GIFT or 
 PROF. C.A. KOFOID 
 
" / knew it by the MacKinlay Tartan." (Page 562. 
 
THE LATIMERS 
 
 A Tale of the Western Insurrection 
 of 1794 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY CHRISTOPHER McCOOK 
 
 AUTHOB OF " TENANTS OF AN OLD FABM, 
 "OLD FARM FAIKIES," ETC. 
 
 FOURTH THOUSAND. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO. 
 
 103 S. FIFTEENTH ST. 
 
 1898 
 

 ti"1 
 
 
 HENRY CHRISTOPHER McCOOK 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 In the following romance the author has attempted to 
 picture the life of the Scotch-Irish pioneers of the Ameri 
 can frontier during the close of the eighteenth century. 
 The Colonial immigrants and their scions of this vigorous 
 stock were the chief pathfinders of our then Western 
 border. They opened the wilderness to civilization. They 
 formed a barrier between the hostile Indians and the grow 
 ing settlements of the seaboard. They laid the foundations 
 of the New West, the Greater America. Whatever throws 
 light upon their history in this formative era should in 
 terest not only their descendants but all who have profited 
 by their labors and sufferings. 
 
 In prosecuting his purpose the author has diligently 
 studied this people, their habits, characteristics and envi 
 ronment. Local histories have been read. Papers, manu 
 scripts, pamphlets, church and county records have been 
 examined. The scenery described has been personally vis 
 ited, photographed and sketched, and topographical plots 
 and maps copied and drawn. The flora and fauna and 
 weather conditions have been noted. The biographies of 
 leading and typical men and women of the various sections 
 have been read. The dialect has been especially studied. 
 For several years the author has been engaged in preparing 
 a vocabulary of Scotch-Irishisms which contains many 
 hundreds of words, phrases and sayings. The results of 
 this research are shown in the language of some of the 
 characters who figure in the story. 
 
 The period in which the narrative is located was one 
 of the most important in the history of our national and 
 social development. The Old West, as known to our Colo 
 nial ancestors, was about to disappear, or to recede further 
 towards the great prairies. The last decisive conflict be 
 tween the white men led by General Anthony Wayne, and 
 the aborigines, was impending in the Northwestern terri 
 tory. The battle of Fallen Timbers, described in one chap- 
 
 M 101990 
 
4 PEEFACE. 
 
 ter, and the pivot of several chapters, decided the destiny 
 of the middle West, and opened its territories to permanent 
 settlement. The riots and risings in Western Pennsylvania 
 and the adjacent sections, stirred up by Eevenue troubles, 
 were then fomenting, and subsequently issued in what is 
 known in history as "The Western Insurrection," or more 
 popularly, "The Whiskey Insurrection/ Most of those 
 engaged in this disturbance were descendants of Scotch- 
 Irishmen, many of them veterans of the Revolutionary 
 War. The incident has been little studied and less under 
 stood, although in point of fact it had a most important in 
 fluence upon the growth of our country. 
 
 To suppress this "insurrection" President Washington 
 led towards the frontier an army which in point of equip 
 ment was perhaps superior to any which he commanded 
 during the War for Independence. He paused at Carlisle 
 to return to Philadelphia, then the capital of the Eepublic, 
 leaving General Lee, accompanied by Secretary Hamilton, 
 to march the militia across the mountains to the scene of 
 the disturbances in Washington and Allegheny Counties. 
 The course oi the story leads the reader into the midst of 
 these stirring events. 
 
 Within this period the author has laid the scenes of his 
 story. Indeed, it has been a chief purpose to present the 
 true character of this famous, or as it is more commonly 
 conceived, this infamous insurrection. A degree of 
 obloquy has fallen upon the race most closely concerned 
 therein, which, in the author s judgment, is not deserved. 
 He does not seek to exempt the Scotch-Irishmen and others, 
 associated directly or indirectly with the Western riots, 
 from deserved censure; but he believes that the character 
 of the men concerned, as well as their motives and the 
 actual degree of criminality in the various risings, have 
 been exaggerated and misrepresented in history, and are 
 not understood by the people at large. In the various inci 
 dents described, the author uncovers his own view of the 
 origin, progress and disappearance of this insurrectionary 
 movement. While he does not suppose that his personal 
 bias is wholly concealed, yet he ventures to indulge the 
 hope that in this regard he has shown the impartiality and 
 truthfulness which should characterize history, even 
 though it be written in the form of a romance. 
 
 JULY 3D, A. D. 1897. 
 
THE LATIMERS 
 
 A TALE OP THE WESTERN INSURRECTION 
 OF 1794 
 
CHAPTEE I. 
 
 "THIS MAN WAS BORN THERE." 
 
 On a summer eve of 1792 three men pushed a boat into 
 the Ohio Eiver from the mouth of Yellow Creek. One 
 boatman was a man of twenty, who sat on the middle 
 thwart carelessly dandling a rifle on his knees, and viewing 
 the river scenery with pleased eye. 
 
 Though the day was waning apace, the sun of an 
 August afternoon still blazed upon the water which ran 
 scant and sluggish through the narrowed channel. The 
 heat was great, but the air was not humid, and it lay upon 
 the landscape so clear that every sunbeam twinkled into 
 the deepest heart of the forest foliage, lighting up the 
 leaves with many hues of green and yellow, and showing 
 the patches of greenish lichens upon the gray trunks. 
 The blades of grass along the river banks stood out sharply 
 in the transparent atmosphere, and the sunlight cut down 
 to their very roots. The rugged hills on the northern 
 shore rose up to the sky line, with every feathered tree-top 
 marked in clear outline against the deep blue which swept 
 zenithward without a cloud. 
 
 The youth s senses were as tense to the melodious 
 sounds as to the sweet sights of Nature, and he noted gladly 
 how the waters plashed and babbled merrily against the 
 bow as it parted them asunder. Song birds twittered in the 
 hazelnut, sumac and elder bushes. Mocking-birds whistled 
 in the woods. Catbirds called from the low trees. The 
 swing of an eagle s wing shadowed the stream as the bird 
 started up from its nest in a high tree that a thunderbolt 
 had smitten. A hen crow cawed from a stump where her 
 rude nest showed atop, with her broodlings black heads 
 perked above its rim. Great buzzards circled aloft, such 
 ideals of graceful motion that the young man, who knew 
 their ungainly fashion and had an eye for goodly seeming, 
 wished that they might never come to roost again. 
 
 (7) 
 
8 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 e had a vision of a doe with her young 
 conie quite down from the bank and into 
 a didkk, and were tardy to leave off at the 
 Strange plasti ainJ signV not yet having well learned the 
 fear of men. But presently they lifted their heads and 
 sniffed, and plashed away, and rustled through the bosky 
 banks into the forest. 
 
 These incidents the young man noted, with sundry 
 comments to his father, who sat at the bow paddle. The 
 latter was a man of forty-five or thereabout, although the 
 hardships of twenty-five years of frontier life and warfare 
 had grizzled his hair and written lines of a greater age upon 
 his beardless face. A good strong face it was, of the type 
 which we know as Scotch-Irish, and would have been 
 fair but for the swart of long exposure. Blue gray eyes 
 looked keenly but with a kindly light from beneath a broad 
 and somewhat beetling brow. The nose was prominent, 
 and full, shapely lips were set firmly above a square chin. 
 The third man in the boat was an Indian, well advanced in 
 life, as far as one might judge; for to tell the age of a red 
 man from his looks is a problem that Anglo-Saxon wit is 
 slow to solve. 
 
 The boat moved steadily up stream under the muscular 
 arms of the foresters, and by the bluffs on which the town 
 of Wellesville now nestles, crowding back to the foot of its 
 great overshadowing hill. It passed the wooded site of the 
 present thriving pottery town of East Liverpool; and soon 
 thereafter the boundary line between Pennsylvania and 
 Ohio, and thence on to where the Little Beaver Creek 
 makes outlet through the shaded gorge of Smith s Ferry. 
 
 "A lettle furder, lad/ said Luke Latimer, the elder 
 white man. "We ll find the spot within a half mile of the 
 creek. Thar; we re most fornenst it now; what say you, 
 Mingo?" 
 
 The Indian gave a gutteral assent, and pointed to a black 
 walnut tree rooted upon the northern bank. Its vast spread 
 of branches cast a wide circle of shadow upon the mellow 
 green, and one goodly part stretched over the channel. 
 There is nothing nobler in nature than a full-grown tree, 
 and in the American forests of that date there were many 
 such. The white men s eyes followed the Indian s finger 
 and rested, the one with recognition, the other with admi 
 ration, upon the giant plant. One would mark and re- 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 9 
 
 member it anywhere; but the peculiar curve of one of its 
 vast roots around the river bank, and the bearing of a big 
 bough that overhung the channel, set it apart from all its 
 comrades to the forester wont to note as landmarks every 
 oddish feature of the landscape. 
 
 "Ay, ay," said the elder, "theh s no mistakin that lan - 
 mark. Thar on the lee of that gnarled root I us t fer to 
 moor my boat, whan th re was anny river to spake of!" 
 He cast a depreciating glance upon the scant proportions 
 of the stream. "But we ll nade no moorin s the daay. We ll 
 jist stop here an pull her up on the rocks." He turned 
 the bow toward the edge of the stream, and leaped from the 
 boat, followed by his companion. 
 
 The river bed where they landed was a solid mass of 
 flat rock stretching up stream and down for many rods, 
 dipping at one edge into the water and at the other under 
 lying the bank, which was twelve to twenty yards distant. 
 In ordinary stages of the river all this was under water; 
 but it sometimes happened in midsummer that the stream 
 was so low that it shrunk from either shore into mid 
 channel, leaving the dry bed in view. 
 
 The party dragged the skiff upon the rocky platform, 
 and climbing the bank by the great walnut tree, began 
 preparations for evening camp. It was a time of peace; 
 at least no enemies were near, and although precautions 
 habitual to the forester were not wholly forborne, yet the 
 men proceeded with that cheerful abandon that comes 
 with freedom from peril. 
 
 But first of all Luke Latimer led his son to a low mound 
 on which lay the ruins of a cabin, and bade him look and be 
 content, for there was the spot where he was born. The 
 young man, leaning on the muzzle of his long rifle, gazed 
 at the bit of ruin before him. It was not much, indeed; 
 a few yards square of space, covered with the weedy vegeta 
 tion which creeps up from some unknown retreat when the 
 first growth is burned over. Around it on three sides, like 
 a frame to a canvas, were thickened clumps of varied rank- 
 ness; daisies in full bloom, goldenrods just beginning to 
 show the yellow in their plumes, field lilies lifting their 
 whorled stalks and spotted orange-red corals above all the 
 other wild flowers, weeds and grasses. On the fourth side 
 stood the remains of a wide-mouthed chimney. Its rough 
 stones were put in rubblewise with mortar and it was 
 
10 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 flanked and propped at each end by pieces of mouldering 
 logs that showed still, beneath the moss and wild foliage, 
 the char of fire and the hollows which flames had bitten 
 out. A Virginia creeper embraced the rude pile within its 
 graceful tendrils. Behind it, stretching almost to the 
 forest, was a thicket of blackberry bushes laden with lus 
 cious fruitage, over which, as the young man looked, a hum 
 ming-bird was hanging and flitting. 
 
 The youth gazed silently upon the ruin, his fine face 
 ruffling with the play of such thoughts as one must have 
 who looks for the first time after many years upon the 
 scene of his birth. "And now, father," he said, breaking 
 the silence, "you ll tell me all about it; there could be no 
 better place or time." 
 
 "Not jist yit, son! We ll first have our bite an sup, an 
 make camp, an then I ll e en be as good as my worrd. 
 Come away, then, an lend a hand, or the Mingo ll have all 
 things ready." 
 
 But the Indian, so far from getting things ready, leaned 
 against the trunk of the great walnut, motionless as though 
 he were a carved figure. Only his bright eyes, which fol 
 lowed the movements of his companions, showed that he 
 had due sympathy with feelings which might be indulged 
 at such a time. Let one be white or red, civilized or sav 
 age, he must have felt somewhat of the emotion which 
 stirred young Latimer as he stood there amidst the scenes 
 of his birth and infancy. Only a log cabin in the wilder 
 ness! a rude forest site such as birds and deer and squirrels 
 possess; but, once it was "home." In that sentiment red 
 men and white discover the unity of humanity. 
 
 "We ll make camp, Mingo," said Luke Latimer, "if 
 you ll git some at fer supper." 
 
 The Indian nodded his approval of this division of 
 labor, and, resting his rifle against the tree, took bow and 
 quiver, for he would not waste good powder and shot on 
 such game as he sought. Then he stole away into the 
 forest, whence he returned ere long with a string of fat 
 gray squirrels and a brace of woodcock. Meanwhile, father 
 and son had built a booth of green boughs and saplings, 
 which were at hand in plenty. Two stout poles, shred of 
 foliage and forked at the top, were fastened into the ground 
 eight feet apart and six feet high. Into the forks a third 
 pole was laid, against which were leaned, as close as might 
 
THE LATIMEES. 11 
 
 be, long boughs with their pliant branches and twigs com- 
 
 Eressed against their sides. Into these again were inter- 
 iced wattles of greenery until all was well thatched. 
 The sides of this booth were staked and wrought in like 
 manner, and the front left open toward the river, and fac 
 ing the camp-fire which was kindled a little way off. 
 Feathered ends of hemlock twigs from the hillside were 
 spread upon the ground beneath the rude thatch, and over 
 these a bearskin from the boat was thrown. Each forester 
 had his blanket, and thus a bivouac was made, and all in 
 trim by the time the Mingo had dressed his game ready to 
 be roasted upon the embers. 
 
 The shadow of the high and abrupt hill had darkened 
 the river bank and bed ere the foresters had finished their 
 simple meal of toasted game and parched maize. Now the 
 soft cooing of a wood-dove beat its mournful note across the 
 river. A whippoorwill whistled from the chaparral. 
 Night-owls hooted in the woods; and, to remind them that 
 forest life had still some perils, the harsh cry of a cata 
 mount came down from the far-away hilltop. The moon, 
 just past its first quarter, twinkled and shone on the run 
 ning water, and threw broad patens of light upon the mel 
 low sward through open places in the treetops. 
 
 "Now, my son!" said Latimer. "Come, Mingo!" 
 He led the way to the ruined cabin. A large oak log 
 lay at one side, the trunk of a tree that the woodman s axe 
 had felled twenty years before. The good remainder had 
 gone into the cabin walls and the hearthstone fire, but this 
 bit stayed where it fell, a sort of rampart screening the path 
 to the spring. Time, weather, mould and insect teeth had 
 gnawed somewhat upon it, but it was yet a tough butt, 
 though covered with moss, and the bark was dropping 
 away. Here sat down the three men, and Luke began his 
 story. 
 
12 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "It s quite nayter l, lad, at ye should think long to see 
 the spot whar ye "were born, an 1 arn the story of those 
 arly days. But it s a melancholy place for me now, I 
 assure ye. Not but some pleasant thoughts bubble up 
 above the black an heavy ones; the best of which is of 
 yourself, my b y, an of my good fri nd Panther." He cast 
 a glance toward the Indian, who made no sign except in 
 the softness and unction of his guttural "hugh!" 
 
 "In the arly spring of 1772, I left Fort Pitt with y r 
 mother, grandfather an sister Meg, a lass o three years. 
 We had h ard much of the fertyle banks of the Ohio an 
 the abundance o game thereon, an though the Indians 
 were to be feared, we agreed to take the resks. Y r mother 
 would nt bide behint, though we wanted her to do so. 
 Scotch granite itself isn t grittier nor she; so she 1 arnt to 
 use the rifle an ax, an said, we ll live or die thegither! 
 We put our few belongin s intil a flat boat, an with a good 
 canoe a-draggin ahint, poled an drifted away from the 
 p int, foll ed by the good-byes of the few folk in the little 
 hamlet outside the Fort. Th re weren t more n twenty 
 cabins then in Pittsburg, an a hundred or two people. 
 
 "We got on well enough, though we were new to that 
 kind o navigatin , ontil jist anigh the p int of the island 
 above here we snagged our flat boat. We paddled mother 
 and Meg ashore in the canoe asy enough, but had no ind 
 of trouble a-savin our goods. Howiver, we got most of 
 em, though some were damaged an all were wet. 
 
 "That accident determined us to settle whar we landed; 
 an it was fair enough a site for our purpose. The fine 
 bottom lands foment us on the Yirginny shore were taken 
 up a ready, an we dassent to settle thar, tho we cast 
 longin eyes upon it, I confess. But rocky an rough an 
 onpromisin as this shore looks, if ye ll climb the hill ye ll 
 find a table of as fair farmin land as one nade wush, an 
 that especially pl ased mother s fancy. We lowed to hunt 
 an trap, for the most part, a sight better business nor 
 farmin , them days; an the crick below us swarmed with 
 
THE LATIMERS. 13 
 
 beaver, whoso dams blocked it from the mouth clane up 
 til the head waters along its forks. Bear w r ere plenty 
 among the rough hills below an inland, and as for deer an 
 small game th/re was no end on t. So we landed by the 
 great walnut tree an built our log cabin here on the bank, 
 astead of up on the uplands whar we claired our planta 
 tion. 
 
 "It was a good big cabin with a high loft juttin over 
 the door, with loop-holes for our rifles on all sides. Father 
 an Meg slep in the loft, an wife an I slep in bunks below, 
 for your mother was dilicate then, an we were lookin for 
 you soon. 
 
 "Logan, the Mingo chief, had his village at the mouth 
 of Yallow Crick; an as he was fri ndly to white men, father 
 an I went down the river to a council. We reported our set- 
 tlemint, told our intintions an wushes to live at p ace 
 with em; an , although we had tomahawked our claims an 
 so had full right to settle (or so we thought), as t their 
 consant fer til hunt an trap within their grounds. The 
 Mingoes welcomed us as brothers; the pipe of p ace was 
 smoked; we made prisents of powder, tobacco an whuskey 
 to the chiefs, an started back home accompanied by a 
 young brave who from that day to this has been my brother. 
 Yander he sets," pointing his pipe at the Indian, "my old 
 fri nd and brother, Panther. He was as fine a-lookin war 
 rior as iver walked the forest; an as to courage, ther s 
 small nade to spake o that, for you yoursilf have seed it 
 tried. The cussed hands of bloody Dan Greathouse an 
 Cap n Cresap wrought foul treechery an murder on his 
 kith an kin, two years thereafter; but betwixt him an 
 me no cloud has iver come an niver wull. Whan he had 
 visited the cabin an f oun how it was with mother, he pad 
 dled down the river an brung up his wife, Featherfoot, 
 then the handsomest squaw in the Ohio country, an as 
 good as fair. She tarried with us ontil you were born, 
 arly on a bright May morniii it was, an you may think 
 what a comfort she was, with no women folks in the house 
 but wee Meg. 
 
 "What a time that was! I mind as well as though but 
 yisterday the heavy rains that fell a few weeks after your 
 birth. Little Beaver Crick was a roarin torrent. The Ohio 
 was in good stage, but it soon riz up, up, till I thought it 
 would niver stay. It filled both banks plumb full; an 
 
14 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 though that walnut tree stands high on the bluff, the water 
 swirled around iL Ye mark that the cabin site is on a 
 lettle swell of the foothill; an we had built it two good 
 i eet above ground, blockin it up to let the air play aneath 
 it. That was your mother s fancy, an it stood us in good 
 stead, for the flood covered the forty yards atween cabin 
 an river bank, Favin us for a day at laste with the water 
 a-lippin an a-plashin at our door. But thar it was stayed, 
 thank God! an in a day or two it had shrunk back beyant 
 the knoll, an so kep on faliin . 
 
 "Ahbut, it was a sight to see that angry strame an to 
 hear its bellerin ! Driftwood, tall trees cut out from shore 
 by the wrenchin , burrowin current, went careerin in mid- 
 channel, wildly bobbin up an down; swirlin off now into 
 an eddy clost til our shore; lockin limbs an roots an 
 formin great piles; aidgin an a-crowdgin up toward the 
 top with, the squazin flood inunder, like scramblin swine 
 in a sty; crashin , grindin , creakin , groanin , swayin to an 
 fro; then one after another frayin off from the aidge of the 
 heap ontil the whole mass was dissolved, an plunged away 
 once more intil mid strame. 
 
 "The day when the water began to fall was a throng day 
 for us. Arly in the mornin we saw a birch canoe a-driftin 
 at fearful speed down strame, guided by an Indian squaw. 
 She had lost her paddle, an was tryin to kape her boat in 
 the current an aidge it shore ard. But the strongest brave 
 might well have failed in such a flood, an it was plain she 
 must soon drown. She saw us, an looked pitiful enough, 
 but niver made cry or sign. Indade we naded none, for our 
 boat was a ready off shore, an we was paddlin towards her. 
 Providence favored us, an we caught the canoe jist as it 
 swep past the fut of the island, though it was sore wark 
 for a while breastin that current. By sheer might an skill 
 we all three belt the canoe to our gunwale till the squaw 
 Taped lightly as an arrow intil our boat, an then lettin her 
 own drift, dropped upon the thwart, and throwed back her 
 black hair with a f hugh of satisfaction. 
 
 " Why, Featherfoot! I cried, <is it you? Thank God 
 truly for this! 
 
 " Humph! she said, noddin assent; for Featherfoot in- 
 dade it was, the good squaw \vho had presided over your 
 birth. She had been off on a huntin trip with Panther, an 
 while he was in the woods she ventur d to cross the river, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 15 
 
 havin confidence in her skill; an she would a done it too, 
 if her paddle hadn t a broke." 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed the Mingo, who thus far had lis 
 tened to the story seemingly as unmoved as the log on 
 which he was sitting. 
 
 "Ay, comrade," resumed Latimer, "that she sartainly 
 would. But the han le of a paddle is a pore tool fer til 
 guide a boat through a flood. How the woman managed to 
 kape alive that frail bit o bark in sich a ragin strame, 
 passes my ken. I would hardly a belaved it, though I 
 know the rivercraft an woodcraft of the red man surpasses 
 all praise. 
 
 "Well, we were glad enough to do this turn to one who 
 had so befrinded us, you may be sure. Wife urged Feather- 
 foot to bide a while; but, without bite or sup, an tarryin 
 only to kiss the baby an cuddle it a bit, she tuk the river 
 trail an hurried up strame to meet her husban , knowin 
 well that he would worry over her absence. I belave she 
 made her own camp afore the Mingo thar got back, an his 
 first knowledge was from her own lips." 
 
 "It is so!" the Indian interrupted, "Featherfoot told 
 all. My brother says true, but not enough. It was much 
 brave. White men t rowed their lives on angry river to 
 save an Indian woman. It was Featherfoot. We have not 
 forgotten!" 
 
 "Tut, tut, Mingo, it was nought! Anny man with half 
 a heart would a done as much; an aven if we were all as 
 you say, you ve repaid it manny fold sin syne. Well, that 
 was a good beginnin of the day. But another adventur 
 foll ed. In the afternoon, along with the wild drift of the 
 river began to come flotsam of another sort, showin that 
 somewhar the waters had invaded the settlemint of a white 
 man an overturned his cabin an carried off his plunder. 
 We tried to save some of this, for the island up yander 
 throwed the current well toward our shore. We got in a 
 few chairs, a table, an oddly enough an ole door with a 
 cock an two hens an aven one chicken a-ridin safe upon 
 it. Meg took these in hand, an what a fuss she did make 
 over them, to be sure! 
 
 "Now, a lettle later, what should we spy but a cradle 
 a-ridin in mid current, an a-bobbin up an down on the 
 crests of the waves. It was jist what I wanted for the new 
 baby, an athout lettin on to wife, whom I wushed to sur- 
 
16 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 prise, I called father, an we pushed out intil the river. 
 We caught the cradle with some trouble, an as father 
 drew it to the boat to make fast a tow rope, he exclaimed: 
 
 " My God, Luke, there s a baby inside! 
 
 "I started, half risin to see, but the boat gave a lurch, 
 an as it was ticklish work a-rowin in sich waters, I got 
 but a brief look. 
 
 " Is it alive, father? I asked. 
 
 " I do belave it is! he said. Ay, surely! For jist 
 then the wee thing moved an began to moan. 
 
 " Save the baby! I said, an let the cradle drift! 
 
 " Na, na, said he, we ll save em both, pl ase God! an 
 lettle John shall have both bed an bedfellow/ 
 
 "Well, to cut matters short, we got babe an cradle safe 
 to shore, an whan we intered the cabin, father first a-car- 
 ryin the cradle, an I a bit behint him bearin the baby 
 gingerly on its lettle bed, th e was a scane, ye may belave. 
 What betwixt mother an Meg, there was cryin an cacklin , 
 an kissin an huggin enough to satisfy anny heart, an in 
 sooth, father an I j ined in. 
 
 "Poor mitherless bairn! said wife; an thereat she 
 clapped the rascued child to her breast, an it was a bonnie 
 sight to see the puir thing gurgle an suck. It was a fine 
 boy, about your age, John, mebbe a bit older nor you, an 
 of coorse then an thar we adopted it as our own. They 
 was room in her heart for the two, mother said, an milk 
 enow in her breast; an what could we do besides? 
 
 "That avenin at warship, an old fashion an* a good 
 one, too, that father al ays kep up, for said he, whariver 
 God gives me home, thar wull I give him homage , he read 
 the story of how the Hebrew child Moses was saved from 
 the Egyptian river. An thinkin of how we had drawed 
 this babe from the flooded Ohio, we called him Moses. 
 
 "We thought the laddie would make a fine playfellow 
 for you when you should grow up. You were wonderfully 
 alike, at laste to me, for I niver could well dis arn betwixt 
 rale young infants, they lookin all alike to me. So she 
 kep aroun Moses s throat a coral necklace which he wore 
 when rascued, an thus we men folks knowed one from 
 t other. 
 
 "Whin you were two months old, an mother could go 
 about the house comfo table agin, for she was a hab 
 woman an niver staid long in bed aven with her babies, 
 we thought best f er to lave her an the childer an look after 
 
THE LATIMERS. 17 
 
 our traps. It had been a good month sence we saw em, 
 one thing an another, but especially your comin havin 
 detained us; an the flood, too, we consated must a wrought 
 mischief to em. As our livin depinded on our furs, father 
 an I set forth, though loth to leave mother with only Meg 
 to tend her. But they were us t to bidin th r lone, as all 
 pioneer women must be. 
 
 "Moses was rather porely when we left, bein the warse, 
 we fancied, for the hard usage of the flood. But wife be- 
 laved it was but a light turn, an we set out with a good 
 heart. 
 
 "We were gone tan days, an as we drew nigh the cabin 
 with a cheery haloo of warnin , Meg met us with a tearful 
 face an the news that wee Moses had died the night afore. 
 We found the lettle fellow a-lyin in the cradle with his 
 coral necklace around his white throat, an his purty dud- 
 dies in which we saved him spread smoothly on him. 
 
 "Th re was a sweet smile on his face, an his blue eyes 
 were half open, an his pink fingers, not yet stiff, folded 
 over his bosom. Th re s no more touchin sight, an for 
 that matter no sweeter one nor a wee dead child. It was 
 amazin how mother did greet for that stranger lad; he 
 seemed in his short stay to have laid aholt of her heart 
 a most as tho he d been her own; an indade we all truly 
 loved him, the poor orphan waif! 
 
 "Nex day, lackin materials for a coffin, we buried him 
 in his little cradle, for so mother would have it, coverin 
 up the top snugly, an father readin the Book an makin 
 a prayer. But the necklace an locket an some of the in 
 fant duds wife kep ; for some time, she said, some one may 
 be a-seekin him, an it would be a comfoit for a mother to 
 know that her bairn had been well cared for, an given 
 Christian intarmint. But we ve niver ha rd a word of quest 
 or quiry durin all the long years sence; an the mystery 
 of the laddie s comin has niver been solved, nor is it like 
 to be. 
 
 "It was long afore we forgot the wee stranger. Your 
 mother would often prattle to you, as she helt you to her 
 breast, of the dead baby, an to this day she can hardly 
 spake of him athout a tremblin in her voice. I all ys 
 admired that in her. Th re few women with a tanderer 
 heart, John, nor your mother; though she can swing an 
 axe with the best woodman, an shoot a rifle with true aim." 
 2 
 
18 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LUKE LATIMEE GETS HIS WAR-NAME, "RED AXE." 
 
 "An, now, lad, the warst is to come. It s droughty 
 wark a-tellin sich a tale, so fetch a drink from the spring, 
 that I may slock my thirst, for my throat is as dry as a 
 corncob." John brought the water in a drinking horn that 
 hung at his side. The father took a hearty draught, and 
 resumed his story: 
 
 "Our life for the nex year differed lettle from that of 
 an ord nary pioneer. We hunted, trapped, presarved our 
 skins, an marketed em with the traders at Fort Pitt, an 
 tilled our upland plantation for bread an vegetables 
 enough to kape the pot b llin . We didn t al ays stay here, 
 but wair on the wing here and thar where game was most 
 plentiful, and often in company with the Mingoes, who 
 wair our sworn fri nds an allies. It was a half savage life, 
 but pleasant enough in the main, an we al ays came back 
 to Indian Rocks, as our settlement was called, as home. 
 
 "But now matters began to grow sayrious for us. The 
 Shawnees tuk the warpath, and the frontier became the 
 scane of a bloody conflic . The fri ndship of the Mingoes 
 saved us, but we knowed that we couldn t long hold our 
 position. So, aided and advised by Panther, we made ready 
 to go intil the old settlemints of Washm ton county, which 
 wair large enough to be secure agin ord nary assault. Pitts- 
 burg was less secure nor our own cabin; for the settlers 
 couldn t live inside the fort walls, and the place contin ally 
 invited attack by its military importance. We had made 
 all our preparations, had our goods and gear packed in an 
 extra boat, and lay down ready for an aiiy start nex day. 
 You wair res less that night from some brash or other, an 
 your mother havin been up to care for you slep lightly. 
 
 "She was roused by the whustle of a whippoorwill. 
 Now theh s nothin strange in that, for you know our 
 woods is full of thim birds, which, like most of the owl 
 kind, are abroad at night after prey. But it so happened 
 that Panther had arranged a private signal with us of 
 which the whippoorwill s call was the first note; an we 
 wair apt to give some extra heed to it. So wife listened 
 
THE LATIMERS. 19 
 
 keenly, bein narvous about the Indians, as we all wair; 
 and prisently h ard the trill of a tree toad; then, folio win 
 clostely, a softer whippoorwill s note rep ated. That was 
 our full signal! 
 
 "She quietly woke me, an I had jist time fer to git my 
 rifle an rouse father, whan th re came a low tap at the door 
 like the crackle of a beetle; then another, folPed by the 
 shrill of a cricket. Panther, sartin! For that, too, was a 
 private signal. I knowed at w^anct sich caution meant a 
 great an prisent danger; so warnin all to utmost silence, 
 unbarred the door an opened it quietly. Panther lay at 
 the lintel on the log stoop, an glidin in like a sarpent, 
 while I closed the door softly, stood up an uttered sich a 
 hugh! of satisfaction that my blood tingled with axcite- 
 ment, for I knowed what danger he must ave escaped. He 
 glanced round the cabin an seem wife awake, laid his 
 Hnger on his lips. But th re was small nade o that caution, 
 for your mother knowed border ways fine, as well as anny 
 ranger of us all. 
 
 " The Bended Knee, is he here? That was the name 
 father went by among the Mingoes, who had obsarved his 
 habit oi kneelin to pray at warship; an th e wasn t many 
 foresters at they could honestly have called the same. 
 Though we did warship too, after a silent sort, an few 
 wair onbelavers. 
 
 " Ay, I whuspered, he is in the loft at the loop-hole/ 
 
 " Good! An Sunny Hair? So they called our little 
 Meg, on account of her flaxen locks. 
 
 " Asleep in the loft, all right. We re all in, an ready 
 for flittin the morrow. But whativer diviltry is up, 
 Panther? Somethin sayrious, I m sure. Out with the 
 warst, at wanct!" 
 
 " Shawnees! he answered. Here; now; on the hill; in 
 the river; there in the great walnut! Then in his brief, 
 jerky way he let us know how he had struck their trail, an 
 sendin Featherfoot to alarm the village at Yallow Crick, 
 had foll ed to Indian Eocks; an changin his war paint to 
 that of a Shawnee brave, he had mingled with em freely, 
 an found out their plans. 
 
 "They had moved our boats up strame fornenst the 
 island, an had sent a party round to attack in the rare 
 from the hillside while the others should charge in front 
 an break in the door. I m not more car ful for my life nor 
 
20 THE LATIMERS, 
 
 most men, but I shuddered to think what danger my 
 fambly had escaped; though, for that matter, I hardly saw 
 how we could win a safe place. Our only chanct, I soon 
 found, was to hold out till the Mingoes came to our aid, 
 which we knowed they would, with haste an saycrecy. We 
 agreed that the Shawnees must have no hint that we 
 knowed their prisence, but let em attack thinkin us wholly 
 onready. We should gain two things by that; freer expo 
 sure of our inemies parsons, whereby we could do em more 
 harem; an the greater likelihood at they would retire an 
 delay their next onset through greater caution, an thus 
 gain us time, which was what we craved. 
 
 "Ther were four rifles of us, for your mother is a fair 
 shot; an as she could shoot under kiver, an had a firm 
 mind to do so, we consinted. She took one of the loop 
 holes in the loft a-guardin the front with father, an 
 Panther an I below watched toward the hillside. The 
 moon was nigh full, and the night onclouded, which was 
 better for us. All round the cabin we had claired away 
 trees an underbrush, an acrost this open space we con- 
 sated the Shawnees would make a rush. 
 
 "Affairs wrought as we had reckoned. We hadn t been 
 on guard long whan the signal came. The hoot of an owl 
 from the hill was answered by the shriek of a night-hawk 
 in the big walnut. Th re was a moment s pause, an then 
 the open space seemed alive with warriors. Four big chaps 
 led the front, a-carryin betwixt em a log with which they 
 rushed straight at the cabin door. They were so sure of 
 their game that ere they were half way over the clairin 
 they gave cry with their war-whoop. Then I made signal, 
 an four rifle shots rung among their yells, foll ed closetly 
 by two shots from a pair of horse pistols that father an I 
 managed. Not a shot was wasted. Five warriors fell, an a 
 sixth was whirled around like a top, an his tomahawk spun 
 from his hand as his arms fell by his side. 
 
 "The silence which foll ed was awful in contrast with 
 the pravious whoopin . But it was only for a moment, an 
 then came a yell of mingled grief an rage that I have 
 niver h ard ekaled on this border. Saizin their dead, the 
 Shawnees scurried back intil the woods. But they weren t 
 wholly under cover afore we had reloaded and sint another 
 volley after em. Their batterin ram was left whar it fell, 
 for two of the braves who bore it had fallen, one of em by 
 wife s shot. So the matter inded for the time. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 21 
 
 "But we didn t flatter oursePs that the danger was 
 over. The hostyles would count that we had six men in 
 the cabin an w r ould be wary; but that they d give up 
 athout an attempt at revenge we niver thought. In good 
 time we had notice of their plans, for arrows with burnin 
 brands tied to em began a-rainin on the cabin roof from 
 the hill above us. We tried to dislodge the archers with 
 our rifles; but as we had to fire at random, or by the direc 
 tion from which the arrows flew, we couldn t stop em. The 
 roof caught fire, but we cut an openin through the cla - 
 boards and quenched the flames, though it was resky wark. 
 But more fire-bran s flew, the roof was agin in flames, an 
 only water could save us. 
 
 "Now you mind that the cabin stood on blocks, quite 
 above the ground; and th re was a trap door in the floor 
 through which I wint with two buckets, an creepin out, 
 sheltered by this big log on which we now set, managed fer 
 to win the spring an git back onharmed. But the rascals 
 soon found out that trick an made it too hot fer me. 
 
 "At last, it came to a ch ice betwixt roastin by fire in 
 the cabin, or dyin by Shawnees in the open; an well the 
 red fiends knowed it, fer the woods resounded with their 
 ta ntin yells. Jist then, in the last nick of time, hope 
 came. The sharp ears of Panther detected signals that his 
 frien s were near. They were comin along the river trail 
 from below, an over the hillside in the rear of the Shaw 
 nees. It passes me how he knowed; but the red man has a 
 sixth sense, I think, when it comes to wood sounds an 
 sights. So we agreed to lave the cabin an take refuge 
 ahint this log, drawin the inemy s fire; for they w^ere all 
 now on the hill. The big walnut an the river bank, bein 
 within our rifle range, had been abandoned. Then father 
 and Panther wair to crouch behint the log with their rifles 
 an the two pistols, an hold the inemy at bay, while I with 
 wife an the childer made a rush toward the shelter of the 
 bank, an in the direction of the comin Mingoes. 
 
 "We got through the trap, an won the log. Then 
 Panther Taped atop the trunk, shuck his rifle at the hill, 
 an raised the Mingo war-whoop. At the same time father 
 showed himself with a lusty halloo of defiance. Down they 
 dropped, foll ed by a volley from the Shawnees, an then 
 we made our break. I had you in one arm, John, an an 
 axe in the other. Mother carried a rifle an led Meg 
 
22 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 by the hand. On we sped for dear life, while from the 
 hill an forest there rose a shout that, well us t to it as I 
 was, made me heartsick. I hardly knowed how it came 
 about, so quickly things passed, but I knowed the Shawnees 
 was a-chargin . I h ard three rifle shots ahint me, an the 
 Panther s war-cry far above the din, mingled with father s 
 hearty hurrah; an then, I was fightin han to han with a 
 gang of warriors, while you lay at my feet ahint me. My 
 axe wrought havoc with each swing. I h ard the ring of 
 your mother s rifle, an the shriek of Meg as a painted divil 
 saized her. I saw, or felt, ruther nor saw, my wife swing 
 her clubbed gun among the dusky warriors, then stagger 
 an fall. I was hit more nor wanct, but in the fierce for- 
 gitfulness of sich high fevered axcitement wounds seemed 
 no more to me nor the stings o hornets. 
 
 "Then I was conscious of a well-known an welcome 
 cry, that sounded amid the clamor like angels songs, the 
 war-whoop of the Mingoes. A rush of dusky forms swep 
 over the moonlit space an closed around us. Mingoes an 
 Shawnees mingled for a while in the awful swirl of han 
 to han conflic , in the midst of which I knowed that I was 
 a-ladin on, side by side with Chief Logan, while the foe 
 gave way, slowly at first, an then breakin into flight, 
 plunged intil the forest. I felt the thrill of victory an 
 started in pursuit, but thar all consciousness ceased. 
 
 "My next remambrance was of my wife a-bendin over 
 me on one side an good Panther, here, on t other, a-rub- 
 bin my wounds with Indian oil an a-bindin em with rude 
 sargery. It was mornin ; the battle was over; the Mingoes 
 were preparin their dead to bear home to the village. An 
 alas! my dead, too, for closte aside me lay dear father. 
 Panther 11 tell you how fightin side by side with him, the 
 Bended Knee fell an died, an gave us our only hope of 
 escape. I looked for a little form beside hissen, ay for two 
 of em, but saw them not and feared to ask. Featherfoot 
 read my thought in my eyes and brought you, my b y, that 
 you might kiss me. 
 
 " And Meg? I cried, where is she? They shuck their 
 heads. My pretty lass, my darlin Sunny Hair was gone! 
 An from that day to this, though we have s arched the 
 border through, we have h ard no word of her. Dead or 
 alive, God only knows." 
 
 "God," said Panther, speaking up quickly, "God and 
 the Shawnees." 
 
THE LATIMERS. 23 
 
 "Ay, my brother, God an the Shawnees. An Heaven 
 send she be dead ruther nor a captive wife in a Shawnee 
 warrior s lodge. 
 
 "They s lettle more to tell, John. We buried your 
 grandfather thar at the fut of the hill aside little Moses, 
 an the good Mingoes heaped stones from the river above 
 their graves. They nursed me intil health, an as our 
 boats had been rascued, w r hen I was able to travel we went 
 away to Washin ton County and settled nearby our fri nds 
 at Canonsburg. That is the story of how your grandfather 
 was killed, an your sister Meg lost, an I got my warrior 
 name. Afore that the Mingoes al ys called me Big Walnut, 
 from the old tree by our cabin camp. But ther after they 
 named me Red Axe; an I suppose I must a desarved it, for 
 their Chief, Captain John Logan, has told me, an Panther 
 too, that I swung my axe through the Shawnees like a 
 sickle in the rye-field. But I hardly knowed what I did. 
 My blood was in a faver, an my brain in a daze, an I 
 seemed to be borne on by some power other nor myself. 
 But come! it is late, an I m a-weary with my tale. It s 
 long years sence I telled it, lad, an I ll niver tell t agin. 
 Xow, let s to sleep." 
 
 Before the young man lay down, he went away and 
 looked at the two graves. They were still marked by the 
 cairns that the friendly red men had heaped; but the moss 
 had covered them, and a growth of -wild roses overbore 
 them. He trimmed with his hatchet the tangled vegeta 
 tion into some shapeliness, until the graves stood forth in 
 fairer outlines, as the moonbeams nestled upon them. 
 Then, filled with strangely conflicting thoughts, he lay 
 down beside his father and the Mingo underneath the 
 green canopy. 
 
 The fire grew dim, and its last flames seemed to be 
 licked up by the moonlight. The night voices of the forest 
 sounded more clearly than ever in the windless air. When, 
 as sometimes happens even in a dead calm, a tree on the 
 hill fell with a thundering sound, awakening echoes along 
 the river, he grasped his rifle and started to his feet, as 
 though the Shawnees had come back to attack. Then he 
 arose and wandered off along the river bank till the keen 
 ness of his nerves was dulled, and so back to camp, where 
 he lay down again and slept a dreamless sleep until 
 morning. 
 
24 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 A BEVENUE PAELEY AT INDIAN KOCKS. 
 
 No matter how ill one may sleep in camp he is likely to 
 be astir betimes in the morning. The early sunlight beats 
 freely upon his unshielded face, and the hour seems so 
 much later than it really is, that one is beguiled to rise up. 
 Then, all living things in nature are aroused by daylight, 
 and, athrob with life, renewed by sleep, and exultant at a 
 new-come day, fill the forest with their various clamor. 
 Thus John Latimer, despite his disturbed slumbers, was 
 up with the sun. A thin mist overhung the river and hills, 
 which the sunbeams rapidly teased away, but the day prom 
 ised to be fair and warm. 
 
 The youth walked over the rocky bed which the 
 drought had uncovered, to the spot wher - the Indian carv 
 ings are found. For a long distance up and down stream 
 the channel, at full stage of water, overruns a flat and 
 nearly unbroken surface of rock which juts out from be 
 neath the bank. AYhere it breaks off in midriver, or dips 
 downward, there the summer channel runs. For many 
 yards, between the island, now known as Georgetown 
 Island, and at the point where our party were encamped, 
 the rocky surface is covered with signs and figures of vari 
 ous sorts, done by Indians no one knows when, but doubt 
 less long before the date of this story. Hence the place is 
 known far and near as "Indian Kocks." 
 
 There are images of braves with their scalp locks, and 
 with totems hanging around their necks; trees and 
 branches, fishes and birds, turtles, alligators and horses, 
 beavers and squirrels, and pelts and tracks of animals, all 
 done in that sketchy outline which characterizes the draw 
 ings of children and the hieroglyphs of rude civilization. 
 There are carved human footprints of a bigness that might 
 bespeak them modeled from the famous Wyandot chief 
 Bigfoot himself; but all apparently of natural size and 
 shape, as though the outline had been made by scribing 
 round a real foot. These figures are cut in the hard lime 
 stone rock with some rude tool, leaving gutters from a 
 quarter to a half inch deep and wide. The fret of the run- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 25 
 
 ning waters and grinding of ice have somewhat smoothed 
 down the outlines; but there they are to this day, as plainly 
 to be seen at low water as when John Latimer viewed them 
 a hundred years ago. 
 
 Having made sketches of a number of these figures in 
 his note-book, for being in training for a land surveyor he 
 had some skill in drawing, John joined his companions who 
 were enjoying a pipe after breakfast. His questions con 
 cerning the rock pictures brought small satisfaction. His 
 father knew little, and Panther would say little about 
 them. However, he learned that they were held in rever 
 ence by the Mingoes as medicine marks, and the spot was 
 looked upon as somehow sacred to the Great Spirit. They 
 were chary of the place themselves, and liked not to see it 
 intruded upon by others. 
 
 "Come/ 7 said Panther, plainly anxious to avoid further 
 question. "Let us find the medicine oil. The growing 
 sun will drink it up, and the Red Axe says his brothers will 
 need it much when they go upon the warpath against their 
 Great Father and Chief, Washington. Panther does not 
 understand; but the Red Axe is wiser than he in white 
 men s ways, and that is enough for Panther! Let us go." 
 
 This remark, seemingly dropped carelessly by the In 
 dian, stirred the white men powerfully. An eager glance 
 passed between father and son; from the one of question 
 ing, as though to read the youth s mind from the play of 
 his features; from the other of surprise, followed by a pass 
 ing flush of indignation, that instantly yielded before an 
 expression of pain. But whatever thoughts were seething 
 in the white men s minds, they bosomed up their counsel 
 and taking horn canteens and earthen bottles, the party 
 walked down stream to the mouth of Little Beaver. They 
 entered the channel of the creek and picked their way 
 through the ravine by which it debouches into the Ohio, 
 without wetting their moccasins. Here and there, in pock 
 ets and holes and shallow pans in the rocky channel, where 
 the water had been left by the retiring stream the youth 
 noted an unctuous floatage, which at times, in the ruffling 
 wind and sunlight, flashed out all the colors of the rain 
 bow. 
 
 "What have we here, Panther?" John asked. "I have 
 seen it afore. I trow, but never thought to give close heed 
 to it." 
 
26 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Panther stopped, and laughing softly made answer. 
 "This is what we seek. Young Oak has found the Mingoes 
 secret. This is the Indian oil. We will gather it." 
 
 So saying, he took from his belt three mussel shells 
 which he had plucked from the river sand, gave one to each 
 of his companions, and opening a cruse proceeded to skim 
 the oily scum and place it therein. The others joined him 
 in the work which was wearisome and needed dainty hand 
 ling. It was well towards noon before their vessels were 
 filled, and they turned homeward. 
 
 "Now, Panther,^ said John, "tell me what you know of 
 this Indian oil. Whence comes it?" 
 
 "It is the gift of Manitou. Does oil drop from the 
 clouds? Does it gush from the earth or rock? Our wise 
 men have not so found it. We have sought springs of oil 
 along many streams, but have not found them. The red 
 man and the wild deer know the salt licks. We have heard 
 of the endless lake, the great sea whose waters are filled 
 with salt; and Red Axe says that white men get it by boiling 
 the water away. Salt in water is the gift of the Great 
 Spirit. Why should he net also put oil in the water for the 
 Indian?" 
 
 "But when did the Indians discover it? And to what 
 use do you put it?" asked John. 
 
 "The Mingoes have always known the water oil. Their 
 medicine men showed our fathers how to use it for wounds 
 and hurts and sore bones and aches which come with damp 
 and frost and with old age." 
 
 "Do you drink it? Is it good for fevers ?" 
 
 "Neither; we pour it upon wounds; we rub it over the 
 joints. It loves the air, and will glide quickly into its 
 bosom if the bottle is not shut. It hates the fire, and 
 rushes from it with angry cry and flash like powder." 
 
 "When do you usually find it on the water?" 
 
 "When the Manitou walks along the streams he leaves 
 the healing oil behind him. He comes when he will, but 
 we find the oil in the summer when the waters are low. 
 Our fathers tell us of a time when the Little Beaver was cov 
 ered with it, and it flowed into the Ohio and spread far 
 down the stream. Then the Manitou fought with the Evil 
 Spirit. The heavens grew black with thunder clouds. 
 The lightnings fell upon the creek and it kindled into 
 liame and ran burning to the river, and the river was afire 
 
THE LATIMERS. 27 
 
 and rolled burning to Yellow Creek. The bravest war 
 riors trembled, for they thought the waters were burning 
 up and the Ohio would burn, too. The medicine men said 
 the Great Spirit was angry with the Mingoes. But the fire 
 went out; the storm passed; the sun shone again, and our 
 wise men said it was the water oil! Panther knows no 
 more. It is enough! The Mingo has his secrets; the Ked 
 Axe has his; the Young Oak, maybe, has his. Very good! 
 The Manitou has secrets too. He opens not all his counsel 
 to the red man or the white. Some time He may tell; let 
 us wait! 7 
 
 Their vessels were at last painfully filled, and the trio 
 returned to camp. After the noon meal, Luke and John 
 Latimer were left alone in camp, while Panther went into 
 the woods for game. The father sat in the shade of the 
 great walnut tree meditatively smoking his pipe. The son 
 seated near by was scraping a cow s horn with a scale of 
 broken flint, making a new powder horn. The Indian s quo 
 tation of Luke s allusion to the revenue troubles then dis 
 turbing the frontier, rankled in John s mind. He knew 
 that his father had taken up the popular view with warm 
 favor, and had cast himself into the agitation with an in 
 tensity and prejudice characteristic of his strong nature. 
 His business as a freighter, chiefly up and across the 
 Monongahela, brought him closely in contact with many of 
 those most interested in illicit distilling, and this had its 
 weight in giving bitterness to his opinions. But John had 
 never imagined that affairs had gone or could go to the 
 length of active, much less armed, opposition to the Gov 
 ernment. 
 
 His own views were not matured; but as a pupil of 
 Doctor John McMillan, the principal of the famous Log 
 Academy which afterwards grew into Jefferson College, he 
 had heard the Government side of the question. The doc 
 tor and the clergy generally (who were chiefly Presby 
 terians) were opposed to insurrectionary movements and to 
 all violation of law. They knew that their flocks would be 
 helpless against the attacks of the Republic s troops led by 
 their President, the renowned General Washington. Thus, 
 both the popular sympathies and conservative instincts 
 of their order led them to oppose rebellion. A son who 
 has the true filial feeling must always regret to find himself 
 opposed to the views and wishes of his parent. It was 
 
28 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 therefore with great concern that John ventured to broach 
 the matter that filled his thoughts. But the way was made 
 somewhat easier by the fact that Luke Latimer was very 
 fond of his boy, and from the time he was a little chit de 
 lighted to have him potter about his heels, and peer and 
 mouse into his work, and quiz him with all manner of ques 
 tions. So John had grown up feeling the reins of authority 
 wound about and eased with the spirit of comradeship. 
 
 "Father," John began, "I ve been thinking a good deal 
 of what Panther said this morning just before we started 
 for the Indian oil." He held up to the sunlight the powder 
 horn on which he wrought, and peering through it to se3 
 if it were yet worn thin enough, glanced sidewise upon his 
 father s face. Luke smoked on thoughtfully and only said: 
 
 "Well, John?" 
 
 "I m not sure that I understand his meaning," and 
 John resumed his work of scraping dainty curls of shaving 
 from the cow s horn. "But if I did, I hope he has misun 
 derstood you. I can t think matters have gone so far that 
 you are ready to join a conspiracy against your old com 
 mander, our noble President. You served under him as a 
 pioneer during most of the Revolution. You were one of 
 the warmest advocates of the Constitution, and voted 
 heartily for the first President. I am loath to think you 
 could be led into armed opposition to the laws." 
 
 "Well, son," said Luke, tapping the ashes from his pipe, 
 "I d as lief settle this matter betwixt us now as later. You re 
 quite right to think that I honor an love the great com 
 mander; an it s sore agin the grit, I ll allow, to oppose 
 aught he favors. But he s badly advised about our affairs 
 here in the West; an what betwixt Secretary Hamilton 
 an the Congress, we re a most worse off nor under Great 
 Britain. Now, I m not for layin down an lettin Philadel- 
 phy Quakers an Gover ment tax gatherers eat us up soul 
 an substance without opposition." 
 
 "But, father, doesn t our Constitution give the Gov 
 ernment the right to levy revenue taxes? You voted for 
 that, didn t you?" 
 
 "Ay; but to take your last quistion first; I al ays op 
 posed the State system of axcise laws, as you well know, 
 an so did all this western country. We niver counted on 
 Congress takin up the old an hateful policy of the Colo 
 nial Legislatur an carryin it furder nor the Colony iver 
 
THE LATIMERS. 29 
 
 did, or you may be sure we wouldn t a voted for the Con 
 stitution. Besides, it s not us that s a-violatin the Con 
 stitution, but the Ravenue officers. Jist look at it! The 
 Constitution says the taxes shall be uniform throughout 
 the States. But here in West Pennsylvania our stillers 
 have to pay as much tax for two shillings worth of the best 
 Monongahela whuskey, as the stillers down in Philadelphy 
 or Jarsey pay for four shillin s worth. Thar! they ve 
 doubled the rate on us who are far less able for til stand it." 
 
 "I admit that seems unjust, father. But what other 
 plan could be taken? It wouldn t do to have a different 
 scale of prices for every town and county, and slide it up 
 and down to meet every trader s or distiller s ideas of values. 
 That would indeed be anything but uniform. Of course, 
 it s unfortunate for us; but that s one of the penalties of our 
 western isolation which pinches us in a good many ways." 
 
 "Then let em git the government tax by some system 
 that ll not bear so onek ally on us. Besides, we re informed 
 that they can t an don t collec these ravenues elsewhere. 
 Other States dodge aven the duty on imported spirits an 
 wines. Now, I wouldn t mind taxes on fureign liquors. 
 It s true, the axcise laws in the auld country were niver 
 pop lar among our folk, an smugglin was not thought 
 much of a sin. But aven thar they laid most stress on fur 
 eign liquors, an no man thought it harm to make a lettle 
 for himself an neighbors. 
 
 "For my part, I spurn the whole policy as onjust an 
 oppressive. Look e here, Jack, if rye can t be made intil 
 whuskey ithout a license, no more can hide be made intil 
 boots, or buckskin intil breeches, or wool intil a hat, ithout 
 speecial permission from the Gover ment. If taxed for one 
 why not for t other? If we yield the right in one, why not 
 in t other? Why, lad, that ud be warse tyranny nor Eng 
 land iver helt over us. The right to tax a penny gives the 
 right for til tax a pound. The right to license spirits gives 
 the right for til license ivery kind of home produce; an by 
 an by we ll be bound to have license for farmin an flat 
 boatin , an cattle breedin , and shootin and trappin . 
 Would you favor that state of things, now? Nay! We d 
 better take the bull by the horns at wanct, ere he toss an 
 gore us altogither." 
 
 "But, father," remonstrated John, "the Government 
 can t be supported without some kind of tax. Every civil- 
 
30 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 ized nation has and always has had some form of taxes. No 
 doubt the taxes have often been unwise, oppressive and un 
 equal; but must we not after all leave this to the Govern 
 ment to determine? And what article can be taxed to 
 better advantage than liquor? Have we a right to make 
 armed opposition because the tax falls hard on us? You 
 know what our Saviour said: Bender unto CaBsar the 
 things that are Caasar s. That s good civil policy as well 
 as true religion." 
 
 "Ay, ay, lad! Thar ye go with the same auld song the 
 Tories sung afore the Revolution. We d niver a gotten 
 indepandence if we d a-listened til it then; an we ll lose 
 the fruits of liberty if we listen til t now. Not but ther s 
 justice an right in t if looked at in the right way. Now, 
 I m for payin fair an raisonable tax. Let em kape to the 
 axcise of fureign spirits, an I ll no turn a hand agin em. 
 But give us a free f ut in home stillin ! 
 
 "Why, John, it s a quistion of bread an butter, an that 
 you know right well. Thar s rye, our best crop, whar s the 
 market for it, aither at home or abroad? None; none at 
 all! What s the good of our rich soil an heavy crops when 
 an extra barrow load ill glut the market? Ef we re to git 
 aught for it we mus put it intil spirits. Ther s posityvely 
 nothin for the frontier folk to live by but farmin and 
 huntin , onless you give us lave to do our own stillin . It s 
 got so bad that I ve h ard a Pittsburg trader say he d as 
 lief see a load of manure a-comin to him for barter as a 
 load of wheat. Our crops lie in our bins, or clog the 
 trader s stores. You know how hard it is for to git our 
 grain ground, an then to run flour to New Orleans or down 
 the river for a market. Packin grain or flour East is out 
 of the quistion. Our pack horses can carry the amount of 
 twenty-four bushels in high wines for ivery four of grain, 
 an in that shape alone can we git a market an livin 
 profits. It s a matter of life or death with us, boy, I tell ye! 
 
 "Here s the western countries full of Revolutionary 
 vet rans. After all the perils an sufferin s of the long war 
 agin the mother country, they found themselves ithout a 
 fardin axcep Continental currency that s only good for to 
 light one s pipe with. They came out here for a home. It 
 was a forlorn hope, but they came. They claired up the 
 forests, fought snakes, an wild bastes an wilder savages. 
 An now whan the r farms are claired up an th re s some 
 
THE LATIMERS. 31 
 
 chanct for to make a living along comes the Gov ment that 
 we ve created, an wants to squaze from us an our famblies 
 the lettle that we have. Tush, lad! It makes one s blood 
 boil to think of the cruelty an injustice on t." 
 
 "But, father," said John, after a moment s pause, "you 
 forget, don t you, that the Government doesn t forbid us to 
 distill ? It only says that we re to enter our stills for license 
 and pay tax on the product. Where s the great hardship of 
 that?" 
 
 "Well, many of em has done it, hard as the conditions 
 air. Some of em kin afford to do it. Thar s whar the shoe 
 pinches; the poor man can t afford to pay, so heavy a per 
 cent on his produc . It s not only the accessive axcise tax 
 but the sort of payment demanded. The Inspector, for 
 sooth, 11 take nothin but specie! Specie? Whar 11 you 
 find it in these settlemints? We ve got to barter for our 
 trader s goods. Nobody pays coin for our stuff, or axpec s 
 it. Peltries an grain, ginseng and snake root, an what 
 not, are the coin of this country. The very best, most 
 portable, salable an profitable of our products is spirits 
 distilled from our own grain. Lord help you, lad, when 
 the farmer has paid his stiller s charges, an the big dis 
 count for specie, an the axcise tax, th re s nothin left for 
 wife an weans. No, John, it s an intolerable condition, 
 an th re s nothin for it but to stand up like men, an let 
 the Gover ment know that our lawful rights must be re- 
 spicted, or we ll know the rayson why." 
 
 "But, father, admit that our people labor under great 
 wrongs, is it wise or right to resort to force? Two wrongs 
 never made a right; and to attack the Government that 
 you men won by your valor and sacrifice, and built up your 
 selves, seems to be a great wrong. To be sure, one may 
 oppose bad policies; but there s a right and a wrong sort of 
 opposition. Our laws put the power in the people s hands, 
 and if our own representatives make oppressive laws, we 
 must submit, for all I can see, until we send men who will 
 undo the evil by legal and constitutional methods. 
 
 "We ve just embarked on the experiment of a Republic. 
 The oppressed of all nations are watching us with anxious 
 interest. It would be a blow at the heart of human rights 
 if we struck down our Government, or weakened the 
 world s confidence in our stability. Father, you ve suffered 
 much, so have all the old veterans, for the rights of man; 
 
32 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 can t you suffer a little longer? Be sure all will be righted 
 at last. It must be so. President Washington will not see 
 us oppressed, if we can get the facts before him. Let us 
 pause before we mar the noble work of so many years of 
 bloodshed and toil." 
 
 The youth had risen in the flow of his earnest talk, and 
 stood facing his father as the rays of the setting sun slanted 
 through the treetops, and glowed with ruddy glory on the 
 smooth river. The father looked up with an expression 
 of mingled admiration and dissent, then answered: 
 
 "Well said, John; well said, I must allow that. But 
 here ag in theh^s two sides to the quistion. Government s 
 a matter of give an take. If we have duties, so have our 
 rulers. Now, look ye! The administration has left us to 
 fight our own battles with the Indians an the cussed Brit 
 ish, to boot. The Western posts ve been" left in possession 
 of the English contrairy to treaty, an they re still behint 
 most of the diviltry a-goin on along the border. Why 
 don t the Gover ment put a stop to that?" 
 
 "The best answer," John replied, "is the military camp 
 now forming at Pittsburg under Gen. Wayne. Then, 
 there were the expeditions of Harmer and St. Clair. Sure, 
 it s not quite right to say that the administration has done 
 nothing for the frontier." 
 
 "Maybe not," answered Luke. "But as to Harmar s an 
 St. Glair s axpedeetions, they amounted to less nor nothin ; 
 we were warse off after nor arfore em. They only proved 
 how grudgin an scant were the efforts made for our 
 safety. We fared about as well under Broadbrim rule. 
 What s the differ atween a republican Gover ment that 
 can t help us, an a lot o white-livered Quakers who 
 won t?" 
 
 "But, Wayne, father! There s Gen. Wayne s expedition 
 now forming! The administration is surely trying- 
 
 "Ay, lad," interrupted the elder Latimer. "Thar s the 
 Wayne axpedeetion! An what o that? It drags wearily 
 enough along. Wayne is crossed an thwarted at ivYy 
 hand, an fumes an frets, an betwixt you an me can curse 
 the Gover ment as roundly as annyone. Whar s his army? 
 Why, he ll be two or three years more, at this rate, in git- 
 tin together enough troops for til make a respictable 
 showin aven. What do the other States care for us? 
 Lettle, mighty lettle, or they d rally to the frontier, an 
 
THE LATIMERS. 33 
 
 vvanct for all help us to be quit of our savage foes. Mind 
 what I say, though I m nayther prophet nor son of a 
 prophet, if Wayne s axpedeetion is iver a success at all, an 
 troops or volunteers from other States. Now, Jack, my son, 
 what sort of a spectackle is that for the warld? It warks 
 both ways, don t you see? An if a Republic can t an 
 won t defend its sufferin an assailed borders, mayhap 
 men 11 see small use for t. I m not sure but the rights of 
 man 11 be better sarved by makin a new State out of West 
 ern Pennsylvany an Virginy, an mayhap even a Western 
 Republic" 
 
 "Stop, father! stop there!" cried John. "There s no 
 objection to the new State if it can be brought about le 
 gally. But that last thought is rank treason. Don t think 
 of it further, for God s sake, don t! Ay, and for your own! 
 For, father, depend on it, though the States may be back 
 ward in sending aid to suppress the Indians, if the integ 
 rity of the Republic be once assailed they will rally to a 
 man. And then what chance will there be for us? Better 
 endure the evils we have than fly to others that we know 
 not of. Or, as the Good Book says: The prudent man 
 forseeth the evil and hideth himself." 3 
 
 "Well, lad, thank you annyhow for sparin me the tail 
 eend of that Scriptur quotation But thar comes Panther, 
 an it s no becomin that he should see us aven in fri ndly 
 controvarsy. So we ll e en drop the subjec an prepare for 
 rest." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 NEW ACQUAINTANCES AND AN OLD STOKY. 
 
 John Latimer sat at the Fort Pitt landing reading a 
 pocket edition of Virgil, a gift from his instructor and 
 pastor, Dr. John McMillan, and waiting for business. 
 
 "Good morning, young man!" said a military person 
 who stepped upon the keel boat which lay with its nose 
 against the shore lazily lifting with the rippling of the 
 stream. John rose from his rustic spruce-wood camp stool, 
 and returned the greeting with a salute something more 
 3 
 
S4 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 respectful than wont, as he recognized Gen. Neville, the 
 chief revenue officer for the Western District of the United 
 States. He was a tall, stoutly-built man, of seventy years 
 or thereabout, whose swart closely-shaven face was domi 
 nated by large dark eyes well parted by a Roman nose with 
 a bare suggestion of an upward curve at the tip. A strong 
 face, one would say, with that cast which the habit of 
 authority gives. His bearing; self-poised and confident 
 without being aggressive, bespoke gentle breeding; and with 
 this his dress comported, being a cross between the cos 
 tume of a Continental gentleman and a soldier, with a mod 
 ifying slash of frontier freedom. 
 
 The youth noted these points, for in the years just suc 
 ceeding the Revolution the distinctions between the aris 
 tocracy and the commonality, which pervaded the Colonial 
 period, were not wholly done away. At the same time he 
 was conscious that he also was the subject of a close scru 
 tiny, which, though he would have been the last to think 
 it, he could well bear. John Latimer stood six feet one 
 inch in his moccasins. His deerskin breeches were buckled 
 at the knees over ribbed home-knit hose. A blue home 
 spun jerkin, ornamented with metal buttons and topped 
 with mink fur, hung loosely over his linsey shirt on whose 
 bosom and broad collar his mother had wrought braiding. 
 A well-turned head, fairly posed upon his neck, was 
 crowned with curly chestnut hair. Clear blue eyes, honest, 
 true and thoughtful, looked from beneath a forehead that 
 showed white, where his cap had sat, against the ruddy 
 bronze of his sunburnt cheeks. There he stood, strong, 
 manly, a bit awkward perhaps just then, though graceful 
 as a wild creature when in action; his broad chest tapering 
 down to as proper a pair of legs (his mother said) as ever 
 bore breeks. He could keep a coin at once between thighs, 
 knees and ankles, the ideal test of trim legs in those days. 
 
 "Well, young man?" said the Inspector. 
 
 "Well, sir?" said John, with a slight twinkle in his eyes 
 that showed him aware of the mutual inspection, and 
 amused thereat. "Can I serve you this morning?" 
 
 "I am looking for a light-draft keel boat to take me 
 and my niece as far down the river as Wheeling and back, 
 and have been referred to Luke Latimer. You are not he?" 
 
 "His son, sir; but I can speak for him." 
 
 "Ah! I want passage simply, with a little camping for 
 
THE LATIMERS. 35 
 
 the lady and hunting for myself by the way, with a stop 
 or two between whiles. My niece wishes to see the river 
 scenery and have a taste of frontier life. Could you take 
 us, and what could you do for us?" 
 
 "We certainly could take you" answered John, "for you 
 are doubtless used to campaigning; but I cannot speak so 
 surely for the lady. AYe have but rough accommodation, 
 sir, as you see; only a keel boat built for ferriage, for light 
 freighting and for emigrants." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I see! But the lady will do well enough, I 
 dare say, for a little while. Now, here is a bit of a cabin that 
 might serve, I think, on a pinch." He pointed to a rustic 
 booth thatched with leafy wattles which John had. built in 
 the bow, wherein he might loiter and read while awaiting 
 custom, and also sleep at nights. The floor was covered 
 with bearskins, and on the forked props hung his rifle, pow 
 der horn, leggings and hunting shirt. 
 
 "To be sure," resumed the General, "there s nothing 
 luxurious here, but it s clean, at least." 
 
 Whereat John flushed, and said rather testily, "I 
 should hope so, sir!" 
 
 "Nevertheless," remarked the General, "that s not what 
 one can say of some of the boats I have looked at. When 
 can you leave ?" 
 
 "At once/ 
 
 "Good! Then I ll take the boat for the trip; for a week 
 at least, to leave this afternoon promptly at five o clock; 
 and here is your earnest money." He gave John a gold 
 coin, and having arranged the terms and particulars of the 
 journey, and bidden John wait on board for the stores and 
 tent which he would promptly send, the Inspector gave a 
 stately good morning, and retired. 
 
 Packages of provisions from the trader were alreadv 
 coming in when Luke Latimer arrived. John gave him tin 
 gold coin with well-pleased countenance, looking for ap 
 plause when he told of the favorable contract he had made. 
 But he was grieved to see Luke flush up angrily at the 
 name of Gen. Neville, and fling the coin indignantly upon 
 deck. Knowing his father s keenness for business the 
 youth felt that he had indeed made a sore mistake, though 
 marvelling to know wherein. 
 
 "What, my son," cried Luke, "would you help that 
 inemy of your kin an people to plot agin our p ace? It 
 
 
36 THE LATIMEBS. 
 
 galls and grieves me sore that you ve done this. I d as lief 
 take a cargo of rattlers as that man Neville. What ll our 
 fri nds say to this? They ll be a-callin us informers an 
 revenue spies, I misdoubt. Is that all your edication s 
 worth, John, fer to let this rank traitor hoodwink you so? 
 Fie, fie!" 
 
 John waited the first outburst of temper before reply 
 ing, though his cheeks burned at the slight. Then, as 
 beseemed a son, he answered quietly: "Father, you do me 
 injustice. How could I know you would scorn the best- 
 paid job we ve had for many a day? What right had I to 
 discriminate against anyone who asked our service? You 
 have taught me that business is no respecter of persons. 
 Besides, what reason could I give for refusal even if I had 
 thought to do so ? The gentleman plainly said that he was 
 going principally on pleasure, not business, and for his 
 niece rather than himself. You are the last man to do such 
 discourtesy to a lady, father, and so am I." 
 
 "Ay, ay!" rejoined Luke, shaken much in mind, but 
 testy still. "You can argy fine; specially on the side of the 
 axcise officers. The old doctor has dinged that intil you 
 bravely, along with his Latin an mathematics. But it ill 
 behooves to flout your treason in your father s face." 
 
 "Father!" cried John," "this is too much! Have I ever 
 failed in duty to you? But let us bandy no more words 
 about it. I will be off to Gen. Neville and tell him that 
 my father forbids the contract, and returns the earnest 
 money." So saying, he picked up the coin, and turned to 
 leave the boat. 
 
 "Stop a bit, John!" said Luke, whose wrath had cooled 
 before his son s reverend carriage as much as his cogent 
 reasons. "I can t cope with your glib tongue in argymint, 
 though quite the same I know it s all agee. But, let me 
 think! Ye ve pledged my word, you say; an what if the 
 Giner l refuses to rel ase us? What ll ye say til him then, 
 lad?" 
 
 "What ll I say? The truth; that Luke Latimer keeps 
 faith with all men but Gen. Neville. And if he mislikes 
 that, he may make the most of it." 
 
 "It won t do, my son, it won t do! It s a sore pickle 
 ye ve got me into by your indiscreetion, bad cess til it! I 
 don t see my way out; though resolved I am that I ll niver 
 sarve Giner l Neville myself, nor bide with him in the same 
 boat." 
 
THE LATIMERS. 37 
 
 "Well/ said John,, turning back from the gang plank, 
 "why should you have aught to do with the matter? Let 
 me take the whole responsibility. If I can t get some one 
 to help me, I can manage well enough alone as far as 
 Indian Kocks. There I am sure to find Panther, who is 
 trapping now on the Little Beaver, and will be at his camp 
 on the Island, and will readily join me." 
 
 So at last it was agreed. Luke dearly loved his son, and 
 liked not to see him humbled; and he loved his good busi 
 ness name, and would not have it besmirched, above all by 
 one whom he so roundly hated as the Inspector. So off he 
 set for Canonsburg, promising to meet John in a week 
 again, and yielding to him all the care and profit of the 
 journey. Thereupon John went eagerly to work righting 
 the boat for such rare fares and freight. 
 
 "Good mor-r-row, Jock!" called a cheery voice from the 
 bank. The voice issued from a thick-set figure clad in 
 homespun and leggings, who without more ado stalked 
 over the gang plank, followed by a small dog of the breed 
 known as fox-terrier. 
 
 "Good morning, Andy Burbeck!" said John. "What 
 good brownie told you that you are just the man I m look 
 ing for?" 
 
 "Ay, it s ginteel in ye for to say that, Jock, ma b y; and 
 jist at noon time whan A m as hungry as a bear, not to 
 say thirsty, which Peggy says is my chrronic estate. But 
 the deiPs not al ys as black as he s painted, an A niver let 
 the malt git above the male. How are ye, lad?" He warmly 
 shook the hand extended to him and took a seat in the 
 booth. 
 
 "Ah! this is ilegant now, ahfter long trudgin in an 
 August sun! Faith! a movin fut is aye gittin , tho some 
 times it s only a stumped toe!" Andy wiped his red head 
 with a red handkerchief, and laid aside his hat, uncovering 
 a shock of red hair that stood up all around his freckled 
 face. "Sure, A m hearty glad to see ye ahfter yer trip 
 down the river. An so is Bounce, ye see. Hey, Bounce?" 
 The dog had run with glad cry and wagging tail to John 
 and was curving his back under his fondling hand. Thus 
 questioned, he beat the floor with his tail, raised his head, 
 and barked. 
 
 "Toe be sure ye are, ma purty! Was there iver a plainer 
 yis nor that, Master John? Ah! a dog s a firmer frri nd 
 
38 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 nor some human crayters A wot of. But haven t ye a bite 
 an sup for a starrvin neighbor, Jock?" Andy had a way 
 of rolling his r s when somewhat earnest or excited, and the 
 last sentence received an especially unctions trill. 
 
 "Indeed, yes. I was about taking a snack myself; so 
 join me and welcome. Here s a bite of cold venison; and 
 here s a loaf of home bread; and here s a pot of wild honey." 
 He took the dishes as he spoke out of a locker. "And there, 
 Andy, is the horn bottle; but water it well, old fellow, for 
 I want you to keep a cool head, as I have some particular 
 work for you." 
 
 "That A wull, lad, an obleeged til ye. But did ye iver 
 see me with a hot head? Though, it looks red hot, A ll 
 allow; an Peggy says it flames out like Nebbychadnazar s 
 fiery furnace." Laughing at the conceit, he passed his red 
 hand through his shocky poll, and proceeded to mix his 
 grog. "Here s til yer health, Jock, an good luck to the 
 Fanny!" meaning thereby not a lady friend but the Lati- 
 mer boat. 
 
 "By the way, Andy, what do you think of the Fanny 
 now?" asked John. "You see I ve been brightening her u:> 
 a bit." 
 
 "Ay, A m feared ye re gittin vain, John," answered 
 Andy, shaking his head with mock gravity. "An that 11 
 be the ruination of a douce fine fallow. Tak care, lad; ill 
 weeds wax well. Why, this is quite a Cleopatry s barrge, 
 an not an Ohio keel -boat! Ye ve grown pernickety, lad, 
 sence ye ve been among the Frenchers at New Orleans. 
 Not but A like a dainty taste maself; it s a sign of good 
 blood. There s Bounce an Betty, now! Bless yer heart, 
 they re tidy as an emmet, an as ch ice as a gentle in their 
 bed an board. They d starve ruther n raven like a mongrel 
 cur. Sure, A call this a reg lar lady s bowerr, John." He 
 cast an approving eye around the booth, as he mixed 
 another horn of grog. 
 
 "I m glad you like it, Andy, for to tell the truth, that s 
 just what it is a lady s bower. And I want you for the 
 next week or two to help take care of the lady. What say 
 you? Have you an engagement ahead, and will you go with 
 me?" 
 
 "No ingagement, John, an A m agrayable to sarve ye, 
 if all s fair. But what s in the wind? Have a care, Jock! 
 Better an impty house nor a bad tinant. Ye havn t capit- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 39 
 
 oolated body an soul to one of thim French Papishers, 
 hey? A ve h ard they re reglar Circes and Sirens, an the 
 very divil giner ly with their big black eyes an winsome 
 ways. But A niver thought that you " 
 
 "Tush, Andy!" said John, impatiently. "No fiddle- 
 faddle, please! It s a pure matter of business. Listen!" 
 He recited the events of the morning, and explained that 
 lie wanted some one to help at the boat s poles and sweeps, 
 and especially with the cooking. "You re a famous camp 
 caterer, Andy, and I had been thinking of you not an hour 
 ago, and wishing you could help me out of my scrape." 
 
 "Jist so, lad; talk about the angels, ye know et cetery! 
 Ma modesty forbids me to finish the proverb. Though, 
 toe be sure, A niver h ard of an angel with red hair an 
 frowsy baird an freckled face, though they might be warse 
 appareled, A trow. Howiver, it s a bargain, lad, an A m 
 shipped on the Fanny for the nixt cruise as first mate, head 
 cook, seaman an cabin boy. Thar s four of us, John; and 
 Bounce makes five. A fine crew, that, for a river cruise; 
 an yourself the sixth, Captain Jock." 
 
 "I don t know about Bounce," said John. "I misdoubt 
 the General or the lady might object to a dog on board!" 
 
 "Objic P Not they! They re too good blood for that, 
 A pledge ye; an blood 11 tell in sich matters. But if they 
 do, then no Bounce, no Burbeck hey, boy? We s not be 
 parted, wull we?" Taking the cue from his master s tone, 
 the terrier leaped into his arms and laid his head against 
 his bosom. "There, master John, ye couldn t have the 
 heart to siperate us now, could ye?" 
 
 "Plainly not, Andy," answered John, laughing. "And 
 if I had, I wouldn t dare do it. But you must keep Bounce 
 out of sight and hearing until we get fairly started." 
 
 "Trust us for that, lad! An now A m at your sarvice. 
 What shall be ma first duty, Cap n John?" He put him 
 self into saluting posture, and touched his hat with mock 
 obeisance. 
 
 Andy had a deft hand, and as he wrought with good 
 will and good taste withal, the boat was soon in fair trim 
 for its expected guests. The bower, as Andy would call it, 
 was furnished with two comfortable chairs, borrowed from 
 a friendly trader. A rude bunk was knocked together and 
 thereon extra bearskins were laid down, making an invit 
 ing couch. A dressed deer skin, curiously decorated with 
 
40 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Indian totem signs, was draped across the "bow end; and 
 the rudder end was closed in with wattles, leaving only a 
 door, over which hung a pair of panther skins. A square 
 bit of canvas made by stitching together remnants of old 
 government tents abandoned in various expeditions, was 
 stretched over the thatched top, thus forming a roof rea 
 sonably secure from ordinary showers and river mists. 
 
 "Thar now/ said Andy, "we re ready for ma leddy; an 
 it s a dainty enough bower for Lady Washington herself, 
 God bless her! Ther s privacy if she wants it. Ther s a 
 fair view of the river scanery whan she choices to draw her 
 bow curtain. An whan she wants fer to convarse with the 
 Cap n an mate, as she surely wull, bein a lady of quality, 
 why, ther s a nate door in the ahfther cabin. An thar s a 
 bunch o posies at King George s gardener couldn t fur 
 nish!" pointing to a crock full of goldenrod and field lilies 
 plucked from the banks outside the fort. "An yon er she 
 comes, lad, an we re not a mort too soon." 
 
 The young woman tripped down the sloping bank in 
 advance of her uncle; and with a merry outburst of 
 laughter, as if in high spirits in prospect of her week s 
 picknicking, leaped upon the gang plank. It made a little 
 lurch, and frightened thereat the damsel threw up her arms 
 for balance and uttered a slight scream. What then could 
 John do, who stood at the bow to receive his guests, but 
 reach forth his hand to steady her, and support her over the 
 bulwarks ? Merry black eyes looked up into the tall youth s 
 face. A sweet voice said: "Oh, thank you!" and a dainty 
 hand was laid in his palm. Are we so far from our young 
 days that we cannot recall the thrill of some such touch 
 as that? 
 
 John turned to receive Gen. Neville, who hurried aboard 
 plainly ruffled at his niece s unceremonious advent. He 
 was followed by a negro slave laden with wraps and carry 
 ing a lady s hand-box. Meanwhile, the maiden was already 
 inspecting her bower, and giving vent to sundry pleased 
 ejaculations. 
 
 "Luke Latimer, I suppose?" asked Gen. Neville, ad 
 dressing Andy. 
 
 "Andy Burbeck, at yer sarvice," was the answer. "Yon s 
 Captain Latimer, yer honor," pointing to John. 
 
 "Captain be hanged!" the General began, but bit short 
 off his expletive and turned to his niece. "Excuse me, 
 
THE LATIMEES. 41 
 
 Blanche; but it vexes me to hear these honorable titles 
 given to boatmen and packmen, and every Tom, Dick and 
 Harry on the border." 
 
 "True enough, yer honor," interposed Andy, not at all 
 discomfited. a All the Stuarts aint cousins to the king. 
 But if yer honor d ? a tackled succissfully the difficoolties 
 an dangers of the Ohio rriver in a flat boat, what with 
 floods an 7 currents, an snags, sawyers an san bars, am- 
 bushin savages an crrooked white men to dale with, may 
 hap y ud think aven GinerT too humble a title for yer 
 honor. An what s the harem o givin the boatmen ceevil 
 tarms,, or for that matter other folk as well? It s al lus 
 best to be ceevil, as the old wife said whan she curt sied to 
 the divil " 
 
 Not deigning answer to Andy s double shot, the Inspec 
 tor addressed John, whose eyes were kindling up at the 
 discourteous words, which cut him more sharply in the pres 
 ence of a fair maiden. 
 
 "Wasn t it agreed that your father should have charge 
 of the boat, sir? asked Gen. Neville. 
 
 "It was so understood and expected. But my father is 
 otherwise occupied, and has left me to serve you." 
 
 "But I bargained for a man of experience, and stand up 
 to my contract, nothing more nor less. I m not satisfied 
 with this arrangement." 
 
 "As you please, sir," answered John, with a quiet dig 
 nity and tone of high courtesy into which he often 
 dropped as naturally (his mother said) as a born lord. "I 
 surrender the contract willingly, and here, sir, is the 
 earnest money. Andy, take the gentleman s luggage 
 ashore!" As he turned to cross the gang plank his eyes 
 chanced to meet the damsel s, which looked so grieved and 
 disappointed that he turned back, and making a stately 
 obeisance to the General, said: 
 
 "Perhaps I ought to have apologized for any inconven 
 ience you have suffered. It was beyond my power to pre 
 vent it, and I regret your disappointment. Nevertheless, 
 I may say that no wrong has been done you, as I hold my 
 self well able, with the aid I have employed, to do all that 
 my father could have done to make your trip safe and 
 agreeable." 
 
 It may be that the General would not have yielded, had 
 not his niece given opportunity to do so without compro- 
 
42 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 mise to his fancied dignity, by expressing her pleasure in 
 the arrangements made for her comfort, and begging her 
 uncle to go forward. "For," quoth she, "we shall surely 
 do as well with these men as with any others," and turned 
 a pleased glance upon John s stalwart and comely figure. 
 
 "Well, we shall see!" said the General stiffly. Then 
 speaking to John, "I am satisfied to proceed. Hannibal," 
 addressing the slave, "bring the traps aboard." 
 
 "Is the negro to go, sir?" asked John. 
 
 "Certainly; he will wait upon us. There are no objec 
 tions I hope, sir?" 
 
 "None at all, General; but it was not so nominated in 
 the bond/ and you seemed so set upon holding to the exact 
 terms of agreement that I ventured my inquiry. I had 
 made other arrangements for you, but if the slave adds to 
 the lady s or your own comfort in the least, he is welcome." 
 
 The General flushed, and wondered inwardly where the 
 deuce a keel boatman had picked up a Shakespearean quo 
 tation. John bowed courteously, pleased that he had 
 turned the tables so deftly upon his intractable passenger. 
 Then he drew in the gang-plank, made secure the fastenings 
 of the towboat, and seizing a pole shoved the craft into the 
 stream. Taking the stern sweep and setting Andy at a 
 pole, he soon got the ungainly vessel under way, and the 
 party swung lazily down the current into the shadows of 
 the environing hills. 
 
 Blanche Oldham sat at the boat s bow with her uncle, 
 who pointed out the interesting features of the scenery. 
 On the left Coal Hill (now Mount Washington) lifted 
 up its steep sides covered from summit to base with thick 
 forest growth,, that switched with its overhanging shrubbery 
 the turbid waters of the Monongahela. They passed on the 
 right the site and successor of old Fort DuQuesne, now 
 bearing its newer name of Fort Pitt, in honor of the noble 
 English statesman who pleaded for justice to his colonial 
 countrymen during the trying Eevolutionary conflict. 
 Soon breastworks and block-house and the cluster 
 of cabins and stores that formed the beginnings of Pitts- 
 burg were left behind. Now the clear current of the Alle 
 gheny swept around the point, holding aloof from the 
 muddy stream of its confluent for a goodly space. It 
 amused Blanche to trace the boundary of the two rivers 
 until their waters were completely commingled. And so, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 43 
 
 at last, they were launched into the wilderness upon the 
 bosom of the Ohio. 
 
 Supper was served on the boat that evening, and as the 
 moon came up early and nearly full, the sweep was kept 
 steadily going until eight o clock. As the craft glided over 
 the moonlit river and the night voices of that new land 
 came in from the wooded shores, and the balmy wind rus 
 tled in the dense foliage, chiming in with the dip, dip and 
 gurgle of the broad SAveep and the rippling of the water 
 along the sides and bow, Blanche was continually breaking 
 forth with glad cries and marvelings. The General well 
 nigh forgot his pique, and even the boat s crew, familiar 
 as they were with the scenes, felt the soothing spell of the 
 summer night. 
 
 When the > boat was made fast, the maiden retired to 
 her bower. A rude shelter was fitted up for the General 
 amidships. Hannibal, who had already turned in, slept 
 in the stern; and John and Andy raked together a lair of 
 twigs and dried leaves, and bivouacked ashore, keeping 
 guard by turns. 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 A DOG AND CAT. 
 
 Blanche was up betimes, and came from her bower bub 
 bling full of pleasure in the novelty of her situation. A 
 jar of limpid water had been slipped underneath the cur 
 tain door. A rude bracket lashed upon one of the forked 
 props held a wooden wash trencher for her ablutions, above 
 which hung a small mirror. "A gentleman s shaving glass, 
 I think," mused the maiden, as she knotted her black hair. 
 "I wonder is it Captain John s?" 
 
 Her gown was a simple blue wool fabric, with yellow 
 frog braiding across the bosom, such as military men affect. 
 She had worn a blue hood with pink lining on the day be 
 fore, as a shade from the sun, and her brunette face looked 
 very pretty set about with the warm color. But for this 
 morning she had donned a round cap made in the fashion 
 of a frontiersman s, but of cloth instead of fur, and with 
 an upright eagle feather instead of the drooping tail which 
 woodmen wore. 
 
44 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 A gilt embroidered baldric was slung over her shoulder 
 and supported a small bugle such as huntsmen used in 
 ancient forestry, a toy that an Eastern kinsman had given 
 her, and which she had learned to wind with no little skill. 
 "Who knows," she said laughingly. "I am going into 
 American forests, and may need to sound my mots and 
 show my woodcraft/ 7 However, she had had no cause to 
 display her skill thus far, nor was like to have, save for her 
 own amusement and the pleasuring of her friends. 
 
 The General welcomed her with a morning kiss and 
 called her a little witch, which set John pondering 
 the privileges of uncles and the mystery of witchcraft. 
 Bounce also made his appearance, and, overjoyed to be out 
 of limbo in which his master had held him, filled the woods 
 with merry yelpings. As the lady at once made friends 
 with him he had no more imprisonings, but wandered at 
 will, having even the privilege of Blanche s bower, a favor 
 which some higher animals on board sometimes coveted. 
 Whatever thoughts John had upon this matter he bosomed 
 up, and kept strictly to his duty, and urged all hands to an 
 early start; "for," said he, "we must make the Indian Rocks 
 in good time this morning." 
 
 Now Blanche wound her bugle, for she claimed the 
 privilege of making signals, and sounding to break camp 
 and tie up for the night after the fashion of rivermen, and 
 once more the boat was off. The day was a long delight, 
 though startled by no adventure. Shrubs and trees; birds 
 and wild animals; creeks and brooks plashing into the river; 
 an occasional cabin and field of corn where the axe had 
 eaten little square patches of open in the forest, these 
 and like things kept Blanche occupied. But after the noon 
 lunch on the green shore, the novelty of sight-seeing being 
 somewhat broken, the maiden cast about for amusement 
 among her fellow voyagers. 
 
 The tall young fellow in charge, a handsome athlete 
 she thought him, much interested her. Doing two men s 
 work without fuss, scant of words, but with bearing and 
 courtesy far above his station, .quite like a prince in dis 
 guise, she mused, that was Captain John. "Captain" 
 Andy would have him, and "Captain" he was, even the 
 General at last falling in grudgingly, although John was 
 thoroughly at one with him in contempt for assumed titles. 
 Howbeit, he was not without claims to his own as captain 
 
THE LATIMERS. 45 
 
 of a militia company. Blanche could not bring herself to 
 address him with the familiar "John," he seemed so far 
 above that; and if he were not a captain, why he ought to 
 be! He had as yet said little to her, but she was conscious 
 that although he seemed scarcely to note her, he was some 
 how always anticipating her wants, and as by instinct 
 bringing things to pass for her pleasuring. 
 
 For example, how did he know, just now, that she was 
 weary of looking at the hot river? But, from the high- 
 stepped log set up on end, something like an upping block, 
 on which he stood to manage the stern sweep, and which 
 enabled him to overlook the roof of the cabin and thus have 
 fair vision for steerage, he had plainly noted her weariness. 
 The boat swept over into the grateful shade of a hill from 
 which came the odor of pine wood. 
 
 "Come, Hannibal/ said the Captain, "can t you relieve 
 Andy at the pole for awhile ? Miss Blanche wants him." 
 
 "0 Captain, what a story!" said the astonished maiden 
 in her heart. "I never thought of Andy!" But there was 
 a quiet twinkle in those strong, comely eyes, and such an 
 air of authority, that she spoke no word and waited to see 
 what would follow. 
 
 "Now, Andy, you ve not shown your terrier s virtues to 
 the General, and he is fond of dogs, you see!" as indeed he 
 was. "Won t you let Bounce give us an Irish jig?" 
 
 "Ay, that A wull, with his honor s permission," said 
 Andy; which the Inspector gave with a pleasant nod. "An 
 the lady s also?" turning to Blanche, who laughed her ap 
 proval. 
 
 Andy removed his wool hat, whereat his hairs, delivered 
 from their burden, at once rose up over his head as though 
 charged with electricity. "Now, Bounce, attintion!" The 
 dog trotted up to his master, seated himself on his hind 
 legs, drew his forelegs up and looked into Andy s face. 
 "Sow, my lad, we re about to axecute the famous Irrish 
 jig. An mark ye, marrk!" holding up his finger, "ycr 
 under the eye of the gintry, this time; no common spec 
 tators, sorr! So none of your vulgar cavortin s! Do ye 
 understand, sorr, an are ye quite rready?" 
 
 "Yowp!" barked Bounce, nodding his head. 
 
 "Wull, now, salute yer pardner, up!" Bounce rose 
 upon his hind paws, backed a step then came forward 
 again and barked. 
 
46 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 "Now the band will strrike up, an away we go." 
 Thereupon he began chanting a well-known tune, "Boy s 
 Wife of Aldavalock," to the familiar but untranslatable 
 words of 
 
 "Tidery i di, tider y um turn !" 
 
 and commenced a swaying sort of dance, moving his arms 
 up and down like wings. The dog seemed to enter at once 
 into the spirit of the occasion, and moved back and forth on 
 his hind feet, around and around, eyeing his master and fol 
 lowing his movements. There was not much regard to 
 time perhaps, if one observed closely, but the idea of 
 rhythmic motion was suggested, and the dog really seemed 
 to dance. A round of hearty applause greeted the per 
 formance, and when Bounce was released by his master he 
 ran to Miss Blanche to be caressed, and then received, the 
 General s fondling with evident satisfaction. 
 
 "Now, return thanks, sorr!" called Andy. Whereat 
 Bounce got upon his hind feet, and following his master s 
 pointed finger, gave two bright yelps and a nod, first toward 
 the lady, then toward the General, and then Captain John. 
 
 "That s a good b y; an here s a bit o sugar til ye." 
 While the dog munched the sweet morsel, Andy craved the 
 use of a chair from Miss Blanche, which he placed near the 
 bulwark and sat down as though to rest. Suddenly he threw 
 himself back with drooping head and hands hanging down, 
 and called out in pitiful tones, "Oh! Bounce! your poor 
 master s sick!" 
 
 The terrier, uttering a piteous whine, sprang upon h.is 
 master s bosom, put his forepaws around his neck, laid his 
 face against his cheek, and kissed him again and again 
 while uttering most dolorous howls. The mimicking of 
 grief was so admirable that this feat was applauded even 
 more than the dancing. But no applause changed the 
 tokens of canine dolor until Andy slowly raised his head 
 and sighed, "Ah! I feel better now!" Then the dog s 
 whole being seemed transformed from sorrow to joy. He 
 threw his head back, uttered gladsome barkings again and 
 again, and fondled his master s face. 
 
 "Now Bounce, b y, that ll do! Thank the gintlefolk 
 for their sympathy." The dog leaped down, got on his 
 hind feet, and again following Andy s fingers, barked and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 47 
 
 bowed to Blanche, to the General and to John. Then 
 catching the latter s approving eye, he ran away to him 
 first of all, leaping upon his arm and growing happy in his 
 applause. Plainly Bounce and John were old and good 
 friends. 
 
 This performance and the repetition of it, and the chat 
 about it, sent on the forenoon well towards the hour for 
 luncheon. Blanche was enthusiastic in praise of Bounce s 
 intelligence. "Ah but, Miss," said Andy, "ye ought fer 
 til see the two of em, Bounce an Betty, th gither, an be 
 like some of their offspring with em dancin a jig along 
 with ma wife, Peggy. If ye ll honor our cabin at Canons- 
 burg with a visit, we 11 be pl ased to intertain ye. But 
 mind ye, Madam, these are not performin dogs, an we are 
 no show people. It s not for public idification, as parson 
 says, but for our private delectation like, an betimes, for 
 a fri nd or a veesitor that we show what the dogs can do. 
 Ah, ye re right, Miss, they are purty cr aters and quite 
 human in their ways; indade A wush all men were as 
 dainty an true as ma dogs. But it s not ivery man that s 
 a Cap n John, nor ivery dog that s a Bounce an Betty!" 
 With which rather irrelevant remark, as far as John was 
 concerned, he went back to his pole much to Hannibal s 
 comfort, for the negro was not well affected toward such 
 work. 
 
 The Indian Rocks were reached by the middle of the 
 afternoon, and as Gen. Neville was minded to tarry for a 
 day s hunt, Blanche resolved to spend the night ashore. 
 The booth which the Latimers had lately built needed 
 only fresh branches to make it comfortable. A wattled 
 partition was run through the middle; the skin curtains 
 were hung in front, and one compartment given to 
 Blanche, the other to her uncle. Andy slept on the boat, 
 and Gen. Neville insisting that Hannibal should share in 
 the watch, John set him the first part of the night, and 
 wrapping a blanket around himself lay down by the great 
 walnut tree after making the most solemn charge to Han 
 nibal to be wakeful and alert. 
 
 "Sakes alive, Mars Cap n, yo doan spec I could go 
 asleep an leave Miss Blanche an de Gine l widout g yard 
 in dis wilderness ob Sinai? Yo shouldn t hab so po a 
 pinion of Hannibal, sah, deed not! Sides dat, I se too 
 skeered to sleep, do pow ful little I got lars night, I shore 
 
 ye." 
 
48 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 As the negro had done nothing but sleep the night be 
 fore, John gave little weight to the last qualification, but 
 thought that surely he might be trusted for a few hours. 
 However, as he anticipated no danger and was weary with 
 hard work, he was soon asleep. Well towards midnight he 
 was disturbed by a low snarl from Bounce, who had curled 
 down to sleep beside him. He hushed the dog with a whis 
 per, fearing he might arouse the camp. But Bounce, 
 though biddable, backed against his bosom and cuddled 
 there still growling softly. John, now awake, observing 
 that Hannibal was sound asleep, cast a glance toward the 
 booth. The moon shed its full lustre through the forest 
 leaves, and cast a broad silver paten against the front, 
 showing Blanche seated outside, and dozing with her head 
 leaned against the corner prop. The v night being warm 
 she had arisen, and putting a chair just outside the cur 
 tain, sat down in the breeze to enjov the silence and beauty, 
 and so had fallen asleep. It was a charming picture for a 
 young man s study, and John had enjoyed it thoroughly 
 for a few moments, when his glance was diverted from the 
 maiden by the fluttering of a white object on the ground 
 a few yards beyond her. 
 
 Ah! her handkerchief, which had dropped from her re 
 laxed fingers, and been puffed away by the rising wind, and 
 was just now being lifted further by a flaw. The youth 
 let his glance follow the dainty thing, and had pleased re 
 membrance of the perfume of lavender which it had ex 
 haled when, during the afternoon, having dropped from 
 Blanche s hand, he had restored it to her. Beyond the 
 patch of moonlight it rolled with fitful turns into the 
 shadow, where it stopped kind Heaven! could it be? 
 against the very nose of a huge catamount! The gray form 
 was crouching catwise, back curved downward, tail curved 
 upward and lightly resting on the ground, head to the earth 
 and forepaws outspread as though to spring upon its vic 
 tim. 
 
 John felt at his heart a chill heretofore unknown to 
 him, and his limbs were stricken as with a palsy. It was a 
 full quarter minute (and it seemed an age) ere he could 
 grasp his rifle and raise himself upon one arm, while 
 Bounce silent and trembling crept behind him. Every 
 sense was keenly alert now, and the blood beating like hot 
 steam in his veins. It seemed strange to him that he could 
 
THE LATIMERS. 49 
 
 note, in that awful extremity, such trifles as that Blanche 
 twice nodded her pretty head; that a whippoorwill whistled 
 from the hill; that a dead twig fell from the walnut tree 
 upon his breast; and strange, but strangest of all that he 
 should ponder it and marvel over it, that the panther 
 stooped and sniffed the fluffy ball that the flaw had laid 
 against its nose. 
 
 What could the beast mean? It relaxed its tense pose, 
 that graceful, masterful attitude of the cat kind, the per 
 fect expression of muscular vigor and beauty, when about to 
 spring upon its prey. Its ears drooped forward. It put 
 its nose once and again to the kerchief and sniffed as with 
 pleasure; then closed its paws upon it and smelled it, and 
 John thought he heard it purr as if enjoying the delicious- 
 ness of the fragrance. Whoever heard of wild beasts tak 
 ing pleasure in sweet scents, especially ladies perfumes? 
 
 He was conscious of all this undercurrent of thought 
 and quer} , as with a swift and silent movement that even 
 the brute before him could not excel, he dropped his rifle 
 upon the toe of his moccasin, cocked it, marked and ap 
 proved the priming, glanced along the barrel with as true 
 sight as might be, and pulled the trigger. Then, as the 
 shot rang out and awoke many echoes among the hills in 
 the still night, he flung the rifle aside, seized his belt knife, 
 and leaped through the smoke. 
 
 What followed passed with such quickness that it was 
 like the vision given by a lightning flash into the darkness 
 of night and storm. Blanche springing to her feet, startled 
 from sleep with pitiful screams, with clasped hands and 
 wide eyes looking this way and that; the General, standing 
 in the moonlit opening of the booth, with hard face and 
 pointed pistol in each hand, shouting fiercely: "Cursed 
 traitor, take that!" another crack of firearms into the 
 echoing air; a sharp thud upon his side, as his rapid course 
 was stayed, and he fell prone with outstretched arms and 
 hands grasping the turf. 
 
 Then a dark form suddenly shot athwart the space, ob 
 truding between John and the General. An iron hand 
 grasped the Inspector s outpointed left arm and hurled it 
 aloft as though it were a feather, while a third shot was 
 heard, and the deflected bullet from the discharged pistol 
 hissed through the overhanging foliage. A deep voice 
 quavering with suppressed wrath spoke: "Does the white 
 4 
 
50 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 chief kill his friends? Fool!" With a sweep of his arm 
 as though the man were but a dandelion stock, the Mingc . 
 for it was Panther, felled the General and sprang to the 
 side of his fallen friend. 
 
 "Is the Young Oak much hurt?" he asked with a voice 
 that sounded strangely tender in comparison with the harsh 
 tones just uttered. He knelt at John s side and stooped 
 to lift him. But the Young Oak was not too much hurt to 
 hear a plaintive cry from the booth whose anxiety pulsed 
 upon his ear not ungratefully: "0 uncle, you have killed 
 Captain John!" 
 
 "I hope so!" cried the enraged man, who seemed dazed 
 and terrified by a strange mistake; and rising he drew a 
 poniard and sprang upon the Indian. 
 
 Panther, though unprepared and engrossed with the 
 care of John, glided from his grasp, and hurling himself 
 upon the General with that agility which had earned him 
 his warrior name, bore him to the ground, and throttling 
 him with one hand lifted with the other his tomahawk. 
 
 "Hold, Panther!" cried John, "for God s sake don t 
 strike!" Blanche, who had thrown herself between the 
 Indian and the Inspector, fell swooning upon her uncle s 
 breast. 
 
 "Panther doesn t strike squaws!" said the Mingo, rising 
 and turning to his friend, who was now getting to his feet. 
 
 The Inspector, who was not injured, said nothing, but 
 glowered angrily upon the Indian, and sought to disen 
 gage himself from the fainting damsel. Andy appeared 
 upon the scene hatless, his prickly hair unwontedly on end; 
 while Bounce was sniffing and barking at the prostrate 
 form of the catamount, and Hannibal sat upon hands 
 and hunkers at the foot of the walnut tree rolling his eyes 
 in mute terror, and despite the hubbub even yet half asleep. 
 
 "Is the Young Oak hurt?" again asked Panther, put 
 ting up his tomahawk. 
 
 "I believe not; but I hardly know. Not much, at 
 least. But never mind me. Let s look out for the young 
 woman." 
 
 He arose, and lifted Blanche up and laid her upon the 
 bearskins within the booth. The dainty form seemed but 
 an infant in his arms, and the touch thereof thrilled along 
 his nerves and seemed to heal whatever hurt he had. But 
 he was not used to such duty, for a swooning woman was 
 
THE LATIMERS. 51 
 
 quite beyond his experience. Only, in a blind sort of way, 
 he knew that water was good and called Andy to bring a 
 bucketful. It is questionable what he would have done 
 with it, or how Blanche would have fared under his sur 
 gery, had not Featherfoot, fresh come from her wigwam on 
 the nearby island, glided into the booth. With vast relief he 
 gave over to her the task of reanimation, and left the place 
 drawing the curtain behind him. 
 
 By this time Gen. Neville had recovered from his con 
 fusion of mind, and having seen the dead catamount lying 
 within a few yards of the booth door, got a true view of the 
 situation. When John came to explain, the proud man s 
 mortification was pitiful to see. He apologized until John 
 would hear no more; indeed, his explanation had been an 
 ticipated. Greatly troubled over the condition of revenue 
 affairs, and knowing the popular unfriendliness with which 
 he was environed, the Inspector s nerves were in a high 
 state of tension and excitement. When startled from deep 
 sleep by the rifle shot, he seized his pistols, and seeing John 
 apparently rushing upon him with drawn knife, he be 
 lieved himself betrayed and attacked, and so fired. The 
 sudden appearance of the Indian only confirmed his sus 
 picions; and, to cut the matter short, he denounced himself 
 as idiot, lunatic, and cursed fool, and felt humbled and dis 
 graced beyond expression. Even when all at length were 
 again settled, and Blanche recovered and happy to hear the 
 upshot of things, and quiet restored to the camp, the Gen 
 eral s hurt pride would not let him rest. He paced back 
 and forth between moonlight and shadow, cursing his folly 
 and censuring himself with self-indignation and upbraid- 
 ings. 
 
 John was grieved to see the proud spirit thus fretting 
 against itself, and tried to make light of the affair. But 
 Andy, less sensitive, suggested in an undertone, when an 
 opportunity offered, "that it ud do the Ginr 5 ! lots of good 
 to dance awhile to his own music. It ll larn him a powerr 
 of courtesy, mayhap, to go to school to his own blunders. 
 It s hard gettin breeks off a Highlander, or consideration 
 for common folk off an inspector, and it s no good a-hin- 
 derin him when he s in a fair way to gain a bit. There ll 
 be lettle enough at the most, Cap n John, atween you an 
 me an the bedpost. So jist save your breath to cool your 
 porridge." 
 
52 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 But what of John s wound? There was no pain; no 
 blood had flowed, and not until matters were settled would 
 he take time to examine. The mystery was then easily 
 solved; the pistol bullet had struck fairly against John s 
 side and buried itself deeply within his pocket Virgil. The 
 concussion stopped his headlong course and forced him to 
 the ground, but otherwise wrought no harm beyond a 
 bruise. 
 
 John lightly dismissed the whole affair, grieving most 
 for the damage done his precious volume. Andy averred 
 that Dr. McMillan would now have a fine illustration "oi 
 the use of haythen books if not of haythen larnin ," and 
 that Captain John would henceforth have better reason 
 than ever to hold Virgil as his favorite author. To the 
 Inspector and his niece it was indeed a revelation that their 
 keel-boat captain should turn out a classical scholar. Yet, 
 in good sooth, Blanche seemed not so greatly surprised, 
 nor perhaps would have been, had Captain John proved to 
 be the Prince of Wales in disguise. 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 THE INSPECTOR MAKES SOME DISCOVERIES. 
 
 The next morning was thick with fog. It choked up 
 the river channel. It hung upon the hills as a white veil, 
 and obscured the more distant parts so that they showed as 
 smooth, shaded humps. It hid intervening objects, leaving 
 the long line of hills on the wooded summits of the middle 
 distance standing out like an army corps in line of battle 
 partly hidden by powder smoke. It thickened into wooly 
 clumps over ravines and the clefts made by mountair 
 brooks. It penetrated the nearer foliage masses, giving tile- 
 branches weird shapes as their dark outlines thrust forth 
 separate from their leaves or trunks, as though floating in 
 the midst of the all-embracing mist. 
 
 Ere long, as the sun came up, a reddish yellow ball in 
 the misty vista, the fog was dispersed, saving only the 
 heavier masses above the river channel and the ravines. 
 These overhung in white indented bulks and spiral pillars, 
 and they too were gradually broken into sections, and rav- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 53 
 
 elled away into gossamer-like patches and puffs that melted 
 into blue sky. But the dampness still cleaved to grass and 
 herbage and wrapped its stickiness upon all objects near 
 the ground. Such a morning was not likely to gender 
 mirth in our forest camp; for, not to give verdict upon the 
 question whether or no fogs tend to depress the spirits, it 
 is most true that the dank and clammy condition of things 
 which they create subtract from one s comfort. Grass and 
 shrubbery drip as one moves about, and one s clothing is 
 soon saturated. Now, no human creature loves that estate; 
 no, not even savages of whatever race; for man shrinks from 
 wetness, and seeks artificial protection from it. Therefore 
 familiars with forest life can feel the force of Mr. Alfred 
 Russell Wallace s objection to the theory that our present 
 naked genus homo has come through evolution from a 
 hairy ancestor. 
 
 The first movements at Camp Indian Rocks were 
 sombre and sluggish, which condition the broken sleep 
 and excitement of the preceding night rather fostered. 
 But Latimer, knowing the genial influence of a camp-fire, 
 had early set the men to gather dry wood; and heaping the 
 same dexterously against a great backlog, pierced the fog 
 with a lurid and kindly blaze which presently won for itself 
 a circle of warmth and dryness whose circumference over 
 lapped Blanche s booth. When the maiden appeared, the 
 view of the camp-fire brightened her comely face with wel 
 come and good cheer. 
 
 Breakfast, cooked on glowing coals, wrought in kindly 
 comradeship with fire and rising sun, and by the time the 
 day was well advanced, all spirits, the General s excepted, 
 were under full reaction, and the camp resounded with mer 
 riment. The night adventure was the theme of all tongues, 
 and Miss Blanche s marvelous escape; but nothing was said 
 in Gen. Neville s presence of his own blundering part in 
 the event. 
 
 "All s well that inds well!" said Andy sententiously, 
 "an here s the biggest catamount that iver prrowled the 
 Ohio hills slain by our Cap n John. An what an iligant 
 rrug it ll make as a memorrial to the ledy of her marvelous 
 escape. So ye see, Miss, it s an ill wind that blows no good; 
 though, faith, it was more by good luck nor good manage 
 ment." This bequeathment of the trophy no one was in 
 clined to dispute, and Andy and the Mingo skinned the 
 brute and prepared the pelt for dressing. 
 
64 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 During the morning the Mingo more than once cast 
 significant side-glances upon the Inspector, who, after con 
 sulting his note-book, and glancing from some memoranda 
 therein to the Indian and back again several times, devel 
 oped a peculiar interest in him. Finally, he caught his eye, 
 made a significant gesture, and rising, carelessly sauntered 
 into the woods along the river bank. When out of sight 
 and sound of camp he halted, and presently Panther 
 stepped noiselessly from the underbrush and stood before 
 him. 
 
 "The Inspector called Panther; he has come." 
 
 "I have as yet said nothing to you," the General began, 
 "about the wretched business of last night. I am sorry for 
 my part in it, and thank you for your forbearance under 
 great provocation. Does the Mingo understand?" 
 
 "Yes, Panther knows!" He smiled and touched his 
 head. "Too much fire-water! It steals wisdom from the 
 wisest. It is fire in the blood, fog in the brain. Yes, 
 Panther has seen that in too many Indians, too many white 
 men. It is bad, bad!" and he stamped his foot. "It curses 
 my nation; it curses yours." 
 
 "No, not that!" Gen. Neville hastened to explain. "You 
 are quite wrong there!" But as he saw a smile of incre 
 dulity playing over Panther s face, he changed his purpose, 
 and after a moment s hesitation continued: "Well, let it 
 pass! It was a weakness which will not occur again, and 
 which I am heartily ashamed of. Now let us to business." 
 
 "Good!" said Panther. "The Inspector is wise to leave 
 the fire-water to others. A chief should keep a clear head. 
 The mountain brook is good enough for Panther. The 
 Great Spirit gave that to the Indian. The White Manitou 
 better have kept strong drink from his children! But the 
 white chief spoke of business. Panther will hear him." 
 
 "The Great Father s War Secretary at Washington tells 
 me," said the General, touching his handbook, "that you 
 have been a scout of the Government for many years, one 
 of its most trusted and valued foresters." 
 
 "It is true. Panther is proud of the Great Father s 
 words." 
 
 "I have here directions from the War Secretary," taking 
 from his wallet a letter bearing the seal of the War Office, 
 "to seek the Mingo called Panther, and counsel with him 
 as to the condition of this frontier. He thought, from 
 
THE LATIMERS. 55 
 
 what was known of you that you could be of great use to 
 the Government in notifying us of the state of feeling 
 among the people along the Ohio and throughout Western 
 Pennsylvania; and that you would be a faithful messenger 
 in any service committed to you. I was told to seek you at 
 the mouth of Yellow Creek; that was one of my objects in 
 making this trip. It was most unfortunate that I should 
 have met you here and as I did. But it will not raise a 
 cloud between us? Panther, I hope, will listen to my 
 words, and give me his wise and brave assistance." 
 
 The Indian reached forth his hand to the letter, and 
 scanned the seal closely, and seemingly with content, for 
 he uttered a satisfied grunt. "It is right!" he said. 
 "Panther has heard the Great Father s message and he 
 knows that it speaks truly. But when he became a scout it 
 was in time of war. lie gave his word to the War Chief at 
 the Fort where the waters meet; and Panther knows no 
 one else when he takes the trail, lie does not doubt the 
 Fire- Water Chief. He knows his word is true, but he can 
 not obey him until he speaks to the chief at the Fort." 
 
 The General was disappointed and fain would have 
 tried to cozen or cajole, but knew that neither would serve. 
 He was perforce content, and assuming a satisfaction which 
 he felt not, said: "Panther speaks as a wise chief who has 
 learned caution by long experience. He will see Gen. 
 Wayne, or the commandant at Fort Pitt, and learn that 
 Gen. Neville is working with them under the Great Father. 
 Meanwhile, I am journeying down the river with my niece, 
 and would like you to go with us. We are bent chiefly on 
 pleasure; but I have several men to see on important affairs. 
 I can demand nothing after what you have said; but if you 
 will voluntarily aid me you shall be well rewarded. You 
 know the troubled condition of the frontier on the matter 
 of revenue, and may give me hints of great value. Presi 
 dent Washington expects every soldier and servant of his 
 Government to aid in enforcing the law and keeping the 
 peace." 
 
 The Mingo hesitated a few moments before replying, 
 being plainly in deep thought. At last he spoke: "Some 
 of Panther s white friends are angry with the Fire- Water 
 Chief and his people. They think the laws steal bread 
 from their children s mouths. Maybe they are wrong; but 
 Panther will do them no harm. Yet he will speak words 
 
56 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 of peace, and defend the Inspector and Star Eyes. No harm 
 shall befall either, if Panther can hinder. He will go for 
 ward on the trail and let the white chief or the Young Oak 
 know. Is it well?" 
 
 "It is!" said the General. "I am pleased with Panther s 
 consent, and here is a token of my good-will," offering him 
 a gold coin. 
 
 Panther drew himself up, and waving aside the gold 
 with dignity, said proudly: "The Mingo takes no gold for 
 doing his duty. The white man s God bids him lay down 
 his life for his brethren. The red man s Manitou tells him 
 the same. The Mingo and the Young Oak are brothers; 
 and the Young Oak s brothers are Panther s, too." So say 
 ing, he disappeared as silently as he had come. A few 
 words with John, a few words in the Mingo language with 
 Featherfoot, and the Indian entered his canoe and paddled 
 down the river. 
 
 Gen. Neville had now given up his day s sport and 
 ordered the boat to put off. It was past noon before land 
 ing was made at Fort Steuben, now Steubenville, named 
 after a gallant foreign ally of the colonies, Baron Steuben, 
 whose organizing abilities went far to convert the undisci 
 plined militia of Valley Forge into a serviceable army. 
 Here, although the town had not yet been laid out, a rude 
 landing stage had been built at the foot of what is now 
 Market street, along which, near the river front, and not 
 far from the charred ruins of the old fort, a few cabins 
 stood. Among these was a tavern, which bore the name of 
 the new Republic, "The United States," painted in sprawl 
 ing letters upon a clapboard above the door. There was 
 also a store or trading place. 
 
 The neighboring settlers had come to the village in 
 larger numbers than usual. Horses were picketed in the 
 unpaved road that passed for a street, from which all the 
 stumps had not yet been taken, and several yokes of oxen 
 attached to rough carts stood bowing under their heavy 
 poles and meekly chewing their cuds. The arrival of a keel 
 boat was enough to attract attention, and a dozen pioneers 
 assembled at the wharf to ask for news. The Fanny and 
 its owner were well known to these men, and John some 
 what acquainted. As Luke Latimer was one of the 
 staunchest of the patriots (for so the opponents of revenue 
 laws termed themselves), his son was greeted cordially. 
 
THE LAT1MEKS. 57 
 
 General Xeville was recognized as he walked up to the tav 
 ern with Blanche and ordered dinner; and it was soon 
 buzzed about that he had come, and that a settler, sus 
 pected to be a revenue spy, was also at the "United States" 
 and doubtless closeted with him. 
 
 The pioneers now congregated at the store, one of those 
 miscellaneous trading places that mark frontier merchan 
 dising everywhere, whose type is continued in the American 
 country store, and out of which has naturally been devel 
 oped our great city caravansaries. All manner of products 
 that farmers had to sell; quantities of furs, ginseng, pro 
 visions, groceries, and rude household goodb and imple 
 ments; sickles and rifles, powder and shot; a few Bibles 
 with Rouse s Psalms bound therein; drugs and ointments, 
 tobacco and pipes, were clustered around the long cabin 
 room. Not the least thrifty business stemed to be done 
 over the counter, where drinks were sold. 
 
 Around this spot a group of excited frontiersmen were 
 gathered, denouncing with heated words and lusty tones 
 the impudence of the Inspector in invading their domain. 
 The clink and clatter of drinking mugs, the clank of ves 
 sels or clap of hard hands on the counter, the chink of 
 small coin, the clang of heavy boots on the puncheoned 
 floor, the click of metal as a rifle touched a belt-knife or 
 hatchet, all mingled with the chatter and cackle of this 
 human babble; and as the drink passed around, tongues 
 wagged more loosely and loudly. 
 
 An Indian entered with a bundle of furs, and there was 
 a momentary ceasing of talk, which was instantly resumed 
 as the settlers recognized Panther. lie was well known 
 throughout that border as Luke Latimer s crony, and wus 
 much respected for his sterling merit. Greeting the white 
 men with a curt but cordial "Howdee!" he turned his back 
 upon them and began his barter. The trader observed 
 that he was not quite so complaisant as usual, and resisted 
 the cheapening of his pelts, and stopped to point out, one 
 after another, their values. He was also somewhat more 
 deliberate in selecting his exchanges, some powder, lead 
 and tobacco for himself; sugar and tea, cloth and trinkets 
 for his squaw. But in course of time the bargaining was 
 over, and without more ado he left the store, having seem 
 ingly taken no more notice of the cabal of settlers than if 
 they had been a covey of quail, an indifference which was 
 
58 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 mutual. During his stay the settlers kept up without re 
 serve their excited conversation, eagerly discussing what 
 should be done in view of the Inspector s visit. 
 
 Ike Lamborn, "Wild Ike" as he was called, was for the 
 extremest measures. "Ef ye ll jis say the wored, b ys, A ll 
 make as short work with him as A would with anny other 
 varmin. What s the use of queryin along of a matter like 
 this? He s a public inemy, dawgon him! Let us sarve him 
 as we did the Britishers, and show the Gov ment that we re 
 in arnest in this matter. Gimme a kag o whuskey, an A 
 promise ye he ll niver go back to Fort Pitt." Thereupon 
 he lifted his rifle and dandled it across one arm. 
 
 "No, no, Ike, we musn t go to sich axtrames," said the 
 trader. "Do no murder, rnon! If bluid must be spilt let 
 the first aggrission come from thim, not us. But A m free 
 to own that A wouldn t grudge seein the Inspector 
 chucked into the river an well sowsed." 
 
 "Let us lash him to a tree," Eob Kamsay suggested, 
 "an stamp the birch seal upon his back and breech with 
 stout forest twigs. He s over perticlar about his stamps 
 an seals an what not, forcin them on settlers. Now let s 
 give him a taste of frontier gaugin an markin ." 
 
 This proposal was greeted with laughter and approval, 
 and seemed to express the sense of the conclave. A few 
 were somewhat divided between the administration of what 
 they called "Moses s Law," that is, forty stripes save one, 
 and the "Great Seal of the United States," to wit, thirteen 
 stripes. Action was deferred to hear a middle-aged planter, 
 named Means, who had taken small share as yet in. the bois 
 terous proceedings. 
 
 "Thar s one or two things, lads, which ye fergit, Gin- 
 er l Niville has his niece with him, an it would be a most 
 ungallant thing fer to meddle with her." 
 
 "Who s wantin to harm the lass?" broke in one of the 
 company. 
 
 "No one, I ll allow; but how are ye to strike the one 
 ithout a-harmin t other? I ve niver knowin ly hurted 
 women yit, an I m loth to begin now. We d bring an 
 ill name on our settlemint, do what you would to shield 
 her; fer nayterally she d stand up fer her kin, an our ini- 
 mies would declare we had connived an consorted to in 
 sult an harem a female. Now th r s not a man here as 
 ud like that repytation, I take it." 
 
THE LATIMERS. Otf 
 
 "True enough fer you, Jimmy Means," said the trader; 
 "we d not thought of the lass." 
 
 "Moreover," continued Means, removing his cap and 
 brushing back a stubborn cowlick from his forehead; "we ve 
 got to allow fer John Latimer and Andy Burbeck. They re 
 our frien s of coorse, but the GinerTs in their care an 
 custody like; an I m mistaken in the young man ef he isn t 
 his father s son in high notions of honor, an all that. He ll 
 stan to the last an die ef need be afore annyone in his 
 care shall suffer hurt; an Andy ll stan by him to the bit 
 ter ind." 
 
 "We don t care a farden fer young Latimer, dod rot im! 
 nuther fer Andy Burbeck!" cried Ike with tipsy bravado. 
 "What business is t o their n? A reckon we re men 
 enough fer to act ithout advisin ith them; an fer one A 
 meanter!" 
 
 "Ay, that s as it may be, Ike," said Means. "But it 
 would be ill beginnin our quarrel by killin or bein kilt 
 by our frien s. It s no good blinkin the fact that Giner l 
 Mville s an old Revolutionary soldier, an Andy Burbeck 
 is a very divil whin his blood s up, an Jock Latimer has 
 one of the stoutest arms an surest eyes on the border. 
 Now, lads, do as ye pl ase, as of course ye wull an oughter; 
 but don t let us go intil anny wild wark ithout heed or 
 hap. Giner l Mville, though Le were Sattan hisself, has 
 the United States behint him, with Prisident Washington, 
 Colonel Hamilton an all the rist; an anny harm wrought 
 him wull start us on a long an painful road. We se beeta 
 foregather a bit, an council with our neighbors afore com- 
 mittin em unbeknownst to onlawful deeds." 
 
 These remarks, which appealed artfully at once to the 
 common sense and good fellowship, the gallantry and pru 
 dence of the settlers, carried the majority of the crowd, and 
 concerted violence of any sort was abandoned. But Wild 
 Ike left the store shaking his rifle and muttering, "Jimmy 
 Means is little better nor a dawgond parson, annyhow; an 
 the whole gang are chicken-hearted cads!" A small ma 
 jority of the more reckless held a secret confab outside the 
 trader s door, the result of which was that, having learned 
 that the keel boat was bound for Wheeling, they took canoe 
 and paddled vigorously down the river. 
 
 Although the good sense and good feeling of the settlers 
 had prevailed, they made the Inspector feel their ill will 
 
60 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 quite sensibly as he left the tavern to resume his journey 
 A line of men, with scowling faces and angry eyes, lined the 
 way to the wharf. Blanche was terrified at their looks, bui 
 the General took her upon his arm and passed on Witt 
 haughty indifference. As he reached the gang-plank h( 
 turned and doffed his hat, made a stately bow, and saic 
 with mock courtesy: "Gentlemen, I wish you good-day, anc 
 an honest and prosperous settlement." 
 
 Not to be bluffed by the General s coolness, or outdone 
 in politeness, Means plucked off his coon-skin cap, returnee 
 the bow with a good imitation of the General s manner anc 
 voice, and said: "Sor, a safe v yage til you and yourn this 
 time; but bad cess to yer plots and plans! An 7 de il pity y( 
 ef ye iver set fut in Steuban ville agin." 
 
 "Thanks, gentlemen, thanks for your noble courtesy! 
 returned the General, repeating his obeisance. Turning tc 
 enter the boat he found John standing with vexed visage 
 who, seizing the plank, impatiently pulled it in with g 
 bang, and pushed off shore. 
 
 "Sir/ said he, addressing the General, when the crafl 
 was well into the stream, "this may seem a merry thing tc 
 you, but may prove a serious matter to others who should 
 have, methinks, more of your consideration." 
 
 Neville flushed, and seemed about to take up the quar 
 rel; but further anger was arrested by the sharp crack oi 
 a rifle from the shore, and the whistle of a bullet over the 
 boat so close to the General that it clipped the crown of his 
 chapeau and lifted it from his head. The officer caught 
 it ere it fell, and turned cooly toward the spot where a 
 white puff of smoke, curling out of a clump of underbrush, 
 showed whence the shot had issued. 
 
 "Assassins, by Heaven!" he cried, and seizing a rifle 
 which leaned against the bulwarks near by, he made hasty 
 aim and fired. 
 
 "Yer honor might a saved yer powder," remarked 
 Andy; "for the scapegrace at ud fire from ambush a mur 
 derous shot like that, ud be coward enough fer to shelter 
 his miserable carcass, ye may depand on t. Good lead 11 
 niver ch ate the gallows. But, Cap n John, it seems to me 
 this thing looks rather sayrious. Ther s no joke in bein 
 fired at in that way; it s a bit too perrtic lar, ay, an perr- 
 miscus likewise^, It seems to me our bit booth cuddy here 
 is a frail barrier fer Miss Blanche agin sich clumsy wark, 
 
THE LATIMERS 61 
 
 to say nothin of the Giner l. Them chaps 11 be ahfter us 
 agin., as sure as death an 7 taxes, an we beeta fix up a bit 
 for em. As the barber says, weel soaped is half shaven. 
 A good ready s half the battle." 
 
 Andy had uttered John s thought. He admired the 
 cool fearlessness of the Inspector, but was wroth at the 
 imprudence of his behavior, and inwardly chafed at the 
 embarrassment of his own position. His interest in 
 Blanche was deep. He could not understand, indeed, why 
 such concern for her welfare possessed him. But he also 
 fretted to think how his father would receive this news; and 
 moreover, he was really anxious as to the outcome of affairs. 
 He was resolved to shield Blanche, whatever might betide, 
 and to stand by the General, as far as he could, as long as 
 he was under his care; but evidently something must be 
 done. "What should it be? 
 
 A mile or more below the point where the shot had been 
 fired, a canoe pushed out from the bank, and involuntarily 
 all hands seized their weapons. 
 
 "Stop!" said John, "it is Featherfoot." 
 
 The squaw had not been missed in the excitement of 
 the last few moments, but Blanche now informed them 
 that she had left the boat at Steubenville to see her hus 
 band, and the fact had quite escaped her, so engrossed had 
 she been with passing events. 
 
 Featherfoot was soon alongside, and addressed John a 
 few words in the Mingo language. Thereat, the youth 
 shunted his craft well toward the bank, and when opposite 
 a bosky clump the squaw shoved her canoe stoutly shore 
 ward. Then Panther appeared for a moment, and warily 
 seizing the boat dragged it into shelter. It lay so close 
 under the overhanging bushes that even John could not 
 see it, though he had marked where it was put. 
 
 This done, Featherfoot beckoned John aside and told 
 him concisely what Panther had heard in and outside the 
 trader s cabin, and had communicated to her. Calling the 
 General, John repeated her story, and after conference, the 
 keel boat was pushed to the opposite or Panhandle side of 
 the river and tied up. Then all hands were supplied with 
 axes; Featherfoot was sent into the woods as a vidette; 
 Blanche was set to watch the river, and John led his 
 party into the pine grove that covered the shore. Having 
 directed them what size timber to fell, he fell to himself 
 
62 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 with zest, and the merry play of axes on trunks soon filled 
 the forest with echoes. 
 
 The booth was next removed, not without some regret 
 ful sentiment on Blanche s part. The brush on the bank 
 above the boat was cleared away, and logs, ready shaped 
 and sized, w r ere rolled down the slope, which made easy 
 work, and so upon the boat s deck. 
 
 By sunset the booth had been replaced by cabin walls 
 framed of light logs, but strong enough to stop a rifle bul 
 let. Slab doors were swung on hickory withe hinges. To 
 finish all, wooden chocks of divers sizes soon rove logs 
 asunder, and a slab roof was formed, hipped at one end to 
 give due slope, and covered with the sail cloth well 
 stretched to ward off rain, which now threatened. This 
 done, camp was mado for the night. John now felt that 
 Blanche at least would be secure from ordinary assault, and 
 the Inspector could be shielded from such a dastardly at 
 tempt as had befallen. He knew that no other of the party 
 need apprehend harm, unless there should be an open 
 attack, and the boat crew called to aid in defense. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONJUGAL CONCEALMENTS. 
 
 Mrs. Polly Latimer, standing on the green near her 
 cabin at Canonsburg, welcomed her husband on his return 
 from Pittsburg. Their little crop of flax had been already 
 "steeped or "retted" to the degree of softening that would 
 permit the fibre to be separated, and was spread upon the 
 grass to dry. The careful housewife was busy turning it 
 that the plants might weather evenly, when Luke came 
 home. The friendly but not demonstrative greeting over, 
 the mother inquired the whereabouts of John, and was not 
 pleased with the reply. She deemed Luke over-squeamish 
 in refusing the Inspector s custom, and wished he would be 
 as nice about some other folk she wot of. She opined 
 strongly that he was like to go clean daft on the revenue 
 business, and that if he knew what was for his good he 
 would let the "Whiskey Boys" alone. 
 
 "Ay, ay/ grumbled Luke, "I might a knowed which 
 
THE LATIMERS. 63 
 
 way the wind ud blow with you, whin the parson an the 
 b y are both on the side of the axcise men. You beeta mind 
 the flax, an let men alone to look after ceevil affairs." 
 
 "Highty-tighty!" cried the dame, giving a bunch of 
 plants a lusty toss, and turning upon her spouse. "Ceevil 
 affairs, indade! Ye d do well to kape a ceevil tongue in yer 
 head, Luke Latimer. One dassent say boo til you nowa 
 days, ye ve grown so techy. I d like to know whose busi 
 ness it is, if not mine, to kape ye out of mischief an my 
 self out of trouble? I misdoubt ye ll be Fadin off the lad, 
 too; though, thank goodness! he s got a head of his own, an 
 he s quite beyant ye in some things. Ye d be none the 
 warse yerself fer takin the meenister s counsel. I don t 
 know what s got intil ye, mon; what with yer argyfyin , an 
 saycret doin s, an night prowlin , ye re on a conteenooal 
 strain, an kape yer timper hated an staymin like a tay pot. 
 Shame a haet 11 come of it but ill to you an yourn, Luke 
 Latimer! An that s an honest opeenion an ye niver git 
 another." Thereupon the irate dame drew down her frock 
 sleeves, one arm after another, and smoothed out the 
 creases; then taking her apron at either end, threw it out 
 ward with a flirt as though tossing from her bits of rubbish. 
 That was a way Mrs. Polly had when her mind was vexed 
 with affairs. 
 
 Luke, knowing well the sign, and not caring further to 
 provoke his wife, softened his tone and said: "Wull, Polly, 
 thar s no nade fer til carry on so about the matter, anny- 
 how. I meant no harem, I m sure; an if ye ll git the sup 
 per ready, fer I m mortal hungry, I ll turn the flax fer ye." 
 
 "Ay, Luke, ye shall have bite an sup without delay, 
 though I wasn t lookin fer ye; but that makes little differ. 
 Yit, sence ye ve opened the way I ll e en go til the ind on t. 
 I ve been a-hankerin fer til spake ma mind til ye on this 
 whole business. I know ma duty, as well as anny woman; 
 an though I ve fallen short in some things, I wot well, I ve 
 niver been a fussy or interfarein wife, ye ll allow. But I 
 millike these quare goin s on about the axcise, an I m sure 
 they betoken no good. Whin men git to rangin the 
 country at night, an a-coverin up their minds an deeds 
 from their fambly, an a-caucusin in saycret " 
 
 "Why Polly, lass," interrupted Luke, "whativer pit 
 sich notions intil yer head?" 
 
 "Luke Latimer/ retorted Polly, turning her eyes full 
 
64 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 upon him, "ye can t desave me, an there s no use a-tiyin 
 it. Ye re not one f the saycret kind, an niver was cut ou\ 
 fer spy or plotter. Ay, mon, ye can t desave me! I ve not 
 lived thirty year with ye, agin next Friday, which is our 
 weddin day, without a-knowin ye through an through. 
 Ye re by far too honest a man to be intreegin an traitorin 
 with the like of Dave Bradford. He s a traitor an a sneak, 
 that Bradford is, if there iver was wan, and he ll lade ye 
 intil tr ason; an a sorry figure ye d cut, Luke Latimer, 
 a-swingin at the tail ind of a hempen cord! dear, dear! 
 what then ud become o me?" The good woman, deeply 
 moved by the grim image her fancy had conjured up, burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Luke was a soft-hearted man, and could not bide 
 woman s weeping; and though he had been glowering with 
 mingled surprise and vexation during Polly s outbreak, 
 his wrath was dissolved before her tears. So soothing her, 
 as he had well learned to do, he persuaded her into the 
 house. Thus that domestic riffle was smoothed over. 
 
 But withal, the man chafed under the thought that his 
 wife s suspicion had set her on a true trail; and feared 
 too, though he repulsed the idea indignantly, that she had 
 read him more truly than he had read himself. In her 
 momentary outburst she had set before him a mirror, and 
 though it was but a glance he caught, that glimpse revealed 
 to his consciousness an image of himself which, undefined, 
 yet half suspected, had haunted his brain. And the image 
 did not add to his self-approbation. 
 
 "Tut!" he said inwardly, and tried to banish the mat 
 ter. "What can a woman know of such affairs? Polly s 
 fidgety about her boy, I fancy; or mayhap it s wan of her 
 spells. I don t know what to make of her betimes; she 
 broods an vapors sadly. I suppose its narvousness." Thus 
 covering all consequences of his own irritating behavior, 
 and accounting for all his wife s frets and humors under 
 that most convenient term, he took up the fork and tossed 
 and turned flax until called to his supper. 
 
 The Latimer cabin was one of the best in the village, 
 for the main house was bi ilt higher and wider than com 
 mon, and had a small entry to the door from which a rude 
 stairway ascended to an upper room, which, by the great 
 height of the building, was something more than a loft. In 
 this John had his lodgings. Moreover, the cabin was 
 
THE LATIMEES. 65 
 
 double, having a roofed porch closed on one side which 
 connected, by a doorway cut in the gable, with a smaller 
 cabin. This had no fireplace, and was used chiefly as a 
 storehouse. Wooden pins and buckhorn brackets were 
 fastened into the log walls of the porch, and thereon hung 
 saddles, bridles, harness, flails, sickles, empty powder horns, 
 old leggings and various implements and objects of hus 
 bandry and household and personal use. 
 
 These were of a miscellaneous sort, as might be ex 
 pected from the varied vocations of the inmates. Here 
 stood a loom for weaving flax or buffalo hair, or wool when 
 it could be had. Here was an old wooden cylindrical churn 
 with its dasher-stick standing out of the top. Here in sum 
 mer time was placed the home-made dining table, that the 
 family meals might be had in the pleasant open air; and 
 here Mrs. Polly now served her supper. 
 
 The Latimers were well-to-do, as the phrase went, for 
 Polly was a canny housekeeper, and Luke was somewhat 
 "near/ as the neighbors thought, but was far from being 
 miserly, especially in aught that bore upon comfort of wife 
 or son. So they ate their meal with relish, and talked over 
 their affairs with that content which is wont to mark the 
 conversation of folk with solid possessions. By mutual con 
 sent, the mooted question was not broached; but like a top 
 sawyer in the Ohio Eiver, it bobbed to the surface when 
 least expected. 
 
 Polly took occasion to tell how she had arranged to have 
 the negro man brake the flax upon the morrow; but Luke 
 could do that himself or aid therein; which he, being a 
 muscular man, willingly agreed to do. Then the mistress 
 proposed a swingling frolic; to which Luke also consent 
 ing, Polly continued that she had bidden the neighbors for 
 Friday next which, being their wedding-day, she thought 
 would be seemly. True, she regretted John s absence; so 
 would Luke, she knew; for though John had taken no 
 fancy to any of the maidens (and that maybe was well 
 enough), yet he was a royal hand at making a frolic go off 
 blithely, and would be bravely missed at the evening sports, 
 when the lasses came in. 
 
 "Friday, did ye say?" asked Luke. 
 
 "Ay, and why not?" answered Polly. "It s a slack time 
 among farmers, an there s fair moon for the goin an 
 comin o nights." Observing a flush on her husband s 
 5 
 
66 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 cheeks, and a troubled look in his eye, as though he were 
 not favorable to the arrangement, she modestly added, "It s 
 our weddin day, Luke. Thirty year wull we be wed that 
 day; an the good God has kep us through all; an though 
 manny s the sorrow an burden we ve borne thegither, yet 
 His goodness and marcy have followed us. I know no bet 
 ter day nor that for merry-makin . Ye ve no call to be 
 away on that day, Luke, have ye ?" 
 
 "Ay, Polly, I had, indade," said Luke; then added with 
 brightened face, "I dar say it s all right. I can make 
 arrangements to suit, I doubt not. Annyhow, go ahead, 
 lass, an I ll make the best of it, an we ll have a jolly time." 
 Thus saying, he rose from the table and went forth to look 
 after the cattle. 
 
 "There it is agin!" thought Polly, as she went about 
 clearing the supper dishes. "It s somethin about yon 
 plaguey axcise meetin s, I ventur; an Bradford s at the 
 bottom of it, the miserable snake in the grass!" She was 
 wise enough to keep her thoughts to herself, and was well 
 content with herself for doing so when anon Luke came in, 
 and saying he was going to the tavern to meet some gen 
 tlemen on business, bade her not to wait up for him, as he 
 would not be home early. Not a word the good wife spoke, 
 but her countenance fell as he left her. 
 
 "Ay, business!" she muttered, as her eye followed her 
 husband s form. "It s a poor payin business, I vow. Ill 
 betide the day whin that mon Bradford lighted upon my 
 Luke. Ah, well! what right have I to complain? He s bet 
 ter nor me, I ween. Oh Lord, good Lord, forgive me! It s 
 a hypocrite I am, to chide him for saycret doin s, an all 
 these years " 
 
 Whatever image rose before her she dashed away, and 
 hurried off to household duties, which chanced just then to 
 be the homely work of making tallow-dip candles, which 
 would be needed against the frolic. Luke had brought her 
 from the South some cotton yarn for wicks, which was a 
 great improvement en the old linsey lint, she thought; but 
 she was longing for a set of moulds which she had heard 
 some neighbors speak of. A proud night it would be when 
 she could show her gossips good moulded candles; but at 
 present they must be content with the old-fashioned dips. 
 
 Thus inwardly conversing, she looped her strings of 
 wicks upon sticks, a half dozen upon a stick, and put her 
 
THE LATIMERS. 67 
 
 tallow to melt upon the coals. Now the unctuous liquid 
 was poured into a wooden firkin, and holding up a stick, an 
 end in either hand, she plunged the wicks thereinto. Lift 
 ing them next, and resting the wood across an empty ves 
 sel s edge, she took up another stickful, dipped it likewise 
 into the tallow and left it to drip. Now the first stick was 
 taken, when the melted fat had hardened along the wicks, 
 which were once more soused into the liquid, gathering 
 thereby a new coating. So on, one stick after another, the 
 wicks getting about them at every dip a new layer, until 
 enough had gathered to make the thickness of one s thumb. 
 Then the sticks were hung in the porch to cool, each with 
 its six candles swinging by the top loop of the doubled 
 string. In due time these would be slipped off, tallow dips 
 ready for evening lights. 
 
 Twilight was already past and night come ere this task 
 was ended, and Mrs. Latimer felt lonely. Taking a candle in 
 hand she mounted to John s room in the loft. It was her 
 fancy, when the men were absent, or when troubled with a 
 fit of the vapors, to go up there and brood over affairs. 
 There was the cradle in which her baby boy had been 
 rocked; and putting the candle on a three-legged slab that 
 answered for a stand, she sat down before it with elbows to 
 knee, and cheeks resting in her palms. It was a humble 
 affair, that cradle; only half a keg or cask which had been 
 cut in the middle and lengthwise, and the rounded part, 
 after being well braced, set upon rock, rough hewed with 
 a broadaxe. It was wadded within, and fitted with a bear 
 skin mattress, above which was a little blanket and counter 
 pane of patchwork. That was all. 
 
 Why had she kept it? It would nevermore be of use to 
 her, a matron of five and forty now; and John s weans 
 would be rocked in daintier ware than that. Ay, the times 
 had changed! Old-fashioned ways were going out. Folk 
 were getting luxurious nowadays. What would they be 
 coming to next? Yet it had been good enough for her, that 
 cradle, in its day, and bravely had served its end. But why 
 had she kept it; kept it in all her movings, though Luke 
 wondered and neighbors sneered? Kept it, though moths 
 had assaulted the furnishings, cloth and fur alike, and 
 twice or thrice a year must she beat and fume and tend and 
 dust it over? There are mothers perhaps who can solve the 
 wonder, and tell why Polly Latimer had cherished this relic 
 of bygone baby days. 
 
68 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Now rubbing the tears from her eyes with the corner 
 of her apron, she moved about the room, stopping to finger 
 this or that article, dust it and put it exactly back whence 
 it came. John was a bookish lad, and had gathered his 
 little library with great pains and cost. The volumes stood 
 on shelves made by setting pegs between the logs and lay 
 ing clapboards thereon one above another. They were 
 chiefly classical and mathematical works for his studies, and 
 religious books of the evangelical sort our fathers fancied. 
 But there were also well-thumbed copies of Bunyan s "Pil 
 grim s Progress/ Milton s "Paradise Lost," and, most val 
 ued of all by the owner, a volume of Shakespeare s plays. 
 Only one volume, alas, for it was a broken set, which some 
 how had drifted over the mountains and so to John s 
 hands. Polly put it back again, with a shake of the head, 
 as if doubtful what might come of such light reading. She 
 liked not even the name of play; it savored of vanities she 
 had been taught to hold as most unwholesome. 
 
 Last of all, the mother s fingers lit upon a book which 
 she fondled lovingly, and taking in hand sat down by the 
 candle to look it over. It was a chubby volume, with 
 heavy backs and two brazen clasps which, in modern hands, 
 would be thought cumbersome, but w r as known to the men 
 of that century as a pocket Bible. Turning over the leaves, 
 Polly lamented first that John had left the book at home. 
 It boded ill, thought she, that a lad could forget such a 
 treasure. Indeed, she had believed that he had it with him, 
 for she had felt it in his breast when he kissed her good 
 bye. But, poor lad, maybe he deemed it too precious to 
 risk on his voyages; as indeed it is! * * * Ay, good 
 Heaven, will he find it out some day? Leastwise, she will 
 try to tell him, God helping her! So she drifted away into 
 mental chidings for neglect of religious duties, and silent 
 prayers for the Divine aid in all her doings. 
 
 As she turned the sacred volume, stopping to read a 
 marked verse here and there, her thoughts went back to 
 the early days at Indian Eocks, when John was a baby and 
 little Moses came to them on the crest of the angry flood. 
 That Bible was in the cradle with the rescued child, as if 
 the mother or nurse had been reading it when the waters 
 came up, and cast it suddenly down upon the infant s bed 
 ding, and never came back to book or baby. The Bible she 
 had given to John when old enough to read, but she had 
 
THE LATIMERS. 
 
 69 
 
 put carefully away the beads and locket and baby clothes, 
 and other reminders of the river waif. There they were in 
 that little handcase on the stand covered with red-dressed 
 leather, with round brazen-headed tacks over it, and a lock 
 without a key. Even then, though twenty years had gone, 
 the kind-hearted woman wept as she thought of the dead 
 child; and the image of his pale, sweet face came to her; 
 and the wee grave in the tangled forest, side by side with 
 the mound where they had buried Bended Knee, his hoary 
 head gory with the wounds of the Indian fray. 
 
 Ah, that Indian raid! And that awful night! And, 
 alas, her sunny-haired Meg, her blue-eyed daughter! 
 Where was she? Was she dead? Had the savages spared 
 and adopted her, as was often their wont? And if so? her 
 heart stood still at the thought of what she might be, a 
 savage herself and the mother of savage children! Then 
 she fell upon her knees, with the book open before her, and 
 buried her face in her hands and wept again and prayed; 
 and feeling relieved thereby, put back the Bible to its shelf 
 and so to her bed. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 LUKE MEETS THE JUNTA. 
 
 Meanwhile Luke Latimer had come to the tavern which 
 stood at the foot of the hill on the main highway through 
 the Chartiers Valley. His friends were soon there to meet 
 him, and Polly had shrewdly guessed, for Bradford was at 
 their head, and the business of the evening concerned 
 divers affairs which may yet find record. There were eight 
 persons, some of them men of substance, of whose personal 
 history it will be well to take brief note. 
 
