and measured 
 the line that stretched across from the stick to the tree. 
 " Arter we went up to the ferry we wer talkin' 'bout 
 the distance Nat's rifle would carry a ball ; Nat was 
 standin' on a stone in the yard, and he said, ' She'll 
 carry a ball from whar I stand straight to that lower 
 limb on the big wawnut-tree.' ' She won't,' says I, 
 ' for it's two hundred yards, and the ball will fall some. 
 She's too small in the bore for that.' He up with his 
 gun and blazed away, and struck just below the limb. 
 ' Thar, now,' says I, ' didn't I tell you so ?' ' It's more 
 nor two hundred yards,' says he, ' and I'll measure it. 
 Let's go in the house and get a ball of twine.' For- 
 ster was sittin' in the porch listenin', arid when we 
 cum back we didn't stay ten minks he says, 'You 
 needn't measure ; Nat's right. The line of the ball 
 through the air is two hundred and twenty-eight yards 
 and a half.' ' Whar from ?' says I. ' From the muz- 
 zle of his rifle as he stood on the stone,' says he. ' It 
 can't be,' says I, ' and I'll measure it.' ' Why, I have 
 measured it,' says he, ' better than you can with any 
 line.' ' How ?' says I. ' By a conjuration,' says he. 
 Well, I wasn't satisfied. ' Here, Nat, tie this eend of 
 the string round the gun, and make a knot on it at the
 
 THE RESCUE. 151 
 
 muzzle ; stand on the rock, and I'll go with the ball 
 and climb the tree, and then do you take aim, and I'll 
 stretch the string.' I clumb the tree at least thirty 
 foot, sat on the limb, and done it. It was jist as For- 
 ster said. Now no man, by nat'ral power and fair 
 means, can measure a line through the air. 1 don't 
 want, and I don't want them as I cares for, to have no- 
 thin' to do with them that's got onnat'ral gifts." 
 
 " Why, Ben," said Matilda, " there's nothing strange 
 or unnatural in that ; any mathematician can do the 
 same." 
 
 Ben shook his head, saying, " Mathee Matician, or 
 Tommy Matician, or Zaccy Matician, I don't want 
 'em 'bout me if they are like Zac Forster. I don't be- 
 lieve in ghosts and sperrits of dead men, but I do be- 
 lieve in onnat'ral powers and gifts in livin' men and 
 women." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BEN, seeing Mr. Ballenger approach the house, 
 took up his cap, and went out to meet him. They 
 stood conversing in the yard for half an hour ; and 
 Matilda could perceive, from Ben's earnest manner 
 and vehement gestures, the deep interest which he 
 felt in the subject of their conversation. 
 
 When he returned to the house, Ben seemed 
 more cheerful. The cloud had passed from his 
 brow. Whether he had been inquiring about math- 
 ematicians and their means of measurement, and 
 had received satisfactory information, or had been 
 warning Mr. Ballenger, or communicating matters 
 of importance to him, we shall never know, I pre- 
 sume, as neither of them ever made the most re- 
 mote allusion to that conversation. Ben mention- 
 ed to William Henry, who came in shortly after-
 
 152 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 ward, that he was going to a pigeon-roost in Teg's 
 Valley with Nat Colly, Sam Dyer, and Charley Van- 
 dal, who were to meet him the next day at the 
 mouth of Coa 1 . River. 
 
 " Will you take me along 1" said William Henry. 
 
 "I come a purpus," said Ben ; "you'll see some- 
 thin', and larn somethin' too, though some people 
 has eyes, and yet don't see nothin', and ears too, 
 and can't tell the screechin' of a painter from the 
 cryin' of a child. The pigins goes from the oak 
 and beech woods on all the hills and bottoms on 
 this side the Ohio, and from beyant too, I guess, to 
 roost at one place. That's a power on 'um, I tell 
 ye, if it's like the last pigin year. I was thar then, 
 and they broke down a matter of two akers of tim- 
 ber." 
 
 " Broke down the trees !" exclaimed Matilda, as- 
 tonished. 
 
 "To be sure, honey; that is, the limbs of the 
 trees, a lightin' on 'em. Master Will can tell you 
 when he gets back." 
 
 Vast flocks of pigeons had been seen for several 
 days passing by all in one direction, and Mr. Bal- 
 lenger had called the attention of his son and 
 daughter to one flock, which stretched across the 
 heavens from the northeast to the southwest; and 
 although they were flying with amazing rapidity, 
 it was fifteen minutes before the rear of the column 
 had passed. 
 
 " Now, let us suppose," said Mr. Ballenger, " that 
 they fly only twelve hundred yards in a minute 
 and they are said to fly a mile, 1760 yards, in that 
 time and the column to be only one hundred yards 
 wide and I am sure it exceeds that; if we allow 
 two pigeons to the square yard in flying, there 
 were then 400 times the length of the column, 
 which was 18,000 yards long: this gives the pro- 
 digious number of 7,200,000 pigeons in one flock." 
 Mr. Ballenger was startled at the result of his cal- 
 culation.
 
 THE RESCUE. 153 
 
 "Take only the half of it," said William Henry, 
 *' and what an amazing number upward of three 
 millions and a half in a single flight ! I killed one 
 the other day, and he had at least a gill of acorns 
 in his crop. Now I am sure that more than four 
 times the number in that single flock passed over 
 during the day, all going the same way that is, 
 more than fourteen millions ; and if they only fill 
 their crops once during the day, they would con- 
 sume 109,375 bushels in a single day, and in the 
 course of a year 39,921,875 bushels: more than 
 enough to feed the mighty army of Xerxes ! How 
 are these creatures sustained through the whole 
 year 1" 
 
 " God, in his infinite goodness," said Mr. Ballen 
 ger, "has adapted the powers of his creatures to 
 their modes of existence. The teeming earth is 
 the pasture of all. He feeds the birds of the air as 
 well as men and beasts, and he who accomplishes 
 his purpose by the best and most simple means, has 
 made a few feathers the instruments to birds of 
 obtaining their supplies of food. They have not to 
 pay the cost of carriage. The consumer is carried 
 to the food, and not the food to the consumer. 
 Birds are the Arabs of the air; and such is the ra- 
 pidity of their flight, such the ease with which they 
 pass over great spaces in a short time, that, when- 
 ever their appropriate food is exhausted in one part 
 of the earth, or fails to be produced for a season, 
 they seek it elsewhere, and by an unerring instinct 
 find it. Take these pigeons as an example : if they 
 only fly from their perch during one hour in the 
 morning to their feeding ground, and take one to 
 return at nightfall, they have eight or ten hours to 
 ravage the fields and woods to the distance of for- 
 ty miles from the roost; so that they can lodge at 
 the same place every night till all their food is ex- 
 hausted in a circle around it, the diameter of which 
 is eighty miles, embracing an area of more than 
 three millions and seventy thousand acres." 
 7
 
 154 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " They go furder than forty miles from the roost, 
 or the double on it," said Ben Bramble, " to feed 
 in the day, when the mast is gettin' scase ; for 
 young Uriah Jenkins cotch'd some in a spring-net 
 beyant Lewisburg. He put pieces of paper to some 
 ten or twelve of 'urn, mentionin' the place, the day, 
 and even the hour when he let 'urn loose, and three 
 on 'urn was kilt that night at the roost in Teg's 
 Valley. His brother Ben was thar, and seed it, 
 and showed it to me." 
 
 " How do they take them with spring-nets 1" in- 
 quired Matilda. "I should think they would fly 
 before you could approach and throw a net over 
 them."' 
 
 "It's done by a desete, honey, as most innocent 
 creeturs, onsuspicionin', is carcumvented and made 
 a prey on. The men first watches whar the pi- 
 gins mostly passes over ; they then goes thar be- 
 fore they begin to pass, and ties some pigins by 
 strings to little stakes driven in the ground, so that 
 they can flutter about. They then fixes thar net 
 to kiver that place, when the man that is hid hard 
 by pulls the net string. The pigins flyin' over, see- 
 in' some of thar fellow-creeturs on the ground, 
 flutterin' about, nat'rally thinks they have found 
 food thar, and down they come. The net springs, 
 and they are kotch'd in the snare. Many things, 
 and people too, is tuck in that same way." 
 
 " That is true," remarked Mr. Ballenger ; " traps 
 and stool-pigeons are set for men as well as birds." 
 Ben Bramble's idea, that strange and extraordi- 
 nary powers are possessed by some men, is not 
 confined to him even in these enlightened days ; 
 and very intelligent persons believe in the power 
 of certain individuals to transfuse into others the 
 impressions and sensations of their own senses and 
 minds, so that a sensation or thought of those pos- 
 sessing this power becomes common to themselves 
 and the persons on whom this power is exercised. 
 If this be true, a heavy weight of responsibility
 
 THE RESCUE. 155 
 
 rests upon those who are thus gifted. Ben be- 
 lieved that iie who could tell the length of an air- 
 drawn line mi.Qiht possess an irresistible power over 
 the human Elections. The one was not more in- 
 comprehensible to him than the other; and, in- 
 deed, it would be difficult for more learned men 
 than Ben to assign limits to powers and faculties 
 in others which we can neither exercise nor com- 
 prehend. His fears, therefore, for Miss Ballenger, 
 entertaining the belief which he did, were not only 
 natural, but rational. But, had Isaac Forstcr pos- 
 sessed all the powers of earth and hell, he could 
 not have prevailed against the affections of Matil- 
 da, for she. was a Christian. Ben did not think of 
 that ; yet he knew that trials and afflictions are the 
 fining furnaces that free us from dross, and purify 
 and fit us for heaven. However hot the fire may 
 be, or however long we may be exposed to its ac- 
 tion, we shall not be consumed, but come out pu- 
 rer, and brighter, and more beautiful. How light 
 were Miss Ballenger's present afflictions compared 
 with those she was destined to endure! The poet 
 has said, 
 
 " Where ignorance is bliss, 
 'Tis folly to be wise." 
 
 We go much farther, and say that even present 
 sufferings would be rendered infinitely more hard 
 to bear by the certain knowledge that they were to 
 be still greater. 
 
 While we are making these reflections, Uncle 
 Tom was removing Ben Bramble's gun and its ac- 
 companiments from the corner in which they had 
 been placed. He looked at the gun with great at- 
 tention ; Ben observed it, and said, 
 
 ' That's a scatter gun, Thomas ; the best sort 
 for birds and the like o' that. It'll bring down a 
 pile of pigins at one fire." 
 
 "I know all about him, Massa Ben ; 'tis de fust 
 duckin' gun I've seed out here, jest for all de world 
 like mine in Ole Viginny."
 
 156 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 "Why, can you shoot, Thomas 1" 
 
 "Lor'! sir, I've kilt more white-back ducks at 
 one shoot dan you ould shake a stick at. I used 
 to go a duckin' for master constant on de Poto- 
 muc. Swans, and red-necks, and canvass backs in 
 de winter, and mallards too ; and in de summer, de 
 blue-wing an' summer duck. Me and ole Duchess 
 used to go as fur down as Mount Varnon, whar 
 Gineral Washington lived. Duchess had as much 
 sense as a human ; she'd never bring out a dead 
 duck while she seed one a flutterin' off. She an' 
 I had the roughest time once arter a crippled duck 
 you ever seed. I thought she was gone for true. 
 The duck div, and stayed so long under dat she div 
 too, and dey cum up onder de ice. I run'd out, 
 for de ice would bar me near de shore ; but when 
 I got nearly over her, I broke in up to my brest ; 
 an' seein' de poor creetur most gone, I lambed 
 away on de ice wid de gun, an' retch'd her as she 
 was gwine down, and raised her up in my arms, 
 throwin' down de broken gun, stock an' all. Please 
 God, 1 was glad. You tink she didn't hold on to 
 de duck! dat she did! Master gin me a new gun 
 jist like dis here one of yourn. 'Twas bigger an' 
 longer dan de ole one, an' carried a han'ful of 
 shot; but onless you helt her mighty tight to your 
 shoulder, she kicked like a three-year old colt ; 
 but den she play'd de very wild wid de ducks. I 
 wish I had her out here now ; dar's some few scat- 
 terin' water-fowl on dis ribber, but nothin' to corn- 
 par to de Potomuc. Umph ! umph ! I've seed whole 
 akres kivered wid 'em. One morning I crawled 
 down in a mash whar dey was feedin' in de edge 
 of de water on de grass seed; Duchess was close 
 behind, crawlin' too. We went like two black- 
 snakes, slidin' along, for she was as black as me, 
 wid de butifullest long, wavy hair in her tail like 
 an osterridge's fedder ; dem as knows de breeds of 
 dogs called her a true New-Founderlander : so, 
 when we got nigh enuf, thar they wer by thousands,
 
 THE RESCUE. 157 
 
 bobbin' up an' down, an' talkin' in thar landguidge 
 like so many French Garmans. I tuck aim right 
 in de thick on 'um, an' blazed away. When (ley 
 riz, 'twas like thunder. She nocked me clean ovei 
 on Duchess, but she was in de water in no time 
 an' she fotch out duck arter duck ontwell I had 
 forty-seven." 
 
 How long Tom's tongue would have run it is im- 
 possible to say, if Ben had not interrupted him j for 
 ducking had been one of the things on which Un- 
 cle Tom valued himself at a high figure. And what 
 real sportsman does not like to recount his past ex- 
 ploits '. It is the most con amove, talking in this 
 world. No old lady, once a reigning belle, loves 
 to recount her conquests, or does it with more 
 pride and pleasure, than your true-blooded fox-hunt- 
 er or duck-killer. There is eloquence even in the 
 eye of a little boy who is telling how he shot his 
 first ground-squirrel and robin-redbreast, or how he 
 hooked his first sun-perch. 
 
 "Did you ever see the gineral V said Ben Bram- 
 ble to Uncle Tom. 
 
 " Many a time, Massa Ben ; he used to cum to 
 our church in Alexandry. Why, sar, he's eat din- 
 ner at our house. Ole missus of all was de darter 
 of Major Wynne, who was wid de gineral at Brad- 
 dick's defeat. I stood behind his chair, an' had de 
 honour to wate on him. Dar was he an' de mad- 
 am, an' Major Lewis, an' Judge Mercer, an' Doc- 
 tor Craick, an de markiss dat come all de way 
 from cross de big water. De gineral heself led 
 my ole missus into de dinin' room, and de mar- 
 kiss led Madam Washington. My missus worn't 
 so grand as de madam, but she was de likeliest, 
 outifullest lady I ever seed, mity like Miss Mat- 
 tie, only dar was more on her. 'Twas right for 
 de gineral to lead her in, for he was de fust man 
 in leadin' in eberyting. None dat ever was made 
 could go before him. De truck dat he was made 
 on was monstrous scase, Massa Ben ; thar worn't
 
 158 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 enuf to make sich another. I watch'd him when 
 de passon axed de blessin', and he was lookin' 
 right up to heben for it. He look'd dar for it, de 
 gineral did, in eberyting, or he couldn't a brought 
 us out on de trubbles he did." 
 
 Mr. Ballenger, who was in another room, called 
 Thomas at this point in his description of the gen- 
 eral and the dinner party, or Ben would doubtless 
 have heard all the details, for it was one of the 
 proud days of Uncle Tom, was that dinner party. 
 We can say, though, that on that day General 
 Washington spoke more freely of Braddock's de- 
 feat than was his wont. It must be recollected that 
 Mr. Ballenger, at whose table he was dining, was 
 the son of a lady whose father was severely wound- 
 ed on that disastrous day. Washington was inti- 
 mately acquainted with him, and set a high value 
 on his intrepid bravery, his skill, and prudence. 
 When Braddock made the rude interrogatory reply 
 to Washington's advice, which has been so often 
 quoted, this officer, who was by the side of Wash- 
 ington, foresaw the result. He told Washington 
 that his prudent and excellent counsel, which alone 
 could have saved the army and Braddock's own 
 life, would be thrown away on a brave but con- 
 ceited military martinet. 
 
 " Sir," said Washington, " he should know that 
 an officer who leads men into a country, the geog- 
 raphy of which is unknown to him, against an en- 
 emy with whose mode of warfare he is unacquaint- 
 ed, is, in all human probability, throwing away the 
 lives of his men. The truth is, Braddock believed 
 that British bravery and British discipline could 
 not fail to route the rude, untaught savages of 
 America; and so they would have done on the 
 plains of Flanders; but in the woods here, where 
 every bush is a cover, and every tree and rock a 
 fortification, courage is vain, and discipline itself, 
 at least that discipline which kept the troops to- 
 gether in close order, a disadvantage."
 
 THE RESCUE. 
 
 On the removal of the cloth after that dinner, 
 William Henry, then a lad, and Mattie, a toddling 
 little girl, were seen by Mrs. Washington, through 
 a half-open door opposite to her seat, peeping into 
 the dining-room. "Let the children," said she to 
 Mrs. Ballenger, "come in." The mother beckon- 
 ed to them. Little Mattie ran up to Dr. Craick, 
 the family physician, with whom this beautiful 
 child was a pet, and raising herself on tiptoe, whis- 
 pered in his ear. He pointed to Mrs. Washington. 
 Mattie timidly approached her, and, looking up into 
 her face, said, 
 
 "I love you, madam, because you love the good 
 man that saved grandpa's life." 
 
 Mrs. Washington kissed the child, and pointing 
 to the general, said, 
 
 " That gentleman conversing with your father is 
 my husband. Will you go and thank him your- 
 self!" 
 
 " If brother goes too, madam," said Mattie. 
 
 Mrs. Washington rose from her seat, and beck- 
 oning to William Henry, to whom his mother was 
 giving the names of her distinguished guests, led 
 them to the general. 
 
 "These, sir," said she to him, "are the only 
 surviving descendants of Major William Henry 
 Wynne." 
 
 General Washington turned to the children, and 
 looking at them with great kindness, took their of- 
 fered hands, and said to William Henry, 
 
 " Your great-grandfather was a brave officer and 
 a good man ; may you inherit his virtues, and nev- 
 er tarnish, by any action of your life, the honour- 
 able name you bear." 
 
 The little girl looked up in his face, and said, 
 "My name is Wynne too Matilda Wynne Ballen- 
 ger.'" 
 
 The general placed his hand on her head, and 
 said to her, " You are like your grandmother in 
 person; I hope you will be like her in mind and
 
 160 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 heart. She came three thousand miles to nurse 
 her sick, wounded father, and perhaps, by her fil- 
 ial affection, saved his life." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said the little girl, clasping her hands, 
 "it was you that saved his life, and so many peo- 
 ple's lives, from the bad Indians, and I wanted to 
 thank you for it." 
 
 The tears came into her eyes as she looked in 
 his face. General Washington was moved by the 
 artless gratitude and feeling of the child. He 
 stooped down, and taking her in his arms, kissed 
 her. We doubt if the heart of that great and good 
 man ever felt, in the applause bestowed by mill- 
 ions for his public services, a purer pleasure than 
 it received from the unaffected gratitude of a child. 
 Whether, amid the varied scenes and incidents of 
 after life, he forgot this simple circumstance, it is 
 certain she never did. When Doctor Craick, many 
 months afterward, took her upon his knee, arid was 
 about to kiss her, she exclaimed, 
 
 "Oh! don't, doctor; you'll kiss off General Wash- 
 ington's kiss, and I want to keep that as long as I 
 live." 
 
 "Why, what will you do, my little sweetheart, 
 when you get married 1" said he. "You'll lose it 
 then." 
 
 " No I won't," replied she ; " he shall kiss my 
 cheek or my chin ; he sha'n't kiss off General Wash- 
 ington's kiss." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BEFORE the dawn of the next day, Ben Bramble, 
 William Henry, and Uncle Tom had left New Hope 
 on their way to the pigeon-roost in Teg's Valley. 
 The latter led a pack-horse to bring home the game ;
 
 THE RESCUE. 161 
 
 but the bag was not empty now. In many cases, 
 at this time, prudent huntsmen carry from home 
 more meat than they bring hack ; but it was not 
 so, at the time of which we are writing, on the 
 frontier settlements. Game was then very abun- 
 dant there. A little bread, when it could be had, 
 salt and tobacco, were all that huntsmen carried 
 with them, except their arms and ammunition. 
 
 Miss Ballenger had not only put up bread and 
 salt, but bacon, tongues, and eggs, and Uncle Tom 
 had put in the other end of the sack some of what 
 he called his " contrements" and " contrapsions," 
 among which were red and black pepper, ground 
 coffee, sugar, and several canisters and bottles, 
 with a short-handled frying-pan and coffee-pot. His 
 pockets, too, were stuffed with tobacco, a curry- 
 comb, strings, straps, buckles, thread, awls, needles, 
 &c., &c. They intended to be absent three or four 
 days, and he was provided for a six months' cam- 
 paign. 
 
 They crossed the Kanawha at the Mouth of 
 Elk, and unexpectedly overtook Nat Colly, Sam 
 Dyer, and Charley Vandal, who came down from 
 the Loop on the southwestern side of the river, and 
 expected to arrive at the rendezvous several hours 
 before Ben and William Henry. All of them had 
 long, smooth-bored guns except William Henry 
 and Uncle Tom, who had common short fowling- 
 pieces. 
 
 " Here they are," said Charley. " How are ye, 
 Mr. Ballenger 1 I'm glad to see you. How d'ye 
 do, Uncle Ben 1 Why, you must have waked up 
 Mr. Ballenger before he went to roost last night, 
 to be here before night to-day. Hellow, Blackey ! 
 where the devil are you going rattling along with 
 them tin pans, and turning up the whites of your 
 eyes like a duck in thunder ?." 
 
 "Lor' ! massa, I gwine to wait on you, and pick 
 up de plains, if so be you kill any." 
 
 "Pick 'em up, indeed," said Charley. "Why, 
 7*
 
 162 
 
 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 you wouldn't get over the pain in the back for sev- 
 en years to come." 
 
 "How you gwine git 'urn, den, massaV' 
 
 " Rake 'em up, you old rascal." 
 
 " What wid 1." said Uncle Tom. 
 
 "Why, with a bush tied to a horse's tail, just as 
 you rake down curkle burrs in corn-fields." 
 
 Uncle Tom showed the whites of his eyes more 
 than ever. Nat Colly said to him, 
 
 "It's well for you, nigger, that it's broad day 
 light, or that young chap that you're talking with 
 would shoot you to a certainty. He always shoots 
 at things that shine in the dark." 
 
 "You run away from them," retorted Charley, 
 " without shooting. Come, now, Nat, none of that 
 nonsense. What's your name, my old coon 1" said 
 Charley to Uncle Tom. 
 
 "My name, sar," said the old man, pulling off 
 his hat, "is Thomas Taylor; but my 'quaintances 
 and de young people calls me Uncle Tom." 
 
 " Well, Uncle Tom," continued Charley, " you're 
 a Taylor, are ye 1 Did you ever make a wooden 
 jacket 1 Here's a man in this company that wears 
 one when he goes a 'possum hunting and catches 
 coons." 
 
 " I ain't a tailor, sar, by trade, but only in name ; 
 but if I wus, I shouldn't know how to go 'bout to 
 make a jacket out on wood. What sort of wood, 
 massa V' 
 
 "Ask that gentleman," said Charley, pointing to 
 Sam Dyer ; " he's the man that wears them, and 
 likes a tight fit at that ; so tight that they have to 
 split it on the back with a hatchet, and he comes 
 out like a locust." 
 
 Uncle Tom was looking at Sam Dyer, and was 
 about to ask him what sort of wood he had his 
 jackets made of; but there was something in the 
 expression of Sam's face that deterred him. Sam 
 drew the reins of his bridle, and, looking at Char- 
 ley, said,
 
 THE RESCUE. 163 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is, Vandal, if you don't let 
 that story rest, I'm darn'd if I don't take truer aim 
 at that rattle-brain of yourn than I did at the rock 
 enough's enough." 
 
 Ben was some hundred and fifty yards in ad 
 vance of the rest of the party, and they saw him 
 slip ofThis horse, and, bending low, glide away to- 
 wards the river. They halted, and a moment af- 
 terward they heard the report of his gun. His 
 horse remained in the road without moving. 
 
 " Boys," said he, when they rode up, " if you 
 hadn't made such a noise, I should have got the 
 buck a large one, too instead of this young 
 thing." He had killed a doe. 
 
 "Bless my soul!" said Uncle Tom, "'twas no 
 use bringin' de meat, Massa William j he is a hunt- 
 er for true ; he shoot 'urn down jist like a beef in 
 de pnstnr; an' dars no room in de bag for him." 
 
 " Old Skew knows how to carry a deer," said 
 Ben ; " he's used to it. Horses is monstrous feard 
 on 'em, dead or alive, twell they git used to 'em." 
 
 "I kin carry him, Massa Ben," said Tom; "jest 
 heave him up behind me ; dis horse is bound to 
 carry whateber I put on him." 
 
 The entrails were taken out, the head was cut 
 off, and the deer thrown up behind Uncle Tom. 
 The rest of the party rode on while he was fasten- 
 ing it, portmanteau-fashion, with a piece of rope 
 taken from his pocket. He had hardly fixed it to 
 suit him, and taken his seat in the saddle, when a 
 few drops of blood from the neck of the deer trick- 
 led down on the horse's flnnk; in an instant the 
 frightened animal dashed off at full speed, and pass- 
 ed the party like a whirlwind, leaving the pack- 
 horse behind, who galloped up and stopped. 
 
 "Hold him hard, my race-rider," cried Charley 
 to Uncle Tom as he swept past him ; " hold hi:n 
 hard, or, by George! he'll throw you off." 
 
 But, instead of holding hard, Uncle Tom was ply- 
 ing the whip, and they heard him say to the horse,
 
 164 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 "You'll be tired of runnin' wid dis nigger 'fore 
 you stop, dat you will, for I ain't gwine to give you 
 any time to do 'notin' but de runnin' twell you've 
 got enuf of it." 
 
 Thomas was an excellent rider, and kept the 
 horse in the track ; and when the party came up 
 with him, the bridle was lying loose on the horse's 
 neck, and he was helping himself to a quid of to- 
 bacco. 
 
 "He didn't get you off]" said Ben. 
 
 " Oh no, Massa Ben ; de horse has to be foaled 
 dat can do dat trick wid me, if I'm watchin' him, 
 an' he'll only run. When you 'low 'um to stop, 
 an' rear, an' put de head between de fore legs, an' 
 kick up, den it's sorter troublesome to stick. But 
 I ain't had sich a race since master gin me de Jews- 
 harp." 
 
 " How's that!" asked Charley, looking to Will- 
 iam Henry for an explanation. 
 
 "Ask Uncle Tom," said William Henry j "he 
 can tell. It was really a laughable scene." 
 
 " What about the jewsharp, Uncle Tom 1" asked 
 Charley, jumping oft his horse to assist the old man 
 in readjusting his trappings. 
 
 "Tankee, massa," said Tom ; "dat will do. He 
 ain't gwine to play no tricks herearter. He's gin 
 up for this time, anyhow." 
 
 "But the jewsharp, Uncle Tom 1" 
 
 "Well, sar, I was waitin' on massa an' anoth- 
 er gemman travelling an' de horse I rode was 
 a strong, pony-built creetur, able to carry two 
 ob me, an' de portmantle besides; but he was so 
 oncommon lazy, an' his hide so onsensibul, dat 
 I couldn't git him along ; an' what made me mad- 
 der wid him was dat he grow'd fatter an' more 
 lazier ebery day. I whipped an' 1 spurred, but 
 I mought as well a bin tirin' my arms an' legs 
 on a wooden horse. He wouldn't go any faster 
 dan he chused, an' dat was jest to keep me so fur 
 behind dat I couldn't hear de gemmen talk, an'
 
 TIIE RESCUE. 1G5 
 
 dat's a great cumfort on de road when you ain't got no 
 fellow-survunt 'long to talk wid. I got so lonesome I 
 don't know what I should have done if it hadn't bin for 
 backer. Dat help de cause sum. When we got to a 
 little town, or passed a house wid a sign, or a church, 
 he'd come to a dead stand jest as if he had to preach 
 dur, and we had a reg'lar fight before he'd budge a 
 step furder. I got tired of fightin' him, an' whenever 
 I came to a tavern or a church, I used to turn him 
 tail foremost, an' back him by. But he had no reli- 
 gion in him, nor conshance, for all dat. When we 
 wus passing in dat oncommon way, the people laughed 
 at him an' me too, an' he wus sich a fool he didn't 
 mind dat, for he didn't mind nothin' but quick motion 
 an' an empty manger. I felt sometimes like gittin' 
 down when I wus out on sight, an' killin' him, an' tell- 
 in' massa dat he died of a n't of de colic or de ap- 
 plexy. 
 
 " Well, sar, at last I ax'd master to buy me a jews- 
 harp for cumpany, tellin' him how lonesome 1 wus, an' 
 how onpossible it wus to git along. He bought de 
 j(!wsharp, an' gin it to me. We had hardly left de 
 little to A n whar lie bought it, when Dardevil dat 
 uas his numo dropped behind as ushuul, an' left me 
 a matter of a quarter of a mile behind. 1 fust tuck a 
 chaw of backer, an' when dat gin out, I out wid de 
 jewsharp, an' puttin 1 her to my mouf, I hadn't fotch 
 more than a lw.ing Iwang, when Dardevil raised up his 
 head so high he like to have hit me in de face. He 
 turned his ears dis way an' dat, listenin' to hear if dat 
 ting dat made de oncommon noise wus nigh to him. 
 He had stopped stock still. I seed he was a trimblin', 
 an' 1 fotch another twang twongee, an' bless God ! if 
 he didn't bolt right off like a quarter horse. I held him 
 hard, an' let him run. Masser an' de odder gem man 
 heard us a cummin', an' tinkin' dat sometink wus 
 ruiui'd mad, they clar'd the track, an' soon as Dardevil 
 ktitch up wid 'urn, he runn'd right jam between 'um, 
 an' like to have knock'd bof of 'em off; an' den he 
 btopt so short he like to have sont me over his head.
 
 166 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 ' What is the meanin' of this, sir ?' says master, soon 
 as I got bref to speak. ' It's de jewsharp, sir,' says I. 
 ' Dardevil, when he heard it, thought. I b'leve, sir, it 
 wus some oncommon sort of a horsefly, big enuf to eat 
 him up, fat as he is, and he tore off' wid me at sich a 
 lick dat I couldn't hold him. He's as hard to hold, 
 when he gits to runnin', as 'tis to git him at it.' ' What 
 do you mean,' said Mr. Carter, ' by tellin' sich a tale as 
 dat, you old villun ?' Dardevil had hurt his knee run- 
 riin' between him an' master, an' he wus as mad as 
 fire. ' It's de truf, sar,' says I. ' Don't you see how 
 he trimbles yet, massa V Dardevil had now got back, 
 by tugsin' an' pullin', to de rear of de gemmen, an' 
 he wus turnin' his head fust to de one side, an' den to 
 de odder, listenin' for dat horrid sound dat scared him 
 so ; an' when dey wheeled into de road an' went on, 
 it wus as hard to hold him back as it wus afore to git 
 him along. Whenever dey lef him a leetle way be- 
 hind, he'd rush up, in spite of all I could do, rite be- 
 tween 'urn. ' You see, massa,' I said, ' how 'tis. He's 
 out on his senses wid fear. I didn't tell you no lie. I 
 neber did deseve you, sar, 'cept 'bout gwine off to see 
 Dinah in de night when you told me I was to stay on 
 de lot. I did use to steal off sometimes arter you wus 
 gone to bed.' Well, sar, 1 didn't play de jewsharp no 
 more fur curnpany, but jist kept it to scar Dardevil 
 wid, an' I neber had no trouble wid him arter dat. 
 He got so oneasy wheneber dey lef him, dat it tuck 
 all my strength to keep him from knockin' 'um off thar 
 horses. He was always listenin' constant. 
 
 " Master, jist to try him one time, made me lag be- 
 hind twell, by hard holdin', I wus a matter of forty yards 
 behind, an' I jist fotch one twang ; I hadn't time i'ur de 
 twong, fur he like to have jump'd from onder me , an' 
 as he tore off, he actilly tried to kick up on his own 
 Back. The portmantle straps broke, he hunch'd up 
 his back so high ; my hat flew'd off', an' when he got 
 between 'um 1 was fairly on his neck ; an' thar he 
 stood listenin' an' lashin' out, an' stompin' like a
 
 THE RESCUE. 167 
 
 scared debil as he wus. It tuck me a half hour to git 
 fixed agin. Dis frolic wid de deer ain't notink to it." 
 
 " Look here, old gentleman," said Chariey Vandal, 
 "have you got that jewsharp now ?" 
 
 " No, massa ; it got broked in Ole Viginny." 
 
 " If you had it, Uncle Tom, and would sell it at a 
 fair price, I'd buy it. But I'll have one, any how, and 
 give it, Sam, to your sister-in-law, Joanna Huff, to play 
 a tune on to old Ball that she rides to meetin'. She 
 has a blessed time on him. Ride as slow as they will, 
 the young men can't keep with her, and she hates it 
 worse than pison ; for I believe she'd go to mauling 
 box elder if she could." 
 
 ' Why the devil don't you try her, then ?" said Nat 
 Colly. " Jest get in one." 
 
 " No," said Charley, " I ain't fond of close places 
 and tight fits. Parson Jenkins shall never be my tail- 
 or, unless he learns to make looser and easier-fitting 
 garments than he's made for some people. Look ! 
 look at the pigeons ! going from the roost, I reckon, by 
 thousands and tens of thousands." 
 
 " Yes," said Ben Bramble, " going to find the acorns 
 and beechnuts ; they'll all be back at night." 
 
 " Did you ever see so many living creeturs at one 
 time ?" said Charley, turning to Uncle Tom, whose 
 head was bent back, and his mouth and eyes stretched 
 wide open, staring at the pigeons passing over his 
 head. 
 
 " I don' know, massa I b'leve I has in de water." 
 
 " Where ?" inquired Charley. 
 
 " In de Potomuc Riber, sar, when de dogwood blos- 
 sums fust puts out in de spring ob de year. I've help 
 haul de seine, and in layin' her out, de water wus tick 
 as mush wid de herrings for miles and miles. One 
 time we cotch four hunderd and fifty thousand at one 
 haul." 
 
 " What ?" said Charley. " Look here, old gentle- 
 man, ain't you got acquainted with one Jimmy Dixon 
 Stretch-blanket Jimmy they call him since you 
 come out here ?"
 
 168 KEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " Oh, yes, massa, he come to our house to sell mas- 
 ter a horse. I had heap a talk wid him. But he 
 couldn't cum ober dis child wid his ole broken-down 
 creetur dat he had fattened up to sell. I told massa 
 all 'bout de ole figg'd-up ting, an' so Mister Dixon had 
 to keep him leetle longer." 
 
 " I thought," said Charley, " that Jimmy learnt you 
 to count herrings." 
 
 " Lor, massa, it's de solid truf. Ax Massa William 
 here." 
 
 Charley looked at William Henry. 
 
 " Uncle Tom has told you nothing but the truth," 
 said William Henry, " strange as it may seem." 
 
 " What in the world do they do with them?" inqui- 
 red Charley Vandal. 
 
 ' ; Uncle Tom can tell you that too," responded Will- 
 iam Henry. 
 
 " Dey makes small bone bacon on 'um," said Uncle 
 Tom, " as I heard Massa Bramble say dey did of de 
 pigins out here in dis wild country, an' dey puts 'um 
 in carts to sell to de farmers to feed de niggers on ; 
 an' in de fishin' season huriderds of waggons comes 
 down to de shore 10 buy 'um fresh, an' carry 'um home 
 to salt up. It's a sort of a frolic-iike wid de poor folks 
 to go to de fishin' shore for tish. But dey is mity good 
 for gentle folks for breckfiist, wirl coffee an' light bread 
 an' butter mity rclishin', massa. You neber eat 
 any ?" 
 
 " Not I," said Charley. 
 
 Nat Colly, who was a short distance ahead, had 
 stopped at an Indian mound near the bank of the river. 
 
 " What now ?" said Ben to him, as he rode up. 
 
 " 1 seed a strange thing here last summer," said Nat, 
 " and I was looking to see if the bones of a blacksnake 
 was here yet that I killed, and laid right here on thi? 
 Injun grave ; but they ain't here now, though. The 
 buzzards, I reckon, carried him and the rattlesnake 
 lha he had in him off." 
 
 " One snake swallow another ?" inquired William 
 Henry.
 
 THE RESCUE. 169 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Nat. " I was sittin' down restin' 
 on this heap of earth and bones, when I heard some- 
 thin' slidin' and rustlin' along jest thar on the bank of 
 the river. I riz up, and I seed a rattlesnake movin' slow- 
 ly towards me. Every now and then he stopt, coiled 
 up, and rattled. I know'd somethin' was to pay from 
 his manuvers ; and lookin' all round him, I discovered 
 a big, long blacksnake about eight foot from him. 
 Every time the rattlesnake moved on, he moved too on 
 one side, keepin' even with him. When the rattle- 
 snake stopt for battle, he stopt too, but kept out of stri- 
 kin' distance. They kept at this for some time ; at last, 
 quick as an arrow, the black rascal had him by the 
 neck just back of his jaw, and such a scufflin', and 
 turnin', and twistin' between two devils, I never seed 
 afore. The blacksnake was too strong for him, and 
 wound round him till they fairly got into a ball, and 
 over and over they rolled for some time. I could see 
 the blacksnake squeezin' tighter and tighter, as if he 
 would cut him in two. After a while they began to 
 uncoil ; and the blacksnake, still holdin' on with his 
 mouth, stretched him out right straight. The rattle- 
 snake's body moved a little, and 'most before I could 
 see it, the blacksnake was wrapped all round him again, 
 and squeezin' like a vice ; then he uncoiled again, and 
 stretch'd him out by goin' forward. The rattlesnake 
 was dead, and the black murderer know'd it, for he let 
 go his hold and come round in front, and then he took 
 the rattlesnake's head in his mouth, and seemed as if 
 he was goin' to swallow him like drawin* on a stock- 
 in' ; but then, again, he drew back, and left a slime all 
 over his head and neck like soft-soap. He did this 
 two or three times, and then he went to work in arnest 
 swallowin' him, like he was crawlin' over him inch by 
 inch, twell he got him down. Twas amazin', for 
 though the blacksnake was a foot or more the longest, 
 the rattlesnake looked mity near as big as he was in 
 the body. When he had finished his dinner, I finished 
 him, and laid him right here." 
 
 " Rattlesnakes has many inimies," said JBen Brain-
 
 170 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 ble, " besides ther own relations : hawks, and hogs, 
 and deer, as well as men." 
 
 " How do deer manage to kill them ?" asked Will- 
 iam Henry. 
 
 " Why, they stomp 'em to death," replied Ben. 
 " When a deer sees one, he comes up jest so close 
 that the snake can't strike him, and bringin' all four 
 feet together, thar he stands twell the snake uncoils to 
 move off ; then he jumps high in the air, and lights 
 with all four sharp huffs right on him, and then they 
 are off agin in less than no time. They fix another 
 time, and light on him time arter time, twell they cut 
 him all to pieces. But of all the foolishist fightin' I've 
 seen yit r turkey gobblers' fight the foolishist. They 
 fust wallop one another with ther wings : I can see 
 some sense in that; but then they seize bill in bill, un- 
 derholt and upperholt, and tug and pull twell they are 
 tired ; but narry one will let go, and thar they stand for 
 hours, the biggest fools I ever seed. If one happens 
 to let t'other git him by the snout, he'll let him chaw 
 it off, and won't cry enuf then. Last spring, in strut- 
 tin' time, I kotch two fine gobblers while they wer 
 fightin' that way. I heard 'em nigh the falls, in the 
 woods, wallopin' one another, and I sneaked up like 
 an Injun, fust behind one bush or tree and then another, 
 twell I was quite nigh. Thar I stood watchin' 'em 
 twell they took bill holt, and had worried themselves 
 tryin' to swaller, as it wer, one another's heads ; all 
 at once I grabbed 'em both by the legs before they sus- 
 picioned any inimy but themselves. Sich a puttin', 
 puttin', you never heard as they made. They desarv- 
 ed it, they did, the fools. Fightin' is a foolish busi- 
 ness, any how, from man down'ard to turkey gobblers. 
 I never seed nothin' got by it yit." 
 
 It was now near three o'clock in the evening, and 
 Uncle Tom had been wondering, for the last hour, if 
 these white men never thought of eating dinner. He 
 knew nothing of the habits of frontier hunters, who, 
 like Indians, eat when they have time and are hungry, 
 if they have anything to eat. He was much pleased to 
 hear Nat Colly say,
 
 THE RESCUE. 171 
 
 " Well, hoys, it's time to camp ; we are 'in a mile or 
 so of tlie roost." 
 
 " No, no," said Ben, " lei's get 'in a quarter of a mile 
 fust, and leave Uncle Tom to fix and cook while we 
 go on to the roost and prepar for the pigins when they 
 come." 
 
 " I tell you what, Massa Ben, you musn't leave dis 
 nigger by hissclf in dese woods. He'll run away, or 
 git kilt by a painter or a bar, or some wild varmint." 
 
 " The horses will bo with you," said Ben. 
 
 " And what for good they gvvine do me ?" 
 
 " I'll stay with him," said Charley, " and make a 
 shelter, and keep the whites of his eyes from gettin' 
 any bigger." 
 
 " Take care, Snowball," said Nat ; " that young man 
 will shoot you to a certainty if you show anything shi- 
 ning. He's used to it." 
 
 " Never fear, Uncle Tom," said Charley. " I set 
 too high a value on you for that ; besides, I couldn't 
 pay for you as easy as for HufPs old horse." 
 
 Ben went forward, and selected their camping ground 
 near a spring of fine, clear, cool water. The party 
 dismounted, took off their saddles, &c., hoppled their 
 horses, and turned them loose. With their tomahawks 
 they cut two long poles, and rested the larger ends on 
 the ground and the smaller on the limb of a tree ; 
 against these other poles were placed. 
 
 " Go ahead," said Charley ; " I'll fix the rest before 
 you get back from the roost. Strike a light, Tom, and 
 make a rousing fire, and go to work on the deer." 
 
 Charley was busily employed in barking trees to 
 cover the shelter, which he accomplished in a very 
 short time, and made a cover that would resist the 
 hardest rain. lie then cut branches and bushes, and 
 covered the ground within the woodland tent at least 
 a foot deep ; over these he spread their saddle-blan- 
 kets. He then cut two forked limbs, sharpened the 
 ends, and drove them down on opposite sides of the 
 fire, throwing a polo across from one crotch to the 
 other.
 
 172 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 " There's a pot-rack for you, Uncle Tom," said he. 
 
 " Tank'ee, Massa Charles. You look in de right 
 hand of dat bag, an' you will find one black bottle an' 
 a horn tumbler." 
 
 Charley willingly obeyed, and on a sort of freema- 
 son's sign from Uncle Tom, he removed the cork, and 
 found that the bottle contained excellent spirits. 
 
 " Try him, massa," said Uncle Tom, " wid de mouf 
 as well as de nose." And after the smacking of Char- 
 ley's lips assured him they were to his taste, he said, 
 
 " How you like him, massa ?" 
 
 " First rate," said Charley. " You are a boy aftei 
 my own heart, you are, you old rascal." 
 
 " I brought him jist to keep off de colic an' de 
 chills wid, an' I feel now dat a leetle drap will do me 
 good help de cause sum." So saying, Uncle Tom 
 helped himself to what Charley called a " darnation 
 heavy slug." 
 
 " Now, Uncle Tom, while we are together in these 
 woods," said Charley, " I want you to remember that 
 I am a weakly young man." 
 
 " I won't forgit you, Massa Charles," said Tom 
 " wheneber I has de colic or de chills myself." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 4- 
 
 WHILE the preparations were thus going on merrily 
 at the camp, the party who had gone to the pigeon- 
 roost returned with a very favourable report. Ben 
 Bramble had led them around the circumference of the 
 roost, indicated by broken limbs of trees and the chirp- 
 ings of the birds. He selected a particular point on 
 the edge of the roost, whence they would fire at the 
 pigeons. It was about forty yards from the thick- 
 spreading, pliant limbs of an oak, on which, it was ap- 
 parent, vast numbers had congregated. He made with
 
 THE RESCUE. 173 
 
 brushwood what is called a llfod, so as to conceal the 
 party from the birds when they came to perch on that 
 tree. The blind was not needed, he said, to kill the 
 pigeons, but to enable the party, Master Will in par- 
 ticular, early in the evening, to see the coming and 
 settling down of the " storm of livin' creeturs." 
 
 This done, they returned to camp. Uncle Tom and 
 Charley were ready for them. They all went first to 
 the spring, washed, and drank. Charley, looking sly- 
 ly at Uncle Tom, complained of the coldness of the 
 water. 
 
 " I feel sorter chilly and colicky-like myself," said 
 Uncle Tom. " Dar's a bottle by de venson steaks, mity 
 good for dat, Massa Charles." 
 
 " Come, boys," said Ben, " let's fall to. By the 
 time the cravins of natur is satisfied, the pigins will be 
 comin', and we must be at the roost before 'em." 
 
 Charley took the bottle and tumbler, poured out some 
 of the contents, and began to swallow, but he dropped 
 the tumbler, arid cried out to Uncle Tom, who was 
 looking at him with great gravity, 
 
 " You black rascal, you've killed me burnt me up 
 solidly. What the devil is this ?" holding up the bottle 
 with one hand and compressing his mouth with the 
 other. 
 
 " Nothin' but pepper viniger, massa ; mity good for 
 de colic : but I thought you seed this worn't t'other 
 bottle." 
 
 " Oh ho !" cried William Henry, " there's another 
 bottle, is there ? and Mr. Vandal has been taking a 
 dose without a doctor, and when his friends were ab- 
 sent, too." 
 
 " He's a mity rash boy," said Ben, " anyhow. He 
 looks like he had bin swallowin' melted lightwood 
 knots." 
 
 " Melted fire's nothin' to it," said Charley. " Well, 
 old White-eyes, you've cured me of the colic, and 
 chills too, for one while whceoo /" 
 
 " Lor', Massa Charles, 1 raaly thought you know'd 
 what was in dat bottle, dat I did," said Uncle Tom,
 
 174 KEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 bringing the other bottle ; " dis here is de physic, gem- 
 men, dat he made .mistake 'bout. Take a dose, Massa 
 Ben." 
 
 They all followed Ben's example except Charley, 
 who declared he was hot enough in the craw already, 
 and expected every moment a blaze would burst out 
 from his mouth and set his nose on fire. 
 
 A most sumptuous and hearty meal they made, al- 
 though chips were their only plates, and the grassy 
 ground their table. Gentle reader, did you ever take 
 your food in that way ? If not, try it. They not only 
 had excellent appetites, but Uncle Tom had brought 
 some strong provocatives of the stomach, one of which 
 Charley had tasted. Besides this, he had brought 
 mushroom catsup and mustard. Behold in this wood- 
 land camp the primary causes of the corruption of men 
 the decline and fall of empires luxury. Here was 
 a Corinthian among the Spartans ; and the Cogniac 
 brandy, the pepper vinegar, catsup, and mustard came 
 along with him. When even hardy hunters acquire a 
 taste for these, what then 1 All history proclaims the 
 near and remote consequences. But they have risen 
 from the ground, and we must leave our reflections to 
 follow them to the pigeon-roost, whither, after picking 
 their flints and putting on their powder-horns and shot- 
 pouches, they immediately went. 
 
 " Empty the bags, and hang up everything that hogs 
 and wolves love," said Ben to Uncle Tom. " Bring 
 the bags, and come on." 
 
 Away they strode. It was just before sunset. They 
 seated themselves on the ground within the blind, and 
 Nat said, 
 
 " Now, boys, when the pigins come, don't be in a 
 hurry to shoot, and spread your fire from right to left 
 so as to kiver that whole tree-top, and you'll bring 'em 
 down in style. Don't shoot twell I give the word, and 
 then fire all at once." 
 
 It was a still, calm evening, with a few clouds hang- 
 ing around the disk of the setting sun. They formed 
 a gorgeous tent for the retiring god of day, glowing 
 with sold and purple, and eds"ed with silver light.
 
 THE RESCUE. 175 
 
 " The wind is rising," remarked William Henry : 
 " I hear it like the distant, hollow murmur of the ocean. 
 Listen ! don't you hear it coming nearer and more dis- 
 tinct ? It will spoil our sport, 1 fear." 
 
 " Yes, I hear it," said Ben ; " the storm is comin', 
 sure enough, and it'll be nigh us presently ; but it's 
 the storms of pigins, I guess." 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" said Nat : " listen what a roar." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! can that be pigeons ?" said Will- 
 iam Henry. " How it grows louder and louder !" 
 
 " Here they come," said Charley, " like a thunder- 
 gust. Now they sweep down." 
 
 Crash, crash, went the limbs of the trees, scarcely 
 audible amid the hurricane. It was awfully sublime 
 terrific. Thousands upon thousands, precipitating 
 themselves in close-crowded columns on the groaning, 
 bending, and breaking limbs of large trees, and thou- 
 sands more on the backs and above those that had 
 gained a footing on the trees, were descending in dark 
 masses of living things : and still they came in larger, 
 heavier, darker clouds, with thundering sound. The 
 cracking, and creaking, and crashing, and falling of 
 overloaded limbs were faintly heard in the whirlwind 
 of wings. Not the uproar of battle could be more 
 stunning and terrible. No one thought of firing a gun. 
 Uncle Tom sat with his mouth wide open, amazed and 
 terror-stricken. 
 
 " Here they come," said Ben ; " to your right to 
 your riglit," he repeated, in a voice like a trumpet, yet 
 it could scarcely be heard. " Look between us and 
 the sun." 
 
 It was a cloud of pigeons, so large and dense that 
 it obscured almost every ray of light, and was descend- 
 ing like an avalanche to overwhelm everything. Down 
 they swoop. Ben seized his gun, as if personal dan- 
 ger threatened him. 
 
 " Now, boys," said Nat, " give it to 'em." 
 
 Bang bang bang. The very reports of the guns 
 seemed obstructed and deadened in their sound, and 
 the thumping dop, dop, dop, of the birds striking the 
 ground as they fell dead, could hardlv hn ltea-.l
 
 176 NEW HOPE; OB, 
 
 " Load and fire agin," said Ben. 
 
 This they did five or six times, when Nat Colly 
 cried out, " Stop ! that'll do ; you can't carry away half 
 of what we've killed." 
 
 The wounded birds, in great numbers, were actually 
 fluttering on the ground up to the blind. Uncle Tom 
 could hardly be prevailed on to sally out and pick them 
 up. He did, however, go when his young master 
 went before him, and before they reached the tree, 
 had filled his bag. The others, also, had now stuffed 
 the other bags full, and Ben and Nat then commenced 
 stringing them. This was done by running a knife 
 between the tendons and the leg bone of one leg, and 
 thrusting the foot of the other leg through it ; a rope 
 was then passed between the legs thus fastened to- 
 gether, and thus long lines of birds were formed. 
 These lines they swung on a pole, and carried be- 
 tween them to the camp when they left the roost. 
 
 " Lor', Massa Ben, what we gwine do wid all dese 
 on de ground now ?" 
 
 " Leave them thar, Tom, for the hogs, and wolves, 
 and bears, and 'possums." 
 
 William Henry proposed that, before returning to 
 camp, they should walk around at least a part of the 
 roost, for the discharge of guns by others not of their 
 party had been heard at intervals. They walked 
 off, and soon met with several persons, men and 
 boys, some with guns and others with poles, actually 
 threshing down the pigeons from the lower limbs of 
 the trees. 
 
 " Why, Cousin Charley, is this you ? Hellow, 
 here's Uncle Ben, and Nat Colly, and Sam Dyer too !" 
 shouted a little curly-pated fellow, without any hat on 
 his head, and a long pole in one hand and a bunch of 
 pigeons in the other. 
 
 " How d'ye, my son ?" said Ben. " Fine fun, ain't 
 it, thrashing down birds like plums ?" 
 
 " Ain't you gwine down to our house 1 Thar's plen- 
 ty of meat now on Mud and Guyan." 
 
 " Not this time," said Ben ; " we jist stepoed down
 
 THE RESCUE. 177 
 
 here to see the pigins, and get a sprinklin' on 'em 
 afore they break up the meetin'." 
 
 " Well," said another youngster, " you needn't shoot 
 a gun, Uncle Ben. It's jist vvastiri' powder and lead. 
 I kin knock you down in no time more nor you kin 
 carry. Thar's lots on 'em, ain't thar ?" 
 
 " Thank'ee, my son," said Ben ; " we've got pl&nty 
 on "em." 
 
 " I reckin', then, 'twas, you shootin' we heard t'other 
 side ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Ben, " we kilt some that way." 
 
 " We got four bags chock full last night," said curly- 
 head, " and Jim and I's got three a'ready to-night. 
 Mammy and the gals is a pickin' constant. Pigins, 
 pies, and fether-beds ain't nothin' to talk on now at our 
 house, and daddy's a saltin' up every day. Is you 
 seen him and Uncle Joshua? They went round a 
 while ago." 
 
 " No," said Ben, " but I heard yer daddy's gun jest 
 now." 
 
 " He will shoot," said the boy, " jest for the fun of 
 it, for it's of no manner of use." 
 
 It was now near eight o'clock, and a clear, starlight 
 night. The party took leave of the boys, who were 
 still knocking down the birds, and returned to the blind. 
 Sam and Nat, to whom this scene was no novelty, hur- 
 ried back to camp, and brought a couple of horses to 
 carry the pigeons. When they arrived, Charley said 
 to Uncle Tom, 
 
 " Well, old Pepper Vinegar, what do you think of the 
 pigeons ? will they count with your herrings in the 
 Potomuc ?" 
 
 " I don' no, massa ; thar's a 'bun'ance on 'urn, but dey 
 makes sich a noise an' hullabaloo, I can't tell. Fish- 
 es is dumb creeturs, an' don't make sich a racket an' 
 show, but I b'leve dey is as numbersome, any how. 
 It's raaly scary to see de pigins dark'nin' do sun, an' 
 brakin' down de trees, an' a roarin' like de world was 
 coinin' to an eend. Lor', massa, what a gardin spot 
 de ground dar would make ! It wouldn't want manu- 
 s
 
 178 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 rin' for a himderd years to come for sparrowgrass beds, 
 an' lettices, an' collard plants, an' sallary ; thar's no- 
 thin' I ever tried to 1 be compared to de sweepin's of de 
 pigin-house. If I jest had what's on de ground dar at 
 Alexandry, I could make a small fortin." 
 
 Ben directed all the birds to be emptied out of the 
 sacks, and spread so as to get cool. Several that had 
 been only slightly wounded, or only stunned, flew 
 away. A large fire was kindled, and Ben seemed dis- 
 posed to lie down, but the younger members of the par- 
 ty and Uncle Tom insisted on having a pigeon supper. 
 
 " Well," said Ben, ' ; go to work, Thomas. I'll pick 
 the birds." 
 
 Uncle Tom soon had them on the fire, some broil- 
 ing, and some roasting and frying, for he had in his 
 canisters both butter and lard. That black bottle, and 
 another like it, was produced ; but Charley Vandal 
 was especially careful in smelling before he tasted, al- 
 though several others had drank before him, saying to 
 Uncle Tom, " You don't catch me again, you old vil- 
 lain ; you did it on purpose, I do believe." 
 
 " Oh no, massa ; 'twas a teetotal mistake of yourn, 
 I 'clar'." 
 
 Venison, and bacon, and coflee were added to the 
 pigeons by Uncle Tom, who took no little pleasure or 
 pride in culinary preparations. While they were en- 
 joying that supper, which William Henry thought 
 among the most savoury he had ever eaten, Sam Dyer 
 said to Charley, 
 
 " This here all but equals the supper at the marridge 
 of Darnell's darter." 
 
 " Not by a long slipe," said Charley : " the eatin' is 
 as good can't be beat ; but whar's the gals, and the 
 fiddles, and the boys cuttiri' round, and the jokes, and 
 that dandy tailor, with his long-tail blue, that beat all 
 the fools I ever seed, playin' the big bug among the 
 gals, till your wife that is now, Sam, when he tried to 
 kiss her arter a jig, told him it took a man ' That is,' 
 said she, 'jest seven of you, to do it V The fellow felt 
 the needles, I tell ye : he sneaked away like a dog
 
 THE RESCUE. 179 
 
 with his tail between his legs ; he didn't cut a shine 
 or a dido arter that. But you did, Charley, around that 
 pretty Miss Lay ton." 
 
 " I couldn't help it, Sam ; she sot me all on fire ; 
 she's the nicest, sweetest, plumpest little pigin of a 
 gal I ever seed. And then her dancin' beats every- 
 thing reel, congo, rigadoon, or jig, it makes no odds. 
 Them little feet of hern keep time to everything ; by 
 jing, she never tires. She's the gal to take a two- 
 year old by the tail and shake his horns off." 
 
 " Why, you must have lost your heart to that Miss 
 Layton," said William Henry. 
 
 " So he does to every pretty gal," said Sam Dyer. 
 
 " Not quite," said Charley. " Joanna couldn't come 
 it over me, any how, though I acknowledge the corn 
 to that Miss Layton." 
 
 " That was a wicked trick you wanted to play off 
 on Joanna 'bout the stockings," said Nat. 
 
 " But she was farly up with me that time, I know," 
 replied Charley. " Old Ball, that I wanted the Jews- 
 harp for, Mr. Ballenger she always rides him like to 
 have fallen down with Joanna in going to the weddin'. 
 He stumbled in a mudhole, and splashed the mud all 
 over her stockings. So she didn't know what to do, 
 for she loves to show off in dancin'. I persuaded her 
 to pull 'em off and paint her ankles with puccoon, and 
 they'd pass for the nicest kind of yeller silks. She 
 got mad as fire, and says she, ' You'll do it for me, I 
 suppose, Mr. Vandal ?' ' Oh yes, Miss Joanna,' says 
 I, ' if you'll only let me paint the tyes too.' ' That's 
 above your business, sir,' said she, and she give me 
 sich a slap as all but knocked me off my horse. She 
 wouldn't speak to me agin all the evenin'." 
 