 Col. James Marshall was an early settler in the western 
 counties, and a zealous forwarder of independence; had 
 been high sheriff, county lieutenant, legislator and registrar 
 of Washington County. He was counted a discreet and 
 moderate man by his fellow citizens and was industrious 
 and prosperous. His steady, reputable and conservative 
 character made him a difficult subject for a political chief 
 to handle; but, once committed, he was a formidable aid. 
 
70 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 He had come from the north of Ireland in his youth. Ben 
 jamin Parkinson was a Pennsylvanian, and the president 
 of the Mingo Creek Democratic Association. John Cannon 
 was a respectable citizen of the village which bore his 
 name; he had been a member of the legislature and advo 
 cated the forming of a new State from the western counties. 
 Andrew Fulton was a distiller who had favored the excise 
 laws originally, but had changed his views and joined the 
 agitators against them. Besides these there were Thomas 
 Specs who kept a store in Canonsburg and a miller named 
 Lockry. 
 
 David Bradford, the chief figure in this junta, had orig 
 inally come from Maryland, where he had studied law; had 
 served in the Virginia Assembly before the settling of the 
 State boundary lines; and he still practiced law in that 
 State. He had advocated the Federal Constitution, but 
 now wanted a new State, deeming, no doubt, that therein 
 he would reach position and advantage that could never be 
 his under the old State government. He had followed with 
 deep interest the surgings of the French Revolution, with 
 which he was in profound sympathy, admiring the methods 
 of the French clubs, particularly the Jacobin Club, which 
 he sought to reproduce in America, and meant to wield for 
 his own purposes. He sat at the head of the table around 
 which the group was gathered, their forms illumined by 
 two tallow candles. 
 
 Bradford, thus sitting with his junta, told why he had 
 called them together. There was important work to be 
 done at the special meeting of the Democratic Association 
 to be held next Friday evening. "Now, gentlemen," he 
 continued, "we must not let affairs lag for lack of urging. 
 We ve much to contend with, and if we once show the white 
 feather we re lost. The ministers are against us, and Doc 
 tor McMillan especially is bitter and determined. A good 
 many of the distillers are inclined to give up, enter their 
 stills in the Inspector s books, and do a regular business. 
 It isn t every one who is willing to show the patriotism of 
 Mr. Fulton, our associate, and band with us against the 
 excise laws when they might make their own peace with the 
 Government, and so monopolize business and eat up the lit 
 tle stills. We can t trust the leaders of the militia, for, like 
 Gen. Neville, they ll most of them in the end side with the 
 
THE LATIMERS. 71 
 
 "Who, then/ asked Col. Marshall, "can we depand on? 
 It looks from that tally as if purty much all the power was 
 on their wheel and none on ours; an they ll git the grist 
 while the hulls stick to our hopper." Marshall was a miller 
 and his tropes had the flavor of his trade. 
 
 "Whom can we depend on?" retorted Bradford. "First 
 of all on ourselves; don t let us forget that. But our chief 
 dependence is on the people. The instincts of office majve 
 tyrants of all rulers. We thought we d rooted out aristoc 
 racy by the war for independence, but it s as strong as ever. 
 True, the Constitution has voided and banned titles of 
 nobility, but the fact is here all the same, if the name isn t, 
 and the Order of the Cincinnati has even revived the name. 
 We must appeal to the people; to the pure democracy, like 
 the Greek republics of old, ay, like the French Republic 
 of to-day." 
 
 He had waxed louder in his speech, which he was con 
 tinuing in the same strain, when Luke reminded him that 
 the window was open, for the August night was warm, and 
 there might be ears at the vent. Better speak low, he 
 thought; and was there a guard before the window? 
 
 "There speaks the true scout," said Bradford. "But 
 this time I anticipated you, and set a vidette in the yard to 
 guard approach and give warning." Then resuming his 
 speech he said, pointing across the table, "Now here s Mr. 
 Ben Parkinson, the president of the Mingo Democratic 
 Association; and here s Mr. Canon, the president of the 
 Chartiers Association. They represent the people, and 
 they may be trusted to stand up for democratic rights. 
 Moreover, their societies are well organized and drilled, and 
 most of them are armed, and so ready for any emergency." 
 
 "But, Squire Bradford," Marshall interposed, "these 
 don t constitute all the people. We want a united effort. 
 I m not prepared to take steps for to divide our communi 
 ties intil hostyle camps. Let us be sure of success, or draw 
 back while it s time." 
 
 "Nothing venture, nothing have!" remarked Bradford, 
 with a sounding oratorical manner. 
 
 "Ay, no doubt. But well soaped is half shaven!" re 
 torted Marshall. "Thorough preparation s half the battle. 
 We behove to get ready if we re to jine issue with the gov 
 ernment." 
 
 Bradford smiled at the quaint earnestness of the 
 
72 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 speaker, well knowing that nothing so placates as acknowl 
 edgment of a man s sallies of wit. "Well said, indeed!" lie 
 remarked; "and yet I don t see where there s overmuch of a 
 venture. We can rely upon almost every pioneer and 
 ranger in the Virginia districts and along the Ohio." 
 
 "True, but they ll soon be off with Wayne after the 
 Indians," said Luke. 
 
 "We ll have plenty of time for our business before 
 Wayne is ready," answered Bradford. "Then, nearly all 
 the newcomers from the North of Ireland will join us. 
 They re fresh from the old despotism, and hate excise laws 
 as the badge of their ancient oppressors and tyrannical land 
 owners. As to the parsons, just let us let em alone and go 
 ahead; they ll follow the flock, you may depend, when they 
 see they can t lead it." 
 
 At this several of the junta uttered expressions of 
 mocking dissent, and made Mr. Bradford to understand 
 that he didn t know the unyielding granite of that sturdy 
 generation of pioneer pastors, or he wouldn t say that. 
 
 "Well, maybe so; but let em keep to their pulpits and 
 prayers! It s none of their business to be intermeddling 
 with politics." 
 
 "Humph!" remarked Col. Marshall, "so I think m self. 
 But that s what some folk thought of the old Screepter 
 prophets, if I mind aright. Howiver, it makes small differ 
 the now. Let s hear y r plans an we ll know how til 
 advise. Most of us are well commeetted, an are ready for 
 to go on with aught that s r asonable." 
 
 "Very good," said Bradford. "We must keep up the 
 threatening methods which we have adopted. Eoseberry 
 has been tarred and feathered for advocating excise laws. 
 That s well; and we must fit the same coat on some more 
 of the blathering agitators. Then, witnesses against the 
 parties who disciplined Wilson for trying to serve his mis 
 erable warrants, were seized and carried off, and that will 
 be a wholesome lesson to other informers and give security 
 to our fellows." 
 
 "I didn t know it was men of our Association who did 
 that," Luke remarked. "An I lettle like sich maskin s an 
 seizin s. What came of the witnesses?" 
 
 "Oh, they re safe enough; no harm came to them. But 
 they 11 hardly get to the trial; they ve changed their minds 
 about that matter. Now, I propose that we aim a blow at 
 
THE LATIMERS. 73 
 
 those who are letting their houses for revenue offices. We 
 must make it so hot that no man will dare to harbor excise 
 men. We ll get rid of the squirrels if we cut down the 
 trees; or, as old John Knox once said of the monks and 
 priests, if we want to be rid of the rooks we must tear down 
 the rookeries. Then these people who are entering their 
 stills must be advised that it won t do. If the stillers hold 
 together, we ll carry our point; if not, the jig s up. We 
 want some hearty measures here, and I ve two names to 
 begin on, James Kiddoe and William Coughran. Have I 
 your approval? I ll see it done and won t call on any of 
 you, unless you d like to volunteer for the work?" 
 
 Which no one doing just then, Bradford proceeded 
 to unfold the chief plot in his busy noddle, which was no 
 less than to seize and carry off the Inspector. That was a 
 bold stroke, to be sure! It seemed just enough, Luke Lati- 
 mer thought, for was not Gen. Neville the chief offender? 
 It was a sneaking business to kill the cubs and let the old 
 bear go. Besides, he was a traitor to the cause. He had 
 been exceeding mad against the excisemen; had at one time 
 even commended the harsh measures they themselves were 
 now planning. Luke had nothing but contempt and hatred 
 for the man, and would be glad to see him trapped like 
 a beaver. But what would they do with him? Luke would 
 have no bloodshed; at least, except in open, honorable com 
 bat. There was the difficulty, in his thinking; what could 
 they do with the Inspector? A man might catch a wolf by 
 the ears if so minded, but what then? Easier caught, per 
 haps, than let go. 
 
 Bradford didn t propose to injure the Inspector, only 
 to keep him in quad a few days, thoroughly alarm him, and 
 release him onlv on condition that he resign the office and 
 never more serve. 
 
 Col. Marshall thought that would do nicely if it worked; 
 which, by the way, was the trouble with so many new-fan 
 gled things that seemed well enough to the ear, but failed 
 in execution. And, if the Inspector were seized and spir 
 ited away, broken hornets nests would be nothing to the 
 consequences! The Government would be so openly chal 
 lenged that it would have to do .something and would light 
 upon them with all its forces. And what then? 
 
 "Ay, what then?" exclaimed Bradford; "why then vic 
 tory, to be sure; the right to free distilling, a new State for 
 
74 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 the Trans-Allegheny region, and perhaps but never 
 mind!" The arch plotter would go no farther with his 
 dream of a Southwestern Republic. "Such a bold stroke 
 would cast the die. Men would have to come out and 
 choose sides, and if matters were conducted aright they 
 would be sure, most of them, to side with our bold and or 
 ganized band. Besides, it is quite out of the question that 
 Washington and his administration should think seriously 
 of armed coercion. What had they to gain by it? A 
 month s expedition would cost more than ten years excise 
 income; and if worse came to worst, a regiment of deter 
 mined Western men could hold the mountain passes against 
 the whole Atlantic seaboard/ 
 
 All this was fair sailing for the conspirator, but he 
 struck a snag when least looking for it. He had heard of 
 Gen. Neville s visit to Wheeling, and knew, through what 
 channels he said not, that thence he would cross the 
 country by the Virginia Pan Handle (as we now call it) 
 and organize his excise work at Washington town. A short 
 trip that, of twenty miles or so, and he could be seized on 
 the road. Or perhaps better, they could capture him on 
 board the keel boat at Wheeling Creek wharf. "All the 
 more readily," he concluded, "since our good friend Luke 
 Latimer is the proprietor of the boat, and his son John is in 
 charge." 
 
 "Stop jist thar, Squire!" broke in Luke, with no gentle 
 cadence to his speech. "Nuther I nor ma son nor ma boat 
 wull have aught to do with sich a schame. It w uld be moot 
 despiseable to have a man inunder my care dealt foully 
 with; an it shall niver be! Besides, there s a lady with the 
 Inspector on the boat; an no hair of her head shall be 
 harmed, an no disrespect or damage wrought her feelin s. 
 Jist drop that plan, pl ase, wanct for all!" 
 
 "Oh," began the conspirator chief, not yet knowing 
 .well his man, "we ve no thought of hurting the lady. It s 
 the Inspector himself we re after; and there need be no 
 responsibility with you for the act of the citizens. The 
 public would know nothing about your part in it; and if 
 they did, it s small blame you d get." 
 
 "Now, Squire Bradford," retorted Luke, "you ve a glib 
 tongue in y r head, no doubt, an can both lade an con 
 vince us in all r asonable ways; but here s a p int quite be- 
 yant ye. Do ye suppose John Latimer ud allow folk 
 
THE LATIMERS. 75 
 
 whom he d agreed to pilot up an down the river to come 
 to harm in his hands without a blow in their behoof? He d 
 die thar on his deck, ruther n see Sattan himself pulled 
 out of the keel boat, if he wair one of his passengers. If 
 ye can git holt of Neville after he s left John s care an 
 charge, well an good. But if not, I m fornenst ye ivery 
 time, an all the time. I ll go so fur with ye, but won t stir 
 a peg furder." 
 
 "Hist!" said Bradford. There was a noise of tram 
 pling feet outside the window. "Eavesdroppers! Down 
 with the candles!" The lights were set under the table, 
 leaving the men s forms in deep shadow, and then all was 
 still. 
 
 "Mr. Latimer, will you play scout for us and see what s 
 the matter outside?" said Bradford. 
 
 Luke, nothing loath, left the room and stealthily crept 
 to the rear of the tavern. No one was near the window, but 
 he thought he saw a dark form glide behind a tall sugar 
 maple a hundred yards distant. He seemed to recognize 
 it. Could it be Panther? Impossible! He ran to the spot 
 only to find it unoccupied; but a faint rustle in the adjoin 
 ing cornfield convinced him that some person was gliding 
 on all fours through the margin of the standing maize. 
 Not thinking it well to follow further, he hailed the vi- 
 dette, who had seen nothing, since he had stupidly kept 
 watch in every direction except towards the window. 
 
 In the meanwhile Bradford took occasion of Luke s ab 
 sence to push to a conclusion his scheme to trap the In 
 spector, promising that the freighter s foible should be 
 respected. When Luke returned and brought the matter 
 up again, he was told that he might be easy in mind, for 
 nothing would be done to prejudice his honor, or compro 
 mise and endanger his son. With this he felt that he must 
 be content, though far from satisfied; but not wishing to 
 be at cross-purposes with his associates, nor to challenge 
 their honor, he said no more. 
 
 Soon the meeting broke up, and as Latimer and Mar 
 shall walked home together they could not but wonder 
 what they had been called for, unless to endorse Bradford s 
 plans. Verily! But then what more could a chieftain wish 
 than that he should find substantial citizens on whom to 
 shunt the responsibility of his deeds, if need should be? 
 Not well assured of his wisdom, and with heart fluttering 
 
76 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 at the seeming lawlessness of the proposed emprises, and 
 glad to be quit of the committee and the pent-up and 
 stuffy room, Luke came to his home through the bright 
 moonlight and clear, sweet evening air. Polly awoke at 
 his footsteps, but forbore to chide, greatly to Luke s con 
 tent. 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 Forty women of various ages assembled, after the noon 
 day meal, to begin work at Mrs. Polly Latimer s scutching 
 frolic. They were fine samples of pioneer women; above 
 the medium height, for the most part strongly and some of 
 them stoutly built. They had fair complexions, eyes of 
 various shades of gray and blue; round heads well shaped, 
 full faces, generous lips, cheeks ruddy and with high bones; 
 broad and high foreheads with brows well overhanging and 
 wide between the eyes. Faces they were which indicated a 
 thoroughly warm-hearted, loving, intelligent and cour 
 ageous stock, a race worthy and likely to be the mothers of 
 a noble progeny. 
 
 One would not look for elegant toilets in such a gather 
 ing, but the dresses were at least suitable to the event. The 
 newer comers to the settlement wore woolen frocks which 
 pioneer life had not yet had time to fret into tatters. 
 Many had home-made linsey or linen gowns. A few had 
 found the art of using dressed deer-skins, especially for 
 jackets and slip-ons. The white linen folder over the 
 breast was common. Hoods and sunbonnets covered the 
 heads, and the elders wore frilled caps that girdled the face. 
 Shoes were rare, though some owned such articles, for Sun 
 day use, however. On ordinary occasions such as the pres 
 ent, they were shodden with home-made cloth shoes known 
 as shoe-packs, or with Indian moccasins of deer-skin. The 
 women had come in their work-day uniform, with some 
 what more carefulness to be trim and trig, and that they 
 were. A sweet and wholesome company, honest and true 
 to the core of their kindly hearts, lusty and supple, and 
 ever ready to go merrily to work or devoutly to worship. 
 
 Since we saw the Latimers at the finishing point of ret- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 77 
 
 ting their crop of flax, it had passed through the brake, a 
 rude machine for cracking and separating the boon or pithy 
 heart of the plant. Thus far had Luke, aided by his hired 
 man and Dungy the slave, carried the work when the 
 women came to do their part. Already the scutching 
 blocks had been sent in from the neighborhood, and stood 
 about the yard in the shadow of overhanging oaks and 
 maples. A scutching block was simply a chunk of a tree 
 trunk, chopped fairly into twain, a triangular section cut 
 from the middle, and mounted on four legs. Each matron 
 had her swingling knife, a wooden cleaver or paddle about 
 two feet long having a broad blade with one thin edge. 
 These were the rude instruments needed for scutching or 
 swingling flax. And now to work. 
 
 One party sorts out the sticks into equal lengths for 
 more convenient handling, and lays them beside the various 
 scutching blocks. These the swingler takes, and hold 
 ing them along the groove with one hand, swings her 
 wooden claymore with the other and beats it down upon 
 the stalks, careful always to strike lengthwise of the same. 
 So, turning the flax with one hand and beating it with the 
 other, the tough and stringy plant is separated into its mul 
 titudinous fibres or threads, which at last lie in the groove 
 of the scutching block, a coarse, fluffy mass ready for hack 
 ling, the next stage in the progress toward cloth. 
 
 It was a merry chorus indeed that the women made, as 
 their swingling knives fell with regular thuds upon the 
 blocks, and their tongues ran glibly of this and that. The 
 exercise was not so slavish as to bow the body into uncomely 
 or weary-looking attitudes, but was vigorous enough to 
 send the blood tingling, and set warm colors to the cheeks. 
 Thus, by reason of varied postures, such as the rhythmic 
 rotation of the left arm in turning the flax back and forth; 
 and the heaving up and beating down of the right arm; 
 and the movements of the trunk and limbs while standing 
 to the block, the muscles of the whole body were forced 
 into active and graceful play. Withal, the animation of 
 cheerful chat, and the head turning this way and that for 
 question and answer, to listen or make speech; and the 
 smile brightening over the features; and the hearty laugh 
 ter parting the red lips, all this set forth these frontier 
 dames and damsels at their best. 
 
 Soon the swinglers had made ready their first lot of 
 
78 THE LATIMERS. - 
 
 material, and now came in another group to hackle it. A 
 coarse comb was the instrument used, and with this the 
 scutched flax was raked and pulled until the rougher part, 
 known as swingling tow, was separated from the finer which 
 was, in short, the linen fibre ready to be spun into threads 
 of greater or less fineness. Thence it would be made into 
 cuts, and so to the shuttle for weaving. 
 
 A lively and attractive company this, it must be al 
 lowed, grouped upon the green, engaged in their several 
 tasks, while the trees above gave shelter from the August 
 sun. And what had they to talk about? Verily, more than 
 like gatherings of modern times. There were the children, 
 that oldest and most familiar, and also exhaustless theme, 
 since mother love is in all and in all ages the same. The 
 mystery, sweetness and perversities of childhood were dis 
 cussed between the blows of the scutching knives; and 
 though for awhile elbowed aside for other themes, recurred 
 again and again until breaking-up time came. That burn 
 ing question of to-day, domestic service and servants, made 
 few tongues wag at Polly Latimer s scutching frolic. For, 
 in sooth, every woman there wrought with her own hands 
 all household duties; although a few of them had negro 
 slaves to assist in the rougher labor of the home and the 
 garden. 
 
 Styles of dress claimed full share of speech then as now; 
 but the harder problem "wherewithal shall we be clothed ?" 
 was the living question for those women. Then there were 
 the Indians, terrible and never-absent theme; the last new 
 comers to the settlement; also the last outgoers, and those 
 who, alas for women folk! with soothless restlessness were 
 again devising a flitting to some further West. There was 
 the stir over the excise laws; and, perhaps most absorbing 
 to that generation, the church and pastor, the log academy, 
 the young students for the ministry, religion and its "gra 
 cious revival." 
 
 Let us enter this group of matrons, drawn together 
 by the affinity of greater age and the presence of the pas 
 tor s good wife, Mrs. John McMillan, who has broached 
 the question of the need the frontier has for ministers, and 
 their own efforts to supply the want. 
 
 "There s a little band of students at the Academy," said 
 she, "looking to the ministry, and another studying Divin 
 ity with my husband, and well on their way. True fellows 
 
THE LATIMERS. 79 
 
 they are, and our own border boys, with the smell of forest 
 mould upon them, and knowing well how to win the peo 
 ple s hearts. It s little they need, to be sure, and willing 
 enough to work; but can we afford to have them break 
 away too often from their studies, ladies? No indeed; we 
 must keep them to their books, and hurry them into the 
 field for the love of God and dying souls." 
 
 "Ay, ay/ quoth Mrs. Latimer, who had left her stew 
 ing and baking for the nonce, to pass courtesies among the 
 several gossips. "It s aven so. My John knows them 
 bravely; an Thomas Marquis had bed an board with us for 
 two s asons, an slep with my lad. A faithful fellow is he, 
 as was McGready afore him. Now I m resolved that a good 
 stent of the linen that comes from this flax shall go for 
 coats an breeches for the probationers." 
 
 "Thank you truly!" said Mrs. McMillan. "It s like your 
 own kind heart, Mrs. Latimer. Indeed, our quota of cloth 
 will soon be due, and the Chartiers congregation must not 
 be behind the other churches that have banded together 
 to help the young men. By the way, how shall we dye the 
 linen for their clothes?" 
 
 "Try the new mown hay," said Mrs. McDaniel. "It 
 makes a genteel black quite fittin for a meenister, an as 
 fast a color as anny." 
 
 "Indeed? Let it be so then; and I dare say Mrs. 
 McDaniel will manage it for us? I wish, now, the doctor 
 would try some cloth for "his breeches. But, dear man, he 
 is so wedded to his buckskin that I can t persuade him to 
 change." 
 
 "Tut, Madam, we d be loth to see the doctor change 
 aither hia breeches or his theology!" said sturdy Mrs. 
 McDaniel. "He is jist suited for a people in a land like 
 our n; a chosen vessel of the Lord, if there iver was one, 
 an a blessin through all the border." 
 
 "Well, Dolly," said Mrs. Peggy Burbeck, "I ll no differ 
 with you about the breeches. But don t you think we could 
 stan a little less predestination in our theology? Oh, you 
 naden t shake your head; an I mane no offince, Mrs. 
 McMillan. But I like the doctor best whin he swings awav 
 from the ol lines an casts the Gospel net out broad an 
 free. He s jist gran at sich times! It s small won er we ve 
 had revivals, sence the meenisters are all preachin so hearty 
 the free grace of the lovin God. For my part I don t 
 
80 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 envye the ol fashioned preachin which, as my man would 
 gay, is too often long grace an little mate." 
 
 Mrs. Burbeck was a short woman with black eyes and 
 black hair; plump, though wiry; and red-cheeked, though 
 her face was somewhat swart, and a little show of hairs cov 
 ered her upper lip. Peggy was as much a favorite in her 
 circle as was Andy in his, and much for the same reason; 
 her cheerful nature gave forth brightness, while her 
 candor and sturdy womanhood won respect. No one 
 seemed ready to join issue with her, and several pairs ol 
 eyes shot forth quick approval; but a hush fell upon the 
 circle as though here, indeed, was trespassing on forbidden 
 ground. 
 
 What a masterful creature is a good woman, with wise 
 tact. The pastor s wife was equal to the emergency. Nod 
 ding pleasantly to the speaker, she answered: "Ay, Mis 
 tress Peggy, it is sweet, indeed, to hear of the free grace 
 of God, and none the less because it s sovereign grace as 
 well. But you ll like the preaching of our new set of min 
 isters, I ll b3 bound! The carpenter is known by his chips; 
 and the doctor s theology may be tested by the lads it has 
 trained. You ve heard of McGready now, and what a 
 Boanerges he has come to be, and how a great revival has 
 already sprung up from his preaching? You will give us 
 an extra yard or two of linen, Mrs. Burbeck, I m sure, for 
 the love you have for that sort of preaching/ 
 
 A ripple of laughter cut through the teasing sound of 
 the hackling, in which Mrs. Peggy good-naturedly joined. 
 "Fairly caught," she cried; "an so deft a turn by the pas 
 tor s wife is worth a good yard of linen. Ye shall e n have 
 it an welcome, Mrs. McMillan. An we re truly thankful 
 for the incouragin news. I al ays liked the lad from he 
 cam to work his way with the doctor/ 
 
 "Mr. McGready is not the only one of our new lot of 
 preachers," continued the pastor s wife, "whose work is 
 being owned by the Holy Ghost. There s Joseph Patter 
 son, who is serving the congregations of Raccoon Creek and 
 Mountour s Run; he is like to prove a most pious and use 
 ful minister." 
 
 "Thank God for that!" said Mother McCormack, whose 
 Scotch burr betrayed her nationality. "A mind the lad 
 weel. He was unco powerfu in prayer, and wud aft bring 
 tears to ma een. It s aye so; when the meenister melts at 
 
THE LATIMEBS. 81 
 
 his devotions the people will melt at his sermons. Heaven- 
 movin prayer mak s soul-savin preachin ." 
 
 "Very true/ said the pastor s wife. "And the men now 
 coming before Presbytery are not a whit behind him. 
 Now, there s our silver-tongued Marquis, whose musical 
 voice is already known in our prayer meetings. He has Ms 
 parts of trial, and will be soon licensed, no doubt. But I 
 must not speak of him, for here is his good wife just at 
 hand, and she might get vain at our commendations." 
 
 Mrs. Marquis stood hard by wielding a swingling knife 
 wdth hearty fervor, while her daughter, a maid of fourteen, 
 sat on the grass near the block and sorted out the sticks of 
 flax. Eesting the end of her knife upon the block and lean 
 ing an elbow on the handle tip, the comely dame replied: 
 
 "Ah, Mrs. McMillan, there s little fear that ministers 
 wives, especially while they re probationers, will get overly 
 vain. With all kind service and loving friendships of God s 
 saints, there will be quite enough to keep us humble. How 
 ever, I thank you for your good words, and indeed, for all 
 your many helpful acts. I do hope and pray that Thomas 
 may be all that we could wish. I m sure, at least, from the 
 time he was converted in old Fort Vance, he s been set 
 on preaching the Gospel; and glad enough I ll be when 
 he s ready to settle to the work." 
 
 "By the way," said the pastor s wife, "you remind me of 
 that wonderful incident in your husband s life. Many of the 
 neighbors have never heard it; can t you tell us all about it?" 
 
 "Since you ask it, Madam, certainly; that is, if the 
 ladies would like to hear?" A matter which was settled by 
 a hearty chorus of "yes, yes!" 
 
 "Come then," cried Mrs. Polly Latimer, turning to the 
 group of workers, "you ve all had a brave turn at scutchin 
 an may ease up a bit. Jist rest the knives a spell, an 
 listen." Those who were distant closed up to the group 
 of matron hacklers, and Mrs. Marquis began her story: 
 
 "My husband w r as born near Winchester, Virginia, and 
 having lost both parents when a child, was brought up by a 
 pious uncle. We were married in 1775 and with a number 
 of friends migrated to the Cross Creek country. We had 
 a pack horse train, and I rode when tired in a willow creel, 
 balancing on one side of a horse with freight hung on the 
 other. But I marched a good part of the way, as on the 
 whole pleasanter." 
 6 
 
82 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 "Ay, indade!" cried Mrs. Peggy Burbeck. "Don t w 
 know that quite well?" 
 
 Sundry ejaculations and laughing remarks passed 
 around the circle^ as one and another recalled the hard 
 experience of the tramps and camps, the toils and terrors 
 of that mountain journey to the Trans- Allegheny settle 
 ments. The associations were so strong that for a few mo 
 ments they kept a gap in the narrative At last there was 
 silence, and Mrs. Marquis resumed. 
 
 "That part of Washington County was then an almost 
 unbroken wilderness. Everything was to be done; forests 
 cleared and -trees girdled, cabins raised, plantings made, 
 and at the same time a close watch kept on the Indians, 
 who were threatening the frontier, encouraged by the out 
 break of the Eevolution. Oh, the terrors of those days, 
 when the men were away in the fields at work; and of those 
 long nights when every howl of a wolf or hoot of a night 
 hawk startled us from our restless sleep with the fear that 
 the savages were upon us! At last, and not long after our 
 arrival, the Indians fell upon our new settlement, and my 
 poor brother Park was the first to fall, tomahawked and 
 scalped close by our own cbin." 
 
 Her voice choked; tears moistened her eyes, and as she 
 paused after a brief space, many a sigh escaped, and that 
 not simply from sympathy, for a number in that company 
 were thus reminded of a like experience in their lives. 
 
 "Then we fled from the settlement," the lady con 
 tinued, "and all the neighbors gathered within Fort Vance, 
 while those who had rifles and could use them sallied forth 
 to scout. There we were, shut up within the log court and 
 the block house walls, grieved, sore disappointed and in 
 terror, and knowing not what to do. The only pious man 
 in the Fort was a farmer named Patterson, and you 
 may be sure we turned to him to help us by his prayers. 
 He was a devout Christian, one whose zeal and piety had 
 stood the stress of removal to the border, under which so 
 many have yielded their profession. He concluded to im 
 prove the occasion by talking to us about religion; and we 
 were nothing loath, for we were sad-hearted and needed com 
 fort, and shut up within the fort with time hanging heavy 
 on our hands. So we listened while he read the Bible and 
 talked to us of an enemy more to be dreaded than the In 
 dians. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 
 
 83 
 
 "He began by speaking only to husband and me, not 
 thinking of open speech. But one after another came 
 about us, and so at last personal exhortations to a few 
 friends became public addresses. It was a strange and 
 moving scene. There in that wilderness fort stood the 
 plain man of God talking to us of salvation, and there and 
 then the power of the Holy Spirit fell upon us. There was 
 scarcely one in the fort who was not seriously concerned 
 about his soul, and ere we left the walls twenty or more 
 were led to Christ, among them husband and myself. 
 
 "That farmer, whom God so owned, is now the Rev. 
 Joseph Patterson. Three years afterward we were visited 
 by the Rev. Mr. Power, who preached at Fort Vance the 
 first sermon ever made in that region. And there this 
 lass," nodding to her daughter, "was baptized, the first 
 child given to God in baptism in that section. Our little 
 company of believers was organized into a church, and 
 built our first log sanctuary nea the fort." 
 
 "And should the parts of trial come off all right," said 
 Mrs. McMillan, taking up the story, "and no one doubts 
 that, it is an open secret mat the Cross Creek congregation 
 hope and expect that Rev. Thomas Marquis will be their 
 pastor." Thus the story ended, and the party went back 
 to their work, while the talk gradually veered around to 
 the growing excitement over the excise taxes, and the dis 
 orders which were being fomented throughout the Western 
 country. 
 
 Mrs. McMillan, as a loyal pastor s wife, stood with her 
 husband against what she called the infatuation of the 
 people, and stoutly, but with conciliatory manner that 
 soothed all friction, opposed any violence towards the Gov 
 ernment. Mrs. Latimer, for reasons which have already 
 appeared, curtly took off the whole proceedings as a plot of 
 Bradford s to serve his own ends at the expense of their 
 husbands and themselves. 
 
 "Ay, trust him!" quoth she. "He ll hatch his own eggs 
 under our hens, an they ll be cockatrice s eggs you may be 
 sure; an but for the marcy of God they ll sting us sore. 
 An women folks are iver the warst sufferers in sich tumults 
 as Dave Bradford would stir up. But what cares he? A 
 sly an frothy Gashmu! Dear hearts, it behoves to keep our 
 men out of the hubbub if we can." 
 
 Mrs. Peggy Burbeck stood almost alone in opposing the 
 
84 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 agitation on the then novel theory that the higher the tax 
 on spirits the less would be made, and the less made the 
 better. "There s nothing but sorrow in the cup!" quoth 
 she. "I d rother have less to do with, an kape sober com 
 pany. In troth, there s not a haet of gain by the stillin , 
 for what s saved at the spigot is let out at the bung. The 
 idleness, illness, waste an wantonness that the liquor gen 
 ders more than devour the profits of the trade. It s the ol 
 story of Pharaoh s lean kine that eat up the fat wans." 
 
 These utterances by no means expressed the prevailing 
 sentiment of the women, for a decided majority were in 
 sympathy with their husbands and sons in hostility to the 
 excise laws. Fortunately for the good temper of the party, 
 the men began to arrive, they having been bidden come to 
 the supper when the work should be done. The absence of 
 Dr. McMillan was much regretted; he had gone on Presby- 
 terial service to an adjoining neighborhood. However, 
 several of the church elders came. The divinity students 
 and young men of the academy with other youth of the 
 settlement began to drop in, and a genial time was had at 
 the evening meal, which was furnished with the bountiful 
 hospitality for which the Latimers were famous. 
 
 A sore disappointment awaited. Supper ended, the 
 young women began to organize games such as prevailed at 
 that time in the West. But to their amazement, the part 
 ners whom they had confidently expected to share the 
 sports were not to be found. Where could they have gone? 
 In like manner the matrons, looking around for their 
 spouses, perceived that from one cause or another they too 
 had disappeared. They had dropped silently out one by 
 one, until only a few old men, some students and a few of 
 the younger fellows remained. Luke Latimer took the 
 matter good-naturedly and quite as a matter of course, 
 though his manner was a little nervous and constrained. 
 Mrs. Latimer was not so self-poised. She was flustered and 
 fretted, and her disappointment cropped out in various 
 uneasy expressions. Yet she was well content that Luke 
 stayed by her side to aid in the entertaining, instead of mys 
 teriously slipping away as so many had done. 
 
 The incident cast a damper on the party. The mystery 
 which the elder women could not solve, and the men would 
 not explain; the disappointment of the young women at 
 the departure of their beaux, and the loss of the amuse- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 85 
 
 ment which they had promised themselves, all this 
 sorely disconcerted the company. Therefore, despite 
 the efforts of Mrs. Latimer, seconded by the genial 
 activity of Mrs. Burbeck, the party broke up early. The 
 absence of so many of the men disposed the women to go 
 home sooner. However, the August evening made delight 
 ful walking over the roads and by-paths, and the moon 
 came up after sunset. At last, there remained only Mrs. 
 Burbeck, who as her husband was away had agreed to bide 
 the night with Mrs. Polly, and a young woman lately come 
 to the settlement whom Luke had offered to escort home. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A NIGHT CONCLAVE. 
 
 When the last visitor had been lost to sight, Luke went 
 to the stable to look after his stock. As he entered the yard 
 he heard a light footstep behind him, and an uttered 
 "hugh!" which caused him to start, and whirl rapidly 
 about. There stood Panther! 
 
 Luke was well enough used to Indian manners to know 
 that this sudden apparition meant something important; 
 but also that it was not becoming to show undue excite 
 ment. He quietly bade his red friend welcome, and brought 
 him into the kitchen, where Mrs. Polly gave him a kind 
 reception and a hearty meal. Hunger appeased, Panther 
 uttered a word of thanks to the housewife, and left the 
 cabin followed by Luke. Through a crack in the door the 
 matron watched the two men as they stood in the shade of 
 a sugar maple tree exchanging communications. 
 
 The Mingo was somewhat moved from his wonted stat 
 uesque manner, and seemed unusually earnest. Luke was 
 at first visibly excited; he stamped his foot, threw out his 
 hands with an indignant gesture, stirred about a little upon 
 his heels, then gradually recovered self-control and stood 
 motionless. Polly knew by those signs that her husband 
 was in a mighty passion. It was his wont, under provoca 
 tion and danger of all kinds, first to make uneasy bodily 
 movements; but soon he put on a calm exterior, and only 
 showed his inward fervor by his pale face, burning eyes and 
 
86 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 quiet carriage. She was not surprised, therefore, when he 
 entered the house and told her that he must leave imme 
 diately on important business, and take two horses with 
 him. 
 
 "I had thought that I would ask you, might I take your 
 pony with me, too?" he continued. "For, indade, she may 
 be sore naded. But no, I ll not ask that." 
 
 "Take her an welcome, Luke dear!" interrupted the 
 wife. "She was your gift, an well I know you love Snow 
 ball as dearly as I do, an will take good care of her. I m 
 truly sorry you must go, an on this night, of all the year; 
 but what must be will be, an I dar say you know best. 
 Have you no word for me as to where you re a-goin ? Is 
 anny thing gone wrong with John?" 
 
 "There s nothin so very saycret, Polly, that you may 
 not know : but whist! not a word to your gossips. I m a-goiii 
 down til Wheeling. Dave Bradford s been in divilment, 
 an played the traitor with me. It s summat about the lad; 
 least wavs he may be consarned therein: an though there s 
 naught wrong with him, I hope, as yet, there may be, an 
 I m off to bender that. So good-bye, love, an take good 
 care of yourself." 
 
 The exigencies of her life had inured Mrs. Latimer to 
 such sudden movements of her husband, and danger was 
 too common an element in their pioneer conditions to cause 
 undue easiness or protest. So, hastening to make up a hav 
 ersack filled with cold bits, she bade Luke good-bye, and 
 watched him ride away with Panther toward Washington, 
 leading Snowball by the bridle. 
 
 "Well, Jenny," she said, addressing her young woman 
 guest, "Luke was sore troubled that he could not company 
 you home, as he promised. But, dade, the business was 
 press! n*, an" I offered to take his place. Mrs. Burbeck can 
 go with me, and then I shall have company back home, an 
 good company at that. It s a fine night, soft an bright, an 
 I m not the laste bit feared. Indade, I d rother be out in 
 the open air nor bidin here in the cabin. The walk 11 help 
 wark off the disappointment an vaxation of the avenin , 
 an I ll be all the better for it." 
 
 So it was agreed; and as the full moon shone over the 
 hills, the trio started, accompanied by Mrs. Burbeck s fox- 
 dog, Betty. "As rare a beau," she averred, "as maid or 
 matron nade want. For she kapes a respictful distance be- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 87 
 
 hint an a keen eye ahead; an though she disn t worry one 
 with her idle claver, she can give tongue sharp enough, if 
 nade be." 
 
 Xot far from Chartiers Creek the women left the main 
 road and took a bypath over the side of the hill that led 
 more directly to Jenny s house. It was a common short 
 cut to the church, and still worshipers pass up that way 
 from the village. The path led them through an open oak 
 grove, not far from the Hill Church premises, and as they 
 entered it the terrier uttered a short growl and ran to the 
 front. Her hair bristled upon her back, her tail dropped, 
 and her general attitude was that of a canine- who has dis 
 covered a nearby enemy. 
 
 "Aha!" said Mistress Burbeck, "what have ye found, 
 Betty? Is it a rabbit in the brush? Or The question 
 was interrupted by a sharp bark, and a. rustling in the 
 bushes from which stepped forth a man whose appearance 
 so startled the women that they uttered cries, and fell back 
 in a little group one upon the other. 
 
 "No harm, ladies!" said the intruder in a gruff voice 
 evidently disguised. "But you mus n t pass this way!" 
 
 The phrase "must not" has a strange effect upon people, 
 especially if their blood be well charged with Scotch-Irish 
 temper. It roused the ire of these frontier women, and at 
 once dispelled their fears by the presence of a stronger pas 
 sion. 
 
 "Mus n t, indade!" exclaimed Mrs. Latimer. "Highty- 
 tighty! a fine thing this, that ladies must be stopped on 
 their way home by masked prowlers. Scaret, forsooth! 
 We re not a bit scaret, sir. We weren t born in the woods 
 to be scaret by an owl." 
 
 Nevertheless, the women made no forward movement, 
 but stood gazing upon the man who had thus interrupted 
 them. He was dressed in the usual garb of a frontiersman, 
 except that a bit of white linen was pulled down over his 
 face as far as his mouth, with openings at the eye spaces 
 permitting him to look out. A not very complete disguise, 
 certainly; but in the dim light of the grove sufficient to 
 conceal identity. 
 
 "Can t help it, ladies," said the sentinel, stretching his 
 rifle across the path to prevent passage. "That s my orders, 
 that no one darst go over this path. Sorry to cause you 
 anny inconvanience, but you mus go roun by the woodside 
 or through the meadow." 
 
88 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 He spoke in the same disguised tone of voice, but had 
 not succeeded in concealing his identity from Betty the 
 dog, whose demeanor underwent a marked transformation. 
 Her barks sank into growls, and her growls again into low 
 whines, while contemporaneously her tail and back passed 
 through the usual stages from objective anger to objective 
 gratification. She even wagged her tail, and came up in a 
 fondling way to the sentinel; and finally leaped upon his 
 knee with strong expressions of recognition and approba 
 tion. This threw the man off his guard, and kicking his 
 leg forward, he exclaimed in a more natural tone of voice, 
 "Get out, Betty, you beast!" 
 
 Thereat Mrs. Burbeck exclaimed, "Aha! I think we 
 know who this masked gentleman is. Tom Spenser for all 
 the warld. You can t concale it, Tommy; we know ye now, 
 and you might as well let us by." 
 
 Whether or no it was Tom Spenser was not then settled; 
 for notwithstanding the women s protestations, the senti 
 nel insisted upon observing his orders, and the upshot of it 
 was that the trio had to leave the grove and pass through 
 the meadow by a somewhat longer course. They were all 
 agreed that these maskings meant no good, and shrewdly 
 suspected that the excise troubles were at the bottom of 
 them, and that it was to attend some sort of conventicle or 
 lodge that the men had left the women so unceremoniously 
 at the scutching party. 
 
 Influenced still by curiosity, they directed their course 
 as near as might be to the meeting house. Once more they 
 were shunted off by the appearance of a sentinel from the 
 shadow of a tree, who, without speaking, gave them to 
 understand by motions that they could not pass. They 
 crossed to the rail fence which separated the meadow from 
 the adjoining field and formed a part of the eastward 
 boundary of the church lot. 
 
 No doubt, discretion would have got the better of curi 
 osity, and the party would have proceeded directly to 
 Jenny s house beyond the hilltop, had not Mrs. Latimer 
 as she mounted the rail fence turned her eyes toward the 
 road and discovered something that strongly excited her 
 interest. She sat on the rider or uppermost rail with hand 
 over her eyes and looked intently. A bunch of horses pick 
 eted beyond the churchyard was joined by a party of two 
 mounted men leading a white pony. Mrs. Polly recognized 
 her own Snowball! 
 
THE LATIMERS. 89 
 
 She had caught but a glimpse of the group as they 
 crossed the road, and the riders were immediately lost in 
 the shadow, yet the form of her pony was too familiar to 
 permit mistake. Had not Luke and Panther gone up the 
 main road to Washington? How came they to be in that 
 crowd of men, gathered yonder in the shadow of the church 
 wall, and under the spreading oak trees? There they could 
 be plainly seen, and the murmur of their voices heard as 
 they seemed to discuss some exciting problem. It did not 
 take the woman long to resolve that the mystery should 
 then and there be solved, if at ail solvable. So, bidding 
 her companions remain where they were, cr go forward to 
 Jenny s house, as they pleased, she declared her purpose to 
 get nearer to the meeting, and find out what was going on. 
 She said no word of her more important purpose, not caring 
 to make her companions confidants in her home affairs. 
 
 She held along the fence, which after the fashion of the 
 times was overgrown in the angles with tall clumps of grass, 
 wild flowers and elder bushes, and afforded much conceal 
 ment. She inched her way carefully nearer and nearer to 
 the roadside, and almost within earshot of the picketed 
 horses. Here she had a fair view of what had attracted her 
 attention, and learned that her husband and the Mingo 
 were there, and Snowball with them. 
 
 Presently, Luke left his companion and joined the body 
 of men several rods beyond, on the shaded side of the meet 
 ing house. He was not long gone, although it seemed an 
 age to Mrs. Polly, watching in that strange position at that 
 unusual hour. When Luke returned he was accompanied 
 by David Bradford. The two walked to a spot apart from 
 the crowd, and began a heated discussion. Not a word 
 reached the listener s ear, but the tones of voice and manner 
 of her husband satisfied her that something serious was in 
 his mind, and that he was near the boiling point, and likely 
 at any time to break forth into violence. Now one sentence 
 reached her, sounding forth clearly upon the night air, 
 for Luke in his excitement forgot his caution and raised 
 his voice. 
 
 "You must go with us, or by Heaven " 
 
 Bradford raised his arm in caution, and Polly heard his 
 whispered "hush" as he dropped it, and Luke s voice ceased 
 to be heard. Then the lawyer turned from his companion 
 rather brusquely as if to rejoin the meeting. Thereat Luke 
 
90 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 gave a signal, and Panther, who thus far had been hidden, 
 darted from the shadow of the picketed horses and placed 
 himself between Bradford and the crowd. The agitator 
 shrank back so suddenly at this unexpected spectacle that he 
 almost stumbled to the ground, while the Indian with hand 
 holding his tomahawk stood like a bronze statue in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 Bradford soon recovered, and turning to Latimer ex 
 claimed: 
 
 "What does this mean, sir?" 
 
 Luke s answer vas quiet, but decided (his wife could 
 make that out), and ere long the two seemed to come to an 
 agreement and together entered the crowd. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer waited for their reappearance five, ten, fif 
 teen minutes; a long, weary wait it seemed. Then, no one 
 appearing, and the crowd beginning to fray off from the 
 borders, scattering here and there by singles and doubles 
 and groups, she deemed her position no longer secure. Not 
 caring to be caught at eavesdropping, she stooped low and 
 ran back under the shelter of the fence to her companions, 
 who, for their part, had become much alarmed, and were 
 glad to welcome their friend. 
 
 Without more ado the three fell into the shadow f the 
 fence which they followed to a safe distance, and then 
 struck across the field in the full moonlight, and so to 
 Jenny s house. The latter tried to persuade them to re 
 main over night, and Mrs. Burbeck was anxious to do so, 
 for the shock and alarm had discomfited her. Mrs. Polly 
 herself was in anything but a placid mood, and her nerves 
 had been well shaken. Notwithstanding, she decided that 
 the secret meeting would soon be broken up and the men 
 all dispersed to their homes, so that the way back to her own 
 cabin would be unmolested. So they found it; yet, they 
 traversed the homeward path with many side glances at the 
 grove and clump of trees. 
 
 Mrs. Polly had scant sleep that night. She was turning 
 over in her mind, and over and over again, the strange 
 behavior of her husband, and wondering what it all might 
 mean, and what it all might lead to? When she fell into 
 sleep at last, her dreams were troubled. She woke up in 
 the morning in a flood of tears, sorely unnerved for the 
 day s duty, and feeling more the loneliness of her situation 
 than she had ever done when keeping solitary watch with 
 
THE LATIMEHS. 91 
 
 her baby on the banks of the Ohio, in the midst of the 
 Indian country. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A CABIN IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 When John Latimer and his party had finished the log 
 cabin on the keel boat the day was well advanced. Think 
 ing it wise not to travel after dusk, it was settled to make 
 camp near Mingo Bottom, a fertile river plain three miles 
 below Steubenville. Mingo Bottom is associated with one of 
 the most shameful and one of the saddest incidents in pio 
 neer history. Here, on the fourth of March, 1782, rendez 
 voused the expedition under Williamson that massacred the 
 Moravian Indians at Gnadenhiitten, one of the bloodiest 
 and most inexcusable incidents in American history, and 
 one that cast a deep shadow upon the Scotch-Irish race, 
 from whom the assassins were chiefly drawn. 
 
 Nearly three months later, May 20, met also at Mingo 
 Bottom the ill-starred expedition of Col. Crawford, and 
 thence departed against the Indians on the Sandusky, to 
 return beaten back and defeated. The second in command 
 was the leader of the Moravian massacre. These events 
 were still fresh in the minds of the older members of our 
 party. Many of the participants were personally known 
 to them, and some were friends and kin. 
 
 The Mingo Bottom lands were at that time taken up 
 and settled; and fearing lest some of the planters might be 
 unfriendly, John pushed a little way beyond to the settle 
 ment of Fergus Kelly, a friend of Andy s. Xow the boat s 
 nozzle was moored to the bank hard by where a clearing and 
 a cabin showed the beginnings of a home. The house was 
 an ordinary log structure, except that at the middle in front 
 a jutting bastion was made, into which the door was set, 
 thus giving play for rifles, if need be, from loop-holes on 
 either side. At*the right and left windows were cut which 
 were glazed with coarse linen greased with bear s oil to 
 make it more translucent and preserve it from the weather. 
 The roof was covered with clapboards or hewn slabs of 
 timber, which were laid from ridge to eaves and held in 
 place by cross logs braced by wooden pegs. As the boat 
 
92 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 stopped, a child s voice was heard through the open cabin 
 door singing a familiar tune. 
 
 "Hist!" said John, raising his finger. The noise of 
 mooring was eased to note the child s sweet song, that 
 floated out in the deep forest stillness. A most touching 
 thing, a child singing in that western wilderness! Now, 
 listening, they caught the words of a hymn which the home 
 missionaries had taught the border folk: 
 
 "Ye little birds of Heaven 
 
 On every bough that sing, 
 You shame me with your early notes, 
 
 While on your morning wing." 
 
 It seemed a morning rather than an evening hymn. But 
 the little maid, for it was a girl s voice, recked not and 
 perhaps knew not the difference. She sang on prettily, 
 but with that somewhat melancholy strain that pervaded 
 melodies of the border, perhaps induced by its hard life. 
 Winding their way along the river, Andy, followed by the 
 General and Blanche, crossed the Virginia rail fence which 
 encompassed the croft or adjacent clearing, and peering 
 into the cabin found their forest songstress to be a lass of 
 some seven or eight years. She was rocking a rude cradle, 
 which was little more than a slab trough set on rough- 
 hewed rockers, and chanting her lullaby song over a ruddy 
 baby. 
 
 She rose up with a startled look at the sound of a 
 strange voice greeting her, as if ever mindful of prowling 
 savages; but was at once composed at the pleasant sight of 
 friendly faces, and especially of a lady. She was clad in a 
 coarse wool petticoat. Her swart face showed the touch of 
 sun and air, and was clean and attractive. Her long and 
 unkempt hair fell back over her shoulders, giving her an 
 unked seeming, which was heightened by her bare legs and 
 feet covered with red marks of irritating insects bites. 
 She held in her brown hand a leafy twig which she had 
 used to whisk mosquitoes and flies from the infant s face. 
 She glanced her black eyes with wonder from face to face 
 of the intruders, and then rested them with unmistakable 
 signs of admiration upon Blanche, who must have seemed 
 to the lonely frontier lass like the angels of which she had 
 heard. 
 
 When told who they were and for what come, her face 
 
THE LATIMERS. 93 
 
 lit up with pleasant recognition of the "Fanny." For hav 
 ing so little to engage her thoughts, the child had learned 
 to know the names of and even to recognize all the passing 
 boats, and from her parents had caught an inkling of the 
 owners. To Andy s friendly question she said that father 
 and mother and brother Aleck were in the far clearing, 
 pointing to rings and wreaths of smoke rising beyond the 
 top of the girdled woodland. Listening now, the sound of 
 an axe merrily beating against a hard tree trunk could be 
 heard, and its echoes answered over the water from the 
 bluff on the opposite shore. Standing beyond the tall 
 patch of corn, they could see the woodman at his chopping, 
 and the wife and mother, aided by a sturdy lad of ten years 
 or so, busy about a brush heap which they were burning. 
 Logs, stumps and branches had all been piled together and 
 were being burned, as the shortest way to be rid of them. 
 
 Blanche wound her bugle, and that sound being known 
 along the river side as the signal of a passing boat, the pio 
 neers ceased their toil, and came over the clearing, well 
 pleased to have a chat with human beings, and to hear news 
 of affairs "in the settlements." Andy was greeted as be 
 came an old acquaintance. The Inspector, who feared but 
 a grudging welcome, was surprised and pleased when Fergus 
 shook his hand, saying in a frank yet deferential way: 
 
 "Giner 5 ! Xiville, sir, ye re hearty welcome to our planta 
 tion . I dar say you don t re-cognise me, but I mind yoii 
 fine. When we moved intil Wes Pennsylvania in S-i from 
 Carlisle, we were in sorry plight enough; but year wise 
 counsel and ginerous aid stood us in good stead. I ve h ard 
 sore lies about ye sence, and mayhap some truths too (fer 1 
 don t like axcise laws anny better nor my neighbors), but 
 I ll niver belave that a kind heart like yourn can go so far 
 wrong. Axcuse me, sir, fer a-mentionin of it, but I wush 
 you well, an you re hearty welcome!" 
 
 That bluff, warm-hearted greeting was sweeter to the 
 General s palate than any word he had received for many 
 days. In truth, he had contributed greatly to relieve the 
 sufferings of settlers in his vicinity. He had accepted the 
 Inspectorship chiefly to gratify President Washington; for 
 he was a man of wealth, as the term went, having large 
 possessions,^ hundred slaves, and one of the finest man 
 sions in the settled region. He had put his all at hazard 
 for Colonial independence, and at his own expense had 
 
94 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 raised and equipped a company of soldiers, marched them 
 to Boston, and placed them with his son under the com 
 mand of Washington. It was with a bitter spirit that he 
 thought of these things, and how readily his fellow citizens 
 forgot them when heaping maledictions upon him in these 
 heated days. All the more, therefore, did this woodman s 
 greeting give him pleasure, and awake generous emotions 
 which late events had embittered. 
 
 The pioneer s wife joined in the welcome with cordial 
 hospitality; a trait which characterized the early settlers, 
 and which, being graft upon the customs and so upon the 
 characters of that and the next generation, laid the founda 
 tion in good heredity for many of the beneficent schemes 
 which honor and bless the present age. 
 
 Mrs. Kate Kelly was a fair sample of the sturdy pioneer 
 women whose vigorous bodies, good sense and industry, and 
 brave hearts made them fit mates for the men who con 
 quered the wilderness. She was clad in a linsey-woolsey pet 
 ticoat, and coarse linen waist whose short sleeves displayed 
 muscular arms brown with work. A home-made kerchief 
 was folded across her throat and bust, and fastened with a 
 thorn. She wore moccasins, and had a sun bonnet of linsey 
 built in the scoop fashion that yet prevails in some rural 
 parts. It was furnished with many plaits, into which were 
 thrust strips of birch bark in lieu of stiff paper, which kept 
 the headgear in shape, and were taken out when the bonnet 
 must go to the wash. She was not at all abashed in the 
 presence of her nicely-attired lady guest, but with matronly 
 independence, though with becoming modesty, made all 
 welcome to her cabin. 
 
 As the camp must be prepared for the night, the men 
 excused themselves, leaving Blanche with Mrs. Kate to 
 inspect the cabin and gossip over divers affairs. However., 
 the offer of milk was accepted, and that it might be fresh 
 from the cows, for milking time was now come and the 
 day s work about done, Mrs. Kate went out to the milking, 
 w r hile Fergus joined the men in their duties. It was agreed 
 that the settler s family should sup with them in the open, 
 much to the delight of Janet and Aleck. As Gen. Neville 
 had stored the boat with sundries which were luxuries 
 alongside the mush and milk, pone cake and bacon, hominy 
 and game that formed the staple food of the cabin, the 
 children carried the feast in memory many a day. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 95 
 
 Blanche went with Mrs. Kate and got thus a good view 
 of the home surroundings. A clearing around the house 
 was given up to a field of Indian corn and pumpkins, a 
 patch of potatoes and a small planting of flax. Beyond this 
 the high timber was girdled, or ringed around the butt 
 with an outchopped belt, to kill the leaves and cut off the 
 shade, and thus allow a few plants to grow between, time 
 and help being too scant to permit full clearing at present. 
 A sty close by held a sow and a litter of pigs. Other pork 
 ers were running wild in the woods, feeding upon the rich 
 mast. Beech nuts, hickory nuts, pig nuts and acorns were 
 abundant in their season, not to speak of other lush morsels 
 that swine affect. 
 
 "But what good can they do you/ quoth Blanche, "run 
 ning wild that way in the woods?" 
 
 What good? was the echoed answer, as if surprised 
 at such a question. Had they not guns? And though Fer 
 gus commonly gave chase when they wanted pork, Mrs. 
 Kate was by no means dependent on him. She could take 
 her own rifle from the buckhorn bracket over the fireplace, 
 and shoot a wild porker, or other wild beast, for that 
 matter. 
 
 It would be ill housekeeping in the wilderness, the 
 housewife continued, if it were not for the hog. To say 
 nothing of its flesh in various forms, as ham, sausage, side 
 meat, souse and spare ribs, the bristles helped in the rude 
 sewing in vogue through the use of leather and deer-skin 
 clothing. Brushes, too, came of them, though not as ser 
 viceable as might be. Moreover (and the cabin mistress 
 seemed to think this no small matter), the pigs were ene 
 mies of rattlesnakes and copperheads. Oh! these were the 
 terror of her life, next the savages. She trembled not for 
 herself alone, but for the children, and never knew when 
 they might be poisoned unto death. Blessed Ireland, where 
 no snakes ever harbored ! That very day had they unnested 
 and slain a brood of rattlers (Ugh!) and burnt them in 
 the brush fire with uncommon joy. 
 
 When the pigs were turned loose so far from fleeing 
 from the snakes they sought them. They were agile in 
 avoiding the poisonous fangs, and seizing the reptile, would 
 tear it to pieces, or throw their sharp hoofs upon it and 
 stamp it to death. Ay, indeed, they were useful animals, 
 a true gift of God to poor pioneers! Thus Blanche learned, 
 
96 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 and we may also, that the "Great American Hog," the sub 
 ject of much modern diplomacy, has been a considerable 
 factor in the progress of civilization. Who will rear a 
 statue to the honor of this humble beast? 
 
 Turning from her pig-sty, Mrs. Kate came into the 
 stable yard where three cows were nipping wisps of hay 
 from a rick of tall stakes, a number of which, crossed like 
 the letter X, were placed close together, and the hay tossed 
 into the open top. Blanche thought it strange that cows 
 with so much pasturage would take hay. 
 
 "Ah, but it s salted!" quoth Mrs. Kate. Salt was a most 
 costly commodity, but the cows were almost half their liv 
 ing, with milk and cream, and butter, and bonny-clabber, 
 and what the Pennsylvania Dutch call smearkase. So a 
 pinch of salt in a pan of water well sprinkled over the hay 
 brought the cows home regularly to the evening milking; 
 for, poor things, they loved the salt and needed it, too, as 
 much as themselves. 
 
 The tinkle of a bell tied about the throat of one of the 
 cows ever and anon dropped a pleasant note upon the quiet 
 evening air. "Why do you bell the cow?" asked Blanche, 
 " and why not all of the herd ?" 
 
 One was quite enough, the housewife averred; for being 
 sociable creatures, the kine would be sure to keep together. 
 The sound of one bell served as well as several, for it gave 
 warning of the presence of the herd. The forestry was so 
 thick around them that the cows need stray but a short way 
 to be out of sight. Then, whether evening or morning, she 
 knew just where to go to bring them in. And oh! it was in 
 deed a comely sound, the tink-tinkle of the bell as the beast 
 walked along and nipped the grass; or the sharper rink- 
 tink, tink-a-link, as she swung her head back to whisk off 
 the flies and gnats. Ever in the morning that was the 
 first sound listened for through the river mist. When she 
 had nearby neighbors, and the herds got together, so nicely 
 did her ear get tuned to the sound of her own cow bell, that 
 she could tell it amid all the clangor of the rest, as one 
 could tell the voice of her own child in the hullabaloo of 
 a score of romping children. 
 
 When the bairns were small, she would tie them in bed 
 to hinder them from gadding off, and to fend them from 
 fire and snakes. Then taking trail by the tinkling of the 
 bell, she would make her way through the rank growth, all 
 
THE LATIMERS. 97 
 
 beaded with dew, to where the cattle grazed; and so back to 
 get the breakfast with dabbled skirts, and moccasins soak 
 ing wet and clammy to the feet. No! your deerskin shoes 
 may be pretty, and all that, but in wet weather they are 
 only a respectable way of going barefoot ! How she missed 
 the stout leathern shoes and the warm wool clothing of 
 dear old Ulster! "Ah well, but we ve a lordly domain of 
 our own/ 7 quoth Mrs. Kate, "and half our acreage would be 
 a noble barony in the auld country." 
 
 Thus she prattled on, while the milk was squeezed from 
 the udders into foaming buckets, with many a cooing word 
 as "so-oh, sookey! ho-oh, bossy!" and the like, such as milk 
 maids are wont to soothe their cattle with. Then they 
 returned to the cabin, not forgetting to look into the log 
 stable where two horses of excellent breed were haltered to 
 their feeding trough. Horses, though at first scarce on 
 the border, soon became quite plentiful, as much attention 
 was paid to breeding them because of their great service 
 at plowing, packing and pulling, and for saddle use on the 
 warpath or the chase. 
 
 Thus four beasts, the hog, dog, cow, and horse, have 
 jointly with man subdued the mighty wilderness. The 
 sheep, too, has had its part; but while wolves were plenty 
 frontier flocks grew slowly. Therefore, wool came in more 
 tardily to add to the pioneer s comfort, who, driven by neces 
 sity, made use of dressed skins, and the flax with which his 
 old country life had made him familiar. 
 
 By this time evening had come. The camp-fire was flar 
 ing on the river bank, and its lurid tongues were reflected 
 on the still water of the little cove. Beyond the girdled 
 wood the brush fire was burning with a steady glow, the 
 flames having reached the heart of the pile and fastened 
 upon the heavy logs, which added to the weird effect of 
 night in the forest. The General s tent had been pitched 
 for the first time, and therein Blanche s quarters estab 
 lished. 
 
 The boat table was brought ashore and spread with sun 
 dry stores, while Andy, as chief cook, prepared the game 
 and Johnny-cake on the red, clean coals, in that implement 
 known to pioneers as a "Dutch oven/ Roasting ears, too, 
 contributed by Fergus from ^ is field of green corn, and 
 baked in their husks within the hot ashes, added a luscious 
 bite to the bill of fare. All being seated, the General at the 
 7 
 
98 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 head said grace, or, asked a blessing, as it was there called, 
 a matter in which he was punctilious. Then, all fell-to 
 heartily; and it was fine to see the Inspector s courtly man 
 ner with no smack of superiority, and the jollity and good 
 will of all. The negro caught his master s urbanity and 
 served all, Mrs. Kate said afterwards, "as though we were 
 quality folk!" So indeed they were, of the finest sort, if 
 the world only knew it. 
 
 There was at least one of the company who for a time 
 had his enjoyment of the meal much abridged. The boy 
 Aleck found before him, as he sat on his log seat, a little 
 cup (as he afterwards related) "stood up inside a bigger 
 one, with some brownish lookin stuff in it, which was 
 nuther b iled milk nor broth." What could it be? And 
 what to do with the little cups and wee bit cutty spoon that 
 belonged to them, he could not guess. He could make a 
 fairish horn spoon, and whittle out a wooden one, and knew 
 bravely what to do with them too, when it came to venison 
 soup, and mush and milk, and succotash. But these toys? 
 Tush! 
 
 However, he would ask Janet. But she was as dazed as 
 he, and shook her frowsy pate with a despairing negative. 
 Ah! he would watch the lady and the other big folks. They 
 lifted the cup and supped from it. So did he. Ugh! the 
 drink was nauseous beyond anything he ever had tasted. 
 How he longed to sputter it out! But his pride checked 
 him, and with the spirit of an Indian, he gulped down the 
 deuced black draught, and made no wry face, though the 
 tears streamed from his eyes. But must he drink it all? 
 Ay, that he would if it choked him! 
 
 When the vessel was empty, and Hannibal came with 
 his bland manner to refill it, the boy inwardly cursed the 
 blackamoor, yet dare not say "no," but, sore distressed, 
 heroically undertook the second helping. Now he noticed 
 that some put cream into the mess, which he also did, and 
 that whitened the black draught, but slopped it over into 
 the "big cup" beneath. Still, it tasted a little better. 
 Then he noticed that some put sugar within and stirred it 
 with their cutty spoons. That he also did, and found the 
 drink more palatable, but nasty still. Dear heart! could 
 he only have the sugar without the other! 
 
 The lady must have read his thoughts, for there was a 
 merry look in her bright eyes as she turned them upon him, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 99 
 
 and then a sorry one, as she said: "Here, Hannibal, take 
 some of this cake to the children. And fetch away their 
 cups and saucers and give them some sugar. I dare say 
 they have had enough coffee." 
 
 Coffee! And so that nasty truck was coffee, whose loss 
 he had heard his folk bemoan so often, as they vaunted its 
 goodness? Well! for all him, the darky might keep it in 
 his big flagon, or let the others quaff their fill! Now, deliv 
 ered from his misery, he contentedly regaled himself with 
 his sweets. Do not be incredulous, dear reader, for this a 
 true tale of the experience of a frontier lad, at his first sight 
 of cup and saucer, and first taste of coffee. 
 
 John s hap was to get a seat by Blanche, and he could 
 not but note how bright and pretty her face looked in the 
 glare of the camp fire. Her dainty manners, too, he noted, 
 and contrasting them with his own rude ways felt awkward 
 and embarrassed. As graceful as the wild deer when at his 
 own proper work and sport, he now felt somehow out of 
 place, though in sooth he knew no other place he would 
 choose rather to be in. He was not, indeed, as great a 
 novice as the boy Aleck in the ways of the gentry. As a 
 student in the Log Academy he had come in contact with 
 many superior people; and some of the old-style folks with 
 courtly manners were interspersed here and there among 
 the settlers. His business with the officers of the garrison 
 at Fort Pitt, and those of the troops already beginning to 
 rendezvous for Gen. Wayne s Indian expedition, had also 
 put something of an edge upon his backwoods behavior, to 
 say nothing of his own natural instinct. 
 
 Nevertheless, as he drew his hunting knife from his 
 belt and attacked his meal (for he was ravenously hungry), 
 there was a pull upon him, and an embarrassment that 
 came, he was conscious, from his nearness to Blanche Old- 
 ham. He felt the softening influence as a check upon his 
 natural eagerness of hunger, and like Aleck, though with 
 better disguise, he observed her table manners and modified 
 his own thereby. Withal, he felt himself alongside of her 
 but a clumsy, blundering clodhopper. Then he flushed, 
 and thought within himself what a fool he was! And what 
 difference could it make what this lady might think of him? 
 And why should he ply his knife a whit more gently for 
 her, or dally with his food? So the lusty fellow chafed 
 while the fire burned within him, and little thought that 
 
100 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 the young woman at his side gave no heed at all to his man 
 ners, whether good or bad, but only admired his manly 
 beauty, and wondered how such as he could ever have come 
 up in such uncouth surroundings. 
 
 Ah, fair lady, you may learn by and by, if ycu have 
 much to do with these frontiersmen, that they are not so 
 different in their make-up, take them by and large, from the 
 remainder of mankind. For the gentle and the simple, the 
 noble and the base are of every race and cult, and so quite 
 independent of local rules and fashions. John Randolph of 
 Roanoke once said, speaking of the decline of the bland 
 and courtly manners of the old school, that he knew of 
 but one real gentleman left in Virginia, and he was an old, 
 gray-headed slave. Verily! True nobility, like love, laughs 
 at locksmiths; and, who would think it? even Blanche Old- 
 ham might come to love a forester. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE BRAVE DAYS OF OLD. 
 
 Now the talk came to the news of Washington County, 
 and there it stayed for the rest of the evening; for the 
 Kellys were hungry for tidings of their old friends. Being 
 religious folk, like so many of the settlers in those parts, 
 the most important intelligence was the late death of their 
 beloved friend and pastor, the Rev. Joseph Smith, one 
 of the earliest and most devout of the missionaries. 
 He was a fine classical scholar, a preacher of moving 
 eloquence and most devout piety. He always kept his 
 cloak near his bed, that, waking up at night, he might 
 throw it over him and rise to spend a season of prayer. 
 Withal he was brave, manly, and rarely gifted with good 
 sense to counsel and lead his people. A great loss, such a 
 man, thought Gen. Neville, to a new country where moral 
 restraints were so much needed, and the few pastors were 
 the only public teachers of religion, morality and civil duty. 
 
 So drifted John Latimer into the conversation, and 
 prompted by Andy, he told the story of his father s first 
 flat-boat journey to New Orleans. Well he told it, too; 
 halting somewhat at first, but warming with his subject, 
 
THE LATIMERS. : 101 
 
 and having a natural gift, put into it a color and pathos 
 that made all hearts tingle, and biwgfet "th4 t^a*rs; 
 than once to Blanche s eyes. - * ^ : ,* : i V l j a i 
 
 Thus it came about. Mr. Smith was settled over the 
 congregation of Cross Creek and Upper Buffalo. 
 
 "What an odd name for a church!" quoth Blanche. 
 
 "True enough/ interposed the General. "Our people 
 have the habit of naming their places of worship from 
 their localities, particularly from the creeks and runs near 
 which they are always built. This sometimes gives an un 
 couth, not to say irreverent title, as for example, the 
 Eaccoon Creek Church/ or the Church of Horseshoe Bot 
 tom/ But our Scotch-Irish settlers would think that it 
 savored of the dregs of prelacy to name a meeting house 
 St. Andrew or St. Paul/ although their Scottish ances 
 tors had no scruples, it appears, in holding to such titles. 
 Excuse my interruption, Captain. Go on with your story." 
 
 The people of that section, John continued, had 
 been anxious for a pastor of their own faith and order, and 
 pledged him what was thought a competent sum for a liv 
 ing; and so it was, if he could have gotten it. It was quite 
 necessary that, like his neighbors, he should till a farm and 
 eke out his stipend, and to that he gladly assented. But 
 being limited as to locality, he must buy a farm convenient 
 to the meeting house. Having no money, he bought his 
 land on credit, promising to p?.y with the salary pledged 
 by his people. So he set to work, lovingly, zealously, and 
 successfully. 
 
 He was truer to his flock than they to him, for after 
 several years his salary was far in arrears. There was little 
 or no money in circulation. Plenty of wheat there was, 
 but no market, and a shilling (twelve and a half cents) a 
 bushel in cash was its highest price. Salt had to be brought 
 across the mountains on pack horses, and was worth eight 
 dollars a bushel. They were worse off for a grain market 
 then than folks are now (quoth John), which was saying 
 a good deal. 
 
 So matters stood when the time came for the last 
 "payment on Mr. Smith s farm, and he was told that he must 
 pay or go. Three full years salaries were due, and for lack 
 
THE LATIMERS. 
 
 of this ^his land and Tmprovements must be lost, and his 
 ^pifatatff db&h$ope4 /In 1 - tins strait the people of the two 
 " cangregatiwis tfee.dklled -together, and the case laid before 
 them. They were unable to pay a tithe of their debt, and 
 no money could be borrowed. Plan after plan was sug 
 gested and abandoned, and so in despair they adjourned to 
 meet the next week. 
 
 Meanwhile, a subscription of wheat was proposed. 
 There was nothing else to do, it seemed; and at Moore s 
 Mill, the only grist mill in the county, they found they 
 could get their wheat ground on reasonable terms. So, 
 when the congregational meeting gathered, a great quantity 
 was subscribed, and afterward packed on horses, in some 
 cases twenty or thirty miles, to mill, where in a month s 
 time it was made into floui. 
 
 Again the people were assembled. The usual prayer 
 being had, the question came up, "Who will run the flour 
 to New Orleans for sale?" 
 
 John Latimer, who had lately made that journey, 
 could speak understandingly of its present hardships and 
 dangers, but a few years ago these were immensely greater. 
 So then, it was a startling question, that, with which the 
 congregation had to wrestle. It was a perilous adventure, 
 perilous in the extreme. Nearly all the way was a wilder 
 ness. The air was full of gloomy tales of the treacherous 
 Indians who lined the river banks. More than one boat s 
 crew had gone on that journey and come back no more. If 
 New Orleans was reached safely, the return journey was 
 either by sea or a march over a stretch of two thousand 
 miles, for the boats could not be brought up the river 
 so far against the current. Much of this way was through 
 swamps and everglades poisoned with fevers, and all of it 
 beset by roving savages, and lawless robber bands the 
 scum of exiled English criminals and Eastern desperadoes. 
 Even should the adventurers be so fortunate as to return, 
 their trip must cost them months of time. It was a stub 
 born question and a sore test that, "Who will run the flour 
 to New Orleans?" Who would give the time, endure the 
 toil, brave the danger? 
 
 There was silence in the meeting, and they were no 
 cowards, those hardy pioneers, with men like Adam and 
 Andrew Poe among them. Not a volunteer offered him 
 self, neither young nor middle-aged not one. The scheme 
 
THE LATIMERS. 103 
 
 was like to fail. Yes, it had failed! There was naught to 
 do but to adjourn the meeting, and go home, and let their 
 pastor leave. Some of the women, in truth, gritted their 
 teeth and wished they were men! However, it was noted 
 that they who had men folks fit to go, were not so free of 
 speech. There was an awful silence, which at last was 
 broken by a voice somewhat shaken with age and trem 
 bling with emotion: 
 
 "Here I am, send me I" 
 
 Every eye turned upon the speaker. It was Father 
 Smiley, an elder in the church, sixty-four years old, an age 
 which in frontier countries is riper than elsewhere, for ex 
 posure and toil and nerve-fret through Indian perils, make 
 deep draughts upon vital forces. He was a hoary-headed 
 man, and there he stood in the midst of the astonished 
 assembly, saying again: "Here I am, send me!" 
 
 Well, there followed a strange scene, John had heard 
 it said. The people were swayed with emotion like the 
 forest leaves before a high wind. Father Smiley s offer was 
 like a clap out of a black thunderhead, which breaks up 
 the cloud and lets out the rain. Men and women were 
 melted into tears, as their venerated and venerable elder 
 stood there devoting himself to the work from which they 
 had shrunk. They rose and clustered around the old man 
 with question and wonder and remonstrance, only to learn 
 that his resolution was fixed. Rather than lose their pastor 
 he would brave danger, toil and death. 
 
 "But he could not go alone?" asked Blanche. 
 
 No, surely not alone; but some one, it was thought, 
 would now volunteer to consort with him. Even then the 
 matter hung fire. At last Luke Latimer offered, and 
 another young man came forward to volunteer as assistant 
 with him, to whom if the enterprise were successful, a large 
 reward was promised. 
 
 The day came for starting. There lay the boat on the 
 Monongahela, loaded with its freight of flour coopered 
 snugly by willing hands. Never a flat boat there or else 
 where, before or since, had such a send-off as that. At the 
 meeting house the pastor had met his flock, and there were 
 none wanting, you may be sure, who could come forth and 
 beseech God for the adventurers. Young and old, from far 
 and near, from love of Father Smiley Lnd their deep in 
 terest in his mission, had gathered together. 
 
104 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Would they not go down to the river/ some one 
 asked, "to speed the voyagers thence with their presence 
 and cheers?" 
 
 "Yes, that they would!" Then, though the church was 
 full fifteen miles away from the landing, forth they went 
 with their pastor at their head, and came down to the bank 
 of the river, to bid the old man and his aids adieu. Was 
 there ever a parade like that? Over rough bridle roads and 
 forest trails, within the sights and sounds of that maiden 
 land still with its wilderness robes upon it, marched they 
 on to the Monongahela. 
 
 Now they assembled upon the green sloping shore, 
 while the man of God offered a prayer, tearful, tender, and 
 mighty with fervent trust in the Heavenly Guide of men 
 Who had led Israel of old through the wilderness journey. 
 This ended, they sang the twenty-third Psalm in the old 
 Scotch version. How the woods and waters rang with it, 
 and the echoes trembled over the wooded hills and the 
 bosky bluffs foment them! 
 
 "The Lord s my Shepherd, I ll not want, 
 
 He makes me down to lie 
 In pastures green; He leadeth me 
 
 The quiet waters by. 
 Yea, though I walk in Death s dark vale, 
 
 Yet will I fear no ill, 
 For Thou art with me, and Thy rod 
 
 And staff me comfort still." 
 
 "There," said the old Scotchman, "untie the cable, and 
 let us see what the Lord will do for us!" 
 
 "Good-bye! God bless you!" thundered forth from the 
 throng, as the boat slowly floated away, down the Mononga 
 hela. Then there was a great silence until the vessel was 
 lost behind the next jutting curve, and sadly the people 
 dispersed. 
 
 Four months passed with no word of Father Smiley. 
 Five, six months were gone, and many hearts were fearful 
 that ill had befallen him. Seven, eight months passed, and 
 few there were who hoped to see his dear face more. But 
 always in the public service of God s House, and in family 
 worship and secret prayer, Father Smiley and his forlorn 
 hope were remembered. At last, nine months and more 
 had gone since the expedition went forth, and the most 
 sanguine had surrendered hope, and waited for Eternity 
 to uncover the hero s fate. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 105 
 
 So came about,, once more, the Sabbath day, and as 
 the people gathered to worship in their log sanctuary, lo! 
 on the rude bench before the pulpit where the elders were 
 wont to sit, there sat Father Smiley, composed and devout! 
 
 Dear, dear! How hearts leaped up, and tears welled 
 forth, and grateful spirits up went to God in Heaven for 
 this mercy! When they came to the psalm the minister 
 gave forth, as on the river bank, at the parting: 
 
 "The Lord s my Shepherd, I ll not want. 
 
 There was no room to line it out, for the people quite 
 ran away from the precentor and sang off-hand. It was a 
 merry welcome, and most devout that the old man had; and 
 the young men who had shared his adventure shared also 
 his loving greeting. 
 
 When it came to the intimations, the people were 
 asked to assemble at early candle-lighting next day and 
 hear the report. So once more all were there together, and 
 when thanks had been rendered to Almighty God for his 
 safe return, Father Smiley arose and told his story. He 
 touched lightly enough on his perils and labors which, 
 indeed, John supposed, judging from his father s ac 
 count, would have taken a week for the telling. But the 
 gist of it was that the Lord had prospered his mission; that 
 he had sold the flour for twenty-seven dollars a barrel, and 
 got safely back. So said, he drew forth a leathern purse, 
 and canting it over the Communion table, pulled the 
 thongs, and out ran a clinking stream of golden coins and 
 made a shining hoard the like of which many of the spec 
 tators had never seen before. 
 
 From this was set forth, as agreed, for each of the aids 
 a hundred dollars. Then Father Smiley was asked to name 
 his charges for the nine months services. He meekly 
 answered that he thought he ought to have the same as one 
 of the young men, though he had not done quite as much 
 work. 
 
 "Ay, forsooth, good man; God bless him!" quoth the 
 people. 
 
 It was forthwith proponed to pay him three hundred 
 dollars; which, however, he sturdily refused to take until 
 the pastor s account was fully satisfied. Then they counted 
 the money. All eyes were fixed upon the elders as they sat 
 
106 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 there underneath the pulpit, in the dim light of the candle 
 dips, and told the coin, laying down the pieces with a merry 
 click and chink that sounded forth sweetly in the ears of 
 the eager people. 
 
 "What is the tale? What is the tale?" they cried when 
 the elders were done. 
 
 To make end of the story, there was enough to pay the 
 three years salary due Mr. Smith, and another year s salary 
 in advance; to reward Father Smiley with three hundred 
 dollars, and to leave a goodly dividend to those who had 
 contributed money to build the flat boat and furnish the 
 needful supplies for the expedition. It was over-canny on 
 their part, some thought, to receive all this remainder, since 
 its value came almost wholly from Father Smiley s adven 
 ture; but let that pass! Thus their debts were paid, their 
 pastor fully relieved, and until his late lamented death, he 
 broke for them the bread of life. Now th^ good man slesps 
 in the churchyard at Upper Buffalo, and Father Smiley s 
 bones rest not far from his. 
 
 The Inspector listened with marked pleasure to the 
 young man s recital, and seemed unusually thoughtful 
 when all was done. At length, breaking the silence, he 
 said: "Well, Captain John, that is a moving tale and well 
 told. I ve been thinking that it uncovers, better than any 
 thing I know, the hard straits of our borderers in the matter 
 of their crops. I dare say you think me severe in my offi 
 cial duties; but, in truth, I have often felt the deepest sym 
 pathy with the settlers who are driven to such stress and 
 peril to find a market, without which their crops lie worth 
 less on their hands. No doubt, the Government does not 
 sufficiently apprehend the need that drives them to put 
 their grain into the most portable and salable compass; for 
 that is the problem that lies at the root of all our revenue 
 troubles. It s mainly a question of transportation, and 
 Western civilization waits upon its solution. Ah, me!" He 
 sighed as he rose from the table. "It is truly a hard task 
 at times to know one s duty; and yet harder to do it when 
 it pinches and angers one s friends and neighbors!" 
 
 Now preparations were made for bed. The children, 
 who had long been yawning, were led away by their parents 
 to the cabin. Featherfoot, who had declined to sit at table 
 with the others, not liking the restraint, and ate by the 
 camp fire, shared a moiety of the tent with Blanche. The 
 
THE LATIMERS. 107 
 
 General slept in the other part, a blanket screen being 
 hung between. The newly built boat-cuddy served for the 
 others, though John again divided the night watch with 
 Andy. No incident, however, disturbed the slumbers of the 
 camp, and no sounds save the usual cries of night-prowling 
 birds and beasts, broke the wilderness stillness. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LOVE-MAKING IN A CABIN A HUNDRED TEARS AGO. 
 
 The incident at Mingo Bottom was so pleasing to Gen. 
 Neville that he concluded to tarry for a day s shooting. 
 John remained to protect the boat and care for Blanche, 
 and Fergus volunteering to serve as guide, the two set out 
 together accompanied by Hannibal. The day wore on 
 pleasantly with Blanche, to whom a frontier settlement was 
 a novelty, and who found interesting companionship in 
 Mrs. Kate and her two children. 
 
 The morning duties of the camp were soon done, and 
 John had leisure to devote to his fair passenger. He was 
 loath to intrude himself, but the affair of the catamount had 
 broken the ice of reserve, and Blanche was well disposed to 
 be friendly. The lady having expressed a w r ish to take a 
 jaunt into the forest, John summoned Featherfoot, and the 
 trio started across the wooded bottom to the hills beyond. 
 The day was bright, and the animated life of the forest all 
 agog. Squirrels in great number leaped among the trees, 
 and quails piped their shrill whistle from the underbrush. 
 Woodcock ever and anon darted across the pathway, show 
 ing for the nonce their reddish-brown colors, and disappear 
 ing in the chaparral. The wild turkeys sounded their roll 
 ing bass, and at least one fine gobbler showed his dark, 
 glossy metallic feathers, as he dodged his wattled head and 
 hurried out of sight. The rapid tap-tap of woodpeckers 
 sounded through the silent woods, and now and then one 
 was seen perched upon a decaying trunk or an old stump, 
 bobbing its fine red head and apparently taking no heed f 
 the obtruding strangers. Mocking-birds w r histled in the 
 low brush along the shore; and meadow-larks, whose sweet 
 notes may be heard from the Atlantic to the Pacific shore, 
 
108 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 sang one to another in the little patches of mead on the 
 river side. 
 
 Blanche at last grew weary, and John found a charming 
 forest sofa upon a fallen log which was covered with green 
 moss and gray lichens, and gave a softly cushioned seat. 
 There he sat by her side, and while the dog curled him 
 self at Blanche s feet, and Featherfoot on a mossy boulder 
 hard by wrought at quilling a moccasin, they talked of life 
 in the woods and forest experiences until the near approach 
 of noon admonished them to return to camp. The recol 
 lection of that forest jaunt and the bright chat in that 
 woodland boudoir and on the way to and from it, long 
 remained with both maid and man as one of the most de 
 lightful treasures of memory. 
 
 The noon meal ended, a long afternoon lay before the 
 campers in Mingo Bottom. The air was still and the 
 August sun glowed hot upon the shining river. There was 
 scarcely a movement among the leaves in the tall syca 
 mores, oaks and beeches overhead, and their far-spreading 
 limbs cast a grateful shade. Underneath one of these forest 
 monarchs John spread a wide mat of skins and there 
 ensconced Blanche, and warned Featherfoot to bide with 
 her lest she should be frightened in the lonely woods. The 
 maiden yielded to the lazy influence of the summer day 
 and open air, and after fighting awhile with prying ants 
 and other insects, covered her face with a kerchief and 
 gradually dozed off into a sound nap. 
 
 Presently she awoke, and as time began to drag heavily, 
 was pleased to welcome John to her forest bower. He, 
 intent upon duties of hospitality, brought his violin, and 
 an hour merrily passed with the music. Blanche aided 
 with songs; and won by the cheery scene, Andy came with 
 Bounce and presently set the latter to dancing to the fiddle. 
 At last growing tired of this, John proposed that Andy 
 should spin a yarn; and knowing well his best points in that 
 line, urged that he give them an account of his own court 
 ship. 
 
 "He has given me several tempting bits," he remarked, 
 turning to Miss Blanche, "and has promised some time to 
 give me all. I m sure we shall enjoy it, for Fve heard 
 mother say that she d go a day s journey any time to hear 
 Andy Burbeck tell his story of Settin up with Elder 
 McKeag s Peggy/ " 
 
THE LATIMERS. 109 
 
 Blanche added her entreaties to John s, and at last 
 Andy consented. The party settled themselves in lounging 
 attitudes upon the grass and rugs, and Andy taking seat 
 upon a mossy rock, bade Bounce lie down at his feet, and 
 after a few preliminary explanations, began his love tale. 
 It would be a shame not to preserve as much as may be of 
 his rich Scotch-Irish dialect, if it were only for the sake of 
 the vocabulary. But if the reader will Dardon the liberty, 
 we will leave his own imagination to supply the rolling burr 
 which commonly gave such peculiar unction to Andy s 
 speech.* 
 
 SETTIN UP WITH ELDER MCKEAG S PEGGY. 
 
 "Whar ye gawin , Andy?" siz mother, who sat on the 
 hearth a-peelin apples. 
 
 "Why, mommer," siz I, "I m a-thinkin of settin up 
 with Peggy McKe g the night." 
 
 "Ah, sonny/ siz she, "A misdoubt ye ve a pore chanct 
 with yon gial." 
 
 "Wull, mom," siz I, "All A crave s a fair field an no 
 favor. Annyhow A ll try, for you know bravely ^that Peggy 
 McK ag s the likeliest lass in all the settlement!" 
 
 "Ay, Andy, Peggy s a rare well-favored lass, A ll allow," 
 siz she. "But she s been contrairy with ye this tweP- 
 month, an don t seem to care a farden for you. She s no 
 better nor you, for all her puttin on airs. An A wair in 
 your place A wouldn t go the len th o the doour for to 
 pleasure her." 
 
 "What, mommer," siz I, "don t you think she cares jist 
 a weeny bit for me?" 
 
 "Shame a haet!" siz she; "though Ah m sore pained for 
 til say t on your account, honey. But A m feared it s all no 
 good. Ye ve been sure of her nigh a dozen times, off an 
 on; but she s like the Irishman s flea, when ye put your 
 finger on her she isn t there. Give her clane up at wane! , 
 Andy. Letabee for letabee, siz I, an there s as good fish 
 in the say as iver was caught. A misdoubt Peggy s tuck 
 up with that poky numskull, Bill Mackinzie." 
 
 * It may be allowed the author to take the reader into his con 
 fidence and inform him that the chief purpose of Andy s story is 
 to assemble in a brief compass a large number of the current 
 folk words and phrases of the Scotch-Irish speech at that period. 
 
HO THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Well, mom/ siz I, "A ll take ma chanct along o him, 
 and deil take the hin most. Faint heart ne er won fair lady, 
 you know, so here goes! Mebbe after all A ll make the 
 riffle. Who knows?" 
 
 Thereupon havin done the chores, an tanded to the 
 critters, an righted things around the barn, A got on ma 
 Sunday duds, trigged up a bit, slicked ma hair with the 
 reddin comb, an about sundown started acrost the clairin 
 to Elder McK ag s cabin. 
 
 As A drawed nigh the house who should A see but Bill 
 Mackinzie comin cat-a-corner acrost the fields jist fornanst 
 me. He was dressed up to the nine s, an fine he knowed 
 it. "Dawgon him!" thinks I, "the jig s up for this time. 
 A ll have no chanct the night fer to git a word in aidgewise 
 with Peggy." Howiver, A 7 hurried up to the picket gate 
 peart as you pFase, but feelin mighty jubous, for all that. 
 
 "How air you?" siz I, chipper enough, for A minded 
 the sayin that .it s alluz good to be ceevil, as the old woman 
 said when she curtsied to the divil. But in meh heart A 
 was a-thinkin how kin A git shut of that long-legged 
 codger an marvelin if A wouldn t hev to knock the 
 hindsights offn him afore A was done with it. 
 
 "Lollyguin!" siz Bill, startin back, "you baint hyur 
 agin, Andy Burbeck?" 
 
 "Wull, mester sassbox," siz I, feelin my dander risin , 
 "whar am A then, ef A haint hyur? Belike, A ve got a 
 better right nor you to be hyur. Annyhow, ef my prisence 
 mislikes you, you haint no call to go furder, an kin jist take 
 the back trail!" 
 
 "Hold your gab!" siz he, "you beeta hadn t gimme aniry 
 of your impidence or I ll " 
 
 "What ll ye do?" siz I, takin a step for ad an comin 
 clost til him, for A was gittin powerful het up, you sec. 
 "Tech me if you dar!" says I. "You ll have your wark cut 
 out for you, my brave laddie. You dassent do t, bad cess to 
 you! You dassent lay the heft o your finger on me! 
 Somebody ll git hurted ef " 
 
 Jist then the cabin door opened and Elder McK ag 
 stepped out. Both on us wilted at wanct, an turned tor d 
 him sorta sheepish like. 
 
 "What s all this rumtion, lads?" siz he, a-lookin at us 
 with a quizzical cast to his eye. "Come in! you beeta come 
 \ntil the house, an stop your carryin -on out thar," 
 
THE LATIMERS. Ill 
 
 "Good aven, Elder/ siz Bill, kindeh dazed like. An 
 "Good avenin til ye, Elder/ siz I, quite put out an all in a 
 swither, an hardly knowin what 1 sayed. u We wair jist 
 a-comin in, but stopped a minute to pass the time o day." 
 
 A knowed he opined purty clairly what w r as agoin on 
 atween us; tho , when he h ard what A telled him he niver 
 let on. But A suspicioned he was a-chucklin inside, an 
 inayhap wusht we d gone off a bit furder an smashed other 
 to smithereens. Eor the Elder was a widder man, an had 
 nary childer nor Peggy, an he didn t care much to have 
 anny bucks a-takin a shine to her. 
 
 He stood a-lookin at us awhile with his thumbs hitched 
 intil his galluses, and then sayed: "Ay, ay, lads! Alrli 
 uphold ye for that. But it sounded rayther rambunctious- 
 like, for passin the time o day. It was a heap o cacklin 
 for so small an aigg. Howsomiver, walk in an tak a sate." 
 
 In A marched, an Bill a-follerin ; but his legs were so 
 long that he had to jouk his red head as he went inunder 
 the door jamb. The table was set for supper in the middle 
 of the room, an a taller dip was a burnin on t. A big 
 backlog was in the wide chimbley with the flames eatin a 
 right smart chunk out n the heart. The crane swung 
 in ard with the kittle a-sizzin an a-stamein ; an a spider 
 full o bacon a-brilein on the hot coals, an a pile o flannel 
 cakes on a plate jist ready to be sarved. 
 
 But hokey-pokey! all that was nought to Peggy, who 
 stood thar anent the h arth! She had on a smart red an 
 black plaid flannel gownd, span new, an a white apern, an 
 a linen hankercher folded acrost her buzzum, an beaded 
 moccasins on her nate little fut. Her cheeks were like 
 peach blooms in the springtime, an her sleeves rolled up 
 above the elbows, a-showin her well-turned arms. 
 
 My fathers! wairent she the verra pink o parfection! 
 Mother allus wanted me tuh kape company wi Sal Martin, 
 becaze, she sayed, she s better nor she bonny. But gimme 
 Peggy McK ag, siz I, for she s both better an bonny. Sal 
 Martin s not a patchin til her! An thar she stood as purty 
 as a picter, a-grinnin an a-kackelin at us uns, as we 
 traipsed in after her dad, Indian file. 
 
 Now, A d alluz been the bashfulest an awkerdest kind 
 of a gawk when A wint for to see the gials, an A sus 
 picioned that was why Peggy didn t set so much store by 
 me. But seein her thar so all-fired han some, an thinkin 
 
112 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 of me a-losin of her all along o Bill Mackenzie, riled me 
 so s A didn t keer a bawbee what A sayed. A felt like all 
 possessed the whole night, from A come intil the door till 
 A left the cabin. So A yorked off my coonskin cap, an 
 makes my best obe^ eience, an bid Peggy good avenin , 
 an wusht her good health. "Though," siz 1, "th s no need- 
 cessity for that, for ye re the picter of rosy health, an pur- 
 tier nor a posey." 
 
 She wasn t uset til sich compliments from me (no more 
 was A myself, for that matter!), an sort o started, an 
 blushed, an looked quare, an belike a bit miffed, to boot. 
 But hit or miss, siz I to myself, it s now or niver! So A 
 spakes right up agin. 
 
 "Peggy, my dear, mother bid me fer til tell you that 
 she s got that recait from the meenister s wife for makin 
 a black dye out n new mown hay. An ef ye ll jist come 
 over the morrow, she ll show you how to mix it for dyein 
 the Elder s Sunday breeches, as you was inquirin about." 
 
 "A m sure A m much obleeged til her," siz Peggy, with 
 a bit blush a-tippin her two cheeks. "An ? til you tco, 
 Andy," says she, "for a-tellin of me. But hav ye had sup 
 per yit?" 
 
 "Not a haet," siz I; "an ef it wont put ye out too much 
 ye may plaze put ma name in the pot." 
 
 "Sartan," siz she, "an hearty welcome A m sure, ef ye ll 
 take pot luck wi us. Good avenin til ye, Mester Mac- 
 kinzie," siz she, a-turnin to Bill an droppin a curtsey as 
 genteel as rale quality. "Won t ye take a cheer an have a 
 bite an sup?" 
 
 "That A wull, an thankee kindly," siz Bill; an takin 
 up a stool he toted it acrost the room an sat down aside 
 Peggy, as brash as a town beau. But. what manners could 
 you axpec (thinks I) from sech a lunk as that Bill? You 
 can t make a silk purse out of a sow s ear, no how; an it s 
 hard gittin breeks off a Highlander. All the same, how- 
 iver, A noted that Peggy hadn t ast me to take a sate, an 
 A was gittin to feel a lettle huffy about it, when the Elder, 
 seein Peggy had sarved the supper, sayed: "Come, ladj, 
 have a snack! Jist set right down an fall to." 
 
 Now, bein s ated, and Peggy behint a st amin pot o 
 sassafras tay, with crame an maple sugar on one side, an 
 a crock o bubblin mush an the milk piggin on t other, 
 the Elder turns to me an says: "Andy, wull ye do the 
 biddin ?" 
 
THE LATIMERS. 113 
 
 "Axcuse me, Mr. McK ag," siz I, "it ud ill become sich 
 as me to ast a blessin in the prisence of an Elder of the 
 Church. Axcuse me, plaze!" 
 
 Elder MeK ag looked askant at me, as though ruther 
 juberous how to take what A sayed, then turned to Bill, 
 who sat foment me. "Mester Mackinzie," siz he, "wull ye 
 do the biddin , then?" 
 
 Now Bill was a perfesser, though a powerful weak un, 
 leastways in spots; an A reckon he tho t he d a chanct to 
 cotton to the Elder an git on his good side an show off 
 agin me. So he jouked his noddle an shet his eyes, an 
 began: 
 
 "For what we are about to racave," siz he, startin off 
 as peart as a parson. But then, seein he d got onto the 
 wrong trail an started the Piscopal grace, which he 
 knowed ud rile the Elder powerful, he balked an stuttered, 
 an got red as a gum tree after frost. Then hopin he d 
 make out nex time, he struck in agin: "Now I lay me 
 
 good land!" siz he, breakin off short, clane upset 
 
 an all thro other. 
 
 Peggy snickered right out, but A helt in sober as a 
 jedge, more by good luck nor good guidin . Ther was an 
 awful pause. Peggy got redder n a beet, an then whiter n 
 a lily (Good bless her dear heart!) an looked up scaret like 
 intil her father s face. But the old man niver let on, an 
 sayed nary a word savin only "Humph!" an pickin up 
 knife an fork began to sarve the bacon. 
 
 Wull, A didn t envey Bill that releegious axercise! 
 Nor A didn t pity him nuther. You ll sing small now, my 
 larkie, thinks I, an was fairly bustin for a good guffaw, 
 but dastent do t lest the Elder d come down on me like 
 a thousand o brick. Besides, A seed that Peggy, bein 
 kind o sorry for Bill, an thinkin she had hurted his 
 feelin s, was castin about fer til smooth things over a bit, 
 an was mighty perlite til im, an jist sort o gi me the go-by 
 for the rest o the male. 
 
 "Oh, yes," thinks I. "You re keerless enough o my 
 feelin s, but thunderin pertickler about hissen?" 
 
 Supper over, "Come, Peggy," says the Elder solemnly, 
 Le s have warship now." But A noticed that he didn t ax 
 Bill to take the Buk. So Peggy brought the Bible an set 
 it down afore her father, an shoved the taller dip alongside 
 him. But A couldn t listen much, nor pray nuther, as far 
 8 
 
114 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 as that goes, for thinkin that the plaguey gial had sot down 
 clost to Bill, an for watchin him a-castin sheep s eyes at 
 her, whiles, through all the readin . 
 
 "Bonny perfessor that!" thinks I, "a-sparkin at sich a 
 time!" 
 
 Warship done, the Elder lit his pipe an sot down in a 
 corner of the chimbley-place to smoke. Then what does 
 i^eggy do but hurry up with the best cheer an set it down 
 right by her dad, an ast Bill to tak a sate ! He was tickled 
 to death at that to be sure, an sot down as large as a lord 
 an began a long crack wi the Elder. 
 
 Seein how things was a-gawin, my heart sunk most intil 
 my boots; but gittin despert agin, A shuk off the doldrums 
 an spunked up to Peggy an says: 
 
 "Wull, Peggy, seein there s nought else for me to do, 
 A reckon A beeta turn to an help you redd off the table. 
 Men folks is no shucks at tidyin up things, an too many 
 cooks spoil the broth," siz I, lookin hard an glum at Bill. 
 "But willin heart makes light work, an A ll make out for 
 lack o better; so here goes, Peggy, ma dear." 
 
 With that A nabbed a han ful of plates an toted ? em 
 intil the little leanto whar Peggy kep an washed her 
 chainey things. Land o Liberty! All unbeknownst A d 
 fallen onto a streak o good luck! Thar A was in that 
 cuddy all meh lone with Peggy, peekin out of the lettle 
 door at Bill an the Elder argifyin hot an heavy on the 
 Stamp Act an the Sons of Liberty, an havin sich 
 interteenin discoorse that they gave nayther heed nor hap 
 to Peggy an me. That was my las chanct ! Now or niver, 
 thinks I! Go in, Andy, an make a spoon or spile a horn! 
 
 My heart was a-poundin like a churn dasher as A stood 
 thar a-watchin Peggy swash about the plates in the smokin 
 hot water, an lookin sweeter nor a sprig posey. 
 
 "Peggy," siz I at last, leanin over clost to her an 
 sp akin low; "Peggy, A can t stand this anny longer. A 
 love you more n all creation, an " 
 
 "No, no! that won t do!" sings out the Elder, so loud 
 an pat that we both started an turned tor d the door, 
 a-thinkin he was sp akin til us uns. But thank stars! he 
 was a-settin thar cool as a cowcumber, lookin intil the fire 
 an argifyin with Bill, an it was him he was hollerin at, 
 not me. A don t know, an niver shall, A axpec , what pos 
 sessed me to do it, but as Peggy turned back her face from 
 
THE LATIMERS. 115 
 
 the door A jist up and kissed her cheek. A couldn t a 
 helped it ef old Sattan hisself had a bean thar to hender. 
 
 Jiminy! A felt that buss clane down til my toes. But, 
 sakes alive ! thinks I, what hev A done ? A ve spilt the fat 
 intil the fire this time, sartain! Now A ll git my walkin 
 papers, sure as shootin ! 
 
 "Goodness-gracious-me, Andy Burbeck!" siz Peggy, 
 droppin her plate intil the pan. "How dar ye do that?" 
 
 "Peggy," siz I, still kindeh possessed an thinkin A 
 might as wull die for an old sheep as a lamb, "Peggy," siz 
 T, "bein as you wush it, A ll jist show you how A dast to 
 do it." An A up an kissed her agin! 
 
 What did she do? She didn t do nought! But blushed, 
 kn hung her purty face, an sayed "Andy" as low an as 
 swaet as a cooin cushat, an looked down intil the pan, an 
 went on quietly washin the dishes! 
 
 "Peggy, my darlin !" siz I, most wild with hope, but 
 feared lest A might blunder, an nip the rose in the bud; 
 "Peggy, you do love me, A belave. Tell me that you do, 
 Peggy, my love, an A m the proudest an happiest man in 
 the Wistern Survey." 
 
 She looked up askant, an sayed: "Hoosh, Andy; don t 
 spake so loud, plaze. Bill 11 overhear us, an then 
 
 "Drat Bill!" siz I; "spake out, sweetheart, an tell me 
 the good news wi your own swate lips. Do you love me, 
 
 Peggy?" 
 
 "Wull Andy," siz she, slow an solemn, but tinder an 
 arnest like, "A allow that A do!" An she pursed 
 up her red lips jist a lilly-bit, an wull, A rayther reckon 
 A didn t neglec that Providential oppcrtoonity! 
 
 "Ah, Peggy," siz I, lookin over at Bill, who was six 
 good inches taller nor me, an A m no runty, nayther, "it 
 aint alluz the longest pole at knocks the persimmons, is it, 
 darlin ? But what possessed you to favor Bill so an slight 
 me, the night ? Whan ye went^an sot beside him at warship, 
 an than give him the best cheer beside your dad, A tho t 
 it was all up with me." 
 
 "Tut, tut! Andy," siz she, "what ud a happened ef A d 
 a sot you thar? But belike you d wush to swap places 
 now?" siz she, lookin up slyly. 
 
 "You lettle witch!" siz I, givin her another kiss. "A 
 niver dremt ye was sich a sly puss." A don t know axac ly 
 how long them dishes was a-washin ; for A d wiped em, ye 
 
116 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 see, an A niver was extry brisk at that sort o business. 
 .But whan they was done A says: "An now A ve got what 
 A come for,, A ll e en be goin home fer til tell the good 
 news to mother. A kin trust ye with Bill for wan night,, 
 darlin , an he won t be here, A allow, whan A come to set 
 up wi ye the morrow. An we s 11 hev a jollier time then, 
 Peggy, my love, for ye see two s company, but three s a 
 crowd." 
 
 "Wull, Andy," siz she, "A suppose you beeta be goin ; 
 though dearie me! it s a sore night A ll hev on t, A ll be 
 bound! But thank goodness! A ll soon be redd of that poky 
 blatherskite, Bill. But Andy, darlin , do ye love me truly?" 
 siz she, lookin tanderan longin like intil ma face. 
 
 "Deed an double, A do!" siz I. "A ll crost ma breast 
 to that anny day, ma dear. An ef the Goodman spares us, 
 an your dad is agrayable, we s 11 be wedded sure an sartin, 
 Peggy," siz I. 
 
 "Wull, Andy," siz she, "won t you win the clock for me 
 afore you go? She alluz runs down of a Saturday night." 
 Now, the old Dutch clock stood in the ind of the settin 
 room foment the fireplace, an as Bill an the Elder had 
 their backs tor ds us, A jist tuk a kiss for toil atween each 
 weight as A wun em up, an an extra kiss for the fmishin . 
 
 Bad cess til him! Jist then that pesky Bill turned 
 roun an caught us at it! My crackies! how he stared, an 
 glowered, an dropped his chops till his mouth looked like 
 a suller door. Peggy blushed redder n a rose, but she niver 
 flunked, but jist r ached up an gi me a quiet kiss an whis 
 pered "Good-night, darlin , an don t you forgit me. Let 
 Bill glower! We hae nt no cause to be ashamed, an A 
 don t keer a buckie for him." 
 
 So A came forad an shuck han s wi Elder McK ag, 
 an bid him good-night. An feeliii so tiptop, an not 
 wushin to be out with Bill, A tho t A d e en make up with 
 him, seein A was all right with Peggy. So A says, "Good 
 night til ye, Bill!" an helt out my han . 
 
 "My name haent Bill!" says he. "Leastways not to 
 you," siz he, grumpy as a bear an makin no sign. 
 
 A felt like fetchin him a side-wipe for his ill manners, 
 an he desarved a cloutin too. But, laws-ee! w r ho d look 
 for manners in gawky Bill? As lief go to the divil for a 
 dishclout. An what s the use o quarrelin with sich as 
 him, thinks I. Fight a skunk an git a bad smell! Besides, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 117 
 
 he s sore enough fretted already, an they s no use a-pourin 
 water on a drownded rat. He ll be warse afore he s better, 
 A lay a pretty penny. So A spoke out: 
 
 U A11 right, then, jist as you plaze. Good night, 
 WulFem Mester Wull em Schomberg Mackinzie!" siz 1, 
 an left the cabin. 
 
 Mother seein me a-comin home so soon, looked up 
 from her knittin an shuck her head, thinkin all had gone 
 ajee. 
 
 "Wull, sonny," siz she, "Bill run ye out, did he?" 
 
 "Leastways," siz I, puttin on a solemn face, "A left 
 him a-settin up with Peggy an the Elder." 
 
 "Ay, honey, A telled ye so!" siz she. "It s jist as A 
 opined. But ye would threap me down, an " 
 
 "Hold on, mommer," siz I, goin up an kissin her. 
 "Ye re barkin up the wrong tree this time. Peggy s all 
 right, an A m all right, an Bill Mackinzie s badly sacked. 
 That s the long an short of it, an A m chuck full an run - 
 nin over." 
 
 A couldn t hold in no longer, an jist swung loose, an 
 danced a jig around the cabin, whustlin the while "Haste 
 to the Weddin " an "Boy s Wife of Aldevalock!" An dear 
 old mother! she was daft as m self, an fust cried an than 
 laughed, an beat time with her fut an knittin needles, an 
 lilted away in tune with my whustlin as merry as a milkin 
 maid. 
 
 "A don t understan it, Andy," siz she, at last. "Bill s 
 folk all bragged that Peggy an him war to be wedded, an 
 they seemed so sartain an sot up about it." 
 
 "It s lettle differ what Bill s folks say, mommer," siz I. 
 "They ve missed it this time, an a miss is as good as a 
 mile. It s best not to praise a fair day afore avenin ," 
 siz I. 
 
 "True enough, honey," siz she. "But Bill is so well to 
 do, you know, an the Elder is a canny soul, for all his piety; 
 an the neighbors telled me that Bill allowed he was plumb 
 sure of Peggy." 
 
 "Xothin but talk, mother," siz I. "All cry an no wool, 
 as the shoemaker said when he shore the pig. Jlanny a slip 
 twixt cup an lip; an Bill s out on Peggy, though he may 
 coort her dad, an welcome, for all me. Peggy s mine, 
 mother, A tell ye, Peggy s mine! An A m the happiest 
 lad, as she s the bonniest lass in all the landP 
 
118 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 The hearty laughter and applause that greeted Andy s 
 story of his courtship would have satisfied the most exact 
 ing raconteur. Blanche was delighted with the racy Doric 
 of Andy s colloquial, and with the spicy proverbs,, and 
 glimpses into pioneer life. Bounce, who seemed to know 
 instinctively where the good points came in, added his 
 joyous yelpings to the human demonstrations of favor. 
 
 Now the shadows began to deepen in the forest, and 
 Andy commenced his culinary duties, a pleasant service 
 always in open camp, and one which has strong fascinations 
 for observers. Blanche, at least, so found it. It was rare 
 pleasure to see the camp-fire crackle and shoot up, and the 
 blue smoke rise in a straight column through the trees and 
 gradually spread out above their tops, floating off on the 
 gentle zephyr which began to stir. There was strange 
 interest and even beauty in such homely acts as filling the 
 camp kettle with water from the purling rill close by, and 
 hanging it over the fire upon the forked stick that served 
 for a crane. Then came the play of lights and shadows in 
 the woods, as the sunlight slanted in from the west, the 
 gathering of the rosy glow upon the shimmering river as it 
 ran by, and the various sounds of wood life as the evening 
 approached. These and many more delightful novelties 
 won the pleased admiration of the Eastern maid. 
 
 Gen. Neville with his party came in by dusk, well satis 
 fied with the day s hunting. They had met much small 
 game; and a streak of good fortune which greatly pleased 
 the Inspector was the killing of a large brown bear, whose 
 skin Hannibal bore along with him that it might be pre 
 served as a trophy. It was nailed up against the cabin to 
 stretch and dry, where already the skin of the catamount 
 had been fastened that it might be in good shape for 
 Blanche when the trip was ended. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 119 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A RIVER SKIRMISH. 
 
 The next day our party bade a kindly farewell to Fergus 
 Kelly and his family, and resumed their journey down the 
 river. The twenty miles or more to Wheeling were made by 
 one o clock in the afternoon, and as the town came into 
 sight John ventured to speak to Gen. Neville about his 
 plans. Would he leave the boat at Wheeling? And would 
 he venture, as he had proposed, to go up into the village 
 and stop at the tavern? 
 
 Certainly, that was the General s plan. He would ask 
 John to wait with the boat until he had attended to certain 
 matters which required his special care. He would take 
 Blanche with him, for she wished to see the settlement. He 
 hardly thought that the people would molest him. At all 
 events he was an officer of the United States and he would 
 not permit himself to be driven from his duty and his rights 
 by the threats of an ignorant mob. 
 
 "They may be ignorant, sir," responded John, "but they 
 are the real citizens of the settlement, and are honest in 
 the opinion that they are right in this matter of the reve 
 nue, and that we are wrong. That, however, is neither here 
 nor there, it seems to me. Can you convince them of their 
 error by putting yourself in their power. For surely you 
 will see that they have the power." He pointed to a crowd 
 of settlers who were clustered together upon the ridge above 
 the landing, drinking at the Indian Spring, or standing in 
 knots earnestly conversing as they watched the "Fanny s" 
 slow approach. Then he added: "What can you do, sir, 
 against such a company as that?" 
 
 "What can / do?" exclaimed the General, with a pecu 
 liar emphasis upon the first personal pronoun. "Do you 
 mean to intimate that you will leave us to ourselves? But 
 I see how it is; we have no right to expect " 
 
 "Stop sir! You have no right to expect of me more 
 than I promised. While you are on this boat and thus in 
 a measure under my care, you and your fair ward will be 
 protected to the extent of my power. What I may be will 
 ing to do beyond that, I do not say. But, sir, can you 
 
120 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 expect me to be more careful of your own safety and that 
 of your niece than you yourself are? A moment s calm 
 reflection must show you that these men are resolved to 
 seize your person or to do violence of some sort; and the 
 forces at our command will not hinder them, if you put 
 yourself in their power. I know the temper of these men; 
 some of them are desperate; all of them are determined, and 
 they are ten to one against us." 
 
 "Say no more!" said the General. "We will land. Put 
 the boat to shore." 
 
 So be it, then!" said John. 
 
 With a heavy heart, and cheeks pale with excitement, 
 he steered the boat towards the mouth of Wheeling Creek, 
 and laid it alongside the landing, just below old Fort 
 Henry. The crowd on the crert of the bank watched the 
 proceeding with sullen looks. It was Saturday afternoon, 
 a time when the settlers were wont to come in from their 
 plantations to barter the products of their traps and of the 
 chase, and buy such store goods as they required. Most of 
 them were armed, after the custom of the times. 
 
 John bade Andy stand by, ready to push off at any 
 moment, and setting his own pushing-pole where it could 
 be readily seized, took his rifle, stepped on land and quietly 
 surveyed the scene, anxiously awaiting the issue. Gen. 
 Neville, with Blanche on his arm, walked slowly up the 
 landing, Hannibal following carrying the lady s wraps. 
 
 "If you are compelled to come back hastily," John had 
 said in a quiet voice as they passed, "you will find us wait 
 ing here to push off instantly." 
 
 The General stiffly bowed, Blanche shot forth from be 
 neath her hood a grateful glance, and the party moved up 
 the slope. As they drew near the crowd and looked into 
 their sullen, determined faces, an armed mob standing there 
 silent and threatening, the General s heart began to fail 
 him. But the die was cast; it was too late now to retreat; 
 and as Thump McKay, who had apparently assumed the 
 leadership, stepped forth and demanded his surrender, he 
 eaw how serious a mistake he had made. Releasing Blanche s 
 hand from his arm, he committed her to Hannibal, whom 
 he ordered to go quickly back to the boat, and then drawing 
 his pistols faced the crowd. 
 
 "Gentlemen," Le said, "I am here in the service of the 
 United States. I come in the discharge of duty. If you 
 
THE LATIMERS. 121 
 
 interfere with me you do it at your peril, for you invite 
 the heavy hand of the Government against yourselves. I 
 warn you to desist, and call on all good citizens to aid me. 
 Make way, there!" 
 
 The only movement was an extension of the flanks of 
 the crowd, until the General was almost surrounded by a 
 band of fifty or sixty armed men. 
 
 "Gen. Mville," said McKay, "that is all bluff. You 
 know bravely you kin do nothin . We ve made up our 
 minds that we ll have none of your axcise spies an officers 
 here. You ve got men to dale with as knows the r rights 
 an power. You may order your nagurs about, but your 
 hectorin won t pass muster with us. We mane no bodily 
 harm til the lass, an not a hair of her head shall be touched. 
 But we ve got you in our hands an we meanter hold ye 
 ontil we ve done with ye. Jist drop them shootin irons 
 an surrender, an we pledge ye our honor that no bodily 
 harm shall come to ye. But, ef ye pull ary trigger, by the 
 Lord Harry, we ll hang ye higher n Haman !" 
 
 The circle of determined faces closed around him, and 
 for a moment the old soldier stood like a wild beast at bay, 
 almost determined to sell his life as dearly as might be, 
 though he could easily see the hopelessness of his position. 
 The deep silence was broken by a stir on the outer edge of 
 the crowd. An authoritative voice exclaimed: "Make 
 way, men; make way! In the name of the Democratic 
 Association of Washington County I command you* to 
 desist!" 
 
 Thus speaking, David Bradford elbowed a way through 
 the crowd, closely followed by Luke Latimer. The two men 
 had just dismounted from horses that stood on the level of 
 the ridge above, and which Panther was hastily tying to a 
 hitching bar. The nags were wet and steaming with sweat, 
 signs of hard riding over rough roads. 
 
 At Bradford s command the crowd made way, respecting 
 the voice of their recognized leader. The leader of the in 
 cipient revolt and the representative of the Eepublic now 
 stood face to face. They had met before under more fav 
 orable circumstances, for Bradford s occupation as a lawyer 
 had brought him more than once in contact with the In 
 spector. 
 
 "General, this is no time for ceremony," said Bradford. 
 "I need but to remind an old soldier that when a battle s 
 
122 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 lost there s nothing left but surrender or retreat. It is idle 
 just now to press the question whether you are right or 
 wrong. Whatever we think of you personally and of your 
 actions here in the West in the matter of excise duties and 
 you know our opinion pretty well, I reckon we will respect 
 the Government which you represent. Luke Latimer will 
 escort you to the boat; and" lowering his voice and putting 
 his lips close to the General s face, "take my word, sir, 
 you have no time to lose! My power over this crowd holds 
 lightly. Make way there, men, make way!" He waved 
 back the circle on the side towards the river, and the ranks 
 slowly opened. Ere Neville fully realized what had oc 
 curred, Luke had grasped his arm and hurried him down 
 the landing slope. 
 
 John, who had fallen back to the boat when Blanche 
 returned, stood with pole in hand, ready to push off from 
 shore. The General leaped aboard, followed by Luke. John 
 and Andy with vigorous shoves sent the boat well out into 
 the river, and then seizing the sweeps pulled with might 
 and main. 
 
 "We will be safer from stray shots under the lee of the 
 island," said John. "Miss Blanche, please go into the 
 cabin. And General, if you wont go in with her, at least 
 keep out of sight, for these men are desperate enough to 
 pick you off, if you are exposed to their aim, and their shoot 
 ing would endanger us all." The Inspector promptly acted 
 on this good advice, for he was frontiersman enough to 
 know that nothing is gained by useless exposure in a run 
 ning quarrel. 
 
 Meanwhile, the escape of the boat acted upon the mob 
 like a spur to a mettlesome horse. The momentary check 
 which Bradford s authority had given their plans was swept 
 away as they saw their victim escaping. With whoop and 
 halloo they made a rush for the bank, which Bradford tried 
 (or pretended) to stay, but without avail. Half a dozen 
 skiffs and canoes tied at the landing were seized, and in a 
 few moments were filled with excited men and in full swing 
 in pursuit. It was clear to John that the keel boat ran 
 great risk of being overtaken ere it could reach the island 
 which he hoped to gain, and thus be screened on one side 
 at least. 
 
 "I misdoubt we ll have warem work, son," said Luke. 
 "Do you warn em off. We can fight em better at long 
 range, if we must fight at all." 
 
THE LATIMEES. 123 
 
 John turned over his sweep to Hannibal, seized his rifle 
 and hailed the foremost boat. "Neighbors/ said he, "I 
 warn you that we are five determined men, well armed. I 
 beg you to stop. I beseech you, as friends and neighbors, 
 do not compel us to shed blood. But mark you! If you 
 won t stop we ll fire, and your blood be on your own heads!" 
 
 Andy seized his rifle, and came to John s side. Luke 
 stepped into line. The Inspector joined the three, and 
 Featherfoot, who had seized a stray rifle, which she well 
 knew how to use in emergency, took her place behind the 
 bulwark, poised her piece and waited with the others the 
 word of command. Hannibal, who was not lacking in cour 
 age, left the sweep and stood behind his master armed with 
 a musket. 
 
 The assailants were stout-hearted men, but the heat of 
 passion was somewhat spent, and the instinct of self-preser 
 vation asserted itself. They saw that the log bulwarks and 
 cabin walls gave the keel boat folk great advantage in 
 repelling assault, while those in the open skiffs were in 
 point-blank range and with no defense against bullets. 
 They knew the mettle of the men they had to deal with, 
 and that two of them at least w r ere among the surest shots 
 on the frontier. They ceased rowing. One or two skiffs 
 began to back water; and Thump McKay, who was still 
 recognized as a sort of leader, attempted a parley. One of 
 the boats, however, kept straight on. It was a birch canoe, 
 manned by a solitary oarsman, who wore a gray blanket 
 wammus and a coon-skin cap. His face could not be seen as 
 he rowed with back to the keel boat, turning only a side 
 glance to get his direction. 
 
 "Stop!" shouted John, "or I ll shoot!" He drew up his 
 piece, and fairly covered the hardy canoeist, who never 
 theless pushed straight on. 
 
 "Hist!" cried Featherfoot, stepping quickly forward 
 and pushing up John s rifle. "You no see? Panther!" 
 
 John had scarcely lowered his rifle ere the canoe shot 
 to the bulwark and Panther, flinging off cap and coat, 
 leaped upon deck with a satisfied "hugh" and nod of recog 
 nition, and shaking aloft his rifle took his stand in the line 
 of defenders. 
 
 His movements had won the attention of the men in 
 the little squadron of boats, and the diversion served the 
 double purpose of giving their thoughts a new bent and 
 
124 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 bating somewhat the heat of their feelings. It was now 
 clear to them that to carry out their plans would cost the 
 lives of several of their party, a sacrifice which would 
 hardly repay them for any advantage to be got by the In 
 spector s seizure. Backwoodsmen are quick to take in the 
 logic of such a situation, and their familiarity with Indian 
 warfare had given them so much of the savages method 
 and spirit that even though the chances seemed good to 
 capture the keel boat by assault, they thought it better to 
 retire for the present. This they did, not without vigorous 
 demonstrations of disappointment, and loudly voiced 
 threats which were directed as much against John and 
 Luke as against Gen. Neville. 
 
 "Bad cess to ye, for an unked lot!" exclaimed Luke. 
 "Ye shall not be without a chance to put your threats to 
 proof, and try who of us is in the right. Ye wull all be 
 shamed of these doin s yit, or I m fur out in my reck nin ." 
 So saying, he cast loose Panther s canoe, jumped into it, 
 and rowed after the retiring squadron. 
 
 "Surely," exclaimed Blanche, who had watched the pro 
 ceeding from the cabin door, and now came forward to 
 remonstrate; "your father does not mean to venture him 
 self among those dreadful me-n?" 
 
 How did she know that Luke was his father? John 
 could not make that out, for she had never seen him before ; 
 nevertheless, he was pleased at the interest which the maiden 
 took in Luke s welfare. "I am not greatly concerned about 
 father," he answered. "He knows well the men with whom 
 he has to deal. Many of them are old friends and neigh 
 bors, and he will find plenty of sober heads who will stand 
 by him against the wild spirits who came out to attack us. 
 Moreover, father has some sort of official power over the 
 men who made the most trouble, though what it is I cannot 
 say, as I am not associated with them, nor much in sym 
 pathy with their views. However, be the danger what it 
 may, Luke Latimer is well able to take care of himself; and 
 if he were not, it would be idle for us to try to change his 
 mind. Besides, yonder are his horses hitched on the rid*ge 
 of the bank. I know them well, and mother s riding mare 
 "Snowball" is with them. It would be a sore peril indeed 
 that would stay father from caring for his stock. We need 
 not trouble about him. A more important matter is for us 
 to look after you and your uncle, and plan some way of 
 getting you safely away from these tumultuous spirits." 
 
THE LATIMERS. 125 
 
 So saying, he took the tiller, and bidding Andy and 
 Hannibal go to the sweeps, soon laid the keel boat under the 
 northern shore of the island. Little now remains of the 
 original form of this bit of land, which serves as a pier for 
 the railroad bridge that passes from the Ohio shore to the 
 city of Wheeling. But in that early day it was covered 
 with heavy timber, and the bank rose for many feet above 
 the water s edge. As the evening was now falling, a camp- 
 fire was kindled and supper prepared. Panther was set to 
 watch from the summit of the island, and bidden report 
 any threatening movement from the shore. Then after 
 conference, it was agreed to rest where they were dur 
 ing the early part of the evening, and when the moon 
 was fairly above the hills and trees, they would quietly 
 pull out and make as much headway towards Pittsburg as 
 they could. 
 
 Supper passed off with some hilarity, for Andy s good 
 spirits were not to be quenched by a trifling skirmish; and 
 most of the party were so elated at their deliverance from 
 the assaulting boatmen, and by the prospect of escape, that 
 they bubbled over in jests and laughter and merry speech. 
 The Inspector alone was somewhat glum, for he was dis 
 appointed and mortified at his reception in Wheeling, and 
 his enforced retreat. Even more, he was chagrined that he 
 had scorned so cavalierly the young captain s advice, and 
 been compelled by hard facts to acknowledge that his ow^i 
 self-will had brought his party beneath the shadow of what 
 might have been a calamity. However, he composed him 
 self to rest upon the deck, while Blanche retired to sleep, 
 much comforted by the companionship of her Indian 
 friend, Featherfoot. Hannibal, to whom sleep always came 
 as naturally as to dumb beasts, curled himself under the lee 
 of the cabin. 
 
 A little before nine o clock Panther slipped like a shadow 
 across the gang-plank and summoned John, who followed 
 him rapidly to the summit of the island. "See!" said the 
 Indian, pointing out a dark spot on the river that gradually 
 drew nearer. A boat had pushed from the southern shore, 
 and sweeping well around towards the Ohio side, was grad 
 ually approaching the northern bank of the island. A half 
 dozen frontiersmen were seated in the skiff, which was 
 being paddled by two of their number with that silence 
 which white men readily learned from the aborigines, 
 
126 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 and which one may observe even now among the guides 
 and watermen of the Adirondacks. 
 
 "They intend a night attack," said John. "Fools! Do 
 they think us such poor woodsmen as to be taken by sur 
 prise? What shall we do?" 
 
 "Humph!" answered Panther, softly patting his gun- 
 stock. "Canoe six men; keel boat, five We in ambush; 
 they in open skiff. They dead men, sure!" 
 
 "No, no!" John replied. "Not that! unless necessary. 
 Can t we arrange to scare them away?" He watched with 
 a troubled face the noiseless approach of the skiff, whose 
 outlines were growing more distinct. 
 
 "Ah, I have it!" He exchanged a few words with the 
 Indian, who seemed to give unwilling consent, and the two 
 crossed to a point on the northern shore, where a huge rock 
 rose sheer from the waters. The trunk of a large fallen 
 tree jutted over the precipice, whose roots still held to the 
 earth, and the overhanging branches were covered with 
 leaves. 
 
 "The skiff must pass this point," said John. "Watch 
 here behind the tree till I return." He sought the keel 
 boat, put Andy on his guard, with instructions to arouse 
 the General, and soon reappeared carrying two large copper 
 kettles full of water, one in either hand. These vessels 
 formed part of a cargo which some enterprising merchant 
 had shipped to the frontier for use in boiling maple sugar 
 water, and now were part of the Fanny s outfit. Sheltered 
 behind the old tree the two men watched the gradual and 
 noiseless approach of the skiff, which was cautiously pad 
 dled under the jutting shore, and stopped just beneath the 
 spot where John and Panther waited. 
 
 Here a whispered parley was held by the adventurers, 
 who were evidently planning to make a spurt to the keel 
 boat, whose inmates they believed to be asleep, or off their 
 guard. The men then examined the priming of their rifles, 
 and at that moment John lifted one of the kettles, and 
 swashed the contents down upon the group in the bow. 
 The effect was equally startling and amusing. Had a rifle 
 shot been heard in the night silence these hardy backwoods 
 men would not have lost their poise. But here was a new 
 experience, a most gruesome and unnatural mode of assault, 
 never heard of in Indian warfare, or in the wars of white 
 men! As the stream of water swished through the air and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 127 
 
 doused the boatmen, slushing their faces and filling their 
 eyes, thy lost their natural caution, and jumped up and 
 uttered a loud cry. 
 
 The lurch of the skiff and the sudden surprise thor 
 oughly alarmed the men in the stern of the skiff, who, quite 
 off their guard, rose to their feet and were almost unshipped 
 by the rocking and splurging that followed. They instinc 
 tively cocked their rifles, and not knowing whence the 
 assault had come, nor indeed quite apprehending the nature 
 of it, were staring wildly about, peering through the dark 
 ness, when John seized the second kettle, and emptied it 
 upon them. 
 
 As John had given the vessel a slight twirl, the water 
 fairly covered the faces and breasts of the boatmen, and 
 what was more to the purpose, dabbled well the priming 
 pans of their guns. The climax was complete. They 
 joined their fellows in loud cries and curses. All sense of 
 prudence seemed to have gone from the whole crew. Some 
 of them dropped back in the boat, while others seized the 
 oars and began hastily to retreat. 
 
 Panther, issuing from his throat low gurgling grunts 
 intended for laughter, gazed with gratified mien through 
 the leafy branches at the absurd scene beneath him. John, 
 well satisfied, and also assured that the rifles of the men 
 were so thoroughly wet that they were now disarmed, took 
 rifle in hand, and showing himself upon the edge of the 
 rock, called out: 
 
 "Neighbors, had we wished you harm we might have 
 shot everyone of you before you touched the island. That 
 we did not do so ought to show you that we wish you well. 
 If you are wise men you will now go your way; and I pledge 
 you no stray bullets shall follow you. Good-night, and 
 good-bye !" 
 
 Human nature was too strong in some of the frontiers 
 men to accept this chivalrous conduct in the spirit intended 
 by John, and one of them saluted him with an outburst of 
 the strangely-seasoned profanity in vogue on the frontier. 
 
 "Keep cool, Charley!" said John, who recognized the 
 man. Then, struck by the absurd feature of the adventure, 
 he broke into hearty laughter, and added: "There s no use 
 crying over spilt milk, you know!" 
 
 "Keep cool?" echoed Charley, with somewhat mollified 
 but still angry tone. "We re like enough to keep cool for a 
 
128 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 long spell, with your dawgoned sliddery swash a-runnin 
 down our backs an breeches. Spilt milk be derned! I 
 feel s tho ye d spilt half the river in my buzzum. Dang 
 it all!" 
 
 Thump McKay, who was one of the attacking party, 
 had some sense of humor, and also some capacity to appre 
 ciate the generous spirit in which John had dealt with 
 them. The ridiculous position of the party, wet as muskrals 
 and their good rifles disarmed by the swash of John s sugar 
 kettles, struck his fancy; and Charley s grumbling com 
 ments opened the gate of mirthf ulness. He began to smile, 
 then to snicker, and at last a loud roar broke from his sten 
 torian lungs, the infection of which his partners could not 
 resist. Even the profane Charley caught the contagion, 
 and joined at last in the glee. 
 
 "Thank ye, kindly, Cap n Jock!" said Thump at last. 
 "It was mighty ginerous in ye to mind the old proverb not 
 to throw water on a drownded rat. Good night til ye! 
 Give way, lads!" 
 
 John, well pleased at the issue of affairs, laughed 
 heartily from his high vantage ground, and with renewed 
 farewells and expressions of good will, the strange assault 
 ended. The skiff, not silently as it had approached, but 
 with noisy splash, pulled away towards the Virginia shore. 
 
 In another hour the moon began to creep over the hills, 
 and soon a fair light shone upon the river, giving an open 
 course. Without disturbing Blanche, who all this time 
 had been quietly sleeping within the cabin, John sent the 
 men to the poles and sweeps, took the tiller, and turned 
 the boat s bow up stream. His mind was at ease, for he felt 
 that after the night adventure none of the mob would be 
 likely to attack the boat. As the next day was the Sabbath, 
 he well knew that even men banded for such attempts as 
 he had been so fortunate as to thwart, would be held by 
 their own conscience and their leader s strict regard for the 
 sacred day, from attempting open violence. 
 
 When Wheeling was lost to sight, John set Panther 
 upon the southern shore, that he might learn what fortune 
 had befallen Luke Latimer, and report the next day at a 
 rendezvous up stream, or sooner if aid were needed. The 
 Mingo had already told them how Luke had been brought 
 to the rescue, and Bradford with him, much against his will, 
 but under the joint influence of personal fear of Latimer s 
 
THE LATIMERS. 129 
 
 vengeance and of politic wish to save his larger plot from 
 exposure and rupture. 
 
 In due season Panther hailed the keel boat, and gave the 
 good news that the mob had quietly dispersed, much moved 
 thereto by Thump McKay s story of the night adventure; 
 and that Luke was on his way homeward. With light 
 hearts the keel boat party resumed their journey up the 
 river, which was no easy task, for the craft was ill con 
 structed to make headway against a current. There was 
 much hard work with the sweeps and poles; much towing 
 with ropes from the shore when free footing was given; and 
 yet more within the dry bed of the river, which still ran 
 low in its channel. But at last, after several days pleasant 
 voyage, Pittsburg was reached, and the party separated with 
 kind adieus and interchange of good wishes. 
 
 For the first time in his life John felt loath to take the 
 wage of his hard work, though he was vexed at himself for 
 the feeling. "What was Gen. Neville to him? And what 
 was Blanche? A comely maiden, no doubt, with sweet and 
 winsome ways and a strange power to stir his heart and hold 
 his thoughts. But, tush! what nonsense to moon over the 
 matter! A summer holiday acquaintance, pleasant enough, 
 to be sure , and with somewhat lively acompaniments! But 
 there it ended, of course. Let it end! There s serious work 
 before you, young man, and plenty of it." 
 
 As for Blanche, she had many a pleasant tale to tell of 
 her journey down the Ohio and its exciting incidents. She 
 seemed to herself to allow full credit to Captain John, who 
 had been the chief hero of the adventures, but her uncle 
 thought it odd that she should give scant praise to the 
 young keel-boatman who, he averred, was a fine fellow, a 
 rare fellow for one of his rank! Whereat Madam Neville, 
 wiser in certain niceties of women s ways than her lord, 
 inwardly said: "I must look to this! Blanche must be 
 weaned at once from such an outlandish fancy." 
 
130 THE LATIMER3. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 A SACRAMENTAL CAMP. 
 
 Blanche Oldham had come over from the Inspector s to 
 visit another relative, Gen. George Morgan. He was a revo 
 lutionary veteran who had settled within the bounds of Dr. 
 McMillan s parish, at a point now known as Morganza. 
 The October Sacramental Communion drew near, and ser 
 vices were to be held both day and night during the pre 
 paratory season. Thursday was appointed for the "ante- 
 communion fast." It was observed as a most solemn day, 
 hardly less sacred than the Sabbath itself, with abstinence 
 from food and with vigils of prayer. In many a lonely spot 
 in the woods the voice of supplication was heard. Startled 
 birds, squirrels, chipmunks and other beasts stayed their 
 flight, and looking back saw with amazement the spectacle 
 of a human being whose office plainly was not to harm 
 them, but who seemed to speak to some One, alone there in 
 the forest depths. What could they have conjectured 
 within their wee beastie brains? 
 
 Blanche set out for the meeting-house green to attend 
 the ten o clock morning service, accompanied by her Aunt 
 Morgan. Her escort was a young officer of the Fort Pitt 
 garrison, where her relatives, Majors Craig and Kirkpatrick, 
 were also stationed. Lieut. Euel Burd was a Philadelphia 
 gentleman, of comely manners, fine soldierly appearance, a 
 few years older than Blanche, and a most agreeable com 
 panion. His attentions were happily free from officious- 
 ness on the one hand and frigidity on the other, and while 
 courtly, were natural and sincere. He had been much won 
 by Blanche s beauty and sprightly character, and was a fav 
 ored visitor at the Neville mansion. 
 
 The party were mounted ahorseback, and their way lay 
 over country roads and wooded trails along the winding 
 banks of Chartiers Creek. Such a ride on a fine October 
 day is a rare pleasure. A soft haze overhangs the land 
 scape and tints the air. The balmy days are full of sun 
 light, yet not with relaxing warmth. In mountain regions 
 and among the hills, and later in the lowlands also, the 
 evening frost hastens the natural change of chloropbyl and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 131 
 
 cell structure wrought within the fading leaves. Then 
 comes the glory of the year. The sumac bushes are on fire 
 with scarlet. The Virginia creeper, with various hues of 
 green, brown, russet and red glowing on the same vine, en 
 wraps living trees, or stumps and broken trunks, that stand 
 up in the woods like vast and splendid columnar plants. 
 The maples are a mass of yellow foliage. The gum trees 
 glow with bright red. Ground plants and low bushes repeat 
 with endless variety the colors of the forest leaves. 
 
 As our churchgoers rode by the fields they saw the 
 Indian corn standing in rows, every stalk bannered with 
 russet brown blades and darkish silken tassels, while here 
 and there a yellow kernel peeped out from a rent top, like 
 teeth from laughing lips. Again, a farmer with his family 
 and hired man, or mayhap with his negro slaves, would be 
 at work "shucking" the corn. They hurled the ears, as they 
 stripped them from the husks, upon yellow conical heaps 
 that lined the furrows whence also big pumpkins turned up 
 their round golden sides to the sun. From standing corn 
 stalks and fence-posts, from stubble fields and herbage 
 everywhere floated out long streamers cf white gossamer, 
 that dallied with the breeze and flapped and glistened in 
 the sunlight. No wonder that the maiden thought this an 
 ideal time for life in the woods, and for such open-air meet 
 ings as the pioneers were about to hold. 
 
 As the party approached Chartiers Church they were 
 joined by others afoot and ahorreback, some riding double, 
 that is, a woman or child mounted on a pillion behind the 
 man. These turned into the highway from the plantation 
 roads, and formed quite a cavalcade at last. Once a year 
 these sacred assemblages were held, and the Lord s Supper 
 administered. Far and near the tidings went, and attracted 
 those throughout many miles of surrounding country who 
 gave heed to religion, for ministers and churches were few 
 and widely scattered. The ancient manners of the Church 
 of Scotland, as practiced also among Ulster Presbyterians, 
 were those to which the people had been used. As far as 
 might be they carried them out, only limited by conditions 
 imposed by the new country. Hence had originated camp 
 meetings, or four-days meetings, or sacramental camps, 
 by all which titles the assemblages were known. 
 
 It was a novel and interesting sight presented to 
 Blanche as her party moved among the hills to the Char- 
 
132 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 tiers meeting house. The edifice stood well aloft upon a 
 high hill slope. Already a number of campers from a dis 
 tance had settled within the adjoining grove for the four 
 days meeting. They had arranged their wagons in a semi 
 circle facing the green. Some tents also were pitched, and 
 booths of leafy boughs had been builded. Couches were 
 provided for the women and children within the canvas- 
 covered wagon beds, while the men bivouacked under the 
 wagons or in adjacent booths. Eude fireplaces were extem 
 porized, with forked stakes and cross-pieces, and pronged 
 cranes on which to swing iron pots for boiling. Further 
 within the woods the horses were picketed to young trees. 
 
 As the hour for service was near 5 the congregation was 
 already assembled. The people were seated upon logs laid 
 on the ground, or on boards and slabs which rested upon 
 stones and wooden chunks. These rude benches were 
 grouped in blocks, like pews in a church, before and on 
 either flank of the preaching tent. Many of the worship 
 pers, however, had brought with them chairs and stools. 
 The preachers tent was a wooden shed with a raised floor 
 approached by several steps. It was roofed, but open at the 
 sides and in front. It served not only as a platform and 
 sounding board, but to satisfy the people s sense of the dig 
 nity due the clergy, and as a shelter for the officiating min 
 isters. These were three. The first was Dr. McMillan, the 
 local bishop, who presided. He was a tall person, with 
 broad shoulders and heavy frame, strongly inclined to port 
 liness. He had smooth-shaven cheeks after the fashion 
 of the times; a long face with dewlaps to the chin, broad 
 high forehead surmounting a long head, and large eyes with 
 drooping under eyelids. In complexion he was unusually 
 swart, "a black-avised man," as the people phrased it. His 
 countenance had a stern aspect, and to a stranger rather 
 forbidding. His features were prominent and strongly 
 marked, and the face was not an unpleasing one, though 
 it savored less of culture than of masculine strength and 
 sincerity such as became a pioneer preacher. He wore a 
 simple clerical coat, with black buckskin breeches tied at 
 the knees with leathern thongs in lieu of silver buckles. 
 
 The second minister was the Rev. John Patterson, a 
 man of about forty-two, especially noted for his piety, unc 
 tion and marvelous power in prevailing prayer. With these 
 was an aged clergyman, Rev. John Clark. He wore a huge 
 
THE LATIMERS. 133 
 
 white peruke or wig, somewhat, it must be confessed, to the 
 scandal of some of his auditors who thought this fashion 
 savored of vanity. But the sanctity of the venerable man 
 gave tolerance to his adherence to the old custom. The 
 ministers did not wear the Geneva gown, but their garments 
 had something of a clerical cut, or rather of a Quaker 
 fashion, and differed little from those of their people in 
 quality, though they were dyed a blackish color. 
 
 By eleven o clock the people were all gathered, a large 
 audience, far too many to find room within the church. 
 They were seated reverently on the rows of benches, and 
 took eager part in all the services. Dr. McMillan began 
 the public worship by announcing a Psalm from Rouse s 
 version. This was still the favorite, although Watts s 
 Imitations," for alternate use with House, was coming into 
 vogue on the flood tide of the late revival. The Psalm 
 given out, the precentor, who stood upon a little elevated 
 desk immediately in front of the pulpit, proceeded to read 
 a line in a high and rather drawling voice, almost intoning 
 it, indeed. He sounded the last syllable read on a dead 
 level with the first note of the tune which he set for the 
 piece, and thereupon the whole congregation joined with 
 him in singing. Thus, line by line, throughout the whole 
 Psalm the precentor read, and then repeated the same in 
 melody, being followed by the people. 
 
 The whole had a strange effect upon Blanche, as she 
 listened for the first time to this infracted mode of public 
 praise. The deep silence of the woods, broken only by the 
 monotonous intonations of the precentor; then the sudden 
 outburst of song from the throats of the multitude, to be 
 as suddenly checked and succeeded by the same silence, all 
 this issuing out of the open grove, in the bright air of 
 October, deeply moved the young woman. 
 
 The custom of "lining out" was quite universal in those 
 days. It was compelled by the fewness of Psalm books, and 
 opened the only way for the people to take a vocal part in 
 public praise. The fashion became seated in the congrega 
 tions, and continued long after the need for it. Men of 
 sixty now living can remember when even in Eastern Ohio 
 "lining out" was continued in some churches, though cheap 
 printing had supplied plenty of books. At first, but one 
 line was read by the precentor; and it seemed a grave step 
 and a serious breach upon "the good old ways," when two 
 
134 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 consecutive lines were announced. When at last the whole 
 custom was displaced by cursive singing, many good folk 
 felt that they had lost an important ordinance from their 
 spiritual lives, and vigorously protested. The controversy 
 over the respective merits of the a read line" and the "run 
 line" left bitter feeling in many congregations. 
 
 Ever and anon Blanche observed some one rise to his feet, 
 and stand a while in the midst of the sitting congregation. 
 Another and another would follow, so that a dozen or more 
 in various parts of the audience, who seemed to take no 
 heed at all thereof, would be on their feet at once. On 
 inquiry, Blanche learned that this was the manner of the 
 hard-working farmers to keep themselves from falling 
 asleep. So little used were they to rest, save when they lay 
 down at night, that a cessation of labor while seated in 
 meeting soon brought on drowsiness. This they overcame 
 by jumping to their feet and standing still until the spell 
 was broken. 
 
 The morning service being ended, a recess was had 
 until three o clock in the afternoon, when a second preach 
 ing would be held. In the interval luncheon was eaten in 
 the grove by the campers and many neighboring families. 
 Some who lived near by, and those who would not tarry 
 for the after services left the grounds. Meanwhile the 
 pastor and elders met in the church to distribute "tokens" 
 to intending communicants, and give instruction to en 
 quirers. The sacramental token was a bit of flattened lead 
 about one-sixteenth of an inch in thickness, and half an 
 inch square, having stamped in the middle a letter "M," 
 the initial of "Member" or, perhaps, "McMillan." The 
 custom of giving tokens to intending communicants was 
 almost universal at that period, having been brought from 
 the Church of Scotland and its branch in northern Ireland. 
 It is now entirely abandoned, or survives only in some con 
 servative and rustic 1 corner of the land where men hold 
 tenaciously to old ways. 
 
 From the meeting ground the Morgan party took horse 
 and rode to the house of Mrs. George McCormack, which 
 stood on the main street, well up the slope of College Hill. 
 Most of the village houses were open on these sacramental 
 occasions, and a free hospitality dispensed to those who 
 came for occasional service, or were not disposed to camp 
 out. In the language of the country, "the latch string was 
 
THE LATIMERS. 135 
 
 out." Mrs. McCormack was a Scotchwoman, somewhat of 
 an invalid, whose husband, an Ulster man, kept a country 
 store. He had been mixed up with the rebellious risings 
 against the British government whose oppressive measures 
 were opposed by the Presbyterians and Roman Catholics, 
 who, as united Irishmen, in this matter made common 
 cause. Now he was in full cry after the excise law, banded 
 with the most aggressive element. This fact had somewhat 
 strained the relations between his family and the Morgans, 
 whose kinship with Inspector Neville cast their sympathies 
 that way. However, matters were not yet come to the 
 point of open rupture between the men, and the women 
 kept up their kindly intimacy. 
 
 The flower of the McCormack flock was Fanny, a maid 
 a little older that Blanche. She was a comely damsel, 
 whose features were limned with that vigor of character 
 and mind that so often mark women of her race. She was 
 the acknowledged belle of the settlement and was highly 
 esteemed as a noble hearted maid. Young as she was, her 
 voluntary offices were in demand wherever sickness pre 
 vailed. In a section nearly destitute of ready medical aid, 
 the domestic remedies at her command were often of high 
 est value. She had that knack of nursing and of compound 
 ing simple remedies which Nature allots to certain gifted 
 ones. Her cheerful deportment and genial spirits, smiling 
 face and sympathetic manner, wholly free from fussiness, 
 officiousness and pretense, were as good as medicine to sick 
 folk. She was practically the head of the McCormack fam 
 ily, to whom her mother looked in all emergencies. It 
 was her welcome that made the visitors, especially Blanche 
 and her attendant, feel entirely at home. 
 
 The servants were P line and Dave, negro slaves. They 
 were characters in their way fairly representative of a con 
 siderable element of the western population. P line was 
 well skilled in cooking frontier delices, but especially 
 noted for her toothsome and varied cuisine of corn bread, 
 pone cake, Johnny cake or hoe cake, griddle cakes, and the 
 decoction known as "mush." The latter, elsewhere called 
 "hasty pudding" or "stirabout," became a tempting article of 
 food in P line s hands. The dish was served freshly boiled, 
 in curdy mass like porridge. When cold and hardened it 
 was sliced, fried and served with fresh butter or maple 
 molasses, or with maple sugar or fruit sauce, thus forming 
 
136 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 in itself a varied menu. With rare historic fitness the 
 Pennsylvania Scotch-Irish Society has adopted it as their 
 typical ancestral dish, like baked beans to a New Eng- 
 lander, under the title of "Pioneer Porridge." P line had 
 an unusually sweet, clear voice, and could often be heard 
 above the whole congregation when at public worship. As 
 the man Dave was a famous bass singer, with a deep, roll 
 ing and unctuous voice, the two McCormack servants were 
 welcome additions to the religious convocations of the 
 neighborhood, and were wont to sit near the precentor and 
 lead off in the congregational singing. 
 
 The following day Blanche, accompanied by her uncle, 
 who bore her needful belongings in leathern saddle-bags, 
 galloped over to the village, arriving at the McCormacks 
 flushed and in high spirits with the delightful exercise. 
 She had come upon a short visit to Fanny McCormack. 
 After due rest, Gen. Morgan, who had a mind to see Andy s 
 terriers, v/ent over to the Burbeck cabin with Blanche and 
 Fanny, where all were greeted with great cordiality. 
 Bounce and Betty, prinked out with gay neck ribbons, were 
 in high feather, and showed off to fine advantage both in 
 dancing and in the trick of sickness and recovery. Then 
 Mistress Peggy played a game of hide-and-seek with them, 
 and Andy exhibited them in a new trick, greatly to the 
 delight of his visitors. The company broke up well pleased, 
 although Andy was disappointed in one particular. He 
 had made a point to tell John Latimer of the intended visit 
 to his house. He thought the Captain would like to see 
 Miss Blanche and would drop around "sort of onintintional 
 like." But John held aloof, not being minded to thrust 
 himself upon Miss Blanche s notice without her consent. 
 Andy, who for some occult reason was strongly possessed 
 of match-making intermeddling between these two young 
 people, was much vexed. In truth, he was now disposed to 
 think that his wife might be partly right. She had told 
 him the night before, while exchanging matrimonial con 
 fidences ere they fell asleep, that he "beeta mind his own 
 business, for he would be sure to spill the fat intil the fire 
 afore he was done with it. Besides, why need he bother about 
 Blanche Oldham? There was Fanny McCormack, whose 
 little finger was better nor the whole arm of the eastern 
 lassie. Though, to be sure, Miss Blanche was a trim and 
 comely leddie, and true quality; there was no denyin that." 
 
THE LATIMERS. 137 
 
 Gen. Morgan being disposed to walk part of the way 
 homeward, ordered his colored man to meet him with the 
 horse on the high road. Accompanied by Andy, who had 
 a mind to enjoy the distinguished man s conversation, he 
 started down the hill, and so off towards the Morgan house. 
 As they passed a large oak tree on the wayside near a fork 
 of the road, they saw fastened upon the trunk a paper bill, 
 a common way of posting notices in that day. 
 
 "What s this?" asked the General. 
 
 "Some intimation about the camp sarvice, A dar say/ 
 replied Andy. "We beeta cast our eyes over it." Drawing 
 near the General read aloud, with much agitation, the fol 
 lowing notice: 
 
 "To all Good Citizens: 
 
 "You are hereby advised that it has been resolved to 
 take all legal methods to obstruct the operation of the 
 iniquitous and oppressive Excise Law. You are hereby 
 warned to have no fellowship with such as accept offices 
 under it, and to withdraw from them every assistance of 
 whatever sort; to withhold the comforts of life; to refuse 
 to sell or to buy the labor of, or to employ as laborers any 
 and all persons who accept such offices. 
 
 "By Order of the Committee, 
 
 "TOM THE TlXKER." 
 
 "Did you ever hear the like of that?" exclaimed the 
 General indignantly. "It makes an honest man s blood 
 boil, the presumption of these nameless banditti. Who is 
 this Tom the Tinker?" 
 
 "Feint a haet can I tell," said Andy, somewhat warmly. 
 "How should I know more nor your honor?" 
 
 "Do you know Luke Latimer?" the General asked, after 
 a. moment s pause. 
 
 "To be sure A do, an an honester man don t walk the 
 grround. But what of him?" 
 
 "I have heard it whispered about that he is Tom the 
 Tinker; that he inspires all the notices in the Pittsburg 
 Gazette, and these placards on the highways and byways. 
 He is not sufficiently educated to prepare them himself, 
 I learn, but has a clever son who is hand in glove with him 
 in hatching this excise rebellion, and who puts the Tom 
 the Tinker outgivings into shape. Have you heard that?" 
 
138 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Lord save us!" cried Andy, throwing up his hands in 
 amazement. He took off his hat in his angry excitement, 
 and taking from the crown his red bandanna, mopped his 
 face with it and then fairly waved it in indignation. 
 "Be lzebub, the father of lies, niver uttered a bigger whop 
 per nor that. Luke Latimer Tom the Tinker? Dawgont, 
 sirr! A d as lave think of yoursilf bein the chief of the 
 saycrret committee! An John Latimer a-writin Tom the 
 Tinker s scrreeds? A fine pass, that ! It ud be as near the 
 mark to say that St. Paul wrote Paine s Age of R ason, 
 an 7 it ud be quite as r asonable. Wheriver did ye pick up 
 sich rubbish as that, sir?" 
 
 "Why," said Gen. Morgan, hesitating somewhat, "I have 
 heard the rumor several times. A man was telling it to 
 Gen. Neville at his house the other day in my presence " 
 
 "An did Giner l Niville belave it ?" asked Andy hastily. 
 "An did he spake no worrd of contradiction for John 
 Latimer?" 
 
 "Well, no; the General did not believe the rumor, and 
 in fact pished and poo-hooed it a good deal; but " 
 
 "But? The divil take his buts!" interrupted Andy, now 
 fully aflame. "Giner l Niville has good cause to know that 
 there s no truer man nor John Latimer. An in plain truth 
 he owes his life til him, to say nothin of the life of the 
 young lady, his niece; which latter is nothin to John s 
 credit, of coorse, f er anny man as is a man ud do as much 
 for a rale lady like her. But Giner l Niville should a 
 knocked the cullion down, sirr, as made such a charrge. 
 A d a done it out of hand, an he were the gov nor himself, 
 sirr! No one knows better nor the Inspector that John 
 Latimer is clano ferninst the W T huskey B ys an their doin s, 
 an has got manny a rebuff and hot worrd for the same." 
 
 "But his father is one of their leading men, isn t he?" 
 asked Gen. Morgan. 
 
 "True enough, he s agin the axcise, as most of us is, sirr, 
 an as Giner l Niville was himself afore he got to be In 
 spector. An Luke Latimer is apt to be at the front of anny- 
 thing he s in. But what of that? If your father d been 
 a rank Tory, would that ve imp ached your own patriotism 
 and splandid war record? Do ye condimn the childer fer 
 the father s faults? A tell you, sir, the story you h ard 
 an telled me is a wicked slander on both father an son, 
 an espeecially on Master Jock, God bless him!" 
 
THE LATIMERS. 139 
 
 Here the negro came along with the horse. Gen. Mor 
 gan made some polite speech to soothe Andy s ruffled spirit, 
 and with a pleasant "Good-day" rode away. But it was 
 long before Andy s mind cooled down to equilibrium; par 
 ticularly as his indignation was fanned anew as he walked 
 around the camp and saw several more copies of the Tom 
 Tinker placard nailed up in public places. Several times, 
 not being able to contain himself, he whipped off his cap 
 and thrashed his leg therewith, and vented his wrath in 
 the only oath he was known to use: 
 
 "A ll be dawgont! Bad cess til him! Lord, forgie 
 me! An me jist comin forad to the Saycramint. But, 
 gach! It is a dawgont shame. Heth!" 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A NIGHT SCENE IN THE FOKEST. 
 
 At the approach of dusk, Blanche and Fanny accom 
 panied by Andy and Peggy Burbeck. started to the camp 
 ground. At the foot of the village hill they fell in with the 
 Latimers. The young people made a group by themselves, 
 and jogged on over the moonlit road, and along the wind 
 ing path by which worshippers still ascend Sanctuary Hill 
 to Chartiers Church. Blanche, in fine spirits, elated over 
 the novelty of her situation, was remiiided of her Ohio 
 River experiences, and went over them again, telling them 
 to Fanny and chatting gayly with John. As they drew 
 near the meeting green the sound of singing was heard, and 
 the glow of the camp fires, flaring through the trees, was 
 seen. The music was plaintive and sweet. It floated up 
 through the forest on the night air with a strange witchery 
 in Blanche s ears, to whom all this was an unwonted scene. 
 
 Fanny recognized the voices of their servants P line and 
 Dave drifting in now and again over all the rest. The 
 negroes of the settlement had gathered in advance of the 
 hour of service, and were enjoying themselves, as they 
 highly relished, with songs. They sang the old Psalms, 
 wnicri sounded with sufficient quaintness upon their 
 tongues. But they favored "Watts s Imitations," which 
 better suited their livelier religious feelings. The people 
 
140 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 meanwhile were slowly assembling, and as the little knot of 
 Africans, sitting at the side of the preaching stand, sang 
 away heartily and melodiously, the incomers listened with 
 pleasure and sometimes joined in the psalm. 
 
 "Hark!" said Fanny. A stronger wave of song rolled 
 up the slope of the hill on which the churchyard cemetery 
 stands, and which they had now approached. "Do you 
 recognize that song? 77 
 
 "Ay, indade," said Andy. "It s one of thim new-fan 
 gled airs that the Yankee singm -master McKnight brought 
 in with the New England Puritans who settled Marietta. 
 The warse luck til him! A like ma fiddle an jolly songs 
 on a week day; but on the Sawbbath A want no jigs an 
 lilts in the house o God. Gi me then the old twelve saccred 
 tunes o Dahvid, as well as the old Psalms! They were 
 good enough for the fathers, an they re good enough for 
 me. The martyrs sang them in their kirks, an made the 
 wild heathered moors echo with em whan they were driven 
 to the hills in the killin times. They chanted them on the 
 scaffold, an their lips trimbled with thim as their heads 
 dropped offen their necks under the Maiden s Axe in the 
 Edinboro Grassmarket. They re good enough for me, are 
 the old Psalms, an no thanks to McKnight for his ungodly 
 innovations. Ay, A want none of his spic an span new 
 pieces. It s a true sayin in psalmodv that the old is 
 better. ; 
 
 Blanche was surprised to hear such conservative senti 
 ments from her jolly friend, but made no comment. "Pray, 
 what are those twelve tunes you speak of, Andy?" she 
 asked. "I didn t know that any of the music of David had 
 come down to our times." 
 
 "Ah, well, A won t jist say that Dahvid himself, or aven 
 Asaph or Ethan, or anny of the sons of Korah composed 
 Dundee or Stilt, or Martyrs or Elgin, or French or Duke s 
 Tune an the other Twelve Common Tunes. But they ve 
 been sung along with Dahvid s Psalms so long at they re 
 wan flesh, as it were, like man an wife; an it seems saicri- 
 leegous to divorce em." 
 
 "But what is this song that the slaves are singing now, 
 and which you do not seem to like, though it sounds so 
 sweetly in the gathering twilight?" 
 
 "That is one of the few stories that Andy doesn t relish 
 telling," said Fanny. "So I ll e en tell it for him. You 
 
THE LATIMERS. 141 
 
 must know that our churches have always used in public 
 praise the metrical translation of the Psalms known as 
 House s Version/ For a long time they had been sung 
 to twelve tunes which axe quite familiar to all the people, 
 and are held in a sort of reverence as if they were them 
 selves inspired. In the year 1788, a part of the New Eng 
 land expedition that settled Marietta under Col. Putnam, 
 missed the ark built on the Youghiogheny to take them 
 down the Ohio Eiver. They had to stay all winter at 
 Simerall s Ferry within the bounds of the Rev. Mr. Power s 
 congregation. Two of the company were singing-masters, 
 and they introduced some of the new tunes now sung in the 
 East, greatly to the disrelish of many of the people who 
 clung tenaciously to the old ones. 
 
 "Much bad blood was stirred up; and one Sabbath when 
 the precentor at Mingo Creek had started a new tune, a 
 member of the congregation took up the Psalm to one of 
 the old Twelve Common Metres. You may fancy what a 
 discord and confusion followed. One part of the congrega 
 tion sang with the precentor to the new tune. The other, 
 and larger part, sang lustily to the old one. The minister 
 looked on in great distress, quite helpless to stop the un 
 seemly proceeding. There is no telling what might have 
 happened if Col. Cook, an influential elder, had not risen 
 and rebuked the people with a Avarm speech. This shamed 
 them out of their course, and so brought order and peace. 
 
 "The same contention came into our coasts; but the 
 younger folk were for the new tunes, and Mr. McMillan 
 sided with them. The first Sabbath that the precentor 
 started a psalm to one of the new tunes, one of our worthi 
 est elders, a Mr. Glendenning, rose from the elder s bench 
 at the side of the pulpit and left his seat. He walked down 
 the aisle with a slow and solemn steD and with face hard 
 set into an expression of mingled indignation and grief. 
 So he marched to the door and went home, and has never 
 come back. The young people have named the tune which 
 happened to be sung at that time Glendinning s March/ 
 and so it is known among us; although, perhaps, it is not 
 very kind nor indeed reverent, to call a sacred melody by 
 a jocular name of that sort. That s the tune our colored 
 people were singing just now. We were sorry to have Mr. 
 Glendenning leave us in that mood. But most of us believe 
 that an Old Testament psalmody should not be imposed 
 
142 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 upon a New Testament Church, and that there should be 
 larger liberty in the use of tunes." 
 
 "Ahbut," said Andy, taking up the subject with some 
 warmth, "ye beeta remimber that the rale New Tistament 
 Church, the Church of our Lord Jesus an his Apostles, an 
 of all the primitive belavers, niver sang aught but the old 
 Psalms. Indade, they had nought but thim to sing. A m 
 in favor of Apostolical succission in the matter of psawl- 
 mody, annyhow!" 
 
 "Well, Andy, my dear," said Mrs. Burbeck, drifting 
 into the conversation, "bein s ye re so stiff in your relee- 
 gious principles, I m surprised that ye didn t secade along 
 wi the elder. It s a bonny parade ye d made of it, step- 
 pin down the aisle afore all the people, in rare o elder 
 Glindinnin !" 
 
 "Ay," said Andy, "an A d a jaloused his drift sooner, 
 an been a bit nearder the door, A might a done the same." 
 
 "Nearder the door!" exclaimed Mrs. Burbeck. "There 
 was Hither McKibben, who sat not tin feet fram ye! She 
 took up her tistimony, as she calls it, along with her Bible 
 an Psalm book, an shuck it at the bench of elders, the 
 book I mane, not the tistimony, an went a-flyin out of 
 the meetin house after Glindinnin , a-cryin , We ll a be 
 bawck to Bawbylon direckly! Ye might ? a done as well 
 as that, Andy, an your conscience was so tander on the 
 psalmody quistion." 
 
 "Hoot, Peggy, love," Andy responded. "They s no 
 nade of gawin intil that! Ye know well enough that A 
 was wedged in atween you on one side and Mrs. Elder 
 Logan on t other; an ye a-pluckin at ma coat tails, at that, 
 an a-sayin kape still, Andy, an don t make a fool of your- 
 silf ! An warst of all, there right forninst me in the big 
 poolpit sat Parson McMillan a-towerin an a-glowerin , an 
 the great thunderin tones of him beginnin fer til growl 
 all around his chist an booels, an ready for til break forth. 
 The Elder and Mrs. McKibben were a mite too quick for 
 him, for he s rayther slow on the trigger, or they d not SL 
 got out of the kirk athout a followin shot or two, ye may 
 depind on t. My crackies! A d been a sore mishandled 
 traveller an A d jined Glmdinnin s march, that day! Be 
 sides that, my mither larn t me to riverince the Lord s 
 an inted, an A ve too much respict for the meenister, A 
 hope, to whup off in a huff an turn my back on him that 
 
THE LATIMERS. 143 
 
 a-way. More s the pity, Peggy, my dear, that your mither 
 hadn t larnt you to have the same raverence for the clargy; 
 ay, an 7 for your husband too, accordin to the Scriptur con- 
 carnin a wife s duty an obeydience." Mrs. Peggy greeted 
 the sally with a hearty laugh, and there the conversation 
 ended, for the party had come close to the limits of tha 
 camp meeting. 
 
 Blanche could now see the method of lighting up the 
 grounds. At the four corners of the camp and on either 
 side of the preaching tent were "torches," stout posts on 
 which were fastened strong cross-pieces whereon slab floors 
 were laid. On these thick coatings of earth were spread, 
 making elevated hearths on which were placed billets of 
 dried wood and pine knots. These when kindled made a 
 bright high blaze that lit up the grounds, and penetrating 
 into the woods revealed the white tents nd wagon covers, 
 and opened striking vistas of light amid the deep darkness 
 of the forest. The aromatic odor of burning wood per 
 vaded the air, which pleasantly recalled to Blanche the 
 evening camp fires during her river trip. Columns of 
 smoke arose from the fou^ torches, and hung in blue orles 
 and thin vails over the open space, giving to the moon 
 above a weird and misty look. 
 
 Soon the service began. Blanche and her party had 
 seats well upon the outposts of the square, yet every word 
 was distinctly heard. The prayers and psalm announce 
 ments were conducted by Mr. Patterson. An exposition of 
 a psalm by Father Clark followed, and then Mr. McMillan 
 rose to speak. His swart face in the strong light wore a 
 sterner aspect than usual. His manner, which was gener 
 ally marked by a studied plainness, was somewhat hurried 
 and excited. He seemed laboring under suppressed feeling, 
 which to the keen ears of the congregation, who knew his 
 moods, was betrayed by the tones of his voice. They were 
 looking for something unusual, and were not disappointed. 
 
 His text was: "Oh, Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself; 
 but in Me is thy trust." He began in a low out distinct 
 voice, which at first grated harshly on Blanche s ears, but 
 mellowed as the discourse proceeded and he warmed to his 
 work. He opened with a somewhat didactic description 
 of the nature of sin, quoting freely from Scripture and 
 the Westminster Confession and Catechisms. Then he 
 proceeded to the consequences of sin. As he unfolded the 
 
144 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 wrath of God and the danger and doom of the impenitent, 
 his manner became impassioned. His language was clear, 
 earnest and thrilling, though there were no nights of 
 imagination. His huge form trembled with the earnest 
 ness of his address. As he held forffh the divine punish 
 ment of sin, the hush within the assemblage deepened into 
 awesome stillness. The most hardened and irreligious 
 quailed beneath the stately and fervent eloquence. The 
 deep, strong voice vibrated like low thunder through the 
 open air, and echoed from the wooded slope of the eastern 
 hillside beyond the camp. Again, as he became absorbed 
 in his subject, he unconscious^ threw into particular words 
 and phrases a pathos and tenderness that made an admira 
 ble foil to the stern and terrible outflow of his speech, and 
 added to its effect upon feelings and imagination. 
 
 The sermon, rude and massive as its preacher, strongly 
 moved Blanche Oldham, and the effect was deepened by the 
 weird and novel surroundings. The open vault above was 
 spangled with stars that twinkled through the transparent 
 air with undimmed brightness, or glimmered and winked 
 through the puffy vails of smoke. The flickering of the 
 torches, the play of light, and the deep contrasting shad 
 ows upon the people; the preaching tent and the surround 
 ing trees gave weird effect to the scene. This and the 
 strange influences of the night in an open forest, wrought 
 strongly upon the maiden s imagination. 
 
 A feeling of loneliness and terror fell upon her, as she 
 sat intently gazing through the shadows towards the 
 preacher, whose form showed almost lurid in the glare of 
 the pine knot fires on either side of the stand. Quite un 
 conscious of the act, she slowly shrank towards John Lati- 
 mer, who sat next to her. She was awakened from her 
 reverie by feeling her body press against his arm. Then, 
 starting away hastily, with cheeks burning at the thought 
 of what she had done, she cast a startled glance into John s 
 face, -and edging close to Fanny, put her arms about her. 
 
 "Oh, I am frightened! What shall I do?" she whis 
 pered. 
 
 "Be quiet, dear!" said Fanny, softly. "He is done with 
 that part now. Surely you have no need to be concerned 
 about what he has been saying. Who can lay anything 
 to the charge of God s elect ? Have you not chosen Christ, 
 dear? And has He not assured you of His love and pity 
 and full pardon of sin?" 
 
THE LATIMERS. 145 
 
 The maiden spoke softly and with true sympathy , as she 
 pressed her lips to her friend s forehead. But there was a 
 strange twitching at her heart, withal. She had seen the 
 shrinking of Blanche s unconscious form, as though, in 
 her alarm, to get near John s protecting arm, and had 
 noted the eager answer of the young man s eye. "Well; 
 there was naught in such an incident, to be sure! she re 
 flected. Only, John But what was she thinking about? 
 Her thoughts were wandering like the fool s eye, even from 
 the pastor s sacred lesson. God forgive her! She would 
 turn again to the sermon! She drew her arm about 
 Blanche, who nestled closely against her bosom. 
 
 Meanwhile, Dr. McMillan had begun the practical ap 
 plication of his sermon, having wrought his hearers into a 
 frame of mind that might give heed to duty and solemn 
 warnings. He pointed out the sin of unbelief, the deep 
 tap-root of all evil behavior, and its enormity was set forth 
 with fitting vigor. He showed what unsavory fruits had 
 sprung therefrom, as Sabbath desecration, profanity, the 
 neglect of God s House and ordinances, the abounding 
 greed and lust for gear that robbed God of tithes and offer 
 ings. These were set forth in clear and fearless terms, with 
 plain, strong almost rude Saxon speech. There was no 
 mincing matters, for this backwoods bishop, like the mar 
 tyred Anglican bishop Latimer, was wont to "call a spade 
 a spade." 
 
 All these were old-fashioned and familiar sins. The 
 people had heard their pastor descant upon them aforetime, 
 and were somewhat inured thereto. Therefore, the minis 
 terial rebuke and warning were received without apparent 
 sensation, though with due attention and solemnity. Not 
 so, however, the particular sins which followed. Against 
 them the preacher launched forth the whole energy of his 
 nature, and his full vocabulary of pulpit denunciation. 
 The novelty of the attack at once stirred up the audience, 
 who showed those signs of eager interest which one may 
 still observe under like conditions. A fluttering sound, as 
 of a light wind among treetops, moved from bench to 
 bench. Bowed and listless forms sprang suddenly into 
 erect and attentive attitude. Heads nodded or wagged. 
 Faces grew radiant with smiles, or clouded with frowns in 
 approval or disapproval. Ever and anon one would nudge 
 his neighbor, and turn to him with approving glances and 
 10 
 
146 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 nods, as much as to say: "Ah, that is good!" or, "True, 
 true! I endorse it all." Another would change his posi 
 tion, or stir uneasily in his seat, or cast hasty glances about 
 him as though to gauge his fellow worshippers opinions. 
 Another would droop his head upon shoulders, and shoul 
 ders on hips, like a closed opera glass, in an attitude of 
 sullen protest. Indifferent alike to signs of approval or dis 
 approval, the stalwart forest prophet spoke on, the voice 
 of another John, like the baptizer of Judea, crying in the 
 wilderness, "Repent, repent!" This is the substance of 
 what he said: 
 
 He had noted what seemed to him a rapid growth of 
 immoderate drinking, especially among some of the 
 younger men. No doubt this was stimulated by the habits 
 of some of those loose characters, bred in the heats of war 
 and the license of the camp, who were ever wont to drift; 
 to the frontiers of civilization where there is less restraint 
 of law and custom. JSTo doubt, also, the excitements of the 
 times, and the craving for news and discussion thereof that 
 brought men together, had wrought this evil. But however 
 it came, there it was. Men gathered about the still-houses, 
 neglecting farms and families and other duties. They drank 
 and disputed and quarreled, and then drank more to patch 
 up a peace. Thus they were like to fall into vagabondage 
 and drunkenness. 
 
 Now, said the preacher, our people have ever drunk 
 liquors in moderation, as among the good creatures of God 
 to be received with thanksgiving and temperately used. 
 But here as elsewhere the Scripture should be heeded: 
 "Let your moderation be known unto all men." He is no 
 man who cannot control his appetites. He is no Christian 
 man who neglects his duty for convivial drinking. He is 
 an apostate, a reprobate, who allows the love of strong 
 drink to grow into drunkenness. Upon him falls the de 
 nunciation of God s Word: "Who hath woe? who hath 
 sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who 
 hath wounds without a cause? who hath redness of eyes? 
 They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek 
 mixed wine. No drunkard shall enter into the kingdom 
 of Heaven." These texts were so much in sympathy with 
 Dr. McMillan s style, that one might almost have imagined 
 the old Solomonic Preacher of Ecclesiastes, or the rapt 
 Isaiah standing there before him, thundering forth the 
 
THE LATIMEES. 147 
 
 terrible denunciations of Jehovah upon the ancient inebri 
 ates of Judea. 
 
 Then followed words of homely advice and warning to 
 the young people of the flock on the social improprieties of 
 "promiscuous dancing/ and an offensive custom which 
 somehow had crept into the parish, known as "bundling." 
 Thus the preacher came to the climax of his discourse. As 
 he touched upon it a deeper silence fell, and every auditor 
 listened with absorbed attention. He had a heavy con 
 cern upon his mind and a burden at his heart which he 
 must discharge. He had watched with anxious eyes the 
 slow fomenting of the excitement over the excise laws 
 which now agitated and disturbed the community. This 
 he deprecated and condemned. It distracted attention 
 from lawful business and labor, from family duties, from 
 the solemn obligations of religion. His private opinions 
 had not been concealed, but he had thus far withheld him 
 self from public warning and reproof, hoping that the agi 
 tation would die away without serious issue or ill to any. 
 Instead of subsiding, the excitement grew. It threat 
 ened to breed not only local riots but an open outbreak 
 against the general government. Public officers had been 
 threatened and mishandled; private individuals had been 
 thwarted by the abduction of witnesses, and citizens terror 
 ized by secret and open threats. The spirit and methods 
 of the French Eevolution, and its Jacobin and infidel 
 authors, had been inaugurated in this Christian country. 
 The paid agents of France had circulated among them, 
 stirring up ill feeling and opposition to Washington s ad 
 ministration. Secret societies, fashioned after the Jacobin 
 clubs of Paris, had been organized in their peaceful rural 
 community. Armed insurrection threatened to raise its 
 horrid front upon their border, bringing in riot, bloodshed, 
 anarchy, pillage, lawlessness and war. 
 
 He must speak out, though all his people should turn 
 against him. He knew their burdens, and even their 
 wrongs, and if he could relieve them, gladly would he do 
 so, Got wot! But there were lawful ways of redress, peace 
 ful modes of agitation and protest and opposition. Riot and 
 rebellion would never right their wrongs, but would plunge 
 them into deeper waves of trouble. $To relief lay in that 
 direction. In the name of God and peace and duty and 
 their country, he bade them pause and turn back ere it 
 should be too late. 
 
148 THE LAT1MERS. 
 
 God had set him as a watchman for the House of Israel. 
 He dare not hold his peace. If the watchman see the sword 
 come and blow not the trumpet, and the people be not 
 warned; if the sword come and take any person from among 
 them,, his blood will the Lord require at the watchman s 
 hand! 
 
 Here the preacher paused, and stretched out his hands 
 toward the people who sat or stood silent and attentive be 
 fore him. Not a soul moved in the vast throng. The nick 
 ering of the torches could be heard, so deep was the hush 
 upon the open ground. From beneath a belt of striate 
 clouds in the eastern horizon the moon broke forth and 
 poured its light into the open space. It fell upon the 
 preacher s tent, and brought out into sharper outline the 
 strong, tall form of Dr. McMillan, who stood with uplifted 
 arms as in the attitude of petition. From the woods 
 nearby came a whippoorwill s plaintive note. In the inten 
 sity of feeling pervading the audience every one heard it, 
 and more than one afterwards confessed, as did Luke Lati- 
 mer, that "it gave him the creeps to hear it;" for the bird 
 was held as of ill omen, and its whistle believed to portend 
 approaching death. The silence was broken by the preach 
 er s voice. 
 
 "Oh, my people, hear the sound of the trumpet and take 
 warning this day. Remember the doom of misguided Absa 
 lom who stirred up rebellion against his father, the king 
 and the Lord s anointed. Dear to this Eepublic, and as 
 truly anointed of God as was David of old, is the great 
 and good Washington, the Father of his Country. Shall 
 we his children strike at his heart, and at that of our 
 country, the cruel blow of insurrection? God forbid! 1 
 Turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways, for why will ye die, 
 House of Israel?" 
 
 Then followed a warning that .the Sacrament must be 
 denied to those who took part in riotous and rebellious pro 
 ceedings. God had declared that rebellion was as the sin 
 of witchcraft, and the church must so deal with it. The 
 powers that be were ordained of God. They must not be 
 resisted, except when tyranny and ersecution and en 
 throned and legalized lawlessness overwhelmed natural 
 liberty, and made life intolerable. 
 
 A closing psalm was sung, and the whole audience 
 arose, and reverently bowing their heads, received the pas- 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 149 
 
 tor s benediction, which he gave with arms stretched forth 
 and open hands raised above the people. Not the least 
 picturesque feature of the evening service was this solemn, 
 patriarchal act of "pronouncing the blessing/ The deep 
 hush that had fallen was broken by the stir of the great 
 congregation as it slowly dispersed. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A SACRAMENT IX THE WOODS. 
 
 Now began an animated and anxious, even an angry dis 
 cussion of the sermon. Those who were encamped upon 
 the ground gathered in knots, here and there, before tent 
 doors or in the light of torches, in animated discourse. 
 Those who had come from the village and neighboring 
 plantations, wended their way by trails through field and 
 forest, or over bypath and road to the village. As they 
 walked or rode they pressed together in groups, and took 
 up the same burden as their fellow worshippers on the 
 camp ground. The point whose interest absorbed all others 
 was the minister s utterance on the excise agitation. Here 
 and there a voice was raised in approbation, but the over 
 whelming opinion was adverse. The Latimer party re 
 turned by the road, partly for variety of scenery; partly 
 because some of the village folk had joined them, and had 
 fallen into eager converse on the common theme, for which 
 the broader way gave better scope as the groups huddled 
 together. 
 
 "My certie!" said Mrs. Burbeck, "yon was no hummel- 
 corn discoorse, at anny rate! There was not a farmer on his 
 feet through all the earvice; for there was snuff enough in 
 the sarmon to kape folk awake. An what do you think of 
 that, Andy, ma dear? It would be an awkert sitooation if 
 the Doctor would kape you back from the Saycramint for 
 incouragin rebillion." 
 
 "Thankee, ma dear!" said Andy. "That s not likely; 
 an it s a long trail til the onpossible. But ye was iver 
 meetin troubles half way. Now A m not faultin the meen- 
 ister for hevin his own opeenions or spakin out his mind. 
 But A fault him for a-tryin to father all the sins of this 
 
150 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 axcise trouble onto our people. Now, it al ays taks two to 
 mak a quarrel, and ginerally both are in the wrong of it. 
 A would jist like to praich a sarmon on the other side of 
 the quistion, a-showm up the sins of the Gover mint an 
 the axeise officers. A ? d not want for plinty of matter, at 
 laste. Fair play, siz I, an aven in the poolpit it s jist as 
 well to give the divil his due. The Doctor s argyment the 
 daay was as wan sided as a jug handle." 
 
 "Do you hear that now, Luke Latimer?" said Peggy. 
 "Here is my Andy thinks he would like to praich a counter 
 blast on the axcise! Bring hither gown an bands for 
 Andy Burbeck, an 7 let us all be solemn, an hearken to our 
 bonny new parson! An what text would you choice, your 
 riv rence? Mebbe ye d find one in Roomans Thirteenth, 
 somethin about obeyin the powers that be, for axample?" 
 
 "Well, now," said Luke Latimer, not relishing this 
 banter, which touched himself more than Andy, "one 
 might praich a very good discoorse from that chapter you 
 quote, Mrs. Burbeck. Espeecially where we are admonished 
 that the ruler bears the sword for the terror of avil doers 
 an the praise of thim that do well. It s small trouble 
 they d be in these coasts over the axcise if none but avil 
 doers had to suffer, I dar be sworn, now, Andy might man 
 age to praich a fairish sarmon on the subjec of onjust 
 taxation. An a fine text would be oppression maketh a 
 wise man mad. I would raccommind that to Mr. McMillan 
 when he next tries a poleetical praichment. It s not a 
 releegious quistion, as I make it out; an I m not favorable 
 to bringin poleetical subjec s intil the pulpit. We ve all 
 our opeenions of sich matters, an the Doctor has his n. 
 But he can nayther bullyrag us nor threap us down by 
 paradin his own poleetical views in the garb of releegion. 
 I m not over fashous about thim matters, I allow; but an 
 the Doctor ast me, I d a ventured to say that he could ve 
 intertained us with a more agrayable as well as more prof 
 itable subjec for his ante-communion discoorse." 
 
 Would the minister venture on the morrow to "fence 
 the table" against those who had been taking an active 
 part in opposition to the excise laws and officers? That was 
 the question which continually recurred, and quite pushed 
 aside all consideration of the civil and religious principle 
 at issue. As a large and respectable part of the congrega 
 tion were more or less incriminated in sundry offences, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 151 
 
 there was a deep undertow of feeling, which showed in 
 strong currents of protesting and murmuring speech. 
 
 The young folks, little disturbed by the discussion of 
 their seniors, strolled along the road, stopping at times to 
 view the fair scenery. At the forks of the road near the 
 church they lingered long, while Blanche looked south 
 ward and westward at the hills that rolled away, range 
 beyond range, until lost in the distance where the stars in 
 the night horizon touched their wooded tops. Over all, 
 the moonlight laid its silver glory, save where the shadows 
 of the forest trees stretched their pall into the edges of the 
 settlers clearings. A fair prospect this, then and now, 
 whether by day or night. Further down the road the view 
 lay north and east along the sinuous valley of the Chartiers, 
 on whose waters the moonlight quivered where the trees 
 did not embower it. Yonder, two miles away, on the slope 
 of its hill, looking westward and toward the stream, stood 
 the Morgan mansion, its roof aglow with the moon s re 
 flected rays. And there you may see parts of it to-day, if 
 you will; and the spot where the Eevolutionary veteran, 
 the master of Morganza, had his grave made just back of 
 the house. 
 
 Sabbath morning dawned lustrous and soft, with a beauty 
 in air and sky and on the earth and forests seen only in 
 American woodland landscapes in October. The parti 
 colored leaves checkered the wood foliage with yellow, rus 
 set, brown and red. Among the shrubs, the sumac s lance- 
 like leaves flared their bright scarlet points against the 
 green. From every quarter and for miles around, the wor 
 shippers were seen wending their way on horseback and on 
 foot toward the sanctuary on the hill. By ten o clock the 
 rude seats in the grove were filled with a devout congrega 
 tion. Many of the young folk, ay, and their elders too, had 
 walked long journeys barefoot; and, as they neared the 
 meeting ground, stopped and drew on stockings and shoes 
 that thus far they had carried in their hands. They wished 
 to come to the meeting in seemly garb, but leathern foot 
 gear was a heavy charge on their small earnings, and must 
 be sparingly used. 
 
 Within the church the pastor and elders were met "in 
 session" to distribute sacramental tokens to late comers; 
 and out of the door dribbled a thin and ever-narrowing 
 stream of communicants. At length, the last applicant 
 
152 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 had been served. Now the ministers issued from the 
 church, followed by the elders walking two by two, and 
 carrying the vessels containing the sacred elements for the 
 holy feast. Gravely they threaded the path around the 
 churchyard cemetery, towards the camp where the peopie 
 waited in solemn silence. 
 
 In front of the preacher s tent, the soil had been thrown 
 up into a long heap of rectangular shape, looking like the 
 ancient Israelitish altar of earth, upon whose sodded top 
 hewn clapboards were laid, and all overspread with cloths 
 of snowy linen. Hereon the elders laid the flagons and 
 cups, and the patens with their spotless napkins on which 
 lay the sacramental bread. This was in long unleavened 
 rolls whose whiteness was necked with spots of russet 
 brown. 
 
 Down the central aisle and across the open space In 
 front of the communion table had been placed long narrow 
 tables of hewn logs, with rude benches such as served the 
 worshippers for seats set on either side. These tables were 
 covered with linen cloths, all woven and bleached and 
 washed into spotless whiteness, and ironed with loving 
 devoutness, and spread in their due place by the women 
 pioneers themselves. It never occurred to them to think 
 of themselves as such, yet surely these were veritable dea 
 conesses of the Church in the Wilderness. 
 
 In all this there was no aiming at effect and no sus 
 picion of picturesqueness. But the event, so simple, so un 
 affected, was athrob with that truest life of human souls 
 which has lifted man in all ages above the beasts around 
 him religion. The arena thereof was hemmed in by 
 mighty forests and everlasting hills, and roofed by the blue 
 dome of heaven lambent and vital with the light of 
 autumnal days. An eagle slowly soared in rising circles 
 above the worshipping throng. Birds whistled end trilled 
 in the trees, and afar off a wood-dove s mournful cooing 
 was heard. Blanche Oldham was moved with a sense not 
 only of the grandeur, but the beauty of the scene. A true 
 artist, a da Vinci for example, had he stood at her side, 
 would have caught its spirit, and might have wrought 
 another Holy Supper piece for the world to admire. What 
 can our poets and artists be about, that they wander into 
 all lands and ages after themes, while events in American 
 life and history such as these are neglected, and even 
 unknown? 
 
THE LATIMERS. 153 
 
 The day s worship began with a solemn invocation, dur 
 ing which they all reverently stood. Then was sung a 
 psalm, led by the precentor from a narrow desk just in 
 front of the preachers tent, but on a lower level. The 
 Gospel followed, giving an account of the institution of the 
 Lord s Supper, and the authority for observing the same 
 until He come/ Tljis was read by Father Clark, who 
 with touching pathos that melted all hearts, commented 
 upon and pointed out the meaning of the Lord s words. 
 
 Then another psalm, and Dr. McMillan rose to preach 
 the "Action sermon." At this a sigh of relief was heard, 
 especially in the furthest parts of the audience, where were 
 gathered the hottest opponents of the excise, and those 
 most chargeable with overt acts. They had gone there, 
 suspicious to the last that they might be debarred from the 
 Sacrament (though most of them had their tokens), and 
 not caring to be conspicuous in that case. They nudged 
 one another s elbows, and looked to this side and that with 
 well satisfied faces and nodding heads. 
 
 "Ay, we will not be shut out the day!" whispered Luke 
 Latimer to his next neighbor, Col. John Canon. "The 
 Doctor kapes to the Action sarmon, and Mr. Patterson 
 will fence the tables. That manes a sight more liberty in 
 comin for ard, and lower fences for the erring, or I m a 
 long ways oft the trail." 
 
 The people had truly judged. The pastor had not even 
 seriously thought of debarring any on that occasion. His 
 Saturday sermon was a warning blast of the trumpet, that 
 the people might know what awaited them should they per 
 sist in the proscribed w r ay. The one brooding cloud had 
 now passed from the scene, and thenceforth all was serene, 
 and sweet, and full of high and holy pleasure to those forest 
 worshippers of the Father in Heaven and followers of 
 Christ. 
 
 The preacher s subject was the Sodality of the Heavenly 
 Graces: "Now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity, these three, 
 but the greatest of these is Charity." One discouraged 
 soul that heard it, gave his own experience of it as follows: 
 "He first treated of Faith, and when he had done defining 
 and limiting it, I was in a despondent mood, and could not 
 see that I had that grace. Then he took up Hope, and 
 after he had dealt with that fully, I greatly doubted if I 
 had that grace either. Then the Doctor took up Charity, 
 
154 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 which he defined as love to God and love to others. As 
 he went on in his exhibit of that grace, I began to have a 
 bit of comfort, for I felt that I did have that. Then he 
 came to the conclusion of all, and said now, if you can feel 
 in your heart, and perceive by a candid self-examination that 
 you have any one of these graces, you may know that you 
 have all the rest, for they are never alone. Then my heart 
 leaped up, and a holy peace and gladness came to me that 
 I had never known before. Though I had doubted if, as 
 an ungrounded and graceless professor, I might come to 
 the Supper, I now saw the way clear, and went forward 
 with the rest. The pastor s closing words kept coming to 
 me again, and again, and rang up within me the sweetest 
 sentiments. The three sister graces always dwell together. 
 If you have one, you must have the rest, for they are never 
 found alone ! 
 
 The Action sermon was followed by a psalm; and then 
 Mr. Patterson arose for the function known as "fencing the 
 tables." With many ministers of that time this was a tedi 
 ous office, sometimes occupying an hour or more. All the 
 sins forbidden in the Ten Commandments were passed in 
 review, with all the outshoots therefrom detailed in the 
 Shorter Catechism. One profane wit remarked that the 
 preacher never stopped till he had solemnly debarred from 
 the ordinance every one of his people, and himself to boot! 
 But Dr. McMillan was not favorable to undue length in 
 preaching, and had a favorite saying that "he never knew 
 a conversion to be made beyond the hour." Mr. Patterson 
 was of the same opinion; and especially in fencing the 
 tables leaned to mercy s side, and was content with a half 
 hour s address. 
 
 Next was announced a psalm, and the invitation was 
 given to the first table. While the people sang, the fami 
 lies of the ministers and elders, and the older members of 
 the congregation and their families, arose and filed by 
 households into the aisle, and took their places at the long 
 tables, and sat with heads bowed above the board. When 
 the singing ceased, the elders arose from the bench at the 
 side of the preachers tent, and passing along the tables, 
 thrust an open palm before the communicants in turn, who 
 dropped therein their tokens in evidence of right to be at 
 the Sacrament. Meanwhile, the congregation sat in silence, 
 not a sound breaking the stillness but the dull thud of the 
 
THE LATIMEES. 155 
 
 elder s feet as they slowly passed from person to person, 
 and the muffled click of the metal tokens as they fell into 
 the outstretched palms. 
 
 This service done, the elders returned to their places. 
 Then two of them lifted from the vessels containing the 
 bread and wine the cloth that had covered the table during 
 the foregoing service. Next the minister offered the euchar- 
 istic prayer, and set apart the elements from their secular 
 to their sacred use, touching with his hands the patens and 
 cups as he pronounced the words of consecration. This 
 done, the elders stood up before the communion table to 
 receive the bread, and thence dispersed to the various 
 tables, each with a paten in hand. This they placed on the 
 table between the communicants seated on either side, who 
 broke off with their own hands a morsel of bread. Then 
 the elders moved the plate along the cloth to the next, and 
 so on until all were served. The elders who had served 
 their sections, stood in silent waiting at the furthest end 
 of the aisles until their fellows were all done. Then they 
 walked down the aisles together, two by two, and returned 
 the patens to the communion table, a most solemn and 
 impressive procession. Meanwhile, however, the senior 
 elder had given the bread to the ministers also. 
 
 Then Father Clark made an address to the communi 
 cants in administering the cup, which was handed about in 
 the same manner as the bread. After this a psalm was 
 sung, and during the singing those at the table retired, 
 while others took the vacated seats. There was stir and 
 movement in the congregation, of course, during these 
 changes, but no sign of confusion. The utmost decorum 
 and reverence prevailed; and those who did not commune 
 looked on with solemn mien, and no doubt often with seri 
 ous reflections. Thus table after table was served, follow 
 ing the same simple ritual, but with ever-varying incident 
 according to the manner of the officiating clergyman, until 
 the number of empty seats before the sacred board showed 
 that no more remained to come. 
 
 "This will be the last table," said Dr. McMillan. "If 
 there are any others who wish to commune, let them now 
 come forward." 
 
 A few stragglers, timid Faint-hearts, for the most part, 
 who had held back to the last in conflict of hope and fear, 
 now, with nervous haste or hesitating steps, slipped into 
 
156 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 some of the vacant seats, and the last administration pro 
 ceeded. It was late in the afternoon when the service 
 closed, yet were the people not weary. Few left the meet 
 ing save those who were compelled to do so, and they 
 mostly mothers whose children demanded their care. 
 
 It was a scene that Blanche long remembered. She 
 returned home by the hill path, escorted by Lieut. Burd 
 who had come to the Sacrament with Mrs. Morgan, and 
 Fanny McCormack and John Latimer walking close at 
 hand. The solemnities of the service and the beauty of the 
 day wrought in her heart a holy pleasure and quiet, which 
 seemed to the maiden, in the religious fervor of the hour, 
 a foretaste of the Eternal Day and the Marriage Supper of 
 the Lamb. Who would have thought that over these peace 
 ful scenes should soon drift and beat the passions of riot, 
 and the terrors of war and rumors of wars? 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A SHOOTING MATCH AT LEGIONVILLE. 
 
 John Latimer made up a small party to attend the 
 Legionville shooting match. Blanche Oldham, in whose 
 honor the excursion was planned, was eager to accept, pro 
 vided her aunt would go with her to matronize. That duty 
 Mrs. Morgan willingly undertook, for the occasion was a 
 notable one, and would pleasantly break the monotony of 
 frontier life. Legionville was an encampment made for 
 the troops which Gen. Wayne was gathering at tne forks of 
 the Ohio for the South Western expedition against the 
 hostile Indians. When Washington s government deter 
 mined to check the inroads of savages upon the settlers, 
 and vindicate the white warrior s prestige, so far fallen by 
 the unfortunate expeditions of St. Clair and Ilarmer, the 
 hero of Stony Point had been put in command. No man 
 was more popular among both western frontiersmen and 
 eastern soldiers, and there was full confidence in his ability 
 to defeat the Indians. Yet recruiting went on slowly, and 
 Wayne was sorely tried and well nigh disheartened. 
 
 At last, enough of an army had assembled to justify 
 hopes of success. But the surroundings of Pittsburg were 
 
THE LATIMERS. 157 
 
 not favorable to discipline and drill. Wayne chose a site 
 for a camp about twenty miles below the forks of the river, 
 nearby a settlement known as Logtown, which stood upon 
 or near the present site of the town of Economy. Thither 
 he marched his troops and established them in winter 
 quarters. Log huts were built from the forest that cov 
 ered the hills, -and these were laid out in regular streets in 
 good military fashion. The commander named his tempo 
 rary settlement "Legionville," because "The Legion of the 
 United States," as, with a touch of classical affectation he 
 called his army, was there to be trained for service. Well- 
 marked remnants of the camp were to be seen as late as the 
 middle of this century, such as the burned and blackened 
 stones built into chimneys and fireplaces. These, with 
 other debris, enabled one to mark out quite readily the 
 course of the streets and sites of the huts. Even now traces 
 of the alignment of the cabins and trenches may be ob 
 served. 
 
 In order to quicken ambition and to promote the pro 
 ficiency of his recruits in markmanship, Gen. Wayne ap 
 pointed a rifle tournament, or, in the less stately ver 
 nacular, a "Shooting Match." Prizes were offered for the 
 best marksman among the troops, and several lesser prizes 
 for inferior grades of skill. Further, a prize was offered 
 for the best marksman of all comers, troops and pioneers 
 alike, including hunters and scouts. The need for such an 
 expedient to promote skill in rifle practice was far greater 
 than modern folk suppose. Many settlers had small 
 knowledge of firearms. Immigrants from Ulster had no 
 practice in shooting in the old country. Even Eevolu- 
 tionary veterans knew only the musket, and required to be 
 trained to use the rifle after the methods of Indian warfare. 
 The skill in rifle shooting which tradition rightly assigns 
 the frontiersmen, was largely confined to hunters and trap 
 pers who had been born on American soil, and had drifted 
 westward and northward from eastern and southern colo 
 nies. But the Ulstermen were not sluggish pupils. Many 
 of them soon became handy enough with the long and 
 graceful rifled tool that pioneers delighted in. 
 
 Far and wide the news of the match had gone. No 
 tournament of knights ever awakened deeper interest in the 
 days of chivalry than did this trial of skill in that weapon 
 upon which American pioneers depended for food and 
 
158 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 safety. In all seasons it guaranteed to their larder a tooth 
 some supply of the edible game of the forest. Against wild 
 beasts and more savage men, it was their weapon of defense 
 and offence. The crack of the pioneer s rifle was the first 
 herald cry of coming civilization. 
 
 Thus, with eager interest, from all parts of the frontier 
 the settlers thronged to Legionville. They came by boat 
 and canoe, afoot and on horseback, by forest trail and over 
 the rude roadway that the troops had cut from Pittsburg. 
 Among these excursionists was our company from Canons- 
 burg. A pleasant afternoon s ride ahorseback brought them 
 to the hamlet that had grown up around the trading post 
 of the Frenchman Pierre Chartiers, located at the junction 
 with the Ohio River of the stream which still bears the old 
 trader s name. This was the site of the Indian town of 
 King Shingis before the incoming tide of white settlers had 
 bidden the red man move on. The free hospitality of the 
 frontier gave hearty welcome for the night, and it was a 
 merry company that John received on board his keel boat 
 in the early morning. 
 
 At nine o clock the boat touched at the mouth of 
 Legionville Run. That creek flows into the Ohio through 
 a narrow bottomland, then bordered on either side by 
 wooded ridges, and which narrows, as one ascends the run, 
 by a gradual approach of the hills. At a point one-third of 
 a mile from the river where the hills nearly approach, and 
 on the western side of the run, the military city was built. 
 The shooting match was to be held upon the triangular 
 plain that formed the parade ground on which the troops 
 were exercised. The discipline of the camp was for the 
 day relaxed. Friends, settlers, planters, citizens from Pitts- 
 burg, officers from Fort Pitt, hunters in their picturesque 
 garb, a few friendly Indians standing in silent groups, were 
 commingled with the soldiers and officers of the Legion. 
 Flags fluttering from the headquarters tent; horses pick 
 eted in the engirdling forest; leaves already bright with 
 autumn hues, the camp with its streets and log houses and 
 tents showing white against tliB green of the hills, and 
 above all the, crowds of eager and anxious people surround 
 ing the parade ground, made up a unique picture of fron 
 tier life, and as picturesque as novel. 
 
 The morning was spent in the competitive shooting 
 arranged for the troops, and in the general trial at which 
 
THE LATIMERS. 159 
 
 all comers, whether soldier or civilian, gave proof of their 
 skill. Then, after due time for nooning, and a merry 
 lunching hour, the bugle once more summoned to the field. 
 The final decision was now to be made, and the issue had 
 narrowed down to six persons. This fact, together with 
 the wide notoriety of some of those concerned, vastly 
 heightened the popnUr interest. Excitement ran high. 
 Parties, as is wont, were divided more by the line of per 
 sonal or local sympathies than by the merits of the several 
 contestants. Lieut. Burd, of the Fort Pitt garrison, was 
 one of the six, and the army officers and a large portion 
 of the troops adopted him as their special champion, and 
 loudly cheered him as he stepped forth. He wore the 
 undress uniform of an officer of that period, which is dis 
 tinguished by this generation as the "Continental buff 
 and blue." 
 
 John Latimer was the favorite of the settlers through 
 out the whole surrounding region, where he was well 
 known as a skillful waterman and prime shot. Loud cheers 
 greeted him as his name was called by the Adjutant and 
 he took his place beside Lieut. Burd. He wore the uniform 
 coat of the Chartiers Eiflemen, the company of young 
 militiamen of which he was captain, which was a green 
 hunting shirt and cape with orange edging and fringes. 
 His shapely limbs were clad in buckskin wrought into 
 shape by the Pittsburg "Breeches Maker and Skin Dresser" 
 instead of the usual leggings, and in ribbed woolen stock 
 ings, his mother s handiwork. His feet were shod with 
 high moccasins prettily beaded along the outside, the gift 
 of his friend Featherfoot. Pouch and powder horn were 
 slung across his breast by a broad baldric beaded like the 
 moccasins and by the same hand. He wore a soft wool hat 
 cocked up on one side by a silver clasp which held a buck- 
 tail plume. Beneath the hat his long curling chestnut 
 locks freely hung, unmolested by ribbon or queue. 
 
 Then came Eobert McClellan, the famous scout, surg 
 ing forward with long lope into place. He stood leaning 
 upon his rifle with a careless air as if little interested in 
 the issue which, as he justly conceived, was already settled 
 as far as the first premium was concerned. He wore the 
 regulation frontier dress, in pattern quite like John Lati- 
 mer s, but of plainer material and rudely cut. The coat 
 was m,ade from a Government blanket, a fashion which 
 
160 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 was not uncommon at that period, and from which, no 
 doubt, by an easy and natural evolution, have come the 
 parti-colored blanket coats to which the lumbermen of 
 the Northwest are so partial. His breeches and moccasins 
 of deer-skin were fastened with thongs. He had a well- 
 worn pouch and powder horn, and a coon-skin with the 
 long tail of the animal dangling behind to his shoulders. 
 The only approach at ornament was a fringe of otter fur 
 upon his coat and cape, and a beautiful beaded belt which 
 carried his knife and tomahawk. 
 
 The fourth contestant was Morton Sheldon, a young 
 Connecticut pioneer. He was tall, thin, angular, straight 
 as an Indian, and with high cheek bones, black eyes and 
 tawny skin. He was a good example of the type that has 
 led some folk to fancy a resemblance between New England 
 scions of the Puritans, and the aborigines of the soil, a 
 product, they say, of climatic environment. Although 
 only five or six years John Latimer s senior, he had taken 
 part in the closing scenes of the war for Independence. 
 He wore a light blue camelot coat and buff waistcoat, with 
 belt, pouch and powder horn, and moccasins as any other 
 hunter. His gray woolen cap was a cross between the 
 cocked hat, the fashion of the day, and the old-fashioned 
 Puritan peaked hat. The brim was turned up on one side 
 and clasped with a rosette of red, white and blue, which 
 under all circumstances, whether hunting, scouting or visit 
 ing, at home, church or frolic, he insisted on wearing. He 
 was thoroughly trusted by all who knew him, and especially 
 by Gen. Wayne, who had found him an efficient scout. He 
 was well liked by his friends and associates, among whom 
 with equal regard for his steadiness of character and his 
 partiality for the national cockade, he was known as "Old 
 Tricolor." 
 
 Panther, the Mingo scout, was next called, and joined 
 the little circle before the pavilion, his Indian presence and 
 accoutrements adding to the picturesqueness of the group. 
 
 One more name remained, and there was much laughter 
 intermingled with cheers of the crowd as the Adjutant 
 announced it. The person who responded was somewhat 
 below the medium height of men; was clad in the conven 
 tional dress of the western hunter, except that the hunting 
 shirt or tunic was longer than usual, and hung below the 
 knees. The cheeks were swarthy and wide at the high 
 
THE LATIMERS. 161 
 
 cheek bones, the eyes blue, the light brown hair was worn 
 in a long braided queue tied with a bright red ribbon. The 
 coon-skin cap had a tuft of heron feathers fastened upon 
 one side with a broad silver clasp. Long-shanked mocca 
 sins completed the outfit, which, as well as the hunting 
 shirt, were tricked off with beaded ornaments somewhat 
 in the fashion of an Indian squaw, whom, indeed, the figure 
 more resembled than a white hunter. But the easy manner 
 in which the rifle was borne, showing perfect familiarity 
 with the weapon, and the masculine step with which the 
 person strode to the front, showed that no novice in wood 
 craft was there. 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Blanche, as the people continued 
 to shout in a fashion that savored quite as much of merri 
 ment as of approval. 
 
 "Who is he?" echoed Fanny. "Who is she, you should 
 rather say. That is Mad Ann Trotter." 
 
 "What! Is that really a woman?" For better view 
 Blanche rose from the seat near the pavilion front to which 
 the ladies had been assigned by courtesy of General Wayne. 
 The huntress quietly leaned upon her rifle, apparently un 
 disturbed either by the chaff and cheers of the populace, 
 or by the presence of the General and his staff and other 
 prominent people before her. A slight flush darkened her 
 brown skin, and her blue eyes kindled, and then relapsed 
 into that cold and stony seeming which one notes at times 
 in people of Anglo-Saxon blood. Otherwise she stood 
 motionless until the clamor ceased. 
 
 "Pray tell me who is this strange creature?" Blanche 
 asked. "She looks masculine enough to be a scout, no 
 doubt. But it is a pleasant face after all, and not un 
 womanly when one comes to study it. I like it well. 
 Surely she cannot be crazy, as you intimate?" 
 
 Fanny smiled and nodded assent to Blanche s analysis. 
 "I am not sure that she gives any better cause for being 
 called Mad Ann than that she chooses to don this man 
 nish attire, and affects manly sports and actions. But she 
 has the reputation of having an unbalanced mind, and so 
 people let her have her own way. Whether a natural or 
 a fanatic, I cannot tell; but she is harmless enough, and an 
 attractive character, at least to many of us. She loves the 
 woods, is an adept in woodcraft, is a fearless and successful 
 hunter both of game and Indians, and one of the best 
 11 
 
162 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 shots on the frontier. Her story is a sad and indeed 
 romantic one, not uncommon on our border so far as men 
 are concerned, but rarely if ever having one of our own sex 
 as the heroine. Her maiden name I have been told was 
 Hennis. She is English by birth, having emigrated ffom 
 Liverpool with her husband, Richard Trotter, who was a 
 volunteer in Dunmore s War of 1774. He fell fighting at 
 the bloody Indian battle of Point Pleasant, and from that 
 period Ann became possessed with a savage spirit of re 
 venge against the Indians. She forsook her housework, 
 and began practising with the rifle and at throwing the 
 tomahawk. Thence she went into the forests hunting wild 
 game until she became an expert shot. As she grew 
 familiar with the rifle, she would ride about the country 
 to every muster of scouts or hunters. She discarded female 
 attire and, as you see, her common dress differs little in 
 style from that of the ordinary scout. Her rifle is her con 
 stant companion, and she has frequently carried off prizes 
 at shooting matches. But she is not likely to fare so well 
 to-day, for she will be pitted against the best rifles of the 
 border. Most of her time she spends scouring the woods, 
 so that she has become as skilled a forester as any of our 
 best guides. She loves nothing better than to follow an 
 Indian trail, and many is the savage who has fallen before 
 her fatal weapon." 
 
 "See!" exclaimed Blanche. "Something has happened 
 that ill pleases Ann. Look how she flushes up, and pulls 
 down her brows, and glowers at someone in the company 
 before the General. What can be the matter? Ah! there 
 is some trouble among the contestants. Lieutenant Burd 
 is speaking to Gen. Wayne with no good temper, it would 
 seem. Hist! We must hear what is going on." 
 
 "No man wishes to contend with a woman at any time," 
 said Lieut. Burd, "much less at a public tournament. It 
 never occurred to me that any but men would enter the 
 lists, or I should not have been here. I trust your Excel 
 lency will not permit this person to compete with us?" 
 
 "But you made no objection when the lady shot in the 
 general trials," said Wayne. "You should have urged your 
 remonstrances then." 
 
 "True," was the answer. "But I did not think you or 
 any one else took seriously the woman s appearance at that 
 time. I thought it had been tolerated simply for the 
 
THE LATIMERS. 163 
 
 entertainment of the people, and would not have done the 
 Commander the injustice to suppose that so grotesque a 
 figure could be permitted a serious part in the final contest. 
 It would surely detract from the dignity and value of the 
 occasion." 
 
 Gen. Wayne hesitated. The Adjutant fumbled with 
 his papers. The silence was broken by Mad Ann herself, 
 who spoke in a deep but not unmelodious voice and with an 
 accent that showed her English origin. 
 
 "Well, yer honor, didn t you give me an invite to the 
 trial, h as well as the gentleman from the garrison? Just 
 look at your proclamation, if yer honor please, and see h if 
 Ann Trotter asn t as good a right ere as Leftenant Burd. 
 "Ow does it read, Mr. h Adjutant? Know all persons^by 
 these presents, and etcetry. Isn t that it? An if a woman 
 isn t a person, will the gentleman be good enough to say 
 w at she is?" 
 
 There was a ripple of pleased excitement in the com 
 pany at the good point which Ann had made. The Adju 
 tant hurriedly turned up the order proclaiming the shoot 
 ing match and handed it to Gen. Wayne. 
 
 "She has the advantage of us there, Lieutenant," said 
 the Commnader smiling. "Neither man nor men appears 
 in the paper. The call is made out to all persons. I must 
 decide, I think, that this permits Mrs. Ann a lawful place 
 in the trials, though I am free to say I had no thought of 
 her or any other female marksman when I signed the 
 paper." 
 
 "The point seems well taken," said Lieut. Burd. "But 
 some regard ought to be had for the contestants. I dare say 
 others think as I do, that it is not seemly that a woman take 
 an active part in a public shooting match, and is unfitting 
 that men should compete therein with women." 
 
 "Troth," said Ann, in a deep undertone, as though com 
 muning with herself. "The young gentleman disremem- 
 bers that is h own mother was a woman. It s an ill bird 
 that fouls its h own nest!" said she, quoting the old proverb 
 with a peculiar emphasis on the word "bird," and a know 
 ing glance at the Lieutenant. 
 
 This sally was received with much amusement, not so 
 much for its wit, as for the odd seriousness of manner in 
 which it was uttered. Some of the company laughed out 
 right, but others, among whom were Mrs. Neville and Mrs. 
 
164 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Morgan, expressed their decided disapprobation. Gen. 
 Wayne raised his hand to check the rising merriment. 
 Turning to the contestants he said: 
 
 "Gentlemen, I hesitate to decide this case. Lieut. Bur J 
 has appealed it to you, and I am willing that you should 
 decide it. But let it be understood that you must all abide 
 by the decision. You agree? So then it shall be. Lieut. 
 Burd votes against admitting Mrs. Ann to the trial, I sup 
 pose?" 
 
 "I do, most decidedly!" said the Lieutenant. 
 
 "What say you, Mr. Sheldon?" 
 
 "Wall, I dunno as sex s got any thin t do with good 
 shooting one way or nother. Stiddy narves, an a true eye, 
 ar? a trained sight are the main things, I calc late; an ef 
 w r oman s a better man than me in thct partic ler, I dunno s 
 I ought to hender t. Let her shoot, sir, for all me." 
 
 "Panther, what say you?" 
 
 "Indian no send squaw on warpath. Mingo braves 
 shoot game for their families. Let squaw stay in wigwam, 
 mind papoose, cook succotash. Panther says, no!" 
 
 "Ay," muttered Mad Ann, "an plant an oe the corn 
 that goes into the succotash, h as well! By my faith, Mr. 
 Burd, I wish you joy of your fellowship. No doubt it s 
 igh satisfaction to know that your h opinion of a woman 
 h agrees with the savage s." 
 
 Burd flushed. Panther did not even vouchsafe a grunt 
 of disapproval. Gen. Wayne turned to McClellan for his 
 vote. The scout, already as famous on the border as a 
 modern Buffalo Bill, declared he did not care a continental 
 for the matter. That for his part he thought a woman s 
 place was in the cabin and not the forest or field. It "went 
 agin the grain," he freely allowed, "to have a female 
 a-traipsin through the woods with sculpin knife an rifle, 
 an ridin a-straddle " 
 
 "Bobby McClellan," quoth Mrs. Ann, interrupting the 
 scout. "Bad cess to ye for a h ungrateful dog! You were 
 glad enough to ride be ind me, straddle or no straddle, 
 that day on the Tuscarawas w en Ann Trotter with er 
 black geldin carried you h out o reach of the Wyandottes. 
 Deil take me if I iver again give myself the trouble to save 
 that shocky sculp o yourn from the h Injun s knife." 
 
 The scout joined heartily in the laugh which this retort 
 raised, and Gen. Wayne interrupted by querying: "You 
 
THE LATIMERS. 165 
 
 vote with Lieut. Burd and Panther, then? That is three 
 to one, and it seems to settle the matter." 
 
 "Hold on thar, Giner l!" exclaimed the scout. "I 
 haven t so said, by a long shot, nor I don t meanter, nuther. 
 Matron or man, mad or sound witted, I m blessed if I 
 rightly know which she is But I do know she s a brave 
 body with a kind heart, an has been a good friend to me 
 and manny another borderer. So let her shoot, say I." 
 
 "A tie!" exclaimed the General. "This grows quite 
 exciting." He turned laughingly to John. "Now Capt. 
 Latimer, the casting vote is with you. What say you?" 
 
 The young man s face flushed a deep red in the embar 
 rassment of the situation. He felt that all eyes were fixed 
 on him, though his own were scarcely raised from the 
 ground. A deep silence fell upon the circle around the 
 headquarters tent, most of whom were now on their feet. 
 The incident, which seemed trivial at first, had come to 
 have unwonted interest to the company. At last John mas 
 tered his embarrassment, and said: 
 
 "Since the issue must be with me, your Excellency, 
 will you suffer me to give a reason for my vote? If we 
 five men were leaguered in a block house, and set to defend 
 the lives of helpless women and children, would we not 
 heartily welcome the rifle of this woman? In good sooth, 
 we would not scorn it because of her sex. How then, can 
 we in justice refuse to recognize it here? Moreover, it 
 seems to me that as a matter of good policy it would be 
 better to foster than discourage the use of the rifle among 
 the women of our frontier. Their life is a lonely one, and 
 sore exposed to perils which might often be kept from 
 fatal issue were the maids and matrons instructed, like our 
 lads, to handle firearms deftly. As to this trial of skill 
 losing dignity or worth from the competition of this good 
 woman, let me assure you and my friend Lieut. Burd, that 
 you have no reason to be ashamed of Mrs. Trotter. To be 
 sure, folk do call her Mad Ann; but not so much from 
 any lack of wit as for the presence of that quality, made 
 notable in her case because so rare in women, that led his 
 admiring countrymen to dub the leader of the forlorn hope 
 at Stony Point Mad Anthony Wayne. I vote, ay!" 
 
 The modesty of the young man s speech, its manly good 
 sense and chivalry, and the wit and skillful diplomacy of 
 his closing words, so won upon the hearts of the company 
 
166 THE LATIMEBS. 
 
 that they gave forth open applause. No one clapped hands 
 more heartily than Blanche Oldham and Fanny McCor- 
 mack. Lieut. Burd, who was a true gentleman in both 
 heart and manners, howed to the Commander, and lifting 
 his chapeau gracefully to Ann Trotter courteously wished 
 her good luck. 
 
 " Thank e for your courtesy/ quoth Mad Ann. "I 11 
 not begrudge you a like wish. But h it s my opinion, after 
 all, that you ll be a winged bird afore the shootin s h over, 
 though it ll not be from a woman s rifle, I suspect. An 
 that 11 be a bit of comfort in your honor s disappointment, 
 no doubt." 
 
 An inkling of the discussion around the headquarters 
 tent had in the meantime reached the crowd of troops and 
 spectators. The gist of the matter was fairly understood, 
 though the details were not known. This added to the 
 interest which frontier people always take in trials of 
 athletic skill. Therefore as the contestants, marshalled 
 by Mr. Adjutant McDowell as master of ceremonies, moved 
 forward to the firing point, they were noisily greeted, for 
 the folk were highly content to see the contest under way. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HOW FRONTIER RIFLEMEN SHOWED THEIR SKILL. 
 
 The test of skill began with the practice known as driv 
 ing the nail. Fifty paces were measured off, and hand- 
 wrought nails (for the machine-made articles were not yet 
 come in) were set fairly in a broad slab erected at the butts. 
 In the trial of skill Mad Ann and Sheldon clipped the nail. 
 Burd and Panther bent it. Latimer partly drove it, and 
 thereby won a round of applause, chiefly from the set 
 tlers, led off by a group of enthusiastic friends from Wash 
 ington County, headed by Andy Burbeck, who had taken 
 their stand at a point quite near the butts, whence they 
 could easily and quickly observe the results of the shooting. 
 
 "Thar s no use a-wastin iron," said McClellan, as he 
 stepped to the firing point, and drawing a bead upon the 
 nail just struck by John, fired and drove it fairly home, 
 a feat which vastly pleased the spectators. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 167 
 
 The next course was popularly known as "snuffing the 
 candle/ wherein the point of merit lay in striking off with 
 a bullet the charred wick of a tallow candle without 
 quenching the light. The test was made at forty paces, and 
 as a fair breeze was going which drove the flame to and fro, 
 and to give the marksmen the benefit of a darkened back 
 ground for their target, an empty barrel was raised upon 
 stakes, and therein the burning tallow dip was placed. 
 This hindered the spectators on either side from noting 
 the success of the several shots, but the Sergeant who kept 
 the score and made faithful record, gave announcement 
 after every firing. 
 
 All being ready, the first round began, Mrs. Ann 
 taking the lead and sending her bullet through the flame 
 above the wick. Lieut. Burd who followed, struck the 
 candle well below the flame and quite drove it to the barrel 
 head. Latimer came next with a better shot, but not suc 
 cessful, for he cut the wick just balow the snuff, thus 
 quenching the light, though not upsetting the candle. 
 Mort. Sheldon and Panther clipped the edge of the candle, 
 twirling the same about but not extinguishing the light. 
 McClellan paused but a moment before firing; there was a 
 quick pulsation of the flame, no other visible token of the 
 shot, but the Sergeant announced tnat the candle had been 
 fairly snuffed. 
 
 Sheldon led off on the second round with a shot that 
 cut through the flame. Lieut. Burd followed, much to the 
 dissatisfaction of Mad Ann, who grumbled that he would 
 have the advantage of the long snuff which had settled by 
 reason of Sheldon s failure to disturb the candle. Never 
 theless, the marksman did not score a success, although 
 he made a good shot, cutting the wick but quenching the 
 light, as the bullet passed a mite too low. 
 
 John Latimer chose from his pouch a well-rounded 
 bullet, placed it in the hollow of his hand and fairly cov 
 ered it with powder. Then from a little box in the butt of 
 the rifle he selected a linen patch, and touching it with a 
 bit of grease in the corner of the box, rammed the bullet 
 home and fired. There was a slight flicker in the flame but 
 the candle seemed untouched. 
 
 "A miss, a miss!" cried some of the officers around the 
 headquarters tent, who could observe the result from their 
 position, and were so strongly enlisted for their comrade 
 
168 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 that their courtesy was quite carried away by their parti 
 ality. The troopers nearby caught up the cry, and fancy 
 ing that the victory rested with their favorite, cheered him 
 lustily. But now the Sergeant at the butts raised his hand, 
 and as silence fell, announced that the marksman had made 
 a clean snuff, and the best shot as yet scored. 
 
 "Best not cry afore you re hurt, gintlemen," exclaimed 
 a voice which John recognized as Andy Burbeck s, who 
 thereupon led off three stirring cheers for "Captain Jock," 
 in which the most part of tSe settlers joined vociferously, 
 and which at least two ladies at the General s pavilion 
 encouraged by waving of handkerchiefs. McClellan closed 
 the series by a clean snuff, and when this had been an 
 nounced, exclaimed: "Hold a moment, Sergeant! Set the 
 candle back and give me the favor of an extra shot/ 7 
 
 The Adjutant giving assent, the Sergeant replaced the 
 candle, and McClellan charged his piece, choosing the bullet 
 with more attention than usual, and giving a little more 
 care to his aim. As the smoke rolled away, he rested on his 
 piece while the Sergeant held the still burning candle aloft 
 and announced "a double snuff." The scout had aimed 
 so successfully that the tip of the wick had just been 
 touched, carrying away the small amount of charred matter 
 that survived the first shot,- 
 
 The next two contests were of skill in running shots, 
 and as these required more action, and had the seeming of 
 good markmanship even beyond the facts thereof, and 
 were altogether more sensational in manner and results, 
 the popular interest was correspondingly increased. A 
 squad of soldiers hurried into the arena and fixed in a row 
 six slabs about the average height of a man. Upon the 
 top of each was placed a rudely rounded block the size of 
 a man s head; and upon one stick near the middle of the 
 group was nailed a white heart-shaped target about the 
 bigness of one s hand. To add to the grotesqueness of the 
 whole, with a view to popular effect, a stick was lashed 
 upon each side of every slab, reaching out therefrom like 
 human arms. Two hundred yards from the firing point a 
 Government wagon was placed, and the rules of the match 
 required that every marksman in turn should start there 
 from, and while passing before the target at a distance of 
 fifty yards, in full run, should deliver a shot at one of the 
 blocks. Having fired, he must pass around the wagon to 
 
THE LATIMERS. 169 
 
 a tree hard by, reload, and returning on the run, fire at the 
 white heart target at forty paces. A record of the time 
 consumed in the course was taken, as well as of the accuracy 
 of the shooting. 
 
 McClellan led upon this round, and having driven a bul 
 let into the centre of the block and got back to the wagon, 
 disdained to pass around it, but leapt quite over it, cover 
 and all, though it stood eight feet and a half high, and 
 without apparent interruption of speed, got behind the tree 
 and began to reload. The populace broke forth into a frenzy 
 of cheers at the flying leap, amidst which the nimble scout 
 returned, and delivered his bullet into the very centre of 
 the heart-shaped target. Such an achievement as this 
 would have discouraged those who were to follow, had not 
 all parties well understood beforehand that Kobert McClel 
 lan would be only nominally in the competition, and that 
 the real conflict would be between the others. Therefore 
 the remaining contestants, without chagrin, and with good 
 humor turned to their own work. 
 
 As for the people, though they well knew that nothing 
 would follow in point of excellence which would compare 
 with what they had seen, yet their interest was in no wise 
 abated. Men are so constituted that a competitive display 
 of merit always awakens a higher concern than the con 
 templation of merit in the abstract. A race against time, 
 though done with higher speed, does not quicken the heart 
 as a trial of mettle between inferior creatures struggling 
 side by side. The love of competitive games, races, sports, 
 is in our blood. It were folly to try to obliterate this ethnic 
 trait, so especially strong in young hearts. The way of wis 
 dom is to suffer its normal outlet, and to give it true direc 
 tion, that it may tend to manliness of character and 
 virility of body. What reason is there that the spirit of an 
 cient chivalry, its unselfishness, its courtesy, its fairness, 
 courage and strength, should not dominate our nine 
 teenth century sports, and these take on therewith all the 
 finer tone of kindness and humanity which our era appre 
 hends? 
 
 First came Mort. Sheldon to the firing point, and 
 squarely hit the block that crowned the stick assigned to 
 him. Back he returned with long swinging lope, covering 
 the ground rapidly, and on the return lodged his bullet just 
 short of the edge of the white heart. His time record 
 
170 
 
 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 overpassed by two seconds that of McClellan himself, and 
 won him well-deserved applause. There were few who 
 could pass the long and supple-legged Yankee in a simple 
 trial of speed in running, a fact which had won him the 
 Indian name Long Loup. Next followed Panther, who 
 plumped his block fairly enough, but clipped the edge of 
 the central stick with his bullet. However, he made a 
 record of time five seconds shorter than Sheldon, a feat that 
 also won applause, which even the strong frontier preju 
 dices against Indians could not hinder from being hearty. 
 Much to the surprise and disappointment of many, Mad 
 Ann declined to take part in the last two trials. She 
 shouldered her rifle and walked off the parade ground, amid 
 the good-natured and most cordial cheers of the spec 
 tators, which had lost the tone of merriment and chaffing 
 that had marked her first appearance. 
 
 The two chief contestants for the second prize now 
 remained, and Lieut. Burd moved toward the starting 
 point at th,e wagon amidst the fixed attention of the 
 assembly. His agile form swept by the target at high speed, 
 the bullet entering but little short of the centre. Back to 
 the starting point; once more before the target; and the 
 Sergeant announced that he had clipped the edge of the 
 white heart and had equalled McClellan in time. 
 
 "Bravo, bravo!" cried the troopers, who shouted again 
 and again at the masterful shooting, as Lieut. Burd, think 
 ing his work now over for this round, crossed the field to 
 the pavilion where he was greeted by waving handker 
 chiefs and clapping hands. 
 
 "Bravo, indeed!" cried Andy Burbeck from the midst 
 of his coterie of settlers. "We 11 begrudge no man w r ell 
 arned laurels; but jist wait, if ye plaze, ontil Cap n Latimer 
 delivers his shot/ 
 
 "Tut, Andy!" cried Corporal Meldrum, a sturdy Scotch 
 man hard by, who knew the man well enough to venture 
 in friendly chaff. "Let that fly stick to the wall, wull ye? 
 Yer Captain Jock can t beat that record, I ll be bound." 
 
 "I ll lay you ten to one," Andy began, removing his 
 cap and passing his ruddy fingers through his stubble of 
 red hair, "that Cap n John But further speech was 
 stopped by his wife, who thrust her hand over his mouth, 
 and laughingly bade him bet his small coin first, and to 
 keep still, for Mr. John was already at the wagon and about 
 to start. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 171 
 
 "The score! The score!" resounded from every side, 
 when John s two shots had been fired, so keen was the 
 anxiety to know the result. But the Sergeant gave no 
 response. 
 
 "The score! The score!" cried Andy Burbeck, seconded 
 by his friends, and muttered aside: "What diviltry is 
 agoin now? Surely they re not cajiootin to euchre Cap n 
 Jock out of his rights ?" 
 
 "Hoosh, Andy," retorted his wife soothingly. "Don t 
 mintion it. How dar ye suspict the honor of sich an 
 officer as Adjutant McDowell!" 
 
 Meanwhile the Adjutant carefully measured the targets 
 with his pocket rule, once and again, with a coolness that 
 chafed the waiting observers. Then followed a comparison 
 of time records and without any announcement the Ser 
 geant was sent to the pavilion to make verbal report to Gen. 
 Wayne. 
 
 "What can the matter be?" cried Mrs. Peggy. "I m 
 fairly a-dyin to know the score. Why do they kape it 
 back?" 
 
 "I suspec ," answered Luke Latimer, who was an eager 
 spectator of the scene, "they don t know much better nor 
 yourself, Peggy. I fancy it s nip an tuck wi the two men." 
 Luke Latimer was right. The Sergeant returned to the 
 butts, and after reporting to the Adjutant, announced that 
 the record showed an exact tie both in the time of the runs 
 and the nearness of the shots. 
 
 This was a rare incident, indeed. In all border experi 
 ences of shooting matches such an event had never before 
 been known. Of course there was nothing for it but a new 
 round, and Lieut. Burd returned to the firing point fol 
 lowed by a volley of "Good luck!" wishes from his comrades 
 and lady friends. As he rejoined John, the two young men 
 saluted, and while they stood pleasantly chatting, awaiting 
 further orders, they challenged the admiration of all Le- 
 holders, many of whom agreed that it would be hard to 
 match them, far or near, for stalwart manly grace and 
 vigor. 
 
 Now came a messenger from the pavilion saying that it 
 was Gen. Wayne s pleasure that the contestants should 
 make trials together instead of separately. This method, 
 though it had some disadvantages, certainly gave fresh 
 zest to the conflict, and added to the popular interest 
 
172 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 therein. After certain arrangements had been made, need 
 ful to prevent collision or interference between the two 
 men, which might give ground for disputing the results, 
 Latimer and Burd took post and awaited the signal to 
 start. 
 
 "One two three, and go!" cried the Adjutant, and 
 the two competitors started at high speed. Shoulder to 
 shoulder they ran, across the open area of the parade 
 ground, for at least half the distance, when Lieut. Burd 
 gradually led the race, coming first to the firing point and 
 delivering his shot a fraction of a minute before Latimer. 
 Thereat, his partisans, unable to control their feelings, 
 raised a mighty shout and cheered on their favorite with 
 cries of "Bravo!" "Good, good!" "Go it!" and the like. 
 
 "See yon, Andy," exclaimed Corporal Meldrum, his 
 face aglow with glee. "Your mon s beat for sartain. Our 
 Lef tenant s i the lead and 11 keep it!" 
 
 "Best not halloo afore the death, Corporal," retorted 
 Andy. "Cluckin time s aye canty time, they say. But you 
 ve clucked afore the eggs are laid, mind ye!" For all that, 
 the honest fellow betrayed his vexation by an anxious face, 
 as he stood with neck eagerly craned to follow the swift 
 flying athletes, ever and anon venting a yell of encourage 
 ment to his favorite who, meantime, neither heard nor 
 heeded, but strained forward with mighty leaps and over 
 took his rival just at the appointed goal. The two disap 
 peared behind the covered wagon, one on either side, at 
 the same moment. 
 
 The whole assembly was held in silence from intensity 
 of emotion during the brief interval in which the marks 
 men were charging their pieces. When Capt. Latimer, 
 having first finished, bounded into view, and with trailed 
 rifle headed for the firing point several yards in advance 
 of Lieut. Burd, the settlers, seeing their time had now 
 come, lifted up their voices in a shout that filled the air 
 and awakened echoes among the neighboring hills. 
 
 "Whar s your mon now, Corporal ?" cried Andy, carried 
 away with joy and pride, and swinging his hands in rapid 
 oscillation through his hair. "Ha, ha! Your eggs weren t 
 worth all the cacklin , this time! Ah, mon, there s manny 
 a slip twixt cup and lip! Do ye mind that, now?" 
 
 It was the trooper s turn to show chagrin; but as the 
 runners came to the boundary, and two shots rang in closa 
 
THE LATIMERS. 173 
 
 -t 
 
 sequence,, and the contestants halted and rested on their 
 rifles, he held up his courage by remarking: "Juist mind 
 your own advice, Andy, an don t crow afore you re out o 
 the woods. Good marksmansheep s no juist a matter o 
 lang legs. Your Captain Jock s na doot a bonny land 
 louper, but that s no the main thing. Wait intil you hear 
 the Adjutant s report of the shootin afore you cry the 
 victory." 
 
 But the Adjutant s report did not change the result, 
 for the Sergeant announced that while both marksmen 
 had made equally good shots at the top blocks, Capt. 
 Latimer s bullet at the second shot had entered the white 
 heart, while Lieut. Burd s had clipped the outer edge, thus 
 giving the former a better score. 
 
 This set the cheers agoing once more, and now the 
 officers and troops, touched with the beat and stir of the 
 environing joy, gave sympathetic response by joining in 
 the applause; for although one other trial remained, it 
 plain that Latimer s claim to the second place and prize 
 could not be set aside by any turn of fortune. Indeed, 
 Lieut. Burd had already given the winner his hand and 
 generous congratulations. 
 
 "I could have wished that fortune had favored me," 
 said he, "not only for my own sake, but for the- credit of 
 my corps. But since I have lost, I am truly glad that the 
 laurels have fallen to one who is every way worthy to wear 
 them." 
 
 A generous youth, indeed! And the spectators who saw 
 the young men shake hands, though they heard not a word, 
 were pleased thereat and cheered again, this time also for 
 Lieut. Burd. At the pavilion the current of favor had 
 run quite undisguised towards the young officer, but there 
 were some who tried to hold an impartial spirit and one or 
 two were quietly happy at the issue. 
 
 The last trial, "the running load" as it was called, was 
 in some respects the most unique and inieresting in itself, 
 but as the element of personal competition had now been 
 practically eliminated, the enthusiasm w r ith which it was 
 witnessed was much subdued. The targets were arranged 
 as in the foregoing match, but the white heart centre was 
 renewed. The rounded blocks on top of the sticks were 
 turned to present a fresh surface to the bullets; and to gi e 
 an added touch of grotesqueness and thus tickle the fancy 
 
174 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Jfr 
 
 of the crowd, a wild goose feather was thrust into every 
 block. The rules of the match required each contestant 
 to run from the pavilion to a log laid upon the parade 
 ground one hundred yards from the targets; to take shelter 
 behind the log and fire from the ground at the white heart. 
 Then rising he must run to the wagon as if pursued by an 
 enemy, and return to the log, loading his rifle upon the 
 course without stopping; and having reached the log again, 
 fire quickly at the blocks, either standing or kneeling as 
 he might choose. 
 
 With our modern breech-loading firearms such a feat 
 would scarcely be worthy of mention; but with the muzzle- 
 loaders, flint-locks and priming-pans known to the pio 
 neer, none but the most expert and experienced could gain 
 great success. The most expert of all the borderers in this 
 exercise was the famous scout, Louis Wetzel, who however 
 had not come to this shooting match, much to the regret 
 of many who would fain have seen a trial of skill between 
 him and McClellan. That would have been a meeting as 
 noteworthy after its kind as the duel between Achilles and 
 Hector on the plain of Troy. 
 
 That the reader may learn how this feat was performed, 
 let him note the movements of Eobert McClellan who, 
 the others having finished their trials, closed the series and 
 concluded the match. At the word he springs from the 
 pavilion front, and crouching low with trailed piece sweeps 
 over the field with noiseless stride. He has reached the 
 log, has hurled himself prone behind it, and with scarcely 
 a moment s interval has fired into the centre of the white 
 heart. Ere the smoke of the discharge lifts, he is up and 
 away toward the wagon. 
 
 See how he tucks his rifle under the right arm and 
 lowers it until the butt hangs as near to the ground as may 
 he without bumping. Now the left hand lifts the powder 
 horn to the teeth which pull out the stopper. The right 
 hand is raised; into the hollow thereof the charge is de 
 canted; the horn drops; the rifle is transferred to the left 
 arm, and, the butt still hanging low, the right palm is 
 closed over the muzzle and the powder dropped thereinto. 
 See! the rifle is held aloft while a patch is taken from the 
 little box in the butt, and thrust with finger point into the 
 muzzle as the piece is once more lowered. It is easier to 
 get the bullet from the pouch; but here you observe that 
 
THE LATIMERS. 175 
 
 even McClellan, in the haste and difficulty of the move 
 ment, drops one bullet, and has to go again to his pouch 
 ere he gets a ball fairly stuck within its place. 
 
 Now comes perhaps the most difficult part of the per 
 formance. The rifle is at trail, the butt thrust far back, 
 and the right hand withdraws the ramrod. Steady, there! 
 Never were coolness and care more needed; for a dropped 
 ramrod will send the competitor out of the lists, and in a 
 running fight with an enemy might cost one s life. The 
 ramrod is safely out. It is grasped by one hand near to the 
 butt end, and with the left hand near to the rifle muzzle, 
 the two hands are approached and the stick given lodg 
 ment within. On the marksman strides, a push a leap 
 the bullet is home! Will he put the ramrod back? Not 
 now. He grasps it by the middle with his teeth and holds 
 up the rifle to note the result. 
 
 Do you see him snap open the flint-lock? Do you note 
 how he scans, as he runs, the priming pan? Is the powder 
 fairly up? Alas, no! See him tap the rifle-butt lightly 
 against the ground as he leaps along to jar the charge into 
 place; and swinging it up to his left arm, once more he 
 scans the priming. Bad, bad! Failure again! The chances 
 of success, of a life it may be, cannot be taken on such a 
 showing. Once more the rifle is swung under the right arm, 
 but this time with the stock forward and the lock well 
 under the face. Up comes the powder horn, and from the 
 open nozzle the priming is dusted in. Keep a steady hand, 
 good fellow, as you swing around the wagon. No over 
 leaping the canvas cover on this tour of duty. Ah, ha! All 
 is well, for you may see that he is getting the ramrod into 
 its place. 
 
 Ay, and you may hear the token of the good news; for 
 the scout, flinging back his head, utters a war-whoop so 
 fierce and loud, that echoes are set agoing among the hills, 
 and the ladies in the pavilion feel their hearts beat quicker, 
 as with a sense of terror. Surely it is a grim image of the 
 war spirit that one sees, such war spirit as the combats of 
 the border knew and evoked, as this man crouches to the 
 ground, and with every muscle swollen with exertion, and 
 eyes fairly aflame with the excitement of the mimic com 
 bat, rushes down upon the firing point. 
 
 A moment s pause; a brief word aside to the Adjutant; 
 a nod of assent. Crack! The feather on the mock foeman s 
 
176 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 head flies away, while the welkin rings with lusty huzzas. 
 The people at once had divined the meaning of the brief 
 interchanges between scout and officer. McClellan had 
 changed his aim, and clipped the edge of the block just 
 where the feather was thrust in, and sent the goose plume 
 to the winds. At one hundred yards! And with the hap 
 hazard and imperfect charging compelled by a running 
 load, and which, as every marksman knows, would vastly 
 heighten the difficulty! Even the hosts of skilled riflemen 
 there present might well be carried away with enthusiastic 
 admiration of such skill. 
 
 To McClellan was adjudged the first prize, a silver 
 hunting watch. To Capt. John Latimer was given the 
 second prize in both courses; a new rifle with powder horn, 
 pouch and belt, and a silver compass. Gen. Wayne deliv 
 ered the trophies with a few words of compliment; then the 
 drummers beat the assembly, and the troops fell .in for 
 evening parade. Most of the -visitors waited to see this 
 always beautiful exercise, and then slowly dispersed. For 
 many a day, on many a trail, at many a bivouac, and in 
 many a cabin, were discussed the exciting incidents anl 
 excellent marksmanship seen at the shooting match at 
 Legionville. 
 
 "What will John do with his prize?" queried Mrs. Polly 
 Latimer. "He has a good rifle which he would not ex 
 change for any in the country, and two others of less worth. 
 If he could swap with McClellan now, he might get some 
 value from the shooting match." 
 
 John soon resolved all doubts as to his purpose, for ere 
 the boat was pushed off from shore, and as he was speaking 
 a word of good-bye to Panther and Featherfoot, he placed 
 the prize rifle in the Mingo s hands. "I beg you to accept 
 it," said he, "as a mark of gratitude for service to my family 
 and myself. You taught me the use of the rifle, and if my 
 skill was greater than yours to-day, it was due to you. 
 Moreover, since I have heard from father how you saved 
 my life and the lives of my kindred at Indian Eocks, I have 
 longed to show how kindly I remember it. You need a new 
 rifle for the hard and delicate service before us all. There, 
 take it, and God bless you, my old friend and teacher! I 
 will keep the pouch and belt, which I know you do not 
 need, and for which I have other use." 
 
 Luke, who stood by, was delighted with his son s act, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 177 
 
 than which nothing could have been more timely, for he 
 felt sure that Panther s only reason for contesting at the 
 match was in the hope that he might win this very object. 
 The Indian s pleasure was unbounded, and its intensity 
 and the surprise at the gift came near upsetting his stoical 
 self-control. His delight burned from his black eyes and 
 suffused his face, relaxing its wrinkles and giving its red a 
 warmer hue. He removed the water-proof covering of 
 deer s bladder from the stock, sprung the lock to and fro, 
 examined the pan, peered into the muzzle, drew out and 
 bent to and fro the tough hickory ramrod, s\vung the butt 
 to his shoulder, and glanced through the sights. Then he 
 rested the stock upon the ground, and reaching forth his 
 arm grasped the young man s hand, and with something 
 like a tear glistening in his eyes, muttered his thanks: 
 
 "The Young Oak is the Big Heart. Panther will never 
 forget his gift; and the Big Heart s enemies shall know its 
 cry and bite. It shall go with him to his death; and may 
 the Good Spirit grant that he may carry it in the Happy 
 Hunting grounds." Thereafter to the end of his days, with 
 Panther, at least, the nom de guerre of John Latimer was 
 not "Young Oak," but "The Big Heart." 
 
 Another person had come to exchange adieus with the 
 boat company. Lieut. Burd begged the favor of joining 
 the party, and with especial attention to Mrs. Morgan and 
 her niece, walked from the parade ground to the river. 
 The boat was ready to pull off. Capt. Latimer and Lieut. 
 Burd stood on the shore, the former with the boat painter 
 in his hand. Luke and Andy at the bow had poles ready 
 to thrust out. The women were waving handkerchiefs to 
 friends who were also embarking in canoes and barges. 
 Blanche stood at the bow merrily winding her bugle, whose 
 echoes gave answer from the two opposite islands and the 
 river hills beyond. Burd waved his farewell and turned 
 to bid John good-bye. 
 
 "Come!" said the latter, looking his late competitor 
 fairly in the face. "You might as well join us and accom 
 pany the ladies as far as Chartiers. As I go on to Pittsburg 
 I can land you at the garrison." 
 
 There was a peculiar flush about the eyes as the gener 
 ous youth gave this bidding. Was it quite sincere? Did it 
 cost a qualm of self-denial? Was there a latent hope that 
 it might be declined? At all events, it was heartily uttered, 
 12 
 
178 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 with a degree of hospitality in the tone that almost carried 
 compulsion. 
 
 For a moment Burd hesitated. He glanced at Blanche 
 Oldham, who with face aglow with vivacity and the excite 
 ment of the novel situation, stood like a divine daughter 
 of Triton, waving her horn at the shore. It was a sore 
 temptation. Why should he not yield to it and accept the 
 invitation? But he too was a generous youth. He looked 
 at the tall and comely man before him. 
 
 "A backwoods Apollo!" quoth he to himself. "As 
 comely a specimen of manhood as I ever saw. By Jove! a 
 man might well fear such a rival even if he is only a hunter. 
 But no, this is his chance, and it would be mean to thwart 
 him in it. I doubt the adage that all things are fair in love, 
 though it may be so in war. Besides but enough of 
 that!" With a movement of the hand he seemed to brush 
 some unworthy thought aside. Then bidding Latimer 
 a cordial farewell, and with a warm grasp of the hand, he 
 turned back to Legionville. 
 
 The author may so far take his reader into confidence 
 as to inform him that the obtruding image which Lieut. 
 Burd repelled, was the thought that in a few days he was 
 to lead a military escort across the mountains, and that 
 several of the officers wives were taking advantage of this 
 protection to return East. Moreover, Gen. Neville had 
 arranged that Blanche should accompany the troop as far 
 as Carlisle on her way home to Philadelphia. What better 
 opportunity could a gallant and handsome officer wish than 
 this service, with its romantic conditions, its constant pro 
 tection and close propinquity, to win a maiden s favor? 
 
 Now the keel boat was off, and Luke and Andy marched 
 back and forth in alternate measure along the running- 
 board, with butt of poles against their shoulders, and tip 
 thereof on the bottom where the depth allowed, pushing 
 the vessel up stream. When the depth of the channel was 
 too great for poling, they manned the sweeps and thus got 
 headway. 
 
 The sun went down behind the hills in a glow of striate 
 clouds, red and green and lavender and purple, and shed 
 ding his rays far beyond the zenith, set into rosy flame the 
 high floating banks of cirrous cloud in the East. Blanche 
 was watching this scene from the little cabin door hard by 
 the upping block from which John was steering. He 
 
THE LATIMERS. 179 
 
 lashed the rudder and approached the maiden, having in 
 hand the prize pouch and horn, with their bright-beaded 
 baldrick. Would Miss Oldham honor him by accepting 
 the same? He knew that she was collecting trophies of her 
 Western visit to decorate therewith her Eastern home. 
 Here were objects too fair by far for a hunter like him 
 self and for the rough service of his trade. Would she 
 accept the memento? 
 
 With her aunt s permission, yes, indeed, most gladly 
 and thankfully! 
 
 The damsel ran to where her aunt sat with the other 
 ladies, and with face beaming forth gratification, howed her 
 treasure and begged to keep it. The three matrons bent 
 over the trophies and were too intent upon admiring the 
 quaint carving on the powder horn, and the beautiful bead 
 work on pouch and baldrick, to note that the blood went 
 from Fanny s face, leaving it pallid, and then returned 
 again until it flushed bright red. Why should not she also 
 have hastened to congratulate her friend upon her gift? 
 
 "Don t you like it, Fanny?" quoth Blanche, noting her 
 hesitation and coolness. "Ah, I understand! You have 
 seen so much of this work that you cannot appreciate it as 
 I do, to whom it is so novel." Thereby admonished, Fanny 
 came forward and gave hesitating and guarded praise; for 
 was it not so, as Blanche had suggested, that these objects 
 were no novelty to her? Blanche returned to the tiller 
 where John stood, and graciously accepted the proffered 
 gifts much to the young man s content. 
 
 Was John s mother as highly pleased with this bestow- 
 ment as with that of the rifle? She kept her thoughts to 
 herself, at least, but could not keep back from her husband 
 the wonder that John had not given the knife and belt 
 with the other objects, for surely, he had enough and to 
 spare of such trappings about the house. "Young men s 
 trumpery! What a litter the lad does keep around him 
 with it all! It s aye follow after and redd up. But they re 
 all alike in that pertic ler, are the lads God bless them!" 
 
 Later in the evening, though the space on deck was 
 small, a moonlight dance was proposed. Andy Burbeck 
 brought forth his fiddle, for the pioneer watermen were 
 skilled in the use of both that instrument and the winding 
 horn. John led out Mrs. Morgan, and the McCormack lads 
 the other matrons, and a merry time was had, while Luke 
 
180 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 slowly poled the keel boat against the current. Then the 
 maidens had their turn; and was it by accident that Fanny 
 McCormack was led out by John? When the dance was 
 over these two partners were chatting pleasantly in the 
 bow, watching the water ripple against the beak and bubble 
 off along the sides. What a temptation it is, and was 
 there ever a maiden who could resist it ? to push up sleeve 
 of frock, and thrust bare arm within the soft rushing water, 
 and plash and paddle therein? Leaving Fanny toying thus 
 with the current, John excused himself for a moment as 
 though to look after the steering, and presently came back 
 carrying the prize belt with its sheath and hunting knife. 
 
 "This is yours, Fanny/ 7 he said, " for auld acquentance 
 sake/ " and he drew it about her waist. "I wouldn t like 
 you to cultivate the stalwart gifts of Mad Ann, and practice 
 with the scalping knife. But perhaps you may find for 
 the implement some domestic and peaceful service, mayhap 
 that of a bread knife. Yet, who knows? Our border 
 women may soon have need of ruder tools than spinning 
 wheel and baking pan. God in mercy forbid; and give the 
 victory to Wayne and his Legion! It s a poor fit, isn t it?" 
 he continued, with a light laugh, seeing how the belt over 
 lapped the maiden s waist. "But you have a cunning hand 
 with needle and scissors, Fanny, and can quickly remedy 
 that." 
 
 "Oh, John/ the maiden said. "How good in you to 
 remember me!" 
 
 The moonlight was not bright enough to show the tear 
 that dropped upon the bead work and consecrated that gift 
 to most sacred memory. Nor did the youth dream and 
 what would he have thought if he had known? that when 
 he turned away to his duties with a light word, and van 
 ished behind the cabin, this maid, the playmate of his 
 childhood, the friend of his youth, bent her head and raised 
 the beaded sheath of the hunting knife to her lips and 
 kissed it, as she murmured: 
 
 " For auld acquentance sake he said. Yes, acquain 
 tance. Ah, indeed, that auld acquentance can never be 
 forgot!" 
 
 What with the little boat-cuddy and the log cabins at 
 the trading post, the company spent a comfortable night 
 at the mouth of Chartiers Creek, and the next day took 
 horse and rode over to Canonsburg, while John with Andy 
 
THE LATIMERS. 181 
 
 for aid, poled up the Ohio to Pittsburg. Nearly two years 
 passed ere Blanche Oldham and John Latimer again met, 
 and strange and terrible were the circumstances that then 
 brought them face to face. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A MEETING AT THE FALLS OF MINGO CREEK. 
 
 The Mingo Creek local regiment of militia had been 
 summoned to meet at Mingo Church on the 16th of July, 
 1794. The purpose of the call was to form their quota of 
 the national militia. The settlement was largely made up 
 of men of Scotch-Irish descent who had strong opinions 
 on the excise issue. The Democratic Association of Mingo 
 Creek was numerous and active. At least three hundred 
 of its members were enrolled in the regiment, and thus had 
 a controlling influence. It was therefore a favorable field 
 wherein David Bradford might foment his plot for a sepa 
 rate State, and beyond that, perhaps, an independent 
 Western Republic. 
 
 On the day before that appointed for the rendezvous, 
 Bradford rode past the Mingo Creek Church and graveyard 
 to the waterfall a short distance beyond, where three men 
 awaited him. One was Luke Latimer. Another was Ben 
 jamin Parkinson, a tall spare man with red hair, the presi 
 dent of the Mingo Creek Democratic Association, and 
 owner of the ferry over the Monongahela River bearing his 
 name, which is now the site of Monongahela City. The 
 third was Major John McFarlane, a man destined to a sad 
 immortality as the leader of an expedition which precipi 
 tated the Western Insurrection, and brought an invading 
 army across the Allegheny into the Western counties. He 
 was forty-three years old; had served with courage and 
 credit throughout the War of Independence; was a citizen 
 of Washington County, wherein he had acquired consid 
 erable property, and was esteemed by neighbors and a 
 numerous and respectable circle of acquaintances. He 
 was of orderly deportment, but enthusiastic in his opposi 
 tion to the revenue acts and their enforcement, which he 
 believed to be an invasion of the rights of the people and 
 
182 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 tyrannical towards his section. He was above the medium 
 height, of erect carriage, not demonstrative in manner, 
 but showing his feelings by the changing expressions of 
 his swarthy features and keen eyes. 
 
 Bradford had adopted the methods of the French Revo 
 lution, then in full progress, as the model of his proposed 
 insurrection. He was an especial admirer of the Jacobin 
 Club and its mode. Robespierre was his ideal leader. 
 Where his associates and compatriots threatened tar-and- 
 feathers or hanging, he spoke of the guillotine. Following 
 this affectation, the committee now meeting with him at 
 the Mingo Creek Falls he was pleased to regard as the 
 "Directory," and saluted his associates as "Citizen Direc 
 tors." Greetings were soon over, and descending the steep 
 bank of the stream to a retired spot, the men sat upon the 
 rocks beneath the overhanging trees while the arch plotter 
 unfolded his schemes. 
 
 Beyond them the creek had worn a circular pool into 
 which it tumbled over a series of shelving limestone 
 rocks. From one jutting shelf to another it ran with goodly 
 volume when the waters were high, and thence swirling 
 around the ribbed walls of the pool, rippled of? noisily over 
 a lumpy incline into a quieter channel. Now, in the 
 height of summer, the stream ran scant, and the plash of 
 the fall and lapping of the current were not loud enough 
 to disturb the men s speech, but gave a pleasant accompani 
 ment by their droning cadence. 
 
 "Gentlemen," began Bradford, "the United States mar 
 shal has been passing through the counties serving his 
 writs upon delinquent distillers, and everywhere has been 
 received with almost servile docility. It looks as if all grit 
 had gone out of the distillers of our section, and that all 
 will fall into line and register their stills unless something 
 is done to stop them. What then will follow?" 
 
 "That is asily told," said Luke. "The stillers will coin- 
 bine with the axcise officers to enforce the laws, an the peo 
 ple wull be shorn of their rights to free manufactur of 
 sperits. The price of grain 7 11 be at the marcy of the cabal, 
 and the planter, forbidden to use it in the only profitable 
 way, unable to pay taxes, an kep from providin his own 
 market in New Orleans, will have to sell at starvation 
 prices. But how is it to be handered?" 
 
 "That is the question now before us," said Bradford; 
 
THE LATIMEES. 183 
 
 "and the future of this cause hangs on our decision to-day. 
 Something must be done at once to arouse the people. 
 They must be urged into some step that will commit them 
 thoroughly to opposition. Some of them are ripe for a ris 
 ing. The rest must be committed to it; be dragged into it 
 if need be." 
 
 "That s asier said nor done/ quietly remarked McFar- 
 lane. "The folk out this way are not the sort that can be 
 driven into measures agin their will an conscience. Great 
 Britain larnt that lesson to her sorrow, and we beeta not 
 forgit it." 
 
 "Hold!" said Bradford, "I said dragged, not driven. 
 There s a vast difference in the words; and by dragging I 
 do not mean a violent pulling against popular will. Men 
 are often led by unseen cords, and they go all the more 
 blithely because they think themselves self -drawn. I would 
 have something arranged here and now that when done 
 will compel the masses to stand by their leaders, and force 
 the administration to take some aggressive action. And 
 what can it do but threaten? We are too far off for the 
 Easterners to strike us, and the mountains lie between us 
 and them. There can only be one issue to the contro 
 versy; an independent State west of the Alleghenies. 
 Then we will make excise laws to suit ourselves." 
 
 There was here a manifest eschewing of the fact that 
 the United States Constitution puts excise laws beyond 
 jurisdiction of the several States. But Bradford knew that 
 he was not dealing with constitutional lawyers now, and 
 could afford to overlook such trifling obstacles. Besides, 
 it was difficult for men, in the early days of the Federal 
 Union, to rid themselves, in ordinary thought, of the old 
 Colonial methods of independent control of revenue mat 
 ters. 
 
 "It would be easy enough for a few of us to do some 
 overt act," said McFarlane, "and perhaps get our neighbors 
 to indorse it. But, sir, it will be harder nor you think to 
 stir them to insurraction agin a Government so many of ? em 
 have fought to erect. You may bring a horse to water, but 
 you can t make him drink, you know. You may bring folk 
 to the aidge of rebellion, but can you get em to jump over 
 the brink? I m not so sure of that, sir. It will take some 
 mighty axcitement and deep wrong to force ? em into sairi- 
 ous opposition til the Government." 
 
184 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 "Well, and there is no thought,, nor will there be need 
 of serious opposition/ answered the wily plotter. "One 
 demonstration of the fixed will of the people of these 
 counties will settle the matter. Besides, even if it were to 
 come to that, haven t we the same right to rise against 
 tyranny at Philadelphia that we had against tyranny at 
 London? Have we lost our liberties and manhood by 
 adopting the Federal Constitution? I trow not." 
 
 "Well, well," interrupted Luke. "Come to the p int. 
 There s small use a-discussin principles now. Say what it 
 your purpose at wanct." 
 
 "I will do so. To-morrow the Mingo Creek regiment 
 meets. Mr. Parkinson is the president of the Mingo Creek 
 Democratic Association, and Major McFarlane an influen 
 tial officer. Let us, as the Directory, order a movement on 
 Inspector Neville s house to demand that he surrender to 
 us his commission and promise that he will resign his 
 post." 
 
 "An if he refuse?" 
 
 "Then notify him to leave the country, or stay at his 
 peril." 
 
 "Good heavens, gentlemen!" cried Mr. Parkinson, who 
 was reputed to be more inclined to foment trouble than to 
 face its consequences. "Gen. Neville is not a person to 
 submit to that sort of thing. There will be fighting, sure, 
 and bloodshed it is to be feared." 
 
 "Pooh !" exclaimed Bradford. "Fancy a handful of white 
 men and a few score negro slaves attempting to fight a 
 whole regiment of armed men! It is absurd. The mere 
 show of force will compel submission; and if Neville gives 
 up we have the game in our own hands. But if he don t 
 give up, and there should be fighting, what then? It was 
 the first shot at Lexington that raised the echoes of the 
 American Eevolution! So the rattle of rifles on Bower 
 Hill will be the signal of a new Revolution and of a West 
 ern Republic. But no! there is little fear of that. Our 
 show of force will settle the matter, you may depend upon 
 it." 
 
 The two military members of the committee, McFarlane 
 and Luke, were not as sanguine of the result as Bradford. 
 But on the whole they approved, and agreed to make the 
 attempt. What further had he to propose? 
 
 Bradford proceeded to enlarge on the Continental 
 
THE LATIMERS. 185 
 
 policy at the beginning of the Eevolution to seize the 
 forts, and thus capture the strategic points. Thence he 
 went on to point out the commanding importance of Fort 
 Pitt, and queried whether it might not be well as the move 
 ment progressed to take the garrison there, and secure its 
 munitions of war. 
 
 "Good land, sir!" cried Parkinson. "That will be war, 
 open war! It would cost many lives to take Fort Pitt." 
 Major McFarlane and Luke said nothing, but looked their 
 incredulity. Bradford continued: 
 
 "Haven t forts been taken by surprise? There is little 
 or no watch kept at Fort Pitt against the people. Nothing 
 could be easier than to arrange a plan by which a superior 
 number of determined men should go inside the stockade 
 on a fixed day, and at a concerted signal surprise the 
 guards, seize the cannon, and capture the fort before the 
 officers would even suspect that anything was wrong. It 
 is entirely practicable, sirs, entirely! Do you not remember 
 how Col. James Smith and his eighteen Black Boys cap 
 tured Fort Bedford? "With Fort Pitt in our hands the game 
 is ours. That would end the era of excise tyranny, and 
 begin a new and noble era of honor and prosperity for us 
 all." 
 
 Bradford s plans might then and there have fallen still 
 born, had not an interruption occurred which gave them 
 vigorous life and set them at once upon their feet. The 
 eagerness of conversation and the monotonous plash of the 
 falls had hindered the conspirators from hearing the sound 
 of horses hoofs beating upon the road, that here follows 
 near the bed of the stream, until the approaching horse 
 men were quite near. The men ceased conversation and 
 listened. The riders were coming rapidly. Suddenly the 
 patter of hoofs ceased, and a loud voice exclaimed: 
 
 "Hello! what the deuce does this mean? Here are four 
 horses hitched in the brush. Ay, and one on em s Luke 
 Latimer s bay filly. I d know her among a thousand. And 
 t other is Ben Parkinson s gray geldin . What s in the 
 wind here? If them critters weren t stolen, their owners 
 be nt far off. Yo hee!" The speaker raised his voice in 
 a musical halloo well known thereabouts as a sort of quest 
 call. 
 
 A moment of silence followed, during which Bradford 
 looked anxiously at his comrades. "It s all right!" ex- 
 
186 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 claimed Luke. "I know that voice well. It s Sandy 
 McMichael of the Canonsburg Democratic Association, an 
 he s true to the cause/ He left his companions, ascended 
 the bank and greeted McMichael and his comrade, whose 
 heated horses showed that they had been riding rapidly. 
 
 "What brings you here at this gait, Sandy? Anny- 
 thing happened?" 
 
 "Ay, that there has. I ve got stirrin news, an am on 
 the way to Parkinson s Ferry with em. But what the 
 nation are you hyur for? And who s them with you? 
 That s Ben Parkinson s horse, I know " 
 
 "An the other," interrupted Luke, "is Major McFar- 
 lane s, an they are both just by, an David Bradford is with 
 ? em." A secret signal had passed between the two men, 
 which assured Luke that the third party was to be trusted 
 with this knowledge. 
 
 "Then by all that s good and bad," exclaimed Sandy, 
 "they re the very men that oughteh hear our news. "VVhar 
 are they?" 
 
 The parties needed no summons, for already they had 
 ascended the bank, and after brief greetings gathered 
 around the horseman and awaited his news. 
 
 "Yesterday," began Sandy, "the United States marshal 
 called at Miller s to sarve the last writ of a large number 
 which he d been issuin agin the stillers. Giner l Neville was 
 with im, the Lord only knows what for, onless to pilot the 
 federal sheriff through the woods to our plantations; or 
 mebbe twas only through pure domineerin divilishness. 
 Miller was a-gettin in his harvest. It was jist noonin , an 
 the harvesters were at dinner, an p raps a little axcited by 
 drink, for it s roastin weather you know, an harvestin s 
 droughty wark. They seemed to be riled at the Inspector s 
 prisence, which looked as if he d come out jist to threap 
 an crow over em. There was hard words, a bit of a row, 
 an old musket was fired off in the rumpus, an Niville an 
 the marshal rode off fancyin they d been assaulted, an 
 talkin fierce about revolution, insurraction, riot an all sich 
 stuff, an a-threatenin that Miller should be arristed an 
 sent over the mountains to Philadelphy. 
 
 "That angered Miller and his men. They thought that 
 Niville would git out warrants agin em, an drag em off 
 to Philadelphy for trial. You know what that manes. It 
 ud a kep im away from wark through the autumn an* 
 
THE LATIMEES. 187 
 
 winter an mebbe spring. They was a-mind to hender it, 
 ef they could, an thought they could force Niville to let 
 em alone. Th axcitement spread through the neighbor 
 hood, an among some of the militiamen who were gatherin 
 for the muster. By sundown John Holcroft had got thirty 
 or forty men around him, an led em off to Niville s house, 
 jist about four miles from Miller s." 
 
 "What did he do that for?" interrupted Bradford. 
 "What right has Tom the Tinker to interfere in this busi 
 ness, and set himself up as a leader?" 
 
 "Can t say about his rights," answered Sandy. "But to 
 hear Holcroft talk you d think he s the Captain Ginerl 
 of the whole business; an I reckon he has stirred up affairs 
 a heap. But as fur as I kin make out, his idee was to make 
 old Niville disgorge the papers agin Miller an others, an 
 promise fer to give up his commission an let folk alone 
 in futur. Annyhow, off he goes with his troop to Niville s, 
 not countin on anny speecial trouble. But the Inspector 
 had suspicioned somethin of that sort, mebbe had news 
 of what was abrewin , and had his men an darkies armed. 
 As the crowd came up, athout awaitin for attack or aven 
 parley, they fired on em. It was bad business. Six men 
 were wounded and one killed." 
 
 "Dd they return the fire?" asked Luke. 
 
 "They didn t seem to hev any chanct. It was a one 
 sided affair all round; they say they didn t aim to do anny 
 shootin when they went. They were tuk by surprise like, 
 an the reception was so hot that it tuk all sperit out of 
 em." 
 
 "And they left athout an effort to avenge the slaughter 
 of their friends, did they?" cried Luke, indignantly. 
 
 "So it seems. And p raps that was the wisest thing 
 for em to do; for folk say that Niville has a cannon in his 
 entry, an it s tough wark a-facin grape shot. Annyhow, 
 the neighborhood s mighty wrought up over the affair, and 
 there 11 be pipin hot times, I fancy, at the militia muster 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "This is stirring news, indeed," exclaimed Bradford. 
 "At all events, whatever comes of it, that settles John 
 Holcroft s presumption to be a leader in the excise revolu 
 tion. The people will have no more Tom Tinkers, I prom 
 ise you, to lead expeditions where men of brains and grit 
 are required. It s one thing to go a-sneaking through the 
 
188 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 country, plastering trees and taverns with squibs and pas 
 quinades and pompous proclamations, and quite another 
 to organize and marshal a mighty revolution. The shoe 
 maker to his last, say I, and the tinker to his pans and 
 soldering iron!" 
 
 There was nothing more to be had from the messen 
 gers. Accordingly they were urged to hurry on to Parkin 
 son s with their tidings. As the horsemen disappeared 
 around the curve in the road, Bradford turned upon his 
 associates a face radiant with gratification. 
 
 "Gentlemen/ 7 he said, "could anything be more fortu 
 nate than this? Is it like the answer of fire to Elijah on 
 Mount Carmel. The very thing has happened that we have 
 been waiting for. Providence has given us the signal to 
 go forward." 
 
 "Humph!" said Major McFarlane; "I doubt ef Provi 
 dence has gone into cahoots w r ith Mr. David Bradford and 
 his Directory. I m loth to think the Good Bein has 
 killed off one man and hurted five others jist to set our 
 plans on leg. I ve no notion of puttin Tom Tinker s 
 wretched bunglin , nor our own poor wark, for that matter, 
 onto Providence. But this event at Miller s sartainly will 
 anger our people despertly. I know them well enough for 
 that. They ll need lettle aggin on now to march agin 
 Neville s, for their blood 11 be up at the shootin of citi 
 zens. But it s plain, sir, we re not agoin to have a mere 
 taffy pullin out there on Bower Hill. Neville s prepared to 
 resist all approach of the citizens, an he ll likely be more 
 rather nor less prepared after this affair. It ll be no child s 
 play, as some of us 11 be like to find, to our cost." 
 
 All were agreed that a new face had suddenly been put 
 upon the situation by the exciting incident at Miller s. 
 How should it be utilized? There was but one answer. 
 They would hold to their plan, and bring the matter before 
 the militiamen on the morrow, and persuade the entire 
 regiment to march against Neville s house. Who should 
 command the expedition? That was the only question 
 which it seemed important to settle. 
 
 "Manager Bradford himself, of course!" said McFar 
 lane. 
 
 "Nay, nay, that cannot be. Remember that I am 
 prosecuting attorney of this county. Were I to be per 
 sonally present at the affair I should be placed in a posi- 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 189 
 
 tion which would compel me, in case anything serious hap 
 pened, to be arrayed against my associates and friends. It 
 is important for the cause that I should not show an appear 
 ance at Bower Hill." Then he laid his hand upon McFar- 
 lane s shoulder, and exclaimed: "No, no, the leadership is 
 not for me. Thou art the man!" 
 
 McFarlane shook off the hand with an impatient ges 
 ture, and bluntly refused the honor. Perhaps his reverent 
 feelings were repelled by this lugging of sacred language 
 into such an affair. All the more so as he discerned, what 
 Bradford had not noted, the infelicitous associations of 
 the text. He had no fancy for the role of a modern King 
 David before such a Xatlian as the Washington lawyer. 
 
 Bradford insisted upon his point, playing upon such 
 feelings and hopes as seemed to his view assailable. The 
 trans-Allegheny State when once formed would summon 
 to highest place the men who had led the Revolution 
 which achieved autonomy. Who could tell what honors 
 might be won by the leaders of to-morrow s expedition 
 that is to strike the first blow for liberty and independence ? 
 With honors will come wealth. The Continental veterans 
 were ill rewarded by the victorious colonies. Perhaps they 
 could not help that, at least at first; for the Revolutionary 
 struggle left them impoverished. But they might have 
 done better had there been stronger purpose to sacrifice 
 for the old soldiers who bore the burden and heat of the 
 day. At all events, many of the veterans were poor men. 
 What was needed was a new deal of the cards. The men 
 who should shake off the Philadelphia and Quaker regime, 
 and should carve out a new State from the Western 
 counties, would have the cards in their own hands, and 
 would see to it that the offices and rewards of success fell 
 to those w~ho had fairly earned them. 
 
 The two men had gradually separated from their asso 
 ciates, and strolled up the road until just opposite the falls. 
 Here they walked to and fro, and while the dash and thud 
 of the water kept monotonous accompaniment to the gurgle 
 of speech, Bradford plied, with plausible words, arguments 
 that have always appealed with great force to men s love 
 of honor and reward. 
 
 Behind the noblest purposes there lurks some form of 
 selfishness, often unrecognized bg ourselves, that holds the 
 balance of power in our wills. Some of the most potent 
 
190 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 factors of character lie underneath the plane of conscious 
 ness. Their existence is not even suspected until at some 
 crisis they emerge, and decide the issues of character and 
 life. Bradford certainly had not formulated these ideas, 
 for he was not a philosopher. But with the instinctive 
 policy of an ambitious and selfish manager of men, he spun 
 out his temptations as though these ideas were to him self- 
 evident. Not with the blunt and clumsy directness here 
 set forth, but with concealed approach, with laterigrade 
 advance and retrogression, and with antennal deftness as 
 of an emmet feeling its way in the midst of supposed ene 
 mies. McFarlane gave little response, but listened silently, 
 walking beside his companion with arms behind his back, 
 and troubled face bent upon the ground. 
 
 Bradford shifted his ground of attack. Here was a clear 
 call to duty and service. The cause of liberty was assailed. 
 The rights of the people were endangered. Petitions and 
 appeals had failed to move the authorities. The purpose to 
 enforce the odious excise laws was plainly fixed. Neighbors 
 and fellow citizens had been butchered in cold blood as they 
 came to remonstrate against wrong. Patriotism demanded 
 some sacrifice from all. It was absurd to urge leadership 
 upon himself. He was only a lawyer, ignorant of military 
 ways and usages. He could serve his country along his 
 own lines of ability, and was trying to do so. He would be 
 sure to make a blunder and mess of it, worse than Tom 
 Tinker had done. But McFarlane was an experienced sol 
 dier. Let him give his tried ability to the cause. Was 
 it not his destiny? Had he not been raised up and quali 
 fied for just such service? One ought not to fly in the 
 face of the clear will of Heaven! So they paused in their 
 promenade on the brink of the waterfall, while the deep 
 silence of nature was broken only by the monotonous beat 
 of the descending stream. 
 
 "And now," said Bradford, hoping to clinch with 
 authority of Holy Scripture the nail he had so well driven: 
 Who knoweth whether thou art come to the Kingdom for 
 such a time as this?" The text had a surprising effect, 
 but not exactly of the sort that Bradford had anticipated. 
 
 "Deil take y r preachin !" was the wrathful response. 
 "When Sattan takes a text, the honest man may well fly 
 the sarmon. For Heaven s sake, sir, cease off a-quotin 
 Scriptur til me. I ve too much honor for God s word to 
 
THE LATIMERS. 191 
 
 hear it mishandled this way, in a matter like this, and by a 
 man like yourself." 
 
 Well, well, what a mistake you have made, Mr. Brad 
 ford! This is none of good Father Clark s elders, certes; 
 and it is to be feared you have upset the fat into the fire 
 this time. But no! Has the reader ever noted that some 
 men are ever wont to take ways marked out for them, pro 
 testing, defiant, kicking against the goads that urge them 
 on? They grumble, but go. They are never so near the 
 yielding point, it often happens, as when most vigorously 
 declaring their purpose never to relent. An explosive 
 negation and outbreak of impatience are the signal of near 
 submission, as the crash of thunder presages the breaking 
 of the clouds into grateful showers. Patience, then! Do 
 not take this ebullition of temper, these poundings of 
 Thor s hammer, these mutterings, and oaths it may be, 
 as tokens of an incorrigible will. Deal deftly with such 
 outbursts of soul; for a coarse and tactless touch will here 
 spoil all. Wait. Above all, be silent. In a little while the 
 turbulent one will go hence and put on his harness (your 
 harness, that is), and quietly ignoring all protests hereto 
 fore made, pull kindly along the way of your pleasure. 
 
 So it befell this struggling spirit at Mingo Creek Falls. 
 When the two men rejoined their comrades, Bradford 
 announced that Major McFarlane had consented to take 
 military leadership of the expedition against Inspector 
 Neville s house on Bower Hill. The Directory would 
 accompany him for was not this the method of the French 
 Revolution? to give counsel in all things, and supreme 
 decision in matters other than military. But Bradford 
 himself would not be present for reasons which they could 
 well appreciate. He was prosecuting attorney of the 
 county. His sworn duty was to take note of all alleged 
 offenses against the law. As there might be suits at law 
 in the future by Neville and his friends, though he hoped 
 not, it would be to the interests of his own friends and 
 associates that he should not be present. Thus then the 
 matter stood, and the members of the committee went their 
 several ways. 
 
192 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 THE MAECH TO BOWER HILL. 
 
 On the morning of July 16, 1794, Mingo Church green 
 was thronged with excited men. All who were liable to 
 military duty had assembled from the surrounding district 
 to choose the congressional quota from the Mingo Creek 
 regiment of militia. Few adult men of the section were 
 absent; for apart from the hearty response which such duty 
 received, there was a special attraction in the news of the 
 Miller episode. The story had run quickly through the 
 neighborhood and, as usual, had waxed and grown more 
 lurid as it went. Men covered the roads, bridle paths and 
 trails, all headed toward Mingo Church, discussing "the 
 massacre" at Bower Hill with passions as hot as the intense 
 sun of July that bea^ down upon the scene. What is there 
 in the sun of July that charges Americans with such excess 
 of passion that they are touched off into explosions of vio 
 lence that would have been impossible in a cooler month? 
 The railroad strike of 1877 was a July affair. The Chicago 
 debsomania of 1894 was an event of July. "Was it simply 
 a coincidence that the Eevolutionary fathers were wrought 
 up to a Declaration of Independence on a July day? 
 
 Several hundred men were assembled in the little bowl- 
 shaped dale wherein the Mingo Church stood (and its suc 
 cessor now stands) sheltered by a natural grove. The two 
 front doors of the low log structure were open, and men 
 were seated and standing within awaiting the beginning of 
 the public meeting. Outside, the scene was more animated 
 and picturesque. Horses were picketed at every con 
 venient point on the green, and fastened in the hitching 
 sheds. Only one spot was unoccupied, the graveyard on 
 the hill slope. It lay just across the road which passed 
 along its edge, and winding through a slight depression 
 in the hill led on towards Canonsburg. Rude limestone 
 slabs supported on columns placed over the corners of the 
 graves, or head and footstones of the same material then 
 fresh made for the most part but now grown gray* and 
 mossy, dotted this square of consecrated soil, soon, alas! 
 to be opened for some of those stalwart frames throbbing 
 now with life and hope and passions of war and revenge. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 193 
 
 In the clear space before the sheds and hard by the little 
 creek stood a liberty pole, from which floated a streamer 
 bearing the ominous words: "No ASYLUM FOR TRAITORS 
 AND COWARDS." Beneath this was a banner in form of the 
 American flag, except that the fifteen stripes, then borne 
 upon the fly, had been converted into six bars or broad 
 stripes. These symbolized the six Western counties of Penn 
 sylvania and Virginia whose people were most deeply con 
 cerned in opposing the revenue laws, and out of which the 
 new State was to be formed. On one of the broad white bars 
 was printed the motto: "EQUAL TAXATION AXD No EX 
 CISE/ The raising of a liberty pole is in modern eyes a 
 trivial affair. But it seems to have been otherwise a hun 
 dred years ago; for this singularly harmless and once popu 
 lar pastime was one of the serious tokens of treasonable 
 intent urged by the Government against the Western insur 
 rectionists. 
 
 As this was a gathering of the militia, all these men 
 were armed, and many of them uniformed after the rude 
 and miscellaneous fashion of the frontier. Hunting shirts, 
 and remnants and variations of the old continental uni 
 forms were most in vogue; but the frontier taste, or rather 
 lack of taste, had asserted itself in divers picturesque varie 
 ties of the prevailing species. Major McFarlane, now the 
 recognized leader, moved about quietly, a tint of paleness 
 on his swart visage despite the excitement and the July 
 sun, but with no shadow of wavering thereon. The fea 
 tures were stern and with determined set, as resolved to 
 go through with this business now at whatever cost, and 
 make it no child s play. He wore a blue camblet coat, buff 
 waistcoat, leather overalls and cocked hat, and was armed 
 with a cutlass whose belt hung from his shoulder. 
 
 The groups of excited men broke up and dribbled in lit 
 tle streamlets towards the meeting house. There was no 
 tumult within the primitive sanctuary. Not that it was 
 held in that reverence with which many minds regard a 
 church edifice. To those pioneer settlers the House of 
 God was also the house of the people, and served at once 
 for Sabbath worship and for public meetings wherein the 
 vital interests of the community must be discussed. The 
 assemblage was composed of sober citizens, the bone and 
 sinew of the countrv; self-contained and hardy characters, 
 not demonstrative of manner nor, with a few exceptions, 
 13 
 
194 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 given to unseemly haste and passion. No doubt their 
 feelings were wrought up to a high pitch of indignation; 
 but they would hear the facts and carefully determine their 
 action. 
 
 First of all were brought forward matters of detail 
 relating to the formation of the regimental contingent, 
 the formal business which had called them together. Thus 
 the way was clear for the subject that filled all minds, and 
 the meeting was organized as a popular assembly to con 
 sider as citizens what the crisis called for. The conclu 
 sion was as follows: That General Neville s conduct was 
 a betrayal of the community in which he dwelt; that it was 
 treasonable to their true interests and could not be further 
 tolerated, especially as he had added thereto the killing and 
 wounding of citizens. That they would move upon his 
 house the next day to notify him of the views of his fellow 
 citizens, and beg him to desist in the interests of peace, 
 good fellowship and good citizenship, and join with them 
 to protect their section from tyrannous and oppressive 
 measures. Moreover, they would go in such numbers as 
 to overawe opposition, and armed to execute their purpose 
 should the Inspector prove intractable. In that case they 
 would warn him that he could no longer have home and 
 harborage in the county; and that he must at once sur 
 render to them his commission, and all papers prejudicial 
 to persons or properties of citizens, and within an alloted 
 time leave the neighborhood. To that end they would ren 
 dezvous the .next day at Couch s Fort, and Major McFarlane 
 should be their commander. 
 
 Thus the meeting decreed and so adjourned. The die 
 was cast. The so-called "Western Insurrection," whose 
 fomenting had heretofore broken forth in sporadic irri 
 tations, with minor acts of lawlessness and rioting, had 
 now been drawn to a head. Some of the citizens moved 
 away slowly, with grave demeanor and thoughtful face and 
 troubled hearts. Others marched off in high spirits, with 
 laughter and jocose speech, and cheers, and loud threats, 
 and high hopes, and serene unconsciousness that disaster 
 and defeat might come, and of what would be the conse 
 quence. 
 
 Couch s Fort was an abandoned log fortress erected 
 in earlier days for refuge against Indian incursions. It 
 stood on the south trail leading up to the old Washington 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 195 
 
 and Pittsburg road, on the north branch of McLaughlin s 
 Run. It was about half a quarter of a mile west of Bethel 
 Church, which still stands, with its ancient graveyard, 
 upon the over-hanging hill, and looks down upon the 
 McKeesport road. The creek is hard by, for convenience 
 to running water was a necessary condition in choosing 
 a site for fort or church. It was four miles distant from 
 the Inspector s house, and the road thereto lies through a 
 rolling upland which breaks down at Bower Hill, a high 
 crest on which Gen. Neville had reared his spacious man 
 sion. 
 
 Five hundred armed men were now marching afoot or 
 on horseback over that road among the hills of Washington 
 County. Half-finished clearings lay on either side of the 
 Virginia worm-fences. Here, a bit of virgin forest shaded 
 the way; there, lay a yellow stubble field dotted with 
 shocks of wheat garbs. Again, among the tree stumps 
 would appear a patch of potatoes; or a field of Indian corn, 
 whose broad green blades and yellowy brown tassels waved 
 in the light breeze, and glistened under the sun with a 
 seeming joyous eagerness for its hottest beams. Nestled 
 under the hills, where the limestone springs bubble forth 
 or the clear brooklets run, were the log cabins of the set 
 tlers. Women with babes in their arms stood at the doors 
 waving greetings to the passing cavalcade, alas, often with 
 heavy hearts. Lusty children ran down to the road, and 
 cheered from very exuberance of animal spirits, or mere 
 effervescence of joy in the excitement and hubbub, know 
 ing little and caring less for their cause. How the men 
 cheered back again! and greeted the ruddy lads and lasses 
 with smiles and pleasant chaffing words, with a touch of 
 tenderness within their voices, as though there had ob 
 truded the query: What if to-morrow some of these or 
 our own bairns, mayhap, should be fatherless? 
 
 They have reached the summit whence the prospect 
 stretches over hills and valleys, far and away on every side, 
 as noble a view indeed as Moses got from Pisgah. The 
 column has halted. What is the matter? Some mes 
 senger? No! Crowd up to the van now! Horses and fooc- 
 men are forming in the road under this overshadowing 
 walnut tree, a living crescent whose cusps are thrust across 
 the rail fence into the adjoining field. The centre of the 
 crowd is there where the roots of the great tree have been 
 
196 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 cut to make space in the roadway, which runs several feet 
 beneath. 
 
 Here, on the grassy interspace between the humped 
 backs of the main roots where they unite with the vast 
 trunk, stands a venerable figure upon whom all eyes are 
 fixed. It is Father John Clark, the first pastor of Bethel, 
 who shares his bishopric jointly with the Mingo Creek 
 congregation. For thirteen years he has gone in and out 
 before these people, revered and beloved by his parish 
 ioners, esteemed and venerated by all who know him. In 
 appearance he is a spare man almost to leanness; is above the 
 ordinary height, somewhat stooped by the weight of his 
 seventy-six years; of grave and solemn demeanor. He 
 wears the old-fashioned dress of the clergymen of his time, 
 a black suit with breeches, and silver buckles clasping his 
 black stockings at the knees. His hat is held in one hand, 
 thus uncovering long white hair, combed back from the 
 forehead and worn in a queue, a bit of old-time dignity 
 from which even the unconventional manners of the fron 
 tier could not dissuade him. The pallor of age is height 
 ened upon his bloodless cheeks by the intense emotion 
 which possesses him as he stretches out one hand, and lifts 
 up his voice. 
 
 Thus he stood like an ancient prophet, with the spirit 
 and burden of prophecy shining from his eyes and burning 
 in his speech. His tones were weak and trembling, but 
 they deepened and grew stronger as he advanced in his 
 speech. A sabbath stillness fell upon the throng as they 
 listened to this man of God who had stopped them there 
 as Elijah did Ahab of old; as Shemaiah did Rehoboam. 
 
 "Brethren, fellow citizens and friends," he cried; "I 
 have come to raise my feeble voice against the business of 
 this day. I cannot forbear speech. Duty, conscience, my 
 office, the Spirit of our Divine Lord and Master, a high and 
 loving concern for your temporal and spiritual good, all 
 compel me to warn you not to persist in your hostile pur 
 pose. You are in the way of rebellion; and rebellion is as 
 the sin of witchcraft. You are going with evil intent to shed 
 blood; and it is written Thou shalt not kill/ I know that 
 you feel yourselves aggrieved by the Government, and you 
 believe that your quarrel with Gen. Neville and his excise 
 officers is a just one. I will not discuss that question here. 
 It may be true that they have bound heavy burdens and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 197 
 
 grievous to be borne, and laid them on men s shoulders. 
 It may be that they scorn your petitions, and will not move 
 your sore burdens with one of their fingers. But, consider 
 this, my friends, no wrong can be righted by the doing of 
 greater wrong. Your act is one of war, disguise it as you 
 may. War upon officers of the United States, war upon its 
 laws, war upon its Government, war upon the great and 
 good Washington. You do not mean that? Truly not! 
 
 "Have you thought what the issue may be? Suppose 
 you banish Gen. Neville? Will it end there? Alas, you 
 yourselves, like King David of old, may be driven into 
 exile, weeping and lamenting as you go. Suppose you 
 destroy Gen. Neville s house? Do you think the matter 
 will end there? Bewa.re lest your own houses be left unto 
 you desolate. You think that the Inspector will not openly 
 resist you? Do not be deceived! Bethink you what your 
 selves would do in like estate. He is a man of like blood 
 and passions with yourselves, a man of war from his youth, 
 who has waxed valiant in fight heretofore. He is armed 
 himself, and has armed his family and slaves, like Abra 
 ham of old when he went against the kings of Sodom. 
 This day will not be without shedding of blood if you do 
 not turn back. Eeturn to your homes ere it be too late! 
 Remember the word of God, an awful word to you this 
 day: 77 
 
 Here the venerable speaker dropped his hat to the 
 ground and stretched forth both hands to the people. Mov 
 ing slowly his eyes around the circle of upturned faces 
 he fixed them for a moment, was it by the merest acci 
 dent? upon the spot where Major McFarlane was seated 
 upon his horse, surrounded by his lieutenants and the 
 members of the committee. Then he finished his sentence 
 They that take the sword shall perish by the sword/ 
 
 "God forbid, my brethren and friends, God forbid that 
 any of you should throw your lives away in such a quarrel. 
 Your leaders are self -deceived. They are deceiving you. 
 They are blind leaders of the blind; and, alas, you shall 
 both fall into the ditch unless you heed these words of holy 
 warning. Eemember your solemn duty to your country. 
 Remember the oaths of allegiance that so many of you 
 have sworn in the noble and patriotic days that tried men s 
 souls in the struggle for Independence. Remember your 
 wives and children who this night may be widows and 
 
198 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 fatherless. Eemember your homes and plantations placed 
 in peril of loss by this day s doing! 
 
 "Oh, my friends, "hear me! I speak out of love for you 
 and yours, your bodies and your souls. You have never had 
 cause to doubt, you have never doubted my love for you, 
 and zeal in your behalf. I would lay down this life for you 
 if I might purchase your assent to my pleading, and thus 
 seal my testimony with my blood. Out of this love and 
 zeal I speak to you, I plead with you, I warn you! Hear 
 me, brethren, hear me! Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye 
 die, house of Israel!" 
 
 The patriarch ceased, and dropping his arms, closed 
 his hands before him and with bowed head stood in silent 
 prayer. The hush that had fallen upon the audience was 
 broken by many sighs. Then followed the stir of shuffling 
 bodies, as is wont after an eloquent passage of speech or 
 song. The men turned and looked at one another with 
 mute inquiry, as much as to say, "shall W3 go on?" Many 
 faces had a subdued and awe-struck visage, as when men 
 are impressed with a supernatural presence. Was not this a 
 warning from the Most High? Dare they despise the coun 
 sel of this venerable man of God? A word from any leader 
 of good repute would have changed the whole current of 
 their purpose, and have turned that company back to their 
 homes. But it was not spoken. 
 
 Major McFarlane dismounted from his horse and ap 
 proached the aged minister. He took the pastor s hand 
 and pressed it warmly. "Father Clark," he said, "we 
 thank you for your loving interest in us all. We know 
 truly that you belave all you have said, and have spoken for 
 our good as you see it. We riverence you as a man, and 
 honor you as a meenister, and in all things spiritooal we 
 are ready to give arnest heed and following. But this is 
 a secular affair that concerns the laity more nor the 
 clargy. In sich matters it is no discredit to you to think 
 that we may trust our own judgment and axperience. We 
 have maturely considered all that you have told us, an 
 we have not acted hastily. We have solemnly covenanted 
 together to right this wrong, an we must go for ard. 
 Were we to turn back now, we would be ontrue to our own 
 convictions, an would be the laughin stock of all the 
 warld. 
 
 "Comrades," he cried, lifting his voice and gazing 
 
THE LATIMERS. 199 
 
 around him, "how could we face our fellow citizens, an 
 meet the jeers of our inimies were we after all this parade 
 an pomp, to sneak back to our homes, like a lot o wayward 
 children afore the rebuke of a schoolmaster?" Then bow 
 ing gravely before the minister, and bidding him a hearty 
 farewell, he remounted his horse. 
 
 "Attention! Forward!" he cried, and the column 
 moved slowly down the road. 
 
 "This is pride," murmured Father Clark, as McFarlane 
 turned away. "Sinful pride! And pride goeth before 
 destruction, and the haughty spirit before a fall. May 
 Heaven save and shield you, my poor, erring flock!" 
 
 A few gathered around the venerable man, and assured 
 him that. they would heed his voice and return to their 
 homes. Others as they passed grasped his hand, and with 
 moist eyes besought his prayers, and invoked a blessing 
 on his gray head. Not a man, as the column moved by, 
 failed to remove hat or cap before the good and faithful 
 pastor, and many wished that they might with honor fol 
 low his advice. But how dare they? The pride of self- 
 consistency has a firm lodgment in man s soul, and when 
 allied, as it commonly is, with the fear of ridicule, is respon 
 sible for many of his follies and not a few of his misfor 
 tunes and even crimes. He is a man of finer mold and 
 higher mettle than common who can break away from 
 courses that he knows are wrong, and separate himself 
 from his associates in the face of their jibes, their ill will 
 and abuse, or even in fear thereof. Our social world may 
 have a narrow horizon, and lie on never so low a plane, 
 but, withal, its public opinion is well nigh omnipotent with 
 most of us; and the terror of being branded as heretic, 
 traitor, turncoat, scab, or what not, is mightier to us than 
 the voice of God. Count it no marvel then that these men 
 of Mingo Creek, each one fearing and not, knowing his fel 
 low s opinions, followed the leader of the hour s tumult, 
 and turned their backs upon the holy man who had so long 
 been the prophet of their better selves. 
 
 McFarlane halted his column in the woods half a mile 
 from Neville s, and there picketing the horses marched 
 afoot to the house. Gen. Neville s mansion was the finest 
 in the western country, much of its material having been 
 brought from the East and England by the tedious trans 
 portation methods of the time. It was a large wooden 
 
200 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 house, a single story and a half in height, with wide halls, 
 and broad verandah covering two sides, after the style of 
 old Virginia houses. It stood on the crest of a hill that 
 looks westward across steep wooded slopes that descend to 
 Chartiers Creek, which encircles its base and was crossed 
 then as it is now by a bridge. Beyond lay the Valley of the 
 Chartiers, a broken and rolling plain bounded by environ 
 ing hills. 
 
 On the opposite bank of the creek and almost directly 
 facing it, stood and still stands Woodville, the house of Col. 
 Presley Neville, the Inspector s son, who had shared with 
 his father the dangers and honors of the Eevolutionary 
 War. A broad straight avenue or open look-way had been 
 cut through the forest on the hillside by trimming out 
 branches and lopping off treetops. This left an open 
 space through which, from the upper windows of either 
 house, the other could be seen, and the two families could 
 signal one another. For exchanging the ordinary wants 
 and happenings of related households, a code of signals had 
 been arranged. 
 
 The advancing host emerged from the woods and 
 ascended the Neville hills, carrying in the van their flag 
 with its six broad bars. As the flank of the column swept 
 around to the west, a woman s form was seen standing in 
 the gabled window under the peak of the roof, waving a 
 white cloth. It seemed a senseless act to the most part of 
 the company, but was not without grave meaning to a few 
 who knew the fashions of the Neville family. Toward the 
 east and south, Bower Hill, the name of Gen. Neville s 
 place, but especially given to the elevation on which the 
 mansion stood, rolls rather abruptly, forming a short ra 
 vine. Through this runs a narrow stream, fed by a spring 
 whereat the traveler, if he will, may still quench his thirst 
 as did the Mingo Creek militiamen on that fateful day. 
 Along the western slope were built the cabins or quarters 
 of the negro slaves, and nearby, where the lap of the hill 
 closes the ravine, stood the distillery, an establishment 
 deemed necessary to every considerable plantation. Fac 
 ing this, so as to form the rude outlines of two sides of a 
 hollow square, were the barns and stables. Thus the house 
 was well protected from these directions, and assailants 
 were exposed to an enfilading fire. 
 
 McFarlane saw at once that his movements were not a 
 
THE LATIMERS. 201 
 
 surprise. The peaceful home on Bower Hill had become 
 a citadel. Uniformed soldiers from Fort Pitt garrison 
 were on guard upon the porches. In the negro quarters, 
 in the barn, and in the distillery, sturdy slaves were en 
 trenched, armed and officered by members of the family, 
 by the white laborers, or by the soldiers. As these struc 
 tures were built of heavy logs, they afforded a formidable 
 defense. The situation needed no interpreter. It was 
 plain that Gen. Neville had been informed of the expedi 
 tion, had prepared his retainers for the assault, and had 
 summoned troops from the garrison, in which Major Kirk* 
 patrick and his son-in-law, Major Craig, both officers of 
 the United States army, would be only too ready to assist. 
 In fact, although it was not then known to the assailants, 
 Major Kirkpatrick was himself within the house, serving 
 with musket as a common soldier. 
 