 " Charley hain't told you one thing that he did that 
 night," said Nat, " nor what was done to him next day 
 'bout that stockin' frolic of hisn ; and as he is so back- 
 'ard a youth, I'll tell on him. The liquor gin out, Mr. 
 Ballenger, at the weddin' before nine o'clock, and thar 
 was none nigher than Skaley's, over in the Loop, about 
 a mile and a half from the Hawk's Nest. Darnel, at
 
 180 KE\V HOPE; OR, 
 
 whose house the weddin' was, lived jest above the 
 Hawk's Nest, on the same side of the river. What 
 does Charley do but strap a four-gallon runlet on his 
 back, and in a dark night go down that path, hardly 
 wide enough for a dog in the daytime, that passes from 
 the top of the New River cliff down to the river jest 
 above the Hawk's Nest. He crossed the river in a 
 canoe, went up the cliff on the other side to Skaley's, 
 and fotch back four gallons of whiskey. I wouldn't 
 a tried it for a pile of gold that would reach from the 
 New River up to that pine bush that hangs over the 
 top rock at the Hawk's Nest. A man that ain't used 
 to it can't go up or down thar in broad daylight. It's 
 dizzier work than climbin' a ladder seven hunderd feet 
 high." 
 
 " Charley ain't born to be killed that way," said 
 Ben, " or he'd bin berried long ago." 
 
 " I recollect that path," said William Henry ; " we 
 stopped near the Hawk's Nest a day, in coming out to 
 examine that most remarkable place ; and in walking 
 up the river on the cliff, I saw that path, and was afraid 
 to venture down it. A single false step would have 
 sent me headlong many hundred feet. That feat of 
 Mr. Vandal was the most daring, hazardous thing I 
 ever heard of." 
 
 " Well," said Nat Colley, " after Charley arriv with 
 the whiskey, the dancin' and frolickiri' went on fast- 
 er than ever, and he changed the place of some of 
 that whiskey from rear to front, and he played the fid- 
 dle, and danced all at the same time. He's the broth 
 of a boy, I tell you, when he's a leetle sprung, as he 
 was that night. So he goes up to Joanna and says, 
 ' I ain't had the pleasure of seein' you dance to-night, 
 Miss Joanna' (she hadn't danced any on account of that 
 mud on her stockings) ; ' let's you and I show the nas- 
 tiest ankles in this crowd.' She give him sich a look 
 as would have scorched all the hair off a wild-cat. 
 Her brother, Billy Huff, heard him, and seed her looks , 
 he was mad with Charley for cuttin' round Patsey 
 Layton, for Bill was hankerin' arter her himself. So
 
 THE RESCUE. 181 
 
 ne watched his opportunity, and giving Charley a 
 wink, they walked out together. ' What now, Bill ?' 
 said Charley. ' A fight or a marridge,' says Bill ; 
 ' that's what it is, Mr. Vandal ; you shall make up to 
 Joanna for insultin' her, by marryin' her strait off, or 
 fight me, one or t'other.' ' Why, Bill, you are out on 
 your senses,' says Charley ; ' I never insulted a gal 
 in my life. I thought Joanna could take a joke, and 
 if her feelings is tech'd in the least, I'll ax her ten 
 thousand pardons.' ' Pardons won't do, Mr. Vandal ; 
 you've carried the matter too fur, to first court a gal and 
 then insult her ; winniu' her heart, and then tryin' to 
 break it.' ' Bill, I never courted Joanna, and you 
 know it.' ' If you ain't, you ought to,' said Bill ; ' and 
 you shall either ease her feelings in that way or fight 
 me.' ' I don't want to do either,' said Charley ; ' but 
 if it comes to that, Billy Huff, I'll give you a fight to 
 oblige you. But I shall not marry Joanna, to oblige 
 her or you either ; and to tell you the truth, Billy, 
 since I see what you and she are arter, Kd sooner 
 fight the whole family than live a cat and dog life 
 with her for one week, let alone a lifetime.' ' Very 
 well, sir,' said Bill ; ' I'll spoil your frolickin' with 
 Patsey Laytou arter to-night, or try for it, anyhow. I 
 won't kick up a row with you to-night, and break up 
 the party ; and maybe, Vandal, when you. get cool, 
 you'll think better of this night's work, and do the gen- 
 teel thing.' ' When and whar shall I meet you, Billy 
 Huff?' ' To-morrow mornin', after breakfast, at the 
 Mouth of Ganley.' ' Very well, enough's said,' re- 
 plied Charley ; and, turning on his heel, he came into 
 the house. So soon as he got a chance, he went up 
 to Joanna, and said, ' Miss Joanna, I've heard that I've 
 hurt your feelings this even-in'. Nothin' was furder 
 from my intentions ; I'm raaly sorry for it, and humbly 
 ax your pardon.' She looked at him black as thunder, 
 put up her handkerchief, and begun to sob ; so he 
 moved off, and made right up to Miss Lay ton, and 
 danced and joked with her, till Joanna, lookin' at 'em, 
 all but went into fits. However, after awhile the tail-
 
 182 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 or sneaked round and got a seat by her, and that 
 seemed to comfort her some, though she was watchin' 
 Charley and Miss Layton constant. 
 
 " The party didn't break up till late. The next day 
 I went to the Mouth of Ganley pretty early, taking 
 several of the boys with me, for I know'd Charley and 
 Bill \yould fight if I couldn't make it up ; and I was 
 determined, if they did fight, to see fair play. I know'd 
 thar was no back out in Bill ; and I thought Charley 
 was a game chicken, though I'd never then seed him 
 clap his wings or heard him crow. His daddy was an 
 old Revolutioner. I heard him once tell of ther hang- 
 in' a Tory that they kotch the mornin' after he had 
 burnt down the house over the head of a woman whose 
 husband had fought agin' them under Marion. ' Yes,' 
 said his wife, ' and the Tory warn't cold before you had 
 on his breeches.' ' That's true,' said the old man ; ' but 
 then breeches was breeches, monstrous hard to get, and 
 the Tories wore the best got from the British.' Well, 
 Charley got on the ground first, and told me all about 
 it, and said he had no ill-will agin Bill, but that all the 
 Huffs in creation shouldn't force him to marry Joanna ; 
 that he had no more courted her than he had his own 
 grandmother j and if Bill wanted a fight, he supposed 
 he'd have it ; but as to fighting him into a marridge, 
 he didn't think it could be done : ' For if he licks me,' 
 said Charley, ' or I lick him, Joanna '11 be no furder 
 from an old maid nor nigher a husband than she is 
 now.' Billy soon rode up, and, gettin' down Sam, 
 you was with him said to Charley, ' Well, Vandal, I 
 hope you have changed your mind, and don't mean to 
 fight me.' ' I don't mean to marry Miss Joanna Huff, 
 Billy.' ' We fight, then, sir,' said Bill. ' That's as 
 you please,' said Charley. Billy begun to strip, and 
 Charley followed suit. At it they went, and I never 
 seed a harder, or a fairer, or a prettier stand-up fight 
 in all my days. After some of the tremendousest 
 rockdollagers and underkeeling sidewipes that you 
 ever seed and they took 'em like greedy gluttons I 
 tell ye, Bill run at him to butt like a ram ; but Charlev
 
 THE RESCUE. 183 
 
 was too quick for him, and as he passed, gin him sich 
 a kick as sent him clean into the river. But he was 
 out agin in no time, like a water-rat, and rushed at 
 Charley to seize him ; but Charley give him sich an 
 ear-opener on the side of his head, that it stretched 
 him on the sand. Charley didn't jump on him, as he 
 had a right to do, but waited twell he got up. Bill 
 found it was no go, that Charley was too much for 
 him ; and as he riz, he cried, ' 'Nough enough.' Char- 
 ley gin him his paw, and said to him, ' Well, Bill, it 
 ain't your fault, I b'leve, but you was gettin' above 
 your business, too, when you undertook to lick me.' 
 ' Come, no jawing, boys. It's all over ; be friends now. 
 The matter's settled,' said I ; ' let's go and find a bar 
 or a buck.' So off we went, and them boys has been 
 the best friends ever since. Bill says Charley's a 
 man every inch of him, though he wouldn't marry 
 Joanna for fightin' nor nothin' else." 
 
 It was now late in the night. All the party had 
 been smoking for the last half hour except William 
 Henry and Charley. The fire was replenished at the 
 mouth of the wigwam, and they were soon asleep. 
 By the dawn of day they were up. Uncle Tom had 
 already kindled up the fire, and was sitting by it 
 smoking his pipe. 
 
 " Do you never sleep, my old weazel ?" said Char- 
 ley to him. " We left you settin' there last night, and 
 thore you are yet." 
 
 " Niggers don't sleep like white folks," replied Un- 
 cle Tom. " Dey sets up late, an' den sleeps by 
 pieces till just open day, when dey sure to wake up. 
 One nigger can sleep more in half an hour clan two 
 white men kin in de whole night. I bin lyin' down 
 twell I got tired, an' den I sleep some settin' up here 
 by de fire." 
 
 William Henry proposed a walk to the pigeon-roost 
 as they already heard the birds moving off like the 
 squadrons of an army. Charley Vandal walked with 
 him. The rest remained at the camp, preparing foi 
 their return home.
 
 184 NEW HOPE; OB, 
 
 When the outskirts of the roost were reached, what 
 a contrast the scene presented with that of the prece- 
 ding evening ! Not a pigeon was to be seen on the 
 trees ; the naked, swagging, and broken boughs were 
 motionless. Not a sound was to be heard but the flut- 
 terings of a solitary wounded bird on the ground, which 
 was strewed with the wreck of limbs, and branches, 
 and twigs. Feathers and dead birds, and the mangled 
 remains of others, on which the carnivorous animals 
 of the woods had been feasting, were scattered around. 
 It made the heart sick to look upon the desolate scene, 
 and the young men hastened back to camp. 
 
 The breakfast and the packing up were soon over, 
 and the party moved off. At the mouth of Coal, Nat 
 Colly, Sam Dyer, and Charley parted with the rest of 
 the party, intending to go up that stream, and cross 
 over into the Loop, higher up. Ben Bramble, William 
 Henry, and Uncle Tom crossed Coal at the mouth, and 
 passed on up the Kanawha to the Mouth of Elk. Here 
 they stopped near the old fort till the next morning, and 
 then continued their journey up the river to Mr. Bal- 
 lenger's. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AND now the infant Spring had just waked up, 
 cradled in the Valley of the Great Kanawha. 
 Downy buds, glossy green leaves, and flowers of 
 lily white and rosy hue surrounded the bright-eyed, 
 smiling child, and the pure sparkling waters of that 
 beautiful river were the mirror at her feet, reflect- 
 ing the smiles of Nature and her own. The blue- 
 bird on the branches above, and the silver-sided 
 fishes in the waters below, were moving in glad- 
 ness, and the song of the bird was in unison with 
 the merry tinkling of the tiny, rippling waves, as
 
 THE RESCUE. 185 
 
 they kissed the polished pebbles on the margin of 
 the stream. Ninety miles of verdure, and bloom, 
 and beauty, reclining in lonely loveliness beneath 
 bleak rocks and frowning cliffs, still circled in 
 the cold arms of Winter : the tall trees, with their 
 gray, leafless branches, on which not a bud had 
 swelled, shivering and sighing in the chilly mount- 
 ain wind : the cold, gray rocks, naked and bare, 
 with not a lichen or creeping vine to clothe or cov- 
 er them, looking down with unfeeling indifference 
 and pitiless insensibility on the young, hope-inspi- 
 red, blushing beauty, reclining in loveliness at their 
 feet. 
 
 The very country in which she lived was a most 
 striking emblem of Matilda Wynne Ballenger, and 
 the world around her. The hopes of better days 
 the secretly-cherished image of him whom she had 
 forbidden to hope, though she hoped herself her 
 never-failing confidence in the* goodness of her 
 Creator, cheered and animated the heart of this 
 lovely girl, and spread the smiles of life's sunny 
 spring over her beautiful face j its expression was 
 most touching, soul-subduing the sublime of in- 
 nocent, intellectual softness, and refined sensibili- 
 ty. That expression, though found in creatures ot 
 earth, is not earthly : we sometimes see it in the 
 countenances of those who, believing themselves 
 well, are feeling the earliest effects of that fell, in- 
 sidious, flattering disease, for which there is no 
 cure. It impresses one with tenderness, mingled 
 with something of reverential awe, as if we were 
 in the presence of some being of a purer, holier 
 kind than men. With poverty and distress frown- 
 ing on her and her father and brother the proba- 
 bility that they would soon be homeless the ten- 
 derer ties of the heart to be severed forever sep- 
 aration from all her early friends deprived of al- 
 most all the domestic comforts, to which we are 
 more indebted than we ever imagine till we are de- 
 prived of them and, in addition to all this, the ob-
 
 186 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 ject of pursuit to a man whom she could never love 
 the leafless, wind-shaken trees, and the cold, high 
 rocks that overhung that lovely valley, frowned not 
 more sternly than the adverse circumstances in 
 which Matilda was placed. 
 
 Mr. Forster was now often at New Hope, and 
 his ostensible object was most manifest, although, 
 as yet, he had made no direct declaration of love 
 to Miss Ballenger. On his last visit, he brought 
 with him a led horse, telling Thomas to carry it to 
 the stable, as it now belonged to his master. Al- 
 though the rent for the lands now owned by Mr. 
 Ballenger would not be due till the fall, Isaac 
 thought proper to tender it now. He stated to 
 Mr. Ballenger that he had seen with great pain the 
 loss of his carriage horses, and hoped that his pay- 
 ment of the horse for rent at this time might in 
 some degree diminish the inconvenience arising 
 from that circumstance. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger thanked him, but observed, "Your 
 rent, Mr. Forster, is a forty-dollar horse, and this 
 which you tender me is worth, I should think, 
 much more." 
 
 " Horses have fallen, sir," said Isaac ; " and be- 
 sides, in a transaction of this kind, it is safer for 
 one who wishes to act with conscientious justice 
 to be, if anything, rather over than under the mark. 
 I shall be well satisfied to cancel the claim with 
 this horse, if you will take him at forty dollars." 
 
 " This, sir," said Mr. Ballenger, " is not only just, 
 but generous, and I will take him, Mr. Forster." 
 
 The horse was certainly very cheap at that val- 
 uation. 
 
 " He works well," said Isaac. " I have taken 
 care to have him well broken to gear." 
 
 "I am really much obliged to you, sir, as he will 
 have to go into the plough immediately." 
 
 Isaac then departed. This payment of his rent 
 Defore it was due, in property of more value than 
 was in the bond, made a very favourable impres
 
 THE RESCUE. 187 
 
 sion, not only on Mr. Ballenger, but on William 
 Henry and Matilda. They all agreed that it was 
 kind, considerate, and generous. 
 
 Soon after this transaction, Mr. Ballenger receiv 
 ed the following letter from Mr. Forster : 
 
 "Kanawha, April 15th, 99 
 "EDWARD BALLENGER, ESQ., 
 " Sir Herewith I have enclosed to you all the 
 deeds, patents, and other papers which had come 
 into my possession as the agent and attorney of 
 Messrs. Smith, Bird, Buchanan, and Alexander, re- 
 lating to the lands conveyed to you by them. I 
 owe you an apology for not having put you in pos- 
 session of these documents at an earlier period. 
 But you will pardon me, when I assure you that 
 the delay has arisen from no want of attention to 
 your interest in these lands. There were several 
 unsettled and conflicting claims, disputed corners 
 and lines, and many of these papers were necessa- 
 ry as evidence of your rights. I am now happy to 
 inform you, sir, that all these have been determined 
 in your favour, and in the most satisfactory man- 
 ner. Your rights in all these lands are now se- 
 cure ; and permit me to add, that it would give me 
 additional pleasure if I could also say that the lands 
 themselves were valuable. Should you have come 
 to any determination on the written proposals 
 which I made to you in relation to the agency and 
 renting of them, I should be happy to hear from 
 you at this time, as I am the agent of several gen- 
 tlemen whose lands are in such parts of the coun- 
 try, that much labour and expense would be saved 
 to me in making a single trip this spring instead of 
 two. 1 have also a proposition to make you, which, 
 I hope, will prove agreeable and advantageous to 
 you, while its acceptance will confer a favour on 
 me. By referring to your patent or deed for the 
 land on which you live, you will find an offset of 
 fifty acres of poor, hilly' land, but well timbered,
 
 188 KETV HOPE : OR, 
 
 which adjoins the upper end of the land purchased 
 by me of Hockley. It would square out my land, 
 and bring yours into better form, if taken off. I 
 offer to buy it, subject, of course, to Hockley's 
 claim, which I can quiet to that slip; and I offer 
 you one dollar an acre for your right in it, to be 
 paid in cash. Should you accept this offer, please 
 inform me by the bearer, and I will prepare a deed, 
 which can be executed on my payment of the mon- 
 ey. Be so good as to send a receipt for the pa- 
 pers enclosed, marked and numbered as per mar- 
 gin, and believe me, dear sir, with the highest con- 
 sideration and respect, 
 
 " Your obedient friend and servant, 
 
 " ISAAC FORSTER." 
 
 Mr. Ballenger was much pleased at the reception 
 of this letter, and the papers enclosed in the large 
 package accompanying it. Although he had de- 
 termined not to make Isaac his agent, or to rent 
 the lands to him till he had seen them, or, at least, 
 learned something more of their value for, in his 
 misfortunes, he still clung to the hope that some 
 small portion of them might be worth something 
 more than Isaac appeared to think yet this deter- 
 mination was shaken by this letter. For the pres- 
 ent, however, he resolved only to accept Isaac's 
 offer to purchase the offset of fifty acres, a part of 
 the New Hope tract. The offer pleased and sur- 
 prised him. It was a miserable slip of steep hills, 
 rocky and poor, of absolutely no value whatever. 
 He could not help thinking this offer to buy it, of 
 a piece with the tender of the forty-dollar horse 
 for the rent, a delicate and generous mode of sup- 
 plying his necessities without wounding his feel- 
 ings, or imposing any obligation upon him. He 
 sent Isaac a receipt for the papers, his thanks for 
 the interest manifested in his welfare, declined for 
 the present the agency and renting, but accepted 
 his offer to buy the fifty-acre offset of the New
 
 JTI1E RESCUE. 189 
 
 Hop* land. The price offered by Isaac surprised 
 him. Half a dollar an acre was at that time the 
 price or much better hill land than this. Indeed, 
 much of such land could not be sold at any price. 
 He concluded, however, that Isaac knew what he 
 was about ^ which was true) in making this offer of 
 one dollar an acre, if, indeed, he was not prompt- 
 ed by sheer generosity. Whether there was any 
 generosity in it, the sequel will show. 
 
 A few days afterward, Isaac came to New Hope, 
 bringing with him a deed ready written for the fif- 
 ty acres of land. This deed Mr. Ballenger signed 
 and affixed his seal to, and delivered it to Isaac 
 in the presence of three witnesses, who accompa- 
 nied Isaac for that purpose. These persons were 
 not apprized of the purport of the deed or its con- 
 tents, but they saw Mr. Ballenger sign, seal, and 
 deliver it as his act and deed. Isaac then request- 
 ed Mr. Ballenger to retire with him into another 
 room, when he paid him the fifty dollars, and took 
 his receipt for the same. 
 
 On the night after these transactions, Richard 
 Winter, alias Joe Swinton, made his appearance at 
 Isaac Forster's house. 
 
 " When," inquired Forster of him, " will you be 
 ready for the boys to set out 1" 
 
 "I am ready now," answered Joe. "But hon- 
 est Uriah Blixon won't be fixed till Monday next; 
 his clothes and wig are right, but then there are 
 several other little matters which have to be ad- 
 justed and arranged." 
 
 "He must travel in the night for the first fifty or 
 sixty miles," said Isaac, "and he will not find the 
 right sort of stock to purchase till he gets over 
 into Greenbrier, or beyond. Stretch-blanket and 
 the boys must not travel with him. The boys may 
 who are his drovers. Jimmy, though, must be an 
 utter stvanpcr. Caution Uriah, after he buys and 
 sells, to ride like hell in the night till he gets 
 home."
 
 190 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 "He needs no caution," said Joe; "the devil 
 would hardly know him for his own, if he was to 
 meet him in his new toggery ; and as for catching 
 him, or holding him if he was caught, no man in 
 America can do the one, or jail the other; he's a 
 perfect bundle of invisible, unsearchable tools and 
 chemicals. He can carry in his nose or mouth, or 
 even under his toe-nails, I believe, the means of 
 getting out of the strongest sort of a box, or into 
 one either. But he's too respectable a looking 
 gentleman, with too many good letters and papers, 
 and good money about him, to get into any scrape 
 till the thing's done ; and then I'll bet fifty pounds 
 that the very man he's passed the pewter on 
 wouldn't know him half an hour afterward, or his 
 horse either." 
 
 "He'd better not risk it," said Isaac. 
 
 "Not he," said Joe. "He'll move like a streak 
 of lightning till he's housed. You'd not know him, 
 Mr. Forster, if you were to see the fat, respectable 
 old gentleman, with his silver locks and gray eye- 
 brows, and prominent old English paunch, and rud- 
 dy, honest face. He's no more like the lean, black- 
 haired, pale young devil, Uriah Blixon, than a fat 
 China hog's like a starved weasel. You'd laugh to 
 look at him, if you ever do laugh, Mr. Forster. But 
 here are your chemicals : I've brought them with 
 me." 
 
 "Will they take out ink stains'?" said Mr. For- 
 ster. 
 
 "Yes," said Joe, "and leave the paper as clean 
 and fair as when it came out of the paper-mill." 
 
 "I am much obliged to you, Mr. Winter," said 
 Isaac. " It will save me a great deal of labour in 
 copying. I do hate to have to write whole sheets 
 over again on account of a blot, or wrong word, or 
 interlineation, none of which should ever appear in 
 important documents or recorded papers." 
 
 Joe looked at Isaac as if he would look through 
 him (and, indeed, he did see through him), and said
 
 THE RESCUE. 191 
 
 "Forster, what the devil is the use of this Tom 
 foolery with me 1 Do you think I don't know you 
 can't see through this shallow pretence I Damn it, 
 man, learn to speak the truth sometimes before 
 friends ; it may, at some time or other, be neces 
 sary. You want these chemicals for more valua- 
 ble purposes than to take out blots ; you'll put in 
 more than you'll take out ; and that's not your com- 
 mon practice in money matters. To your other 
 profitable accomplishments, Mr. Forster, you mean, 
 in plain English, to add the art of forgery." 
 
 " That's easier said than proved," said Isaac. 
 
 " Yes it is," replied Joe, " and you mean to keep 
 it so as long as hypocrisy and the devil can help 
 you." 
 
 " Come, come," said Forster, " this rambling sort 
 of conversation is not profitable or instructive, how- 
 ever amusing and pleasant it may be. Show us 
 how the thing is done with them. Here's a piece 
 of paper with blots on it. Let me see you remove 
 them." 
 
 Joe showed Isaac how to use the chemicals, and 
 after taking several stiff drinks of grog, departed, 
 saying that Uriah Blixon would see him on Sunday 
 night after 11 o'clock, and be off the next morning 
 to the eastward for Greenbrier or a market. 
 
 "I shall have to blind that fellow's eyes and stop 
 his impudent tongue," said Isaac to himself, after 
 the departure of Joe Svvinton. " I'll make Polly 
 M'Cloud jealous of him, or send some younger, so- 
 berer sweetheart to that attractive old lady, and 
 she'll rid me of him at short warning. He is, how- 
 ever, useful at present the best worker in white 
 metal that this country affords content to live in 
 retirement that's a great thing. I shall, however, 
 take care to know if he speaks as freely to others 
 as he does to me ; and if he does Well, I'll try 
 his chemicals; they cannot blab. Forgery he 
 seems to think there's merit in exposing what one 
 knows or can do to the world, the fool. He thinks
 
 192 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 he knows the world. He's an artist in metals, to be 
 sure, and a chemist, a good chemist, and that's all. 
 Fools confess their foibles, and are despised ; wise 
 men conceal and profit by theirs." 
 
 Thus soliloquizing, Isaac took from his desk the 
 deed from Mr. Ballenger to himself for the fifty acres 
 of land, applied the chemicals to the whole, except the 
 signatures of the witnesses and Mr. Ballenger, and the 
 seal of the latter. The paper was cleared of every 
 vestige of the writing, and then thoroughly dried. 
 Knowing that Mr. Ballenger was in delicate health, 
 Isaac then proceeded to write above the signatures, in 
 proper legal form, The last will and testament of Ed- 
 ward Ballenger, kindly inserting his own name as ex- 
 ecutor, and leaving the date blank, to be filled up at 
 the proper time, so as to make this certainly posterior 
 in time to any other which might be found or made ; 
 and he took a small vial of the same ink, carefully 
 sealed the cork to prevent evaporation, and deposited 
 them in a concealed drawer of his desk, saying, " He 
 may die now as soon as he pleases. I don't think he 
 will live this year out. But I would rather his daugh- 
 ter should make me a happy man. He could die after 
 that as well as before. I don't think she will refuse 
 me ; she is a lady of too much sense and judgment for 
 that. I will not summon her to surrender, though, till 
 my lines are completed. An able general, I've read 
 somewhere, never summons a besieged fortress till he's 
 prepared to storm it or starve it out ; and a man's a 
 fool to pop the question to a lady till he has reason to 
 believe that his attentions have made a favourable im- 
 pression, and that she is ready to hoist the white flag 
 when summoned to surrender." So saying, Isaac took 
 up his flute, and played 
 
 " A lass is good and a glass is good, 
 And a pipe to smoke in cold weather," &c. ; 
 
 and when he had finished the tune, he took a drink 
 of grog, smoked his pipe, and went to bed and to sleep. 
 There was no man west of the Alleghany Mount- 
 ains who bore a better character as an upright, honest,
 
 THE RESCUE. 193 
 
 active, enterprising man of business, than Isaac For- 
 ster. His word was as good as his bond, or as any 
 man's bond. Punctual, particular, and accurate in his 
 transactions, and often seemingly very liberal, he was 
 respected and trusted by gentlemen in the East, and 
 consulted as a safe counsellor in all matters relating to 
 land-business. His opinion was sought after inces- 
 santly in relation to the value of lands, surveys, cor- 
 ners, courses, and distances. His mere say so was 
 authority. He prevented very many lawsuits, settled 
 many conflicting claims, and adjusted, by a word, dif- 
 ficulties involving large interests. He paid taxes for 
 hundreds, and redeemed those lands that had been sold 
 or forfeited for non-payment. He gained golden opin- 
 ions, and pieces of gold ; satisfied.all whom he over- 
 reached, pleased those whom he reduced to poverty, 
 and was praised by those whom he cheated and de- 
 spised. All the apparent good that he affected, and 
 much more that he never did, was attributed to him, 
 and he received credit for it. All the evil of which he 
 was the real, but unseen, unsuspected cause, was con- 
 sidered as the inevitable consequence of uncontrollable 
 contingencies, or was fastened on somebody else. He 
 was a most consummate adept in the arts of imposi- 
 tion, and of using others to carry out his purposes. 
 
 A few of his colaborators and creatures (for he used 
 many good men, also, who were entirely unconscious 
 of it) had discovered parts of his character which he 
 was careless of concealing when he had their lives in 
 his hands. Joe Swinton knew him best, and suspect- 
 ed even more than he knew ; but no human being had 
 fathomed the profundity of Isaac Forster's character. 
 Yet this man, strange as it may seem, verily believed 
 himself as moral as other men. The game at which 
 ho played he believed to be played by all other men 
 of sense, and that the most skilful and expert were en- 
 titled to the stakes. The greatest mortification to 
 which he could have been subjected would have been 
 to meet with and be defeated by a more adroit play- 
 er than himself. He was a most accurate observer
 
 194 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 and sagacious interpreter of slight signs, and of mi- 
 nute and seemingly insignificant, and even casual cir- 
 cumstances ; things scarcely observed, or regarded 
 by others as signifying nothing, were to him unerring 
 indications of consequences often remote, and to all 
 others apparently not connected with them in the 
 slightest degree ; yet he was often deceived by ap- 
 pearances. There were many things which he ob- 
 served which he could not rightly interpret. All actions 
 prompted by disinterested benevolence and, to the 
 honour of human nature, there are many such were 
 inexplicable to him. He could attribute them to no- 
 thing but folly, yet he saw them performed by persons 
 whom, in other things, he knew to be no fools. Such 
 actions were to him an enigma whiarh he could not 
 solve ; and this perplexed and disturbed him ; for, un- 
 less they were born of mere folly, he apprehended 
 that those who performed them must see farther and 
 deeper into their true interests than he did into his. 
 They certainly did ; but he could not comprehend 
 that, for he did not possess the data necessary to the 
 solution of the problem. How should he ? Nothing 
 was clearer to him than that from nothing nothing 
 could proceed. He admitted not the existence of hu 
 man virtue as a principle of action ; and to those who 
 deny the premises nothing can be proved. He felt 
 that there was no such thing; and he was a convert 
 to the homely adage that seeing 1 s believing, but feel- 
 ing's the truth. Those who search for truth with- 
 in themselves only, surely cannot wonder at Isaac's 
 conclusion, however incorrect it may seem to them. 
 We hope they may be able to arrive at a very differ- 
 ent one. 
 
 From Mr. Forster's late conduct towards her father, 
 "Matilda Ballenger believed that, whatever might be his 
 faults or foibles, Isaac Forster was a generous, liberal 
 man. What virtue except courage makes so favoura- 
 ble an impression on woman as liberal generosity ? In 
 this case, feeling was believing, but seeing was not 
 the truth. How often, like her, we feel arid believe
 
 THE RESCUE. 195 
 
 that which we see to be true, when it is utterly false ? 
 It' our feeling is reliable evidence of what is true of 
 ourselves, it is not of what we see, or think we see, 
 of others ; and this is the mistake into which good as 
 well as bad men fall in the interpretation of actions. 
 Tt is the prime cause of fatal mistakes. We attribute' 
 the actions of others to our feelings instead of their 
 own, of which we are ignorant. We know what our 
 motive would be for a given action, and attribute the 
 action, when performed by another, to that motive. 
 How widely different may have been the motive of the 
 actor ! The conclusions, then, which we draw from 
 conduct as to the characters of men, are only indica- 
 tions of our own. We draw unfavourable inferences as 
 to the feelings of those who ascribe seemingly good 
 actions to bad motives ; yet these inferences are not 
 always conclusive. Persons who have seen much of 
 the world have learned not to look at the action as the 
 index of the motive. What a severe and just reflec- 
 tion on our fallen nature! Even children who have 
 been deceived, or have seen double-dealing and deceit, 
 become suspicious, and their own character soon re- 
 flects the images that have been made on the mirror of 
 their minds. Let teachers and parents take the hint. 
 It is better for us to be the unsuspecting subjects of all 
 sorts of imposition than to practise them on others, or 
 even to have the small remaining speck of purity with- 
 in us dimmed, and sullied, and defaced, if not oblitera- 
 ted and destroyed, by the reflective action of the vices 
 of others. 
 
 Isaac Forster acted from the best motives living in 
 his heart. Do we act from the best existing in ours 7 
 The powerful, all-pervading, but miscalculating love 
 of self, was the monarch of his soul. His actions 
 were only faithful acts of allegiance to their lord and 
 master. Let us not blame his, unless our own are at 
 least as loyal to the power that sits on the throne of 
 our hearts. What right, then, it may he asked, have 
 we to blame or punish the wicked ? The very best ; 
 for it is the highest duty of every man to dethrone the
 
 196 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 despotic demon sin, that rules within. We know and 
 feel that he is a. usurper there, and we have the author- 
 ity of God himself for believing that, if we rebel against 
 him, he shall not have dominion there. Help from on 
 high will aid us to expel the tyrant. 
 
 About four o'clock on the Sunday morning after Joe 
 Swinton's last visit to Isaac Forster, the latter gentle- 
 man was walking in his front yard, examining its en- 
 closure of very neat palings lately put up, for which he 
 had to pay, if it was done according to contract. He 
 found several deviations and departures from faithful 
 execution, which, in all mechanical operations done 
 and paid for by the job, are apt to escape the best work- 
 men. I suppose they are generally in a hurry them- 
 selves, or are hurried by their employers, and this may 
 account for it. Mr. Forster, however, determined to 
 pay full price after pointing out these lapses of the 
 chisel and plane to the con:ractor and executor of the 
 work and his two apprentices. They had been the 
 signing witnesses of many recorded documents in 
 which Isaac was interested, and they had been the 
 witnesses to the deed made by Mr. Ballenger to Isaac 
 for the fifty acres of land, which deed was never offer- 
 ed for record or recorded. The use which was made 
 of that paper, or, rather, the abuse, has been mentioned. 
 The signatures of the carpenter and his apprentices 
 were well known to the clerk of the court, and to many 
 of the citizens of the county. 
 
 In conversations with these men, Isaac took occasion 
 to mention that the bill for the paling was very cheap ; 
 that the prices for carpenters work in the State of 
 New-York, and especially around Lake Seneca, were 
 more than the double of those charged by them. The 
 carpenter expressed a desire to go where his depart- 
 ment of labour was so well rewarded. Isaac told him 
 he had property there, and if he chose to remove and 
 settle in that state, he would give him. rent free for sev- 
 eral years, a little homestead of thirty acres near the 
 lake, on condition that he would clear up one acre 
 every year and bring it into cultivation. He added,
 
 THE RESCUE. 197 
 
 also, that he would give him a building job on that land 
 worth a thousand dollars, to be completed in the next 
 two years. The carpenter gladly availed himself of 
 this information and these generous offers, and the 
 money paid him for the palings conveyed him and his 
 apprentices to New-York, where he prospered and 
 grew rich through the judicious advice and disinterest- 
 ed patronage, as he always believed, of his excellent 
 friend Forster. But this is a digression. 
 
 Isaac was walking in his yard, looking at the palings, 
 as we have said, when a gentleman, evidently a trav- 
 eller, in passing the gate, stopped and inquired the way 
 to Mr. Edward Ballenger's. Mr. Forster directed him 
 by saying, 
 
 " You have passed his house six miles higher up the 
 river, if you came the road from the falls." 
 
 " Indeed !" said the stranger ; " that is the road I 
 have travelled all the way from Alexandria on the Po- 
 tornac, in Old Virginia." 
 
 " Alight and rest yourself, sir," said Isaac, " and I 
 will have the pleasure of showing you the way to Mr. 
 Ballenger's, as I shall visit him this evening." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said the stranger ; " then I will 
 avail myself of your kind offer." 
 
 He alighted, and walking up to Isaac, said, 
 
 " My name, sir, is George Baxter, and I am glad to 
 have met with a friend of Ned Ballenger's. I hope he 
 and his amiable children are well." 
 
 " His children are," said Isaac, " or were a few days 
 ago ; but I am pained to tell you, sir, that excellent 
 gentleman himself does not enjoy good health. 1 am 
 apprehensive, indeed, that he is going into a decline. 
 I iVar his altered circumstances prey upon his mind, 
 which, you know, wears out the body." 
 
 " True," said Mr. Baxter ; " but Ned is not so badly 
 off as people suppose much better off, sir, than he at 
 present thinks." 
 
 Isaac eyed Mr. Baxter most keenly. He had de- 
 termined, so soon as he heard him inquire for Mr. Bal- 
 lenger, to ascertain, if possible, the object of his visit
 
 JOS NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 to him who and what he was ; but his last words had 
 excited the deepest interest. Could Air. Baxter refer 
 to Mr. Ballenger's lands, the value of which had been 
 so carefully concealed 1 Could this man have become 
 acquainted with their value ? Did he want to buy any 
 of them ? Or had some lucky windfall happened to 
 Mr. Ballenger 1 Isaac resolved to probe this matter to 
 the bottom. They walked into the house, and Mr. 
 Forster took out a decanter, a bottle, two tumblers, and 
 two wine-glasses, and requested Mr. Baxter to join him 
 in taking a drink of brandy and water or a glass of wine. 
 
 " Wine, if you please," said Mr. Baxter. " It is our 
 habit in the Old Dominion to take wine only after din- 
 ner." 
 
 "My name," said Isaac, filling the glasses, " which 
 I must apologize, Mr. Baxter, for not mentioning soon- 
 er, is Isaac Forster. Your very good health, sir," said 
 he, touching glasses and emptying his own. 
 
 " I've heard of you, Mr. Forster, very often," said 
 Baxter, " and you are the very man, next to Ned Bal- 
 lenger, I have been most anxious to have the pleasure 
 of seeing in my trip to this country. You were the 
 agent, I think, of my friend Smith and Buchanan. You, 
 sir, can no doubt give me most desirable information." 
 
 " Any, sir, that I possess, not incompatible with the 
 interests of those whom I serve, shall be at your ser- 
 vice," said Isaac. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Baxter. " This is what 
 every gentleman expects from the known character of 
 Mr. Forster, and, permit me to add, sir, receives too, I 
 believe. Your very good health, my dear sir," empty- 
 ing the heeltap that remained in his glass. Isaac filled 
 the glasses again. 
 
 " Suppose, sir," said Baxter, " you order your horse. 
 [ ride slowly, man and horse being somewhat jaded by 
 my long journey across the mountains." 
 
 Isaac stepped to the door, and directed his horse to 
 be brought out. 
 
 " Another glass before we ride," said he to Mr. 
 Baxter.
 
 THE RESCUE. 199 
 
 Mr. Baxter took the wine-glass, and raising it to- 
 wards his lips, and fixing his eyes full upon Isaac's, 
 said, in an entirely altered voice, 
 
 "Mr. Zac Forster, I drink to your better discern- 
 ment, by G d. You are a softer chap than I took 
 you for." 
 
 He tossed off the wine and burst into a fit of uncon- 
 trollable laughter. The scales in an instant fell from 
 Forster's eyes. There stood before him Uriah Blixon, 
 one of his own agents in iniquity, whom he had seen 
 a hundred times, so completely disguised that he did 
 not know him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 ** YOU'LL do, Uriah you'll do," were Isaac's first 
 words on recovering from his surprise. " It is true, 
 as Joe Swinton said, the Devil wouldn't know his 
 own." 
 
 " He didn't, anyhow, this time," replied Uriah. 
 
 " I did riot expect you till night," said Isaac. 
 " Where's the needful ?" 
 
 " It will be here in time," replied Uriah. " I only 
 thought I'd give you a passing call, and see if I'd pass ; 
 and if I did, to get a glass of good wine, which is 
 rather scarce in these parts." 
 
 " Pass !" said Forster ; " if other things that I could 
 name will pass as well, it will do wonderfully." 
 
 " Never doubt it," said Uriah. " Joe Swinton is a 
 first-rate London artist, fully equal to my tailor, paint- 
 er, and hair-dresser. The cclskins only want the 
 signature of Mr. President and Cashier Forster to be 
 as genteel and passable bank-notes as your humble 
 servant is for a most respectable Virginia gentleman ; 
 and where one of them won't pass, why nothing will, 
 you know, friend Isaac. I wish you good-evening,
 
 200 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 sir," said Uriah, changing his voice and manner to 
 those of his assumed character of Mr. George Baxter. 
 " Health and happiness attend you, sir. Be pleased 
 to present me kindly to my friend Ned Ballenger, and 
 say to him that very urgent business prevented his old 
 friend George Baxter from giving him a call as he 
 was making this passing trip." So saying, Uriah 
 bowed most gracefully, and with a dignified step 
 marched out of the room, mounted his horse, and rode 
 away. 
 
 " What a consummately impudent scoundrel is 
 Uriah Blixon what an admirable actor!" said Isaac, 
 following him with his eyes as he disappeared in the 
 distance. 
 
 Now, although Isaac was highly pleased at the per- 
 fect disguise of this man, so far as it enabled him to 
 deceive others, he was exceedingly mortified that he 
 had been deceived himself. He was unwilling that 
 this power should be possessed by any man in any- 
 thing. He was an ambitious and vain man, and did 
 not like to be excelled. A sense of inferiority was 
 humiliating to him. The tannt of Uriah stuck in his 
 throat " so soft a chap ;" he could not swallow that. 
 He did not think himself a soft chap. Who does ? 
 As for his being called the devil, or likened to that 
 personage, he considered that rather a compliment, as 
 many dashing gentlemen do, whose pretensions to the 
 character of his satanic majesty, if they would not 
 even make the devil ashamed, were certainly far infe- 
 rior to those of Mr. Forster. We doubt if he had ever 
 read Milton's Paradise Lost. Some men, however, 
 seem to have an innate perception and admiration of 
 the qualities of high and aspiring characters, and Isaac 
 might be, and perhaps was, one of these. 
 
 About eleven o'clock at night the highly-finished 
 manufactures of Joe Swinton were brought to Isaac 
 Forster's. Those of metal were complete ; those of 
 which paper was the basis wanted the signatures of 
 a president, cashier, and payee. These, Mr. Forster 
 said, would be inserted by the proper persons, using
 
 THE RESCUE. 201 
 
 the plural, we suppose, in the same sense that editors 
 and authors of humble pretensions like myself do. It 
 is remarkable that Isaac Forster never conversed with 
 more than one of the counterfeiters at the same time, 
 and never committed himself even by words to him ; 
 much less did he perform in their presence any act 
 which could be proved to his injury. Even the good 
 money which he supplied to consummate their frauds 
 was always a loan, for which he received a written 
 obligation, to be repaid with lawful interest. He had 
 no fool : sh notions of honour and confidence among 
 chevaliers d? Industrie. Joe Swinton had. He had 
 lived among more civilized and polished people in the 
 city of London, the centre of chivalry. Often had he 
 known one rogue to risk his life to save that of an- 
 other ; and he considered the trait in the character of 
 Isaac, mentioned above, as mean, cowardly, and con- 
 temptible, and he despised him for it. Isaac was not 
 the only man who has been despised and hated for 
 wisdom, prudence, and precaution. 
 
 On Monday morning, before daylight, the counter- 
 feit money was all delivered to Uriah Biixon, ready for 
 use, and James Dixon, on the Saturday before, had re- 
 ceived on loan three thousand dollars in good money 
 from Isaac, and had given his bond, with good securi- 
 ty, for the same. Jimmy was going, as everybody 
 knew, to purchase a drove of horses to carry to East- 
 ern Virginia for sale. The saddlebags of Uriah and 
 those of Jirrrmy were so exactly alike that they could 
 not be distinguished, each pair having, on the most 
 conspicuous part, a large gilded leather star, remova- 
 ble, it seems, at pleasure. In/ less than two weeks 
 after these transactions, advertisements were stuck up 
 all over the country by three farmers of Greenbrier, 
 offering a large reward for a man calling himself 
 George Baxter, described as a portly, respectable- 
 looking, elderly man, riding a sorrel horse with white 
 legs and a switch tail, who had purchased of them two 
 thousand seven hundred dollars worth of horses, and 
 paid for them in money, all of which they had after 
 9
 
 202 NEW HOPE *, OR, 
 
 ward ascertained to be counterfeit ; and stating that 
 the said villain, against whom the public were caution- 
 ed, had, on the same' day, and in their presence, sold 
 the whole lot of stock, at an advance of ten per cent., 
 to Mi. James Dixon, a well-known and respectable 
 horse-drover of Kanawha, who was passing through 
 the country in search of stock, and had, unfortunately 
 for them, arrived after they had sold to Baxter, and 
 who purchased of him, and was now on his way with 
 the horses to the old settlements. On the most dili- 
 gent inquiry (the advertisements stated), they had not 
 been able to discover whence this self-styled George 
 Baxter had come or whither he was going. They 
 had travelled on every road and in every direction, and 
 could gather no tidings of him except at the tavern in 
 their immediate neighbourhood, where he stayed all 
 night after bargaining for their stock, and before he re- 
 ceived them. He paid good money there, and did not 
 return after selling to Mr. Dixon, nor has he been 
 heard of since. They had no doubt that he had chan- 
 ged his clothes, so as not to be recognised by the de- 
 scription. He was, however, certainly an elderly, 
 portly man, of good appearance, and grayheaded, ri- 
 ding a large sorrel horse with a black face, white legs, 
 and switch tail. 
 
 Which of these men, or who else, could have recog- 
 nised, even if he had seen him in the daytime a 
 thing which no man did after the purchase of the hor- 
 ses the young-looking, thin-faced, slender Uriah Blix- 
 on, not one article of whose clothing, saddle, bridle, or 
 horse, corresponded with the description in the adver- 
 tisement? His horse was now milk white, reached, 
 and bobbed.* The night after he bought the horses 
 and sold them, he rode at least fifty miles, and tho 
 next, before day, he was safely housed, and would not 
 be seen in public for several months. 
 
 Jimmy Dixon drove this stock to Richmond and 
 
 * Had it not been for the fair complexion of Uriah Blixon, we 
 should have taken him for a gipsey-jockey of Andalusia, in Spain, 01 
 one of the Dar-bushifal of Barbary- (See Barrow's Zincali.)
 
 THE RESCUE. 203 
 
 Alexandria, and sold it for three thousand eight hun- 
 dred dollars; and as he had to account only for three 
 thousand, he made a handsome profit on the transac- 
 tion, which occupied him about forty days. All his 
 tavern bills were paid in good money. Not the slight- 
 est suspicion existed that there was any collusion be- 
 tween him and the swindling counterfeiter George 
 Baxter, who was nowhere to be found ; indeed, he 
 had disappeared as if he had sunk into the earth. The 
 report soon overtook Jimmy Dixon that Mr. Baxter 
 had passed counterfeit money on the Greenbrier farm- 
 ers. Jimmy said he was sorry for them, but what 
 was one man's loss was another man's gain. On his 
 return to the West, he called on these farmers, and 
 heard the particulars of their search for Baxter ; learn- 
 ed that they had been entirely baffled ; abused the ras- 
 cal terribly ; promised his active co-operation in the 
 endeavour still making to discover where he was, and 
 to bring him to justice ; insisted on adding a hundred 
 dollars to the reward offered for his apprehension, and 
 before he left Greenbrier cheated one of them out of 
 at least two hundred dollars in horse-trading, besides 
 gaining the reputation of being a keener in horse- 
 swapping. 
 
 Old Hockley, when he heard of these horse-trades, 
 laughed outright, and asked Jimmy, when he saw him, 
 " if them farmers had any pole-evil horses for sale or 
 barter ?" 
 
 " No, they hadn't," replied Jimmy, " but they got 
 some spavined and swinnied, and 'twas well for 'em 
 'twas no worse." 
 
 " Come and see me," said Hockley, " and I'll serve 
 you better than you treated yourself the last time we 
 traded. I've got some now that are sound in wind 
 and limb." 
 
 " Thank'ee for nothing," said Jimmy ; " them I got 
 of you before were sound in wind and limb, though 
 one died two days after I got him " 
 
 " And t'other," interposed Hockley, " before you 
 tried to cheat me out of him with a dead horse ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! Jimmy, you are a caution !"
 
 204 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " I'll try to take one," said Jimmy. " I've had my 
 dose of you, friend Hockley." 
 
 " And the physic worked well," said Hockley ; 
 " don't you feel the better of it, boy ?" 
 
 " Yes, I'm cured quite," replied Jimmy ; " but I don't 
 like paying such heavy doctor's bills. The Greenbrier 
 doctors ain't as high learnt as you are, old gentleman. 
 You got your sheepskin in Philadelphy, I guess." 
 
 " They'll learn if they practise on you, Stretch- 
 blanket." 
 
 It has been often remarked, that men, honest, hon- 
 ourable, and veriloquent in everything else, will cheat 
 and lie in horse-trading. If it be true, it is a curious 
 phenomenon, and presents a question in ethics to the 
 philosopher well worthy of investigation. Certain it 
 is, that many men, seemingly upright in all other mat- 
 ters, will take advantage of ignorance and inexperi- 
 ence in horse-trading ; and it does not seem to lessen 
 them in their own opinion, or in the estimation of the 
 public, in the same degree as cheating in other trans- 
 actions. Is it derived from Sparta? The boy who, 
 in that ancient commonwealth, stole a loaf of brown 
 bread, was punished if detected before he had eaten it, 
 but praised and applauded if he had either eaten it, or 
 disposed of it before the trick was discovered, and 
 boasted of the feat like a modern horse-jockey when 
 hs has cheated a greenhorn. 
 
 When Jimmy called on Isaac Forster to pay off his 
 note for the three thousand dollars, the latter said, 
 
 " I understand that young Ballenger, in consequence 
 of his father's ill health, which prevents the old gentle- 
 man from riding much, is about to examine his land 
 in the Loop. I think you know, Jimmy, where the 
 land lies ?" 
 
 " Oh, very well every foot of it that a man can 
 travel over," said Jimmy. 
 
 Now we must do Jimmy the justice to say that he 
 had been once within half a mile of the land, and knew 
 where it lay. 
 
 " This young spark, I have reason to believe, Jim-
 
 THE RESCUE. 205 
 
 my, will take Squire Templeman's in the way to the 
 land. The squire has a pretty daughter, you know." 
 Jimmy's face changed colour. "1 wish, Jimmy, you'd 
 throw yourself in his way at the squire's, and offer to 
 show him the land. He might go too high up New 
 River, and get lost, or break his neck over the cliffs." 
 
 Jimmy looked hard at Isaac, mused a moment, and 
 said, 
 
 " I understand you the " 
 
 " You needn't say what," quickly interposed Isaac. 
 
 " Is on that land. I'll do it, and take care to show 
 him everything he ought to see, and nothing that he 
 oughtn't." 
 
 " That stubborn, ill-natured old fool, Ben Bramble, 
 will be with him, and he knows nothing of the land, or 
 of anything else beyond the gobbling of a turkey or the 
 bleating of a deer," said Isaac. 
 
 "He shall find me at Templeman's," said Jimmy. 
 " I have business with the squire." 
 
 What business he had with Squire Templeman we 
 cannot conceive ; but he said he had business with 
 him, and we must take his word for it, as we must for 
 the truth of the tale he told at Richmond about the cat- 
 fish caught at the Point (Point Pleasant, at the mouth 
 of the Kanawha). " The fish," he said, " had a little 
 negro boy and a three-gallon jug of whiskey in his 
 stomach. They never would have caught him if the 
 hook he swallowed hadn't hung in the cork of the jug, 
 and pulled it out. The fish was made so drunk he 
 couldn't help himself, and was dragged ashore. He 
 weighed two hundred and eighty pounds avoirdupois. 
 I saw it," added Stretch-blanket, " and ate a part of him, 
 which was very near making me drunk. Indeed, sev- 
 eral others that ate of him were so drunk after dinner 
 that they couldn't stand up." 
 
 Jimmy told this story to a man fishing at the falls of 
 James River when he saw him catch a bass rock, 
 weighing, I suppose, twenty or thirty pounds, that had 
 another fish in its maw. 
 
 " Throw him back, throw him back," said Jimmy
 
 206 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 to the man. " It's a small business, that. We wouldn't 
 take such a minnow as that out of the water, if we had 
 hooked him on the Kanawha, 1 swear. Did you ever," 
 he inquired of the man who caught the rockh'sh, "see 
 a buffalo perch ?" 
 
 " No," said the man, " but I've heard of them." 
 
 " Well," said Jimmy, " I leave you to guess what 
 sized fish they are from their name arid a buffalo 
 sucker is a leetle bigger yet." 
 
 Isaac Forster's information was correct, as it gener- 
 ally was in relation to matters in which he was inter- 
 ested. Mr. Ballenger's health was not improved by 
 the approach of spring, and on his son devolved the 
 duty of seeing the lands belonging to his father, and 
 of making a report on their situation and probable val- 
 ue. The tract of 4000 acres in the Loop was the 
 nearest to his residence, and William Henry proposed 
 to visit that first. We think it probable that its vicin- 
 ity to Squire Templeman's may have had something to 
 do with his desire to see that land first. Ben Bram- 
 ble had promised to accompany him. His father's sit- 
 uation, he knew, was becoming every day more gloomy. 
 His little stock of money was nearly exhausted, and 
 his credit, as he was a new-comer, if he had any, was 
 limited, even if he had been disposed to resort to it. 
 It would be absolutely necessary to sell some of his 
 lands shortly at any price, if they could be sold. Of 
 this he was doubtful, from their reputed character, 
 when there was so much unoccupied land in the West, 
 of better quality, offered for sale or settlement. 
 
 Many men would have sunk into despondency, or 
 been tempted into villany, or seduced into ruinous vi- 
 ces by less trying circumstances than those which now 
 surrounded Mr. Ballenger, the once wealthy but now 
 broken merchant. We cannot form a just conception 
 of his feelings without comparing his present with his 
 former condition, his present prospects with his previ- 
 ous anticipations. Often would he look upon his love- 
 ly daughter as she was cheerfully and actively employ- 
 ed in her humble and necessary domestic avocations
 
 THE RESCUE. 207 
 
 so different from those to which she had been accustom- 
 ed ; and that very cheerfulness and apparent uncon- 
 sciousness of her forlorn and destitute condition would 
 fill his heart with anguish. His own feeble health did 
 not permit those active exertions which brace the nerves, 
 and so powerfully counteract the sufferings of sensi- 
 bility ; but when he was most depressed, and wellnigh 
 overwhelmed by the tide of sorrowful emotions which 
 rolled in upon his soul, he would retire to his chamber, 
 and seek relief in prayer to Him who hath said, " Come 
 unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I 
 will give you rest." Never did he seek and not find, 
 never did he ask and not receive. Who ever did ? 
 We may not find what we, in our ignorance, may seek j 
 we may not receive what our importunity may ask ; 
 but He who knows what is better for us than we our- 
 selves do, never turns a deaf ear to the earnest, sin- 
 cere, heartfelt, believing supplications of those who put 
 their tnst in Him. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger was sustained and supported ; his 
 heart was relieved of its burden, although he saw no 
 change in his external condition. He felt relief, like 
 Abraham of old, when about to sacrifice his son. Al- 
 though he could not see how the promises of God 
 could be fulfilled, he believed, he felt that they certain- 
 ly would be. The evidence of things not seen is the 
 support of Christians in all the trials of life. Happy 
 are they who have within them this evidence. Mr. 
 Ballenger had it in his heart ; and his daughter, too, 
 that beautiful and lovely girl, in the most trying scenes 
 to which she was so soon to be exposed, never yielded 
 to doubt or despair. When her father sometimes inad- 
 vertently alluded to the probability of his death, and of 
 leaving her and his son destitute in a land of strangers, 
 although the tears would suffuse her eyes, she would 
 say, 
 
 " Well, my father, should you be called away to 
 your rest, does not the inspired Psalmist say, ' I have 
 been young, and now am old, yet have I not seen the
 
 208 NEW HOPE J OR, 
 
 righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread ?' Let 
 this comfort you. Oh! fear not for us, my father." 
 
 " It does comfort me, my child ; but so weak is the 
 flesh, that we cannot at all times lay hold on the Di- 
 vine promises, and this is one of our severest trials." 
 So saying, he would draw his daughter to him, and 
 embrace and bless her. 
 
 Was she not happy then, though the tears were 
 streaming from her eyes 1 Did she not feel, in the 
 love of such a father, a purer joy than earthly prosper- 
 ity can bestow? The pressure of adversity only con- 
 solidates, and strengthens, and purifies the finer feel 
 ings of our nature, when they have been subjected to 
 the will of our heavenly Father.
 
 THE RESCUE. 209 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 WHEN William Henry was about to set out to 
 see the land in the Loop, which Isaac Forster had 
 represented as the best of the surveys, or, rather, 
 as the least worthless, his father charged him par- 
 ticularly to look for some spot on the survey which, 
 might serve them for a home. "For," said he, "I 
 have been examining Hockley's claim to this land, 
 and I think it probable that his legal title is better 
 than mine ; and if such should prove to be the case. 
 I will oppose no technical obstacles, which I am 
 told may exist, to his immediate possession. Pos- 
 session should follow right without delay, and I 
 cannot, under any circumstances, consent to de- 
 prive another of his just and legal rights; so that, 
 after the fall session of the District Court, we shall 
 have, I believe, to seek another New Hope. Sure- 
 ly, on this survey of 4000 acres, some nook or cor- 
 ner of cultivable land, sufficient to supply us with 
 bread, may be found ; and if so, we must build a 
 cabin on it, and go to clearing again." 
 
 This land was really a London survey, the most 
 worthless, barren, mountainous, and rocky of all 
 that had been conveyed to Mr. Ballenger ; but he 
 had been induced to believe that this was the best. 
 He had written to several persons in the different 
 localities where his lands were situated, in order to 
 gain correct information in regard to their value. 
 Few answers had been returned so few, indeed, 
 that he afterward suspected some foul play at the 
 9*
 
 210 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 postoffice, where an intimate friend of Isaac For- 
 ster was the postmaster; and the few that he did 
 receive confirmed Isaac's statements. These might 
 have been written without any understanding with 
 nim, by persons who, like him, thought they had 
 an interest, as intended purchasers, to keep the 
 owner in the dark as to their value. 
 
 William Henry crossed the Kanawha below the 
 falls, and passing to the west of Jenkins's Mount- 
 ain, or Cotton Hill, arrived at the cabin of Ben 
 Bramble, whjch served him to sleep in when he 
 was at home, for he could not be said to live there, 
 but in the woods. Ben was ready for him, and 
 waiting by appointment. Taking Long Nancy, as 
 he called his gun, on his shoulder, and his toma- 
 hawk, in addition to his long knife, shot-pouch, and 
 powder-horn, and calling his dogs, he mounted old 
 Skewbald. Young Kate was at Mr. Ballenger's ; 
 she stayed there more than at her own home, and 
 seemed to prefer Matilda's caresses and company 
 to those of her master. Ben often left her there. 
 
 William Henry had a rifle and hunting knife, but 
 no tomahawk. Ben asked him if he was afraid 
 that Miss Helen would take him for an Indian if he 
 carried a tomahawk. 
 