 "We shall have warem work the day, I doubt," said 
 McFarlane to Latimer, as the troops were taking their 
 positions. 
 
 "Ay, it does promise that," said Luke. "Neville s a 
 wise old coon and not asy to catch nappin . But there s 
 nothin for it now but to go ahead and trust to luck. Yet 
 he is too good a soldier, one would think, to wager battle 
 agin sich a force as our n. There s not more n a dozen 
 soldiers, as I count, and the blacks are poor fighters, aveii 
 behint shelter. Mayhap the Giner l 11 ccme to tarms after 
 all. Leastways the first thing to do is to try him. Shall 
 we send a flag of truce to the house?" 
 
 Yes, the Commander so wished; and so decreed the 
 Directory, who held counsel apart on a commanding knoll 
 out of gun-shot. Accordingly, three men of good standing 
 in the county were sent forward carrying a white handker 
 chief on a ramrod, the troops resting on their arms and 
 eagerly watching the result. Lieut. Burd, who at his own 
 request had been put in command of the squad of eleven 
 men sent from Pittsburg, advanced beyond the garden 
 palings and awaited the messengers. 
 
 "What is your will, gentlemen?" asked the officer. 
 
 "We wish a personal interview with Inspector Neville 
 on matters of most serious public concern." 
 
 "I have to say, gentlemen, that Gen. Neville is not at 
 home, and his family and premises are for the time being 
 under my charge as an officer of the United States army. 
 
202 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 May I ask you to state your business, and for what reason 
 a peaceable household is thus threatened and surrounded 
 by a host of armed men?" 
 
 "Sir/ was the answer, "we have no quarrel with you, 
 and our business is such as you cannot transact. But as 
 Gen. Neville is absent, we demand admission to his house 
 and possession of his public papers/ 
 
 "Gen. Neville s public papers are not his," was the 
 reply, "but property of the Government which, as its repre 
 sentative, I am here to preserve. I must deny you entrance 
 to the house unless you will come in simply to share the 
 family s hospitality. Moreover, let me warn you to desist 
 from further threatening and annoyance. My orders are 
 to spare the shedding of blood if possible, but to defend 
 these premises at whatever risk." 
 
 Here the interview ended. Lieut. Burd returned to the 
 house, from whose porches and windows the guard and in 
 mates had anxiously looked upon though they could not 
 hear the interview. The messengers withdrew to a wide- 
 spreading sugar maple just beyond the lines, and reported 
 to the Directory. 
 
 "Gentlemen of the Directory," said McFarlane, "what 
 will you do? You doubt the statement that Gen. Neville 
 has lied from his home. Sartainly he is not the man to 
 shirk danger or responsibility, whativer his faults may be. 
 At laste, you doubt that his public papers, which you are 
 especially intint on gettin intil your han ? s, have been 
 removed. Very well, are you still resolved to have them?" 
 
 "We are!" 
 
 "There is nothin for it then," quoth McFarlane, "but 
 to advance our lines an take the house by storm. Farther 
 dallyin is a waste of time. I shall order the assault at 
 once. I m sorry indade to expose our men. I fear, poor 
 fellows, that some of em will fall; but I shall first advance 
 upon the cabins and barns, an inunder cover of the open 
 grove on this side of the ravine. After that " 
 
 His speech was interrupted by Luke Latimer, who had 
 been watching, with swiftly changing emotions of wonder, 
 indignation and anxiety, the approach of a tall soldier in 
 a green hunting shirt. 
 
 "Good heavens, John Latimer! What brought you 
 here?" 
 
 John came up and shook Luke s hand. Then bowing 
 
THE LATIMERS. 
 
 courteously to the gentlemen of the Directory standing 
 around: "I hope I am here for no harm. Surely a son may 
 follow where the father leads ?" 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt !" exclaimed Luke, blushing at 
 the retort. "But it is well known, John, that you have 
 scant sympathy with your father in the matters now on 
 hand; and it is my mind that you beeta be away from 
 here/ 
 
 "Come," broke in McFarlane, who had indeed given lit 
 tle heed to the conversation, his mind being concerned 
 with more serious affairs; "we have no time to lose in 
 talkin . We have now another duty to attind to. We make 
 no war on women folk. Neville s family are in the house, 
 if the Gineral isn t. We must send another flag of truce to 
 notify the women to retire, and to offer them safe conduct 
 beyant the lines, perhaps to Col. Neville s acrost the 
 creek." 
 
 "Let me have that service, Major!" said John Latimer, 
 eagerly. "Father, you are one of the Directory; give your 
 assent. I admit that I came here on an errand of peace, 
 not war; and this is a peaceful errand, and wholly at one 
 with both my taste and conscience. I beg you to let me 
 go." 
 
 No one objected. McFarlane was pleased to send a 
 man like John on such a duty, and Luke assented as 
 eagerly as John had asked. Would it not take the lad out 
 of harm s way? Was it not a very godsend to free him from 
 all complicity with a deed which promised to make no small 
 stir in the country? "Ay, let him go, and see the ladies 
 safely acrost Chartiers Creek." And Luke inwardly prayed 
 that it might be a long journey and a late return. 
 
 Thus, parental affection, in whatever speech or language 
 its voice is heard, utters the same unselfish sentiment. 
 Whatever perilous emprise duty or self-will or necessity 
 urges us to risk our own lives or honors thereon, we would 
 fain shield our offspring from the same. A venture seems 
 a light affair to ourselves until we see a child going into it. 
 Dear heart! then it straightway dons another and more 
 woeful visage. Perhaps the reader may share with Luke 
 Latimer the wonder how John Latimer came thus sud 
 denly upon the scene? Therefore we may pause here and 
 preface our further history with the telling. 
 
204 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 JOHN" LATIMER TAKES UP THE EOLE OF KNIGHT ERRANT. 
 
 John Latimer, Mort Sheldon and Panther had been 
 sent early in June on a scouting expedition into the north 
 ern parts of Ohio. Gen. Wayne wished to know the plans 
 and movements of the Indians of that section, that he 
 might advance with more confidence along the western 
 frontier of the territory to strike a decisive blow against 
 the combined tribes in the Northwest. Thence, the in 
 structions ran, having sent one of their number to report, 
 the scouts were to proceed to the Muskingum, and there 
 await Luke Latimer and others who would join them about 
 the middle of July. Thence again they were to move west 
 ward and unite with Capt. Wells s company of scouts, and 
 co-operate with Wayne s Legion in the general movement 
 against the hostiles. 
 
 The scouting party having finished its work, Sheldon 
 started west with the report, and John and Panther pro 
 ceeded to the rendezvous. There they were met by a mes 
 sage from Gen. Wayne ordering them to Fort Pitt on 
 secret service. Exaggerated rumors of the state of affairs 
 in the western counties of Pennsylvania had caused Wayne 
 uneasiness. He feared that such tumults around the head 
 waters, of the Ohio might interfere with his supplies from 
 the East, and encourage the pacific tribes to take the war 
 path. He therefore sought authentic information both 
 from the commandant of the garrison and from the per 
 sonal observation of his scouts. Thus John and Panther 
 were unexpectedly found at Pittsburg. There the Mingo 
 awaited the preparation of the official packet, and John 
 hastened to Canonsburg to see his parents. 
 
 Mrs. Polly Latimer, who was preparing an early mid 
 day meal, suddenly found herself clasped in the arms of a 
 stalwart young man, and had lifted up her voice to cry and 
 her hands to smite, ere she recognized her son. Then fol 
 lowed loving kiss and joyful embrace, with tears aplenty, 
 for indeed the good woman was highly wrought up. 
 
 And was father at home? 
 
 "No, indade not! He is rarely at home nowadays, but 
 
THE LATIMEBS. 205 
 
 stravagin the county, a-traipsin here an there at beck 
 an nod of that pettifoggin Ahithophel Dave Bradford, 
 an 7 that shilly-shally, milk-an -water Tom Marshall. 
 They re all heels over head in the axcise troubles; an you 
 may know how ill it fares with your father whin aven his 
 own business matters are all through other; for he has iver 
 been canny and careful with sich affairs. Ahbut, ietabee 
 with that matter ontil you ve dined; for belike you ve not 
 had a dacent mayl sence ye left home." 
 
 Already Mrs. Polly had been making a radical change 
 in her menu; for women are commonly content with picked 
 up meals when they have only themselves to cater for. 
 But the advent of men folk quit 3 transforms affairs; for the 
 male of the genus homo loves heartier feeding than his 
 mate; a fact which mothers and wives instinctively discern 
 and duly respect. John looked on the while, and giving 
 forth bits of information as to his late whereabouts, sniffed 
 the savory messes preparing with the high satisfaction of a 
 normal manly appetite. Having appeased his hunger, he 
 insisted on knowing more about his father s doings, for 
 his mother dropped forth hints throughout the meal that 
 betokened something serious. 
 
 "Where is he at ?" quoth Mrs. Polly. "Deed it s more n 
 I can rightly tell; but that he s at no good you may be 
 bound, since he s off a-axcisin . But I can talk as I redd 
 up the things; so sit you there and rest, for I misdoubt it s 
 lettle comfort you ve had lately. Good Lord presarve us! 
 What with the Indians and the axcise there s no p ace for 
 women nowadays. But it behoves to be resigned and quiet, 
 I suppose, for a booin and cryin woman 11 mend no man s 
 manners. But men s ways are awful aggravatin for all 
 that, an the best on em s contrairy at times, and as skit 
 tish to handle as a yearlin colt." 
 
 She smoothed down her apron until her hand reached 
 the corners, then gathered them up into a lump and flung 
 the ends forth (after her fashion when excited), as if she 
 shook bits of rubbish away. 
 
 "Not that I have aught to say agin Latimer, leastways 
 to his son. But I m sore troubled about him, to spake the 
 honest truth; an I ve had no one sence you ve been gone 
 to sympathize with or talk to about him; an to talk to 
 etrangers I will not, for it s ill wark to wash one s foul 
 linen in public. But not to beat about the bush anny 
 furder this is jist how it stands." 
 
206 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 Thereupon Mrs. Polly recited in her own racy way the 
 events of the last few weeks, giving an account of the Miller 
 affair, and the Mingo Creek meeting, or as much of it as she 
 had managed to extract from her husband. That, how 
 ever, was about all that the reader knows, except some of 
 the secret caucusing at the Falls, and the keen-witted 
 woman gave a shrewd guess at that. 
 
 "This is news indeed!" quoth John, who had fol 
 lowed the narrative with great attention. 
 
 "Ay I" his mother answered. "An now he s gone off 
 long afore daylight a-randyvooin at Couch s Fort with 
 Major McFarlane of the Mingo Creek rigiment. He s wan 
 of the Directory, your father is God save the mark! an 
 Bradford at the head who but he, forsooth? It s mighty 
 lettle directin anny on em 11 do, with Dave Bradford s 
 sly hand at the helm. that man! He s like the ship s 
 governor in the Good Book, and turns ship and crew to an 
 fro whithersoever he listeth. Jist to think of it! Five 
 hunder men, Latimer says, armed to the teeth, are 
 a-marchin to-day agin Ginerl Neville s house, an Heaven 
 ordy knows what 11 be the outcome of it all!" 
 
 "What! This is serious business!" exclaimed John. 
 "This sounds like war and rebellion. And father at the 
 head of it? Oh, if you could only have kept him out of this 
 affair!" 
 
 "Kape Luke Latimer out when he s bent on goin intil 
 a thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Polly. "Ah, ma lad, don t you 
 know your father better nor that? Ma old mother 1 arnt 
 me that a man is like a sailin boat, an you must give him 
 some headway if you d guide him at all. So I e en gave way 
 to his fads, as I thought em, an made no contrapsions 
 about them, an kep my tongue off n him, as is becomin 
 in a wife, hopin Fd be likelier to git the guidin of him by 
 an by if he had his own way at first. But it was a sorry 
 mistake, I doubt. Deary me! An now he s off a-sojerin 
 an a-directorin with the militia; an Heaven only knows 
 what 11 become of it. Giner l Neville s not a. man to let a 
 ragtag lot o mustermen dictate til him; an he ll sind them 
 a-packin quicker, you may be sure. There 11 be shootin 
 an burnin an murder afore the day s done, with Major 
 McFarlane an that rabble at the tail of him. It s a sorry 
 heart the women have this day, an Neville s women folks 
 as well. An it s a poor welcome that pretty Miss Oldham 
 
THE LATIMERS. 207 
 
 11 have to Bower Hill, an she jist on from the East What 
 a horde of ragamuffins an bla guards she must think our 
 people are!" 
 
 John Latimer in the fervor of his excitement had been 
 walking the floor while his mother was giving these details, 
 but this last item of news brought him to a pause. "What 
 is that, mother? What are you saying of Miss Oldham?" 
 
 "Jist that she s at her uncle s, whither she came from 
 "Philadelphia three days agone. Fanny McCormack was 
 a-tellin me, who had h ard from her, an was a-plannin 
 to visit her this very day." 
 
 "What! Fanny McCormack too! But she has not gone, 
 I hope?" queried John hastily. 
 
 "No, Fanny s safe enough; for your father bade me 
 warn her of the trouble, an I was over there arly. But she 
 has been ciuryin on about Blanche and Mrs. Niville and 
 Mrs. Morgan, too, who, as bad luck would have it, is over 
 at Bower Hill on a visit. Alack! one trouble al ays comes 
 to kape another company. But I telled Fanny there s not 
 the laste use for til worry about the women folk, for not 
 a hair of their heads 11 be harmed, I m sure. Latimer 
 would niver hear of that, nor Major McFarlane, nor indade 
 anny of the rest of em, for that matter. Daft as our folk 
 are about the axcise business, they re not so far gone as 
 that." 
 
 "Ay, ay," said John; "I have little doubt of it. But 
 there are many rough spirits on the border, and the scum 
 always comes to the top in seetLing times like these. But 
 what time, said you, were the militia to rendezvous at 
 Couch s Fort?" 
 
 "It would be nigh about eleven your father allowed." 
 
 "Eleven? And it s just past noon. What horses are 
 in the stable?" 
 
 "Sure, John, you won t be for mixin up with these 
 affairs? Isn t it enough to have my husband there, athout 
 my son also " 
 
 "Come, mother dear," exclaimed John. "I cannot bide 
 here and lather in danger. I must go and be near him; 
 and who knows, I may save him from harm in the hurly- 
 burly. And the ladies will be no worse off for my presence, 
 even if they are no better. Do not delay me now, there s 
 a dear, for go I will. Besides, I think it s my duty to go, 
 for here is the very information that Gen. Wayne sent 
 me to secure." 
 
208 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 "Ahbut, isn t it enough to have my husband in the 
 whirl, that you must go too? What crayturs men are! It s 
 touch an go with em all. They re a rampageous an com 
 batant lot, an smell the sound of battle afar off, like Job s 
 war horse, an the voice of the captains an the shoutin . 
 Woe s me! But, mayhap it s for the best you should go! 
 Your father took the bay filly, an George McCormack has 
 your chestnut mare. There s my Snowball! She s a keen 
 jade for a canter, but ower fat for fast ridin , I m a-thinkin . 
 But your fathers black geldin Marion is in the barn, an 
 in prime condition." 
 
 Ere the words were well spoken, John was out of the 
 house and into the stable. His advent was greeted by 
 that pleasant whinny of recognition so like a human cry of 
 joy, with which horses greet their lovers. The great swim 
 ming eyes of the animal, wonderful objects, so full of 
 beauty and expression, beamed a delightsome welcome 
 as John came in. Stopping but a moment to return 
 Marion s salutation, and rub his cheek against the horse s 
 nose, ho flung on saddle and bridle. Then kissing his 
 mother good-bye, for she had followed him to the stable, 
 he mounted, and giving the horse full rein, hied away. 
 
 "Ten miles and more! Ay, but the lad 11 make it in 
 good time at that rate," murmured Mrs. Polly. She stood 
 and strained her eyes after the fa^t-disappearing figures, 
 until horse and man were quite out of sight. Then she 
 entered the house still talking to herself; for the solitary 
 life which she had led had brought on the habit of solilo 
 quizing aloud. Her own voice seemed company to her in 
 the deep quiet and solitude of the primitive forests. Thus, 
 even in her village home she continued her monologues. 
 
 "There he goes after the father, an intil the hurly- 
 burly! Deed it s true, the old cock crows an the young 
 un 1 arns. Though, it comes nayt ral enough and nades no 
 1 arnin , for they re all of a piece, them men! An nayther 
 tane nor tither bethinks him of her who must bide here 
 alone at home, an carry the fret an tear of it all in her 
 heart. If men could be women for the space of aven one of 
 the wars or riots they re so keen to stir up, they d be far 
 more p aceful times in this warld. Ay, a day or two would 
 do em, I m a-thinkin ! They d give manny an affront the 
 go-by rother nor stay at home an bear the strain an fret 
 an unsartainty; an their hearts a-jumpin intil their 
 
THE LATIMEES. 209 
 
 mouths at ivery clatter of hoofs on the roadway; an they 
 startin up in their slape with woeful drames, an cheeks 
 hot an cold by turns, with that deadish and die-away 
 feelin at the heart at the thoughts of no one knows what! 
 An all the more worryin becaze one dissn t know what. 
 Welladay! so it has always been, an will be I dar say ontil 
 the millennium. I beeta go in an sit down to my spinnin , 
 an wark off these vapors an doldrums. 
 
 "How lonely the place seems athout em. Hulkin fel 
 lows! they go a-clutterin an stampin roun the rooms, or 
 a-pacin out an in, an weavin back an forth like a caged 
 cat, on asy for somethin to do. Or jist as likely dawdlin 
 about an settin themselves in the way, an refusin to stir 
 a peg if they re wanted to lend a hand. One time they ll 
 be a-wheecllin us til ye d think butter wouldn t melt in 
 their mouths; an then grumpy an techy an argifyin , an 
 contrairy like all possessed. Yet, sakes alive! as soon as 
 they re gone, w re a-frettin fer til have em back. An 
 that s a woman for ye! Deed, we niver miss the water till 
 the well goes dry. The Lord kape em from all harrm! 
 Amen! I m loth to see the lad mix up with sich harem- 
 scarem doins . But Luke 11 be the better for his prisence, 
 for he carries a stiddy head, an his blood is not het with 
 the axcise folly an passion. Well, well, sence I can t have 
 my own way with em, I reckon the will of the Lord must 
 be done! Heigho!" 
 
 Thus it came about that John Latimer, urging his good 
 horse at the top of his speed, reached Bower Hill to startle 
 his father by his unexpected appearance, and just in time to 
 be made the bearer of a flag of truce, and in behalf of the 
 insurgents offer safe conduct to the ladies of the house and 
 the women of the household. 
 
 At the outer line of the negro quarters where a soldier 
 kept guard, Lieut. Burd met him. As he stood face to face 
 with his competitor of the shooting match and offered him 
 cordial greeting, there suddenly came a strange confusion 
 of sentiment, and a feeling akin to terror. There was a 
 coldness in the answering salute of the officer; a flush of 
 surprise upon his face, as of dormant contempt just awak 
 ening; a couchant indignation that started upon John s 
 sensitive nature an image of horror, as a lightning flash on 
 a stormy night brings vividly to view some object before 
 unnoticed, and fixes it upon tliQ brain and holds it there 
 Ji 
 
210 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 long after the glare has gone back into the blackness. That 
 high look, that indescribable something in Lieut. Burd s 
 carriage what could it mean? 
 
 He saw it all now. Fool! He had not before thought 
 that his act had publicly and officially committed him to 
 the insurgents cause! In his chivalrous earnestness to 
 help others, in his consciousness of loyalty to his country, 
 and opposition to all treasonable acts and interests, it had 
 not occurred to him that his motives might be misunder 
 stood and his conduct misconstrued. Oh! why should he 
 have rushed into this affair? Could not some one else have 
 borne the flag of truce and given equal safety to the Neville 
 ladies? Ay, triple fool! Quixotic and hair-brained act! 
 And what would those ladies think; and how would they 
 feel towards him? He, John Latimer, their friend and 
 guest so often, one of the whiskey insurgents ! An assailant 
 of their house, and associate with and leader of an armed 
 mob, to exile them, and threaten and maltreat their loved 
 ones, and burn and murder, it may be! Oh! And Miss 
 Blanche! And he to set up for and come forth as their 
 knight! Knight? Bah! Quixotic idiot! 
 
 There he stood, his cheeks aflame, his eyes dazed and 
 downcast, while these thoughts quivered along the very 
 quick of his brain, and he was conscious of the high looks 
 directed upon him by Lieut. Burd. Ay, and it is he of all 
 men who stands there the defender of the Nevilles and of 
 Miss Blanche! And John Latimer stands as a repre 
 sentative of their despoilers, an insurgent mob, to offer 
 them safe conduct! 
 
 "Well, sir, what message do you bring from your fel 
 lows?" Lieut. Burd s calm question cut through John like 
 cold steel, and that awoke him. Yes, he had been a fool, 
 but folly will not cure folly. There was only one course 
 now open to him. He must follow upon the first prompt 
 ings of his spirit, and knowing his worthy motives, trust 
 to Heaven and time to vindicate them. But should he 
 explain his exact relations to the insurgents? And could 
 he honorably do so, and not betray a trust he had sought 
 at their hands? Would he be believed? At all events, he 
 would speak the truth and say how he came there. That 
 at least was due to honor. 
 
 With this resolve, his blood beat more calmly. His 
 manhood was atop again, and he stated his commission and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 211 
 
 offered to conduct the ladies to Col. Neville s house, which, 
 he was assured, would not be molested, and wherein the 
 ladies would be safe. 
 
 "So much for my official duty. Now a word of personal 
 explanation is due alike to myself and all concerned. I do 
 not represent these men who are besiegers of the house, 
 and with whom yo.u may soon be in hostile combat, except 
 in this single act of mercy to the defenseless. With them 
 and with their purpose I have no part nor lot. I have not 
 been thirty minutes upon these grounds, having hastened 
 hither from my home on the first tidings of what was 
 afoot, with the double purpose of watching over my father, 
 who is one of the leaders, and of using my influence with 
 him and the others on the side of forbearance and peace; 
 or at least to bespeak the utmost courtesy towards the 
 ladies. I beg you to explain my position, for I am con 
 cerned not to appear in false colors from the one side or 
 the other. Moreover, I have just come from Gen. Wayne, 
 directed as a Government scout to gather all information 
 bearing upon the character of the disturbances in Western 
 Pennsylvania. As such I have felt and feel it my duty to 
 be present here to observe transactions and report in ac 
 cordance with the facts." 
 
 If an expression of doubt, a passing interrogatory, as it 
 were, came over Lieut. Burd s face, it was but momentary, 
 and vanished like the shadow of a drifting cloud. That look 
 and manner which had started such a tumult in John s sorl 
 disappeared, and with a glance as of restored confi 
 dence and respect, the officer bowed. "I will not forget 
 your message/ 7 he said, "and I need not say that it gives me 
 pleasure both to hear and bear it. I must ask you to remain 
 here by the sentinel until I return." 
 
 John can hardly be blamed for mentally wondering if 
 Lieut-. Burd would say all he wished him to say? Would 
 he make it quite plain? Even to Blanche? And would he 
 be believed? The few moments that elapsed seemed a long 
 interval ere the officer returned, and reported that the offer 
 of the insurgent leaders had been accepted, with such 
 thanks as were due for that much consideration. Capt. 
 Latimer s kind offer to act as escort was also accepted, and 
 the ladies would be committed to his charge. Would he be 
 good enough to follow him to yonder picket gate in the 
 outer yard fence? As the two men walked together, Lieut. 
 
212 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Burd asked, "Are you at liberty to say how how many men 
 the insurgents muster, and how they are armed?" 
 
 "Yes; as far as I know they have no wish to conceal 
 anything. Indeed, they had hoped that their numbers 
 would overawe opposition and save bloodshed. There are 
 at least five hundred men, and they are well armed with 
 rifles and muskets." 
 
 "What manner of men are they?" 
 
 "They are the best citizens in these parts. Many are 
 of blameless life and character. There are a number of 
 Revolutionary veterans among them, and their leader is an 
 officer of some distinction. They are deeply in earnest 
 and conscientious in their action." 
 
 "Will they go the length of firing on us?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly. And if I might be permitted to advise, 
 I would urge you to treat with them and not attempt resist 
 ance. Your position is not defensible against such odds. 
 You may hold it for a little while, but with your force the 
 bravest defender must in the end perish or surrender. 
 Eesistance will certainly cost loss of life on both sides, and 
 will inflame the passions of the besiegers, and make further 
 bloodshed inevitable. A battle here to-day will kindle 
 open insurrection throughout the Western counties. Pru 
 dence, peace, conciliation here may save us from a civil 
 war. I beg you to pause. I would count it a high honor 
 could I serve as a medium of peace between you and my 
 misguided friends yonder." 
 
 Lieut. Burd listened attentively. His serious face 
 showed that he felt the high responsibility resting upon 
 him, but he made no response. The two men were now. 
 nearing the picket gate upon the east. Just outside, in the 
 shelter of an oak tree that grew hard by the smoke-house 
 where the family meat was preserved, stood a knot of 
 women. Mrs. Morgan was in the foreground. Behind her 
 was a bevy of negro slaves, all with packages and hand-bags 
 containing their portable belongings, for so the Directory 
 had allowed, prohibiting only the public papers of the 
 Inspector. 
 
 But where is Blanche? Ah, there she comes, her Aunt 
 Neville leaning on her arm and weeping, while a negro 
 woman carries their satchels. 
 
 John s heart leaped upward at the sight, and his cheeks 
 grew pale, and the muscles of his arm twitched as he 
 
THE LATIMERS. 213 
 
 inwardly cursed the folly that had caused such a scene. 
 Blanche seemed taller than when he saw her last, and more 
 womanly. Her clear brunette cheeks were rosier than wont 
 with the excitement, and her eyes flashed with alternate 
 indignation and pity. There was not a trace of fear in her 
 carriage. She came of good blood, of a race of brave men; 
 and blood tells. John would have sprung forward to meet 
 her, but hesitated a moment, for he w r as not assured of his 
 reception. While he hesitated, Lieut. Burd advanced, and 
 giving the weeping matron his arm led her to the gate of 
 her home, Blanche closely following. 
 
 It was hard for John to check the impulse to greet the 
 iair maiden and offer his arm to her, but he restrained him 
 self. The frigid greeting of Mrs. Morgan, and the glum 
 and glowering looks of the servants had chilled his heart 
 and chained his free action. To lose confidence concerning 
 one s favorable standing, especially before ladies, smothers 
 self-complacency, puts self-poise off pivot, and leaves a 
 young man at sad disadvantage. The angry and lofty bear 
 ing of Mrs. Neville and her formal bow of greeting cut him 
 to the quick and gave no relief. There was something in 
 the look that Blanche cast toward him, and the sudden 
 mantling of her cheeks, that gave him better heart. 
 
 He bowed deeply and would have spoken he hardly 
 knew what. But the silence that had heretofore brooded 
 was broken by a musket shot from the woods beyond the 
 spring. How it echoed and re-echoed along the ravine! 
 The ladies started. The servants set up a cry. All eyes 
 turned in the direction of the sound, where a light puff of 
 smoke curled up among the trees. 
 
 "Heavens! Have they opened fire?" cried Lieut. Burd. 
 
 "God forbid!" exclaimed John. "No, it cannot be. It 
 is only a signal, but it bids us hasten. Madam," addressing 
 Mrs. Neville, "I grieve to say it, but we must hasten our 
 departure. God knows I would spare you would spare 
 you all (a glance at Blanche) the sorrow and affront of this 
 day. But we are in the hands of God, and must bow to His 
 will. Hark! another signal. Come, we must go." 
 
 A second shot was heard from the opposite quarter, and 
 by a stir in the gray line of human forms on the crest of 
 the hills beyond, it was seen that the insurgents were pre 
 paring to advance. Slowly the little company of forlorn 
 women took up their way along the driveway and thence 
 
214 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 to the road where the coachman awaited with horses and 
 carriage. Lieut. Burd handed Mrs. Neville and Mrs. Mor 
 gan into the coach, and now John had courage to offer his 
 hand to Blanche for like service. How dainty her hand 
 looked as it lay but a second in his open palm! And what a 
 thrill it left! Was it only a fancy, or did it leave also the 
 slightest pressure thereon as the maiden stepped into the 
 vehicle and received her package from John s hand? 
 
 A third shot! The last signal. Mrs. Neville looked 
 out of the coach window as the horses moved off, and gazed 
 eagerly, alas! and for the last time, upon the stately man 
 sion which so long had been her happy home. Then, burst 
 ing into tears, she drew down the blind, and throwing her 
 self back upon the cushions sobbed aloud, and her com 
 panions, in sympathetic grief, wept with her. 
 
 John turned to Lieut. Burd as the servants fell into 
 line behind the carriage, and held out his hand which was 
 wamly grasped. "God guide you!" he exclaimed, "in this 
 day s sad work; -and God protect you! Good-bye." 
 
 He moved rapidly forward and took his place at the side 
 of the coach, while Lieut. Burd turned sadly to ttie duties 
 before him. As the mournful procession reached the curve 
 in the road where the descent of the hill becomes more 
 marked, it was challenged by a sentinel; for the house was 
 surrounded, and egress by the inmates was cut off from 
 every quarter. John advanced and answered the challenge, 
 but the sentinel refused to be content. A. written pass 
 signed by McFarlane, which had been hastily prepared in 
 case of need, was produced. 
 
 But the guard remained obdurate and denied passage. 
 He had been told to allow no one to pass, and especially to 
 search any one coming from the house for papers, and bring 
 such before the Directory. The pass might be all right. 
 He wouldn t say anything about that; but right or wrong, 
 he must search the carriage and search the women. Where 
 upon he advanced to make his word good. 
 
 "Halt!" cried John, placing himself in the soldier s 
 way, and speaking with no gentle voice, for he grew impa 
 tient at this needless delay. "Call for the officer of the 
 guard! You re an ignoramus, and do not know the com 
 monest duties of your post. Here is the Commander s pass 
 bidding all sentinels respect the bearer, and pass the ladies 
 in his charge. Dare you set yourself against such 
 authority?" 
 
THE LATIMEES. 215 
 
 "An who the divil are you, sor?" was the tart response, 
 "that presoome to taych your betters? John Latimer, for 
 sooth! Ay, I ve h ard tell of yees as a stuck-up tory, an* 
 inimy of our cause. My opeenion is that you re little better 
 nor a spy an traitor, an be hanged til you. Stand out of 
 my way, or 
 
 Ere the sentence was finished John had wrested the 
 threatening musket from the guard s hand, and with a 
 quick turn of his foot brought him to the ground, then 
 quickly reversing the piece, held the bayonet to his breast. 
 The soldier lay for a moment stunned, and then lifting up 
 his head, showed a face on which surprise and terror were 
 equally depicted, and lustily cried for quarter. 
 
 "Get up, then," said John, bringing the musket to a 
 rest, "and see if you will let us go now." His rage had 
 already softened into a glint of laughter at the sentinel s 
 forlorn and dazed appearance. 
 
 "Let you go?" echoed the sentinel solemnly, who now 
 had arisen and was brushing the dust from his clothes. 
 "Go, ay, go, an be dawgond til ye! As soon as you re a 
 mineter, for all me. Ye ve got the better of me this time; 
 but I ll be aven with ye yit, mind that now, John Latimer." 
 
 The ladies, alarmed at the delay and hearing something 
 of the commotion, opened the coach door and asked what 
 was the matter. "Nothing at all now," answered John 
 quietly. "A little delay in passing the guard line. But it 
 is all right, and the sentinel is quite satisfied. Drive on, 
 coachman. Guard, do you fall in and follow us to the foot 
 of the hill." 
 
 Meanwhile the controversy had attracted the attention 
 of others whose complaisance John feared he might not 
 so easily count upon. Several sentinels from the picket 
 line within the adjacent wood were moving rapidly toward 
 the road. Another and more serious impedient threatened, 
 and John began to be gravely concerned, when among the 
 advancing forms he noted a hatless man who bore on his 
 sturdy shoulders the red shocky poll of Andy Burbeck. 
 
 "By all the powers!" cried Andy, rushing forward and 
 grasping his friend by the hand. "It is Jock Latimer him 
 self! An how in the name of all that s wonderful, came 
 you here? I thought you safe enough among the red sav 
 ages, and here ye turn up, like a bad penny, in the midst of 
 a white man s riot! But ye re out of the fryin pan intil the 
 fire, my boy, bad luck to us all!" 
 
216 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 "You re a godsend, Andy, as usual;" said John, who 
 was never more delighted to see the honest red and freckled 
 face. "But I have no time to talk now. I m escorting these 
 ladies to Col. Neville s beyond the Chartiers, and you must 
 join me. The sentinel has delayed me, though I bear the 
 Commandant s pass. Here it la. Where is the corporal 
 of the guard for this post?" 
 
 "Ay!" said Andy, glancing at the pass. "This is all 
 right an rig lar, an A m the man ye re a-lookin fer Cor 
 poral Andy Burbeck, at yer sarvice!" Turning to the other 
 two guards who had now come up, he dismissed them to 
 their posts. 
 
 "I think," said John, "I can now venture to return this 
 piece." With a pleasant smile he handed the obstinate 
 sentinel his musket, which was received with a wry face 
 and grimace that savored of anything but gratitude. 
 Andy took in the situation at once. 
 
 "Ah, Davvy, ma b y," said he, "whan 11 ye be 1 arnin a, 
 little good sinse ? Ye might a knowed this pass is all right, 
 aven if ye couldn t rade it. An didn t A tell ye to call the 
 corporal of the gyard, an not trust til y r own wit? Sure 
 y r head 11 niver fill y r father s hat. An ye must nades 
 try a throw with John Latimer, hey? He nades a long 
 spoon who would sup with the de il, an " 
 
 "Come, come," interrupted Capt. John. "Mind the 
 master s copy, Andy, comparisons are odious. But we are 
 losing precious time. Shall we move on?" 
 
 "Ay, that we wull, an A ll see ye safe down the hill, an 
 God bless the ladies! Stay here, Davvy," he added address 
 ing the sentinel, "ontil A come back; an ye 11 know Cap n 
 Latimer better the nixt time ye mate, A promise ye." 
 
 "Suppin with the de il, indade!" muttered the guard, 
 mumbling over Andy s proverb. "Ye may well say that, 
 Andy Burbeck!" He rubbed his elbows, which had been 
 bruised by the fall. "There s niver a livin bain , barrin 
 the de il an John Latimer, that could a backed Davy 
 Dandruff that away. But letabee! I ll bide my time, an 
 it s flat enough I ll lave him ere I ve done." 
 
 The lines once passed, the servants recovered their 
 courage and spirits, and as is usual with such folk, became 
 bold as they receded from danger. They hurried down the 
 steep road, and passing the carriage, which must move 
 more cautiously, took familiar bypaths and cut-offs, and 
 
THE LATIMERS, 217 
 
 were soon scurrying over the bridge in little groups, and 
 telling their exciting news to the Woodville servants. At 
 the bridge, Col. Neville met the carriage. He had started 
 from Pittsburg at news of the impending attack, accom 
 panied by marshal Lenox and a young man named Ormsby, 
 who now awaited him at the mansion. From the summit, 
 and through the thick woods came now and then the sound 
 of a musket shot and the snapping crack of a rifle. 
 Another! Two or three together; then a rattling volley. 
 The battle had begun! 
 
 Committing his charges to their kinsman s care, John 
 answered his scant courtesy and formal thanks with a 
 stately bow. Not caring to tax the ladies with further duty 
 of grudging courtesy, he bade Andy follow, and hurried up 
 the road. Yet, having mounted to a point close by a small 
 frontier sanctuary known as St. Luke s Church, beyond 
 which the woods shut out view of the bridge, he could 
 not forbear turning and casting a glance downward. What 
 does he see? 
 
 The carriage has not moved; the door is open, and those 
 within are evidently telling Col. Presley Neville their bitter 
 experience. One of the ladies stands on the bridge and pats 
 the horse which the Colonel rides. It is Blanche. See! 
 She turns and looks up the road. She has caught sight 
 of the two men, and knows that they are looking towards 
 her. A wave of a tiny handkerchief ; : a hat lifted from the 
 head that is all. Yes, it is all! The maiden enters the 
 coach, whose heavy wheels give forth a rumbling that rolls 
 up the knoll. John climbs the steep road that here curves 
 sharply upward from the little log church, with a pace 
 that sets Andy puffing and protesting. 
 
 The musketry firing grows apace. The whistle of bul 
 lets is heard as they cut through the leaves. The 
 hoo-oo-izz ! of one bullet as it sings close above their heads, 
 warns them to caution. John pushes on with vast strides. 
 Andy labors after him, and the Captain thinks of his 
 father? Of his duty as a scout? Andy thinks wliat fools 
 they two be, not to shy around from the broad road and 
 take the shelter of the trees. A wave of a handkerchief! 
 How long can a lover s hopes live on a favor so slight as 
 that? How many dreams of love and happiness can a 
 lover s fancy weave from the fragile fabric of such a trifle? 
 
 As they neared the P>ower Plill house they found that 
 
218 THE LATIME11S. 
 
 the picket lines had been thrown backward so as to com 
 mand the road while keeping the sentinels out of range of 
 their comrades bullets fired from the opposite quarter. 
 Therefore Andy, with consent of the officer of the guard, 
 accompanied John to the headquarters of the Directory 
 where he duly reported. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE RESURGENTS ATTACK THE INSPECTOR S HOUSE. 
 
 From the .outbuildings a steady fire was kept up by 
 the armed slaves. On the other hand the militia were 
 slowly contracting their lines, and directing their firing 
 against every exposed person within range. The aspect 
 of the scene was varied and exciting as John watched 
 it from his elevated outlook on the bridge beyond the 
 ravine. 
 
 Major McFarlane was advancing his men in the frontier 
 fashion, borrowed from the Indians. Once ridiculed by 
 the conservative officers of European troops, it was the evo 
 lutionary basis from which has been developed the method 
 of open order attack in the skirmishing tactics of modern 
 armies. Every clump of bushes, every tree trunk and log, 
 or slightest irregularity, were seized upon as shelter by the 
 militiamen. Occasional puffs of smoke, followed by the 
 crack of rifles, marked their irregular line of approach. 
 Here a human form was seen crouching low on the ground 
 and crawling like a couchant beast through the grass. 
 There, one left his shelter and bending low with trailed 
 piece rushed across the open space to a tree further in 
 advance. This feat was at once signalled by blue orles of 
 smoke issuant from the cabins or the windows of the man 
 sion, and by the rattle of musketry and singing of balls 
 through the air, and their dead thud as they sank into tree 
 or ground. In turn, the momentary exposure which this 
 required was instantly followed by a broken volley from 
 the watchful besiegers. Thus back and forth the musketry 
 of the besieged gave tongue now in sporadic notes, and 
 again in rolling unison, and was answered by the staccato 
 barking of rifles from the woods or the rattle of a full vol- 
 
THE LATIMEES. 219 
 
 ley. John Latimer s experience in war had been limited 
 to a few engagements with Indians, and a combat of this 
 sort was new to him. He watched its progress with 
 anxious heart, and dread at every outbreak of the firing to 
 see the bodies of dead and wounded brought to the rear. 
 But the losses were few. Now came a pause in the firing. 
 Major McFarlane was preparing for a final charge upon 
 the negro quarters which, once captured, would compel the 
 surrender of the little mansion garrison or insure their 
 destruction. With that eager curiosity which attracts men 
 nearer and nearer to the seat of danger in all conflicts 
 of human passions, John changed his position and grad 
 ually approached the line of combatants. The Directory 
 too had moved forward, and Luke Latimer had joined 
 McFarlane to take part in the final attack. 
 
 "God save us!" exclaimed Andy. "There he goes intil 
 the thick of it as calmly as though he were bullet proof. 
 A willfu man nades to be unco wise, as the sayin goes; but 
 savin your prisence, Cap n Jock, your governor has more 
 will nor wisdom. He s the beatenest man for self-will A 
 iver knowed. What s the good of bein a Directory if one 
 can t kape at a safe distance in a shindy like this? There s 
 Mr. Parkinson, now, knows whan his bread is buttered, an 
 stays back by that big tree. He s the sort of Directory that 
 suits my fancy the now. An there s yoursilf, Mr. John, 
 what do ye be axposin yoursilf for? This is no quarrel of 
 your n whatsomiver. An you unarmed! You re a non- 
 combatter, an ought for til go to the rare with the 
 wounded, like the parsons, that is, if we had anny, which 
 we havn t! The parsons are all on t other side of the axcise 
 fight, like good Father Clark; an these poor lads, A mis 
 doubt, will some of em die athout the banefit of clargy. 
 An yoursilf, Cap n Jock, among m, if you don t -be more 
 careful! Hold stiddy now! If ye be hasty ye 11 niver be 
 lasty, mind you! You won t go back? Ay, it s the old 
 story, childer s childer to the third and fourth ginera- 
 tion! You re as like yer dad as two peas in a pod. An 
 my good instructions are all thrown away on ye. Ye ll 
 niand when ye get better, no doot; but in the manetime, 
 how are ye goin to take care of your father if them gar 
 rison chaps or the plaguy darkies make a target of ye?" 
 
 "Come, Andy," said John, "you re not afraid, are you? 
 This is a new sensation for you, I ll be bound. But cheer 
 
220 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 up! What sayeth one of your proverbs? He 11 never be 
 drowned who is born to be hung/ or does it run the other 
 way?" 
 
 "No matter," quoth Andy. "Like an Indian canoe, the 
 sayin goes as well one way as tother. But heth! jist spake 
 aisy whan ye mantion hangin , wull ye, for this 11 be hangin 
 business for some of us, or A m no prophet. Look at that 
 now! God guide us!" he exclaimed, as a bullet peeled the 
 bark from a tree just beside him. "Sure there was a stave 
 out of ma noggin whan A vantur d intil sich a sinseless 
 scrimmage." 
 
 "Well, Andy, you re quite right," said John. "There 
 is neither courage nor sense in useless exposure." 
 
 "True for you, lad. That s quite right. Ahbut! it was 
 a close shave. Howsomiver, a miss is as good a mile; but 
 jist now A had ruther tak a mile an make surer of the 
 miss. A ve no stomach for this business, an A d niver a 
 been here if that blissed mother of your n hadn t a per 
 suaded me to come an look after your father a bit. A m 
 a-thinkin if A iver git out of this scrape, my Peggy 11 
 have a sittlement with her over that affair, if she iver 
 finds it out. But see yon smoke! It ud be a fire in one 
 of the cabins belike; an A fancy the lads are a-tryin to 
 smoke the blackies out. There 11 be crackin warem work 
 now." 
 
 Not stopping to answer or even note Andy s comments, 
 John hastened to where McFarlane and his father stood 
 in the shelter .of a clump of oaks. "Is this an accident, 
 Major?" he asked. "Surely you don t aim to burn the 
 house?" 
 
 "You re quite right, sir," answered McFarlane. "I 
 don t know the cause of the fire. Some of my men may 
 have kindled it, but it s agin orders, and I ve jist ordered 
 it put out." 
 
 "Then that is work I may help in/ answered John. 
 Waiting no further word he sprang away followed by Andy, 
 who with all his protests and assumed timorousness, was 
 one of the boldest of men. After these came a squad of 
 insurgents who had been detailed for the service. The 
 negroes were fleeing pell-mell from the burning cabin 
 toward the house, whose garrison opened fire upon John 
 and his party, thinking that they were making a charge. 
 McFarlane, to protect them, ordered the whole line to 
 
THE LATIMERS. 221 
 
 open upon the mansion, and the smoke of the heavy 
 fusilade, mingling with that of the burning building, soon 
 filled the ravine. The negroes in the adjoining quarters 
 seeing that the purpose was to quench, not to spread the 
 flames, joined in the service, and for a while the adversaries, 
 under John s direction, wrought in kindly unison amidst 
 the battle roar of their contending associates. The fire was 
 readily subdued; and covered with smoke and char and 
 sweat from the heat and exercise, John returned to head 
 quarters not disdaining to screen himself from the flying 
 bullets when opportunity served. 
 
 " What is that?" asked Luke, pointing toward the man 
 sion. "I h ard someone a-callin from the house. An 7 is 
 yon a white flag?" 
 
 Major McFarlane stopped and peered through the 
 smoke. "It is that, indeed," he said, "a flag waving from 
 the gallery window. Thank God! Fm aweary of this 
 wretched business, and would save furder bloodshed. 
 Heaven knows we ve had too much a ready. Cease firing," 
 he shouted. 
 
 The order was obeyed on the line near him, but on the 
 flanks, where perhaps it had not been heard, the shooting 
 continued. Impatient thereat, the commandant stepped 
 from the shelter of the tree behind which he had stood, and 
 ran forward into the open road. He waved his rifle (for 
 he had been taking active part in the attack) and repeated 
 the order: 
 
 "Cease firing!" 
 
 Did the garrison deem this a signal for assault? Had 
 the white flag been only a wretched ruse to gain a brief 
 respite? Had there been any flag at all? We shall never, 
 perhaps, be able to determine this point. All we know is 
 that a volley was fired from the house, and Major McFar 
 lane fell. 
 
 A cry of grief and rage rose from the nearby ranks. 
 Fvery weapon broke forth in vengeful discharge. The gar 
 rison and the cabins replied, and amidst a leaden hail that 
 cut the leaves overhead and cleft the earth underneath, 
 John Latimer sprang forward, and lifting the commander s 
 prostrate form bore it to the shelter of the trees and laid it 
 tenderly down. 
 
 "Kun for the surgeon!" he cried. Men hurried away 
 towards the rear. The pale lips moved. 
 
222 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 "Is it water he wants?" 
 
 At the bare hint Luke Latimer ran to the spring close 
 by, heedless of flying bullets. Returning therefrom, the 
 hand which held the leathern cup suddenly fell. He stag 
 gered, recovered, picked up the cup in the other hand, ran 
 back to the spring, and now came safely to where the dying 
 chief lay supported in John s arms. 
 
 Too late! Lay him down, now! He is dead! 
 
 Tenderly, as though he were a sleeping infant, John laid 
 the body down, composed the limbs, and stood gazing sadly 
 on the pallid and blood-stained face. Just behind him, 
 Luke Latimer leaned against the trunk of a tree, his own 
 face almost as white as his dead commander s. Andy Bur- 
 beck touched him. 
 
 "Don t you see, mon," said he, "that ye ve been hurted 
 y rself. Come away out of this to the doctor." He pointed 
 to Luke s right arm which hung limp at his side, while a 
 stream of blood ran down over the fingers. 
 
 "Whist, Andy, it is nothing. Not a word to anny 
 wan. I must take command now. Jist help me tie it up." 
 
 He tried to raise the wounded arm, but the expression oC 
 pain on his countenance showed that it was not easily done. 
 However, as no word of Andy s could prevail upon him to 
 leave the field they retired to a clump of bushes. Andy 
 ripped up the coat sleeve with his hunting knife and ban 
 daged the wound with his kerchief. Having thus stayed 
 the blood-letting, he made a rude sling for the arm. His 
 rough surgery was followed by a drink of spirits from his 
 canteen; and revived thereby, but weak and shaky with 
 intense pain, Luke moved off, accompanied by Andy, to 
 take charge of the insurgents. 
 
 "McFarlane is killed!" 
 
 The news ran along the lines. "Killed treacherously, 
 under cover of a white flag!" Men were enraged beyond 
 control at the foul act. They charged with cheers and 
 curses and vows of vengeance, upon the outhouses whose 
 defenders fled to the mansion. 
 
 "Burn out the nest of traitors!" 
 
 Some one raised this cry, and there needed no urging to 
 the deed. The still-smouldering brands of the cabin, which 
 a few moments before some of them had risked their lives 
 to extinguish, were fanned into flames and applied to 
 cabins, to barn, to distillery. The continued play of mus- 
 
THE LATIMEES. 223 
 
 ketry from the house was unheeded. Indeed, it was soon 
 diverted towards the opposite quarter, for the line of be 
 siegers pushed on closer, and poured volley after volley into 
 the house. All the energies of Lieut. Burd and his little 
 band were required to check their advance. 
 
 The negro quarters were burning. The stable was on 
 fire. The barn was blazing. The distillery slowly kindled, 
 tlien quickly, as the tongued flames caught the taste of the 
 spirits with which the woodwork was saturated. The 
 wrathful soldiery, their passions rising w r ith every exercise 
 of the destructive faculty, Deat in some of the whiskey bar 
 rels and rolled them to the fire, which licked up the com 
 bustible stuff and spit it out in blue sheets of flame. All 
 the buildings were soon burning, and the smoke of the con 
 flagration rose in gray clouds from the high site of Bower 
 Hill, and being seen far and wide, gave signal to the 
 countryside of the sad work being wrought. 
 
 Soon the mansion itself was threatened. The flying 
 sparks kindled here and there patches of fire. The rising 
 wind sucked straight toward it. The place was doomed! 
 Xo human skill could preserve it. The end had come at 
 last. Xo man could do more for its defense, and the white 
 flag was displayed and kept floating. There could be no 
 doubt this time of the intention of the besieged. 
 
 A loud cheer went up from the insurgents at these 
 signs of surrender, and the firing ceased as Lieut. Burd and 
 the survivors of his little band of gallant defenders came 
 forth, the soldiers with arms reversed. The militia rushed 
 forward, and some surrounded the prisoners and hurried 
 them away toward the grove. Others entered the house 
 and began the work of plunder. The wine cellar w r as emp 
 tied, and its contents drunk in wild glee, while the flames 
 were setting their teeth more firmly into the house. 
 
 Just then Luke Latimer appeared, authorized by the 
 Directory to assume command. It was high time, indeed. 
 Lacking their appointed head and without special organi 
 zation and leadership, the insurgents were little better than 
 an armed mob. That they did not cross the Chartiers and 
 destroy the house of Col. Neville, and thence, arousing the 
 country as they went, march to Pittsburg and seize that 
 town and fort, was due to the self-restraint of men who 
 were loath to go to extremes, and who had simply wished 
 to strike a blow in defense of their supposed rights. 
 
224 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Luke Latimer at once gave directions that the pris 
 oners should be protected, and having been disarmed, 
 should be escorted well out of harm s way on the road to 
 Pittsburg, and there released. Then he turned his atten 
 tion to saving the burning mansion. 
 
 His efforts were in vain. The house was utterly de 
 stroyed, as were the numerous outbuildings, save only the 
 meat-house under the wide-spreading cak, by the picket 
 gate when John Latimer had met Blanche after their long 
 separation, and where the group of mournful women gath 
 ered to go forth and return no more. This humble remnant 
 of what was once the noblest edifice in the Western country, 
 stood for nearly a century thereafter and was only torn 
 down within the last few years. 
 
 Meanwhile, the insurgents were slowly leaving the 
 ground. In groups and companies they returned to their 
 homes, carrying with them the wounded and the bodies oi 
 the killed. Many had grave questionings as to the issue oi 
 that day s doings. What good had been wrought? Was 
 the event a failure or a success ? How would Washington s 
 Government regard it and regard them? But underneath 
 all was the feeling that the die had been cast, that there 
 was now no honorable retreat, and therewith the stern 
 purpose to abide by their cause and by one another to the 
 uttermost. 
 
 The death of their commander cast a deep shadow 
 over their spirits, and "the saddest duty remaining was to 
 bear his corpse to his desolate home. A stretcher was 
 extemporized, and the dead captain laid thereon and car 
 ried "by relays along the road over which they had come. 
 Was it an accident, or by an equitable fatality which over 
 rides human actions, that one of the halts for rest should 
 have been beneath the great walnut tree on the summit, 
 whose gnarled roots gave a pulpit to good Father Clark? 
 
 So again, for ill news flies quickly, when the new-made 
 widow, hearing of her bereavement, rode forth to greet the 
 bearers, she came upon them not far from the Mingo Creek 
 Church, and hard by the spot where David Bradford with 
 traitorous and illusive logic had wooed the unhappy man 
 to his doom. Still the waterfall dashed over the limestone 
 ledges, and fell with monotonous plash into the deep cool 
 pool. Still the bright stream rippled over its bouldered 
 bed, and the droning cadence mingled with the moans of 
 
THE LATIMERS. 225 
 
 the widow as she cast herself upon her dead and bewailed 
 her loss. There was no change in the note the waters gave 
 forth. Neither higher nor lower, nor sadder nor slower, 
 but with equal measure and unvarying tone they kept up 
 their accompaniment to cries of grief, as they had done 
 to the pleading of sophistry. So they have done, all the 
 century since, to the laughter of romping children, the love 
 speeches of wooing country swains, the barking of playful 
 squirrels, the w r histle and chirp and song of birds. Always 
 the same, with infinite indifference or infinite sympathy, 
 as one is able to hear it, for the joys or woes of mortals. So 
 do waterfall and brook and Nature s multiform voices all, 
 always speak to the sensitive hearts or the dull ears of 
 men. 
 
 In the rural churchyard on the hill-slope beyond the 
 falls, you w r ill find a gray and lichen-covered slab of lime 
 stone above the grave wherein friends and neighbors laid 
 the unfortunate leader of that fight on the day of his burial 
 from the Mingo Creek Church, and the venerable pastor 
 Clark to lead the last sad offices for the dead. Upon this 
 "table tomb" you may read, if you be patient to trace the 
 well-nigh illegible carving, the following epitaph: 
 
 "Here lies the body of Captain James McFarlane of 
 Washington County, Pennsylvania. lie departed this life 
 the 17th day of July, 1794, aged forty-three years. He 
 served through the war with undaunted courage in the 
 defence of American independence, against the lawless 
 and despotic encroachments of Great Britain. He fell at 
 last by the hands of an unprincipled villain, in support of 
 what he supposed to be the rights of his country, much 
 lamented by a numerous and respectable circle of acquaint 
 ance." 
 
 It so befell that John Latimer, who had gone with 
 Lieut. Burd and the soldiers to insure their safe depar 
 ture, had no tidings of his father s hurt. As he returned 
 from his kindly errand he met Andy Burbeck and a friend 
 supporting the wounded man between them, and leading 
 him away from the conflagration and out of the hot sun 
 into the shade of the woods. He was pale and weak from 
 loss of blood, and from pain and the severe strain of mar 
 shalling his faculties to duty when so grievously worsted. 
 Grief at McFarlaue s death, and the burden and anxiety 
 of responsibility, and apprehension of what was to come 
 15 
 
226 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 of it, added wounds of the spirit to bodily hurts. But 
 when John s toving and hopeful words greeted him, and 
 his strong arms were put around him, while Andy ran 
 away for the surgeon, he cheered up a bit. 
 
 With face bathed, and a cool drink from the spring to 
 quench his fevered thirst, and refreshed by the dressing 
 of his wounds, he turned his thoughts toward home. Two 
 balls had struck him, one shattering the forearm, and the 
 other penetrating the bunch of muscles between the 
 shoulder and the elbow. A severe and painful wound, the 
 surgeon said, and likely to leave the arm stiff and mayhap 
 unserviceable; but care and skillful attention would give 
 him a good right arm after all. Scant comfort, Luke 
 thought, but was thankful for such as it was. A quieter 
 nag was found for him than his bay filly, which John took, 
 and Andy mounting his own horse, the two, riding one on 
 either side, set out with Luke towards home. His bridle 
 arm was free, and he fretted against the offered support 
 to keep in the saddle, which nevertheless was sometimes 
 needed. When in the cool of the day the trio rode up to 
 the Latimer cabin, it was with sore pain and difficulty that 
 Luke could dismount. 
 
 All along the painful journey the thought had again 
 and again reverted: "What will my wife have to say? 
 How can I meet her after all her warnings and prophecies 
 of evil?" There are few tendencies in human nature, 
 whether of male or female, stronger than that which 
 prompts to the triumphant- joyful, or triumphant-mourn 
 ful, but whether joyful or mournful always triumphant "I 
 told you so!" It takes more than a moiety of grace or 
 charity or good sense to suppress that bit of self -righteous 
 ness within us, in the face of a just occasion for its exer 
 cise. Luke Latimer, stout-hearted as he was, shrunk from 
 the anticipation of that more than he had done from the 
 musket balls which wounded him. Thus he came to his 
 home. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer had been on the lookout all the day. 
 Many times had she gone to door or window to gaze down 
 the road. As the day advanced, rumors of the battle began 
 to fly here and there. Some were exaggerated, some mini 
 fied, all had that uncertainty which is the chief factor of 
 torment to those whose loved ones are exposed to danger. 
 
 "At long last, thank God, there they come!" 
 
THE LATIMEES. 227 
 
 She recognized the horses as they turned the bend in 
 the road, and then just got a glimpse of the familiar forms 
 of husband and son. Xot waiting to take in the details, 
 and so failing to note the true state of things, she hurried 
 from the window and took up her preparations for the even 
 ing meal. 
 
 Thankful? Yes, she was truly so! All day long she 
 had been hoping for and dreading that moment. Oh, how 
 gladly would she welcome those beloved forms! How ten 
 derly would she greet them! Could she do enough for them, 
 be kind enough to them were they then to come? 
 
 Thus an hundred times had she communed with her 
 self as the day ran on to its close. And now, no sooner had 
 she seen them coming home all safe and well, as she 
 judged, than her mind began to wax indignant. A burn 
 ing sense of her wrongs came over her. That her husband 
 should have gone off on his madcap doings, and left her 
 there to fret and grieve and be miserable, ah, could she 
 bear it quietly? Would she? The jerky manner in which 
 she swung her cooking utensils, and the emphatic thump 
 with which the table ware dropped into place as she set 
 the table, argued ill for her coming lord. For Mrs. Polly 
 had a biting tongue when her feelings were well wrought 
 up to set it agoing. 
 
 The horses have stopped at the gate. The men have 
 alighted. It is but decent that she should go to the door 
 now, and smother her indignation, too, for is not the boy 
 there? and he, at least, has done no harm. 
 
 "Ah, good Lord, what is this? They are liftin my 
 Luke from the horse! See how pale he is! How tottery 
 on his two legs!" 
 
 Thus, in a moment, as the housewife stood upon the 
 doorsill, all her sense of ill usage and thoughts of resenting 
 the same were swept into nonentity by the revulsion of 
 wifely fear and love which that vision brought on. 
 
 "Oh, Luke, my dear love, have they hurted you? Oh, 
 my husband, let me help you!" 
 
 That was all she said. Then she flew to him, and with 
 kisses and tears thrust Andy aside, and put her strong 
 arms about the hurt man and assisted him, how tenderly, 
 into the house. With gentlest and deftest touch, as she 
 knew well to give, she helped to disrobe him, jealous almost 
 of John s aid, and laid him in the best bed, and brought 
 
228 THE LATOIEKS. 
 
 the softest pillows and snowiest linen, of her own hands 
 weaving, to cushion the poor hurt arm. 
 
 "God bless my soul, Polly!" quoth Luke, as he put his 
 unwounded arm about her neck and kissed her; "it s well 
 worth a shot or two to see you like this! Don t greet, dear 
 lass, it s nothin so sayrious, I hope!" 
 
 Now the neighbors began to drop in. Mrs. Peggy Bur- 
 beck came; and Fanny McCormack, whose skill in nursing 
 lore and ways the whole village knew and trusted. Mrs. 
 Latimer had sent for her, and thereafter suffered no one 
 but Fanny to share with her the care of her husband 
 while his wound kept him to his couch. Before these and 
 other incomers the good wife poured forth her bitter 
 reproaches of those who had wrought her husband such 
 harm. To be sure, she believed, none more heartily, that 
 their cause was righteous and their defense just and lawful. 
 She knew no one knew better that Luke s part in the 
 excise plot and insurrection was wrong and utterly inex 
 cusable. Time and again had she denounced to him his 
 principles, and condemned his practice. Yet, nevertheless, 
 she could find in her heart none but angry feelings, in her 
 thoughts only bitter condemnation, and on her lips noth 
 ing but censure, almost malediction of those who, having 
 been assailed with deadly weapons by her husband and his 
 friends, retorted upon them in kind. Had he come home 
 with a whole skin it would have been a different matter. But 
 with his poor wounded arm? Ah, that was quite another 
 affair. 
 
 Inconsistent! you exclaim. But wherein, pray? And 
 what is inconsistency? Loyalty to heart, or to intellect? 
 to one s affections or to one s convictions? Give answer 
 as you may, the world shows many examples of inconsist 
 ency like that of Mrs. Polly Latimer, and perhaps is none 
 the worse therefor. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 220 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 OPEN WINDOWS INTO SUNDRY SOULS. 
 
 The day following, Fanny McCormack stood at Luke 
 Latimer s bedside preparing to dress his wound. The 
 sleeves of her frock were rolled up to leave the arms free 
 for action. Well rounded arms they were, plump and 
 pink, with shapely hands, though browned and perhaps 
 somewhat broadened by the homely duties of a frontier 
 maiden s life. It is good to note the satisfaction with 
 which our end-of-the-century girls watch the deepening 
 hues of tan that the wind and sun of a seaside resort paint 
 upon their skins. . Surely, they, at least, will count the nut 
 brown of Fanny s hands a point in her praise. Or does the 
 method of painting affect the values of the colors? 
 
 The gown was protected by a white linen apron that 
 came high up the breast with shoulder straps, and folded 
 quite around the skirts. A charming uniform this for a 
 nurse, or for any of our women folk, the author thinks, 
 who has early memories of a loved form thus arrayed. The 
 trained nurses of to-day have learned how serviceable is 
 such a garb, and how becoming. Is that, perhaps, the 
 secret of the witchery which they sometimes cast upon the 
 young medical internes of our hospitals? It may have 
 been this snowy over garment that fixed John Latimer s 
 eyes, as Fanny McCormack proceeded with her neighborly 
 duty, and which set his mind upon a train of admiring 
 meditations. 
 
 How deftly she raises the poor hurt arm, with steady 
 nerves, and equal movement that starts no quivering pains! 
 What a swift and dainty touch she brings to the unbinding 
 of cords and wrappings, and snipping the same with the 
 scissors hanging at the waist! How graceful the maiden s 
 carriage as she stoops and turns and makes changes of arm 
 in her merciful work! Surely, he never before saw quite 
 such an expression as that on Fanny s face, so full of gen 
 tleness and pity, but withal bright with confidence as 
 though to infuse comfort and hope. 
 
 Might he help her? 
 
 No, with thanks! She could do nicely without aid. But 
 
230 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 yes, if he would, he might hold the basin of hot water. 
 There was a bare suggestion of a smile on the lips, and a bit 
 of color in the cheeks, and a brightening of the eyes as the 
 maiden cast a momentary glance upon the youth. 
 
 Consent thus had, John came to the service, happy if he 
 could do that much to help or seem to help relieve his suf 
 fering parent. As the two stood together, John, while doing 
 his part as need required, was conscious that imagination 
 had set another womanly form into the group. She is 
 slight of form and of medium stature, not tall and robust 
 as Fanny is. A clear, bright brunette she, not blonde; with 
 black hair, not soft chestnut brown. The eyes are dark, 
 even black under the play of feeling, and reflecting light 
 like a mirror, not blue as Fanny s, are they light blue, 
 or dark blue? Why, he had never thought to note that 
 before! Springing and quick are the movements of this 
 visional maid, full of nervous energy and verve; not with 
 that quieter and self-poised, yes, but agile and graceful 
 carriage which John has been noting this morning. 
 
 The one s mind is brilliant with poetical fancy and 
 enthusiasm, abounding in sallies of wit, and with a laugh 
 that rings out merrily with a tinkle like soft bells. The 
 other maid is intelligent, thoughtful, practical, simple of 
 speech, with quick response to humor and with quiet hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 Blanche and Fanny! the Field Lily and the Wild 
 Rose, so Featherfoot had aptly named them. Goodly 
 maidens they, and pleasant to his thought. Strange that 
 they should come thus into comparison as the work of 
 unbinding and dressing and rebinding that wounded arm 
 went on, with its oft repeated query: "Does that hurt?" 
 and the uttered "Oh, it was awkward of me!" Or, "It was 
 too bad, excuse me, pray!" when the hurt man winced at 
 some sharper pain. Thus the voice went on soothingly, 
 cooing as a mother over a sick child. 
 
 All his life John had known Fanny McCormack. The 
 two had gone as children to the same log cabin school, and 
 learned together the mysteries of the A, B, C, and spelled 
 and read and ciphered together. They had stood up side 
 by side to recite the Shorter Catechism, from the opening 
 question "What is the chief end of man?" to the very last 
 thereof. They had played together on the creek side, and 
 gathered field lilies, and daisies, and black-eyed Susans, 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 231 
 
 and wild roses, and goldenrod. They had dug calamus and 
 sweet myrrh in the spongy flats, and plucked blue flags by 
 the water side. They had paddled about in the low run 
 creek together, with brown bare feet; and had fished for 
 "minnies" with their brown wee hands, and laughed and 
 splashed as the fishlings slipped through their fingers, and 
 shot away with a gleam from their silvery sides flashing 
 through the water. He had caught the pretty water-snake, 
 what a bold lad he! and feigned to scare therewith his 
 little playfellow, who being a girl must shriek and shrink 
 from it, although, in truth, when playing with her girl- 
 fellows she could catch water-snakes in her own hands, and 
 raise no to-do about it. 
 
 In the autumn they had gathered hazel nuts together, 
 and black haws, and wild grapes and wild gooseberries. 
 When hickory nuts and chestnuts were ripe, what a delight 
 to climb the trees, and club down the tasty fruits, while 
 Fanny picked them up and put them into piles, and stuffed 
 the hulled seeds into the big linen poke. What fun to 
 pound out the white or brown contents from the unopened 
 hulls, and betimes pick out the prickles of the chestnut 
 burr from Fanny s fingers. 
 
 Then walnuts and buttercups came, and the boys of 
 his age could neither shame nor scare him from letting his 
 little sister (he called her "little" though he was not much 
 taller then than she) go with them on the nutting parties. 
 What a deep brown stained their fingers after the hulling 
 of those nuts, and how merry the laugh as they compared 
 hands with hands to see which might be the browner! 
 How often in the winter time had he coasted with her in 
 his home-made sled down the village hill, "Sheep Hill/ 7 
 do you remember it, alumni of old Jefferson? 
 
 So the days ran on, and they grew up together, and 
 dudied and played, and later wrought together. He 
 railed her his "Sister Fanny;" and truly he loved her as 
 a sister, and often wished that indeed and truth it had been 
 so. He had fancied his lost sister as some such girl as 
 Fanny, whom he put in the lost child s place, and soma- 
 times called her "Meg." At the spelling match, the sing 
 ing school, the corn shucking, the logging bee, he had been 
 her companion, ah, how many times! for he would not 
 allow his "sister" to miss any of the frolics that were going. 
 In good sooth, however, there was small need of fear on 
 
232 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 that score, for most of the frontier swains would have been 
 too happy to serve as her squire, and were happy to do so, 
 when as the years advanced, John was often absent on the 
 duties of his calling. 
 
 After such absences, next to the home welcome, and 
 the picking up of the well-loved ways and things in which 
 he delighted, and which make up the tale of home attrac 
 tions for young spirits, the pleasantest greeting came from 
 his sister Fanny. At times he would be seized with that 
 strange unrest which comes to most youth, and which may 
 hap is Nature s method of distributing the species and pre 
 serving it, like the impulse that sets spiderlings afloat upon 
 their gossamer balloons; or birdlings to twittering and 
 assembling before migration; or bees to excited whirl and 
 buzz within the scap just before the swarm. At such times 
 the presence of his sister Fanny soothed and rested him 
 as nothing else could do. Thus always it had been. Her 
 loving sisterly words made him quiet and glad, and set him 
 upon his highest aims and keenest mettle for better and 
 more manly things. 
 
 But Blanche disturbed him. From the first she had 
 set astir within his heart an eager unrest that he had never 
 felt. She had awakened a longing for something, he knew 
 not what, and had not known before, which even her pres 
 ence did not satisfy, though certainly it was stronger when 
 he was not near her. During her late long absence, many a 
 time had he felt an almost uncontrollable desire to go where 
 she was. Often when treading deep forests, or pushing his 
 canoe on the river, he had found his heart leaping up at the 
 thought of her return. Oftenest he thought of her as he 
 had first seen her when guiding his keel boat down the 
 Ohio River. Again and again the incidents and perils of 
 that eventful week were recalled, and Blanche thenceforth 
 was inseparably associated with his boat the "Fanny," and 
 so gave to its rude carpentry a beauty that only himself 
 discerned. 
 
 Thus insensibly his thoughts swung around to the 
 scenes of the day before, a dreadful memory! Of them 
 all, what started the bitterest thoughts, and set the blood 
 flaming on his cheeks, and knit his brows and kindled a 
 fierce light in his eyes? Was it not, that henceforth he 
 must stand attainted before Blanche Oldham and her kin 
 dred? Twenty long months had they been separated and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 233 
 
 then such a meeting! Would they, could they now ever 
 meet again? 
 
 "There, that will do nicely/ said Fanny, in a voice very 
 sweet the invalid thought, as she laid the arm freshly 
 dressed back upon Mrs. Polly s soft pillows. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, it was done nicely!" John said. "And 
 who is there besides our Fanny in all the border, or else 
 where for that matter, could have done such a service so 
 well?" 
 
 The pleased and grateful look, the reddened cheeks and 
 pleasant "Oh, you flatter me!" as the basin was taken 
 from his hands, almost soothed the passion and pride that 
 had begun to foment within him. As he saw her retire 
 from the room he inwardly resolved that nothing which a 
 brother s heart and hand could bring her should ever be 
 awanting to make Fanny McCormack a happy woman. 
 Brother? Yes; but just now it came to him, it had not 
 occurred before, and why should it now? that for many 
 and many a day he could not recall that she had called 
 him "brother" as she had done in earlier and happier times. 
 
 Strange! and by no means agreeable to the young 
 man s thoughts. Could it be that another affection had 
 broken the spell of childhood, and set him and his brotherly 
 concern for her into the background? No doubt, no doubt! 
 But who can the favored man be ? Well, well, it is the way 
 of the world. He might have known that it would come 
 sooner or later. But, if he be not worthy of such a woman, 
 or should anyone dare to trifle with Fanny s love, ah! 
 let him look out! 
 
 "John, John Latimer!" His father had spoken twice 
 ere he awakened from his reverie and gave heed. "Sit ye 
 down by me here, I have summat to say til you, my boy." 
 John got him a chair and sat close to the bed. He 
 smoothed the covers with his hands, though they needed 
 no such care, and looked down lovingly into his father s 
 face. "It is about the scoutin trip I wish to spake til ye, 
 John, an my ingagement with Giner l Wayne. I m out of 
 that now, more s the pity ay, an an out of all scoutin 
 hereafter, I doubt, for that matter." His voice choked a 
 bit, and he looked at his swathed arm: 
 
 "No, no, don t say that, father!" cried John. "You will 
 
234 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 be all right soon, and many s the bonny day we ll spend 
 together in forest and on river." 
 
 "Ah, John lad, it cannot be. I shall niver bear rifle 
 more with this good arm, forby a shot at a silly deer, or 
 a squirrel. But that s as it may be. There s One aboon 
 us all, and His will be done! It s not that I want to talk 
 about. I ve been a-thinkin that the time s up for you to 
 report at Pittsburg, an carry the despatches back to 
 Wayne." 
 
 "Well, father, I have been thinking of that too, and I 
 have made up my mind that I shall go down to Pittsburg 
 to-day, tell Panther how it is, and let him go alone with his 
 message. He can well do it, and I must not leave you 
 now. You never needed me more, and mother needs me, 
 too. I dare not think of going away at such a time, taking 
 the chances of a scout and you in these straits." 
 
 "Ah, my boy, it s good in you to say that, an I 11 not 
 deny that it ud be pleasant to have you with us; but 
 there s somethin more important nor mere comfort. It s 
 duty, my son, duty! I pledged my word to jine Cap n 
 Wells, an I niver had tho t that I must break tryst. Lettle 
 did I drame of this," touching his wounded arm, "though 
 I ought to a thought, no doubt. But that s nayther here 
 nor there, now. There s no use a-cryin over spilt milk. 
 Here I m laid up for a good stent, an you must go, John, 
 an , make my pledge good. It had been my wush an tho t 
 to kape you out o the scrimmage an send you 
 back to look after your mother. She has none but 
 us, since poor Meg s gone, an what need was there to resk 
 a-losin both of us at wanct? As Andy says God bless his 
 honest soul! it s well not to put all one s eggs in one 
 basket. -But all that s revarsed now. I must stay here, 
 lad, an you must go, an God bless an presarve you. 
 Don t say me nay; my heart s sot upon it, an I m sure it s 
 only duty." 
 
 John yielded the point grudgingly. He was not greatly 
 troubled about the hurt arm; that would get well in time. 
 But he was much concerned for the consequences of the 
 Bower Hill event. Legal processes, military occupation, 
 arrests, and who could tell what, must follow. What then 
 would befall his father, one of the leaders in the offend 
 ing? Would he not need him there to fend for 
 him, and to save him from the penalty of his deeds? 
 
THE LATIMERS. 235 
 
 Therefore he would fain have stayed at home. But his 
 father s will and decree were otherwise, and these had been 
 law to him through all his life in most matters. Indeed, 
 he had sympathy with the sentiment that had been uttered, 
 for duty was the most sacred word in John s vocabulary. 
 
 "Thank you, son, thank you!" said Luke with a tender 
 ness of voice that he did not often show, for he was not a 
 demonstrative man. "I feel relaved to think that your 
 sturdy arm will be a-doin my duty to the country. I have 
 no advice to give ye. Thank God, I can trust you wholly. 
 Ye ve been a good lad, John; always so. I ve niver wanct 
 had a heart-sore along o you, all your days; though I fear 
 I ve often been a careless an mayhap erring parent to 
 you. But I niver meant to be so, John, God knows!" 
 
 "Do not say that, father. You have been a loving and 
 indulgent parent and friend always. I owe everything to 
 you, and would be most ungrateful were I not to study to 
 love and serve you in every way." 
 
 "Well, well; it may be so. I hope it is so indade. Sar- 
 tain, we ve not often disputed nor differed sayriously, 
 savin about the axcise. There, lad! Don t spake up. 
 I m not agoin to open that subjec nor to sansure you; 
 quite the contrairy, indade. I ve had a slapeless night, 
 lad, an manny troubled thoughts. I ve seen some things 
 different, as I lay here a-dozin , an thinkin of that burnin 
 house, an them pale dead faces, an poor McFarlane ah! 
 Well, I would willin ly give up my life to bring him back, 
 as God is my judge! An me innooencin him to take the 
 lade of us! I don t disguise that I knowed at wounds an 
 death must come with sich interprises as our n; but I didn t 
 jist think o that partic lar way. Human affairs are like 
 scenes on the river banks viewed from a boat amid-stream; 
 they have mighty different faytures lookin fora d from the 
 bow from what they hava a-lookin back ard from the 
 starn. It was one thing while we were a-plannin affairs, 
 but quite another now they re done an can t be recalled. 
 It was niver in our plans to burn the house, John, niver! 
 Nor did we wush to shed blood. We thought Giner l 
 Neville would surely yield, an that we could gain our 
 p int p acefully. Ah! we trusted to an unknown horse, an 
 he tuk the bit in his teeth an ran away with us. 
 
 "Ahbut, it s too late now to mand matters. We ve 
 made our bed an we must lie in it; an I for wan won t 
 
236 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 grumble if it proves a briery wan. Mayhap I was too fast, 
 an let my anger an pride, ay, an my principles, carry me 
 too far. You know, John, that my whole heart an con 
 science were in this business, an are to-day for that mat 
 ter; though mayhap I ve gone too far. Leastways, John, 
 I ve naught to say agin your principles, now. Perhaps 
 there s more in em nor I iver allowed. But be that as it 
 may, go you forth an do your duty like a man, an a 
 Christian, an a patriot, an the good God of us all go with 
 you, an shield you from harem! Now, my son, good bye. 
 I nade sleep sorely, an may not be awake till you re off, 
 for this is business that requires haste. God bless you. 
 Good bye." 
 
 Having made his few needed preparations, John came 
 next to bid his mother good bye. He dreaded the inter 
 view, for Mrs. Latimer had been much perturbed in spirit 
 since the coming home of her wounded husband. She was 
 a woman of cool head and good judgment, not given to 
 tears or tantrums, meeting fortune fairly, whether good or 
 bad, and thus taking the changes and chances of life with 
 more than common self-control. But to all this there was 
 one exception; any sickness or hurt that came to her hus 
 band, or serious threatening of ill to him upset her mental 
 equipoise. Then she became flustered, and blundered 
 strangely in her domestic duties, and had fits of crying, and 
 talking to herself aloud with divers ejaculations and self- 
 upbraidings. She seemed like one consumed with fear of 
 an impending calamity, or as one racked with mental tor 
 ture, or goaded by a troubled conscience. All morning 
 had she been showing these symptoms, and John feared 
 to approach her with the news that he was immediately to 
 return to the Western forests. 
 
 Not finding her in living room or kitchen, he went up 
 to his own room in the attic for something needed, and as 
 lie ascended the stair heard the sound of his mother s 
 voice. He paused on the landing, and as the door was ajar, 
 could see through the scant opening that his mother was 
 kneeling in prayer before his bed. His Bible, the book res 
 cued from the Ohio River flood, was spread open before 
 her. In the few moments that he stood thus surprised and 
 hesitant, some broken sentences of the prayer came to 
 him. 
 
 "Oh, good Lord," she said, "spare him, and spare me! 
 
THE LATIMERS. 237 
 
 I would * * * but I cannot now. * * * Give 
 me courage, for my heart is weak to do my duty and yield 
 to Thy will. Lord, forgive and help me, and I * * * 
 but not now, not now! I am a weak woman * * * yet 
 a little longer thy handmaid will be true to Thee, true to 
 * * * at last * * * Lord, bless the lad! Keep him 
 through evil report and good report. Presarve him from 
 dangers seen and unseen, from temporal and spiritual foes, 
 from sin and the second death. Keep him steadfast and 
 true. good Lord, save him from the deceivers accursed 
 way, from the crooked and thorny path of those whoso lips 
 utter falsehood and whose lives enact them * * * " 
 
 John turned from the spot that seemed like hallowed 
 ground, and tiptoed down the stair. And is it not hallowed 
 ground, the place where mothers are wont to wrestle with 
 God for their children? Leaving until later the duty of 
 saying farewell to his mother, John walked up the street 
 to Fanny McCormack s home. The house was midway of 
 the hill, close by the log store which her father kept. And 
 there you may see it to-day, its homely rudeness hidden 
 beneath the entwining green of a climbing vine. Fanny 
 was spinning flax in the front cabin room. The great 
 wheel was set revolving rapidly with one hand, and as it 
 sent out its musical whirl, the spinner retreated backward, 
 keeping the coarse thread in one hand and guiding and 
 twisting it with the other, holding it aloft, at times, as it 
 faintly purred, and twisted itself into firmer proportions. 
 Then, when it was twisted, forward went the spinner to the 
 wheel, the thread gradually shortening as it wound itself 
 around the spindle. 
 
 It is a right womanly exercise, yes, right queenly in 
 deed, worthy of the fairest and daintiest daughters of these 
 modern days, who might becomingly revive it along with 
 some of the other ancient manners, or perhaps one would 
 better say modes, that they affect. Colonial architecture, 
 colonial furniture and colonial frocks would give a worthy 
 setting to a colonial industry like the great spinning wheel 
 at which Fanny McCormack wrought with a cunning hand. 
 For a little while the conversation ran on without hinder 
 ing the maiden s work. But when John came to say the 
 last word, the rolls of yarn were hung upon the post, and 
 the buzzing wheel stopped. 
 
 "We are loath to see you go, John," said Fanny, as she 
 
238 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 followed him toward the door, "and shall sorely miss you, 
 as we always do. But you have chosen rightly, for you 
 could not go counter to your father s will. Good bye, and 
 may Heaven keep you, and bring you back again soon and 
 well." 
 
 John turned, ere he crossed the door sill, and took both 
 of Fanny s hands in his own, and held them there while he 
 spoke. Fanny listened, now with eyes looking with kind 
 steadfastness into his, and again with face bent downward. 
 
 "My dear Fanny," he said, "you have been to me 
 through all our lives all that a sister could have been. 
 Will you not for my sake, as well as for theirs, watch over 
 father and mother? You can do more with them than 
 anyone else; and I shall go with a lighter heart if I know 
 that you will try to cheer their loneliness. Ah, if Sister 
 Meg had lived, they might have had someone like your 
 self, a daughter to love, and comfort and help them. I 
 have made up rny mind that this shall be my last cam 
 paign. If I return, I will never leave my parents again. 
 If 1 should fall then, Fanny, who could comfort them so 
 well as you?" 
 
 "Come, come, John," said Fanny, "we ll not think of 
 that! You ll be back again, I promise you, as full of life 
 and hope as ever. You re a little doncie now on account of 
 your father s hurt. But he will get on very well, I am sure; 
 and you may depend on me to do all that I can to help on 
 a speedy cure, and to cheer both him and your mother." 
 She spoke with cheerful voice, but there was a quiver 
 about her eyelids that betokened suppressed feeling. She 
 had mastered her emotions that her friend s sadness might 
 get no deeper tinge through her. 
 
 "Thank you, Fanny, with all my heart," said John. 
 "And now one thing more before I go. I have sometimes 
 fancied of late that the old sisterly feeling which you bore 
 me may have changed. I can hardly remember when you 
 have called me brother as you used to do as you have done 
 since childhood. Is it all a fancy, or have I noted truly 
 that you have been more constrained and reserved in your 
 w r ays with me? It has made me think, sometimes, that 
 some one else has come into your heart to hold a nearer 
 place." 
 
 "Oh, John! How could you : Fanny began. She 
 spoke with quick, tense tones, and withdrew her hands 
 from John who forthwith interrupted her. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 239 
 
 "Do not think that I am jealous!" he said. "On the 
 contrary, I shall always be happy in your happiness, and 
 shall try to love and honor whomsoever you honor and 
 love. But I have thought you might confide in me, and 
 gt\e me the privilege of a brother " Here Fanny inter 
 rupted the speech, and this she did with emphatic utterance 
 and a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "There, John, that will do!" she exclaimed. "No more 
 of that if you have the least regard for me. You are quite 
 wrong in both your conjectures. You are just the same to 
 me that you have always been; and as to someone else 
 nonsense! I promise that you shall not be the last to know 
 of such an event when it happens. But you have said 
 enough, foolish boy! Be off with you, and Heaven keep 
 you!" 
 
 She held out her hand and turned quickly from the 
 door, setting her back toward it and hiding her face as she 
 took up her spinning work. It was due time, indeed, for 
 her cheeks were flushed, and there was an unwonted light 
 in her eyes. The tears which had only been held back 
 by the maiden s strong will flowed freely, and dropped 
 upon the linen rolls that she clasped and fumbled and 
 pulled apart with nervous twitching of her fingers. 
 
 Stupid John! 
 
 This duty done, not without some misgivings lest it 
 had been overdone, John went to the Burbeck cabin to 
 complete his mission of filial love by enlisting Andy in his 
 father s service. Bounce came forth with jubilant barks 
 of welcome and excited wags of the tail, and mayhap with 
 vivid hopes of an outing after forest game so often enjoyed 
 in John s leadership. 
 
 "Not to-day, Bounce. No hunting to-day, old fellow. 
 Down, sir, down!" for the dog kept leaping upon him, after 
 the fashion of his kind to utter their satisfaction. At these 
 words Bounce sank to earth and followed at John s heels, 
 but with eager whines that seemed to carry a note of dis 
 appointment and remonstrance. 
 
 Mrs. Peggy Burbeck met John with a cordial greeting, 
 her own manner betokening sympathy; but a twinkle was 
 in her black, snappy eyes, as she said: "An aven you, Mr. 
 John, were at the riot! Sure I wouldn t a tho t that a pair 
 of black eyes could ? a run quite away with you. What, 
 man, did you think to capture Miss Oldham with your 
 
240 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 bow and spear, and take her to wife like the Benjamites 
 in Israel of old, whether she would or no?" 
 
 "Come, come, Mrs. Burbeck, you must not think that 
 everybody is like Andy, and bound to fall in love with 
 black eyes and ruddy brown cheeks. But a truce to that 
 matter, henceforth. There are some subjects 
 
 "Ay, ay," broke in Andy, "it s ill jokin with the watch 
 dog, Peggy, lass. Least said is soonest manded. Take a 
 sate, Cap n Jock. Down, Bounce! Out wi ye, Betty. It s 
 not your day the day, and dogs like children should be 
 seen and not h arrd." 
 
 "Thank you, Andy," said John, "I must away at once. 
 I have just come to say good bye, and do a bit of business. 
 We want you to take charge of the keel boat and attend to 
 our ferrying and carrying until father s wound shall be 
 healed, or until I return. I am anxious you should con 
 sent, for I know father will be content to leave the business 
 in your hands, and I shall go away with a far easier mind 
 if that matter is comfortably settled." 
 
 "Ahbut, Mr. John," said Peggy, ere her husband could 
 give answer. "Have you bethought you well of what 
 you re a-doin ? Trust Andy Burbeck, when the whuskey 
 boys are out an riotin s a-fut? He d be off at the sound 
 of the first gun, an away meanderin with the military, 
 an a-house burnin , an what not. If one can t take care 
 of himself, how is he to be trusted to take care of another? 
 I d as soon trust a skunk to buy my perfumery as set a man 
 that don t mind his own business to take care of the busi 
 ness of another man. Indade, Mr. John, I m greatly feared 
 it would git us all intil trouble were Andy to take up with 
 your freightin business." 
 
 "Aisey there, Peggy, aisey now!" exclaimed Andy. 
 "Touch the sore place lightly, lass. A m no warse nor my 
 neighbors; an Cap n John knows well what tuk me to 
 Bower Hill, an that A only went to look after his father. 
 Didn t A promise him A d do it, an his mother, too? An 
 troth, isn t Luke Latimer my best fri nd, an would you 
 have me desart him in a time o nade ?" 
 
 "Goodness-gracious-me!" exclaimed Peggy, lifting up 
 her eyes heavenward, and clasping hands before her in an 
 attitude of devotion. "Here s Andy Burbeck turned saint! 
 An oh, the vartues an powers of him! Saint Andy pre 
 serve us, says I. Well, well! You men are all alike, the 
 
THE LATIMERS. 241 
 
 whole clamjamfrey of ye, an it s small nade to argy with 
 ye. There niver was a man, I do belave, who couldn t ray- 
 son himself intil annything he has a mine-tuh. It s 
 amazin what nayteral gifts men have for bamboozlin of 
 themselves, to say nought of others. Now here s my Andy, 
 if he could only be as succissful in convartin sinners intil 
 the way of righteousness as he is in convincin himself 
 that he s in the right way, Lord a marcy, what a powerful 
 pr acher he would be! An so vou wint intil the Bower 
 Hill fight jist to look after Luke Latimer? U-hum! It s 
 a poor way indade to convart a sinner, by goin a-sinnin 
 with him. If the tree hadn t given a handle to the helve, 
 the axe would niver a cut down the tree. Sure, sence ye ve 
 turned so pious like, ye might mind what Scriptur says 
 about the blind ladein the blind an both a-fallin intil 
 the ditch. An it ud a been a poor consolation to me if a 
 bullet had a gone through ye, to think ye d got it all along 
 of fellowship for Luke Latimer." 
 
 "Whist, now, Peggy dear," said Andy in a soothing 
 tone, for he saw that his wife s feelings were being wrought 
 up into high fervor by her own heat. "All s well that inds 
 well, lass; an you should thank God for your marcies, an 
 not fly intil the face o Providence by complainin . Ivery 
 bullet has its billet, ye ken, an A was not the billet for 
 anny Bowerr Hill musket balls, an am not like to be, A 
 promise you, in the future. An it s bein in charrge of the 
 boat, an havin stiddy impPyment that 11 be like to kape 
 me out of the rrisins an rriots, for it s a rocky ship that 
 nades ballast most, you know. So jist give o er, and say no 
 more, an A ll accep the offer Cap n Jock brings, an 
 thanks for the same. An you may depand on me, John, 
 to do ma duty; an there s my hand on it!" 
 
 "Thank you," said John, as he took the proffered palm. 
 "I m sure that you will do your best." This matter set 
 tled, he bade the worthy couple good bye, and turned to 
 his father s cottage. He dreaded the meeting with his 
 mother and was well pleased to find her busy about her 
 household duties, in a subdued but not mournful temper. 
 When he came to give his farewell kiss, the tears and pet- 
 tishness and remonstrance which he had looked for were 
 wanting. There was something more than a quiet resigna 
 tion in her manner of parting with her son who was going 
 forth to perilous service. Somewhat of encouragement 
 16 
 
242 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 even. Did not her husband wish it? Had he not so bid 
 den? Would not the fact of John s going greatly ease 
 Luke s troubled mind, and by so doing much favor the 
 healing? Who was she, then, to hinder or stay the youth, 
 and thwart and cross her husband s will, and thus excite 
 his poor distraught mind? 
 
 Distraught? Yes. Coming forth from her prayer in 
 John s room, she had heard a sound as of men conversing 
 in Luke s room. Who could have come in? Had not Luke 
 given order not to be disturbed? Drawing near, she found 
 the door ajar, and waiting a moment before entering, she 
 heard her husband s voice, but how strangely altered! He 
 was speaking with passionate fervor and in upbraiding 
 tones. Dear heart! Could it be John that he was thus 
 scolding? And what offense had the lad given? Surely 
 Luke had never before so railed at him. "Idiot!" he cried, 
 and then followed a deep groan. "Fool! fool! 0-oh! 
 What nade to go there an mix yourself in with sich doin s! 
 * * * A rioter * * * traitor. * * * Ay, a 
 man-slayer! Then followed a sharp sound as of a hand 
 smiting upon a face. 
 
 "Good fathers!" muttered Polly, starting forward. "Has 
 he struck the lad?" She stood with hands upon the latch, 
 and looked into the room. There was no one therein save 
 Luke, who sat up in his bed, and with flushed cheek and 
 scowling brow and distraught manner thrust the fingers 
 of his unharmed hand into his hair and pulled thereat. 
 Then again came the sound that had startled her, and she 
 saw him smite his cheek with his open palm, and heard him 
 grind his teeth and give forth passionate mutterings that 
 came to her in broken sentences. 
 
 "Lord, Lord!" he cried, falling back upon the supplica 
 tions of Scripture. "Lord, remember David! * * * 
 seize and despoil us of our property? * * * helpless 
 paupers in our old age? Oh, my poor wife! * * * 
 John! John? Ah, if his loyalty and troth might save us!" 
 
 Then he hurled down his arm until the bed shook, and 
 threw his head back upon his pillow and groaned. Mrs. 
 Polly stole away from the door noiselessly, and stood 
 within the room with bowed face and folded arms, waiting, 
 thinking, listening. All was still. 
 
 She smoothed down her apron to the corners and flung 
 forth the imaginary lapful of troubles, and sat down. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 243 
 
 Then in her heart she prayed (how fervently!) for her hus 
 band. The scene had come to her as a revelation. Most 
 marvellous, that glance into her Luke s soul! Wh6 would 
 have thought such force and passion therein ? How would 
 that inward fighting end? Pride, duty, fear, self-interest, 
 home loves, patriotism, hatred of tyranny, the sense of in 
 justice and wrong, all were contending upon the field of 
 thought before the high judicatory of Conscience. 
 
 Then the good wife bethought her of John, and of the 
 words of hope her husband had linked with him. Yes, 
 after all, the lad might deliver them from the paw of the 
 lion and of the bear! Luke was right; John must go! For 
 his own sake, to take him far from these disturbed parts; 
 for Luke s sake, that the poor vexed heart might get easing. 
 So she arose and went gently about her work, pausing ever 
 and anon to hearken towards Luke s bedroom. All there 
 was quiet. At last her husband slept. Then John arrived, 
 and thus it came about that her subdued spirit gave him a 
 calm farewell, and only quiet tears and trembling lips 
 showed the deep concern that went forth with her maternal 
 blessing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 The next day John Latimer received from Major Butler 
 a packet for General Wayne, and set forth with Panther 
 to deliver it. The scouts course lay westward into the 
 deep forest solitude, among hostile savages, to give the 
 strength of their hands and hearts to the final blow that 
 won the great central West to Anglo-Saxon civilization. 
 It is not the purpose of this tale to follow John Latimer 
 through the events of the next five days. If the curious 
 reader would follow his route, let him trace upon the map 
 the course of the Ohio River to the mouth of the Hock- 
 hocking, and thence up that stream a hundred miles or so 
 to the northwest, as far as a canoe will run. 
 
 Here leaving their boat in hiding, the scouts travelled 
 westward to the Scioto River. There under cover of night 
 they captured a canoe from an Indian village, and pushed 
 up the river sixty miles or more beyond what is now the 
 
244 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 town of Kenton. Thence bearing west they struck the 
 southern fork of the Auglaize, and readily fell in with Cap 
 tain Wells 7 company of scouts whom they had come to join. 
 These men continually circled around the wings of Wayne s 
 advancing Legion, keeping the Commander advised of the 
 movements of the savages. They held the Indian villages 
 in terror by their daring adventures, thus diverting attacks 
 from the flanks and rear of the army. 
 
 Gen. Wayne had kept his forces in winter quarters at 
 Greenville on the western fork of the Little Miami, and 
 late in July turned his face westward. He marched 
 through the wilderness, pushing toward the northwest 
 borders of the present State of Ohio. Panther was sent 
 forward to Gen. Wayne with the despatches, and John at 
 once fell into duty with the scouts. Among them was Kob- 
 ert McClellan and others once famous on the borders, but 
 whose deeds and names have now passed into oblivion. 
 One of these excursions had an issue which deeply con 
 cerned some of the characters of this story, and so must 
 have place here. McClellan was sent out with John and 
 Morton Sheldon to feel for the enemy along the right wing 
 of the Legion. They crossed the Scioto, following the trail 
 along which Panther and John had lately come, and so to 
 the head waters of the Hocking, where they learned that 
 war parties were gathering at an Indian town near the site 
 of Lancaster, Ohio. 
 
 Setting forth, they cautiously threaded the forest, bend 
 ing their course towards the hills overlooking the Hocking 
 Valley, whose western termination is known as Mount Pleas 
 ant. This is a cliff several hundred feet high, which 
 projects like a spur from the adjacent range, from which 
 it is separated by a deep ravine. Towards the river the cliff 
 descends sheer to the plain, forming an almost perpendicu 
 lar fall. On this lofty point our scouts established them 
 selves, for it commanded a wide view of the valley beneath. 
 Moreover, it was a solitary place, not within the usual beat 
 of the Indians, and being in a measure isolated, was com 
 paratively safe and defensible. 
 
 It was a striking and beautiful scene that now opened 
 up before the three men, and by one of them at least the 
 natural beauties of the outlook were not unnoted. On one 
 hand was the bold ridge capped by huge rocks that over 
 hung the ravine and ribbed its side. The forest foliage 
 
THE LATIMEES. 245 
 
 around the ridge was clad in the deep green of mature 
 summer, and flashing with the high lights of the August 
 sun. To the north and west stretched the river valley or 
 prairie. Its margins were carpeted with lush prairie grass, 
 and dotted with wild flowers whose coarse stalks got abso 
 lution, in one s thoughts, because of the sturdy vigor which 
 enabled them to bear their parti-colored blooms above the 
 stiff greening within which they grew. 
 
 Beyond this margin of untutored nature lay a circle of 
 corn fields wherein the Indian maize grew tall and rank, 
 the stalks drooping their broad leaves like ships pennants 
 in a calm, and holding up their husk-covered ears with 
 browning tassels on the tips. Beyond the corn fields and 
 nearer the river lay the village, laid out towards the centre 
 with some show of regularity, but with wigwams scat 
 tered irregularly upon the outskirts. Now and again 
 newly-arrived war parties would make their bivouac in 
 groups upon the outer circle. Their coming would set in 
 play the wild passions of the savage populace, and there 
 followed great tumult and whooping, and leaping about 
 over the plain. 
 
 There is nothing in material nature, however beautiful 
 and strange, that can rival in attractiveness to man the life 
 and behavior of his fellow men. Thus, John Latimer 
 turned from the landscape before him with deeper interest 
 in the panorama of human life hourly unrolled beneath 
 him. Women were at work in the fields and about the 
 wigwams. Young mother came and went with papooses 
 strapped upon their backs; and motherly pride and indi 
 vidual taste showed in beaded ornaments wrought upon 
 their tergal cradles precisely as in the outfits for infants 
 of our own homes. Here children played with hearty 
 laugh and frolic, the young lads mimicking the warlike 
 scenes enacted around them. On another part of the field 
 young braves were engaged in their favorite games of ball, 
 throwing the tomahawk, and shooting with bow and arrow, 
 with as much zest and lightheartedness, and clatter of 
 tongue, and boisterousness as one sees at an intercollegiate 
 football match, for Indians among themselves are not the 
 taciturn folk that the white man sees them to be. 
 
 Elsewhere the more serious business of preparing for 
 the warpath went on. Chiefs and braves went to and fro 
 from the council house. Warriors practiced at throwing 
 
246 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 the tomahawk and shooting the rifle. As evening came on 
 fires were kindled and dusky forms circled around them in 
 the wild war dance, their whirling figures sharply outlined 
 against the blaze, which showed lurid and weird in the 
 blackness of the surrounding night. 
 
 Thus a day passed in observation. Then the supply of 
 water which the scouts had brought was exhausted. None 
 could be had short of the river beyond the base of the hill, 
 and it was needful that one should carry the canteens 
 thither and refill them. McClellan went forth upon the 
 duty and John came down to the edge of the prairie grass, 
 and laid in waiting near by a bold spur of the cliff where it 
 draws nearest to the stream. The canteens were safely 
 filled, and McClellan about to return when he heard light 
 foot-falls upon the prairie path, and turned about. There 
 stood two squaws within a few feet of him, who had come 
 also to the spring, or perhaps to the river to bathe! The 
 peril of the situation flashed upon him. He sprang forward 
 to smite the women into silence ere they could raise the 
 alarm. 
 
 Too late! The elder of the two raised an Indian yell 
 that rang over the prairie and echoed from the cliff. 
 Thereat John ran forward out of hiding. McClellan, filled 
 with the rage and despair of self-preservation, leaped upon 
 both the squaws at once, and seizing them by the throat, 
 one by each hand, dragged them down the bank into the 
 river. 
 
 The elder, who had uttered the alarm cry, was thrust 
 under the water, and having received the brunt of the 
 shock of the scout s fierce leap, made little struggle. Her 
 face lay beneath the surface, whence came forth gurgling 
 sounds as of a drowning woman. Not so with the younger 
 of the two. She was a fair athlete, and coped with the 
 scout, handicapped as he was, on not unequal terms. 
 Clasping his arms, though silent the while, she writhed 
 and tugged and kept her face above the water. 
 
 Now John plunged into the stream, raising the spray 
 before him in a mighty plash, and seized the maiden, whom 
 McClellan released to him, giving full attention to the 
 elder. John slipped one palm across the girl s mouth, and 
 not finding it in his heart to kill a woman, even an Indian, 
 and for self -protection, cried into her ear: "Be silent, and 
 I will save you! If you cry, I must kill you." 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 247 
 
 The squaw ceased her struggles at these words, and 
 darted into John s face a grateful look. From blue eyes, 
 as I live! thought John, and the sight touched some chord 
 of association, and strangely thrilled him as though with 
 a vision of a well-known face. Where, in his going to and 
 fro among Indians, had he seen this squaw? Surely, some 
 where! It may be that these quick-passing thoughts had 
 touched and relaxed the motor muscles of his hand, or that 
 the maid had gathered strength by her momentary rest. 
 She suddenly threw up her hands, and grasped his wrist, 
 and tugged it downward with such force as to give her 
 mouth release from his palm. Ere he could replace it, the 
 woman spoke: 
 
 "Don t hurt me! I white girl! No squaw at all!" 
 
 "Good Heavens!" exclaimed John. "What is this I 
 hear? Speak again, and quickly." 
 
 "I white woman, American girl! Indian captive, no 
 squaw! Shawnees stole me when little child. I no want 
 to stay with Indians. Take me with you!" 
 
 John was not so much surprised at this revelation, as 
 agitated at the thought of how near they had come to tak 
 ing the life of a countrywoman. Unhappily the capture 
 of white children, and their adoption into Indian tribes, 
 was only too familiar an occurrence. Every successful 
 campaign uncovered such cases, and it was a usual stipula 
 tion in treaties, that white captives should be restored. 
 Thus, border history abounds in touching and romantic 
 instances of captive children given back to their parents or 
 sent back, and sometimes most unwillingly. Eemembering 
 this, John at once gave credit to the young woman s tale, 
 and releasing his grasp, though still holding one hand, led 
 her from the river. 
 
 Meanwhile, the elder squaw had ceased to struggle, for 
 she was quite dead, and her body released from McClellan s 
 iron clutch slowly floated off. He had noticed what had 
 passed with John, and as he hurried from the stream End 
 got rifle and canteens, bade instant return to the mountain 
 ere the whole village and camp should be down upon them. 
 He shared his companion s perplexity as to what should be 
 done with the rescued maiden. But she solved the diffi 
 culty by declaring that she would share their fate, and by 
 following them in their retreat across the prairie. 
 
 They had not compassed half the distance of the hills 
 
248 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 ere signs of alarm were noted in the Indian village. The 
 lazy quietude that had sat upon the town and valley under 
 the hot sun changed into wild whirr and excitement, as rap 
 idly as does a quiescent ant hill when disturbed by a 
 passerby. The dead squaw s cry had been heard, and her 
 body had been seen as it drifted by. Out of the seemingly 
 purposeless confusion and hurly-burly were presently seen 
 shooting in all directions groups of armed warriors. A 
 party of twenty or more bore towards the mountain. 
 
 Soon they struck the trail of the fleeing scouts, and 
 gave signal in a fierce whoop of mingled joy and rage. 
 Then they sank into silence, and set to the work of sur 
 rounding their unseen foes with the steady sleuth-hound 
 ferocity and persistency of the American aborigines. Ere 
 long they had circled the base of the mountain, except 
 upon the west where the perpendicular cliff looks down 
 upon the village and plain. Thus they had shut up the 
 scouts as in a death trap. Swiftly they closed upon their 
 victims. They glided from tree to tree and from rock to 
 rock, pushing their way up the mountain until every ave 
 nue of escape was cut off. There was but one course left 
 for the doomed whites, to sell their lives as dearly as 
 possible; and this they resolved to do. 
 
 But there is the young woman! What shall they do 
 with her? It were wrong to involve her in their fate. So 
 they bade her go back, and tell her Indian friends that she 
 had been captured by the white men, and held by them 
 until in the excitement she had escaped. 
 
 No, she would bide with them! 
 
 But that was madness, John assured her. Nothing 
 but death awaited them. There was not the faintest hope 
 of escape for them. If she stayed she too must die. 
 
 "Then I will die!" cried the maid passionately. "Death 
 in company with my own people will be sweeter than cap 
 tivity with red men. Esawelathohnew will not return to 
 slavery. She will die here. She can fight as well as die. 
 No, I leave not this place. If any of you escape, carry to 
 my white kindred the news of my death." 
 
 "But who are your kindred?" asked John. 
 
 The maid cast down her eyes, and a sad thoughtfulness 
 fell upon her face. It was a beautiful face, despite the 
 swart complexion which sun and wind had wrought almost 
 to the color of an Indian. Her hair of light brown hue, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 249 
 
 verging almost upon auburn, passed smoothly over a high 
 brow, and fell in a long double braid well nigh to the border 
 of her richly beaded deer-skin tunic. With hands clasped 
 behind her back and gently beating the turf with her moc- 
 casined foot in rhythmic taps, she began her story slowly 
 and in broken sentences: 
 
 "Far up the Ohio so I have heard, my people lived. 
 The Shawnees would not tell me more. But I remember 
 something of my childhood. I tried to keep in my heart 
 everything about my people. Yes, I will tell you, Hist! 
 But not now. To the trees! See!" She sank to the ground 
 and pointed down the hill to a warrior who had stolen far 
 in advance of his fellows, and was in the act of crawling 
 from a rock to the shelter of a tree within gunshot. 
 
 McClelland sharp eyes had already marked the brave 
 savage, for he had not for a moment been diverted from 
 his vigilant outlook, as the others had been, by the cap 
 tive s tale. The crack of his unerring rifle answered like an 
 echo to the maiden s warning. The warrior dropped upon 
 his path and his earthly warfare there ended. Xow the 
 rocks and trees seemed alive with dusky forms. Rifle 
 answered rifle in quick succession, and the hearty "huzza" 
 of the scouts to the shrill whoop of the Indians. But the 
 latter could not cope with the former in marksmanship, 
 for they were but indifferent shooters and were pitted 
 against three of the best rifles on the frontier. Their 
 losses were severe. Every shot of the palefaces told; and 
 they were not long in discovering that the far-famed Long 
 Knife, Robert McClellan, was one of their foemen. It was 
 no part of Indian tactics to risk life uselessly by a charge, 
 and thus the conflict gradually abated. 
 
 The scouts knew that the relief was only temporary, 
 but were thankful for so much respite, and the opportunity 
 to refresh themselves with their simple fare. But where 
 is the captive maid? She had been quite driven from their 
 minds by the suddenness of the onset, and the fierce en 
 gagement of combat. Esawelathohnew (as she called her 
 self) was nowhere to be seen. Had she been killed in the 
 attack? Had she thought better of her resolution, and 
 under cover of the conflict slipped away to the village in 
 the plain? At all events she was gone. 
 
 The position of the scouts was a strong one as against 
 an attack from the front. They held the narrow backbone 
 
250 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 of the hill, and their enemies had to advance in single file 
 and without cover for a moment or two as they passed from 
 one shelter to another. This slight exposure was quite 
 enough to satisfy unerring marksmen. With food and 
 water they could have held the position as long as ammuni 
 tion lasted. But there was one danger which already they 
 had noted; their position could be flanked. It was domi 
 nated by a huge isolated rock on the southern hillside. 
 
 The dreaded danger at last befell. McClellan saw a 
 swarthy figure crouching along a rocky ledge, preparing to 
 spring from his covert, and so near now that a bound or two 
 would reach the flanking rock. With the vigilant watchers 
 in front, silent and unseen, but surely there, it would have 
 been certain death to advance beyond cover to make sure 
 aim at this daring brave. 
 
 "If I were only in the ravine!" muttered McClellan. 
 "If that redskin gits footin on yander rock our case is 
 hopeless. But well, I must try it." 
 
 He crept to the utmost range of his retreat. Only a 
 slight portion of the crouching savage s body was exposed 
 to view. He drew a careful bead, pulled the trigger, and 
 the flint broke sparkless upon the pan! He hastened to fix 
 a new flint, keeping his eyes upon the spot. He saw the 
 savage gather his muscles for the leap, like a panther 
 crouching to his prey. Quick, quick with that flint, good 
 fingers! Too late! He is off with a mighty spring. Hah! 
 An appalling yell pierced the air and startled gruesome 
 echoes in the ravine, into whose depths the dead body of 
 the warrior fell. 
 
 What unknown power had intervened to save the 
 scouts? The warrior s death cry was answered from every 
 quarter by scores of his comrades who had been awaiting 
 the issue, and for a moment the mountain was vocal with 
 their hideous yells. Then all was still once more. 
 
 "Will they try it again?" asked Sheldon. 
 
 "No doubt," said McClellan. "They ll not be so asily 
 balked of their prey. The brave who reaches that rock 
 will be as great a man among em as Giner l Wayne with 
 us. There ll be a-plenty to make at least wan more ventur. 
 See! Thar goes wan now!" 
 
 A second warrior was seen stealthily advancing along 
 the ledge. But now the scouts eyes were diverted from 
 him by the clamor of war-whoops in front of them, and a 
 
THE LATIMERS. 251 
 
 fierce attack that engaged all their faculties. The assault 
 had been made to guarantee the second venture from inter 
 ference. So intense was the curiosity of the Indians to 
 know the result, that a momentary lull followed the first 
 fierce onset, in which all eyes were turned towards the fato- 
 ful rock. Even as they looked, the gallant warrior was in 
 the act of leaping. He made the spring, and in mid air, 
 while the jubilant shouts of his tribesmen rang out the 
 signal of his supposed success, his body whirled over and 
 followed his brave comrade to the depths below. 
 
 What mysterious agent had wrought this second deliv 
 erance? Disappointed, perplexed, awe-stricken, the assail 
 ants withdrew. Even the guides felt a strange feeling 
 creeping over them, as though some supernatural power 
 had come to their aid, until they saw the captive maid 
 emerging from the nearby rocks with a rifle in hand, and a 
 beaming smile on her face. The mystery was solved! 
 
 She had noted where the savage fell who had been 
 killed so far in advance of his fellows, and with dexterity 
 which would have done credit to a trained warrior, crawled 
 to the spot and got rifle and pouch. She knew well the 
 danger threatening from that fatal rock, for she had often 
 wandered to this mountain top to be alone and dream of 
 her own kindred and home, and of liberty. Therefore, she 
 stole away through the din and peril of the fight and set 
 herself among the rocks, within good rifle range, as the 
 armed guardian of the pass. From her secure position on 
 the side of the ravine she watched the opportune moment, 
 and having learned the use of the rifle in her Indian home, 
 fired with fatal effect. 
 
 John, speaking for his fellows, expressed admiration 
 and gratitude for this deed. She had saved their lives for 
 the present, whatever the outcome might be, and they 
 heartily praised her coolness, valor, and skill. 
 
 The swart face blushed red with pleasure at these words 
 from such famed warriors of her own blood. Even to an 
 Indian brave they would have been as precious as life. To 
 a maiden trained among the red men and unconsciously 
 having sympathy with their ideas of honor and fame, they 
 were unspeakably sweet. 
 
 "My brother s words are sweeter than the song of 
 birds," she said. "Esawelathohnew is proud to show the 
 white warriors that she is worthy of her kin, and ready to 
 
252 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 serve them or die for them, and see!" She turned toward 
 the ravine, and pointing downward beneath the rock 
 whither the two braves had fallen, her face darkened with 
 a frown. "The white maiden s God is just! The last 
 Indian who fell was Succohanos, the most bloodthirsty 
 and valiant of the Shawnee chiefs. He led the war party 
 that tore Esawelathohnew from her home. Is it not the 
 hand of God? Esawelathohnew s mind is well nigh as dark 
 as an Indian girl s. But she feels the Great Spirit in her 
 heart, and seems to hear Him speak. He has avenged the 
 captive maid, and will lead her and her brothers into safety. 
 Look! The sun is setting. When shadows of night fall, 
 Esawelathohnew will show the way of escape/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 A DISCOVEKY AND A DELIVERANCE. 
 
 The plan which Esawelathohnew proposed for their 
 deliverance seemed to the scouts rash in the extreme. 
 Could she really pilot them safely through their foes? Yet 
 there was no better way, no other way, indeed, than to 
 trust themselves to her. She had already proved her cour 
 age and sagacity, and at all events they could but lose 
 their lives in the venture, and death was inevitable if they 
 remained upon Mount Pleasant until the morrow. Thus 
 it was agreed to accept the maiden as their guide and trust 
 to the good fortune which had heretofore favored them. 
 
 This settled, Esawelathohnew gathered together a heap 
 of dry splints and struck thereon sparks from her gun 
 flint until she kindled a fire. A few hours earlier that 
 would have been a serious blunder, but what matter 
 now? The Indians knew them to be there. Let the maid 
 do what she would! She passed to the opposite side of the 
 summit ridge, and kindled a second fire. Soon two parallel 
 columns of blue smoke were ascending from the hilltop. 
 
 "That is good!" said the maid. "One smoke means 
 something, may be; or nothing, may be. Two smokes on 
 the mountain top mean something, sure! Shawnees see 
 them and say: What that? The palefaces make signal 
 to their brothers, Ah-ha! some soldiers near, then! The 
 
THE LATIHERS. 253 
 
 scouts will wait for them. They not thinking of escape! 
 You not see that, hey? Their guard around the mountain 
 not be so strict, and many braves go out, there and there," 
 pointing to the eastward, and on either side to the south 
 and north. "No one think to watch toward the setting sun, 
 for the village is there. No scout ever think to pass that 
 way/ they say. Ha, ha! we will see! What Shawnee chiefs 
 think of self when poor captive girl outwit them?" 
 
 All this was clear to the scouts; but that this strange 
 girl would overmatch the cunning and skill of trained 
 Shawnee warriors, they were by no means confident. 
 Nevertheless, they had hope. Whatever the chances, they 
 had too often faced death to be much disturbed at its near 
 prospect, and calmly ate their jerk and parched corn, with 
 a handful of wild berries to give relish thereto, and drank 
 their scant measure of spring water. 
 
 The sun was going down as their meal was finished; and 
 John asked Esawelathohnew to take up and make an end 
 of the story of her captivity. Sheldon and McClellan took 
 post as sentinels, for they dare not relax their watchfulness 
 with such enemies in front of them, even though they felt 
 sure no attack would be made until the night was well 
 advanced. 
 
 Bidding the maiden be seated on a rock near the edge 
 of the cliff, John sat near her and awaited the coming 
 narrative. The shadows had fallen upon the valley be 
 neath, but the brief twilight of August still lingered, and 
 roseate hues, refracted from the glowing clouds of the 
 sunset, lay upon the hills. Low hung bands of striate 
 clouds girdled the horizon, tinted w r ith those rich and 
 changing colors that make an American sunset. 
 
 In his recollections of that hour, John always recalled 
 the vision of Esawelathohnew, as she stood upon the rocky 
 cliff, looking over prairie and village and distant forest 
 toward the sunset clouds; her face illumined with their 
 reflected color; her eyes with that far-away expression 
 which comes in moments of retrospection. The maid told 
 her story in artless manner, speaking in low tones and with 
 musical voice, in broken English, and with Indian idiom 
 that need not here be reproduced. 
 
 "My home was on the banks of the upper Ohio. So 
 much Succohanos told me, and would tell no more except 
 that my family all perished. Alas! the streamlet is dried 
 
254 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 up, and Esawelathohnew is as a lone pool in the empty 
 channel. Yet, who knows? Some of my kin may live, for 
 Shawnees are false as well as cruel. What do I remember? 
 An old man, he must have been my grandfather, who 
 often went with me to the woods, and took me in his 
 canoe, and carried me in his arms along the shore. There 
 was a great book from which he read, and showed pic 
 tures which pleased me much. Then he kneeled down, as 
 I have seen the white missionary do, and spoke to the 
 Great Spirit. But, he could not have been a missionary? 
 
 "There were other pictures that he showed me. Ah, I 
 remember! We could go into the great river bed, for the 
 summer sun had licked up the waters, and there see pic 
 tures upon the rocks. Not like those in the Book, but such 
 as Indians write on bark. That must be why it has stayed 
 in my memory. I would dig the river mud from the cut 
 tings with my little hands until they showed plain, and 
 loved to see the strange figures come forth. And my 
 mother it must have been she, came to the bank and 
 called me home. 
 
 "There was a baby, too, a baby boy, and I loved to tend 
 him; to rock him in his cradle. My mind is all confused 
 here. I cannot explain. Something falls like the gray 
 mists of Indian summer, and shuts out the vision. There 
 was a great flood, it must have been the spring freshet, 
 and the baby was out upon the river in a little boat. Then 
 there was a great to-do in the cabin when they brought the 
 baby in. But it was dead! Yet, it could not have been, 
 for I still remember him, and how I loved and watched 
 him, as mother did. Yes, I remember her with a baby in 
 the cabin as well as at the river. It is all lost to me here; 
 the mist quite falls. I cannot blow it away." 
 
 Esawelathohnew leaned -her cheeks upon her palms, 
 her elbows resting upon her knees, and paused and gazed 
 away, with dreamy look, into the banks of lavender clouds 
 fringed with pink and lake and rose madder, and stringing 
 patches of orange and yellow and olive and green, and 
 through openings here and there of burnished gold, into 
 the clear ether beyond. John would not disturb her 
 thoughts. His heart was aquiver with a hope that had 
 grown almost into assurance. His pulse beat hotly, and 
 his temples throbbed with eagerness and joy. 
 
 "There came a time at last," the maid continued, 
 
THE LATIMEES. 255 
 
 "when all these bright memories were swallowed up in 
 black night. It is little that I remember, but I know now, 
 from my life with the Indians, what must have been. I 
 seem to see the cabin burning. Yes, I remember that ! And 
 there was an Indian in the house helping us. Yet, how 
 could that be? It shows how dark is the poor captive s 
 mind; she is in a forest and no trail and no guide. It is 
 all as a dream, with all things mixed and dim. Then there 
 was a great yell in the dark, outside. Oh, I know that too 
 well now, though it chilled my soul then, and I put my 
 baby hands to my ears to shut it out. Someone had me in 
 his arms. It must have been my father. Then there were 
 rifle shots, and screams, and black night and men fighting, 
 my father among them with his tomahawk. I seem to 
 remember that the baby was killed, and my mother too; 
 but it may be only the story of Succohanos that dwells 
 in my memory. Then I slept, and when I awoke I was 
 with the Shawnees. Ugh! Why should Esawelathohnew 
 tell all that? It makes her shudder with fear and hate." 
 
 John had now arisen, and his emotion must have been 
 expressed in his countenance; for what there showed ar 
 rested the maiden s attention. She seemed alarmed thereby, 
 and casting upon him a glance eager with inquiry, rose 
 and stood facing him. 
 
 "Tell me," said John, and his voice trembled as he 
 spoke. "Do you remember your white name?" 
 
 "No. I have sometimes thought that I recalled love 
 words, pet/ and lass/ yes, lass! though I do not know 
 what that means." 
 
 "Was your name Margaret?" 
 
 "Margaret? Margaret?" The maid shook her head 
 and gazed upon the ground, her brows knit with the in 
 tensity of her effort to urge from memory its hidden 
 secrets. "The Shawnees called me Sunny Hair Esawelath 
 ohnew. But my white name? No, it could not have 
 been Margaret!" 
 
 "Was it MEG?" asked John abruptly. 
 
 The maiden started as if suddenly struck. She lifted 
 her eyes from the ground and turned them full upon 
 John s face with ea to -er search, as if reading there some 
 thing that moved her soul to the depths. She clasped her 
 brow with an open hand and stared before her a moment; 
 then dropped her arms and clasped her palms before her. 
 
256 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Meg Meg?" she cried. "Yes, it was MEG! Oh, tell 
 me more! You know more; surely you know more!" She 
 threw herself on her knees at his feet, and with hands still 
 clasped, lifted up her face radiant with expectation. 
 
 John with tears upon his cheeks reached down, and 
 laying his hand upon the trembling maiden, exclaimed: 
 "My sister! My long-lost sister Meg! I am that little 
 baby boy, your own brother!" 
 
 "John John! 0, it comes to me now!" The maiden 
 cried, and leaped to her feet and threw herself upon his 
 bosom. "It is baby John, and I am Meg Latimer!" 
 
 "It is even so, my sister," said John. "The good God 
 be praised!" 
 
 He put his arms about her and kissed her, and they 
 wept and rejoiced together. The tints were now nearly 
 faded from the sunset clouds; but from a narrow rift that 
 suddenly opened therein a single beam of roseate hue shot 
 forth and touched the rocky poll of Mount Pleasant. It 
 enveloped with a halo of warm color the brother and sister 
 standing there in embrace, and set the cliff and the ridge 
 beyond aglow for a moment, and then vanished. 
 
 When the first sweet rapture was over, John called 
 McClellan and Sheldon and told them all, and felt deeper 
 joy in the sympathy and rude congratulations of his friends. 
 The maiden s spirits, stirred with new yearnings after kin 
 dred and love, and soothed with the sweet satisfaction of 
 recovered place and family and affection, longed for more 
 than could be told. But that her parents still lived, and 
 had mourned for her all these years and would welcome 
 her with a wealth of love to a happy home, this at least 
 the poor hungry heart greedily heard. She seemed trans 
 formed. Her face, comely enough before, grew beautiful 
 under the deft moulding of a happy soul. She moved back 
 and forth through the fast deepening gloom with a 
 step so light, and a carriage so proudly erect, that she 
 seemed the spirit of the mountain. It was a veritable 
 mountain of transfiguration to the captive maid now re 
 deemed from bondage. 
 
 This incident raised the spirits of the party. It was a 
 good omen to McClellan. To John s better culture, it 
 seemed that He whom he had been taught to believe "pre 
 serves and governs all His creatures, and all their actions," 
 had given them a token of a kindly Providence which, 
 would lead them into deliverance. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 257 
 
 The night fell dark and moonless, and a mist from the 
 river filled the valley and hid the stars. Now Sunny Hair 
 bade the scouts follow her as closely as might be, and at 
 sound of danger to sink to the ground. Noiselessly they 
 stole away from their fortress, and following their guide 
 began to descend the mountain by a path that held close 
 to the edge of the precipice. Half way down the descent 
 the maid paused and uttered a soft "whist!" Leaving them 
 crouching on the path, she glided away into the darkness. 
 Five, ten minutes passed. A quarter of an hour had 
 gone by; and when one is waiting in sore anxiety or dire 
 peril of body, the minutes are wretchedly slow of move 
 ment, and an hour s anxiety is condensed within a moment. 
 The scouts did not doubt Meg s fidelity, but they did fear 
 that she had again fallen into the hands of their treach 
 erous and wary foes. John especially was troubled, and was 
 filling his thoughts with all manner of reproaches for allow 
 ing this unarmed woman to go into the very jaws of death, 
 when a softly-spoken "hist" gave token of her presence. 
 What had kept her? Where had she been? 
 She had gone forth to reconnoitre as they approached 
 the picket lines, and found two sentinels directly in their 
 path. She had stayed to remove them out of the way. 
 But how could she do that? 
 
 There was a low gurgle of laughter upon her lips as Meg 
 whispered her explanation. "The sentinels are young 
 braves. Indian youths love the maidens of their tribes. 
 Their hearts are glad to meet pretty prls on lonely picket. 
 It make time pass merrily to chat with them. Supposing 
 no great danger, young warrior think it all right to meet 
 a sweetheart. Eselawathohnew has many Indian lovers, 
 though she not very proud for that, and she know these 
 sentinels well. One wait for her there; another wait 
 yonder! Sunny Hair go through this way, with her 
 white brothers, and leave young braves to wait until tired. 
 Suppose they tell old warriors how they fooled? No, no! 
 They too wise for that! Come, we must haste." 
 
 The scouts needed no urging, but hurried on, following 
 their guide with stealthy tread as she glided before them 
 through the mist. They passed the mountain in safety. 
 They were soon moving through the valley, literally walk 
 ing by faith and not by sight. They had compassed about 
 half a mile when a dog barked close at hand. Ah! How 
 17 
 
258 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 sounds are magnified in darkness and mist; above all when 
 one is trying to move silently. The snap of a twig under 
 the foot sounds to the tense nerves like a pistol shot. The 
 brush of one s dress against stick or stone or leaves, is like 
 a blow upon the body. The baying of that sorry dog 
 seemed to John s excited nerves to roll and echo like 
 thunder. It was answered by the quick clicking of the 
 scouts rifles as they cocked their pieces, a sound that 
 alarmed Meg more than the dog s barking. She stepped 
 back to them, and with whispered "hush" warned them 
 that they were in the midst of an Indian camp, and their 
 lives depended upon their silence. 
 
 A little further on a wigwam rose out of the mist, and 
 an aged squaw showed her face at an opening. Meg drew 
 near and answered her challenge in the Shawnee tongue, 
 and with a pleasant word or two to engage her attention, 
 passed on. Meanwhile the scouts bore well away from the 
 wigwam, and covered by the darkness while Meg diverted 
 the squaw s attention, stole softly by. It was their last 
 serious alarm. Their guide had led them quite around the 
 central village, through the straggling camps on the mar 
 gin. Now, without fear of watching sentinels, or loitering 
 lovers or restless old squaws, or barking dogs, they pushed 
 on with steady and rapid pace, until they had left village 
 and sentinels and mountain several miles behind them. 
 
 Then Meg took leave to pause, not for rest, she seemed 
 to need none, but to consult what were best to be done. 
 They had left a broad trail on the moist grass, for they 
 could not hide it in the night. As they had come over 
 ground marked by a multitude of footsteps for part of the 
 way, it could less easily be traced. But daylight would 
 reveal their escape and hundreds of pursuers would be on 
 their track. Should they cross the river and trust to their 
 speed, and the great lead which a whole night s travel 
 would give them? She had feared to guide them to the 
 canoes on the river bank. If they only had one, they could 
 go swiftly up the Hocking and leave no trail. She was a 
 maiden, ignorant of war, and now she left all to the white 
 warriors. She had heard of the wisdom and valor of the 
 great Long Knife (meaning Robert McClellan) and he 
 <^ould tell them what to do. 
 
 McClellan accepted the situation and at once addressed 
 himself to getting the exact bearings. That settled, he 
 
THE LATIMERS. 259 
 
 began to take counsel with his comrades as to what were 
 best to be done. John reflected that they must be within 
 a short distance of the place where he and Panther had 
 hidden their canoe when they crossed the Hocking on their 
 way to Wayne s army. It would be rare good fortune if 
 the boat were unmolested. Mayhap Meg, who knew well 
 the whole country thereabout,, could help him locate the 
 spot if he would tell her their landmarks. John described 
 their halting place, and the local features by which they 
 had marked it, which fortunately Meg recognized, and 
 believed that she could pilot them to the place. 
 
 "Then let us be off/ said McClellan, "and waste no 
 time about it. If we find the canoe, well and good; if not, 
 we will then decide what to do." 
 
 They crossed the river, which there was shallow and 
 easily forded, and following along the opposite bank found 
 John s landmarks, two great rocks and a lightning-blighted 
 tree close by a short riffle in the stream. Going straight 
 way to the cache, the canoe was found snug and safe. 
 With great joy and hearts thankful to God, they launched 
 the frail birch vessel, and paddled up the Hocking until 
 McClellan bade a halt. 
 
 "We are safe now," he said, "thanks to our gallant Meg, 
 and may rest until morning. Then, ho, and away! The 
 whole Shawnee tribe couldn t catch us." 
 
 John sought a bushy retreat, and gathering leaves 
 made a soft bivouac bed for Meg, and giving her his 
 blanket, which she would have refused to take had he not 
 compelled acceptance, left her to sleep. These attentions 
 from a man were new and sweet to Meg; and although she 
 had small need of them, and her Indian training rather 
 inclined her to render service to John than receive courte 
 sies from him, yet she gratefully accepted them. There 
 came a pleasant glow about her heart, and a new sense of 
 dignity, and of the difference between the white man s 
 treatment of woman and the red man s, which soothed her 
 to sleep and gave her the lightest heart and the brightest 
 dreams that had visited her pillow for many a year. 
 
 It was a light and easily-made breakfast the party 
 had, but a merrier one was never served before, nor since 
 has been, in the Valley of the Hock-hocking. Then away 
 once more, as fast as paddles could urge, until the sun was 
 an hour high. Thence, leaving their boat, they pushed 
 
260 THE LATIMEBS. 
 
 through the forest until the scouts knew that they had 
 put so great distance between them and their pursuers 
 that they might relax their speed. Moreover, it was high 
 time to rest; for even though muscles be like whipcord 
 and nerves like brass, Nature calls for repose. McClellan 
 set forth in advance of the others to seek the desired 
 halting place, for they were still in the midst of a hostile 
 country. Ere long the scout came crouching back, trailing 
 his piece and holding his hand aloft in token of caution. 
 He had seen what appeared to be Indian "signs," the trail 
 of a horse and two or three men, so fresh that the parties 
 could not be far away. Now all were on the alert, and com 
 ing upon the trail, Latimer and Sheldon branched out on 
 either side to scour the woods on parallel lines, while 
 McClellan with Meg followed the well-marked footprints. 
 
 "Hist, there they are!" whispered Meg, gliding to the 
 scout s side and pointing through an opening among" the 
 trees, down the sloping ridge on which they stood. Her 
 keen eyes had noted a horse picketed in the chaparral on 
 the brink of a run that girdled the foot of the hill. 
 
 McClellan, who had wormed himself through the grass 
 to a point where the strangers were in view and was quietly 
 making observation, felt a light touch on his arm. Meg 
 was at his side. She pointed to a form seated by the 
 stream, with back towards them, and whispered, "See! 
 that a squaw. Indians no take squaws on the warpath. It s 
 a hunting party, hey?" 
 
 Tho answer filled her with amazement and for a 
 moment, it must be confessed, with doubt as to whether the 
 Long Knife hunter had not lost his senses. He jumped 
 to his feet, and dropped his rifle stock to the ground. 
 
 "Well, I ll be dawgoned!" he exclaimed; and seemingly 
 regardless of all precaution, gave vent to a low, hearty 
 laugh. "Come, lass, it s all right. Yon s no squaw, it s 
 well dang it all! she is and she isn t. That s Mad Ann 
 Trotter and her black hoss Liverpool. Ha, ha! and to think 
 I ve been a-trailin her for Injuns!" 
 
 This was unintelligible to the maid, but she at least con 
 jectured that friends, not enemies were near. McClellan 
 now issued boldly from hiding, and standing in the open 
 uttered a loud "hello!" Thereat Mad Ann with the instinc 
 tive caution of the woodsman, seized the rifle which had 
 been upon her lap, turned and dropped to her knees and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 261 
 
 drew a bead upon the hunter. But her act was rather 
 defensive than aggressive, for she knew that the hail was 
 friendly, as a hostile would have made no audible signal. 
 She therefore withheld her shot, but kept the scout covered 
 by her piece until he made himself known. 
 
 McClellan and Meg now advanced, and John and Shel 
 don, who had heard the cry, came running in, and merry 
 greetings followed. The scouts knew Mrs. Trotter too well 
 to need explanation of her sudden appearance within the 
 lonely forest in the midst of a hostile country. The pros 
 pect of an Indian scrimmage was sure to attract her, as 
 magnet the iron. She was at once interested in Meg for 
 John s sake, and soon for her own. Meg, whose Indian 
 life and training hindered her from remarking anything 
 odd, unwomanly or particularly strange in Mad Ann s 
 In-hnvior, was strongly attracted to her new acquaintance. 
 Was she not a white woman? the first of her own race met 
 since her deliverance? So her heart warmed to her. 
 
 There is a species of fellowship which women have for 
 those of their own sex, into which man cannot enter. It 
 is with woman to womaa as with child to child. No matter 
 how loving and friendly and engaging adults may be, a child 
 craves child fellowship, and will turn to it even from father 
 and mother, and only thus have the actual yearnings of the 
 heart satisfied. So, be their male friends as loving and con 
 genial as they may, women find in the society of their own 
 sex somewhat of satisfaction and fullness, and answer of 
 spirit to spirit, and sympathy to sympathy, that they never 
 get from male friends. Thus it easily befell that these two 
 children of the forest were drawn strongly towards one 
 another, and as the upshot of this meeting became at last 
 the best of friends, despite the striking difference in age 
 and disposition, and perhaps also because of that. John 
 was happy to see this, and deemed it great good fortune 
 that Meg had fallen upon one of her own sex with whom 
 she might forgather, and have the comfort and protection 
 which such society brings. 
 
 Greetings over, McClellan wished to know who and 
 where were her companions, for surely he had seen the 
 trail of two or three besides the horse. 
 
 Ay, it was even so. There were two of them; and if 
 he chose to take up the trail again, he would find it some 
 two hours old, leading off to the northwest and made by 
 
262 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 Jack McDonald and Alex. Bailey, who went off to Wayne s 
 army, with good prospects of a battle before many days. 
 As for her, she preferred to travel alone, and when she 
 had Liverpool there nodding towards her black horse she 
 had no fear. As to society, wasn t the woods full of it? 
 Ay, forsooth! A little too much just now, with the sav 
 ages marshalling from all quarters. 
 
 "Besides, men are a great responsibility, you know, 
 Robert," she continued, casting a sly glance upon McClel- 
 lan. "They re a h awful charge, an foriver a-gittin into 
 scrapes, out of w ich h us poor women as to elp em. 
 Now there s no tellin , since I ve come acrost you, but I ll 
 ave to save yourself out of the ands of the h lndiaois, h as 
 I did once on the Tuscarawas. Hey, Robin? You mind 
 that, I warrant?" 
 
 Ay, that he did, and was not like to forget while her 
 tongue could wag. Heaven help him, he didn t know but 
 he d better have let the savages lift his scalp than to have 
 Mad Ann save it, and be forever nagged thereabout. But 
 what brought Alex. Bailey into the woods? He had told 
 him (McClellan) that he was not going out this campaign, 
 and meant to stick to his plantation near Wheeling. 
 
 "Did e tell you that, h indeed?" said Ann, with a quiz 
 zical cast of her eye towards the scout. "Well, I suppose 
 a man may sometimes take a woman s privilege, and change 
 is mind, if e as any." Ann clasped her hands over her 
 knees, for she sat upon a mossy log, and looked into the 
 brook meditatively, while a broad smile lit up her face. 
 Something in the subject just broached greatly amused 
 fter. She began laughing, at first quietly, then heartily, 
 until her frame shook with jollity. 
 
 "What does Alex. Bailey want in the woods? Ha, ha! 
 That s a good un, sartin. Well, Robert, between you an 
 me an the bedpost, e s got a special arrant. my fathers, 
 jest think on t. Aleck wants to git married!" 
 
 "Married!" exclaimed McClellan. "Well, what if he 
 does? Manny another blame fool has done that. But 
 what s that got to do with his comin intil the woods? He 
 isn t a-goin to marry a catamount is he? or a squaw?" 
 
 "That s jest h it, Robin. Jest the h idee." Mrs. Trotter 
 gave vent to a fresh burst of glee. "I sent im a leetle 
 furder into the w r oods, and bade im look sharp, for there 
 ? ud be plenty of squaws ithout usbands after the battle 
 
THE LATIMEES. 263 
 
 with Wayne, who d be glad of h any kind of a rifle to bring 
 game to their wigwams. Ha, ha! Aleck Bailey untin a 
 pardner! An of all the world a-wantin to marry " 
 
 "Marry who?" exclaimed McClellan, noting how the 
 woman paused at the last word. 
 
 "Ay, ay, Kobby, that s the question!" answered Ann. 
 "Now wouldn t you like for to know? Wall, wall, did you 
 ever ear of sech doin s?" Thus saying, Mrs. Trotter rose 
 and walked down to the run for a drink, uttering laughter 
 and gleeful ejaculations as she went. 
 
 "So help me Davy!" exclaimed McClellan, a surprising 
 thought striking him. "I jist begin to take scent! By 
 crackies, Jack, I b lieve Mad Ann thinks Aleck Bailey 
 wants to marry her!" 
 
 John was struck with the novelty and seeming ab 
 surdity of this opinion, and joined McClellan in laughter. 
 "Yet, after all, why should this amuse us? Bailey might 
 go further and fare worse. Mad Ann is a good and true- 
 hearted woman, and no doubt would be as thorough at 
 housekeeping as she is at hunting, if she were once settled 
 down to home life." 
 
 "If?" echoed McClellan. "Ay, if she d settle down. 
 But, land o liberty! she ll niver settle ontil she s in her 
 coffin, that s sartain. I d as soon axpec *a Shawnee to turn 
 Quaker. Marry Mad Ann! Wall, women re scarcer nor 
 duck teeth on the border, an Aleck s no puling milksop, 
 I know; but he s a grittier chap nor I took him to be ef he 
 choices to tackle that job. But ivery one to his taste, as 
 the ole woman said when she kissed the cow. Now for my 
 part, much as I think of Ann Trotter, I d as lief think 8 
 makin a pet kitten out en a panther as of puttin fambly 
 harness on sich a critter. But John, lad, we best say nothin 
 more about the matter to Mad Ann. She s mighty techy 
 and nighty, you know; an though she seems tickled enough 
 jist now over the idee, thar s no tellin how soon she ll 
 double on her trail. Mad Ann Bailey! How d that sound, 
 Jack? Ha, ha! Well, Trotter or Bailey, whether the one 
 or t other, the gray mare 11 always be the better hoss." 
 
264 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 A REVOLUTIONARY CONSPIRACY. 
 
 On Monday, July 21st, the day of Major McFarlane s 
 funeral, a council assembled in the Mingo Meeting House. 
 It met to consider the Bower Hill incident and the result 
 ing situation. The passions of the people were highly 
 inflamed, yet there was grave apprehension of the conse 
 quences to those who had participated in the riot, most of 
 whom were present. With them were the leaders of the 
 insurrection, resolved to cover themselves and associates 
 with the mantle of popular approval. 
 
 There were also present some who had taken no part 
 in and who disapproved the Bower Hill riot, and would 
 gladly have found a way to remedy or escape from its con 
 sequences. Among these were two men of high standing, 
 known friends of order and good government, Col. Edward 
 Cook and Mr. Craig Ritchie. Fortunately, through the 
 impulse of habit, these two were chosen officers of the 
 meeting, the former President, the latter Secretary. Be 
 sides all these, was a small delegation from Pittsburg, 
 that included one of the most remarkable men in the West 
 ern counties, one who played an important part in the agi 
 tations of the period. Mr. Hugh H. Brackenridge was the 
 leader of the bar in all the section west of the Alleghenies. 
 He had zealously supported the Federal Constitution 
 against such well-known popular leaders as Gallatin, Find- 
 ley and Smiley. He was a public-spirited citizen, active in 
 affairs, and his decided views and temperament and some 
 what eccentric manners arrayed against him some of the 
 leading men of the section. He was a learned and thought 
 ful man, of philosophic bent of mind. Yet he was witty, 
 and in a high degree possessed of the faculty of ready 
 humor and a great fund of anecdote, traits which are 
 especially developed among American public men, and of 
 which Abraham Lincoln was an eminent example. His 
 "Modern Chivalry" was a celebrated work in its time, and 
 a pioneer of American fiction and humor. 
 
 He was now in the height of his reputation and the 
 zenith of his intellectual power. He knew better than any 
 
THE LATIMERS. 265 
 
 public man in the section the peculiar temperament of the 
 Scotch-Irish majority, and by sympathy, knowledge and 
 skill was qualified to lead them. But he was loyal to the 
 Union, friendly to Washington, opposed with heart and 
 conscience to the plans of the revolutionists. Yet, as a 
 well-known friend of the people, he felt the force of their 
 objections to the excise laws, and appreciated the sterling 
 worth and sincerity of the bulk of the malcontents. He 
 wished to stay them from further outbreaks, and save 
 them from the consequences of the serious and criminal 
 acts which had been wrought. He knew that by opposing 
 and denouncing them he would only harden the peoplo 
 in their course, and lose all standing and influence with 
 them. He therefore resolved to accomplish by secret and 
 adroit manoeuvres what could not be done by open opposi 
 tion. He would flank the movements of the leaders. He 
 would lighten up the sullen mood of the people by anecdote 
 and humor; dally with proposals for serious opposition to 
 the Government, and postpone action until reflection 
 should bring about a reaction of sobriety and submission. 
 
 The proceedings were opened by Benjamin Parkinson, 
 President of the Mingo Creek Democratic Association, who 
 explained the situation and offered a resolution endorsing 
 the action of the "patriots" at Bower Hill. Col. Marshall 
 followed with a less exacting address, and then came the 
 chief plotter and head of the conspiracy, David Bradford. 
 He at once launched upon the audience an inflammatory 
 harangue in support of Parkinson s motion. The revolu 
 tion had begun; it must not go backward! The patriots of 
 Bower Hill would live in history along with the heroes of 
 Lexington and Bunker Hill, with the Covenanters of Scot 
 land, the Puritans of England, and with the heroes of 
 liberty everywhere. A second war of Independence had 
 commenced. Let there be a second Declaration of Inde 
 pendence that day, and Mingo Creek Church would be as 
 sacred a building to posterity as the State House in Phila 
 delphia. 
 
 The Western Survey was unknown, and the vast re 
 sources of its hills and plains, its rivers and forests under 
 valued by the East. They were held to be a people of rude 
 manners and of littla consequence. Their interests were 
 neglected, their rights trampled upon. Here was their op 
 portunity to show themselves men. 
 
266 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 Theirs was the cause of the People, the Common 
 People. Who were arrayed against them? A little band of 
 aristocrats who had entrenched themselves within the 
 Government offices, and were growing rich and great upon 
 the hard and scanty earnings of the sons of the soil. This 
 was no land for aristocrats. There were too many of them 
 in Philadelphia and the East. Let them have no foothold 
 in the great West! They wanted no sham excise nobility, 
 no Government favorites, nor Order of the Cincinnati with 
 its aping of European jewels and ribbons and primogeni 
 ture, and its thin veneer of a titled military class. 
 
 "This then is the issue," he cried. "Let it not be 
 avoided. Shall we disapprove the conduct of those engaged 
 against Neville the excise officer, or approve? In other 
 words shall we suffer them to fall a sacrifice to Federal per 
 secution, or shall we support them? On the result of this 
 business we have fully deliberated. Why pause longer? 
 Let us determine with head, heart, hand and voice that we 
 will support the opposition to the excise law. A crisis has 
 now come. It is this Submission or Opposition! Let us 
 determine to act in the future agreeably to system; to form 
 arrangements guided by reason, fortitude and spirited con 
 duct. We must not be divided. The Western Survey must 
 show an unbroken front to its enemies. By all the ties that 
 the union of interests can suggest, we are urged to be stead 
 fast, united, undismayed and to go forward!" 
 
 Bradford s well-known fondness for declamation had 
 here abundant exercise, for his speech was perfervid even 
 to violence. His greed for popularity, and his craving for 
 the exhilarating flattery of public approval of one s speech, 
 had carried him beyond even his own platform. But what 
 now? Would the assembly act? The people sat motion 
 less on the church forms, and a prolonged silence ensued. 
 
 The Mingo settlement represented one of the most 
 populous constituencies west of the mountains. It could 
 have sent forth a regiment of six or seven hundred men, 
 skilled riflemen, inured to hardship and seasoned thereby, 
 many of them veteran soldiers of the Eevolutionary War. 
 Had they declared for active opposition, their example 
 would have been contagious. The organized rebellion 
 would have spread throughout the entire western moun 
 tains of Pennsylvania, Virginia and Maryland, and thence 
 into Kentucky, and to all the settlements along the Ohio 
 
THE LATIMERS. 267 
 
 River, whose inhabitants were in full sympathy with the 
 opposition to excise laws. 
 
 The silence that overhung the meeting was almost 
 oppressive. At last Mr. Brackenridge arose and addressed 
 the Chair. All eyes turned upon him as he slowly ad 
 vanced along the middle aisle toward the desk. He began 
 in a deliberate manner, even hesitated in his speech as 
 though struggling in spirit with a sense of responsibility 
 upon him. He had need of all his address and forensic 
 ability and skill as an advocate and pleader, and of his 
 experience of men, and he well understood the situation. 
 