 "No," replied William Henry; "her mother's 
 ancestors were Indians, and carried tomahawks; 
 she might like me the better for it for aught that I 
 know ; but I've never learned to use one." 
 
 "You ought, then; a tomahawk's a good friend 
 in the woods," said Ben ; " but was her mother's 
 Ant Ester in the Injun wars, or was she a squaw 1" 
 
 " One of her mother's great-great, I don't know 
 how many, great-grandmothers was an Indian prin- 
 cess, a squaw named Pocahontas, the daughter of 
 Powhatan, in Old Virginia. She went to England, 
 married an Englishman, and had a child, from whom 
 are descended some of the Bolings and Randolphs." 
 
 "I've hearn," said Ben, "that Squire Temple- 
 man's wife was a Randal. And she come of a
 
 THE RESCUE. 211 
 
 squaw, did she 1" William Henry nodded assent. 
 " Then I wouldn't a married her to have saved her 
 life. The squire didn't know that when he mar- 
 ried her, take my word for it. He's had to fight 
 agin them copper-coloured villuns many a time. 
 He wouldn't a married a gal that had a drop of that 
 venomous blood in her veins if he know'd it, on- 
 less his promise was out fust. Why, no longer ago 
 than November, '91, he was nigh being kilt by 'em 
 in St. Clar's defeat ; he and I both was in the rear- 
 guard after Colonel Darke broke through the In- 
 juns, and made a way for all to retreat that was left 
 alive. Major Clarke, who commanded us, was kilt, 
 and then nothin' could keep the boys from break- 
 in' arid runnin' like scared buffaloes ; and the Lit- 
 tle Turkic that was over the Injuns was a yellin' 
 and a whoopin' behind 'em like a born red devil, 
 as he was. The squire was a capting then. He 
 sot down on a log, out of breath with runnin', and 
 weak from bleedin', for he was wounded in the arn\ 
 A private in his company come along strainin' by 
 on a horse he had kotched, and seein' the capting, 
 and the Injuns close behind, he jumped down, 
 throw'd the squire up on the horse, and led him 
 off by the bridle at full gallop; and they got clear, 
 though their clothes were cut all to pieces by the 
 rifle-balls of the Injuns. The squire offered to give 
 that man five hundred acres of land, for he know'd 
 he was poor. But the soldier didn't like to be paid 
 for doing his duty, and he's poor yit, they say." 
 
 Ben didn't mention the name of the soldier that 
 saved Squire Templeman's life. But the squire, in 
 a conversation afterward in relation to that event, 
 related the same anecdote ; and when William Hen- 
 ry asked him what was the name of the soldier that 
 saved his life, he answered, 
 
 "His name is Ben Bramble, the man who has 
 been here frequently with you ; as brave a soldier 
 and as honest a man as breathes the breath of 
 life."
 
 212 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " He mentioned the circumstance," said William 
 Henry, " but omitted the name of the private." 
 
 " That's like him," said the squire ; " but I'll be 
 bound he did not omit to mention what it does not be- 
 come me to allude to." 
 
 " That, you offered to giv-e the soldier a tract of 
 land," said William Henry. 
 
 " Yes," said the squire. " Ben never fails to men- 
 tion what he considers the good actions of others, 
 though he rarely speaks of his own. But they speak 
 for themselves, and in a louder language than words 
 can utter. Give me an army of such men in any good 
 cause, and I would defy defeat." 
 
 As Ben and William Henry were riding along, Ben 
 asked him where the lands were they were going to 
 look at. 
 
 " Here in the Loop, some six or eight miles above 
 the ferry on New River," said William Henry. 
 
 " It's a fine country," said Ben ; " that is, for bar and 
 other varmints, but not good for the plough, I guess. 
 It's rough, rocky, ridgy, and cliffy at least most on 
 it is." 
 
 " We must try to find some place for a little farm 
 on it, at any rate, Ben, for I fear Hockley will drive 
 us from New Hope." 
 
 When they arrived at the squire's and were dis- 
 mounting from their horses, they saw the squire and 
 Mr. James Dixon coming from the house towards a 
 very fine-looking horse standing at the rack. 
 
 " Just the horse to suit your worship," said Jimmy ; 
 " active, quiet as a lamb, perfectly sound, and only six 
 years old." 
 
 " But I don't want a horse," said the squire. 
 
 "No matter," said Jimmy; "only look at him, and 
 you will want him. I brought him all the way frjna 
 Richmond on purpose for you, squire, knowing how 
 exactly he'd suit you ; and that such a judge of horse- 
 flesh as you are, if you got a good look at him, would 
 not let him slip through your fingers. Only look at 
 him and ride him, and you will want him j and, sir,
 
 THE RESCUE. 213 
 
 you shall have him cheap as dirt for half his real 
 value for fifty dollars less than any other living man, 
 'poii my honour." 
 
 " How are ye, gentlemen ?" said the squire to Ben 
 and William Henry ; " I'm glad to see you. Going 
 to look at Mr. Dixon's fine horse just to oblige him, 
 for I've told him I don't want to buy a horse. Walk 
 in or come with us, as best pleases you, gentlemen." 
 
 " We'll look at the horse," said William Henry. 
 
 " Do, gents," said Jimmy. " He's a clinker of the 
 best blood Janus, Wild-air, Bully-rock, and Old Med- 
 ley. Only look at his ears, head, neck, and eyes," 
 said Jimmy. " What a charger he would make, 
 squire !" 
 
 " Only six years old, did you say 1 Then he can't 
 be the same," said the squire, winking at Ben Bram- 
 ble, " that you had, Mr. Dixon, at the battle of the 
 fallen timber." 
 
 " It's the same horse," said Een, " I. guess, for he 
 is of the same colour and size, and must be 'bout 
 twj-lve or thirteen years old now ; for Jimmy told Mad 
 Antony that he was six years old then. But old Gran- 
 ny Cuss and Sicar wouldn't buy him, though Jimmy 
 offered him as low as ninety pounds." 
 
 Mr. Dixon seemed very restless during these re- 
 marks. 
 
 " Tell Mr. Ballenger, Ben, what you know of that 
 horse of Jimmy's." 
 
 " When we was gwine on," said Ben, " from camp 
 Greenville, Mr. Dixon overtuck the army, and said he 
 came all the way from Ole Viginny to bring a horse 
 to the gineral ; that thar worn't sich another in the 
 world. Mad Antony looked at the horse, and told 
 Jimmy he never byed an ontried horse ; but as he had 
 brought him so fur, he'd have him tried if Jimmy de- 
 sired it. Jimmy seemed mightily pleased, and said, 
 'To be sure, gineral.' 'Well, sir,' said Mad Antony, 
 'your horse shall have a fair chance; you shall ride 
 him yourself. My friend Major Trice is an excellent 
 judge of horses ; report yourself to him as a volunteer.
 
 214 NEW HOPE : OR, 
 
 and I shall know what stuff man and horse both are 
 made of, by G d.' Jimmy know'd he was penned, 
 and not a drawbar down, I tell you. So off he went 
 to the major and reported himself, lookin' not quite so 
 pleasin' as he does now. When we got nigh the in- 
 imy, Major Price, who commanded us, was sent on 
 afore to see whar the red-skin rascals was, with orders 
 to retreat when he found out ther lurkin'-place and 
 how they had fixed for us. On we went, twell we 
 got some four or five mile before the main body of the 
 army, among the fallen timber that a horricane had 
 tore up and broke down. In a minit the Injuns riz 
 and fired upon us. Jimmy, who had bin put in the 
 foremost squadron, when we wheeled and begun to re- 
 treat at a full gallop, jumpin' the logs and trees, jest 
 slipped right down off on that fine horse, and split for 
 it a foot, clarin' the trees like a buck ; but his horse 
 fell heels over head at the fust log he tried to jump, 
 that wasn't, I'm ready to qualify, knee high, and skin- 
 ned his face and legs as if he had bin rammin' 'em 
 agin a stone-wall. As Jimmy passed his horse, we 
 heard him say, ' I know'd how 'twould be. I hope 
 the Injuns will kill you, you stumblin', clumsy devil 
 thank God, I didn't trust my scalp on your infernal 
 back.' Well, we seed no more of Jimmy nor his 
 horse twell after the battle, in which we gin it to the 
 red-skins as they desarved when we was burnin' the 
 corn-fields nigh Capting Campbell's garrison, when 
 Jimmy rode up to the sfineral, and told him that, at the 
 fust fire of the Injuns, a ball creased his horse, and 
 caused him to fall and skin himself, as he was clearin' 
 a log above six foot high. This must be that same 
 horse, that the boys named Loggerhead." 
 
 " It's no such thing," exclaimed Jimmy. " Look in 
 his mouth. I never could keep any horse six months." 
 
 " If you could sell him or swap him," added the 
 squire. 
 
 " You know, Ben," said Jimmy, " that I sold Log- 
 gerhead, as you call him, to the British commander at 
 Detroit. I only got fifty pounds for him. But I sold
 
 TUB RESCUE. 215 
 
 him at that low price, hoping the weight of that mount- 
 ain of a man would kill Loggerhead, and that he would 
 fall down and kill Colonel England for supplying the 
 Indians with arms and ammunition to fight against us." 
 
 " The most generous, humane, and patriotic horse- 
 sale I ever heard of," said Squire Templeman. " Gen- 
 eral Wayne and the country ought to be very much 
 obliged to you, Mr. Dixon, for transferring your kind 
 and considerate services from Mad Anthony to Colonel 
 England." 
 
 " You don't want my horse. I see, squire," said 
 Jimmy. " Well, let's go into the house." 
 
 " Hellow ! Peter, take these horses to the stable," 
 cried the squire to a servant. " Gentlemen, you spend 
 the night with me ?" 
 
 Although we can understand how the vanity of the 
 horse-trader may induce him to relate the tricks and 
 cheatery which he has practised, and even to exag- 
 gerate them, yet we cannot comprehend on what prin- 
 ciples this 1 avowal of tricks played on others is offered, 
 it would seem, as a guarantee against the same game's 
 being played on us. For at no time is the dealer so 
 apt to relate them as when he is attempting to practice 
 them. He surely does not reflect that this obvious 
 thought must present itself to every prudent man, " It 
 is my turn, now, to be the subject of his knavery." 
 Does the dealer think that his present professions will 
 outweigh his avowed past practices in our estimate of 
 what he will do in regard to us ? It must be so, or he 
 is entirely blinded by the pleasure of self-esteem, so 
 much promoted by his recitals. 
 
 As they entered the porch, William Henry inquired 
 of the squire if he was acquainted with a survey of 
 land some six or eight miles above the ferry, com- 
 monly known, lately, as Buchanan's survey. 
 
 " I am not," said the squire. 
 
 " Is it the 4000 acre surrey," said Jimmy, " con- 
 veyed to your father ?" 
 
 " The same, sir," said William Henry. 
 
 " I kuow every foot of it," said Jimmy, " as well
 
 216 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 as I did the wrinkles in my grandmother's face." 
 (Jimmy's grandmother actually died the year before 
 he was ushered 'into this horse-trading world.) "I'm 
 going to-morrow within half a mile of that land to see 
 a man that has a Wild-air colt to sell. He got him 
 near Petersburg, in part of a legacy left to him by an 
 old uncle of his, a Mr. Braxton, I think, who was fa- 
 mous for fine horses. He imported Kitty Fisher, that 
 run four miles in seven minutes and five seconds, and 
 repeated in exactly seven minutes, Mr. Ballenger." 
 
 " I'm glad you are going so near that land," said 
 William Henry. ' My business in the Loop" (Dixon 
 doubted it ikat., he thought, was his father's) " is to see 
 that land, and I shall be glad to have your company, 
 Mr. Dixon." 
 
 " With all pleasure in life, Mr. Ballenger," said 
 Jirnmy ; " I will show you every foot of it every 
 hole and corner in it and on it. It's a rough country, 
 though, sir ups and downs, rocks and ridges, ivy- 
 bushes and thickets all over it. There's hardly a 
 place on it level enough to lie down on, unless it's in 
 a branch." 
 
 This was a discouraging account. ; but Squire Tem- 
 pleman observed. " See it with your own eyes, Mr. 
 Ballenger. The eye gives us a more accurate and 
 faithful idea of a country than any verbal or written 
 description can give." 
 
 Does it seem strange to our readers that the owners 
 of Western lands living on the Atlantic inclined plane 
 should be so ignorant of their situation and value, or 
 should set so small a value on them 1 If they have 
 ever seen the lands on Guyandotte River, more ferule 
 than any on the Potomac or James River ; if they 
 have ever seen those around Lexington in Kentucky, 
 we can assure them that lands on the former, parts of 
 Savage's patent, now worth twenty thousand dollars, 
 then sold for a bottle of rum and a jack-knife, and that one 
 of the most beautiful and fertile tracts near Lexington, 
 now called the Athens of the West, and worth 870,000, 
 was sold for a rifle-gun and a pair of buckskin breech-
 
 THE RESCUE. 217 
 
 es. There were Isaac Forsters, too, in miniature, as 
 well as of full size, throughout the Western country, 
 buying up the soldiers' land- warrants. Land specu- 
 lation was a branch of business as much as horse- 
 trading; and there was full as much jockeying in the 
 one as in the other full as much truth and honesty. 
 
 Miss Helen Templeman appeared at the supper- 
 table. Whether that increased the appetite of any of 
 the company or her own, we do not know ; but we do 
 know that the squire, Ben Bramble, and George Ar- 
 buckle Ternpleman, the squire's only son, a youth of 
 sixteen, did ample justice to the viands set before 
 them ; and if there were not many exchanges of 
 plates, there were of glances between some members 
 of the party. We never could comprehend the rela- 
 tion existing between appetite and passion, love and 
 hunger ; there's a deep mystery in it almost unfathom- 
 able, or we should have been at the bottom of it, doubt- 
 less, long ago. A distinguished physician and elo- 
 quent professor in a Northern university once said, 
 " There's no cure for love like starving no preventive 
 like a course of water-gruel." As all this is Greek to 
 us, we leave it to young ladies who receive diplomas 
 at boarding-schools and institutes, who may, among 
 other experiments in the natural sciences, discover the 
 rationale of starving young gentlemen out of love and 
 of feeding them into it; if, indeed, it is true that the 
 tiKiiii road to the heart passes through the stomach. 
 What are its commencement, course, and termination, 
 they ought to know from their physiological and ana- 
 tomical studies, so well calculated not only to make 
 them knowing in such matters, but to set them in the 
 best possible way for performing a lady's duties in life.
 
 218 NEW HOPE; OB, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. ' 
 
 AFTER supper Mr. Dixon was entertaining Buck 
 Templeman (for such was the abbreviation of George 
 Arbuckle Templeman's name) with an account of his 
 last trip to Old Virginia, and more especially with a 
 description of some fine imported horses belonging to 
 a Mr. Lightfoot, who lived on James River, and of a 
 race between a horse called Lamplighter and another 
 celebrated horse, in which race Jimmy said that Lamp- 
 lighter ran four miles in seven minutes and ten seconds. 
 Now we do not vouch for the accuracy of the time re- 
 ported by Mr. Dixon, although Lamplighter was a very 
 fine horse (we have a descendant of hi* for sale), be- 
 lieved by his owner, Mr. Tilghman, to be the best 
 horse in America, and who, we think, did beat the 
 celebrated Cincinnatus. 
 
 The squire and Ben Bramble were, in their conver- 
 sation, travelling over every foot of ground from Fort 
 Washington to the Rapids of the Miami, deep, and 
 miry, and dangerous as it was. They went over 
 again St. Clair's disastrous campaign, and Wayne's, 
 so long in preparation, so short and fortunate in its ter- 
 mination. They had built over again Fort Defiance, 
 and Ben was reminding the squire of the escape of a 
 young man who had been taken prisoner by the In- 
 dians, and made his escape in the night, and reached 
 the American camp in safety. He was fresh from 
 school, and entirely ignorant, of course, of those un- 
 erring indications and directions so well understood by 
 hunters and woodsmen ; yet, guided by what he had 
 learned at school of the position of certain stars, he 
 succeeded in reaching the camp of his countrymen. 
 Ben said it was the only time he " ever knovv'd book 
 larnin' to do any good in the woods. The young 
 man," he added, " declar'd that the Ussor Midgor
 
 THE RESCUE. 219 
 
 guided him ; and something must, I know," continued 
 Ben, "for he cum in a bee line to camp twenty 
 miles." 
 
 " How I should like to study astronomy," said Miss 
 Helen to William Henry. 
 
 Now Miss Helen was a very polite young lady, and 
 seeing, after supper, that her father and brother were 
 entertaining Ben Bramble and Mr. Dixon, or vice versa, 
 she kindly took compassion on William Henry, and ad- 
 dressed her conversation to him. Whether it was that 
 she spoke in too low a tone, or he was a little deaf 
 from cold, we do not know, but, in order to hear her, 
 he was forced to move his chair close up to hers in 
 the corner, and near the window. That habit in young 
 ladies of speaking so low that a young gentleman can- 
 not hear them unless he is almost touching them, is a 
 sad fault ; and we have observed that it is a very com- 
 mon one, especially of an evening, when the atmo- 
 sphere is usually damp and affects the hearing. 
 
 " I do not know a single star," continued Miss Helen, 
 looking out of the window at the bright and twinkling 
 luminaries that were shining in the clear blue sky, 
 " by its classical name.'' 
 
 " I make no pretensions to the character of an as- 
 tronomer," said William Henry to her, " yet I know 
 some of the constellations and bright, particular stars," 
 looking into Miss Helen's eyes, " by their names. Let 
 me have the pleasure, Miss Templeman, of giving you 
 a first lesson in astronomy. We shall have a better 
 view of the heavens from the porch than through the 
 window." So saying, he led the young lady into the 
 porch, and for fear of interrupting the gentlemen within 
 the house, he closed the door after him. He either 
 had a dull pupil or gave very copious explanations, for 
 this first lesson occupied at least one whole hour. 
 
 " Oh ! papa," said Miss Helen on her return to the 
 room, " what a pleasing study astronomy is ! Mr Bul- 
 lenger has made me see stars I never observed before, 
 and there are such beautiful tables connected with their 
 names ! The star iu the belt of Orion is so bright ;
 
 220 NEW HOPE J OR, 
 
 and the Ursa Major is Calisto, whom Jupiter translated 
 to the heavens and made a constellation. The com- 
 mon people call it Charles's Wain : only think of their 
 calling a woman a wagon." 
 
 " It's not worse, I'm sure, than calling her a bag- 
 gage," said her father. 
 
 " And the two lower stars of the constellation," con- 
 tinued Helen, " they call the hind wheel of the wagon, 
 or the pointers, because they always point to that star 
 in the tail of the Ursa Minor, or Little Bear, which is 
 the pole-star ; and that cluster of unformed stars called 
 Coma Berenices how Euergetes must have loved 
 her for vowing to dedicate her beautiful locks to Venus 
 if he returned in safety from his dangerous expedition ; 
 and what a charming allegory it is, that, when her hus- 
 band returned victorious, those same beautiful tresses 
 that she had cut off and deposited in the temple of Ve- 
 nus, should disappear from the temple, and reappear, in 
 all their dishevelled beauty, in the skies." 
 
 It was evident to the squire that Helen was attempt- 
 ing to talk herself out of some little confusion, or to 
 hide it. Ben Bramble sat with his mouth open, sta- 
 ring at her. At last he drew a long breath, and said, 
 " So, then, the fust lesson in 'strogomy is makin' 
 gals see stars they never seed afore, and givin' high- 
 larnt names to huggin'." 
 
 Helen was off in a moment, like a frightened deer, 
 and always believed that Ben had seen through the 
 window William Henry's arm stealing around her slen- 
 der waist as they stood conversing in the porch. They 
 saw no more of Miss Helen that evening j and even 
 the next morning, when the gentlemen came into the 
 breakfast-room, and she saw Ben's eyes slyly glancing 
 at her, she could not conceal the burning blushes that 
 suffusf d her neck and face. After breakfast, when all 
 the gentlemen had walked out except Ben, he went up 
 to Helen, and said, 
 
 " You musri't mind me, honey ; if you git that young 
 man, you'U do monstrus well ; thar ain't a finer boy 
 west of the mountins than him, and his father and sis-
 
 THE RESCUE. 221 
 
 ter is as good people as thar is on yearth. His sister, 
 Miss Mattie, is mity like you, only she ain't got so 
 wicked an eye." 
 
 "How could you serve me so, Ben, last night 1 ?" 
 said she. 
 
 " I declar, I shall git right mad with you if you 
 talk so. I'll try to mind my p's and q's better herear- 
 ter, honey ; but 'twas all a joke. I seed nothin'," said 
 Ben ; " I declar I only conjectured how it mought be 
 I raaly seed nothin'." 
 
 " Yes you did," said Helen. 
 
 " Thar 'tis, now," said Ben ; " she's gone and con- 
 fessed it. But what's your daddy and Master Will 
 talkin' so arnest about out yonder ? He's got a mity 
 down, beggin' look, ain't he ?" 
 
 Helen cast one glance through the window, and ran 
 up stairs ; nor did she even return to receive the adieus 
 of the gentlemen when, shortly after, they departed to 
 see Mr. Ballenger's land. We should not follow them 
 into those woods over the New River hills, for in our 
 day we have had enough of that, but merely state the 
 results of their reconnoissance, if it were not for some 
 circumstances that happened illustrative of the charac- 
 ter of persons mentioned in this narrative, and of oth- 
 ers quite numerous in the West at that time, and not 
 yet extinct on the frontiers. 
 
 After they had ridden some hours, Mr. Dixon re- 
 quested William Henry and Ben Bramble to ride on 
 to the top of a high ridge then in view, saying that he 
 wished to see the man who owned the Wild-air colt, 
 and who lived within a quarter of a mile of where they 
 then were, and that he would overtake them in a few 
 minutes. They rode on, and Mr. Dixon, diverging from 
 the path towards the river, galloped off along a foot- 
 path scarcely perceptible. In a few minutes he ap- 
 proached a cabin in a deep hollow, surrounded by an 
 enclosure of about two acres, and on reaching the 
 fence he sung out " Hollow!" An old man appeared 
 at tho door of the cabin with a gun in his hand. 
 
 " How are you, Obed ?" said Jimmy to him.
 
 222 XEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 "Jimmy Dixon, ain't it?" interrogated the man. 
 
 " Yes," replied Jimmy. 
 
 The old man put down his gun and came out to the 
 fence. 
 
 " Well, Obed, the young 'un's come, and Ben Bram- 
 ble with him, to roust you out of your nest." 
 
 " Whar are they ?" asked the old man. 
 
 " Gone on to the top of the ridge," replied Jimmy. 
 
 " Tell 'em apart, Jimmy, and I'll fix the young 'un 
 as they go down the dry run on t'other side," said the 
 old man. " No livin' man shall turn me out on my 
 possession my claim. This is my settlement, and 
 Ballenger had no right to buy over my head. Why 
 didn't he come like an honest man, and offer me a fair 
 price for my improvement ?" 
 
 " He ain't able," said Jimmy. 
 
 " Then he ain't able to git this land, anyhow." 
 
 "There's no need of burning gunpowder," said 
 Jimmy. " He's looking for a place for a farm' not a 
 little patch like yours ; and all that's needful is to keep 
 him from finding any of the level land, and he'll go 
 home satisfied. If we can't hinder him from seeing 
 the flats, why, then, old man, it will be time enough to 
 shoot at something in the bushes." 
 
 " If that's all," said the old man, " it's easy enough 
 to lead 'em over the whole 4000 acres without their 
 seeing a place level enough for a 'taler-patch." 
 
 " Well," said Jimmy, " I'm their guide, and I've come 
 now to get directions from you how to manage it." 
 
 " I can do it," said Obed ; " but the bullet is the least 
 trouble, and the surest, arter all. They may come 
 agin, mayhap." 
 
 " Not they," said Jimmy. " Ballenger has a power 
 of land, and he'll leave the trouble of shooting him to 
 some other squatter." 
 
 " I'd rather do it now, and make sure," said Obed, 
 turning to go to the house. 
 
 Jimmy called him back, and although there was no 
 other person within sight or hearing, he leaned over 
 the fence and whispered in his ear.
 
 THE RESCUE. 223 
 
 " Well, well," said Ob*d, " it raought be sorter on- 
 conveniunt to have men sarchin' about here for a ded 
 body. Do you go, then, right down to the big elhun 
 yander, and show 'em the lower corner; then pass 
 back of my claim here, and keep straight out twell 
 you come to the ridge path ; foller that up to the blown- 
 up poplar ; then turn to the left right down to the river 
 agin, to the upper corner gum-tree at the mouth of the 
 branch ; then foller the river cliff twell you get to the 
 hangin' rock you'll know the one I mean by the 
 ashes under it then clime up the cliff, and so back 
 to the ridge path. They won't see nothin' worth 
 comin' here for. I'll go on to the flats, and if they 
 should come thar " 
 
 " Or should go up the branch," interposed Jimmy. 
 
 " I'll stop ther sarchin' for this time, anyhow," said 
 Obed Stapler, the squatter on Mr. Ballenger's land. 
 
 Jimmy turned his horse's head to ride away, but 
 before he was out of sight of the cabin he saw the 
 old man come out of it with his rifle in his hand, and 
 move off rapidly iu a direction parallel to the path 
 in which he was riding, and disappear in the woods. 
 Let no man buy land, or attempt to settle a farm, on 
 the frontier settlements of America even now, on 
 which there are squatters, if he values his life, without 
 first seeing them and purchasing out their rigJilsf and 
 paying them for their improvements. Obed Stapler is 
 no uncommon character in the backwoods. 
 
 William Henry had not the slightest idea of the 
 danger he was incurring in his mission ; he did not 
 know that there was a squatter on the land. Ben 
 Bramble had told him that they were dangerous peo- 
 ple to deal with in the woods, but supposed there were 
 none on this land. This Obed Stapler had lately come 
 into the Loop, and squatted on Mr. Ballenger's land ; 
 who he was, whence he came, and for what purpose 
 he had selected that secluded spot, Mr. Isaac Forster 
 could have informed us if he chose, or if it suited his 
 purposes, which amounts to the same thing. Isaac 
 was in the habit of finding settlements for people. It
 
 224 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 is possible that if the elder Mr. Ballenger, instead ol 
 his son, had gone to look at the land, Old Stapler might 
 not so easily have been dissuaded from using his rifle 
 that day. This is only a conjecture of ours. We 
 would not injure the character of Isaac Forster by 
 saying that he had induced Stapler to settle there, 
 knowing that the old man would shoot the owner of 
 the land if he ever set his foot on it. It will be recol- 
 lected that he had found an excellent settlement for 
 the carpenter on his own land in New-York. 
 
 Mr. Dixon, after parting with Stapler, soon overtook 
 Ben Bramble and William Henry, and told them he 
 would first conduct them to the lower corner of the 
 land on the river, where stood a large elm-tree, if he 
 remembered rightly. To this they went, as Stapler had 
 directed Jimmy. Following Jimmy, and, consequently, 
 the directions of the squatter, they passed over the 
 roughest parts of the survey that it was possible for 
 horses to travel over. They, of course, saw not a 
 patch of level land large enough for a garden, much 
 less for a farm. It was remarked, however, by Ben, 
 that some rascal had been marking trees for corners 
 higher up and lower down the river, and also corre- 
 sponding ones en the back line, so as to make it diffi- 
 cult to ascertain the beginning of the survey. This, 
 he told William Henry, was not an uncommon practice 
 to cheat the non-resident owners of Western lands. 
 
 After exploring the land thoroughly, as they thought, 
 Ben proposed that they should dismount and try to find 
 a bear, as he saw signs among the ivy-bushes where 
 they then were. Now there were at least three suita- 
 ble places for farms on this survey of good land ; yet 
 so carefully had Jimmy followed the directions of 
 Obed Stapler, that they were kept out of view. Ben, 
 William Henry, and Mr. Dixon alighted, and tied their 
 horses on a high ridge near the river. Ben advised 
 Jimmy to keep the top of the ridge, while he would 
 beat the thickets parallel to him and half way down to 
 the river, and William Henry should descend the ridge 
 and pass along the ledge of rocks nearest to the river.
 
 THE RESCUE. 225 
 
 Jimmy had no gun, and Ben said if he roused a bear 
 or deer, it would pass him or William Henry towards 
 the river. Jimmy was armed, but they did not know 
 it, for he had a pair of pistols and a dirk. 
 
 William Henry had barely reached the ledge of rock 
 hanging above the river, and at least a hundred and 
 fifty feet above the water, when, turning a sharp angle 
 in the wall of rock, he came suddenly on a couple of 
 cubs in a recess of the ledge. They were not larger 
 than cats, and he determined to take them and carry 
 them to George Arbuckle Templeman. He set down 
 his rifle against the rock, and took up one of them. 
 The little creature immediately began to whine. In a 
 moment he heard a rush through the ivy-bushes in 
 front, and about five feet above the platform on which 
 he stood. He was at no loss to conjecture what it 
 was, for a large she-bear was plainly visible within 
 thirty yards of him. To drop the cub, seize his rifle, 
 and fire at her was the work of but a moment. A shot 
 under such circumstances, even by more experienced 
 hunters, is rarely mortal. Although she was wounded 
 and bleeding profusely, the bear was on him in an in- 
 stant. Down they came on the rock, and rolled to the 
 very brink of the perpendicular precipice. Her teeth 
 were through his belt and clothes, grazing his side, 
 and her arms squeezing the breath out of his body. 
 One of his legs was dangling over the edge of the diz- 
 zy cliff as he seized a small bush with one hand, and 
 with the other was trying to reach the handle of his 
 knife. The roots of the bush were cracking and giv- 
 ing way every moment. He had given himself up for 
 lost, when he felt the enraged animal relax her grasp, 
 and himself jerked out of her arms and against the 
 rampart of rocks above him. Ben Bramble had cleft 
 the head of the bear with a single stroke of his toma- 
 hawk. William Henry was on his feet in an instant, 
 panting and bloody, with his eyes protruding nearly 
 out of his head. 
 
 " Whar are you hurt?" asked Ben. 
 
 " Nowhere, I believe," replied William Henry, when 
 10
 
 226 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 he got breath to speak. " It's her blood, not mine," 
 he added, seeing Ben looking at the blood on his 
 clothes ; " but she. made me see stars, I tell you ; she 
 nearly squeezed the breath out of me, she did." 
 
 Ben's face relaxed into a smile as he said, " Well, 
 boy, you've had yer fust lesson in 'strogomy. She made 
 you see stars, did she ? It worn't Helen Templeman 
 this time, any how. 'Twas rough huggin', that, and a 
 she-bar hain't much love in her when she does it, 
 nuther. Hain't she tore your side whar she grabbed 
 you ?" 
 
 " No," said William Henry, " thanks to my leather 
 belt and rough coat. I'm not hurt at all except this 
 hand, with which I held on to the bush." 
 
 " You may well afford," said Ben, " to lose that part 
 of natur's glove ; it saved your life. She'd have had 
 you off of this fether bed in no time. Thar she lays a 
 quiverin' yit. They are monstrous hard to die when 
 they are mad. Why, if it had bin an ole 'oman, she'd 
 have fit for her young 'uns, try it any time you will. 
 Tryin' to steal cubs from a she-bar without a tomahawk, 
 Master Will! You'll larn better nor that if you live 
 long with the old shes in these woods." 
 
 They heard the report of a pistol, and shortly after- 
 ward, 
 
 " Hellow ! what's to pay down there ?" 
 
 Looking up, they saw Jimmy Dixon looking at them 
 from the top of the ridge, and Ben answered, 
 
 " Come and see." 
 
 When Jimmy got near the scene, he stopped, and 
 Ben said to him, 
 
 " Why didn't you come when you heard the rumpus 
 down here on the rocks ?" 
 
 " I had enough to do where I was," said Mr. Dixon, 
 approaching the spot where they stood. " It's well 
 for you all that the old he put at me." 
 
 " Put at you," said Ben Bramble. " Whar ?" 
 
 " Why, on the top of the ridge," said Jimmy. " He 
 come at me like a thunder-gust through the bushes. 
 But I was ready for him. Didn't you hear me shoot ?
 
 THE RESCUE. 227 
 
 I dropped on all fours, and drawing a pistol, met him at 
 full gallop. He stopped short, as I knew he would, 
 seeing me coming right at him, and looked as if he 
 thought, ' Who the devil are you V Just as I got with- 
 in six feet of him I fetched a grin, and fired right at 
 his mouth ; the ball split his skin from the end of his 
 chin between his fore legs clean to his tail. He yell- 
 ed as if the devil had him, and just as I drew the other 
 bull-dog, and was about to jump forward to give it to 
 him touching his head, he wheeled, and of all the 
 scared creeturs I ever saw, he was scared the worst. 
 He tore off down the other side of the ridge, and turn- 
 ed heels over head at least a dozen times before he got 
 out of sight. He hardly took time to get up again when 
 he tumbled over, he was in such an almighty hurry. 
 I lay any money he don't stop this side of never. Why, 
 this thing laying here ain't a circumstance hardly a 
 huckleberry to him." 
 
 During this tale of Jimmy's Ben Bramble said not 
 a word, but his looks expressed a degree of scorn and 
 ineffable contempt not in the power of words to utter. 
 Every look said as plainly as looks can say, " Well, 
 of all the lies I ever listened to, that is the biggest and 
 the most bear-faced." William Henry had dragged 
 the bear from the edge of the precipice. 
 
 " We'll take her hide and some of her meat," said 
 Ben. 
 
 " And her cubs too," said William Henry. " Here 
 they are. hid in this hole," he added ; " who would have 
 thought they had sense to hide themselves so cun- 
 ningly ?" 
 
 " That's ther den. They had come out to play in 
 the sun like children," said Ben, " when you come 
 upon 'em." 
 
 The bear was soon flayed, and the choice parts roll- 
 ed up in the skin. 
 
 " How shall I carry the babies ?" said William Hen- 
 ry, drawing the cubs from the hole. 
 
 " Hain't you got on drawers ?" asked Ben ; " if you
 
 228 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 has, pull 'em off, and tie up the lower eends, and put 
 one in each leg, and swing J em across yer saddle." 
 
 This ingenious plan was adopted. 13en shouldered 
 the skin and meat, and William Henry the cubs, and 
 they ascended the hill to their horses. 
 
 " Where in the world can the dogs be ?" said Will- 
 iam Henry. 
 
 " They are gallopin' and grinnin', I guess, replied 
 Ben, " arter the old he that Mr. Dixon seed." 
 
 That worthy had returned to the horses before them, 
 and was seated on the ground whittling a stick. They 
 mounted their horses and left the survey. When they 
 arrived at Squire Templeman's gate, Mr. Dixon left 
 them, alleging that he had business with somebody. 
 "William Henry thanked him for his kind services in 
 showing the land, and rode on with Ben to the squire's 
 house. 
 
 Our readers know much better than William Henry 
 did how much he was indebted to Mr. Dixon, and how 
 well the latter was entitled to his thanks for the servi- 
 ces rendered to him that day. He might have seen 
 better land, perhaps, and he might have lost his life if 
 he did. Jimmy prevented both, so the balance seems 
 rather to be in Mr. Dixon's favour, as he liked it to be 
 in all his transactions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 BEN BRAMBLE'S dogs, Captain and Rover, that 
 morning', soon after the party left the squire's to 
 see the land, and before they had ridden more than 
 two or three miles, stopped in the road and began 
 to whine, then turned back, and were seen to leave 
 the road, or, rather, path in which they were riding 
 in Indian file. William Henry, who was behind 
 the others, stopped his horse and called the do~.
 
 THE RESCUE. 229 
 
 " Let 'em alone," cried Ben ; " we've no time 
 now to hunt. Let 'em take their nat'ral pleasure; 
 they'll overtake us." But, as we have seen, they 
 saw no more of them. Ben said they had got arter 
 some "varmint," he was sure, and had run clean 
 off. When William Henry and Ben entered the 
 yard gate, they saw George Arbuckle Templeman 
 caressing and fondling the dogs in the porch ; as 
 soon as they heard their master's voice they left 
 Buck, and came sneaking and whining, with im- 
 ploring looks, towards him, as if they were ashamed 
 of themselves. 
 
 "Sneaked back to the house, and gone to sleep 
 like niggers," said Ben. "Why, Buck, you've bin 
 trickin' my dogs, hain't you 1" 
 
 " Oh no," said Buck, " I haven't tricked them j 
 but they and I have played a glorious trick this 
 day, I tell you." 
 
 " Kotcht a rabbit, I reckon," said Ben, "from 
 ther mean looks." 
 
 "Rabbit, indeed! Do you think I'd be so mean 
 as to hunt rabbits with your dogs 1 No, no, Uncle 
 Ben, we've done a trick that beat the double of that 
 a hundred times over and over." 
 
 "What is it, Arbuckle 1" asked William Henry, 
 seeing the boy's eyes sparkle with pride and pleas- 
 ure the most animated. 
 
 " Why, in about an hour after you went away 
 this morning, I was in the yard with sister Helen, 
 helping her to plant some rosebushes, when I heard 
 Captain and Rover I know their voices as well as 
 I do yours, Mr. Ballenger cussing and swearing 
 out yonder in the woods." 
 
 " Stop, Buck," said Ben, " don't slander the car 
 actur of my dogs : if they ain't Christian dogs, they 
 are desent dogs at least ; and no desent dog cusses 
 and swars." 
 
 14 Well, then," said Buck, " they were a blasphe- 
 ming with all their might. I dropped the hoe, and 
 ran into the house, and told pa. 'Run, George,'
 
 230 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 said my father, ' mount old Marlborough ; he stands 
 fire well has done it often ; take the rifle and my 
 hunting knife; but mind, sir, you are not to use it 
 even against a Moonack except to defend yourself 
 in case of need. Do you hear V ' Yes, sir ; yes, I 
 won't ;' and I was off, and on old Marlborough in 
 two minutes. I made him run faster than the In- 
 dians did at St. Glair's defeat, and father says he 
 didn't run slow. After the dogs were nearly out 
 of hearing, they turned, and I could hear them com- 
 ing nearer and nearer. I hauled up and stopped. 
 Marlborough's tail had the shakes, I tell you a 
 real shaking ague while the rest of him had the 
 fever, for the sweat was rolling off of him as if he 
 had swum the river. I jumped down, and in less 
 than no time the biggest buck you ever saw, with 
 his hurricane of horns, came sweeping by. I level- 
 led and fired, but he kept on. I hallooed, and 
 whooped, and cheered the dogs as they passed 
 close after him, loaded, and jumped on the old 
 horse again, and was off after them j in less than 
 half a mile, just under the hill yonder, I got near 
 them. They had come up with him, and had 
 brought him to bay. He had stopped with his back 
 to the high rock and his feet in the water. His 
 hair was all turned the wrong way, and he looked 
 awful. Every time the dogs ran up to the edge of 
 the branch, he lowered his horns and rushed right 
 at them, and then he backed to his former position. 
 I got behind a large tree and jumped down. I then 
 ran to another tree, so as to get nearer, and with 
 his side to me. I raised the gun to fire, but I trem- 
 bled so 1 was afraid I'd miss ; I blazed away, how- 
 ever, and dropped him as dead as a door nail. The 
 dogs were on him instantly, but the water was so 
 deep it swam them. I ran up, jumped in, and cut 
 his throat. He was so heavy, and the bank so 
 slippery where the dogs had been jumping in and 
 out, that I never should have got him out if the 
 dogs hadn't helped me. I turned him round with
 
 TIIE RESCUE. 231 
 
 his tail to the bank, and taking hold of his hind 
 legs, I pulled and the dogs tugged, and, after slip- 
 ping down two or three times, we got him out fair- 
 ly on the bank. Didn't I hug the dogs ! I've hard- 
 ly got dry yet. Father heard the fuss at the branch, 
 and came riding up just as Captain and I were ta- 
 king the Jast hug. 'Is the dog hurt V cried he. 
 'Oh no, sir,' said I; 'we are only rejoicing after 
 the victory.' ' A noble buck, indeed,' said he, when 
 he reached the spot. ' Why, Arbuckle, it is the 
 largest I ever saw in the Loop.' We got him up 
 on old Marlborough, and brought him to the house, 
 horns and all. Just come behind the kitchen and 
 look at him. Oh ! I forgot to tell you I hit him the 
 first time ; pa says if I hadn't, the dogs would hard- 
 ly ever ha v e brought him to bay, as he was ma- 
 king to thfc river. Aunt Arbuckle is coming up 
 here this summer from Kanawha on her way to see 
 Bishop Madison, her brother, at Williamsburg, in 
 Old Virginia. I'll be hanged if I don't send him 
 the horns to hang his hat on in the college." 
 
 " We've had luck too," said William Henry. 
 " Come out to the gate and see. Ben's got a bear- 
 skin and a fine parcel of meat." 
 
 "Ax him, Buck," said Ben, "what he got on the 
 New River Clifft." 
 
 " Why, I got," said William, laughing, " a tight 
 squeeze, a sore hand, and a couple of cubs j and 
 if it hadn't been for Ben, I should have got my 
 walking papers from this world." 
 
 " Why, what in the world have you been doing! 
 here's ever so much blood on you," said Buck. 
 
 "He got to playin'," said Ben, "with a bar's 
 cubs, and it pleased the ole 'oman so much that she 
 nearly hugged him to death." 
 
 " Oh, that's it, is it 1 Where are the cubs 1" said 
 Buck. 
 
 " Here in my drawers," said William Henry. " I 
 brought them for you, Arbuckle." 
 
 " Thank you thank you, brother Bearbreeches /"
 
 232 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 said Buck, clapping his hands, and running to the 
 drawers, which were lying in the corner of the fence, 
 and untying the strings. "Oh, you beauties! ha! 
 ha ! ha ! if this ain't the 'cutest fixin' for carrying 
 cubs that I ever saw in all my life !" 
 
 What a slight circumstance fixes upon a man a 
 soubriquet for life ! William Henry Ballenger was 
 ever after known in the Loop by the name of Bear- 
 breeches Ballenger. 
 
 On the return of Ben Bramble and William Hen- 
 ry the next day to their respective homes, Squire 
 Templeman insisted on their taking with them the 
 greater part of the deer that Buck had killed, and 
 he requested William Henry, in his name, to invite 
 his father and sister to visit him at his house in the 
 Loop, adding, "Although I have never had the 
 pleasure of seeing your father, I feel, from what I 
 have heard of him, as if we were old acquaintan- 
 ces. I know well what his father was, and I have 
 as much faith in the blood and breeding of men as 
 of horses. Your father's health would be benefited 
 by riding, I'm sure, and Helen here would be as 
 much pleased, I fancy, to see your sister and make 
 her acquaintance, as I should be to welcome your 
 father to my house." 
 
 At William Henry's request, Buck was permit- 
 ted to accompany him to New Hope. It may ap- 
 pear strange to the reader, but it is true, that Will- 
 iam Henry, after relating to the squire the result 
 of the examination of his father's land, and its sup- 
 posed utter worthlessness, and knowing, as he did, 
 the situation of his father's affairs, should be in 
 good spirits, much less should be paying attentions 
 to the squire's daughter of no equivocal kind. He 
 was deficient neither in sensibility nor good sense, 
 nor was he destitute of a high sense of honour j 
 but he was young, full of health, ardour, and hope. 
 Melancholy anticipations and sad forebodings are 
 no match for these ; nothing but the actual experi- 
 ence of severe privations can repress, and conquer.
 
 THE RESCUE. 233 
 
 and keep in subjection, the feelings that are natu- 
 ral to persons who are young, healthy, of ardent 
 temperament, and in love. Such will hope against 
 all reasonable hope. He had resolved to com- 
 mence the study of the law; and visions, obscu- 
 ring the realities around him, began to throw their 
 brilliant colours on the air-built castles of his ima- 
 gination. Reputation for legal learning, forensic 
 eloquence, fat fees, judgeships, " et ccetera," in Lord 
 Coke's acceptation of those convenient words, were 
 constantly presenting themselves to his mind. 
 They would, they should be his. How could he 
 be downcast or dispirited 1 Helen Templeman's 
 image, too, we believe, mingled with these visions. 
 The last words of her father still rung in his ears, 
 and produced most pleasant vibrations as he rode 
 away from his door. 
 
 During their ride to Cotton Hill, while he and 
 Buck were conversing very cheerfully, Ben Bram- 
 ble seemed abstracted and melancholy. He did not 
 utter half a dozen words in as many miles, and part- 
 ing with them at his own cabin, entered it, while 
 they continued their ride to New Hope. Need we 
 say that Buck became a great favourite with Ma- 
 tilda> Uncle Tom, and even Mr. Ballenger himself 1 
 Sad as this gentleman was rendered, though we 
 cannot say disappointed, by the unfavourable re- 
 port which his son made to him of the appearance 
 and little value of his land in the Loop, he was 
 amused and cheered by the sprightliness, nai'vetr, 
 and manly bearing of this youth. Brought up and 
 almost entirely educated, so far as he could be said 
 at his age to be educated, by his elder sister and 
 his father, a soldier and a well-educated gentleman, 
 he was chivalrous, brave, and polite; a tolerable 
 scholar, but full of frolic and fun ; a great romp, 
 yet scrupulously polite to the ladies, according to 
 liU notions of politeness. No labour was too great, 
 no hazard too perilous, to obtain for them any en- 
 joyment. If they wished to ride, he was their 
 10*
 
 234 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 willing and gallant escort ; to fish, he baited every 
 hook; to gather flowers, he climbed every cliff or 
 waded every swamp. Nuts, apples, wild fruits of 
 the field and forest, were never wanting to the girls 
 where Buck was. Instead of throwing down his 
 cloak for a queen to walk upon, he would have 
 thrown himself down for the humblest peasant girl 
 to walk on over difficulty or danger. He would 
 risk his life to reclaim a pet bird or squirrel ; yet 
 he would plague old or young, would kiss the girls, 
 would make them squeal in romping, would put 
 bugs on them, and even into their bosoms, would 
 slyly pull out pins and untie strings, undo their 
 curls, or fasten their ringlets to his buttons, when 
 they were pouting. He had great personal advan- 
 tages a fine form, small feet, beautiful hands, and 
 a very handsome face ; brown, polished skin, and 
 high complexion, like his sister. He was just such 
 a boy as young ladies, especially of a certain age, 
 are sure to scold and reprimand, and coax, and pet, 
 and spoil, to allow to take great liberties with them, 
 and to call mister when they are alone together. 
 
 He had not been at New Hope two days before 
 he made Mr. Ballenger laugh outright half a dozen 
 times, and Matilda squall as often. " Buck, you 
 are too rude," she would say; "only look at my 
 hair and neckdress does your pretty sister permit 
 you to behave so to her, mister V 
 
 " Oh no, Miss Mattie, she's too stately a little 
 Injun for me ; it takes Bearbreeches, here, to man- 
 age her ; besides, she slaps too plaguy hard when 
 / condescend to kiss her," said Buck, laying great 
 emphasis on the /, and looking most archly at 
 William Henry. "Besides, she's my sister, you 
 know, and that makes a great difference. Other 
 young ladies don't slap half so hard as sisters, or I 
 don't feel them rear so much, I don't know which. 
 There's some young man, now, I'll be bound, that 
 you wouldn't look at half so savage if he was only 
 to snatch a kiss as I did. Just tell me who it is j
 
 THE EESCUE. 235 
 
 I can keep a secret, and I won't put you in the pouts 
 again for I don't know how long. I've come down 
 here just to get a look at you, and to find out who's 
 your sweetheart ; for William, here, is so close, I can't 
 get anything out of him. What sort of a boy is he 
 anything like me ? I declare, if I was only a grown 
 man, I'd try to cut him out. Here comes Uncle Tom 
 I'll ask him. Uncle Tom, don't you want some- 
 thing I've got?" 
 
 " I don' no, Massa Buckle. I don' no what you is 
 got, but imperance." 
 
 " Well, I'll give part of that, and all of everything 
 else I've got, if you'll only tell me who comes here to 
 see this young mistress of yours." 
 
 " Heap on 'em comes here, Massa Buckle ; but dis 
 nigger don' no what dey is arter ef I was in Alexan- 
 dry I could tell." 
 
 "How, Uncle Tom?" 
 
 " Why, sar, when dey goes a courtin' dar, de gem- 
 man goes to de massa an' axes leave to walk de plant- 
 ation or de lot, an' den de servants hears on it ; but 
 tain't so, I b'leve, out here." 
 
 " Ah, Uncle Tom, you are too well drilled there's 
 no getting anything out of you, I see." 
 
 " Dar ain't nothin' in me to git out, Massa Buckle." 
 Old Tom pulled off his hat, and turning to his mas- 
 ter, said, " Supper's ready, if you please, sir." 
 
 After supper, Matilda sung and played for Arbuckle 
 and her brother. 
 
 " Oh, how I wish my sister was here," said Buck. 
 " How she would enjoy herself in this happy, happy 
 house ! W r ill you permit me, Miss Mattie, to copy 
 that music for her ?" 
 
 " Certainly, Arbuckle, or any that I have. But 
 stop, I think I have two copies. Yes," said Matilda, 
 turning over her unbound music, " here's another copy 
 that's never been used. Present it to her in my name, 
 or, if you prefer it, give it to your sister in your own. 
 And, Mr. Arbuckle, I shall expect from your gallantry 
 the wild flowers you promised me though you didn't
 
 236 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 promise, but you mentioned them, and asked, Mr. Ar- 
 buckle, if I would like to have them this morning ; 
 and recollect, sir, I must have their proper names, 
 too." 
 
 " Oh, that's easy enough ; my sister Helen, the 
 squaw, has been bothering me with Botany all this 
 spring. I've learned more hard words than would 
 make a dictionary, walking in the woods with her this 
 spring and last fall. You shall have the Jeffersonia 
 to-morrow. It abounds no, that's not the word 
 habitats in the bottoms here whenever the Puccoon 
 (I beg pardon, you don't understand the language spo- 
 ken by Helen's great ancestor, King Powhatan) the 
 Sanguinaria Canadensis, is found. The Jeffersonia is 
 very much like it, but the leaves and seed-vessel 
 capsula, I should say are different ; the latter is re- 
 markable, and very pretty. It -is called let me see, a 
 Pyxidium yes, that's the word ; a little snuff-box that 
 opens no, dehiscates horizontally. I wonder if Mr. 
 Jefferson takes snuff. Miss Mattie, you must walk in 
 the woods with me." 
 
 " Not I, Mr. Arbuckle ; you are too much of a sav- 
 age you might raise a war-whoop, or scalp me, for 
 aught I know, as you pretend to be so much pleased 
 with my hair." 
 
 " 'Pon my word, I'll behave," said Buck. 
 
 " I will be his security, Matilda," said her father, 
 " for anything that he promises to do." 
 
 " The wild flowers already cover the banks of the 
 river. You will find some rare and beautiful speci- 
 mens, finer and more delicate, in my opinion, than any 
 which you saw in the greenhouses in Philadelphia 
 two years ago." 
 
 Mr. Ballenger had entered the room as Buck was 
 promising to behave. 
 
 " There, now," said Buck, " you can't refuse when 
 your father is to be security for my good behaviour. 
 I'll show you where and how to plant them in your 
 garden. I know all about it ; I've served an appren- 
 ticeship under the squaw at home. You must go, Ma-
 
 THE RESCUE. 237 
 
 tilda, dear, to see her. She'll love you, I know ; and 
 she's got a whole bed of what father calls dog-tooth 
 violet, but she says they are Erythoniums ; beautiful, 
 beautiful, they are, with long, sword-like, spotted leaves, 
 and modest, downcast, white corollas, forming a goblet 
 for fairies to drink out of, with the points of the petals 
 all reflected. And the purplish-blue Gladiolus Cya- 
 neus, with its yellow spots on the petals, which she 
 says must be a congener of the Great Mexican Tigri- 
 di;i ; and the Corydalis of two kinds, distinguished by 
 their roots. Father calls them Dutchmen's breeches ; 
 but I suspect they must have cubs in them," said 
 Buck, looking at William Henry, " and I shall change 
 their name to Ballenger's breeches." 
 
 "How so?" inquired Mr. Ballenger. 
 
 " Ask William Henry, sir ; he knows all about it. 
 Helen will tear up every one of them, I know, when 
 she hears their new botanical name, Ballengeri Brac- 
 ca." 
 
 "Where did you learn Latin, Arbuckle?" inquired 
 Mr. Ballenger, surprised at the boy's ready Latinization. 
 
 " I had a smattering of it, sir, whipped into me at 
 Williamsburg." 
 
 After an early breakfast the next morning, Matilda 
 and Arbuckle, followed by Uncle Tom with a basket 
 and trowel, were brushing away the dew on the banks 
 of the river, and the southern sides of the cliffs and 
 mural precipices of that enchanting and picturesque 
 locality. It was charming to watch their active but 
 graceful movements to hear their joyous exclama- 
 tions when they found a flower to see that lovely 
 girl and manly boy hanging with ecstasy of delight 
 and admiration over the wild-wood flowers on the 
 green, sunny banks of the deep-blue water that reflect- 
 ed their forms from the mirror of its unruffled surface. 
 Boys, beware of such rambles ; they are attended with 
 danger. Young ladies, remember the fate of Proser- 
 pine ; she was gathering flowers when the Devil 
 but you know the sad story, so we will go on with 
 ours.
 
 238 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 Buck and Matilda found a great number of fine spe- 
 cimens, and he, acquainted with their modes of radi- 
 cation, took them up with the trowel, and deposited 
 them, with balls of earth around the roots, in the basket. 
 Uncle Tom soon had quite a load. They were climb- 
 ing the steep cliff to get at a splendid bunch of Colum- 
 bine, when Matilda, who had reached the flower, and 
 was stooping over it, uttered a loud cry. Arbuckle 
 was standing on the ledge of rock just below her. He 
 saw the cause of her alarm, and as she threw herself, 
 pale and trembling, from the platform on which the 
 flower grew, he caught her in his arms, and ran down 
 the inclined plane towards the river with her as easily 
 as if she had been an infant, and laid her on the grass. 
 
 " Don't be frightened," said he to her ; " you are safe 
 now." 
 
 " Oh, what a snake !" said Matilda ; " only hear his 
 dreadful rattling." 
 
 The rattlesnake, for it was one, roused from his 
 sleep in the sun by their intrusion, had thrown himself 
 into coil at the foot of the flower to defend himself. 
 His head was raised his eyes flashed fire ; his forked 
 tongue darted and quivered like a flickering flame, and 
 his tail, from the rapidity of its vibrations, was almost 
 invisible, while his glittering, golden, and burnished 
 brown scales were flashing in the sunlight. 
 
 " Compose yourself, Miss Matilda ; you are entirely 
 out of his reach, and those noble fellows disdain to 
 pursue such cowards as we are." 
 
 The snake ceased to sound his battle signal, and 
 Matilda rose to her feet, trembling still, and holding on 
 to Buck's arm, and would have fled down to the river 
 if she had had the strength to fly. Arbuckle assured 
 her that there was not the slightest danger where she 
 stood ; that they were far beyond his reach, and that 
 he could kill him very easily. Her colour returned, 
 and she ceased to tremble so violently, but she kept 
 her eyes fixed on the magnificent reptile. 
 
 Uncle Tom had dropped his basket and run down 
 the hill at least forty yards, and there he stood, with
 
 THE RESCUE. 239 
 
 his mouth wide open, gasping and panting as if he had 
 run half a mile, with his white eyes stretched, and sta- 
 ring on the glittering snake. At last he broke out, 
 
 " 'Tis de debil heself Lor', missus, why don't you 
 run ? He'll put out his foot presently, an' cum down 
 dat hill like a hoss. God a mity ! he make noise just 
 like pourin' shell-corn out on a dry barrel." 
 
 " Come up here, Uncle Tom," said Arbuckle, " and 
 take a good look at him. He can't hurt you." 
 
 " Dis nigger ain't a fool," said Tom. " He ain't 
 gwine trust hisself nigh no creetur like dat, what hides 
 his legs twell he wants to use 'uin." 
 
 " Legs indeed, you old blockhead ; a snake has nei- 
 ther legs nor feet," said Buck. 
 
 " Don't tell me," said Tom ; " it's all desete in 'urn. 
 I've seed ther feet myself trow 'um on de fire, an' 
 den you'll see de debil put out dem scrapers in a minit." 
 
 " Come up and stand with Miss Mattie, and I'll show 
 you how to tame a rattlesnake, and make him ashamed 
 of frightening a lady." 
 
 " Don't go near him, I pray you," said Matilda. 
 
 " Never fear," said Buck ; " 1 am used to them ; I 
 have learned a way to manage them, and cool their 
 courage, without giving them the slightest chance to 
 strike me. I've done it often." 
 
 Uncle Tom would not budge a foot : so Arbuckle 
 took up the basket and trowel, and led Matilda to the 
 spot where he was standing, the muscles of his face 
 working as if each had a life and will of its own. 
 
 " Now," said Buck, " I'll show you." 
 
 " Oh, let me entreat you not to approach the dread- 
 ful creature !" cried Matilda. 
 
 " Make yourself easy, miss," said Buck ; " believe 
 me, I know there is not the slightest danger ;" and off 
 he went up the hill, saying, as he went, " Only see 
 how I will tame the devil, as Uncle Tom calls him." 
 
 He ran to a white ash sapling, and cutting a long 
 branch covered with green leaves, cautiously approach- 
 ed the snake, now stretched out and basking in the 
 warm rays of the sun, and laid the branch gently on
 
 240 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 his head. The snake rolled over and over, and at- 
 tempted to thrust his head into the earth. Arbuckle 
 shoved him with the branch off of the rock down on 
 the grassy inclined plane, laid the branch over him, 
 and called to Matilda, 
 
 " Come up, miss, and look at him. There is no 
 more danger than if he was dead." 
 
 After some hesitation and violent remonstrances 
 from Uncle Tom, she summoned up resolution enough 
 to approach within ten yards. 
 