 His main effort was directed toward postponing action, 
 chiefly on the ground that the passing of Parkinson s reso 
 lution would incriminate the entire community, and leave 
 no "mediators" to plead the cause of the actual offenders. 
 He thus adroitly divided the meeting into two classes, and 
 that not on the ground of mutual hostility, but of common 
 interest and helpfulness. He concluded by an appeal to 
 the largest exercise of the principle of pure democracy, 
 in calling a representative congress of all the counties of 
 the Survey to take final action. He further advised the 
 selection of a delegation to visit President Washington to 
 explain the late outbreak. Whatever moral justification 
 might be urged for that act, legally it was treason! Dis 
 cuss it as they might, the Administration would declare 
 that they had traitorously fired upon and fought with 
 United States troops. Yet, the Bower Hill affair was not 
 a premeditated one, so far as its worst features were con 
 cerned. The burning of Neville s property was an acci 
 dent. It was not the intention of the leaders, and certainly 
 was never contemplated by the majority of those present 
 to do deeds of violence. This would undoubtedly be con 
 sidered by President Washington and the actual intention 
 of the public be favorably regarded by the President. Mr. 
 Brackenridge closed by declaring that should it be so 
 desired he would willingly undertake this commission of 
 mediation himself as one of the delegates, however incon 
 venient and disagreeable it might be to undertake the 
 journey at that time. 
 
 If oratory is to be judged by its effects, this impromptu 
 address must be regarded as one of the most effective 
 speeches ever made to an American audience. The entire 
 current of feeling and purpose was turned. A deep silence 
 
268 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 ensued as the speaker took his seat. No one rose to re 
 spond. No one seemed desirous of pushing the motion 
 which Parkinson had made. Almost spontaneously the 
 assembly broke up, and slowly retired from the sanctuary. 
 Some went to the spring nearby to drink; others separated 
 into knots and engaged in grave consultation. After a 
 brief recess, the people reassembled in the meeting house. 
 But nothing further was done than to act on Bracken- 
 ridge s suggestion to call a Congress coextensive with the 
 Survey. A resolution to that effect was passed, and the 
 Secretary was ordered to publish it in the Pittsburg Ga 
 zette. Thus an assembly surcharged with anger and belig- 
 erent intent quietly dissolved, as a thunder cloud pregnant 
 with electricity is sometimes harmlessly dissipated by the 
 mountain peaks upon which it falls. 
 
 David Bradford left the meeting with an ill-contented 
 mind. He had been foiled in his attempt to commit the 
 Mingo Creek people to open revolution, but the matter was 
 only postponed. He could wait. Meanwhile, he would see 
 that the coming Congress at Parkinson s Ferry should do 
 better work. He would try what could be done by the 
 method known in modern political tactics as "packing the 
 Convention/ 7 and thus get a decision favorable to his plans. 
 He accordingly prepared and distributed a circular letter 
 to the inhabitants of the Survey, inviting and urging those 
 in sympathy with the anti-excise party to be present. 
 
 He would go yet further! The country must be even 
 more thoroughly committed. The Mingo Conference had 
 reached a conclusion that might be interpreted as favoring 
 submission. The Government at Philadelphia must be 
 led to see in it only a step toward more deliberate and 
 organized revolution. No step backward! 
 
 On the way to the Mingo meeting, Bradford had pro 
 posed to some of the conspirators to intercept the mail from 
 Washington to Pittsburg, and from Pittsburg to the East, 
 and abstract all letters addressed to the National and 
 State Governments. This would detain information of the 
 late movements, and give the agitators more time to form 
 their plans and secure their footing. Especially it would 
 enable them to spot the spies and traitors in their midst. 
 
 This reckless enterprise was matured after the Mingo 
 Creek meeting. An ignorant fellow by the name of John 
 Mitchell, and a certain William Bradford, a cousin of 
 
THE LATIMERS. 269 
 
 David s, were appointed to intercept the mail. These men 
 accomplished the crime three days after the Mingo Confer 
 ence. They stopped the post about ten miles from Greens- 
 burg on its way across the mountains to the East. They 
 took out the packets from Washington and Pittsburg, and 
 delivered them to Parkinson, who, accompanied by David 
 Bradford and Marshall, carried them to Canonsburg. 
 There, in the village tavern where the conspirators were 
 wont to meet, the letters were opened and read. 
 
 Fortunately, none of the Washington folk were in a 
 communicative mood. But some of the Pittsburg resi 
 dents were less reticent. Col. Neville had written to 
 Gen. Morgan; Gen. Gibson and Mr. Prothonotary 
 Bison to the Governor of Pennsylvania; Edward Day to 
 the Secretary of the Treasury, and Major Butler to the 
 Secretary of War. These communications, most of them 
 official, gave great offence. The familiar adage that eaves 
 droppers hear no good of themselves was in this case veri 
 fied, and David Bradford read some wholesome observa 
 tions upon his schemes and conduct. As usually happens, 
 his anger was proportionate to the truthfulness of the 
 criticism, and in high dudgeon he vowed to be avenged 
 upon the writers. Moreover, these letters should serve to 
 inflame the popular passions and bring his own plot to a 
 head. 
 
 "Now, gentlemen," said he to the committee, "you have 
 a fine view of what sort of news the United States Govern 
 ment is likely to get from these coasts. We have balked 
 the spies this time, and blocked their game to bring both 
 State and National powers down upon us. But we can t 
 hope to intercept every communication. The tidings will 
 be sure to get through the tightest cordon we can draw 
 around the mountains. We ve got these letters in hand; 
 but there s Neville and Marshal Lenox! It s good riddance 
 of bad rubbish to have them off the Survey. But they re 
 bound for Philadelphia, and will be there soon enough." 
 
 "Well, what can they do with us," asked Col. Canon, 
 "aven if Neville and Lenox do their warst?" 
 
 "Why, those engaged in the attack on Neville s house 
 would be hung! At least, they could be hung if the Presi 
 dent chose to exact the utmost penalty." 
 
 This was certainly a serious view of the affair, the 
 conclave thought, and a new one, too, as far as their 
 
270 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 leader was concerned. However, his reason for this change 
 of base soon appeared. He began to urge that the only 
 way to protect those directly implicated in the Bower Hill 
 offending was to involve the whole Western country in 
 the affair. Thus the very numbers concerned would pre 
 vent extreme measures on the part of the Government, 
 by making them impossible. 
 
 "Ay, that may be well enough; but how shall we get 
 the whole Survey involved?" asked Parkinson. 
 
 "Let us call out the militia to muster at Braddock s 
 Field," answered Bradford. "There, with arms in our 
 hands we can consider the situation." 
 
 That was astounding advice, indeed, thought Col. Mar 
 shall. How absurd! What authority had they to call out 
 the militia, who would jeer at them, and stay at home. 
 
 "Not at all!" averred Bradford. "The public feeling 
 is highly excited. So many of the militia have been com 
 mitted by the attack upon and the burning of Inspector 
 Neville s house, that they will influence the authorities to 
 attend upon any call which may bear the signature of the 
 general committee. Moreover, the whole country is ripe 
 for such a movement, and for the most part there will be 
 a willing response. This will go far to cover any lack of 
 formality in the call. If the officers of the regiments are 
 unwilling to answer, their men will be keen enough to put 
 compulsion upon them. Besides, the members of the 
 Democratic societies arc mostly militiamen, and these will 
 be certain to heed a summons signed by their officers. 
 
 "When such a throng shall rendezvous at a well-known 
 point like Braddock s Field, Washington s Government will 
 see that the Western people are in earnest in urging their 
 complaints and demanding redress of grievances. Thus, 
 too, the whole Survey will be committed to the act, and 
 stand before the National Government as an unbroken 
 sodality. Unwilling citizens will have to fall in and fol 
 low with the majority. The secret opposers of the move 
 ment will be compelled to be silent." 
 
 Such was Mr. David Bradford s plot, and he had little 
 difficulty in bringing over all his associates to his view. 
 Thus it came about that a self-created committee, all of 
 whom were either directly or indirectly concerned in the 
 felony of robbing the mail upon the public highway, sit 
 ting in a village tavern, without a shadow of either civil 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 271 
 
 or military warrant, ventured to order out the militia of 
 the Western counties as if on a tour of military service! 
 It would seem impossible that such an impudent deliver 
 ance should be received with the slightest respect. Never 
 theless, it was accepted in good faith and promptly obeyed 
 by large numbers of ohicers and men. The following is 
 the letter which was drawn up and dispatched by mes 
 sengers in all directions by this self-constituted revolu 
 tionary junta: 
 
 JULY 28, 1794. 
 
 SIR: Having had suspicions that the Pittsburg post 
 would carry with him the sentiments of some of the people 
 in the country, respecting our present situation; and the 
 letters by the post being now in our possession, ~by which 
 certain secrets are discovered hostile to our interests, it is, 
 therefore, now come to that crisis that every citizen must 
 express his sentiments, not by his words, but by his actions. 
 " You are then called upon as a citizen of the Western 
 country, to render your personal service, with as many 
 volunteers as you can raise, to rendezvous at your usual 
 place of meeting, on Wednesday next, and thence you will 
 march to the usual place of rendezvous at Braddock s Field, 
 on the Monongahela, on Friday, the first day of August 
 next, to be there at two o clock in the afternoon, with arms 
 and accoutrements, in good order. If any volunteers shall 
 want arms and ammunition, bring them forward, and they 
 shall be supplied as well as possible. Here, sir, is an expe 
 dition proposed, in which you will have an opportunity of 
 displaying your military talents and of rendering service 
 to your country. Four days provisions will be wanted; let 
 the men be thus supplied. 
 
 We are, (Signed) 
 L. LOCKRY, D. BRADFORD, 
 T. SPEARS, B. PARKINSON, 
 
 A. FULTON, J. CANON, 
 
 J. MARSHALL. 
 To Col . 
 
 Far and near the message ran, and everywhere wrought 
 the country into a fever of excitement. Some great mili 
 tary enterprise was afoot. Some surprising secret was to 
 be revealed at the coming muster! Pittsburg was 
 
272 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 to be attacked. The magazines stored within the gar 
 rison were to be seized, and the whole town laid under 
 contribution. The obnoxious persons were to be arrested, 
 and if their fellow citizens opposed their exile, the town 
 would be destroyed as was ancient Sodom. 
 
 The most active centres of excitement were in the 
 Mihgo Creek settlement, and around the villages of Can- 
 onsburg and Washington. Here the rural population was 
 in large excess. With rare exceptions the planters and 
 farmers were men deeply injured by the excise law, and 
 most determined in their opposition to it. Everywhere 
 women and children might be seen engaged in running bul 
 lets, the round leaden balls in use for the long hunting 
 rifle which was then the well-nigh universal shooting tool. 
 Others were "necking" or clipping the necks from the balls 
 after they have been run. Men were engaged in burnishing 
 swords and cleaning and oiling rifles. Old muskets and 
 weapons of all sorts were brought forth, which black 
 smiths were busy day and night repairing. The country 
 stores in the various villages, and even in Pittsburg were 
 thronged with purchasers of flints, powder and lead. 
 The rude uniforms of the militiamen were being put 
 in order. Everywhere might be seen repeated, in the hum 
 ble cabins of the frontier, the ancient idyl of Venus pre 
 paring the arms of Mars. Rations were being cooked and 
 packed in haversacks. 
 
 On the first day of August the fevered condition of the 
 people was drawn to a head. Every village and hamlet 
 and countryside was astir. The passions of the people 
 were as fervid as the heat of the midsummer day. Every 
 where, spuads, companies and battalions of militia were 
 marching along the roads and trails, all with their columns 
 directed towards Braddock s Ford. These men for the 
 most part were uniformed in hunting shirts dyed with 
 butternut yellow or dark blue. Many had handkerchiefs 
 tied about their heads after a fashion then quite popular 
 with hunters when on excursions against the Indians. In 
 John Latimer s absence his company of young men was in 
 charge of the lieutenant, who being a hot anti-excise man, 
 called out the members, and compelled them into the 
 ranks whether willing or unwilling. He even forced some 
 of the students of the Log Cabin Academy, who were 
 opposed to the expedition, to join the march. 
 
LATIMERS. 273 
 
 Hottest among the enthusiasts was George McCormack. 
 His store was thronged with buyers, but he dropped busi 
 ness and joined the marchers, leaving v:ife and daughter 
 to look after the trade. Fanny was much perplexed. She 
 liked not such tumult, and dreaded strife and bloodshed. 
 Would John Latimer approve of these marchings and 
 muster? That he would not! Yet her father was one of 
 the chief promoters, and her eldest brother was off with 
 the rest. Who was in the right? How could a maiden 
 decide when the best and wisest men disagreed? At least, 
 she could follow r the bent of natural affection and see that 
 her kin went off to the camp well-fitted and provided. 
 Thus, she was busy among the other women preparing 
 not only father and brother but neighbors for the mysteri 
 ous expedition. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE MARCH TO BRADDOCK ? S FORD. 
 
 Luke Latimer had announced his purpose to go to the 
 muster at Braddock s Field. His wounded arm was yet 
 unhealed and caused him great pain, and his surgeon 
 declared his intention highly imprudent. His wife, with 
 plainer and more vigorous language, alternately entreated 
 and scolded. Fanny McCormack put in her remonstrance 
 as the nurse. But Luke stoutly held out against the loving 
 coalition. As long as strength remained he would be found 
 in his place, and at least show by his presence his unity 
 with the people in their effort to cast off oppressive laws. 
 
 Moreover, though he said naught of that to his friends, 
 he had done a deal of thinking during his recent suffering. 
 He saw now, what he had not discerned before, the danger 
 that lay in assembling a mass of men with arms in their 
 hands, in the inflamed condition of the public mind. His 
 name had not been upon the call for the muster at Brad- 
 dock s Field. He had not favored the movement; but all 
 the same would he be held responsible for it, as one of the 
 general committee. He would be present to use what influ 
 ence he might to prevent Bradford, or any others, from 
 executing extreme measures. 
 18 . 
 
274 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 Andy Burbeck tried to show Luke the imprudence of 
 his purpose; but the news which he brought from Pittsburg 
 nullified his words of kindly caution. Thus his story ran: 
 For two weeks he had been busy in his place at the ferry, 
 carrying folk to and fro across the Monongahela. He had 
 noted the anxiety of the citizens, and being a warm friend 
 and follower of Mr. Brackenridge, and having a tender 
 heart, he had willingly consorted with the Pittsburg people 
 in measures to save the threatened town. The conversation 
 of those who passed to and fro upon the boat showed him 
 the spirit of anarchy that was agog. Their denunciation 
 of the Pittsburg aristocrats, as they were pleased to call 
 them, was intense and bitter. 
 
 Eumors came from divers quarters of the fury that 
 raged in the country against the townfolk. Women were 
 agitated with fear, and nervous and startled at every new 
 alarm. For them, poor hearts! the "rumors of war" were 
 almost as painful as war itself. Most people who had valu 
 ables and important papers took them out of the village 
 bounds to be secreted in more secure places. Major Butler 
 was busy strengthening the defences of Fort Pitt. It was 
 a weak stronghold at the best; a picketed inclosure some 
 what removed from the main part of the village, with an 
 open common between the two. The bastions and walls 
 were in ruins; the old brick block-house a paltry affair; the 
 barracks and officers quarters were log huts. The garri 
 son at the time consisted of forty soldiers, a mere handful. 
 
 The leading citizens, aware of the hostility of the sur 
 rounding country, had already agreed upon measures to 
 placate the coming army. Open defense they knew to be 
 useless. The entire militia of the town numbered only 
 two hundred and fifty men, some of whom were hardly to 
 be relied on in an emergency. A public meeting was held, 
 which determined that a painful but urgent necessity re 
 quired that the obnoxious persons, against whom the popu 
 lar fury was especially directed, should go or be sent into 
 temporary banishment. Most of these gentlemen were 
 quite ready to leave. They understood that this would be 
 the only way to preserve themselves and save the town. 
 
 A Committee of Management was appointed, who 
 printed an address in the Gazette office, and forwarded 
 copies to Braddock s Field. This declared the sympathy 
 of Pittsburgers with the people at large in their wish t3 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 275 
 
 secure the repeal of obnoxious and oppressive laws. It was 
 resolved that the Pittsburg militia should march out to 
 the common rendezvous and there join the country troops, 
 and give public proof that they were in unison with the 
 common sentiment and united with the fortunes of the 
 people. Thus Andy told his story, in his own piquant 
 way, with free comments upon the same. 
 
 Now Luke was fairly mounted on his black gelding 
 Marion, but had to use the ladies upping block to get into 
 the saddle. Andy rode his trained horse Rouse, over whose 
 back hung a well-stuffed pair of saddle-bags, which showed 
 that he had not forgotten the junta s hint to bring four 
 days rations. He carried a rifle, but Luke must be content 
 with a pair of horse pistols at the saddle pommel. The two 
 were quite ready to be off, and only waited to say good bye 
 to Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 "Polly!" cried Luke, whom the strain of preparation 
 in his weakened condition had made somewhat irritable. 
 "Ho, Polly! We re waitin to say good bye til ye! Pol-lee!" 
 
 There was no response, and Luke muttered his im 
 patience. But impatience yielded to surprise, and that 
 to amazement and confusion when Mrs. Latimer issued 
 from the cabin door, holding in one hand the gathered 
 lengths of her riding skirt, and in the other one of John s 
 rifles. At the same time the negro man Dungy led Snow 
 ball to the upping block. The pony was furnished for a 
 journey, for behind the saddle were strapped saddle-bags 
 pouched out to rotundity, and a pair of blankets. 
 
 "The Lord presarve us!" exclaimed Andy, as he saw 
 the good woman mount into her place, and having got feet 
 into stirrups, take the reins and rifle from the negro. 
 
 "Amen!" answered Mrs. Polly; and her voice had just 
 a quaver of mirthfulness as she regarded the consternation 
 of her husband and his friend. "I m all ready, an it plase 
 ye, an we ll set off as soon as ye like." 
 
 During these proceedings the pallid hue on Luke s face, 
 wrought by pain and confinement, gave way to burning 
 crimson, and that again to the pallor of anger. He spurred 
 his horse to his wife s side, and exclaimed: "In the name 
 of the foul fiend, Polly, what does this mane? Have ye 
 gone clane daft? Shorely ye don t intand goin " 
 
 "Whist!" interrupted Polly. "There s no call to invoke 
 the foul fiend in this business, Luke; though I dar be 
 
276 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 sworn he s more to do with it nor anny one else, barrin 
 Dave Bradford. It would be more becomin to jine in 
 Andy s prayer, an ask the Lord to presarve us, for we ll 
 have nade enough of His presarvin hand afore we git out n 
 this scrape, more s the pity! Ye were astin did I intind 
 goin with ye? Ay, that s jist it, Luke; an why not? If 
 the muster at Braddock s Field is a good place for men, 
 it can t be sich a bad place for women. Sure, what s sauoe 
 for the goose is sauce for the gander, an visy varsy, as the 
 parson says. An did ye think I d let ye go on sich a trip 
 wi your poor hurted arem, an no wan to care for it? Na, 
 na, Luke dear, I promised to bide wi ye for weal or for 
 woe, for better or for warse. An if iver there s been a 
 warse affair in our life heretofore nor this randezvooin I 
 can t put my fingers ontil it. 
 
 "Do ye call it daft to march to Braddock s Field? Well, 
 than, ye men must all be daft, from the highest to the low 
 est of ye; an it ud take a Solomon to tell whether tane or 
 tither of us be the wiser. When one s in Roome, I ve been 
 telled, one must do as the Roomans do. So I ll jist share 
 an share alike wi ye, an we 11 all be daft thegither, Luke, 
 for it ill becomes a woman to be wiser nor her lord!" 
 
 "Good heavens, Polly, ye can t be in arnest!" cried 
 Luke. "What 11 folk say to see me traipsin intil camp with 
 a wife at the tail o me, to tind an care for me? Ye ve 
 been a true wife til me, Polly, I 11 no gainsay that. But 
 ye re minded the now to be like the kickin coo that knocks 
 over the good bucket o milk she s jist let down. Do ye 
 think I m to suffer this? Polly, I command you " 
 
 "Jist stop right there, Luke Latimer," interrupted 
 Polly, speaking in a quiet and determined voice that her 
 husband well knew. "It s not for you to threap nor to com 
 mand in a case of conscience; an I ve got a conscience 
 about this affair as well as yourself. I ve been a loyal an 
 biddable wife to ye all these years; but I ll not regard your 
 biddin now. There s jist one way for ye to kape me from 
 goin on this march, an that s to stay at home yourself." 
 
 At the height of the altercation a company of militia 
 came up the road. They had not heard the hot words pass 
 ing from husband to wife. Judging the situation only by 
 its outward seeming they jumped to the conclusion that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Latimer were going forth to the muster with 
 like spirit. They set up a great cheer for Luke, and then 
 
THE LATIMERS. 277 
 
 more rousing huzzas for his wife. It was to their minds a 
 picturesque and thoroughly patriotic incident, that showed 
 the determined purpose of the people, men and women 
 alike, to oppose the excise laws. Andy Burbeck was quick 
 to note this blunder, and to see in it a happy deliverance 
 from an embarrassing domestic situation. 
 
 "Come, come, Luke," said he. "Don t ye see how the 
 cat is like to jump, mon? Things are not so bad as they 
 look. The people are not like to sansure Mrs. Latimer s 
 march, but to cheer it; an it s not humiliation ye ll git 
 thereby, but honor, don t ye see ? So e en make the best of 
 a bad bargain, an come on thegither, the two of ye. An 
 besides, A doubt your w r ife 11 not go furder nor s comely; 
 an mayhap she 11 be keen enough to turn back afore she 
 gits to the journey s ind." 
 
 So it was settled. Luke accepted the door of escape 
 opened to him, and putting spurs to his horse sullenly gal 
 loped up the road. Mrs. Latimer cared nothing for the 
 cheers of the people, and indeed took them in ill part, but 
 she was too politic to show her feelings at the time. She 
 was content to have the matter so easily settled; and accom 
 panied by Andy, followed at more leisurely pace. She 
 knew well that Luke s wrath would soon burn itself out, 
 and before the Ford could be reached he would be recon 
 ciled to the situation. 
 
 It was a strange cavalcade that thronged the road lead 
 ing to Braddock s Ford. The militia of Washington 
 County, being among the most determined and inflam 
 mable of the revolutionists, were in high spirits. With the 
 exception of those who secretly disapproved or went under 
 compulsion of their comrades, they made the march merry 
 with shouting and laughter, with cheers and chaffing, and 
 all manner of hilarious outbursts. The woods and fields 
 along the rough road echoed with fusilades, for they could 
 not resist the natural male tendency to make a noise, and 
 fired blank shot into the air. 
 
 Most of them had some kind of uniform, chiefly hunt 
 ing shirts of various colors. Intermingled with these were 
 divers sorts of uniforms held over from the War of Inde 
 pendence, which gave the marching bands a motley look. 
 Many had no uniform, but plodded on in citizens dress with 
 hunting rifle, and bullet pouch and powder horn thrown 
 over one shoulder, and a well-filled haversack on the other. 
 
278 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Some of the bands were mounted, and these clattered along 
 the road and joined the infantry in the general jubilee. As 
 they reached the banks of the Monongahela at the Ford 
 where Braddock and his ill-fated army had crossed, they 
 dashed into the waters, and the river being low at that mid 
 summer time, easily reached the opposite bank. 
 
 As our Canonsburg party issued from the river and 
 ascended the ferry road, they came upon David Bradford 
 passing in review a large battalion of militiamen. The 
 arch conspirator had assumed the degree of a Major-Gen- 
 eral. He was mounted on a superb horse in splendid trap 
 pings, was arrayed in full martial uniform, with plumes 
 floating from his chapcau, and sword drawn. He rode up 
 and down the long military line, and then halting before 
 the centre, removed his hat and harangued the militiamen 
 in the style of a demagogue politician. He was at the 
 height of popularity. Every person in the camp waited 
 upon his bidding. Everything depended upon his will. 
 The soldiers paid him the most servile homage, some, no 
 doubt, out of true regard. Many hoped to secure commis 
 sions and favorable positions in that Arcadia which their 
 dreams had depicted, and which they believed to be near at 
 hand. Others acted from politic motives, with a patriotic 
 wish thus to better control and manage Bradford. 
 
 His oration ended, he was about galloping off the field, 
 when he saw Luke and his party. Thereupon, with several 
 of his mounted aids clattering at his heels, he rode straight 
 up to them, greeted Luke warmly, and removing his hat, 
 made a profound bow to Mrs. Latimer. 
 
 "Most welcome, madam, to the camp!" he exclaimed, 
 bending low over his saddle pommel, and fluttering his 
 plumed chapeau towards Mrs. Latimer. "I had heard of 
 your coming; for some of my runners reported to me your 
 patriotic zeal in accompanying your husband to the field. 
 I greet you, madam, as a modern Joan of Arc; I hail you 
 as the Deborah, the martial prophetess of this noble rising 
 to assert the rights of our western Israel." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer gently bowed, and coolly surveyed the 
 military chieftain with a searching glance that seemed to 
 inquire whether he was paying a sincere homage, or simply 
 making her the butt of a poor jest. Then she gave answer: 
 "Ay, Mr. Bradford, is it you indade? I would n t ? a knowed 
 ye in all your bravery. I give ye due return for your cour- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 279 
 
 tesy, as far as it is intanded for sich; but it s small favor I 
 owe ye, an I want none o your fine spaches." 
 
 Bradford was taken aback by this response to his nat 
 tering greeting. He cast a furtive glance to one side and 
 another to note how his aids were affected; and darted an 
 angry glance at Luke as if protesting against this treat 
 ment and asking him to interfere. Luke was keenly sensi 
 tive that his wife should not figure in any turmoil, and 
 was much vexed by the incident that thus fixed the atten 
 tion of the camp upon her. He touched her arm and spoke 
 a whispered word of soothing and entreaty. 
 
 "Not now, Luke dear, not now!" said Mrs. Latimer. "I 
 must have my say, ef I die for t! Jist you ride away an 
 Fave me to aise my mind/ 
 
 Luke, seeing that the torrent of speech could not be 
 stayed, and knowing that he could not bide quietly by and 
 hearken, bade Andy keep fast by his wife, and rode off into 
 camp. Bradford was half inclined to follow Luke s ex 
 ample, and afterwards cursed his folly for not doing so. 
 But a flush of shame arose with the thought of camp gos 
 sip, and ridicule for running away from a woman, and kept 
 him for the moment. Meanwhile Mrs. Polly took up her 
 "burden" and held him to the spot. 
 
 "It s not a Deborah that I am, David Bradford," she 
 began, "an God forgive ye for the irriverance of sayin it. 
 But I m a-thinkin ye 11 be none the warse of a woman s 
 counsel, an like Barak of old, ye d be more likely to git 
 the victory for the same. But an Deborah herself were 
 here she d be likelier to turn ye back nor urge ye forad in 
 this campaign. Ay, it s anither sort of a female altogither 
 ye ll be like to meat. I misdoubt it s a Jael ye ll find, like 
 another Sisera, if ye don t mand your ways." 
 
 So speaking she swung her rifle upward with a quick 
 gesture, not intending a threatening movement, but from 
 pure nervousness and excitement of the moment. But 
 David Bradford eyed the action with a startled look, as if 
 the fear of assassination was not unfamiliar to his mind, 
 and gathering up his bridle reins, drew his horse back. 
 
 "Na, na, Mr. Bradford, ye naden t be afear d o me. 
 Leastways, I ll gie ye fair warnin if there s anny intintion 
 of usin this weepon agin ye. But the women are no frin s 
 of your n, an I tell it til your teeth. We were p aceable 
 and prosperous enough, wi all our poverty an hard wark, 
 
280 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 till ye came wi your axceesins an your dimycratic socie 
 ties, an your saycret consortin s, an your house burnin s, 
 an riotin an killin . An whativer is this all to and in? 
 What if the times were hard with the ravenue laws, an all 
 that? They 11 be warse afore they re better, an all along 
 of ye, David Bradford. It s better to sup wi a cutty nor to 
 want a spoon; an a half loafs better nor no bread. But 
 ye ll tak the bread out of the mouths of widders an 
 childer, with your carryin s on. An what care ye, if your 
 own pride an vanity be fostered? Who agged on poor 
 McFarlane to his doom but yourself; an his poor dead 
 face lyin there aneath the sod? An disn t it ha nt your 
 memory? Who tempted my Luke to rush intil the thick 
 o the fight, an come home to me wi his arm wounded an 
 hurted, an disabled for life, mebbe, an you all the time 
 safe enough at your own fine home in Washington? 
 
 "An is it you that think ye ve got the grit to lade your 
 grand army of militiamen agin Fort Pitt with its hundred 
 men? Ay, I fancy I see ye a-chargin acrost the common on 
 your horse, with it s jinglin trappin s, an you the mark 
 for ivery musket an cannon ahint the pickets. Ah no, 
 David Bradford, not you, indade! Ye ll be settin my 
 Luke, or some other brave man in the front of the battle, 
 as David did Uriah, an as ye did McFarlane at Bower 
 Hill." 
 
 During this speech, Bradford shifted uneasily in his 
 saddle, fumbled with the reins, grew red and pale by turns, 
 gazed upon the ground, then glanced furtively to tHe right 
 and to the left to see the effect of this outburst upon his 
 attendants. Finally, with his glowing face turned down 
 ward, he sat quite still, nervously stroking his horse s mane, 
 and hoping that the end was near. Seeing no cessation of 
 the torrent, he here interrupted, in a soothing tone. 
 
 "Tut, tut, Mrs. Latimer!" he exclaimed. "You are car 
 ried away by your anxiety for your husband. You are tak 
 ing too gloomy a view of matters. There is no fear of our 
 going too far. Do you not see how this great army is under 
 my control? This vast camp of the suns of Mars will halt 
 or move forward at my mere bidding. I need only say to 
 them, Hitherto shalt thou go and no further. " 
 
 "The Lord ha mercy on your soul, David Bradford," 
 exclaimed Mrs. Polly, "for takin the power of the Al 
 mighty intil your own hand. But who d axpec annything 
 
THE LATIMERS. 281 
 
 better? It s an ower true sayin , Set a beggar on horseback 
 an 7 he 11 ride to the deil! You turn back the people? Ay, 
 if ye but once dar 1 to oppose them, ye 11 see how brief is 
 your authority. You re lanein on a broken reed, indade, 
 whan ye trust to the favor of the mob; for they re no bet 
 ter nor they were whan they shouted hosannas over our 
 Blessed Lord the one day, and cried Crucify him! the next. 
 
 "Gineral Bradford, forsooth! I ll not call ye Gineral. 
 Ye have no commission to sich an office as that but your 
 own impydence an presumption. Ye re no chicken for all 
 your cheepin . It s a brief day your n 11 be. Your bravery 
 will all be stripped from ye, an your rod of the com 
 mander broke in your hand. I m no prophetess, though ye 
 called me a Deborah, but I see plain enough what 11 come 
 of all this. David Bradford a-suin for marcy from the 
 Government! Fleein from the angry face of Prisidint 
 Washington! A tomtit agin an eagle! Heaven presarve 
 us from sich folly! Is the warld gone mad, that the likes o 
 you can turn men agin the Father of his Country an agin 
 their country itself? Ay, but it cannot last long. Surely 
 it s a pompous time ye re havin the now; but your glory 11 
 be as the fadin flower; the wind ? 11 pass over it an it 7 11 
 be gone. They are soundin your praises now loud enough, 
 but they 11 soon have lost the tongue o the trump, or 
 changed their praises intil curses." 
 
 Bradford, during this last outbreak, had shown more 
 signs of angry impatience than before. He had affected 
 to be busy with his mettlesome horse, and fretted for a good 
 chance to escape. He here was happily relieved by an 
 orderly who rode up with a message. With a sigh of relief, 
 and assuming a calmness which he did not feel, he bowed 
 with mock courtesy towards Mrs. Latimer, and said: 
 
 "I never quarrel with women. It would be beneath 
 my dignity to regard a word of your tirade. I consider the 
 source, and will not stop to bandy words with a public 
 scold. There s one trump that s not likely to lose its 
 tongue, at least as long as Mrs. Polly Latimer lives." With 
 which parting shot, he made another mocking salutation, 
 and galloped away followed by his aids and orderlies. 
 
 Andy was scarcely able to restrain himself. He doffed 
 his hat, and pushed his fingers back and forth through his 
 
282 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 shocky hair. At one time he was aghast at the lady s 
 boldness, and fearful of the consequences. At another he 
 buried his face in his hat as though to hide his shame, 
 but really to conceal the secret laughter that convulsed 
 him. When Bradford had galloped out of sight he mut 
 tered: 
 
 "God be praised, it s fairly done with! Ye 11 surely feel 
 better now that ye ve relayed your mind, Mrs. Latimer; 
 an it s a bould woman ye are to baird the lion in his dan 
 like this. But ye might have saved your breath to cool 
 your broth. The man s crookeder nor a ram s horn, an 
 naythur you nor me 11 iver straighten him out." 
 
 Polly gave no heed to these words; for her overstrained 
 nerves had been wrought to such tension that the reaction 
 brought forth a flood of tears, which greatly relieved her 
 spirit. "It s no shame for a woman to weep," she ex 
 claimed, as she wiped her eyes; "nay, nor for a man, nayther, 
 for that matter. But I d ruther lose an eye nor let David 
 Bradford see me a-greetin so. But, indade an troth, it 
 ? ud make a stone greet to see the folly of these men, an 
 how the whole land s gone daft after this feather-headed 
 plotter. Ay, ay, they re sittin beneath his shadow with 
 delight, like Jonah inunder his goourd! But the goourd 
 cam up in a night, an in a night the worm cut it down. 
 But I had meh say, an to the very teeth of him, an that s 
 one comfort, ef I ne er git another. So let us e en go away 
 an find a quiet spot to ate our piece in comfort, an then 
 look up some dacent shelter for the night." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 Bradford as he galloped away vas hot with chagrin and 
 anger, which he tried to hide from his attendants under a 
 masque of indifference. Indeed, he took the high ground 
 of a chivalrous gentleman who would not hold controversy 
 with a woman. Thus he soothed his ruffled pride, and 
 talked himself into his normal self-esteem, a result much 
 favored by the hearty greetings given him as he moved 
 through the camp. Huzzas followed his course over the 
 
THE LATIMERS. 283 
 
 field. He was held as a hero of the New Era, the Wash 
 ington of the West. During one of his halts to inspect a 
 new come battalion, he spoke of being thirsty. Thereupon, 
 a soldier rushed into the river waist deep, and filling his 
 coon-skin cap with cool water from the lowest current, ran 
 up to the chief and proffered him a drink. It was a novel 
 chalice, indeed; and for one over dainty not an inviting 
 one. But the draught was sweetened by the sincere hom 
 age of the act, such as a subject might pay to a king; so 
 Bradford graciously smiled, and drank, and returned the 
 strange vessel with thanks. Acts like these, continually 
 occurring, nourished Bradford s ambition to be the idol 
 of the people. Presently he came across Luke Latimer in 
 the midst of a group of soldiers belonging to "The Bloody 
 Battalion," as the Mingo Creek regiment was popularly 
 called, because most of them had been in the Bower Hill 
 fight. Bradford dismounted and signified his wish for a 
 private conference. The two leaders walked apart, and 
 sheltered under a wide-spreading oak, considered the situa 
 tion. 
 
 "You see," said Bradford with jubilant voice, sweeping 
 his arm toward the camp, "that I was right. The people 
 have responded nobly, and here is a grand army of eight 
 thousand men of war. You were a doubting Thomas. But 
 lo! they come at my call, flocking like doves to their win 
 dows, full of enthusiasm and ready to follow wherever I 
 bid them." 
 
 "Ay," said Luke, "there s no doubt of it, Mr. Bradford. 
 It s a great honor, sir, and a great responsibility. But now 
 you have your grand army here, what are you goin to do 
 with it? What are your plans, Mr. Bradford?" 
 
 "To-morrow we shall meet in a military conference, 
 to settle that point." 
 
 "That s well enough. But what have you settled upon 
 yourself? That s what I m concarned to know." 
 
 "Well, in the first place, I shall decree the banishment 
 of the Nevilles and those obnoxious parties who have op 
 posed the people s movement against the excise law." 
 
 "But that s done a ready, and the Pittsburgers say the 
 men are gone." 
 
 "But I ll not trust the Pittsburgers!" said Bradford 
 with warmth. "Besides, the people have come here to do 
 something, and something they must do, or they ll be ill 
 
284 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 satisfied. We ll decree the banishment of spies and aristo 
 crats with the authority of the people of the Survey." 
 
 "Be it so then; we ll all agree to that!" said Luke, 
 "though I misdoubt it 11 do more harem nor good. We 11 
 make heroes of em, and ceevil martyrs for conscience sake, 
 and their axile 11 be sure to pave the way to gover ment 
 favors. What next?" 
 
 "Well, there s been a good deal of talk against the Pitts- 
 burgers, and some are eager to destroy the houses of the 
 proscribed citizens." 
 
 "But you re not incouragin that, I trust?" Luke said, 
 speaking up hastily. "We ve had aplenty of burnin s. 
 You must put your foot on that schame at wanct." 
 
 "Must?" exclaimed Bradford. "That s not exactly the 
 word to speak to a man in my commanding position. But 
 let it pass. I m quite satisfied with the Pittsburg folk 
 now, and am content that they should be protected. But 
 there s the principal scheme we had in view, to seize Fort 
 Pitt, and procure its military stores. The camp, I find, is 
 full of that plan." 
 
 "It s a manlier business that," Luke answered, "nor 
 assaultin an burnin citizens houses. That s true war, 
 an worthy of ginuwine soldiers. Ye 11 git high name, 
 indade, Mr. Bradford, if ye captur Fort Pitt." 
 
 "Yes," said Bradford impatiently; "but you ve dodged 
 the point. What say you, shall we attack or not?" 
 
 "Well, now, Mr. Bradford," Luke answered, "I may 
 have dodged the p int, as ye say; but I m not the kind of 
 mon to dodge the danger after aggin others onto it, like 
 some folk I could name. Ye are the Giner l here, I belave; 
 Giner l Bradford, at your sarvice! an nobody doubts that. 
 It s for a true Giner l to command, an for his soldiers to 
 obey. Now, all I ll say is, that if ye 11 lade the assault on 
 Fort Pitt, I ll ride by your side! But ye 11 not put the 
 anterprise onto some one else an ye take the credit, as ye 
 did with my poor fri nd, McFarlane. Ye re not in Wash- 
 in ton County the now, an ye 11 not be able to flee from 
 danger on the plea of bein prosecutin attorney. If Fort 
 Pitt s to be attacked, I ll insist on you headin the assault. 
 It ud be onhealthy business for anny of us 1 aders to flee 
 from the front in the day of battle." 
 
 "By heavens, sir!" cried Bradford, waxing wroth and 
 flushing red. "Do you dare insult and threaten me?" 
 
THE LATIMERS. 285 
 
 He laid his hand on his sword, perhaps unconsciously and 
 in a mere declamatory spirit. 
 
 Luke, with unruffled temper, looked the leader in the 
 face. "My good right arm is useless," he said, "as ye see, 
 David Bradford. But," and he slipped his left hand to 
 the butt of the pistol at his belt, "I am well fit to defand 
 myself still, if nade be, an ye may jist as well quiet your 
 bluster. Ye know bravely Fm not afeared of ye, an have 
 no cause to be. I m not in favor of attackin Fort Pitt, 
 mind ye. All Fm a-sayin is that if it s done, Giner l Brad 
 ford 11 lade the column. An yonder s the boys," point 
 ing to the camp of the Mingo Creek regiment, "that 11 
 stan by me in that resolve." 
 
 Thus the two men stood, eyeing one another for a 
 moment. What were their reflections? Bradford had 
 already begun to experience some of the burdens of promi 
 nence. Underneath all the acclamations of the people, he 
 could dimly note difficulties that threatened the ruin of 
 his schemes. He seemed to feel the power slipping from 
 his grasp. The warning of Mrs. Latimer, the resolute 
 challenge of Gen. Wilkins, who led the Pittsburg contin 
 gent, the present attitude of his associate Luke Latimer, 
 were they not straws upon the current s surface? 
 
 What should he do Was he willing to throw his life 
 away in a mad charge on Fort Pitt? No, but he would not 
 have the people even suspect that he shrank from such a 
 sacrifice. Whom could he inspire or trust to do that act? 
 And if done by another, would not the honor be transferred 
 to him, and all his own pomp be truly a faded flower? It 
 wouldn t do! That scheme must be given up. But 
 then? There was indeed the rub! The people must 
 have something to do that would satisfy their sense of 
 importance. He must throw some tub to the whale. This 
 howling Cerberus of a mob around him must have some sop 
 to fill and still its mouth. Would the militia be satisfied 
 with the mere banishment of the proscribed Pittsburgers? 
 It was the best he could offer, however; and he couldn t 
 afford to part with Luke Latimer s help in relieving the 
 straitened situation. Yet 
 
 As for Luke, his thoughts were bitter with disappoint 
 ment. There had been a time when in spite of his wife s 
 prejudices he had confided in David Bradford. Do women 
 have a sort of sixth sense in reading men s characters? He 
 
286 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 had thought him the fit leader for the hour and exigency. 
 He had learned better. Recent events had uncovered the 
 man s littleness arid utter unfitness for the leadership of 
 such an enterprise as now on foot. Discerning this, Luke s 
 mind had run up and down the Western counties for some 
 one of due proportions to fill the position. The natural 
 leaders of the people were nearly all opposed to the insur 
 rection. 
 
 There was nothing left for them to do but make a 
 peaceful though vigorous remonstrance and petition to 
 General Washington and the Congress, to repeal the excise 
 laws. Even this, he feared, would be made null by this 
 senseless rendezvous of armed men. Do folk gather for 
 peaceful petitions with weapons in their hands? Confound 
 Bradford, with his vanity and folly! He had been a will- 
 o -the-wisp, and led them all into the bogs, and there they 
 were floundering now, and he not able to crook a finger 
 toward lifting them out! What could he, Luke, do now but 
 try to undo all mischief done, and thwart every project of 
 violence that might be hatched at Braddock s Field, or 
 elsewhere? That he would do, come what may. Yet 
 
 Those who know what a vast compass of thought can be 
 gathered within a few seconds of time, will not think it 
 strange that all these reflections flashed before the minds 
 of these two men within the brief space wherein they stood 
 eyeing one another, each with hand upon weapon and a 
 frown upon his brow. Bradford was the first to speak. 
 
 "Come/ 7 he said, "we cannot afford to quarrel now and 
 here. If the leaders fall out, what will the people do ? We 
 must adjourn our differences to a suitable time; and be you 
 sure, Luke Latimer, I ll not be wanting you then!" 
 
 "I am quite agreed," answered Luke. "I seek no war 
 fare with you, Mr. Bradford, nor with anny mon. We 
 understan another, I belave. I 11 support ye jist so far an 
 no farder. I 11 stan by the cause as long as there s anny 
 cause to stan by. But I m free to say til ye that my chief 
 concarn is to kape this armed mob (for it s little better 
 nor that, though ye call it a grand army), from sich dades 
 of violence as ud bring upon us the judgment of the 
 country. I trust ye to aid me in that, sir; an I doubt not 
 ye wall. I wush ye good avenin !" 
 
 Thus they parted. Bradford resumed his itineracy of 
 the camp, and got soothing from the acclamations of the 
 
THE LATIMERS. 287 
 
 enthusiastic soldiery, though with a shadow of trouble 
 deepening upon his spirit. Luke returned to his friends, 
 and soon found his wife, who easily persuaded him to go 
 with her to a nearby farmhouse where she had arranged 
 to spend the night. In truth, Luke s arm sorely pained 
 him and the fatigue of the journey and the excitement of 
 the day had left him no choice but to lie down and rest, 
 and gather vitality for the trying scenes of the morrow. 
 
 He did not tell his wife of his interview with Bradford. 
 Indeed, he had not confided to her his changed opinion of 
 that man s character, and his real purpose in coming to 
 camp, or his plans to stay further violence and bloodshed. 
 As to the last-named matter, he had that curious diffidence 
 which some men possess over the mention of kindly and 
 noble deeds, and the perverseness which leads them to hide 
 worthy motives beneath an aifected indifference, or even 
 a sympathy with evil wholly foreign to their nature. 
 
 There is nothing harder for a man than to confess to 
 his wife that he was mistaken in matters wherein he had 
 radically differed from her. It would have been a great 
 satisfaction to Mrs. Polly had Luke plumply admitted 
 that her view of David Bradford had been right and his 
 own wrong. But somehow he could not bring his tongue 
 to the telling. Mrs. Latimer inwardly suspected the fact, 
 but was too wise and too loving to triumph over it, or even 
 to disclose her suspicions. She tended and soothed him, 
 and spoke no word to cross his will, or ruffle his temper, or 
 evoke an outbreak from his nerves overstrained and irri 
 tated by pain and weakness and trouble. 
 
 Nothing passed between the two as to Polly s colloquy 
 with Gen. Bradford, for each feared that it might lead to 
 angry words and so avoided the subject. But Andy Bur- 
 beck sought an opportunity to tell Luke how the affair had 
 issued, and soon saw that he was not vexed at his story. 
 He gave full vent to his humor, and dished out 
 the whole interview with fine flavor of wit and ridicule. 
 
 Luke grew more complaisant as the story proceeded. 
 At last as Andy pictured Bradford s perplexity and 
 wounded pride, and humbled vanity, and suppressed anger, 
 he gave way to silent laughter. "Did she say that indade?" 
 he would mutter now and then. "Ay, ay, I think I see her! 
 God bless the lass!" Once more, he would exclaim, "My 
 certie! What a woman it is, Andy! She d face Sattan 
 
288 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 himself without wincin , I do belave!" And again: "Well, 
 she hit the nail squarely on the head there, sure enough." 
 Once more he broke forth: "The consated boobbly-jock! 
 Ay, she cut his comb for him fine. Heaven s blessin s on 
 her! I m prouder of her nor iver." 
 
 "But, whist, Andy," he added, when the story was done, 
 "not a word of all this to Polly, mind ye ! I wouldn t have 
 her know that Fve h ard how she carried on; an above all, 
 that I applauded. It wouldn t do, Andy. It might break 
 my inflooence with the woman altogither, an destroy the 
 authority that a husband should presarve." 
 
 But Andy made no promise; and took the first oppor 
 tunity to tell Mrs. Latimer all about the interview, and 
 thereby gave a warmth to the good woman s heart, and set 
 her blood tingling with a secret joy she had not felt for 
 many a day. 
 
 "But, whist, Mrs. Polly/ Andy added; "not a word of 
 all this to Luke, mind ye! I d niver git forgiveness ef he 
 knowed I had betrayed him, an telt ye this tale." 
 
 Polly kept her promise then made; and both husband 
 and wife blundered on to the end, and neither ever knew 
 what went on in the other s mind. Ah, the masquerades 
 that pride draws over love! How much domestic happiness 
 do they smother and conceal! 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 NIGHT SCENES IN CAMP AND THE MARCH TO PITTSBURG. 
 
 As the day closed, the field presented an animated 
 appearance. Here and there groups of militia were seated 
 upon grassy bits beneath great white oaks, chatting as they 
 ate together their home-cooked rations. Others were firing 
 at mark, a favorite and never-failing amusement to border 
 ers. Yet others, in pure wantonness of spirit, fired fusi- 
 lades of blank shot. As evening advanced, quiet fell upon 
 the vast irregular camp, which now began to lighten with 
 bivouac fires that stretched in a long line along the river 
 bank, and were reflected in the running waters. 
 
 There was little effort to establish camp discipline. 
 A few companies and regiments had made some show of 
 
THE LATIMERS. 289 
 
 posting sentinels. But for the most part the men looked 
 out for themselves, and came and went at pleasure. 
 
 By ten o clock at night the shouting and shooting had 
 ceased, but there was little sleep. Everywhere men were 
 gathered in groups discussing the events of the day, guess 
 ing at and canvassing the leader s plans, and speculating 
 upon the end of it all. Andy Burbeck, not being inclined 
 to sleep, sallied forth to pick up such news as might be 
 agog. His hap was to fall upon a knot of countrymen who 
 were seated about Mr. Hugh Brackenridge, at the foot of a 
 huge oak, discussing the taking of the garrison. 
 
 "Are we to take the fort?" 
 
 "We are indeed," said Mr. Brackenridge. 
 
 "Ay, but can we do it?" 
 
 "No doubt of that! They are not a hrundred men, and 
 we are five or six thousand." 
 
 "But then, they are behind breastworks, and have can 
 non. It will be risky work, will it not, and the loss great." 
 
 "Yes, there are cannon; four six-pounders mounted on 
 ship carriages, and four hundred shot made at Turnbull 
 and Marmie s Furnace. But the loss will not be above one 
 thousand killed, and five hundred mortally wounded." 
 
 "What? Merciful Heaven! That is a serious affair, 
 indeed! One thousand killed! What a sacrifice of life! Is 
 the game worth the candle? What will be gained by the 
 capture of the fort to pay for such slaughter?" 
 
 Andy caught the drift of the Pittsburg lawyer s scheme, 
 to prevent an act of war upon the United States by exag 
 gerating the difficulties and dangers. With hearty good 
 will to aid in this he joined the conversation. 
 
 "What is there to gain? Why, ye 11 make Giner 7 ! 
 David Bradford wan of the greatest men in the nation. 
 What s a thousand lives to the glory that 11 come til him? 
 Isn t he the Washington of the Wist, the Darlin of the 
 Wistern Survey, the Idol of the Camp? An think of the 
 honor that 11 come to all of us, that Providence shall 
 spare, for a-capturin the fort? Ay, the gover ment 11 
 see then that we re in arnest, and that this is a genuwine 
 rebellion, an no mistake; an that they 11 have to sind a 
 mighty army intil the Wist if they axpic to put it down." 
 
 "But how are we going to take the fort?" 
 
 "Isn t the boldest way the best way? What s more 
 soldierly nor to take Fort Pitt by storm, as Mad Anthony 
 19 
 
290 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Wayne did Stony Point. There s no more nor a half mile 
 of open space for our troops to rush over. An we re in sich 
 overwhelmin numbers, that enough 11 be sure to reach 
 the fort to fairly swarm over the pickets and swamp all 
 afore em. Sure, that s as aisy as kissin ." 
 
 Now the conversation changed from methods of attack 
 to the battle at Bower Hill. Major Kirkpatrick was bit 
 terly assailed as the real cause of the burning of the Neville 
 mansion, and of the death of McFarlane, because of his 
 refusal to let the house be searched. Major Butler, com 
 mander of the fort, shared the condemnation for sending 
 troops to garrison the place. Marshal Lenox also came in 
 for hearty denunciation, as did young Ormsby, who accom 
 panied him and Col. Neville to Bower Hill after the fire. 
 The insurgents disarmed him of pistol and hanger, 
 mounted him on a barebacked colt and turned him adrift. 
 This young man had continued to give great offense not 
 only by his zealous championship of the excise faction, but 
 by his bravado and gasconnade. 
 
 "Ay, and the pert young chap is here on the grounds, 
 we 1 arn," one of the group remarked. "Was there iver 
 such brazen-faced impidence. But he had better look out; 
 for a party of fifteen young fellows have disguised their 
 faces with black coals, and gone forth with a good rope to 
 seize him. If they get hold of him, he is like to take a 
 higher spring than he ever yet made in his liveliest dance." 
 
 Andy, who knew Ormsby s father as a worthy man, was 
 grieved at this news. But he concealed his feelings with 
 merry quip and jest, and took occasion of the laughter 
 raised thereby to retire to do duty as a sentinel. He strolled 
 leisurely toward the quarter where the Pittsburg battalion 
 was encamped. He came to the pathway leading up to it, 
 along which he was sure the maskers would pass in their 
 search for the youth. Then he shouldered his rifle and 
 began to pace to and fro. He had not mounted guard 
 long ere Zedick Wright of Peter s Creek came by. Know 
 ing him to be well affected toward the Ormsbys, Andy 
 bade him hasten to give the youth warning of his danger. 
 Meanwhile, he would wait to detain and divert the 
 lynchers. Soon he descried, through the dim light within 
 the woods, a party of fifteen men approaching. Their 
 faces and hands were blackened, and other rude attempts 
 at disguise were made by change of garments. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 291 
 
 "Halt!" cried Andy. "Who goes there?" The party 
 stopped, and one who seemed to be the leader advanced 
 and demanded what he meant by stopping them. 
 
 "What do A mane?" answered Andy. "A purty lot of 
 soldiers ye must be to ask that quistion of a santinel. By 
 the powers, if ye try to run the gyard, A ll have to t ach 
 ye a lesson. Oh! A see!" He suddenly assumed a dignified 
 and paternal tone. "A took ye for a party of mileetiamen, 
 an didn t persave ye were a gang o negro sarvants. But 
 what are ye at, men, a-wanderin off in this way; at this 
 hour of the night? Git back to your masters, at wanct! 
 It s not safe for the like of ye to be abroad in these times. 
 What! ye don t heed me? Mebbe it s runnin away ye are? 
 Disparse, ye black rascals, or A ll call out the gyard, and 
 you 11 be arristed, and get a taste o the cat for breakfast." 
 
 The leader, who had several times tried to interrupt 
 this tirade, at last broke forth. "Come, Andy, drop that 
 chaff, won t ye? Don t be a dawgoned Teague! Can t you 
 see, you natchel antic, that we re " 
 
 "Ye bloody nayger!" shouted Andy, with well assumed 
 rage. "Do you dar insult a white man, an a soldier an 
 santinel on duty? By the sword of the valiant Giner l 
 Bradford A ll put a hole through your black hide, ye im- 
 pident blackamoor!" Thereat, he lowered his rifle with a 
 sharp spat into his palm, as though to shoot. 
 
 "Halt, there!" cried the leader. "Don t shoot, you 
 dratted old fool! I m Dave Dandruff. We re white men." 
 
 "What?" said Anly, with well-feigned surprise. "Can 
 that be you, Davvy? An are you quite sure of it? If 
 you re not it s sayrious wark a-triflin with a santinel, A 
 can tell ye, ma Jad! But ye know that well enough, though 
 you re not overweighted with kenspeckle; for, the las time 
 we met you were a santinel yourself." 
 
 "Jist let that fly stick to the wall, will you?" answered 
 Dandruff. "Jack Latimer 11 find it no laughin matter 
 agin I ve settled my grudge, " 
 
 "Hoot! Davvy mon," Andy interrupted. "A grudge 
 is the last debt one ought to settle. Drop it, lad! 
 It s good business to be a long debtor when a grudge 
 is ow r in . Let bygones be bygones, an prove your 
 self a good Christian as well as a wise man. For, Davvy 
 dear, Cap n Jock Latimer is oncommon canny with his 
 two fists, an has a wonderful grip with his fingers, an a 
 
292 THE LATTMEES. 
 
 quare trick with his heels, as ye may remimber, hey? Best 
 let sleepin dogs lie, Davvy!" 
 
 "Dod-rot Jack Latimer, I say!" exclaimed the irate 
 leader. "An ? drat you for an aggravatin tease. You re 
 worse nor the skeeters, the tarnal plagues!" He brushed 
 a cloud of the irritating insects from his face by way of 
 emphasizing these words. "The woods it, full of em,, dang 
 their pesky picters! But, we ve no time now for pow- 
 wowin . Jist l ave us go. We ve got better business in 
 hand nor gossipin here with you." 
 
 "All right!" said Andy. "A 7 crave your pardon/if you re 
 on military business. But whativer can it be that com 
 pels this sort o maskin ? A jealous it s no respictable busi 
 ness that takes ye out in this blackamoor rig. But mebbe 
 this is some new device of Giner l Bradford s fine wit? 
 He s a knowledgeable man in military affairs, he is! A 
 company of black-guards, mebbe, he is after formin ? 
 Well, indade, he s not lackin in his selection; an A d 
 racommind him to tak you for his own bodygyard. But 
 jist show me your orders, Cap n Dandruff; merely for 
 form s sake, ye know, an A ll raise no farder objiction." 
 
 "Orders be hanged!" cried Davy, on whom much of 
 Andy s fine raillery was lost. "The only orders we ve got 
 is this quile of good hemp and a hick ry limb for Bill 
 Ormsby to swing til, when we once nab him." 
 
 "Aha! the cat jumps that way, does it? Now A take 
 your trail," said Andy. " An so it s a meelitary axecution 
 that Giner l Bradford s) Black-guard Battalion is bent 
 upon? Ay, that indade! Well, A dar say Bill Ormsby 
 desarves a-hangin ; but, Davvy dear, childer shouldn t 
 meddle with aidged tools, ye know. A quile of rope, like a 
 two-aidged sword, cuts both ways. The party at the one 
 ind is likely to be the party at t other ind afore the hurly- 
 burly s done. Disn t it seem rather suggistive, for rebels 
 an ansurractionists like oursilves to be goin intil the 
 hangin business? There s two can play at that game, ye 
 know! An for my part, A d rayther not remind the United 
 States Gover ment of rope s inds, jist now!" 
 
 That seemed to be an entirely new view of the matter 
 to the troop of lynchers, who had now gathered around 
 the speaker. But they would not be put off by such intan 
 gible perils as Andy suggested. They meant to teach the 
 impudent rascal a lesson, and all the Pittsburg aristocrats, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 293 
 
 to boot! High times indeed,, quoth they,, when such folk 
 came into camp, and cut their contraptions inunder their 
 very noses! Bill Ormsby had got to hang, if they should 
 hang for it themselves. 
 
 "Ah, well! You an the Gover ment for it then," said 
 Andy. "It 11 be dog eat dog, A reckon. Who will to 
 Coupar, must to Coupar. But my counsel is, lads, that ye 
 let Ormsby alone. Ye 11 jist be spilein a few yards of 
 good hemp, an git no credit for yourselves or the cause. 
 You re not likely to reform a man s manners by a-hangin 
 him. But annyhow, you 11 hardly hang the man afore 
 you ketch him. Do you know where he is?" 
 
 "Ay! he s up in the Pittsburg camp; an we know where 
 to lay hands on im." 
 
 "Well, yon is the Pittsburg camp, where you see the 
 fires on the knoll. You and them for it, now! But see you 
 git the right man, Davvy. It ud be a rare blunder an 
 you were to string up the wrong chap. Ye know ye ve a 
 born genius for blunderin , Davvy dear." 
 
 "Kape your advice for them as axes it!" answered Dan 
 druff. "We know him as well as you do." 
 
 "Then you are not likely to pass for Solomons; for A m 
 not acquent with the lad. What sort of a man is he?" 
 
 "Well, he s rather tallish; about my height, mebbe. 
 Trim lookin and nately dressed; with short hair." 
 
 "What!" Andy exclaimed, starting, and speaking up 
 quickly. "A seen that fellow within the hour! Is he fair 
 complected, with blue eyes an reddish-yallow hair; a per 
 nickety sort of chap?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "Eayther thin, an wiry build; about your height?" 
 
 "That must be the very feller! An ef you ve seen him, 
 as you say, jest set us on his trail!" The troop crowded 
 closer about Andy with eager faces. 
 
 "Well then, jist sich a man went down thai way," point 
 ing to the Monongahela road, "a little while ago. He 
 was makin for Pittsburg as if old Nick was after him." 
 
 "That s him! Hurrah lads, we ve got him now! After 
 him!" cried Davy, starting forward. 
 
 "Hold on!" shouted Andy, "you 11 niver overtake him. 
 He s got too big a start. You had as well turn back." But 
 this remonstrance was unheeded. The troop was already in 
 full cry after the quarry, leaving the sentinel leaning on 
 
294 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 his rifle, looking after them as they disappeared down the 
 river road, and well contented with his success in delay 
 ing them so long. He resumed his watch-round, for he 
 knew that the lynching party would be hack that way. 
 
 A half hour or more elapsed ere he saw their forms 
 showing against the gray of the road, and brought into 
 clearer outline by the red glow of Anschutz s Shadyside 
 furnace, whose flames showed above the treetops. They 
 approached slowly. They had not caught their game, and 
 were crestfallen thereat. 
 
 "What s the news, gintilmin?" asked Andy, bent upon 
 soothing their disappointment with deference of speech. 
 "Have ye finished your wark to your satisfaction?" 
 
 "Satisfaction be blowed!" answered Dandruff, in a surly 
 tone. "It wasn t the right man, after all; an I belave you 
 knowed it, too, Andy Burbeck! Deil take you for a sorry 
 jester; though I guess you re more knave nor fool. It 
 was an ornary trick to set us on the wrong trail. If I were 
 sure you meant to fool us, by jiminy-king, I d " 
 
 "Not quite so brash, Davvy, my b y!" Andy interrupted. 
 "If ye open your mouth a mite wider, ye ll put your foot 
 intil it, and the butt ind of my rifle along with it. You re 
 no great shucks as a bully whan your betters are about 
 What for would A want to befool ye? Jist be raisonable 
 an tell me if ye didn t find things precisely as A telled 
 ye?" 
 
 "Well yes!" Davy grudgingly consented. "We caught 
 our man, sure enough, 1 hough we had a hard run for it, as 
 he s a raygular land louper. But it wasn t Bill Ormsby, 
 drat him, though enough like him to be his twin brother 
 til ye got clost til him? By jiminy! it s no wonder you 
 mistuck him, athout you d been jist anigh him. I con- 
 sated that we had the right man, till we nabbed him. He 
 waited to show fight, but I hit him a slap, an we scrouged 
 around him, and he jist gave in quietly. But I reckon 
 we ve made a bad boggle of it, for the chap was a messenger 
 from Giner l Bradford. Leastwa} 7 s, he showed us a letter 
 signed to Major Butler at Fort Pitt, which he said was 
 from Giner l Bradford." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Andy, his curiosity keenly excited; 
 "an didn t ye open the letter to make sure?" 
 
 "No; we had a min teh; but he threaped us if we inter- 
 fared with Giner l Bradford, it ud be a short shrift an hot 
 
THE LATIMERS. 295 
 
 shot for breakfast. So as he was n t our man annyhow, we 
 e en let him go agin." 
 
 "Well, Davvy, ye re one glocked dunderhead, to be 
 sure! A misdoubt ye missed the chanct to git greater 
 glory nor the spies who captured Major Andre. Ay, what s 
 Bradford a-doin correspondin with Major Butler? 
 There s some treechery afoot, lads, ye may depand on t; an 
 that ye ll find out the morrow. It s a thousand pities ye 
 didn t kape the letter! Well, what can t be cured must be 
 endured. Good-night, lads, or rother good-mornin ." 
 
 "What a gawk A was," he exclaimed, continuing his 
 monologue, "not to go along with them lads! My certie! 
 A d a seen the inside o that letter whether Major Butler 
 did or no. But, A consate well enough what s in it. 11 
 takes no prophet to foretell Squire Bradford s projicks. 
 Oh, indade, my bonny giner 5 !! Ye ve charged Luke Lati- 
 mer an maself with a-tryin to snake intil cover an save 
 our hides, whan we honestly argied not to assault Fort 
 Pitt. An now you ve sant away a sacret promise of the 
 same to curry favor with an cotton to the Gover ment! Ye 
 were jist r adin our lessons out n your own copybook! Eh! 
 but it s a true sayin , ivery fox smells his own hole first. 
 Well, Ormsby must be safe by now, annyhow, an that s 
 one good dade, if A niver do another. So A ll e en away til 
 my bivouac." 
 
 He had scarcely left his post ere Zedick Wright came 
 up and assured him that he had warmed Ormsby, who had 
 set out with an escort, and was making his way to Pitts- 
 burg by round-about trails. 
 
 Andy told his friend how he had detained the crowd of 
 would-be assassins, and sent them on a wild-goose chase 
 after Tom Hayes, one of Bradford s runners. "The two 
 men are mortal alike," quoth Andy. "An if iver Provi 
 dence had a hand in Bill Ormsby s affairs, it was in sendin 
 Tom along that way jist when he did. A saw him a-passin 
 a spell afore Dandruff s gang come up, but niver consated 
 what he was up teh. It was a lucky thought that came til 
 me! Good bye, Zedick; ye ve done one good day s wark 
 the night, an ye niver do anither." As he marched away 
 to his camp, he looked around on the smouldering fires, 
 and then up into the quiet stars twinkling through open 
 ings in the forest. 
 
 "Ay," he muttered, falling into a philosophic mood, 
 
296 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 " tis aven so! The fires of human passion and ambition 
 soon burn low and go out in ashes. But the Lord holds on 
 steadfast an glorious,, like the stars. Yet, they don t seem 
 to be troublin about our little affairs up there, judgin by 
 the calm in yon skies. Ay, ay, Dawvid, ye might well say, 
 what is man that Thou art mindful of him? It looks 
 mighty like He didn t mind much, whan sich Philistines 
 as Bradford are raised to the throne. But wait a wee! We 
 may come to a turn of the road, by an by, and there ll be a 
 good reddin up then! The Lord reigneth, though the 
 deil s own do seem to hold the sceptre bewhiles. Dave 
 Bradford is on the top of the ladder, the now; cock o the 
 walk, forsooth, the biggest toad in the puddle ! A ll no call 
 that the Goodman s doin , but quite the contrairy, for the 
 deil is iver good til his own. Leastways, till he s got em 
 fairly hooked, and then kerflop! out they come an 
 Sattan has em fine. An Sattan may keep Bradford for 
 all me, an welcome! No good comes o meddlin in sich 
 cases, annyhow. So it s hands off, says I, an the deil and 
 Davie Bradford for it." 
 
 Thus soliloquizing, and quite unconscious of any con 
 fusion in his views of Providence, Andy wrapped himself 
 in his blanket, and slept quietly until dawn. 
 
 The next morning by order of Gen. Bradford, represen 
 tatives from the military organizations assembled in grand 
 council to determine the proper course to pursue. On the 
 outside of the meeting, which was held in the open forest, 
 was a broad circular fringe of uninvited militiamen. These 
 gentlemen, while they neither voted nor participated in 
 the debates, freely expressed their opinions on the matters 
 proposed, and that with an emphasis which was intended 
 to influence the action of the councillors. 
 
 However, the zeal for aggressive measures had nearly 
 died away. There was little talk of burning "Sodom," the 
 uncomplimentary name applied to Pittsburg. The plan 
 to attack Fort Pitt had vanished like the dreams of the 
 night. Surly murmurs, and passionate outbreaks of turbu 
 lent spirits, and muttered threats and discontent might still 
 be heard. But there was no organized centre of violence 
 anywhere among the thousands of men on Braddock s 
 Field. The deliberations of the council were limited to a 
 formal act of banishment of the obnoxious parties, most 
 of whom were already self-exiled from the Survey, and 
 to a resolve to march through Pittsburg. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 297 
 
 In the meanwhile, Andy Burbeck and several others had 
 been sent to inform the citizens that the army was deter 
 mined to march into town, but that they were coming in 
 peace. All stores and taverns were required to be shut, and 
 no liquors sold. If the inhabitants proffered refreshments 
 they must carry them to the place where the troops would 
 halt on the Commons, in order to prevent the disorganiza 
 tion of the army and the dispersal of the men. This news 
 did not wholly dissipate but greatly relieved the panic into 
 which the citizens had fallen. During the preceding even 
 ing they had been burying or hiding their household 
 treasures, books, official papers, money, and such other 
 properties as could thus be disposed of. Lights were 
 glancing to and fro in the village streets, and shining from 
 the windows of the houses late into the night. The women 
 were in tears, and the children excited by terror. 
 
 The good news brought by the couriers diverted atten 
 tion to the entertaining of the coming guests. Food was- 
 hastily cooked, and barrels of whiskey were rolled to the 
 Commons to serve out to the men. Andy Burbeck, aided 
 by an active committee of watermen, busied himself in 
 gathering all the river craft available, at a convenient place 
 upon the river bank, ready to transfer the coming troops 
 to the opposite side of the Monongahela. These prepara 
 tions had scarcely been finished when the head of the col 
 umn appeared led by Major-General Bradford and his staff. 
 The files marched in good order, with a space between the 
 battalions, and formed a column about two and a half miles 
 long. Many of the troops had left Braddock s Field for 
 home, declining to march into Pittsburg, among whom 
 were Luke Latimer and his wife; but five or six thousand 
 joined in the entrance. They moved through town, and 
 halted at the large open space opposite the Maine House. 
 
 After receiving refreshments from the citizens, the in 
 fantry embarked in the boats, while the mounted men 
 forded the river. It was about noon when they entered 
 Pittsburg, and by sundown the whole body had crossed the 
 river. Strict order was maintained by the officers, and as 
 the evening shadows of the surrounding hills fell upon 
 fort and town, the citizens retired to their homes, greatly 
 relieved and deeply thankful. 
 
 Thus ended the famous gathering of the Western Insur 
 gents at Braddock s Field, and the threatened assault upon 
 
298 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Fort Pitt and the town of Pittsburg. The high-sounding 
 boasts and threats in which a few of the excited militia had 
 indulged, were harmlessly dissipated by the simple diver 
 sions of a night or two in camp, and by contact with the 
 great mass of their fellow citizens whose sober regard for 
 order and law, and fixed hostility to violence, restrained 
 the heat of those who were disposed to riot. The whole 
 army peacefully marched through the village streets, 
 quietly forded the Monongahela, and in the closing hours 
 of that August Saturday wended their ways to their homes. 
 When the Sabbath morning dawned they were found, 
 with few exceptions, seated within the calm precincts of 
 their own houses, or solemnly joining in the service of God 
 within their rude log sanctuaries. That an armed host of 
 such proportions, having the opportunity to enforce its 
 will with scarcely a show of successful resistance, should 
 have thus dispersed to the peaceful vocations of life with 
 out violence or even disorder, is a proof not easily set aside 
 of the good citizenship of the men who composed it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 MORT SHELDON MAKES A PRESENT. 
 
 John Latimer and his friends held a council as to 
 future movements. It was decided that Meg and Mad Ann 
 should stay with John at their present camp, until the 
 next day at noon, when Mort Sheldon should set forth 
 westward to strike the trail of Wayne s army. That found, 
 he -should send report of their whereabouts to headquar 
 ters, and await the others at the head waters of the Scioto 
 River. Finally, that McClellan should swing around the 
 camp to determine the location of the enemy, and report 
 as to the most secure route to the appointed rendezvous. 
 
 This settled, a rude bower of leafy bushes was quickly 
 put together by the scouts for the women. The ground 
 beneath was spread thickly with fallen leaves, upon which 
 a blanket was laid. Another blanket served for covering. 
 Both the women deemed these delicacies superfluous. In 
 deed, they were quite as able to "rough it" in the woods as 
 their male companions, and for that matter were as well 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 299 
 
 used thereto. But they accepted the attentions in a kindly 
 spirit; for though they might not need them, they per 
 ceived that the scouts needed to give them as due to 
 females, and to preserve their own self-respect. 
 
 But there was one service which both red and white men 
 willingly resigned to women, when present with them, 
 the preparation of meals. This Meg undertook with loving 
 eagerness, although the wilderness gave little scope for 
 skillful hands. To begin with, however, there was a bed 
 of live coals, for the scouts thought it safe to make a fire 
 of dry wood that issued little smoke. Then, from the 
 stores which Mad Ann bore within her saddle bags, Meg 
 found material for a tasty meal. That strange creature, 
 with all her mannish characteristics, retained so much of 
 womanly habits as to carry with her, on her good horse 
 Liverpool, provisions for a somewhat more homelike 
 cuisine than scouts were wont to enjoy when on the trail. 
 There was a small sack of Indian meal, and a batch taken 
 therefrom, and mixed with water and a little salt, and 
 baked upon clean flat stones heated in the glowing coals, 
 was a tempting morsel for a hungry man, known in those 
 parts as "Johnny-cake." 
 
 "We shall have some cup-o-tea," quoth Meg, in her 
 pretty broken English. What! in that wilderness, guiltless 
 of pot or kettle or the fragrant plant of far Cathay? Yes, 
 indeed; for Mrs. Trotter had brought a goodly-sized gourd; 
 and though that vessel may not stand the touch of fire, yet 
 water can be boiled in it. That you may see, if you watch 
 Meg as she drops hot pebbles, one after another, into the 
 gourd full of pure brook water, until it steams and sizzles. 
 
 And has Mad Ann, with her English fondness for tea, 
 brought that herb into the woods? 
 
 No; but there is a sassafras tree near by, whose root 
 yields an aromatic bark, which put into boiling water 
 makes a pleasant drink when sweetened well. Is there 
 sweetening here in the forest? Yes; Mad Ann has brought 
 with her a pouch of maple sugar within its water-tight case 
 of deer s bladder; for so she keeps dry both salt and sugar. 
 
 The scouts gave forth from their haversacks chunks of 
 jerked beef, slices from which are bettered much by warm 
 ing on hot stones, or by toasting over hot coals by Meg s 
 cunning fingers. And is there not parched corn? What 
 more could one ask for a feast in the wilderness than fare 
 
300 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 like this? With hunger the best sauce, and merry hearts 
 and good consciences, the best of appetizers and sweet aids 
 to digestion, it was a rare meal the little company made 
 at that noon hour under the wild-wood trees. 
 
 The forest banquet done, and brief adieus spoken, Mort 
 Sheldon set forth. Before he went, he begged Meg to 
 favor him by fastening upon his hat the rosette of red, 
 white and blue which he always wore there, but which in 
 the melee of the last few days had been dislodged. There 
 was a softened look in his black eyes, and a rosier tinge on 
 his tawny, cheeks as he bowed his thanks, and, placing his 
 hat on his shapely head, turned his comely face towards 
 the wilderness. 
 
 "Good bye, Old Tricolor!" called John, as he swung 
 away with his long lope. "Good bye, and good luck!" 
 
 "What that?" asked Meg. "You told Meg white brave 
 is called Mort Mort " 
 
 "Mort Sheldon," said John carelessly. "Or to be exact, 
 Morton Sheldon." 
 
 "Mor-to-shel-john? Yes; that it! So you tell Meg." 
 She repeated the name to fix it in her memory. "That very 
 good name; better n my bad Indian father s, Succohanos; 
 or my Indian brother, Mach-a-chach. I like sound of 
 Mor-to-shel-john, for my brother is John, too! Ah, dear 
 John!" She laid her hands within his, and looked into his 
 face with smiling eyes. "But what for you call him Ole- 
 tri-col-or? Is that a new war name?" 
 
 John found it no light task to explain, simple as the 
 affair appeared to his own mind. But Meg at last seemed 
 satisfied, and began to find something pleasant in the 
 thought that the scout had asked her to mount his cockade. 
 Yet she shook her head doubtingly, and said: 
 
 "Meg see now! But she not quite understand why 
 warrior wear that? Too pretty for brave! Good for squaw! 
 Mor-to-shel-john better give that feather to Meg or Mad 
 Ann!" Then she gave forth a musical, merry laugh and 
 added, "Well, it better nor scalplock, anyhow!" 
 
 She turned in the direction that Sheldon had gone, and 
 her keen eyes, trained in Indian woodcraft, noticed some 
 thing that made them open wide with wonder. On the 
 crest of a distant hill, through an opening in the woods, 
 she saw in the sunlight the tall, thin form of the scout. 
 He stood bareheaded, with rifle muzzle leaning within 
 
THE LATIMERS. 301 
 
 one bent elbow, and hat in his hands. His face was bent 
 downward. He was gazing intently upon his rosette! 
 
 "Can it be his totem?" was the maiden s first thought. 
 "Does he worship it?" 
 
 Then she saw the hat raised to his lips, and not to the 
 head! He kissed it, then turned his face toward the camp 
 and gazed steadfastly through the woods for a few 
 moments. Did his eyes meet Meg s through all that dis 
 tance? Impossible, of course! But just then the maiden s 
 face dropped, and her eyes bent towards the earth, which 
 she softly patted with her moccasined foot. 
 
 "What can the man mean? He is a goodly youth. 
 But, may the Manitou be merciful! can it be that?" She 
 tapped her forehead significantly, and, with a sad counte 
 nance, turned away. She would ask Mad Ann about it! 
 But the maiden thought better of that, and walked 
 down to the brookside and sat upon a boulder near 
 the brink. She looked at her image reflected from the sur 
 face; smoothed back her hair; gave a touch here and there 
 to her beaded deerskin frock. Then she sat long and 
 quietly gazing into the stream as it glided by, and idly 
 plashed the while with one hand in the water. 
 
 McClellan returned before sundown with the report that 
 no sign of an enemy was visible near them to the north 
 east. As Sheldon did not return, the coast was clear to 
 wards the northwest. Therefore, a peaceful night s rest 
 was before them, and on the morrow they might set forth 
 confidently. Early next day they started, and pushed 
 forward rapidly. Mrs. Trotter divided with Meg the use 
 of Liverpool, or sometimes the two rode together on the 
 horse s broad back. On the second day, they struck the 
 trail of the army, and knew that now they had naught to 
 do but push northward until they overtook the troops. 
 
 Their next evening camp was disturbed by a stirring 
 incident. McClellan, who had taken a wide circle around 
 the camp to reconnoitre, came in bringing a prisoner! It 
 was Mort Sheldon, mounted on a fine sorrel gelding and 
 leading a chestnut-bay mare. The latter was bridled, and 
 backed with a side-saddle for lady s riding. The scout 
 nodded kindly to the group, who were supping in the cool 
 twilight; then, having fed and cared for his horses, and 
 hobbled them with hickory withes, he sat down to eat as 
 coolly as if he had been gone only an hour. 
 
302 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Meg was too well disciplined to show the surprise 
 which she felt, but she cast many furtive glances at the 
 scout as she served him with the simple evening fare. The 
 query kept coming to her mind: "What could the man 
 have meant?" That question still puzzled her. "And 
 what does he mean now by coming thus? That seems 
 strange (her thoughts ran on), but otherwise he shows no 
 mark of one whose mind the Great Spirit has touched. 
 At least, he still wears the rosette upon his hat! But, 
 two horses to ride therewith! And that odd-looking 
 saddle which the bay mare wore!" Her eyes wandered 
 toward the group of picketed animals. Just then the mare 
 turned her head and looked at Meg, and gently whinnied. 
 
 "0 you beauty!" the maiden cried in her heart, and 
 longed to run and put her arms around the beast. 
 
 "Hist!" said John. "Some one is coming!" He put his 
 ear to the ground and listened. "It is horsemen! They 
 are coming on quickly. To shelter!" In a moment all 
 were treed, and with rifles in hands waited anxiously the 
 issue. Only Mort Sheldon kept his seat, quite unmoved. 
 
 "Strange!" muttered Meg. "It must indeed be so!" 
 Quite unconsciously she touched her forehead. McClellan, 
 at the first alarm, had glided like a shadow into the woods, 
 and soon his cheerful halloo came to them, a sign that 
 friends not foes drew near. Presently in high glee he gal 
 loped into the camp astride his own favorite horse. John 
 and Mad Ann greeted him with cries of wonder, and 
 guesses which he would not answer. Even Meg, though she 
 did not quite understand, uttered surprise. Mort Sheldon 
 sat munching his Johnny-cake, taking no heed at all. 
 
 Another surprise awaited them. In a few moments, 
 a horseman was seen approaching. "An Indian!" cried 
 Meg, and sprung to the tree where her rifle stood. It was 
 even so; and John Latimer pushed into the woods, which 
 had now grown obscure in the nightfall, and presently 
 returned riding the troop horse which had been assigned 
 him when he joined the scouts, and followed by Panther. 
 
 Now Mort Sheldon, having finished his supper, deigned 
 to clear up the mysteries. Captain Wells, through an 
 Indian runner, had got an inkling of the danger into which 
 his scouts had fallen, and sent a squad to relieve them, lead 
 ing their mounts to insure quick return. The relief detail 
 fell in with Mort Sheldon; and finding that all was well, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 303 
 
 hurried back to rejoin their company, but sent the Mingo 
 with Sheldon in charge of the led horses. Sheldon made 
 bold to claim a captured horse for the use of John Lati- 
 mer s sister, and set forth with Panther. He had hurried 
 forward to choose a place for bivouac, leaving the Indian 
 to follow his trail. But one of the horses had got loose, 
 and Panther was delayed, and so separated, and thus the 
 two came to be so far apart when McClellan fell in with 
 Mort. In a wagon train of supplies slowly dragging after 
 the army, whose trail he had crossed, Sheldon found a sut 
 ler or camp trader, who had somewhere picked up a lady s 
 saddle a rare bit of luck indeed. This he bought and 
 placing it upon his own mare, mounted the extra horse. 
 
 Next morning the camp was early astir, for all were 
 eager to be off. Now that all had mounts, they \vould 
 soon overtake the army. The sniff of battle was in the air, 
 and the scouts were seized by that restlessness which 
 mightily draws men toward centres of combat. Mad Ann 
 shared the feeling, indeed was the most restless of all. She 
 shifted from place to place without apparent reason, now 
 sitting, now standing, now walking to and fro; now chatter 
 ing to her horse, now uneasily handling her rifle and 
 pouch, now prodding the company to make haste. The 
 hearty cheerfulness w r hich was her usual mood was over 
 clouded. Her face gathered into a frown. The spirit of 
 vengeance which possessed her, seethed within her, and 
 would have no rest until the battle was over. The men 
 knew her mood, and said naught to cross or fret her. Meg, 
 though perplexed thereat, went quietly about her self- 
 imposed task of preparing the morning meal. 
 
 A pleasant surprise awaited her. Mort Sheldon, w r ho 
 had been busy caring for his horses, approached the camp, 
 leading the bay mare, whose bright hide fairly shone with 
 the loving grooming he had given her. She was bridled 
 and saddled, and carried saddle bags, with a blanket 
 strapped behind, and holsters at the pommel with horse pis 
 tols therein. Mort led the mare to where Meg stood, and 
 greeted her with a pleasant "Good morning, Miss Latimer!" 
 
 Meg started. She knew what "Latimer" meant; but 
 "Miss" Latimer! That was a vagary beyond her ken. 
 Poor Mor-to-shel-john! She must not mind such things 
 from him. 
 
 Sheldon noted the perplexed look, and changed his 
 
304 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 mode of address. "Sunny Hair must have a horse to 
 march with us, and reach her home beyond the Ohio. The 
 Long Loup has brought her his own. Sunny Hair saved 
 the lives of the scouts. They will not forget while the 
 grass grows and water runs. But they want to give some 
 proof of their gratitude. See, this is yours!" He placed 
 the bridle in her hands, and stood fondling her mane. 
 
 "I have raised her from a colt, and know her well. No 
 one has ever ridden her but myself and my farmer who 
 helped to train her. She is as gentle as a fawn and as 
 swift. Yet she is strong, and holds to her own course like 
 the sun without flagging from dawn till twilight. You 
 will love her and she will love you, won t you, Ladybird ?" 
 He stroked the mare s face fondly, then laid her nose in 
 Meg s palm, which had been outstretched to pat the noble 
 creature. "There, Sunny Hair, the mare is yours. And 
 Ladybird, see you serve your mistress well!" 
 
 Meg all this while stood struggling with the emotions 
 which the scout s words and gift had evoked. Her 
 thoughts ran somewhat in this order: "Ah! he does not 
 speak like one whose mind the Manitou has touched. His 
 words are very straight and sweet to the ear. * * * 
 But does he mean to give me the beautiful mare? Could 
 anyone of sound mind be so generous? * * * Unless, 
 indeed, he were a great and rich chief? * * * He is 
 surely in earnest; he means this for me, all for my own. 
 * * * Ladybird! What a pretty name for the beauti 
 ful mare! Ah! Ladybird, are you, indeed, my own?" 
 
 For a moment she could not speak, but leaned her face 
 and arms against the mare s shoulders, who bent her grace 
 ful neck and rubbed her nose against the maiden s arm,, 
 and softly whinnied. Such kindly speech as Sheldon s, 
 and such tokens of respect and appreciation were so new to 
 Meg, that her emotion got the better of her. She wept 
 silent, joy-born tears that welled up gently from a heart 
 full of untroubled gladness. Then she lifted her face and 
 looked into the bright countenance of the scout, and said: 
 
 "Sunny Hair thanks you! Her heart is full of the song 
 of birds; but her lips are dumb. She cannot speak; but 
 while stars shine and flowers bloom she will remember 
 Tri-col-or s words. Her brother John will speak for her. 
 See !" she cried, turning to John, who at this moment ap 
 proached. "See what Mor-to-shel-john has given me! The 
 beautiful mare is for me! May I keep her?" 
 
THE LATIMERS. 305 
 
 "I don t quite take it in," said John, glancing inquir 
 ingly at Sheldon. "What is this, Mort? Surely Meg 
 hasn t understood you. You don t mean to give her Lady 
 bird, of course; only to loan her for a while?" 
 
 Meg dropped her hand from Ladybird s head, and 
 turned a disappointed face towards John. 
 
 "Wall, I reckon it s all right!" Sheldon answered, in 
 the New England drawl that characterized his usual utter 
 ance. It seemed the speech of another man, so different 
 was it from that which he had used to Meg. "The damsel 
 has made no mistake, Johnny. The mare is her n; that is, 
 ef she s a mind to take it, and you hain t no objection. 
 Ladybird s jest the nag for your sister, and there s nary 
 another besides on the hull frontier that ll suit her as well, 
 I calkilate. To be sure, I care a heap for the mare, and she 
 for me. But yon sorrel geldin that I brought in for Meg 
 is no shucks of a horso, and I calkilate 11 answer my 
 pu pose till I get to hum. 
 
 "It s jest this way, John. I ve been thinkin a right 
 smart of how your sister saved our lives, and that we 
 oughter do suthin to show it. I ve talked to McClellan 
 abeout it. He hain t much of an overplus of this world s 
 goods, you know, and I ve a good farm, well stocked, and 
 nary a one to care for, or to care for me, for that matter, 
 nuther kith nor kin, chick nor child. So we agreed that I 
 might do the proper thing, and present my chestnut mare 
 to Sunny Hair. Don t say another word abeout it, neow. 
 Let the gial have her, an welcome. She ll need sech a 
 critter to get her safely eout this dratted Injun kentry." 
 
 So saying, he walked away, tarrying neither for assent 
 nor refusal, and thinking only to avoid their thanks. 
 
 John looked earnestly at Meg. Meg looked inquiringly 
 at John. John thoughtfully stroked Ladybird s flank. 
 Meg gently patted her cheek. 
 
 "What does my sister say?" asked John. 
 
 "What say brother John?" asked Meg. 
 
 "Would you like to keep Ladybird?" John asked. 
 
 "Sunny Hair is troubled," replied Meg. "W r ould it be 
 right to take this gift from Tri-col-or?" 
 
 "Well, why not?" asked John, looking keenly at Meg, 
 who had paused and had cast down her eyes. 
 
 She looked up quickly, and tapped her forehead with 
 her forefinger. "What make Mor-to-shel-john do such 
 20 
 
306 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 heap queer things? He no right here; hey?" Her eyes 
 shot keen inquiry into her brother s face, as she again 
 touched her forehead. "He seem to Meg some not-right 
 here. The Great Spirit care for him much, and be angry 
 with Meg if she let Tri-col-or rob himself. That no good! 
 That no fair! Is Meg right? No?" 
 
 John s hearty laugh interrupted her speech. As he 
 got the situation more fully before him, its grotesqueness 
 grew upon him, and he laughed so heartily that he leaned 
 against Ladybird s flanks for support. 
 
 Meg, the while, gazed at him, with a face like an April 
 sky over which sunshine and clouds chase one another. 
 Wonder, inquiry, anger, gladness, mortification, quickly 
 flitted across her burning cheeks, and showed in her eyes, 
 which seemed equally on the verge of smiles and tears. At 
 last John controlled his mirth. 
 
 "Forgive me, sister dear!" he said. "I know I have 
 offended you; but really I could not help it. It seems so 
 odd that you should take Old Tricolor for a simpleton. 
 Why, lass, his is one of the soundest heads in all the 
 border. Yet, I ought not to wonder that you who never 
 knew him should be puzzled; for he has some queer streaks. 
 But what started you on that trail? Oh, the hat, was it? 
 To be sure! It is an odd fancy. But so is the coon tail 
 that McClellan wears. Ha, ha! What would the boys say 
 if they knew this? And what would Old Tricolor say?" 
 
 "Oh, John! John!" cried Meg, running to him and put 
 ting her arms around him. "You no tell Mor-to-shel-john? 
 You no tell anybody how foolish Meg has been! That 
 break Meg s heart. She die for shame. She never look 
 Tri-col-or in the face again. An he so kind to poor Meg! 
 You be good brother John! You no tell, never!" 
 
 "No, indeed, sweet maid!" said John, as he drew her to 
 his heart, and kissed her. "I would lose my tongue ere it 
 should wag to your shame or sorrow. Indeed, I could not 
 help laughing. Do you forgive your naughty brother? 
 But about Ladybird? Will you keep her, now?" 
 
 "May I keep her, now?" 
 
 "Yes, you have my consent. But can you ride?" 
 
 "Ha, ha! That a good joke. Can the swallow fly? 
 Can the mocking-bird sing? Can the fish swim?" While 
 she was speaking, she unbuckled the girth, and lifting off 
 the saddle with all its fixtures, laid it on the ground. Then 
 
THE LATIMERS. 307 
 
 she spoke some caressing words to Ladybird, who seemed 
 quite to understand, and flinging the reins on her neck, 
 vaulted upon her bare back. Then dare we tell it? 
 sitting straddle-wise like a man, she darted away through 
 an opening in the woods at full gallop. A quarter mile 
 dash and back again to camp! Then she flung herself 
 from the mare s back and covered her face with caresses. 
 
 "What say brother John now? Can Meg ride?" Her 
 tinkling laugh gave token of how she enjoyed having 
 turned the joke, as she innocently thought, upon John. 
 
 The scouts looked on with admiration; and Mad Ann, 
 well pleased, bade all hasten the march. As the party 
 prepared to move off, a grave question presented itself. 
 Could Meg ride side-saddle? And would she? Mad Ann 
 rode man-wise, why not Meg? Yet John, and in his own 
 quiet way Mort Sheldon also, expressed the wish that Meg 
 should follow the custom of white women. 
 
 Meg shrugged her shoulders prettily, and shook her 
 bright brown locks. She had never seen a side 
 saddle before; but when its use was explained she 
 laughingly bade them help her into it, which John did. 
 It seemed a merry play to the maiden, and when her feet 
 were adjusted to the stirrups, she set off gingerly, not being 
 certain of her seat. But, like the thorough horsewoman 
 that she was, she was soon at home, and starting Ladybird 
 on a gallop, raced away in advance of the party, followed 
 by John. 
 
 "How do you like it?" he asked. 
 
 "It a little clumsy, now," she answered. "By- n-by 
 all right, maybe! It very good for Meg s little legs, 
 tanyrate; they too short for straddle, like man." 
 
 "Well done!" said John laughing, "and well said. You 
 are quite a philosopher, sister mine; though I daresay you 
 don t know what that means." 
 
 "Oh no, Meg don t understand. But she know it s 
 nothing bad. She heard brother John call Mor-to-shel-- 
 john flosopher, too. Flosopher some one who has beau 
 tiful bay mare, I Aspect?" 
 
 "Ay," said John, "and gives her away!" 
 
 "Then Sunny Hair no flosopher!" was the quick reply, 
 Meg put her cheek to the mare s neck. "She never give- 
 Ladybird away! Xo! not even to brother John. But 
 he no need her, hey? He got very good horse?" 
 
308 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Meg; you are quite right there. And a 
 far better one when we get home. And another for your 
 self too, if you like." 
 
 "Home, home! That very sweet word!" said Sunny 
 Hair with softened tone of voice. "Shawnees have no word 
 like that. Meg s heart is eager to see father and mother. 
 Oh, it seem to her she can t wait till battle over. Tell her 
 all about them. Tis sweet music to Sunny Hair s ears. 
 Sweeter than sound of running brook, or soft wind in the 
 summer leaves, or meadow lark in the mellow evening. 
 Tell me the tale of home, dear John, of dearest home." 
 
 And then, and often afterwards till the end came, John 
 must tell his sister the story of which she never wearied, 
 the story of dearest home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF FALLEN TIMBEKS. 
 
 We follow John Latimer and his party into the camp 
 of Wayne s Legion. During the winter, Gen. Wayne had 
 remained at Greenville, a fort built by him on the Little 
 Miami, whence he raided the country between him and the 
 Miami villages. He regained the ground of St. Glair s 
 unfortunate defeat, and built there a fort, which he called 
 Fort Recovery. He opened negotiations with the Indians, 
 who scanned his troops and equipments, made florid prom 
 ises, but dodged his overtures for treaties. In February 
 (1794) they suddenly threw off the mask, attacked Wayne s 
 outposts at Fort Recovery and were toiled. Then began 
 a rallying of the tribes, with the purpose to abide the brunt 
 of battle. They well knew that on the issue hung their 
 destiny; and two thousand warriors assembled in the neigh 
 borhood of the British fort at the rapids of the Miami. 
 
 Wayne had been reinforced by the Governor of Ken 
 tucky with a division of fifteen hundred mountain riflemen, 
 in two brigades under Generals Todd and Barbee, com 
 manded by Major-General Scott. Most of these men had 
 experience in Indian warfare. United to the Legion, which 
 comprised two thousand regular troops, infantry, cavalry 
 and artillery, they feit confident of victory. Late in July, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 309 
 
 Wayne left Greenville and moved slowly westward. He 
 kept his scouts continually circling around his front and 
 flanks. To the intelligence, courage and unswerving devo 
 tion of these trained frontiersmen, he was largely indebted 
 for his success. It was they who won for him the Indian 
 title of "General All-eyes." It replaced that of "General 
 Chebang," meaning "General To-morrow," given because 
 the wily chieftain was ever deferring his promised gifts 
 and threatened punishments, until his unready to-morrow 
 should become the to-day of thorough readiness. 
 
 On August 19th the army was within a day s march of 
 the enemy s position. A reclaimed Indian captive, named 
 Miller, one of Captain Wells s scouts, was sent forward with 
 the last offer of peace and friendship. As Miller ap 
 proached the Indian camp, the warriors beset him with 
 fierce yells, and cries of "kill the runaway!" 
 
 "Ten chiefs and warriors," said Miller in their own 
 tongue, "are held as hostages by Gen. Wayne for my safety. 
 Kill me and they will hang to the nearest tree !" 
 
 This speech calmed the tumult and stayed the threat 
 ened death strokes, and the messenger delivered his offer 
 of friendship and peace. A long conference followed. 
 Miller was detained until the next day, and then sent back 
 to Wayne with an evasive message, intended to amuse him 
 until they could plot some way to rescue the ten hostages. 
 The scout hastened to rejoin the army; but Gen. Wayne 
 had not waited for his return. Annoyed at the delay, he 
 moved upon the enemy. 
 
 Major Price, with a select battalion of mounted vol 
 unteers and scouts, was advanced about five miles in front 
 of Wayne s line, with orders to feel the enemy s position, 
 and when ascertained fall back upon the main body. 
 McClellan, Mort Sheldon, John Latimer and Panther were 
 assigned to duty with these skirmishers. It was with ill 
 grace that Mad Ann Trotter found herself left out. But 
 the orders were inexorable, and she sulkily withdrew with 
 Meg to the left, where the Kentucky troops were stationed. 
 
 The skirmishers cautiously advanced, keeping videttes 
 well to the flanks and front, until noon. Should they 
 dismount to bait the horses and take their lunch? No! 
 they were too near the enemy. The commandant would 
 not allow his men to risk being taken even at that disad 
 vantage. "But (said he) let the column be halted for a few 
 
310 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 moments at this runlet." The troops had just begun to 
 explore the contents of their pouches, when McClellan 
 dashed into their midst and announced Indians at hand. 
 
 "Attention!" shouted the commandant. The volunteers 
 wheeled into line, and awaited the order to advance. 
 
 From a thickly-wooded knoll on the right a sharp com 
 mand in the Indian tongue rang out, followed by a heavy 
 volley of rifles. Then the air was rent v:ith war-whoops; 
 and from behind every shrub and tree issued painted sav 
 ages, until the forest seemed alive with them. With trailed 
 rifles and swinging tomahawks the Indian vanguard swept 
 down upon the skirmishers. 
 
 Command was given to fall back slowly; to bring with 
 them the wounded and killed., if practicable; to skirmish in 
 open order and inflict as much damage as possible; but not 
 to risk battle, as the enemy was evidently in force before 
 them. The volunteers obeyed, but their rifles gave quick 
 and fatal answer to the enemy s volley. Doggedly con 
 tending every step, they slowly retired. 
 
 "Call in the videttes!" ordered Major Price. Those 
 on the flanks had returned. "What of those in the front?" 
 
 McClellan shook his head; and clutching his rifle, 
 shook it savagely at the howling foes. "Darn their red 
 hides! The foxy varmints let em all pass ithout a shot, 
 knowin them to be sure enough game for em, and helt 
 their fire till the troops came up. It was jist blind luck 
 that I got through to report. I fear it s all up with em, 
 Major. An a likelier lot nor those nine men never fell 
 into savage hands Hark! Do you hear over thar to the 
 left, ayont their line, jist ahint yon bluff, that patch o 
 snappin shots? That s them! I know the bark of their 
 rifles. The painted divils are on em like ants on a sugar 
 lump. Oh, if I could only git through! But I fear it s no 
 use a-tryin ; the odds is too big. Curse the luck! Good 
 Lord deliver em, seein thar s nothin else to look to." 
 
 "Fall back!" called Major Price. "I m sorry enough to 
 leave the boys to their fate. But the interests of the army 
 demand the sacrifice. Better that a few perish than all 
 be lost. My orders are imperative." 
 
 McClellan hung to the rear of the column, and some 
 what eased his mind by silencing forever the war-cry of a 
 gallant but venturesome brave. He retreated grudgingly, 
 and straggled far back, eager for but hopeless of a dash to 
 
THE LATIMERS. 311 
 
 rescue his comrades. Suddenly a hearty cheer arose from 
 the retiring column, which opened to give way to a power 
 ful black horse and a fiery bay mare., whose smoking flanks 
 gave sign of fast riding. The riders were Mad Ann and 
 Meg Latimer! They drew up before Major Price, and ere 
 speech could be made to him, Meg s eyes caught sight of 
 McClellan. Urging Ladybird to his side, she asked: 
 "Where s John?" 
 
 McClellan briefly told the sad story. 
 
 "Who with him? Panther there? Tri-col-or, too?" 
 The questions fairly snapped in sharp staccato from the 
 maiden s pale lips. 
 
 McClellan nodded. "Yes, and six good men besides." 
 
 "Your chief goin ? to save them, hey? Make grand 
 rush? drive warriors back? bring off brave scouts?" 
 
 McClellan shook his head sorrowfully. "No, no, poor 
 girl. The Major won t give the order. He thinks it 
 wouldn t do anny good, and all our lives ud be lost. See! 
 There are hundreds of them red fiends afore us, " 
 
 "What say?" interrupted Meg. Her face was livid with 
 passion, and her blue eyes burned with pain and wonder. 
 "The chief no try to save John? Shame! Cowards! Then 
 Meg go alone, and die with him." 
 
 She laid her rifle across her arm (she was riding no 
 side-saddle now), shook the rein, and rode at full gallop 
 straight upon the advancing savages. 
 
 "Here s with you, then!" shouted McClellan, and 
 spurred to her side. 
 
 "Hurrah! Charge boys, charge!" cried Mad Ann. She 
 rose in her saddle, and twirling her rifle, gave black Liver 
 pool rein, and followed McClellan. 
 
 "Charge! charge! Save the scouts!" The cry ran 
 along the column. Carried away by one of those impulses 
 that often move armed men, and which have been espe 
 cially noted among American soldiers, the whole battalion 
 turned and without orders and with ringing cheers charged 
 at full gallop upon their foes. Major Price, seeing it im 
 possible to arrest the rushing tide of frantic valor, joined 
 therein, with high mettle resolved to die with his men. 
 
 This sudden charge took the Indians by surprise. 
 They had but one way to account for it; the whites had 
 been reinforced! The irregular line in which they had 
 been advancing halted, then began to fall back. Some one 
 
312 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 raised the cry: "Wayne! Wayne is coming!" That name 
 wrought like magic. With scarcely an attempt at resist 
 ance, the whole assaulting column broke, fled, and melted 
 into the surrounding forest. There was not one chance in 
 ten thousand that such a result would have followed. But 
 that one chance, under a favoring Providence, prevailed 
 that day. 
 
 "To the left!" cried McClellan, keeping his place close 
 by Meg, Mad Ann, the Millers and one or two others. 
 
 He led his little squad around a swelling bluff on the 
 brookside. A scene that chilled them with horror and 
 fired them with wrath lay before them. Along the narrow 
 tongue of bottom land on the opposite side of the stream, 
 lay a straggling windrow of dead men, whites and Indians 
 intermingled, lying where they fell. Close against the 
 overhanging front of the rocky bluff which they had just 
 turned, stood one white man, a tall scout, fighting single- 
 handed with three braves. It was John Latimer. His face 
 and clothes were covered with blood from a wound that 
 furrowed his cheek. His hands were black with powder 
 grime. The dead body of Panther lay at his side. Just 
 before him, indeed, the combat was wrought above his 
 prostrate form, lay Mort Sheldon. The combatants were 
 so filled with the high rage of battle, and so intent on their 
 work of destruction, that they had noted neither the fleeing 
 savages nor the charging soldiers. 
 
 Even as the party gazed, one warrior fell under John s 
 clubbed rifle. As he sank, he seized the piece with the 
 rigor of death, and wrested it from John s hands, leaving 
 him standing there before his foes weaponless. The fore 
 most of the two survivors heaved aloft his tomahawk, and 
 John stood with uplifted hand to arrest the stroke, crouch 
 ing to spring forward in death grapple. 
 
 McClellan s rifle was empty; Meg s had just been dis 
 charged. Oh, for one charge of powder and shot! Just 
 one! Life, life, a most precious life hangs thereon! 
 
 Crack! It is Mad Ann s rifle that speaks sharply forth, 
 now, and her rich English voice that cries: "Tally one, 
 John Latimer, for the shootin match at Legionville !" 
 
 The upraised tomahawk descended, but in wavering 
 curve; and as the warrior doubled forward and fell at 
 John s feet, the metal rang against the rock beside his 
 head. 
 
THE LATIMER8. 313 
 
 This sight, and the outbreak of frantic yells that now 
 burst from the advancing whites, startled the remaining 
 warrior. He cast one look upon the unexpected vision of 
 rushing horses and wild shouting foes plunging across the 
 brook. He paused, with axe poised in act of striking, then 
 discharged his weapon with a defiant cry, and wheeled and 
 fled. John caught the whirling tomahawk and recovering 
 "rom the backset of the blow, returned it, but vainly, after 
 the fleeing Indian, and fell across Sheldon s body. 
 
 It was Meg s sharp cry of pain that rose above the beat 
 of horses hoofs on the gravelly turf, for the cries of the 
 rescuers had ceased. It was Meg who first reached the 
 scene of conflict, and flinging herself from Ladybird s back, 
 bent above her brother, and lifted him from the body on 
 which he lay, and kissed his grimy bloody face, and 
 moaned with the pain of a heart well nigh breaking. 
 
 "But he is not dead!" she cried. "Quick, water! And 
 the Tri-col-or, he is not dead, too? God of the white 
 man, spare them!" 
 
 Other hands were helping, now. John was laid in an 
 easier position; his shirt front opened, his belt unloosed, 
 and his face bathed with water and spirits. Sheldon was 
 lifted up, and laid gently down upon the grass. Mad Ann, 
 bending her ear to his bosom, listened intently. 
 
 How could Meg spare even one moment, one glance 
 from her loving ministry to her brother, to note this, and 
 ask in low, eager, trembling tones: "He alive, too?" 
 
 "Yes!" answered Mad Ann. Her gruff voice grew 
 mellow with the heartiness of her joy, as she spoke. Meg 
 had already bent her face to John s, but the reply sent a 
 warmer tinge to her cheek, and gave a glance of added 
 brightness to her eyes, as she muttered, "Thank God!" 
 
 Well, indeed, might the maid thank God. But if ever 
 these two fighting men live, and give heed to the matter 
 at all, they will no doubt feel bound in some measure also 
 to thank the brave, good maid who pricked forward to 
 their rescue, and carried with her the column that had left 
 them to die. Nor had the soldiers any scruples to admit 
 the same. Their gallant ride into the jaws of seeming 
 death was known among them as "Meg s Mad Charge," a 
 title which acknowledged who was their true leader in 
 that affair. Yet Meg loyally held to it that the chief 
 credit of the matter was due to Mad Ann, who, though 
 
314 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 banished from the corps of skirmishers, had swung loose 
 from the left flank of the army, and pressing through the 
 woods, hovered about the flank of Price s battalion in ex 
 pectation of a fight. 
 
 But will the scouts live? John, certainly. His swoon 
 was brief, and the result of weakness through blood-let 
 ting and high fever and fierce strain of heart, and mighty 
 exertion, and hopelessness thereof, in the short but terrific 
 battle against such odds. He was thrice wounded, though 
 he knew it not, for in contests of men the rapt mind rises 
 superior to fleshly pain. He had bullet wounds in the 
 fleshy part of his left arm and thigh, and one upon his 
 cheek. His hurts were not serious, and under the crude 
 but not unskillful surgery of Meg and Mad Ann, he was ere 
 long able to mount an empty saddle (for his own horse 
 was slain), and ride away. 
 
 With Mort Sheldon it fared worse. He had got several 
 body wounds, but his serious hurt was a blow upon the 
 head, which brought a stupor from which he was slow to 
 arouse. Mad Ann bathed his pallid face with spirits, and 
 chafed his hands with the same, and drop by drop forced 
 the cordial into his lips. But he would not revive. Once, 
 indeed, his lips moved. 
 
 " Ark!" said Mad Ann; ""he seems to speak. E s 
 comin around!" She bent her ear to his lips. 
 
 "What says he?" asked McClellan. 
 
 Ann made no answer; but her face turned involuntarily 
 towards Meg, who, at the words spoken, had raised her face 
 and looked that way. As the two pairs of eyes met, there 
 was something passed from Mrs. Trotter s soul to the 
 querying spirit beyond her, that, explain it how you may, 
 gave a signal of the truth, and raised a tell-tale flush upon 
 the maiden s cheek, and caused the eyes to droop with a 
 not unkindly light in them. The single word that Sheldon 
 whispered was "Sunny Hair." Then he relapsed into 
 unconsciousness. A swinging stretcher was made out of a 
 pair of strong blankets, on which he was placed, and car 
 ried by four horsemen as the column fell back toward the 
 van of the army. This was soon met, and the wounded 
 man placed in the surgeon s care. 
 
 John, when he heard that Wayne s Legion was in sight, 
 refused to go to the rear until his friend and Indian father, 
 Panther, was fitly buried. His rifle, the coveted prize of 
 
THE LATIMERS. 315 
 
 Legionville, and his pouch, knife and tomahawk, and other 
 little belongings were gathered together to carry away to 
 Featherfoot. Then at the foot of the bluff where he* fell 
 they dug for him a grave, and John held it no shame to 
 drop tears of true mourning, as he was silently committed 
 to the ground. Out of respect to the religious feelings of 
 the Indian, a rifle recovered from the enemy and other 
 weapons were placed in the grave, that the gallant warrior 
 might not lack suitable equipment when his spirit reached 
 the Happy Hunting Grounds. 
 
 "May God have mercy on his soul!" said John, as the 
 clay fell upon the green boughs of hemlock which, with 
 reverent sentiment, they had laid upon Panther s face and 
 form, to soften the rude contact of the clods. "A braver 
 man, a nobier, truer soul, a firmer friend never slept on 
 or under forest mould. Thrice to-day his rifle saved my 
 life. He might have saved his own life by flight, but chose 
 to die for his friends and at their side, in the path of duty. 
 He knew little of the Eedeemer of men, though he rever 
 enced and never profaned His sacred name, as white men 
 do. Pagan or not, he walked according to his light more 
 honestly than many Christians I have known. Farewell, 
 beloved and honored teacher and friend! Farewell, com 
 panion and friend of my father! In the Happy Hunting 
 Ground with the good of thy people, or in the white men s 
 Heaven, we shall meet again. Farewell!" 
 
 Like offices of burial, kindly, sincere, ay, and reverent, 
 though of necessity they must be brief, were given the fal 
 len white scouts. Then the two women and the burial 
 detail, led by McClellan, slowly withdrew. That evening 
 John jotted down the day s events in his journal, and once 
 more wrote, as on the evening that Meg was found, the 
 text "Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom He 
 hath redeemed out of the hand of the enemy." 
 
 Now befell the wonted preliminaries of impending 
 battle. For awhile there was great noise and bustle, and 
 seeming confusion of marching men and wheeling squad 
 rons; and trampling and snorting of horses; and rumble of 
 artillery as batteries were dragged to their places; and 
 shoutings of the captains orders, and blare of trumpets, 
 and roll of drums. Then there fell a great silence, as with 
 the elements of Heaven when a yeasting storm is about 
 to break with thunder crash, and beat and rattle of rain 
 fall, and swish of rushing wind. 
 
316 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 Now all was set in order as the commander-in-chief had 
 planned. The hush in the waiting ranks was broken by 
 the artillery feeling the enemy, preparatory to the bayonet 
 charge which Gen. Wayne had ordered. The Indians had 
 chosen their position with much military judgment. The 
 ground for many miles around was covered with a heavy 
 forest growth, which greatly impeded the movements of 
 the cavalry and artillery. Their troops were drawn up in 
 three parallel lines, having the river directly on their left. 
 In front was a thick wood in which an immense number 
 of trees had been blown down by one of those western 
 cyclones with whose ravages, in these days, we are unhap 
 pily familiar. These prostrate trees were piled one upon 
 another, and their branches interlocked, forming a natural 
 and formidable breastwork, or "slashing" to use a word 
 in vogue during the war of the sixties. It was this which 
 gave to the battlefield the name of "Fallen Timbers." 
 Along this broad windrow of overthrown trees the Indians 
 battle line stretched for more than two miles. 
 
 Wayne had formed his Legion of regulars in the centre 
 of his line. His right was covered by the river, on which 
 rested the enemy s left. General Scott s division of 
 mounted volunteers occupied the left. The regular cavalry 
 was formed in the rear and on the right. Now the Ken- 
 tuckians were ordered to swing around and attack the 
 Indians right flank, while the regular cavalry moved up 
 under cover to attack the left flank. The Legion of regular 
 infantry, facing the fallen timbers, had orders to wait until 
 the above movements were completed. Then, at a signal, 
 they would charge at double quick without firing a shot; 
 arouse their enemy from their covert at the point of the 
 bayonet, deliver their fire, and press upon the foe so closely 
 as to prevent reloading of rifles. 
 
 When the allotted time had passed for the forces threat 
 ening the flanks to get to their posts; and the centre of the 
 Indian line, disturbed and weakened thereby, invited a 
 successful assault, Wayne gave the order to charge. The 
 perilous movement was made under his own eye. The 
 Legion sprang to their work with hearty cheers. Undis 
 turbed by the terrific volleys poured upon them from the 
 trunks and branches of the fallen trees, they overleaped 
 the barriers, and closed in a hand-to-hand combat with the 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 317 
 
 The Indians were startled up from their breastworks. 
 As they fell back, the regulars delivered their reserve fire. 
 The retreat became a flight. For two miles the Legion pur 
 sued; and so rapid was the advance, and so precipitate the 
 retreat, that only a part of the flanking columns had an 
 active share in the battle. The routed Indians were pur 
 sued under the guns of the British Fort Campbell, which 
 the enraged Kentucky troops could hardly be kept back 
 from storming. The surrounding Indian villages and 
 camps were destroyed, and stores consumed. 
 
 This done, in order to hold the Indians in check, Wayne 
 built a fort, at the junction of the Auglaize and Maumee 
 Rivers in the very heart of the Indian country, which he 
 happily named Fort Defiance. This was connected with 
 Fort Washington at Cincinnati by a chain of fortified 
 posts, and the defeated tribes thus threatened soon sued 
 for peace. The northern and southern tribes, who had 
 already prepared for hostilities, abandoned their warlike 
 plans and renewed their friendly attitude. The treaty of 
 Greenville that followed brought a peace that was never 
 afterwards seriously disturbed. 
 
 The battle of Fallen Timbers, though little more than a 
 heavy skirmish, as estimated by the loss on both sides, was 
 one of the most decisive battles of America. It settled 
 the destiny of the great middle-western range of States, 
 which, thus opened to peaceful occupation, soon became the 
 Eldorado of thousands of white settlers, who made their 
 wilderness places blossom as the rose. 
 
 Upon the interests and destiny of those with whom this 
 story is especially concerned, the victory had an important 
 bearing. With Wayne s successful Legion on the West, 
 and Washington s army of suppression advancing from the 
 East, the insurrectionists of Western Pennsylvania were 
 placed between an upper and nether millstone, and the 
 friends of law were proportionately strengthened. 
 
 The victory won, John Latimer was eager to hasten 
 home with Meg, and readily got released from duty. In 
 deed, the special work of the scouts was finished, and most 
 of them were discharged. Mad Ann, McClellan and several 
 others, including Aleck Bailey and McDonald, formed 
 with John a caravan or travelling party, and set out for 
 Pennsylvania across the Ohio territory. Wayne s name 
 had so terrorized the Indian tribes through whose bounda- 
 
318 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 ries they passed, that the journey was made securely, and 
 therefore rapidly. Mort Sheldon, though now recovering, 
 was still in the surgeon s hands, and was left behind, to 
 follow as soon as his wounds would permit. 
 
 At the close of a sultry day in the first week of Sep 
 tember, John and Meg Latimer, riding side by side, halted 
 on the summit overlooking the little village of Canonsburg. 
 
 "Yonder is home!" said John, pointing to the Latimer 
 cabin embowered in its grove of sugar maples. "See! the 
 smoke is curling above the clapboard roof, and you may 
 know that mother is preparing the evening meal." 
 
 "Do you think she expects us?" asked Meg. 
 
 "I do not know, though I have written several letters. 
 I am sure I hope so. But on the border, and especially in 
 war times, messages come slowly, and often don t come at 
 all. All my letters may have miscarried, and may come in 
 a bunch, as I have known them to do, after I get home 
 myself. I have not heard a word from father since I left, 
 and you know how anxious I have been about him. Ah! 
 look there, Meg! Note that man walking towards the 
 house. Do you make him out? His arm is in a sling. 
 That is father! Thank God! he is about once more!" 
 
 Meg leaned forward from the saddle (she was riding 
 lady-wise now), and shielding her eyes with her hand, 
 gazed across Ladybird s neck until Luke Latimer disap 
 peared from view within the cabin door. Then she sighed 
 deeply. Tears welled in droplets from beneath her long 
 dark eye lashes, and twinkled there a moment in the set 
 ting sun. Her cheeks were flushed from the rapid cours 
 ing of her blood, driven by a heart that throbbed and 
 throbbed till it seemed to her that John must hear it beat. 
 
 "Come!" she cried. "Come away, John dear! Meg 
 canot wait any longer." She touched Ladybird, and the 
 spirited mare, her high mettle unquenched even by her 
 long march, started into a gallop. John following, the 
 two were soon riding at full speed down the hill. 
 
 Now, Luke Latimer coming into the house, had paused 
 beside the cabin door; and, as it so happened, looked across 
 toward the Washington road whence often travellers came. 
 He descried the two riders on the hilltop just as they 
 plunged down the slope. Wondering thereat, he watched 
 the clouds of dust that rolled up behind the fast flying 
 horses, and which, as there was a following wind, partly 
 concealed them. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 319 
 
 "See yon, Polly!" said Luke. "Someone is in a mighty 
 hurry. It s some messenger, I ll be bound, on the way til 
 Fort Pitt. Nobody would push horseflesh that a-way on 
 sich a sultry day as this, onless important business urged." 
 
 Polly came to the door, and, standing by her husband, 
 watched the coming dust cloud. "Can it be som mat about 
 the axcise trouble?" she said. "Good Lord forefend! 
 Maybe it s news from the army. Heaven send it be so! 
 Niver a ward have we h ard since the lad left; and it s not 
 like John to neglec us." 
 
 "Ay, lass, you may be sure of that. John has sartainly 
 written. But there are no posts throughout that wilder 
 ness; an private messengers are aye tardy an unsartain, 
 as in the days of Solomon. But I reckon you ve guessed 
 aright. The riders look like army folk. One of em is 
 surely a soldier. The other I can t make out, but " 
 
 Just then a turn in the road brought the wind quarter 
 ing, which sweeping the dust away left the figures in full 
 view. 
 
 "Yes, my crackies! One of em is a woman!" 
 
 "So it is!" exclaimed Polly. "An see how she rides! 
 But, can it be news from John?" 
 
 "Well!" answered Luke, "we 11 soon know now, if they 
 kape that rattlin pace very long." 
 
 Thus the couple stood together at the picket gate in 
 the yard, whither their curiosity and anxiety had urged 
 them, and awaited the approaching strangers. Now the 
 riders are lost to sight, and only the gray cap of dust cloud 
 shows above the treetops. Now they sweep into view 
 again. See! They have come to the opening of Luke s 
 lane, which leads into the main road. They turn into it! 
 
 "My heart!" cried Mrs. Latimer, putting her hand to 
 her heart to quiet the spasms of fear. "They are comin 
 here. Oh! Luke, can aught have happened John?" 
 
 Silently husband and wife stood together and looked. 
 The thud of beating horse hoofs sounded dully on the 
 grassy pathway of the lane. The dust cloud blew on up 
 the road and faded away. 
 
 "Polly!" cried Luke, leaping forward. "It is John!" 
 
 In a moment the riders had halted at the gate; John 
 had flung himself from his horse, and was clasped in the 
 arms of his parents. 
 
 Poor Meg! She sat upon her smoking steed, her cheeks 
 
320 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 flushed with exertion showing circlets of bright red set in 
 the midst of pallor which deep emotion had drawn around 
 lips and eyes. Was this the welcome home which she had 
 so longed for, so eagerly dreamed of? Not one word, not 
 one look for her! All for John! 
 
 But Mrs. Polly, at least, had given one thought to her. 
 In the few moments that had elapsed after recognizing 
 John, her eyes had taken in the form of his companion. 
 Like a flash, a thought had come to her, nor was it so 
 strange as you may think, concerning this female com 
 panion who rode at his side with such familiar com- 
 radery. Lifting her weeping face from the young man s 
 shoulder, she uttered her thought in a whisper. 
 
 "John," she asked, "is she your wife?" 
 
 "Mother!" exclaimed John, holding her from him with 
 both hands; "have you not heard?" 
 
 "Not a ward, John! not one wared since you left." 
 
 A cry from Luke Latimer startled both. With a strong 
 instinct of courtesy, he had turned from John toward the 
 stranger maid, to give greeting and welcome. Something 
 in her appearance arrested him. He made one step toward 
 her, and then paused, and gazed intently upon the maiden, 
 who in turn looked into his face with eager anticipation. 
 
 "Polly!" cried Luke, pointing towards Meg, "Look! 
 It s yourself! It s yourself, as you were three an thirty 
 years agone!" 
 
 The man was trembling with the intensity of his emo 
 tions. This vision of his early love, materialized before 
 him in the form of the stranger maid, had sent a thrill 
 into his soul, whose keenness came from a hope, almost a 
 certainty of the truth. Could it be his long lost child? 
 
 The look, the cry so moved Meg that she could forbear 
 no longer. Leaping from the saddle with one glad word 
 "Father!" she flung herself upon Luke s breast, who put 
 his unwounded arm around her, and the two wept 
 together. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer stood gazing into John s face to read the 
 truth therein. She had not taken close heed to Meg s 
 appearance. Even the glance she sent in answer to Luke s 
 cry gave her little clue; for she could not discern the strik 
 ing likeness of her former self which had impressed and 
 persuaded her husband, for we are dull to note our 
 children s resemblance to ourselves, though others see it 
 
THE LATIMEES. 321 
 
 plainly. Moreover, that first thought hobbled her judg 
 ment with withes of prejudice as yet unbroken. So there 
 she stood trembling, and searching John s face. That 
 look needed no verbal interpretation. John understood. 
 
 "Yes, mother, it is Meg!" 
 
 "Oh, my child! my child! 7 One glad cry, and then 
 wit] i upthrown hands, the strong woman sank, and would 
 have fallen to the ground had not John supported her. 
 
 "Mother!" It is the sweetest word that human lips 
 speak. With unspeakable joy Meg uttered it, as she flew 
 from her father s bosom. But it fell on unheeding ears. 
 
 Meg s first filial act was to help John carry her mother s 
 unconscious form into the cabin. Then when the brief 
 swoon had overpassed, mother and daughter wept together 
 tears of peace and joy, in sweetest exercise of love whose 
 strength was all the greater because for so many years ii; 
 had been ungratified. Like the bud of the century plant, 
 long held in abeyance, it had blossomed in a night. But 
 it never lost its beauty and fragrance. Thenceforward, 
 mother and daughter were bound together in a com 
 panionship that no cloud overshadowed, until the Great 
 Last Shadow of the Valley of Shadows fell between them. 
 
 Let us close that cabin home, and leave its happy in 
 mates with their new found joy. For that night, alone, 
 the badge of frontier hospitality shall be withdrawn, and 
 the latch string shall not hang out. To-morrow the vil 
 lage and countryside shall ring with the glad tidings of the 
 lost which was found. 
 
 21 
 
322 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 PROM THE CREST OF THE WAVE TO THE TROUGH OF 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 The public passions throughout the Western Survey 
 had moved forward with a rapidity which seemed startling 
 to John Latimer. His absence had hindered him from 
 following their daily progress, and thus keeping even step 
 with the changes wrought around him. Some of these 
 we shall need to note. The muster at Braddock s Field 
 had been followed by outbreaks of violence in various parts 
 of the country. Huzzas for "Tom the Tinker" formed the 
 shibboleth of the party of violence. It was taken for 
 granted that the excise laws had been abolished by the 
 direct act of the people, whose sovereignty was deemed 
 complete. Whatever looked to the contrary was held as a 
 defiance of the public authority. 
 
 Nevertheless, the more reflecting and intelligent were 
 quietly thinking themselves away from the platform of the 
 leaders of the anti-excise movement. They observed in all 
 these affairs a strong tendency to anarchy, against which 
 their law-abiding instincts and convictions were at once 
 arrayed. These inward protests at last took the form of 
 a quiet organization in opposition. This had tangible 
 expression in the election held for township delegates to 
 the Western Counties Convention, which had been called 
 by the Mingo Creek meeting to convene at Parkinson s 
 Ferry, August 14, 1794. 
 
 Meanwhile, news of the fight at Bower Hill and the 
 muster at Braddock s Field had reached Philadelphia, then 
 the seat of government of the United States, and of the 
 State of Pennsylvania. President Washington summoned 
 his Cabinet, and it was resolved: First: To call out the 
 militia under the constitutional authority to suppress 
 armed combinations to defeat the revenue laws too power 
 ful to be controlled by civil officers. Second: To send 
 Commissioners to the disturbed districts, to represent both 
 the Federal and State Government, and endeavor to bring 
 about a pacific submission to the laws. August 17th the 
 President issued his proclamation, announcing his pur- 
 
THE LATIMEES. 323 
 
 pose to call out the militia, and citing the offenses that led 
 thereto. He commanded all the insurgents and opposers 
 of the law to disperse, and retire peaceably to their respec 
 tive abodes, and warned all persons whatsoever against 
 aiding, abetting and comforting the perpetrators of the 
 aforesaid treasonable acts. On the same day, he made 
 requisition upon the Governors of Pennsylvania, New 
 Jersey, Maryland and Virginia for twelve thousand men, 
 afterwards increased to fifteen thousand, to be organized 
 and held in readiness to march at a moment s warning. 
 
 News of these affairs came westward by post, by private 
 express, and by travelling merchant, pack horsemen and 
 wagoners, then the current venders of public news. The 
 people of the Western Survey were thus brought face to 
 face with the decision "submission or civil war." The 
 seriousness of their position was forced upon all who were 
 capable of serious reflection. The silent reserve of steady, 
 law-abiding citizens, who in our republic are usually an 
 inactive majority, drew closer to one another, shook off 
 their civil lethargy and prepared to take control of affairs. 
 A few of the better conditioned who felt that they were 
 committed beyond recall, together with those who had no 
 interest in communal stability, and such as, like sea foam, 
 ride only on the crest of tumults, clung to Bradford, Mar 
 shall and the other leaders of the revolt. Yet even those 
 men were profoundly shaken in their confidence of success 
 and almost persuaded to abandon the struggle. 
 
 In this state of affairs the Convention of the "Western 
 Counties assembled at Parkinson s Ferry, now Mononga- 
 hela City. Two delegates from every township had been 
 elected, amounting in all to two hundred and twenty-six, 
 representing Allegheny, Washington, Fayette, Westmore 
 land and Bedford Counties, and Ohio County in Virginia. 
 
 The Convention was held in an open field on the banks 
 of the river, just above the old ferry. It was, indeed, a 
 primitive hall of congress, but the interests and in a meas 
 ure the destiny of a nation were determined therein. 
 Fallen timber and stumps of trees served for seats, while a 
 few shade trees which the forester s axe had spared, spread 
 their canopy above. Surrounding the Convention and 
 forming a "gallery," as it was quaintly called, were many 
 spectators. They were drawn largely from the near neigh- 
 
324 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 borhood, which as Mingo Creek Meeting-house was but a 
 few miles away, were nearly all participants in the late 
 disturbances. Nevertheless, the proceedings were fully 
 controlled by Messrs. Brackenridge and Edgar and other 
 friends of order, who on this occasion were supported by 
 the exertions of Albert Gallatin. 
 
 Bradford and Marshall had come provided with 
 resolutions that looked towards a formal organization 
 to call forth the resources of the country, and 
 "to repel any hostile attempt against the rights of the 
 citizens or the body of the people." These frontier 
 agitators knew well, as did also their opponents, that 
 life invariably expresses itself in organisms, and that 
 no permanent and effective life, in any sphere, can be sup 
 ported without organization. Chaos has in it the poten 
 tiality of life or death. Chaos continued ends in death. 
 Chaos, touched by a vital factor that has force within it to 
 attract and organize its elements, has at least promise of 
 endurance. Along this line, in that open court of the 
 people on the banks of the Monongahela, the friends of the 
 armed insurgents fought and lost their contention. The 
 upshot of the Convention was, that a Standing Committee 
 of sixty was raised from the township delegates. These 
 again were asked to appoint a Committee of Twelve, taken 
 from the several counties, to meet and confer with the 
 Government Commissioners, and report to the Standing 
 Committee. Thus the purpose and propositions for organ 
 ized and armed insurrection were, by a deft and almost 
 unobserved evolution, transformed into a harmless provis 
 ion for conference with a committee sent to settle the 
 troubles and tender terms of amnesty. Moreover, the 
 weight of responsibility was shifted from a large body, 
 sensitive and responsive to the popular passions, to a small 
 committee in which the counties least disturbed had equal 
 representation with those most infected. Further, the 
 final decision was deferred to a later day, when the heat of 
 passion should be cooled, and the friends of order should 
 have regained confidence. 
 
 The Government Commissioners reached Western 
 Pennsylvania while the County Convention was in session 
 at Parkinson s Ferry. They were instructed to communi 
 cate at once with this body, but deemed it safe or at least 
 judicious, on account of the inflamed state of the country 
 
THE LATIMEES. 325 
 
 which infected many of the deputies, not to present them 
 selves. They repaired to Pittsburg, and there met the 
 Committee of Twelve on the 20th and 21st of August. 
 The United States Commissioners were Wm. Bradford, 
 Attorney General during Washington s administration; 
 James Ross, United States Senator from Pennsylvania, and 
 Joseph Yates, Associate Judge of the Supreme Court of 
 Pennsylvania. The Pennsylvania State Commissioners 
 were Chief Justice Thomas McKean and Wm. Irvine, a 
 Representative in the United States Congress. 
 
 This Conference Committee proposed substantially 
 that the Standing Committee of the Counties Convention 
 should, on or before September 1st, declare their deter 
 mination to submit to the laws of the United States, in 
 cluding the revenue laws; that they recommend to their 
 constituents acquiescence in the same; and finally that the 
 Convention take measures to poll the people on or before 
 September 14th, and thus secure a public assurance as 
 above. In the above case, the Commissioners, on their 
 part, would pledge the Government of the United States 
 that all prosecutions for treason and other indictable 
 offenses should be deferred until July 16, 1795. Further, 
 that if on that date there should be a general and sincere 
 acquiescence in the execution of the laws, a general pardon 
 and oblivion of all offenses would be granted, except to 
 those who, in the interval, should attempt to obstruct the 
 execution of the laws. 
 
 These terms were approved by the conferrees of the 
 people, and the United States 7 Commissioners gave assur 
 ance that the movements of the army would be suspended 
 until further information. The report of this action was 
 drafted by Mr. Brackenridge. It was submitted to the 
 Standing Committee at a meeting held on the 28th and 
 29th of August, in Brownsville, then known as Redstone 
 Old Fort, a small village in Fayette County on the Monon- 
 gahela River. Here was fought the last battle of the 
 Western insurrectionists. Messrs. Gallatin and Bracken- 
 ridge supported the report looking to submission with 
 great force and eloquence. 
 
 On the other hand, David Bradford, contrary to his 
 engagement when before the United States Commis 
 sioners, vehemently opposed the report. With violent 
 declamation he declared in favor of war, and in boasting 
 
326 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 harangue raised the standard of insurrection. He 
 sought by his own heat to rekindle the flame of the violent. 
 But it was only the last flickering glow of an expiring fire. 
 
 A secret ballot was ordered, and the vote was thirty- 
 four yeas and twenty-three nays! The voice of reason had 
 prevailed. This result was plainly unexpected by the 
 insurgent party. Bradford was appalled. He knew 
 better than any other man that his rod of leadership 
 was broken. He left the place immediately upon the 
 announcement of the vote, overwhelmed with mortification, 
 wounded pride, and disappointed ambition. Pressed with 
 anxiety as to the future he returned to his fine new Wash 
 ington house, and was one of the first to take the benefit 
 of the amnesty by subscribing the form of submission. 
 
 Had the Standing Committee here ceased its work, the 
 Western Insurrection would then and there have ended, 
 suppressed by the power of the people themselves, -by mere 
 force of wise and patriotic self-control, unaided either by 
 civil or military process. But unhappily the proposition 
 was made to choose a new Committee of Conference to 
 meet the Government Commissioners. It was hoped that 
 some modification of the terms, or prolongation of the 
 time prescribed for formal submission might be obtained 
 by a little further negotiation. 
 
 The former conferrees (the Committee of Twelve) felt 
 themselves foreclosed by a sense of propriety from oppos 
 ing this motion, and no doubt wearied of their thankless 
 post, were pleased to withdraw honorably. Never was 
 there a more unfortunate illustration of the proverb at 
 tributed to Abraham Lincoln, "it is unwise to swap horses 
 when crossing a stream." The change of the Committee 
 of Conference, and the blundering efforts of their suc 
 cessors, were taken by the United States Commissioners 
 as a proof of the want of unanimity, of a leaning toward 
 rebellion, and of unwillingness to yield to the just and 
 temperate conditions offered by them. They accordingly 
 reported to Washington recommending that the army 
 cross the mountains and give support by its presence to the 
 friends of law and order. 
 
 This view was strengthened by the result of the pri 
 mary election held early in September. The test proposed 
 by the Commissioners was to be subscribed within six days 
 by every elector in the presence of two members of the 
 
THE LATIMERS. 327 
 
 Standing Committee or of a Justice of the Peace. Of the 
 votes cast, five hundred and eighty were for submission 
 and two hundred and eighty against. The Commissioners 
 instead of counting the absentees with the majority, re 
 garded the scant vote and the considerable number of 
 recusants as additional proof that a sullen temper pervaded 
 the Survey, which only the presence of the military could 
 effectually curb. In point of fact, however, the strength of 
 the insurrection was already quelled. Public opposition to 
 the excise laws had ceased, and the Border was freer from 
 disorder than any of our modern frontier settlements. 
 
 On the 17th of September a call was issued to the 
 original delegates to the Western Counties 7 Convention, 
 that had met at Parkinson s Ferry on August 14th, to 
 meet again at the same place on October 2d, to consider the 
 situation. This body, without any opposition, gave assur 
 ance of submission in the very words required by the 
 United States Commission. They unanimously expressed 
 the opinion that the withholding of signatures was not 
 owing to any existing disposition to oppose the laws, but 
 to lack of time and information on the part of some, and, 
 with the greater number, a consciousness of having had 
 no concern in any outbreak, and the idea that their signa 
 ture would imply a sense of guilt. In addition, Wm. 
 Findley, a Eepresentative of Congress, and David Eeddick 
 were appointed Deputies to the President, to give assurance 
 of submission, and to explain circumstantially the state of 
 the country, that he might judge therefrom whether an 
 armed force would be necessary to support civil authority 
 in the Western counties. 
 
 At this meeting David Bradford was present. But who 
 would have recognized in this crestfallen suppliant for 
 peace, the bedecked and pompous hero, the inflated and 
 boastful dictator of Braddock s Field? In six weeks the 
 rapid revolution of events had brought him from the crest 
 of the wave to the trough of the sea. 
 
 No spark of opposition glowed in glade or hill in all 
 the Western Survey. Yet, the Federal Commissioners 
 thought it necessary to march an army into these scattered 
 mountain settlements to help enforce the laws. To enforce 
 the law^s! Though the District Court was peacefully issu 
 ing bills of indictment, and Sheriff Hamilton had offered 
 with twenty men to arrest any man or set of men in any 
 or all of the Western counties on legal process. 
 
328 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE TESTING OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 The week of John Latimer s arrival from "Wayne s army 
 was one of stirring interest and excitement. Canonsburg 
 and the surrounding country, indeed the whole Western 
 Survey, were in a state of ferment over the pending elec 
 tion. To submit or not to submit, was the question which 
 agitated every voter. As Washington County had been the 
 tidal centre of the insurrectionary movement, John found 
 himself in the midst of a boiling surf of varied passions. 
 
 Luke Latimer s wounds had healed but slowly. This 
 was owing partly to their serious character; largely to the 
 exposure and physical strain of the Braddock s Field excur 
 sion, but much also to mental agitation. His soul was the 
 arena of a conflict of emotions to which he had heretofore 
 been a stranger. His passions had always been direct and 
 simple; quickly rising and quickly falling, like a spring 
 freshet; and like it, also, clearing away all rubbish in the 
 channel, leaving the stream to flow more peacefully. 
 
 These complex and contending feelings that now 
 stirred within him, whence had they come? He had 
 heard of such, but had not suspected himself to be subject 
 to them. He was not used to such tug and strain, such 
 rushing and fury of the inward man; and his strong frame 
 shook thereunder. The conflict stayed Nature s kindly 
 offices in knitting and healing the wounded parts, and 
 burned up his vital energies. His strength waned, al 
 though he kept going about the house and grounds. His 
 cheeks grew thin, his eyes sunken, until his wife became 
 anxious as to the outcome of it all. 
 
 Yet she forbore remark or question. Even her pity was 
 given no vent in words, for she knew that comment and 
 uttered sympathy would only fret him more. He must 
 fight the battle alone. He would have it so; in such strug 
 gles of spirit and to the wounds thereof, silence is the 
 unguent that best can lay the tossing passions, and the 
 kindliest balm that friendly hands can apply. 
 
 The wounded pride of a deplumed leader; disappoint 
 ment over cherished plans; mortification at failures that 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 329 
 
 might have been foreseen; the sense of folly forced upon 
 him for unwise methods; anger and shame at the thought 
 that he had been gulled and made a tool of by David 
 Bradford, these almost maddened him. Even more than 
 this was the thought that would rush upon him ever and 
 anon, that if he had done thus and so the issue might have 
 been, ay, surely would have been different! 
 
 Moreover, Luke Latimer was thoroughly honest in his 
 opposition to the excise laws and their execution. From 
 the bottom of his heart he believed he was right; that he 
 stood for a just and humane cause; for the rights and 
 liberties of the people. It was bitter, indeed, to give up 
 such a contention. He had persuaded friends to his views. 
 and his just and kind nature was concerned for the conse 
 quences to them. Then, how the thought nipped him! 
 what would the issue be in his own case? He was oi;e of 
 the leaders. Could he hope to escape punishment? He 
 cared little for that personally; but his family? And the 
 disgrace thereof? And the loss of his property! 
 
 The offer of amnesty by the Federal Commissioners 
 seemed to open a door to his friends. Should he advise 
 them to accept? Would he himself sign the submission 
 papers and make his peace? Would it be honorable to do 
 so? Could he as a leader hope to go scot-free? There he 
 paused, and the struggle began anew, working around the 
 same circle of disappointment, wounded pride, perplexity 
 of mind and heart, conflict between political convictions 
 and natural affections and the demands of honorable 
 friendship. 
 
 The coming of Meg for a time diverted his thoughts 
 from public affairs. For a few days he went about so full 
 of joy and peace, that he seemed to be walking upon the 
 clouds. His eye grew brighter; his step was lighter. Mrs. 
 Polly noted with gladness that his appetite was better, and 
 his cheeks began to fill up. But as the llth of September 
 approached, and the public excitement arose to a high 
 pitch, Luke was again caught in the swirl and fury raging 
 around him. He must decide. He must act. And now, 
 here was Meg to think about, poor helpless child, his lost 
 Sunny Hair, whom God had given back to him! Who 
 would fend for her? For her sake yes, for her sake 
 
 He walked up the hill to George McCormack s store. 
 In many parts of America the village store is now, as it 
 
330 THE LATIMEHS. 
 
 then was, the daily rendezvous of all the masculine gossips 
 in the country-side, the rural paradise of both chronic and 
 occasional loafers. There they perch upon the counter, 
 and straddle over the stools, and sit along the single wall- 
 bench like fowls upon a roost, and with strident voices 
 asseverate and dogmatize on questions political, theological, 
 financial and social. 
 
 Luke Latimer found a little knot of neighbors gathered 
 to discuss current events. He was welcomed to the circle, 
 and out of respect to his wound, honored with one of the 
 two chairs which the log edifice boasted. He was not a 
 frequent visitor to this conclave of village Solons for which 
 he had neither taste nor time; but he had a purpose in com 
 ing now, and would await his opportunity. 
 
 "We were jist discussin the Commissioners test," said 
 McCormack, by way of explanation. He spoke from that 
 country merchant s throne, the stool behind the rude desk 
 which rested on the end of the counter next the window. 
 
 "Are you goin fer til sign?" asked Luke calmly. 
 
 "Na!" was the positive and emphatic response. 
 
 There was silence. Luke who had lit his pipe slowly 
 puffed out a column of smoke and again inquired: "I 
 reckon you d advise the rest of us to sign, wouldn t you?" 
 
 "Na-a!" The answer was the same, but a little more 
 explosive and prolonged. 
 
 Another lull, another puff of smoke, another question: 
 "Don t you tLink the Government Commissioners have 
 made things purty aisy for us, considerin all things?" 
 
 "NA-A-AA!" The increased volume of sound and pro 
 longation of the vowel, in the thrice-repeated monosyllable, 
 was the merchant s only method of expressing the positive, 
 comparative and superlative degree of his dissent. But it 
 needed neither addition nor interpretation. 
 
 "A ve had ma full of sich doin s in the auld country," he 
 crTed. "What led to all the risin s in Ireland? What 
 brought out the Whiteboys, the Oakboys, the Steelboys 
 and tLe United Irishmen, but the tie-rannical and ineequi- 
 tous test oath, and sich like, that the English crown im 
 posed upon us? A thought A was a-comin til a land of 
 liberty; but it looks mighty like we d jumped out of the 
 fryin pan intil the fire. What s all thim papers, now," 
 pointing to one of the blank forms of submission posted 
 against the store door, "but jist a test? Test! A test of 
 
THE LATIMERS. 331 
 
 loyalty they calls it. ISTa-a! A ve had enough of tests, and 
 sorry a one ill A iver sign agin." 
 
 "Hear! hear! That s the talk!" cried the village Solons. 
 
 "Ah?" said Luke Latimer interrogatively. 
 
 "There you go, neighbor!" said Andy Burbeck. 
 "Comin out the same hole you wint in at! A tist? 
 Humph! give a dog a bad name an hang him. Anything 
 with the name of tist 11 have a bitter taste to our folk. 
 They say a rose by anny other name uld, smell as swate. 
 That s r asonable, but contrairy to axperi nce. We re vic 
 tims of eemagination in half the affairs of life, A m 
 a-thinkin . For axample: Suppose you d call a rose a 
 skunk cabbage, who d want to give a nosegay til his lady 
 love? Now, if astead o callin that paper by sich an ornary 
 name as test they d a christened it covenant, it ud a 
 gone down aisier nor a glass o grog. For we Scotch-Irish 
 Presbyterians have a likin to that name, in kindly memory 
 of old Scotland s League an Covenant." 
 
 "Come, come, Andy!" said McCormack. "That s jist 
 a bit of your balderdash, and well you know it." 
 
 "Well, let s read the paper, and see how it goes." 
 Thereupon Andy walked up to the door, which served as 
 a general bulletin board for public notices, and read: "I 
 do promise to submit to the laws of the United States; 
 that I will not directly or indirectly oppose the execution 
 of acts for raising revenue on distilled spirits and stills, and 
 that I will support as far as the law requires, the civil 
 authority in affording protection due to all officers and 
 other citizens." 
 
 "There it is, gintlemin! It s a harmless sort of affair, 
 you see. Only a kind o ceevil note of hand; a promise 
 to pay one s lawful debts of duty and obeydience to the 
 L nited States. Now, A take it that s a good dale more of 
 a covenant nor a tist." 
 
 "Ay! but it s meant for a test," McCormack insisted. 
 "They knowed well that most of us that s been in the 
 risin won t sign. An they mane for to sift us out, an 
 mark us for vingeance. It s the intintion you ve got to 
 go by. Whativer the letter of the paper be, it s spirit is to 
 crush out all opposition to the axcise, and to crush 
 out all opposers. Jist look at it! C I will not direckly 
 nor indireckly oppose. That s the pledge. Why, accordin 
 to that, a man couldn t aven sign a petition to annul the 
 excise laws, intolerable as they are." 
 
332 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Hold on, neighbor!" said Luke. "It s not the laws, 
 but their axecution you promise not to oppose." 
 
 "Well, what s the differ?" 
 
 "A dale of differ. A law s a law, and ought to be 
 axecuted as long as it stands. If it s a good law, good! If 
 it s a bad law, the stricter it s inforced, the likelier you are 
 to git rid of it. To oppose the passage of a law is one 
 thing, an that s lawful. To oppose the law itself by 
 a-tryin to repale it is another thing, an that s always 
 lawful whin lawfully an pa cefully done. But to oppose 
 the axecution of the law is jist what we ve been doin or 
 tryin to do. An that s what the Gover ment wants us to 
 promise not to do. If I were to go to the len th of sub- 
 scribin that pledge or promise, or test, call it what you 
 pl ase, I d not have the 1 aste scruple agin workin , spakin 
 an votin for the repale or modification of the prisent 
 revenue laws. Axcuse me, Andy, for the anterruption." 
 
 The faces of the crowd were turned upon Luke, blank 
 with wonder. What next? Is Luke Latimer also weak 
 ening? 
 
 "No axcuse required, Luke," said Andy. "We re all 
 lookin for light, I take it; an nobody ud sign that paper 
 athout at 1 aste tryin to onderstand it, but a plumb fool." 
 
 "Or a coward!" interrupted McCormack. 
 
 "Yes, or a coward," Andy assented. "Though, I reckon 
 it ll take a dale more courage to sign nor to refuse. The 
 bravest thing an honest man iver does, is to go back on his 
 own record in the face of public disapproval." 
 
 Luke Latimer nodded assent. 
 
 "But what A m a-gittin at," continued Andy, "is what 
 the Gover ment promises. Ther s al ays two sides to a 
 bargain. Now what does the United States agree to do? 
 The Commissioners promise and engage not to prosecute 
 for any treasonable or other indictable offenses against the 
 United States, committed within the Fourth Survey of 
 Pennsylvania before the 22d day of August last 
 
 "That takes in Bower Hill?" said Luke interrogatively. 
 
 "Ay, Bower Hill, an all back of it, an all afront of 
 it, up til a fortnight ago," answered Andy. He continued 
 to read: "Shall be commenced or prosecuted before the 
 10th day of July next, against any person who shall within 
 the time limited subscribe such assurance and engagement 
 as aforesaid, and perform the same. On the said tenth 
 day of July next, " 
 
THE LATIMEES. 333 
 
 "That s a year from now?" Luke interrupted. 
 
 "Ay, the 10th day of July next it is, July, 1795," 
 said Andy, and read on "There shall be granted a general 
 pardon and oblivion of all said offenses, excluding there 
 from, nevertheless, all who shall refuse or neglect to sub 
 scribe such assurance or engagement in the manner afore 
 said, or shall after such subcription violate the same, or 
 wilfully obstruct the execution of said acts, or by aiding 
 or abetting the same." 
 
 "There it is, fr inds!" said Andy, resuming his perch 
 on a nest of inverted buckets. "It looks like a clane dale. 
 Now, A m one of those chaps as put a halter around his 
 neck at the Bower Hill affair; an A must confiss AVe 
 felt as though A d like to slip out of it, if the Gover ment 
 11 gi me a chanct. An there s the chanct! All we ve got 
 to do is to kape quiet for a year, an the Gover ment 11 
 reward us with pardon an oblivion of all the past." 
 
 "Oh, yes, indade!" ejaculated Davy Dandruff. He sat 
 upon the counter with legs dangling down, and kicking his 
 heels against the front. "Let the people be quiet and 
 they ll be rewarded, says you. Wait a year, an the Gov 
 er ment 11 provide for those who ve stood true to the laws! 
 But what s poor fellows like me to do in the manetime? 
 Wait, indeed! It s aisy waitin dinner with a full stomach. 
 Live horse an you shall have grass, says you. But the 
 trick is that the horse 11 die, and the hostler 11 save his 
 grass. But what good 11 that be to the hoss? I wouldn t 
 give a fip for a wagon load of sich promises." 
 
 "Well spoken, Davy!" said McCormack. "That s jist 
 where the shoe pinches. We ve been strikin a blow for 
 better times. This has been a bread-and-butter war. The 
 axcise laws have ruined us. Yonder paper don t improve, 
 nor promise to improve em. It sii-iply means that they ll 
 be inforced more rigorously than iver; an we bind our 
 selves to stand by like a bound boy at a huskin , and niver 
 cry boo! You dassent eay a word. You ve pledged your 
 selves agin it an a pledge is a hedge. The man that signs 
 that paper jist puts a stick intil the Gover ment s hands 
 to bate himself with. An that you ll find out to your sor 
 row, Andy Burbeck, if you re daft enough to sign. To be 
 sure, the Gover ment makes some high-soundin promises. 
 Ay; promises are aisy enough in the givin , but hard in the 
 redeeming an A ve 1 arnt long ago that soft words butter 
 
334 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 no parsnips. Aven if A did take the test, an A 
 don t mean to A d take my rifle, and off til the Ohio 
 country till all had blown over." 
 
 "Ah, well, Mr. McCormack," said Andy, "you re a livin 
 proof that the best proverbs sometimes go wide of the 
 mark. Now, A ve often h ard that a burnt bairn shuns the 
 fire. But here you are, an axile fleein from auld Ireland 
 along of mixin up in risin s agin the Gover ment, an the 
 keenest one among us all for holdin out in the prisint 
 insurraction. But you musn t jedge the government of 
 Washington by that of King George." 
 
 m "Well, Andy, time will tell. The proof of the puddin 
 is in the atein . A d wager a sovereign agin a leather nine- 
 pence, that ye ll rue your bargain come July nixt, ay, an 
 long afore that." 
 
 "Ah lads!" said Elder John Lowe, "if ye d a listened 
 to Dr. McMillan, an kep out n sich troubles, ye d a had 
 no nade to be rackin your brains over gittin out. I ve 
 kep out, an I don t nade to stay awake nights a-worryin 
 over the comin of the army. All my worry is about my 
 neighbors. I m afeard that it ll go hard with you; an my 
 advice is to make your peace while ye can." 
 
 "Don t you intand to sign, elder?" asked Luke quietly. 
 
 "What? Me?" exclaimed the elder, with some heat. 
 "I take that unkindly, Mr. Latimer. What for should I 
 sign, pray? I ve been forninst your doin s from the first." 
 
 "All the same, you ve got to sign," said Luke, "or 
 you ll be in the same boat with the rest of us." 
 
 "Impossible! Who said it?" 
 
 "Squire Brackenridge said it. So did Senator Eoss. 
 So did Judge Yates. It s in the proclamation. All citizens 
 of the Western Survey of Pennsylvania, of eighteen years 
 or upwards, are compelled to be polled, yea or nay." 
 
 "It s rank injustice!" cried the elder, rising from his 
 bench and speaking with great indignation. "What? 
 treat the innocent and guilty alike? I ll niver sign that 
 paper! It ud be a confission of guilt." 
 
 "Go slow, elder!" Andy remarked. "I don t wonder 
 you re a bit riled. But as you ? ve got to take the back 
 track, you beeta not git too far intil the burrow." The 
 swift transition of the good man s temper from the self- 
 satisfied and pitying complaisance with which he had ad 
 dressed his neighbors, to the present state of amazed and 
 
THE LATIMEES. 335 
 
 indignant protest, had excited Andy s mirthfulness. "The 
 Commissioners tist, ye see/ he continued, "is like the 
 Gospel net; it takes in the good an 7 bad fishes thegither. 
 You musn t git glum and grumpy over it. Jist do what 
 you ve advised the rist of us, jouk and let the wave go by! 
 It s your axaniple that the Gover ment wants, that s all! 
 An it would be a jubous proceedin altogither to see an 
 elder of the Kirk jerked up jist for not signin a bit of 
 paper! Ay, elder, the doctor has telled us manny and 
 manny a time, there s sins of omission as well as sins of 
 commission. Don t let s anny of us be a-fallin intil sich 
 negatyve transgrissions of the law, elder." 
 
 The fellow delivered his exhortation with a solemn 
 face, and with seeming deep concern. But he inwardly 
 chuckled over the opportunity to give back some of the 
 chidings he had received from the good man. 
 
 "Besides that," he continued, "do you mind what the 
 Doctor did an said las Sawbath? It was an awful pro 
 ceedin , that, to put off the Communion after it had been 
 duly app inted, an to solemnly declare from his poolpit 
 that he would deny the Saycramint to all his people as 
 refused to sign. Ye d beeta reconseeder, elder! Ye re 
 plowin in stumpy ground, A d misdoubt, as ye ve often 
 telled me, an A well desarved it, A trow. It would grieve 
 us all sorely, an be a swate morsel til the inemy, were an 
 elder of the Kirk to be shut out from the Saycramint." 
 
 "Andy Burbeck," said the elder, turning his ire upon 
 him, "you re a railin Eabshakeh! There s nought sacred 
 agin your tongue; nayther the elder nor the meenister, 
 nor the Holy Saycramint itself!" 
 
 "Come, come, elder!" interrupted McCormack. "You 
 musn t be too hard on Andy. You know well that his bark 
 is iver worse nor his bite. Ye ve no better fr ind nor him, 
 an ye must een Tarn to give and take, like the rest of us." 
 
 "A crave your pardon , Elder Lowe," said Andy, hum 
 bly rising and doffing his hat. "Indade, A meant no 
 offinse. A m jist as loth to sign the Tist as yourself; but 
 A m a-gawin to put my pride in my pocket, and sign, as 
 you advise. An if you ll permit me, A ll give my r asons. 
 In the first place, Dave Bradford s bubble is bust. There s 
 not enough left of it to make a dacent vandoo. The Whis 
 key Insurraction is deader nor a door nail. It s burnt out, 
 back log an fore stick, an nothin left to show but the 
 
836 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 black coals, an not aven a doted log to set it agoin agin. 
 Now, A don t see no call to throw our lives an property 
 away, an bring trouble an shame upon our fam lies for 
 sich a Fader an sich a cause. We re all sorry it s so; but 
 so it is, an there s no use cryin over spilled milk, much 
 less tryin to gather up the milk after it s spilled. Some 
 folks think Andy Burbeck s a fool, A know; an he may nt 
 be overly wise; but he isn t daft enough to throw away all 
 hope for the future on a chanct like that. The jig is up. 
 The fiddle is broke. There s nought to do but go home 
 and git inunder cover. That s what Andy Burbeck 11 do, 
 neighbors, do ye as ye wull." 
 
 The silence which followed Andy s deliverance was 
 broken by the drumming of Davy Dandruff s heels against 
 the counter on which he sat. "Hugh!" exclaimed Davy, at 
 last. "It s aisy enough seen at Andy s been gittin 
 a wiggin from his wife. Thank fortun I m not inunder 
 petticoat gover ment, an for wan I ll stan out agin the 
 tist to the last horn blows." 
 
 "Wiser men nor you or me, Davvy," Andy rejoined, 
 "have taken good counsel from a good woman. A d have 
 no cause for shame aven if A am inflooenced by a woman 
 like Peggy Burbeck. A good wife s a sort of second con 
 science, annyhow, an no man s the warse for hearkenin to 
 the same." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVI. 
 LUKE LATIMEK S DECISION AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 Luke Latimer rose, and knocked the ashes out of his 
 pipe into a small box filled with sand which did duty for 
 a cuspidor. He leaned his unhurt arm against the 
 counter, and looked gravely around the circle. 
 
 "Well, neighbors, I ve hearkened carefully to what has 
 been sayed; an as you may well judge from your own 
 feelin s, I ve been doin a dale of thinkin , these days, on 
 all the matters yo ve discussed. Like the rist of you, I ve 
 been perplixed as to what I ought to do. I reckon no one 
 11 doubt my honest purpose to sarve the people, an my 
 willin ness to wark an suffer for the cause. I ve given a 
 pretty good pledge of this," pointing to his wounded 
 
THE LATIMERS. 337 
 
 arm, "which I m likely to carry to my grave, an that 
 sometimes I think/ his voice trembled slightly, and he 
 paused a moment and looked down sadly. "An that, I 
 sometimes think, may be nearder nor I like." 
 
 "Good Lord forefend!" cried Andy fervently. 
 
 "Thank ye kindly, Andy, for your good wush. Pl ase 
 God, I would like to live a lettle longer, if only for Meg s 
 sake. Howsomiver, we ll not die til our time comes, an 
 there s nought 11 stay us when the hour is struck. I ve 
 faced death a-manny a time, an won t show the white 
 feather afore it, I hope, come it soon or late. But that s 
 nayther her nor there. I ve been tryin , God knows, not til 
 think of myself at all, in ponderin the prisent duty; an a 
 harder task nor that no man iver set himself; as most of 
 you know, I dar say. I owe a duty to my neighbors whom 
 I ve inflooenced, an to the country whose welfar I sought. 
 An as far as I know my duty, I mane for til do it. 
 
 "I went intil this axcise fight with high hopes of suc- 
 ciss. I felt sure we were right; an I belaved we had the 
 man who d lade us til victory. I m free to say that I 
 wanted to see Western Pennsylvania an independent State 
 in the Union. By times, no doubt, I was tempted to go 
 furder nor that in my thoughts. God forgive me! for I see 
 now it was wrong. But that the Western Survey ought to 
 be a separate State, I belaved, an still belave. We d have 
 a better chanct to git our rights, an develop our resources, 
 an protect our interests, if we could cut loose from the 
 eastern section. The State is sort o lop-sided; an the heft 
 iest part is on tother side the mountains. The onfairness 
 an inequality niver showed clearder nor in the operation 
 of the axcise laws. Things got til sich a pass that we 
 couldn t abear it longer. We had to kick agin the goads, 
 an that s no aisy wark; though it seems needful, for in 
 ceevil affairs, the favors aye go to the hardest kickers. 
 
 "Well, neighbors, we tried it, an we ve failed. Andy 
 Burbeck s right. Our cause is lost! As a political Fader 
 David Bradford has proved lettle better nor a bag o wind. 
 Aven if we had a mind to w r ar, which we never had, he 
 has no more military ability nor a cow. He has boggled 
 our good an righteous cause ontil it is eenamost beneath 
 contempt. His bad management has frittered away all 
 chanct we had to right our grievious wrongs. Like a brag 
 gart school boy a-pickin quarrels with a man, he s shuck 
 
338 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 his fist inunder the Government s nose an then run away. 
 He is all fuss an feathers. It s not in him to lade a great 
 cause to victory." 
 
 "Well, then/ interrupted McCormack angrily, seeing 
 how matters were driving, "why didn t you cut loose from 
 him, an choose another Fader?" 
 
 "That s aisier said nor done, Mr. McCormack. Some 
 of us was willin enough; but who else was there to choose? 
 Besides, Bradford was in the saddle, an not likely to dis 
 mount at anny man s bid an beck. Good or bad, it was the 
 best we could do. Better not throw out the dirty water 
 til you can get clane, said we. But nayther foul nor fair, 
 good nor bad would have aught to do with the matter after 
 Bradford had botched the job. An now Bradford and 
 Marshall have both given in their submission, an 11 sign 
 the test to-morrow among the first." 
 
 A groan of indignation burst from the little company. 
 
 "Infarnal traitors!" cried Davy Dandruff. 
 
 "White-livered cowards!" exclaimed McCormack. "A 
 can hardly belave it. You must be mistaken, Luke." 
 
 "I had it from their own mouths." 
 
 "An ye ll be after follerin their example. A darsay!" 
 remarked McCormack, with a surly snap in his speech. 
 
 "Their axample disn t tell a feather weight with me," 
 answered Luke with quiet dignity. "You ll soon 1 arn 
 what I m a-goin to do. We re not only athout a 1 adet, 
 but we re athout organization an inflooence of ivery sort. 
 With W r ayne s victorious Legion on the west, an Washing 
 ton s armed corps of fifteen thousand men on the east, 
 manny of em Revolutionary veterans, we are griddled 
 round about with a wall o doom. The only thing afore us 
 is to hunt the wilderness, as McCormack threeps to do, or 
 accep the honorable tarms which the Gover ment offers. 
 
 "As for myself, an the other 1 aders too, I ve little hope 
 of amnisty, sign or no sign. It s only fair an right that 
 we should stand the brunt of the Gover ment s anger, an ? 
 my sinsare hope is that it may fall on us alone. But I ve 
 a duty til my neighbors an fellow citizens, an I mane to 
 sign the pledge of loyalty. I m not denyin that it s a 
 nauseous dose; but I ve made up my mind to take it. A 
 pill is only the bitterer to take for chawin on it. If one 
 must take it, the better way is to swallow it outright an 
 be done with it. An God sparin me til to-morrow, that s 
 what I ll do! 
 
THE LATIMERS. 339 
 
 "There s no use argyin the case now; It s decided 
 a ready, an decided ?gin us. Our cause is lost, neighbors; 
 an the laste said now the soonest manded hereafter, if so be 
 it can be manded at all. We ve run chuck up agin a blind 
 wall, an there s no way to go for ard. There s nought to 
 do out turn right about and take the back track. Let s be 
 thankful that the Gover ment has left a way open for an 
 honorable retrate. I ve not changed my mind about the 
 axcise laws, nor the rights of the people, nor the conduc 
 of the Treasury Department an it s Secretary an agents, 
 espeecially the latter. But I can promise in good faith all 
 that s in the Commissioners test. Wanct my name is sot 
 to it, I ll kape my word. I bid you good mornin , neigh 
 bors!" 
 
 Few were inclined to discuss the matter longer or com 
 mit themselves further one way or another. The serious 
 ness of the position had been forced into every man s mind, 
 and silently and slowly the village conclave dispersed. 
 
 During the morning of Thursday, September llth, 
 throughout the entire Western Survey, voters were wending 
 their way along country roads and trails to the usual voting 
 places. The polls would open at noon, and so continue 
 until seven o clock in the evening. Before the hour ap 
 pointed, a great crowd had gathered around the tavern at 
 Canonsburg. Dr. McMillan and other friends of order were 
 circulating among their fellow citizens trying to persuade 
 them to accept the Government s terms. There was little 
 open opposition; but surly looks on many faces, and obsti 
 nate withholding of approval, promised ill for success. 
 
 Twelve o clock! The committeemen were seated behind 
 a table, over which were spread a number of blank forms 
 of submission. A record book was before them. The tan 
 gled ball of humanity before the tavern door began slowly 
 to unravel, and a line of voters wound into the room. 
 
 "Do you vote Yea or Nay?" 
 
 The question was put to every man, and a due minute 
 made of the answer. Those who voted "yea," delayed long 
 enough to sign their names to the printed form. Those 
 who voted "nay" walked out without further ceremony, 
 usually with a defiant air, and often to be received with 
 cheers by the crowd outside. 
 
 "Here comes Col. John Canon! How has he voted?" 
 
 "Yea!" Hoots from the crowd. 
 
340 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Now Luke Latimer, leaning on John s arm, and es 
 corted by Andy Burbeck, walked feebly up the street. A 
 sleepless and painful night had left him haggard and weak. 
 The crowd silently gave way. They had learned already 
 how Luke s vote would be cast, for it was early bruited 
 about the town. But the spell of respect for his character, 
 and sympathy with him for the wounds he bore, was still 
 too strong upon them to permit open expression of disap 
 proval. Perhaps, also, they had some regard for the strong 
 arm of the stalwart youth at his side, and the ready wrath 
 of Andy Burbeck, who was almost equally loved and feared. 
 But as the party withdrew, scowling faces looked upon 
 them, and low mutterings of discontent were heard. 
 
 An hour passed, and still another. Luke lay resting 
 upon a rude couch softened with bear skins. A sound of 
 cheering men floated in through the open door. He leaned 
 upon his elbow and listened. 
 
 "Those are not hearty cheers," he said, speaking to his 
 wife. "It sounds like the yells of wrathful men. Hark! 
 was that a rifle shot? Look out, Polly; look out and see 
 if there s trouble afoot." 
 
 Mrs. Latimer gazed down the street. "There s some 
 tumult around the tavern," she said. "It looks for all 
 the warld like an angry swarm of hornets a-buzzin about 
 their paper nest. I can see Dr. McMillan s tall form in the 
 midst of the hurly-burly. Goodness gracious! They are 
 hustlin him about as though he were a common plowman. 
 Oh! ye sacreleegious Shimeis! Have ye no respict for the 
 Lord s anointed? Whatever would they be at? They ve 
 made a rush upon the tavern door, an are crowded an 
 jammed therein, like a passel of school children when the 
 master raps them intil their books. Good land! they re 
 rushin out agin! The whole air is full of bits of paper 
 that thc re tossin up, an the wind is blowin to an fro like 
 forest leaves in autumn gusts." 
 
 Ay," muttered Luke. "Thim s the test papers. I 
 misdoubt they ve broken up the polls. That 11 be no 
 jokin matter. Idle fellows! Do they think they 11 save a 
 lost cause by addin folly til crime? It s a great pity!" 
 
 "Hark til them!" continued Mrs. Polly. "Did ye iver 
 hear sich yowls? What are the looneys about, now? 
 They re bringing a table out of the door. They ve h istcd 
 some man on top of it. My fathers! What can they mane? 
 
THE LATIMERS. 341 
 
 They ve got inunder the table, an have raised it up on 
 their shoulders, an are marchin up an down " 
 
 "With the man on it?" 
 
 "Ay, with the man on it; an he bobbin up an down 
 like a puddin ball in a pot of roup, an holdin on til the 
 side, while the crowd yells an hurls up their hats." 
 
 "It s a mob! They must be a-fightin one another!" 
 exclaimed Luke, hastily rising as several rifle shots rang 
 through the cheers. 
 
 "No, no! Not so bad as that," said Mrs. Latimer. 
 "They re only a-shootin blanks above the man s head, an 
 firin at their own hats as they fling em intil the air, like 
 a lot of loons as they are. They ve let the man down now; 
 an I should fancy he d got his fill of that sort of axerceese. 
 There, Luke dear, jist you lie down agin. I ll tell ye all 
 that s a-goin on. You re too wake to worry about it." 
 
 Luke was loath to confess that this was even so. He 
 would not recline, but sat down again upon the couch. 
 His limbs were trembling beneath him. His hurt arm 
 twitched and burned and smarted until he was faint. 
 
 "What now, Polly, what now?" he asked, for the cries 
 seemed to wax louder. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer, who for the moment had turned to look 
 after her husband, went back to her post and took up her 
 report. "They re musterin in the street now. They ve 
 broken up the table, an parted the pieces among em, an 
 are shoulderin of em like guns. The man whom they 
 h isted is marchin in front. What? It s Davy Dandruff, 
 as I live! The blatherin lunkhead! There ll be wise 
 doins where he lades, I jalous! There are two men ahint 
 him, with a big rail on their shoulders. Now they have 
 started. They are marchin up the road." 
 
 "Which way?" asked Luke. 
 
 "This way; right towards us, a-shoutin like mad men. 
 It s fearsome to hear em. My fathers! " 
 
 She suddenly broke off her report, seized the door, shut 
 it hastily, and turned a pallid face upon her husband. Too 
 late! She could not shut out that dreadful cry. Luke had 
 heard it. 
 
 "Bail ride him! Let s ride the traitor on a rail!" 
 
 Luke La timer leaned over, sick, sick at heart, and 
 buried his face within his hands. for an hour of his old 
 strength and fire! But they were gone. 
 
342 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 Polly shot one glance of pitying love upon that bowed 
 form, and then sprung to the buckhorn bracket above the 
 fireplace, and seized one of the rifles resting on it. Behind 
 her a woman s form glided across the cabin floor. It was 
 Meg. A rifle was in one hand, and a tomahawk in the 
 other. She had been listening from her room, gathering 
 little of the meaning of what she heard, but seeing that 
 in soni3 way the noise outside threatened ill to her father. 
 Her mother s movement towards the rifle-rack gave at once 
 interpretation and cue. Snatching up the weapons, which 
 she had brought with her from her Indian home, and 
 which hung in her room as trophies and reminders of the 
 past, she stole swiftly and noiselessly past her father, who 
 never lifted his face. She had reached the door ere her 
 mother turned from the gun bracket. 
 
 "My child! Come back!" cried Polly. Luke raised his 
 head at the call, and looked, wondering, at the maid, and 
 re-echoing Polly s cry, rose and staggered toward the door. 
 
 Too late! Meg was already in the yard, and half-way 
 to the fence, before which the mob had now halted. A 
 rugged borderer held up a long oak rail, one end of which 
 rested on the ground while the other towered aloft like 
 a standard. A grim banner that, indeed! As Dave Dan 
 druff entered the gate he saw Meg s agile form moving 
 toward him swift and silent as a cloud shadow, with trailed 
 rifle in left hand and tomahawk uplifted in the right. 
 
 "You man!" she cried. "What you want here? What 
 for you come makin war-cries round our house? You 
 better go home! You come furder, Sunny Hair strike!" 
 
 "Whew ew!" exclaimed Davy, checking his march up 
 the path before this unexpected vision. "This is mighty 
 fine, indade! Jist you git out n the way, my lass. We re 
 after no women folks. It s a man we re goin to dale with, 
 an this sort of foolin won t go." 
 
 "A man, hey!" interrupted Meg. "What man you 
 want? Luke Latimer?" 
 
 "Ay, that s jist it!" said Davy, advancing a step. 
 
 "You no get him, then. Take that!" 
 
 At the word, the tomahawk sped through the air, and 
 had not the doughty David dodged the blow, his course 
 then and there would have ended. As it was, the blade 
 grazed his hat, shearing the brim from one side, and whirl 
 ing on over the gate buried itself within the upright rail, 
 which it fairly cleft asunder. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 
 
 343 
 
 "You dawgoned squaw!" shouted Davy, staggered for a 
 moment, but recovering and rushing forward. He was 
 brought up, even more quickly than he had started, before 
 the gaping barrels of two rifles. Mrs. Latimer was at her 
 daughter s side with weapon upraised. There stood the 
 two women side by side, fair Amazons, one the very coun 
 terpart of the other, save in the marks of riper age, and 
 both with faces grim and determined. No wonder the 
 braggart started back, and gazed upon them with appalled 
 face and uplifted hands. 
 
 Now from the back part of the house a shout was raised, 
 and the clatter of men climbing the kitchen garden fence^ 
 was heard, and a rush of footsteps over the ground. A 
 crowd of Luke Latimer s friends, headed by John and 
 Andy Burbeck, had come to the rescue. 
 
 The moment of silence and intense excitement that 
 fell, was startled by a rifle shot. Then came the dull thud 
 of a falling body on the gravelly path before the cabin 
 door. A voice from the mob, with a note of horror therein 
 cried: "Luke Latimer is shot!" 
 
 Mrs. Latimer turned about, dropped her weapon and 
 with a shriek of agony flew to her husband, who lay prone 
 upon his face, his feet resting upon the threshold of his 
 home. Another rifle shot followed, and the whistle of a 
 harmless bullet over Davy Dandruff s head, as John Lati 
 mer s hand struck up Meg s piece, and wrenched it from 
 her grasp. A swift and measureless transformation from 
 disappointed fury to surprised affection passed over the 
 maid s face, as she saw who had thus disarmed her. 
 
 "Go to father, Meg! This is no work for women!" said 
 John. 
 
 "With a quick glance and one sharp cry, Meg sprang to 
 her mother s aid. John, endowed with that strength which 
 seizes the human frame in moments of loftiest rage, laid 
 hands on Davy and hurled him over the fence into the 
 midst of the mob; a feat which for years thereafter was the 
 talk and wonder of the countryside. 
 
 "Away!" he shouted, "or we will open fire upon you!" 
 
 But there was a power at work among the rioters 
 mightier than John s strength, greater than fear of the 
 armed and angry friends around him, the force of con 
 science. They had heard the cry, "Luke Latimer is 
 killed!" They had seen the prostrate form, and although 
 
344 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 no one knew what hand among them had fired the 
 shot, every man knew that the responsibility might fall 
 upon himself. They had meant violence, but not murder. 
 The indignity of a few moment s ride upon a rail was their 
 utmost intention; and few of them, if they had been 
 wholly sober, would have gone that far with one so widely 
 honored as Luke. A panic seized them, and before the 
 force of their own disquieted consciences they turned and 
 fled, leaving their half -stunned leader lying in the dust of 
 the road, and the oaken rail, with Meg s tomahawk still 
 cleaving to it, leaning against the picket fence where its 
 bearer had dropped it. 
 
 Luke was tenderly carried into the house and laid upon 
 the couch, while a neighbor hurried away for the surgeon. 
 
 "Where was he hit? I cannot find the wound!" ex 
 claimed Mrs. Latimer. With Meg s aid, she had stripped 
 the wammus from off the unconscious man, and unbuttoned 
 his shirt. "There s not a drop of blood annywheres, axcep 
 a little oozin here from the bandages round his poor 
 hurted arm." 
 
 A crowd of anxious friends had hurried into the cabin, 
 as folks will do in like cases, craning their necks and gap 
 ing curiously to see and hear and mayhap also to help, but 
 only succeeding in shutting off what is commonly most 
 needed by the sufferer fresh air. Meg, noting her 
 mother s remark, pushed her way through this crowd to the 
 door. She picked up Luke s rifle, which lay unnoticed 
 near the doorstep. She threw back the trigger; the prim 
 ing can w r as powderless. She blew into the muzzle; the 
 piece was empty, and the touch of her lips showed it to be 
 still warm with a late discharge. She returned to the 
 house, carrying the rifle. 
 
 "See!" she said, "father no shot at all! He came to 
 help mother and Meg, but too much sick to stand that! His 
 gun go off himself afore ready, zizz! away into the air!" 
 
 Meg was right. Forgetting his wounds in his eager 
 ness to protect his wife and daughter, Luke had taken his 
 rifle from the bracket, and had run to the door. But in the 
 very act of going forth his strength had failed, and he 
 sank in a swoon. His piece was discharged by the fall, and 
 the bullet flew harmless. 
 
 Yet, still the tidings ran through the village and among 
 the voters: "Luke Latimer is killed!" Those concerned 
 
THE LATIMERS. 345 
 
 in the riot had already taken horse and left the tavern. 
 They took with them Davy Dandruff, who by this time had 
 recovered, and though bruised and sore from his rough 
 handling, was able to mount. 
 
 "Dawgon John Latimer!" he muttered, as he rode off, 
 supported by his comrade. "He downed me at Bower Hill, 
 an I swore I d pay him back the nex time we met. I 
 hain t done it, rot his ornary hide! But lemme meet him 
 agin jist wanct more! The third time s the charm. The 
 stuck-up bullion! Oh! Jiminy! Ouch! Don t trot the 
 horse so hard, boys! Drat him! I ll 
 
 "Shut up, Dave!" exclaimed his supporter. "Talk s 
 cheap! You hurry up now, or you ll git your dratted neck 
 stretched for Luke Latimer. An our n, too. Come along! 5 
 And the doughty David came along. 
 
 The riot was ended. The vigor went out of it with the 
 exit of the roughs who followed Dandruff or rather had 
 urged him on. Even when the truth was learned as to 
 Luke Latimer s accident, the sobering effects of the first 
 report remained, and the Testing of the People was re 
 sumed, and went on in peace. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVII. 
 
 THE TAMIXG OP MEG LATIMER. 
 
 Our histor3 r of these children of the frontier has antici 
 pated, by a few days, the incidents following Meg Latimer s 
 return home. It was a strange life to which the untamed 
 child of nature was introduced, and which she must assimi 
 late. It had much of freedom and gladness and peace; 
 but there were checks and fetters which sorely fretted at 
 times. And puzzles? They met her everywhere. Some 
 she mastered. Some she could not solve. All kept her 
 poor untutored brain in a whirl, and sent her to bed at 
 night wearier from wrestling therewith than she had ever 
 been after the longest march with Shawnee hunting bands. 
 
 After all, love and friendship are the chief factors in 
 civilizing our race. These masterful emotions wrought 
 most strongly toward the remaking of Meg Latimer. Her 
 love of her parents and of John, though a new-born pas- 
 
346 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 sion, was full orbed from its birth. To be like those loved 
 ones, to please them and win their approval, were the 
 strongest incentives to abandon the old ways. "Friendship, 
 too, came in and wrought with its gentle but potent force. 
 It happened in this wise. 
 
 Almost the first act of John Latimer when the trans 
 ports of Meg s welcome were over, was to run up to the 
 McCormack house to tell Fanny the good news. He would 
 not be satisfied until Fanny had promised to come early 
 the next morning, before any one else had arrived, and be 
 the first to meet his sister Meg. So she did, and as drops 
 of drew within a lily corol run together when the wind 
 shakes the flower, these two spirits at once blended in 
 mutual sympathy. It was beautiful to see how Meg s soul 
 was knit with Fanny s. "Sister Fanny!" so John had called 
 her. So she would be, and so she was, with a love that 
 was never broken; for such friendship outlives time s 
 changes not only, but time itself. The quality of that 
 companionship which Meg found in Fanny was such as not 
 John, nor Luke, nor Polly could give. It was not superior 
 but different. It was something apart, and of its own kind, 
 and influenced her as did nothing else, and helped to shape 
 her after that new mode of womanhood toward which she 
 strove. Thus friendship became ally with love to deliver 
 the paganized maid from the trammels of her past life. 
 
 Her mother was often perplexed, and indeed vexed, 
 though she never showed it, over Meg s preferences among 
 the womanly handicrafts which she at once began to learn. 
 For example, Mrs, Polly was the pink of tidiness in her 
 household arrangements. Against dust and disorder she 
 waged ceaseless warfare. The one thing that most fretted 
 her in Luke and John, was their incurable habit of muss 
 ing and tumbling things. It was a great blow to her 
 housewifely pride, when she saw that her daughter took 
 rather after father and brother than after her own dainty 
 ways. Gracious Heavens! would this dear child be a slat 
 ternly housekeeper? the accursed savages, who had 
 wrought this ill! 
 
 Patience, good mother! The habits of the wigwam will 
 not wash off from a human soul as readily as dust-marks 
 from your cabin floor. In sooth, it was natural that Meg 
 should like to see things in a state of nature. Nature is a 
 tidy housekeeper, and forever busy cleansing herself, and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 347 
 
 removing from her demesne the waste and litter and filth 
 of living creatures, and of man the greatest offender of 
 them all. Yet her methods are not so artificial, and are 
 more leisurely than the model housewife would approve. 
 Let this be our apology for Meg, whose taming was never 
 quite complete in -these matters. 
 
 She did not take kindly to broom and whisk, to 
 mop and brush. To sweep and dust, to scrub and scour, 
 to slosh and slop about with bucket and mop she did not 
 like. Nay, decidedly she disliked it, rather. Hugh! the 
 dust got into nostrils and eyes and offended them, so that 
 she sniffed and ran out into the fresh air. The water, too, 
 dabbled her skirts and wet her moccasins. It was all so 
 nasty! To toss up the house, to put things into chaos, 
 and make much clutter and mess, and be so clarty, that 
 one might be clean, that puzzled Meg. 
 
 So also did her mother s insistence on a certain order 
 prescribed for the household furniture. "You must do it 
 thus and so!" bade Mrs. Polly, setting the chairs primly 
 against the wall, and the table squarely in the centre of 
 the room, and the couch here, and so on with the other 
 articles. "Don t you see how much better it looks? how 
 trig, and tidy and Christian-like." 
 
 But Meg did not see. Alas! she could not; for her 
 taste had been hopelessly perverted and her vision set 
 awry by her long and close familiarity with Nature s care 
 less way of setting things about. No doubt, no doubt! 
 Nature is a geometer in other fields than crystal making. 
 But after all, one has to be taught to see the beauty of 
 aligning things in rectangles and triangles. Patience, good 
 mother. Nature is sure in the end to yield to art! 
 
 Another of Meg s dislikes was the spinning wheel. She 
 saw her mother sit there, keeping the treadle going, 
 tramp! tramp! She loved to listen to the droning 
 hum-m-mm of the flyers, which reminded her of the lazy 
 buzzing of insects as in her captive days she loitered on the 
 tussocks of soft grass beside some gurgling brook, and spun 
 and spun day dreams of her white kindred and home. But 
 though she tried the task, and longed to please her mother 
 by learning, she could not bring herself to it. 
 
 Tramp, tramp! Tush! She could not abear it! And 
 she put the wash-tub work in the same category. Slavish 
 toil! Far, far harder than hoeing the green, growing 
 
348 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 maize in Indian cornfields! Perhaps, there are other 
 women who, even in our day, may look at the matter in the 
 same light, only substituting sewing machines and the like 
 for spinning wheels; and thereby they doubtless prove 
 their lack of perfect civilization. But one day Meg visited 
 Fanny McCormack when she happened to be working with 
 the big spinning wheel. Aha! that was quite another 
 affair. The erect attitude, the motion to and fro, the 
 graceful and continuous action all caught her fancy, and 
 she begged to be taught the use of this instrument. 
 
 "A strange whimsey, indeed!" her mother thought, who 
 did not see the fine points of difference in the methods of 
 the two machines. Was not spinning, spinning? Yet she 
 lost no time in providing a great wheel, and this Meg had 
 carried to Fanny McCormack s house. There the two 
 maidens were often seen working together, accompanying 
 the buzzing of the wheels and whirr of the spools with 
 sound of their voices and merry laughter. In this pleasant 
 school Meg had many a lesson from Fanny, quickly and 
 thoroughly learned. 
 
 Here too came John Latimer and sat loitering on the 
 steps of the open cabin door, watching the graceful 
 workers, and spinning yarns of another sort to amuse them. 
 He gossiped and laughed, and listened with full content, 
 and added his own tutoring to Fanny s. He never had 
 happier days, often and often he said in after years. 
 
 Meg took to sewing not unkindly, but wrought at it 
 only indifferently well. Eough needlework she could do, 
 and had done often enough for Indian wear, but with 
 coarser tools and material than her mother bought for her 
 outfit. A complete outfit it must be, for the mystery of 
 underwear was foreign to her child. What had Indians to 
 do with that? Truth to tell it cost Meg some pain to disci 
 pline her body to it; for like children, and races which live 
 most closely to Nature, the extra garments irked her. But 
 once learned, she wondered how she could have borne their 
 absence in those old Indian days. 
 
 With embroidery it was otherwise. There were few 
 Indian maids in her tribe who had as deft a hand as she 
 for beadwork. Mind and fingers, taste and touch were 
 thus trained for the gentle art of broidery. In a little 
 while, she had exhausted all her mother s simple skill 
 therein. Then she passed into Fanny s hands, and soon 
 
THE LATIMERS. 349 
 
 had mastered all she knew; although Fanny had learned 
 dainty stitches and patterns brought from Philadelphia by 
 her friend Blanche Oldham. However, it was hard for Meg 
 to see why Fanny did not practice her art more for her own 
 adornment. Meg had planned a dress for herself, bright 
 with beadwork, and covered with broidery. Fanny tried 
 to show her that it was not in good taste. 
 
 "What for you learn all this, then?" cried Meg, impa 
 tiently. "What for you teach Meg? That foolish, if you 
 no use it ! I think Indian maidens wiser than white women 
 for loving painted skins, as they call them. Sister Fanny 
 very beautiful. Why not dress beautiful? The Great 
 Spirit has made her with bright blue eyes, and bright red 
 in her lips, and pink on her cheeks, yes, and red, too, when 
 she blush so when John come sometimes. What for Good 
 Spirit do that? Mebbe that bad taste? Now, if Manitou 
 make Fanny s face pretty, why not Fanny make dress 
 pretty for herself with blue and red and pink? Meg no see 
 why. Fanny like flowers, Meg like flowers, Great Spirit 
 like flowers, too. He put them everywhere. He make 
 beautiful green dress for prairies and hills, and He put 
 flowers on them, too. Mebbe that not good taste? Fanny 
 better tell Great Spirit so! She no like to do that, hey? 
 Then what for Meg not put flowers and pretty things on 
 her dress; all over it if she like, as the Great Spirit does the 
 meadows and hills?" 
 
 No doubt you will say that her logic was as heathenish 
 as her taste. But she held to it until appeal was made to 
 John. Would one have believed it? John sided with 
 Fanny! Yet not exactly for Fanny s reason. With that 
 justice which is said to be the natural endowment of the 
 male temperament, he soothed Meg with at least a show of 
 assent to her argument. But he told her that the custom 
 was otherwise with white men, who liked to see their 
 women dressed plainly, though prettily. If she put on 
 beads and embroidery, and gauds and trinkets, folk might 
 think her an Indian. 
 
 Thereat, Meg abandoned her plan (for was not John 
 her oracle?), and cherished it only in her dreams. But it 
 took a hard tug of her will to get the fancy out of her 
 Indianized brain. It was perhaps well for the force of 
 John s reasoning that she could get no glimpse of a civilized 
 lady dressed for a ball, or, for that matter, of a party, of full- 
 dressed civilized gentlemen of the period. 
 
350 THE LATIMER8. 
 
 One thing gave Meg and her family unalloyed satisfac 
 tion, the household cooking. From childhood, cooking 
 was Meg s chief delight. The Shawnees had counted her 
 the best cook in the tribe, and had given her a name, which, 
 like a brave s war name, expressed their high sense of her 
 merits. It is musical enough in the Indian tongue, though 
 the best English equivalent one can find for it, is "Queen 
 of the Kettle." Meg was proud of it until she was quite 
 tame, when she ceased to boast of it, for her white friends 
 seemed to think that it had an uncivilized savor. It is true, 
 certain noble ladies of England, who are close to the 
 Queen s person, bear somewhat similar titles, as "Mistress 
 of the Kobes," and "Lady of the Bed Chamber/ But 
 these, perhaps, are relics of the semi-barbarous days of 
 Merry England. 
 
 However, no matter for the name; the fact re 
 mained, and of that she was never ashamed, and had no 
 cause to be. It had served her well in her Indian home. 
 Succohanos, her Shawnee father, was a glutton; and Win- 
 necheoh, the old hag his wife, was almost as hearty in her 
 love of the cookery as in her dislike of cooking. There 
 fore, when the braves sought Meg in marriage, for there 
 were few young bucks who did not covet her skill, to say 
 nothing of her comely person, her plea to be spared this 
 horror, which she had resolved never to submit to, found 
 support in the most sensitive part of the Indian s con 
 science, his stomach. Succohanos could not reconcile him 
 self again to commit that tender organ to his old squaw s 
 culinary bungling. Therefore he shook his head, and said 
 (the astute diplomat! he knew that much of civilization) 
 "All right! Succohanos is willing. He will speak to the 
 Queen of the Kettle. But he is iraid she will not mate 
 just now. You must sing very softly and very long in her 
 ear. She loves her ow r n w r igwam too well." 
 
 When the disappointed suitor came back to unburden 
 his chagrin, Succohanos looked solemn, though fairly 
 chuckling with inward satisfaction, and said: "Wait 
 awhile!" But Shawnee braves are philosophers; they had 
 neither learned to labor nor to wait and betook themselves 
 to other maids more complaisant of their addresses. As 
 to Winnecheoh, she could not endure the thought of going 
 back to the pots in her old age, and at the same time sub 
 mitting her dainty tooth to her own cookery. Therefore 
 
THE LATIMERS. 351 
 
 she encouraged no bucks to come a-courting at her wig 
 wam. 
 
 Mack-a-chach, the oldest son, would yield to no warrior 
 of his tribe in valiant deeds as a trencherman, when Meg 
 served as chef. Besides, he had hopes that some day he 
 would install this fair cook in a wigwam of his own. Hence 
 his influence was also on the side of Meg s celibacy. As 
 to Wappatomica, the second son, a youth of eighteen or so, 
 lie was Meg s most devoted squire and champion. Not 
 only because he was a good-natured fellow with many good 
 points (for a savage), but because Meg knew so thoroughly 
 how to cater to his robustious boyish appetite that he would 
 fairly have tomahawked the brave who would have dared 
 to deprive the wigwam of her presence and service. Thus 
 the family was unanimous in letting Meg have her way in 
 matrimonial affairs. With the mighty weapons of the 
 kettle, calabash and horn spoon, she had conquered her 
 freedom from the odious yoke of an Indian marriage. 
 Truly, as has been said "the pen is mightier than the 
 sword;" but as truly might it be said, if one dared to say it, 
 the pot is mightier than the pen! 
 
 There was one accessory of the art culinary, however, 
 that Meg heartily detested washing dishes. Give her 
 the materials and the tools, and she would cook the day 
 long with unflagging delight. Only, let someone clear 
 away for her! Her mother liked that kind of work (at least 
 so she said), and Meg, with true filial affection, would not 
 cross her liking. 
 
 Not the least novel feature of Meg s new experi 
 ence was the great change in her relations to the males 
 of her household and the community. In the presence 
 of white men, Meg long kept the feelings of an Indian 
 woman. To the white man, woman was a companion, an 
 object of tender care; as far as frontier exigencies would 
 allow, always to be protected and honored. To the red 
 man, woman was a servant, to plant and cook, to make 
 and mend, to bear children to her warrior and hunter hus 
 band. Frontier life gave scant space for formal courtesy; 
 but it kept at least that atmosphere of deference for 
 woman which belongs to civilization. 
 
 It was pretty to watch the conflict which the maiden 
 now must wage between the old life of savagery, 
 unconsciously swaying her actions, and the new, nobler life 
 
352 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 which began to open before her. Self-suppression, 
 service of, even servility to the male were enthroned 
 with all the force and authority of long habit. How 
 could these at once be dropped from look and speech 
 and manner? How could she learn to take on her 
 the new yoke of subjection to a caretaker? After all, 
 her mind was at times so confused, that she seemed to see 
 in the treatment of the men of the two races the same sense 
 of superiority and sovereignty, only expressed by different 
 methods. Before she was done with it all, she was not quite 
 sure which method was the least agreeable to her, at times. 
 
 This was only one of the social problems with which the 
 untutored mind had to grapple. For example, that was 
 a rude experience which came to her on the day for the 
 Testing of the People, not a week after her return home. 
 A drunken quarrel and fight were no novelties to her; and 
 there was nothing complex in her method of dealing with 
 the rioters before her father s house. The whole affair was 
 a simple one from her Indian standpoint; and so continued 
 until her friends began to explain matters from their civil 
 ized coign of vantage. To Meg s thoughts the riot was 
 merely a matter of natural male pugnacity plus firewater! 
 How shall one explain the muddle that befell her intellect 
 when her mother tried to make things plain? 
 
 "Taxes?" She had not the faintest idea of such mat 
 ters. "Bevenue to support the government?" The phrase 
 had no meaning to her. In vain did friends explain that 
 this meant to pay the officers of the government. What! 
 Meg indignantly exclaimed: Pay your chiefs and warriors? 
 Ha! ha! That was indeed strange, that white warriors 
 must be paid for doing their duty to their tribe! And that 
 any warrior would want wampum and gifts for the honor 
 of being chief and ruler of his nation? Most wonderful! 
 Incomprehensible, that, to a savage mind. And did white 
 men pay their chiefs, medicine men, sages and head war 
 riors for making palaver in the great Council House at 
 Philadelphia? That was the most amusing and amazing 
 of all that she learned as to the \ises of revenue. Did not 
 the wisdom of eve^v sa^e end warrior belong to his tribe? 
 Was not %e 7oung brave proud when the day came that 
 \n opinion was asked in the Council of his people? Take 
 *aoney for this duty? Hugh! you would find no Shawnee 
 \uite so low as that! 
 
THE LATIMEES. 353 
 
 But the most puzzling thing about it all was that the 
 trouble came of making fire-water. Meg had decided 
 views on that point, which her Indian experience had 
 taught her. Bless you! she had no more idea of "prohibi 
 tion" than anybody else a century ago. Bat if the key of 
 the bottomless pit had been in her keeping, and all the 
 white men s fire-water under her hand, there would have 
 been a swift decanting of it adown that "easy way" to 
 Avernus, over which so many of its victims unhappily have 
 gone. Poor pagan child! She would not have earned a 
 seat in Parliament, or a baronetcy or earldom in Great 
 Britain; or a mayoralty or aldermanship or police cap 
 taincy or such matter, in America, had she lived in these 
 enlightened times. To Meg these and many other things 
 were indeed a muddle! Her head ached, and she would 
 give up the puzzle. Would she ever learn the crooked 
 ways of white men? She began to perceive that, in many 
 cases, she must (as the minister had informed her) walk 
 s by faith and not by sight. 
 
 AValk by faith? So comes into view Meg s religious 
 training. On the Sabbath following her arrival, she went 
 with the family "to church." It did not occur to anyone 
 that her mind was an utter blank concerning public wor 
 ship. So she walked into the "Great Council House/ 
 quite unconscious of the many curious eyes that were 
 turned upon her; a civilized act which her Indian rever 
 ence for sacred things would not permit her to indulge or 
 even imagine. Her first great surprise came at the open 
 ing psalm. The minister announced the one hundreth 
 Psalm beginning: 
 
 All people that on earth do dwell, 
 Sing^to the Lord with cheerful voice ; 
 
 Him serve with mirth, his praise forth tell, 
 Come ye before Him and rejoice. 
 
 The precentor arose in his little desk before the pulpit, 
 and intoned the first line, Meg following all with absorbed 
 attention. Then a strange thing happened. The profound 
 silence was broken by a mighty shout, which burst at once 
 from the throats of all the people: 
 
 "A-aw-11 Pee-eep! " 
 
354 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Meg sprang to her feet like a startled fawn, and gazed 
 around upon the shouting throng. Her face betrayed the 
 mingled wonder and fear that agitated her. Why should 
 the people raise a war-whoop? A vague terror seized her, 
 and she was tempted to fly, until she saw that all was 
 peaceful around her, and that her own family shouted 
 with the rest. She sank to her feet with burning cheeks; 
 and her mother, seeing that she had made some strange 
 mistake, put her arm. around her and whispered: "They 
 are only singing, dear, singing the psalm." 
 
 Then Meg was pacified, but little wiser as yet. Few 
 had noticed the maiden s act, except those quite near her 
 seat; some of whom, having had civilized and not Indian 
 training, could not control their faces, and showed signs 
 of merriment. But this first experience gave Meg a dis 
 relish for psalm singing which was long in wearing away. 
 
 The remainder of the service passed without incident 
 and almost without interest, as far as Meg was concerned. 
 No word, at least no thought of the sermon, did she com 
 prehend. Yet those who from time to time glanced at the 
 maid were much moved at the signs of rapt attention in her 
 steadfast and reverent attitude. The preacher, too, noted 
 it, drawn by that mysterious fascination which attracts pub 
 lic speakers toward an attentive hearer. She did not shift 
 uneasily in her pew, or glance here and there, or yawn, or 
 play with the pages of Bible or Psalm Book, as many civil 
 ized Christians are wont to do. Like an Indian auditor, 
 she gave respectful hearing until the speaker ended his 
 sermon, which passed the hour, that day. 
 
 The one morsel of light that reached Meg s mind, came 
 from the Scripture reading. The Gospel lesson was the 
 XVth of St. Luke. The parable of the lost sheep and the 
 parable of the woman s lost coin, and that "pearl of the 
 parables," the Prodigal Son, held her mind enchained to 
 the reader s lips until the story ended. Unconsciously, she 
 threw her own personality into the characters; and espe 
 cially saw, in the despoiled lad in the far country, her own 
 wretched state when prisoner among the Shawnees. Then 
 came the return home the good father s welcome the 
 merry-making the new clothes the feasting. Imagina 
 tion eliminated all the facts foreign to her case, and trans 
 fused the incidents with her own happenings, so that no 
 matter what the clergyman read, it was Meg, once lost, 
 now found, that moved through the scenes. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 355 
 
 And that good father! was he not here by her side? 
 Ay, and surely the good mother, too; for Meg supplied that 
 seeming omission in the story. But there was no grudging 
 and grumbling brother, ah no! She dismissed that fellow 
 with scorn; for her brother was dear John, so brave, so 
 generous, so kind! 
 
 Behind the imagery, too, although the Image was not 
 clearly limned, moved another and a higher form, even 
 the Great Spirit whom she had learned in her mother s 
 first bedside prayer to know as the Good Father in Heaven. 
 It needed no ministerial finger to point out this Gracious 
 Presence; but the Doctor seemed to bring Him more closely 
 to her mind s eye by the words of explanation that he 
 dropped, here and there, as he read on. She saw, and wor 
 shipped with a heart brim full of gratitude for her restora 
 tion to a home so sweet, to friends so true, to happiness so 
 great, to a hope which in the dark days of captivity had 
 well nigh been quenched. Perhaps, in the eye of Heaven, 
 there was no more acceptable worship in the Hill Sanc 
 tuary, that day, than this simple homage of the untaught 
 maid. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 EN KOUTE TO THE CAMP AT CARLISLE. 
 
 The Western Counties Convention that had met at 
 Parkinson s Ferry, reassembled October 2d at the same 
 place. It was composed of delegates from the various 
 townships of the six counties involved in the anti-excise 
 disorders. The meeting was temperate, loyal and concilia 
 tory. Mr. Findley, a Representative in Congress, and 
 David Reddick were appointed special Deputies to wait 
 upon President Washington, either at Philadelphia, the 
 seat of government, or at Carlisle camp, to assure him of 
 the willing submission of the people, and dissuade him 
 from sending an armed force west of the mountains. 
 
 The "Army of the Western Expedition," as it was offi 
 cially called, was already encamped in several divisions on 
 the eastern foothills of the Alleghenies. The Maryland 
 Brigade, under General Smith, was at Williamsport. The 
 Virginia troops, commanded by General Morgan, the 
 
356 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 famous Kevolutionary hero of Cowpens, was at Fort Cum 
 berland, on the banks of the Potomac. The brigades of 
 New Jersey, under General Howell, and of Pennsylvania, 
 under Generals Irvine and Chambers, were encamped at 
 Carlisle where Washington had his headquarters. 
 
 To Carlisle, therefore, Messrs. Findley and Reddick 
 prepared to go to lay the people s commission before his 
 Excellency. John Latimer had ridden over to the Parkin 
 son s Ferry meeting with a message from his father, and 
 was invited and urged to accompany the Deputies as secre 
 tary. John felt it his duty to accept, conditioned upon his 
 father s approval. Luke, who had now so far recovered 
 from the effect of the Testing riot as to be able to go about 
 the house, not only approved, but insisted upon his accept 
 ing, and John prepared to set out. 
 
 The Deputies had asked him to engage some suitable 
 person to attend the party as guide and general factotum, 
 a post which was forthwith offered to Mr. Andy Burbeck 
 and accepted. The season was the halycon time of the 
 American year. The air was balmy, the trees aflame with 
 autumn colors, and the haze of October hung its veil above 
 hills and valleys. 
 
 The beauty of nature may temper human fears and 
 soothe a mind disturbed, but it cannot remove the irritat 
 ing causes of trouble. The Deputies were weighed down 
 with a sense of their responsibility, a feeling which John 
 fully shared, and to which Andy was not indifferent. 
 Their anxiety was increased by the rumors which met them 
 as they advanced. They heard that the army was in an 
 ungovernable rage against the people of the Western 
 Counties. The soldiers denounced them one and all as 
 guilty, and made mighty threats what they would do 
 when they once got to the rank land of traitors. 
 
 One evening the delegation chanced to be belated in 
 reaching Hartley s, a wayside inn beyond Bedford, at which 
 they had meant to put up for the night. The curling 
 smoke of a fire amidst a clump of oaks, marked where a 
 party was bivouaced on the banks of Raystown Branch. 
 
 "Why not take pot luck with the campers for the 
 night?" suggested John. 
 
 "Will we be welcome?" 
 
 "Surely!" was the reply. "Backwoods hospitality is 
 boundless. You will find no true forester so churlish as 
 
THE LATIMERS. 357 
 
 to chase the belated traveller or hunter from his camp. 
 But these folks are probably emigrants, and therefore 
 eager to greet strangers who can tell them somewhat about 
 the new land to which they are bound." 
 
 "Well, then/ said Deputy Findley, "go forward with 
 the guide and reconnoitre/ 7 
 
 "Ay/ 7 quoth Andy. "It is iver better to look afore you 
 lape." The two galloped to a low rise in the road, whence 
 they got a nearer view of the bivouac. 
 
 "They are soldiers!" exclaimed John. 
 
 "It s soldiers they are!" echoed Andy. "Bad cess til it! 
 The army s got intil the mountains a ready, an here s the 
 vanguard. Our honorable Deputies may as well turn tail 
 an get them back to their deputes. A misdoubt they ll have 
 their labor for their pains. The rubicund is crossed! as 
 the toper said, when the rim of his drinking cup touched 
 the bridge of his red nose. We re in for a campaign, and 
 Heaven only knows what trouble and losses." 
 
 "No, no, Andy; you must be wrong. The army is still 
 safe enough in Carlisle. Our advices make that beyond a 
 doubt. But I can t guess who these fellows are; so we 
 shall take no risk, and wait till the Deputies come up." 
 
 These gentlemen concluded to ride boldly forward and 
 take their chances. Coming into the camp, and being halted 
 by the sentinel, they called for the commanding officer. 
 Thereupon who should appear but Lieutenant now Cap 
 tain Ruel Burd, who greeted John cordially, and gave 
 hearty welcome to the Deputies. 
 
 The presence of soldiers west of the mountains was soon 
 explained. Capt. Burd had been sent to Philadelphia on 
 recruiting service for the Army of the Frontier, and had 
 got thus far on his return journey with a battalion of 
 recruits for Wayne s Legion. While Andy looked after the 
 horses, the Deputies were shown to the tent in which they 
 had been assigned quarters, and John fell into conversation 
 with Capt. Burd. He learned that both officers and men 
 lamented the hard luck that had detained them from the 
 excitement and honors of the Indian campaign. Capt. 
 Burd was especially chagrined that such an opportunity 
 for duty and distinction had escaped him. 
 
 Perhaps, John suggested, with a smile, there was some 
 compensation in Miss Oldham s presence in the capital 
 city? For his part, there was more than one occasion on 
 
358 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 which he would have gladly exchanged his share of the 
 honors of the day for a far less valuable price than a glance 
 of her bright eyes. No doubt, Capt. Burd had seen Miss 
 Oldham, and he ventured to hope had found her well? 
 
 Yes, he had seen her often, as she had gone back to 
 Philadelphia shortly after the Bower Hill affair. She was 
 well, and as charming as ever, and had often talked of her 
 exciting western experiences. 
 
 John longed to push his queries further, and find out, 
 if he might do so, whether he had any place in these con 
 versations?- And if so, what impression Blanche had got 
 as to his unlucky part in the riot? But he would not ask 
 outright, and scorned to seek information by finesse and 
 indirection. Nay, he would not have Capt. Burd suspect 
 that he was thus exercised, though indeed there seemed 
 no reason for that feeling. Should not every true man be 
 concerned to stand well with those whom he esteems? So 
 he reflected, and inwardly chafed; but kept silent upon 
 that point, and changing the subject asked if Gen. Neville 
 was with the army. 
 
 Capt. Burd believed that he was, or at least would join 
 it at Bedford and accompany it to Pittsburg. He was nat 
 urally highly inflamed against those who had destroyed 
 his home, and caused the banishment of himself and 
 friends. He would not rebuild at his old Bower Hill seat, 
 but had bought on Montour s Island below Pittsburg, and 
 intended to make a home there for his closing years. 
 
 The Deputies now joined them, and asked: "What is 
 the feeling in the army toward the Western people?" 
 
 "Most unfriendly," was the answer; "especially among 
 the volunteers and substitutes. The militia who responded 
 to the call for their services, have greater sympathy with 
 the people. But even they are in bad humor over the loss 
 involved by absence from farms and business, and are 
 vexed with those who have compelled this sacrifice." 
 
 "Do they not understand that only a part of the people 
 have been concerned in the riots and disorders?" 
 
 "They are quite ignorant of the details. They count 
 all the population of the Western Survey as insurgents. 
 The Bower Hill fight and Braddock s Field muster have 
 been painted in high colors by orators who stumped the 
 States for volunteers. I think most of the soldiers have an 
 idea that they are to meet a large army of frontier riflemen: 
 
THE LATIMERS. 359 
 
 They count on serious work, and many young men 
 have great ambition to distinguish themselves as their 
 fathers did in the war for Independence." 
 
 "Can t the officers control their troops?" asked Deputy 
 Findley. "They are men of experience for the most part, 
 and ought to restrain their men from violence." 
 
 "No doubt; and they are trying to do it. The majority 
 of the troops consist of men of good character and position; 
 but there is no denying that there is a lot of riff-raff among 
 them, hired substitutes from Philadelphia and vicinity, 
 who are in for the pay and bounty and hope of plunder. 
 They are the chaps who usually start the trouble, and you 
 know how it is in all organized bodies. There is a bond 
 of sympathy and a clannish spirit that leads one to stand 
 by his comrade, even if he is wrong. 
 
 "Besides, it always takes some time to get large num 
 bers of men, coming from various sections and conditions, 
 especially when they are out for a short expedition, 
 wrought into homogeneous shape, so that all will respond 
 quickly and freely to one will. I have heard that, at one 
 time, some of the regiments at Carlisle were in such a 
 mutinous temper, that other troops had to be called out 
 to overawe them, and for a time it looked as if they would 
 expend their military ardor upon one another. However, 
 President Washington s arrival put matters to rights, and 
 the firm action of Generals Chambers and Irvine convinced 
 the disorderly that discipline would be enforced." 
 
 "What kind of a reception would the Deputies be likely 
 to get?" asked John. 
 
 Capt. Burd hesitated. "That will depend upon your 
 selves," he said, turning to the Deputies. "At all events, 
 gentlemen, you have only to do your duty, as you under 
 stand it; and in all times of civil disorder such con 
 duct has its perils as well as its rewards." In that senti 
 ment the Deputies heartily agreed, and resolved to go for 
 ward upon their patriotic and merciful errand. 
 
 When the drums beat tattoo, the Deputies retired to the 
 tent assigned them as guests of distinction. Andy was led 
 off by the sergeants, and Capt. Burd shared his tent with 
 John. Long after taps had sounded for lights to be 
 quenched, and silence had fallen on the camp, the two 
 young men lay side by side discussing, in low tones, the 
 threatening affairs that overhung the new Eepublic, with 
 
360 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 that happy blending of sympathy and divergence of temper 
 and opinion which gives both interest and satisfaction to 
 conversation. From national events and men they passed 
 to reminiscence; to the lighter news and gossip of army 
 and society; to the charms of forest life; to the bayonet 
 as an effective arm, and Mad Anthony Wayne s use of it 
 against the Indians at Fallen Timbers; to the superiority 
 of the long American rifle for both infantry and cavalry; 
 to the shooting match at Legionville; to well, to a dozen 
 matters that just bordered upon the one subject that was 
 uppermost in both minds, but which neither cared to 
 touch upon Blanche Oldham. 
 
 Is it not commonly believed that men cannot be gener 
 ous rivals for the affection of a woman? Is it not held 
 that sexual love is a selfish passion which consumes friend 
 ship and all kindly sentiments, and kindles the basilar 
 passions against opposition, and converts human beings, 
 whether male or female, into ravening beasts ? "All things 
 are fair in love or war," is a motto so commonly approved, 
 that one expects but halting courtesy to the statement that 
 two men of normal masculinity, and more than average 
 vigor of mind and body, and by habit and profession war 
 riors, could love the same woman, yet cherish towards one 
 another feelings free from malice and prejudice and hos 
 tility, and over which no shadow of a dishonorable thought 
 had fallen or could fall. 
 
 Here lay two men, sharing the same rude couch, each 
 of whom believed the other to be the only one who could mar 
 his hopes of winning a noble lady s affection. Yet neither 
 one of them would have been guilty of a dishonorable act 
 toward the other, though thereby he could have won the 
 coveted prize. As Capt. Burd and John Latimer talked, 
 that night, and opened up mutual glimpses of character, 
 each saw qualities that seemed to make his rival more 
 formidable. And the two hearts were drawn closer rather 
 than repelled by the revelation. Their common affection 
 seemed to unite them, instead of separating; as kindred 
 bits of steel are joined to one another by the magnet which 
 attracts them both. The interchanges of that evening 
 sealed a friendship that, although severely strained by un 
 expected events swiftly rushing upon them, was never 
 broken. 
 
 It was midnight ere they said good-night, and each 
 
THE LATIMERS. 361. 
 
 wrapped in his own blanket turned to sleep, lulled by the 
 splash and gurgle of the mountain brook on whose banks 
 their tent was pitched. At last John slept; yet, a new ex 
 perience for him, his sleep was troubled by dreams. One 
 dream was so vivid that it awoke him. He was sitting up 
 with hands outstretched, and his heart throbbing rapidly. 
 A brand had just fallen from the camp fire with a sharp 
 thud upon the coals and ashes beneath, and kindling by its 
 fall, shot a lurid streak across the tent door. Thereat a 
 night owl darted from a neighboring tree, with a mournful 
 hoo-to-hoo! These sounds made more gruesome and in 
 tense the vision that had startled him; it may be they had 
 given bent or even suggestion to it. 
 
 It seemed to him, in his dream, that he was walking 
 with his father along the edge of a mountain cliff. Sud 
 denly the ground crumbled beneath their feet, carrying his 
 father with it towards the chasm. He threw himself flat 
 down, and reached forth in frantic effort to save him. In 
 vain! Both men were sinking into the deep gorge. John 
 saw the black depth, and far down the rocks and roaring 
 waters. The horror of death seized upon him. Then a 
 woman s form appeared upon the scene, mysteriously as 
 such things happen in dreams, and laying hands upon 
 him as he was gliding over the brink, pulled him back, and 
 he, clinging to his father, drew him also from peril. He 
 turned to look at his rescuer. It was Blanche Oldham! 
 He tried to utter his thanks, but speech failed him. 
 He held out his arms in an impulse of grateful love. The 
 figure, as by the touch of magic, was transformed into a 
 cloud; and from a cloud again into a human shape; and as 
 he gazed, lo! it was Fanny McCormack that he held in his 
 grasp! He could not sleep again. He cast one glance 
 at Capt. Burd who, with his shapely head resting on 
 one arm and a smile upon his handsome face, slept soundly, 
 and then noiselessly left the tent. 
 
 "He is dreaming of love, or honor, or home!" muttered 
 John, as he walked toward the brook. "Brighter dreams 
 than mine, at least! Dreaming? Is there anything in 
 dreams? No! Something in the mess last night didn t 
 agree with me. Yet hugh!" He shuddered as he 
 thought of the horror of the situation, so real had it all 
 seemed, from which he had been rescued. "Curious, too! 
 I could have sworn that it was Blanche Oldham that saved 
 
362 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 us. Yet, when I awoke, it seemed to be Fanny. I wonder 
 if all is well at home?" 
 
 The first streakings of dawn were tinging the east. 
 The autumn birds were beginning their matins. John 
 bathed his face and neck and chest in the cool waters of 
 the creek, and swung his naked arms in the air until they 
 were dried. Thus refreshed he sat down upon a mossy 
 boulder and watched the awakening of day until the camp 
 began to stir. The crisp air of the October morning was 
 cool enough to rob the rude camp couch of some of its 
 comfort, and the reveille found few stragglers among offi 
 cers and men. Soon the work of striking tents, and clear 
 ing away for the march filled the air with the pleasant din 
 of breaking camp. Ere it was done the Deputies party 
 had prepared for their journey, and with thanks, and good 
 words, and warm wishes for mutual welfare the chance 
 companions of the night exchanged farewells. 
 
 As they passed the crest of the Blue Ridge, and entered 
 the beautiful and fertile Cumberland Valley, they came 
 upon numerous traces of the army. The wide road was 
 dotted with herds of cattle which Bullock-Master Davis 
 Scarlett was forwarding towards Bedford for the use of the 
 troops. Here and there lines of wagons, freighted with 
 flour and whiskey, soap and salt, and other commissary 
 supplies, plodded along westward over the heavy roadway. 
 
 Herdsmen hallooed at their charges, and thwacked and 
 prodded them with their goads, and with screams and 
 curses followed them up the trails and byroads into which 
 they were constantly diverging. The wagoners thrashed 
 their teams, and fired at them those volleys of oaths which 
 from time immemorial have been held an essential motor 
 in advancing army trains. Herders and teamsters curi 
 ously eyed our travellers, and now and then a question 
 was asked. But for the most part they passed unnoticed. 
 
 To their left the South Mountain skirted the valley 
 with its ridge of hazy blue. On the right the North 
 Mountain showed in clearer outline, with McClure s Notch 
 sharply cut against the sky. The road ran almost straight 
 through the Walnut Bottom, which now gives its name 
 to the Great Eoad as it nears Carlisle. On either side 
 were stately growths of walnut and hickory, and long 
 strips of oak woods straggled across the valley, whose 
 foliage glowed in various shades of yellow and russet red. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 363 
 
 The travellers stopped for inquiry and refreshment at 
 a tavern, long ago destroyed by fire, and whose site still 
 bears the name of "Burnt House." But as the capacious 
 stableyard was filled with wagons, and the taproom 
 and premises crowded with teamsters and herders, they 
 pushed on a mile further, and took quarters for the night 
 at a capacious limestone house, in the midst of a grove of 
 silver maple and walnut trees that skirted the roadside. 
 It still stands in good condition, though long since trans 
 formed from a tavern to a farmhouse. 
 
 No incident of special interest marked the journey 
 until they halted at the tavern. During the last day s 
 travel the air had been thick with rumors of the hostile 
 spirit of the army, part of which had already begun to move 
 westward toward Bedford. Without revealing their official 
 errand the Deputies passed for travellers going to Phila 
 delphia. When the landlord learned that they were from 
 the Western counties, he expressed great alarm, and 
 pressed them to abandon the thought of going to Carlisle. 
 
 After consideiation, it was agreed that John and Andy 
 should enter the town with a letter from the Deputies to 
 President Washington, explaining the situation, and ask 
 ing him if they should advance. John was to appear in his 
 uniform and character as one of Wayne s scouts, coming 
 with a message to Gen. Washington, which, it was sup 
 posed, would at once disarm suspicion. Andy also assumed 
 the role of a scout and frontier boatman connected with 
 the Western army, and hoped to get on easily enough, 
 as he had done occasional service in both relations. 
 
 "Heaven presarve us from fallin in with Giner l Ni- 
 ville!" said Andy, as they set forth. "If the old man claps 
 eyes on us, we 11 hardly git out of this scrape with whole 
 skins. Pl ase God, A hope he hasn t yit got to Carlisle. 
 
364 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 JOHN LATIMER MEETS WASHINGTON AND HAMILTON. 
 
 Carlisle was at that period an important point in the 
 central line of traffic and emigration between the East 
 and the far border. It had all the appearance of a mili 
 tary station. The troops of Pennsylvania and New Jersey 
 were encamped in the Commons or open spaces along the 
 north bank of Le Tort Creek. As John and Andy entered 
 the town, regiments were being mustered for evening 
 dress parade. It was a gay and animated scene; but it had 
 a sad echo within the hearts of the two scouts, who thought 
 of the purpose of this martial display. 
 
 The horses were put up at the Black Bear Tavern, a 
 two-story limestone house on Hanover Street, not far from 
 the President s headquarters. John learned that Gen. 
 Washington could not be seen until the evening, and after 
 supper mixed with the crowd of officers who frequented 
 the tavern. Andy had taken pains to make known John s 
 part in the battle of Fallen Timbers, and that he bore a 
 message to the President, discreetly omitting further de 
 tails. John therefore found himself an object of much 
 interest and no suspicion, and freely satisfied curiosity as 
 to Wayne s army and the Indians. Inquiries about the 
 insurgents which followed, he answered guardedly; and, as 
 far as he could without awakening opposition, tried to 
 soften the officers feelings toward their fellow citizens of 
 the Western counties. But mindful of his instructions to 
 find out the army sentiment, he rather encouraged others 
 to talk, which they were free enough to do. 
 
 "See here!" said Capt. Cuttan Swing, entering the 
 circle in a highly excited state of mind. "Here s a pretty 
 how-de-do! I ve just got a Carlisle paper which reports 
 the coming of the rebel Deputies, and their errand to the 
 President. They want, forsooth, to prevent the march of 
 the army to the Monongahela. A pretty pass that would 
 be! After our hard marching and rough fare, our loss of 
 time and business, our sufferings and sacrifices, to lose the 
 satisfaction of meeting the enemy! We won t stand such 
 fooling; not we! Could we once get our hands upon these 
 
THE LATIMEBS. 365 
 
 Deputies, and all other intriguers and rebel leaders, they 
 should be shot or hung to the first tree!" 
 
 "Ay; let us once come face to face with the insurgents!" 
 cried Ensign McKillen, a sallow-cheeked youth with pim 
 ples and bow legs. Thereupon he clapped hand to his sword 
 which plainly he had not been used to wear. "By all that s 
 good and bad, I swear there d be no need of judges and 
 jury. Let s only see the men, and we ll skewer em!" 
 
 Gen. Ledger Bloodson, a little way from this circle of 
 juniors, was venting his displeasure at the President for 
 encouraging, as he had understood he had done, the ad 
 vances of the Deputies. He walked back and forth before 
 the tavern window, and railed at Washington for his mis 
 judged clemency. "No treaty with traitors!" he cried. 
 "No confabs and no compromises! Powder and ball, sword 
 and bayonet, prison and confiscation, that s the remedy 
 for insurrection! The President has gone too far in coun 
 tenancing the insurgents; and he will never recover the 
 popularity he has lost by doing so." 
 
 "I say!" exclaimed Lieut. Meneter, turning rather 
 sharply to John. "Mr. ah Mr. Scout, did you happen 
 to meet these fellows on your way from Fort Pitt?" 
 
 "Yes," John answered quietly. "I saw them at a 
 tavern on the road some distance back. I dare say they 
 will soon arrive in town." 
 
 "Did you ever hear of. such impudence! They oughtn t 
 to be allowed to come into camp. They ought to have 
 their infernal rebel necks twisted from the nearest tree." 
 
 "Well, sir," said John, quietly looking down upon the 
 swaggering blusterer, "you and Gen. Washington for it, 
 then. I understand that these Deputies from the Western 
 Counties are under the special protection of the President. 
 I wouldn t think it wholesome, for my part, to meddle with 
 them, until I had first settled matters with him. More 
 over, from what I learn, they come to sue for peace, and 
 make peaceful submission, and therefore have all the privi 
 leges of a flag of truce." 
 
 It was hard for John to hold his peace, and harder 
 still to disguise his feelings at hearing these babblings of 
 ill-informed men, whose hearts were full of pride and 
 ignorance; and the mouthings of blustering blades who 
 talked of worthy men and women as though they were 
 rats. He longed to prick their inflated braggadocio, and 
 
366 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 lest his temper should wax too hot, hastened to withdraw. 
 Throwing over his hunting shirt a long military cloak, he 
 sauntered forth. He walked the streets, and wandered 
 around the camps until the evening dusk admonished him 
 that the time drew near for his interview with the Presi 
 dent. Then he turned towards headquarters. 
 
 An officer passed him and saluted. "Good evening, 
 Major!" he exclaimed, and checking his pace, added: "Does 
 your regiment move to-morrow?" 
 
 John paused, and dropped his cloak, with which he had 
 muffled his face. "Excuse me, sir, did you speak to me?" 
 
 The officer stopped, hesitated a moment, and replied: 
 "Certainly I spoke, old fellow! What the deuce s the 
 matter with you? Oh! I crave your pardon! I see I was 
 mistaken. I took you for (John did not catch the name). 
 I ask your pardon." Again saluting, the officer walked on. 
 
 John slowly approached Washington s headquarters. 
 His emotions were highly wrought up with the thought 
 of meeting this great man. Since he had been able to 
 think for himself, he had venerated the very name of the 
 Father of his Country. His stainless honor, his blameless 
 character, the quenchless ardor of his patriotism, his 
 dauntless courage, his patience in adversity, his fertility in 
 expedients, his self-sacrifice for his country, his ardent 
 love of liberty, of these the young man knew, as did all 
 the nation and all the world. To the force and dignity of 
 this noble personality; to the equipoise of all his faculties 
 which gave a fullness of manhood that enabled him to meet 
 all situations with ability, and many with success; to the 
 majesty and purity and immovability of his convictions 
 and purposes, the colonies owed their independence and 
 the Eepublic its autonomy. 
 
 With all the strength and fervor of his youth, and fine 
 enthusiasm of his nature, John honored and loved this 
 exalted character, the Chief of the American Eepublic, 
 the worthiest citizen of the world. No wonder that, as 
 he approached the headquarters of the Commander-in- 
 chief, his feet moved more slowly, his heart beat more 
 quickly, and his mind was overawed at the thought that 
 he was soon to stand face to face with Washington. 
 
 The headquarters of the President had been fixed in a 
 house adjacent to the residence of Col. Ephraim Elaine, 
 which stood at the northeast angle of the Town Square and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 367 
 
 Hanover Street. In the corner house the President and his 
 staff were served with their meals. As Mrs. Elaine was an 
 invalid, Miss Susan Elaine presided at the table, every 
 morning riding in along Green Lane for that hospitable 
 duty from her house on Conodoquinet Creek. The offices 
 of the army headquarters were in the adjacent house, 
 which also was the property of Col. Elaine, and which 
 like its neighbor was a two-story limestone building. Its 
 mahogany stairway and panelled walls gave token that the 
 taste and luxury of the older settlements were already press 
 ing hard upon the borders of civilization. 
 
 As John drew near, the sentinel before the door instead 
 of halting him, as he had expected, came to a present arms, 
 and stood as if expecting him to pass on unchallenged. 
 "Strange!" he muttered. "How does this sentinel know 
 me, and that I have liberty to call on his Excellency?" He 
 passed the guard, but with lagging pace as fully expecting 
 to be recalled, and moved on toward the open door, at which 
 a captain in full uniform was in attendance. 
 
 Ere John had time to explain his mission, and whilo 
 fumbling for his letter from the Deputies, the officer spoke. 
 "Good evening, Major! Pass right in. I think Secretary 
 Hamilton is expecting you." So saying, he stepped to one 
 side, and waved John to enter. Then turning to a sentinel 
 who stood before the door to the left of the hall, he bade 
 him admit the gentleman at once. 
 
 John seemed as in a dream. AVhat could all this mean? 
 And that title again! What strange mistake was here? 
 Or, was it all a sort of masking to disguise his office as mes 
 senger, and conceal the fact of Washington s communica< 
 tion with the Deputies of the Insurgents? A nonsensical 
 thought, that! He must explain, 
 
 But the captain in attendance was already engaged in 
 conversation with some newcomer. The guard before the 
 Secretary s door had thrown it open, and by an impulse 
 that he seemed unable to resist, John was borne on and into 
 the room. At a desk which was lighted by two candles sat 
 a man much below the average height. He was writing, 
 as the door opened, and not looking up at once, John \vas 
 able to note his appearance. 
 
 Though small, he was well made, of light and active build. 
 His head was massive and finely shaped, its symmetry and 
 
368 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 poise showing a balanced and forceful mind. His skin had 
 an olive tinge, was almost swart; the eyes were deep set, 
 large, black and full of fire, his nose long and rather sharp; 
 the mouth well shaped, the lips closely set, the jaws strong 
 and firm; the spare, clean-cut features showed penetration 
 and force. Even in repose, as the face was bent down in 
 writing, there was a penetrating aspect that fairly signalled 
 the vigorous and incisive mind within. This was Washing 
 ton s Secretary of the Treasury, Col. Alexander Hamilton, 
 "The Little Lion," as his friends loved to call him. 
 
 John had never seen him before, but he knew him to 
 be one of the most remarkable men of his era, to whom 
 common belief assigned the chief agency in marshalling 
 the Army of the Western Expedition against the insur 
 gents. Even with the President in camp he was believed 
 to be the real motor of the expedition. Next to Washing 
 ton, John held him to be the greatest man in America. 
 But, although in full sympathy with him and his general 
 political views, he strongly felt that he had given undue 
 prominence to the excise riots, and in pursuit of a favorite 
 theory had welcomed and eagerly embraced, perhaps had 
 even fostered the opportunity to test the civil solidarity 
 and military power of the new Republic. 
 
 All this had passed swiftly before John s mind. In a 
 moment the Secretary s face, illumined by the candle light 
 on either side, was lifted up, and the beaming eyes turned 
 upon him. "Oh, it is you, Major. You are on time, as 
 usual. I have just made out an order for " 
 
 Major! There it was again! John s mind was in a 
 whirl of wonder and embarrassment. He would no longer 
 walk in this vain show. With deprecatory movement, he 
 advanced and held forth his letter. He must break the 
 spell! He began to speak, but Secretary Hamilton had 
 already perceived his error. 
 
 "Ah, I see I have made a mistake. The room is dimly 
 lighted, and really but, the resemblance is striking. 
 You are not 
 
 "No, Mr. Secretary/ John began, as Hamilton paused 
 in his speech. "I am Captain John Latimer, recently serv 
 ing as a scout with Gen. Wayne, and am here with a letter 
 to his Excellency President Washington, from the hon 
 orable Deputies of the people of the Western counties." 
 
 "Ah, yes. . We have been looking for them, and had 
 
THE LATIMERS. 369 
 
 learned that they were close at hand." Hamilton took 
 the offered letter and lifted a small bell to ring for a mes 
 senger; but still eyeing John curiously, he repeated, as if 
 speaking to himself: "A striking likeness! Only, this is 
 quite a young man." 
 
 He laid the bell down, and with a quick change of ex 
 pression, said: "You are the Secretary of the Western 
 Deputies, you say. They are in town, I suppose?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Secretary; they did not venture to come, on 
 account of the threatening rumors that met them. They 
 are lodged several miles beyond the village, and my errand 
 is to inform the President and ask for suitable protection." 
 
 "Hem! the shoe begins to pinch already, does it? One 
 of the Deputies is Mr. Findley, I believe." 
 
 John bowed. 
 
 "A representative in Congress from the Western coun 
 ties, is he not?" 
 
 "The same." 
 
 "Well, the people might have selected a more acceptable 
 representative, at least!" the Secretary remarked, speaking 
 rather pettishly, John thought, for so great a man. "He 
 has a grudge against myself, and has vented his ill will in 
 public letters and otherwise. I dare say, now, he has not 
 spared me to his travelling companions?" 
 
 John met Hamilton s penetrating glance with a look 
 in which his surprise at the question was not wholly con 
 cealed, but answered steadily. "Xot a word, sir, has been 
 spoken in my hearing that you might not have heard with 
 entire content." 
 
 "Ah? That is well! Perhaps I am unreasonable to 
 complain. One could hardly expect the Western people 
 to select a friendly delegate." 
 
 "Certainly, your Honor," John ventured to remark, 
 "they have every reason to do so; for they send a most 
 friendly message, and have everything at stake upon the 
 answer." 
 
 "A friendly message?" the Secretary responded. 
 "Haven t they taken a strange way to show their friendli 
 ness? ]STo doubt they begin to see the gulf into which 
 they have been plunging. Well, we shall see! They will 
 have a good opportunity to show their friendliness by help 
 ing us bring the chief offenders to justice. But enough of 
 this! No doubt, the President will see you at once, and I 
 24 
 
370 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 will go with you and present you myself." He rang his 
 little bell, and an orderly appeared. 
 
 "Say to his Excellency that, with his consent, Secretary 
 Hamilton will wait upon him at once." 
 
 In a few minutes the orderly announced that the Presi 
 dent would see the Secretary at his own convenience. 
 
 "Come, then!" said Hamilton; and followed by John 
 Latimer, he crossed the broad hallway. The guard threw 
 open the door and John stood in the presence of Washing 
 ton. The President rose as John was presented, and re 
 ceived him with a gracious manner that dispelled his em 
 barrassment. He carefully read the Deputies letter, which 
 the Secretary had given him, and a brief consultation fol 
 lowed between the two men. Then the President turned 
 to John. He spoke deliberately, almost slowly. His voice 
 was low but strong and his tones carefully modulated. 
 
 "I have asked Col. Hamilton to write a formal answer. 
 But you will say to the Deputies, from me, that they need 
 have no fear of either injury or insult. They will be pro 
 tected to the utmost extent of my authority; and if any 
 officer or soldier should so far forget himself as to do vio 
 lence to those who come as commissioners of peace, it will 
 go hard with him. When will you return?" 
 
 "I am to await your Excellency s pleasure." 
 
 "Then your letter shall be written at once; and, if you 
 please, you may deliver it to-night. I will meet the Depu 
 ties to-morrow at ten o clock. I observe," he continued 
 turning to the note in his hand, "that you were with the 
 army at Fallen Timbers. Were you in the battle?" 
 
 "I had that honor, your Excellency." 
 
 "To be sure! I observe now that Mr. Findley says 
 (again reading from the note) that you bear honorable 
 testimonials of service upon your person. Ah, I see!" He 
 glanced at the scar which furrowed the young man s face. 
 
 "I had the misfortune to receive several slight wounds," 
 said John; and his face glowed with honest pride until his 
 scar looked pale in the contrast. Never, thought he> was 
 war wound so magnificently recompensed as mine! 
 
 "When did you leave Wayne s army?" 
 
 "I left the last week in August." 
 
 "Soon after the battle, then? Your wounds, I suppose, 
 disabled you from duty." 
 
 "No, your Excellency; I had another reason, a personal 
 
THE LATIMERS. 371 
 
 one." My only sister was stolen by the Indians when a 
 young child, and by a happy Providence I found and recov 
 ered her while scouting near a Shawnee village a few days 
 before the battle. As there was little further need of 
 scouts, Gen. Wayne sympathized with my anxiety to restore 
 my sister to her parents, and released me from duty." 
 
 The greatest are commonly the most kindly of men, 
 and most keenly alive to the sentiments of common human 
 nature. It was, therefore, not strange that Presided Wash 
 ington and Secretary Hamilton should have been touched 
 by this story (though at the time, John thought it an 
 unwonted condescension), and delayed the young man 
 until he had briefly and modestly told how Meg was discov-- 
 ered and reclaimed. By the time the tale was told, a clerk 
 had written the letter to the Deputies, which the President 
 signed and sealed, and dismissed John with a politeness 
 and cordiality which warmed his inmost soul with grati 
 tude, and wrought for that interview a place in his memory 
 as the most honored event of his life. 
 
 "Heaven never granted me," said Washington, "the 
 pleasure of feeling a parent s love and anxiety for a child. 
 But I can have some measure of sympathy with your par 
 ents, both in their sorrow and their joy. Say to them, 
 from me, that I congratulate them, and share their grati 
 tude to God for His mercy in restoring their daughter." 
 
 John bow r ed low in acknowledgment of these gracious 
 words, then, deeply blushing and halting at first in his 
 speech, he replied: "Sir, these blessings would not have 
 come to us had it not been for the vigorous and successful 
 manner in which your administration planned and sup 
 ported Gen. Wayne s campaign against the Indians. To 
 the military honor which that campaign has brought, and 
 the blessings of peace which have won the gratitude of tha 
 settlers on the far frontier, I beg to add, for my parents 
 and myself, grateful thanks for your high share in bringing 
 to us the greatest joy that has ever come into our lives. 
 May God bless your Excellency, and prosper your adminis 
 tration!" 
 
 It seemed a bold thing to do. John often wondered 
 afterward that he had had the hardihood to do it. But his 
 heart was so full that the words would not be stayed. 
 
 Washington looked kindly into the young man s face, 
 as he bowed his farewell. "A promising fellow that!" he 
 
372 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 said, turning to his Secretary. "I was just such a sturdy 
 youth when his age, we are nearly the same height, I 
 think, and knocking about in that Western wilderness. 
 Well, well! There have been great changes since then. 
 It was a rough life>, but not unpleasant, and crowded with 
 adventures. But I doubt if I would relish it now!" He 
 looked down upon his portly figure and smiled. Then 
 with a sigh, he murmured: "How heartily I wish this 
 wretched business were done!" He picked a lump of maple 
 sugar candy from a box upon his desk, put it into his 
 mouth, and returned to the routine duties that had occu 
 pied him when interrupted. 
 
 While John was thus engaged, Andy Burbeck was busy 
 after his own fashion in sounding the sentiment of the 
 camp. He had fallen in with the group of junior officers 
 whose belligerent and braggart words had so vexed John s 
 soul, and having attached himself to them, was soon thor 
 oughly ingratiated in their confidence and good opinion. 
 
 On their way from the Commons, they passed an inn 
 whose swinging sign announced that the "Three Jolly 
 Irishmen" had entertainment for man and beast. "By ma 
 faith!" quoth Andy, "a temptin sign, that! A ve a mind to 
 convarse a bit with them same jolly countrymen of mine. 
 Come, gintlemin, join me in a health to all jolly good fel 
 lows." Just off the room which served as office, taproom 
 and common lounging place, was a smaller room set apart 
 for serving guests in a more retired way. Here Andy gath 
 ered his new-found friends, and summoned the barkeeper. 
 
 "Call for what ye like, gintlemin, an no doubt ye 11 
 like what ye 11 call for. As for maself, whan A m travellin 
 abroad, A usually choice the wines of the country, which 
 in the prisent instance is good Monongahela whuskey. A ll 
 do maself the honor to plidge your aminent valors in 
 a glass of that biverage. An A d racommind the same to 
 yourselves. For, as you re a-marchin to Monongahela to 
 axtarminate rebels and the like, you ll nade for to git 
 acquaint with the chief produc s of the land. Whan a 
 man s ingaged in a contravarsey with his neighbor, A ve 
 found that there s nothin like a parsonal knowledge of 
 the subjec onder dispute. So, gintlemin, here s a glorious 
 andin to the war in the glorious cause of the same." 
 
 The officers had already learned, by a somewhat ex 
 tended experience, that Andy s advice was good, and that 
 
THE LATIMERS. 373 
 
 for the present region, at least, the most wholesome and 
 tasty tipple was the one commended. They therefore all 
 joined Andy s pledge in bumpers of Monongahela whiskey. 
 
 "You are Capt. Latimer s guide, I believe you said," 
 remarked Lieut. Allison Meneter, setting down his mug. 
 "And if you please" this side remark was to the bartender 
 "I ll take another of the same with a little hot water 
 and sugar. I d have thought, by Jove!" turning again to 
 Andy, "that one of Wayne s scouts could have gone almost 
 anywhere without a guide." 
 
 "True for you, Major," Andy responded. He was care 
 ful in addressing his guests to pitch their titles a grade or 
 two above their rank. 
 
 "Not major, if you please!" said Lieut. Meneter, but 
 with a mildly deprecatory manner, as one who knows what 
 he would be if he had his rights. "Not major, only lieuten 
 ant, as yet!" 
 
 "Well, than, as the Captain says, for he s a mightly 
 1 arned man, is Capt. John Latimer, Major in futuro! 
 What matters a few months more or less? For major it 
 sartainly will be, in good time. An here s pledgin you 
 til a rapid step upward! But, as to Capt. Latimer. Thar s 
 no place in the whole land, barrin the say, it may be, that 
 he wouldn t find the trail til, give him time enough. But, 
 A h ard your honor remarkin a spell back that you were 
 somewhat of a sailor?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the Lieutenant, stirring his toddy. "A 
 little that way; not much; so-so, only. Now, I never did 
 manage a frigate, but, I daresay " 
 
 "Axactly! That s jist it!" interrupted Andy. "Now, 
 A dar be sworn, there s not a harbor in the whole say 
 coast that you couldn t manage for to steer intil, give ye 
 time. But an ye were in a hurry to git intil port, you 
 wouldn t fool away a day or two b atin about to find the 
 channel, would ye now, Major?" 
 
 "To be sure not! I would signal a pilot. Of course, 
 that s the proper thing to do." 
 
 "Of coorse!" echoed Andy. "That s jist it. A see your 
 honor has a highly judgmatical an nautical mind. Now, 
 a scout s nothin more nor less nor a land pilot. Turn 
 Capt. John Latimer loose in the Ohio forests, and he would 
 follow his trail an niver ask a raison why. A d be nowhar 
 aside o him. But you see, A ve been siveral times along 
 
374 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 the trail from Fort Pitt til Carlisle, an he has niver been 
 wanct. As he was in a thumpin big hurry to see Prisident 
 Washington, he ast me to go along as guide an companion; 
 tho troth, it s more companion nor guide. An here A am, 
 gintlemin. Isn t that satisfactory?" 
 
 "Quite so!" said Lieut. Meneter. 
 
 "Did you meet any insurgents along the way?" asked 
 Ensign Samson McKillen. 
 
 "Anny insargents, did ye say, Captain? Lots an gobs 
 of em. That is, folks that they uset fer to call insargents. 
 But ha! ha! You don t think they s anny left thar now, 
 do ye? Bless my soul, they ve h ard that you ns is a comin , 
 an well, ye ll find ginoowine insargents as sceerce as 
 duck s teeth agin you cross the mountains." 
 
 "Cowards!" cried Ensign McKillen, with a tone of a 
 much abused man. "Why don t they stand up and meet 
 us, like men? Here I ve just been spoiling for a fight ever 
 since we left the Jersey shore; and d ye mean to tell me I m 
 to be disappointed? Not a gun fired, not a sword drawn? 
 Don t tell me so, sir, don t!" And he thumped the table 
 with his mug. 
 
 "Well, Captain, it diz seem hard, disn t it?" said Andy 
 in a soothing tone. "But it s jist as A was a-sayin . If 
 it s a fight ye re after, ye re barkin up the wrong tree. If 
 ye can t git up a bit of a row this side the mountains, 
 ye 11 have to go home as demure as a Quaker meetin ." 
 
 "That s very odd indeed, sir," said Capt. Cuttan Swing. 
 "Do you mean to say that Gen. Washington and Secretary 
 Hamilton, and all the rest of them, didn t know what they 
 were about when they called out the militia? Would you 
 have us believe that there are no insurgents in the Monon- 
 gahela country? What has become of them, sir?" 
 
 "That A wull, Colonel, most hearty. It s the honest 
 truth, now, jist betwixt ourselves, you know, that there 
 niver were manny of em. There were a few of em, no 
 doubt, an some purty rantankerous ones, too. There s 
 Squire Dave Bradford, who s the Beelzebub of the whole 
 affair! The divil s in him bigger nor a bull-calf, an no mis 
 take. But bless my soul, gintlemin, one swallow disn t 
 make a summer, though he can kape up a dale of a twitter. 
 Gim me a dozen gallant gintlemin like yourselves, an A ll 
 covenant to clar out ivery armed band in all the Western 
 Survey." 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 375 
 
 "But what s become of em, I say? That s what I want 
 to know," Captain Swing persisted. 
 
 "Well, as A was a-tellin you, ther 7 wasn t manny of 
 em to start with; an what ther 5 was, jist picked up their 
 rifles an have bolted to" the Northwest Territory. Yis, 
 gintlemin, jist incontinently sloped! A darsay, now, if 
 you gintlemin wanted to follow this business up til the 
 bitter and, ye 11 find some of them bolters willin to meet 
 you out thar in the Injun country. But onless you re 
 mighty sure shots, A d racommind ye to practize a bit, or 
 you 11 likely to come home dead men. But what s the 
 good of rushin intil disagraible an dangerous affairs? 
 For my part I hold til the old sayin that it s a mighty 
 sight better to be in at the heel of the feast than at the 
 head of the fray. This now suits me better nor bein 
 knocked over by a rebel s rifle. Jist pass the toddy this 
 way, Major. Thank you. Fill up, gintlemin. Here s 
 confusion to Benedict Arnold, an all tories and traitors! 
 If ye don t mind, A ll tell ye a bit of a story. 
 
 "One of my neighbors is a half-breed German, named 
 Haw Doteny Haw, the boys call him, because when he s 
 in his cups, an he s that way more frequent nor he ought 
 to be, he s inclined to drivel an be overfond of his cup- 
 fellows. It s a bad habit that, Captain. No true gintlemin 
 should iver take more nor s good for him. Pl ase pass the 
 toddy back to the Major, Captain; it s droughty wark lis- 
 tenin to yarns! Well, as A was a-sayin , one avenin old 
 Doteny was a-goin home from the village tavern with jist 
 a weeny bit more nor he could carry stiddy, an he con 
 cluded to cut acrost a patch of corn A d lately planted. 
 He dumb the fence, an started cat-a-corner towards my 
 cabin to hit the main road, an had got half way over the 
 field, when he sees a ghost." 
 
 "A ghost?" exclaimed Sergt. Hector Borem. "Ah, 
 that s an uncanny subject!" and he looked uneasily behind 
 him. "I don t fancy ghost stories; but go on!" 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" cried Ensign McKillen contemptuously. 
 "No sensible man believes in ghosts. I d just like to see 
 one once!" 
 
 "Well, old Doteny saw one that night, for sartin ; as 
 good a ghost as is a-goin too," Andy continued. "An he 
 was so scairt that he broke acrost the corn patch like a 
 blooded racer, an fairly butted in my cabin door athout 
 
376 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 stoppin to lift the latch string. Save me, save me! 7 he 
 cried, an rushin in, threw his arms around the first one 
 he came to, which happened to be my wife." 
 
 "Ah !" interrupted Lieut. Meneter. "There was method 
 in his madness." 
 
 "Well, he got it out then," continued Andy; "an the 
 most approved method, too; for Peggy started up with a 
 scream, mad as a hornet, an give him a side-swipe on the 
 head an shuck him off. 
 
 " Ugh! you old toper! siz she, a-blowin her hand; 
 for it smarted with the force of the clout she d a-givin 
 him. It s a shame to hit an old man like you/ siz she, 
 but I was surprised intil it. Old age is honorable, but 
 goodness gracious me! it is sometimes abominable! 
 
 "But Doteny was too scairt to mind the lick, an ran 
 to me an caught me round the neck, still cryin, Save me! 
 save me! I ve seen a ghost! Not to make the story too 
 long we peacified the old man, at last, an got his story 
 out n him. 
 
 " As I was a-comin through the field, siz he, I h ard 
 somebody a-callin my name in a deep, solemn voice that 
 made me shiver all over/ 
 
 " Did he call you Doteny ? asked Peggy, rather sharply, 
 an did it sober you? An if it did, I d racommind you 
 to kape that ghost around handy. An mebbe you d loan 
 him out wanct in a while to the neighbors, siz she, 
 lookin towards me. For you see, gintlemin, Peggy Bur- 
 beck is the best woman in the warld, b-u-t a leetle spicy 
 with her tongue, at times, when she s het up a bit. 
 
 " No, madam, siz Doteny, speaking up offended like. 
 Tm not drunk. I m as sober as a jedge, madam! An A m 
 bound to say, gintlemin, that at that partic lar moment he 
 was, as he oughter be. But rax me the toddy pippin, Mr. 
 McKillen. Thank ye kindly. Ghost stories is droughty 
 wark a-tellin. 
 
 " More nor that, said Doteny, the ghost called me by 
 my own name. Haw! Haw! siz he, as plain as could 
 be; an his voice sounded like it came from the tombs. I 
 turned and saw, my! I saw a great white figure 
 a-standin in the field, spreadin out its arms toward me. 
 There s a bit of mist a-hangin low in the field, but the 
 moon is in the first quarter, an I could see as plain as day. 
 
 " How high was the ghost? asked Peggy. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 377 
 
 " Ten feet high if it was an inch/ said Doteny, ay, 
 fifteen feet! siz he. It had on a long white fleecy robe, 
 that hung to the ground. It wore a tall crown atop of its 
 head. Its arms waved aloft in the air, an in one hand 
 it helt an uplifted sword. As I stood there lookin an 
 tremblin , siz Doteny, an sayin my prayers as I could 
 best command,, for Good Lord forgive me! siz he, I m 
 a leetle rusty, I confess. But Oh, I ll do better, I will 
 indade! siz he. Mist then, there riz out n the top of the 
 ghost s head, an awful form like an avil speerit, an 
 stretched its black wings aloft. 
 
 " How did you know it was an avil sperit ? asks 
 Peggy. 
 
 k \\ hy, plain enough, siz Doteny. It was jet black; 
 black as Sattan. Good Lord presarve me from im! The 
 avil speerit riz out n the ghost s head, an grew, an grew 
 ontil it was as big as a barn door. An then it flew right 
 at me a-callin my name in that awful graveyard voice. 
 
 (f( Haw! Haw! siz the speerit. 
 
 " At the same time, the ghost turned and waved its 
 sword, which began to burn like the flamin sword at the 
 gate of Eden, an out of its side poured flashes of fire. 
 Then it, too, started to move towards me an 
 
 " An you ran! siz Peggy. 
 
 " Ran ? Who wouldn t a run with a ghost and the 
 divil himself after him at onct? You d a run yourself, 
 Peggy Burbeck, though I bel ave you re more n half a 
 witch 
 
 "As he was a sp akin this, rather peppery like, there 
 was a noise as of someone a-pullin the bobbin and rattlin 
 the latch, as if to come intil the door. 
 
 " There they are! screamed Doteny, clingin to me 
 wanct more. good Lord! good Mrs. Burbeck, for 
 give me, I didn t mean, Save me, Andy! Oh, do! 
 
 " Shet up! you blame fool! siz I. It s only Elder 
 McK ag! An so it was. An to tell ye the plain truth, 
 gintlemin, I was mighty glad it was him. For betwixt me 
 an you, I began to feel a lettle creepy like, the old fellow 
 was so tarnation arnest. Elder McK ag, he s my father- 
 in-law, gintlemin, he came in a-laughin fit to split. 
 What s the matter, elder? siz I. 
 
 " Why Andy, siz he, it ud a made a gravestone laugh 
 to ve seen old Doteny there a-runnin away from your 
 
378 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 scarecrow down thar in the corn patch, a-makin the 
 gravel fly, a-hollerin at ivery jump, as though old Nick was 
 after him. 
 
 The officers had listened to the story with rapt atten 
 tion, and if they had confessed the truth, with divers and 
 sundry shivers of body and curdling of blood. So that 
 when the denouement came, there was a sigh of relief 
 vented quite around the circle. 
 
 "It was only a scarecrow then?" Sergt. Borem asked 
 in a dubious tone, as though there might be something 
 more gruesome lurking in ambush. 
 
 "Jist that, gintlemin !" said Andy. "A worn-out gray 
 shirt of mine stuck on a pole, with its arms stretched out 
 sidewise, an an ole white hat atop." 
 
 "But the evil spirit that came out of the head? What 
 was that?" asked the Sergeant. 
 
 "A wise old soldier of a crow, who was a reg lar veteran 
 in corn stealin . Havin found out what a fraud the image 
 was, an got over the effec on his imagination, he perched 
 himself on the pole, quite at his aise, until Doteny Haw 
 came along an scairt him up. Then he flew away with a 
 cuss word or two in the crow language. Now you see 
 Doteny bein a lettle through other, couldn t quite tell the 
 difference atween tf caw-caw and his own name, Haw- 
 Haw!" 
 
 "And the flaming sword and the flashes of fire?" asked 
 Capt. Cuttan Swing. 
 
 "Ha, ha! gintlemin. That s the best of it! I had 
 wrapped tags of tin around the stock that stuck far out n 
 one arm; and sewed to the sides of the image bits of broken 
 glass an chainy. So that when the image moved about in 
 the wind, the sun or moon a-shinin on em would flash out 
 and shoo off the birds. That s the whole story, and that s 
 how Ole Doteny Haw saw a ghost out on the Mononga- 
 hela." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Guide," said Lieut. Moneter, "I daresay 
 that s a good ghost story, as ghost stories go. But I m 
 somewhat puzzled to know where and why it got into our 
 conversation? Somehow I fail to get the point and connec 
 tion." 
 
 "Jist so, Major, jist so!" said Andy. "Thank you for the 
 suggistion. Somehow, as you were a-talkin , a while back, 
 I couldn t help a-thinkin that this blame whuskey insur- 
 
THE LATIMEES. 379 
 
 raction is a good dale like Doteny Haw s ghost. I reckon 
 the Government folks out thar in old Philadelphy have seen 
 a heap more nor there iver was to see or will be. Some of 
 em appear to have had a mighty bad scare over what 
 you 11 find out, when you come to look at it face to face, 
 is a tarnation big fraud; in fact a kind of insurractionary 
 scarecrow. 
 
 "But, gintlemin, your valor and patriotism are all the 
 same whether or no. So here s to the happy layin of all 
 onquiet ghosts and avil speerits, rale or fanciful, ceevil or 
 military. An long life to Giner l Washington! An , 
 here s Capt. Latimer, jist in time to do the honors til the 
 greatest and the best of livin rulers. Walk in, Captain!" 
 
 John freshly come from his interview with the Presi 
 dent, entered the room. Not finding Andy at the "Black 
 Bear," he had easily traced him and his convivial friends 
 to the "Three Jolly Irishmen." He came forward, took 
 the offered cup and with an emotion which thrilled and 
 almost sobered the half -tipsy circle, exclaimed: 
 
 "Eise, gentlemen, rise! In the colonial days our 
 fathers always pledged the king while standing. He whom 
 we are now to pledge, is more truly royal, man and ruler, 
 soldier and citizen, than all the crowned heads of Europe. 
 
 "WASHINGTON, the Father of his Country! 
 
 "Come, Mr. Burbeck, it is time for us to be off. Gen 
 tlemen, I have the honor to bid you good-night." 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 HOW THE PEOPLES DEPUTIES FAKED WITH THE 
 PKESIDENT. 
 
 Before the kitchen window of the Latimer house stood 
 a little table on which Meg was preparing divers mixtures 
 for the evening meal. It was a favorite spot with her, for it 
 not only admitted the fresh air in plenty, which she must 
 have, but gave an outlook upon the yard and lane, thus 
 commanding all approaches to the house. The soft Octo 
 ber haze filled the air through which the sun slanted its 
 setting rays, laying patches of mellow color upon the 
 sward- as the light twinkled through the yellow and russet 
 maple leaves. 
 
380 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 "Here s brother John!" cried Meg. Not even waiting 
 to wipe the flour dust from her brown hands and pink 
 arms, she ran out to give and get the first kiss of welcome. 
 
 John, as was his custom, was about to follow his horse 
 to the stable to see him cared for before refreshing him 
 self. "No, no! Dungy do that very well, this evening," 
 said Meg. "You must be weary, poor John ! And the cakes 
 are just ready for the griddle. Come away! There, 
 Dungy, you take Marion!" 
 
 "As you will, sweetheart. Who could deny such a 
 petitioner? Especially when she pleads on the side of a 
 tired body, vexed mind and ravenous appetite. Ah! if the 
 people had only made you a special deputy, we might have 
 fared better with President Washington. Rub him well, 
 Dungy; and don t feed too soon, for he s hot with fast 
 riding." So saying, John gave over the reins to the negro, 
 who waited with radiant face to greet his young master. 
 
 "How are you, uncle? And how are Ladybird and all 
 the rest of your family?" 
 
 "De fambly s all hearty, Massa John, t ank goodness!" 
 Dungy answered. "An Ladybird she s special peart dese 
 days, kase you know " He glanced slyly at Meg, whose 
 face was gathering a most becoming redness in the rosy 
 sunset. 
 
 "But I don t know," said John, laughing, "not having 
 the gift of second sight. I didn t think Ladybird could be 
 improved. But I daresay Meg has been teaching her some 
 Shawnee tricks. Hey, sister?" 
 
 "No, no! No Shawnee for Ladybird! White man s 
 horse good enough for Meg. Ladybird s all the same! 
 But Dungy think she pleased because her old master 
 has got back home." 
 
 "Oh, I see! And I m heartily pleased, too!" said John. 
 "I heard in Pittsburg of his safe return with a detach 
 ment from Wayne s army. But he is not going to rue the 
 bargain, and take Ladybird back?" 
 
 "No, no!" Meg answered quickly. "Brother John 
 know very better nor that. Mor-to-shel-john no Indian 
 giver! He give Ladybird for good an all." 
 
 "Then, maybe it is Ladybird that rues the bargain, 
 and wants to go back to her first love? Fickle jade! I 
 thought the handsome hussy was as much in love with 
 Meg as " 
 
THE LATIMERS. 381 
 
 Further teasing was here stopped by the greetings of 
 mother and father. Then came supper,, and more serious 
 matters banished Ladybird and her experiences for the 
 time. John grieved to note that Luke had gained nothing 
 during his absence, but seemed rather to have got thinner 
 and weaker and paler. He flushed up with pleasure at 
 John s arrival, but his buoyancy of spirit was short-lived. 
 His indomitable will seemed broken; although subsequent 
 events proved that it was still capable of vigorous rebound. 
 He had grown gentler and more patient. Never selfish nor 
 inconsiderate in home affairs, he now showed a softness of 
 manner that was rare with him. Although affectionate, 
 and with strong attachments to home, he had never been 
 a demonstrative man. As his wife was lacking in that 
 quality even more than himself, whatever tendency he may 
 have had in early life to display his feelings, was sup 
 pressed, and disciplined into a degree of passivity that 
 might have been mistaken for indifference. Now, in her 
 advancing age, Mrs. Polly saw and regretted her error in 
 freezing out by her lack of responsiveness the nature that 
 might have been warmed into greater cordiality. Too late 
 for her; too late for him! Life s habits had hardened 
 around the lines of early days, and the same old barriers of 
 reserve must bide till the end. 
 
 Just now she noted that Luke s sorrows and heart con 
 flicts had fretted the barrier thinner than it had ever been 
 before. How gentle and tender his every word, as with a 
 sad smile upon his face he went about, bracing to his 
 duties, but finding them tasks! Still, for her soul s sake, 
 Mrs. Polly could not yield. Only when some breath of pas 
 sionate grief or anxiety burned like fire in her veins, did 
 the reserve relax, as do ribs of steel before the furnace heat, 
 and the woman s love and unselfish devotion shine forth. 
 
 "Now, John, for your story!" said Luke, when the sup 
 per was cleared away. The shortening autumn days had 
 shut in the night, and made pleasant a bit of hickory 
 Uaze upon the hearth, which Polly thought Luke s wounds 
 required. He lit his pipe and sat in his easy chair, which 
 his wife had placed for him, and got for her reward some 
 thing more than her accustomed nod, even a "thank you, 
 dear!" with a glance and smile worth a thousand words. 
 
 "Andy got home a few days ago," continued Luke, "and 
 has told us somethin of how^ you fared. But I m eager to 
 
382 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 krtow more. An indade, here s Andy now, jist come in to 
 hear ye, an help in the tellin . Good avenin , Mrs. Bur- 
 beck! There s a cheer for ye. An do ye sit down, Andy, 
 an light your pipe, if ye will, an kape quiet a bit or as long 
 as ye can, at laste, till the lad spins his yarn." 
 
 "Ay, ay, Luke," said Andy. "Thank ye kindly! My 
 pipe s often sarved me for two duties, smoke; an firs 
 whan A ve had a stumpy one in ma teeth an the bowl tilted 
 agin my nose to warm it. But here s another duty you give 
 it, to put a stopper on my gab! Well, my father uset to 
 say, childer, let your victuals stop your mouths! An 
 baccy s a sort of victuals, A reckon. Ay, its both mate an 
 drink at times, an a good stint of comfort atop of that. 
 There, A ll e en hold my p ace, excaptions only excapted. 
 Pole along, Jock, an A ll sit on deck an take it aisy." 
 
 "I daresay Andy has told you," John began, "that he 
 left me busy helping the Deputies get up the report of their 
 interview with the President. But I ve had other duties 
 that kept me occupied. It has been concluded to call the 
 county delegates and other representative citizens to a 
 meeting at Parkinson s Ferry, on the 24th of October, to 
 hear the Deputies report and take action thereon. We 
 got a scant notice in the Pittsburg Gazette, but they thought 
 it best to send out written circulars and notices, as the 
 population is so scattered. That has kept me working 
 day and night. But we have got word pretty thoroughly 
 distributed, and look for a large attendance. And we 
 hope for a meeting that will satisfy an even more exacting 
 man than President Washington." 
 
 "Ay, that is good," said Luke, nodding his warm ap 
 proval. "Nothin could be better. An pl ase God to spare 
 me, I ll be there to give my word an vote for obeydiance 
 an p ace. Now for your interview with the President. 
 How I would like for til see him agin! Ahbut it may 
 not be now! Go on, lad!" 
 
 John first related his own personal experience, which 
 need not be here repeated. When he tcld how he had 
 been thrice taken for some one else, apparently some officer 
 in the army well known about headquarters, Luke with 
 drew his pipe and ejaculated: "Odd enough that, John, 
 espeecially as you re not an ordinary lookin chap. Not 
 manny six-foot-oners in that army, I take it. Although 
 manny of my old Eevolutionary Ginerals, like Washington 
 
THE LATIMERS. 383 
 
 himself, were pretty sizable men. Did ye git anny track of 
 that Major whom ye favored so?" 
 
 "Never heard a word more about him, and saw nobody 
 that in the least seemed to suggest myself. But I was kept 
 too busy to allow much leisure to look for doubles. Why, 
 mother what s the matter?" 
 
 Mrs. Latimer had leaned forward upon her chair with 
 hands clasped to her side, and eyes fixed upon John with 
 almost painful eagerness. "Nothin , my boy, nothin !" she 
 answered, after a moment s pause. "Jist a little turn that 
 I sometimes have, a kind of sudden stitch in the side like. 
 It s all right now. It comes and goes jist so. P lase don t 
 mind me, an go on with your story, lad." 
 
 Luke at John s exclamation looked anxiously towards 
 his wife, and though relieved by her reply, said: "Ah, 
 mother, I don t like thim sudden turns. I misdoubt ye ve 
 been overwrought lately with care and anxiety about this 
 miserable wound of mine. Cheer up, lass! Don t worrit 
 so much about your old man; he s not worth it." 
 
 "Luke Latimer, man, don t spake it! Ye don t know 
 what ye re sayin . Ye re worth a thousand of your Polly! 
 An were she a hundred Follies in one, she d joyfully give 
 em all to win ye back to health and soundness. But this 
 all goes wide of the mark at prisint. We re jist a-kapin 
 John from his story." 
 
 Thus urged, John returned to his narrative. "Depu- 
 . ties Findley and Reddick entered Carlisle, and at the ap 
 pointed hour met President Washington and were received 
 most graciously. They assured the President that the 
 riotous demonstrations had subsided as rapidly as they had 
 arisen; that the courts of justice were in full opera 
 tion; that civil functions were entirely undisturbed; 
 that not a single individual could be found in oppo 
 sition to the execution of the laws. They showed and 
 explained and emphasized the resolutions of the peoples 
 representatives, expressing allegiance and submission. 
 
 "They therefore asked him to countermand the march 
 of the army into the Western counties. Or if it must needs 
 go on, they pressed him to go with it, as the people had 
 serious apprehensions that without his restraining presence 
 the troops would commit excesses." 
 
 "Right enough there!" exclaimed Luke. "There niver 
 was an unruly soldier that could hold out afore Washing- 
 
384 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 ton. There s a power an dignity in his prisence that over 
 awes and subdues the warst. One look from Wash 
 ington would be worth a score of Provost-marshals an their 
 coorts in soothin military irritation an settlin our ceevil 
 disorders." 
 
 "So the Deputies thought," said John, "and urged the 
 point so strongly that the President promised that if he 
 found, after he reached Bedford, that the army required 
 his personal presence, he would accompany it. He 
 spoke freely, was more talkative than I had fancied he 
 would be, for I always thought him a reticent man. He 
 seemed much moved about Western affairs, and sorely 
 grieved and pressed with responsibility. He gave his 
 reasons for calling out the militia, and especially pointed 
 to the injury done, and likely to be done to the cause of 
 liberty and free government throughout the world. Not 
 withstanding the Deputies representations, he thought 
 that the resolutions presented by them were not sufficiently 
 unequivocal to justify him in dismissing the army, now 
 that it was assembled, and the expense of organization in 
 curred, and the sacrifices of the farmer and merchant 
 already made by engaging in the expedition. In this 
 judgment (he said) he was supported by some prominent 
 and well-informed citizens of. the Western Survey, witli 
 whom he had consulted freely. These assured him that 
 the presence of the troops was still required to overawe 
 the outrageous, and stamp out the smouldering embers of 
 insurrection. 
 
 "The objects to be attained by the army, said Wash 
 ington, were the unequivocal assurance of submission to 
 the laws and protection to the revenue officers in the 
 future. The good disposition of the Government, as ex 
 plained by the United States Commissioners, having been 
 rejected, the march of the troops was necessary, and some 
 atonements would be required for infractions of the law." 
 
 "Atonement? What could he mane by that?" said 
 Luke. "It has a bad sound for us. Perhaps, it s right 
 enough that some axamples should be made; but I mis 
 doubt the Prisident 11 find it a little hard to square that 
 policy with his proclamation of amnisty. I blame the 
 United States Commissioners, I do indade! Their report 
 to the Government was far from the truth. They were 
 misled by Neville an his clan. Their fears axaggerated 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 385 
 
 the facts sadly. But it was jist as I feared, an as I telled 
 our folk. The great majority of em who didn t vote at 
 all, thinkin they had no occasion, were set down as sulky 
 an 7 rebellious, an counted with the nays. It was unfair, 
 unfair! but, perhaps, it was natural." 
 
 "Nachel!" Andy vociferated. "Ay, in the auld country 
 sanse. It was pure idiocy! Along of sich shallow-pated 
 clods as Dave Dandruff on one hand, and sich pious old 
 impracticables as Elder Lowe on t other, we ve been cast 
 ctween the divil and the deep say. One class niver seems 
 to understand that curses like chickens 11 come home to 
 roost; and t other are most everlastin sure to cut off their 
 nose to spite their face." 
 
 "But, Andy love," remarked Peggy, "don t ye think, 
 now," and a roguish twinkle lit up her black eyes, "that 
 your screed is jist a little bit like Sattan rebukin sin? The 
 pot can t say black to the kittle, Andy dear, ye know." 
 
 "Ay, Peggy darlint, but it can! As A ve often had 
 occasion to obsarve in listenin til your swate discoorse of 
 an avenin , whan we re all our lones. But go on, Capt n 
 Jock; A belave she s r ally got the better of me this time; 
 the warse luck for us both!" 
 
 "The lateness of the season (the President declared) 
 made it impossible to delay the march for further negotia 
 tions. Should the army now pause, he feared that the flame 
 of insurrection would spread to other points. He admitted 
 that there were some disorderly companies in the army, 
 and that some disorders had been committed on the march 
 to Carlisle. But he had given up the offenders to the civil 
 power of Pennsylvania, and this would continue to be his 
 policy. Judge Peters of the United States Court, Mar 
 shal Lenox and Prosecutor Rawle accompanied the army, 
 and would go with them to the AYest to try all cases accord 
 ing to the forms of civil law. 
 
 "He assured the Deputies that he would provide, by 
 dispersing disorderly companies among better troops, or 
 otherwise, that they should be kept under strict subordina 
 tion, and that in every instance where infractions of the 
 law were made by soldiers, they should be subjected to pun 
 ishment. He further declared that the army should not 
 consider itself as judge or executioner of the laws, but as 
 employed to support the proper authorities in the execu 
 tion of them." 
 25 
 
336 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 "Ay, ay! That s the true doctrine!" exclaimed Luke. 
 "If they ll only abide by that faithfully, an let the ceevil 
 laws do their wark, we ll be safe enough." 
 
 "There s nothin the matter with the doctrine," re 
 marked Andy, "but the pinch ill come in the practice. 
 The proof of the puddin is iver in the atein ; an there ll 
 be manny a wry face afore we lick the platter, A m 
 a-thinkin . A mind wanct, Luke, whan A had steered 
 your keel boat onto a sand bar in the Ohio Eiver, that A 
 argyed with you that A d steered her all right an accordin 
 to instructions." 
 
 "Trust ye for that, my dear!" interrupted Mrs. Peggy. 
 "The king can do no wrong, the king an Andy Bur- 
 beck!" 
 
 "That s quite right!" Andy retorted. "Faith, what s 
 the use o kapein sich good company, said the knife to the 
 steel, if one can t git sharpened up now an thin. It ud be 
 a shame til your pious axample, if A didn t appropriate 
 some of your vartues, Peggy darlint. But you anter- 
 rup ed at a dilicate p int. As A was a-sayin , Luke, A 
 tried to threep ye down that A d steered the boat all right 
 and by the most correc principles. 
 
 " Ay, Andy/ siz you, the principle is correc enough. 
 Theoretically, we re all right, but practically we re on a 
 sand bar! 
 
 "That s my opeenion of the sitooation in the Western 
 counties if the soldiers git in here ithout the Prisident to 
 control em. Theoretically, Judge Peters and Marshal 
 Lenox and Prosecuting Attorney Rawle will represint the 
 ceevil powers. Practically, Secretary Hamilton an the 
 army giner ls 11 manage an inflooence the whole business. 
 A ceevil coort supported by bayonets 11 be a coort martial, 
 call it by what name ye wull. An the Lord save us from 
 dragoon law! A sampled a lot of them folk down at Car 
 lisle, and if the authority goes to sich as thim, it ll fare 
 ill with the people. Put a beggar on horseback an he ll 
 ride wull, he won t ride to Heaven, annyhow." 
 
 "Ay, man!" said Luke, sadly; and John went on with 
 his story. 
 
 "The President regretted that he could not accompany 
 the army west, as his presence was necessary in Philadel 
 phia to prepare for the approaching meeting of Congress. 
 He had tried to impress the officers with a proper sense of 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 387 
 
 the importance of submitting to the laws; and that unless 
 they did so, the last resort of a Kepublican government 
 would be defeated. The expedition had been a costly one, 
 and he hoped some good might grow out of it to console 
 if not to compensate them. We have made a Eepublican 
 form of government and enacted laws under it, yet we 
 have heretofore given no testimony to the world of being 
 able or willing to support our government and laws. This 
 is the first instance of the kind since the commencement 
 of the government, and he had thought it his duty, as 
 President, to bring out such a force as would not only be 
 sufficient to subdue the insurgents, if they made resist 
 ance, but to crush to atoms any opposition that might arise 
 in another corner. 
 
 "This, said the President, would operate in favor of 
 humanity by effectively discouraging any that might be 
 otherwise disposed, from provoking bloodshed. In the 
 final result, it might teach the citizens of the Eepublic to 
 be more cautious of writing and speaking in such a manner 
 of the measures of the Government as might tend to 
 inflame the people. It would also convince other nations 
 that we could defend ourselves." 
 
 "There it is, John; jist as I axpected!" Luke exclaimed; 
 "an hav said manny a time. Ginerl Washington is badly 
 advised in all this matter. Secretary Hamilton has 
 put that bee in the Prisident s bonnet, Pll lay a pretty 
 penny. It s a favoryte crotchet with him, that a new gov- 
 er ment can t be regarded as stable till it has proved its 
 unity an force by a war of some sort. Unfort nately we ve 
 furnished the opportunity, an he manes to experiment on 
 us. But, it s absurd! Surely Giner l Washington s too 
 good a soldier not to know that there s not a single armed 
 man, let alone an organized force, to oppose his army. It s 
 a military farce, an nothin short of it, to march fifteen 
 thousand soldiers over the mountains on sich a.n axpedition. 
 Nothin but some sich idea of the ceevil importance of the 
 movement would justify it. It s jist a gran demonstration 
 to t ach the world an oursilves that we re a nation an not 
 a rope of sand. It may be good statesmanship; the Lord 
 only knows that! But I m sartin it s a costly kind of po- 
 leetical school t achin , an mighty poor soldierin . How- 
 iver, we ve made our bed, an I reckon we ve got to lie in 
 it. Go on, lad; let s hear all the story." 
 
388 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Secretary Hamilton was present during the interview, 
 and took part in the conversation. The Deputies not being 
 able to get better terms, must perforce be content. But they 
 were especially grateful that the President at all their inter 
 views authorized them to assure their fellow citizens who 
 had sheltered themselves under the faith of the Govern 
 ment by duly accepting the amnesty, that not a hair of 
 their heads should be injured, let their crimes have been 
 ever so great." 
 
 The evening had well advanced ere John s report of 
 the Carlisle interview had ended; that is, it was nine 
 o clock. The art of turning night into day nourishes ill 
 in the glimmer of tallow candles. It needs high artificial 
 lights for its development. Our pioneers were therefore 
 quite ready for bed when John had finished his tale and 
 the others their comments upon it. Luke especially found 
 that the recollections, emotions and anxieties stirred up 
 by the narration had wrought like physical labor to weary 
 him. Mrs. Polly noticed this, and dismissed her guests a^ 
 hastily as comported with hospitality. 
 
 "It s a new axperience for Luke, poor dear!" she con 
 fided to Mrs. Burbeck. "He s jist 1 arnin what it is to be 
 dreened dry of body power through the narves. I niver 
 dr amed afore, said he, that one s legs an arems could git 
 w aker and wearier by jist thinkin an feelin an frettin 
 nor by drudgin in the field or trampin in the forest. 
 So jist say good night, Peggy, an git Andy off with ye, an 
 thank ye kindly." 
 
 "Good night, fVinds, good night!" said Luke. "It s 
 some comfort at laste to know the warst an prepare for 
 it. Better a finger off than aye a-waggin . The long an 
 short of our case is, that the army is comin intil the West 
 an Washington is not. The army brings with it judicial 
 machinery to hale an harry the people an drag them from 
 their vicinage to Philadelphia for trial. An Secretary 
 Hamilton comes for til operate the machine, with Giner l 
 Neville as chief accuser an armed soldiers to axecute policy 
 an process. It looks black for us, an that s the plain 
 truth. But there s a silver linin to the cloud. There 
 niver was a night so dark that the sunrise didn t follow it. 
 Let us hope for the best, and trust in Him who s aboon 
 us all! Good night! 
 
 "Now, lad," he added, turning to John, as Mr. and Mrs. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 389 
 
 Burbeck retired, "tak the Buk, an gie us a morsel o com 
 fort out of the ninety-first Psalm,, an then we 11 put our 
 selves intil the hands of Him ithout Whom no sparrow 
 can fall." 
 
 CHAPTEK XLI. 
 
 MEG LATIMER MAKES FURTHER PROGRESS IN CIVILIZATION. 
 
 The one sad feature in the home-coming of John and 
 Meg Latimer was their visit to Indian Rocks. The few 
 changes wrought since Meg s capture had not altered the 
 bold outlines of the scenery. She looked up the beetling 
 side of the overtowering hill. She saw the great walnut 
 with its gnarled root jutting over the bank. She saw the 
 rushing river, the island, the riffled rapids, the lush bottom 
 land beyond. One thing after another, one thing with 
 another came thronging up from the caverns of memory, 
 thrown open by the mysterious power of association, until 
 her infant days seemed to live again. But John s stopping 
 at this place on his homeward march was not to get fur 
 ther proofs of Meg s identity, nor to satisfy her longing 
 to revisit the scenes of childhood, but to perform one of the 
 saddest offices of friendship. As far as Panther and Feath- 
 erfoot had a permanent place of abode, one could scarcely 
 call it home, it was on the little island, known among the 
 Mingoes as "Pictured Rock Island." Luke Latimer and his 
 father had called it "Featherfoot s Island" since the day 
 they had rescued the young Indian squaw from the flooded 
 river just off its foot. There, in their wigwam, a snug and 
 secluded retreat, Featherfoot now awaited the return from 
 the war of him, who, alas, should come no more. 
 
 Standing upon the bank, John called across the narrow 
 space of swift-running water between the island and the 
 shore. Soon Featherfoot appeared, having noted the 
 friendly hail, and leaping into her canoe, came to where 
 John stood. There was a look in her eyes of keen and 
 painful quest, which told that already she had anticipated 
 evil tidings. Had not the Young Oak come without Pan 
 ther? Ere the canoe touched the bank, had she not recog 
 nized her husband s rifle and pouch and belt in John s 
 hands? "\Yell she knew that had her Panther been alive, 
 
390 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 his hand alone would have borne them. She sprang forth 
 with a cry and stood trembling, heedless of the boat, which 
 would have drifted away had not Meg jumped quickly to 
 the rescue, and brought it back. 
 
 John silently laid the warrior s trophies within the 
 widow s hands; then with as few words as might be, he 
 told the story, the hardest, saddest duty that his young 
 life had known. Ere it was ended, Meg came softly to 
 Featherfoot s side, and put her arms around her. The 
 matron sank down upon the rock, a great slanting rock 
 it was, which thereafter was known as "Featherfoot s 
 Woe/ and with kneas doubled to body began her wail for 
 the dead. With no spoken word, Meg crouched at her side, 
 and rocking back and forth in cadence with the swaying 
 of her mourning sister, joined in the lament. John 
 silently moved away and left the two women together, 
 knowing that in grief like this, next to Heaven s Com 
 forter, there is no consoler like a tender hearted woman. 
 
 By and by he came back and gently led Meg away. 
 She had made herself known to the mourner, John never 
 could understand just how, although pleased that it was 
 done. But ere going, he bade Featherfoot remember that 
 his father s home would always be hers, whenever and as 
 long as she chose to claim it. A month thereafter Feather- 
 foot entered the kitchen door of Luke Latimer s cabin, and 
 quietly sat down in the corner of the great fireplace where 
 Mrs. Polly and Meg were preparing the evening meal. 
 Few words passed until the keen edge of her grief, whetted 
 anew by the sight of her white friends, had somewhat worn 
 away. Then the Indian woman spoke. 
 
 She had left her wigwam on Featherfoot s Island, she 
 said. She could no longer bear its loneliness now that 
 the hope of her love s coming had gone out forever. The 
 birds, whether in their day songs or their night calls, gave 
 forth only mournful notes that saddened her. For what 
 whistle or trill, or twitter or cackle, or caw or hoot, or other 
 note among them all, had not Panther or his Featherfoot 
 deftly mimicked, and used as signals wherewith to talk 
 with one another? This one was for greeting, that for 
 good-bye. One was for warning, another for safety. There 
 was a call for fishing; for hunting; to bring boat, rifle or 
 bow; to tell of good luck or bad; to give notice that veni 
 son was coming to the wigwam from the forest, or wild 
 
THE LATIMERS. 391 
 
 turkey or woodcock from the brush, or fish from the river; 
 or to tell that her brave came back victorious from the 
 warpath. Oh, what was there in all their long life to 
 gether, that two hearts needed to tell, that they had not 
 taught one another to tell in the well-feigned language of 
 birds, beasts and insects? Ay, and some notes were for 
 love, only for love; sweet signals to cheer and comfort, 
 and say to each other that they waited and longed for 
 love s meeting. 
 
 Alas! she could not bear it! The woods and waters now 
 gave forth no sounds of joy. Everything told of loss, of 
 sorrow, of utter loneliness. Children the Great Spirit had 
 never given them. Panther was her all; and Panther was 
 gone from her forever. She would never hear the dip of 
 his paddle in the river, nor the sound of his footfall on 
 the grass, nor the crack of his rifle in the woods. They 
 would never walk the forest in the moonlight, nor sit by 
 the camp-fire in the autumn evening. She could never 
 cook his game, while he sat on the rocks hardby and 
 rounded his arrow shafts. She could never spread his 
 couch of soft skins; never hoe the little patch of green 
 corn, with her heart singing gladly, the while, over the 
 thought that her brave would relish the tender green 
 roasting ears, or the savory succotash, or yellow ash cake. 
 Lonely, lonely! 
 
 Then she thought of her white friends, the friends of 
 her dead, and resolved to come away. Her wigwam and 
 some of her things she had sold to neighboring settlers, 
 who would also bring to her what she wished to save. She 
 had come. She knew she would be welcome. She would 
 stay until her heart was healed, or until she might join 
 her lost warrior in the Happy Hunting Grounds. Luke 
 gave her a hearty welcome. Whilst he had a cabin, Feath- 
 erfoot should have a home. Mrs. Polly, apart from her sym 
 pathy with her husband, had reasons of her own for wel 
 coming her Indian friend, although there was scant room 
 in the house since Meg had come. But Featherf oot settled 
 that matter to the content of all, by bidding Luke pitch 
 a tent in the yard, and let her dwell therein. This was 
 done, and Featherfoot s lodge was made in a quiet nook 
 beneath a sugar maple. 
 
 Here Meg Latimer often came, and among all her new 
 found friends none helped her more, in mastering the mys- 
 
392 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 teries of her new life, than Featherfoot. "With her wider 
 experience of white men s ways, and her full knowledge 
 of Indian use and wont, she was an apt mediator for Meg, 
 and interpreted for her many things that had sorely vexed 
 her mind. It was wonderful how much simpler perplex 
 ing matters seemed when viewed through the mediatorial 
 atmosphere of this common sympathy. There were mat 
 ters that she wanted cleared up, even after all explanation,, 
 and which she felt ashamed to ask her family about and 
 expose her ignorance. But she had no such feeling with 
 Featherfoot, to whom she could go as freely as one child 
 goes to another in like case. 
 
 With all the fullnes of Meg s joy in the new life, there 
 were times when old habits drew her away with almost 
 resistless force. The freedom of the forest, the unfettered 
 liberty of savage life, have a charm to most healthy organ 
 isms. Civilized man easily reverts to the nomad. His 
 natural Eden is not a walled town but a garden. At his 
 highest point of culture he keeps within him traces of his 
 original estate, and when opportunity serves throws off th-j 
 trammels of conventional society, and gladly becomes for 
 a season, at least, a dweller in tents, and runs wild in 
 some mountain or seaside camp. One can therefore easily 
 understand Meg s recurring moods and intense longing 
 for escape from the galling and checks of civilized life. 
 At such times, she would mount Ladybird and ride away 
 into the wildest tracts surrounding the settlements. 
 
 The spirited mare seemed to catch her mistress s mood, 
 and as though in sympathy with the inward ferment, would 
 dash along at full speed. Many a farmer would pause in 
 the field, and many a woman would gaze from the cabin 
 door, as rider and steed swept bv like the wind, and wonder 
 what and who it could be? Sometimes Meg fairly wore 
 off her mood by the exhilaration of this motion. But again 
 she would halt in the virgin forest, and picketing Ladybird, 
 would sit for hours in solitude, and loll about, and run 
 and climb, or doze upon a mossy hummock, until the 
 tumult was quieted, and then gallop home pacified. 
 
 On one of these excursions, while rapidly passing a large 
 cleared field, Ladybird slackened her speed and uttered a 
 kindly whinny. Meg, though surprised, thought the greet 
 ing for herself, and rousing from her moody silence, patted 
 the creature s neck and spoke pet words, cooing at her as 
 
THE LATIMERS. 393 
 
 a mother to her child. But Ladybird turned her face 
 towards the clearing and whinnied again, whereat an an 
 swering neigh came from the field, in which, as Meg looked, 
 she saw five or six horses standing with their fine heads 
 erect, and their eyes upon the road. A moment s look, and 
 off they pranced with switching tails and tossing manes, 
 until stopped by the Virginia rail fence. There they halted 
 and gave forth their greetings; and thence, as Meg urged 
 on her steed, followed along the zig-zag line to the corner, 
 where they stood in a bunch and craned their necks across 
 the upper rail, and snorted and whinnied vigorously. 
 
 "Foolish Ladybird!" said Meg, shaking the reins and 
 lovingly chiding the mare, who was trembling with excite 
 ment. "Are you so lonely, then? Maybe, like your mis 
 tress, you too sometimes yearn for the freedom of open 
 fields and woods. Would you like to run wild awhile, dear? 
 Ah, no doubt, it would be nice! But we must get on now; 
 we cannot stop here. Get up, Ladybird!" 
 
 But the mare instead of getting on, dropped into a 
 walk and began to limp. 
 
 "Ah, poor Ladybird!" cried the maid; "is it that? 
 Foolish, bad Meg! to think she was lonely, and would 
 stop for a lot of whinnying horses in a field! What could 
 have hurt my pet?" She leaned over the saddle, the 
 horse still limping along, to see where the lameness was. 
 Then thinking that a small stone had got into her shoe, 
 she dismounted and began to examine the foot. 
 
 Now a chorus of equine farewells, vibrating with in 
 tense longing, came from the field into the wooded clump 
 where Meg had halted. Ladybird could contain herself 
 no longer, but withdrew her foot, yet gently, from Meg s 
 hands, and turning sharply about, cantered back to the 
 fence corner, and was soon rubbing noses with her friendly 
 congeners. But now, to Meg s amazement, she moved 
 without a trace of limping! Her lameness was gone! 
 Meg was so taken aback by this unexpected act, that she 
 stood gazing after her runaway with a blank countenance, 
 until the truth dawned upon her. 
 
 "0 wicked Ladybird!" she exclaimed. "Who would 
 think you play possum that way, and run away from your 
 Meg? Hah! that not do at all!" 
 
 She darted down the- road, and overtaking the fugitive, 
 snatched at the bridle, assailing her the while with re- 
 
394 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 preaches. But Ladybird had not yet finished her romp, 
 and jerked back her head, and sidling away from her mis 
 tress, turned and trotted along the fence, keeping neck- 
 and-crop with the bunch of field horses within, who 
 startled by Meg s approach, had fled from their corner. 
 But the maiden s blood was now up, and resolved to regain 
 her mare, and have no more shilly-shallying, she started 
 after her in full run. 
 
 She did not rely upon her nimbleness, though so fleet 
 of foot that she could hold by Ladybird s bridle and keep 
 up with her at a quick gallop. She had noted, with her 
 keen eye for all natural features, that the fence made an 
 elbow against a thick clump of underbrush that skirted 
 the road, and that Ladybird, following her escort, would 
 run into the pocket formed by the outside of the fence 
 and the inner edge of the chaparral. Down this pocket 
 Meg ran, knowing that she would soon have her fugitive 
 caged and headed off. 
 
 But here again she had reckoned without her host. 
 The mare seeing the trap into which she had run, deliber 
 ately chose the lowest panel, and thrusting her neck be 
 neath the rider rail, lifted it from the cross stakes on which 
 it rested, and jumped the fence into the field. Then began 
 a , gay frolic, with much interchange of horse sympathy 
 and how-de-dos, and, who knows? perhaps of news as well. 
 Meg not disheartened, though discouraged and vexed, 
 climbed the fence and paused to consider the situation. 
 
 Just then, a man appeared running along the lane that 
 issued into the opposite end of the field. He let down the 
 bars, and gave a peculiar halloo, followed by a long in 
 flected whistle. Meg was startled, for it was the very 
 quest-call that Mort Sheldon had taught her with which 
 to summon Ladybird, and never until that day had it failed 
 to bring the faithful animal to her side. However the 
 man came to know the call, it acted like a charm. The 
 whole bunch of horses stopped their romping and trotted 
 up to the signalist. Even Ladybird, although she hesi 
 tated, and turned her face towards Meg, and seemed to 
 feel some compunction and relenting, at last slowly fol 
 lowed, and in a few moments was securely held in the 
 man s grasp. She was greeted with vociferous chiding: 
 
 "You jade, how dare you treat your mistress so? You ve 
 disgraced yourself, and put shame upon your trainin . 
 
THE LATIMERS. 395 
 
 You re a treacherous and frisky piece!" So saying, he 
 cuffed her ears soundly, and laid his palm with a thumping 
 whack upon her flank. "Now go back and tell her how 
 shamed you be!" So saying, he turned her loose with 
 another smart whack upon her wethers. 
 
 Meg who heard and saw this, as she ran toward the 
 mare, expected to see the creature frantic with rage; for 
 she would not bear the touch of spur or stick or whip from 
 anyone, but was made fairly wild thereby. Yet, here she 
 came, marvel of marvels! with head bowed as in genuine 
 contrition, walking slowly and demurely to meet her 
 mistress. Staying not for further question of these won 
 ders, Meg threw her arms around her neck. 
 
 "Oh, Ladybird, Ladybird!" she cried, "how could you 
 treat Meg so? What for you do it? You bad beauty! 
 You like prodigal boy the Bible tell about that run away 
 from home. You get beating too, hey? Ah! you no like 
 that pretty well! But you come back, and be no more bad, 
 and Meg 11 forgive all. Oh, you bad beauty!" 
 
 The farmer now came up and touched his hat. "Good 
 mornin , Miss Latimer," he said. "I m sorry for your 
 trouble with the mare, and mortal shamed of the way she 
 sarved you." 
 
 "You know Ladybird pretty well!" interrupted Meg, 
 venting her surprise at once. "How come that?" 
 
 "Wall, yis, ruther so. I reckon I oughter t any rate, 
 seein s I raised her from a colt, Mr. Sheldon an me. An 
 I calk late that s what give rise to the trouble jest neow. 
 She s not been hyer sence the boss went off to the war 
 with her. An them s her mother and sisters, all on em," 
 nodding to the horses who had now come up, and stood in 
 a bunch with eager eyes and switching tails, seeming to 
 follow the conversation. "An a likelier lot of brood 
 mares isn t to be found this side the mountings. I reckon 
 we d oughter allow some for that. It was a big temptation 
 for a young thing like her, to come back hum and not git 
 a chance to say howdy? Hey, Ladybird, you jade!" He 
 patted the mare kindly, who rubbed her nose gratefully 
 against his palm. 
 
 "But she hadn t oughter done it, no way; an in 
 truth I didn t think she would a done it. But, shucks! 
 Miss, horses is a heap like folks, anyway you fix it. I ve 
 raised a power of em in my time, an for all the world a 
 
396 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 frisky young mare is jes like a frisky young maid. You 
 can t al ays tell what s workin inside their noddles. Take 
 em by and large, they re pritty stiddy, if so be they re 
 trained right. But the fust thing you know, they fly off 
 the handle, and there you are! An they ain t thar!" 
 
 By this time Meg had mounted Ladybird, and jogged 
 along beside the farmer, who led the way through the 
 open bars adown the lane. It was bordered on either side 
 by thrifty young fruit trees. Ladybird s friends followed 
 a few yards behind, and Meg laughed heartily to > see the 
 procession coming, walking solemnly one after another as 
 at a funeral. She felt her heart warm towards Nathan 
 Lane, for so the man was called, who had come to her help 
 so effectively. 
 
 He was a Yankee, as New Englanders were commonly 
 called in that section, a son of a Cape Ann sea captain. He 
 was of medium size; not lanky as the typical downeaster 
 is supposed to be, though lithe and sinewy; with broad 
 chest and slightly stooping shoulders. He had a large 
 head, and a keen and kindly face flanked by side whiskers, 
 and shaded by a yellow rye straw hat with a broad flap. 
 He had drifted West with the emigrants to the Connecti 
 cut Reserve in Ohio, and "found port" as he said, with 
 Mr. Sheldon, whom he had served for several years as 
 farmer, or foreman and man of all work. 
 
 He had developed strong points as a stock breeder, and 
 was almost as apt in training horses as Sheldon himself. 
 Among the settlers he went by the name of Passon, 
 "Passon Nathan." Some said because of his fondness for 
 moralizing on all subjects, and all sorts and conditions of 
 men; others, because of his supposed clerical appearance 
 when dressed in the Sunday suit of black which he 
 affected. Others maintained, with a better show of reason, 
 that his nickname was due to the fact that he was continu 
 ally arguing against parsons! 
 
 That he had got Meg out of her trouble, was much 
 to her. That he was the trainer of Ladybird was more. 
 That he was Mort Sheldon s man was most of all. Over 
 and above all this, she was thoroughly pleased with his 
 way of speaking of horses as though they were human. 
 She had imbibed the Indian belief that the warrior s 
 favorite horse and dog would share with him the Happy 
 Hunting Ground. She had been in high dudgeon one 
 
THE LATIMERS. 397 
 
 day at Dr. McMillan, for doubting that Ladybird had a 
 soul. The Doctor had begun the duty of teaching her 
 religion, and his text-book, of course, was the Shorter 
 Catechism, of which we shall have more to say presently. 
 He had got as far as "God s works of Providence," the 
 answer to which Meg well understood, in a general way, 
 and cordially assented to. She was especially pleased with 
 the thought that God s Providence includes "the preserv 
 ing and governing all his creatures and all their actions." 
 