 " See," said Buck, " how his colours are faded, and 
 how he tries to keep his head away from the leaves 
 of the ash. It makes them deadly sick, I believe. 
 Come up, Uncle Tom, and look at the devil." 
 
 " I won't do no sich ting ; dat deseteful crfetur's 
 only playin' possum tvvell he gits a chance to fix you, 
 Massa Buck." 
 
 " Go, then," said Arbuckle, " and cut me an oak or 
 hickory branch with leaves on it." 
 
 " I'll cut 'urn, but how you gwine git it?" 
 
 He cut the branch, and stood staring first at Buck 
 and then at the snake. 
 
 " Bring it 'along, you old coward," said Buck. 
 
 He came within about twenty yards, and threw the 
 long, slender branch of hickory to Buck, saying, 
 
 " You don't git me any niglier dan dis, I know ; de 
 furder you keep from de debil, de better j I won't trust 
 him, no how." 
 
 " Now, Miss Mattie, walk down the hill to Uncle 
 Tom, and don't be alarmed when I permit Massasanga 
 here to show his IShawnee blood a little." 
 
 When she reached old Tom, Buck raised the ash 
 branch from off the snake, and placed the hickory one 
 over him. He raised his head, threw himself into 
 coil, erected his tail, rattled violently, and struck furi- 
 ously at the branch placed over him. His brilliant 
 colours returned, and flashed forth the light like a war- 
 rior's shield. Matilda stood her ground, but old Tom 
 ran down the hill again, crying out, 
 
 " Run, missus, run for de life ob you. He gwine
 
 THE RESCUE. 241 
 
 put out he foot now, an' come down dis hill like a race 
 hoss." 
 
 Buck replaced the ash branch over him, and again 
 he uncoiled, rolled over, and attempted to cover his 
 head under the grass. Buck turned the butt-end of the 
 hickory, and with one blow killed him. 
 
 " He's dead now, Uncle Tom, devil or no devil, so 
 come and get the basket and trowel."-" 
 
 " You sure, massa, he dead ? gib him nudder lick on 
 de head 'fore I cum." 
 
 As Uncle Tom stooped to take up the basket, Buck 
 took the snake by the tail and dropped it at his feet. 
 The old man leaped high in the air, and fled down the 
 hill, looking behind him at every step. 
 
 " Why, Uncle Tom, I didn't think you were so scary 
 as to run from a dead snake," said Buck, laughing. 
 
 " Please God," said the old man, " you don't ketch 
 me in de woods agin wid you. You is too ventursom 
 an' foolhardy. I gwine take care ob dis nigger here- 
 arter, or try, any how." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ARBUCKLE took the snake with him to the house, 
 ft was quite a large one, with eleven rattles and a 
 bud. 
 
 " So you've had a frolic this morning-, Arbuckle," 
 said Mr. Ballenger, " and have got a snake as well 
 as a basket of flowers." 
 
 " I never was so frightened in my life," said his 
 daughter. "I was just putting my hand upon the 
 most beautiful Columbine I ever saw, when I hap- 
 pened to see the shining- eyes of that snake lying 
 at full length in the sun, not three feet from me. 1 
 hardly know how I got out of its way." 
 
 "I do, though, sir," said Buck. "This prudish
 
 242 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 little daughter of yours threw herself into my arms, 
 and hugged me all the way down the hill, after 
 binding me over to my good behaviour, and requi- 
 ring security too." 
 
 "Ain't you ashamed, Buck, to tell such a story 1 
 The truth is, sir, I was so alarmed I hardly knew 
 what I did; but I'm sure 1 didn't do what Mr. Im- 
 pudence says I did." 
 
 " It's the truth, sir, upon my honour ; ask Uncle 
 Tom he saw the whole affair." 
 
 "No, sar," said Tom, "I didn't see nothin' but 
 the snake, an' Miss Mattie risin' up off on de 
 ground. How she got dar I don't know; de snake 
 made sich a rattlin' I couldn't see nothin' fur de 
 noise." 
 
 "Hear, you mean," said his master. 
 
 "No, sar, dat noise blinded me like a fillum ober 
 de eyes. I seed nothin' twell Massa Buck he con- 
 ger him." 
 
 '-Did what 1" inquired Mr. Ballenger. 
 
 " Conger de debil, sar, wid de white ash." 
 
 "Why, Arbuckle," asked Mr. Ballenger, "are 
 you a conjurer 1" 
 
 " Certainly, sir, of a rattlesnake ;" and Buck 
 stated to him the effect of the green leaves of the 
 white ash on that venomous reptile. 
 
 Mr. Ballenger was much surprised, and said, 
 
 " I must ask Ben Bramble about this strange mat- 
 ter." 
 
 Ben had just arrived with a fish-gig or spear on 
 his shoulder, an instrument of steel like a dinner 
 fork attached to a long pole. Ben told him that 
 hunters stuffed white ash leaves into their mocca- 
 sins and pockets to keep snakes from biting them j 
 but he said he had never tried it himself. 
 
 "Are you ready, Master Will]" said he to Will- 
 iam Henry, who just then came out of the house 
 with Blackstone's Commentaries in his hand. 
 
 "Yes," replied William Henry ; " but Buck is in 
 the garden with my sister, showing her how to
 
 THE RESCUE. 243 
 
 plant some flowers ; he will be here presently. 
 In the mean time, I want to take out the fangs of 
 this snake, and examine them ; they are said to 
 be hollow." 
 
 "Yes," said Ben; "they are as a cow's horn 
 twell you come most to the point, and thar's a 
 hole through from the holler to the outside, ma- 
 kin' a groove slantindicular-like clean to the point. 
 That's for the pison to run in. When he strikes, 
 the pison-bag, that's at the root of the tooth, is 
 pressed like a blather, and the pison squirts through 
 the holler and groove down as deep as he drives 
 his tooth into ye. But I'm told here lately, if so 
 be you drink a pint or more of whiskey straight oft 
 soon arter you are struck, one pison kills t'other, 
 and saves life." 
 
 On extracting the fangs and the sack at their 
 roots. William Henry found Ben's description ac- 
 curate. 
 
 " I've heard," said he to Ben, "that their flesh is 
 eatable." 
 
 " First rate," said Ben ; "and the ile, with poke- 
 root stewed in it, is monstrous good for the ruma- 
 tiz, well rubbed in hot, if so be you drive it out by 
 drinkin' pokeroot tea sweetened with maple sugar. 
 They tell me it raised up old Mrs. Morris when the 
 doctors had gin her out. The Injuns fust showed 
 that ; they knows yarbs, too, to cure the bite of 
 snakes and sich-like, and a'most every ailment that 
 an Injun can have except the smallpox ; that and 
 the liver complaint, caused by fire-water, as they 
 call liquor, the old men says is onnat'ral to Injuns 
 cusses kotcht from the white men, that's beyant 
 all yarbs and Injun conjeration. The Injun natur 
 ain't like the white natur, and the red-skins don't 
 know how to cure white ailments; nor white men 
 knows nothin' of Injun ailments, 'cept 'em hurts 
 that's nat'ral to all colours, sich as snake-bites, nnd 
 bullet-holes, and the like. But whar's Buckle 1" 
 "Here," said Buck, running from the garden.
 
 244 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 "My hooks and lines are all ready, Uncle Ben." A 
 fishing- party had been arranged by William Henry 
 and Ben as they returned from Squire Temple- 
 man's. 
 
 " I have borrowed Ben Morris's skiff," said Ben ; 
 " my canoe is too small for us. These hooks and 
 lines of yourn, Master Buck, is too small for our 
 waters here below the falls ; big fish come up here 
 out on the Ohio, and into that from the Massassip- 
 pi River, I guess; and these long, light poles ain't 
 of no use, except to kotch black perch, red-eyes, 
 red-horses, and the like ; the hand-line is the thing 
 fit to kotch fish that ought to be tuck out on the 
 water, sich as mud-cats, buffalo perch and buffalo 
 suckers, shovel-noses, and sturgeons. Thar's some 
 mity big blue-cats, too, I tell ye, come up here in 
 the spring." 
 
 " Well," said William Henry, " we'll take ours 
 along to catch black perch, or bass, as you call 
 them., when they are big, for Uncle Tom has caught 
 us a fine bucket of minnows for bait ; and you may 
 catch the big fish, Ben. What bait have you got 1" 
 
 " Squirrels," said Ben ; " but arter I ketch one 
 catfish, I uses his maw for bait; it's the best and 
 the toughest you can git for cats. They are mity 
 fond of beef's liver, but it ain't tough enough ; you 
 lose a bait for most every fish you ketch." 
 
 " I catch fine black perch in New River that 
 weigh two pounds," said Buck, "with grasshop- 
 pers and crickets, though the live minnow is the 
 best bait for them, and red-eyes and red-horses 
 too. But the big bass often break my lines, and 
 run off like a wild horse. But we'll fix 'em now, 
 won't we, Bearbreeches 1 Look here, Uncle Ben," 
 and Buck took out of his pockets two large cotton 
 spools, to which he had adjusted axes made of an 
 old spindle of a common cotton spinning-wheel ; 
 one end of the axis w%s made fast to a flat slip of 
 iron hoop, which he tied to the pole, about eighteen 
 inches from the butt-end. He had used up at least
 
 THE RESCUE. 245 
 
 half a dozen of Matilda's knitting-needle* in ma- 
 king staples, which were driven into the pole at 
 intervals of two feet from his spool to the small 
 end of the pole : through these he passed the line 
 from his spool, leaving on it about fifty yards of 
 line. 
 
 Ben looked at him very attentively and pitying- 
 ly, and said, 
 
 " L 'spose you got that out on some book. It 
 looks like a book-larned fixin'. It tain't of no use 
 in the woods nor the waters. Tain't books, but 
 natur, that teaches the raal 'strogomy, arter all, 
 Master Will, and not your sort, nuther." 
 
 " I did get the notion out of a book, Uncle Ben," 
 said Buck, " and I think it will answer, too. When 
 I hang a strong fish, instead of his breaking my 
 hook or line, I'll let him run, you see, under a pull 
 not so tight as to break anything, and whenever he 
 slackens or tires, I'll wind up just so ;" and Buck 
 rolled up his line on the spool to exemplify the op- 
 eration. 
 
 " Yer line ain't in the water with a big fish hung 
 to it," said Ben, shaking his head. 
 
 "We'll put it to the proof," said Buck. 
 
 " That's the way to larn, I agree," said Ben, " so 
 come along." 
 
 Ben's hooks and lines were as large as a com- 
 mon goose-quill. "Bait one of these," said he, 
 " with a quarter or half a squirrel, and let the fish 
 have time to swaller it ; and then pull him in wheth- 
 er or no, and give him the gig. That's the way to 
 ketch fish with a hook and line. Why, these pick- 
 aninny playthings o' yourn ain't of no account." 
 
 " We'll see, we'll see," said Buck, his eyes 
 sparkling with pleasure at the idea of playing a fish 
 with his new tackle. 
 
 The truth is, Buck was not playing an exactly 
 fair game with Uncle Bwi ; for he had been using 
 precisely such a tackle for the last month at home 
 with great success, and he was inwardly chuckling
 
 2*fi NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 at the unfair advantage he was taking. He had im- 
 parted the whole matter to William Henry, and begged 
 him to keep it a s'ecret from Ben, as he wanted to sur- 
 prise him with something new in his own craft. 
 
 Away they went to the river, not a hundred yards 
 from the house. They soon rowed to the neighbour- 
 hood of the falls, Ben's favourite fishing-ground (or 
 water?). "Let's try here," said he, "at the dead 
 limbs of this tree lyin' in the water. Fish love such 
 places, 'specially if there's a shelvin' rock under the 
 limbs." 
 
 They rowed very gently up, and tied the boat to the 
 limb of the tree, projecting from the water ; the greater 
 part of the limbs were under the water. Ben took his 
 seat in the stern, baited with squirrel, and threw out 
 near the boat; the boys, as he called them, went for- 
 ward, baited with live minnows, and threw out as far 
 as they could towards the channel. They had hardly 
 seated themselves, when a line was heard whizzing 
 through the water, and, looking up, saw William Hen- 
 ry's cork disappearing, and his line running oiT his 
 spool rapidly. It stopped. 
 
 " Don't strike," said Buck ; " give him time to turn 
 the minnow, and he'll be off again. Now he goes ; 
 give it to him, Bearbreeches. Hah ! he's got it ; give 
 him line, with a tight rub, and let him go." 
 
 Away went the fish, until he was at least forty yards 
 from them. 
 
 " Wind him up," cried Buck, " slowly and gently ; 
 but whenever he's coltish, let him go again ; he'll soon 
 tire with such a bit in his mouth. See that he jump- 
 ed quite out of the water ; now he comes wind him 
 up ; here he comes, very unwillingly. 
 
 ' Take your time, Miss Lucy Long, 
 Take your time, Miss Lucy,' " 
 
 sung Buck. " Now he goes again give him line. 
 He'll be tired of that gentle strain upon his minnow- (rap 
 very soon, I'll warrant, ^fhe line slacks roll up. 
 Oho, here he comes, as quiet as a sullen dog with a 
 ropo round his neck. Give me the gig, Uncle Ben.
 
 THE RESCUE. 247 
 
 Here he is, close enough." Sluck went the gaff, and 
 Buck raised into the boat a five-pound bass. " There, 
 now," said he, turning to Ben, "that's the way to coax 
 a ticklebender with a nice little line and hook and an 
 elastic rod. That's the art of elegant fishing. By 
 Jove, I've got a bite." He dropped the gig and fish 
 into the boat, which William Henry seized, and raising 
 his pole from the rowlock, straightened the line ; away 
 went the fish, carrying the cork so deep that it could 
 not be seen beneath the clear blue water. 
 
 " Strike," said Ben. 
 
 " No, not yet, if it's a bass," said Buck ; " he'll sure- 
 ly stop and go again ; then's the time to hook him. 
 I'm used to them, and know how they manage ; I've 
 watched them in the clear water. When they see a 
 minnow near, they dart at him ; he turns to fly ; they 
 seize him so soon as they get near enough of course 
 by his tail, and dash off with him like a hog with an 
 ear of corn then stop turn him swallow him head 
 foremost, and are off again. Now he's off." Twang, 
 sounded the line. " I've hooked him go it, you crip- 
 ple." Away went the fish, till nearly all Buck's line 
 was exhausted. On being slightly checked, the fish 
 tacked, and ran right under the brush. li Now he 
 thinks he's at home," said Buck. " Come out, you 
 beauty," gently pulling at him till the upper part of his 
 pole formed a curve. Off went the fish again, away 
 into the current, but evidently relaxing his exertions. 
 " Get the gig ready, William ; here he comes, the lark. 
 No, he's gone again, and see, trying to shake the hook 
 out of his mouth. See how the line sways and sways, 
 this way and that. Now he comes as easily as a 
 shingle ; there he is give him the gaff." 
 
 "Another five-pounder larger than mine, Buck," 
 said William Henry, raising the fish into the skiff. 
 " What do you think now, Uncle Ben, of our pickanin- 
 ny hooks and lines and book-learning ?" 
 
 " They'll do," said Ben, who had been watching with 
 earnest attention this mode of fishing, so new to him. 
 " It's a 'cute contrivance to make the weak overcome
 
 248 NEW HOPE ;. OK, 
 
 the strong. That didn't come out on a book at fust. 
 Some man tried it fust, and arter he found by experi- 
 ence t'would do, 'he then put it thar." 
 
 " That is true, I have no doubt," said William Hen- 
 ry ; " and it is a pity that all books on practical sub- 
 jects are not written in that way." 
 
 " Ben, your line is sneaking out," said Buck. " Let's 
 see what you'll catch." 
 
 " That's a cat," said Ben ; " they go off in that way. 
 Give him time, and he'll be sure to swaller the bait if 
 his mouth is big enough and them fish has mouths 
 as big as Congressmen, and all but as foul." 
 
 He was soon tugging at the line, and Ben hauled in 
 by main force, without even relaxing or giving out one 
 inch of line, till he dragged the fish to the side of the 
 boat, wrapped the line around a rowlock, and drove 
 the spear into the head of the struggling catfish, which, 
 we supposed, weighed ten or twelve pounds. This 
 fish was of a bluish lead colour, and whitish under- 
 neath, longer and rounder, with a smaller head than the 
 common catfish. It is known as the blue or channel-cat. 
 
 Some lime now elapsed without their getting a bite, 
 and they moved up nearer to the foot of the falls, and 
 stuck down an oar in the mud, in an eddy about two 
 fathoms deep, on its edge nearest the shore. Here 
 they caught fifteen or sixteen black perch, as many 
 red-eyes, which bite at the minnow as fiercely as the 
 black perch, and Ben hauled in one channel-cat and 
 three yellow or mud-cats, and a buffalo perch, largei 
 than any fish which had yet been caught by the party. 
 William Henry and Arbuckle, though, had missed 
 several bites, and one fish had broken away from the 
 former by running under the boat. 
 
 " Let me try yer art," said Ben to Arbuckle, " and 
 you set here and watch the Congressmen. Give 'em 
 time, and they are sure to sneak off with what they can 
 git. Their mouths are big enough to take in anything 
 that's offered, but they never let out anything but froth 
 and wind. Wherever you see the bubbles risin', thai 
 lies a Congressman in the mud on the bottom."
 
 THE RESCUE. 249 
 
 William Henry smiled at Ben's quaint notions of 
 resemblance between mud-cats and members of Con- 
 gress, but he did not think them entirely just. Be- 
 sides, he knew that the mud-cats loved and lived in 
 deep waters, not in shoals and shallows. There the 
 resemblance failed, he thought ; yet he believed that 
 there were some odd fish on land as well as in the 
 water, and some of these might be found in Congress 
 very different from most of the small fry that contrive 
 to wriggle themselves into that pool no Bethesda in 
 its properties, we fear. 
 
 Arbuckle handed his fishing-rod to Ben, and seated 
 himself in the stern of the boat. Ben selected a large, 
 lively minnow, passed the hook through the upper lip, 
 and threw out beyond the prow of the boat, into the edge 
 of the wave thrown up by the falls. 'The minnow play- 
 ed about as if he had been at liberty, and the cork spun 
 round and round among the bubbles, floating far away 
 on the troubled surface. A break was seen, and the 
 minnow began to hurry away too late down went 
 the cork, and the line whistled through the water as it 
 cut its way across the stream. Ben's reel revolved 
 with the whizzing sound of a spinning-wheel, though 
 his thumb was pressed tightly upon it. Away went 
 the fish, and the pole was so much curved by the 
 stress on it, that William Henry cried out, 
 
 " Take care, Ben, or something will give way." 
 
 But Ben played him admirably, and in about fifteen 
 minutes had the satisfaction of drawing to the side of 
 the boat a very fine salmon. 
 
 William Henry speared the fish, and took it into the 
 boat. "Now, Ben," said he, "this delicate little line 
 would not bear the weight of that fish, you see, yet 
 you caught him with it by good management." 
 
 "True," said Ben; "live and larn. This here 
 givin' line, seemin' to give up while you hold on, is a 
 great art equal to a weak woman's gettin' the upper- 
 hand of a strong man. They seem to give up, but 
 never let go. That's the trick, it is." 
 
 While this conversation was going on. they saw 
 11
 
 250 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 Buck, who had been looking and listening, seize 
 Ben's hand-line, which he had wrapped round the 
 tiller, jerk it loose, 'and tug and pull in vain ; out went 
 the line, in spite of the exertion of all his strength. 
 
 " Run here, Ben ; he's too strong for me." 
 
 Ben seized the line, and they both pulled, but still 
 the line ran out rapidly. 
 
 " Pull up the oar," cried Ben to William Henry. 
 
 But there was no occasion, for the fish, or whatever 
 it was, had already pulled it up, and William Henry 
 had barely time to lean over and grasp it as the boat 
 got under way, stern foremost, and moved rapidly into 
 the mid channel, and down the river. Away they 
 went at a killing pace, hurried on by an unseen, un- 
 known courser. 
 
 " Take the eend of the line, Master Will," said 
 Ben, " and make fast to the ring in the peak, and let 
 her veer round." 
 
 So suddenly did the boat turn, that they were very 
 near 'being capsized. "Now," said Ben, "we may 
 give him all the line we've got. The longer the tra- 
 ces, the harder the draught, you know. We'll soon 
 see what he can do." 
 
 " What can it be, Ben 1" said William Henry. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Ben ; " but a big, strong 
 fish, or somethin', for he's makin' right down the river 
 in the channel gwine to the Ohio, I b'leve, whar he 
 come from." 
 
 " Hurrah !" said Buck. " Go it, Flying Childers. 
 We'll pay Aunt Arbuckle a visit, if you'll only keep 
 on long enough, and then down to Colonel Lewis's, at 
 the Point. Let me shake the reins over him, and see 
 what he'll do." 
 
 Saying this, Buck took the line, and drew in about 
 ten feet. The creature seemed to be alarmed, and re- 
 doubled its exertions. " Look at that, William. Now 
 he goes in style ; if we only had him tame or confined 
 somewhere so that we could use him when we wanted, 
 what rides we could have good gracious ! such a boat 
 I would have for him, and such harness ! Wheugh !"
 
 THE RESCUE. 251 
 
 " Hold on to the line, and ease it out, Buck," said 
 Ben, "or he'll snap it." 
 
 " No danger," said Buck ; " it will hold a buffalo, I 
 believe. Whatever it was, it evidently chose the deep- 
 est water, for it followed the windings of the channel, 
 and increased its speed to fearful rapidity in passing 
 every shoal and shallow." 
 
 " Hellow !" cried Mr. Buffher, who, with Colonel 
 Clendennin, was riding on the bank of the river ; 
 " what's to pay there, boys ?" 
 
 " Breaking a Kanawha colt to harness," answered 
 Buck. " Don't he pull finely ?" 
 
 " What is it, Ben ?" said Mr. Buffner. 
 
 " We don't know, squire ; somethin' that we hung 
 in fishin' at the falls. We've never seed the creetur 
 yit." 
 
 " Why, it must be a stray alligator, or the devil, from 
 the rate he goes," said Colonel Clendennin. " Good-by. 
 See here ! if you are bound down the Ohio, call at my 
 house below the mouth of the Kanawha, and get your 
 suppers." 
 
 Away they went down the river, while the colonel 
 and Mr. Buffner rode on up to the falls. Buck was 
 now dancing in the boat, clapping his hands, shouting, 
 and singing, and William Henry laughing outright at 
 the antics of the boy. Ben sat still, every now and 
 then pulling at the line. 
 
 " That's it, Ben rouse him up," cried Buck. " Go it, 
 Childers go it, my darling ; by Jove, he's a rusher." 
 
 They now got into a deep, still pool. The line 
 slackened, and the boat moved slower and slower, till 
 it stood still. 
 
 " Oho !" said Buck, " you are getting enough, are 
 you," and he began to draw in the line. 
 
 The boat dashed off again, but instead of going 
 straight forward, it circled round in the deep water, 
 and again stood still. Ben now pulled at the line, and 
 again they made the circuit of the deep basin. 
 
 " This is your stable, is it ?" said Buck. " You want 
 a bed, I reckon. Well, I'll see ;" and, stripping off his
 
 252 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 dollies, he plunged into the water, and out of sight be- 
 neath it. 
 
 " That boy's runn'd mad, I b'leve," said Ben. " Did 
 you ever see the like o' that ?" 
 
 " Never," replied William Henry ; " he fears nothing 
 in this world." 
 
 " No, nor t'other nuther," said Ben. 
 
 " Here he comes up. Hold hard," said William 
 Henry, " or he'll have to swim ashore, for the boat's 
 off again." 
 
 Buck rose from the deep water, and shaking his 
 dripping hair like a water-dog, raised his hands, 
 clapped them above his head, and cried out, 
 
 " He's a whopper, I tell you, lying on the bottom, 
 and panting like a blacksmith's bellows. Keep him 
 agoing, or we shall never get him." 
 
 " What is it ?" asked William Henry. 
 
 "A yellow cat," said Buck, "as big as me, and a 
 mouth as wide as a wolf-trap. Keep tugging, if you 
 don't want to see the battle-ground at the point." 
 
 Buck reached and got into the boat, and instantly 
 began to pull at the line. 
 
 " Put on yer clothes, boy, or you'll blister your back," 
 said Ben. 
 
 While Buck was dressing, the boat was slowly 
 moving around the deep water, and Ben and William 
 Henry had drawn in more than half the line. " Here, 
 boys," said Buck, " haul in steady, and give me the 
 
 gig-" 
 
 Several times the line would run out in spite of 
 
 them ; but at last the head of the monster, with his 
 broad, flat face and staring eyes, was seen near the 
 boat, and Ben drove the trident up to the handle in his 
 head, but it was jerked out of his hand. The fish was 
 in his last agony, and they dragged him up ; and Ben 
 got hold of the handle of the gig, and turned him upon 
 his side, but could not raise him up ; and although 
 they made several efforts, they did not get him into 
 the boat till they doubled one of Ben's lines, and 
 slipped it over his tail and up to his shoulders ; and
 
 THE RESCUE. 253 
 
 even then they were near capsizing the boat as they 
 got him aboard. 
 
 " Here you are, my noble, flat-faced fellow," said 
 Buck. " How much will he weigh, Bearbreeches ?" 
 
 " A hundred pounds, at least," replied William 
 Henry. 
 
 "More nor that," said Ben, "for he's near six foot 
 long more than double as big as any I ever kotch'd in 
 this river afore, and I've killed many that overwent 
 fifty pounds." 
 
 Thus ended their fishing. As they were rowing 
 down to New Hope, William Henry said this frolic 
 with the cat reminded him of a circumstance some- 
 what similar that happened on the Potomac. 
 
 " Tell us all about it," said Buck. 
 
 " Two gentlemen," said William Henry, " one of 
 them a sea-captain, and the other a young gentleman of 
 King George county, went out in a yawl to fish for drum 
 just below the mouth of Potomac Creek, which, at its 
 mouth, unites with Accokeeke, and spreads into a 
 sheet of water near a mile wide below Marlborough 
 Point. But this is so beautiful and picturesque a lo- 
 cality, that I must attempt to describe it to you before 
 I proceed with the fishing story which is no fish 
 story, but actually true. If you go to Old Virginia, 
 Arbuckle, you must visit the place I am speaking of, 
 and see it with your own eyes. Travers's Neck, a 
 narrow slip of land between Potomac Creek and Acco- 
 keeke, terminates at their junction in a hill so high it 
 may be called a promontory, though at its foot there is 
 a level plain of some acres, where sleep the ashes of 
 the honoured dead. The seat of a Virginia gentleman 
 is perched upon the verge of that hill, and facing the 
 river to the east, the prospect spreads out before it. 
 Let us, in imagination, Arbuckle, enter the portico of 
 that hospitable mansion sit down, and enjoy the 
 beauties of the scene. To our right, and stretched out 
 at our feet, the still clear waters of Potomac Creek, 
 nearly a mile wide, repose, reflecting the dark shadows 
 of the wooded cliffs on the opposite shore. On our
 
 r . 
 
 254 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 left, and nearly parallel to the Potomac River itself, 
 winds Accokeeke Creek, like a broad band of silver. 
 Raise your eyes, and they rest upon a chain of hills 
 stretching out between the creek and the river, which 
 is seen through the breaks in the hills, giving to the 
 hills the appearance of islands. See the ships, with 
 their snowy sails, in the river, as they suddenly ap- 
 pear and disappear through those gaps in the hills, 
 like objects passing before a camera obscura. Now 
 look more to the right, on the flat extremity of Marl- 
 borough Neck see that windmill, with its broad vanes 
 revolving and glittering in the sun, and that deep green, 
 conical holly-tree. Here is the spyglass look at its 
 polished, prickly leaves, each one ending in a tiny 
 spear, and its profusion of red berries what a con- 
 trast! Look still farther to the right, on the level 
 point that is Marlborough House. By-the-way, the 
 bricks for that house were brought from London, and 
 the stone pavement for the porticoes from Portland, in 
 the days when wheat-bread was called English bread, 
 and the gray thrush or mocking-bird the English Mock- 
 ing, while the brown thrush, which does not sing so 
 sweetly, was called the French Mocking. Now look 
 a little more to the right. What a glorious expanse of 
 water, where the creeks roll their united volumes into 
 the river below Ferry Point ! Look obliquely across 
 the river that point that you see is Maryland Point, 
 more than seven miles off. Oh ! that stately ship be- 
 low the point, spreading her snowy bosom to the 
 breeze ! How slowly she grows upon our sight ; yet 
 the wind is fresh and fair upon her quarter ; she is 
 running up at the rate of nine knots the hour. Now 
 look up the river ten, fixteen, twenty miles of bright 
 water; and there's a boat coming down. Give me 
 the glass. Boat indeed ! it's an American frigate. 
 Here, use the glass ; see her taper spars and stately 
 masts she looks like a sparrow-hawk cutting the air. 
 Oh ! I understand now the booming sound which we 
 heard wafted upon the waters, that seemed to follow 
 the course of the majestic river. That ship-of-war
 
 THE RESCUE. 255 
 
 was passing Mount Vernon : 'twas cannon's roar 
 Fit honour to the first of heroes and patriots. Let 
 us now descend from this lofty eminence to the mar 
 gin of the marsh on Accokeeke : 
 
 " ' Beneath those rocks the violet reposes ; 
 O'er that tail cliff" the lily hangs her head ; 
 Their fragrance here betrays the blushing roses ; 
 And snow-drops there beneath the thorn are spread.' 
 
 " ' Here, at evening's pensive hour, 
 When western breezes fann'd the air, 
 Joy, I've felt thy magic power, 
 And shed the soft, delicious tear.' " 
 
 " Bless my soul," said Ben Bramble, " that ar place 
 you've been tellin' on is Crow's Nest. I seed it when 
 I went to Mr. Daniel's fishing shore at Peyton's Point, 
 jest above on the creek, and he kotch so many rock- 
 fish at one haul at least his niggers did that he sont 
 a wagon-load on 'em to Richmond City, some on 'em 
 all but as big as this cat. Crow's Nest ain't as awful 
 as the Hawk's Nest out here, but it's the butifullest 
 sight thar I ever seed. This river ain't nothin' to that 
 wide water, and yet they call it a creek in Ole Vi 
 ginny." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " IT was just below the mouth of Potomac Creek, 
 which Ben has told you is a wide water, and in full 
 view of the place which we have been describing," 
 said William Henry, "that the sea-captain and his 
 young friend were fishing for drum. They had an 
 awning over them, as the weather was warm, and 
 under it they were preparing to take their dinner, 
 for they had caught several fine fish. So the ba- 
 con, and cold roast-beef, and bread, and a bottle of 
 brandy and jug of water, were taken out of the lock- 
 er, when the captain saw one of the lines shaking 
 as if a drum-fish was rubbing against it ; but the
 
 256 NEW HOPE: OB, 
 
 young man had put a piece of beef on the hook of 
 that line. The captain went forward and jerked 
 the line, and had his own arm nearly jerked off. 
 He, however, held on, but the line went through 
 his hand like hot iron, and away went the yawl. 
 The stake to which she was moored was pulled 
 up at the first jerk. The boat leaped forward and 
 dashed through the water. The whole of the line 
 had nearly run out, when the young man tied an- 
 other line to the end of that which was running out ; 
 after the knot had passed into the water, the cap- 
 tain said, ' Cut off the hook, and pass the end through 
 this iron ring, and hold on ; now let go, and hand 
 me the hatchet, for I shall have to cut loose if she 
 ships water. This is no drum, but a regular sea- 
 monster. See how he's making for the channel ; 
 we shall be in Chesapeake Bay before to-morrow 
 morning, at this rate.' ' You'd better cut loose at 
 once, then,' said the young gentleman, who did not 
 like the idea of so long a voyage. 'No, sir, I'll 
 see him in h 11 first. He's spoiled my dinner, and 
 he shall pay for it. If he's going his best now, 
 he'll come to after a spell. We'll hold on at least 
 till we pass that brig below. Haul down that awn- 
 ing. The tide is making, and it will tire the devil 
 himself to run at this rate long.' 
 
 " They were now in the middle of the river, and 
 the yawl was dashing through the water with fear- 
 ful velocity. The captain, who had been standing 
 all this time with the hatchet in his hand, backed- 
 to the stern of the boat, tied the rope to the tiller, 
 sat down, and said, ' I'll wipe the sweat from my 
 face, and lake a drink of grog. Ah !' he continued, 
 taking the tumbler from his mouth, ' she runs more 
 steadily now she's got used to it, and her head is 
 right in the wind's eye. There's no danger of 
 shipping a sea, unless the devil that draws us 
 tacks.' ' What do you think it is, captain V ' Don't 
 know, unless it's Davy Jones himself. Take a drink, 
 sir, and we'll try to take a haul upon him.' The
 
 THE RESCUE. 25 7 
 
 young man drank, and said, ' Now, captain, I'm 
 ready, but keep the hatchet ready too.' They at- 
 tempted to pull in the line, but, instead of succeed- 
 ing', it went out rapidly in spite of them. 'Let 
 him go. Cheerily, boy, cheerily. He won't get 
 stronger pulling us against this tide. I feel strong- 
 er, though. We'll give him a shake every now and 
 then, to rouse him up and keep him agoing.' 
 
 "They were now approaching the brig, and they 
 could see the skipper with his glass observing 
 them indeed, he had been doing so for some time 
 with astonishment seeing no sail set and no oars 
 in motion, he could not conceive what new inven- 
 tion was propelling the yawl. At last he took 
 down his glass from his eye, and hailed, 'What 
 boat is that V ' The Haphazard,' cried our captain. 
 ' Where are you bound V ' Don't know wish I 
 did.' ' What the devil drives you V ' Don't know 
 wish I did ; something from below.' The whole 
 crew of the brig were at the ship's side, looking on 
 with amazement. It was a strange phenomenon 
 even to sailors, who see many strange things. As 
 the yawl swept by within twenty yards of the ship, 
 they heard one of the crew say to another, ' Bill, 
 ain't that a queer consarnV 'Ain't it V replied 
 Bill. 'D n my eyes if I don't believe her run- 
 ning rigging and sails is in her hold, and driven by 
 bags of wind bought of the witches in Norway. 
 She's a clipper, any how.' 
 
 " For twelve miles down the river were they hur- 
 ried along against wind and tide, when they per- 
 ceived the line veering off to the left. The cap- 
 tain ran forward, seized the hatchet, and stood by 
 the line ready to sever it ; but'the boat, after keel- 
 ing over so as nearly to bring her gunwale under 
 Avater, righted at the moment when the captain Avas 
 about to strike, and they found themselves running 
 up the river faster, if possible, than they had been 
 carried down. The Avind and tide Avere now in fa- 
 vour of their unseen cruiser. 'Bravo!' cried the 
 11*
 
 258 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 captain ; ' he's going to try t'other tack now.' 
 They were evidently making rapid headway, but 
 on pulling at the line it began to yield, and as they 
 went on they hauled in all the second line and part 
 of the first. The speed of the yawl was diminish- 
 ing, and they found themselves within less than a 
 mile of their starting-place. As they continued to 
 tug at the line, the prow of the boat was turned to- 
 wards the King George shore, and their velocity 
 increased as they neared it ; nor did it decrease till 
 the monster that drew them had run up into water 
 so shoal that he stuck fast, with his back and head 
 exposed to full view. The captain jumped out, and 
 killed him with the hatchet. He was so exhaust- 
 ed that he made not the slightest resistance. It 
 was a shark, upward of ten feet in length. Many 
 persons went to see it, for it was the largest that 
 had ever been seen in the Potomac River, and it 
 would have been dangerous, Buck, to have gone 
 down into the water to look at him, as you did at 
 this catfish." 
 
 "I do believe," said Buck, "I should have been 
 tempted to do it." 
 
 "That's the excuse," said Ben, "people always 
 has ready when they wants to do wrong. They're 
 tempted, Buck. 'Twas yer own desire that tempted 
 you ; that's the meanin' of 'the deviVs got into me,' 
 as you hear people say. 'Twas curosity this time, 
 boy. The tree of knowledge don't always bar 
 good fruit ; you'll find it so if you continue to 
 go you don't know whar, to see you don't know 
 what." 
 
 As they approached the shore opposite Mr. Bal- 
 lenger's house, Buck called out to Uncle Tom, 
 whom he saw standing at the yard gate, 
 
 "Hellow! come here and help us carry this cat 
 fish to the house." 
 
 "I don' want no help," said Tom, "to carry any 
 cat you ketch in dis riber, I know." 
 
 " Come and take him," said Buck.
 
 THE RESCUE. 259 
 
 Uncle Tom moved briskly forward to the bank, then 
 suddenly stopped, and said, 
 
 " Maybe you got a snake dar, Massa Buckle." 
 
 " No, indeed, Uncle Tom ; I've had frolicking enough 
 for one day." 
 
 " Bless my soul !" said Uncle Tom, looking down 
 into the boat, " dat is a catfish, sure enuf. Whar did 
 you ketch him ? He's jest like a Potomuc Riber cat, 
 only not quite so big." 
 
 " Ah ! Uncle Tom," said William Henry, " you are 
 like the Scotchman, who said that the pumpkins tied 
 up in the top of a pear-tree were ' vera fine vera fine 
 pears indeed, but not quite so large as some he saw 
 in the Duke of Argyle's garden.' You can't admit that 
 any fish out here, or anything else, is as large or as 
 fine as in Old Virginia." 
 
 "Whar you gwine fin' out here, Massa Will, de 
 porpusses an' de sharks in dis riber ? Why, when de 
 wind blows on de Potomuc, de porpusses is bobbin' up 
 an' down like so many 'backer hogsheads. But dis 
 one, I 'low, is a famous cat. He'll make a pot o' 
 chowder for Gineral Weedon heself. But dese fresh- 
 water fish don't taste like dem in salt water; dey is 
 too fishy an' fresh, an' taste slimy-like, no matter how 
 you cook 'um. Dey ain't got de smack ob de right fla- 
 bor, Massa Buck." 
 
 " There is something in what Uncle Tom says," re- 
 marked Arbuckle. " The black-fish, sheep's-head, and 
 white perch that I have eaten at VVilliamsburg and 
 Norfolk have a different and finer flavour than any fish 
 I have eaten west of the Alleghany, though the black 
 perch and silver skins, or new lights, are certainly 
 very fine pan-fish." 
 
 " Give me a rock's head boiled," said William Hen- 
 ry, " in preference to all, Buck." 
 
 " Lor, Massa Will, don't talk 'bout 'um ; you make 
 my mouf water. An' den dar's de crabs an' oyshters 
 umph! umpn ! an' de canvass-back ducks, an' de sora 
 in de mash 'fore de frost comes in de fall season, dat 
 melts like butter in de mouf. Massa Buck, dis ain't
 
 260 NEW HOPE : OR, 
 
 no country for a gemman to lib in, 'cept de venison, 
 bar meat, an' pigins ; hogs, an' beef, an' turkeys is de 
 same ebery whar ; an' hommony is hommony, no mat- 
 ter whar you find it, if dey know how to cook 'im, an' 
 good at dat. But de delicusses is on de bays an' big 
 salt-water ribers." 
 
 " Git a fence rail, Tom," said Ben Bramble, " and 
 we can swing this cat atvveen us, and take him to the 
 house." 
 
 This was done, and the boys strung and carried up 
 the other fish which they had caught. Ben left four 
 fine ones in the boat for his friend Ben Morris, who 
 had lent him the skiff. Mr. Ballenger had the curios- 
 ity to weigh the cat. 
 
 " One hundred and twenty-one pounds, down weight," 
 said he, looking at the notch on the steelyard beam ; 
 ' the largest fish of the kind I ever saw anywhere." 
 
 The next day Arbuckle left New Hope, and he felt 
 sad at parting with his new acquaintances. Every 
 member of the family was sorry to part with him, but 
 as he had promised his father to return on that day 
 they did not urge him to stay longer ; a practice much 
 in vogue, and a very bad one, that of insisting on young 
 people breaking promises made to their parents, or 
 with their consent, understand me, gentle young read- 
 ers. He promised, however, to repeat his visit on 
 William Henry's return from a contemplated trip to 
 Kentucky, which had grown from a district of Vir- 
 ginia, in 1792, after many delays and difficulties, into 
 an independent state and a member of the Union. Al- 
 though it had been an independent sovereignty nearly 
 seven years, it was still called by many people, espe- 
 cially in Western Virginia, the district of Kentucky : 
 so hard is it to change a familiar name. 
 
 Isaac Forster had been absent from home for some 
 time, nobody knew where ; but this was no novelty. 
 Advertisements offering rewards for the detection and. 
 apprehension of counterfeiters, and the passers of spu- 
 rious money and counterfeit bank-notes, appeared in 
 many places in Western Virginia and Kentucky, and it
 
 THE RESCUE. 201 
 
 became the general impression that there was a gang 
 of these people in the West, for there was at that time 
 very little bad money east of the mountains. People 
 examined every piece of money that was offered in 
 payment, and many innocent persons were taken up 
 and tried for offences of which they were not guilty. 
 The coins and bank-notes were executed with great 
 skill, and it was really difficult, without resorting to 
 the test of specific gravity, to distinguish the good 
 money from the bad. Our readers will be at no loss 
 as to the manufacturers of these substitutes for money. 
 Honest men had ignorantly received them and igrio- 
 rantly passed them away ; others, who had received 
 them without any knowledge of their worthlessness, 
 not over scrupulous, and unwilling to submit to loss, 
 also passed them off, and they actually constituted a 
 large portion of the currency. 
 
 Richard Winter, alias Joe Swinton, had been, du- 
 ring the winter (this fact was afterward ascertained), 
 to Philadelphia, with letters of introduction to some of 
 the most distinguished citizens of the city, represent- 
 ing him us a man of science lately from Europe. So 
 highly was he spoken of in these letters (which were 
 afterward discovered to be forgeries) as a gentleman 
 and most accomplished chemist, that he moved in the 
 highest circles, and wanted but one vote of being ap- 
 puinted professor of chemistry in a Northern university. 
 If is handsome face and charming whiskers, too, were 
 in great demand at the fashionable parties ; and even 
 the pretty Quaker girls were quite delighted with them. 
 The real object of his trip was to visit the Mint, and to 
 obtain the autographs of certain bank officers and sun- 
 dry materials of his trade chemicals, &c., &c. Be- 
 fore he left the city, however, he presented a bill of 
 i \i h;uige, purporting to be drawn by well-known mer- 
 chants in London on a house in Philadelphia, for three 
 htindrrd and fifty pounds sterling. The signatures were 
 rifht (apparently), and the money was paid to Richard 
 Winter, Esq. The Philadelphia merchants were af- 
 terward informed by their London correspondents that
 
 262 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 they knew no such person as Richard Winter, and had 
 never drawn in his favour ; yet, when the forged bill 
 was afterward transmitted to them, they declared their 
 belief that the signatures were either their own, or im- 
 itations of them not to be distinguished by the most 
 careful examination ; but, as there was no entry of any 
 such transaction on their books, they were compelled 
 to pronounce them forgeries. Their true signatures, 
 we must inform our readers, were signed to certain 
 deeds which had been in the possession of Isaac For- 
 ster. Nobody in Kanawha knew when Joe Swinton 
 went to Philadelphia, when he returned, or where he 
 lived. When in the West, he certainly did live a very 
 retired life, and rarely appeared in public, and then al- 
 ways as a traveller. The truth is, he was as much 
 esteemed by Mr. Forster, and a few others who knew 
 him tolerably well, for his domestic habits as for his 
 private virtues. His works were much better known 
 than he was, and he would have been pleased to think 
 that his left hand did not know what his right did. In 
 conversing with Mr. Ballenger and William Henry 
 about the proposed trip of the latter to Kentucky to 
 see his father's land, Ben Bramble said, 
 
 " Tricks are played in showin' lands. I've lanit 
 from Nat Colly that thar's better land on that tract in 
 the Loop than we seed ; and whar thar are squatters 
 thar's one thar they don't want the raal owner to see 
 the good land or larn its value. If I mought be so 
 bold as to advise, let nobody in this neighbourhood 
 know when or whar Master Will is a goin' ; and let 
 him be sure he carries good money to travel on, for I 
 hear half the money goin will put a man in jail for 
 pay in' it." 
 
 A few days afterward it was currently reported in 
 that neighbourhood that William Henry Ballenger was 
 going to Old Virginia. How that report got into cir- 
 culation was never known, for none of Mr. Ballenger's 
 family had ever hinted such a thing. William, it is 
 true, had laughingly said to his sister, in the presence 
 of Uncle Tom and of Ben Bramble, we believe, " When
 
 THE RESCUE. 203 
 
 I go to Old Virginia for the old boots I left there, I'll 
 try to bring that beau you left behind, Mattie." The 
 report was, however, confirmed in the minds of the 
 neighbours by the fact that, when he did set out. late 
 in the evening, he took the road leading to Old Vir- 
 ginia, and crossed the river below the falls into the 
 Loop. He and his father thought Ben Bramble's ad- 
 vice so good, that William Henry determined to profit 
 by it, and thereupon took the time and road mentioned ; 
 but as soon as it was dark, he turned down the river 
 and rode all night, taking care to stop at no house 
 where he was known. He expected to be absent till 
 July, and carried with him plots of the lands and a 
 power of attorney to sell, subject to the lease of Mr. 
 Forster, which would expire in October. He had also 
 letters of introduction to several gentlemen with whom 
 his father was acquainted ; among the rest, one to Mr. 
 Richard Terrell, of Jefferson county, Kentucky, who 
 had removed from the Old Dominion not very long be- 
 fore. 
 
 Nothing occurred to him worth mentioning till he 
 arrived at the mouth of Big Sandy, and had climbed 
 the steep and muddy bank of the Kentucky shore. He 
 had scarcely seated himself in the tavern on the bank, 
 when he saw a gentleman, accompanied by a servant, 
 coming down to the river on the same road over which 
 he had just passed. They crossed over, rode up to the 
 house, and dismounted. On entering, the gentleman 
 saluted William Henry very courteously. He was a 
 short, thick-set man, rather corpulent, with a short 
 neck, and benevolent, expressive cast of countenance, 
 indicating a sanguine temperament and great good na- 
 ture. His eyes were remarkably intelligent, and full 
 of vivacity. His dress, though of the best materials 
 then worn by gentlemen, sat on him in rather a slov- 
 enly manner. He was a man who neither formed his 
 opinions of others by their dress, nor expected other 
 men to form theirs of bim from external appearances ; 
 that was evident from the way in which he wore his 
 clothes. He seemed to be very warm from riding in
 
 264 NEW HOPE ; OK, 
 
 the sun, as well as fatigued ; for he unbuttoned his 
 waistcoat from top to bottom, stretched himself on his 
 back on a bench, and began to fan himself with his 
 hat ; yet he immediately engaged in conversation with 
 William Henry, and soon launched out most eloquent- 
 ly in praise of Kentucky and Kentucky lands. Will- 
 iam Henry was at no loss to perceive that he was a 
 Virginia gentleman of brilliant and cultivated mind and 
 enthusiastic character. His heart drew towards him 
 immediately ; he felt that there was a man whose 
 friendship might be valuable would certainly be warm 
 and true. 
 
 " Sir," said the gentleman, " I perceive that you are, 
 like myself, from the Old Dominion (God bless her), 
 and going, I hope, to see the promised land, the dark 
 and bloody ground., the glorious garden of the West." 
 
 Before William Henry could make any reply, the 
 tavern-keeper, who had entered the room, seeing the 
 gentleman lying on the bench, exclaimed, 
 
 " Captain Terrell, how do you do ? I'm glad to see 
 you. I thought I knew your horse Peacock as I came 
 by the lot. How d'ye do, sir?" to William Henry. 
 " On your way out, captain, from the old settlements ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, from the worn-out fields of my native land 
 to the fertile banks of Beargrass. Some cool water, 
 my dear sir, if you please ; I have suffered extremely 
 from heat and thirst to-day." 
 
 The tavern-keeper stepped out, and called a servant 
 to bring some cool water directly strait off. William 
 Henry took from his pocket-book a letter, and present- 
 ing it to Mr. Terrell, said, 
 
 " I hope, sir, I am not mistaken in presenting to you 
 this letter from my father, Edward Ballenger?" 
 
 " I am the very man, sir," said Mr. Terrell, looking 
 at the superscription, " and most happy to have met 
 with you." 
 
 He arose from the bench, bowed, and extended his 
 hand to William Henry ,~and a most cordial shake that 
 was. He then opened the letter and read it, 
 
 " I hope your father enjoys good health ?"
 
 THE RESCUE. 265 
 
 " I am sorry to say, sir, he is somewhat of an inva- 
 lid at present, though not confined," said William 
 Henry. 
 
 " How's this, my young friend ? this letter bears 
 date, not from Alexandria, but New Hope, on the Ka- 
 nawha. Has your father removed to the West?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; last fall we came to live on the Ka- 
 nawha." 
 
 " I never heard that he had left Alexandria had no 
 idea that, extensively engaged in commercial business 
 as he was, he would ever remove," said Mr. Terrell. 
 "New Hope, on the Great Kanawha above the 
 mouth of Coal, Mr. Ballenger?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, only a few miles below the falls," said 
 William Henry. 
 
 " Bless me," said Mr. Terrell, " I must have passed 
 his door ; had I known it, I most certainly would have 
 called on him. I recollect, now, a part of your grand- 
 father's military land was located on the Kanawha." 
 
 What apparently slight circumstances control, or 
 seem to control, our destinies ! Had Mr. Terrell call- 
 ed at New Hope, the important and touching events 
 that remain to be told in this narrative would, in all 
 human probability, never have happened ; the great 
 value of Mr. Ballanger's lands in Kentucky would 
 have been known to him, and the real character of 
 Isaac Forster, at least as a land-agent. But we must 
 leave William Henry and Mr. Terrell to pursue to- 
 gether their journey to the interior of Kentucky, and 
 return ourselves, with our readers, to the neighbour- 
 hood of New Hope, barely taking time now to inform 
 them that another traveller, an old man of the lower 
 order, shabbily dressed, stayed all night at the tavern 
 at the mouth of Big Sandy, while William Henry Bal 
 lenger and Mr. Terrell also lodged there.
 
 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 IT will probably be recollected that the earliest in- 
 formation of Mr. Ballenger's removal to Kanawha, and 
 of the transfer of lands to him by Smith and Bird, 
 Buchanan and Alexander, was given to Isaac Forster 
 in a letter from Jones Carter, who also made sundry 
 suggestions to Mr. Forster, and stated that his son 
 would visit him the ensuing summer or fall. Mr. Car- 
 ter said, in that letter, that his son was not a man of 
 business. This was true : Samuel Carter was a wild, 
 dissipated young man, fond of the bottle and the card- 
 table, yet not entirely devoid of good principles and 
 generous sentiments. He came out to Kanawha, as 
 his father had stated he would, and brought papers and 
 money, and commissions as a land-agent for Mr. For- 
 ster. Some unsold horses had been left at Jones Car- 
 ter's, in Alexandria, by Jimmy Dixon ; but what were 
 the business of other relations of this man with Isaac 
 Forster were never ascertained. 
 
 Soon after Sam Carter's arrival at Mr. Forster's, 
 which he made his home while in the West, he and 
 Isaac visited in company the judges of the General 
 Court for the Greenbrier district, and Squire Temple- 
 man ; and numerous papers were signed, and acknowl- 
 edged, and interchanged between Mr. Forster anil him- 
 self as the attorney of his father. Young Carter as- 
 sociated principally with Jimmy Dixon, who found out 
 that his pockets were well lined, and that he was dis- 
 posed to empty them freely to risk money rashly at 
 play-cards, dice, quarter racing, or any kind of exci- 
 ting sport. They were often loitering about Simpson's 
 store, a short distance above Mr. Ballenger's, drinking 
 whiskey-toddy, mint-juleps, and grog, and offering it 
 to everybody that lounged about the store or called 
 there to purchase any article. This was generally at
 
 THE RESCUE. 267 
 
 the expense of Carter, whom Jimmy commonly 
 called Paymaster Carter. While they were there 
 one evening, shortly after William Henry went on 
 his journey to Kentucky, the old man who had 
 stayed all night at Big Sandy when William Henry 
 and Mr. Terrell were there, rode up to Simpson's 
 store. Jimmy Dixon hailed him, and said, 
 
 "Come, 'light, Obed Stapler, and take a drink." 
 
 " 1 haven't time, Jimmy," said the old man ; " but 
 step here a word with you, Dixon." Jimmy walk- 
 ed out to the side of his horse. " Forster wants to 
 see you mity bad, Jimmy," he continued. "He's 
 monstrous consarned 'bout something, and told me, 
 if I seed you here, or anywhar on the road, to tell 
 you to come to his house straight off. You'd bet- 
 ter go, sir, immejiently. Good-by, Jimmy ; I must 
 be in the Loop afore midnight." So saying, Obed 
 Stapler galloped off. 
 
 This wretch, a squatter on Mr. Ballenger's -land 
 on the invitation of Isaac Forster, was connected 
 with Joe Swinton's gang, and had been to Ken- 
 tucky on their nefarious business, but under the 
 pretext of driving stock for Isaac Forster (receiv 
 ed, in fact, from his tenants on Mr. Ballenger's 
 lands). He was now on his way home, and called 
 at Isaac's house. We shall gather what it was that 
 so deeply interested Isaac Forster from the follow- 
 ing conversation that passed between him and this 
 old man. 
 
 "Impossible, Obed Stapler," said Isaac; "you 
 are mistaken ; young Ballcnger has gone to Old 
 Virginia." 
 
 ""No such thing," said Obed. " I tell you I stay- 
 ed all night at the mouth of Big Sandy, and he was 
 there on his way to the district of Kentucky. I 
 heard Mr. Terrell call him by his name twenty 
 times ; besides, I seed the young man from the 
 bush when he went to see that land his father 
 claims in the Loop. I am not mistaken, Mr. For- 
 ster."
 
 268 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 "What Terrelll" said Isaac. 
 
 "Captain Dick Terrell, that lives on Bear Grass. 
 I know him as well as I know you, Mr. Forster 
 that is, by sight." 
 
 Isaac's face became black as night. He paced 
 the room, and muttered to himself, "The best 
 tract joins Terrell's land. All will be known. 
 What I do must be done quickly, by G d. I 
 thought it strange young Carter did not meet him. 
 1 thought he must have passed him in the night. 
 They suspect, d n me if they don't. That's the 
 reason they reported he was going to Virginia. 
 'Twas done to deceive me as to his motions a 
 deep scheme. D n all deceit!" Thus mutter- 
 ing, he strode up to Stapler, seized him by the arm, 
 and looking with the eyes of a fiend flashing fury 
 in his face, he said, 
 
 " Obed Stapler, it's a d d lie ! you are, for some 
 purpose, attempting to deceive me, and if you do, 
 I'll send your soul to h 11." 
 
 " I tell you it's the truth, sir," said the old man, 
 trembling from head to foot. "I know I can't de- 
 ceive you if I was to try, which God knows I nev- 
 er did." 
 
 Forster relaxed his iron grasp, turned to the ta- 
 ble, poured out half a tumbler of spirits, and drank 
 it off' at a draught. 
 
 " Tell Dixon you'll find him at the store or on 
 the road somewhere as you go along to come 
 here directly. Be off, sir." 
 
 Stapler, glad to get away, rose and departed in- 
 stantly, looking beTiind as if he expected a bullet 
 through his head before he reached his horse. We 
 already know that he delivered Forster's message 
 to Air. Dixon. The latter was very soon at Mr. 
 Forster's, for he knew, from Stapler's remarks 
 about Forster, to use his own words, that there 
 was "a screw loose somewhere." Ho found k.inc 
 pacing the room like a caged tiger, in deep thougnt. 
 His eyes were red and his face flushed.
 
 THE RESCUE. 269 
 
 In order to understand the conversation which 
 ensued between these men, it is necessary to make 
 our readers acquainted with some particulars in 
 relation to Mr. James Dixon to which we have not 
 alluded. In passing through the Loop, and to and 
 from the more eastern parts of Virginia, he had 
 frequently called at Squire Templeman's ; and al- 
 though Miss Helen despised the man for his great 
 mendacity and evident looseness of moral princi- 
 ples, yet she was amused by his fabulous tales, 
 laughed at them and at him which latter he did 
 not perceive asked him many questions about 
 persons with whom she was acquainted in Old Vir- 
 ginia, and conversed with him so freely and pleas- 
 antly that Jimmy took it into his head that she was 
 very much pleased with him, if not in love. This 
 is a mistake into which vain young men are very 
 apt to fall. It flattered his vanity which was not 
 the minimum element in his composition so much 
 that he determined to court the young lady in pure 
 pity. He felt sure of success. The more he saw 
 of her, and the more the idea of courting her oc- 
 cupied his rnind, the more did he become interest- 
 ed in Miss Helen, till at last he was really as much 
 in love with her as it was possible for such a man 
 to be with any lady, or anything else besides him- 
 self. 
 
 The hint that Isaac had dropped when he enga- 
 ged Jimmy to show William Henry Ballenger his 
 father's land in the Loop, had not escaped him. 
 His jealousy was aroused, and to see how this 
 young man would be received and treated by Hel- 
 en, whom he considered as his own, was a prevail- 
 ing reason for his undertaking to show the land. 
 What happened that evening, our readers well 
 know, was not at all calculated to allay his jealousy 
 or confirm his hopes of success. While William 
 Henry and Miss Templeman were studying astron- 
 omy in the porch, Mr. Dixon, apparently interest- 
 ed in conversation with Buck, was, in reality, burn-
 
 270 *EW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 ing with all the fires of jealousy, and intently stud- 
 ying the means of defeating his rival, who, he 
 plainly perceived, vain as he was, would be, or, 
 rather, was a most formidable foe to his success. 
 Deep hatred of the man had fastened upon his 
 heart, and he was only restrained from permitting 
 Stapler to shoot him in the woods by the fear of 
 his being implicated as the guide, or by the appre- 
 hension of consequences which might result from 
 men's coming to search for a dead or missing 
 man on that land. There was something there 
 which it was of the deepest importance to conceal 
 from the public eye. Dixon was in full view when 
 the bear was so near hurling William Henry over 
 the precipice, and he hoped she would. We al- 
 ready know what his conduct was on that occa- 
 sion ; we now know its motive. 
 