 "That means big creatures?" she asked, "deer and 
 bear, and horses, and cows?" 
 
 "Yes, no doubt!" the Doctor replied, but with some 
 hesitation. 
 
 "That mean little creatures, too?" 
 
 "Certainly! That is to say hem! yes, I expect so!" 
 
 "That mean ants, and spiders, and bees and " 
 
 "Oh, yes!" exclaimed the Doctor, whose rather stately 
 intellect hardly kept pace with Meg s rapid questions. 
 "Beasts and birds and creeping things were created for 
 man s use; and as far as they serve that end of their crea 
 tion, they are under God s government. Yes, yes; no 
 doubt! But the manner in which the good minister 
 repeated these closing words, indicated that such an infer 
 ence from the familiar answer was wholly new to him. 
 
 To this Meg demurred, and put in a plea for all manner 
 of living things, wild and tame, as having rights and privi 
 leges of their own in creation. She thought they shared 
 the Great Spirit s concern quite independently of man and 
 his affairs. In her broken English she tried to hold her 
 own with the Doctor, and argued that if all living crea 
 tures and all their actions, no matter how trivial, shared 
 with man the Providence of God, they might well have part 
 with him in the future life. 
 
 "Paganism, my child, rank paganism!" the Doctor 
 averred with more warmth than the occasion seemed to 
 lequire. "Would you put brute beasts on a level with a 
 child of God, bought with the blood of the Covenant? The 
 Scriptures have naught to say of horses and dogs being 
 elected to eternal life, to say nothing of such base creatures 
 as ants and spiders and flies, and such like." 
 
 "Oh, that nothing!* Meg responded with a confidence 
 whose childlike simplicity alone protected her from the 
 sturdy theologian s grave displeasure. No man or woman 
 
398 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 in all the parish would have dared to flout so airily his 
 judgment on such a matter. "That nothing at all! You 
 suppose Great Spirit tell all He knows? He has kept many 
 things from the red man; mebbe He keep something from 
 the white man, too! Indian chief has his secrets. What 
 for he blab everything he mean to do? That spoil all! 
 Indian maiden have her secrets, too; and she keep them 
 in her heart very close till time comes to tell. Mebbe Doc 
 tor-preacher have his secrets, too. He very wise chief; and 
 his people sometimes very foolish, like poor Meg. Suppose 
 he tell all he know? They no understand! Better keep 
 back a little. By ? n by they get a little more! Now, Meg 
 think mebbe Great Spirit have his secrets, too. He tell 
 some to red man; some to black man. He tell great many 
 to white man in the Good Book. But mebbe He tell some 
 more after while. Mebbe He no tell at all! Mebbe He 
 leave us to find that out in Heaven. P raps that great sur 
 prise. We come to Heaven. There are pretty houses, and 
 trees, and flowers, and birds, and butterflies, and horses, 
 and cows. And Meg find Ladybird! Ah! that great sur 
 prise, and great happy, too! What you suppose?" 
 
 The Doctor did not have to wait for Heaven to get a 
 great surprise; he had it there and then. He was acute 
 enough to see the sweet reasonableness of Meg s argument, 
 but oh, the innovation of it ! He smiled as he thought what 
 his old Princeton professors and the Eastern presbyters 
 would say to such theology? 
 
 "My child/ 7 he replied, "we must not suppose in such 
 matters, nor be wise above what is written/ His warm 
 heart went out kindly and pityingly towards the maid 
 whose mind was still in the shackles of paganism. "Don t 
 think of it, dear child! It is degrading to our ideas of 
 Heaven and immortality." 
 
 Meg yielded the argument, but held to her opinion. 
 She saw no reason why, if this world was so much happier 
 to her because of Ladybird, the spirit world might not 
 also be happier because of a spirit Ladybird. Therefore, 
 encouraged by the reply of Mr. Nathan Lane, she laid the 
 case before that gentleman. Nathan was in his element 
 when dealing with such questions, and plunged with zest 
 into the subject. 
 
 "Neow, Miss Latimer, I quite agree with you. The 
 Doctor is a most worthy man, an 1 arnt in Scriptur*, an all 
 
THE LATIMERS. 399 
 
 that. He s a powerful theologian, and has the five p ints 
 of Calvinism at his finger s eends, an several p ints of over 
 plus, I allow. But, bless your pretty face, when it comes 
 to human natur , an specially to brute natur , shucks! 
 he has a heap to Tarn. My mother, God bless her! use tuh 
 say that religion was mixed a deal like her receipt for cup 
 cake one of butter, two of sugar, three of flour and four 
 aigs. One of theology, says she, two of human natur , 
 three of downright honesty, and four of charity. Beat em 
 up well with sound common sense, says she, an there s a 
 religion good enough for a Christian or anybody else. 
 Neow, you see Miss, the Doctor hes the theology in good 
 heft, an maybe some of the other ingrejents, too. But he s 
 powerful short on human natur . 
 
 "But hyur we be at the barn. Jes you dismount, and 
 rest yourself a spell. These girths need a bit tightenin an 
 I reckon Ladybird ud be none the worse of hevin a leetle 
 call with her old cronies. That s womanlike, you know. 
 We ll jes let em drink together out of the barnyard trough, 
 and rub noses and gossip friendly w r hile they drink, w ich 
 is hoss natur as well as human natur . Especially in fe 
 males, who love to drink tea and gossip together. An 
 men s jes the same, only changin bitters for tea. An 
 hosses bein more sensible than either, an nigher the heart 
 of natur , 11 grow sociable over a draught of pure spring 
 water, or a lush nip of juicy grass or meadow hay." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 DR. MCMILLAN HAS A LESSON IN FOREIGN MISSIONS. 
 
 Meg dismounted as requested. She doubted if Lady 
 bird needed refreshment or further social satisfaction; aiid 
 was sure that she needed no help to right her riding outfit. 
 But then, as she said, she would like to hear Nathan Lane s 
 opinion on the subject of animal immortality. Besides, as 
 she did not say, she longed to hear some word about Mort 
 Sheldon, which she hoped Nathan might drop. 
 
 Moreover, she had not yet finished her quiet survey of 
 the farm buildings. She noted the large barn with one 
 gable banked against a hillslope and a raised roadway 
 
400 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 through the double doors into the barn floor, with deep 
 mows on either side bursting with fragrant hay. . Beneath 
 were a number of roomy stalls for horses and cattle, all as 
 clean and sweet as fresh clover. These and the hay ricks 
 in the stable yard, and even the barn fences, showed white 
 with a wash of slaked lime. Just beyond the corner of the 
 barn, among its embowering trees of black walnut, she 
 caught a glimpse of a capacious cabin of hewn logs, white 
 washed like the barn, and shining bright among the green 
 foliage. Beyond this, as her eye wandered, were wide 
 reaches of cleared land, and the rounded tops of a young 
 orchard, and other tokens of a thrifty plantation. 
 
 "And this is where Mor-to-shel-john lives?" the maiden 
 mused. "Ah! The Tri-col-or must be a great chief among 
 white men, even like my father." 
 
 "Neow then, as I was savin , Miss Latimer," Nathan 
 Lane began, and his nasal voice recalled Meg s wandering 
 thoughts. "The trouble with some of these passons is, 
 that they havn t a bit of human natur about em; leastways, 
 the stream, runs pretty shallow. They pitch the r tune too 
 tarnation high most times, and nothin short of catgut can 
 key up to it. Shucks! taint no good, that! Suppose neow, 
 I d leave the hay up ther in the mows? Both mows bustin 
 full, an not a wisp in the ricks! Of course, the critters ud 
 starve. That s the way with many of the passons. Angel 
 food is mebbe relishin provender for the Prophet Elijah, 
 an sech like, but common folks has got to have bacon an 
 hoe-cake an hominy. 
 
 "Of course, says you, Passon McMillan wants Heaven 
 to be so drefful spirit al an ee-thereal an angel-like, an 
 all that, that ther s no room for critters. But it pears to 
 me that bosses, cows, sheep an sech, would make a right 
 wholesome featur in any sort of Heaven. In p int of fac 
 a deal wholesomer than lots of folks; for they re cleaner 
 and decenter in their manners, and soberer in their meat 
 and drink, by a nation sight, than many men folks I know. 
 Why, bless your heart, there s a plenty of people never 
 know when to stop eatin and drinkin ; an with lots more 
 their eye is bigger n their appetite. But my horses ain t a 
 bit that way; enough s enough with them. Let your 
 moderation be known to all men, says the passon. Ay, 
 says I, there s the bosses for you, Mr. Passon! If you 
 want to exemplify that tex , don t a hoss do it better n a 
 man? says I. It does, indeed, an no mistake! 
 
THE LATIMERS. 401 
 
 "Neow, Miss Latimer, th re ain t any doubt that 
 Heaven s a han some place. It s a kinder double decked 
 affair, as I read my Bible. One deck s for city folks, an 
 t other for countrymen. One Scriptur calls it the heavenly 
 Jerusalem, an t other a heavenly country. Neow, I d 
 choose the heavenly country, all the time! But here s 
 suthin cur ous that I onct axed Passon McMillan to ex 
 plain for me. What sort of a country would it be without 
 critters? What ud a farmin land in Heaven ameount to 
 without hosses an cows an sheep? Passon, says I, you 
 approve them hymns that sing of Sweet fields arrayed in 
 livin green, an Sweet fields beyond the swellin floods 
 Stand dressed in livin green, an all that? Hey, Passon? 
 
 " Sartin, says he; they re based on Scriptur. 
 
 "Wall, says I, who s goin to graze them green medders? 
 I reckon it won t be angels! Nor saints! Onless, we 
 should all be turned into a sort of heavenly Nebuchadnez- 
 zars an eat grass like an ox. Neow, it don t pear to me, 
 Passon, says I, that the Lord ud make all them miles an 
 miles an millions of miles of pastur land, an not a critter 
 to use em for grazin ! Shucks! there s no sech waste in 
 Providence, as I ever seed. 
 
 " It s all contrary to Scriptur^ Nathan Lane, says 
 Passon McMillan. Then he trots out his everlastin elec 
 tion doctrine, and wants to know how dumb critters could 
 git into Heaven without atonement and the covenant of 
 grace, an all that? 
 
 "Wall, Passon, says I, what s to hender elect beasts as 
 well as elect men? An as for atonement, shucks! you don t 
 meanter say that horses is sinners, same as we be? What 
 need of atonement for them anyhow, more n for angels? 
 As for the Covenants, an the like, what ye goin to du 
 with the Covenant of Xoah? Didn t the Good Lord take 
 the beasts into that Covenant same as the human bein s? 
 Neow, mebbe that is not pre-cisely what ye call the Cove 
 nant of Grace; but it s powerful like it, I alloaw, says I; 
 an a pretty good type an sh adder of things to come, says 
 I; as tho the Good Lord had a tuk men and beasts into 
 the same sort of destiny under the same Covenant of 
 Mercy. Neow, you say it s contrary to Scriptur , Passon? 
 
 " So tis! says he, dogmatic like. 
 
 "No t ain t! says I. There s beasts in Heaven, an 
 pretty high up, too! says I. Jest you turn to Revelation 
 26 
 
402 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 IV: 6. What do you make eout abeout them four beasts 
 that rest not day nor night, sayin Holy! holy! holy, Lord 
 God A mighty?" 
 
 " Oh, them s not brute beasts! 7 says the Passon, like 
 our critters. Them s jest symbols/ says he. 
 
 "Symbols! says I! Wall, I reckon if beasts are good 
 enough for symbols of high angels and sich, they re good 
 enough to git into Heaven, if the Lord so please. Besides, 
 the Scriptur says partic lar that one beast was like a lion, 
 one like a calf, and another like an eagle. That s what it 
 says. An I says, Passon, a dog is as good as a lion, which 
 is only a kind of cat anyhow. An a hoss is as good as an 
 ox; an pigeons and song-birds is jest as good as eagles. 
 What s to hinder them, too, from gittin into Heaven?" 
 
 Much of this was lost on Meg, who followed dimly the 
 details, but got the drift of the meaning, and was highly 
 content. She was encouraged to ask further questions 
 as to brute intelligence. Thereupon Nathan took up his 
 parable with unflagging zest. 
 
 "Do I think Ladybird knows things, an understands 
 us? says you. Sartin, Miss Latimer, sartin sure! Neow 
 there s that trick of her n that she played off n you a spell 
 ago. Ha, ha! One hadn t oughter laugh at the han some 
 little hypocrite. But that s her own trick. I never knowed 
 another hoss to play make-believe like that. An why did 
 she play it off n you? Becaze she has human feelin s, and 
 wanted to say howdy to her kin, and felt fretted when you 
 wouldn t let her stop. An so she set her wits to work and 
 jest tricked you into givin her what she wanted. Ha, ha! 
 That, an takin down the riders from a rail fence, are her 
 only two bad tricks, and she rarely uses em, and nobody s 
 ever the worse for em. But that s reasonin ! What else? 
 Of course, bosses knows things! When we want to com 
 pliment a man for wisdom, don t we say he has good hoss 
 sense? That s as much as to say that it takes an extryor- 
 dinary good man to size up to a hoss in common sense. 
 An the bulk of em is several p ints to win ard of that! 
 
 "Do I think they have human feelin s? Ay, Miss, that 
 I do; or leastways feelin s that would do honor to human 
 bein s. If t ain t logic to call their natur human natur , 
 then hoss natur is n t far behind human. 
 
 "Yes, they re silent, is dumb beasts. Leastways they 
 can t talk very well with us. But, shucks! they understand 
 
THE LATIMERS. 403 
 
 one another; an they understand us. Don t Ladybird 
 understand you neow when you talk to her and pet her? 
 Who knows? If they can t talk like us, they may think 
 and reason and feel jest as we do. They look it, most times, 
 I m sure. Neow, if men were deprived of speech, and had 
 never Farnt how to talk, would they hev any better way of 
 showin what they want than hosses like Ladybird, or dogs 
 like Andy- Burbeck s Bounce, or his old hoss Rouse? 
 
 "Yis, yis, that s it! If men and women had huffs and 
 claws on their feet an hands, says you. Ha, ha! that s 
 good! I never jest thought of that, neow. I daresay it s so, 
 and that accounts for a good deal of it. If a man couldn t 
 talk and didn t have hands, he d be abeout as dumb a bea^i 
 as a hoss. An would he have a soul then? says you, Miss 
 Latimer. Why not? A human soul s not a mere matter 
 of huffs an claws and horns, I reckon. Shucks! No, Miss 
 Latimer, it hain t no way proved that animals don t have 
 a soul, after all, even though it may be a dumb sort of one. 
 
 "That s heow I argy with Mr. Sheldon, t any rate; but 
 he ain t quite convinced that I be right. But bless my soul, 
 I wisht he could hear you talk, I do! I reckon that ? ud 
 fetch im. I ve hearn that he give you Ladybird, out thar 
 in the Injun kentry. Oh yis, of course I knew beout it; 
 heerd it from lots of folks areound Canonsburg; an have 
 seed you thar more n onct, an over to the meetin house. 
 He s gittin along fine, Mr. Sheldon is, an I m lookin for 
 him back to hum afore long. Shucks! I d jest like him to 
 hear you talk abeout this matter; he d come areound to our 
 side, sure. Sartin, animals is immortal; leastways there s 
 immortal animals, I do believe. You re bent on goin 
 neow, be ye? Wall, good day to you, Miss Latimer! An 
 better luck with Ladybird, nex time you ride out our way. 
 
 "A nation fine young woman that!" he muttered to him 
 self, as Meg rode out of the white yard gate and so toward 
 home. "Call her an Injun pagan? Shucks! she knows 
 more n half the dough-faced, dumplin -cheeked geirls 
 areound here. Smart as a Yankee school marm too, she is! 
 Ef there were many young women like her in these dig- 
 gins , by hookey, I wouldn t mind makin up to one on em 
 myself. Talks amazin well too, considerin her advan 
 tages!" As Nathan had done nearly all the talking himself, 
 only following the lead of Meg s few questions and sugges 
 tions, his conclusion helps to confirm the opinion that the 
 best talker is commonly the closest hearer. 
 
404 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 Meg, too, had her inward communings as she rode 
 homeward. They were pleasant ones, considering the try 
 ing experiences of the outward ride. Ladybird had be 
 haved sadly, and greatly disappointed and distressed her 
 mistress. But never was erring creature, whether horse 
 or man, more thoroughly absolved or more completely 
 restored to favor, Surely it is an ill wind that blows no 
 good; and Ladybird s "strike/ 7 though ill of promise, had 
 brought her mistress a pleasure she would else have missed. 
 
 Let us see! She would not have heard Nathan Lane 
 prove so beautifully that there will be horses in Heaven, 
 and that even Dr. McMillan couldn t keep them out. She 
 would not have seen that fair plantation, with its white 
 cabin among the trees, and its white barn, and white 
 fences, and green meadows. She would not have learned 
 who lived there, and what a great man he is among his 
 people, in sheep and kine, and above all in horses. Then, 
 last and best, though it came in like a postscript to a love 
 letter, she would not have heard that the scout who had 
 aided in delivering her from captivity, and had given her 
 Ladybird, and had fought so gallantly by John s side at 
 Fallen Timbers, and had been hurt so grievously, was 
 doing well and would soon be home, and maybe? 
 
 Ah! faster, Ladybird, faster! Gallop, gallop and beat 
 time with your pattering hoofs to the maiden s beating 
 heart. Faster, Ladybird! The woods rush by, and the 
 hills, and the cottages with their gazing matrons, and the 
 fields with their gaping ploughmen. All are rushing by, 
 back along the road to Mort Sheldon s white cabin among 
 the walnut trees. What a glow swift riding a-horseback 
 sends through one s frame! But never did wild gallop or 
 wilder run set aflame in maiden s heart that glow which 
 Meg Latimer now felt within her bosom. Do you know 
 what it is? Meg did not know, and was there ever maid 
 who did know, when the first sweet kindling of new-born 
 love shed its gentle warmth through her veins? 
 
 Nor did Meg s mother suspect, Avhen she welcomed her 
 daughter home with her face all aflame with gladness, and 
 remembered the gloom that darkened it when she rode 
 thence. And so she said within her heart: "There s nought 
 like horseback ridin to chase away the vapors!" 
 
 Welladay! While maids are maids, and men are men, 
 the vestal fire of true love will not go out in this mad 
 
THE LATIMERS. 405 
 
 world of ours. And that world will be nearest to Paradise 
 when every Jack shall have his Jill, and every maid her 
 man. So mote it be! A thriving land is aye a wiving land! 
 
 The next day, Dr. McMillan had a smiling,, tractable 
 pupil. Though armed with all the theological artillery of 
 Nathan Lane, Meg had thought better of her purpose to 
 use it. Perhaps, because she was not polemically inclined. 
 Perhaps, because well, what would the great, wise man 
 care that she had found out where Ladybird was born? 
 But Featherfoot knew it all; and seeing the rising flame in 
 the unconscious maiden s breast, and knowing well the 
 signs, smiled through her tears, and remembered her 
 first and only love, but gave no hint of her discovery. 
 
 All went well with the lesson, which dwelt chiefly upon 
 the question, "What is God?" Meg grasped as much of the 
 contents of the noble definition of the Eternal contained 
 in the Westminster Catechism, as folks are apt to do. Did 
 she not already believe that "God is a Spirit?" Every 
 Shawnee knew that! If she did not fully understand, yet 
 she could adore that Spirit who, she then learnt, was 
 "infinite, eternal and unchangeable in His being, wisdom, 
 power, holiness, justice, goodness and truth." 
 
 Wisdom? Yes! Look at the stars, and the flowers, 
 and the trees and Ladybird. Justice? Yes! Had she 
 not seen how the Great Spirit slew Succahanos by her own 
 hand, and avenged the murder of Bended Knee, and the 
 wrongs of her life? Power? Yes! She had seen Niagara! 
 She had seen the tornado that smote the forest at Fallen 
 Timbers. She had seen the lightnings rive the oak into 
 flinders; and had heard the thunders echoing among the 
 hills. She had seen the Ohio rushing at full flood, and the 
 sun melt the winter snows, and bring forth the grass and 
 leaves in the springtime. Goodness? Oh yes, yes! Her 
 blue eyes grew dim, and the long lashes glistened with 
 tear-dew, as she thought of her home and its loves, and her 
 deliverance from the Shawnees. Surely God is good! 
 
 The Doctor would have been highly content with his 
 fair catechumen, and she as well pleased with him, had 
 matters stopped there. But alas! into every Eden of ours 
 obtrudes the irritating visage of sin. And discord comes 
 with sin. In an evil moment for the concord of the day s 
 lesson, the Doctor introduced the story of man s fall. 
 Now, it was well enough when the story held to Adam and 
 
406 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 Eve, and the serpent, and the tree. For tragedy is ever 
 entertaining, especially to children and untutored minds. 
 We shiver at the tale of ghost or bloody deed, but say 
 "go on!" 
 
 However, when the Doctor descended from the general 
 to the particular, from narration to application, he was con 
 founded to find his congregation, for once at least, in rebel 
 lion. Having done with Adam s first transgression, and 
 how man sinned and fell therein, the good minister came, 
 unluckily for his peace of mind, to "What is sin?" and 
 "What doth every sin deserve?" His theology was not 
 equivocal on these points. None could state "total de 
 pravity" in more uncompromising terms than he. Unless, 
 indeed, it were Andy Burbeck, who, as his wife averred 
 with grim humor, not only believed it and preached it, 
 but practiced it, too! 
 
 The Doctor s theory was that unless one felt himself to 
 be thoroughly sinful and lost, he had slim prospects for a 
 goodlier life here and a heritage hereafter. Meg seemed 
 to take it all in smilingly, for she nodded approval as the 
 Doctor went on. But he soon found that she was thinking 
 all the while of the Shawnees. Thereupon the Doctor 
 labored to set Meg s special sins before her. 
 
 "That all gone now!" the maid asserted. "Meg very 
 good now she white girl, and at home. Her heart was bad, 
 bad in the Indian country; but she all right now!" 
 
 "Ah, but no one is all right," the Doctor affirmed with 
 solemn air and mournful tone. "We have all sinned and 
 come short. There is none that doeth good, my child, not 
 one! All mankind have sinned and fallen in Adam; and 
 that includes us and all others. We are all sinners." 
 
 "What!" cried Meg, "my brother John a sinner?" 
 
 "Yes, John too." 
 
 "No, no! Not John. Meg not have that! John good 
 man. He no bad, wicked sinner! An mother sinner? an 
 father sinner? an sister Fanny sinner? You no say that, 
 Mr. Doctor? Hey?" 
 
 "Yes, my child; your father, and mother, and Fanny, 
 and you, and myself as well, we are all sinners in God s 
 sight, and need to repent and trust in our Saviour or we 
 shall be lost sinners." 
 
 "What lost sinners?" asked Meg sharply. 
 
 "Hear what the Catechism says: Every sin deserves 
 
THE LATIMERS. 407 
 
 the wrath of God and the pains of death forever. Let me 
 explain that, my child." And he did explain, without 
 mincing words, as Dr. John McMillan could well do. 
 
 But Meg never winced, and followed the Doctor with 
 unflinching gaze through all the details of a Tophet of 
 material fires, as he heartily believed the same, though 
 loath and sad enough to do so. But he was hardly pre 
 pared for the reception his novitiate gave his teaching. 
 
 "That all right!" said Meg, nodding her approval. 
 "That good enough for Succohanos! He kill Bended 
 Knee. He steal Meg. He torture white captive. Aha! 
 He find out now how it goes!" 
 
 "No, no, my poor child!" interrupted the Doctor, quite 
 shocked at such a corollary from his instructions. "You 
 must not speak so. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord." 
 
 Meg understand. She no want to burn Succohanos. 
 Xo 3 no! Great Spirit do that. And Winnecheoh too, the 
 old hag! She treat Meg very bad. She more cruel to pris 
 oners nor all the Shawnee braves and squaws. Ah yes; 
 bad place too good for her!" 
 
 Now the Doctor felt bound to interpose and explain 
 to his pupil that not only Succohanos and Winnecheoh, but 
 herself and all her friends, who would not repent and be 
 lieve, must bear the wrath of God and pains of death for 
 ever. Thereat Meg could not restrain herself. She leap -d 
 to her feet with wonder and anger flaming from her face, 
 flung her Catechism to the floor and put her foot upon it. 
 
 "No, no! Meg not have that! That good nough re 
 ligion for Succohanos! What you do with that good Father 
 who take back Prodigal son an kiss him, an give him ring 
 and clothes, an make him great turn-turn an pow-wow an 
 feast? He never put Meg s father and mother in hell, 
 never! He never put brother John, nor sister Fanny, nor 
 Meg, nor Mor-to-shel-john! He too just, too good. He 
 can t do that. He shan t!" 
 
 The untamed maid, her breast torn with a tempest of 
 passionate indignation, flung herself out of the room, leav 
 ing the Doctor sitting with uplifted hands, and horror and 
 amazement mingled on his pallid face. But the lesson was 
 not to close so. As Meg fled the room, she found herself 
 in the arms of her mother, who had heard the interview 
 and came to the rescue of the clergyman, as woman has 
 ever done since the days of Priscilla and Apollos. 
 
408 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 "0 my darling!" she exclaimed, folding the heaving 
 bosom against her own, and kissing the hot cheeks. "You 
 don t understand. You are a woman grown in stature, hut 
 a child in these things. You must listen and learn with a 
 meek and humhle heart. You don t understand, darling! 
 Come back, come back, and let the Doctor teach you. 
 Don t fly off this way, dear; it grieves your mother sorely." 
 
 "Ahbut, mother," Meg answered, soothed, but still 
 unreconciled; "what for the Doctor say such things? He 
 told me you and father and brother John and Meg, mebbe 
 go to bad place!" 
 
 "My dear, that s too true, if if we don t believe in the 
 Saviour." 
 
 "Oh, that it? Does my dear mother believe?" asked 
 Meg, speaking softly, and patting her mother s cheeks. 
 
 "Yes, dear, indeed I do!" 
 
 "And father, and John and Fanny and " 
 
 "Yes, yes, they all believe." 
 
 "Well then, Meg believe too! She believe very much, 
 then! She no want to go to Succohanos! An she go tell 
 the Doctor so!" Turning toward the clergyman, who had 
 now risen, she presented to him a face as gracious as an 
 April sky out of which a thunder storm has blown. 
 
 "Meg very sorry!" she said with downcast eyes. "She 
 pretty bad, mebbe, and not understand at all. She believe 
 very much, now! She make big mistake. She know better 
 now. No one go to bad place but Succohanos, an Win- 
 necheoh, an bad Shawnees. Mebbe some wicked white 
 men, too, sometimes! Meg very sorry. She believe all 
 the Doctor want her to. She believe all the little Ask- 
 book now. Mother say that s all right!" Thus saying, she 
 stooped to the floor, picked up the cast-away Catechism, 
 and with a penitent face handed it to Dr. McMillan. 
 
 The Doctor was well content to give up the duty of 
 instruction for that day, and rode away to his manse, some 
 three miles distant, with more new thoughts buzzing within 
 his brain, and emotions more novel than he had enter 
 tained for years. As he entered his study, and threw him 
 self into his big rocking chair, his wife, seeing him to be 
 wearied out, saluted him soothingly. 
 
 "My dear, how got you on with your catechumen?" 
 
 "Ah, mother, don t mention it!" the Doctor answered, 
 with a sigh of discouragement. "It is the old story, only 
 
THE LATIMERS. 409 
 
 a thousand times worse. I have had many a tussle in my 
 time with callow fledglings of theologues, who thought 
 they could teach their grandmother how to milk ducks, as 
 our folks say. But Meg Latimer beats them all! It was 
 really shocking to hear that half-baked daughter of 
 Ephraim fly up at the evangelical doctrines." 
 
 "Tut, John, dear, why should ye fret?" said the mis 
 tress of the manse. "It s just a little outbreak of natural 
 depravity/ 
 
 "Natural depravity! I should think so!" the Doctor 
 exclaimed. "Good Lord help the missionaries! I never 
 knew before what a task it must be to teach the heathen. I 
 have sometimes thought that I had a hard lot here on the 
 frontier; but I ll never think so again. The lines have 
 fallen unto me in pleasant places, compared with the lot 
 of missionaries to the heathen savages." 
 
 "Now, for supper!" said Meg with a light heart. The 
 exhilaration of preparing a meal, next to a horseback 
 ride, soothed Meg s spirit. The animation with which she 
 turned to this service as the Doctor rode away, fairly 
 gauged the measure of her perturbation. Is any woman 
 possessed with a demon of unrest, anger, despondency? 
 Fly to kitchen and cook book, or, better still, to the well- 
 remembered "mother s receipts!" That mood is, indeed, 
 incorrigible, which will not melt before the process of 
 cooking a good meal, especially if there are loved ones to 
 partake of it. 
 
 With snowy apron in front, and sleeves tucked up, 
 displaying shapely arms with the Indian brown showing 
 still through the pink skin, Meg stood at the window, 
 beating whites of eggs into snowy foam for the griddle 
 cakes of Indian meal that her father loved so well. 
 
 A horseman rode up the lane. Meg heard the thud of 
 the hoofs, and peeped out of the window. The trunks of 
 the trees concealed the man s face; but where had she 
 seen that horse? She would go to the kitchen door for 
 better vision. That sorrel horse? Look again, Meg! 
 Who rode him side by side with you into the battle line at 
 Fallen Timbers? Who caught him, grazing near the field 
 of that first skirmish, escaped as by a miracle when his 
 master had fallen under his wounds? 
 
 Yourself, Meg Latimer! 
 
 That is Mort Sheldon s sorrel gelding. And that is 
 
410 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 the master himself, riding down the cherry lane into the 
 maple-shaded yard. One glimpse, ere you fly back to the 
 kitchen fire. He is thinner and paler than when you saw 
 him first. But he has ridden the sorrel horse home 
 through the Ohio country. And he has changed its name. 
 He calls it "Latimer," and not after his friend John! 
 
 Now mix the spongy corn-cake with deft touch, though 
 hands tremble a little. Bend over the glowing coals, for 
 their heat will excuse the burning red of the cheeks, by 
 and by, when Mor-to-shel-john comes, and takes your 
 hands, and greets you with grave salute (though his fingers 
 tremble like yours), and eyes that burn and flash with a 
 light that almost tells their tale of love into your own. 
 
 It was a fervent prayer that Dr. McMillan offered, that 
 night, in his study, ere he lay down to sleep, for his fair 
 young charge "wandering in the dark mountains of igno 
 rance and misbelief." Eise from your knees with good 
 heart and hope, good man of God! One has come to your 
 aid who will not fail of his task, a mightier teacher than 
 thou. His name is Love. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIIL 
 
 A SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS. 
 
 General Lee, commander-in-chief of the Army of the 
 Western Expedition, had his headquarters at Bedford, 
 Pennsylvania. On the 20th of October, 1794, he received 
 official instructions from President Washington for the con 
 duct of the campaign beyond the mountains. The troops 
 were set in motion and the march across the Allegheny 
 Mountains began. To most of the soldiers the country 
 was new, for Western Pennsylvania was then a far Western 
 frontier. 
 
 The roads were few and rude, and softened by the 
 heavy rain, and kneaded into mud by the feet of march 
 ing men and hoofs of horses and cattle, made slavish 
 going. The mountain frosts nipped keenly, and gave a 
 lively relish to bivouac fires at night. These were small 
 matters to veterans, but to the new recruits and volun 
 teers the experience seemed hard enough. Their letters 
 
THE LATIMERS. 411 
 
 home compared the march to that of Hannibal over the 
 Alps, and their hardships to those of Washington s Conti 
 nentals at Valley Forge. In fancy they saw themselves 
 returning as conquering heroes, crowned with the laurels 
 of military victors. 
 
 Following the rule prevailing during the Eevolutionary 
 war, as the movement was toward the north the northern 
 troops took the right, and crossed the mountains by the 
 northern or Pennsylvania route. The left wing moved 
 from Fort Cumberland, crossed the mountains by Brad- 
 dock s road, thirty miles to the westward, and on October 
 30th was at Bonnet s Camp in the southern corner of 
 Westmoreland County. On Hallo weve, October 31st, the 
 headquarters were at Uniontown, Fayette County, and the 
 main body of the left wing arrived the same day. The two 
 wings having united, the corps advanced, and the close 
 of the first week in November found the main army en 
 camped along the Monongahela Eiver, between Parkin 
 son s Ferry and the mouth of Mingo Creek. 
 
 Gen. Lee thereupon issued a proclamation, confirming 
 the amnesty to those who had entitled themselves to it, and 
 called upon all the inhabitants to take the oath of allegi 
 ance to tl^e United States. A detachment under Gen. 
 Morgan entered Pittsburg, and escorted Gen. Seville to 
 his own house with military pomp and parade. Thence 
 forth, while the army remained, he was in a position of 
 almost unlimited influence over the fate of his fellow- 
 citizens, and his representations before Judge Peters- 
 tribunal had great weight. In many cases he used this 
 fortuitous advantage on the side of mercy; in some, it is 
 to be regretted, prejudice seemed to rule his conduct. 
 
 Rumors of the army s march flew far and wide through 
 out the Western counties. As the troops came nearer and 
 nearer, and at last crossed the border of the Survey, the 
 anxiety and excitement became intense. Many were partly 
 assured by the Deputies report of Washington s spirit and 
 words, and of the character and temper of the commanders. 
 Many who had signed the amnesty reposed in confidence, 
 although in trembling, under the faith of the Government. 
 Many rested secure in the consciousness of their innocence. 
 Others, deeming discretion the better part of wisdom as 
 well as of valor, and resolved to take no chances, shouldered 
 
412 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 their rifles and crossed the borders of the State into Ken 
 tucky and the Ohio territory. At least two thousand rifle 
 men, it has been estimated,, thus fled the Survey to remain 
 until the troops had gone back East, or to make permanent 
 settlement in the newer West. 
 
 Underneath all the outward appearance of confidence 
 was profound anxiety. The vaunts and vituperation of 
 some of the troops had been circulated everywhere. The 
 threats of indiscriminate punishment made by the Captain 
 Cuttan Swings, Lieutenant Meneters and Ensign McKil- 
 lens of the army corps, had been repeated in every house 
 and cabin, and as usual with rumors of war, grew as they 
 flew. An attempt by a mob of militiamen to lynch Mr. 
 Brackenridge in Pittsburg increased public apprehension. 
 
 As to resistance, there was none. The "armed combi 
 nations" against which the troops were to operate did not 
 appear. Not a hand was raised against the army. Absolute 
 peace and good order sat upon the entire Survey. Men 
 could not but wonder; for what was this armed host sent 
 hither? What will it do now that it is here? It made no 
 hostile demonstration. The soldiers rested quietly in their 
 temporary quarters, and their only relations with the in 
 habitants seemed to be friendly inquiries about the land, or 
 purchases of needed supplies. 
 
 After a week of inaction, many began to hope that the 
 clouds had blown over and their fears had been imaginary, 
 Among these was Luke Latimer. He had not heretofore 
 ventured to expect entire exemption; his part had been too 
 prominent for that. But now he cherished a faint hope 
 that, having taken the amnesty he would not be seriously 
 molested. At least, he soothed his wife with this view, and 
 enlarged upon the inviolable word and honor of Washing 
 ton, which had been pledged to all who complied with the 
 Government s conditions, and which Gen. Lee had re 
 affirmed in his proclamation. 
 
 The delusion was suddenly dispelled. On the morning 
 of November llth, a squad of soldiers halted before the 
 Latimer cabin, and without warrant or other form of law 
 arrested Luke and bore him away to Pittsburg. Brief 
 time was allowed for parting with wife and daughter. 
 John was in Pittsburg with Andy Burbeck looking after 
 the pressure of business in freighting and ferrying caused 
 by the presence of the troops. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 413 
 
 
 
 "Now, Polly/ said Luke, when the first shock was over, 
 "if you have anny love or respict for me, I beg ye to kape 
 a stiff upper lip afore these soldiers. Bear the stroke with 
 dignity and patience, and urge Meg to the same, as my 
 particular wish and requist. I hope to be rel ased on bail; 
 but if things come to the warst, they can do little more 
 nor put me in prison. We ll ask the Captain to let Dungy 
 go with me to see me safe to Pittsburg, an bring you word 
 agin, and there John 11 soon find me. So good bye, dear 
 old swateheart! Sure the darkest day is jist afore the dawn. 
 Cheer up, love! The dawn is sure for til come, an then 
 p ace an happiness in the better day. Good bye, an God 
 bless ye, darlin !" 
 
 Dungy was permitted to attend his master, and the 
 cavalcade set forth, Luke mounted on his favorite Marion, 
 and the negro on one of the farm horses. No sooner had 
 the party disappeared, than Mrs. Polly completely broke 
 down. Her imagination was powerfully affected by the 
 idea of her husband being a prisoner in the hands of hostile 
 soldiers. She could not draw a distinction between the 
 traditional notion of a criminal, with jail and jailer and 
 maybe gallows at the end and a man in bonds for political 
 offending. There was a sense as of deep disgrace that had 
 befallen them ; a sullying of their family honor. 
 
 Beyond that, and far more serious, was her concern 
 for Luke s welfare. How could he, in his weakness and 
 suffering, stand the strain of trial and imprisonment? 
 Even if he escaped the severest judgment from the Govern 
 ment tribunal, the excitement would put an end to him. 
 A presentiment of coming evil possessed her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Luke having ended his journey, was at 
 once ushered into the presence of Secretary Hamilton. 
 The L^nited States Court was sitting, with Judge Peters 
 presiding. The Secretary, apparently acting as a repre 
 sentative of the President, assumed the role of examining 
 suspects, prisoners and witnesses. 
 
 "Mr. Latimer," he began, turning one of his piercing 
 looks upon the prisoner, "your name appears on the list of 
 those who are within the amnesty. And yet you are re 
 ported as one of the leaders of the insurrection." 
 
 "Both facts are true, Mr. Secretary," Luke answered. 
 
 "You were present at the mustering of the insurgents 
 at Braddock s Field?" the Secretary asked. 
 
414 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 < 
 
 "I was at Braddock s Field muster, your Honor; but 
 not as an insurgent/ 
 
 "Ah? In what capacity were you present?" 
 
 "I went, as manny others did, to do my best indeavor 
 to prevent voiolence an bloodshed." 
 
 "It s a marvel/ exclaimed Hamilton, "how many men 
 went out on that affair with purely philanthropic motives! 
 What a patriotic picnic it must have been, by all accounts! 
 Pray, sir, were you privy to any scheme to use that muster 
 of armed men to organize warfare against the United 
 States and its officers?" 
 
 Luke quietly replied: "No such schame was there 
 discussed; at laste none of which I had anny knowledge." 
 
 "What then was the purpose of the meeting?" 
 
 "The Lord alone knows, sir; onless it may be David 
 Bradford! An 7 I sore misdoubt Bradford knowed as little 
 as annyone else. It was a feckless affair; a wild and wit 
 less schame, the upshot of which was an absurd decree to 
 banish siveral gintlemin as had left the country aready, 
 an a harmless march intil Pittsburg an out agin." 
 
 "Do you know Mr. John Hamilton?" the Secretary 
 asked, with a swift change of the subject. 
 
 "Ay, he is Sheriff of our County, an Colonel of the 
 Mingo Creek rigiment of militia." 
 
 "How is he affected towards the Government?" 
 
 "He is an honorable an faithful officer, an a fri nd of 
 the Government an of good order." 
 
 "Ah? Another innocent!" said the Secretary rather 
 sharply. "He was at Braddock s Field with his regiment, 
 was he not?" 
 
 "He was; but as I parsonally know, he went solely an 
 simply to kape his rigiment out of trouble." 
 
 "I beg you to reflect, Mr. Latimer," the Secretary said, 
 pausing and glancing sternly at Luke; "that you are under 
 oath. It is important to the Government to know the 
 truth as to the part taken by the active leaders in the late 
 insurrection. We are disposed to look favorably on your 
 case, provided your testimony be satisfactory. I warn you, 
 however, that your safety and immunity are in your own 
 hands and depend upon your course." 
 
 Luke returned the Secretary s look with one of equal 
 sternness, and answered firmly: "Sir, I think I know the 
 natur of an oath; an Luke Latimer s neighbors will tell 
 
THE LATIMERS. 415 
 
 you that his word has iver been as good as his bond. I m 
 not onsinsible of the power of the Government; but no 
 axercise of that power, or intimation thereof, shall swerve 
 me from the plain truth. I repate, sir, what I said about 
 Col. John Hamilton. I know who were the chief 
 fomenters of these troubles; an I declare that he had 
 nayther part nor lot therein." 
 
 Here Inspector Neville leaned over and whispered to 
 the Secretary, who thereupon asked: "I observe that you 
 have a wounded arm, Mr. Latimer; how was it hurt?" 
 
 "I was shot at Bower Hill by one of the Government 
 soldiers within Giner l Neville s house." He turned his 
 blue eyes, now beginning to kindle with inward fire, upon 
 the Inspector. "I was runnin to the spring for water to 
 refrish the dyin lips of Major McFarlane, who was killed 
 while tryin to stop the firm in answer to a flag of truce 
 waved from the house. On the way back I resaved a volley 
 an 7 was struck twice." 
 
 "Ah! an unfortunate affair, that!" said the Secretary; 
 "unfortunate all around, indeed. But there s an old say 
 ing, Mr. Latimer, which you doubtless have heard, They 
 that take the sword shall perish by the sword." 
 
 "It s true enough, Mr. Secretary," Luke replied. "An* 
 I m not complainin of my share of the sufferin s an loss. 
 I took my chances; an I ll try to stand the consequences 
 as becomes a man an a veteran of the Revolution." 
 
 "You were in the war for Independence, then?" 
 
 "For sivin years, sir; an was thrice wounded." 
 
 "Isn t it a strange policy to seek to destroy the Govern 
 ment you fought to erect?" asked the Secretary. 
 
 "Isn t it a strange policy," Luke retorted, "for a 
 Government, which we fought to erect, to trate her pauper 
 ized veterans as they have been tr ated in these Western 
 Counties?" 
 
 "What was your object in assaulting Gen. Neville s 
 house?" asked the Secretary, hastening to change the 
 subject. 
 
 "The speecial objec was to indooce the Inspector to 
 give up sartain papers in order to prevant the draggin of 
 our citizens beyant the vicinage to be tried at Philadelphia. 
 That meant financial ruin to them, nought less. We also 
 wished to persuade, or aven compel the Inspector for to 
 give up his commission, and promise not to axercise his 
 
416 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 office within the Survey. No doubt, some were also stirred 
 with passion at the killin and maimin of several of their 
 neighbors, who had gone to Bower Hill the day afore an 
 were fired on by Neville and his negroes." 
 
 "They came with hostile intent, did they not?" 
 
 "They say they did not come to do bodily harm; 
 though, no doubt, their conduct was disorderly." 
 
 "But they were armed with rifles?" 
 
 "I axpec so, indade; but that is the custom of the 
 country, an has no sich significance as a like fac would 
 have in the East." 
 
 "You say a man was killed on that occasion?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Secretary, an 7 siveral badly hurted. An , 
 sir, it s worth your Honor s notice that the only lives lost 
 in all these troubles that ve brought the army down upon 
 us, have been those of the so-called insargents. If we d a 
 been the murderous lot that we re miscalled to be, that 
 could hardly have happened. In this partic lar at laste, 
 we ve been more sinned agin nor sinnin ." 
 
 "To return to the Bower Hill rising, Mr. Latimer. Col. 
 John Hamilton s regiment was there?" 
 
 "A large part of it was, sir. They live in the viceenity, 
 an had randyvoused at Mingo Church for inrolment as 
 ordered by Congress, whan the news of the killin and 
 woundin at Neville s came til them. It was under an 
 impulse of passion stirred up by that affair that they acted. 
 It was a sudden outbreak, at laste as far as most of the 
 militiamen were concarned." 
 
 "But Col. Hamilton Col. John Hamilton?" the Secre 
 tary persisted, waving aside Luke s plea; "he led his men 
 to the attack, did he not?" 
 
 "No, sir! He was not prisent at all. He did not ap 
 prove sich voiolence; an if he had been in sympathy with 
 us, his office as Sheriff would a handered him." 
 
 "That will do for the present, Mr. Latimer," said the 
 Secretary. He spoke sharply, and leaning back in his 
 chair eyed Luke with evident dissatisfaction. "It seems 
 impossible for the Government to obtain correct informa 
 tion of these rebellious transactions from those who were 
 prominent in them. I would advise you, sir, to retire for 
 an hour or two, to refresh your memory in order to be 
 re-examined." He spoke to an officer present, who con 
 ducted Luke into another chamber. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 417 
 
 There he was interviewed alternately by Judge Peters 
 and the District Attorney. Thence he was turned over to 
 the Inspector and an officer of the Philadelphia Light- 
 horse, who treated him with great indecorum. He was 
 urged to testify that Sheriff Hamilton had notified his 
 regiment to assist at the riot. When he indignantly re 
 pelled such assaults upon his honor and such inducements 
 to perjury, he was insulted. 
 
 "You have equivocated!" his examiner declared. "You 
 have evaded swearing the truth. Your conduct has for 
 feited the benefit of the amnesty to which you were other 
 wise entitled. Your life and property are endangered by 
 your stubborn refusal and prevarication. Be assured they 
 can only be saved by giving the testimony desired." 
 
 Luke was ushered into a room among a number of 
 prisoners and confined under military guard. At the time 
 appointed, he was again taken before the Secretary. "Have 
 you recollected yourself, Mr. Latimer," he was asked, "so 
 far as to give more satisfactory testimony concerning 
 Sheriff Hamilton s part in the insurrection?" 
 
 "Mr. Secretary," was the reply, "if the truth will not 
 satisfy, it s not in my power to give you satisfaction. I ve 
 telled ye the truth, and have related all I know." 
 
 "Sir," exclaimed the Secretary, assuming a terrifying 
 aspect, "I am surprised at you! You have the character 
 of an honest man, and yet you will not tell the truth. 
 You claim to be now a friend of the Government, anxious 
 to restore your country to good order. Yet you withhold 
 evidence against men whom we wish to make examples 
 that thereby we may enforce good order. We have abund 
 ant proof of what you refuse to tell, and to which you 
 could testify if you would. Sir, look out for yourself! 
 Guard, remove the prisoner." 
 
 "Mr. Secretary," said Luke, speaking with quiet dig 
 nity, but with an earnestness and solemnity that impressed 
 his hearers. "I sheltered myself inunder the public pledge 
 an proclamation of Giner l Washington. I trusted in his 
 honorable name and unstained faith, an I will add in your 
 own, as well. If this is an axample of the manner in which 
 plighted faith and public word are to be disregarded an 
 dishonored afore all the warld, the damage done to the 
 Government will be manifold greater nor anny which the 
 deeds or misdeeds of the Western people have wrought. 
 27 
 
418 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 For myself,, I care lettle. My days, I fear, are nigh spent. 
 The sacred Word you quoted a while back is like to prove a 
 true prophecye in my case. That grieves me lettle. 
 But, sir, it wounds me with a bitterer hurt nor that 
 which is surely undoin me," -he lifted up his 
 swathed right arm "that the honor and truth of 
 my old Commander and our new Republic are to be 
 trampled intil the mire. Sir, I appeal my case to Presi 
 dent Washington. Ay, an til a higher Coort, aven that of 
 Him who says, a righteous man sweareth to his hurt and 
 changeth not!" 
 
 While Luke Latimer was speaking, Gen. Neville, ac 
 companied by John Latimer and Morton Sheldon entered 
 the room. The General approached the Secretary, who 
 after a brief whispered conference, turned to Luke. "Mr. 
 Latimer," he said, "at the request of Gen. Neville, I have 
 referred your case to the consideration of Judge Peters." 
 Then he arose and retired. Judge Peters at once admitted 
 Luke to bail on the joint recognizance of Gen. Neville 
 and Morton Sheldon, and when the due formalities were 
 arranged the four men left the court room together. 
 
 "Mr. Latimer," said the General, when he had come 
 outside, "you served me a kind turn when I was sore 
 bestead at the hands of the rioters at Wheeling. I cannot 
 forget that you have been my enemy, and have aided to 
 inflict bitter loss and trouble upon me. However, we are 
 now at quits. Henceforth, look out for yourself! I have a 
 few words to speak in private to your son, and crave his 
 presence aside." Not waiting speech from Luke, he bowed 
 stiffly and turned from him. It was well enough perhaps, 
 for hot words were rising to Luke s lips, and a scornful 
 refusal of the proffered favor. But Mort Sheldon took him 
 by the arm and led him away. 
 
 Seeking the shelter of a tree on the opposite side of 
 the Diamond, as the public square was called, Gen. 
 Neville opened upon John with words which he remem 
 bered to his dying day. 
 
 "Capt. Latimer," the Inspector began, "you applied to 
 me to help your father in his distress, and in consideration 
 of service rendered me 
 
 "Stop, Gen. Neville!" John interrupted. "I must beg 
 leave to correct you. I am sure, sir, you will do me the 
 justice to allow that I did not apply to you on such grounds. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 419 
 
 I came to you, when I heard of my father s arrest, simply 
 to ask an act of justice in behalf of a fellow citizen. In his 
 condition it was only right that he should be admitted to 
 bail. I had reason to believe that his imprisonment was 
 due largely to yourself. I wished you to know that his life 
 would be endangered thereby, and believed that you could 
 not wish that responsibility to rest on you. He had taken 
 the amnesty, and was at least entitled to that much con 
 sideration. You were the only im.n in a position to influ 
 ence those in power. What I asked, sir, was not a payment 
 of a favor given, but simply what I believed any honorable 
 and just man would be disposed to do." 
 
 "Well, sir," replied Gen. Neville, "I have listened pa 
 tiently to your long harangue, which permit me to say ill 
 becomes you. It looks very like seeking and accepting 
 a favor, and then trying to belittle or renounce the obliga 
 tion. But we will not discuss that now. I have asked to 
 see you that I may say something which has long been in 
 my mind, but for which I have had as yet no opportunity. 
 You once did me a real service, and I freely admit it. I 
 have wished before this to show my sense of it, but you 
 would not permit it. I honored you for that, while I 
 regretted your choice. My act in asking your father s 
 release was even more for your sake than his. But I have 
 done something more, which I trust may be held as going 
 some lengths towards balancing accounts between us. I 
 have had your name withdrawn from the list of those pro 
 scribed by the Government." 
 
 "My name, sir?" John ejaculated, his whole form thrill 
 ing with surprise and indignation. 
 
 "Your name, Capt. Latimer." 
 
 "And charged with taking part in the insurrection?" 
 
 "You are charged with giving aid and comfort to the 
 insurgents in divers ways, and being present at the burn 
 ing of my house." 
 
 "Who dared prefer that charge?" cried John, speaking 
 wrathfully. "He is a villain and a liar!" 
 
 "What charge, Capt. Latimer?" asked the Inspector 
 coolly. "You will certainly not deny being present at the 
 Bower Hill fight? The fact is notorious." 
 
 "Ay, and the reasons for it as notorious as the fact. 
 But who makes the charge?" 
 
420 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "The principal accuser, I believe, is David Dandruff 
 of your county." 
 
 "Dave Dandruff!" exclaimed John with an outburst of 
 indignation. "Heavens! He is beneath contempt. To 
 think of my good name and personal liberty being at the 
 mercy of such a worthless varlet! Sir, such an accusation 
 is simply an act of malice." 
 
 "We will not discuss that, Capt. Latimer. What I want 
 you to know is that the list was referred to me. I noticed 
 your name, and made such representations to the Secretary 
 that it was withdrawn, or at least " 
 
 "Sir," said John, "I tender you such thanks as such 
 an act deserves. But I decline to avail myself of it. I 
 demand a trial. Such star chamber doings are a disgrace 
 to our country and a thrust at our liberties. You have 
 done me an ill turn, sir, under the guise of good. I will 
 meet my accusers and be acquitted openly, or not at all." 
 
 "Capt. Latimer, you speak with the rashness of youth 
 and inexperience. If you do as you say, you will repent 
 only once and that will be for a lifetime. Of course, you 
 will suit yourself. But all the same, my act was intended 
 to show a kindly disposition toward you and to repay your 
 gallant offices during our river trip together." 
 
 "No more of that, sir, I beg you!" said John im 
 patiently. "The bare mention of it offends my honor." 
 
 "Let it be as you say, then. But it is of something con 
 nected with that occasion that I wish especially to speak. 
 You then met my niece, Miss Blanche Oldham." 
 
 John s heart leaped at the name with a sense of sudden 
 pain and impending calamity. His cheeks, hot with anger 
 and indignation, began to whiten under the reaction of 
 an emotion that he had never before felt. Something like 
 a chill crept over him. A weight seemed to fall upon his 
 brain. He was oppressed as one who labors in breathing. 
 But knowing that the General s eyes were fixed upon him, 
 he sought to rally and assume an appearance of indiffer 
 ence; but felt that he was not succeeding, and the agony 
 of an uncontrollable self-consciousness was added to 
 his emotional distress. He could only muster strength to 
 say: "I had that honor, sir!" 
 
 "Very true, Mr. Latimer; and it was an honor. You 
 have used the correct word. An honor, sir, must not be 
 presumed upon. There don t interrupt me, sir! I have 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 421 
 
 heard enough, and more than enough to satisfy me that 
 you have presumed upon that accidental acquaintance in 
 a subordinate relation, to aspire to the affections of that 
 lady. Once for all, I want to say to you, as her guardian, 
 that you are forbidden ever again to speak to her. It is 
 preposterous! I feel humiliated even to mention it. A 
 man of your rank and condition in life to lift his eyes upon 
 my niece! You are beneath her notice, sir! And even if 
 the lady and her friends had not already formed suitable 
 plans for her, a man of honor would not have presumed 
 upon an advantage such as came to you. 
 
 "And now, to this inequality of position is added the 
 deep disgrace that attaches to your name and family, if not 
 to yourself, as attainted of treason, riot and arson. That 
 alone, were there no other cause, would make an impas 
 sable barrier between you. Now sir, that is what I have 
 to say. I have given you due notice. A word to the wise 
 is sufficient, and I trust you have wisdom enough to give 
 heed. If not, sir " He hesitated and cast a threatening 
 glance into John s face. 
 
 A tumult of contending emotions racked John s bosom 
 during this address. The insulting words traversed the 
 whole gamut of honorable feeling, and touched every chord 
 in a manly nature that answers with protest against in 
 dignity and wrong. He was surprised at the seeming cool 
 ness with which he could reply. 
 
 "Sir, your years and your white hairs are your defense 
 against the chastisement which your insults have deserve^. 
 As to the lady whose name you have dared to associate with 
 words which no gentleman could utter, were I so bold as 
 to lift my affections to her, or to hope for a favorable re 
 sponse, not all the Nevilles in Pennsylvania or out of it, 
 would hinder me from taking the only answer that I regard 
 from her own lips. As to yourself, sir, who are you, that 
 dare assail an honorable man and citizen of the republic 
 with reproaches of inferior rank? Sir, I know your his 
 tory and your vaunted pedigree, and I tell you I am your 
 peer in blood and your superior in breeding. I deeply 
 regret that I so far misunderstood your character as a re 
 puted man of honor, as to approach you in my father s 
 behalf, even for a matter of simple justice and duty. If 
 it were possible, I would undo that and look for justice in 
 another quarter. Your interposition in my own behalf 
 
422 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 I reject with scorn and contempt. I had rather swing 
 from the tree above us than owe a moment of life or liberty 
 to John Neville." So speaking, he turned his back upon 
 the General whose face was livid with anger and wounded 
 pride, and stalked away. 
 
 Gen. Neville started forward as if to follow, but 
 checked himself. "Proud cub of a low-born traitor!" he 
 muttered. "Never did living man on God Almighty s earth, 
 save Hugh Brackenridge, dare flout and defy me thus. 
 You shall rue it, you shall bitterly rue it! I will cut your 
 comb for you, my fine laddie! You have scorned John 
 Neville s aid; look out for his anger!" So saying he re-en 
 tered the court room. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE HARRYING OF THE PEOPLE BEGUN. 
 
 John Latimer pursued his course with slow pace, that 
 gave no measure of the rapid beating of blood through his 
 veins. Hot indignation at the dishonor put upon his man 
 hood for the time set other feelings in abeyance. He 
 clinched his fingers until the nails pressed deeply into 
 the ball of his hand. Words of anathema hissed through 
 his teeth. His forehead burned as though at a furnace 
 mouth, and the blood pounded against it as if it would 
 burst through the temples. He plucked off his hat, and let 
 the wind cool his face. His steps quickened until he was 
 at topmost speed. He must go so or the sense of the insult 
 and unmerited wrong would consume him. Heavens! 
 could he let the man live who had treated him so ignobly? 
 
 Then suddenly there came upon him the full mean 
 ing of General Neville s .words. Blanche Oldham and 
 himself were separated by an impassable gulf! He stopped 
 short as if the power of locomotion had left him. Gen. 
 Neville uttered the sentiments of her kin! Were they her 
 sentiments also? No! He could not believe it! What 
 man can believe that he is held so cheaply by the woman 
 whom he loves? But, with such an atmosphere surround 
 ing her? hearing daily from those she most honors and 
 loves such opinions as to his character and behavior, what 
 
THE LATIMERS. 423 
 
 other issue could there be but that she must come to think 
 him unworthy of her esteem? 
 
 He shot forward again under the impulse of this 
 thought which set his brain aboiling with augmente I heats. 
 Men looked at him strangely as he stalked along bare 
 headed, with face aflame, and brows knit, and eyes set 
 straight forward, giving no heed to anyone. 
 
 He crossed the common between the village and the 
 garrison, and skirted the orchard of intermingled apple 
 and pear trees which some kindly British officer had 
 planted in the old days of royal dominion. He turned into 
 the path along the Allegheny Elver bank, and strode over 
 the level space once known as the King s Artillery Gardens. 
 He never paused until he stood upon the point where the 
 rivers meet, and climbed a jagged bluff that then marked 
 the spot. He gazed westward. Above the intervening 
 Bruno s Island, the rays of the setting sun were tingeing the 
 tall dome of McKee s Rock which, three miles distant, rose 
 sheer above the Ohio where it bends to the northwest. 
 His face was cooled by the breeze that sucked down the 
 channels of the Allegheny and Monongahela and played 
 above the beautiful united rivers. 
 
 See there! The sun is kindling a last glow upon the 
 dome of McKee s Rock. Do you mind, John Latimer, how 
 on the evening of the return from Legionville Shooting 
 Match, you climbed the height with Fanny and Blanche, 
 and deciphered the initials or names of the French and 
 British officers who had visited the spot in former times, 
 and left there, cut into the cliff, those tokens of their 
 presence? Ay, and how Blanche declared that her initials 
 must go into the stone with the rest, and borrowed your 
 hunting knife for the work, but finding the task too much 
 for her, left you to finish it ? Do you mind what glee there 
 was, as you carved the letters "B. 0.," and "F. McC.," and 
 beneath them both, ere you had done with it, "J. L.?" A 
 flush of pleasure came with the recollection, only to be 
 darkened at once with the rush of bitter feelings. 
 
 "And there," he muttered, turning his eyes toward the 
 south, where, under the Allegheny bank the keel boat lay 
 at its mooring, "there I first saw her!" The fair vision 
 came before him once more. He could see the maid 
 bounding with free spirits down the bank, and tripping on 
 the gang plank. He could see ay, he could feel her touch, 
 
424 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 as she seized his outstretched arm to steady herself, and so 
 leaped upon the boat. Should he never see her more as on 
 that day? 
 
 With that sad query, the mighty wave of anger that had 
 been driving him on began to subside, as waves go down 
 before a contrary wind. He sat down and watched the last 
 rays of the sunset fade away from the ripples on the meet 
 ing of the waters. There were no tears in his eyes, but his 
 heart was full of crying. The hush of the sunset hour was 
 on the scene, unvexed then and undisfigured by human 
 houses and burrows, and grimy shops and smoking fur 
 naces, and steam tugs and ferries of Man the manufacturer. 
 The breeze began to sink, as it is wont to do at that hour, 
 and with it fell the high fury of his soul. He was calm at 
 last; at least, so he convinced himself. 
 
 The sober second thought had come to him; but with 
 the sinking of the flames of passion there came also the 
 ashes of despair. What was the use of trying to do one s 
 duty? What reward has fidelity? What honor or profit 
 has the true patriot whose devotion has been tried in the 
 furnace thrice heated? What has become of Truth? Who 
 can trust his fellowman, and the plighted word of nations 
 and rulers, when even the proclaimed promises of Wash 
 ington are as bursted bubbles? 
 
 He arose and retraced his steps. A dangerous mood 
 this for a young man, you will allow. If treasonable plans 
 had been upon the tapis; or some deed of reckless daring, 
 with even a shadow of virtue or merit or worthiness 
 therein that might appeal to his moral nature not yet 
 submerged, here would have been an apt recruit, in this 
 stalwart man with his embittered heart, and his injured 
 honor, and sense of wrong rankling within him. Oh, for a 
 chance to throw life away in one supreme rush of valor, 
 upon some foe worthy of his mettle, and in some cause not 
 unworthy the sacrifice! How often has the destiny of men 
 in such moods as this, turned upon the presence or ab 
 sence of the fitting tempter or temptation! 
 
 John s footsteps tended almost unconsciously towards 
 the point where his father s keel boat lay. As he de 
 scended the bank he saw in the dusk a group of men seated 
 in the stern, which swung free in the stream. They were 
 conversing in low voices, that sounded over the water in 
 the still air like a confused murmur. As his tread along 
 
THE LATIMERS. 425 
 
 the bank stirred the silence, the voices ceased. He stopped 
 and challenged the party: "Who is there?" 
 
 "It s all right, John!" was the answer in his father s 
 voice. "Come on, we are waiting for you." 
 
 With Luke were Andy Burbeck, Mort Sheldon and 
 Nathan Lane, the two latter having come to Pittsburg with 
 farm supplies and a few horses for sale to the troops. 
 
 "We ve jist been in conference," Luke began, when 
 John joined the circle, "over a most important matter. 
 It s a delicate affair altogether, and I would like your ad 
 vice and mebbe your aid." 
 
 "Say on, father. But if there s anything you wish me 
 to do, you need hardly trouble to explain. I am at your 
 service, and glad enough to be engaged therein." 
 
 "Thank ye, my boy!" said Luke, not noting John s face 
 hidden by the shadow of his hat brim, as he leaned against 
 the rail with his back to the gloaming. "But I want no 
 sarvice that disn t lape with your own judgment. The case 
 is this. After we left you an 7 Giner l Neville we walked 
 doAvn toward the boat, an jist at the crest of the bank, a 
 man whose face was muffled in a cloak, an whom I didn t 
 recognize, put these papers intil my hand, an ithout a 
 ward, ran away. At the top of the sheet is written: "The 
 persons herein named are proscribed by the Government, 
 and orders have been issued for their arrest at midnight of 
 November 13th. Ask your son to copy the list and imme 
 diately destroy this paper." 
 
 ^Yho signs the note ?" John asked. 
 
 "It is unsigned." 
 
 "Do you know the handwriting?" 
 
 "It s disguised by slantin the letters back ard an 
 writin them large." 
 
 "May I see the paper?" 
 
 Luke gave the sheet to John, who entered the cabin 
 and lighting a candle, dropped the curtain before the 
 shoreward door, and read the document. The others 
 silently watched him until he had finished. 
 
 "Do you make out the handwriting?" asked Luke. 
 
 "I think I do. But guessing might be unjust, and 
 dangerous to one who has enough to do just now to look 
 out for himself, but has generously thought of his im 
 perilled fellow citizens. I had therefore better say nothing. 
 Evidently the writer does not wish to be known; why 
 
426 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 should we seek to break through his concealment? He 
 has good reason for his secrecy, no doubt, and the best 
 thing we can do is to obey his request." 
 
 Thereupon he made a transcript of the list, and thrust 
 ing the original document into the flame, allowed it to 
 consume. The party now entered the cabin, and at once 
 took up the question, what ought to be done in view of the 
 information thus mysteriously received? 
 
 "It s plain enough," said John, "that the sender of the 
 list meant us to give warning to the parties named. If my 
 conjecture is correct, he is a person whose character and 
 circumstances guarantee the genuineness of the list. How 
 he got it is a wonder; but if anyone outside of the highest 
 officials could manage it, he is the man to do so. The first 
 question is, ought we to notify these proscribed men?" 
 
 "That s jest it," said Mort Sheldon; "an 7 we d becii 
 hevin a little parley over that p int, when you came in. 
 As you know, I ve been sharpest agin the anti-excise move 
 ment from the outset, as well as yourself; but I give my 
 opinion that it s only just and fair that these men should 
 know that they re to be struck. What to do abeout it 
 must then rest with themselves." 
 
 "Ay," said Luke, "that s the way it looks to me. I feel 
 a parsonal responsibility in the matter; for I know my 
 inflooence led some of these men intil the movement; and 
 others of them are as innocent as the babe onborn. I m 
 not inclined to let them suffer if I can hinder it; but I m 
 afeard to involve others in the charge of aidin treason. 
 I m not able to give warnin myself. I must have aid or 
 1 ave the matter undone." 
 
 "It looks to me like a plain case," said John, handing 
 the copied list to his father. "There are three classes of 
 men in the list. There are those who laid themselves open 
 to prosecution, but took the amnesty in good faith, and 
 have relied on the honor of the Government officials to pro 
 tect them. Then there are those who took no part in the 
 disorders, but failed or refused to sign the papers, because 
 they thought themselves innocent. And here are some, 
 who like myself both opposed the anti-excise party and 
 signed the amnesty. For one, I shall give myself up to the 
 authorities, and challenge investigation. I am clear that 
 all others should have the same chance to decide upon their 
 conduct. The officers have broken faith with them, and are 
 
THE LATIMERS. 427 
 
 seeking to surprise them, and drag them away from their 
 families at dead of night, without process of civil law, and 
 simply by military force. Such dragooning of citizens is 
 an assault upon our liberties. The manner of it is an out 
 rage upon humanity, and a scorning of the plighted word 
 and honor both of the President and our people. I give my 
 vote to warn every man named on the list." 
 
 So it was agreed; and as there was little time to lose, 
 plans were at once perfected. Mort Sheldon was to warn 
 those who lived in the neighborhood of Canonsburg, 
 Nathan Lane those in and around Washington, and Luke 
 accompanied by Andy and John, were to warn the Mingo 
 Creek district, which included most of the proscribed. 
 
 The conference thus satisfactorily ended, the party got 
 their horses and ware ferried across the river, the boat 
 being left in charge of a hired man. It was now arranged 
 that John should hasten forward, leaving Luke to travel 
 easily, and rest for the night with a friend a few miles up 
 the road; for he was well nigh worn out with the fatigue 
 and strain of the day. In the morning he would press on, 
 leaving warning with those parties assigned to him and 
 Andy. They would meet at noon, or as near that hour as 
 might be, at the spring back of Mingo Creek Meeting 
 House, and confer about what further ought to be done, 
 and thence go home. 
 
 These matters settled, John carefully read the names 
 assigned to him, as Luke and the others had done, and 
 then the paper was destroyed; "for (said Luke) it might 
 raise suspicion that would be hard to soothe in case we 
 should be so unfortunate as to fall in with soldiers." 
 
 " Deed," quoth Andy, "that s rare good counsel. Dead 
 men tell no tales, they say; but that depands on what they 
 happen to lave upon their corp s. T anny rate, live men 
 tell manny a tale they d fain hide, by bein a bit too pro 
 miscuous with their letters an papers, an the like. What s 
 the use o puttin a vise on one s lips, whan his saycrets are 
 1 akin out at his finger inds, or maybe from his pocket 
 pouch? That s savin at the spigot an lattin out at the 
 bung. The glibbest tell-tale agoin is a bit of writin in 
 the wrong hands. There, we re well shet of that!" He 
 scattered the finely torn scraps of the memorandum of 
 names into a brook that crossed the wayside. "An ounce of 
 prevantion is better n a pound o cure. We ll jist put lock 
 
428 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 an key on our memories bewhiles, an he 11 be a rare 
 mileetiaman that 11 bang the gangway open." 
 
 John exchanged horses with his father, and galloped 
 away in the gathering darkness. The night was cool and 
 growing colder. The rapid motion warmed his blood, and 
 in his mood the solitude and darkness and silence were 
 congenial. The turtle dove s sad monotone, trembling like 
 the plaintive moan of a woman grieving bitterly, Oo, oo, 
 oo ! had died away in the twilight. Then came the cry of 
 the whippoorwill, the hoot of the owl, the howl of a wolf 
 from the far summit of a woody hill. They were not dis 
 cordant sounds to him, but seemed harmonious with his 
 mood. So were the night and the rising wind that swept 
 in gusts through the nearly naked trees, and switched to 
 the ground with a swish the leaves still clinging aloft, 
 and set those already fallen to skurrying and rustling over 
 one another. 
 
 On, on he went, leaving Marion to follow the road with 
 out guidance of rein. He seemed to have lived a score of 
 years since last summer. A new man had suddenly formed 
 within him. His own self was separated from the past by a 
 ulf. How deep and wide! Of all Gen. Neville s sen 
 tences, two had gone most deeply into his soul. "You are 
 "beneath her notice!" These words had maddened him. 
 They had been as metal upon flint, and the fire had flashed 
 and burned until burned out, leaving the noble residuum 
 of lofty scorn of the falsehood, and loftier purpose to let 
 the future show. 
 
 The other sentence he could not away with so easily. 
 He could not banish it at all. "Even if the lady and her 
 friends had not already formed suitable plans for her." 
 What did that mean? What else, than that his hopes, faint 
 as they had been, or as he had thought them to be, were 
 forever quenched? As to the lady s friends, their plans 
 might indeed be balked, or be changed. What had been 
 done, could be done. Unwilling kindred had often crossed 
 unequal mating, yet true love had won its way at last. 
 
 But the lady herself? Had she formed other plans? 
 There the matter then must end ! Ah ! Blanche, Blanche, 
 is it indeed so? Then give o er! As well chase yonder 
 jack-o-lantern flitting over the boggy bottom, as follow 
 a phantom-hope like that! What substance had it ever 
 had? Had it not been folly ever to entertain it? 
 
THE LATIMEES. 429 
 
 A bit of selfishness, too! What sort of a home could 
 John Latimer offer a lady like Blanche Oldham? That 
 man is not worthy a noble woman s love who would win her 
 at a cost to her of such sacrifice as Blanche would have to 
 make for him. Yes, yes! She will be happy. Let him be 
 content with that. And if any man can make her happy, 
 and if any man is worthy of her, it is Capt. Euel Burd. 
 Farewell, Hope! 
 
 Was that a sob? or only a clucking call to urge on the 
 horse? On, Marion! Faster! The waxing moon is hanging 
 above the Western hills. It is sinking behind them. It is 
 gone! The shadows of the overhanging trees deepen 
 around the rough road. The wind is chill. Banks of gray 
 clouds drift over the sky, and hide the stars. On, Marion, 
 on through the dark and the cold! Happy horse, who 
 never can know the pain of such a conflict as racks the 
 breast of the unhappy rider. 
 
 It was near midnight when John stopped before the 
 cabin of the first person on his list. He rapped long and 
 loud at the door ere he got answer. A rough challenge 
 came at last: "Who is there?" 
 
 "A friend, with a message from Luke Latimer." 
 
 Then came the racket of removing the bar, and the 
 click of the uplifted latch; and the dim form of a man, 
 barefooted, in his shirt sleeves, with rifle in hand ready 
 cocked, stood in the half -open doorway. In low tones the 
 message was told. The gruff voice softened into an 
 anxioiio request to come in, and talk over the matter, and 
 what were best to do. 
 
 "No, thank you! I must leave other warnings before I 
 stop for the night, and then be off again bright and early 
 in the morning. There is only one thing you can do if 
 you don t want to stand trial, and that is to keep out of the 
 way of the soldiers. If you wish further conference, you 
 can see Luke Latimer to-morrow noon at the Church 
 spring. Good-night !" 
 
 The beat of Marion s hoofs died away; but in that lone 
 cot the sore beating of troubled hearts began. Alas, for 
 the women folk in times like these! There will be soul- 
 burdened men and weeping wives, and crying children 
 enough, ere another twenty-four hours shall have passed. 
 The next day at noon John Latimer was at the trysting 
 place, but Luke and Andy had not yet come. Two settlers, 
 
430 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 who had got the hurried warning, were seated on the bank 
 above the spring. Their faces were woe-begone; their manner 
 alert and nervous., as that of hunted men. They were fully 
 armed with rifle, hunting knife and hatchet. They were 
 off to Kentucky, they said, till the affair blew over, but had 
 stopped to meet Luke Latimer in the hope of learning 
 something more definite of their case. 
 
 John told them as much as he deemed wise, then bid 
 ding them tell his father, when he came, that he had been 
 there and would be back soon, he went away. He was dis 
 turbed by the grief of the men, who were both honest, 
 hard-working fellows with large families dependent upon 
 them. With a caution which he unconsciously fell into 
 as if he were in a hostile territory, he hitched Marion in a 
 thick-wooded clump beyond the graveyard, and sauntered 
 along the bank of the creek as far as the little waterfall. 
 There he paused, and pondered his condition, while he 
 watched the tumbling waters running full with recent 
 rains, as they dashed over the ledges, and swirled about the 
 pool ere they rushed off over the rocky bed of the stream. 
 
 His meditation was broken by a confused sound as of 
 the distant trampling of many horses on the Pittsburg and 
 Brownsville road. He turned away from the waterfall, 
 that he might be rid of its roar and hear more clearly 
 what the noise might be. A hunter running at full 
 speed, and crouching as he ran, sped along the bridle path. 
 He was one of the settlers left at the spring a few 
 moments ago. He barely paused, at John s query, to give 
 a hurried answer. 
 
 "The Jarsey Blues have jist passed the spring! They ve 
 got your father an Andy Burbeck, an are after my 
 neighbor up the old Canonsburg road. See! There s a 
 squad after me. Save yourself!" Standing no further 
 question he plunged into the wooded tract that covered 
 the hill to the right, and was lost to sight. 
 
 John stood a moment dazed by this news. Here was 
 a calamity he had not counted upon, and his mind was in 
 a whirl as to how to meet it. Following his first impulse, 
 he ran up the road to attempt a rescue. But he was 
 weaponless! He had left his rifle leaning against a tree in 
 the clump where Marion was picketed. Fool! when had 
 he ever done such a careless thing? No time for self- 
 abjurgation now. A dozen lighthorsemen were dashing 
 
THE LATIMERS. 431 
 
 down the trail. They caught sight of his form as he still 
 advanced toward them. 
 
 "Here s our man!" shouted Sergt. Hector Borem, who 
 led the squad. 
 
 "No, tain t, nuther!" replied a familiar voice. "But 
 it s a derned sight better game. That s John Latimer, 
 one of the peskiest traitors of the lot; an one of the 
 1 aders, to boot. Nab him, sure!" It was Davy Dandruff 
 who spoke, doughty David, who had turned informer and 
 spy, and was guiding the Jersey lighthorsemen to their 
 raid upon his old neighbors and associates. It was lucky 
 for David, and indeed for John Latimer also, that the 
 rifle had been left behind in that moment of self-absorp 
 tion and heedlessness. 
 
 How swiftly one thinks! A chain of reasoning may be 
 drawn through the mind in a flash of thought. "To fight 
 will be useless. I am unarmed, and the odds vastly 
 against me. If captured or killed, I can be no help to 
 my father or friends. Here, at least, it is better to fly than 
 to fight. It is the only course open to me; and there is 
 scarcely a chance in a hundred even in that. But nothing 
 venture, nothing have. I ll try!" It was the barest frac 
 tion of a moment that John stood thus soliloquizing, 
 awaiting the column of soldiers galloping down upon him, 
 waving their swords and shouting: "Surrender, you cursed 
 rebel! Surrender, or die!" 
 
 "Neither, thank you!" was the cool reply. Sharply 
 turning, John sped along the trail with a fleetness that in 
 his best scouting days he had never equalled. There was 
 need for his utmost endeavor. His pursuers were within 
 thirty rods of him. 
 
 "Stop or we 11 fire!" cried the leader. 
 
 A bullet whistled through the leaves above him, and 
 by the crack John knew that it was a rifle shot, and that 
 Davy Dandruff s malicious hand had fired it. He was 
 opposite the waterfall now, and turned into the chaparral 
 that fringed the creek, intending to plunge over the bank, 
 and follow the stream for a little way. Thus he would 
 throw the horsemen off the track and compel them to dis 
 mount, and then he would enter the thick brush beyond, 
 where the horses could not follow, and trust to skill and 
 speed to elude his pursuers. 
 
 Down the steep bank he plunged, turning one glance 
 
432 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 backward ere he disappeared. Dandruff, Borem and two 
 troopers were close behind him. The others were riding 
 on apparently to head off the fugitive. 
 
 "Ah! It is rather close quarters for comfort," John 
 muttered. "It looks as if my cake were dough, as dear old 
 Andy would say." A grim sense of the humor of the situa 
 tion, as Andy might look at it, flashed through his mind, 
 even at that moment, and he smiled, and wondered that it 
 could be so. "But never say die! Perhaps there s a chance 
 yet. Ah? well, I ll try it!" 
 
 He turned upon his path, threaded the verge of the pool 
 which whirled and foamed at his feet, and darting under 
 the waterfall, crept along the lower ledge, and lay moist 
 but safe beneath the jutting shelf above him. The rock 
 over which the stream descends is composed of three shelv 
 ing limestone slabs, that rise one above another to the 
 height of twelve or fifteen feet. As the creek now ran 
 full, the shoot of the water was so strong that John had 
 plenty of space for breathing, and through a narrow rift in 
 the cataract could see what went on before him. 
 
 Dandruff and Sergt. Borem flung themselves from their 
 horses, and followed by two troopers, rushed down the 
 steep bank, confident that John could not yet have left the 
 bed of the creek. 
 
 "Where is he?" cried the Sergeant, puffing between his 
 words. "I don t see him at all!" 
 
 "No more do I!" answered Dandruff, shouting aloud to 
 drown the noise of the waters. "He must a got acrost 
 somehow. Some of you fellers run down the crick, an head 
 him off. Follow me, an we ll have the slippery rascal yit." 
 
 "Ay, slippery indeed, Davy!" quoth John, laying his 
 hand against the slimy rock. 
 
 Without further ceremony Davy jumped into the nar 
 row stream, waded across, and swinging up the opposite 
 bank disappeared into the bosky border. Sergt. Borem 
 followed somewhat more daintily, and the two troopers 
 joined the hue and cry. Fortunately for John, who could 
 note from his cramped and damp position all that 
 transpired, the searchers soon returned. They were won 
 dering and discussing, with many an oath and expletive, 
 how their quarry could have escaped. They were beat 
 ing the brush wherever the undergrowth was dense, and 
 thrusting their swords into every bushy clump. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 433 
 
 "He came down jist here," said Davy. "Thar! Don t 
 you see whar his feet tore up the turf as he jumped over 
 the aidge? He must a gone down the crick, an got out 
 on t other side somewhar. But he s left nary trail." 
 
 "How fortunate!" John soliloquized, "that I took the 
 rocky edge of the path, as I ran in. It was quite uncon 
 sciously done. Ah, dear old Panther! Your lessons of 
 habitual caution have stood me in good stead. Yet, if eyes 
 as keen as yours were on the trail instead of stupid Dave 
 Dandruff s, there would he small chance for me." 
 
 "It bates me all holler," continued Davy, "whar that 
 dawgoned critters gone ter, an how he got away. The 
 ornary slink! He couldn t a flitted up ards, for he s not 
 a bird. An by gum! he s no angel. He couldn t a swum, 
 for he s no fish, an nawthin but a snake, though he s tar 
 nation nigh one! could a hid hisself in yan brush, and 
 we not find im. Onless, he s gone straight downward? 
 Wall, I shouldn t wonder! I niver thought of that! They 
 do say the deil is iver good til his own; and nobody but 
 old Nick could ? ve helped John Latimer git the better of 
 me so manny times as he has. Jimmy crackies! I b lieve 
 I do smell sulphur!" The strapping gawk paused, and 
 looked uneasily around as if half convinced that his last 
 theory might be true, and that John had mysteriously 
 disappeared into Hades by the aid of Beelzebub. 
 
 "Maybe he s drownded," suggested one of the troopers; 
 "an is down there in the pool." 
 
 "Sure enough!" exclaimed Davy. "Let s look!" He 
 seized a long dead branch which lay at the water s edge, 
 and strode toward the pool, to probe for the supposed 
 corpse. 
 
 "Come away!" said Sergt. Borem. "If he s drowned, 
 he s safe enough. But from what you ve said of him, that s 
 not likely, for he must ve been born to be hung. Wherever 
 he is, he s gone and let him go! He wasn t on our list, 
 anyhow, and the Leftenant will be as mad as a wet hen if 
 we don t get back pretty soon." 
 
 Much to John s relief the party left. When due time 
 had been allowed for them to get safely out of the way, he 
 cautiously crawled forth. He was thoroughly wet, and 
 chilled to the marrow, and cramped by the scant quarters 
 in which he had lain. He climbed the bank, and having 
 assured himself that his pursuers were gone, wrung the 
 28 
 
434 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 water from his coat, and swung his arms vigorously until 
 the blood circulated warmly. Then he got his horse, 
 who had honored his war training by keeping quiet during 
 all the racket made by the soldiers, and had therefore 
 not been discovered. He looked to the priming of his 
 rifle, and cautiously followed the lighthorsemen s trail. 
 It was broad enough, and led to Parkinson s Ferry. 
 
 Outside the village he stopped at a farmhouse for re 
 freshment and warmth, for his wet garments and the cold 
 November air had chilled him through. He was recog 
 nized by the farmer s wife as the man who, in the early 
 morning, had given warning to her husband, who was now 
 in hiding. The grateful woman, though greatly troubled, 
 and timorous lest she might bring ill usage upon herself 
 and family, gave John a hospitable welcome. 
 
 A roaring hickory fire in the great open chimney and 
 a generous meal soon restored him to comfort. Ere he had 
 finished, a neighbor dropped in, from whom he learned 
 that Luke and Andy had been taken to a tavern owned 
 by Parkinson and kept by a man named Stockdale. The 
 rumor ran that they had been rudely received by Gen. 
 Bloodson, who commanded a small corps of Jersey light- 
 horsemen. This officer cursed them as rascals and rebels, 
 and imprisoned them in a cellar, tied back to back and 
 guarded by a sentinel. The cellar extended the whole 
 length of a new log barn which had not been floored or 
 daubed. It was wet and muddy, and neither fire nor vic 
 tuals and drink were allowed the prisoners. Full of anxiety 
 for his father s health under such treatment, although he 
 apprehended no more serious consequences, John left 
 Marion with the hospitable cotter, and started forth re 
 solved by hook or crook to rescue his father, or at least 
 secure his comfortable treatment. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 435 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE DREADFUL NIGHT. 
 
 The capture of Luke Latimer and Andy Burbeck was an 
 accident. Gen. Lee s orders issued from his headquarters 
 at Parkinson s Ferry on November 9th thus began: "From 
 the delays and danger of escapes which attend the present 
 situation of judiciary investigation to establish preliminary 
 processes against offenders, it is deemed advisable to pro 
 ceed in a summary manner, in the most disaffected scenes, 
 against those who have notoriously committed treasonable 
 acts. That is, to employ military for the purpose of appre 
 hending and bringing such persons before the Judge of the 
 District, to be by him examined and dealt with according 
 to law/ 
 
 The "treasonable acts" referred to were defined "as fir 
 ing upon, imprisoning and interrupting the United States 
 Marshal in the discharge of his duty; two attacks upon the 
 house of John Neville; assembling or aiding to assemble an 
 army at Braddock s Field; the assembling and acting as 
 delegates in the Parkinson s Ferry meeting of August 14th; 
 the meeting at Mingo Creek Meeting House, termed a 
 Society, sometimes a Congress; the destruction of property, 
 and the expulsion of persons from Pittsburg; plundering 
 the public mail; violence done to revenue officers, and 
 finally the planting of May Poles, impudently called Lib 
 erty Poles, with the intention to countenance and co-oper 
 ate in the insurrection." 
 
 Three lists were included in the orders. The first had 
 the names of those who complied with the terms of 
 amnesty, and were entitled to exemption from arrest and 
 punishment. The second, those who were understood to 
 have committed acts of treason, and therefore might be 
 safely apprehended. The third list included the names of 
 desirable witnesses, who were to be treated as such when 
 captured. Moreover, carte blanche was given to officers in 
 charge of the arrests to apprehend others of whom, in the 
 course of their operations, they might receive satisfactory 
 information that they had committed, like acts. 
 
 "Direct all whom you may apprehend," the general 
 
436 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 order concluded, "to be conveyed to your camp until 
 further orders. Send off your parties of horse with good 
 guides, and at such a period as to make the surprise, how 
 ever distant or near, at the same moment; or intelligence 
 will precede them, and some of the culprits will escape. I 
 presume the proper hour will be at daybreak of Thursday 
 morning, and have therefore desired the operation to be 
 thus performed in every quarter." 
 
 To execute this extraordinary order in the Mingo 
 Creek district a guide was required; and David Dandruff 
 made his peace with the authorities by offering himself for 
 this disreputable service. That all might be ready for the 
 occasion, Lieut. Meneter had been sent out, ostensibly 
 upon foraging duty, but really to bring the guide into 
 camp. Had not Dandruff been present when the squad 
 passed the Meeting House spring, Luke Latimer and Andy 
 would probably have been unmolested. But Davy was full 
 of rancor towards the Latimers. Therefore, when a 
 stroke of unwonted good fortune threw these men across 
 his path, under conditions that enabled him to gratify his 
 pique, he induced Lieut. Meneter to arrest them. 
 
 The prisoners were reported to Gen. Ledger Bloodson. 
 "Turn em into the cellar, blast em!" he commanded. 
 "It s better than they deserve. They ll have plenty of 
 company by and by." 
 
 So saying, he went his way, leaving the prisoners in 
 charge of Meneter. That worthy assigned them to Ensign 
 McKillen, who turned them over to Sergt. Borem, who 
 fulfilled his duty by setting over them a sentinel, with 
 arrangements for relieving guard. The sentinel proceeded 
 to make himself comfortable by kindling a fire in the 
 end of the cellar opposite to his prisoners. Then he laid 
 planks to protect his feet from the mud, and fitted up a 
 rude slab seat whereon he deposited himself with a curse 
 at the disagreeable duty imposed upon him. He was a 
 hulking raw-boned fellow, with an undue proportion of 
 legs, and a lean and hungry-looking face not without some 
 traces of good nature. The cheeks were fringed by a 
 straggling growth of shocky light hair, that hung down 
 his neck, and projected in a tuft from the visor of his 
 military hat, which article was worn in a decidedly un- 
 military way on the back of his skull. 
 
 Andy from his corner listened closely to the sentinel s 
 
THE LATIMERS. 437 
 
 grumbling, and busied himself in taking the man s meas 
 ure, for he had resolved to buy or break his way out of 
 that den. He was not much concerned for himself, but 
 his indignation and pity were alike excited in behalf of his 
 suffering friend. 
 
 "Jist turn round a bit, Luke, if ye pl ase," he whis 
 pered. "I want to git a full view of that chap, an mebbe 
 git sp ach of him." 
 
 Luke turned toward the wall, and thus brought Andy 
 facing the guard, as the two were tied back to back. Andy 
 had heard the soldier addressed by the sergeant as 
 "Lanky," and by one of his comrades as "Towhead." But 
 deeming neither of these epithets sufficiently compli 
 mentary for his purpose, he fell back upon his well-worn 
 device of imaginary promotion. 
 
 "Mr. Sergeant!" he cried. "Hi, Mr. Sergeant!" 
 
 The sentinel gruffly asked if he meant him. 
 
 "Ay, sir; that s jist what A mane, an nothin shorter. 
 Wud your honor be pl ased to come over here for a minute. 
 A ve somethin important to communicate til ye." 
 
 The trooper, made complaisant by such mollifying 
 titles, came up and demanded what he wanted. 
 
 , "Dod!" said Andy, "that s an odd quistion for a gintle- 
 man of your intilligence. Jist look how they ve trussed 
 us up; an my fri nd, here, a sick an sore hurted man. 
 You re a gintleman yoursilf, now, an how wud ye like sich 
 tr atement?" 
 
 "I vum! It must be mighty oncomfor ble!" said 
 Lanky, who was not a bad-natured fellow at bottom, and 
 not insensible to Andy s deferential address. "But then, 
 I m not a rebel, you know, and you be." 
 
 "A rebel!" exclaimed Andy with a tone of injured 
 innocence. "Hear til him! Do we look like that sort of 
 folk? Look at my fri nd here! He s one of the most 
 respictable men in the Western counties, an well able to 
 reward a man that ll do him a good turn. He were saized 
 up on the roadside ithout right or r ason, an clapped 
 intil this hole, whan he ought to be snug a-bed. This sort 
 o tr atement is like to kill him, an ye ll be responsible for 
 that, if ye don t help him. Marcy, man! wud ye see a Chris 
 tian gintlemin like that burn himself away afore his time, 
 like a gutterin candle? Besides that, aven if we were 
 insargents, as they call our folk, don t you think we re 
 
438 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 flesh an blood the same as yoursilf ? Aven the divil isn t 
 as black as he s painted, sir; an ye ll find us a dacenter lot 
 nor you ve fancied, if you ll do the clane thing by us. So 
 jist loosen up this cord a bit, an let my hand free. A ve 
 got some new levies in my pocket, an ye shall share em 
 ginerously if ye ll let me git at them wanct." 
 
 To be spoken to like a gentleman, and offered a hand 
 some bonus was a sore temptation to the raw recruit, who 
 had just served out his time as a bound boy to a hard- 
 fisted Jersey farmer. 
 
 "I dunno, mister. I d like to help you amazin . It s 
 not right to treat human bein s like cattle. I vum! I ve 
 had my fill of that business." The bumpkin s gaunt face 
 flushed at the recollection of the hardships he had so lately 
 escaped. "I m mortal sorry for you, that s a fack. But " 
 
 "Well, then, Sergeant," Andy interrupted, "jist show 
 your sorrow by your deed. I love ye, said the cobbler to 
 the cow, and whacked her with his stick. I love you! 
 said the cow to the cobbler, and gave him down a foamin 
 bucket of milk. Which was the better Christian, now, the 
 cobbler or the cow?" 
 
 "The cow, by jing!" said Lanky. 
 
 "A true shot, Sergeant! You hit the bull s eye that 
 time. Eight levies make a dollar, an there s a silver 
 dollar til ye for actin like a Christian. If ye ll jist slip 
 that knot a bit A ll do the rest, an nobody ll be the wiser." 
 
 "Dumbit! I ll do it!" said the sentinel. And he did 
 it. Then he went back to the fire, chinking eight York 
 shillings in his pocket, and with a sense of having done a 
 good act besides. 
 
 Andy, having one arm free, soon set both Luke and 
 himself at liberty. The tightly drawn cords had stopped 
 the circulation of the blood, and this, added to the frost and 
 damp air, had left them both cold and thoroughly uncom 
 fortable, while Luke shivered with a chill. They could 
 stamp about even though the floor was sticky clay, and that 
 gave some relief; but Luke s teeth chattered and his limbs 
 still shook. 
 
 "Come," said Andy, taking him by the arm, "we must 
 go to the fire." 
 
 "No, no; the officer forbade that, you know." It was 
 almost the first word that Luke had spoken since his en 
 trance into his cellar prison. He had lost heart, and a 
 
THE LATIMERS. 439 
 
 strange stupor had fallen upon his feelings. He wanted 
 to sleep, but could not for the pain of his wound, and for 
 the cold that struck through to his marrow, and the burn 
 ing heat that flushed thereafter. Never had Andy seen 
 his friend in such a plight. 
 
 "Drat the officer, and all his kith and kin!" he cried. 
 "Do ye think A m a-gahin to stand here like a bound boy 
 at a huskin an see you suffer an mabbe warse? Gin A 
 do that, how could A iver look Polly Latimer an John 
 in the face? No sirree! Yonder lout of a guard is a good- 
 natured clodhopper; an besides, he s gone too far a ready 
 to refuse a little more favor. For when you ve slicked a 
 man s hand with a bribe, you ve put a noose about his 
 neck, an may pull him at your pleasure. Sergt. Borem is 
 not like to come this way soon, and no odds if he does. A 
 would as lief or liefer see you shot to death as shiver to 
 death. Jist come along, my dear fellow, and bandy no 
 more words." 
 
 Lanky, whose real name was Amos Huddle, made a 
 show of standing by his orders. But the virtue of a 
 Mexican quarter eased up the bands of discipline, and he 
 agreed to watch at the entrance for the coming of the 
 sergeant till the two men got thoroughly warmed. More 
 over, as no one seemed inclined to disturb his solitary 
 watch, and grown bolder by immunity, he consented to 
 transfer the board that had kept his own feet from the 
 muxy floor to the prisoner s side of the cellar; and further 
 to aid Andy in fixing up a rude seat for Luke. 
 
 "I vum!" quoth Lanky; it s a mortal shame to treat a 
 wounded man worse than you would a dog. Dumbit! I 
 don t care if Sergt. Borem does cuss me for it. A man 
 don t lose anything by a little kindness." Which certainly 
 was true in Huddle s case; for his pocket was heavier by 
 an additional "fip" which Andy had ventured to give him. 
 
 The sentinel that relieved Lanky did not seem a fav 
 orable subject for Andy s wiles. Nevertheless he ventured 
 an approach. But the horseman girded at him with such 
 a vicious snort and snapping curse to his curt denial, that 
 the attempt was not repeated. He was relieved at ten 
 o clock by lighthorseman Lanky, who with a dolorous vis 
 age and nasal curse announced that the troop had been 
 ordered out for duty, and he had to stand guard all night. 
 When his comrade had retired, however, he seemed quite 
 
440 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 resigned to the situation, and the prisoners thanked the 
 good Providence that had thus interposed in their behalf. 
 
 "More chunks to the fire, Mr. Huddle!" said Andy. 
 "It s blind man s holiday here, an we re a-shiverin agin 
 with the cold, bad cess to that dunderheaded haw-buck of 
 a cast-iron image that has jist gone out. Dod! What 
 could ye axpict of sich a country-jake? He lacks the stately 
 manner and soldierly polish of some one well, of some one 
 A darsn t name. The feckless donnert fool! It s well seen 
 why they put yoursilf in charge of sich important State 
 prisoners. Ay, ay; they know a thing or two, A ll be bound. 
 An here, sir," sinking his voice to a whisper, and feigning 
 to hide the act from Luke, "is another levy to celebrate 
 your return. * 
 
 The prisoners were now quite at liberty to enjoy the 
 fire, and make themselves as comfortable as possible. The 
 sentinel meanwhile watched at the cellar door on the floor 
 above, returning now and then to warm himself, and solace 
 his loneliness with a bit of gossip. Luke s spirits revived 
 so much that his indignation against Lieut. Meneter began 
 to find utterance. He wouldn t stand such an outrage upon 
 his person and liberties! He would set the law in play 
 against him! He would make him feel his horsewhip! 
 
 Andy was well pleased at these signs that Luke was 
 coming to himself, but wished to soothe his friend s grow 
 ing excitement. "Tut, Luke man, let the fellow alone! 
 What 11 you gain by tryin for to git satisfaction out of sich 
 as he? Ye may lather him or law him, it 11 be all one in 
 the ind. Whichiver way ye go, ye 11 come out of the same 
 hole ye went in at. Mind the old sayin , sue a beggar an 
 catch a louse! Let the beggar go, siz I. He s not aven 
 worth cussin , let alone kickin or quarrelin with. Ye 11 
 git little better nor a smell by meddlin with a skunk. 
 Besides, there s those ahint an above him as desarve the 
 rale blame, an they re too high up for aither of us to raich. 
 One thing at a time! Let s get out of this infarnal place, 
 where they ve penned us up like pigs, an git you wanct on 
 your feet agin. Then mebbe we ll try a wrastle an a tassle 
 with Meneter, and mayhap some of the bigger folk." 
 
 "True, true, Andy!" sighed Luke, relapsing again into 
 his melancholy. "I m a broken reed, an it ill becomes me 
 to be thinkin of vangance. I d beeta turn my thoughts to 
 another warld nor this. An what for should I complain, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 441 
 
 Andy? Haven t I brought it all on myself; an what s 
 warse dragged you, my faithful friend, intil the meshes 
 with myself? God have marcy on me! Andy, I crave your 
 pardon for gittin you intil this last trouble. Ye ll bear 
 me no ill will, I hope, an 7 maybe have a kindly thought for 
 me wanct in a while, when Fm gone. Ay, I ve made a sad 
 wrack of it, I misdoubt; a wretched boggle and mux have 
 I made of my life. May the God above forgive me!" 
 
 "Luke, Luke, my old f ri nd, niver spake that way agin !" 
 said Andy with choking voice. "The idee o astin my par 
 don for havin been mixed up with that whuskey risin ! 
 It s me that had better be cravin forgiveness. A agged 
 you on, an niver helt you back, an was so brash for ivery 
 new fad, an sich a laggard to let well enough alone. Sure, 
 A m no spring chicken in years, an no nose of dough in 
 charackter, that I nades be turned this way an that at 
 anny man s bid an call, pinch an pull. But let bygones 
 be bygones. We 11 mak the best of a bad bargain, A 
 warrant, an have manny a jolly day togither on river and 
 forest. Hearten up, man! Niver say die! The darkest 
 hour is jist afore the dawn; an there niver was a night so 
 long that dayspring didn t follow. That plaguey arm of 
 your n has nigh worritted the life out n ye. But jist spunk 
 up a bit an all will be well." 
 
 Andy s voice was broken at times as he spoke, and more 
 than once he had to brush away the tears from his eyes. 
 Luke made no reply, but looked at his friend with a sad 
 smile, and then crouched over the smouldering coals on 
 the muddy cellar floor, and relapsed into silence. So he 
 remained until Lanky came down the rude cellar stairs, and 
 with a mysterious air placed in Andy s hands two objects. 
 One was a note for Luke which Andy read with the aid of 
 a pine splint: 
 
 "Keep a good heart. Help is near. I have ~been foiled 
 thus far, but to-morrow I hope to get your release" 
 
 JOHN. 
 
 "Do you mind that now, Luke?" Andy broke forth 
 jubilantly. "What was I a-tellin you? It s jist an echo 
 from the guardian angels, is that bit of paper! Ay; A 
 knowed we could trust John Latimer not to go back on us. 
 Cheer up, old fri nd! An here s somethin more the lad 
 has sant ye, that 11 mebbe do ye more good nor his bit 
 paper." He gave Luke a small flask of Monongahela whis- 
 
442 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 key. "There s somethin to tak the chill out of your boones, 
 an the donsieness out of your heart. Was there iver anny- 
 thing more timely? Yet, some folk don t belave in a spee- 
 cial Providence! Dod! The dunderheads aren t all dead. 
 
 Luke, much cheered by the incoming of the loving 
 message with its breath of hope, and refreshed by the 
 draught of liquor, showed signs of sleep. Andy sat down 
 on the plank beside him, and propping his back against 
 the wall, gently drew the nodding invalid against his broad 
 breast. Soon Luke dropped his head upon Andy s shoulder 
 and slept. Then Andy put the other hand gently around 
 his waist beneath the wounded arm, and held him there 
 securely until he was sound asleep. At last, wearied with 
 the day s excitement and toils, he gradually dropped his 
 chin against Luke s forehead, and after divers catnaps and 
 jerky awakenings, yielded to weary Nature s kind compul 
 sion, and he too slept. 
 
 When Amos Huddle next came down, he stood for a 
 few moments and silently looked upon the two friends 
 propped in the cellar corner, whose faces, dimly lit up by 
 the flickerings of the low-burnt fire, showed ghastly 
 through their grime, and even in sleep carried traces of 
 suffering and care. He was touched by the sight, and 
 turned and tiptoed over the muddy floor, and up the slab 
 steps to his post. 
 
 "Dumbit!" he ejaculated, and rubbed his eyes. "I 
 never reckoned we listed for that sort of thing! If I d 
 a knowed it, I vum However, he did not commit him 
 self further. Being happily freed for a long while from 
 fear of obtruding officer of the guard, he sat down upon the 
 upper step, and leaning against the door jamb slept as 
 soundly as if he had been a veteran. 
 
 He was aroused in the early morning by the clatter 
 of horses hoofs on the road outside the tavern. Andy, 
 too, was startled by the noise, and Luke awoke with teeth 
 chattering, and limbs shaking with a violent chill. The 
 fire had gone out. The temperature had fallen so low that 
 the cellar mud was stiff with the frost. 
 
 Mr. Huddle swiftly assumed a pretense of military 
 vigilance, and with an air of vigor, and sounding clink of 
 his cutlass, as though drowsiness had never dared to visit 
 his eyelids, cried a loud challenge: 
 
 "All right, Lanky!" replied Sergt. Borem. "We ve 
 
THE LATIMERS. - 443 
 
 been out hunting, and bagged a famous collection to add 
 to your show. It ll beat Peale s Philadelphy Museum all 
 hollow. Stand aside, man, and let the animals come in/ 
 
 Now the mournful procession of prisoners began to 
 descend the cellar stairs. They had been dragged out of 
 their beds at two o clock in the morning, and forced away, 
 only partly dressed, amid the screams of terror-stricken 
 children and the cries and tears of agonized wives and 
 mothers. Some were hatless, some coatless, some shoeless, 
 and their feet covered with the cold clay of the muddy 
 roads over which they had been driven before the horses 
 at a trot. The troopers bayed at them as they filed by 
 towards the wretched den into which they were to be 
 impounded. 
 
 "Hope you ll enjoy your hangin !" cried one. 
 
 "Here! I ll give you a dollar a shot for the chance of 
 poppin at you!" called another. 
 
 "A pretty lot of jailbirds!" exclaimed a third. 
 
 "Like to get out of jail, would you?" sneeringly asked 
 a fourth. "So you will, when hangin day comes! 
 
 Amidst a volley of oaths, nicknames, vulgar insults and 
 irritating epithets, the weary, galled, shivering and heavy- 
 hearted captives filed into their temporary prison, until 
 forty had been told off by Lieut. Meneter. 
 
 Now Gen. Bloodson, who had directed the whole, ap 
 peared upon the scene. "Tie the rascals back to back!" 
 he ordered, with an oath. "Let the guard have a fire, but 
 keep the prisoners in the opposite end of the cellar." 
 
 One of the officers ventured a remonstrance. "But 
 General, they are cold and wet. They ought to have a fire 
 till they get dry, at least." 
 
 "Fire! They ll get fire enough after they re hanged!" 
 was the response. "Not a coal, not a spark, at your peril!" 
 
 One of the sufferers called for water. 
 
 "Not a drop! Not a mite of fire, or drop of drink or 
 crumb of bread shall you have, if you were dying for it. 
 There has been enough dandling and coddling of insur 
 gents. You have got at last into a man s hands that will 
 give you a taste of genuine treason-bitters. You ve made 
 your own bed, and you ve got to lie in it. Shiver and 
 freeze, and be " he ended the sentence with an oath. 
 
 The excitement of these arrivals for a while aroused 
 Luke Latimer from his torpor. He had tasted the cruelty 
 
444 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 of Gen. Bloodson, and had reason to know what the others 
 might expect, yet his indignation burned hotter that the 
 fever, as one after another the prisoners entered the cellar. 
 Most of them he knew, and what puzzled him was, that 
 few of them had taken any part in the insurrection move 
 ment. Only two or three of those who had been on his 
 list were among the victims; and they were men who, con 
 scious of their innocence, had disregarded the warning 
 given them, thinking arrest impossible. A few had been 
 present at the raising of liberty poles, nothing more. 
 Some had been at Braddock s Field as spectators. 
 Most of them had signed the amnesty. Several had been 
 taken in mistake for others. Only one man had taken 
 any active part in the tumults, and he, more guilty than all 
 the others, was the only person to receive from the com 
 mander any mitigation of his barbarous orders. 
 
 The mystery was afterwards explained. The three lists 
 of exempts, of witnesses and of the proscribed, had been 
 drawn and distributed with such carelessness and indiffer 
 ence, that the several names became mixed. Being handed 
 thus to the subordinate officers who conducted the arrests, 
 the innocent and guilty were seized together, and treated 
 with like indignity. 
 
 What occurred in the Mingo Creek district, happened 
 throughout Washington and Allegheny Counties, although 
 the treatment of the prisoners was usually less aggravated. 
 Squads of cavalry were scattered throughout these sec 
 tions, and in the dead of the night hundreds of families 
 were roused from sleep by the trampling of horses before 
 the cabin door, and heads or members of the household 
 were routed from sleep and borne into captivity. Even 
 where insults and threats of personal violence were not 
 used, the agony of the households thus disturbed and 
 robbed of loved members, may better be imagined than 
 described. The district thus invaded became a Bochim. 
 The land was filled with the wailing of women and children. 
 So vivid was the recollection of the terror and sorrow of 
 the time, that the night of November 12th-13th was long 
 known among the people as "THE DKEADFUL NIGHT." 
 
 During Thursday and Thursday night, the victims of 
 the Mingo Creek dragonnade were kept in their den, under 
 guard. Some modification of Gen. Bloodson s order was 
 compelled by the demands of his soldiers themselves. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 445 
 
 Some food and drink was allowed, but the rigor of the 
 orders was little relaxed. Yet, all of these persons were 
 subsequently dismissed as innocent men! Only three were 
 sent to Philadelphia for trial; and against these nothing 
 was proved, and they were discharged. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE RELEASE OF LUKE LATIMER. 
 
 How fared John Latimer all this time? Every attempt 
 made to secure his father s release, or get abatement of his 
 inhuman treatment had failed. Dandruff had slunk home 
 in the early morning, fingering the price of his nefarious 
 service, despised and jeered even by the troopers who em 
 ployed him. He, therefore, was out of John s way. 
 
 Lieut. Meneter recognized him as the scout from 
 Wayne s Army whom President Washington had received 
 at Carlisle, and knowing nothing more about him, treated 
 him with respect, and presented him to Gen. Bloodson. 
 John vainly tried to soften that officer s heart; and suc 
 ceeded no better in an effort to inspire fear of the con 
 sequences by showing that Luke was now under the pro 
 tection of the United States Court. 
 
 Thence John rode to the camp of Col. Campbell at the 
 mouth of Mingo Creek, and was referred to Gen. Mat 
 thews, who in turn referred him to Gen. Lee, whose head 
 quarters were further up the river. The Commander-in- 
 chief declined to act, and advised John to go to Judge 
 Peters. The day was now nearly done, and hastening 
 back to Parkinson s Ferry, John managed, through the 
 tavern-keeper Stockdale and the sentinel Amos Huddle, 
 to smuggle in the note, and the little flask of spirits which 
 he knew his father must so much need. Stopping no 
 further than to bait his horse, he set out for Pittsburg in 
 the dusk of the evening. 
 
 The next morning when John told his story to Judge 
 Peters, that functionary flushed with anger. "That is high 
 contempt of my court!" he exclaimed. "A direct defiance 
 of the United States authority. I will see about this!" 
 
 He sat down, and rapidly wrote an order to Gen. Blood- 
 
446 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 son to at once release Luke Latimer now under custody of 
 his court. He added a sharp rebuke, and signed and sealed 
 the document, which he was about to hand to John. He 
 hesitated; glanced over his letter, shook his head doubt 
 fully, then arose. "Come with me," he said. "We had bet 
 ter consult Secretary Hamilton before we proceed further." 
 
 The Secretary of the Treasury was surrounded by clerks 
 and officers, and in the ante-room of his office a motley 
 crowd of suppliants waited. It was easily seen that who 
 ever was commander-in-chief of the troops or head of the 
 judiciary, Hamilton was the power behind the throne. He 
 at once recognized John. 
 
 "Ah," said he in a friendly tone. "My stalwart hero 
 of Fallen Timbers! How is the captive maid, your sister?" 
 
 John answered briefly, for Judge Peters at once entered 
 upon his story. The Secretary glanced at him from time 
 to time, and the friendly glint in his eyes (at least so John 
 thought, who keenly watched every motion) seemed grad 
 ually frosted over. 
 
 "Umph! So you are Luke Latimer s son?" he asked, 
 glancing coldly at John, who bowed assent. "Well, I am 
 sorry! But no! Filial fidelity is a virtue, and a somewhat 
 rare one among American youth. It would be scant charity 
 (addressing Judge Peters) to visit the sins of the fathers 
 upon the children. You are quite right, Judge. This 
 unauthorized imprisonment of Latimer is in contempt of 
 your court. And I may add, of the Executive of the Gov 
 ernment, whom I have the honor to represent." There 
 upon he wrote a line to Judge Peters document, signed his 
 name, affixed his seal, and gave the paper to John. 
 
 "I thank you, Mr. Secretary, with all my heart. And 
 you, your Honor, for this act. May Heaven bless you both 
 for the relief you have opened up to a wronged and suffer 
 ing man and to a bitterly afflicted child!" John s voice 
 trembled with emotion, as he spoke. Tears gathered in 
 his eyes. He ended the sentence almost with a sob, and 
 hastily withdrew. 
 
 Marion, rested and refreshed by good grooming and 
 hearty baiting, stood ready hitched outside the Judge s 
 door. John leaped into the saddle, and set forth on his 
 holy errand. On, Marion, on! Never did horse have 
 greater need to serve his master well. Eide, John, ride! 
 Never did messenger have greater need of haste. The road 
 
THE LATIMEBS. 447 
 
 was wet and broken by much traffic; but the settlers averred 
 that it had never been traversed so quickly as on that morn 
 ing when Marion carried John Latimer from Pittsburg to 
 Parkinson s Ferry. 
 
 Flinging the bridle to the hostler at Stockdale s Tavern, 
 and charging him to care for the horse as though he were 
 a brother, John at once presented himself and his docu 
 ment to Gen. Bloodson. That officer s brow was knitted 
 with anger and chagrin as he read. He gazed fiercely upon 
 the young man, then flung the paper down on his table. 
 
 "Ho, guard!" he cried; "show this fellow to the crazy 
 man s room and be hanged to him!" 
 
 The vague horror which lurked within that coarse 
 speech made John frantic. He leaped forward and seizing 
 the officer s throat tightened his grip until the face grew 
 black, and the man gurgled forth broken cries for mercy. 
 John relaxed his grasp, but keeping his hold thundered 
 forth: "What have you done, you accursed bully? Tell 
 me what you mean! Speak up, or by Heaven, I ll crush 
 the life out of your cowardly carcass." 
 
 "Calm yourself, sir," the General exclaimed, when he 
 could find his voice. "I have done nothing, I assure you, 
 to merit such treatment. Your father grew worse. He 
 lost his head a little, I was told. That was all; and I had 
 him removed to a room in the tavern." 
 
 John s hand dropped to his side. He turned upon the 
 guard, who happened to be our lighthorseman Lanky, and 
 cried: "Show me to father s room at once!" 
 
 Bloodson, released from that anaconda grip and now 
 breathing freely and at a safe distance, recovered his 
 spirits. "Seize him!" he cried in a sudden flush of morti 
 fication and wrath. "Cut him down! What do you mean, 
 you image of dough, by standing there like a dummy, 
 while your commander is assaulted? Eun him through!" 
 Thereupon he drew his own sword. 
 
 "Dumbit !" quoth Lanky. "I, I, I don t see how I m" 
 And he fumbled with the hilt of his cavalry sabre. 
 
 John wheeled about, released his hatchet from his belt 
 and shaking it in his hand, advanced a step. He spoke no 
 word, but his eyes! Gen. Bloodson never forgot the 
 sudden flame that burned therefrom. Men had seen the 
 like, ere this, in John Latimer, in moments of highest 
 passion, when the berserker rage had seized him. And 
 
448 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 never yet had man been found who did not cower before 
 it. Bloodson paused a moment, then sheathed his sword. 
 He sat down at his table, and waved his hand to the guard, 
 as if to say "Take him away!" and bent over some official 
 papers, feigning to be busy with them. 
 
 "Come, sir!" said Huddle. John, trembling under the 
 reaction from his outbreak of wrath, followed his guide. 
 In an upper room of the tavern he found Luke lying upon 
 a bed. Andy Burbeck kneeled beside him. The landlord 
 stood at the footboard. A trooper sat in the opposite 
 corner on guard. The light shone through a little window 
 full upon the sick man s face. 
 
 Was this his father? Could a day and night of suffering 
 have wrought such a change? The hair, before only 
 sparsely tinged with threads of gray, showed broad streaks 
 of white around brow and temples. The eyes were deeply 
 sunken; the cheeks fallen in; the nose thin and white; the 
 skin pallid as with the touch of death. 
 
 "0 my father!" cried John. "Has it come to this?" 
 He flung himself down on his knees at Andy s side, and 
 took the hand that hung over the bedside, cold and wasted 
 and soiled with the stains of the vile pen whence Luke had 
 been borne. He kissed it, and the hot tears dropped upon 
 fingers, as he cried again, "0 my father, my father!" 
 
 "Hoosh, lad!" said Andy, in a soothing tone. "He s 
 jist fallen asleep. Hoosh! it ud be ill to disturb him now, 
 seein what he has gone through." 
 
 Andy s warning came too late. Luke opened his eyes, 
 and for a moment looked steadily at John. A smile such 
 as John had never seen thereon, spread over the wan face 
 until it seemed illumined with some rare light. 
 
 "My boy, I knew you would come!" The fingers 
 closed lovingly upon John s, and the young man then 
 learned how much of human feeling can be uttered in the 
 mute language of hand pressure. 
 
 "Ay, father, I have come; and brought from the court 
 and Secretary Hamilton an order for your release. We 
 can go home as soon as your are ready; and there we will 
 soon have you all right again." 
 
 "Ahbut it s all right now, lad! I ve got my rel ase 
 I misdoubt, from a Higher Coort." Then the eyes 
 closed wearily, but the same sweet setting of contentment 
 rested on the features. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 449 
 
 "He ll go to sleep now, A m a-thinkin ," said Andy; 
 "an that ll do him a power o good." The sick man 
 gently nodded assent. For several moments the watchers 
 kneeled in silence, the deep hush of the room only dis 
 turbed by the restless movements of lighthorseman Lanky, 
 whose undisciplined nature could ill brook such scenes. 
 The silence was broken by the sound of a bugle in the street 
 beneath the window. 
 
 "We must be off, now!" said the guard, in a husky 
 voice which he meant for a whisper. "There s the call to 
 saddle. The troop moves soon to escort the prisoners to 
 Washington. And I m sorry, Mr. Burbeck, but it s 
 orders, and must be obeyed, I ve got to take you with 
 me. I d like you to stay with your friend, specially as he 
 is so low, but " 
 
 "An stay A wull, orders or no orders!" said Andy, 
 rising from his knees, and speaking also in a deep whisper. 
 "A d rather die maself nor 1 ave this poor unfort nate man. 
 Nobody but an iron-hearted tyrant would aven think of 
 siparatin us!" 
 
 Now John also arose, and leaving the bedside laid his 
 hand gently upon Andy s shoulders. "You must keep 
 quiet, Andy, my dear old friend. God knows it ll be hard 
 on all of us to have you go just now. But any row over the 
 matter would be dreadfully exciting to father, and might 
 hurt him beyond help. Go quietly; it is best so. Submit 
 now for your friend s sake, if not for your own." 
 
 Andy could not resist such an appeal. "You are right, 
 John, it s the only way. But if " Here he broke down 
 completely, and the tears streamed over his face, while his 
 chest heaved with sobs. 
 
 The hush that had again fallen was startled by the 
 sharp crack of Lanky s knuckles. He went over all the 
 joints of his left hand, pulling them till they snapped; then, 
 carried away by his emotions, he reversed hands and 
 cracked the joints of the right hand fingers. 
 
 "Dumbit, Mr. Burbeck!" He also dropped into a hoarse 
 whisper, in the odd notion (which most people have) that 
 a whisper is the proper and soothing thing in a sick room, 
 instead of an irritation to the patient. "I vum! It s too 
 bad! But jest you go off quietly, an trust to me and 
 King-george there, to make it all right. King-george 
 Kelsey, he s my friend; we was bro up on a jinein farms. 
 29 
 
450 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 You ll be under our keer durin the march, I reckon; an 
 ef there s any way to git you off, dumbit! we ll do it, won t 
 we King-george?" 
 
 "We will! said that royally-named individual, nodding 
 his head emphatically. 
 
 Andy turned toward the bed. Luke s eyes were wide 
 open. He had heard it all, then! The great-hearted fel 
 low fell upon his knees, and took the sick man s hand in 
 both his own. 
 
 "Oh Luke!" he said; "A ve got to lave you. The Philis 
 tines be upon us, an A m shorn of ma strength. Good bye, 
 Luke dear, an God bless an heal ye!" 
 
 "It s a true fri nd ye ve been to me, Andy, since we 
 were boys thegither," said Luke. "A true-hearted fri nd 
 an trusty comrade, my right hand s marrows. Good bye! 
 Mind the lad a bit, Andy! He 11 be none the warse for 
 that, nor yourself, mayhap. But, don t desave your 
 self" 
 
 There was a pause, during which another bugle call 
 sounded outside. The notes won Luke s attention, and 
 seemed to associate themselves with the winding horn that 
 boatmen were wont to blow upon the river Ohio. His eyes 
 moved restlessly from John s face to Andy s, and Back 
 again, with an unsettled glance that showed a wandering 
 mind. Then he continued: 
 
 "We re high up on the bar at last! The waters are 
 run clear out. Put up the horn, lad; ye ll have no nade 
 of windin it, I misdoubt. We ll jist wade ashore. Ay, 
 we ll go over dry shod! There s a green bank, an cool 
 shade yonder. An ye ll no forgit " a faint smile with 
 just a tinge of humor played around the lips, "to bring 
 the fiddle, Andy. We ll foregather a bit on the green, an 
 we ll sing the twenty-third psalm, Andy; an an ye 
 shall have Eouse s Varsion, if ye like." 
 
 The cracking of Lanky s knuckles dropped upon the 
 silence, and an audible sniffle escaped from King-george. 
 Then Andy s voice was heard, low and solemn, and quiver 
 ing with emotion: "Let us pray!" 
 
 "Almighty God, we cry unto Thee for help. Have 
 marcy, Lord! Thou didst remember David in all his 
 afflictions; remember Luke Latimer in his n. Lord, in 
 this day of sore calamity, when all Thy waves and billows 
 have gone over him, attend until our cry. For he is 
 
THE LATIMERS. 45] 
 
 brought very low. Bring up his soul out of the prison, that 
 we may praise Thy name. Oh Thou, who art the Holy 
 One of Israel, who leadest Thy people like a flock, do Thou 
 shepherd thy sarvant with a gentle hand. Do Thou walk 
 with him in the Valley of the Shadow, and go down with 
 him intil the waves of Jordan. An Lord God, to whom 
 vangeance belongeth, God, to whom vangeance be- 
 longeth, show Thyself! Lift up Thyself, Thou Judge of 
 the arth; render a reward to the proud 
 
 "Hoosh, Andy!" said he sick man, breaking in with a 
 voice soft but clear. "Not that, not that, pPase! Father 
 forgive them, for they know not what they do! Do ye 
 mind that?" 
 
 Andy s closed eyes opened with a slight start, and 
 caught Luke s upturned gaze. Then he went on with his 
 prayer, but in a trembling voice, and in a tone quite 
 emptied of the old Covenanter sternness which it had 
 insensibly gathered. 
 
 "Have marcy upon us, Lord, an accordin to Thy 
 tender marcy blot out our transgressions. An bring us 
 intil Thy peace, at last; where the sun shall not smite by 
 day, nor the moon by night; whose inhabitants shall no 
 more say, I am weary; where there shall be no more part 
 ing, nayther shall there be anny more pain, for the former 
 things are passed away. We crave it in the name of Jesus 
 Christ, our Lord and Eedeemer. Amen." 
 
 "Amen," echoed Luke. 
 
 Andy was gone, and John remained alone with the 
 dying man, who soon dropped off into a quiet sleep. It 
 seemed an hour to the young man, as he sat there watch 
 ing the tranquil face and the slowly heaving breast. In 
 truth, it was but a quarter of an hour. When Luke woke, 
 he looked around him. 
 
 "We are alone?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Would you mind kissing me, lad?" 
 
 John bent his tall form and kissed the pallid lips. But 
 the incident quite broke him up. He sobbed, and kneeling 
 by the bedside, buried his face in his hands and wept. His 
 boyhood days seemed to come before him. His father and 
 he had not kissed one another since then. Yet what num 
 berless kindnesses had filled that interval! Now Luke s 
 hand gently and tremblingly felt along John s cheek till at 
 last it rested on the bowed head. 
 
452 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Bless you, my son!" he said, and added the old patri 
 archal benediction: "May the Angel that hath redeemed 
 me from all evil bless the lad! You have never given me 
 a moment s anxiety or pain in all your life," he continued, 
 after a brief pause. "You have been a good son, an 7 God 
 knows I have tried to be a good father." 
 
 "You have, you have!" John exclaimed. "Never had 
 son a father and friend such as you have been." 
 
 " Tis sweet til hear ye say it, John. But but the end 
 has come at long last. I know that well hoosh! don t 
 interrup me. I ve knowed it this while back, an have 
 made all preparation for it. Ye ll find the estate in good 
 condition. I ve left it til your mother an Meg an you, 
 share an share alike. There ll le enough for ye all, pl ase 
 God, if the Gover ment But it may never come til 
 that! Annyhow, I 1 ave you in charge, an you ll care for 
 mother an Meg, my boy, will ye not?" 
 
 "As God spares me, I wilt, father!" 
 
 "Ay! They ll nade comfortin , I doubt. An Meg- 
 poor child! I d like for to see her a little furder settled. 
 But it s the Lord s wull. It seems hard, I don t deny; 
 lut it s all right. The Lord has been far better to me nor 
 I desarved. I die content, for I know mother and Meg 
 are safe with you an with the Friend of the widow an 
 fatherless. Good bye now, John! The fever may come 
 up agin an mebbe there, you must be calm! Good bye, 
 and take my lovin farVells to my beloved Polly an to 
 darlin Meg. Ah, if I could see them wanct more!" 
 
 He soon fell into a doze, and slept longer than before. 
 He awakened with a sudden start, and raised himself upon 
 his well arm. 
 
 "Ye beeta go out to meet her, John!" he said. 
 
 "Yes, yes, father!" John caressed his hand sooth 
 ingly, thinking that his mind wandered. 
 
 "Ay, but I m not a-ramblin , my lad," said Luke, not 
 ing John s thought. "She s comin , for sartin." 
 
 "Who is coming, father?" John asked, still bent on 
 humoring a fevered imagination. 
 
 "Your mother, lad. She s jist passed the Mingo Creek 
 Meetin -house. There! She takes the little trail along 
 the creekside. It s shorter, mebbe. She s passin the 
 Falls now. But that s a bit quare, she s ridin Ladybird! 
 I wouldn t a thought she could a done it." 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 453 
 
 John put his arm around him to support him, and 
 Luke leaned against his breast, and gazed steadfastly to 
 ward the window. A sudden change passed over his coun 
 tenance, with a following shadow as of disappointment. 
 Still gazing with that fixed look, as of one peering into the 
 distance, he exclaimed: "Ah! it s not my Polly after all 
 it s Meg! God bless the lass. She ll be here soon at that 
 rate. Put me down, John. Let me down, I say, and go 
 you forth to meet her." 
 
 Wishing to soothe the fevered mind, John gave feigned 
 assent to the fancy, and settling his father upon the pil 
 lows, went out, leaving the door ajar. He crossed the 
 hallway to a window that looked upon the road, and yet 
 commanded a view of the sick chamber. The troopers 
 had gone. He could see, far down the river road, the rear 
 of the column as it slowly moved out of sight. A slight 
 commotion among the last files attracted his attention.. 
 Horses and men suddenly jostled one another to the edge 
 of the highway. A horseman seemed to dart out of the 
 column and return at full speed. 
 
 "It s a runaway!" thought John, and waited the ap 
 proaching object eagerly. "What! I seem to know that 
 horse. Gracious heavens! Can it be?" He flung up the 
 window, and leaned over the sill, and gazed intently toward 
 the swiftly advancing rider. "It is it is Ladybird! And 
 that is sister Meg!" 
 
 He closed the window, recrossed the hall and pushed 
 open the sick man s door. His father was leaning up 
 against the pillows, and must have noticed the awe-struck 
 look upon John s face, for he smiled and said: 
 
 "Ay, lad, I telled ye so; but ye doubted. There s 
 nought strange in it; it s the second sight, lad, the second 
 sight. But go ye right down; I ll do well enough to ye 
 come back. The poor lass 11 need someone to meet her." 
 In a few moments John returned with Meg. He had cau 
 tioned her to control her feelings, and indeed her life s 
 training would have guaranteed that. Yet she could not 
 forbear putting her arms around her father s neck, as he 
 lay there propped among the pillows. She kissed him again 
 and again. She stroked back the strangelv whitened hair, 
 and spoke words of love that fell most soothingly upon the 
 sick man s ears and were better than a cordial to his heart. 
 
 "An your mother?" he asked. 
 
454 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 "Mother is well, but much anxious. She would have 
 come, but she gave Snowball to old-man-with-no-horse 
 to ride to Pittsburg with the soldiers. Then she tried 
 Ladybird. But Ladybird no have that. Then Meg have 
 to come, at last. Mother wait to fix house for father when 
 we bring him home." 
 
 "Who told?" 
 
 "I sent a message from Pittsburg," said John, "when I 
 went there to get your release." 
 
 "Ay, ay. It s all plain now, an it s all right." His 
 eyes glanced at John, and then at Meg, and then from the 
 one to the other again. He was pleased and satisfied. 
 
 A woman s hand works wonders of comfort in a sick 
 room, for which few men, without special training, have 
 the faculty. A bowl of hot water, and towel to sponge off 
 face, neck and hands; the smoothing out of the hair; the 
 .deft touches to pillows and sheets, and other little offices, 
 which already Meg had caught from her mother and 
 Fanny, made a great change, at least in the seeming of 
 comfort. Then she looked at the bandages on the 
 wounded arm, and eased them up and adjusted them, 
 promising a dressing by and by. 
 
 Luke uttered his satisfaction from grateful eyes. It 
 was so pleasant to have his daughter, his long lost Meg, to 
 minister to him. Merciful God! he had ceased to hope for 
 that boon, and now his daughter, ay his own daughter 
 would close his dying eyes! 
 
 "Thank you, my child," he said, "Heaven bless you 
 richly. Ahbut, I don t wonder that I thought it was your 
 mother. Her livin image, John! But I m sore, sore 
 tired. I can sleep now." 
 
 The afternoon wore on, and Luke Latimer slept. The 
 sun went down, and he still slept. The evening advanced; 
 eight, nine o clock, and the sick man was sleeping still. 
 
 Early in the afternoon, Dr. Cheeseman, the neighbor 
 hood physician had come in. He was a tall man with 
 a kindly face, with full reddish brown beard and mous 
 tache, a rare fashion among professional men of those 
 times. "Let him sleep," he said, "it will do more for him 
 than I can do." He mixed some medicine from the little 
 vials in his pocket case, and promised to come again in the 
 evening. And now he called, but made no change; yet 
 his grave look, and tender good-night as he left confirmed 
 the watchers fears. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 455 
 
 The doctor s presence seemed to have started some reac 
 tion in the sufferer s nerves. He raised his hand and 
 reached it forth. 
 
 "He want something, maybe/ said Meg, taking her 
 father s hand and bending her ear to listen. 
 
 "Polly, love! take me home to MOTHER." 
 
 The voice ceased and the slow breathing went on. 
 
 Ten o clock! Sister and brother watched together in 
 the little room. Meg had set the candle on the floor beyond 
 the foot of the bed, so that its light might not fall on her 
 father s eyes. His form lay in the shadow, dimly shown 
 against the sheets. Many times John had gone back and 
 forth uneasily from his chair to the bed, and looked into 
 the gaunt face, and bent his ear to the chest to see if Luke 
 breathed, so quietly he lay. Now he leaned over and lis 
 tened. 
 
 "Meg, come here!" he said. "I can hear no sound at 
 all." 
 
 Meg ran to his side, and laid her hand upon her father s 
 face. "Oh, John! my father!" she cried, and fell upon 
 her knees, and hid her face in the pillows, and wept as if 
 the fountains of her heart had been broken up. 
 
 John drew back the sheet and thrust his hand upon the 
 breast. The heart was still. 
 
 Luke Latimer had got his release. 
 
 The young man kneeled beside the weeping maid, and 
 put an arm about her, and drew her gently to his bosom. 
 He stooped and kissed her cheek. He bent over and kissed 
 the cold forehead of the dead, but did not speak. And he 
 did not weep. The pressure and strain upon him that had 
 wrought his nerves to highest tension, had kept him at the 
 tear point for the last twenty-four hours. He had wept 
 more than once. Now Nature gave no tears. But he lifted 
 up his heart to God in Heaven in a silent prayer, and 
 sought grace and strength for the new duties that must 
 come upon him, and for the dangers that might portend. 
 
 So they kneeled together, there, John and Meg, till the 
 maiden s grief had full vent. Then they arose, and rever 
 ently, and as fittingly as they could, composed their be 
 loved dead for his long last sleep. 
 
456 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVIL 
 
 GENERAL BLOODSON s MENAGERIE AND ANDY BURBECK s 
 TRAINED HORSE. 
 
 In the street Andy found Eouse his horse ready to re 
 ceive him. The landlord had kindly taken charge of the 
 animal, and as the troopers were not disposed to go to the 
 length of horse stealing, the owner was allowed to have his 
 own mount. The intelligent creature was as glad to see 
 its master as Andy was to find him at his disposal. 
 
 Amos Huddle, as in duty bound, reported to Gen. 
 Bloodson, who was now preparing to depart at the head 
 of his Jersey Blues, having orders to conduct his "menag 
 erie," as with grim attempt at humor he called his pris 
 oners, to Washingtor 
 
 "How s Latimer?" he asked carelessly, as he buckled on 
 his sword. 
 
 "I reckon he s dyin , sir, I m sorry to say." 
 
 "Sorry? What for?" was the gruff response. "We ll 
 be saved the expense of hanging him." 
 
 Mr. Lighthorseman Lanky was exceedingly rural and 
 democratic in his ideas of military rank and the respect 
 due thereto, as has already been seen. Moreover, his feel 
 ings had been strongly enlisted in Luke s behalf. It was 
 therefore perhaps natural, if vastly unbecoming, that he 
 should crack his knuckles under his commander s nose, 
 and break forth with rather pronounced emphasis: 
 
 "I vum! Mr. Bla-a General, I mean!" He was almost 
 trapped into saying "Blackbeard," a piratical soubriquet 
 by which their commander was known among his troopers. 
 
 "What, sir?" thundered Bloodson, wheeling toward 
 Amos, and dropping the tip of his sword sheath with a 
 thumping clang to the fioor. 
 
 "Nothing sir! I wuz only wantin to know what Fm 
 to do now." 
 
 "Eeturn to the ranks!" was the curt reply. 
 
 "Gosh! I nearly made another mess of it!" Thus 
 Amos greeted his friend King-george, when he got to his 
 place. "It mought a ben the wuss mess I ever got into, 
 to boot. I came pesky nigh a-callin of him Blackboard to 
 
THE LATIMERS. 457 
 
 his face. Dumbit! that s what he is, a reg lar pirate; an I 
 was jest on the pint of tellin him so. But, jings! I bit 
 it off quicker. I reckon he d a cut my head off ef I d 
 a done it, wouldn t he?" 
 
 "No doubt of it, Lanky; an I shouldn t wonder if he d 
 do it yet," was the consolatory response. "I ve often told 
 you children shouldn t meddle with aidge tools. You d 
 best be a leetle keerless, young man, ef you don t want to 
 be a cold corpse." 
 
 "I ain t hanker in atter that, nohow," Amos responded. 
 "But I al ays did make a mess of things. Somehow I can t 
 help it. Messin things is as nachel to me as fallin off a 
 log. But w at s the use of a man, even if he be a General, 
 makin a nachel brute beast of hisself?" With which bit 
 of moralizing he climbed into the saddle, and awaited the 
 signal to start. 
 
 "You re purty hard on the beasts, Lanky," quoth 
 King-george, as he tightened his saddle girth. "There, 
 you re all right, old fellow!" patting his horse e neck. 
 "Now, here s my nag, who never had no schooling in 
 partic lar; and no soul (to speak of); bu-ut ef he was as low- 
 down ornary as well, some folks we know of, I d shoot 
 him, I would, by thunder! Wouldn t I, Old Fourth?" 
 And he stroked his horse s white nose caressingly. 
 
 Mr. Kelsey had been named and christened, as he had 
 often reason to explain, in the ante-revolution days when 
 loyalty to the crown was quite as fervent in the American 
 Colonies as in the mother country. It was a deal of annoy 
 ance to him at times. But he would not go back on his 
 baptism, and compromised the matter and neutralized the 
 effects of his own name by invariably spelling "George" 
 with a little "g," and calling his horse "Fourth of July." 
 However, he commonly docked the nag s name on the same 
 principle that he tied up its tail when the roads were 
 muddy, to save work. In short, notwithstanding his 
 royal cognomen, he dearly loved his ease, and shirked hard 
 labor, and was ever on the go to find an easier berth. 
 
 "Ah, my son," said his mother, "a rolling stone will 
 gather no moss." 
 
 "Ah, my mother," answered Kelsey, "the dog that trots 
 about will find a bone." 
 
 So when volunteers were called for the Western Expe 
 dition, Kelsey trotted into the army on the back of Old 
 
458 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 Fourth. He had fancied that an easy berth; but soon 
 began to have serious doubt thereof. He also chose the 
 Cavalry, as an easier arm than the Infantry; but had been 
 somewhat shaken in that belief of late. Instead of having 
 to take care of a man alone, as with the foot soldier, he 
 was obliged to look after both man and horse. At all 
 events, he found a most congenial comrade in Mr. Amos 
 Huddle, whose chief recommendation, though he pos 
 sessed many other amiable qualities, was that "he didn t 
 have a lazy bone in his body," as his patron flatteringly 
 averred. He was therefore willing to do all his own tasks, 
 and a good moiety of King-george s as well. With such a 
 strong bond uniting the two men, their friendship seemed 
 likely to be enduring. 
 
 When the signal to march was given, the forlorn caval 
 cade started. Capt. Cuttan Swing led the column with 
 Sergt. Borem and a file of troopers. Then followed four 
 prisoners; and so on, troopers and prisoners alternating, 
 until Gen. Bloodson brought up the rear with a squad, 
 among whom were Amos Huddle and King-george. In the 
 group of prisoners just before the last file, rode And} 7 
 Burbeck. 
 
 Now, it fell out most strangely that Gen. Bloodson 
 took a decided fancy to Andy Burbeck! ..There could have 
 been no telepathy about that, one would think; for Andy s 
 heart was rankling with hatred toward the cruel oppressor 
 of his friend; and vengeance would hardly have been 
 withheld could the fatal issue have been fully known by 
 him. Bloodson called Andy to his side, and began to 
 question him about the roads. Thence he diverged into 
 the civil condition of the Western counties; and thence to 
 the character and standing of his prisoners. So he passed 
 to the material prospects of the West, and the chances for 
 an active business man, with a little capital, to get along 
 in Pittsburg, or Kentucky, or the Ohio Territory. 
 
 Andy seeing which way the wind blew, resolved to 
 tako advantage of the situation. In a general way he had 
 made up his mind to escape; but the method of escort 
 adopted seemed to quash all hope. He had counted it 
 particularly unlucky that he was placed practically under 
 the commander s eye. 
 
 "But, who knows?" thought he. "Here away may be 
 the openin ! It s a long lane that has no turnin , an per- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 459 
 
 haps we ll strike the turn afore long; an the sooner the 
 better. Fortune has frowned pritty stidy on me lately. 
 But mabbe she s a-tippin me a wink the now, an A d be 
 a true gommerel not to give heed. Sure, a wink s as good 
 as a nod til a blind mare; an A m nayther one nor tother, 
 as ye ll find toe your cost, my brave gineral, if God pl ase." 
 Thus soliloquizing, he set to work to interest and amuse 
 Gen. Bloodson. As he had especial endowments in that 
 line, he scored a brilliant success. 
 
 Lanky looked on with amazement, as he listened to the 
 General s continuous bursts of laughter. His slow wits 
 could not quite apprehend such delicate diplomacy and dis 
 simulation. More than once his muttered "dumbit!" 
 uttered his disapproval of such hilarity and swift forget- 
 fulness of Andy s sick friend. 
 
 "He s a shallow chap!" quoth he in low tones, leaning 
 over to King-george. "I d never a believed he had so 
 little heart in that matter." 
 
 "Don t you bother, now!" returned King-george. 
 "He s a deep un, he is! He s up to snuff, sure as you re a 
 foot high." 
 
 "But hear old Blackbeard laugh!" persisted Amos. 
 "And the prisoner too. That s too hearty for lettin on." 
 
 Here a trooper^ came from the front to report that one 
 of the prisoners had fallen in a fit. "He is a Revolutionary 
 veteran, who fought through the entire war, and some 
 thing ought to be done for him." 
 
 "Tie the rascal to a horse s tail, and drag him along!" 
 was the fierce reply. "He s playin possum." 
 
 "Dumbit!" ejaculated Mr. Huddle, most emphatically. 
 And he didn t apologize for it; nor seek to modify it; but 
 ran the round of his knuckles, crack, crack! and spurred 
 on his horse, lest he might speak up and make another 
 mess of it. 
 
 The messenger rode back to his file in towering disgust: 
 and assisted by his comrades, put the unfortunate veteran 
 on his own horse, and made him as comfortable as possible. 
 Indeed, the prisoners, most of whom had to walk, were 
 relieved from time to time by the kind-hearted soldiers, 
 who were indignant at their officers inhumanity. 
 
 "Ah, Giner 7 !," said Andy after this incident, "a great 
 light was extinguished in the profissional warld whan you 
 went a-sodgerin ." 
 
460 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "How s that?" asked Bloodson, 
 
 "Ye quite mistook your calling that s all. It s a physi 
 cian an sargeon ye ought til a been. Your tratement of 
 fits, now, is somethin antirely original. One drag at a 
 horse s tail, to be continued ontil the patient improves! 
 There s a stroke of genius for ye! Fancy the Royal College 
 of Sargeons in Edinbro a-discussin of that prescription!" 
 
 Gen. Bloodson s fancy was pleased with the grotesque- 
 ness of Andy s idea; but although he did not feel the keen 
 est edge of its satire, he was not wholly insensible to it. He 
 therefore justified his order on the ground that old soldiers, 
 instead of being worthy of greater consideration, were more 
 blameworthy than the other insurgents, for they ought to 
 have known better. 
 
 "So they ought ! True for ye there, Giner l," quoth 
 Andy. "It tuk the Britishers siven years to put down the 
 insurraction thim same old sodgers stirred up, an than they 
 didn t do it. Ay, the old sodgers were axperienced rebels! 
 Deed, they had ought to ve knowed better. What s 
 this man arristed for, may I ask?" 
 
 "What is it, Ensign? 7 turning toward Meneter. The 
 Ensign drew forth a list from his pocket and examined it. 
 
 "Present at the raising of a Liberty pole, sir." 
 
 "Gracious Heavens! What a hardened villain!" ex 
 claimed Andy, with well-feigned horror. "I don t wander, 
 sir, that you called him a something rascal, an let down 
 on him so hard. Watched the insargents a-raisin a Lib 
 erty pole! It ud puzzle aven a Philadelphy lawyer for til 
 find an axcuse or definse for sich a crime. Ah, this is a 
 wicked warld, Giner l, an a vartuous and sansitive gintle- 
 man like yoursilf must feel ill at aise in it. An what s my 
 own offanse, Mr. Ensign, may I ask?" 
 
 "What s your name?" 
 
 "Andy Burbeck! Jist plain Andy, ithout anny jug 
 handle til it, nayther ceevil nor military. An an honest 
 name it is, if I do say it maself ." The Ensign ran over the 
 list, and reported that there was no such name there. 
 
 "What! Andy Burbeck not here, you say? Sure then, 
 I must jist be a ghost, or a vacuum, or somethin of that 
 sort, an maself is some eres else. Your Honor surely don t 
 want for to kape company with a sperit, so I ll e en say 
 good mornin til ye." So saying, he made as though he 
 would ride back to the Ferry. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 461 
 
 "Hold on there!" cried the General, laying a hand on 
 Andy s bridle. "We can t bear to part with you just yet. 
 We shall at least have the honor of your presence at 
 luncheon." Which hint Andy felt constrained to accept. 
 
 The troop was halted to bait the horses on the planta 
 tion of Dr. McMillan, nearby his house, a substantial two- 
 story building of hewn logs. The barn and sheds gave 
 convenient shelter, and the well abundant water. Few of 
 the prisoners had brought food with them, yet these 
 shared their rations with their fellows. The good clergy 
 man distributed bread and meat, and although Gen. 
 Bloodson disapproved such pampering of insurgents, he 
 happened to know the Doctor s high standing with the 
 authorities, and did not interfere. 
 
 In the interval of waiting, the General suggested that 
 it would be a good time for Andy to show off some of the 
 wise tricks of his horse, of which he had boasted during 
 the morning ride. Andy was agreeable; and as the news 
 spread along the column, a ring of officers and men gath 
 ered to see the trained horse perform. The prisoners, too, 
 though so forlorn and dolorous, were glad of the diversion. 
 
 "By ordinar , gintlemin," Andy began, "A would tak 
 off saddle an* bridle. For ye know that the Scriptur 
 charges us not to muzzle the ox that treads the corn; which 
 is a good rule for horses and men as well as oxen. But 
 time is money, ye know, as the thafe said when he stole 
 the clock, an so gintlemin, we ll jist tak Rouse as he is. 
 He s like cold souse, always ready. Besides, as our Giner l 
 has humorously obsarved, referrin to the number of his 
 prisoners, ye ve got forty thaves in tow, with maself 
 thrown in for good measure. So, A m not sure A could 
 safely trust saddle and bridle off n the horse s back. Now, 
 Rouse, ma b y, make your manners, sir! Right leg!" 
 
 The horse bent up the right leg, scraped the ground 
 with his foot, and bowed his head low. 
 
 "Now left !" The action was repeated with the left leg. 
 
 "All right! The same to yourself, sir." Andy made a 
 formal bow, which Rouse recognized by dropping upon his 
 haunches, and bending his head towards his master and 
 then recovering. 
 
 "Now, my lad," said Andy, walking up to the horse 
 and laying his hand on his neck. "A want ye for til make 
 your manners to the Gineral. Can you pick him out in 
 all this crowd, think ye?" Rouse nodded decidedly. 
 