 "What's wanting, Mr. Forsterl" said Dixon as 
 he entered the room. " Obed Stapler told me you 
 wanted to see me." 
 
 " Where," said Forster, " is that squinting rascal 
 that went with you as a driver to Virginia Slocus 
 I think you called him!" 
 
 "I sent him off," replied Jimmy; "he was a 
 d d deal too knowing, and had too much curiosi- 
 ty for my use." 
 
 " Where is he V' said Isaac again. 
 
 "Gone to Kentucky," replied Jimmy. 
 
 " / thought so," said Isaac, very slowly, and paus- 
 ing at every word. "And where is young Ballen- 
 ger !" he continued. 
 
 " Why, gone to Old Virginia," replied Jimmy. 
 
 Isaac raised his eyes, and fixing them on Jimmy, 
 said, " It's no such thing, Mr. Dixon ; that was only 
 a sham report to blind your eyes. He's gone to 
 Kentucky to hunt up Slocus. He's not content 
 with disappointing your just expectations of mar- 
 rying Ternpleman's daughter with robbing you of 
 that charming young lady; he is aiming at your 
 reputation and life, Mr. Dixon, and the poor devil
 
 THE RESCUE. 27] 
 
 wants the rewards offered for counterfeiters, their 
 aiders and abetters. He's on a hot trail after you, 
 for Templeman has lately got letters from Green- 
 briar about the George Baxter trade, and young 
 Ballenger says you must have been an accomplice, 
 and he means to worm it out." 
 
 Jimmy turned pale as ashes. Isaac watched his 
 countenance, and, after a short pause, he resumed. 
 
 " They are drawing the net around you, my 
 friend j and unless you have the sense and courage 
 to break the meshes, it's all over with you, by 
 G d j and you are to be victimized by that con- 
 ceited puppy, young Ballenger, because he thinks 
 you are in his way with Helen Templeman." 
 
 " Gone to Kentucky to hunt up Slocus, did you 
 say, sir'!" asked Jimmy. 
 
 "Yes, man, didn't you hear what I said? Sta- 
 pler passed him at the mouth of Big Sandy, and 
 heard him making particular inquiries when Slocus 
 passed, and described him accurately : red hair, 
 limps in the left foot, squints with the right eye, 
 five feet nine inches high. He'll bribe that fellow, 
 bring him back, and unless he is followed and stop- 
 ped in his proceedings " 
 
 "I'll follow him, and stop him too. He shall 
 never come back alive. I can track up people as 
 well as Mr. William Henry Ballenger, I guess," 
 said Jimmy. 
 
 " I thought it my duty to a friend, Mr. Dixon, as 
 soon as I became informed of the danger of his po- 
 sition, to tell him of it," said Isaac Forster, " that 
 he might take such measures as are due to his af- 
 fections, his character, and his life." 
 
 "A thousand thanks, Mr. Forster. I'm bound to 
 you for life, sir. I'll be after the villain in two 
 hours. How are you off, friend Forster, for loose 
 cash 1 I must borrow a small sum, if you can 
 spare it." 
 
 " I can let you have a couple of hundred on the 
 usual terms."
 
 272 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Jimmy. 
 
 "And," said Isaac, " if I don't hear from you by 
 what time shall I say 1" 
 
 "The first of July," replied Jimmy; "for this 
 matter requires caution and fixing to do it right." 
 
 "Very well," said Isaac, "if 1 don't hear from 
 you before the first of July, I may certainly know 
 that you have finished your business in Kentucky 
 satisfactorily." 
 
 "Yes," replied Jimmy; "if it ain't finished by 
 that day, you'll hear it from me. But finished it 
 shall be, one way or another ; I'm not to be used 
 up by that impudent, meddling, aristocratic puppy : 
 I'll make him see stars, G d d n him." 
 
 "Remember, Dixon, that I am greatly interested 
 as a friend," said Forster, "in your success; and 
 punctuality is all-important in friendship as well as 
 in business; a word will be sufficient, such as, 'I 
 am happy to inform you my business in Kentucky 
 has been settled to my satisfaction.' " 
 
 "I understand," said Jimmy; "no particulars 
 need be mentioned." 
 
 " And," said Forster, " let me give you one piece 
 of advice, my young friend ; it is better to let 
 things of importance alone than to half do them, or 
 to trust them to incompetent agents, or to persons 
 who may prove unfaithful. It is not every man 
 that offers to discharge a delicate and important 
 trust that can be relied on ; I know that from my 
 own experience, Mr. Dixon." 
 
 Isaac Forster did know it from his own experi- 
 ence. He handed Jimmy two hundred dollars, took 
 his note for the same, and Jimmy immediately de- 
 parted. Isaac looked after him as he rode off at 
 full gallop, and said, 
 
 "He'll do it. The love of life and reputation is 
 a strong motive, but wounded vanity, the desire ot 
 revenge, hatred, the love of woman, and jealousy, 
 are stronger still. Fools, when they wish men to 
 act, address their reason, wise men their interests
 
 THE RESCUE. 273 
 
 and passions. Reason the pander of appetite and 
 passion never moves but to provide the means for 
 their gratification, or most logically to excuse them. 
 Passion is the despot that sits upon the throne of 
 the human soul ; Reason, the willing, dexterous, 
 cunning, crouching slave that ministers at the foot 
 of the throne. Ballenger's life is not worth a but- 
 ton. He'll never return from Kentucky if Jimmy 
 Dixon is the man I take him for." 
 
 How often, gentle reader, danger and death are 
 tracking us like bloodhounds, and we know it not. 
 How often they spring from slight circumstances, 
 and even from such as we think have no relation 
 to ourselves, or from others that we never even 
 dreamed of. William Henry Ballenger did not 
 know that he had an enemy in the world ; yet we 
 know that one is following him, thirsting for his 
 blood, urged on by violent and irritated passions, 
 directed to their diabolical purpose by a crafty and 
 designing man for the accomplishment of his own 
 sinister designs. Those who are called the master 
 spirits of the world gain wealth, and power, and 
 renown by using human levers, which they work 
 by the windlass of the passions. It is well that 
 those who work only to good ends should be able 
 to use that potent instrument which, like the me- 
 chanical power, gives to one man the means of ef- 
 fecting that which it requires the labour of many 
 to perform. Isaac Forster's powers were only di- 
 rected to the wrong end ; they were precisely like 
 those of many other great men ; and it is a curious 
 fact, that when the end is great, whether good or 
 bad, to which great powers are directed, we admire 
 them and praise them ; but when the end is little 
 or low, we despise the powers directed to its ac- 
 complishment, not reflecting that in both cases the 
 powers themselves may be exactly the same. 
 
 Other matters of moment prevent our following 
 Jimmy Dixon to Kentucky in pursuit of William 
 Henry Ballenger, whither he went with the design 
 12
 
 274 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 of assassinating him, or of causing him to be mur- 
 dered by some other person ; but we suppose Isaac 
 Forster's wise counsel applicable to that subject, 
 as well as to all others, was not thrown away on 
 Dixon. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IN a conversation which Isaac Forster had with 
 Joe Swinton, if we remember rightly, he mention- 
 ed a certain travelling merchant or pedler called 
 Job Terry, whom he spoke of as a talking, meddle- 
 some fellow, that might prove troublesome to the 
 fraternity of money-makers and circulators; that 
 he should be looked after, and his mouth stopped. 
 This pedler was a sober, industrious, honest man, 
 benevolent and kind-hearted, with a clear head and 
 sagacious mind; rather passionate and irascible, 
 very talkative, and generally expressing his opin- 
 ions of men and things with great freedom, chock- 
 ful and running over with anecdote, news, and gos- 
 sip of course, a great favourite with many through- 
 out the country in which he made his semi-annual 
 rounds. Every family, children and all, were glad 
 to see Job, as he passed along with his little pack 
 of merchandise, and great one of news, novelties, 
 and small talk. At every house at which he stop- 
 ped Job was invited to stay all night, and was nev- 
 er charged anything for his accommodation; but 
 the good housewife or the children were sure to 
 receive an equivalent in some little useful or agree- 
 able present made at the moment of his departure. 
 He scattered through the country more copies of 
 "Poor Richard," " The Housewife's Guide," " The 
 Farmer's Almanac," " Live and Let Live," &c , &c.,
 
 THE RESCUE. 275 
 
 than any other man, and we verily believe that few 
 colporteurs of modern days diffused more information 
 than Job Terry. He h;id been this spring to Old Vir- 
 ginia for his usual supply of goods, which he brought 
 out to Greenbrier, in which county he resided, or, 
 more properly, called his place of residence. His 
 stock consisted of two pack-horse loads, the unsold 
 remainder of which, when he arrived at home, was 
 deposited there, except an assortment suited to the 
 wants of his New River and Kanawha customers, 
 whit.-h he carried on his own back. When this was 
 sold out, he returned to his deposite in Greenbrier to 
 replenish his pack, and would again set out through 
 the mountain paths to supply the dwellers among the 
 hills and by-streams of that wild country. 
 
 On his return from Old Virginia this spring, as soon 
 as he passed the Blue Ridge into the Valley of Vir- 
 ginia, he was very much annoyed by counterfeit money, 
 which was almost every day offered to him by persons 
 whom he know to be honest, and above all suspicion 
 of attempting knowingly to pass spurious coin. This 
 annoyance increased as he came on westward. He 
 had examined these coins so carefully, and weighed 
 them so often on the ends of his fingers, that he could 
 distinguish them instantly, even by touch in the dark. 
 When he arrived in Greenbrier, he stopped at the 
 houses of the farmers who had been swindled by that 
 respectable-looking personage, George Baxter. From 
 them he heard the particulars of that transaction so far 
 as they were known to them ; and when he heard of 
 the repurchase of the horses from Baxter by Mr. James 
 Dixon, at an advance of ten per cent., on the same day 
 that these farmers had sold them to Baxter, he shook 
 his head, and, contrary to his usual habit, said nothing 
 except, " It is too bad. There is a gang of them, de- 
 pend upon it, and some men thought honest, and not 
 suspected, are in league with them." He travelled on 
 westward, and on the first of July, a very warm day, 
 arrived at the store of Mr. James Simpson, between the 
 Falls of Kanawha and Mr. Ballenger's.
 
 276 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 " How are you, friend Terry ?" said Mr. Simpson. 
 
 " Well, I thank you, Mr. Simpson, but very warm 
 and tired," said Job, taking off his pack arid sitting 
 down. " What's the news on the river?" 
 
 " None worth relating," replied Mr. Simpson ; " dull 
 times, and but little money. I've taken in so little 
 change lately, that I couldn't change a twenty-dollar 
 bill for Mr. Ballenger this morning. He said he want- 
 ed change for you, friend Job, but could not get it." 
 
 " Why, he needn't have put himself to any trouble 
 about that," said Job. " He will pay, I know. There 
 ain't an honester man in the world than that same Mr. 
 Ned Ballenger." 
 
 " What news eastward ?" said Mr. Simpson. 
 
 " Why, old rascals and new counterfeits," replied 
 Job. " Your servant, Mr. Forster ; you were sitting 
 so still I didn't see you." 
 
 Mr. Forster was sitting behind the door reading a 
 newspaper. He nodded to Job, and continued read- 
 ing. 
 
 " New counterfeits 1" said Simpson. 
 
 " Yes," replied Terry. " The old ones are plenty 
 as blackberries all the way from Waynesborough to this 
 place. I got used to them, and could tell them day or 
 night, by sight or touch. But yesterday, at the falls, 
 a new one deceived me wonderfully well executed, 
 and made to look old, and rubbed, but lately coined, 
 I'll be sworn. Here it is. I got it of that frolicking 
 young blade, Sam Carter, who had much better be at 
 home than out here drinking, and gaming, and passing 
 counterfeit money." 
 
 Simpson looked at the bad dollar, and handed it to 
 Mr. Forster, saying, 
 
 " If that's a counterfeit, I'm no judge of money. 
 What do you say, Mr. Forster ?" 
 
 " I know very little of such things," said Isaac, ex- 
 amining the piece of money closely, " but I should say 
 that is a good dollar; if it is not, it would deceive me." 
 
 " Give me a file," said Terry to Simpson ; " I'll con- 
 vince you in a moment."
 
 THE RESCUE. 277 
 
 He took the file handed to him, and drawing it 
 across the edge of the dollar, held it up to the light, 
 and said, 
 
 " Look there, gentlemen ; nothing but base metal 
 not fourpence worth of silver in it. I really do think, 
 Mr. Forster, that you, and other gentlemen of proper- 
 ty, and influence, and knowledge, who have large 
 dealings in money, and are so much interested that it 
 should be genuine, should take measures to detect and 
 bring to punishment the makers and circulators of thxjse 
 counterfeits. They must be hereabouts somewhere, 
 for this is one of a new stamp, the first I've met with, 
 and, depend upon it, not far from the place where it 
 was made. I for one, gentlemen, shall keep my eyes 
 open, and my ears too, and will do all I can, Mr. For- 
 ster, to rid the country of such rascals." 
 
 " That's the duty of every good citizen," said Isaac 
 " You got it, you say, of young Carter ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Job, " I did. The young man was 
 half drunk, and said, at first, he had no change to pay 
 me for a handkerchief he asked to look at, saying he 
 had somehow lost his handkerchief the night before ; 
 then he burst out a laughing, and said, ' How forgetful 
 I am ; here's a dollar for the handkerchief, Mr. Pedler. 
 I remember, now, that last night I was out of silver, and 
 Mr. Forster gave me five dollars in silver for a note.'" 
 
 " That's all a mistake," said Forster, quickly ; " the 
 young fellow must have been intoxicated, as you say, 
 Mr. Terry. I gave him no change, but he changed a 
 five-dollar note for me." 
 
 " These wild, rattling young fellows," said Simpson, 
 " hardly ever know how their money comes or goes." 
 
 Job, seeing Mr. Forster about to depart, said to him, 
 " If you see Mr. Ballenger, sir, in passing his house 
 please to say to him I shall be along to-morrow." 
 
 " Very well," said Forster, bidding them good-day, 
 and riding ofF. 
 
 ' How immensely rich that man has got to be," said 
 Simpson to Job. " He is buying every good piece of 
 land in the market, and paying the cash down for it."
 
 278 NEW HOPE; on, 
 
 " He gets it the cheaper for that, friend Simpson. 
 Discount discount, sir heavy discount is allowed 
 for cash, you know, in these hard times. Anything 
 in my way, Mr. Simpson ?" 
 
 " Yes ; open your pack." 
 
 Job opened his pack, threw its contents on the 
 counter, told Simpson to help himself, and sat himself 
 down to read a book which he took from his pocket. 
 After a little while he arose, put his articles into his 
 pacK, strapped it on his back, saying, " Good-by, Mr. 
 Simpson ; anything in my line to accommodate your 
 customers is always at your service. You've taken 
 but little to-day only a few ribands, pins, and needles. 
 Not now," added he, on Simpson's offering to pay him 
 for the articles. " Six months, or when I go East, 
 will be time enough." 
 
 Job trudged off, and Mr. Simpson went to the desk 
 in his little back room to enter the articles purchased 
 of Job Terry in his daybook. 
 
 Notwithstanding Mr. Forster's assertion that Carter 
 had given him change for a five-dollar bill, the young 
 man spoke the truth. Mr. Forster had changed a five- 
 dollar bill for him, and he had received from Mr. For- 
 ster the identical bad dollar passed to Job Terry. It 
 was an accident. Isaac Forster knew the dollar the 
 instant he saw it. He never knowingly passed bad 
 money. We must do him the justice to say so. It 
 happened thus. 
 
 Joe Swinton, on his return from Philadelphia, where 
 he had learned something new in his trade every in- 
 dustrious, ingenious man is always learning something 
 new had determined to favour the country with more 
 circulating currency a new emission of money. He 
 thought that more money in circulation would be a 
 great relief to the people in the hard times so much 
 complained of, though it should be no better than the 
 notes of non-specie-paying banks. Now it is true that 
 patriotic men always try to direct their knowledge to 
 the production of public benefits. The relief of the 
 people always constitutes their staple material of elo
 
 THE RESCUE. 279 
 
 quence and action. On finishing his new and im- 
 proved die, he was so pleased with the first coins 
 struck by it, that he carried one to Isaac Forster, 
 knowing that he was a great friend to American man- 
 ufactures, and was delighted with all improvements in 
 them calculated to render us independent of the work- 
 shops of Europe a National Republican of the right 
 sort, who believed it to be the interest of every Amer- 
 ican to pay forty bushels of wheat, or a bale of cotton, 
 or a thousand pounds of tobacco, for any article man- 
 ufactured in America, when the same article imported 
 from Europe would cost him only half as much. 
 
 Isaac expressed great satisfaction on examining this 
 specimen of American industry, and evidence of the 
 advance of the useful arts. He put the dollar into his 
 pocket instead of a safer place, as he intended to do, 
 and afterward, mistaking the intention for the act, as 
 many other people do, inadvertently gave it in change, 
 with four other good dollars, to Sam Carter. These 
 little accidents will occasionally happen to the great- 
 est men, and they sometimes lead to most important 
 results. 
 
 Isaac Forster rode from Simpson's store straight to 
 his own house, expecting to find young Carter there. 
 He found him there, and held a long conversation with 
 him, the subject of which may be inferred from some 
 expressions of Carter after Forster went out, and from 
 succeeding events. Isaac retired to his own chamber, 
 and locked the door his invariable practice. 
 
 Carter, who was even then slightly intoxicated, 
 muttered to himself, " I'll cane that pack-ridden rascal. 
 I pass counterfeit money knowingly Forster's right. 
 I must put a stop to such insolence. He's a pretty 
 fellow, that lying pedler, upon my word ! He'll place 
 my character in its true light, will he ? I'll see him 
 as he comes down the road, that's arranged ; and so 
 now to bed, and a good comfortable snoose I'll have, 
 after two nights' loss of sleep at little loo and all- 
 fours." 
 
 Isaac did not, like young Carter, turn in and go to
 
 280 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 sleep. He was too much occupied with reflections on 
 the probable course of his affairs ; and he came to the 
 conclusion that, although Dixon should succeed in ac- 
 complishing the purpose of his mission to Kentucky, 
 still Mr. Ballenger would become acquainted with the 
 teal value of his lands, either from It-tiers from his son 
 jy some private hand, before Dixon could finish his 
 business, or from such correspondence as would inev- 
 itably take place with persons in Kentucky, should 
 that event happen. Of that he had no doubt. His 
 own true character would thus be known as a land- 
 agent, and he had seen enough of Mr. Ballenger to 
 know that all confidence in him would be lost by that 
 gentleman, and all endeavours to get the control of his 
 lands or business at an end. He therefore determin- 
 ed to propose to Miss Ballenger the very next day, 
 and if she should be so devoid of taste, or so regard- 
 less of the manifold advantages of becoming Mrs. For- 
 ster, as to reject him, to compass the death of her fa- 
 ther, by some means or other, immediately. The 
 means and mode he left to be moulded by such cir- 
 cumstances as might occur, or might be suggested, on 
 his proposed visit to New Hope the next day. It was 
 an alternative to which he hoped he might not be re- 
 duced. He thought that Mr. Ballenger and his daugh- 
 ter could not be ignorant of his wealth, popularity, and 
 influence ; and as he had succeeded in making favour- 
 able impressions in regard to himself personally on 
 every member of the family, and, moreover, his devo- 
 ted attachment to the young lady must have been ob- 
 served, he concluded that Mr. Ballenger had conversed 
 with his daughter on the subject in such a manner as 
 to manifest his desire to have Mr. Forster for a son-in- 
 law, and that she would jump at his offer. But if, con 
 trary to his expectations and wishes, she should reject 
 him, he could see no other mode of gratifying the in 
 tense selfishness and grasping avarice of his soul than 
 that of causing the death of Mr. Ballenger. The for 
 ged will, which was safely concealed, would in tha\ 
 event answer all his purposes.
 
 THE RESCUE. 
 
 281 
 
 The greatest and the wisest men cannot control or 
 arrest the ever-roiling current of events, but they often 
 give it, or seem to give it, a character which they ima- 
 "inc will tend to the accomplishment of their wishes. 
 Th 
 dist 
 
 more 
 to his 
 
 little field, in which two hireVP'Kil'Re. no'cinir'orkinjj his 
 scanty crops. Uncle Tom was busy in the garden, or 
 kitchen, or stable. When in the house, Mr. Ballenger 
 devoted the greater part of his time to reading. His- 
 tory, biography, travels, and natural history, Homer 
 12*
 
 280 
 
 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 sleep. He was too much occupied with reflections on 
 the probable course of his affairs ; and he came to the 
 
 ^ ' in ac ~ 
 
 PLAJNFIELD. 
 
 The oldest person in this town is Mre. 
 Sally Packard. She will be 91 the 12th 
 of July next. Her maiden name was Sally 
 Stowell. Her husband was Caleb Pack- 
 ard, born iu Ashiield, near the Plainfield 
 line. He worked at the carpenter's trade. 
 They were married Feb. 21, 1811, by Rev. 
 Moses Hal lock. He deceased Aug. 9, 
 1861. They lived together 50 years and 
 nearly six mouths. Number of their chil- 
 dren 11. Seven are living, all have fami- 
 lies. Four live iu Piainiield, one in Ash- 
 field, one in Ohio, one in Wisconsin. Her 
 mental faculties are well preserved. She 
 has 20 grandchildren ; ten great grandchil- 
 dren ; three great-great-graifdchildren. In- 
 cluding herself, there are five generations; 
 all were together some two yrars ago. Her 
 oldest son. Philander Packard of this town, 
 has five grandchildren and three great- 
 grandchildren. Two of IKT husband's sis- 
 ters lived and died in this io'.vn, one at the 
 age of 87, the other 88. They lived or 
 kept housr: together, and Mrs. Packard 
 used to speak of them, even when they 
 were upwards of eighty, as "the girls." 
 For a long series of years she was a mem- 
 ber of the Baptist church which existed 
 formerly in the east part of Piainlidd. 
 
 he 
 
 on 
 
 his 
 
 v- 
 
 Llld 
 
 lis 
 id- 
 to 
 hat 
 his 
 in- 
 ay, 
 rd- 
 or- 
 fa- 
 
 cir- 
 on 
 ivas 
 re- 
 gh- 
 and 
 ur- 
 on 
 o- 
 b- 
 d 
 as 
 n- 
 
 aW, unu iuai &uu would jump di ins uuei. JbULit, con 
 trary to his expectations and wishes, she should rejeci 
 him, he could see no other mode of gratifying the in 
 tense selfishness and grasping avarice of his soul than 
 that of causing the death of i\Ir. Ballenger. The for 
 ged will, which was safely concealed, would in tha\ 
 event answer all his purposes.
 
 THE RESCUE. 281 
 
 The greatest and the wisest men cannot control or 
 arrest the ever-rolling current of events, but they often 
 give it, or seem to give it, a character which they ima- 
 gine will tend to the accomplishment of their wishes. 
 The conduct and observations of the pedler, Job Terry, 
 disturbed Mr. Forster, and strengthened his determi- 
 nation to carry his designs into immediate execution. 
 He felt towards that man as if .lob Terry was inten- 
 tionally doing him a personal injury and injustice. 
 Thus feel those whose secret misdeeds are obnoxious 
 to censure and liable to detection towards all men who 
 denounce the crimes of which they are guilty, and who 
 labour to detect or punish them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 AN unusually calm and still state of the atmosphere 
 is said to precede those sweeping hurricanes that des- 
 olate the earth. So, in the moral world, calmness and 
 quietude are often the precursors of storms, and tem- 
 pests of desolation and destruction. 
 
 Since the departure of George Arbuckle Temple- 
 man and William Henry Ballenger, the habitation 
 of Mr. Ballenger had been the very abode of quiet, 
 stillness, and peaceful repose. Matilda, whether in 
 the garden among her vegetables and flowers, or in 
 the house engaged in domestic duties, moved with 
 noiseless step. Her harp was silent since they went 
 away. Her father, whose health, though delicate, 
 seemed to be improving, went out but little : some- 
 times, but rarely, he rode a mile or two. He more 
 commonly walked in the morning or evening to his 
 little field, in which two hired men were working his 
 scanty crops. Unclo Tom was busy in the garden, or 
 kitchen, or stable. When in the house, Mr. Bnllenger 
 devoted the greater part of his time to reading. His- 
 tory, biography, travels, and natural history, Homer 
 12*
 
 282 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 and Virgil, Shakspeare, Milton, Gray, and Young, were 
 his favourites. But the Bible was preferred to all ; 
 that book he considered not only as our greatest treas- 
 ure, the recorded inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the 
 only safe teacher and guide in all things relating to 
 man's eternal destiny and temporal welfare, but the 
 repository of masses of information on other most in- 
 teresting subjects history, natural, moral, and politi- 
 cal ; Oriental geography, manners, and customs not 
 invented or compiled by men to support theories, par- 
 ties, or ruling powers by the introduction of false facts 
 or the artful and deceptive collocation and arrangement 
 of true ones but inspired truth, spoken by the chosen 
 of the Almighty, and, therefore, worthy of all accepta- 
 tion. The sublimity, splendid imagery, and pathos of 
 its poetical portions, he felt to be immeasurably supe- 
 rior to those of all other books. The tenderness, sim- 
 plicity, and sweetness of its metrical melodies, seem- 
 ed to him unapproached and unapproachable. How 
 often would he stop his daughter, in reading to him 
 the Psalms of David, the monarch minstrel, in her soft, 
 lute-like voice, to comment on the varied and superla- 
 tive beauties of thought and expression ! What a 
 scene for a painter did that Christian father and daugh- 
 ter present, as he sat, with the large family Bible open 
 in his lap, and she, in a low chair beside him, with her 
 arm resting on his knee, and looking up. with lips 
 apart, to his pale, manly, expressive face, as he des- 
 canted on some sublime or pathetic passage with all 
 the fervid eloquence of genius, and all the feeling firm- 
 ness of faith ! She would almost hold her breath to 
 catch his impassioned words and the admiring, do- 
 ting smile of filial affection that played upon her beau- 
 tiful face, and the tear-drop starting in her eyes, gave 
 her a spiritual loveliness almost divine. Peace, and 
 joy, and hope? and gratitude filled their hearts, not- 
 withstanding the forlorn and destitute condition in 
 which they were placed, and the gathering clouds of 
 misfortune that were lowering around them. Ah! lit- 
 tle did they even imagine how soon those clouds would
 
 THE RESCUE. 283 
 
 burst upon them in all their pitiless fury and unrelent- 
 ing violence. 
 
 The day after that on which Job Terry called at 
 Simpson's store, Isaac Forster, according to his deter- 
 mination, went to Mr. Ballenger's in order to make his 
 proposals to Matilda. He arrived there about eleven 
 o'clock, dressed and equipped after the most approved 
 fashion of gentlemen in search of a wife. He was in 
 high spirits, and confident of success. Miss Ballenger 
 was not taken unawares. What young lady ever is, 
 if the gentleman acts as gentlemen should who are in 
 love ? The premonitory symptoms are as evident to 
 them as are those of any other eruptive disease about 
 to break out to a Philadelphia doctor. 
 
 Miss Matilda had known for months past that Mr. 
 Forster was in love with her, or with something, and, 
 as we have said before, she naturally concluded it was 
 with herself. We have said, too, that the discovery 
 gave her pain. This is really true, however incredi- 
 ble it may appear to our young lady readers whose af- 
 fections, like those of Matilda, have been given to an- 
 other, or to those who have no affections to give to 
 anybody. Independently of the pleasant initiation 
 administered to a certain failing of human nature, from 
 which we are sorry to say that, all lovely and near to 
 perfection as they are, ladies are not entirely exempt, 
 there is something in courtship to women and girls 
 like field-sports to men and boys. It is exciting; and 
 what human being does not love excitement ? It is 
 not the death of the deer that gives such exquisite 
 pleasure to the sportsman. The hot pursuit, its glori- 
 ous hazards, and being in at the death these consti- 
 tute the charm ; and then to be able to recount the 
 thrilling incidents of the chase " to fight his battles 
 o'er again." Only listen to an old lady who has been 
 a belle in her day, replying to her pretty, coquettish 
 granddaughter, just returned from school, who said, 
 
 " Grandma, didn't Mr. Such-a-one, the late member 
 of Congress from this district, court you when you 
 were a girl like me ?" See the twinkle in her eye,
 
 284 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 and the arching of the neck, and the expansion of, the 
 chest. 
 
 " Why, child, I .was older than you are when lie ad- 
 dressed me. You must be thinking of Judge Pointe- 
 law, when he was a student in Fredericksburg and I 
 was at Mrs. Strachan's boarding-school. Who in the 
 world could have told you of that foolish flirtation ?" 
 
 " Oh! grandma, please tell me all about it." 
 
 And the granddaughter was so importunate that the 
 old lady related the whole affair " ab ovo usque ad ma- 
 lum," with as much gout as the first egg and the last 
 apple of a Roman banquet are discussed by the hungry 
 umbra, at the table. 
 
 We would repeat the very words .of Mr. Forster's 
 courtship for the benefit of ether gentlemen, if he had 
 been successful and we would not only tell what he 
 said, but what he did but as he was not, it would be 
 of no practical utility to others making similar experi- 
 ments. And we could tell what Matilda said how 
 she was dressed how she looked at. the different pas- 
 sages of this encounter, and what she suffered; but 
 we do not mean to subject ourselves to the criticisms 
 of diploma-ed boarding-school misses, who are more au 
 fait in these matters than we pretend to be, who have 
 never been engaged in more than a dozen or two of 
 such skirmishes. Those >of them who not only know 
 how to look, and what to say, and what to do who, 
 like the Babylonian Thisbe, could kiss through a crack 
 in a brick wall, leap out of a window, or steal out un- 
 perceived to meet their Pyramus would sneer at our 
 unsophisticated simplicity, or charge us with the gross- 
 est ignorance. No, no, we have not the vanity to 
 think we could give them a single new or available 
 idea on the subject. We shall, therefore, content our- 
 selves with merely saying that Miss Matilda Ballenger 
 rejected Mr. Forsler's offer of his hand, and heart, and 
 fortune in such decided terms, and with such looks, 
 which he knew are more decisive than words in such 
 cases, that he lost all hope, and was convinced that 
 her determination wa^/ final and unalterable that far 
 ther pursuit would be useless and unDroiitable.
 
 THE RESCUE. 285 
 
 When she rose to leave the room, he also rose from 
 his seat, and with an expression of countenance which 
 she had never seen before, and which made her shud- 
 der, he extended his closed hand towards her as she 
 reached the door, and raising it above his head, and 
 bringing it slowly down as he spoke, he said to her, 
 
 " Miss Ballenger, you will repent this." 
 
 Mr. Forster did not immediately depart, as is the 
 custom of the heroes of novels in such cases ; he 
 stayed to dinner, and even till the dusk of the evening. 
 What can be the reason that, as nations become older, 
 more refined, and more corrupt, the dining hour be- 
 comes later and later? The Romans, during the later 
 periods of the Empire, did not dine till night; for 
 what is called their supper was, in fact, a dinner. 
 The nobility and their apes in England and on the 
 Continent of Europe dine at night and sup in the 
 morning, that is, alter 12 o'clock at night; and even 
 in our young Republic, in the cities, the only places, 
 our readers know, where any pretensions are made to 
 civilization, gentility, and refinement, to dine before 
 five or six o'clock in the evening would be vulgar in 
 the extreme would unerringly indicate the absence of 
 all right to rank among the refined, the intellectual, and 
 fashionable. 
 
 The metamorphosis, though, which wealth produces 
 is quite remarkable. The acquisition of riches in a 
 week's time civilizes, refines, and elevates those who, 
 while poor, had been the most vulgar nobodies, to the 
 highest degree in the scale of scociety, and changes 
 the dining hour from twelve M., or from no time at all, 
 to seven or eight P.M. As they ascend, the dining 
 hour descends. It is the barometer of life and fash- 
 ion : the lower the mercury, the higher the life. 
 "When does he dine?" is the only question that 
 need be asked to ascertain the consequence, consider- 
 ation, and rank of any person. 
 
 Mr. Hallenger, when he lived in Alexandria, dined 
 at from three to five, according to the number and 
 quality of his guests ; but now, alas ! he dined at one
 
 286 NEW HOPE : OR, 
 
 or two, and sometimes earlier. The mercury had 
 risen rapidly as he had fallen in his fortunes. Miss 
 Matilda appeared at the dinner-table, calm and com- 
 posed, though she had been courted not an hour be- 
 fore ; and every trace of disappointment and displeas- 
 ure had disappeared from the face of Mr. Forster. 
 No person would have suspected, from the demeanour, 
 words, or looks of either, what had passed between 
 them. Soon after dinner Mr. Ballenger complained 
 of headache, and excused himself to Mr. Forster for 
 retiring to his chamber and lying down a short time. 
 By-the-way, we will observe that he had no right to 
 have the headache that is the exclusive privilege of 
 ladies. Mr. Forster took a newspaper from the man- 
 telpiece and seated himself in the porch. 
 
 The family at New Hope had but few visiters ; 
 among them were Mr. John Glover and his sister 
 Mary, the son and daughter of a worthy man, who was 
 one of the earliest settlers on the Great Kanawha. 
 They were plain, good people, and Mary Glover was 
 an interesting, sweet girl, with a pretty face, artless 
 manners, and an excellent heart. She loved and ad- 
 mired Matilda Ballenger exceedingly. In the words 
 of her brother John, she thought Miss Matilda the 
 finest thing in the whole world. Matilda reciprocated 
 at least her feelings of kindness and affection. Soon 
 after dinner they came to Mr. Ballanger's. Matilda 
 arid Mary ran into the chamber of the former, and re- 
 mained there until Uncle Tom announced the arrival 
 of Job Terry, the pedler. They immediately repaired 
 to the sitting-room, where John Glover joined them. 
 He had been walking in the garden, looking at the 
 wild flowers, and wondering what could have induced 
 Matilda to be at the pains of planting such common 
 things there just such as he met with every day in 
 the woods on the river. If they had been foreign 
 weeds not half so beautiful, it would not have excited 
 the least degree of wonder. It is, it would seem, 
 characteristic of the people of these United States to 
 pet, cherish, and ad/nire vegetable and animal exotics.
 
 THE RESCUE. 287 
 
 Numbers of foreign weeds have been imported or 
 blown across the Atlantic, which have proved almost 
 as worthless and as great pests as many of the foreign 
 quadrupeds and bipeds that have found their way here 
 and settled among us, or have honoured us with tran- 
 sient visits, and left nothing behind them but a part of 
 their filth, which they could not carry away from the 
 mere magnitude of its burden. If these transient bi- 
 peds would only praise us and please us while they 
 are eating our meat and receiving our foolish atten- 
 tions for which they despise us, and go home and 
 abuse, sneer at, misinterpret, misstate, and falsify our 
 manners, habits, customs, laws, institutions ; our mount- 
 ains, rivers, lakes, lands, productions ; our rain, hail, 
 snow, thunder, and lightning, and all ; our roads, 
 coaches, conveyances by land and water, and mud ; 
 our President, Congress, judges ; and our treatment of 
 slaves, almost as bad as that of their own peasants, 
 servants, and operatives we should have no just cause 
 of complaint. In the first place, because we treated 
 such animals as gentlemen ; in the second, because 
 their patriotism required them to wreak their ven- 
 geance upon us for daring to rebel against our lawful 
 sovereign, and to set up for ourselves ; in the third, 
 because they properly wish to prevent the emigration 
 of good men from their own country ; in the fourth, 
 because it makes them popular at home, and puts 
 money into their pockets, which they need, and are 
 willing to earn by blacking us or anything; in the 
 fifth, because it twits and mortifies us upstart pre- 
 tenders to gentility in the United States, a very proper 
 and praiseworthy object in those who are no pretend- 
 er:* at home, and such are all who come here, for they 
 tell us so themselves. Now for all the pains they 
 have kindly taken to place these matters in their true 
 light before our own eyes and before the world, we, 
 as in duty bound, are thankful, and will try to profit by 
 their wholesome, well-m^ant, judicious correction. 
 We are the child of England, and they, in behalf of 
 her, act upon the Christian precept, Spare the rod and
 
 288 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 spoil the child ; but we do protest against their med- 
 dling with matters of which they are entirely and pro- 
 foundly ignorant, as they have in the whole kingdom 
 of Great Britain, Ireland included, nothing of the sort 
 I mean (what else could 1 mean?) tobacco spittle, 
 bed-bugs, and blackguards. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 As we returned from this digression, into which 
 John Glover led us, Mr. Ballenger returned lo the sit- 
 ting-room. He invited Job Terry to take off his pack 
 and sit down. Matilda inquired if he had dined, and 
 he replied that he had, some time ago. 
 
 " Mr. Terry," said Mr. Ballenger, " I am sorry I 
 have not the change I owe you. I have attempted to 
 procure it in the neighbourhood, but I could not get it, 
 and I expect that ail my daughter has you will get to- 
 day. You are going down the river, I suppose, and 
 you must call on your return, when 1 hope I shall 
 have it ready for you." 
 
 " It makes no odds in the world, sir," replied Job. 
 " I did not call for that, but to see you all, and to sell 
 the young folks something if I can, or you, sir, if you 
 want anything I've got." 
 
 " As soon as you are rested, Mr. Terry, open your 
 store," said Matilda. " I want a few small articles, 
 and I like to buy them of you, as I have found all that 
 I have bought of you of excellent quality." 
 
 "Thank you, miss, for the compliment to my judg- 
 ment in choosing goods. I endeavour to supply my 
 customers with a good article at fair prices." 
 
 " Mary, don't you want something ?" said John 
 Glover. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, that I do," replied Mary. 
 
 " I can tell \yhat it, is," said John.
 
 THE RESCUE. 289 
 
 " That you can't, brother," ar J Mary whispered to 
 Matilda. 
 
 " May I guess, then ?" asked John. " I think I can 
 come very near it." 
 
 *' Let us hear your guess, Mr. Glover," said Job and 
 Matilda at the same instant. 
 
 " A handsome beau !" said John. 
 
 " I don't keep the article, sir," said Job, opening his 
 pack. 
 
 " Now ain't you ashamed, brother ?" said Mary. 
 
 " Not at all," replied John ; " the article is scarce, 
 and in demand, I reckon. May I guess again, Mary ?" 
 
 " Do let him, Miss Mary," said Job. " I think I 
 have the article this time, and he'll be bound to buy it 
 for you if he guesses right." 
 
 " Well, guess, brother." 
 
 " Something to get you one, then," said John. 
 
 " Here's the very thing," said the pedler, displaying 
 a very pretty shawl of a new pattern. 
 
 " It is beautiful !" exclaimed Matilda. " I declare, 
 Mr. Glover, you ought to purchase it for Mary, to 
 make amends for teasing her so." 
 
 Although Mary protested that she wanted it for no 
 such purpose, her eyes sparkled with pleasure as John 
 drew out the money, paid for the shawl, and threw it 
 over her shoul lers. Mr. Ballenger walked out, and 
 Matilda purchased several articles. The pedler then 
 said, 
 
 i4 My most fashionable little articles for ladies are 
 contained in this box." It was a beautiful box about 
 a foot square and six inches deep, evidently, from its 
 colours, (lowers, and figures in gay costumes, a Paris- 
 ian manufacture,. " I bought the box and the articles 
 in it of Madame La Mode, the best milliner in the 
 Old Dominion, lately arrived from the old countries," 
 said Job. " The prices of the articles, the uses of 
 which I'm sure I don't know, are all marked upon 
 them by the lady herself. She told me the ladies 
 would know what they are for. Open the box, young
 
 290 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 ladies, examine them, and take such as you have any 
 use for, at the prices marked on them." 
 
 The young ladies pounced upon the box, and, turn- 
 ing away from John Glover, at whom the pedler wink- 
 ed very slyly, had no sooner opened it than Mary was 
 heard to exclaim, 
 
 " Well, did you ever ! I declare ! ha_! ha! ha!" 
 
 "Hush, hush!" whispered Matilda; "you'll excite 
 the curiosity of your brother." 
 
 " Treason, treason !" cried John Glover, as the girls 
 whipped several things out of the box into their bo- 
 soms unseen recesses, as the old ladies tell me, at 
 that day. " I shall have you taken up, Mr. Terry, for 
 aiding and abetting the enemy, and supplying them 
 with concealed weapons in their war upon the male 
 sex." 
 
 The girls closed the box in a moment, and as Ma- 
 tilda handed it to Job Terry, Mary Glover whispered 
 in his ear, 
 
 " The money's in the box. Pray, Mr. Terry, don't 
 let John or any of the young gentlemen be poking 
 their impudent eyes into it." 
 
 " I won't, I won't," replied Job in an audible whis- 
 per. " I've never looked in it myself hardly" smiling 
 and winking at Mary. 
 
 " Get out, you old deceiver," said she, giving him a 
 gentle tap on the face with her pretty little white hand. 
 
 Our curiosity was as much excited about the con- 
 tents of that box as John Glover's, but to this day we 
 have never been able to discover or divine what it con- 
 tained, and we would willingly give any young lady half 
 a dozen kisses candy kisses, of course, we mean 
 who will tell us. When the young ladies had finished 
 their purchases, Matilda handed Job an old English 
 guinea in payment. He looked at it closely, and 
 weighed it on the tip of his little finger. 
 
 "A good English piece," said he; "such yellow 
 boys are scarce out here of good weight. I should 
 know it among a thousand from this mark on the edge," 
 and he handed it to John Glover, who was eyeing it
 
 THE RESCUE. 291 
 
 with curiosity. After examining it, he handed it to 
 his sister, who looked at it, and returned it to Job 
 Terry, who said to Matilda, 
 
 " Your purchases, Miss Ballenger, come to twenty- 
 two shillings; here is your change, and I am much 
 obliged to you, young ladies, and to you, Mr. Glover." 
 
 Isaac Forster, who was sitting in the porch, saw 
 everything that passed, and heard every word, although 
 he seemed to be occupied in reading the newspaper. 
 Mr. Glover and his sister took leave of Matilda, and bid- 
 ding Mr. Forster good-evening as they passed through 
 the porch, mounted their horses and rode away. Mr. 
 Forster had ordered his horse to be brought out, but 
 he still seemed to be poring over the newspaper. Job 
 Terry packed up his goods, and when Matilda saw 
 him preparing to fasten his pack on his back, she in- 
 vited him to stay all night ; but he declined her invita- 
 tion, and just as twilight set in he bade her farewell 
 and departed. Mr. Ballenger met him in the yard. 
 They went in together at the back door of Mr. Ballen- 
 ger's room, and immediately after the pedler went his 
 way. 
 
 Matilda had gone to her chamber with her little 
 purchases, and Mr. Ballenerer came into the sitting- 
 room, approached the chimney-piece, and then went 
 out again at the back door of his room. Forster im- 
 mediately rose from his seat, entered the room, laid 
 the newspaper on the mantelpiece, and departed. 
 The relation of these minute circumstances has been 
 tedious to us, and we have no doubt have been unin- 
 teresting and tiresome to our readers, but the events 
 which followed them render it necessary to make 
 tin-in known, as they are all intimately connected with 
 very important parts of our narrative.
 
 2-32 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 THE next morning Mr. Ballenger was quite unwell, 
 and did not get up to breakfast. While Matilda was 
 arranging the things on the breakfast-table, she saw 
 Uncle 'Tom in earnest conversation with a man on 
 horseback at the gate, who immediately after rode 
 away at full gallop. Thomas ran to the house, exhib- 
 iting signs of amazement and sorrow, rushed into the 
 room where his young mistress was, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh Lor' ! missus, somebody has gone kilt Massa 
 Job Terry, de pedler. He's layin' in de road, dat man 
 says, jist below our fence, stone dead. He's a ridin' 
 round collectin' de neighbours for to hab a rinquest on 
 de body. I told him my massa was onwell, and hadn't 
 got up, so he rode on." 
 
 Matilda was very much shocked at this horrible 
 news, which was true. She trembled excessively, and 
 felt a strange fear creeping over her. As soon as she 
 recovered strength to walk she hastened to her father's 
 chamber, and communicated to him the sad intelli- 
 gence. He expressed great astonishment and sorrow, 
 and seemed anxious to get up, but his daughter pre- 
 vailed on him to remain in bed, for she saw, from his 
 looks, that he was feverish, and had spent a restless 
 niijht. She offered to bring him something to eat or 
 drink, but he refused to taste anything, and Uncle Tom 
 took away the untouched food from the breakfast-table. 
 In a very .short time several men were seen passing 
 down the road, and directly afterward a man came up 
 the road, stopped at the gate, and inquired for Mr. Bal- 
 lenger. Uncle Tom told him his master was sick in 
 bed, and if he wanted to see him, he might get down 
 and go into the house. The man seemed at a loss 
 what to do ; he, however, after a little time, rode away, 
 saying, " If he's sick in bed, he can't serve on the jury."
 
 THE RESCUE. 293 
 
 Uncle Tom returned to the house, went to Mr. Bal- 
 lenger's room, and reported to his master and Matilda 
 what the man said. Mr. Ballenger got up and dressed, 
 and ordered his horse, with the intention of riding to 
 the place where he supposed the coroner's inquest was 
 assembling ; but Matilda entreated him not to go, say- 
 ing they could certainly find persons whose health 
 would permit them to perform the duties of jurymen 
 without the danger of being made ill ; that he was very 
 weak and feverish, and in no condition to exercise his 
 mind or body in so serious a public service. He yield- 
 ed to her entreaties, and lay down again on his bed 
 till about two or three o'clock in the evening, when, 
 feeling better, he walked into the porch and sat down. 
 He was scarcely seated, when four men rode up to the 
 gate, alighted from their horses, entered the yard gale, 
 and walked up to the porch. 
 
 " Walk in, gentlemen," said Mr. Ballenger, " and 
 take seats." 
 
 They entered tha porch, but remained standing, and 
 one of them stepped up to Mr. Ballenger, and handing 
 him a paper, said, 
 
 " It is my disagreeable duty, sir, to arrest you, at 
 the suit of the commonwealth, for the murder of Job 
 Terry." 
 
 " Me /" said Mr. Ballenger, " me ! for the murder 
 of Job Terry ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," repeated the officer; "read the war- 
 rant." Mr. Ballenger read the paper. " Here's an- 
 other, sir ; a search-warrant also." 
 
 Mr. Ballenger handed the man his keys, and said, 
 
 " Perform your duty, sir." 
 
 The officer and another man went into Mr. Ballen- 
 ger's chamber, and examined the contents of his desk, 
 while the two other men remained with Mr. Ballenger 
 in the porch. The officer soon returned, and his mel- 
 ancholy looks for he was a benevolent, kind hearted 
 man indicated but too plainly that he had found what 
 the warrant directed him to search for, and that the 
 probability of Mr. Ballenger's guilt was confirmed.
 
 204 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 Stunned and shocked as he was, Mr. Ballenger retain- 
 ed his self-possession. He requested to be permitted 
 to see his dangler and servants. The officer told 
 him he was very sorry that his duty forced him to 
 keep him in his custody, and that he could not permit 
 him to leave his presence or go out of his sight, but 
 that he would either have them sent for, or would ac- 
 company him to where they were. Mr. Ballenger 
 preferred the latter, and they went to Matilda's cham- 
 ber. They found her reading the Bible, profoundly 
 ignorant of what had just taken place. Her father 
 broke the matter to his daughter in the most gentle 
 terms that the nature of the case admittted. 
 
 We shall not attempt to describe the scene that fol- 
 lowed ; we must leave it to the imagination of our 
 readers. No adequate idea even can be formed of the 
 astonishment, horror, and poignant distress that over- 
 whelmed her. without reflecting on her own innocency 
 and purity of character, and on the confiding affection 
 she entertained for her father; her admiration of his 
 lofty principles ; her veneration of his virtuous life ; 
 her thorough conviction of his hatred for sin, and his 
 entire devotion to the faith and practice of a Chris- 
 tian. It had never once presented itself to her mind 
 as among possible things that a charge of crime could 
 be preferred against her father. She had read in 
 books of romance of crimes being charged upon good 
 men ; but in real life she had no idea that it ever hap- 
 pened. How, then, could she realize it in regard to 
 her own father 1 When the first tide of the torrent of 
 mingled emotions began to subside, she threw herself 
 on her father's neck, exclaiming, amid her agonizing 
 sobs and bitter tears, 
 
 " Never, never, my father ! they shall not tear you 
 from me. Oh ! sir, he is not guilty no, no, he never 
 harboured the thought of a crime in his life. Oh ! sir, 
 believe me, he is innocent he is innocent; do not 
 do not carry him away. He is ill very ill you will 
 kill him." 
 
 Her lather attempted to soothe, to comfort her ; he
 
 THE RESCUE. 295 
 
 reasoned, he remonstrated ; he assured her that her 
 fears were idle, her apprehensions groundless ; that 
 his innocence would be clearly established ; that his 
 confinement would be temporary, and their separation 
 only for a few hours ; that, in all human probability, 
 the magistrate before whom he had to appear would 
 undoubtedly discharge him. She became calmer. 
 Her face was alternately flushed and pale as death. 
 Her bosom heaved with fearful violence, and she 
 gasped for every breath which she drew. Thomas 
 heard her sobs, and he and Charlotte, the hired wom- 
 an, came to the door. 
 
 " What de matter, massa, wid Miss Mattie?" 
 
 " Nothing but a mistake, Thomas. Saddle my 
 horse ; I have to leave her only for a short time, to 
 satisfy the magistrate that I had nothing to do with the 
 death of Job Terry." 
 
 " Who said you did. massa ? dat man dat says so 
 ain't fiuiri' to live de trufe ain't in him. Don't you 
 mind 'em, Miss MaLtie ; dey ain't gwiue to hurt a hair 
 ob his head. It's all a lie, and God knows it, dat. he 
 does." 
 
 " Thomas," said his master, " bring my horse to the 
 gate, and take another and ride quickly to Mr. Glover's, 
 and present my compliments to Mr. John Glover and 
 Miss Mary, and request them to come over immediate 
 ly and stay with my daughter till my return." 
 
 " Yes, sar," said Thomas. 
 
 " Father," said Matilda, " I must go with you ; 1 
 shall never see you again. You will be ill, sir, very 
 ill. Oh ! sir, let him stay here, and if it be necessary, 
 stay with him. Father, you will not leave me, will 
 you ?" 
 
 " My daughter, the law must be obeyed. Let us 
 trust in the Supreme Lawgiver of the universe. My 
 deare-t child, be composed ; I shall be with you again 
 in a few hours. Your brother may arrive in rny ab- 
 sence at farthest by to-morrow ; stay here to receive 
 him to inform him of what has happened; and if 1
 
 296 NEW HOPE; OB, 
 
 should not return to-night, you can accompany him to 
 where I may be." 
 
 Mr. Ballenger carefully avoided using the word 
 prison ; he knew 'that word would determine her to 
 go with him. After some time, he tore himself from 
 the arms of his child, called Charlotte, gave her a few 
 brief directions, and departed with the officers of the 
 law. Oh ! how his heart bled for the sufferings of 
 that daughter. He gave not a thought to his own sit- 
 uation. The idea of danger to his own life was not 
 entertained for one moment. He knew nothing of the 
 extraordinary chain of events which induced the coro- 
 ner's jury to find him guilty of the murder of the ped- 
 ler, and that officer to issue a warrant for his appre- 
 hension. He imagined that a mere vague suspicion, 
 growing out of the circumstances of the pedler's hav- 
 ing been at his house late in the evening before, and 
 of his, body being found near his place of residence, 
 was the only ground of their action. In this he was 
 greatly mistaken, as a brief relation of the circumstan- 
 ces of the inquest will show. 
 
 Two men, riding early in the morning after the day 
 that the pedler left Mr. Ballenger's, up the road to 
 Simpson's store, discovered the body of the pedler ly- 
 ing in the edge of the road, with his pack fastened on 
 his back. They dismounted, and found that the man 
 was dead. One of them agreed to stay near the body 
 while the other should give the alarm to the neigh- 
 bours, a number of whom were soon collected on the 
 ground, and the coroner was sent for, whom the 
 messenger met not a mile from the place. A jury 
 was empannelled and sworn, and they proceeded to 
 examine the body. It was known by every one of the 
 jurors to be the body of Job Terry. A slight contusion 
 was first observed on the side of the head, which Doc- 
 tor Osserraxe declared could not have caused the death 
 of the man, as the concussion had not bruised the 
 muscle down to the os parietal, and there was no de- 
 pression or fracture of that part of the cranium. The 
 doctor said he would not examine the internal cavity
 
 THE RESCUE. 297 
 
 of the cranium till the body was denuded, as there 
 might be, and probably were, fiom the sanguineous ef- 
 fusions on his habiliments, other external lesions 01 
 punctures, which might have produced the extinction 
 of vitality. On stripping off the clothes, two wounds 
 in the left side were seen. The doctor examined and 
 probed them, and declared that these wounds or punc- 
 tures were deep incisions between the quintal und 
 sextal sternal costac. penetrating through the intercos- 
 tal muscles into the thorax, through the pericardium, 
 and terminating in the sinistral lobe of the cordal vis- 
 cus, commonly called the heart ; that, in his opinion, 
 these incisions were caused by the forcible impinge- 
 ment and intrusion of some acute metallic instrument, 
 the longitude or length of which may have been not 
 less than five inches, and its latitude or breadth at its 
 maximum lateral extremity not less than three fourths 
 of an inch ; that it was his opinion these punctures, in- 
 dependently of the efflux of the sanguineous fluid, both 
 venous and arterial, caused by them, produced the ex- 
 tinction of the vital action, or, in common parlance, the 
 death of the man. " For," said the doctor, " in the 
 whole course of a very extensive practice, I have nev- 
 er known a man to survive or recover from such wounds. 
 I may have met with such cases in the course of my 
 reading, gentlemen ; but, then, it must be remarked, 
 and 1 am sorry to say it, that there are in medical 
 books such things as false facts." 
 
 While the examination of the body was going on, 
 persons were walking around in all directions, to see 
 if any discoveries connected with the death of the man 
 could be made. At some distance from the body, 
 down by the river and behind a rock, a white cambric 
 handkerchief was found sticking to a brier, as if the 
 brier had caught in it while sticking out of the pocket 
 of some one, and had pulled it out. On the handker- 
 chief were stains of blood. It was marked on the 
 corner Ed. Ballenger, No. 7 ; at the same place, con- 
 cealed beneath a stone and covered with loose earth 
 a dirk or stiletto was discovered. It was a beautiful 
 13
 
 298 NEW HOPE ; on, 
 
 and costly instrument, was very bloody, and had the 
 initials E. B. on the handle. The doctor inserted it 
 into the wounds, and it was plain to every one of the 
 jury that the mortal wounds were inflicted with that 
 dirk. Two of the jurors asserted that they had seen 
 that instrument on the chimney-piece at Mr. Ballen- 
 ger's, and Mr. Forster deposed that he had seen it 
 there a few minutes only before the pedler left Mr. 
 Ballenger's house the evening before ; that he saw 
 Mr. Ballenger go to the chimney-piece and take some- 
 thing bright from it, which he supposed, at the time, to 
 be his spectacles ; but going there shortly afterward 
 to lay away a newspaper he had been reading, the 
 dirk was not there, arid Mr. Ballenger did not return 
 to the house while he remained there, which was only 
 for a few minutes after he placed the newspaper on 
 the chimney-piece. It was strange, very, he said, 
 but he could not believe it possible that such a gentle- 
 man as Mr. Ballenger would kill a man for his money. 
 The jury whispered arid looked very grave. 
 
 " Does any one know whether the pedler had any 
 money ?" inquired a juror. 
 
 " John Glover and Miss Ballenger paid him money 
 yesterday," said Mr. Forster. 
 
 His pack and person were examined, and no money 
 was found. Isaac stated that he now recollected Miss 
 Ballenger paid the pedler an English guinea, which 
 Mr. John Glover and his sister examined as a sort of 
 curiosity, and perhaps could identify if it were found. 
 For this the search-warrant was issued. Mr. Simpson 
 said that Mr. Ballenger told him that morning that he 
 had no change, and wanted to get some to pay the 
 pedler. The jury brought in a verdict of murder 
 against Edward Ballenger. The coroner issued his 
 warrant for his apprehension, and a search-warrant for 
 the guinea was issued by a magistrate who was pres- 
 ent at the inquest. The guinea described, with other 
 specie not described, was found in Mr. Ballenger's 
 desk by the sheriff'. 
 
 The magistrate before whom Mr. Ballenger was
 
 THE RESCUE. 299 
 
 carried for examination committed him to jail, and the 
 examining court, a few days after, sent him on for 
 trial to the jail of the Superior Court of the district, at 
 Lewisburg, in Greenbrier county. Conscious of his 
 innocence, he now was fully aware of the imminent 
 peril in which his life was placed by the strong chain 
 of circumstantial evidence that was presented oeforo 
 the committing magistrate. He saw no probability of 
 escape from the danger that menaced him but from the 
 voluntary confession of the real assassin, whoever he 
 might be ; a thing most improbable, and not to be ex- 
 pected. The suspicion of some black conspiracy 
 against him flashed across his mind. His own dirk 
 had been used, and the handkerchief which he knew 
 had been in his pocket that evening was found near 
 the dirk, where he had not been during the day. He 
 knew that he could not have lost it out of his own 
 yard. None but John Glover, Isaac Forster, or the 
 pedler himself could have come into the possession of 
 the dirk and handkerchief. Miss Glover, the females 
 of his own family, and Uncle Tom, he could not en- 
 tertain the slightest suspicion against. He believed 
 it utterly improbable, too, that John Glover, so well 
 disposed, open-hearted, and friendly to his family and 
 himself, could be concerned in so foul a crime. 
 
 His suspicions settled down on Isaac Forster. But 
 he was entirely at a loss to conjecture any adequate 
 motive which that man could have for the commission 
 of such crimes against himself. His first strong preju- 
 dices (shall we call them ?) excited by Ben Bramble 
 had been nearly effaced by the kind and friendly con- 
 duct of Mr. Forster. Could it be possible that all 
 these seemingly kind actions had been preconcerted 
 parts of a premeditated plan of treacherous villany ? 
 Could it be possible that Ben Bramble's estimate of 
 Mr. Forster's character was correct ? That this 
 wealthy, respected, popular, industrious man was a 
 villain of the deepest dye a fiend in human form ? 
 But what possible motive could urge him to the com- 
 mission of such horrible crimes ? What could he gain
 
 300 KEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 by them ? What end would be gained, what passion 
 gratified? This was a mystery which Mr. Ballenger 
 could not fathom ; a labyrinth out of which he had no 
 clew to guide him. We must leave him revolving 
 these inexplicable difficulties in his mind, and return 
 to New Hope. 
 
 After the departure of her father with the officers of 
 the law, Matilda threw herself on her knees, and pour- 
 ed out her heart in fervent supplications to the God of 
 all mercies. With what earnest entreaty, with what 
 pathetic words did she address his throne of grace ! 
 With what powerful appeals did she approach the cross 
 of her bleeding Saviour, and cry for mercy mercy to 
 her father, her unhappy arid oppressed, but innocent 
 father, and bis enemies, who imagined evil against him, 
 and the murderers of Job Terry I Oh, with what im- 
 passioned eloquence did she entreat her heavenly Fa- 
 ther to forgive them, to grant them true repentance, to 
 change their obdurate hearts from hearts of stone to 
 hearts of flesh ! "O thou most merciful Saviour, who, 
 in thine agony on the cross, didst cry, ' Father, forgive 
 them, for they know not what they do,' forgive the 
 enemies of thy servant, my father. Oh, remember what 
 thou didst suffer for sinful men, and save them from 
 their sins ; and my brother, my dear brother, away 
 from us, and ignorant of our distresses save him from 
 them. Oh, return him soon and safely to us protect, 
 and bless, and save him with an everlasting salvation." 
 Herself only did she seem to forget. Noble, gener- 
 ous, and pious girl ! She arose from her knees, and 
 taking the New Testament in her hands, and clasping 
 it between them, laid herself down on her bed. There 
 she remained till the dusk of the evening, when she 
 was roused from a state of dozy stupor by Uncle Tom's 
 voice at the door of her chamber. He said, 
 
 " Massa John Glover an' Miss Mary ain't at home ; 
 but de ole gemman give his compliments, an' say he 
 will send 'um up tirecly dey cum home to-morrow." 
 
 " Very well, Uncle Tom, it makes no odds ; you 
 and Charlotte are with me, and I'm not afraid with you 
 in my father's house."
 
 TUB RESCUE. 301 
 
 So saying, Matilda arose, put on her bonnet, and 
 walked down to the river in front of the house. The 
 distance was not more than a hundred paces. She 
 crossed the road running by the yard gate, and paral- 
 lel to the river. The smooth, shady bank of the river 
 was her favourite promenade ; scarcely an evening 
 passed in which she might not be seen walking there, 
 either with a book or flowers in her hand. Though 
 it was getting rather dark to read, the book which she 
 had in her hand when she lay down was still pressed 
 to her bosom as she walked along. 
 
 Uncle Tom busied himself about the supper-table, 
 hoping to induce her to eat something. When his 
 preparations were concluded, he went out through the 
 gate to call her to supper. But on looking towards the 
 river, he could see nothing of her. He called, but she 
 did not answer. He then walked briskly down to the 
 bank. The river was still full and muddy, from recent 
 rains in the mountains ; but as the stream had fallen 
 several feet, the margin was soft and slippery. There 
 was barely light enough to distinguish small objects a 
 few yards off. He had scarcely reached the bank 
 when he saw one of her shoes near the edge of the 
 water on the steep inclined plane, and above it the im- 
 pression of having slipped down from the top of the 
 bank ; and just below her bonnet was dangling in the 
 water, caught by the pliant branches of a willow droop- 
 ing over the stream where it was at least ten feet deep. 
 
 The old man uttered a loud cry, and plunged into the 
 water. Again and again rising to the surface, and strug- 
 gling against the current, he sought to find her in the 
 deep water under and around the bonnet ; at last, quite 
 exhausted, he with difficulty reached the bank, and 
 crawled up it with the bonnet in his hand. As soon 
 as he had recovered breath to speak, he began to utter 
 loud cries. Charlotte heard him, and ran down to 
 where he was ; and Mr. Simpson, who was riding 
 down the road, galloped to the spot. He saw at once, 
 on getting down, the wet bonnet and the shoe, and the 
 few incoherent and interrupted words of the afflicted
 
 302 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 old man told the melancholy tale. Again this faithful 
 servant threw himself into the water, and dived down. 
 He came up so exhausted that Mr. Simpson vviih diffi- 
 culty drew him up on the bank when he reached it. 
 
 " it's all in vain, Uncle Tom," said he ; " this swift 
 water has carried her body far away. It will never 
 be seen again near this place." 
 
 Charlotte and Mr. Simpson could hardly get him to 
 the house. His lamentations, cries, arid groans mani- 
 fested his great grief and anguish of heart. They 
 placed him on the steps of the porch, where he sat 
 wringing his hands and weeping aloud. Suddenly he 
 rose to his feet, as if recollecting something, and cried 
 out, 
 
 " I must go to massa. Oh, I must go to massa." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Simpson, with a tone of authority, 
 "you shall do no such thing, Thomas. You must 
 stay here and take care of his house and property till 
 he returns, or your young Master William. I am go- 
 ing where your master is, and will let him know all 
 that has happened. God bless the poor gentleman, 
 even if he were guilty, which I don't believe ; the law 
 will never do execution on him the death of his 
 daughter will kill him. Thomas, you must stay here ; 
 and the moment Master William arrives, you must send 
 him to his father." 
 
 Mr. Simpson then took Charlotte aside, and charged 
 her not to leave the old man out of her sight till his 
 grief abated, and to find something constantly for him 
 to do. He then gave her some general instructions 
 about the care of the property, advising her to get one 
 of the hired men, in the morning, to go and ask old 
 Mr. Glover to come over to see Uncle Tom, and to ad- 
 vise him what was best to be done. Mr. Simpson then 
 rode away. 
 
 The next day, Mr. Ballenger, in prison, received the 
 intelligence of the sad fate of his daughter. We dare 
 not intrude on the sorrows of his soul, much less shall 
 we attempt to say how deep and dreadful they were. 
 What he felt and what he suffered can be known onlv
 
 THE RESCUE. 303 
 
 to the Searcher of all hearts. The report of the mur- 
 der of Job Terry, the arrest of Mr. Ballenger, and of the 
 death of his daughter, spread all over the country; and 
 the opinions of the people were as much divided as to 
 his guilt or innocence (so strong was the evidence 
 against him, and so favourable the sentiments of the 
 people in regard to his character) as they were about 
 the remote cause of his daughter's death. Most per- 
 sons attributed it to accident, but not a few to a de- 
 sign, by suicide, to end her sorrow for ..her father's 
 fate. This was a more favourable construction than 
 that she had committed the act to avoid the shame of 
 his condemnation, to which others did not hesitate to 
 attribute it. Others put a still more cruel construction 
 on it that she had drowned herself to avoid the ne- 
 cessity of giving evidence against hi:r father. 
 
 All these surmises reached his ears. However much 
 he was afflicted and overwhelmed by his own position 
 and the intelligence of his daughter's death, he enter- 
 ained not a doubt, for one moment, as to its cause or 
 manner. He felt assured that it was purely accident- 
 al, and considered any other supposition an unjust and 
 cruel indignity to her memory. He was spared the 
 pang that even a doubt on that subject would have 
 added to a heart already overburdened with its heavy 
 weight of woes. But we must leave Mr. Ballenger, 
 where, indeed, we are truly sorry to leave any good 
 man, in prison, and follow his son to the interior of 
 Kentucky. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 WE left William Henry Ballenger, in company 
 with Captain Richard Terrell, at the mouth of Big- 
 Sandy. After leaving the tavern at that place, they 
 passed through the rough, hilly country, to Little
 
 304 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 Sandy, and thence to Tigert's Creek, a very unin- 
 viting section of the new state, except to mineral- 
 ogists, geologists, and botanists. Onward they 
 travelled to the waters of Licking River, seeing 
 very little change in the general aspect of the coun- 
 try, at that time a continuous forest, unbroken ex- 
 cept by clearings of an acre or two surrounding 
 log-cabins few and far between. Sandstone, iron 
 ore, indications of coal and salt, presented them- 
 selves to their eyes. Mr. Terrell expatiated with 
 all his enthusiastic eloquence on the prospective 
 value of these elements of wealth, utility, and conve- 
 nience ; but William Henry began to despair of 
 finding in Kentucky the El Dorado of Eastern emi- 
 grants. 
 
 " Have patience, my dear young friend," Mr. 
 Terrell would say to him when giving utterance to 
 his feelings of disappointment. " These hills and 
 rocks are but the bone and sinew of the state ; we 
 shall soon see, to your admiration and delight, the 
 flesh and blood, the bloom and beauty of Virginia's 
 eldest and fairest daughter." 
 
 After passing Mud Lick, where there is as great 
 a variety of mineral waters as at any other spot 
 upon the globe, the appearance of the country be- 
 gan to change. They were on the edge of the 
 great basin of the dark and bloody ground. The 
 next day's ride brought them into the Elk-horn 
 paradise unsurpassed in fertility of soil and beau- 
 ty of surface by any country in America, perhaps 
 in the world. They stopped at the house of Mr. 
 Hubbard Taylor, the friend of Mr. Terrell, an early 
 settler in Kentucky from the Old Dominion, a gen- 
 tleman " who derived the patent of his honours 
 from God." William Henry was in raptures with 
 the country, and delighted with the frank reception 
 which they received from their kind and hospitable 
 host. 
 
 "Now, sir," said Mr. Terrell, after supper, "this 
 young gentleman, friend Taylor, is the son of a
 
 THE RESCUE. 305 
 
 friend of mine, who has come out to this country to 
 ascertain the value of his father's lands, and to see 
 them. From the only information received about 
 them, they are supposed to be London surveys, not 
 worth a sliver, which I take to be all a mistake, or 
 something 1 worse. You know the character of the 
 lands in this section well, no man better, and can 
 give him the information desired." 
 
 " What surveys are they 1" said Mr. Taylor ; "I 
 know of none in this neighbourhood in the name 
 of Ballenger. Where do they lie 1" 
 
 " Permit me, sir," said William Henry, " to show 
 you the papers, for I know so little of such matters, 
 that I might mislead you by verbal statements;" 
 and he took out and handed a bundle of papers to 
 Mr. Taylor, who, after casting his eyes over sever- 
 al of them, which he selected by the labels on them, 
 said, 
 
 " Hoho ! They are the lands, I see, lately held 
 by Smith and Bird, Buchanan and Alexander ; a 
 Mr. let me see Forster, yes, that is his name, 
 I think, was their agent a sharp fellow, but a ras- 
 cal, I believe." 
 
 "That is the name of the man, sir," said Will- 
 iam Henry, " from whom we have derived our only 
 information in relation to these lands." 
 
 " Well, what does he say of them 1" said Mr. 
 Taylor. 
 
 " Why, sir, he has represented them as almost 
 valueless, worth nothing, and he pays my father a 
 forty-dollar horse and the taxes for the rent of them 
 and other lands besides." 
 
 "Pray, young gentleman," said Mr. Taylor, "if 
 it is no secret, what did your father give for these 
 lands V 
 
 " Oh, sir," said William Henry, " it is no secret : 
 my father very unwillingly became the owner of 
 these lands ; they were the only property convey- 
 ed to him by those merchants of Alexandria, in re- 
 payment of sixty thousand dollars which he had 
 paid as an endorser for them." 
 13*
 
 306 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " Sixty thousand dollars, young- man ; why, it's 
 the best bargain your father ever made. Those 
 parts of your father's lands that I have often seen, 
 and am well acquainted with, in Bourbon and Fay- 
 ette alone, are worth double the money." 
 
 What a load was taken from the heart of Will- 
 iam Henry ! 
 
 " And Forster pays what," continued Mr. Taylor, 
 "for the yearly rent, did you say 1 ." 
 
 "A forty-dollar horse and the taxes. But his 
 lease is out this fall. He has repeatedly applied to 
 my father to renew it, and to continue him as the 
 agent; but he has declined the propositions of Mr. 
 Forster, in consequence, I believe, of some hints 
 given him by an honest, shrewd hunter in our 
 neighbourhood, formerly a soldier under the com- 
 mand of Captain Templeman." 
 
 "Ben Bramble, I guess," said Mr. Taylor, "who 
 saved Templeman's life ; as brave, honest, and 
 kind-hearted a man as any west of the Alleghany." 
 
 "Or anywhere else," added Mr. Terrell. "I 
 know the man well ; he was once with Forster in 
 this country, carrying the chain for him ; the most 
 dauntless, intrepid, active hunter I ever knew; as 
 true as steel, and as tender-hearted as a woman. 
 What he says of his own knowledge may always 
 be relied upon as certainly true ; my life on the 
 honesty of that man, place him where you will." 
 
 "Is it possible," inquired William Henry, "that 
 Mr. Forster can know the value of these lands''." 
 
 " Know !" answered Mr. Taylor ; " why, he 
 knows as well as I do better. He's been on them 
 twenty times ; has tenants on them, who pay him 
 high rents in horses, cattle, corn, and money." 
 
 " jYow I know Mr. Isaac Forster" said William 
 Henry, " to be a hypocritical, dishonest, unmitiga- 
 ted scoundrel." 
 
 " Come, come," said Mr. Terrell, who was lying 
 on his back on the floor, making the children, who 
 were crawling over him, cry by the relation of pa-
 
 THE RESCUE. 307 
 
 thetic anecdotes, of the dangers, conflicts, hair- 
 breadth escapes, and deaths of men, women, and 
 children during the early settlements of the West- 
 ern country. Of these he had a greater store of 
 the most authentic in his retentive memory, and of 
 the most marvellous, than any other man of his 
 day. " Come, come, Mr. Ballenger, don't abuse 
 our men of business in the West. You use the 
 wrong terms, sir. Hypocrite dishonest scoun- 
 drel fy ! fy ! Air. Isaac Forster is only what is 
 termed in the West a smart man a sharp fellow a 
 keen man of business. He has only kept the mer- 
 chants whose agent he was, and your father, whose 
 agent he wished to be, in ignorance, in order to 
 Ceather his own nest quite a common affair. Why, 
 friend Taylor, I should never have known the value 
 of the Diamond Island if I had not seen it with my 
 own eyes." 
 
 "But, sir," said William Henry, "Mr. Forster 
 was their agent and attorney, and, consequently, 
 bound by all the laws of honour and honesty, not 
 only to report truly to his employers, but to act in 
 good faith towards them to promote their inter- 
 ests." 
 
 "Pooh! my dear sir," said Mr. Terrell, "that 
 ' consequently 1 of yours is very bad logic a down- 
 right power of attorney, non-sequitur ; what have 
 the laws of honour to do with the land laws, or the 
 laws of trade either 1 . One would suppose, to hear 
 you talk, that you had been asleep for the last 
 twenty years, and had just waked up, and never 
 had heard of Kentucky land-speculators, agents, at- 
 torneys, et id omne genus, down to a horse-jockey." 
 
 "Come, now, Dick Terrell," said Mr. Taylor, 
 ''don't try to make this young man believe that 
 there's no such thing as honour and honesty in the 
 \\ cst. We have rascals out here, Mr. Ballenger, 
 as there are everywhere. The condition of our 
 country has caused many of them to flock to it, 
 and they have corrupted others; so that common
 
 308 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 prudence requires a man to have his wits about 
 him in making bargains, to be on his g.uard in his 
 business transactions, especially in ascertaining ti- 
 tles to property before he buys it. But this a pru- 
 dent man ought to do in every country. We are 
 not ail knaves, and hypocrites, and swindlers, and 
 treacherous agents, Mr. Ballenger ; though this fel- 
 low Forster, of whom I never had a favourable opin- 
 ion, may be, and I incline to think is one." 
 
 "1 must write to my father immediately," said 
 William Henry. 
 
 "Wait," said Mr. Taylor, "till you see at least 
 some of the lands with your own eyes, Mr Ballen- 
 ger. I will pilot you to some of them to-morrow 
 in this county and in Bourbon, if you choose." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said William Henry; "how 
 fortunate that Mr. Terrell has brought me to your 
 house! I will, certainly, and most gladly take ad- 
 vantage of your kind offer to show me the hinds. 
 Mr. Terrell said yesterday, as we were riding alono-, 
 'Our expenses are ended for this trip.' I did not 
 then exactly understand the. import of his remark." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Mr. Terrell, "you begin now to 
 understand, and although you cannot be more en- 
 lightened on that subject anywhere than here, the 
 light of hospitality will shine on you through the 
 length and breadth of the land." 
 
 " That is to say, young gentleman," interposed 
 Mr. Taylor, "if you travel in company with Dick 
 Terrell, for he is known and welcome, he thinks^ 
 everywhere." 
 
 " Thinks" rejoined Mr. Terrell; " knou-s, you 
 mean, friend Hubbard ; and that makes me pretty 
 much at my ease everywhere, at least." 
 
 "Your diffidence will wear ofT, Mr. Ballenger, in 
 this country," said Mr. Taylor; "and you will 
 learn to talk a little more if you associate with 
 Terrell, and he gives you a chance to talk any." 
 
 They now went to their chambers, and Mr. Ter- 
 rell was asleep in a short time. But William Hen-
 
 THE RESCUE. 809 
 
 ry could not coax or badger himself to sleep. He 
 twisted, and fidgeted, and turned over twenty times. 
 He would draw up his feet and lay his hands under 
 his head, and try to lie still. That would not last a 
 minute. He then began to count, one two 
 three, in the most monotonous tone he could ; but 
 the monotony was only on his tongue, not in his 
 heart. That was beating strongly with varied emo- 
 tions, nil excited by a few words of Mr. Taylor: 
 " Sixty thousand dollars, young man ; why, it's the best 
 bargain your father ever made.' 1 '' 
 
 Our readers will not do William Henry the in 
 justice to suppose that the love of money possessed 
 him. No, no; it was the love of his father, his 
 sister, and Helen Templeman. The former would 
 now be restored to their proper position in social 
 life to adorn, to enjoy, to improve it; and Hel- 
 en, his own dear, sweet " little Indian girl," as 
 Buck called her, would be his. Oh, what waking 
 dreams prevented his repose till late in the small 
 hours of the night! He was, however, up early in 
 the morning, and after breakfast, accompanied by 
 Mr. Terrell, and conducted by Mr. Taylor through 
 the woods and plantations, he had the satisfaction 
 of sceirio- with his own eyes four tracts of his fa- 
 ther's land, the smallest containing fourteen hun- 
 dred and fifty acres, and all of them as fine land as 
 any in Kentucky ; and nothing more than that need 
 be or could be said of any l;md anywhere. They 
 found the tenants on the clearings profoundly ig- 
 norant of the ownership, and everything else about 
 "these clarins" except that Mr. Isaac Forster was 
 the agent, or owner, they did not know or care 
 which. Clearings are no curiosity in America ; but 
 to a European they present a novel and unpleasing 
 appearance, though they are the first inroads of the 
 pioneers of civilization into the territories of those 
 formidable opponents of an agricultural population, 
 primeval forests. 
 
 It is easy to describe the individual objects in a
 
 310 NEW HOPE; OK, 
 
 clearing : the log-cabin, and rude shanties of rails 
 and puncheons for the domestic animals the 
 stumps of the smaller trees bristling the roughly- 
 ploughed earth, the larger trees girdled, belted, or 
 deadened, as the process of cutting through the 
 bark entirely around the trunk, to kill the tree, is 
 termed the blackened and charred remains of piles 
 of logs partially consumed by fire the worm fence 
 of split rails around the whole, and under the eaves 
 of the surrounding forest but to give the impres- 
 sion made by the perception of all these objects to- 
 gether by words or the pen is impossible. The 
 pencil succeeds better, but the eye alone is the 
 avenue by which the full impression can reach the 
 mind and the heart. We never become reconciled 
 to its desolate, blighted, and dreary appearance till 
 we reflect that it is the necessary precursor of 
 settlement, comfort, civilization, and refinement. 
 There were many clearings, from two to twenty 
 acres in extent, on Mr. Ballenger's lands. Mr. Tay- 
 lor called them improvements, and told William Hen- 
 ry that they would in a few years spread out into 
 line farms. 
 
 Delighted with what he had seen, T Villiarn Hen- 
 ry immediately, on their return to Mr. Taylor's late 
 in the evening, wrote to his father The next 
 day Mr. Taylor accompanied them to V-fxington. 
 There, and in that neighbourhood, Mr. Terrell and 
 William Henry remained several days. Settled 
 principally by gentlemen from the Old Doimnion, 
 the beautiful country around the town was already 
 the seat of elegant hospitality and liberal kindness. 
 The people were Virginians in their principles, 
 manners, habits, and customs. But the circum- 
 stances in which they had been placed gave them 
 a boldness and energy, a reckless daring and readi- 
 ness of resource, which slumbered now in the 
 peaceful, quiet habitations east of the mountains. 
 The Indians had roused them up, and kept them 
 wide awake in the breasts of all those who sought
 
 THE RESCUE. 31] 
 
 their fortunes or fixed their residences west of the Al- 
 leghany Mountains. Mr. Terrell was on terms of in- 
 timate friendship with many gentlemen in the town and 
 the surrounding country. To all their houses William 
 Henry was invited, and at all he felt that he w;is a 
 welcome guest. Richly did he enjoy that enlightened 
 hospitality and charming society. He wrote to his 
 sister, and declared that he believed, if she could only 
 forget or disregard the influence of early associations, 
 she would be more pleased with Lexington than Alex- 
 andria. 
 
 They passed on to Frankfort, situated in a deep hol- 
 low on a bend in the Kentucky River, surrounded by 
 wooded hills. As they descended the steep, rocky 
 hills of the eastern bank of the river overlooking the 
 town at their feet, Mr. Terrell drew up his horse, and 
 cried out to William Henry, 
 
 " Stop, sir, and take a good look around and before 
 you. To a man of taste like you, my young friend, 
 this scene is worth a longer ride than we have taken 
 together. Here the grand, the beautiful, the pictu- 
 resque, are all united mountain and plain, wood and 
 water, cold, gray rocks, and velvet verdure. See with 
 what a graceful curve the river sweeps around South 
 Frankfort, the plain on your left, and dashes against 
 this cliff on which we are; then, as if indignant, turns 
 off to the left, and half encircles the town in its girdle 
 of silver ; opposed again in its onward course by those 
 wooded mountains on the west, it seems absolutely 
 hemmed in and arrested ; but no ; wheeling to the 
 right, it passes through the narrow defile formed by the 
 Benson Hills on the one side, and this sharp, high 
 promontory on your right, jutting almost into the river 
 below the town, and bathing its feet in the clear water. 
 That promontory, sir, was once united with those high 
 hills above the mouth of Benson Creek, which you see, 
 there, creeping from the west into the river just below 
 the town, and the Kentucky River rolled its waters in 
 this valley to your right, long drawn out to the north, 
 now separated from the present bed of the river by tha
 
 312 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 promontory. Obstructed in its sharp, angular course 
 around the rocky cliff on which we stand, its waters 
 accumulated till the plain of South Frankfort was a 
 deep lake. Higher and higher they rose, till the 
 mighty mound before them gave way, burst asunder, 
 and the rushing waters tore down the promontory to 
 its base, and passed in majestic strength through the 
 breach, over the prostrate body of the tyrant that 
 had dared to cramp and confine their course, leaving 
 the former channel a dry, fertile valley. See what a 
 quiet, secluded spot, shut in by hills, arid h;:lf sur- 
 rounded by water, is the town of Frankfort. Why, sir, 
 the people of our country were taught the lessons of 
 liberty even by their rivers ; and in our Revolutionary 
 war rebellion, as Great Britain called it we were 
 only carrying out the teachings of Nature. Even the 
 streams of America disdain to be confined and cramp- 
 ed, in their onward course of strength and expansion 
 to a larger freedom, by proud and towering tyrants. 
 Opposition only accumulates, increases, and renders 
 irresistible their mighty masses. They rise up in their 
 strength, and sweep everything before them. We 
 might have pointed Lord North and King George to 
 the heights of the Hudson, Harper's Ferry, and Frank- 
 fort, for the solution of the political problem of the 
 American Revolution." 
 
 "This is indeed a scene of romantic and varied 
 beauty worthy of the poet's pen and painter's pencil," 
 said William Henry ; " and your observations on it 
 are scarcely less striking than the scene itself. But 
 is there not a little exercise of fancy in supposing that 
 the Kentucky River once ran in this valley on our 
 right ?" 
 
 " None at all," replied Mr. Terrell. " The records 
 of the event which changed its channel are stamped 
 upon the face of Nature. Examine the substratum of 
 this valley, and you find all the fluvial exuvire of shells, 
 and fish, and water-worn pebbles of such stone as is 
 only found above the three forks of Kentucky River ; 
 examine the limestone rock on the sides of this desert-
 
 THE RESCUE. 313 
 
 ed channel, where (he traces of the attrition of the wa- 
 ter have inscribed a geological alphabet in durubU 
 characters as legible as Noah Webster's Spelling-book 
 examine the promontory and hills below the town 
 the evidence which they give of rupture and prostra 
 tion are as strong and convincing as testimony given 
 on oath in a court of justice by competent and credible 
 witnesses ; more so, for these old, respectable, passion- 
 less witnesses always declare their real impressions ; 
 and they are true, because inefTaceably made by the 
 hand of the Almighty." 
 
 Thus conversing, they descended the hill, and rode 
 to the mansion of Mr. John Brown, the son of Parson 
 John Brown and Margaret Preston, of Staunton in Vir- 
 ginia, the pupil of Thomas Jefferson,* and one of the 
 first senators from Kentucky in Congress a man of 
 whom any country, age, or nation might be proud a 
 patriot, statesman, philanthropist, and Christian. He 
 emigrated to the West as early as 1782 or '3, and ul- 
 timately settled at the beautiful spot we have attempted 
 to describe. He received Mr. Terrell, a friend and 
 acquaintance, and his young companion with his ac- 
 customed and characteristic hospitality. To William 
 Henry, whom his knowledge of mankind, and his 
 keen, accurate discernment of character, discovered at 
 once to be an estimable and accomplished, well-brought- 
 up young man, he gave much useful information, and 
 some lessons of practical conduct, having particular re- 
 lation to Kentucky, that were of great value. 
 
 William Henry, in writing to his father from Frank- 
 fort, says of Mr. Brown, " He is one of Nature's no- 
 blemen, made more noble still by noble actions; ripe 
 in knowledge, rich in experience, with a heart too big 
 for his body, which is by no means a small one, he is 
 one of those men, sir, who arc born for the benefit of 
 mankind, and to confer dignity and honour upon our 
 fallen race. We cannot, my dear father, calculate the 
 redeeming influences of such men on the destinies of 
 
 * The first representative of the people west of the Allegheny in 
 the Congress of the United States.
 
 314 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 nations. You will doubtless come to this country, 
 perhaps settle on some of your fine lands in Kentucky, 
 and you must seek the pleasure and the honour of the 
 acquaintance and friendship of Mr. John Brown, of 
 Frankfort. He will know, appreciate, and prize you, 
 so congenial do I think your characters.* Mr. Ter- 
 rell and myself are staying at his house." 
 
 After a pleasant sojourn of several days in Frank- 
 fort, Mr. Terrell and William Henry passed on through 
 Sherbyville and Middletown, at that time larger than 
 Louisville, and on the evening of the second day after 
 leaving Frankfort they arrived at the house of Mr. Ter- 
 rell, on Bear Grass, in Jefferson county. Mr. Terrell 
 owned an excellent farm, and servants to cultivate it 
 but he was no practical farmer, and, consequently, wa? 
 surrounded by those discomforts which slovenly farm- 
 ing causes to the cultivators of the soil. His wife, too, 
 the niece of Mr. Jefferson, had not been brought up or 
 educated in a cabin in the wild woods of Kentucky, 
 and knew as little of the domestic management suited 
 to a residence in the woods, and imposed on the wives 
 of the early emigrants, as her husband did of farming 
 operations. But he was of a happy, social, indepres- 
 sible, sanguine temperament, little disquieted by things 
 which would have rendered many men miserable. 
 And never did mortal woman bear with more patience, 
 cheerfulness, 'gentleness, and equanimity, the priva- 
 tions and inconveniences incident to the situation in 
 which they were placed, than this amiable, accom- 
 plished, and meek-spirited lady ; and never had Will- 
 iam Henry enjoyed himself more in the splendid par- 
 lours of Alexandria than in the humble abode of Mr 
 and Mrs. Terrell. Their society was a charm. If 
 there was no taste in their house or its furniture, their 
 conversation was of the most cultivated and refined 
 character. Their reading was extensive and classical ; 
 
 * Both brought up in the school of Virginia aristocracy too lofty 
 to associate with the low too proud to please vulgar pretenders 
 too pure to be approached by meanness, or defiled by the touch of 
 corruption.
 
 THE RESCUE. 315 
 
 their manners gentle and courteous ; their hearts kind 
 and generous ; their sense of honour nice and scrupu- 
 lous ; their principles pure, and of the highest tone. 
 
 Mr. Terrell conducted William Henry to see his 
 father's lands in that neighbourhood, which he found 
 to be exceedingly valuable, and urged him to write to 
 his lather to come and settle on the tract adjoining his 
 own. Sanguine as Mr. Terrell was in expatiating on 
 the value of Kentucky lands generally, and on that on 
 Bear Grass particularly, he spoke with prophetic truth 
 of the latter. He introduced young Ballenger to the nu- 
 merous acquaintances, connexions, and relatives of his 
 in and around Louisville the Popes, Prathers, Fon- 
 taines, Corbys, Floyds, Bullits, Clarkes, Jonathan and 
 George Rogers, Clarke, " the Hannibal of America" 
 the elite of Kentucky society in that part of the state. 
 He visited, and was most courteously and kindly re- 
 ceived and entertained by all. He then passed below 
 Louisville to see a tract of land belonging to his father 
 between the falls and the mouth of Salt River ; and 
 here he met with the hospitable dwellers in the Pond 
 Settlement Miller, Meriwether, Lewis, and Hughes 
 to the latter of whom the new commonwealth was 
 much indebted. If he was not, like Abraham, the fa- 
 ther of many nations, he was at least the father of a 
 nation of tine children. It was absolutely difficult to 
 get away from the houses of these gentlemen. Ev- 
 ery facility, and kindness, and attention was lavished 
 upon him, which Old Virginians know how to appre- 
 ciate and how to practise. When he turned his 
 horse's head homeward, it was with feelings of warm 
 gratitude and high respect, and a lively sense of the 
 generous hospitality of the many friends and acquaint- 
 ances which he had made in Kentucky. 
 
 In passing through Louisville on his return, he met 
 with a Mr. Anderson, a land-agent of extensive busi- 
 ness ?Mid accurate information, who gave him all the 
 reniaih M<r i'acis which he needed in relation to those 
 tracts 01 his father's laud in Kentucky which he had not 
 seen ; au 1 through his agency he sold a small slip of
 
 316 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 land in Jefferson for a considerable sum, all paid in 
 gold. Although he had written to his father several 
 times, not one of 'his letters was ever received, and he 
 had obtained no intelligence from home since he loft his 
 father's house. 
 
 It was on the fourth day of July that William Henry 
 Ballenger, elate with hope and full of joy, the bearer 
 of glad tidings, approached New Hope, on the Great 
 ,Kanawha, after a long day's ride. He saw nothing of 
 Mr. James Dixon, the reason of which may be as well 
 told now. That worthy had trailed him and Mr. 
 Terrell to Lexington ; there he learned that they had 
 gone to Louisville. He had been delayed by false in- 
 telligence received at the Mud Lick that two gentle- 
 men, answering the description of these gentlemen, 
 had gone down Licking towards Newport ; and know- 
 ing that Slocus intended to go in that direction, he was 
 thrown off their track, and did not arrive at Lexington 
 till they had left it. 
 
 On William Henry's return from Mr. Terrell's to- 
 wards Lexington on his way home, he was the bearer 
 of a letter of introduction to Mr. Walter Overton, a rel- 
 ative of Mr. Terrell, and a gentleman of the old school 
 of Virginia ; and that is all that need be said in praise 
 of any man to those acquainted with the import of the 
 words. At his house William Henry met with another 
 old Virginian, a Mr. Bullock, and a young man, Mr. 
 Barry, who afterward occupied a distinguished place 
 among the eloquent and able statesmen of Kentucky. 
 They were just from Lexington, and stated that a man. 
 calling himself Charles Lamb was killed the dqy be- 
 fore in riding a quarter race near the town. His horse 
 ran out of the course, and fractured his scull against a 
 tree. From papers found in his pocket-book, it was 
 probable that his real name was James Dixon, and 
 that he was rather more of a wolf than a lamb. From 
 the description of his person given by these gentle- 
 men, William Henry told them that he had no doubt 
 that it was a Mr. James Dixon, whom he knew a great 
 horse-dealer and jockey. But he was litt' 3 aware
 
 THE RESCUE. 317 
 
 how much he was indebted to the sugar-tree that ter- 
 minated the mortal race of this man. 
 
 As the course of our narrative will not bring us back 
 to Kentucky, we will take this occasion to mention 
 that, some years after these events, William Henry 
 again called, during a visit to Kentucky, at the house 
 of Mr. Overton, and there shed a tear of unaffected 
 grief and sorrow over the grave of his earliest and 
 dearest friend in Kentucky, Richard Terrell, who died 
 suddenly in Lexington a few days before, and whose 
 mortal remains were resting in the grave at Mr. Over- 
 ton's, three or four miles southeast of Lexington. 
 
 When William Henry got within a mile or two of 
 his father's house, lie said to himself, " This is the glo- 
 rious day on which the independence of my country 
 was declared, and this shall be the day on which the 
 restoration of my father to independence shall be de- 
 clared. What a pleasing coincidence and my sister 
 too. Ah! Victor, you will obtain a jewel of price in 
 that girl, sister mine although she be: I can think it, if 
 it would not become me to say it to others. She de- 
 serves the best and bravest in the land. And Helen, 
 too my own, dear, sweet Helen. Get up, my good 
 horse Caligula, we don't go fast enough. I never 
 wished for wings so much in all my life." 
 
 He had three hundred pounds, all in good gold, in 
 his saddlebags, the purchase-money of the slip of land 
 sold in Kentucky. We almost shudder to approach 
 with him, in such high spirits, the house of his father, 
 on which such heavy calamities had fallen desolate 
 and deserted and to behold the falling of the ice-bolt 
 of stunning anguish upon his heart. He leaped from 
 his horse, and seeing Uncle Tom sitting on the steps 
 of the porch, he ran forward and cried out, 
 
 " How d'ye do, how d'ye do, Uncle Tom ?" 
 
 The old man returned no answer to his joyous greet- 
 ing. 
 
 " Anything the matter, Thomas ?" 
 
 No answer but sobs and grasping his hand with a 
 trembling and convulsive energy.
 
 318 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 ' Good heavens ! what is the matter ?" 
 
 Still receiving no answer, he rushed past the old 
 man into the house. It was silent all silent. Char- 
 lotte was sitting in the doorway of the entry, her head 
 hung down and her face concealed in her hands. He 
 trembled violently, and his heart beat fearfully. 
 
 " In Heaven's name, Charlotte, what has happened ? 
 Where are my father and sister ?" 
 
 She raised her eyes, streaming with tears, and said, 
 " Oh ! Master William, try to bear it." 
 
 " Bear what ?" he could scarcely titter. 
 
 "Miss Mattie is is drowned!" 
 
 He staggered and supported himself against the door. 
 
 " And my wretched, heart-broken father, where 
 where is he ?" 
 
 " 'Twas grief for him, sir, that made her so weak, 
 poor thing, that she fell in the river." 
 
 " My father dead too ? Merciful Heaven ! Why 
 could not I " 
 
 " No, Master William, he's not dead, but " 
 
 " But what ? Keep me not in this agony, Charlotte ; 
 tell me all tell me all." 
 
 " In prison, sir, for for killing the pedler, Job 
 Terry." 
 
 William Henry started as if a bullet had struck him. 
 " For killing the pedler ! It's a base, infernal lie ! My 
 father never committed a crime in his life never 
 thought of such a thing. It's a horrible, deep-laid 
 conspiracy to take his life." 
 
 Most fortunate for this young man, at this moment, 
 was this turn of thought. The blood returned to his 
 face ; he breathed more freely. He was nerved by 
 indignation and anger, and they neutralized the sharp 
 agony of his grief. He ceased to support himself by 
 the door, and stood erect and firm as he said, 
 
 " When did all this happen ?" 
 
 " Yesterday, sir ; all happened yesterday." 
 
 " When was the pedler killed ?" 
 
 " The night before, sir. He was here selling things 
 to Miss Mary Glover and Miss Mattie, and went away 
 just at dark."
 
 THK RESCUE. 319 
 
 " Who else was here on that day, Charlotte ?" 
 
 " Nobody, sir, but Mr. John Glover and Mr. For- 
 ster." 
 
 " What time did Forster go away ?" 
 
 " Directly after the pedler, sir." 
 
 He strode to the front door, arid said, 
 
 " Thomas, this is no time for giving way to griet 
 to that grief which God only knows how much we 
 feel. Iron, Thomas, iron we must be now. Bring me 
 a fresh horse the best on the land instantly. My 
 good old man, be quick be quick. Help to save 
 your master's life from the demons that would destroy 
 him." 
 
 " Tank God a Mity you come : only say, Massa 
 Will, de Lord's will be done." 
 
 " Amen, Thomas, arnen ! Hurry hurry, Uncle 
 Tom." 
 
 He threw the powder out of the pans of his pistols, 
 examined them carefully, and primed them. The old 
 man had in five minutes transferred his saddle and 
 saddlebags to another horse, and William Henry was 
 in full gallop to the county jail. We will not attempt 
 to describe the interview between him and his father. 
 He was in the jail nearly all night, yet before daybreak 
 he was on the way to Eastern Virginia. He did not 
 wait for the action cf the examining court ; both he 
 and his father foresaw its result. He went to Virginia 
 to obtain the evidence of his father's high character, 
 to employ the best counsel, and to settle up all his 
 father's unfinished business there. He, as well as his 
 father, was convinced that Isaac Forster was the 
 prime, if not the only mover in this foul conspiracy. 
 His dishonesty, hypocrisy, and falsehood had been 
 clearly demonstrated to them by the discoveries of 
 William Henry in relation to the value of the lands ; 
 and his motives for conspiring against the life of .Mr. 
 Ballenger began to be suspected both by that gentle- 
 man and his son. 
 
 When Ben Bramble, who had been out of the neigh- 
 bourhood on a hunting expedition, returned, and heard
 
 320 NEW HOPE ; OK, 
 
 of the death of Job Terry, the imprisonment of Mr. 
 Ballenger, and the drowning of Matilda, he was struck 
 with amazement, grief, and horror. He could neither 
 eat, drink, nor hunt. He went immediately to the 
 prison, and was permitted to converse with Mr. Bal- 
 lenger. We do not know what passed between 
 them, but from the prison he went to Mr. Ballenger's 
 house, and remained there. He was continually walk- 
 ing about without apparent end or object, or sitting 
 down fondling young Kate ; and when he would rise 
 to resume his restless walks, the signs of his wo could 
 be seen in many a tear that had fallen on the head of 
 the hound. The poor animal seemed to share her 
 master's sorrow. She would often look up in his face, 
 and whine piteously ; go hunting about in the rooms 
 of the house for Matilda, and then come out and howl, 
 or run whining to her master, and back again ii>to the 
 house. Sometimes, after sitting down and looking fix- 
 edly at the ground for fifteen or twenty minutes, Ben 
 Brarfible would rise up suddenly, as if in a great hurry, 
 clinch his fists, swing his arms about, and walk back- 
 ward and forward as if everything depended upon the 
 quickness of his pace. Then he would suddenly stop, 
 and mutter to himself, 
 
 " It's that devil's doing, I know it is polecat, wild- 
 cat, hell-cat ! He'll git it yit he will he shall I 
 say he shall. Thar's a God in heaven yes, thar is. 
 Thar's lightnin* thar. The wicked can't pervale for- 
 ever. Tain't in the natur of God's mercy I say it 
 ain't." And then he would stamp his foot on the 
 ground, as if he was crushing the head of a snake, and 
 mutter again, " It's a wicked colloggin a insurrection 
 agin the truth and a honest man's life." 
 
 Nothing worth relating to our readers passed from 
 this time till October, and therefore we pass the inter- 
 vening time in silence.
 
 THE RESCUE. 321 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE district court system, which, in the jurispru 
 dence of Virginia, preceded the circuit courts now- 
 held in that state, was established in 1792. The 
 courts for the districts into which the state was divi- 
 ded were termed Superior Courts. Their terms were 
 held in the spring and fall of the year by two judges 
 of the General Court, who had jurisdiction both in 
 civil and criminal cases. In civil cases, the matter in 
 controversy was to amount to one hundred dollars, or 
 three thousand pounds of tobacco. Cases in which 
 the Court of Admiralty heretofore had jurisdiction, not 
 taken away by the Constitution of the United States, 
 were transferred to these courts, the judges of which 
 also had the power, either in term time or vacation, of 
 granting injunctions to stay proceedings on judgments 
 obtained in their courts, as the judge of the High Court 
 of Chancery had in similar cases, and to proceed to 
 the final hearing of all suits commencing by injunction, 
 as in the High Court of Chancery. All treasons, mur- 
 ders, felonies, and other crimes and misdemeanors 
 committed within the several districts, these courts had 
 full power to hear and determine. 
 
 The counties of Greenbrier, Botetourt, Montgomery, 
 and Kanawha, constituted one district, the court for 
 which was to be holden at Lewisburg on the 18th of 
 May and 18th of October in every year, till the pro- 
 prietor of the Sweet Springs should erect a courthouse 
 and prison for the purposes of the act of Assembly 
 establishing these courts. If the business required it. 
 they sat twelve days. Great numbers of persons at- 
 tended their sessions ; lawyers from all the surround- 
 ing counties, and frequently, when very important civil 
 or criminal cases were to be tried, the most distin- 
 guished advocates from the metropolis and other cities 
 14
 
 322 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 attended the Superior Courts, even beyond the mount- 
 ains. Heavy land cases and cases of murder were 
 those in which large fees called into action all the el- 
 oquence, and legal ability, and learning of the Vir- 
 ginia bar, not inferior to any in the United States. 
 The grand jurors were generally the most respectable 
 and independent country gentlemen in the counties 
 composing the district. The judges were men of great 
 dignity of character, learned in the law, and highly 
 respected by the people. Great judicial stateliness, 
 form, and decorum were observed in the sessions of 
 these tribunals, and justice was never more ably, im- 
 partially, or faithfully administered than by these Su- 
 perior Courts. Not only did their officers, the jurors, 
 suiters, and witnesses attend them, but all the gentry 
 of the surrounding country usually assembled ; and 
 the fashionable and the gay, as well as the idle and 
 dissolute, congregated in the villages or towns in which 
 these courts were held, and always found the means 
 of amusement, which are sure to be afforded by play- 
 actors, dancing-masters, racers, gamblers, and jugglers, 
 wherever large crowds are periodically collected. 
 
 The case of Edward Ballenger had made great 
 noise throughout the country, and the excited curiosity 
 and interest of the people filled the village of Lewis- 
 burg to overflowing with anxious spectators. The ex- 
 amining court had sent him on to the jail of that place 
 for farther trial. His son had been to Alexandria and 
 Richmond, had retained able counsel for his defence, 
 brought on incontestable evidence of his standing and 
 character, and settled up all his business in the eastern 
 part of the state ; for his father had prepared for the 
 worst, anticipating the probability of his condemnation 
 to death upon the gallows. IN ever did a dutiful, de- 
 voted, and affectionate son make greater exertions for 
 a father. Indignantly repelling the idea of the guilt 
 of his father, for whose principles he had unbounded 
 respect, he yet took every precaution suggested by the 
 able and learned lawyers whom he had employed, to 
 guard against any indirection, advantage, or conspira-
 
 THE RESCUE. 323 
 
 <y which might be developed in the course of the trial. 
 They had advised him studiously and cautiously to 
 avoid the expression of any suspicion of conspiracy or 
 design against the life of his father by any person what- 
 ever, and especially Mr. Forster, whose whole conduct 
 in relation to his father and sister William Henry had 
 communicated to them, and his artful arid dishonest con- 
 duct in relation to the lands. Confident of his father's 
 innocence, notwithstanding the strong chain of circum- 
 stances that had led to his arrest, William Henry seem- 
 ed to grow more confident every day that his father 
 could not be made to appear guilty, or be condemned 
 for a crime which he had not committed. Thus sup- 
 ported, William Henry was calm and composed, and 
 displayed an energy of character which he had never 
 shown before. He seemed to have grown many years 
 older in a few months. 
 
 On the 17th of October, George Arbuckle Temple- 
 man came to Lewisburg, the bearer of a letter to the 
 judge. One of the judges was known to be sick and 
 unable to attend. The 18th of October arrived. The 
 grand jury were empannelled and sworn. The judge 
 delivered his charge, and they retired to their room. 
 The commonwealth's attorney sent to them papers and 
 witnesses, and in an hour they returned into court an 
 indictment against Edward Ballenger for the murder 
 of Job Terry a true bill. 
 
 Wriliam Henry Ballenger immediately left the court 
 house, and in a few moments returned with the peti- 
 tion of his father for trial, although there was but one 
 judge present, the law requiring two in criminal cases, 
 except on the petition of the accused. The judge or- 
 dered the sheriff to have the prisoner, Edward Ballen- 
 ger, brought into court. The room was crowded in 
 every nook and corner. Every bench was filled ; 
 every place in which a man could stand was occupied. 
 The window-sills and doorways were blocked up with 
 spectators. The open area beyond the bar was a mo- 
 unt" mass of human heads. All were uncovered ; and 
 the expressions which marked the countenances of the
 
 324 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 individuals composing the crowd were as various as 
 their ages, conditions, and habits. The vacant stare, 
 the keen, searching glance, the mild and pitying eye, 
 the contracted and stern frown, the reflective and dis- 
 passionate look, artd the smirking, silly smile, could 
 all be seen in close proximity. 
 
 Isaac Forster, who had returned from the grand ju- 
 rors' room, was seated on a window-sill not far from 
 the judge ; one of the deputy-sheriffs and another young 
 man occupied seats beside him. There was no noise, 
 and only a low, indistinct murmuring sound could be 
 heard. 
 
 " I don't see his son," whispered the young man to 
 Isaac Forster. 
 
 "He's ashamed, I reckon," replied Isaac, "to see 
 the old gentleman hold up his hand at the bar, and has 
 gone out." 
 
 " Maybe that is it," whispered the young man. 
 
 The crowd were seen moving and parting at the 
 door, and the voice of the sheriff was heard saying, 
 " Make way, gentlemen, for the prisoner." All eyes 
 were turned towards the door, and a breathless silence 
 pervaded the hall. Slowly, but with firm and steady 
 steps, Edward Ballenger approached the back of the 
 bar, with the sheriff on one side and the jailer on the 
 other. His manly face was marked by an expression 
 of deep thought, yet his brow was smooth, his lips un- 
 compressed, and his eyes clear and serene. He was 
 dressed in deep mourning. When he reached the 
 back of the bar, he made a profound obeisance to the 
 judge. A moment after, the judge said, 
 
 " Edward Ballenger, one judge cannot proceed with 
 your trial unless on your petition to be brought to trial : 
 do you make that petition ?" 
 
 " I do, sir," replied Mr. Ballenger. 
 
 " Sheriff," said the judge, " place a chair for the 
 prisoner." 
 
 His whole appearance and demeanour were stri- 
 kingly those of a gentleman, in the proper sense of 
 that term. He took the seat offered to him behind
 
 THE RESCUE. 325 
 
 his counsel. One of the junior lawyers said, in an 
 under tone, to the one sitting next him, 
 
 " He looks more like a judge than a criminal. That 
 fellow gives fat fees, I guess ; I should like to have 
 him for my client." 
 
 After the usual legal formalities were all gone 
 through, the petit jury empannelled, not one of whom 
 the prisoner challenged either peremptorily or for 
 cause, the indictment read, and he had pleaded " Not 
 guilty," it was remarked that Mr. Ballenger's senior 
 counsel looked for a moment at Isaac Forster, and 
 then, with a very significant, but hardly perceptible 
 smile en his lip, whispered in the ear of the prisoner. 
 
 The attorney for the commonwealth then arose and 
 made a few prefatory remarks on the nature of the 
 charge and the evidence, the importance of minute 
 circumstances as connecting links in presumptive evi- 
 dence, and concluded by calling on the jury to bear in 
 mind the solemn oaths they had taken to weigh well 
 the testimony and decide on the guilt or innocence of 
 the accused according to the law and the evidence. 
 " Whenever a crime," said he, " has been committed, 
 it is the interest of every good citizen that it should be 
 detected, and the perpetrator punished. Yet the pun- 
 ishment of the guilty is not more to be desired than 
 the acquittal of the innocent. I should be unworthy 
 of the place which I occupy if I did not, in the dis- 
 charge of my duty, attempt to bring the guilty to pun- 
 ishment; yet in this, as in every other case, I should 
 rather rejoice that the accused should be able to es- 
 tablish his innocence. In all cases, if one or the 
 other is to be the result, it is better that the guilty 
 should escape than that the punishment of guilt should 
 be inflicted on the innocent." 
 
 The junior counsel for the prisoner merely remarked, 
 that he and his colleagues had no remarks to offer till 
 they heard the evidence against their client, the ac- 
 cused, and would only now say to his honour the 
 judge, and the jury, that he believed the indictment 
 would not be sustained by the evidence, an t the
 
 326 NEW HOPE ; or,, 
 
 accused would be certainly and honourably acquit- 
 ted. 
 
 The evidence of the finding of the body of Job 
 Terry, the time, place, and circumstances, and all that 
 happened at the inquest that could be legally intro- 
 duced, was first brought before the court. These are 
 known to our readers, and it is unnecessary to reca- 
 pitulate them. James Simpson was then called to the 
 book, and sworn. The attorney for the commonwealth 
 said, " Tell the court and jury, Mr. Simpson, what you 
 know of this case." 
 
 The witness said, " I know nothing about the mur- 
 der of Job Terry. Mr. Ballenger came to my store 
 on the morning of the first of July last, and asked me 
 to give him change for a twenty-dollar note, saying 
 that he had no change, and expected to see Job Terry 
 shortly, to whom he owed some seven or eight dollars, 
 and wished to pay him." 
 
 " Did you give him change ?" 
 
 " No, I did not ; I had none to spare." 
 
 " How far do you live from the prisoner ?" 
 
 " About a mile and a half above." 
 
 " What time of day was it when the prisoner came 
 to your store ?" 
 
 " About ten o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " How long did he stay ?" 
 
 " Not more than fifteen or twenty minutes." 
 
 " I understand you to say, Mr. Simpson, that you 
 gave the prisoner no change ?" 
 
 " I did say so." 
 
 " Will you state what the prisoner said when you 
 told him you had no change to spare ?" 
 
 " He said he had tried to obtain it wherever ho 
 thought it could be had in the neighbourhood, and 
 could not get a dollar, and that he should make no 
 farther effort ; that Job Terry would have to wait still 
 longer for his money." 
 
 " I am done with this witness, gentlemen," said the 
 attorney for the commonwealth, addressing himself to 
 the prisoner's counsel.
 
 THE RESCUE. 327 
 
 ' We have no questions to ask," observed Mr. Ran- 
 dolph, addressing himself to the judge, who said, 
 
 " You may retire for the present, Mr. Simpson." 
 
 John and Mary Glover were sworn. 
 
 " Mr. Glover, stand a little back, and face the jury." 
 
 The commonwealth's attorney beckoned to the 
 sheriff, and requested him to hand to John Glover a 
 piece of coin in his possession. 
 
 " Mr. Glover, will you look at that piece of gold, 
 and tell the court and jury what you know about it?" 
 
 Glover said, " My sister and myself went on a visit 
 to Mr. Ballenger's on the second of July, after dinner. 
 While we were there, Job Terry came in. Mr. Bal- 
 lenger invited him to sit down, which he did, taking 
 off his pack and' setting it down on the floor. Mr. 
 Ballenger then said to him, ' I'm sorry, Mr. Terry, I 
 have not in change what I owe you, but as you are 
 going down the river towards the Point, you must call 
 on your return, when I hope I shall have it ready for 
 you.' Mr. Terry answered " 
 
 "You need not state what Mr. Terry said," inter- 
 posed the commonwealth's attorney. 
 
 " We have no objection, your honour, to this wit- 
 ness, or any other, stating all the conversations arid 
 circumstances in his own way, believing that we shall 
 best obtain in that way the whole truth, and relying 
 upon your honour to instruct this intelligent jury as to 
 the legality of all the statements to inform them what 
 is and what is not legal evidence for or against the 
 prisoner at the bar," said Mr. Walker, one of the pris- 
 oner's counsel. 
 
 " Go on, Mr. Glover," said the judge. 
 
 " Mr. Terry answered Mr. Ballenger by saying," 
 continued the witness, " ' It makes no odds, sir ; I did 
 not call for that, but to see if I could not sell you or 
 the young people something this evening.' Miss Ma- 
 tilda, the poor young lady that was drowned, then 
 said, ' As soon as you are rested, Mr. Terry, open 
 your little store ; I want a few articles.' Just then 
 Mr. Ballenger walked out of the room. When the
 
 328 KEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 pack was opened, Miss Ballenger bought several arti- 
 cles, and my sister a shawl, or, rather, I bought the 
 shawl, and gave it to my sister. After they were 
 done dealing, Miss Matilda said to Job Terry, ' Here 
 is an old English guinea ; give me the change if I am 
 entitled to any.' He took the guinea, examined it, 
 and said, ' We don't often come across these yellow 
 boys out here : a good guinea, of good weight.' He 
 poised it on his little finger, and said, ' I should know 
 it among a thousand, from this mark upon the edge.' 
 Seeing me look curiously at the coin, he handed it to 
 me, and running over the articles Matilda had bought, 
 said to her, ' Your change, miss, is six shillings ; the 
 articles come to twenty-two shillings. Here is your 
 change much obliged, miss.' I examined the piece 
 of gold, and so did my sister, who then returned it to 
 Job Terry. I paid him for the shawl. He handed 
 them a handsome box, out of which I believe they 
 bought some other articles, which I did not see. He 
 then collected his merchandise, which was scattered 
 on the floor, put it in his pack, and closed it. Soon 
 after that my sister and myself left Mr. Ballenger's, on 
 our return home." 
 
 The commonwealth's attorney inquired, " Did you 
 leave Terry the pedler there ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What time in the evening ?" 
 
 " Just about sunset." 
 
 " Look at the piece of gold ; is that the same guinea 
 or piece of gold paid by Miss Ballenger to the pedler, 
 Job Terry ?" 
 
 " I believe it is." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " From the marks on it." 
 
 " Hand it to the jury, that they may examine it 
 themselves, and judge if its identity can be established 
 by any marks on it. Were any other persons pres- 
 ent?" 
 
 " Mr. Forster was sitting in the porch, reading a 
 newspaper."
 
 THE RESCUE. 329 
 
 " Was William Henry Ballenger there ?" 
 
 " No ; he was not at home." 
 
 " Any questions, gentlemen ?" inquired the common- 
 wealth's attorney. 
 
 " None," replied Mr. Walker. 
 
 " Miss Glover, will you tell us what you know of 
 this piece of money ? Take it and look at it." 
 
 She looked at the coin, but her eyes were suffused 
 with tears, she trembled excessively, and could hard- 
 ly speak so as to be heard. 
 
 "It seems to me I believe it is I cannot say it 
 certainly is you have heard what brother has said " 
 
 " Did you see Miss Ballenger pay Mr. Terry a piece 
 of gold ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Did you hand it to him after looking at it?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I did." 
 
 " You may retire, Miss Glover." 
 
 She did retire, supported by her brother, and sob- 
 bing bitterly. 
 
 " Swear the sheriff. Tell the court and jury, sheriff, 
 how this piece of money camn into your possession." 
 
 " When my duty compelled me to arrest the prison- 
 er on the evening of the third of July, he was sitting 
 in the porch reading. He seemed much astonished. 
 I then showed him the search-warrant. He handed 
 me his keys. I searched his desk, and found in a se- 
 cret drawer ninety-five dollars in silver and this piece 
 of gold." 
 
 " Why Avas a search-warrant issued ?" 
 
 " It was stated at the coroner's inquest that Miss 
 Ballenger and John Glover had paid money to the 
 pedler, Job Terry, the evening before, at Mr. Ballen- 
 ger's, and there was none found in his pack or on his 
 person." 
 
 " Are you certain that the piece of gold shown to 
 the court and jury is the same that you found in the 
 prisoner's desk?" 
 
 " Yes. I am ; it has been in my possession evei 
 since." 
 
 U*
 
 330 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " Where is the rest of the money found in his desk 7 " 
 
 " Here, in this bag." 
 
 " Set it on the clerk's table. Stand aside, sir. 
 James Simpson, we must trouble you again," said the 
 commonwealth's attorney. " Open that bag, look at 
 the money in it, and say if you recognise any of the 
 pieces in the bag." 
 
 Simpson went to the clerk's table, examined the 
 money, and said, 
 
 " Here is one piece which I know. It is a coun- 
 terfeit." 
 
 " Well, sir, what do you know of it ?" 
 
 " On the first of July, Job Terry was at my store 
 complained of having been pestered all the way from 
 Waynesborough by base coin showed this one. Mr. 
 Forster and myself doubted whether it was a counter- 
 feit, and told him we should think it a good dollar ; to 
 convince us, he took a file and made this notch in it 
 He said it was different from any he had seen." 
 
 " Did he say of whom he received it?" 
 
 " Yes of Mr. Samuel Carter, at the falls." 
 
 " Where is he ?" 
 
 " I do not know : it is reported that he is gone back 
 to Old Virginia, having received a letter informing him 
 that his father was ill not expected to live." 
 
 " Well, sir, what became of that dollar after it was 
 filed and ascertained to be a counterfeit ?" 
 
 " Job Terry put it into his pocket, and said he 
 should keep it to show the people, to guard them 
 against the like." 
 
 " You may stand aside. Sheriff, was that bad dol 
 lar with the notch filed in it found by you in the pris 
 oner's desk ?" 
 
 " It was, and all on the clerk's table." 
 
 ' Swear Peter Gains." 
 
 He was sworn, and said, " When crowner was a 
 settin' on the dead body of Job with the jury, I was 
 thar. Mr. Forster was a owin' me a small matter, and 
 he axed me to take a walk one side. Says he to me, 
 says he, ' Peter, let's take a walk.' So I gits up, ho-
 
 THE RESCUE. 331 
 
 pin' he was gwine to pay me that four-and-sixpence he 
 had bin owin' me since let me see last Christmass 
 no, J'tn wrong last New-year's day, as well as my 
 memory sarves me. So we walks off down towards 
 the river, and as we turned round the big rock, I sees 
 a hankycher a stickin' on a brier 'bout a foot and a 
 half, or a leetle under or over, from the ground, jest as 
 if the brier had caught in it, stickin' out fashionable- 
 like from the pocket, and jerked it out as some one 
 was a passin' by. ' Bless me,' says I, ' here's a han 
 kycher,' says I, and I slept up to take hold on it, but 1 
 stumbled agin a rock, and as I rekivered I was nigh 
 fallin', I tell ye. I seed somethin' a shinin' in the dirt, 
 and stoopin' down, I picked up this dirk that's a lyin' 
 thar by the hankycher on the table. It was all dirty 
 and bloody I was scared monstrous bad, and so was 
 Mr. Forster, I reckon. ' My God !' says he, ' Peter, 
 this is a bad business.' ' Jest so,' says I ; ' this must 
 be the dirk that killed Job.' So we fotch 'em right 
 back to the men that was settin' on the body, and I 
 told 'em all 'bout it, didn't I, Mr. Crowner ?" The 
 coroner nodded his assent. " Think 1 didn't forgit to 
 give Mr. Forster a hint 'bout the four-and-sixpence 
 that I did : it went clean out of my head." 
 
 The handkerchief and dirk were then shown to the 
 judge and the jury. The former was of white, fine 
 linen cambric, and marked on the corner. " Edward 
 Ba/lcngcr, No. 7." The dirk was a costly and beau- 
 tiful instrument the handle of mother of pearl, richly 
 inlaid with gold, on which were engraved the letters 
 E. B. 
 
 Mr. Wickham, of counsel for the accused, arose and 
 said, " In order to save the time of the court, we do not 
 mean to deny that these articles are the property of 
 Mr. Hallenger ; therefore no proof need be adduced on 
 that point we admit the fact." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said the attorney for the common- 
 wealth. " Have you any questions to ask Peter 
 Gains ?" 
 
 " None, sir."
 
 332 NEW HOPR ; OR, 
 
 "You may stand aside, Mr. Gains. Swear Isaac 
 Forster, clerk. Well, Mr. Forster, proceed with your 
 testimony in this unfortunate affair." 
 
 " Truly unfortunate," said Foster, " and I am very 
 sorry that my oath compels me to say anything about 
 it. I've always been the friend of the murd prison- 
 er, I mean." 
 
 " Speak it out, Mr. Forster of the murderer, you 
 might say, sir. It would be true you are his friend" 
 said Mr. Wickham, in a voice the clear, silver tones 
 of which were distinctly heard in every part of that 
 crowded room. " Your friendship for my client has no- 
 thing to do in this matter. We want the facts the 
 truth, sir the whole truth." 
 
 "Perhaps," said the attorney for the commonwealth, 
 " as Mr. Forster desires to say nothing more than he is 
 compelled by his oath and the law, if it meets with no 
 objection from you, gentlemen of counsel for the accu- 
 sed, and your honour" (addressing the judge) " will 
 permit, we may best obtain his evidence by propound- 
 ing interrogatories." 
 
 " We have no objections," said Mr. Randolph. 
 " Proceed with your questions, sir." 
 
 " Mr. Forster," inquired the commonwealth's attor- 
 ney, " were you at the prisoner's house on the second 
 of July?" 
 
 " I was." 
 
 " What time of day did you arrive there ?" 
 
 " About eleven o'clock." 
 
 "Had you business with him?" 
 
 " A small matter of business. I held a note of his, 
 assigned to me for $30." 
 
 " Did you visit him with the view of collecting your 
 money ?" 
 
 " Partly." 
 
 " Did he pay you ?" 
 
 " No : I told him I wanted specie, and he said he 
 was sorry he had not a dollar of specie, and not enough 
 in notes to pay me at that time." 
 
 " What time in the day did this conversation take 
 place ?"
 
 THE RESCUE. 333 
 
 " Before dinner; I suppose about one o'clock." 
 
 " You said that the collection of the note was partly 
 your business. What else, Mr. Forster, brought you 
 to the prisoner's house ?" 
 
 " It was a pleasant place to visit at ; I had been oft- 
 en there, was well acquainted with the family, and 
 liked their society." 
 
 " Were you acquainted with his daughter ?" 
 
 " Yes ; that young lady that was, unfortunately, 
 drowned, or, when her father was arrested, committed 
 I mean to say, may have drowned " 
 
 " Commuted self-murder, you mean ; speak it out, sir," 
 said Mr. Wickham. 
 
 " She," continued Forster, " was a very agreeable 
 young lady, and I take great pleasure in the compa- 
 ny of young ladies." 
 
 " Did you hold any conversation with her that 
 day ?" 
 
 "Yes, I may say I did, of a private and delicate 
 "kind, which I do not wish to repeat." 
 
 " You are not bound, Mr. Forster," said the judge, 
 " to repeat it." 
 
 " Well, sir, did you see her after dinner?" 
 
 " Not till after Mr. Glover and his sister came in." 
 
 " Did you converse with her ?" 
 
 " I did not. I took a seat in the porch, to read a 
 newspaper." 
 
 " Did you see Job Terry there ?" 
 
 " Yes ; the young ladies were dealing with him." 
 
 " Could you see them?" 
 
 " Yes ; the door was open, and they were not ten 
 feet from me." 
 
 " Did you see any money paid, and by whom ?" 
 
 "By Mr. Glover silver dollars, and a piece of 
 gold by Miss B;illenger." 
 
 " Look ;it this dirk, Mr. Forster: did you ever see 
 it before the day on which the coroner's inquest was 
 held on the body of Job Terry ?" 
 
 " Yes, 1 have." 
 
 " More than once ?"
 
 334 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " Yes, sir, often." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " On the mantel among other curiosities in the pris- 
 oner's sitting-room." 
 
 " When did yon see it there ?" 
 
 " Several times." 
 
 " When did you see it there last ?" 
 
 " Late in the evening of the second of July." 
 
 " After Mr. Glover and his sister had departed ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Was Miss Ballenger in the room ?" 
 
 " No, she had left the room." 
 
 " Did any other person enter the room before you 
 left the porch ?" 
 
 " None except the prisoner. He came in through 
 the adjoining room, walked up to the mantel, and took 
 something bright from it his spectacles, I supposed 
 and went out." 
 
 " Was the pedler there ?" 
 
 " No ; he had gone just before." 
 
 " How long ?" 
 
 " Two or three minutes.' 
 
 " Were you in that room afterward ?" 
 
 " Yes ; about ten minutes after Mr. Ballenger left 
 the room I went in to put the newspaper on the man- 
 tel, where I found it." 
 
 " Did you see the dirk there then ?" 
 
 " No, it was not there." 
 
 " Are you sure of that ?" 
 
 " I did riot see it in the place where it was lying be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Where do you suppose it was ?" 
 
 " I do not like to suppose, sir, against a man's life." 
 
 " You are not bound to answer, Mr. Forster," said 
 the judge. 
 
 " Did the prisoner return, or did you see him after 
 that ?" 
 
 " I did not see him after that, for I stayed not more 
 than a minute or two," 
 
 " Was it dark ?"
 
 THE RESCUE. 335 
 
 " No, only getting so." 
 
 " Did you take leave of any of the family ?" 
 
 " No ; Mr. Ballenger was not in the house, and Miss 
 Ballenger was in her own room, I presume. I mount- 
 ed my horse, that had been brought out at my request 
 some time before, and rode away." 
 
 " Any questions, gentlemen ?" inquired the common- 
 wealth's attorney. 
 
 " Not now," replied Mr. Walker ; " we may wish 
 to ask Mr. Forster a question or two presently." 
 
 Isaac Forster went back and resumed his seat on 
 the window-sill, where the two gentlemen with whom 
 he had been sitting made room for him. The prose- 
 cuting attorney said, 
 
 " The evidence on the part of the commonwealth 
 has all been heard, I believe, and I do not wish to 
 make any comments on it until I hear the evidence on 
 the part of the accused, if, indeed, there is any. .My 
 brethren of the bar of counsel for the prisoner have 
 pursued a course novel and unaccountable to me. The 
 prisoner, acting, doubtless, in accordance with their ad- 
 vice, made no challenges ; and they, perfectly aware 
 no lawyers can be more so that much that has 
 been said by the witnesses is not strictly legal evi- 
 dence, have opposed no objections, asked no questions, 
 and cross-examined not a single witness. The case 
 really seems to me of the gravest aspect awfully 
 plain, and I am entirely at a loss to know how they 
 mean to shape their defence. Have you any witness- 
 es, gentlemen ?" 
 
 " We have," replied Mr. Randolph, " and the gen- 
 tlemen will soon be enlightened as lo the course we 
 have taken and the nature of our defence. May it 
 please your honour," continued he, " we ask the in- 
 dulgence of the court for a few minutes. Some of 
 our witnesses are travel-worn, and we did not wish to 
 subject them to the annoyance of a crowded court- 
 room till their presence should be necessary. They 
 are in town, and will be here in a few minutes. Sher-
 
 336 NEW HOPE : OR, 
 
 iff", call Edward Templeman at the door, if you please. 
 Our principal witnesses, sir, are ladies." 
 
 It was observed that when Mr. Randolph remarked 
 that the witnesses were ladies, Isaac Forster turned 
 pale, started, and looked anxiously towards the door. 
 The sheriff' had hardly returned to his seat, when the 
 stately, tall, erect form of Edward Templeman was 
 seen entering the hall. His head was uncovered, and 
 his thin, gray locks were waving over his broad and 
 high forehead. The " stormy multitude" parted before 
 him as he advanced with slow and measured steps. 
 On his arm leaned a female form in deep mourning, 
 whose face was entirely concealed by her bonnet and 
 a long black veil. Close behind them walked William 
 Henry Ballenger, with another lady in a close riding- 
 dress, whose face was also covered by a riding-cap 
 and veil. As they approached the spot where the 
 prisoner sat, he arose from his seat. In an instant the 
 reil was raised, the bonnet fell to the ground, and as 
 she threw her arms around the neck of the prisoner 
 and cried out. " Oh ! my father ! my father .'" there burst 
 forth from the astonished multitude in every part of the 
 hall the exclamation, 
 
 " It is his daughter it is his daughter ! Great 
 God ! has the grave given up its dead to save him ?" 
 
 it was indeed his daughter. Her long, dishevelled, 
 auburn hair had fallen in thick volumes on the shoul- 
 ders of her father, and displayed to all the face of Ma- 
 tilda Ballenger. The tears that fell fast from her eyes 
 were not the only tears that were shed in that vast as- 
 sembly. On every side sobs, and sighs, and sounds 
 of sympathy were heard. Even the venerable form 
 of the judge was bent forward till his head rested ou 
 the table before him, and his whole frame was agita- 
 ted by strong emotion.
 
 THE EESCUE. 33*7 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 WE can scarcely like time to inform our readers 
 lhat Mr. Ballenger was not unprepared for this affect- 
 ing meeting with his daughter, whom he believed to 
 be dead till a day or two before his trial ; and we must 
 now reluctantly leave the courthouse and the trial to 
 account for the sudden and mysterious appearance of 
 Miss Ballenger at this critical conjuncture. We prom- 
 ise to return, however, with as little delay as possible. 
 The ways of Providence are inscrutable, and the wick- 
 ed are often circumvented by what seem to men the 
 merest and slightest accidents. Whoever has passed 
 from Lewisburg, in Greenbrier county, formerly known 
 in the Indian wars as Camp Union, to the falls of the 
 Great Kanawha, through the Shades of Death and the 
 Loop, needs no description of them or of the cliffs of 
 New River at the ferry, or the cabin on the left bank 
 of the river. Its lonely situation on the verge of the 
 rapid stream, surrounded by mountains of wild and 
 savage aspect, overhanging deep, and dark, and tangled 
 ravines the precipitous and narrow road, hanging out 
 like a shelf on the mountain side over the deep, yawn- 
 ing gulf below, descending to the river, rolling three 
 hundred feet beneath, and chafing, in its headlong, 
 maddened course, against enormous rocks, which have 
 been precipitated from the cliffs above into its foaming 
 channel this scenery will have impressed itself on 
 the memory of all who have passed through it. The 
 skins nailed up against that cabin, the pile of deer's 
 horns near it, and the stuffed skin of that enormous 
 rattlesnake dangling from* the doorpost, tell to every 
 traveller what are the inhabitants of that wild country. 
 It was the favourite hunting-ground of Ben Bramble. 
 Rarely did he fail to find " varmints" here. 
 
 The week before the trial of Mr. Ballenger, which
 
 338 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 Ben resolved to attend, believing him to be innocent, 
 and determined to render him every assistance in his 
 power, he set out with his friend and ally in wood- 
 craft, Nat Colly, to hunt on towards the ferry, and 
 thence to Lewisburg. He said he " hated to speak 
 evil of any human cretur, but, to save Ned Ballenger's 
 life, he meant to tell them as fciod him all his mind 
 about Zac Forster, who, he had larnt, was the main 
 witness agin him. I'll prove him onfit to give evi- 
 dence agin a man that's got more goodness and hon- 
 esty in the eend of his little ringer than Zac Forter's 
 got in his whole carcass, if it was as big as big Sewell 
 Mountain. Nat, you've seed him take out and put in 
 links in his surveyin' chain when he thought nobody 
 was lookin' at him ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have," replied Nat. 
 
 They had made their way to the ferry-house, where 
 they stayed all night. Hearing there that signs of a 
 large bear had been seen making up the river on the 
 other side, they recrossed very early on Thursday 
 morning, and passed up it by a route unusual even to 
 hunters, hoping to fall in with the bear. Ben's dogs, 
 Captain, Rover, and Young Kate, like their master and 
 his companion, were very willing to rest after having 
 explored the cliffs of New River, and its ivy-covered 
 ravines, for some ten or twelve miles. 
 
 Ben and Nat had seated themselves on a fallen tree 
 on the side of a high, rocky hill, some h'fty feet above 
 a small streamlet that passed in a deep, narrow gorge 
 along the western base of the hill. Captain and Ro- 
 ver were coming up the stream, smelling on the bushes, 
 and stones, and logs. Kate had cut across the hill, as 
 a near way, and was soon at her master's feet. 
 
 " Poor thing," said Nat, looking at the young hound, 
 " she's mighty down-hearted, not findin' nothin' even 
 to bark at in these hills." 
 
 " That's not it," said Ben ; " she's bin takin' on and 
 mopin' like, that poor hound has, ever since Mattie 
 Ballenger was drownded. When I go to Balleri; jr's, 
 she moans like a human cretur hunts all on the
 
 THE RESCUE. 339 
 
 nouse and gardin for her, and then comes to me 
 whinin' and whimperin' like a child. She'll never be 
 no profit in the woods. I can't be mad with her nor 
 scold her for it, caze it's nat'ral even in dumb creturs 
 to love them as loves us, and mourn for 'em, too, when 
 they are tuck away. And Mattie Ballenger and this 
 poor slut was monstrous intimate and lovin'. She'd 
 lay her head in her lap and look up in her face by the 
 hour, while Miss Mattie would pat her head and 
 smooth down her ears with her soft, while hand. 
 When we was thar, she always would feed Young 
 Kate herself out on a yearthenware plate the same as if 
 she had bin a human. When she found out (and she 
 was sure to find it out, as a farmer's old dog does 
 when he's gwine to kill a beef) that I was goin' to 
 Ballenger's, away she'd go before me, friskiu' and 
 frolickin' all the way, and git thar afore I was half 
 way. But when I'd come away, she'd hang back and 
 whine like a humorsome, spoilt child gwine to school." 
 
 " What's got into her now?" said Nat: "here she 
 comes like mad." 
 
 Young Kate dashed right up to Ben, leaped upon 
 him, whining and wa-gging her tail, and then darted 
 back again up the side of the hill, looking back at 
 him, evidently inviting him to follow her. After 
 running about thirty yards, she stopped suddenly, 
 thrust her nose into the ground, then leaped into the 
 air, waving her tail and erecting her ears, and making 
 the most extravagant antics. Both the men arose to 
 their feet. 
 
 ' Stop, Nat," said Ben. " Don't budge a foot, but 
 keep these old dogs quiet. Let me go and see what 
 Kate's arter. She's either gwine mad, or thar's some 
 deviltry, somethin' onnat'ral thar." 
 
 Ben approached the spot. Kate had scratched 
 away the moss, and there was a crevice in the rock, 
 to which she was applying her nose. Ben kneeled 
 down and put his ear to the fissure, and then his eye. 
 Nat observed him in this position for at least ten min- 
 utes, every now and then raising his clinched fist in
 
 340 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 the air, and shaking it furiously. Nat's patience gave 
 way, and he cried out, " Why, what's got into you and 
 Kate ? What tarnal nonsense is this ? both runn'd 
 stark mad, I b'leve." 
 
 Ben turned his head instantly towards Nat, and 
 made a sign of silence and danger with his hand. 
 He then took Kate in his arms, with his hand on her 
 mouth, and crept back as softly and stealthily as if life 
 depended on the silence of his tread. When he 
 reached Nat, he set his teeth hard for half a minute 
 before he spoke a word, and then he said, 
 
 " Of all the infarnal villyans and devils that God 
 lets live, Zac Forster is the beat. That poor gal that 
 we all thought was drownded and in heaven, is here 
 under ground in a cave, put thar by him. It's as true 
 as you and I are mortal sinners, Nat Colly. I heard 
 her and another woman as plain as you hear me. 
 Kate's diskivered the rascal's den. He ain't in it I 
 heard 'em say so. But we'll fix him, as sure as you 
 ever kilt a rattlesnake. Nat, jest go and listen." 
 
 Nat's eyes dilated with astonishment as he said, 
 
 " Ben, I'm sorter jouhous. Ar you sure they wai 
 humans you heard ? Maybe, now, it's somethin' on 
 nat'ral some of the devil's deceptions. Thar's strange 
 things in these mountins." 
 
 " I tell you, Nat, it's nothin' but man's devilment 
 and no mistake I could see 'em, too, and I smelt 
 fryed bacon plain." 
 
 " Did you ?" said Nat. " Then I'll go my rifle's 
 loaded, anyhow. But do you keep a sharp look-out, 
 Ben ; and lend me that long knife of yourn mine 
 ain't long enough to make daylight through any on- 
 common critter, if so be I git into a scrimmage with 
 one." 
 
 Nat strode away to the place, looking around in 
 every direction, and every now and then stopping to 
 listen. Ben seated himself on the tree and watched 
 him, still holding Kate in his arms, who struggled vio- 
 lently to get away and follow Nat to the crevice in the 
 rock. After a short time Nat returned.
 
 THE RESCUE. 341 
 
 " It's as true as preachin'," said he. " She's down 
 thar, and another woman tellin' her if she don't marry 
 Forster afore Monday, her father will swing on the 
 gallows. Thar's a man, too I heard his voice. He 
 said, ' It's too late now Forster's gone, and Ballenger 
 swings to a certainty. You'll not see Forster till that 
 job's done. The trial's on Monday, you know, Polly 
 IVJ'Cloud.' Well, Ben, don't this beat everything you 
 ever heard on ?" said Nat. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is," replied Ben, " we must 
 diskiver the mouth of this cave, and I'll manage the 
 rest pretty quick. How fur is it from here to Squire 
 Templeman's 1" 
 
 " About seven miles across the hills, I judge," said 
 Nat, " and eight or ten round ; I can git thar in an 
 hour and a half, or two hours at the furdest." 
 
 " Well," said Ben, " the way to the mouth of this 
 devil's den must make up somewhar out on this branch ; 
 thar must be some travellin' to it some signs to track 
 the devil to his hole as well as a bar to his'n. Cap- 
 tain and Rover knows when I'm on a trail, and it's 
 ther business to foller me, and keep ther mouths shot 
 as well as I do ; they'll keep quiet. But poor Kate's 
 in such a takin' I shall have to carry her in my arms, 
 with rny hand on her mouth, or she'll be sure to make 
 a fuss. Here, Nat, take my gun, and keep a sharp 
 eye to the left-hand side of the branch." 
 
 They went down to the little stream opposite the 
 place where they had been sitting, and walked in the 
 water down the ravine till they were nearly opposite 
 the crevice discovered by Kate, and nearly fifty feet 
 below it. 
 
 " See here," whispered Ben : " a shoe-print in the 
 sand, goin' down the holler." 
 
 " Stop, Ben," cried Nat, scarcely above his breath ; 
 " here's a path under these ivy bushes right above my 
 head, goin' out of the branch, and slantia' up the hill ; 
 and I can see the same track in the path. Take your 
 rifle, and I can crawl on all fours up the hill and see 
 whar it leads to."
 
 342 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 In less than, five minutes Nat was seen coming 
 down the hill backward, like a bear down a tree ; after 
 getting near to Ben, he turned, and came into the 
 branch at the same point from which he had ascended 
 
 ' It's all right," said he. " The mouth is up thar 
 under that rock, covered up as close as a bird's nest 
 about the 'cutest fixin' you ever seed. I kotch a glimpse 
 of the man this time. He was settin' noddin', with a 
 gun across his lap and a lamp lit behind him." 
 
 Ben knew that his comrade's information was en- 
 tirely to be relied on when nothing unnatural was sus- 
 pected which might disturb his senses, and he plainly 
 perceived that all apprehensions of that kijid had been 
 dissipated by what Nat had seen and heard. His plan 
 of operation seemed to have been arranged in his 
 mind, for no sooner had Nat informed him of what he 
 had seen than he said, in a whisper, 
 
 " You or I must stay hid on this hillside, near 
 enough to kill anything bigger than a mink that can 
 go in or come out of that cave. T'other must be off 
 to the squire's to git a sarch-warrant and a possum of 
 men to git here afore night, or if in the night, with 
 lights, to be lit arter we surround the mouth up thar." 
 
 " I'll go," said Nat, "and be back with men, squire 
 or no squire, by two hours' sun." 
 
 " Jest tell the squire," said Ben, " all we've seed 
 and hearn, and swear to it for me and you too, if he 
 says so. For he's the right sort of a man, head and 
 heart, liver and gizzard I've seed him tried. Bring 
 the Vandals and Huffs, and take the dogs with you, 
 and be sure to bring 'em back, too ; for if any man in 
 that cave breaks by us, Captain and Rover, if I tell 
 'em, will take his track same as any other varmint. 
 The old dogs will fuller you, and I'll carry Kate out 
 on hearin' of this place, then put this string round her 
 neck, and she'll foller quiet. Leave the guns with 
 me. Tell the squire you want a sarch-warrant for a 
 stolen 'oman and the thief and that's wuss than for 
 stolen goods, I 'spose." 
 
 This arrangement was no sooner agreed on than it
 
 THE RESCUE. 343 
 
 was put in execution. Ben returned, and took his sta- 
 tion where he could see anything that should pass the 
 mouth of the cave and within fifty feet of it, but so care- 
 fully concealed that one might go within a yard of him 
 without being able to see him. 
 
 Nat had hardly passed three miles over the hills 
 when he struck the road leading to the falls, and saw 
 at some distance behind him Charley Vandal riding 
 briskly up to him. He soon overtook Nat, and cried 
 out, 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Colly, that you are all 
 dogs and no gun to-day ?" 
 
 " Come up, Charley, I've^fbt news for you, my boy." 
 " What's that, friend Coily ?" 
 
 " Ben Bramble and I have found a varmint's den, 
 that we are afeard to enter without a sarch-warrant 
 and a posset, and I'm gwine to the squire's for the war- 
 rant, and boys enough to hold the old one a scuffle, any 
 how." 
 
 " You don't say so ! Nat, I'm your man for that 
 sport, by jolly. Where's Ben ?" 
 
 " Watchin' the den twell I git back, with his gun 
 and mine too." 
 
 " Then there is the devil to pay in earnest, Nat ; for 
 
 nothing in these woods, nor nowhere else, I believe, 
 
 ever drove Ben back with one gun, or no gun, either." 
 
 " He's made out on straight-grained timber, I know," 
 
 said Nat, " well enough." 
 
 "But the squire ain't at home, Nat; he's at our 
 house ; this is warrant trying day." 
 
 " So much the better," said Nat ; " it is nearer than 
 his house, and we can git the men thar right off on 
 the ground." 
 
 They were soon at old Mr. Vandal's, and Colly, who 
 was well known to Squire Templeman, stepped up 
 close to him, as he was seated at a table, having a few 
 books and papers before him, and said, 
 
 " Squire, not to interrupt you, one word, if you 
 please, by ourselves. It's no small warranting matter, 
 sir."
 
 344 NEW HOPE ; OB, 
 
 His looks and manner told to this old soldier and 
 excellent magistrate that something of consequence 
 was to be communicated. He rose from his seat, and 
 they stepped aside. Five minute's afterward Squire 
 Templeman called his constable, and said, 
 
 " Summon a posse of twelve men ; see that they are 
 well armed, and ready to go with me in half an hour. 
 Adjourn the court." 
 
 The men, who were in little groups in the house, 
 around the door, and in the yard, were all wondering 
 what was the matter. Conjecture followed conjecture 
 in quick succession. The squire's conference with 
 Colly being ended, he stepped up on the door-sill arid 
 called the attention of the men. They crowded around 
 him, and he said, 
 
 " My friends and neighbours, most of you have been 
 soldiers, or are the sons of soldiers, and know the ne- 
 cessity of secrecy and silence when the object is to 
 catch the enemy napping. A hiding-place of rascals, 
 violators of the law, has just been discovered, and 
 they must be taken. Now let me advise all of you who 
 do not choose to accompany me this evening to go qui- 
 etly home, and to say not one word of this matter. 
 For if the report gets out that they are discovered, 
 those in the place will arm and defend themselves, 
 causing bloodshed in taking them, apd all the rest of 
 the gang who happen to be out will hear of their com- 
 rades' being taken, and make their escape, instead of 
 falling into the trap that will be set for them. Be si- 
 lent as death, or you will cause a very bad man to es- 
 cape the punishment he deserves, and the murder of 
 innocent persons, whom the villains now hold in con- 
 finement." 
 
 There was whispering among the men when Squire 
 Templeman ceased to speak, and one of the men then 
 said, 
 
 " If so be your worship will allow, we'll all go with 
 you, squire." 
 
 " Very well : load rifles, saddle horses, and let's be 
 off we've no time to lose."
 
 THE RESCUE. 345 
 
 In fifteen minutes the constable said, 
 
 " All ready, sir." 
 
 " Lead on, Nat Colly," said the squire. 
 
 There were fifteen men. They soon reached the 
 head of the ravine in which flowed the rivulet that pass 
 ed by the mouth of the cave. Here they alighted, and 
 tied their horses out of sight of the little, scarcely dis 
 cernible path leading down, and mostly in the water. 
 Squire Templeman then explained to them the state 
 of the case, and gave them his orders. Four men 
 stayed with the horses and watched the ravine, with 
 directions to take any man or men who might attempt 
 to pass them. The rest followed Nat Colly, in Indian 
 file, down the ravine. Not a word was spoken, and 
 even the dogs, Captain and Rover, crept along as if 
 they knew a surprise of something was meditated. 
 
 The mouth of the cave was surrounded by the men, 
 at the distance of twenty paces. Ben Bramble crept 
 out from his lurking-place, came up to the squire, and 
 said, 
 
 " The devil ain't at home, yer honour here's his 
 den but one of his cubs is, and that poor innocent gal, 
 Captain Ballenger's darter, that to all appearance was 
 drownded when her daddy was put in jail. Shall I 
 haul him out ?" 
 
 " Yes, you and Charley Vandal and Nat Colly. 
 There may be more than you suppose. Be ready, 
 boys, to rush in and help them if need be. Here are 
 the lights." 
 
 Ben had hardly moved a stick of the brushwood 
 concealing the entrance, when a low voice within 
 said, 
 
 " Whafs the time of day ?" 
 
 " The right time to catch varmints," said Ben. 
 
 " The hell it is /" and a rifle-ball from within grazed 
 Ben's cap, and the report, with stunning reverberation, 
 rang through the cave. 
 
 In rushed Ben, closely followed by Nat and Char- 
 ley. 7'hey had not advanced five steps into the cave 
 when they heard a violent scuffling oft their right, and 
 15
 
 346 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 the chokkig sound of a voice, in half-stifled tones, ex- 
 claiming, " Take 'em off, the d d dogs they'll kill 
 me." The worrying, low growls of the dogs, Cap- 
 tain and Rover, mingled with the choking sound of 
 the voice. 
 
 " That's the time of day, is it ?" said Ben, darting 
 to the spot, and releasing the man from the hold of 
 his dogs, who, unperceived, had entered under the 
 brush and seized the man in his low, narrow place of 
 'concealment. " It's well you gin up so quick," he con- 
 tinued, dragging the man into the light, " or Captain, 
 would have stopped yer squawlin' in no time, though 
 you ar an oncommon varmint. Here, boys, sarch this 
 critter ; maybe he's got claws, that he'll be tryin' to 
 dig into some on us. Thar, that'll do ; deliver him to 
 the squire." 
 
 As soon as the man reached the mouth of the cave, 
 and saw it surrounded by armed men, he turned pale 
 and shrunk back. 
 
 " Hello ! mister," said Ben to him, " if you don't 
 want to stretch some of them hickory saplings with 
 that neck of yourn, make straight answers to what I'm 
 gwine to ax you. How many ground hogs are in this 
 hole ?" 
 
 " None but women." 
 
 11 Whar's Zac Forster ?" 
 
 The man turned his scowling eyes on Ben, and 
 said, " D n him, I don't know." 
 
 " When was he here ?" The man hesitated. " Take 
 him to the squire," said Ben. 
 
 As soon as the man saw Squire Templeman he 
 hung down his head, and said, 
 
 " I see it's no use ; the game's up. It's all Forster's 
 doing, squire, as I hope for mercy." 
 
 " When will Mr. Forster be here ?" inquired Squire 
 Templeman. 
 
 il Not till after the trial on Monday," was the re- 
 ply. 
 
 " When was he here ?" 
 Yesterday night."
 
 THE RESCUE. 347 
 
 The squire, looking the man full in the face, said, 
 " You can only hope for mercy, Joe Swinton" (the 
 man trembled at the mention of his own name), " by 
 confessing the whole truth. Where are the rest of your 
 gang ?" 
 
 " Some in Kentuck and over the Ohio, and some 
 with Forster." 
 
 " When will they be here T' 
 
 " At no set time just as it happens as they can." 
 
 He stopped short, and the squire added, 
 
 " As they can pass off the counterfeit money. Make 
 a clean breast of it, sir. I shall see what's in this 
 cave, you may be well assured. Where are the tools ?" 
 
 " Here," said the man, pointing to the cave. 
 
 " Very well, we shall see," added Squire Temple- 
 man. 
 
 While these things were taking place at the mouth 
 of the cave, a very different scene was enacting with- 
 in. The old woman (it was Polly M'Cloud), hearing 
 the sound of the gun and the scuffle of the dogs with 
 Joe Swinton, had thrown a bar across the door of a 
 small chamber separated from the broad, downward 
 avenue in the cave by a partition of plank, and was 
 crouching down with her ear near the ground, listen- 
 ing with breathless eagerness. Matilda Ballenger had 
 thrown herself on a low truckle-bed, where she sat 
 trembling, anxious and alarmed, yet with some glim- 
 mering of hope that the disturbance might not be a 
 broil among the vile inmates of the cave, which had hap- 
 pened more than once since she had been its unwill- 
 ing and unhappy tenant. " Oh ! if it is discovered !" 
 thought she ; " but if not, prepare my heart, heavenly 
 Father," she said aloud, " for the trials that await me, 
 and oh! remember remember my father. O my 
 God, have mercy on him in his heavy afflictions." 
 
 " Always a praying," muttered Polly M'Cloud. 
 "What good does that do? You'll never pray your- 
 self out of this place, nor your father out of Greenbri- 
 er jail till he swings, if you don't come to, and marry 
 Isaac Forster before he's sentenced."
 
 348 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " Never, never !" said Matilda. " Cease, I pray 
 you, this hateful Heavens ! what is that 1" 
 
 The voice of Ben Bramble was heard saying to 
 Young Kate, who was scratching and whining at the 
 door, " Ah ! Kate, you are a faithful critter. She's in 
 thar. You shall soon lick her hand, and show her the 
 way out on this cussed den." 
 
 At the sound of his voice, Matilda, with one leap, 
 reached the door, wrenched the bar from the hasp, and 
 fell senseless at the feet of the hardy hunter, whose 
 tears fell fast as he bent over her pallid, grief-worn 
 face. 
 
 " Poor innocence ! it's overcome her quite," said 
 Ben, as he took her in his arms and laid her on the 
 bed. " Bring some water here, you old devil's darling, 
 or I'll make you uglier than you are." 
 
 " Brandy's better, sir," replied Polly M'Cloud. 
 
 " For sich as you ; bring water, I say," exclaimed 
 Ben, " and sprinkle her face, or I'll give you sich a 
 sprinklin' as will cool all the brandy in your carcass." 
 
 Ben believed this woman the accomplice, and not 
 the victim, as our readers know her to be, of Forster 
 and his crew. Kate had crept up on the bed, and laid 
 her head upon Matilda's arm. As the old woman ap- 
 proached to sprinkle the face of the fainting girl, Kate 
 rose up and snapped at her hand, growling furiously. 
 Ben snatched the water from her, and while perform- 
 ing an office to which he was all unused, looking first 
 at the reviving girl and then at Kate, he said, 
 
 " Them as says dumb critters has got no sense and 
 fellow-feelin', don't know nothin' about natur. Lie 
 still, Miss Mattie," continued Ben, as he saw her open 
 her eyes and look wildly around, while the affection- 
 ate hound nestled up to her and licked her arm. " You 
 are safe now." 
 
 " And my father ?" 
 
 " Safe too, undoubtedly, my dear young lady," said 
 Squire Templeman, who had entered the cave, " since 
 this most foul and wicked conspiracy has been brought 
 to light by the hand of Providence."
 
 THE RESCUE. 349 
 
 " Heavenly Father ! I thank thee," said Matilda, 
 raising herself on her knees, and stretching her hands 
 and directing her eyes towards the heavens, from which 
 she was shut out ; " and oh ! that thy blessing thy 
 richest blessing, may descend on those who have been 
 thy instruments in saving us from the wiles of the 
 wicked. Oh ! sir oh ! my dear Ben Bramble, take 
 me from this horrid place. He will come with his 
 bad men, and and you do not know how desperate- 
 ly wicked he is." 
 
 " Be composed, Miss Ballenger ; make yourself per- 
 fectly easy on that score. We have stout hearts and 
 unerring rifles enough around you to defy fifty For- 
 sters, and to shield you from every danger. You shall 
 soon be under the shelter of my roof Templeman is 
 my name." 
 
 " Thanks, sir, a thousand thanks, Mr. Templeman. 
 But tell me to what or to whom, under Providence, do 
 I owe this signal and timely deliverance ?" 
 
 " There stands the man," said the squire, pointing 
 to Ben Bramble, " to whose prudence and courage you 
 are indebted." 
 
 " I can't take it all to myself, squire," said Ben. 
 " You and them brave boys, Charley and Nat Colly in 
 particular, and, more than all, Young Kate, has been 
 God's instruments in this thing... She made the first 
 diskivery she did. She told Nat and me, as plain as 
 a dumb critter can speak, that Miss Mattie was here 
 onder ground. That's the raal truth of the case. 
 Young Kate resqued her. She'd never have come to 
 light if it hadn't bin for this hound that is to say, hu- 
 manly speakin'." 
 
 Here Ben related the circumstances of the discovery 
 as they occurred, to the astonishment of the whole party, 
 who had collected in the cave, with the exception of 
 the guard stationed at its mouth. Squire Templeman 
 now proceeded to explore the cave, leaving Ben Bram- 
 ble and Charley Vandal with Matilda, who insisted on 
 goin^ out immediately into the open air. She often de- 
 clared afterward that it was imjpossible to describe, and
 
 350 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 scarcely possible to conceive, the sensations she felt on 
 seeing the heavens, the sun, and the objects on the earth 
 after having been shut out from them for more than three 
 months. She had seen nothing, during all that time, but 
 objects under ground by the feeble light of a lamp. The 
 glare of the sun was intolerably dazzling j every object 
 looked large and bright, as seen through a solar micro 
 scope ; and the air fell so light she almost thought i< 
 was lifting her up from the ground. To breathe it waa 
 a positive perceptible enjoyment, like tasting a delicious 
 fruit. The autumnal woods presented a panoramic pic- 
 ture of God's own painting, so vivid and distinct that 
 she wondered at and admired it, as she supposed one 
 translated to a newly-created and more beautiful world 
 would wonder at and admire it. 
 
 Squire Templemari passed down the main passage 
 of the cave, and soon came to a large open space, fifty 
 feet wide and a hundred or more in length before it be- 
 came narrow again, and the roof was a dome thirty 
 feet above his head. Here he found provisions for a 
 dozen men, sufficient to last them three or four months, 
 and arms, guns, swords, pistols, and knives. Broken 
 bottles, glasses, and playing-cards were scattered on 
 the floor of solid rock. A. long table ran half way 
 through this room ; towards the farther end, on each 
 side, were truckle-beds or pallets on a plank platform ; 
 beyond these, on one side, three feet above the floor, 
 was a strong door fixed in the solid rock, constituting 
 the side wall of the cave. There was a very large 
 iron-guarded keyhole in this door. 
 
 " Here," said Templeman, " we shall find some of 
 the secrets of this cave. Joe Swinton, where is the 
 key of this hole ?" 
 
 " Forster keeps that himself." 
 
 " Very well, my men, we can easily open it. Give 
 me a tomahawk." 
 
 " Here's an axe," said Billy Huff; " we found it un- 
 der the old woman's bed." 
 
 The door was forced, and within there was oarely 
 room for a large, strong box of wood, which, when
 
 THE RESCUE. 351 
 
 drawn out, was found to have filled the whole cavity, 
 and was itself nearly filled with papers, neatly arranged 
 in bundles and labelled. 
 
 " Let us pass on," said the squire ; " this is not all. 
 Swinton has a department of his own in this thieves' 
 palace. He well knows that I am informed of the 
 trade at which he works. This is not the first time 
 I've had to do with that gentleman. Lead on." 
 
 The cave became narrow and low, and descended 
 steeply to the right. Here, at the bottom of a flight of 
 rude steps, they arrived at another door, which Swin- 
 ton seemed unwilling to approach. 
 
 " Where's the axe ?" said Templeman, " unless 
 Swinton can find the key." 
 
 There was a pause of sonic seconds, when Temple- 
 man, looking sternly at Swinton, said, 
 
 " Surely you are not fool enough to suppose that 
 anything you can do or refuse to do will prevent me 
 from seeing and searching that room, and every hole 
 and cranny in this cave." 
 
 " The key's under that stone of the third step," said 
 Swinton. 
 
 The door was opened, and the lights presented a 
 strange spectacle. Furnaces, sand, coal, moulds for 
 melting, crucibles, screws, bars of metal, dies, punches, 
 bank-note plates, a work-bench with a great variety of 
 tools and several books ; shelves with bags of spurious 
 coins, a quantity of bank-note paper of different tex- 
 tures and qualities, and bundles of finished counterfeit 
 notes ; vials and bottles of acids and other chemicals, 
 and in one corner a wardrobe and gentleman's toilet, 
 both of which were well furnished. There was no 
 avenue beyond, but a tube with flexible joints was dis- 
 covered entering the wall. On examination, this was 
 found to be an escape pipe for smoke, which could be 
 adjusted to any of the furnaces. On returning to the 
 mouth, the sides and floor were carefully examined, 
 but no other apartment or avenue could be discovered 
 in the cave. It was thoroughly explored. 
 
 The contents of Forster's box, the arms, and, in-
 
 352 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 deed, everything transportable on horses, were put into 
 the emptied bed-sacks, tools, money, and all, and the 
 whole party marched out. Seven men, commanded by 
 Charley Vandal, were left on watch to arrest any per- 
 sons who might come to the cave. They were to be 
 relieved the next day. Joe Swinton, well secured, 
 was mounted on a horse, with Billy Huff behind him. 
 Polly M'Cloud was placed behind one of the men, and 
 Matilda Ballenger rode behind the squire. The other 
 men carried the articles found in the cave on the horses 
 of the men who were left on watch, and away the 
 party went, and arrived at Squire Templeman's just as 
 the sun was descending below the western horizon. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Ox the arrival of the party at Squire Temple- 
 man's, he took proper measures for the safe-keep- 
 ing of Joe Swinton and Polly M'Cloud, and for the 
 refreshment of the men. He held a sort of coun- 
 cil of war with Ben Bramble and four or five of the 
 men who had served under him in the army, and 
 two or three active young men were sent off that 
 night in different directions, with letters vnd ver- 
 bal orders. His daughter Helen, filled with sym- 
 pathy, and feeling, also, a natural curiosity, which 
 she repressed as much as she could, exerted her- 
 self, by the kindest words and the tenderest assi- 
 duities, to render Matilda comfortable. Every- 
 thing on her toilet and in her wardrobe was placed 
 at her disposal with the most cordial, sister-like, 
 and unostentatious kindness. Matilda's heart was 
 touched by these attentions j she received them 
 in the spirit in which they were tendered ; and 
 these two young ladies, in half an hour, felt as if 
 they were old acquaintances and intimate friends.
 
 THE RESCUE. 353 
 
 To her inexpressible joy, Matilda learned from Hel- 
 en the safe return of her brother from Kentucky, 
 his conference with his father, his journey to Vir- 
 ginia, and his return ; the discovery of the charac- 
 ter of Isaac Forster as a land-agent, the sale of a 
 little piece of land in Kentucky by William Henry 
 for three hundred pounds, and the great value of 
 her father's lands, which Isaac Forster had repre- 
 sented as worth nothing. 
 
 " How in the world," said Matilda, " did you, ob- 
 tain all this happy news! They may be only re- 
 ports, dear Helen. I am almost afraid to believe 
 them, lest they should prove untrue." 
 
 "Oh, they are true," replied Helen, blushing 
 deeply. " Your brother called here on his way to 
 Virginia to see papa on business." 
 
 "Ah ! Helen," said Matilda, "my brother keeps 
 no secrets from me, and I know very well that the 
 greater part of his business here was with a cer- 
 tain Miss Helen Templeman, whom he loves better 
 even than this poor sister of his. Don't break out 
 the teeth of that comb, dear Helen, but help me to 
 untangle my neglected hair with it." 
 
 Helen threw her arms around Matilda's- neck and 
 kissed her. Her eyes were filled with tears, but 
 they were not bitter tears. When they came out 
 to supper, Matilda was composed, if not cheerful, 
 and George Arbuckle Templeman, who had been 
 absent from home all day' and knew nothing of 
 what had happened, when he saw Matilda enter the 
 room arm in arm with his sister, started as if he 
 had seen a ghost, then ran up to her and embraced 
 her, crying out, 
 
 "Thank God ! thank God ! she is alive and not 
 drowned, after all. Oh! Mattie dear, how did it 
 happen 1" 
 
 " Not now, George," said his father. " Let Miss 
 Ballenger eat her supper. You shall hear it all." 
 
 Matilda had briefly related to the squire and to 
 Helen all the circumstances. After supper, Squire 
 15*
 
 354 NEW HOPE J OR, 
 
 Tempi.tian requested to have a few minutes' pri- 
 vate c mversation with Miss Matilda, which being 
 had, the young ladies retired to their chamber, but 
 Buck was soon at the door, asking admittance. In 
 he woulu go, and remained with them till near elev- 
 en o'clock nt night. Squire Templeman retired to 
 his chamoer, and before day Buck was in the sad- 
 dle on tne road to Lewisburg with the following 
 letter to Judge , an old schoolmate and inti- 
 mate friend of Templeman, who, the squire knew, 
 would be one of the judges of the Superior Court, 
 the session of which was to commence on the Mon- 
 day following. 
 
 " October 14th, '99. 
 
 "DsiR JUDGE, 
 
 " One of those signal interpositions of Provi- 
 dence, which are called and thought to be happy 
 accidentc, has just disclosed to us one of the most 
 foul and base conspiracies that ever disgraced a 
 civilized country. Miss Ballenger, the daughter 
 of Mr. Edward Ballenger, now in jail at Lewisburg, 
 accused of murder, whom we all believed to have 
 been drowned accidentally on the evening of the 
 day on which her father was arrested, is now in 
 my house, rescued from a cave discovered by Ben 
 Bramble, a hunter, an old and excellent soldier of 
 mine. And who, sir, do you imagine, could be the 
 villain to plan and execute this outrage 1 No oth- 
 er than Mr. Isaac Forster. The plan was to induce 
 her to rnarry him, in order to save the life of her 
 father, and to cover the frauds of this precious vil- 
 lain as a land-agent, by his becoming the son-in 
 law of the man whom he had deceived in regard 
 to the value of large landed estates, and whose 
 life he had put in jeopardy. Indeed, it is very 
 doubtful, from a forged will made for Mr. Ballen- 
 ger found among Forster's papers in the cave, if 
 he had succeeded, through the fears of the young 
 lady for her father's life, in inducing her to marry
 
 THE RESCUE. 355 
 
 him, whether he would not still have sacrificed the 
 father in order to ensure success to his ultimate 
 design, the possession of the immensely valuable 
 landed estate of Mr. Ballenger. But Miss Ballen- 
 ger, with unparalleled fortitude and constancy, sup- 
 ported by her unshaken dependance on her God, 
 withstood all his threats, and rejected all his pro- 
 posals. And this is not all. In his den we found 
 the notorious "Joe Swinton, the counterfeiter, with 
 all his tools and apparatus j a large supply of pro- 
 visions, arms, and counterfeit money, and a box of 
 Isaac Forster's papers, which prove his frauds and 
 develop his designs. Who could have imagined 
 that honest Isaac Forster was the captain and con- 
 troller of this gang of thieves 1 Yet so it is. I 
 have got secured Joe Swinton and an old woman, 
 Polly M'Cloud, who, it would seem, has been the 
 dupe, drudge, and victim rather than the accom- 
 plice of these men. There were none others in the 
 cave except Miss Ballenger when it was discover- 
 ed ; but I have taken measures which, I hope, with 
 your co-operation, will succeed in apprehending 
 the rest of the gang. 
 
 " I send a warrant for the arrest of Forster ; but, 
 with all due deference for your better judgment, an 
 old soldier would suggest that it would be better 
 to have him watched night and day by confidential 
 persons, to prevent his escape, and not to give him 
 the slightest knowledge of what has transpired, or 
 that his villany is known. Some of his associates 
 in crime are no doubt with him, or within his call, 
 and if he were arrested they would instantly fly 
 escape themselves, and give notice to the others 
 that their den was discovered, and thus all of them 
 would escape the hands of justice. Forster him- 
 self is one of the principal witnesses against Mr. 
 Ballenger. Would it not be best to let him play 
 the play out as a witness, till it comes to the last 
 scene, that it may be thoroughly understood what 
 he is, and then arrest himl I will certainly be
 
 356 NE\V HOPE ; OR, 
 
 ready, in the neighbourhood of Lewisburg, on 
 Monday, with Miss Ballenger, Joe Swinton, Polly 
 M'Cloud, and Ben Bramble, to appear in court du- 
 ring the trial, so soon as Forster's testimony shall 
 have been given. In regard to communicating 
 these facts, and that his daughter still lives, to Mr. 
 Ballenger and his counsel, I leave the time and 
 manner to you, sir, confident that I could not con- 
 fide it to an abler head or a better heart. I should 
 put the most important facts in this letter in the 
 form of an affidavit, if I did not know that you will 
 rely on any statement made by. 
 
 "Your old friend and obedient servant, 
 
 "EDWARD TEMPLEMAN. 
 
 " P.S. I enclose several letters and papers for 
 your inspection. My son Getftrge will hand you 
 this, who will bear to me any communication you 
 may be pleased to make. You will recognise the 
 handwriting of the enclosed letter, signed Samuel 
 Carter, ship-marked Liverpool.'. E. T 
 
 " To Judge , Lewisburg." 
 
 The letter alluded to in the postscript of Squire 
 
 Templeman's letter to the judge read thus : 
 
 
 
 " Liverpool. 
 
 " How is this, Isaac Forster 1 Have I been made 
 the dupe as well as the instrument of your infernal 
 wickedness 1 If so, you shall pay a heavy reckon- 
 ing. When I embarked for this port, 1 carried on 
 board several newspapers, which I did not read till 
 out at sea; among the rest, the Alexandria Ga- 
 zette, in which there is an account of the murder 
 of Job Terry, the poor pedler, whom you made me 
 believe that I had unfortunately and unintentional- 
 ly killed by a blow on the head with my cane. So 
 he was stabbed in two places, and these caused his 
 death, says the coroner's inquest, and not the blow 
 on the head. Thank God for that ! It takes a 
 heavy load from my heart. Intoxicated, and angry
 
 THE RESCUE. 357 
 
 as I was at his accusing me of passing counterfeit 
 money knowingly which you well know I received 
 from you as God is my judge, I had no intention 
 of injuring him seriously, much less of taking his 
 li f e. You have done this deed of murder, Isaac 
 Forster ; for I know the man was dead before we 
 left him, and you urged me to fly for my life, which 
 I did till I put the ocean between me and the offi 
 cers of the la"\v, who, 1 believed, would soon be af 
 ter me. Nobody was present but us. Little did 
 I think that you had urged me on to chastise the 
 pedler for his insolence, that you might take his 
 life in the dark 5 but 1 see it all now, plain enough 
 And that worthy, good gentleman, Edward Ballen- 
 ger, near whose house the deed was done, has been 
 arrested for the murder. By the eternal God ! if a 
 hair of his head is touched, and 1 live to reach 
 America, I will visit upon you the vengeance you 
 so richly deserve. I know that I have been a wild 
 and dissipated scapegrace, but not the villain you 
 take me for, or would make me. So beware, Isaac 
 Forster, of one who now knows you. 
 
 "SAMUEL CARTER." 
 
 The judge, after reading these letters, commu- 
 nicated their contents to Mr. Randolph, one of Mr. 
 Ballenger's counsel, a gentleman distinguished as 
 much for legal ability and eloquence as he was for 
 elegant and courteous manners, benevolence, and 
 all the social virtues. He was a relative, too, of 
 Squire Templeman's wife. He visited Mr. Ballen- 
 ger in the jail, and communicated to him the joy- 
 ful news of his daughter being alive and in safety, 
 and the certainty of his own acquittal. Mr. Wick- 
 ham and Mr. Walker were also informed of these 
 facts ; but it was thought best that the common- 
 wealth's attorney should know nothing of them, so 
 that the trial of Mr. Ballenger might go on, in or- 
 der to develop the conspiracy, detect all those con- 
 cerned in it, and to bring them and the counter-
 
 358 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 feiters to justice. Hence thg novel and extraordi 
 nary course of Mr. Ballenger's counsel in that part 
 of the trial which we have s,$en. 
 
 Gentle reader, we must now cross the wide At- 
 lantic and follow Samuel Carter, who thought, when 
 he precipitately fled from Kanawha to the sea- 
 board, that he had killed Job Terry. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 " So you are about to leave us, Mr. Carrington 1" 
 said a very pleasant-looking, elderly lady, to a 
 young gentleman of the most prepossessing ap- 
 pearance and elegant manners, a's she took her seat 
 at the tea-table of one of the best private boarding- 
 houses in Liverpool. 
 
 " Yes, madam, the day after to-morrow I hope 
 to be on the way to the 'land of the free and the 
 home of the brave.' " 
 
 " Only hear that," said Mrs. Blanchard. " These 
 Americans think, or affect to think, there's no place 
 like home like their home in the wild woods. 
 Everything belonging to or appertaining to them 
 or their country is the best in the world. Really, 
 I am almost tempted sometimes to cross the water, 
 just to see with my own eyes what braggadocios 
 they are." 
 
 "Ah! my dear madam, don't do that ; for, in the 
 first place, you'd never desire to come back; and, 
 in the second, if you did, we'd desire and try to 
 keep you there. But we inherit our feelings and 
 prejudices from our growling, honest, stubborn an- 
 cestor that inhabits this sea-girt island: it is pure 
 John Bullism. When did John ever find any place 
 to compare with this cloud-covered, foggy island, 
 or anything equal to the king, lords, and commons,
 
 THE RESCUE. 359 
 
 roast beef, plum-pudding, and strong beer, that are 
 found in it?" 
 
 "Well, notwithstanding all your fantastic no- 
 tions, Mr. Ciirrington, about America, and your 
 prejudices against Old England, I shall be sorry, 
 very sorry to part with you." 
 
 "Prejudices against Old England! My dear 
 madam, you do me and all my enlightened coun- 
 trymen injustice by the supposition. Next to our 
 own country, we hold England in the highest es- 
 teem. Almost all our institutions are borrowed 
 from her. Although we are separated from her, 
 and have become an independent, sovereign peo- 
 ple, still we are bound together by ties of great, 
 and, 1 hope, lasting strength. Are we not of the 
 same sturdy, liberty-loving, Anglo-Saxon blood 1 
 We speak the same language, read the same books, 
 and profess the same holy, heaven-revealed reli- 
 gion. Many of those great safeguards of life, lib- 
 erty, reputation, and property, are the same in both 
 countries, and derived from this: the trial by jury, 
 the habeas corpus, the right of petition and of rep- 
 resentation, and no taxation without representa- 
 tion, and the law of libel. No, no, madam, in many 
 respects we are one people still j and although we 
 have an elective president and you a king with 
 limited and well-defined powers; although com- 
 mercial, manufacturing, and territorial competition 
 may occasionally cause a little jarring, yet, guided 
 by moderate, magnanimous, and just counsels, and 
 by the spirit of peace dictating mutual forbearance 
 and concession, best securing mutual respect and 
 all valuable interests, I entertain the most sanguine 
 hopes that the two nations will, for their own sakes, 
 as well as for the repose and happiness of the civil- 
 ized world, not only remain at peace, but cordially 
 united in all measures for guarding the liberties 
 and promoting the prosperity of the whole l^uman 
 race. And I believe, madam, that you entertain
 
 360 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 these sentiments in common with myself and a 
 great majority of my countrymen." 
 
 " Indeed I do, Mr. Carrington. God grant that we 
 may never see another war between the two coun- 
 tries. You must pardon me, sir, for a few minutes 
 absence," said the lady, taking up a waiter with a 
 cup of tea and a buttered roll; "there is a poor 
 young man in the jooin next to yours, who asked 
 to see me this evening. I am going to see him, 
 and will make the servant carry these ; perhaps he 
 will eat something, though he refused -to come 
 down to tea." 
 
 In a short time Mrs. Blanchard returned, and 
 said, " This young gentleman is a countryman of 
 yours, just landed from the American ship that 
 came up a few days ago." 
 
 "Indeed! from what port,*fnadam 1" 
 
 " Norfolk, I think, sir, in Virginia ; and when I 
 told him there was a Virginia gentleman in the 
 house, he showed considerable emotion, and re- 
 quested me very earnestly to procure him an inter- 
 view with you. May I be permitted to show you 
 to his room V' 
 
 " I will not put you to that trouble, madam ; I 
 can find the way. The room, next to mine V 
 
 " Yes, sir, on the same side of the passage, the 
 next door beyond yours." 
 
 Carrington ascended the sfliirs, and tapped at the 
 door. 
 
 " Walk in," said the young man, who arose and 
 offered a chair. He looked pale and care-worn, 
 and was evidently quite unwell. "Pardon the lib- 
 erty I have taken, sir," he continued, " in request- 
 ing this interview with a gentleman with whom I 
 have not the honour to be acquainted, but who, 1 
 understand, is a Virginian." 
 
 "I am a Virginian, and should be happy," said 
 Carrir^gton, " to render a fellow-countryman any 
 service in my power." 
 
 "My health is not good, sir, and my mind still
 
 THE RESCUE. 361 
 
 less at case than my body. I have just arrived," 
 said the young man, "from Norfolk, and if life 
 lasts, am extremely anxious to return instantly, in 
 order to prevent, if possible, the ignominious death 
 of a most worthy man, and the commission of a 
 most heinous crime." Carrington began to think 
 the man deranged or flighty from fever. The 
 young man continued: 
 
 "I cannot hope, sir, for your good opinion, after 
 the recital of the circumstances which I am about 
 to detail ; but my conscience, and horror at the 
 idea of an innocent man suffering for my folly and 
 the wicked use made of it by others, constrain me. 
 Hear me, sir, iF you please. I fled from America 
 under the impression that I had killed a man whom 
 I only intended to chastise for imputing to me the 
 crime of passing counterfeit money, knowing it to 
 be such. The person who urged me to this course 
 was present, and" when I struck the unfortunate per- 
 son with my cane, , he ran up, declared I had killed 
 him, and entreated me to fly. I refused at first, but 
 ascertaining, as well as I could in the dark, that the 
 man was really dead, I did fly, horror-stricken, al- 
 though I was much intoxicated with drink. I con- 
 tinued my flight to the seaboard, and embarked at 
 Norfolk for this place, putting the sea between me 
 and the officers of the law, who, I expected, would 
 pursue me j but a newspaper which I carried on 
 board with me, and which I now have, contains a 
 paragraph that convinces me, thank God! that it 
 was not the blow of my cane that caused the death 
 of the man, but the stabs of the assassin who had 
 urgftd me on. I struck the man but one blow, and 
 had neither dirk nor knife about me. But this is 
 not all. A gentleman, who is as innocent of the 
 murder as you are, is, it seems, ior some rur^cses 
 unknown to me, to be made the victim .u tnis nor- 
 rid tragedy, and has been arrested and put in jail 
 for the murder. Here is the paragraph to which I 
 have alluded ; would to God I had seen it before I
 
 362 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 sailed for this place ! I did not look at the news- 
 papers which I carried on board till eight or ten 
 days after the vessel had left the port. Rend it, 
 sir, and judge how anxious I must be to get back, 
 and prevent, by my evidence, the horrid mischief." 
 
 Carrington took the newspaper. The account 
 ran thus : 
 
 " SHOCKING MURDER. A poor but honest travel- 
 ling merchant or pedler, well known in the west- 
 ern part of this state, was found, on the day of 
 July, on the Kanawha River, murdered. The cor- 
 oner's inquest states that his death was caused by 
 two deep wounds made by a dirk, or other sharp 
 instrument, in the left side. There was also a slight 
 contusion on the side of his face, which might have 
 knocked him down, but did not seriously injure 
 him or cause his death. And we are truly sorry 
 to add, that circumstances, which we hope will be 
 satisfactorily explained, as we believe they cer- 
 tainly will, have led to the arrest of our former es- 
 timable citizen, Edward Ballenger, Esq., near whose 
 house the body of the murdered man was found. 
 While we are aware that nothing from the press 
 should in the slightest degree interfere with the 
 administration of justice, yet we must be permit- 
 ted, for ourselves and this community, to declare 
 that nothing but the most positive evidence, clear 
 as the light of day, could make us entertain even 
 a doubt of the innocence of a gentleman whose 
 whole life has been without reproach, and above 
 suspicion, not only of crime, but even of the slight- 
 est departure from the strictest code of honour and 
 morality." Alexandria Gazette. 
 
 The young man observed that Victor Carrington 
 became very pale as he read, that his hand trem- 
 bled, and the muscles of his face quivered and 
 twitched ; dropping the paper, he exclaimed, 
 
 " Mr. Ballenger arrested for murder good God ! 
 If human exertion can save him, he shall be saved ;" 
 and he rushed from the room.
 
 THE RESCUE. 363 
 
 In about an hour he returned, more composed. 
 " Will you be ready, sir," said he to the young 
 man, " to sail with me for Baltimore at seven 
 o'clock r 
 
 " The earlier the better," replied he. " The tri- 
 al, if it cornes on at the next term, will be in forty 
 days. My principal object in seeking an interview 
 with you was to interest you in obtaining for me 
 the earliest possible passage home, that 1 may, at 
 all hazards to myself, save Mr. Ballenger's life j for, 
 however wild and wicked I may have been, I shud- 
 der at the idea of rny being the cause of bringing 
 an innocent man to the gallows, and his family to 
 shame and disgrace. The very idea, sir, has made 
 me ill." 
 
 Carrington pressed his hands to his temples, 
 covering his face with his handkerchief. 
 
 "Mr. Ballenger must be your friend or relative 
 sir 1" said the young man. 
 
 "He is yes, he is a very dear friend, for whom 
 I would make any sacrifice, risk everything. Most 
 fortunate is it, if not too late, that I have met with 
 you. A few hours later, and I should have sailed 
 for America, without knowing that I had left be- 
 hind me the only means, perhaps, of saving my 
 friend from infamy and death." 
 
 Carrington requested Samuel Carter, for he it 
 was, to detail to him all the circumstances con- 
 nected with his attack on the pedler, the habits of 
 Isaac Forster, and his movements and pursuits. 
 His recital in no degree diminished the apprehen- 
 sions of Mr. Carrington. We must now leave them 
 to wend their way across the Atlantic, and return 
 to our native shore before them, leaving to our 
 readers' imagination the restless, anxious thoughts, 
 harassing fears, and excited feelings of Carrington 
 and Carter during their voyage. Although it was 
 a quick and prosperous passage, to them it seemed 
 intolerably long; and even had they been tossed 
 by storms and tempests, by the winds and the
 
 364 KEW HOPK; OR, 
 
 waves, these would have been nothing when com- 
 pared to the agitations of the mind which they en- 
 dured. 
 
 Fortunate, most fortunate, indeed, was it for Vic- 
 tor Carrington, that the report of Miss Ballenger's 
 death, and the doubtful mode of its occurrence, had 
 not reached Samuel Carter before he sailed for Liv- 
 erpool. He was spared the soul-stunning misery 
 with which the death of her whom he so tenderly 
 loved would have overwhelmed him. But now he, 
 too, well understood what he had been at a loss to 
 conjecture the cause of before his reception of 
 no- letters from William Henry or Matilda for the 
 last two months. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 AFTER Miss Ballenger's deliverance from the cave, 
 we need not say how much it cost her to restrain her 
 impatience to fly to the arms of her imprisoned, unfor- 
 tunate father. Yet she did restrain it. The kind, 
 considerate, and prudent magistrate, at whose house 
 she was, offered to her reason sufficient motives to re- 
 strain the impulses of her heart. He convinced her 
 that it was all-important, not only to the arrest of the 
 counterfeiters and of Isaac Forster, but to the honour- 
 able acquittal of her father, that the discovery of the 
 cave, and her rescue, should be kept secret till the tri- 
 al came on, and all the evidence against him had been 
 given, and Isaac Forster should be in the court-room 
 when she made her unexpected arid sudden appear- 
 ance before the judge and jury. She therefore re- 
 mained at Squire Templeman's till Saturday morning, 
 when, under the protection of the squire, and accompa- 
 nied by his daughter Helea, she commenced her jour- 
 ney to the neighbourhood of Greenbrier Courthouse.
 
 THE RESCUE. 365 
 
 The old soldier did not intend that she should enter 
 the village or be seen till the proper moment arrived, 
 and he had made arrangements to that effect. The 
 sheriff had been at his house on Friday night. 
 
 Joe Swinton and Polly M'Cloud, masked and guard- 
 ed, had been sent in the night to the neighbourhood of 
 Lewisburg. Ben Bramble would have accompanied 
 them, but he and Nat Colly, with some ten stout 
 mountaineers, were ordered by the sheriff to relieve 
 the party at the cave, and then Ben and Nat were to 
 follow the squire and Miss Ballenger in the evening. 
 Before his departure for the cave, Ben went into the 
 room where Matilda and Helen were sitting, and step- 
 ping up to Matilda, and taking her hand, he said, 
 
 " Keep a good stout heart, Miss Mattie. The dev- 
 il's sure to git his own in the long run, 'specially them 
 as courts gals agin ther will, onder ground, or onder 
 any kiver that ain't the honest, fair thing. I'll see you 
 agin Monday in Levvisbiirg, if so be I live." Then 
 turning to Helen, he said, " I know ymi'H take care of 
 her, honey ; she's mighly like her brother, ain't she ?" 
 Helen blushed to the tips of her fingers. " Well, well, 
 don't mind me, Miss Helen, but keep Miss Mattie mo- 
 vin'. It's the best truck for low sperrits that ever I 
 tried better nor any doctor's means ; I've tried it oft- 
 en, and I can sweat out more meloncholy walkin' arter 
 the varmints in these hills than ary steam doctor in Old 
 Vigirmy." 
 
 " Good-by, dear Ben," said Matilda ; " keep yourself 
 out of danger for my sake, who owe you so much, if 
 not for your own." 
 
 " Danger ?" said Ben ; " God's everywhar. Them 
 as sarves him is never in danger. You warn't in no 
 danger in that ar cave, though you motight think so, 
 and your daddy's ii\ no danger in Greenbrier jail. He 
 that made this hound puppy," said he, pointing to Kate, 
 with her head in Matilda's lap, " deliver you, can bring 
 him out as clar as a whistle. Kate's yourn, honey ; 
 1 give her to you to remember me by ; she valors you 
 all but as much as I do. Good-by t'ye, my darters."
 
 HOPE; OR, 
 
 So saying, Ben walked away, followed by his two 
 dogs, Captain and Rover. Kate had scarcely left Ma 
 tilda's side since her rescue, and when the young ladies 
 retired to their chamber at night, she insisted on stay 
 ing in the room, and Helen actually had a pallet pre 
 pared for her near the bed in which she and Matilda 
 slept. We must now leave them and the squire set- 
 ting off to Greenbrier, and follow the relief party to the 
 cave. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is," said Nat Colly to Ben, " it's 
 my notion that if these counterfeitin', sneakin' rascals 
 don't come to this den of them to-day or to-night, they'll 
 never come arterward. Mr. Ballenger's trial's on Mon- 
 day, and the evidence of Miss Balienger and the rest 
 that wer found thar will be known everywhar. Some 
 on 'em will hear on it, and will know that ther lurk- 
 in' place has bin diskivered, and they'll make tracks 
 like a wolf with the dogs arter him." 
 
 " That's likely," replied Ben ; " yet I feel as if we 
 was to have a scrimmage with 'em ; my mind misgives 
 me, some how, and although the law allows us to take 
 'em any how, yet we must manage to trap 'em without 
 blood, Nat. I don't want the blood of a feller-cretur 
 on mv hands, though he be first cousin to the devil 
 himself." 
 
 " Well, nor I nuther," said Nat ; " but darn me if 
 they shall git away, if ever we lay eyes on 'em." 
 
 "I'll tell you how we can manage it," said Ben. 
 " Let Charley, if he will stay, watch outside with five 
 men, and you and I, and four of the other boys, .will go 
 in the cave. One on us will take Joe Swinton's place 
 inside the door by the lamp to give ther watchword 
 Wliafs the time 6 1 day <" and the others go furder in, 
 out on sight ; so that, if so be they should come in, 
 we'll have 'em between Two forces ; and when we let 
 em know that they ar in that fix, and no mistake, they'll 
 give up without a scuffle." 
 
 " Maybe so," replied Nat ; " but they are desperate 
 villains, I guess, and I don't like the notion of settin' 
 down in a cave by a lamp ; it's too much like watch- 
 in' by a corpse monstrous solumn, I tell ye, Ben."
 
 THE RESCUE. 367 
 
 " Well," said Ben, " I'll take that upon me, and you 
 and the boys can go furder in with the punk and the 
 sulphur matches, and the lights that the squire gin us. 
 The rninit t kick over the lamp onintentional by de- 
 sign, the boys outside will rush up, and you can then 
 let 'em know that they are surrounded." 
 
 This plan of operation was agreed to by the whole 
 party when they got to the cave, and Charley Vandal 
 consented to stay, and go with Ben in the evening. 
 Charley and five others, after the rest had gone in, ar- 
 ranged everything at the mouth to look as it did when 
 the cave was discovered, and then concealed them- 
 selves in the ivy-bushes. Thus they remained about 
 two hours, when the quick ear of one of the men heard 
 a splashing in the water, and soon after the low mur- 
 mur of voices coming down the little stream. Then 
 all was still again for a few moments, and four men 
 were seen slowly and stealthily following each other 
 in Indian file up the path leading to the mouth of the 
 cave. When the foremost was within twenty yards 
 of the mouth, he stopped till the others came up, and 
 turning to one of them, said, 
 
 " It's no use trying to persuade me, Obed. I'll see 
 Forster in h 11 before he shall use us so. None of 
 the risk, and half the profits. Of the plunder we've 
 got now, and that we shall get for the last drove sent 
 to Virginia to sell, he shall have his share, and no 
 more ; and if that is measured, Obed Stapler, by the 
 service he does us, it's d d small. He must bring 
 a wench, too ; old Poll's niece, he tells you. It's all 
 a lie. She's a gentlewoman, I know, and he'll bring 
 danger on us, mind what I tell you." 
 
 " But he signs all the notes, and thar's nobody else 
 can do it," replied Obed. 
 
 " What of that ?" said the other man. " He's plan- 
 ning for himself. 1 see that ; and if he could make 
 anything by it, he would hang every one of us." 
 
 " Ah! but," said one of the others, who had not spo- 
 ken before, " he's as deep in the mud as we are in the 
 mire, and he can't sink us without drowning himself"
 
 368 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 " The devil he can't !" replied the first speaker. 
 " My name's not Uriah Blixon, if he ain't the wiliest 
 old fox this side the Alleghany. But I'll watch him 
 pretty close, and if he don't walk as straight as a shin- 
 gle, I'll put a ball through him some of these days, 
 d n me if I don't. But what's the use of jawing ? 
 Let's go in and tell Joe how handily we got off his 
 shiners, a^d what a fine lot of horses we've sent into 
 the old settlements for sale." 
 
 Saying this, he stepped up to the mouth of the cave, 
 and, as he began to remove the brush, received the 
 well-known challenge, " What's the time of day ?" 
 " Four o'clock, 1 " he replied. 
 
 As soon as Ben Bramble saw that they were fairly 
 in the cave, he arose to stumble over the lamp, as had 
 been agreed on. The foremost of the counterfeiters, 
 Uriah Blixon, catching a glimpse of his face as he 
 turned, drew a pistol from his bosom, and levelling it 
 at Ben Bramble, fired instantly, exclaiming, 
 
 " Hell and damnation ! we are betrayed this is not 
 Joe Swinton." 
 
 Ben Bramble reeled and fell, extinguishing the lamp 
 with the blood that gushed from his side, and expired 
 without uttering a groan. In a moment Charley Van- 
 dal and the men with him were at the mouth of the 
 cave. He cried out, 
 
 " Surrender, or we will shoot down every man of 
 you." 
 
 But the counterfeiters dashed on farther into the 
 
 pitchy darkness of the cavern, the foremost calling out, 
 
 " Come on, boys ; we can find our arms in the dark, 
 
 and then we'll give it to the d d deceiving dogs at 
 
 the mouth. Jessey, I've fixed one of 'em." 
 
 " Will you 1" shouted Nat Colly from the dark re- 
 cesses of the cave. " Come on, then, like men." 
 
 A blaze of light rose up before the advancing coun- 
 terfeiters, and revealed, not thirty yards from them, a 
 body of men, with rifles at their shoulders, marching 
 towards them. 
 
 " We are trapped, by G d !" said Uriah Blixon,
 
 THE RESCUE. 369 
 
 recoiling, and rapidly retreating towards the mouth of 
 the cave till they reached the body of Ben Bramble. 
 
 The party in the cave followed close after them. 
 As soon as Nat Colly saw the body of his fallen friend, 
 and a man, with a pistol in his hand, looking back 
 with a fiend-like scowl at him, he raised his gun and 
 shot him through the head. Uriah Blixon, half utter- 
 ing a blasphemous yell, leaped high in the air, and fell 
 beside the body of him he had slain. Twice the ruf- 
 fian attempted to rise, but he fell back, wallowing in 
 blood. The gurgling in his throat suddenly ceased 
 and he was dead. 
 
 " Shall we fire ?" cried Charley Vandal. 
 
 " Unless they surrender in one minute," replied Billy 
 HufF, who was with Nat Colly's party. 
 
 " We give up," said one of the counterfeiters ; " we 
 have no arms." 
 
 " March out, then," said Charley. 
 
 " Won't you shoot us ?" inquired the man. 
 
 " No," answered Charley, " if you make no resist- 
 ance ; but I'll put a bullet through the first man that 
 raises his hand. Follow 'em, boys, out of the cave, 
 and keep your rifles cocked." 
 
 The three remaining counterfeiters marched out, 
 dosely followed by all in the cave but Nat Colly. 
 They were tied, searched, and carried back into the 
 cave. The large torches which had been lighted by 
 the party who secreted themselves in the inner part 
 of the cave had been set up against the walls, and the 
 long table at which the revels of the vile crew who 
 inhabited the cave were held caught fire, and wreaths 
 of flickering flame were curling along the vaulted roof 
 and up the side walls of the cavern. The dark-red 
 glare, accompanied by the fitful, hollow sound of the 
 flames confined in the bowels of the earth, created an 
 awful, solemn, and fearfully sublime spectacle. There 
 lay, in that red and lurid light, the body of Uriah Blix- 
 on, his glazed eyeballs reflecting it, and his ghastly 
 countenance still bearing the malignant scowl of hatred 
 and revenge. And there sat Nat Colly, supporting on 
 16
 
 370 KKTV HOPE; OR, 
 
 his lap the head of his lifeless friend. How different, 
 even in death, the expression of that mild, manly face ! 
 It was pale and placid as the face of a sleeping infant. 
 Charley Vandal stooped over him, and said, 
 
 " Nat Colly, is there any hope ?" 
 
 " No, Charley, he is gone gone forever. It's all 
 over with him. The life's clean out. Oh ! Charley, 
 I loved him like a brother. Thar warn't a braver nor 
 a better man, nor a kinder, truer heart in a human 
 body, than hisn. I couldn't see him lyin' here in his 
 blood, and that villain thar, that murdered him, standin' 
 over him with the pistol in his hand, without shootin' 
 him down, as he desarved ; I couldn't stand it, and I 
 didn't." 
 
 Too true it was, there was no hope. The noble 
 spirit that once animated the body of Ben Bramble had 
 fled forever to the heaven of heavens, we verily be- 
 lieve for his humanity, and the desire to spare the 
 effusion of the blood even of the wicked, had cost him 
 his life. Slowly and sadly they bore his body from 
 that fatal cave, and when the light of heaven fell on 
 the faces of his companions, it showed the traces of 
 many a tear that had wetted their cheeks for the un- 
 timely fate of their friend, in that dreary abode. 
 
 Though there is but little outward semblance of 
 tenderness and sympathy about rough woodsmen and 
 hunters, they have hearts that feel as deeply and as 
 poignantly both joy and sorrow as do those of the most 
 refined and cultivated. Their perilous pursuits and 
 common dangers their urgent need of each other's 
 assistance in times of trial their rude but hearty en- 
 joyments in camp after the dangers, toils, and labours 
 of the day all beget a kindliness of feeling that rarely 
 exists in the same vigorous and lasting degree among 
 the dwellers in towns and cities. According to our 
 philosophy, there is no friendship stronger or more 
 durable than that which is generated and grows up in 
 the wild woods, among men in pursuit of the bear and 
 the panther, the trout and the pike. 
 
 Deeply did Charley Vandal and Nat Colly feel the
 
 THE RESCUE. 371 
 
 death of their fallen comrade, and gentler hearts and 
 more refined natures, too, wept most bitterly the un- 
 timely and violent death of Ben Bramble. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 RETURN with us now, gentle reader, to the court- 
 house in Lewisburg. The excitement produced by 
 the appearance of Matilda Ballenger, thought to be 
 among the dead, was so great that the business of the 
 court was temporarily interrupted. When her bonnet 
 and veil fell off, as she threw herself on the neck of 
 her father, Isaac Forster was still sitting on the 
 window-sill. The instant he saw her face he at- 
 tempted to throw himself out of the open window, but 
 he was seized and pinned down to his place by the 
 young men sitting beside him. What pencil can 
 paint, what pen describe, the ghastly, guilty, horror- 
 stricken countenance of this man ! He was seen to 
 be agitated as Templeman, and those with him, entered 
 the door, and straining his eyes to get a sight of the 
 faces of the females. The men heid him firmly by 
 his arms, and one of them said to him in an under 
 tone, " The warrant to take you, sir, is in my pocket." 
 It now for the first time flashed across his mind that 
 he had been watched and guarded by these two men 
 for several days ; that, in fact, he had been a prisoner, 
 though at large, and apparently free. The horrible 
 truth, in all its appalling magnitude, now burst upon 
 his soul that his guilt, in its great enormity, had been 
 discovered, was known, and that the toils of the law, 
 unseen and unsuspected, had encircled and were ready 
 to crush him, like the coils of the boa-constrictor 
 around the body of a traveller fallen asleep in the 
 woods. 
 
 It was impossible to look upon the guilty wretch
 
 372 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 without shuddering. His trembling shook the very 
 seat on which he was held down. His whole face 
 was ashy pale, his lips of a leaden hue ; his under 
 jaw had fallen, leaving his mouth open ; his forehead 
 was contracted into knotted cords, and his bloodshot, 
 quivering eyes, seemed as if they would start from 
 their sockets as he kept them fixed on Mr. Ballenger 
 and his daughter. At last Matilda raised her head 
 from her father's bosom, and, with the big drops still 
 falling on her cheeks, seemingly unconscious of all 
 but his presence, she said, 
 
 " Oh, my dear and only parent, could you, did you, 
 ever harbour the thought that I had deserted you in 
 your sore distress ; that, forgetting all that I owed you 
 of duty all that I felt for you of that love which my 
 tongue knows not how to utter all that I owe to our 
 heavenly Father that I could have lost my faith and 
 trust in him, and had rushed unbidden into his holy 
 presence ? Oh, my father, could you for one moment 
 think that your daughter had been guilty of self- 
 destruction had thrown herself into the river ?" 
 
 " Never, my dear child never. I knew I felt 
 that it could not be so. I believed that you had acci- 
 dentally fallen into the river. In all my afflictions, 
 I have never suffered the pang that such a thought 
 would have cost me. And I have been supported by 
 that arm which has been outstretched for your deliver- 
 ance and mine, confident if, in the mysterious but all- 
 wise and merciful providence of God, I was to suffer 
 the penalty of the law an ignominious death for a 
 crime which my soul abhors, and of which I would 
 not have been guilty for all that this earth can offer, 
 that we should only the sooner meet in our heavenly 
 Father's kingdom, and there find your sainted mother, 
 who has gone before us to that blessed abode." 
 
 Matilda turned her face towards the window as if to 
 get a breath of air, and as her eyes fell on Isaac For- 
 ster, she shrunk back, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh, take him away ! There is the man that 
 dragged me off."
 
 THE RESCUE. 373 
 
 " Yes," said Templeman, losing his patience, and 
 forgetting that he was in the presence of a court of 
 justice, pointing with his finger at Forster, who shrunk 
 oack as if it had been a dagger, " there is tke man 
 no, not man a monster in human form a counter- 
 feiter a robber a murderer who stole and impris- 
 oned the daughter, and would have hung her father 
 yes, the father of her whom he professed to love, and 
 attempted to force, through her fears for her father's 
 life, to marry him." 
 
 " Haul him out ! tear him in pieces !" was heard at 
 the door, and even in the hall. 
 
 "Sheriff'," said the judge, "look to the safety of 
 Isaac Forster ; he is in the hands of the law. Let 
 not a hair of his head be touched. Captain Temple- 
 man, go to the door and speak to the people." 
 
 The judge knew that Templeman was well known 
 to the people loved and respected by them had 
 served them in the Congress of the United States, and 
 in the army ; that no man in Western Virginia had 
 more, or deserved to have more influence with them 
 had settled on his own military lands among them, 
 and now, in a green old age, had retired from public 
 life, and only exercised the functions of a squire or 
 justice of the peace in the county in which he lived. 
 
 Templeman made his way to the door, and seeing 
 many who had served with him in the Revolutionary 
 war, called them by name to approach : when they got 
 near, he said, 
 
 " My old soldier comrades, and you, too, my young 
 friends, their sons and grandsons, hear me. Many of 
 you now wilhin the sound of my voice, and your fa- 
 thers, young men, fought and shed their blood in the 
 war of the Revolution. What was it for which they 
 fought ? Justice and right. Heaven crowned our ef- 
 forts with success, because our cause was righteous. 
 One of the wrongs of which we complained the most 
 dangerous, despotic, and unjustifiable was the viola- 
 tion of personal liberty without the sanction of law, 
 and the seizure and punishment of men for imputed
 
 374 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 crimes, without proof of guilt before a jury of equals 
 sworn to do justice. So important did all freemen 
 deem this mode of ascertaining guilt or innocence to 
 their personal rights and liberties, that it was incorpo- 
 rated into the Declaration of Independence itself, which 
 says, in stating to the world the causes of our com- 
 plaints, ' For depriving us, in many cases, of the ben- 
 efits of trial by jury.' Not content, even, with this ex- 
 plicit declaration, the just, wise, and patriotic men who 
 framed our Federal Constitution, have made it a part 
 of the supreme law of the land that ' the trial of all 
 crimes, except in cases of impeachment, shall be by 
 jury.' And yet, again, so sacred did the people deem 
 the life and liberty of man, that, among the amend- 
 ments proposed to the States for adoption by the Con- 
 gress of 1789, this is one of the ten that were added to 
 the Constitution by the States: 'In all criminal pros- 
 ecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy 
 and public trial by an impartial jury ; be informed of 
 the nature and cause of the accusation ; be confronted 
 with the witnesses against him ; have compulsory pro- 
 cess for obtaining witnesses in his favour, and have 
 the assistance of counsel for his defence.' 
 
 " Now, my friends, shall we not only disregard, but 
 violate and tear down these strong defences of justice 
 and personal liberty 1 Shall we ourselves become the 
 unjust despots whom we denounced and defeated? 
 Shall we, by our lawless conduct, justify them by do- 
 ing as they did ? Shall we call down upon ourselves 
 the wrath of Heaven, by contempt, and disobedience, 
 and violation of its laws of eternal justice, and our own 
 laws made in conformity with them? Shall we con 
 domn ourselves by our own voluntary acts, and give 
 the lie to our most deliberate and solemn declarations 7 
 No, never never ! Our laws are all-sufficient for the 
 punishment of crime if we will faithfully execute them. 
 Suppose, my friends, that, excited by the cruel death, the 
 assassination of that worthy but unfortunate man, Job 
 Terry, and yielding to suspicions that seemed to be 
 justified by the strongest circumstantial evidence, we
 
 THE RESCUE. 375 
 
 had disregarded the law, and taken the punishment of 
 Edward Ballenger into our own hands ; suppose we 
 had hauled him out, torn him in pieces, or hung him 
 on the nearest tree : is there a man that hears me that 
 does not shudder at the thought ? And how has the 
 probability of his innocence already been made to ap- 
 pear, although his trial is not yet over? By a fair 
 trial, were he guilty, would not that guilt be proved be- 
 fore this court now in session as clearly as his inno- 
 cence, I believe, will be made to appear ? 
 
 " So let it be with every man ; for, of all dangerous, 
 tyrannical, and unjustifiable exercises of injustice and 
 oppression ; of all crimes against the principles of per- 
 sonal liberty ; of all causes tending to the destruction 
 of individual rights, and the peace, security, and hap- 
 piness of society ; of all the instruments which the 
 wicked, the designing, and ambitious can wield for the 
 overthrow of our law-sustained liberty, and for the es- 
 tablishment of the most horrid form of licentious, unre- 
 strained, and unrestrainable despotism, Lynch-law is 
 the most potent and unjustifiable. It is a condemna- 
 tion of our laws, an injury to ourselves, and an open 
 insult to that God who hath said, ' Vengeance, is mine.' 1 
 How soon may suspicion of some offensive act attach 
 to any one of us, through malicious slander or mere 
 thoughtlessness ? Are you all willing, under such cir- 
 cumstances, to be tried by Lynch-law ?" 
 
 "No, no not I," was heard in all directions from 
 the listening crowd. 
 
 " Well, my friends, it is a bad rule that won't work 
 both ways. Do, then, unto others as ye would that they, 
 in similar circumstances, should do unto you. Let 
 the law deal with Isaac Forster : he has already been 
 arrested is in the hands of the law ; and so let it be 
 with every other man ; and it is better, even, that nine- 
 ty-nine guilty men should escape than that one inno- 
 eent man should be punished. For myself, I can only 
 say, that those who attempt to violate the personal 
 rights of any man in my presence by Lynching him, 
 will have to pass over my body. And I hope, so say
 
 3*76 NEW HOPE ; OB, 
 
 you all, my friends, since you have had time to reflect 
 on its horrible consequences." 
 
 Thus spoke Squire Templeman, and his words fell 
 on the ears of the stormy multitude like oil on the 
 troubled waves of the ocean. When he ceased speak- 
 ing, all were still for a moment. The voices of the 
 people were hushed, and there was heard, " He is 
 right ; we were wrong." 
 
 Of all people, we of the United States ought to be 
 the most law-abiding, for we owe the most to the laws ; 
 and we say, " Give the people time to cool, to reflect, 
 and they will go right. They are capable of self-gov- 
 ernment, individually and collectively. To assume the 
 contrary supposition is an insult to the all-wise God 
 that made man." The people were satisfied to let the 
 law take its course. Order was restored, and the 
 court proceeded with the trial of Edward Ballenger. 
 
 A nolle prosequi was entered in the case of Polly 
 M'Cloud. She was sworn, and proceeded to give her 
 testimony. In doing this, it was found utterly impos- 
 sible to confine her to material or legal evidence. The 
 judge and the lawyers were fairly forced to let Mrs. 
 M'Cloud tell her story in her own way. She repeat- 
 ed everything in her own history already known to our 
 readers, except the mode of the death of her daughter's 
 child, her own seduction by Richard Winter, alias Joe 
 Swinton, and her incarceration in the cave, instead of 
 being made the happy mistress of a fine house. 
 
 The material part of her testimony was, that Miss 
 Matilda Ballenger was brought into the cave by Isaac 
 Forster and another man whom she did not know. 
 That Forster made her go out of the room occupied by 
 Matilda and herself several times, and that she. by lay- 
 ing her head against the rock, could hear every word 
 that was said by them. That Forster persuaded Miss 
 Ballenger to marry him, and said that, by doing so, she 
 could save the life of her father ; that her father did 
 not kill Job Terry ; that he knew who did, and could 
 clear him if she would marry him ; that if she did not,
 
 THE RESCUE. 377 
 
 her father should die, and then " she should be hisn 
 any how, and should live and die in the cave." 
 
 "Miss Ballenger," said Polly M'Cloud, "wouldn't 
 hear to him. I wonder the poor cretur warn't scared 
 into takin' him for a husband, and savin' her daddy's 
 life ; for Mr. Forster's a right likely man to look upon 
 and mighty rich, they say ; if he had a courted me as 
 strong as he did her, I don't know what I should have 
 done but give up. Yit I don't believe in him, and / 
 has my reasons for it." 
 
 Matilda Ballenger was then sworn, and the judge 
 said to her, " Be composed, Miss Ballenger, and state 
 to the jury the circumstances of your abduction, and 
 whatever else may be connected with it." 
 
 We shall not attempt to follow her through the whole 
 of her touching and pathetic narrative, but will give its 
 brief outlines. She stated that, previous to her father's 
 arrest, Mr. Forster had made advances to her that 
 could not be misunderstood ; that on the day on which 
 Job Terry, the pedler, was at her father's house, Mr. 
 Forster had formally proposed to her ; that she had 
 promptly, and perhaps indignantly, rejected his propo- 
 sals, and requested him never again to mention the 
 subject to her. He seemed to be very angry: " And 
 as I left the room," said she, " he made use of this ex- 
 pression, with a very marked emphasis : ' You will re- 
 pent this, Miss Ballenger.' He went away from my 
 father's about the dusk of the evening." 
 
 When her father was arrested the next day, she had 
 remained in her chamber till late in evening, and then 
 sought relief to her agonized feelings and fevered frame 
 by walking on the bank of the river, where she was in 
 the habit of walking, in front of the house. She had 
 scarcely reached the bank when she was seized, and 
 a bandage drawn over her mouth and eyes. In vain 
 she struggled and attempted to scream. She was hur- 
 ried into a boat, and rowed rapidly from the shore. 
 Then the sound of the oars ceased. She heard whis- 
 pering. The boat seemed to turn round. Her bonnet 
 and one of her shoes were taken off'. She thought she 
 16*
 
 378 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 felt the boat strike the shore, and immediately after- 
 ward she heard the words, " That will do ; they'll 
 know she's drowned, or think so, at any rate." Again 
 the oars were rapidly plied. Some person held her 
 down in the boat, and something, which felt like a 
 blanket, had been thrown over her head and shoulders. 
 In a short time the boat struck the shore again, and 
 there was whispering. She heard the words, " Bring 
 the horses close to the boat." She was taken out and 
 placed on a horse on a woman's saddle, with some 
 person behind her, who held her on ; the horses for 
 she could hear the feet of two were put in rapid mo- 
 tion, which continued for a long time several hours, 
 she supposed. Exhausted, and in a state almost of 
 stupor, she was lifted from the horse and placed upon 
 the ground. The horror of her situation was now 
 made known to her by hearing the voice of Isaac For- 
 ster as he took the bandage from her eyes and mouth. 
 
 " I told you, miss, that you would repent of your re- 
 fusing me." 
 
 " I screamed," said Matilda, " and he said, ' Scream 
 away, if that will do you any good ; none but bears 
 and wolves can hear you in this place.' It was so 
 dark I could not see any object. Mr. Forster sat down 
 by me, while the other man kindled a fire. I then 
 saw that I was under the shelf of a large impending 
 rock. That I survived the agonies of that night and 
 the succeeding day, during which they remained there 
 till after dark, I can attribute to the sustaining hand of 
 God alone. My brother far away from home, igno- 
 rant of the calamities that had fallen on us ; my father 
 in prison, accused of a terrible crime ; and I I was 
 in the hands of ruffians, far from all human help. Oh ! 
 sir, no tongue can tell what I suffered. They offered 
 me food ; but the very attempt to swallow a mouthful, 
 had I made it, would have choked me. Strange as it 
 may seem, in the course of that dreadful day I slept 
 I must have slept, for I suddenly felt refreshed, and 
 drank a large draught of water that was offered lo me. 
 As soon as it was dark I was again placed on a horse
 
 THE RESCUE. 379 
 
 as before, and how long or how far I was carried I 
 know not : it was still dark when I was lifted from the 
 horse, and I think twenty minutes must have elopsed 
 before they forced me along on foot in the water for 
 some distance, and then up a steep hill through thick 
 bushes. Mr. Forster then said to me, ' You are at 
 home now.' 
 
 " I heard somebody speak, as if from out of the earth, 
 and then I found myself in a room lighted by a lamp, 
 and this woman, Mrs. M'Cloud, was sitting on a stool 
 near the lamp. Looking at me steadily for some time, 
 she said, 
 
 " ' Isaac's a'liar ; this here gal's a lady. Well, he 
 deceives everybody, even me : he'll get deceived him- 
 self some of these times.' 
 
 " ' Trust me for that, you old hag,' he replied from 
 the outside of the door. ' Mind your own business, or 
 remember.'' 
 
 " She shook her head and replied to him, ' I hear.' 
 
 " ' Heed me, then,' he said, ' or you will never see 
 the outside of this cave. You shall never leave it, 
 living or dead.' 
 
 " ' I know that,' she said ; ' you needn't tell me I 
 can't help myself if I would, any more than this poor 
 young lady.' 
 
 " I threw myself, or rather fell, on a pallet bed, cov- 
 ered my face, and sobbed aloud. My heart was full 
 to bursting ; I could hardly breathe, and felt as if I 
 should suffocate every instant. This woman, who has 
 treated me as kindly as she knew how, I believe, got 
 up and offered me some kind of spirits, saying it would 
 do me good ; but I did not raise my head. 
 
 " ' Well, well,' said she, 'you'll come to it whether 
 or no, I guess ; grief wd sorrow are mighty thirsty feel- 
 ings.' 
 
 " How long I remained in that room in the cave I 
 do not know. Mr. Forster frequently came into the 
 room, ordered Mrs. M'Cloud out, and urged me to mar- 
 ry him, always saying that, if I would, he could save 
 my father's life and free his reputation from the stain.
 
 380 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 that would rest on it ; that my father was in his pow- 
 er, but that, if I did not yield to his proposals, my fa- 
 ther should die the death of a murderer, although not 
 guilty of the crime ; that he knew who killed Job Ter- 
 ry, and meant to make his death answer his own pur- 
 poses ; and that, if I did not agree to marry him in a 
 short time, which he said he gave me for reflection, 1 
 should never again see the light of day should never 
 leave the cave ; and, moreover, that he would force 
 me to marry him so soon as I had permitted my father 
 to die, when I had the power to save him by consent- 
 ing to become his wife. Hard was the trial and sore 
 the conflict, and bitter the thought that 'my father must 
 die, but I knew and felt that I was not permitted to do 
 evil that good might come of it ; that the blessing of 
 God cannot rest on actions that he has forbidden, no 
 matter to what end they are performed. I was sup- 
 ported and sustained under all these trials, thanks, ev- 
 erlasting thanks to my heavenly Father, till I was res- 
 cued from that dreadful place. How that was accom- 
 plished, this excellent gentleman," said she, turning to 
 Squire Templeman, "to whom I owe so much, and 
 Ben Bramble, my kind and brave friend, can best in- 
 form you." 
 
 Her narrative being ended, Squire Templeman step- 
 ped up to the clerk's table to be sworn, when the clat- 
 ter of horses' feet were heard approaching the court- 
 house. 
 
 " Make way, make way," was heard at the door, 
 and two young men rushed up the steps and into the 
 hall. All eyes were on them except those of Mr. Bal- 
 lenger and his daughter, who seemed to hear and see 
 nothing, so much were they absorbed and overpower- 
 ed by the intense feelings excite^ by Matilda's recital. 
 The taller and more robust of the two young men ad- 
 vanced rapidly towards the clerk's table, and said, ad- 
 dressing the judge, 
 
 " Danger, imminent danger to the life and honour 
 of a gentleman, my friend, must plead my apology, 
 your honour, for the abrupt "
 
 THE RESCUE. 381 
 
 A loud scream interrupted the speaker. At the 
 first tones of his voice, Matilda Ballenger had sprung 
 to her feet, caught a glimpse of his face, screamed, 
 and fell fainting on the floor. In an instant the stran- 
 ger reached the spot where she lay, and resting with 
 one knee on the floor, raised her head. Slowly she 
 revived, and looking up, a deep blush suffused her 
 face and neck as she said, 
 
 " Oh ! Victor, have you come to behold my fa- 
 ther's" 
 
 " Yes, dearest Matilda, I am here, thank God, to 
 behold your father's triumphant vindication of his life 
 and reputation ; I am here to prove his perfect inno- 
 cence by the most positive and irrefragable evidence." 
 
 " Still," said Matilda, hiding her face with her 
 hands, " he has been arraigned for a horrid crime, and 
 although his innocence may be proved to all the world, 
 I, his daughter " 
 
 Her voice failed, and was lost in sobs. 
 
 " His daughter is worthy of her father," said Victor; 
 " worthy of all that earth and heaven can bestow. Oh ! 
 Matilda, my own, my aflianced bride for such I am 
 proud to claim you before the world I know all your 
 father's danger your own agonizing sufferings in the 
 cave your providential rescue. Where is the mon- 
 ster who wove this web of villany and crime ?" (Will- 
 iam Henry Ballenger had raised his sister from the 
 arms of Victor Carrington, and placed her on a chair.) 
 " Where is Isaac Forstcr ?" 
 
 He pronounced the words with an emphasis so 
 strong, and an intonation so deep, and thrilling, and 
 imperative, that the wretched villain started up me- 
 chanically, and answered, 
 
 "Here!" 
 
 All eyes were turned upon him. His own were 
 fixed on Samuel Carter, for he it was who had en- 
 tered the court-house with Victor Carrington. Isaac 
 Forster was blasted and withered by the vision. If 
 the earth had yawned and a spirit from the vasty deep 
 had stood before him to drag him down to perdition,
 
 382 NEW HOPE ; OB, 
 
 he could not have exhibited a more terror-stricken ap- 
 pearance. His fate was sealed forever. He knew 
 it, he felt it, he looked it ; and all who beheld him 
 could see its deep, dark, indelible stamp upon the 
 wretch's face. These startling occurrences had inter- 
 rupted the business of the court. Squire Templeman 
 at last said, 
 
 " There will be no occasion now, I believe, may it 
 please the court, for my testimony. There is a wit- 
 ness in court, I understand, who has just arrived, whose 
 evidence is of great importance." 
 
 Mr. Wickham said to the clerk, " Swear Samuel 
 Carter." 
 
 Our readers will no doubt recollect the contents of 
 his letter to Isaac Forster and his statements to Mr. 
 Carrington, and it is therefore unnecessary to repeat 
 them. These he swore to ; whence it was evident 
 that Forster himself had killed Job Terry. The only 
 additional fact which he stated was the pains Forster 
 took to incense him against the pedler on the day be- 
 fore his murder. 
 
 The reader will now readily imagine, what was 
 really true, that Isaac Forster had modified his intend- 
 ed course of action against Mr. Ballenger, and, instead 
 of assassinating him, determined to bring his life into 
 jeopardy, in order, through her fears for her father's 
 life, to obtain the hand of Matilda, and then deceiving 
 her, to cause, if possible, his condemnation and execu- 
 tion. Circumstances seemed to favour, or might have 
 suggested the change in his original design : the anger 
 of young Carter against the pedler, the payment of the 
 guinea (which could be identified) by Matilda. While 
 sitting in the porch at Mr. Ballenger's, Isaac Forster 
 had heard the poor pedler, when going away and 
 meeting Mr. Ballenger in the yard, ask him, in a low 
 tone of voice, to give him notes for specie, which it 
 was inconvenient and attended with more risk to carry 
 in any considerable quantity ; had seen them go to- 
 gether into Mr. Ballenger's chamber, and heard the 
 pedler, on coming out, address Mr. Ballenger with,
 
 THE RESCUE. 383 
 
 " Much obliged to you, sir ;" had there formed his hor- 
 rible plan had taken the dirk from the mantelpiece 
 and secreted it. Accident, too, favoured his designs, 
 for Mr. Ballenger's handkerchief had fallen from his 
 pocket, and was picked up by Isaac Forster near the 
 yard gate as he departed on his murderous errand. 
 
 After Samuel Carter had given his evidence, Mr. 
 Walker stated that he thought it entirely unnecessary 
 to call any other witnesses in behalf of Mr. Ballenger, 
 and inquired of the commonwealth's attorney if he in- 
 tended to argue the case. 
 
 " No, sir," said he, " I abandon the prosecution, per- 
 fectly satisfied of the innocence of Mr. Ballenger." 
 
 Mr. Wickham and Mr. Randolph made a few elo- 
 quent remarks on the extraordinary nature of the case, 
 and the latter concluded by remarking that, in the 
 whole course of his practice, no case had occurred in 
 which the chain of circumstantial evidence against the 
 accused had been so strong as in this ; yet an over- 
 ruling Providence, to justify the ways of God to man, 
 had demolished and broken to atoms every link at one 
 blow ; had defeated and exposed a deep-laid and des- 
 perately dark conspiracy by the most humble and art- 
 less means the attachment of a faithful hound. Let 
 no man hereafter flatter himself that crime can be con- 
 cealed, or that the criminal can ultimately escape ; and 
 let no man, who is really guiltless, ever despair of 
 honourable acquittal, if he believes and confidently 
 trusts in the providential care of the great Father of 
 light, the Christian's God. 
 
 The judge said to the jury, " Are you prepared to 
 render your verdict, or will you retire ?" 
 
 The jury rose to their feet, and the foreman said, 
 
 " We are prepared now, sir. We find Edward Bal- 
 lenger Not Guilty /" 
 
 Mr. Ballenger was instantly discharged, the court 
 adjourned, and the hall rang with acclamations. Isaac 
 Forster, strongly guarded and attended by Squire Tem- 
 pleman to the door of the prison, was locked in, and 
 armed men were stationed around the jail. Aa the
 
 384 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 judge, the lawyers, Mr. Ballenger, his son and daugh- 
 ter, Victor Carririgton, Miss Templeman, and her 
 father, attended by a numerous party of friends, passed 
 through the crowd to the principal inn of the village, 
 the shouts of the people manifested their joy at the ac- 
 quittal of the innocent, and the triumph of truth and 
 justice. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 AFTER receiving the congratulations of their 
 friends and acquaintances on the fortunate escape 
 of Mr. Ballenger from the imminent danger which 
 menaced him, the providential rescue of Matilda, 
 and the timely arrival of Victor Carrington and 
 Samuel Carter, Mr. Ballenger, his son, and daugh- 
 ter retired to the apartments prepared for them, 
 and there they threw themselves on their knees, 
 and poured out to God the full tide of gratitude 
 that filled their hearts. How feeble to them seem- 
 ed their strongest expressions of praise and thanks- 
 giving ! How powerless was the tongue to express 
 the emotions of the soul ! How feeble and inade- 
 quate to their sense of obligation and of blessings 
 received were their powers of language ! In their 
 supplications for His saving grace, the whole hu- 
 man race was included ; and for their enemies, and 
 especially for him from whom they had suffered so 
 much wrong, their petitions for mercy, for forgive- 
 ness, and for the turning of him from the error of 
 his ways, and granting him true repentance, were 
 most eloquent, ardent, and sincere. What love of 
 our fellow-creatures, what magnanimity of soul, 
 what generous forgiveness of inflicted injuries, can 
 compare with those of an enlightened Christian! 
 It is the soul-enlarging power of the religion of
 
 THE RESCUE. 385 
 
 Jesus of Nazareth that raises man from the lowest 
 point of mortality to the highest pinnacle of moral 
 elevation ; from the filth and mire of degrading 
 passions and propensities, to the pure atmosphere 
 of virtue from earth to heaven. Talk of honour, 
 and dignity, and standing' among men! There is 
 no honour so great, no dignity so commanding, no 
 standing among men so lofty, as that of an enlight- 
 ened Christian gentleman. 
 
 After the thrilling excitements of the day, silence 
 and repose rested upon the village of Lewisburg. 
 Night overshadowed the earth. No sounds were 
 heard in the street, and peaceful sleep had closed 
 the eyes of all. No, not of all ; there was one who 
 slept not. The burning lava of thought over- 
 whelmed his doomed and guilty soul. From him 
 sleep fled affrighted, and peaceful repose came 
 not near. In the darkness of the night he could 
 see, as he sat alone in the jail could distinctly 
 see, the form of him whom he had murdered, stand- 
 ing out from the wall before him. The eyes were 
 glaring upon him in glazed and startling bright- 
 ness. Grinning, jibbering spectres pointed their 
 long and bloody fingers at him, and laughed with 
 horrible, soul-freezing malignity. In vain did he 
 often change his position and look to another side 
 of his cell : still the appalling form was before 
 him. Look where he would, there there it was; 
 the eyes dilated, and fixed upon his with burning 
 intensity. Nearer and nearer they seemed to ap* 
 proach him. In the phrensied agony of his soul, 
 he arose and paced the room ; his knees knocked 
 together, and the big drops of perspiration started 
 from his face. The spectral form descended from 
 the wall and confronted him at every turn. He 
 stopped as if a sudden thought had crossed his 
 mind. He looked up to the low ceiling, then 
 mounted on the stool on which he had been sitting, 
 and groped about with his cold, clammy, trembling 
 hands. He then got down, went to the narrow-
 
 386 NEW HOPE; OR, 
 
 barred window, and seemed to be listening, as if he 
 were apprehensive of being seen or heard. In the 
 morning, when the jailer opened the prison door, 
 he found Isaac Forster a ghastly, stark, and livid 
 corpse, suspended by the neck from the ceiling of 
 the cell. He had, with his teeth and hands, rent 
 his handkerchief into shreds, twisted them into a 
 cord, and, mounted on the stool, had broken a hole 
 through the ceiling, and passed the cord around a 
 joist, from which he had swung himself into eter- 
 nity. " The righteousness of the perfect shall di- 
 rect his way, but the wicked shall fall by his own 
 wickedness. The righteousness of the upright 
 shall deliver them, but transgressors shall be taken 
 in their own naughtiness. When a wicked man 
 dieth, his expectation shall perish, and the hope 
 of unjust men perisheth. The righteous is deliv- 
 ered out of trouble, and the wicked cometh in his 
 stead." 
 
 An examination of the papers of the guilty sui- 
 cide disclosed the many artful and monstrous frauds 
 which he had perpetrated, and more still which he 
 intended to commit. The forged will of Mr. Bal- 
 lenger, with the places of the date left blank, and 
 the vial of ink to fill the blank labelled " For Bui- 
 lenger's will" was only one among several others. 
 Almost every man whose agent he had been, it was 
 now ascertained, had suffered from his perfidy and 
 cunningly-contrived frauds; and it was most re- 
 markable, that not one of these was so much bene- 
 fited by the discovery of his evil deeds as the man 
 whom he intended most deeply to injure, and even 
 to destroy Mr. Edward Ballenger. The lands 
 which had been collusively sold and reconveyed 
 to Isaac Forster were all recovered. These Mr. 
 Ballenger transferred to the merchants from whom 
 he derived his title to the lands. So great was 
 their value, that the proceeds of their sale not only 
 relieved Smith and Bird, Buchanan and Alexander 
 from all their embarrassments, but left them in
 
 THE RESCUE. 387 
 
 easy circumstances. Of those retained by Mr. 
 Ballenger, the tracts in New- York and northwest 
 of the Ohio River he sold for one hundred and sev- 
 enty-five thousand eight hundred dollars. 
 
 Thus it is that the actions of bad men often reach 
 a point at which they never aimed, and even in 
 quite a contrary direction. An overruling Provi- 
 dence, while it leaves men free to will and to act, 
 holds the final result of all they will and all they 
 do in its own hands. Men only know what they 
 intend and what they do, but they cannot foresee 
 the results of their intentions or of their actions. 
 But we have the highest authority for believing 
 that he is most certain of success whose purposes 
 and acts are most in accordance with the Divine 
 mind, whose means of carrying them into effect are 
 such as we, from his holy character, must believe 
 he will vouchsafe to crown with success. 
 
 The counterfeiters were all taken, and suffered 
 the penalty of their crimes. Joe Swinton alias 
 Richard Winter, after conviction, made his escape, 
 although he was in irons, and guarded by four men ; 
 and being hotly pursued, he attempted to cross the 
 Kanawha in a skiff above the falls, but, not hand- 
 ling an oar with as much dexterity as the ore, he 
 was hurried by the rapid current over the falls, and 
 drowned. 
 
 Uriah Blixon alias George Baxter, as we have 
 related, was shot through the head in the cave by 
 Nat Colly. 
 
 Mrs. M'Cloud was the only person whom Isaac 
 Forster had defrauded and injured, that was not 
 benefited ultimately by his death. Her lands were 
 of no service to her, for, shortly after her deliver- 
 ance from the cave, she died of apoplexy, produced 
 by high spirits. 
 
 Nat Colly lived to be a very old man, continu- 
 ing to hunt in the Loop, and to his dying day be- 
 lieving and asserting that the scare he got on the 
 Kanawha must have been some device of Zac For-
 
 388 NEW HOPE ; OR, 
 
 ster, who, he verily believed, dealt with the devil, 
 and was allowed by him to do " onnat'ral things." 
 
 Sam Dyer never wore a wooden jacket a second 
 time, and we believe that, as he grew older, the 
 suit Parson Jenkins made for him sat more loosely 
 on him, and confined him less than in his early 
 days. He could never be prevailed on, though, to 
 go opossum hunting, but that made no odds be- 
 tween him and Sal, for, as she grew older, she lost 
 her taste for the flesh of marsupial animals. 
 
 Charley Vandal, we incline to think, married the 
 pretty Patsey Layton, with whom he became so 
 much enamoured at the wedding near the Hawk's 
 Nest, for there are Charley Vandals and Layton 
 Vandals, and many other young Vandals, west of 
 the Alleghanies. 
 
 Old Uncle Tom, the faithful and devoted servant 
 of Mr. Ballenger, lived many years, kindly cared 
 for and cherished by his honoured master and his 
 children, more and more confirmed in his opinion 
 that it was " mity hard to find out people here in 
 de woods." 
 
 Samuel Carter was entirely reformed by the sit- 
 uation in which he was placed by the belief that 
 he had killed Job Terry, and the serious reflections 
 to which it gave rise. 
 
 George Arbuckle Templeman devoted himself 
 to the military service of his country. In the war 
 of 1812, he distinguished himself for personal in- 
 trepidity and military conduct, was promoted to 
 the command of a regiment, and then of a brigade. 
 We have not seen the army list lately, and there- 
 fore cannot say where General Templeman is at 
 present stationed. We hope that, in the rage for 
 retrenchment and reform, the country will not be 
 deprived of his valuable services. 
 
 How often in this life do joy and sorrow tread 
 on each other's heels! The morning after Mr. 
 Ballenger's acquittal, Victor Carrington related to 
 Matilda, her father and brother, his accidental
 
 THE RESCUE. 889 
 
 meeting with Samuel Carter at Mrs. Blanchard's, 
 in Liverpool j their instant embarcation for the 
 United States, and arrival at Baltimore. In pas*, 
 ing from Baltimore to Lewisburg, where he knew 
 Mr. Ballenger would be tried, accompanied by Sam- 
 uel Carter, he sought the nearest route to the Val- 
 ley of the Kanawha, by Wheeling, thence down the 
 Ohio River to a point opposite an island in the 
 river, which, at a subsequent period, became the 
 residence of Hermann Blennerhasset and his ac- 
 complished and beautiful wife ; thence he struck 
 across a wild and mountainous country to the Falls 
 of the Great Kanawha. Here he learned that he 
 had not a moment to lose, and crossing the river at 
 the falls, passed rapidly on by Cotton Hill, and 
 through the Loop towards the ferry on New River. 
 In the Loop he met Nat Colly and Charley Vandal 
 carrying the remains of Ben Bramble to his hum- 
 ble cabin near the falls. From them he learned 
 the particulars of the discovery of the cave, of Ma- 
 tilda's rescue, and the death of Ben Bramble, with 
 whose character, habits, and pursuits he had been 
 made acquainted by the letters of William Henry 
 and Matilda herself, to whom he had sent a little 
 present, which he thought she might be pleased in 
 giving, as appropriate, to her friend the hardy 
 hunter. The delight and admiration with which 
 he received it will doubtless be recollected by our 
 readers. 
 
 Though tenderness, and love, and admiration 
 marked every act and look of Victor Carrington 
 towards Matilda, still she could detect (what will 
 not the eyes of woman detect in him she loves, ex- 
 cept his faults'? before marriage I mean, of 
 course) a shade of sadness on his brow, an occa- 
 sional trace of sorrow, which she could not account 
 for, and which distressed, or, rather, disturbed and 
 rendered her uneasy. Alas! it was the death of 
 Ben Bramble, of which Matilda had not heard, that 
 tinged his face with gloom. Her heart was yet
 
 390 NEW HOPE J OR, 
 
 free from a pang of sharp sorrow that was to pierce 
 it. Little did she imagine that his parting words 
 at Squire Templeman's were prophetic ; that she 
 would see his honest, kind, and manly face no more 
 on earth ; that he who had risked his life to save 
 her from dishonour, and perhaps from death, had 
 in that very cave from which he had delivered her 
 poured out the warm and generous current of his 
 life's blood in vindicating the violated laws of his 
 country. Bitter, bitter was her grief when, in sor- 
 rowful accents, Victor Carrington related to her 
 the sad and untimely fate of Ben Bramble. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FORTY-FIRST AND LAST. 
 
 GENTLE reader, our task is nearly done. We 
 must part, perhaps forever, but not the worse, I 
 hope, for our brief and kindly intercourse. Mr. Bal- 
 lenger, whose ill health had been aggravated, if not 
 originally produced, by the action of the mind upon 
 the body, recovered rapidly after regaining his lib- 
 erty and his fortune. Mr. Hockley, his neighbour, 
 became restless, and sold out his farm to Mr. Bal- 
 lenger, dismissed his suit against him, and moved 
 away. Mr. Ballenger built a large, convenient 
 house on his own land, using the old one for a 
 kitchen and servants' house, and determined to 
 spend the remainder of his days on the banks of 
 the Great Kanawha. 
 
 About five or six years after the events related 
 in the preceding chapters, a lady, who seemed to 
 be twenty-three or four years of age, was seated 
 under the shade of a spreading sugar-maple-tree in 
 Mr. Ballenger's garden reading, and a fine, healthy 
 little boy, apparently four or five years old, was 
 lying on the grass at her feet, with his arms around
 
 THE RESCUE. 391 
 
 the neck of an aged honnd. The dog was evident- 
 ly accustomed to and pleased with the caresses of 
 the child. 
 
 "Now, Kate," he said to the dog, "I've got you 
 fast. You shan't go to mother and little Cousin 
 Mattie Ballanger ; you shall stay here with me and 
 Aunt Helen. Yonder she goes my mother, Kate." 
 
 The dog disengaged herself from his arms, and 
 trotted offafter the lady and little girl who had en- 
 tered the garden, and were walking towards a whi e 
 marble slab raised about two feet from the ground 
 by a basis of solid masonry. Two willow-trees 
 threw their pendent boughs over it. As soon as 
 the dog left him, the little hoy leaped up from the 
 green turf, and pulling at the lady's dress, said, 
 
 "Aunt Helen Aunt Helen Ballenger, didn't you 
 tell me that your father, Mr. Squire Templeman, 
 was coming here to-morrow'?" 
 
 The lady smiled, and replied, "Victor, I told you 
 that Mr. Edward Templeman, my father, not Mr. 
 Squire Templeman, was coming here to-morrow." 
 
 " Well, aunt, I'm going to ask him why he al- 
 ways goes to that white stone when he conies here, 
 and what makes mother cry so whenever she poes 
 there. Look at her now, with her handkerchief to 
 her eyes, and old Kate looking up in her face as 
 if she was going to cry too !" 
 
 Need we say who that weeper was 1 or that the 
 stone was inscribed, 
 
 * " SACRED TO THE MEMORTc 
 
 BEN BRAMBLE." 
 
 THE END.
 

 
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