462 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Ay, better not be overly positeeve, my fri nd. The 
 proof of the puddin is in the atein , ye know. You re 
 sure you can pick him out?" A nod from Rouse. 
 
 "Very well, then. We ll let ye try it. Now, A ll jist 
 march around the circle with you an see what ye ll do. 
 There are several distinguished military gintlemin here, 
 an your credit is at stake. Look sharp!" 
 
 Rouse, accompanied by his master, slowly walked 
 around the encircling group, seeming to scrutinize all the 
 parties carefully. At last he stopped in front of Gen. 
 Bloodson, and amidst the applause of the company, 
 scraped and bowed as at first. 
 
 "Tut! gintlemin," said Andy, turning to the applaud 
 ing crowd, and removing his hat. "There s small merit in 
 that. A would count my horse lettle better nor a donkey 
 if he couldn t tell the stamp of jainius, whan he sees it so 
 plain as on the form of Giner l Bloodson, the Hero of the 
 captures of Mingo Creek. Make your manners til him 
 once more, Rouse!" The horse bowed, and Andy took 
 him back to the centre of the ring. 
 
 "My horse is a patriotic animal, gintlemin, A d have you 
 understand. Some of you military folk would give his 
 master an neighbors small credit for the same. But A m 
 a-gawin to prove til ye that there s no more loyal hearts 
 in the Republic nor tham in the Western counties. If 
 riverince and love for the name of Washington is the tist, 
 A ll show ye that aven our critters are patriotic. 
 
 "Now, Rouse, attintion! A m a-gawin for til tell ye 
 a story. Dr. McMillan, our good pastor, wanct visited our 
 village school, which is a sort of parochial affair, ye must 
 know. The dominie wanted to show off the bairns afore 
 the meenister, an called up a class of lads to say their 
 Screeptur quastions. The lads toed the mark on the floor, 
 an put their hands ahint their backs, all in good shape. 
 Are ye listenin , Rouse?" The horse nodded his head. 
 
 "Ay, that s a dacent critter! A car less hearer pays a 
 poor compliment to a sp aker. As A was a-sayin , the 
 b ys bein quiet an all ready, the t acher began: 
 
 " Who was the first man? he asked. 
 
 " Gineral Washington! sings out the lad at the head 
 of the class, as peart as a parson. 
 
 " Next! thundered the t acher, vexed an mortified at 
 sich an answer, right afore the Doctor, too. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 463 
 
 " Adam was the first man! said lad number two. 
 
 " Bight! siz the t acher, <go up head! 
 
 " Shucks! 7 siz b y number one, as he stepped down 
 til the tail of the class, I didn t know ye meant 
 foreigners! What do you think of that, Bouse?" 
 
 The audience showed what they thought of it, by 
 hearty laughter. The horse, however, was a little slow to 
 catch the point or see the gist of the story. Andy had to 
 repeat the question, to say nothing of some secret signal 
 that passed, ere Bouse opened his mouth, and drew back 
 his lips until his teeth showed in a broad grin, and then 
 threw up his head vigorously. 
 
 "Well, gintlemin," Andy continued, "the lad was 
 right. Giner l Washington is the first man in the love of 
 true Americans. An barrin a few sich fureigners as 
 Moses, St. Paul, John Knox an William of Orange, he is 
 the greatest man that God Almighty ever made. Now, 
 Bouse, three cheers for Giner l Washington. Up with ye!" 
 
 Andy took off his hat and threw up his arms, at which 
 the horse reared upon his hind legs, lifting his forefeer, 
 well in the air once, twice, thrice. At the third time, he 
 shook his hoofs, and broke forth into a shrill neigh amid 
 the applause of the onlookers. 
 
 "Come, gintlemin," said Andy, turning toward the 
 troopers, "A m surprised at ye! Would you let an insar- 
 gent s horse outdo ye in patriotism? Can ye hear the name 
 of the warld s greatest citizen saluted, an not jine in the 
 same? Hats off with ye! An three cheers for Prisident 
 Washington!" The cheers were given with vigor. 
 
 "Come, Bouse," said Andy, laying his hand on the 
 horse s neck. Ere the echo of the cheers had died away 
 among the hills, he had Bouse kneeling on his forelegs 
 before Gen. Bloodson. Then he uncovered his head, and 
 bowing low, put in this plea: 
 
 "Sir, the people whose very horses can thus honor the 
 name of Prisident Washington, are worthy of kindness at 
 your hands. We beg you to pity these prisoners, do Bouse 
 and I, an show them all the favor you can." 
 
 "Come!" said Bloodson. "This has gone too far, sir. 
 But, there! I ll do it, sir!" Which he could readily 
 promise, as he had just received orders to turn over his 
 prisoners at Canonsburg, three miles distant, instead of 
 conducting them on to Washington. 
 
464 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 "Now, if your Honor pl ase," said Andy, "A ve jist one 
 more trick for til show ye. A ve t ached Rouse to be shy 
 of all strangers, espeecially to save him from the wiles of 
 horse thaves, an A ll show ye what an apt scholar he is. 
 But it ll require a lettle more room nor we have here, an 
 A ll jist trouble ye to open up the rank on one side, an 
 give me a clare road. Ah! that ll do fine. But we can t 
 git on furder onless we can find a horse thafe. Would 
 your Honor ah, no ! it would be highly improper to ask ye 
 to act sich a part. Axcuse me! Mebbe there s one of your 
 men that 11 volunteer for til play the part of horse thafe. 
 Thank ye! Here s a volunteer." It was our friend Amos 
 Huddle who came forward, amid the chaff and cheers of 
 his comrades. 
 
 Andy whispered or feigned to whisper in Rouse s ear, 
 and withdrew to one side of the road, a little in advance, 
 however. "A silver dollar if ye sucsade shall be your 
 reward," he remarked to Amos. 
 
 Lanky gently approached, held out his hand, and spoke 
 in a low, wheedling tone. "Whoa, there, good horsey! Horsey? 
 horsey?" Rouse snapped viciously at him with his teeth, 
 and drew off several paces, while the soldiers laughed, and 
 cheered on their comrade. Again Lanky approached, and 
 this time Rouse allowed him to come almost within reach. 
 But when the lighthorseman made a spring towards the 
 bridle, he leaped away with so sudden a bound that Lanky, 
 grasping empty air, stumbled and fell. Rouse trotted up 
 the road a couple of rods and stopped. 
 
 Andy followed. "A ll make it two dollars!" he cried, 
 "if ye captur im now!" 
 
 "Go it, Lanky! Try again! You ll be a horse thief 
 yet, if you persevere!" were some of the cries which, with 
 much laughter, greeted this manoeuvre. 
 
 Undiscouraged thereby, Amos once more approached 
 the horse, shuffling daintily forward, and speaking in the 
 most soothing and cajoling tones, and with the whole 
 Jersey Shore vocabulary of pet names. Rouse had appar 
 ently made up his mind either to be caught, or that his 
 would-be captor was not worth minding. He turned his 
 tail upon Lanky, and began leisurely to pick at the grass 
 on the wayside. 
 
 This was Lanky s opportunity. Stealthily he edged 
 himself nearer and nearer, flattering himself that he was 
 
THE LATIMERS. 465 
 
 unseen; on the strength of which presumption, he also 
 ceased his cajolery. Just as he was preparing to spring 
 upon his unconscious victim, Rouse s hind heels went up in 
 the air, and the unlucky Lanky, more by the force of his 
 own sudden recoil than by the hoof impact, however, tum 
 bled backwards in the road. 
 
 Rouse trotted down the highway towards Parkinson s 
 Ferry, at a leisurely pace, followed by Andy, who loudly 
 called "Whoa, Rouse, whoa! Back, old fellow; come back!" 
 
 There was some confusion among the troopers as they 
 ran forward to the fallen man. There was also laughter, 
 which greatly increased when Amos Huddle slowly arose, 
 and with a chopfallen air began to dust his clothes, and 
 ejaculate: "Dumbit! I kin do it yit. Lemme try agin!" 
 
 Then attention A. as turned towards Andy and his horse. 
 Rouse kept ahead of his master until the foot of the hill 
 was reached, beyond Dr. McMillan s mansion. There 
 Andy came neck-and-crop with him, and seized him by the 
 mane. Rouse jerked himself away. Andy followed with 
 an impatient gesture. 
 
 "Ye bullion!" he was heard to say, in an angry tone. 
 "A ll give ye a lambastir for this!" A sounding slap upon 
 the horse s flank followed. Then Rouse s heels flew into the 
 air, and Andy was een to roll backward upon the road, 
 while Rouse galloped up the hill. 
 
 Several of the troopers were already in the saddle, 
 King-george among them, and dashed off to capture the 
 runaway horse. Gen. Bloodson, who had watched the per 
 formance eagerly, saw Andy slowly arise, and limp away 
 after his truant Rouse, lustily shouting "whoa, whoa!" 
 Then the galloping troopers intervened, and he was lost to 
 sight for the moment. 
 
 "Aha! my jolly rebel!" said the General. "You have 
 overshot the mark this time, if you never did before. Your 
 trained horse is like a kicking musket, pretty hard in the 
 back action sometimes. Ha, ha! But we ve fooled away 
 enough time here. The horse-trainer can try shanks-mare 
 for the rest of the journey. Sound to saddle, and call back 
 those fellows who have gone after the runaway." 
 
 "Where s the prisoner?" he demanded, as the horse 
 men returned. 
 
 "The prisoner?" exclaimed King-george. "Why, we 
 thought he had come back! We seen nothin of him sence 
 30 
 
466 . THE LATIMEES. 
 
 we passed him down on the road, there, by the corn patch. 
 He was limpin along and hollerin like all possessed/ 
 
 "Back with you!" cried the General, into whose mind a 
 new light began to break. "Sergt. Borem, take a squad 
 and hunt down that treacherous old fox. Beat up the corn 
 patch on the north side. Scour the woods on the south. 
 Away! We ve been fooled, like a lot of ninnies as we are." 
 These orders were intermingled with fearful oaths. Not 
 satisfied with sending the men upon the search, the Gen 
 eral set off to give personal direction. The corn field on 
 the left of the road was standing thick with dried stalks, 
 from which the ears had been husked without cutting and 
 shocking. Beyond this, stood an old cabin in which Dr. 
 McMillan had his home when he first moved into the West 
 in 1778. The field was thoroughly explored. The cabin 
 was ransacked from top to bottom. Every outhouse and 
 clump of brush was peered into. No signs of Andy! 
 
 The party who searched the wood fared no better. The 
 pursuit had to be abandoned. Disappointed, mortified, 
 enraged at having been thus befooled, and cursing the 
 luck that had lost him the chance for vengeance, Gen. 
 Bloodson at last grudgingly ordered the troop to form as 
 before, and advance. His surly tones and threatening 
 countenance betrayed the bitter spirit within him. It was 
 fortunate for the prisoners that the end of their journey 
 was so near, or Andy s escapade would have been the occa 
 sion of many heavy hurts both of heart and body. In 
 Canonsburg the prisoners were transferred to the care of 
 Capt. Dunlap of the Philadelphia City Troop. They were 
 imprisoned in the Canonsburg Academy, a stone building 
 that stood midway of the hill. 
 
 What had become of Andy? When the clamor of the 
 search had ceased, and the noise of the departing troops 
 had died quite away, that worthy might have been seen 
 emerging from the hollow butt of a huge oak tree that 
 stood in the meadow just beyond the cornfield. He cau 
 tiously crept forth; crawled along the edge of the standing 
 fodder to the road, and having assured himself that the 
 coast was clear, ventured to indulge in a hearty laugh. 
 
 "Well, well! What a lucky thing it was that A Parnt 
 in my boyhood in the old primer book that 
 
 "The royal oak it was the tree 
 That saved his royal majesty." 
 
THE LATIMERS. 467 
 
 "Ha, ha! Here s Dr. McMillan s Weddin Oak Tree, 
 an here s Andy Burbeck a-playin the old game of King 
 Charlie! Dod! A d niver a thought of it, if it hadn t been 
 for the primer. Ha, ha! But now whert s Rouse? 
 That s the nex thing. A tellt him to go home; but did he 
 do it, A wonder?" He rubbed his hands back and forth 
 through his shock of red hair, and clapped his hips in sheer 
 jollity. Then he turned his thoughts to Luke Latimer. 
 
 That sobered him at once. He left the road, lest some 
 trooper might have tarried to look out for him, and, by a 
 circuitous route came to Dr. McMillan s study. Several 
 young men stood around the door of the log cabin wherein 
 the Latin school had been kept out of which Jefferson Col 
 lege finally grew. The building then stood, and until the 
 spring of 1895 continued to stand in the back yard of Dr. 
 McMillan s home. The Latin school had already been 
 merged into the Canonsburg Academy; but a few students 
 of divinity still occupied it as a study, taking their meals 
 in the manse. These young men had witnessed the stirring 
 incidents in which Andy had lately figured; and being 
 greatly excited by the rare experience, had not yet been able 
 to get down to their tasks. They lounged about the school 
 room door, canvassing one point and another, this with 
 pity, that with indignation, and the next with amusement. 
 
 Andy knowing the sympathy of the young men to be 
 with their fellow-countrymen, although they were not 
 favorable to the recent riots, presented himself to them 
 without reserve. He got such information as he required 
 as to the movements of the troop, and in turn related how 
 he had escaped. It was a simple enough matter, after 
 all. The happy thought occurred to him as he chanced 
 to note the wide spreading top of the Doctor s "Wedding 
 Oak" on the slope of the hill. This was a venerable tree 
 under which the good pastor had once united a worthy 
 backwoods couple in marriage who had presented them 
 selves at the ministerial cabin for that function, on an 
 occasion when Mrs. McMillan was too ill to be disturbed; 
 for the cabin had but one room. The story got abroad, 
 and others who came upon a like errand, were pleased to 
 be put into the holy bonds of matrimony beneath the 
 "wedding oak." 
 
 Now Andy, who knew the place well, knew also that 
 the tree was hollow, and would hold a man quite cannily. 
 
468 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 The ruse which the reader knows was shaped upon this 
 fact. The tumble before Rouse s heels was a bit of acting. 
 Andy s lameness was feigned. His eagerness to call back 
 the escaping horse was a pretense. Watching his opportu 
 nity, he slipped unobserved through the open rail fence into 
 the cornfield, and running, quite hidden by the tall stalks, 
 along the meadow fence, he crept through it and crawled 
 over the ground to the wedding oak. He got into the 
 great knot hole, which opened on the side opposite the 
 corn, and was secure in the hollow trunk. The old tree 
 stands there yet, as the reader may see; and if he will, he 
 may stand upright within the cavernous butt, as the 
 author has done, and thus prove for himself the truth of 
 this story of Andy s escape. 
 
 The young men being satisfied, thought it high time 
 to bring Andy to the Doctor. So they had him into the 
 study, where the story of his escape must be told anew. 
 Staunch friend of the goverment as Dr. McMillan was, he 
 had no sympathy with the cruelties inflicted on his parish 
 ioners and fellow citizens. When he learned how Luke 
 Latimer and Andy had been served, he was highly wroth. 
 His ponderous body surged with mighty and just resent 
 ment, and he forthwith offered to equip Andy with horse, 
 saddle and bridle to go away to Parkinson s Ferry. But he 
 advised him to wait until dusk, as the danger of capture 
 would thereby be lessened; to which Andy agreed. 
 
 In the meantime, he mounted his own nag and rode 
 off to Canonsburg to look after the prisoners comfort. 
 He also undertook to see Mrs. Peggy Burbeck, and inform 
 her of her husband s escape and safety; and further, which 
 Andy seemed to think an even more important office, to 
 bid her look out for Rouse, who would be sure to come 
 home to his stable. In truth, when he arrived the Doctor 
 found Rouse already installed in his own quarters, quietly 
 munching his oats. The prisoners were comfortably 
 housed, and under the care of a humane officer. 
 
 The story of Andy s ruse and escape had got out, and 
 citizens were telling it on the sly, mightily pleased at the 
 discomfiture of the hated "Blackbeard" and his Jersey 
 Blues. Mrs. Peggy had heard the tale with due amplifi 
 cations, and not doubting her good lord s ability to look 
 out for himself, put on her sunbonnet and went down to 
 comfort her friend, Mrs. Latimer. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 469 
 
 Next morning the prisoners were conducted to Pitts- 
 burg under escort of the Philadelphia City Troop. That 
 organization then as now was composed of some of the 
 most substantial and respectable men of the capital city. 
 Their appearance, as interpreted by an eye-witness, left a 
 strong impression of their magnificence upon the minds 
 of the inhabitants of Washington County. 
 
 The contrast between the famous troop and their pris 
 oners was striking. The latter were mounted on horses of 
 all sizes and colors. Some were large, some small; some 
 were fat, some lean; some had long tails, some short; some 
 had saddles, some blankets; some bridles, some halters; 
 some were with stirrups, some without. The riders were 
 as various and grotesque in their appearance as the horses. 
 Some were old, some young; some were hale, others pale 
 and meagre. Some were respectably, others shabbily 
 dressed. Some had great coats, others had blankets on 
 their shoulders. The countenances of some were down 
 cast and dejected; those of others stern, indignant, as of 
 men who knew themselves undeserving such treatment. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 MRS. LATIMER AT LAST UNBURDENS HER MIND. 
 
 As Andy Burbeck came into the region of the military 
 camp, he proceeded cautiously, and made many halts, and 
 often turned into by-trails. Thus it was past eleven o clock 
 at night when he rode up to the Stockdale Tavern. He 
 saw the light burning in the little room above the street, 
 wherein he knew that Luke Latimer lay. He saw shadows 
 flitting to and fro across the wall, showing that John still 
 kept his watch of love and duty. He wondered, as he 
 looked upward, if it were well with his friend? 
 
 The window was raised. A head was thrust out. John 
 Latimer leaned over the window sill, and gazed into the 
 starlit sky. 
 
 "John!" Andy called, softly. "John Latimer!" 
 John started from his reverie, and looked downward. 
 "It is I Andy! Tell me how your father gets on?" 
 "It is all over, Andy. He left us an hour ago." 
 
470 THE LATIME RS. 
 
 "What! Do you mane to tell me he is dead?" 
 
 "Yes, he is dead!" 
 
 A wail of anguish rose upon the silent night, quickly 
 subdued, but sobbing on low and plaintive. Andy leaned 
 his face upon the horse s neck, and wept for his life-long 
 friend. The words of Holy Writ with which he was so 
 familiar, and in which he was wont to voice his prayers 
 and most sacred and tender emotions, came unconsciously 
 to his lips. He broke forth in the lament of David for 
 Jonathan: "I am distressed for thee, my brother. Very 
 pleasant hast thou been unto me. Thy love to me was 
 wonderful, passing the love of women." 
 
 The cry of the Oriental chieftain over the slain of the 
 field of Gilboa reached across the twenty-nine centuries of 
 time, and through the unbroken chain of human grief, and 
 found echo, by the far Monongahela, in the heart of a child 
 of another race and civilization. Thus, in all ages, friend 
 ship, whether it knits together the souls of princes or peas 
 ants, approves itself to serious thought as the finest, strong 
 est, most unselfish passion of the human heart. 
 
 Now the landlord came forth from the tavern door, 
 and bade Andy into the house. With his own hand he 
 led the horse to the stable, while the mourning friend, 
 bowed under the burden of his grief, slowly mounted to 
 the room where Luke Latimer lay. He begged the privilege 
 of keeping watch with him that night, the last watch 
 with his friend! as so often he had done in the silent for 
 ests, or upon the banks of the lonely river. But John 
 would not have it so. The office was his by sacred right 
 and duty, and who could gainsay that claim? So Meg and 
 Andy were led away by the landlord to rooms where they 
 might sleep, or at least lie down to rest; and John took up 
 his lonely vigil by the dead. 
 
 With the dayspring all were astir and considering how 
 the motionless form might be taken home for burial. The 
 few wagons in the countryside were in the service of the 
 army. The rude logging-sled which a neighbor offered, 
 was gratefully accepted, and this was transformed into a 
 unique rustic funeral car. From the woods nearby hemlock 
 boughs were cut, and their lithe branches interwoven, like 
 wattles in a summer booth, until a flat wicker bed was 
 formed. Then armfuls of the feathered tips were gath 
 ered, and woven and laid upon the wattled bed until a soft 
 
THE LATIMERS. 471 
 
 green mattress was made. Thereon, decently composed 
 and wrapped in his winding sheet, Luke Latimer set forth 
 upon his last journey home. A rude vehicle that, with 
 which to make such a journey. Yet it w r as not unmeet, as 
 John suggested, that he who had slept so often under wood 
 land boughs should thus be laid, in his last long sleep, 
 upon the fragrant evergreens he loved so well. 
 
 Andy s friends had required him to keep out of sight 
 during these preparations. But when the time came to 
 move, he took his place beside John and followed the prim 
 itive funeral car, which a neighbor had volunteered to 
 draw with his two horses. What cared he for the risk? 
 Life seemed empty to him, now that his friend was dead. 
 But Gen. Bloodson s troop, on their return trip, came by a 
 more public road than the one chosen for the funeral train, 
 and Andy reached Canonsburg unmolested. 
 
 At the first peep of dawn, Meg Latimer had left for 
 home to carry to her mother the sad news of her widow 
 hood, and the morning was still new when she reached 
 home. 
 
 Dungy noted her approach and waited to receive her 
 at the upping block. He read the mournful story in her 
 face. "Don 7 tell rne, Miss Meg," he exclaimed, "Oh, don 
 tell me dat Marse Luke is done gone! my Lawd!" 
 
 The faithful servant burst into tears, and went away 
 to the stable leading Ladybird, crying as he went, and 
 bowing his head low, while he uttered his grief in broken 
 ejaculations. "He was my bes friend, ceptin only de 
 blessed Lawd. Father in Heben, pity ole Black Dungy! 
 An pity pore Miss Polly! It ll break her heart, for shore. 
 An de young missus, too! de misery ob it, to fine her 
 father only jist to lose him!" 
 
 Meanwhile, before Mrs. Latimer could come to the door, 
 Meg ran in, and putting her strong young arms around her 
 mother drew her close to her bosom. 
 
 "0 mother!" was all she could say. It was enough. 
 
 "He is dead, he is dead!" cried Polly. "I know it! I 
 knew it would be so. Luke, Luke, my husband, would 
 Godlhaddiedforthee!" 
 
 She sank upon the floor, half kneeling, half crouching; 
 and Meg still holding her in her arms, sat beside her, and 
 joined in the mourning. The tw r o women, mother and 
 daughter, sat upon the cabin floor, swaying to and fro, 
 
472 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 intermingling tears and sobs and bitter cries, until the 
 first outburst of grief was somewhat assuaged. 
 
 The latch string was lifted, and Featherfoot, who had 
 heard the news from Dungy, glided into the room. She 
 seated herself near her newly widowed friend, and raised 
 with a gentle, softened tone a wail for the dead, whose 
 broken English could not break the poetic beauty of its 
 Indian imagery. 
 
 "The Red Axe and the Panther! Strong as the oak 
 was one, and supple as the hickory the other. But they 
 have fallen! They have fallen, and the vines that clung 
 to them are low upon the ground. They were wise. They 
 were brave. They were good. But they are gone! Many 
 moons they hunted together in the forest, or paddled the 
 canoe upon the river, or followed upon the warpath. 
 They were two men with one heart. Their hearts 
 are one still. One moon two moons three moons 
 ago they were here, beautiful in their strength as the 
 mountain pine. Xow they have gone hence, over the trail 
 that all must take at last, into the hunting forests of the 
 Spirit World. The wigwam is empty. The cabin is deso 
 late. The lodge of the Manitou in the Happy Hunting 
 Ground is brighter with the mighty spirits of our warriors. 
 Woe, woe for the white widow! Woe, for Sunny Hair! 
 Woe for the Young Oak! Woe, woe, woe for Featherfoot! 
 
 The village soon knew what had happened, and the 
 tidings added to the dread that overhung the community. 
 Their Academy crowded with imprisoned fellow citizens; 
 their streets full of troopers; lighthorsemen still scouring 
 the country for other captives; Luke Latimer already a 
 victim of their cruelty! What next? Who next? Woe, 
 woe, to the inhabiters of the land! 
 
 Fanny McCormack was in the store when the word 
 came. Her father had fled the country when the army 
 reached the Monongahela, and the eldest son George, who 
 young as he was had been at Bower Hill and Braddock s 
 Field, went with him. Fanny then took her father s place, 
 and aided by her younger brothers kept the business 
 going. Now she called her mother to take charge, and 
 hastened to the Latimers 
 
 Her very presence brought soothing. A kiss; a word of 
 sympathy trembling with intensity of feeling, and then 
 she quietly took charge of the house. She led Mrs. Lati- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 473 
 
 mer to her own room, and left her there alone with her 
 sorrow. She sent Featherfoot upon a message, thus quiet 
 ing her dismal dirge. She took Meg into the little kitchen, 
 and there, with arms interlocked around each others 
 waists, the two maidens stood before the crackling fire in 
 the open fireplace, and their hearts were united more 
 closely than ever in the embrace of friendship and the 
 silent passing of sympathy. 
 
 Fanny drew forth from Meg the story of her father s 
 death, knowing that in telling the flood gates would open 
 up, and sorrow get relief in tears. Then, wishing to dull 
 the edge of grief by the touch of loving duty, she set Meg 
 to prepare for the coming of the funeral train. Mrs. Bur- 
 beck, who had now arrived, joined in this service, and 
 undertook to receive and satisfy the neighbors, who would 
 soon begin to drop in to offer neighborly aid and satisfy 
 neighborly curiosity. Kot a matron or maid in the whole 
 countryside but would have been willing to come, and have 
 deemed it an honor to be asked to share in the needful 
 labors which death and burial bring to the living. This 
 done, Fanny went to Mrs. Latimer and told her all she 
 knew, and thus satisfied that yearning, which most of us 
 have felt, to learn all the incidents in the last eventful 
 hours of a loved friend s life. 
 
 At last, the interval of waiting ended. "They have 
 come, mother!" said Meg. In a moment more, John s 
 strong arms were around her, and her face rested on his 
 bosom. 
 
 "You must be strong, mother dear, and bear up under 
 the blow. Father s last thoughts were for you. His last 
 words were coupled with your name. It is the will of 
 Heaven; and has he not made a happy change?" 
 
 "Ay, lad! I know it is better for him. It s little com 
 fort he has had in these last da} s. But oh! I m lamentin 
 my own loss. Xiver had wife a truer, kinder husband. 
 Oh, the emptiness of my heart, and the desolation of my 
 home! How can I live without him?" 
 
 "But you have your children, mother." 
 
 "I have my child: yes, I have Meg. 0, John I have 
 lost my husband, I shall lose my son. You have been 
 a son to me John a true son " 
 
 "What, can you mean, mother? How can you lose me? 
 The soldiers may take me, and keep me away for a little 
 
474 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 while; but Fm certain to come back to you. Father s last 
 thoughts were of you and Meg, and I promised at his dying 
 bed never to forsake you, but to care for you as long as you 
 lived. And with God s help, so I will, mother dear!" He 
 bent his face and kissed her tenderly; but his soothing only 
 evoked a more violent outburst of tears and sobs. 
 
 INOW the trampling of feet was heard on the outer steps. 
 Through the chamber door Mrs. Polly saw, as she raised 
 her head, the neighbors slowly bearing up the path a silent 
 form, which too well she knew must be her Luke. 
 
 "0, to come back home this way! Let me go to him!" 
 
 "Not yet, mother!" John held her firmly in his arms. 
 
 Fanny McCormack went forth to meet the bearers, one 
 of whom entered the house and with doffed hat, in a sub 
 dued voice, asked: "Where shall we put it?" 
 
 "It?" Heavens! How swiftly man notes the immeas 
 urable change that death makes in us all, the swift trans 
 formation from the personal to impersonal insensate mat 
 ter, from "I" to "It!" But love does not so quickly note 
 the change, nor drop from speech the language of personal 
 address. 
 
 "Bring him in here!" cried Mrs. La timer, breaking 
 away from John s embrace, and running forward into the 
 living room. "Lay him down on his own bed, poor dear! 
 Let him rest there. Yes, he shall lie nowhere else. Luke 
 Latimer was not simply a voiceless It to that loving spirit. 
 
 The measured heavy tread of men s shodden feet beat 
 upon the white board floor, as they bore the body in and 
 laid it where the widow wished. Then the bearers went 
 out, and Fanny shut the door, and left the family there 
 a little while, alone with their dead. 
 
 "Hist, Andy!" said Mrs. Burbeck, beckoning to her 
 husband who was going forth with the bearers. "Come 
 hither! I ve got a message for ye." Her manner was flur 
 ried; her face was shadowed with grief and wet with tears. 
 
 "Ah Peggy, dear, ye may well greet," said Andy with 
 a mellow and shaking voice, as he followed his wife to the 
 kitchen. "We ve lost the best fri nd we iver had or shall 
 have. It s a sorry loss for us all." As the little woman 
 stopped he put his arm around her and kissed her. 
 
 "Ay, indade, Andy! But it s not that, the now, I m 
 a-thinkin of. It s yourself, . darlin . For I ve bad news 
 for ye, ay, an sad news for meself." She wiped her eyes 
 
THE LATIMEBS. 475 
 
 with the corner of her apron. "The sodgers have come for 
 ye, Andy, bad cess til em for choosin a time like this! 
 Shame a haet care they for sickness or death, or feasts or 
 funerals. Ay, it s bitter botherment we ve wrought among 
 hands with our axcise doins ." 
 
 "Hoosh, Peggy love!" said Andy. "Not a worrd of 
 that, jist now an here above all. It s bitter usury that poor 
 Luke has paid for his part therein, an it s ill castin up 
 reproach til the dead. But where are the sodgers, lass? A ll 
 away to them at wanct, an know the warst." Peggy opened 
 the door that led into the porch, and Andy passing through 
 found himself face to face with Capt. Dunlap of the City 
 Troop. A file of soldiers stood outside the yard. 
 
 "Your sarvant, sir," said Andy. "A 7 hear that ye re 
 astin for me?" 
 
 "This is Andrew Burbeck?" asked the Captain. 
 
 "Ay, A ll no deny it." 
 
 "Well, sir, I regret to intrude upon you at such a time. 
 I have heard of your warm friendship for Mr. Luke Lati- 
 mer and his family, and would gladly spare you and them 
 if I dared do so. But my orders are plain and positive, and 
 I must do my duty. I am directed to arrest yourself and 
 Capt. *John Latimer, and conduct you to Pittsburg. Part 
 of my troop has already gone with prisoners and the rest 
 await my coming. I must ask you to go with me." 
 
 "Marciful heavens, sir!" exclaimed Andy. "An do you 
 mane to say that you would take John Latimer away at a 
 time like this? Would ye lave the widow to mourn alone, 
 an deny the son the satisfaction of followin his father 
 to the grave? It s a fearsome act! A can t think ye re 
 in arnest, sir. A can go with ye maself, hard as it 11 be 
 not to see my old fri nd buried. But Captain Jock? Ach, 
 mon, it ud fair melt a heart of flint to think o that; an if 
 all A ve h ard of you be true, Captain Dunlap, it s not flint 
 but a kind human heart that ye carry within your bosom." 
 
 "Thank you for saying that," said the Captain, a flush 
 of gratification suffusing his cheeks. "I have tried to 
 show to the unfortunates committed to my charge all the 
 kindness consistent with duty. I have asked to see you 
 quietly that I might explain how it is, and beg you to help 
 me lighten this disagreeable service as much as possible. 
 I have resolved to take the risk of leaving Capt. Latimer 
 here until after his father s burial, if he will give his word 
 
"476 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 of honor to report to the court at Pittsburg immediately 
 thereafter. Do you think he will do it?" 
 
 "God bless ye, sir, for your noble thoughtfulness. A m 
 sure Captain Jock will accep your ginerous tarms with 
 gratitude. A ll away at wanct an bring him here to ye." 
 
 Mrs. Peggy called John from his mother s room, and 
 Andy gave his message and explained the situation. John 
 at once went to Capt. Dunlap, and gave his parole, and 
 acknowledged with warm emotion the humane considera 
 tion which had prompted the kindly arrangement. If he 
 could only add to the obligation, and stretch his authority 
 a little further to allow his father s old friend the same 
 privilege 
 
 "Ay, sir!" broke in Andy. "It s not well to urge on 
 the willin horse, they say, but an if you could strain a 
 p int an do me that favor, A would be everlastin ly be- 
 holdin til ye. Though it s not likely your honor 11 iver 
 nade the sarvice of sich as Andy Burbeck; an it ud be 
 an uncanny word to say that A d do the like by you if you 
 iver had like occasion. But indade, sir," Andy persisted, 
 encouraged by a gleam in the Captain s eye which his last 
 remark had evoked, "whativer should ye be takin two 
 bites out n a cherry for? Jist make one good mouthful of 
 it, an let the two of us stay. It s a good turn ye have 
 done us, an God bless ye for the same! But disn t one 
 good turn desarve another?" 
 
 Andy s plea was here cut short by the appearance of 
 Dr. John McMillan, who had hastened like a good pastor 
 at the news of sorrow to bring consolation. He joined 
 his request with that of John and Andy, and became surety 
 that the latter would be as true to his word as the former, 
 and report in Pittsburg immediately after the funeral. 
 Thus fortified in his own kindly wishes, Capt. Dunlap con 
 sented, and withdrew with his file of troopers. 
 
 Now, the first outbreak of grief had quieted, and the 
 confusion wrought by the coming of the funeral cortege 
 had ceased. Neighbors left the house, and the first silent 
 meal was spread for the family. How the master was 
 missed! No one would take his vacant place at the head 
 of the table, and ere the meal was half done Mrs. Polly 
 fled from the board in tears. 
 
 John went forth into the yard, and was looking after 
 matters around the house, when Meg brought a message 
 
THE LATIMERS. 477 
 
 that his mother wished to see him in his room. At once 
 he re-entered the house, and mounting to his chamber, 
 which lay just under the roof, he found Mrs. Polly seated 
 before his reading stand. His pocket Bible lay open 
 before her, and beside it the little red leather-covered box, 
 ornamented with brass-headed nails, in which he knew 
 his mother kept sundry articles that she prized. There 
 she sat, her head erect, her face flushed, her lips set firmly 
 together, the deep blue of her eyes with that glint therein 
 which came when some disagreeable duty or troublesome 
 task lay before her, and to which she had urged herself 
 with strong will. 
 
 The flush of high excitement intermingled upon her 
 face with that mellowing cast which sorrow throws over the 
 human countenance, and so illumined it that John thought 
 he had never seen her look so beautiful. And indeed a 
 handsome matron she was. But he could not understand 
 this swift transition; and wondering at the change of 
 mood, stood a moment in silence and looked at his mother. 
 
 Mrs. Polly must have read his thoughts, for she spoke 
 up at once. "Ay, John, Pm not surprised that you should 
 wonder what has come over me all at wanct. Sit you 
 down, my boy! I ve sommat to say til ye at consarns ye 
 much, an has been kep back too long. Manny an manny s 
 the time but oh! I couldn t bring myself to the doin . 
 Sit down, lad, an listen. Don t spake, plaze, till I ve said 
 my say. There s a great burden on my mind that I must 
 git rid of at wanct. It has tormented me day an night for 
 a score of years or more." 
 
 "There s jist wan saycret (0 Lord forgive me), only 
 wan that iver cast a shadow betwixt my husband an 
 myself. I niver meant that he should die ithout knowin 
 it. I ve braced myself to the tellin a hunder, ay, a thou 
 sand times, but shrank away from it, for I could niver 
 abcar the thought that he might cast me off, or cease to 
 love me, or that his poor heart would be sore hurted or 
 broken. Oh, if I had telled him! I meant to do it, God 
 knows, afore he died, and now he is gone. He cannot hear 
 me. He cannot spake til me. He cannot upbraid me. He 
 cannot forgive me, as mayhap he might a done, for he was 
 aye tender as well as just. Oh, that I should have been so 
 false to him, an so cowardly as well! Ay, I was fearder of 
 hurtin him nor of offendin my God." 
 
478 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 Her hands trembled; her voice quavered, and it seemed 
 as if she would quite break down and sob out her grief and 
 remorse. But she set her underlip within her teeth, and 
 clasped her hands with interlocked fingers till the blood 
 forsook them, and though her frame shook with the con 
 flict, she Overmastered her feelings, and after a moment s 
 pause resumed her story in a quiet voice. 
 
 "John, Fve been a false woman to Luke Latimer, an 
 have betrayed the trust of as loyal an lovin a heart as iver 
 bate in human bosom/ 7 
 
 "Mother!" cried John, half rising from his seat at the 
 shock of these words. 
 
 "Hist, lad! God forgive ye! not that, not that you re 
 a-thinkin of, God be praised! False I was, but not un 
 faithful. Hear til me! Ye mind the story your father 
 telled you, I niver telled it myself, Heaven knows! of 
 the baby Moses that came til us on the Ohio flood two 
 weeks after you were born, an how the baby died while 
 your father an grandfather were away lookin after their 
 traps? Ye mind it, John?" 
 
 "Yes, mother, I remember well. And the grave where 
 the little fellow sleeps side by side with Bended Knee." 
 
 "Ay, it s that of which I m to tell ye. It s there at I 
 was false to Luke Latimer, for the baby that died was my 
 own child, an you re the one, John, that came to us that 
 day on the ragin river." 
 
 She paused, and John started to his feet. His head 
 seemed to whirl around. He reached out both arms as if 
 to ward off some impending danger. His limbs grew weak 
 beneath him, and he dropped back into his seat. The 
 blood beat and burned around his temples. Then, through 
 the tumult and confusion of his mind flashed the thought 
 that grief had unseated his mother s reason! Thereat a 
 great wave of pity was surging through his heart, when 
 Mrs. Polly, who had followed his every movement with 
 anxious even agonizing gaze, took up speech once more. 
 She spoke with the same low voice, but slowly and steadily, 
 as if struggling with a hard duty and resolved to go 
 through with it. 
 
 "It s the God s truth, I m a-tellin ye, John. Don t 
 interrup me. I ll tell ye all as Christ is my judge; an oh, 
 may He judge me marcifully; and may you too, John 
 Latimer! While Luke and grandfather were away, my 
 
THE LATIMERS. 479 
 
 baby died. It was a suddent attack, an I was all my lone 
 there in the woods, for Featherfoot had gone away with 
 Meg on a nadeful arrant an 7 didn t come back to all was 
 over. It was an awful hour a-holdin my dyin child there 
 in the lone cabin in the silent forest, an no livin bein 
 near but a helpless infant, the wee waif we had rascued 
 from the waters. Oh, the sorrow an amptiness of my 
 heart as I laid my dead baby boy out of my arms, an 
 thought of his father s homecomin , an the bitterness of 
 his disapp intment an grief. 
 
 "Jist then you stirred an began to cry. God forgive 
 me! but the truth it is, that pitiful wail at first filled me 
 with envy. I upbraided God for takin my boy an lavein 
 the little stranger lad. My heart was hardened agin you, 
 an I let you lie an cry untended. But you was iver a lusty 
 bairn, an lifted up your voice an lamented so loudly that, 
 for pure shame, I took ye up. Then ye hooshed your cry 
 an smiled prettily through your tears. Oh, you were a. 
 bonny babe, John! I laid you to my breast, an you began 
 to gurgle an suck, an stare up at me with your blue eyes, 
 for all the warld the very marrows of my own baby John s! 
 Indade, you favored him strongly. The same eyes, an the 
 same silky yallow hair, an the same broad high forehead, 
 an rosy complected, an limb for limb the same bigness; 
 for bouncin babes you both were. 
 
 "It must a been this that put the thought intil my 
 head. Luke couldn t tell his own baby from the lettle 
 stranger; an I kep your coral necklace about your throat 
 for him to tell ye apart. I knew the differ bravely, to be 
 sure; but men are not so obsarvent about weeny weans, 
 leastways my Luke wasn t. Then it came to me, as I sat 
 there softly cryin an nursin you, how an Injun fortun 
 teller wanct had tellt me that I should have three childer, 
 three an no more. Howiver she found it out I could niver 
 tell, onless it was pure witchcraft; but the truth is my 
 mother had three childer, an her gran mother afore her 
 the same. So it frighted me to hear what the old squaw 
 said, an I hurried away. But I didn t forgit; an when my 
 baby was born, I knowed it would be the las child; for 
 one darlin girl baby had we buried, an Meg bein a lass, 
 you can t think what store I put by the laddie, an most of 
 all because Luke was so pl azed to have a boy. An now, 
 thought I, he will come home an find his boy dead! 
 
480 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Oh! my heart was sore pained. It was for him, for love 
 for my Luke alone, God knows, that I did it. I don t think 
 I really meant to do it at first. But as I laid out my dead 
 child in his cradle, I seemed j alous that you should be 
 robed better nor he, an I put upon my own child the neck 
 lace that you wore when you were rascued, an got out the 
 dainty frock that was on you when you came, an dressed 
 the lettle body in it. I mind yet, thro all the years I mind 
 how swate he looked in it. 
 
 "Jist then Meg came in with Featherfoot, an seem 
 the dead child lyin there, went up to him an looked at him, 
 an felt his cold cheek. Then she turned to me an ast what- 
 iver was the matter with Moses? Was he dead? She did 
 not know her own baby brother! Then an there it was 
 that the temptation came to me so strong that I gave way 
 til it an said, Ay, Meg, he is dead! 
 
 "She wept at this, an went away til where you lay an 
 began soitly cooin over you with lovin words an pet 
 names. Soon thereafter came Luke and Bended Knee, an 
 Meg ran forth an tellt them that Moses was dead. An I 
 couldn t find it in my heart to deny it. For Luke came in 
 an looked pitifully at the little corp, an then turned an 
 took you up, an fondled you more lovin nor iver, an 
 thanked God that his own bonnie laddie was so bright an 
 well! Ah! how could I tell him then? I was fearder of 
 hurtin my husband nor of off endin my God. They all de- 
 saved themselves, an I didn t undesave em; an from that 
 day on, they niver knew better, an niver suspicioned anny 
 wrong. 
 
 "Aven Featherfoot was desaved at first; but afore the 
 burial she found out the truth. For whin she came to help 
 in layin out the baby for his coffin, she noticed that the 
 birthmark was gone which baby Moses had on the instep 
 of his left foot, jist on the side thereof, a brown half -moon- 
 shaped mole. Then she crossed over to where you lay and 
 looked, an lo! there was the birthmark on your foot! An 
 that is how she found out. But she niver telled on me. 
 She kep the sacret loyally. Indade, she seemed to think 
 little of the matter, for she took it that I had adopted the 
 livin child, as indade I did, an with her Indian ideas of 
 adoptin childer intil their tribes an families, she saw little 
 differ. A son was a son, whether by birth or adoption, 
 one way or another, what mattered it? Only, she couldn t 
 
THE LATIMERS. 481 
 
 understand why I wouldn t tell Luke, or what differ it 
 would make with him more nor to me. 
 
 "Ah! it was there I was in fault! But I niver could 
 git out n the pit intil which I had put myself. One thing 
 brought on another, an the longer I delayed the furder I 
 wrought intil the mire, an the harder it was to break forth. 
 An now it is too late, as far as Luke is consarned. I can t 
 undo the wrong I did him. He loved ye, John,more n you ll 
 iver know, for he was not a man for to show his feelin s. 
 You were dear to him as the apple of his eye; an though I 
 was often sore pricked in heart to do my duty an tell him 
 the truth, I trimbled an shrunk back least I might blight 
 his fondest love, an raise a cloud betwixt him an you, as 
 well as betwixt him an myself. But oh ! when you brought 
 him home to me a corp the morn, I couldn t abear it longer. 
 It was an awful warnin that came to me. An with my 
 dead husband lyin in the house, I resolved, come what 
 would, I would onburden my mind to you, who are most 
 consarned to know. I cannot carry the saycret longer. Ay, 
 John, though you should hate me, an lave me, an disgrace 
 me afore all the town, an I should go forth into the warld 
 mother-naked as I came, ye must know the truth. God 
 help me an forgive me! 
 
 "An these are yours, John," she said after a long pause. 
 Then she took out of the little box the suit of baby clothes 
 and the little coral necklace, and laid them beside the Bible 
 upon the stand. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE PASSING OF JOHN LATIMEB. 
 
 As the confusion and shock at the first startling news 
 passed away a strange restlessness possessed John. The 
 foundations of his life seemed to have suddenly dropped 
 out. His proper self-hood, his personality he, John 
 Latimer was passing from himself whither? Luke Lati 
 mer not his father? He could not grasp that as a tangible 
 fact. This woman before him not his mother? His ears 
 heard, his mind gave assent, but his heart could not receive 
 it. The habits of life refused to be loosened. A multitude 
 of queries and doubts and indefinable sensations arose and 
 31 
 
482 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 whirled over the plane of consciousness. But he pushed 
 them aside, and listened spellbound to Mrs. Latimer s con 
 fession. As the story went on, he arose and leaned heavily 
 upon the back of his chair. He sat down again; then got 
 up and walked the room, his eyes fixed the while upon the 
 narrator. Then he leaned against the foot of his couch, 
 arid folded his arms tightly over his breast, and stirred not 
 till the tale was ended. 
 
 Then he came up to the stand, and speaking not a word, 
 turned over and over the dainty baby clothes lying there, 
 brown and creased, but just as they had come from his 
 infant body. He took up the coral necklace and fingered 
 it, and looked at the golden oval bead upon it. An 
 image seemed to arise in his imagination, shadowy, spirit 
 like, of a woman whose hands might have stitched those 
 tiny garments, and fastened that toy about his baby neck. 
 But as it faded away, it bore the form, he could see it in 
 no other wise of Mrs. Latimer. Still he said nothing. 
 Mrs. Polly, who had risen, watched him with deeply flushed 
 cheek and frightened look. At last John looked up 
 
 "Mother!" he said. "Did you never " 
 
 At the word mother, Mrs. Polly s face was illumined as 
 by a sunburst from a dark cloud. Tears came to her eyes, 
 and waiting not the end of John s question, she sprang for 
 ward and threw her arms around the youth, and laid her 
 face upon his shoulder and wept. 
 
 "Oh, John!" she sobbed, "can you call me mother, 
 still?" 
 
 John for answer pressed her to his bosom, and stooped 
 and kissed her forehead, and led her to her chair, and 
 bade her be seated and compose herself, for she was sobbing 
 violently. When she was somewhat quieted, John finished 
 his question: " Did you ever try to find out who my parents 
 might be?" 
 
 "Did I iver try? Often an often I thought of it. But 
 what could I do? It was few people we saw, save Indians 
 an stragglin hunters, an now an then an immigrant boat 
 that stopped at our cabin landin , an went on intil the wil 
 derness. It behoved to be cautious lest I betray my say- 
 cret, an it misliked me sore to tell a direct untruth. An I 
 niver did; though indade, my whole life was little less nor 
 a livin lie. But I bade Featherfoot find out what she 
 could; an Luke was aye tellin to newcomers the story of 
 
THE LATIMEHS. 483 
 
 Moses an his cradle. But no thin iver came of it. The 
 dark forest an the lonely river kep their own saycret fine, 
 an all that I iver 1 arned is jist what Tve telled ye the now. 
 An , John, what with my lost Meg, an my dead baby, 
 an the fear of bein found out hangin over me, an the 
 stress an sting of a hurted conscience, it was a weary road 
 J had to walk an a bitter burden I bore. You would a 
 pitied me, bereft of my bairns, an berated by my troubled 
 mind. Ay, an ye may pity me still; tho comfort came to 
 me by an by in the love I grew to have for yourself. For 
 Heaven is my witness, I soon got to know no differ atween 
 you an a born child of my own. An savin only the say- 
 cret that I kep from ye, I niver failed in duty, I defy the 
 face o clay to say that 1 iver failed in duty an love to you. 
 
 my poor heart! my Saviour, have marcy!" 
 
 The tension to which the strong willed woman had 
 keyed herself for the telling of her tale relaxed as she 
 reached the end. She buried her face in her hands and 
 wept, while her frame shook with sobs. John stood 
 forcing back the sobs heaving up from his breast, the tears 
 meanwhile trickling down his cheeks. When Mrs. Lati- 
 mer was somewhat composed he broke the painful silence. 
 
 "You have nothing more to say to me, mother?" 
 
 "Nothin ," said Polly, and made as if to leave. 
 
 "No, no!" John exclaimed. "Stay here, if you will. 
 
 1 must go by myself and think." 
 
 He took up the coral necklace, leaving the other things 
 upon the stand, and went forth from the Latimer cabin. 
 He crossed the Chartiers by the little bridge, and scarcely 
 heeding where he went, turned into the winding path to 
 the Hill Church. It seemed to him that he was once more 
 upon the flooded river, drifting he knew not where. Who 
 was he? What mystery was this that had suddenly dropped 
 into his life, severing him from all he held most dear? 
 
 He had grown up with a strong and just pride in his 
 own name and relatives. Luke Latimer was not much 
 #iven to moral or religious lectures or lessons: but he had 
 a few simple principles which he tried to instil into his 
 boy s mind, and a few words which were often on his 
 tongue. "Honor" was one. He made much of that. That 
 seemed to him indeed the principal thing". Be honorable! 
 he would say. Be the soul of honor! Keep your honor 
 bright! Never do or say aught that can stain your honor! 
 
484 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Family" was another favorite word with Luke. In 
 deed, he linked it with that other, and made much of family 
 honor. "Never disgrace your family, lad!" he would say 
 to John. "Your family are proud of you. Do naught that 
 will turn their pride into shame." 
 
 Luke made no claims to noble descent, or high con 
 nection in the old country, as one sometimes heard; but 
 showed honest pride in an honest and godly stock, and an 
 honorable family and name. John from his childhood had 
 responded keenly to these lessons. Next to "God" and 
 "duty," he held "honor" the worthiest word in the English 
 tongue; and next to honor came "home" and "family." 
 He was proud of his family, and had a right to be. And 
 now, he was not a Latimer! He had no family! At one 
 blow he had lost all that he had been taught to hold dear. 
 He was who was he? 
 
 There came a flush of indignation, a sense of personal 
 injury that he had been suffered thus to take root in the 
 Latimer home only to be rudely torn away in the end. 
 Why was he not told the truth at once, that his life might 
 have shaped itself truly and naturally to the facts ? It was 
 wrong! It was a wrong to him as well as to his father! 
 
 His father! That is, Luke Latimer. Could he ever 
 think of him in any other way? He resented the thought 
 that he must lose out of his life what had been one of its 
 greatest pleasures, the sense of sonship to that strong, true, 
 great-hearted and honorable man, who, with whatever 
 shortcomings, had been to him the heart of goodness. 
 
 At this point in his mental struggle he reached the spot 
 where, on the evening of the sacramental camp-meeting, 
 he had stood with Fanny McCormack and Blanche Oldham, 
 and looked upon the fair landscape as it stretched away to 
 the southwest over the rolling hills, and to the north along 
 the winding valley of the Chartiers, with the full light of 
 the moon shining upon it. How changed the scene since 
 that evening. How bleak and barren now, in that raw 
 November air, with the gaunt arms of the leafless trees 
 stretched toward the cold gray sky, and the dull and low 
 ering clouds trooping across it, and swirling here and there 
 in wreaths and misty rolls around the summits of the 
 peaks. There he stood and thought of Blanche. Ah, 
 a true symbol this of what had befallen his hopes; dark 
 
THE LATIMERS. 485 
 
 clouds and chilling winds and biting frosts and blackness of 
 coming winter. The hot blood throbbed around his tem 
 ples as he recalled the supercilious words of Gen. Neville. 
 And now, this last cruel blow must surely end it! If her kin 
 would scorn him as the son of a reputable citizen of good 
 standing and fortune, what would they say to him as a 
 nameless waif? a penniless, nameless waif? 
 
 Yes, penniless! For though Luke Latimer s will left 
 him the third part of a goodly estate, it was done under 
 the delusion that he, John, was his son and therefore en 
 titled to it. Well he knew that Mrs. Latimer s generous 
 love would insist that the will should hold. But could he 
 permit it? No! Not a dollar could he honorably receive. 
 He would go forth into the world as lone and poor as he had 
 come into it. 
 
 But how could he go forth ? He was a prisoner, charged 
 with treason to his country, to be marched away to his 
 country s capital and tried for riot, arson and treason. 
 What would the end be? An ignominious death? prison? 
 exile? God help him! Well, what mattered it? Heaven 
 itself seemed to be against him during these last two 
 months. The rudest billows of fate had gone over him, 
 and buffeted him, and cast him up without name, without 
 family, without possession, with his fair reputation and 
 honorable life stained with a secret suspicion and an open 
 charge of an infamous crime. 
 
 And Meg? What would she say? She had closely 
 wrought herself around his affections since that day of her 
 deliverance. Truly he loved her. And must he wrench 
 her too from his heart? Could he expect her longer to 
 love him as a sister loves a brother? How could she do 
 so? In his distress, he cried aloud: "Oh mother (still 
 mother!), how could you do this thing?" 
 
 John had now reached the little graveyard back of the 
 Hill Church, and sat down upon a stile that gave entrance 
 from the churchyard close by the sanctuary walls. He 
 gazed around upon the humble headstones and monu 
 mental slabs, and thought of the peaceful rest of those who 
 were sleeping there. How gladly would ho lie down with 
 them in the dreamless slumber of the dead! His musings 
 were broken by the sound of voices. Two men approached 
 bearing picks and shovels. They were the church sexton 
 and a helper. 
 
486 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 "Ah!" said the sexton with an apologetic tone. "We 
 have jist come to dig the grave " and there stopped. 
 
 "My father s grave ?" asked John, rising from the stile. 
 "Luke Latimer, my father?" 
 
 "Ay, John, jist that; an maybe it s well you re here;" 
 the sexton replied, not noting the broken phrasing that 
 betokened the conflict in John s mind. "You might help 
 us mark the spot where your mother said she wushed him 
 laid." That office done, John left the men to their sombre 
 but needful task and took the road toward home. 
 
 Home? Yes, that it must be for a little while longer. 
 The scene at the graveyard had given his mind a more 
 kindly turn. His thoughts were much chastened, and his 
 heart softened. Very sad and quiet he was as he slowly 
 descended the hill. As far back as memory could recall 
 his past, from the first consciousness of childhood to the 
 present, one form hung above and circled about his life. 
 It was that of his mother his mother Latimer. On her 
 generous bosom he had sobbed away his boyish griefs and 
 found a soft pillow for his fevered and aching head, when 
 the ills of childhood had visited him. A strong, wise, lov 
 ing hand was hers to guide him through the perplexities 
 and crude rugosities of youth. 
 
 What a happy home had she made for him. What 
 brightness and warmth awaited at the fireside and table 
 when he came in from daily duty. What heartsome wel 
 come when he got home from hunting, scouting and boat 
 ing. Did ever mother do more for her own child than 
 Mrs. Latimer had done for him? Could one be loved by 
 a real mother more than he had been loved? Oh, the 
 wealthiness and unwearied output of the long-suffering 
 patience and self-denial of her service! And all that for 
 one who was not her own child; for a waif borne to her 
 breast from the bosom of the flooded Ohio! 
 
 Was not this love? Ay, mother love! or so nigh akin 
 to it that he at least could not discern the difference. 
 What did he not owe to her? He owed her his life, such 
 as it was, a poor possession now for him or for anyone. He 
 owed all that he had been or hoped to be to her and to her 
 husband. What then should he do? What could he do? 
 Come what would, his love and gratitude for her should 
 never lessen! Yes, his mother she must remain, as far as 
 love and allegiance could go. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 487 
 
 He stepped off more quickly. The decision seemed to 
 give a buoyancy to his feelings. Providence had cast his 
 lot with the Latimers. Why should he go counter thereto 
 and separate his destiny from them? Yet, was not some 
 thing due to truth and honor? Should not his true rela 
 tions to the Latimers be made known? Surely! But how 
 would the telling affect his mother? Would it not so lower 
 her in public opinion that her life would be made miser 
 able? What would Dr. McMillan say? and the Church 
 Session? That was a serious matter, indeed! What would 
 be gained by publishing the facts? Would it not be better 
 to let matters abide as they were, for the present at least? 
 Surely something was due to charitv as well as to truth. 
 
 He paused, and gazed at the straggling village beneath 
 him, the blue smoke curling from its cabin chimneys. 
 With the gray sky and dusking day, the shadows were 
 deepening along the valley. Across the cottage windows 
 played the flicker of blazing wood fires and the glimmer 
 of candle lights. Yonder was the Latimer cabin! There, 
 in the darkened room lay the silent form of one whom he 
 had loved above all men. And still loved! There, his 
 mother awaited his coming, yes, he did not doubt it 
 with anxious heart. And Meg, poor, dear Meg! 
 
 And Fanny McCormack? Was she there too? No! 
 She must have gone home now. Must Fanny know? 
 What would she say to all this? He had been thinking 
 of that all along, with a longing, which almost over 
 mastered him, to tell her everything. Yet, he dreaded the 
 telling, lest somehow it might change her and becloud her 
 sisterly love. And then? 
 
 But he must have help. His heart craved human sym 
 pathy and counsel. Whose advice could be so much to 
 him, so wise and true, so sure to be right, as that of his 
 childhood s loving friend and playmate his sister Fanny? 
 He had never had a sorrow or joy, never a. plan of serious 
 work and duty, never even a deep emotion (save one) that 
 he had not carried to her, and shared with her, and always 
 been the happier and better. He must tell her this also ! 
 
 Yes, come what would, he would confide in her and be 
 guided by her counsel. He must settle his plans. in life 
 once for all. After that wretched imprisonment and trial 
 should be over, he must start life anew. What ought he to 
 do? Should he let the world know all? He would away to 
 
488 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 Fanny McCormack. That at least was clear. Fanny must 
 know all and tell him what to do. He sprang away down 
 the road with rapid pace, and bent his steps toward the 
 McCormack cabin. At that hour of the evening, he felt 
 sure Fanny would be there, called thither by the pressing 
 duties of household and store. 
 
 He had guessed aright. Fanny had just returned from 
 the Latimers, and was at the desk in the store going over 
 the simple accounts of the day. She was alone. The cus 
 tomers were at their evening meals; and the lads had run 
 out for a frolic in the fresh air. 
 
 Fanny marked at once the signs of agitation in John s 
 face and manner. She had never seen him in that wise. 
 He was even-tempered and self-poised and rarely flurried, 
 although, when matters required, swift in action and execu 
 tion. But now? What was it? Not his father s death, 
 for nothing of this manner had appeared during the day. 
 What had happened? She laid down her pen and with a 
 throbbing heart and anxious glance that came despite her 
 efforts to be composed, awaited his approach. 
 
 "Fanny, have you heard anything?" John asked, com 
 ing to the desk and speaking without formal greeting. 
 
 "Have I heard anything?" echoed Fanny. "I do not 
 understand. What is the matter, John?" 
 
 "Mother has told you nothing, then?" 
 
 "Nothing!" 
 
 "Are you alone?" 
 
 "Quite alone." 
 
 "I have something I must say to you all by yourself." 
 
 "You can speak freely, then. We shall not be inter 
 rupted, I think." She spoke quietly, but there was a quaver 
 in the tones of her voice that betrayed her inward agita 
 tion. What could John have to say to her? Had he at last 
 found out? No! Unworthy thought. Silence! Shame 
 to think of it now. The maid s cheeks flushed and her 
 eyes flashed. Then she cast them down, and looked at the 
 book before her, and tapped upon the desk with the nib 
 of her quill. 
 
 John, thinking only of unburdening his mind and get 
 ting the help which he craved, told the story in rapid and 
 impassioned utterances; told all his feelings, all his strug 
 gles, his perplexities, his doubts. He made a clean breast 
 of it all, leaning upon the top of the desk as he talked. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 489 
 
 Fanny started at the shock of the first news, and with 
 a cry of painful wonder dropped back upon the high writ 
 ing stool, and leaning forward upon the account book, hid 
 her face in her hands and wept. John waited patiently 
 until Fanny had got the mastery of her emotion and raised 
 her face flushed and wet with tears. 
 
 "0 John!" she cried. "0 my brother! I am so sorry 
 for you." 
 
 When all was told, the matter which troubled him 
 most came up. Should he make the truth known, or hide 
 it? How could he keep up the deceit before the world? 
 Yet how could he bear to bring upon his mother the re 
 proach of a disclosure? What would Fanny advise? 
 
 "The truth must be told, John!" Fanny said at last. 
 She spoke slowly, and every word seemed to cause pain in 
 utterance; but there was no token of doubt in her tones. 
 John had felt sure that such would be the verdict; yet it 
 seemed to fall upon him like a sentence of death. 
 
 "The truth must be told!" Fanny repeated. "But not 
 by you, John. Mrs. Latimer might make it known to Dr. 
 McMillan, and leave him to settle matters with the Church 
 and the people. Stay you here meanwhile, and go quietly 
 on as usual. Do you not still love Luke Latimer?" 
 
 "Yes, with all my heart. I could not love and cherish 
 his memory more were he my own father. I know, I feel 
 no difference. Yes, I love him still/ 
 
 "And Mrs. Latimer?" 
 
 John hesitated a moment, for he wished to be true to 
 his conscience, and speak forth his heart without disguise 
 to Fanny looking at him there through her steady blue 
 eyes, mirrors of that soul of truth within. 
 
 "The news was a shock to that reverence and absolute 
 confidence which I have always held. There was a shrink 
 ing away at first, as if I could never feel as I have felt. I 
 was confused, yes angry, I do not deny. But that has 
 passed; at least it has nearly gone. I have thought of all 
 that has been done for me. My heart unites with my 
 reason to cling to mother Latimer as my own mother. I 
 could not feel otherwise; I would not if I could. For the 
 present, at least, whatever time may affect, I have only 
 one mother, and I can say with my whole heart that I love 
 and shall continue to love her as such. Besides, I prom 
 ised father Latimer on his dying bed that I would never 
 cease to care for her and Meg. I will be true to my word." 
 
490 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Thank God for what you say!" was Fanny s answer 
 "It is what I expected." 
 
 "Another thing troubles me," John continued. 
 "Father told me that he left me an equal share of his 
 estate. I cannot accept it. Even if it should be proved 
 lawful for me to do so, I cannot reconcile it with my own 
 sense of right. After the funeral, I shall give myself up 
 to the Government authorities, and shall be taken for trial 
 to Philadelphia, I suppose. What the end will be, Heaven 
 only knows; but whatever betide, I must take up life 
 anew. But not here in Canonsburg! On some other field, 
 perhaps the new West, I must try my fortunes." 
 
 "Have you thought," said Fanny, speaking with hesi 
 tating words in broken sentences, "that this may seriously 
 affect your prospects with that is, your hopes of " 
 
 "Blanche, you mean, I suppose?" John interrupted. 
 
 Fanny lowered her eyes, fearful that she had intruded, 
 and tapped lightly with the pen point upon the desk. 
 "Yes, I feared you might have forgotten, " 
 
 "No, I have thought of that. But what difference 
 could it make? I have no reason to hope but if I did, 
 would that matter?" 
 
 "No, certainly not, not with Blanche. At least, if she 
 loved you as as she ought!" Fanny answered. 
 
 Tap, tap, tap! The nib of the quill beating upon the 
 desk-lid was the only sound that broke the silence, as the 
 two young people paused. Both pairs of eyes followed the 
 monotonous movement of Fanny s fingers, a tumult of fear, 
 disappointment and hope beating within their breasts. 
 
 "Have you told Meg?" Fanny asked at length, escaping 
 from the embarrassing situation by changing the subject. 
 
 "I have not, and I dare not think of doing so. Would 
 you mind telling her? It will come best from you." 
 
 "Yes, I will tell her. Poor, dear Meg! I fear it will 
 go hard with her. I will come over after supper." 
 
 Fanny closed the account book and rose from the stool. 
 John gave her cordial thanks and reached a hand across 
 the desk, which Fanny took and gently pressed. But John 
 would not leave it so, for he bent over and raised the hand 
 to his lips and kissed the back thereof. "My good angel!" 
 he said. "My true-hearted sister!" Then he left the store 
 and left too a hot tear drop on Fanny s fingers. 
 
 Fanny followed him to the door and closed it and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 491 
 
 turned the key. She paused and put her lips to the spot 
 that John had kissed. Then returning to her place, she 
 kneeled down in the narrow gangway behind the counter, 
 and laying her head against the shelf, sobbed aloud. 
 
 "Hush, my heart!" she murmured. "God help us all!" 
 
 She lifted up her face to Heaven, and with clasped 
 ^iands, in the shadow of the darkening evening prayed 
 silently for John Latimer. This done, she arose composed 
 in spirit, and entering the cottage by the rear door, sat 
 down to the evening meal with countenance bright with the 
 reflected peace within, and with cheerful voice talked over 
 with the household the events of the day. 
 
 Surely self-sacrifice has its own especial type of joy. 
 You do not call it happiness? Well, then, call it blessed 
 ness; and let us say that this was the grace that enfolded 
 the spirit of Fanny McCormack that night as with a gar 
 ment of myrrh. This was not a new conflict now waged 
 within her, nor a new victory won; only another stage of 
 the old struggle, another triumph of true love over self-love. 
 She knew now, and had long known that she loved John 
 Latimer so well that she would not, even if she could, draw 
 him to herself from another woman with whom he could 
 be happier. Yet, there were times when she inwardly 
 chafed at this verdict, and wondered: could she really love 
 him and be willing to lose him, even for the sake of his 
 greater happiness? Verily there grows within the garden 
 of the heart a plant called "Bittersweet," and Fanny knew 
 well the mingled savors thereof. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer awaited John s coming with an anxiety 
 that even her sorrow for the dead could not quench. Sho 
 had lifted a corner of the curtain and watched him from 
 the window as he climbed the hill path, until he was lost to 
 view. She knew that he would fight out the matter by 
 himself (that was ever his use and wont), and come back 
 with mind made up one way or another. So, at his home 
 coming she glanced keenly into his face for outward token 
 of his mind. It was all right! She saw that and was glad. 
 
 John came up and kissed her and said softly but very 
 tenderly, "my mother!" Then her tears welled forth, but 
 they were tears of joy as mucii as of sorrow. He kissed her 
 again, and spoke out so that Meg and Mrs. Burbeck might 
 hear: "Keep a good heart, you still have Meg and me." 
 
 When the evening meal was done, Meg arose and got 
 
492 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 the family Bible, and without a word laid it down before 
 John, as she had learned to do for her father. "Ay, John, 
 you must tak the Book now," said Mrs. Polly. "There s 
 none else to lade our warship." 
 
 Keverently, then, John opened the volume and read 
 the chapter which his father loved, the fourteenth of St. 
 John s Gospel, whose pages were thumb-marked with fre 
 quent reading. As John read on, the sweetness, the com 
 fort and happiness of the gracious words of Jesus distilled 
 into his heart, and fell like gentle dew upon the spirits of 
 those who heard them. 
 
 As he closed the book and kneeled down, Meg softly 
 came and kneeled beside him. Her mother seeing that; 
 came also, and kneeling on the other side, bowed forward 
 weeping upon the table edge. John placed one arm about 
 each of the mourning women, and so, with face uplifted, 
 took up the household priesthood that Luke Latimer had 
 laid aside, and as best he could led the family prayer. 
 
 This done> he slipped away to his own room. There 
 lay the baby things that Mrs. Latimer had given him. He 
 took them up and examined them closely, and wondered: 
 Would he ever know who his parents were? Would these 
 things be the key to unlock the mystery? He picked up 
 the pocket Bible and turned over the pages with a new 
 interest. Here and there a passage had been marked, and 
 a rude figure of an index-hand drawn upon the page. 
 Whose hand had done this? he inwardly questioned. One 
 text especially caught his eye. It was enclosed in brackets, 
 and on the margin in a delicate hand, a lady s handwriting 
 evidently, were what seemed to be the initials of a name. 
 
 "When my father and my mother forsake me, the Lord 
 will take me up." M. M. 
 
 He sat for a long time musing upon the text. 
 He had often noted this and other marked passages, 
 but in truth had taken no special heed to them. 
 There they had always been, and it did not occur to him to 
 raise a query about the matter. But now? It was a vain 
 fancy, he knew, but he indulged it, and dreamed and 
 dreamed of what had been, and what might be? 
 
 He turned to the title page. The name and date had 
 once been written thereon, but they were so thoroughly 
 blotted out with heavy ink lines that not a letter could be 
 
THE LATIMEES. 493 
 
 traced. He turned the fly leaves, and noted a print pasted 
 upon the inside cover, which had often excited his boyish 
 wonder, but which he had long ceased to think about. It 
 was a book plate with an engraved coat of arms. There 
 had been an engrave! name also, it would seem, but that 
 was erased, as was the lower part of the figure. 
 
 Of heraldry, its uses and its symbols, John was ignor 
 ant, or had but the f r intest glimmer of knowledge. He had 
 indeed heard of coat armor, and shields and crests, from 
 folk around him, some of whom were not unfamiliar there 
 with in the old country. But in the fierce republicanism 
 of the era, all such gawds and vanities were despised and 
 eschewed as toys and tokens of a proud aristocracy. It was 
 therefore but the dimmest outline of a thought that came 
 to him that perhaps these hieroglyphs might mark for him 
 the trail to those who could unfold the mystery of his birth. 
 
 Yet, on the other hand, he had known books sold in the 
 open market at a Pittsburg store with like devices in them; 
 old books that had drifted west from Philadelphia, from 
 New England, from Great Britain, from Holland, the flot 
 sam of broken libraries picked up by immigrants and by 
 them bartered again. Perhaps this Bible had a like his 
 tory. Indeed, some of the books in his scant library had 
 thus been purchased; and this picture on the book plate, 
 it might well be, had naught to do with the last owner. 
 Still, in some way the Bible was associated with his in- 
 fancv. It lay in his cradle as if someone had been reading 
 it when the flood came, and had thrown it into the cradle 
 and fled for life. A rap on the door startled him. 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 At his call, Meg Latimer entered, and standing with 
 hand upon the half-open door, hesitated and looked 
 timidly toward him. John rose and came near to her. 
 
 "Has Fanny told you?" 
 
 TTes, Fanny told all. She say you not my brother 
 John! How that? Meg not understand. You not my 
 born brother, mebbe. Meg sorry for that, very sorry! But 
 what differ make that? Mother say she adopted you into 
 the family. She take you for her true son, same as her 
 own dead baby. That very good, too. That all the same 
 now as if you were true born child, so mother say. That 
 Indian way, too. That a good way! She love you still. 
 You her own boy now, if you like. You must like! Oh, 
 
494 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 John, you will like? Meg cannot give you up. You are 
 her own brother still. Father love you very much. He 
 put Meg s hand in yours afore he die, and say you will 
 love one another truly! You will care for Meg, my boy? 
 Oh, John, what you say to that?" 
 
 The maid spoke rapidly, dropping wholly the reserve 
 with which her Indian habits had clothed her ordinary 
 speech. Her voice trembled with the eagerness of her 
 heart. Tears were glistening on her long eyelashes. 
 
 "You not going to leave us, John? You not get angry, 
 and cast us away from you? No, No! Who save Meg 
 from Indian? Brother John! Who bring her home and 
 give her father and mother and everything? Brother John! 
 Who watch with her when father die, and say he never, 
 never leave her? Brother John! Yes, yes, mother take 
 you for her son; you take Meg for sister, too? You my 
 brother John still?" 
 
 John watched the beautiful girl as she made her plea 
 for brotherly love with such eloquent manner and speech, 
 and his heart beat high with happiness and pride. He 
 took her into his arms and kissed her. "Oh, Meg, my 
 sister," he said, "it is I who should plead for your love. 
 Who am I to think of throwing away such a priceless gift? 
 God bless you for your love! I am happy and grateful to 
 you for it. God do so to me and more also if aught but 
 death part thee and me!" 
 
 Meg smiled through her tears, and said "Good brother 
 John! Come! Let us go to our mother." 
 
 And the two went out of the room hand in hand. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 OFF TO PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 Four horsemen John Latimer, Andy Burbeck, Mort 
 Sheldon and Nathan Lane slowly held along the road 
 from Canonsburg to Pittsburg. The funeral rites were 
 over, and Luke Latimer had been left to sleep on the sunny 
 bosom of the hill whereon the Chartiers Churchyard lies. 
 Home farewells had been spoken; for John and Andy were 
 about to redeem their parole, and give themselves up to 
 
THE LATIMEES. 495 
 
 the national authorities at Pittsburg, expecting to be sent 
 to Philadelphia to be tried for treason. It was therefore 
 a sad and silent group that jogged along the road through 
 the Chartiers Valley. 
 
 But Hope is a perennial fountain in man s breast. 
 John was young; Andy s buoyant spirits could not long 
 % be repressed; and little by little conversation started. The 
 habit of companionship cleared the obstructed channels, 
 and the gloom of home good-byes was gradually lightened. 
 Naturally, the talk turned upon the impending trials, and 
 the probable treatment at Pittsburg and Philadelphia. 
 Thence it drifted to the condition of affairs in the Survey, 
 and especially in Washington County. What should be 
 come of those who had been arrested? What should be 
 come of those who had fled? So came David Bradford 
 upon the scene, and the manner of his flight. 
 
 Nathan Lane had been given the duty of warning those 
 in Washington and the neighborhood who were blacklisted 
 upon the paper so mysteriously placed in Luke Latimer s 
 hands. David Bradford was among this number, and at 
 his door Nathan presented himself in due time. The 
 house stood and still stands on Main Street, and was one 
 of the finest in the West, and said to be the first stone 
 residence built in the village. Nathan s knock brought a 
 slave girl to the door, \vho held with one hand to the brass 
 knob of the huge iron lock, and peered suspiciously from 
 within through the narrow opening, and asked what was 
 wanted. The manner of the servant betrayed the master s 
 anxiety. 
 
 Nathan s explanation was satisfactory, and he was ad 
 mitted into the wide hall, where he noted the broad stair 
 way with its ornamented rails and balustrade of solid 
 mahogany, a most notable object in that day there on the 
 verge of the wilderness. He was shown into the parlor, a 
 spacious room with a wood, fire burning in the fireplace 
 over which was a mahogany mantel. The surrounding 
 wall was wainscoted with mahogany panels to the very 
 top of the carved cornice. 
 
 After a brief waiting, Nathan was shown into the ad 
 joining room. Bradford sat at a desk placed before the 
 fireplace, whose mantel, as with the parlor, was panelled to 
 the ceiling. On either side were shelves with quaintly 
 leaded glass doors. Bradford laid aside his papers, and 
 
496 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 knowing Nathan well, greeted him with that genial manner 
 which had won him wide popularity among all classes. 
 
 "A cold morning, Mr. Lane," he said. "Sit up to the 
 fire, sir! Pray, to what am I indebted for this early call? 
 Surely our staid friend Passon Nathan has not got into any 
 trouble that requires my legal counsel?" 
 
 "Wall, no, Squire!" Nathan replied. "Not jist pre 
 cisely that. I ain t in no scrape, onless comin here may 
 count for one. The boot is on t other foot this time." 
 
 "Ah?" exclaimed Bradford, looking up quickly, and 
 fixing a disturbed and inquiring gaze upon his visitor. 
 "What s in the wind now? Something about myself?" 
 
 "It s jest that, Mr. Bradford. I m not come to git but 
 to give counsel. Fact is, an there s no use beatin about 
 the bush as I ever seed, I m like Cushi of old, a bearer of 
 evil tidings. The Government s got a purty sizable trap 
 ready to spring, an as I ve found out that you re included 
 among the victims, I ve come to say that I reckon about 
 the best thing you kin do is to light out suddent, and make 
 tracks for the Ohio kentry or New Orleans." 
 
 Thereupon he told how he had come by his information, 
 and rose to leave. "You know, Squire Bradford," he con 
 tinued, "that I never took nary stock in your schemes an 
 doins . But I like to see every man have a fair chance, an 
 don t approve by no manner of means the way the army 
 officials are calkelatin to treat our citizens. Seems as 
 though they was goin slap-dab into the face of President 
 Washington s proclamation." 
 
 Bradford questioned Nathan until he was thoroughly 
 satisfied that the warning was timely, and then dismissed 
 him with warm thanks for his friendly act. "Be sure, sir," 
 he said, as he shook Nathan s hand cordially, "that I shall 
 not divulge the name of my kind informer. I would be 
 loath to bring suspicion upon one who has done me this 
 good turn, not without risk to himself." 
 
 " Taint wuth speakin of, Squire," Nathan replied. 
 "Shucks! I wouldn t give a pinch of snuff for a man that 
 wouldn t resk somethin to git a neighbor out of trouble. 
 Good bye, sir! and good luck to ye!" 
 
 Thus far, Nathan could report to his companions how 
 he had fulfilled the duty committed to him. What followed 
 that was a matter of common fame. Sooner than Brad 
 ford expected the soldiery visited him. They had intended 
 
THE LATIMERS. 497 
 
 to take him unawares, but Nathan s warning prevented 
 surprise. Bradford was in his office, hastening the ar 
 rangement of his papers, when the troop came up the 
 street. His faithful slaves were on the lookout and ran 
 to him with the news. Without further ceremony he 
 escaped through a back window of his office, and made 
 good his flight. 
 
 At Pittsburg, Capt. Dunlap was found busy preparing 
 to escort Governor Mifflin back to Philadelphia, having 
 been assigned command of the advanced corps of the Penn 
 sylvania cavalry on their return march. John and Andy 
 were therefore turned over to the provost guard. After 
 expressing their hearty gratitude to> Capt. Dunlap for his 
 considerate treatment, and bidding their companions good 
 bye, they were conducted to the garrison, and delivered to 
 the care of Major Butler, the commander. Here they were 
 kept a week awaiting orders to proceed to Philadelphia 
 under an escort commanded by Gen. Ledger Bloodson, who 
 had been assigned to that service at his own particular re 
 quest. On the last day of their stay a sentinel called Andy 
 into the commandant s office to see a visitor. He crossed 
 the parade ground to the little brick- building built by 
 Col. Bouquet in 1764, and which still remains, the sole 
 relic of Fort Duquesne, and is known as the Block House. 
 Mr. Ormsby, a citizen of Pittsburg with whom Andy had a 
 slight acquaintance, greeted him warmly and presented 
 him to the commandant with the remark: "This is the 
 man, sir; this is Andrew Burbeck." 
 
 Major Butler handed Andy a paper, which he turned 
 over several times and glanced at the endorsements on the 
 back. Then he slowly opened it, wondering the while what 
 it could be. This is what he read: 
 
 HEADQUARTERS, PITTSBURG, November 24, 1794. 
 
 By direction of Major General Henry Lee, Commander- 
 in-Chief, Brigadier General Ledger Bloodson will release 
 the prisoner Andrew Burbeck of Washington County, now 
 confined in the garrison at Fort Pitt. 
 
 DANIEL MORGAN, 
 Major General Commanding the Winter Defense. 
 
 Beneath this was an endorsement as follows: 
 
 In accordance with the above order, Major Butler will 
 please discharge without further delay the prisoner, An 
 drew Burbeck. LEDGER BLOODSON, Brigadier General. 
 32 
 
498 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Andy slowly read the order. He was confounded. He 
 thrust his fingers through his hair until every particular 
 red capillary seemed standing upon end. "Whativer does 
 this mane, sir?" he exclaimed. "A don t understand it," 
 
 "It means that you are discharged, Mr. Burbeck, and 
 I heartily congratulate you!" returned Major Butler. "Mr. 
 Ormsby will explain the rest; you owe your release to him." 
 
 Andy turned his wondering gaze upon his visitor, hold 
 ing the while the document with both hands. "Is it a joke 
 you re playin off on me?" he asked. 
 
 "A joke, my good fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Ormsby, 
 grasping one of Andy s hands and warmly shaking it. 
 "Nothing was ever surer than that you are a free man; and 
 I wish you joy of the same. I m glad to be able to do this 
 for you as some slight proof of my gratitude." 
 
 "Gratitude?" echoed Andy. "Come now, Mr. Ormsby, 
 that s another riddle you re puttin til me. A niver had 
 anny dalein s with you in my life, barrin a ferry acrost the 
 river betimes whan sarvin for Luke Latimer." 
 
 "Hah! my fine fellow," Mr. Ormsby returned. "Have 
 rou forgotten the night on Braddock s Field? I never 
 new what I owed you till yesterday morning, when I 
 chanced to meet Zedick Wright, who asked about you. He 
 spoke many good words in your behalf, which I little 
 minded, till he related how your kind ?nd canny maneu 
 vers saved my lad s life from the masked ruffians who would 
 have hung him. I have some influence with the authorities 
 here, thank God! and I never gave myself a bit of peace till 
 that discharge was signed. And there it is, just in time to 
 save you from the march to-day. My good wife and myself 
 will hold you in grateful remembrance as long as we live; 
 and my son, sir, will soon speak for himself, I hope." 
 
 Andy listened with keen interest. A merry twinkle 
 came to his eyes, which gradually grew into a smile, and 
 then into a broad grin that broke forth in hearty laughter. 
 "Ah, that s it, is it? Ha, ha! Axcuse me, gintlemin, it 
 wasn t quite ginteel to laugh out that way. But it ? ud 
 make a dog laugh to mind that affair. Bless my heart, Mr. 
 Ormsby, if you d a knowed how much ginoowine fun A 
 had out n that divarteesment, you d niver a mentioned 
 gratitude. Ay, A was well paid for what lettle A did. Ha, 
 ha! Howsomiver, A m obleeged to ye all the same, an A m 
 truly grateful for your kindness. But sir, if it s all the 
 
THE LATIMERS. 499 
 
 same to you, A can t accip this bit o paper." Whereupon 
 he handed the document to Major Butler. 
 
 "Are you mad?" the officer exclaimed. 
 
 "A m not mad, your honor!" Andy answered, "but 
 spake forth words of sober a rnest. Jist as long as Cap n 
 Latimer is a prisoner, Andy Burbeck stays a prisoner, too. 
 A m off to Philadelphy the day with him, an its share an 
 share alike with us!" 
 
 "This is nonsense! Absurd!" exclaimed Major Butler. 
 "What good can you do Capt. Latimer if you go with him 
 as a prisoner? You don t even know that you would be 
 allowed to march in the same gang with him; or stay in 
 the same prison when you arrive; or be tried at the same 
 time; or pshaw! Guard, ask Capt. Latimer to please 
 step over to headquarters." 
 
 The honest soldier s words were quick and brusque, 
 as they fell upon the ear; but there was a glimmer in his 
 eyes, and something rising in the throat, that showed how 
 Andy s act of self-denying friendship had won his heart. 
 John appeared in a few moments, and without a word 
 Major Butler handed him the order for Andy s discharge. 
 
 "Thank God!" exclaimed John, when he had read the 
 paper. His face was radiant with ioy, and seizing both of 
 Andy s hands in his own, he shook them again and again 
 and wished him joy. "Now, I can go away in peace, my 
 dear old friend," he cried. "Hurrah! Hurry back to 
 Canonsburg, and carry my love to all the home folks, and 
 my hearty congratulations to Peggy. Ay, and to Bounce 
 and Betty and Rouse and all the rest. This is glorious 
 news, indeed. How did it come about?" 
 
 All this time and while Major Butler briefly explained, 
 Andy remained silent, and stood with downcast eyes, and 
 John wondered at that. 
 
 "And now," the Major concluded, "your friend flatly 
 refuses to accept his discharge, and has returned the docu 
 ment to me. Doubtless, you can guess the reason, sir; and 
 one might well envy you such devoted friendship as this, 
 which prefers the discomforts and sufferings of a prison 
 with a friend, to the pleasures of freedom apart from him!" 
 
 "Dear old friend!" John cried, turning and once more 
 grasping Andy s hands. "Did you indeed do that for me? 
 Thank you, with all my heart. But it must not be. It 
 snail not be! I cannot accept such a sacrifice as this, 
 
500 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 though I feel proud and glad that you stand ready to make 
 it. I would never have a peaceful moment were I to per 
 mit you to do this wrong to yourself and family. Ay, and 
 to myself, too. You can serve me better here than any 
 where else. You can stay and watch for me, and report 
 how affairs go, and serve me in a hundred ways that may 
 help on my case to a favorable isiue. Besides, you forget, 
 Andy, that father left the ferry in your hands with a half 
 interest in the business. You might sacrifice your own 
 share justly; but how about mother s? You owe it to her 
 and to Meg, ay, and to the memory of your dead friend to 
 stay here and bide by the stuff." 
 
 By this time, tears were rolling down Andy s cheeks. 
 He had difficulty in commanding his voice, and at last 
 spoke. "Well, Jock, an A must, A 7 suppose A must! 
 But it goes agin the grain to lave you alone in the hands 
 of the Pheelistines. But A know there s no changin your 
 mind wanct it s truly made up. A mind your mother s 
 wush for ye, manny an manny s the time: the Lord kape 
 him right, for A know he ll be steadfast! A jalous A must 
 axcep my liberty, though it mislikes me sore." 
 
 "A wise decision!" said Major Butler. He endorsed the 
 document: "Andrew Burbeck, discharged this 24th No 
 vember, 1794." Then he signed it, and gave it to his 
 adjutant, directing him to make out a copy for Andy. 
 
 "And now, Capt. Latimer," he continued, "the time 
 has come for you to leave. The prisoners are being mus 
 tered. The troop escort is formed, and I see you are ready 
 for the journey. Ah, there goes the bugle! Good bye, 
 sir! And may your suit prosper as you deserve." 
 
 "Your honor," said Andy, as the Major moved away. 
 "Mayn t A march a bit of the way with Cap n Latimer? 
 This comes very suddent like, air A think A d be better 
 raconciled til t if A could see my friend safely on his 
 journey. It ud be a great comfort to me, that!" 
 
 "You ve a strange idea of comfort," the commandant 
 remarked with a smile. "Especially on such a bleak day 
 as this. But if it s any satisfaction, be off with you! I 
 shouldn t wonder to hear that you had enlisted as a trooper 
 and had gone to Philadelphia with your friend as one of 
 his guard." 
 
 "Not a bad idea that, your honor!" said Andy, "an 
 God save ye for your kindness. Mayhap A ll consider it. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 501 
 
 But, no! hark til yon, wull ye? They ll be no listin for 
 Andy Burbeck in yon company, your lionor. Them s the 
 Jarsey Blues." 
 
 The sound which had won Andy s attention was a 
 chorus which the troopers had started while waiting for 
 their final orders. They were jubilant at being homeward 
 bound, and voiced their pleasure in a song evoked by the 
 stirring events of the time, and which was very popular 
 among the soldiers of New Jersey. It had been written 
 by Gen. Howell, the Governor of that State, when the 
 President called for troops to march to Western Penn 
 sylvania. These are the words that the troopers sung and 
 which excited Andy s unfavorable comment: 
 
 JEKSEY BLUES. 
 
 To arms once more, our hero cries, 
 Sedition lives and order dies. 
 To peace and ease then bid adieu, 
 And dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue, 
 
 Jersey Blue, Jersey Blue ! 
 And dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue ! 
 
 Tho* tears bedew the maiden s cheek, 
 
 And storms hang round the mountains bleak, 
 
 Tis glory calls ; to love adieu ; 
 
 Then dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue. 
 
 Should foul misrule and party rage 
 With law and liberty engage, 
 Push home your steel, you ll soon review 
 Your native plains, brave Jersey Blue. 
 
 Dash to the mountains, Jersey Blue, 
 
 You ll soon review, you ll soon review 
 Your native plains, brave Jersey Blue. 
 
 The last lines so stirred the singers with the glad hope 
 of home-coming, that they fairly made the welkin ring 
 with their refrain. Andy shook his head. "The sooner 
 the better!" he muttered, "Whup out of the land as fast 
 as ye like. The Westerners 11 not begrudge ye a sight of 
 your native plains. Good riddance of bad rubbish, siz we, 
 for Jarsey Blues 11 long be a name of terror to Washington 
 County folk." 
 
502 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 Major Butler stood in the doorway and heard 
 Andy s soliloquy. "Yet the Jersey Line," said he, "are 
 among the best disciplined soldiers of the army." 
 
 "It ud ill become me to conterdic ye/ Andy replied. 
 "An it ud a been different if your honor had commanded 
 em astead of Giner l Bloodson. It s the old proverb, you 
 know, about the fly in the pound of intment." 
 
 CHAPTEE LI. 
 
 JOHN GETS INTO JAIL AND THERE GRAPPLES WITH CERTAIN 
 
 MYSTERIES. 
 
 The song of the jubilant troopers had no echo in the 
 prisoners hearts. Disturbed by prospects of their future, 
 distressed by present inconveniences, grieving bitterly for 
 the losses that must follow their removal, and the poverty 
 and suffering that must befall their families, most of them 
 fell into line at the order, with slow movement and sorrow 
 ful visage. Some, like John Latimer, were supported by 
 the force of their indignation at their unworthy treatment. 
 
 An escort of forty mounted soldiers formed around 
 them, and they marched away from the garrison, across 
 the Common, through the village of Pittsburg towards 
 Greensburg in Westmoreland County. Two days thereafter, 
 November 27th, the troop arrived in Greensburg and the 
 prisoners were lodged in the jail. On the 29th, they were 
 drawn out and paraded in the streets midleg deep in mud 
 and snow, and were finally turned over to Major Durham. 
 Then they proceeded upon their weary journey to Phila 
 delphia. Each prisoner marched on foot between two 
 mounted soldiers. The guards were ordered by Gen. 
 Bloodson to keep their swords drawn, and if any attempt 
 should be made at rescue, "the heads of the prisoners 
 should be cut off and brought to Philadelphia." 
 
 There were twenty prisoners in all. Among them was 
 one minister, Rev. John Corbley. There were several mili 
 tary officers, Col. John Hamilton, Sheriff of Washington 
 County and commander of a regiment of militia; Col. Wm. 
 Crawford, and Capt. Robert Porter who commanded a 
 company in the war for Independence and subsequently in 
 
THE LATIMERS. 503 
 
 the frontier defense. Many of them were ill provided 
 against the rigors of the march before them. John Latimer 
 had supplied himself with changes of underwear, which 
 were stowed in leather saddlebags that he carried strapped 
 upon his shoulders like a knapsack. His pocket Virgil and 
 a volume of Shakespeare had a place therein. His Bible he 
 carried in his pocket, and the relics of his babyhood were 
 next his body in a pouch that hung about his neck. He 
 wore strong cloth leggings wrapped about the lower legs 
 as a protection against tae heavy roads. His lusty strength 
 and high spirits supported him ell through the wearisome 
 march, and left him some surplus to expend in comforting 
 and helping his feebler fellow sufferers. 
 
 There followed a dismal journey of thirty days, made 
 along the most primitive roads, over mountains, through 
 forests, across streams, painfully plodding through snow 
 and mud in the most inclement time of the year. At night 
 the prisoners were placed in cellars, barns and such other 
 places as suited the disposition or fancy of their guards. 
 Some of these were considerate and even kind. Others 
 frequently vented their ill humo,, real or pretended, against 
 the rebels who had occasioned their going so far over the 
 hills and mountains "without the satisfaction of a man 
 to oppose them or a gun fired at them." 
 
 Near the pretty railroad station of Bala, one may see 
 the remainders of what was known a century ago as the 
 Black Horse Tavern. Before this wayside hostelry the 
 prisoners were paraded for their last day s march. They 
 were a dejected and travel-stained band. One can hardly 
 imagine the state in which a month s tramp afoot under 
 the above-named conditions of weather, roads and lodging 
 must have left these unfortunates. Even John Latimer, 
 who was always fastidious in the care of his person, and 
 by long experience in scouting knew how to meet such a 
 situation, found himself sorely bedraggled. Knowing that 
 he would be conducted through the streets of the capital, 
 he tried to make himself presentable. 
 
 He had chosen for the march his scouting uniform, 
 a green hunting shirt fringe i with orange, and his 
 scout s coon-skin cap with its pendant tail and an eagle 
 feather at the side. He now hung upon his left breast two 
 decorations which he prized. One was a medal for skill in 
 shooting at the Legionville match; the other Gen. Wayne 
 
504 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 had given him for valor as a scout. After a long inward 
 debate he added a third decoration, for who knows, thought 
 he, what might coma from it? It was his coral necklace, 
 knotted in loops with the bit of plaid ribbon which came 
 with it, and the pendant oval golden bead. 
 
 Another decoration was offered him by the Major com 
 manding the troops, which was not so nattering to his 
 vanity. As the prisoners were drawn up in rank ready 
 to move, a slip of white paper was presented to everyone, 
 on which was written in large letters the word "Insurgent. 
 It was to be worn in the hat like a cockade. This was done 
 by Gen. Bloodson s command, and against Major Durham s 
 remonstrance. John Latimer gravely received his paper, 
 and with mock courtesy bade the commandant commend 
 him to Gen. Bloodson for his fleur de luce, then tore it to 
 pieces and trampled it in the mud. A few others refused 
 to mount their dishonorable cockades; but the most part 
 had grown indifferent to insult, and timorous lest they 
 might further compromise their cases submitted to the 
 humiliation. 
 
 A three miles march along the Lancaster road brought 
 the strange parade to the Market Street bridge over the 
 Schuylkill. On the hills to the left were the pleasant 
 homes of the straggling village of Hamiltonville (now West 
 Philadelphia), showing among their groves of stately trees. 
 Along the banks of the Schuylkill still remained many 
 tokens of the huge camps which had been established for 
 the fugitives from the town during the yellow fever pesti 
 lence of the preceding summer. Beyond the bridge, the 
 spaces now occupied with solid blocks of dwellings were 
 chiefly held by fields and farm houses, with here and there 
 bunches of buildings, pioneers of the future city. 
 
 But though the houses had not yet come to the river 
 bank, the people were there. For this was a holiday; the 
 happiest holiday of all the year in the old Philadelphia as 
 it is now in the new. Across the river, and over the rolling 
 wood-capped hills that swelled upward from the Delaware 
 and Schuylkill, the guards and prisoners alike had heard 
 the bells of Christmas, mellowed by the distance, ringing 
 worshippers into their sanctuaries. To the soldiers the 
 sounds proclaimed a Merry Christmas, and told of rest 
 and feasting and welcome, and home-folks near at hand. 
 They were in high expectation, and boisterous jollity pre- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 505 
 
 vailed. Horses were groomed until they shone, arms and 
 accoutrements were burnished, uniforms brushed and 
 brightened, and with light hearts and hearty outbursts of 
 song and cheer, they heard the bugle call to advance. But 
 for the prisoners on that day there was no "peace on earth," 
 and no u men of good will" to hail them on the thither bank 
 of the Schuylkill. Wearily they fell into line, and trudged 
 away towards their nation s capital with only one consola 
 tion in their hearts that their toilsome march was nearly 
 over, and they would soon know the worst. 
 
 Groups of citizens who had come to the bridge to get 
 the first view of the captive insurgents, increased into hun 
 dreds as the parade approached the town. The hundreds 
 grew into thousands as the city was reached. Twenty thou 
 sand citizens, high and humble, men, women and children 
 had turned out, and thronged the sidewalks of Philadelphia 
 to see these twenty woebegone Western insurgents osten 
 tatiously paraded through their streets! 
 
 Around the city streets the triumphal procession moved 
 by a circuitous route, and still the populace shouted as 
 though some victory had been won. "Can it really be?" 
 John exclaimed, for he was highly wrought up and 
 could not restrain his speech, "that this people honestly 
 think these troopers have done some great and valorous 
 act? Twenty mud-stained men, peaceful citizens all of 
 them, brought three hundred miles across the mountains 
 as the sole trophies of fifteen thousand soldiers who 
 marched to the West, and who are now marching back 
 again, without firing a shot or finding a foe to shoot at? 
 Can it be possible they believe this to be an achievement 
 worthy of such a triumphal reception? I wonder if Gen. 
 Washington approves all this?" 
 
 The parade turned into Mulberry (now Arch Street) 
 near the Delaware shore, and moved westward again. It 
 passed the little shop where Mrs. Betsy Eoss made the first 
 American flag, and which readers may see to-day, if they 
 will. At the door the good dame stood like another Bar 
 bara Fritchie, waving a little American flag at the passing 
 soldiers, her face jubilant as with the joy of a national 
 conquest. The parade crossed Third Street, and beyond it, 
 near the corner of Fourth, passed a spacious house whose 
 front porch was occupied by a group of ladies and gentle 
 men. A Christmas party, no doubt, who had stopped their 
 
506 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 home festivities to come forth and see the great holiday 
 show of the day. 
 
 "Look!" whispered Col. Hamilton to John Latimer, 
 "there s Col. Presley Neville!" 
 
 John turned just in time to see that Col. Neville had 
 recognized him in the prisoners ranks, and was calling 
 the fact to the attention of a lady who sat beside him. 
 The lady arose, and gazed toward the front file of pris 
 oners in which Capt. Latimer marched. It was Blanche 
 Oldham! Capt. Burd stood behind her. The whole party 
 showed by their movements that Col. Neville s informa 
 tion had spread among them, and all were intently gazing 
 toward John. 
 
 What should he do? The blood mounted hotly to his 
 cheeks. Ah, if he had not looked that way! If he had 
 passed unwittingly, proudly marching by, as he ought to 
 have done! looking straight before him and taking no 
 heed at all. But now? He could not withdraw his eyes. 
 A resistless fascination fixed them upon Blanche. She had 
 seen him. Their eyes met. Can his vision have deceived 
 him? The maid raised her handkerchief and waved it 
 toward the ranks! Too late to hinder it, Col. Neville 
 reached forth his hand and tried to stay the act, his face the 
 while glowering with displeasure. 
 
 The eyes of the balcony party, which had rested a 
 moment before upon John Latimer, were turned by this 
 movement upon Blanche Oldham. She vielded her hand 
 kerchief to the Colonel, but fixing her eyes again upon 
 John, dropped a profound courtesy and left the porch. 
 Not, however, before she had noted John Latimer lift his 
 hat and bow, as he marched by, with a grace which 
 (as one of the ladies remarked with unqualified surprise) 
 was worthy of a trained courtier. Capt. Burd, who had 
 raised his hand to his hat at Blanche s first motion, bowed 
 to John in cordial recognition, and followed the lady into 
 the house. 
 
 How that family party ended John never heard. But 
 one thing he well knew, that thereafter he seemed to be 
 walking upon the clouds. What cared he for the hooting 
 rabble? What cared he that all the finer feelings of his 
 nature had been dishonored to help grace a Christmas holi 
 day for a street mob? Blanche Oldham, at least, had seen 
 and saluted his manhood, and dared to acknowledge his 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 507 
 
 name and friendship in the face of the people and of her 
 friends. And Oapt. Burd, too, generous fellow! Ah? 
 
 At last the disgraceful scene was ended; no doubt to be 
 remembered with supreme disgust by many who had 
 assisted in it when their sober second thought came next 
 day. The prisoners were brought to the new city jail at 
 Sixth and Walnut Streets and locked up in the cells. It 
 was a boisterously happy Christmas holiday in the town 
 outside the prison walls. Christmas greens hung at the 
 windows. Christmas trees glowed in nursery, parlor and 
 living room, as the shadows of evening gathered. Every 
 inhabitant of the city had eaten and drunken his full. It 
 was Christmas, Merry Christmas, and the Insurrection 
 was put down! 
 
 But in the prison cells, that Christmas night, not a 
 crumb of food nor a ray of light came to relieve the hunger 
 and weariness and homesickness and humiliation and dis 
 tress of those twenty friendless men. Yet, not one of them 
 was afterward found guilty; and many of them were as 
 innocent as John Latimer, of act, or purpose, or even 
 thought of treason and insurrection. 
 
 The next day the turnkey entered John s cell with a 
 package, which he handed him with a mysterious and 
 important air. Mr. I. Turner Locke (spelled with an "e" 
 if you please!) was his name, as appeared in printed char 
 acters on certain soiled cards which he distributed to his 
 guests. The same further set forth that Mrs. I. Turner 
 Locke kept a general provision store at No. Sixth Street, 
 within an easy block s distance from the jail, and would 
 be pleased to furnish gentlemen (meaning the prisoners, 
 convicts, etc.) at their lodgings (meaning their cells) with 
 such comforts and luxuries, solid and fluid, as etc., etc. 
 
 Mr. I. Turner Locke was a podgy person, five feet nine 
 or ten inches high, with a massive protuberance in front 
 which was encased in a long buff waistcoat, with tre 
 mendous flapped pockets. These were commonly filled 
 with sundry miscellaneous articles, including snuff, which 
 he took freety,and carried traces of it at the neb of his nose. 
 His legs were developed proportionately with his paunch, 
 and were of nearly equal thickness from body to slippers. 
 His knee and shoe buckles had a dull lustre suggestive of 
 pewter, though he habitually alluded to them as silver. His 
 catsup-colored coat was greasy with long use. His bulbous 
 
508 TrE LATIMEHS. 
 
 cheeks hung in rolls to his double chin, and the face was 
 shaven clean twice a week, and at intervals between 
 shaves presented the appearance of a patch of stubble 
 whose redness rivalled that of his nose. His head had an 
 open swath of hairlessness from the forehead over the 
 cranium to the fat wrinkled neck behind, and its fringes 
 on either side were of reddish-brown, tipped with gray. 
 
 "Good mornin , Capt. Latimer!" said Mr. Locke. He 
 spoke in a voice whose soft unctuousness highly became a 
 person of his general oleaginous conditions. "This package 
 was brought you a w ile ago by a gentleman w at seemed to 
 be an officer. He wanted to see you, but it s agen orders 
 without a permit from the U-nited States Marshal; so I had 
 to refuse him. And you ll excuse me, sir, for examinin of 
 the package; but that s orders, too. Nothin comes to the 
 prison without inspection." 
 
 John thanked the turnkey, and waited for him to retire 
 before he broke the wrappings, but that gentleman lin 
 gered. He moved about, apparently inspecting the cell 
 furniture, but gave John occasional glances as if some 
 thing were on his mind, which he wished to communicate. 
 
 "By the way!" at last he said, as if a thought had sud 
 denly struck him. "I was much interested in them deco 
 rations w ich you wore on your buzzum yesterday. You 
 hain t them on now, I see?" 
 
 "No!" said John, "I rarely mount them; only on great 
 occasions such as yesterday, you know." 
 
 "Jes so, jes so! But you wouldn t mind showin of 
 ? em to a feller now, would you? I d be ever so much 
 obleeged." 
 
 "Not at all!" said John, and took out of his side pocket 
 a little bag from which he withdrew two medals and 
 handed them to Mr. Locke. 
 
 That gentleman s face betrayed disappointment. But 
 he feigned satisfaction, and examined the medals care 
 fully, commenting upon their designs, with sundry com 
 plimentary phrases interspersed. "And so you was a 
 scout, was you? And fought with the Injuns?" Mr. 
 Locke spoke with enthusiasm. "I must have a good long 
 yarn about that from you some day. But not now, not 
 now! They ll be plenty of time, I sus-pect. Now, I always 
 did think I would like to have ben a scout. I fancy I 
 might have done somepin in that line meself. Though, 
 
THE LATIMEES. 509 
 
 perhaps," glancing with an approving look upon his pro 
 tuberant front, "me heft might be a leetle agen me. Is 
 them all your decorations?" 
 
 "These are all the medals I have," John answered. 
 
 "Come now; there s another, Fm sure," insisted Mr. 
 Locke. "You might as well be comfortable and confiden 
 tial with me." He twisted his face into what was intended 
 to be a roguish look and wink, but which got no further 
 than a leer. "There was some kind of a curous ribbon 
 and coral chain, with a gol-d badge or somepin of that 
 sort. Can t you show me that, too? Fact is that well 
 Fm specially interested in sech things." 
 
 John started. What could this fellow be after? 
 
 There must be something behind this. He surely 
 didn t speak for himself. At least, he would try him. 
 Fixing his eyes keenly upon the turnkey, he suddenly, 
 inquired. "Who got you to ask this question? and what 
 does he want?" 
 
 Mr. Locke was taken aback by the inquiry. He 
 hemmed, stammered, and wiped the glossy boulevard on 
 his mid-cranium with a red bandanna handkerchief, with 
 great embarrassment, and then apparently made up his 
 mind to be confidential. 
 
 "Er that is the truth is however you were smart 
 enough to see through it, that a gentleman as has a fancy 
 for old bits of jewelry and sech things, seen it on you and 
 got interested in it. He stood beside you w en you halted 
 by the State House, and had a clost view of it, and won 
 dered w ere you picked it up. He called round here yarly 
 this morning, and said as how you might be wantin 
 money; an though it s a good eal more than its wuth, he 
 had a ten-dollar note for you, ef you cared to sell. That s 
 all there is about it; excepen, of course, my little com 
 mission. W ich gentlemen willinly pays w en they finds 
 it conwenient to ne-gotiate sech matters." 
 
 "What s the man s name?" John asked. 
 
 "Him? Oh, he s no consequence; only an old Jew dealer 
 in jewels and diamonds and sech trinkets. He mightn t 
 care to have his name known. But w at say you, sir? W at 
 would you care to sell that bit of finery for? It ll help 
 along amazin to make things more comfortabler here, an 
 it s w at gentlemen allez does, sir, before they come to 
 the end of their terms." 
 
510 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 "No, thank you!" John replied. "Fortunately I m not 
 in present need of money; and your friend must offer a 
 larger price than you ve named to get what he wants." 
 This answer appearing to be final, Mr. Locke withdrew 
 in his ponderous way, and locked the door behind him 
 with a sounding snap. 
 
 John now opened his package. It contained a bit of 
 Christmas cake with a sprig of holly on it. A card lay 
 underneath the holly, which John eagerly took up and 
 read: "Miss Oldham gives Capt. Latimer cordial Christmas 
 greeting and wishes him a quick and honorable acquittal." 
 A tide of joy swelled up and filled his heart. He sat with 
 the card in his hand, and scarcely moved for an hour as 
 he thought and dreamed of liberty and love. At last he 
 came to himself. 
 
 "Fool!" he exclaimed; "to build such castles in Spain 
 on so flimsy a foundation as a generous lady s simple 
 recognition of acquaintance, and expression of her confi 
 dence in my innocence!" 
 
 Nevertheless his heart was warm and happy all the 
 day long, and the cell seemed bright with a mysterious 
 presence. He placed the Christmas green in his Virgil, 
 just next the spot where Gen. Neville s pistol ball had been 
 stayed. The card he put away in his pouch where the 
 necklace and little baby slip lay, just over his heart. 
 
 Two days afterward the turnkey made John another 
 visit. He was greatly concerned about the noises which 
 the lock and hinges of the cell door made when used. "It s 
 an unbecomin racket," he remarked, in his most unctuous 
 tones; "an calkylated to shake the sensibilities of delicate 
 nerves. Many an official in me position wouldn t think it 
 dignified to pay attention to sech trifles. But sir, me 
 theory is that kineness had ought to be shown in leetle 
 things. If a gentlemen is so unfort nate as to be confined 
 for a season, there s no need to add to their misfortuns by 
 the clangin of locks and the creakin of hinges. Now, 
 sir, maybe you don t mind it; you ve got good strong 
 nerves. But I could tell you of folks that has bean under 
 me care that were a most distraught by the prison noises, 
 I remember one man," Thereupon he launched forth 
 upon a stream of talk, busy the while oiling and rubbing 
 the lock and hinges, and trying them until at last they 
 moved to his satisfaction. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 5H 
 
 "Now, le s try an expeeriment!" said he, quite in the 
 tone of a Franklin, or a scientific philosopher of modern 
 days. "There s nawthin like expeerimential conclusions. 
 Jes you turn your back toward the door, an I ll turn the 
 lock. There! Did you hear it, sir? Good! hardly noticed 
 it at all, you say? Ah! I thought so; that ll do finely! 
 "Well, we ll try the hinges, now. How does it go, sir? 
 Couldn t hear em at all, hey? Ha, ha! Me expeeriment s 
 bean a suckcess. Now we ll have some comfort. And you ll 
 not be forever havin creakin suggestions from lock an 
 hinges that you re inside prison cells." 
 
 "By the way, I ve seed that trader w at I was talkin 
 about, the other day; him as wanted to bargain for the 
 coral chain and locket. He seems dead bent on gettin it 
 somehow. Cur ous taste, that, some folks has, for collectin 
 all sorts of rubbish an things. Wen it gits hold of a man 
 there seems no sense left in him. He gives up his time an 
 money as free as water, jes to gratify his fad. There s a 
 neighbor of mine w at s got a craze on bugs and things of 
 that sort. He goes chasin of em round the country in 
 summer time; and in the winter pins em in boxes. There 
 he ll set and mope and mouse, with his nose over them 
 dead insecks. Oncet he gits sot on em, his wife can t 
 hardly git him to his meals. Faugh! That s a Cur ous 
 fancy. The idee of a man gatherin and keepin round 
 him bugs and creepin creeturs of that sort! But everyone 
 to his taste, as the old woman said when she kissed the cow. 
 Now, old jewels and sech is a more reasonabler fad, seems 
 to me. They s allez somepin in em that one can git out 
 agen. But w at the old Jew trader can want with your 
 chain passes me time of day. Wy, would you believe it? 
 He told me t other day to ast you to name your own price. 
 Annything short of $50 says he, an I ll give it willin . 
 There! Wat do you think of that? Shan t I tell him I 
 can bring it to him, Cap en? Wat say you?" 
 
 "That s several tifnes more than the necklace is worth, 
 I daresay," John answered. "But I doubt if your friend 
 has money enough to buy it. However, tell him to come 
 and see me about it. If ever I part with it, I must see and 
 know the man who gets it." 
 
 "Come now, that s not final, is it?" asked Mr. Locke, 
 thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat, and sur 
 veying John with a deeply disappointed look. "Be rea- 
 
512 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 sonable, Cap en Latimer. W y it s most like takin money 
 out of me pocket, to say nawthin of your n. Me com 
 mission on that sale would a ben nigh onto ten dollars! 
 Wat good can an old thing like that do a man in your suc- 
 cumstances?" 
 
 "What good can it do your friend, Mr. Locke?" John 
 replied. "Tell me that, and maybe I can answer you?" 
 
 For several days Mr. Locke continued his attack on the 
 stubborn scout, varying his appeals by laying all sorts of 
 little pitfalls, which he spread with supposed artfulness to 
 trap the unsuspecting prisoner into telling where and how 
 he fell upon the ornament, and why he valued it so highly. 
 At last, he abandoned the contest, and therewith many of 
 the little liberties by which it is possible for a turnkey to 
 add to the comfort of a prisoner, and which during the 
 above negotiations had been profusely dispensed. 
 
 One night, about three weeks thereafter, John was 
 roused from a sound sleep by what seemed to him the pres 
 ence of some one in his room. The habits of the scout at 
 once asserted themselves. Hia senses, always acute, were 
 now alert and tensely strained for the faintest sound. The 
 night was moonless and cloudy, and not a ray of light came 
 through the little window into the cell to break its dark 
 ness. Yet, surely, some one was approaching his bunk! 
 
 Who what could it? A momentary shiver passed 
 along his nerves, as he recalled the eerie tales that had 
 fallen upon the ears and haunted the memory of his boy 
 hood. But, tush ! that suppressed breathing is human ! No 
 ghost there! Without raising his head, he peered into the 
 blackness, and just discerned a deeper shadow than the 
 darkness around him gliding towards him. 
 
 "Assassination!" was his first thought. "Gracious 
 Heavens! Can it be that the Government means to resort 
 to this Oriental mode of disposing of its prisoners?" 
 
 The shadow paused close by the foot of John s cot. It 
 seemed to be fumbling with something there. "Ha! 
 (thought John) that is where I hang my clothes, over the 
 back of the chair. It is robbery that is intended." 
 
 Fumble pause! It must be an expert indeed who can 
 so nearly deceive even John s trained senses. Fumble 
 pause! Now a faint, very faint clink as of metal touching 
 metal fell upon John s ear. 
 
 Then a deeper pause ensued. Was the robber about to 
 
THE LATIMERS. 513 
 
 retire? It must be so. His back must then be toward the 
 cot. Villain! John s indignation was now in full heat. 
 He noiselessly slipped aside the blanket and raised himself 
 upon the bed, then with a sudden spring, like that of a 
 panther, flung himself upon the retiring shadow. It was a 
 very solid phantom indeed that he grasped, even the portly 
 person of Mr. I. Turner Locke. Seizing both the robber s 
 arms with his two hands, he pinioned them to his side with 
 a vise-like grip and forced his body downward to the floor. 
 
 "Oh-o-o! Mur " 
 
 "Silence!" John fairly hissed into the turnkey s ear, 
 for he was mightily enraged. The cry was quickly sup 
 pressed. "Utter another sound, and I will squeeze the 
 life out of you, you wretch! Is this the way you guard 
 and protect your prisoners?" 
 
 "Ouch! Mercy!" wailed the turnkey. "You have 
 broken me bones with your awful grip. Spare me, Cap en! 
 
 me poor wife and children. me poor bones!" 
 
 "Hush, you dog! Why didn t you think of that 
 before?" John exclaimed. Nevertheless, he relaxed his 
 grip; but kneeling on the floor held the prostrate man 
 down. He resolved to keep him until daybreak. He bade 
 the fellow cress his arms, and guided by touch alone, 
 bound his wrists together. Then he ordered him to get 
 up, and leading him to a snort bench which served for an 
 extra seat, bade him sit down with back against the wall. 
 
 "What devil s work would you be at?" John asked, 
 when this was done. "Bobbing me? Surely you have a 
 safer way of getting your prisoners money than that?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Latimer! Good Mr. Scout, it was not your 
 money," the turnkey wailed forth. 
 
 "Not money! What then? My medals? That s even 
 worse, to steal the badges of honor won by a soldier. It s 
 as mean as stealing the coin off a dead man s eyes." 
 
 "No, no! It was not the medals, nuther. goody- 
 gracious, how my arms do hurt! It was the coral chain 
 and locket, Capt. Latimer. That s w at did all the damage. 
 
 1 thought it was in the pocket with the others. I thought 
 I could get it without you a knowin of it. An you was 
 so stubborn about it! An I meant to give you the heft 
 of the money, An you d ave seen by n by that it was for 
 your good. Oh, I m undone! I m lost and disgraced forever. 
 Pity, Pity! It was too bad of you not to sell it an give me 
 
 33 
 
514 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 me commission. It was so!" He was blubbering like a 
 boy. 
 
 John had taken the precaution, after Locke was 
 fairly bound, to secure the key from the outside of the 
 door, and then close and lock it. He had his captive 
 secure enough until he could make up his mind what to 
 do. When the first gray light of morning began to steal 
 into the cell window, it showed the turnkey s lugubrious 
 form seated on the little bench, back to the wall, chin 
 fallen upon his breast until the bald head pointed almost 
 straight at the observer. He was sound asleep, and vigor 
 ously snoring, a performance which was wrought by no 
 means in such unctuous tones as Mr. Locke was wont to 
 assume in conversation. John had decided on his course. 
 He awoke the turnkey and unbound his hands. 
 
 "Locke," said John, "there s no use preaching to you 
 on the crime you have attempted. You are evidently an 
 old hand at this business." 
 
 "On me honor, Capt. Latimer," the turnkey inter 
 rupted, "I never before " 
 
 "Hush! Don t put a new sin on your soul by lying. 
 It is unnecessary. I have made up my mind to release you, 
 and say nothing about the matter." 
 
 May God in Heaven forever bless you!" the turnkey 
 exclaimed, his huge face radiant with joy. 
 
 "But," John continued, "I shall impose one condition." 
 
 "Anything! Only name it," was the eager answer. 
 
 "You promise that henceforth you will treat all insur 
 gent prisoners with respect and consideration?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, as God is me Judge, I ll do it!" 
 
 "If ever you fail to do so, I shall disclose this night s 
 attempt to the United States Marshal. You note that, 
 and you agree, do you?" 
 
 "I do, I do indeed!" 
 
 So it was settled; and Mr. I. Turner Locke proved true 
 to his word. From that day to the end, as the prisoners 
 met for their daily exercise in the prison court, they ceased 
 to complain of various petty anoyances that had embit 
 tered their first few weeks in prison. They found they had 
 enough to eat and drink from the prison fare, without 
 calling upon Mrs. I. Turner Locke to furnish additional 
 solids and liquids at prices highly remunerative to that 
 lady. How she settled her losses with her lusty lord this 
 history cannot record. But it is to be feared that his peace 
 
THE LATIMERS. 515 
 
 of mind was not increased by the diminution of Madam 
 Locke s profits. 
 
 To John Latimer the change was especially advanta 
 geous. His hour of exercise was never abridged, and an 
 extra stroll within the court was often allowed when the 
 cell grew too tedious. A daily newspaper was permitted 
 him, which he circulated among his fellow-prisoners when 
 he had read it. This, with his Shakespeare and Virgil 
 and Bible gave much relief to his imprisonment. 
 
 Indirectly, the attempt of the turnkey impressed John 
 with a deeper sense of the probable importance of his 
 infant belongings in discovering his parentage. He was 
 inclined to hold Locke s Jew trader as a supposititious 
 character. It did not seem reasonable that a mere whim- 
 sey should have prompted so strong a wish for possession. 
 There was something or some one behind his interest, 
 which in some way or other might concern himself. The 
 mystery was impenetrable. But the infant memorials were 
 guarded with greater care. The Bible was now always 
 carried about his person, and at night was laid under his 
 
 ?illow. Often the question reverted: "Who am I? Shall 
 ever know?" His solitary confinement, which turned the 
 mind upon itself, developed his interest in this matter to 
 a degree that he had never before thought possible. 
 
 CHAPTEE LIL 
 
 HOW JOHN GOT ON IN JAIL. 
 
 With all his privileges, John Latimer was a prisoner. 
 He who had been used to the boundless freedom of the 
 forests was living in a narrow cell. He chafed in spirit and 
 walked back and forth until he was lashed well nigh into 
 fury by his thoughts. He never before understood the 
 feelings and movements of the wild beasts that he had 
 once or twice seen fiercely pacing the floors of their cages, 
 weaving among their fellow-prisoners, and turning now 
 and then to glare with ferocious green eyes, and to hiss or 
 growl or bay at their gaping human visitors. He had 
 hoped for a speedy trial, but in this was disappointed. He 
 had hoped that he might soon be released on bail, but that 
 
516 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 was denied him. He had joined with several of his asso- 
 cates in a petition to the Court that they might be tried 
 in the counties where their offenses were alleged to have 
 been committed, so that testimony could be more easily 
 obtained. The Court refused this. 
 
 The month of January, 1795, saw six of the prisoners, 
 including Col. Hamilton, admitted to bail, and this made 
 a large gap in their ranks. The released went forth with 
 congratulations of their less fortunate comrades. But 
 their deliverance emphasized the hardships of those who 
 remained. February was a gloomy month; March brought 
 three more removals, including their "chaplain," Mr. 
 Corbley; and now the first of April had come. 
 
 Four months imprisonment had left their mark not 
 only on John s spirits, but on his body. The prison fare 
 palled on his appetite. The prison smell, that strange 
 odor, unlike any other known, which hangs about jails and 
 almshouses, nauseated him. He grew irritable and queru 
 lous, though he fought manfully against the petty temper. 
 Trifles assumed the proportions of world events, and unduly 
 amused or annoyed him. He knew that the horizon of his 
 manhood was narrowing, while thought of himself was dis 
 proportionately expanding. Not a day passed, often not 
 an hour, without some indignant outbreak against himself 
 for his miserable pettishness and pettiness. It seemed to 
 relieve him to pace the cell floor and denounce himself 
 with gritted teeth and clenched fingers, and even with 
 palms smiting his cheek. Then he would pause with the 
 cry in his heart: "Am I growing mad?" 
 
 Then he would throw himself upon his cot and groan, 
 and rebuke himself for his lack of patient and manly 
 endurance; and after due self-mortification, and resolution 
 to do better, would fall asleep and rise to enter upon the 
 same struggle. Truly, a barnyard fowl may endure the 
 cage, but the mountain eagle, proud bird! frets grievously 
 behind th? bars. 
 
 Mid-April came with softer air. The voice of spring 
 called even within the quadrangular court and the walls of 
 the City Jail. This month was wont to have a strong influ 
 ence on John Latimer. A yearning to be away, to be 
 wandering somewhere would seize and possess him. The 
 common restraints of life irked him. The nomadic im 
 pulse was almost as resistless in his bosom, at such a time, 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 517 
 
 as is the migratory instinct of fowls. Nothing gave him 
 relief but a run in the forests with Panther or with his 
 father, or an excursion along the river. The fresh, sweet 
 smell of the running water; the scent of the forest mould; 
 the fragrance of hemlock and pine; the returning activities 
 in the animal world as the birds and minor beasts began 
 to come forth and show themselves in the sunlight, these 
 all satisfied him and helped him to a contented heart with 
 which to return to his duties. 
 
 There in the jail, the old impulse seized him, and for 
 a little while he raved and chafed in the hopelessness of 
 its gratification. But, and he wondered at himself, it soon 
 expended its fervor. He grew listless. Indeed, he had 
 noted lately that he was becoming more and more indiffer 
 ent to what might happen to himself and his case. Was 
 he getting contented with jail life? Had confinement and 
 seclusion from his fellow-men already begun to deteriorate 
 his manliness? Would he settle down, if this imprison 
 ment should be prolonged, to be as contented with his cell 
 and its surroundings as his fellow-tenants, yonder spiders? 
 
 Well! He had done all he could to get a hearing. He 
 believed that all awanting for a complete vindication was 
 that he should come before the Court. He could prove 
 his innocence beyond question. How often had he 
 reasoned thus! And as often a flush of indignation would 
 burn across his cheek at the thought that it was necessary 
 for him, loyal friend of the Government as he ever had 
 been, to prove his innocence. One day, early in April, the 
 turnkey when he brought him the daily papers, tarried in 
 the cell, and with a smirk upon his oleaginous face, said 
 something about John s power to "awaken an interest in 
 the buzzum of the fair sect." 
 
 John cast upon him a look in which disgust mingled 
 with wonder; then turned to his paper remarking: "In 
 deed? Upon my word, Locke, I think you must be trying 
 the experiment of a fresh joke on me this morning. In 
 truth, I relish your stale ones a good deal better." 
 
 "Truly not, Cap en! W y not yourself as well as 
 others? Now I ve often noticed that no feller is so hard 
 down on his luck, nor so low-down worthless hisself, as 
 not to have some woman or other that dotes on him. They 
 hain t bean many women folk around these insurgents now, 
 I ll allow. But that s becaze they re too far away from 
 
518 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 home belongings. But there was one woman here yester 
 day, and a likely specimen she was, too ! A reel lady, none 
 of your made-up sort! You can t fool me on them article. 
 I know true quality when I see em. An she was not 
 askin around general, nuther, but partic lar for Cap en 
 John Latimer." 
 
 John had already begun reading; but his interest in the 
 "Advertiser" visibly diminished as Locke went on, and 
 when he had finished, the paper lay upon his lap. 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" the turnkey continued, seeing he had 
 won attention. "But excuse me, if you don t mind, I ll 
 take a seat, as I m a leetle too hefty to hold up long with 
 out settin down. This lady insisted on goin all round 
 the place to see how the prisoners lived; and I was proud 
 to show her how comfo table and snug ev rything is." 
 
 "Humph!" said John. "No doubt she must have been 
 tempted to apply for lodgings with you. Go on!" 
 
 "And this is w ere they exercise, is it?" says she, as I 
 took her to the courtyard. Yes, says I, an a bright, airy 
 place it is, too, w en it s not too crowded, w ich some 
 times it is, unfortunate. But it s thinned out now; quite 
 comfo table, quite so! Now, here s w at the men calls the 
 Scout s Walk, says I. You see that figger-of-eight sort 
 of path, takin in pretty much the whole outlines of the 
 court? That s Cap en Latimer s favorite parade. Here he 
 starts in, and then curves across cat-a-corner to yander 
 angle; and sweeps with a long round turnin to the next 
 corner; an then cuts cat-a-corner acrost to this angle over 
 here, an so on, weavin in an out among the others, who 
 never trench on his preserves w en he s exercisin . My! 
 How he does swing to it! It fairly takes a feller s breath 
 even to look at im. He has worn that track you see, jest 
 this winter, by pacin and pacin over it. 
 
 "Now w at do you think, sir?" the turnkey continued. 
 "Didn t the little lady jest start in and pace off that figger- 
 of-eight, jest to see how it goes, says she. And w en she 
 got through, upon my honor, sir, I do believe there was 
 tears in her eyes; though she dropped her weil, and I 
 couldn t be dead sure about it. Could you show me his 
 cell? says she at last, without his knowin of it? That I 
 could, Miss! says I, and so I brought her up to this gallery 
 and showed her your cell. That s it, I whispered, No. 2, 
 second flight, and a jolly good room it is, Miss! says I. She 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 519 
 
 passed by rapidly, walking on tiptoe and hardly breathing. 
 I can t take my solemn oath, to be sure, but I ruther guess 
 she stopped long enough to peep into the leetle hand- 
 winder. At least, I did, sir, and there you sot on your 
 bench, with your elbows on your knees, and your cheeks 
 restin in your hands, starin up at the winder and watchin 
 the sunlight stream in. 
 
 "As she was leavin , says I, it s a fine man the Cap n 
 is, Miss ah Miss La tinier? says I, kinder feelin after 
 her name. I suppose he s a brother of your n? 
 
 " You ve not guessed quite right/ says she, with a 
 smile. Tve a good name of my own; but it s not Latimer/ 
 says she. But never mind! That s not a name to be 
 ashamed of; and here, Mr. Locke/ says she, is somepin for 
 your trouble and courtesy. Look well after the Captain! 
 Hah! sir! it was a fair handful of shiners she left me as she 
 bowed and went away. No pusson ever tipped the rhino 
 to me quite that free before. Oh, she s a true lady! A reel 
 lady, sir; and I flatter meself I knows one w en I sees her." 
 
 John had little to say. What could he say? One form 
 rose before him and filled his mind and heart Blanche 
 Oldham. God bless her! Did she take all that trouble for 
 him? He thought she had forgotten him. He had not 
 heard a word from her since Christmas. Not a word from 
 her or hers. He had been unjust, unjust! He longed to 
 be alone that he might keep this sacred vision to himself 
 untainted by . Yet, she had walked the prison rounds 
 with this very fellow! He heartily begrudged the oleagi 
 nous rascal his good fortune, and disliked him more cor 
 dially for the same. 
 
 "Was there anything else?" John asked, as Locke 
 seemed disposed to linger. 
 
 "Yes, there was one thing else the lady ast me. Who 
 is the Captain s lawyer? says she. He hain t none, Miss, I 
 answers. He won t have none; though I ve offered to send 
 him one of the wery best sort in the city; and cheap too; 
 and no commission charged. It s a idee the Cap en has 
 that innocence is its own defense. He means to try his 
 own case. He keeps talkin at me about a feller bein 
 thrice armed whose cause is just, etcetery. That may have 
 been good enough law in Shakespeare or w atever country 
 that is he was talkin about, but it s no go in oF Phila- 
 delphy! I d ruther have one good smart Philadelphy lawyer 
 
520 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 an a poor case, than the best three arms agoin , and the 
 best case besides, without any lawyer." 
 
 "Well, and what did the lady say to that?" John asked. 
 
 "Wat did she say? W y she jest laughed out a bright 
 little laugh, the sweetest tinklin laugh, sir, you ever heerd. 
 It fairly made me fall in love with her. Well! says she, 
 you jest ask Cap en Latimer if he ever heerd the old sayin 
 that a man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client? 
 An off she went, sir, laughin to herself as she went away. 
 
 "That I will, madam, says I, and thank you for your 
 interest in the Cap en. He s a special friend of mine, and 
 I d grieve hearty to see sech a fine young fellow lose his 
 liberty and maybe his life jest on a point like th^t." 
 
 At last the turnkey was gone and John was left alone. 
 His eyes dropped to the paper upon his lap, and as they 
 wandered mechanically over the column, a familiar name 
 met them. He seized the journal and eagerly read this 
 item of news: "The Oldham mansion on Arch Street is 
 once more the point of attraction for some of the brightest 
 ornaments of society. Last night a happy and select com 
 pany met there to give formal welcome to Miss Blanche 
 Oldham, who returned a few days ago from Virginia, 
 whither she had gone, just after the Christmas holidays, 
 to visit her kindred." 
 
 John started to his feet. A coincidence? It was more 
 than that. It was confirmation! It was all clear now to 
 his mind. Blanche s long silence was explained. She had 
 been away far distant in Virginia, and now, at her first 
 opportunity 
 
 He grew dizzy with the sweet and wonderful thought, 
 and sat down. The daily news did not interest him further. 
 He had something better to think of. He recalled his late 
 indifference to the issues of his case, and to what might 
 become of himself. He wondered that he ever could have 
 felt that way. The cell seemed to shine even in the gloom. 
 Despondent? No! Not he. While there s life there s 
 hope! Ay, John Latimer, or what is a good deal more to 
 the purpose, while there s hope there s life. The sun never 
 shone brighter than on that April day. The prison cell 
 fairly revelled in light, although the only beam shone in 
 through the little ventilator window far up near the ceiling 
 and was broken by three transverse iron bars. Blanche 
 Oldham had not forgotten him! Blanche Oldham had 
 
THE LATIMERS. 521 
 
 been to see him! Could any case be lost in which she was 
 interested? Cheer up, faint heart! 
 
 He took out the bit of Christmas holly, whose color and 
 lustre were now nearly gone, and got Miss Oldham s 
 Christmas card, and put the two together in his Bible, and 
 sat and thought and remembered and dreamed. So he 
 mused on into the night, until the sunlight gave place to 
 moonlight. Then he lay down and slept dreamlessly. 
 
 CHAPTEE LIIL 
 
 MR. JUSTUS REID, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. 
 
 Two days after this incident Mr. Locke escorted into 
 John s cell a gentleman whom he announced as Mr. Justus 
 Reid, an attorney, "and one of the wery best sort, Cap en 
 Latimer. None of your picked-up tuppenny shysters." 
 
 "Thank you, Locke!" the lawyer returned. "You 
 needn t wait. And see, please, that there s no one loitering 
 around the gallery to disturb us or be eavesdropping." 
 
 "Oh yes, your worship, quite so. Indeed, I ll stay me- 
 self and see that no one comes near." 
 
 "That would be entirely too good of you!" returned 
 the lawyer. "Can t think of troubling you, Locke." To 
 make sure that the turnkey did not carry out his benevo 
 lent purpose, Mr. Eeid accompanied him to the door and 
 held it ajar until Locke s ponderous form had disappeared 
 down the gallery stairs. 
 
 "Old swindler!" ejaculated the lawyer, as he closed the 
 door. "And cute! He s the slipperiest eel I ever saw. 
 And with no more conscience than his iron keys. He knew 
 well enough whose prying ears I dreaded. If he could 
 catch anything of your case, now, he would tattle or sell it 
 to the prosecutor, and at the same time squeeze the pris 
 oner out of his last copper on pretense of helping on his 
 case. He ought to have been dumped out of here long ago. 
 We set a man to guard our prisoners, but who is to guard 
 the guards themselves? quis custodial ipsos custodes? I 
 hope now, Capt. Latimer, that Locke hasn t made a victim 
 of you? You are such an up-and-down character,! under 
 stand, and brought up in the backwoods, that you d be no 
 match for Locke unless forewarned. Even then, I doubt " 
 
522 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Thereupon he slipped his left hand within his right and 
 drew it down toward the finger ends, then reversed the 
 movement with the other hand, and swung both open 
 palms away from him toward the door. It seemed to John 
 that he was going through an imaginary process of wash 
 ing his hands of the dismissed turnkey and all his works; 
 and he almost expected to hear him exclaim: "There, I am 
 done with that fellow!" This gesture he afterwards found 
 to be a peculiarity of Mr. Reid s, one of the little oddities 
 that went to make up a most picturesque character. 
 
 "However, I anticipate. My name, as you have learned, 
 is Justus Reid, and I m your lawyer." 
 
 "I am certainly pleased to make your acquaintance," 
 John replied. "But really, this is my first intimation of 
 the fact you communicate. I beg an explanation." 
 
 "Most assuredly!" was the answer. "And meantime, 
 with your permission, I ll take possession of this chair and 
 table. There, we are all ready for business now!" he ex 
 claimed in a hearty voice, as he deposited his blue bag upon 
 the little prison table and began taking out some papers. 
 "Ah, what s this ? A pocket Virgil, as I live !" He picked 
 up the volume which John had been reading when he 
 entered. "My favorite author, sir. Do you read Latin?" 
 
 "Fortunately, yes !" John answered, amused at the open- 
 eyed wonder with which the bustling gentleman stared at 
 him. "I don t know how I could have endured this cell, 
 if it hadn t been for my Virgil and one or two other books." 
 
 "Well, well!" Mr. Reid rejoined. "I don t wonder that 
 the young woman . But sir, do all our Western scouts 
 know Latin? However, that s an idle question. We must 
 to business. About taking your case; that s the point be 
 fore us. This is how it came about. A young lady, who 
 for some reason, which perhaps you best know, seems to be 
 interested in you." Here the lawyer turned a quick, keen 
 glance upon John, who, though he tried to keep his coun 
 tenance, flushed, and grew more confused as his vexation 
 began to burn against himself for his lack of self-control. 
 
 "Ahem! As I was saying," Mr. Reid went on, "this 
 young lady called on me and asked me to undertake your 
 case. She stated it in a wonderfully sensible way. Never 
 had a client that equalled her. She d make a mighty fine 
 lawyer, that young woman would. And sir, according to 
 her showing, no man could have a better case than yours. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 523 
 
 She told me your point of honor about your innocence 
 being too transparent to question, and your resolve to con 
 duct your own case, etc. That will do very well, Capt. 
 Latimer, very well indeed when we come to the millen 
 nium! Then, maybe, we ll have no need of lawyers. 
 Though I m not so sure of that. But, here s the point, 
 young man, quod lene notandum, I want you to note it 
 well. It s not so much the facts we are looking at, as the 
 way of getting the facts before the Court and the Jury. 
 That s where the lawyer comes in, sir. That s his business, 
 sir that is, unless his client is a rascal, and then mutatis 
 mutandis; his function is to conceal the facts. 
 
 "Now, sir, there s one very good reason why you need 
 a lawyer to prosecute your case. Unfortunately, you are in 
 jail. It s all wrong, we know, sir, you and I, but there 
 you are! Facts are stubborn things, especially when 
 they re shut in between iron doors and double locked. 
 You are not free to move about, and get evidence, and do 
 divers and sundry things needful to put your innocence 
 before a jury and bring conviction to the public. 
 
 "Moreover, sir, proceedings at law have their own pecu 
 liarities. They are like a forest, sir, and they need a 
 trained guide. They are like an ocean, sir, and they need 
 an experienced pilot. Because a sea captain could sail my 
 ship across the ocean, do you think I would trust him to 
 lead me through the Ohio woods? No sir, I would call 
 on Capt. Latimer the scout. Now, sir, in these legal affairs 
 a lawyer is precisely what a navigator is to the ocean, or a 
 scout to the forest. Do you see that, sir? I am sure you 
 do. It is too reasonable for you not to see, if you are gifted 
 with the common sense your young lady friend fancies you 
 possess." Here Mr. Reid paused and fixed his eyes on John 
 for a moment, then closed them and waited for his decis 
 ion, drumming the while upon the table-top with his 
 finger-ends a lively tune which he seemed to be whistling 
 within himself. 
 
 John meditated. He was indeed convinced. Yet there 
 remained that bit of pride of opinion which has so often 
 to be overcome before honest judgment can have sway. 
 If the truth were told, he was thinking of Blanche Old- 
 ham, and how she might be grieved if he thwarted her 
 plans in his behalf. That turned the scale. He looked up 
 and fixed his clear blue eyes on the lawyer. 
 
524 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "I must yield my judgment, I see. No doubt you are 
 right, sir. But one matter must be settled before we go 
 further. Gentlemen of your profession are not apt to 
 spend their strength for naught/ I can never consent to 
 have any unknown friend take the financial responsibility 
 of my case. Yet, I am a poor man, and can pay you but 
 little, at least at present." 
 
 "Young man!" said the lawyer, and he spoke now in a 
 deeper tone of voice, and with great earnestness and 
 feeling, dropping the brisk, business-like manner that 
 he had heretofore shown. "You make the mistake of 
 the vulgar multitude concerning our profession. There 
 are black sheep in all flocks; even in the most sacred call 
 ing. But Society and Civilization and Liberty owe more 
 to the self-denying fidelity and the unremunerated services 
 of lawyers, sir, than to any other class of men. That s 
 history!" Thereupon, he brought his closed fist down 
 emphatically upon the table. 
 
 "Moreover," he resumed, "there s no part that the true 
 lawyer more willingly and freely assumes than that of 
 vindex injurice the avenger of wrong, sir. The amount 
 of unpaid advice and service, and the generous, yes, chival 
 rous aid given to the most unfortunate class of men and 
 women in the world by lawyers, ay, by lawyers, sir! is not 
 exceeded in value, tried by any standard whatsoever, by 
 the contributions of any profession or calling, learned or 
 unlearned. And that," here Mr. Eeid brought the palm 
 of his hand down upon the table with a sounding smack, 
 "that, sir, is experience and observation! 
 
 "But excuse me, Capt. Latimer. That s not business! 
 You are quite right, sir. I appreciate your feelings, and 
 assure you on my honor that your unknown lady friend 
 has not paid, and will not pay me a cent. But sir, you have 
 a mother, who is both able and willing; and she has com 
 municated her wishes and anxieties to this young woman. 
 The latter simply represents the former, as I understand 
 it, though she is deeply interested in your case herself. 
 Now, Capt. Latimer, you re not of the calibre I take you 
 to be, if on a mere question of personal pride, or propriety, 
 you are prepared to resist the lawful wish of a loving 
 parent, and lay great disappointment and the possibility 
 of a great sorrow on her heart. But, sir, if that does not 
 satisfy you, I agree to take the case, though it is not our 
 
THE LATIMEBS. 525 
 
 custom, sir, I assure you, quite the reverse and leave the 
 question of fee to yourself and the future. Are you con 
 tent? Shall we go on, sir?" 
 
 John felt himself disarmed. He had been met at every 
 point and vanquished. His vision of injured innocence as 
 its own defense, and of himself standing alone (not with 
 out public applause, perhaps, in the outcome) as Self- 
 Vindicator of his injured honor and loyalty, suddenly dis 
 solved into mist. Nothing remained but to give his assent, 
 and this he did in a hearty, manly way. 
 
 "Wisely decided, young man!" exclaimed Mr. Justus 
 Eeid. "Wisely done, every way. We can always trust 
 ourselves to our mother s hand. The old law maxim is 
 never so satisfactory for one as when it relates to his 
 mother, sir: qui facit per alium facit per se. Yes, yes, he 
 is well represented whom his mother represents. Ah me!" 
 A cloud fell upon the bright face. A vision of his own 
 mother had for a moment flitted across his papers. He 
 dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "More 
 over, sir/ he continued, "it is not unworthy of your valor 
 to consult the wisdom of the law; just as letters and art 
 and jurisprudence have to admit their dependence, at 
 times, upon the stalwart strength and courage of our sol 
 diery. Tarn Marte quam Minerve! We cannot dispense 
 at present with either Mars or Minerva, war or wisdom." 
 
 Then followed question after question in such rapid 
 succession, and with such keen discernment of the merits 
 of the testimony, that John had soon unbosomed himself 
 of all matters pertinent to his case, and of much besides. 
 His admiration of the little lawyer, for he seemed small in 
 comparison with himself, though a good five feet six inches 
 high, increased with every moment. The favorable impres 
 sion was due not only to his questions, but to his pithy 
 comments upon the answers, and the racy observations 
 that he dropped as he ran on, rapidly and clearly taking 
 notes of the evidence, with a mind apparently quite free 
 for other subjects. 
 
 The good opinion was mutual. John was hardly con 
 scious of the process by which the adroit, experienced 
 attorney was deftly testing and sifting both his testimony 
 and himself. But the residuum was highly satisfactory. 
 "He rings true! True gold!" soliloquized Mr. Eeid in 
 wardly. "No base coin here! An admirable fellow!" So 
 
526 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 the little bustling gentleman communed within himself, 
 and his zeal for his case and his determination to win it 
 grew proportionately. No doubt,, he would have tried to 
 do his best had it been otherwise. Yet who can escape from 
 the inward trammels by which one s selfhood is condi 
 tioned, and throw his very best into a cause which he knows 
 to be unjust and untrue? 
 
 At last Mr. Justus Eeid was satisfied, and rose to ar 
 range his notes and gather his papers together. There was 
 only one point on which he had seriously differed with his 
 client. John wanted Andy Burbeck summoned as a wit 
 ness. In giving his reasons, and especially when relating 
 how Andy had been with him at Bower Hill, the lawyer 
 shook his head. 
 
 "Too many suspicious situations there, Capt. La timer! 
 In the hands of a skillful cross-questioner like Mr. Eawle, 
 he would damage our case, I fear, more than he would help 
 it. Unless he is a most extraordinarily cautious witness! 
 And by all I learn from you, he s anything but that. Too 
 garrulous, too garrulous, I fear! Steer clear of a gabby 
 witness, Captain. I prefer him on the other side, on the 
 other side. He s spoiled many a good case for me. Vir 
 sapit qui pauca loquitur, he speaks wisely who speaks 
 briefly. Excuse me, Capt. Latimer, for translating my quo 
 tation. No detriment to your learning intended, sir. A 
 bad habit got by addressing juries. Jurors like a bit of 
 Latin tipped to them now and then. It compliments their 
 intelligence and seems to put them on an equality with the 
 learned. A subtle kind of flattery, sir! But you must 
 always delicately introduce a translation, sir, or you ll spoil 
 it all. Jurors want to know what you say. It frets em to 
 leave em in ignorance. 
 
 "But, you may be right as to your friend Burbeck. 
 I ll think of it, and consult our unknown agent, sir, our 
 lady friend. Let me see, I have her address here!" Pull 
 ing out his notebook, he ran down the memoranda. "The 
 Indian Queen Tavern tush! That s the Hibernian So 
 ciety dinner. The American Philosophical Society, 
 pshaw! That s a paper by Priestley. Executive Mansion, 
 tut, tut! That s one of Lady Washington s drawing 
 rooms. Ah, here it is, Arch, corner Fourth. Just so!" 
 He put his notebook into his pocket, thrust his papers into 
 his bag and turned to bid John good bye. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 527 
 
 "I will call in a day or two, Capt. Latimer, when I ve 
 gone over my notes more carefully. Then we ll talk about 
 some special points that I ve noted. Cheer up, Captain! 
 Fortes fortuna juvat! Fortune favors the brave, sir. And 
 besides, you ve got a case that s sure to win. But, look out 
 for that man Locke ! Not a word of our case to him, mind 
 you! No confidences with that old squeeze! Silentium 
 altum, sir deep, deep silence; deep as the sea! Oh, he s a 
 character! You don t know him, sir, or you wouldn t mar 
 vel at my caution/ 
 
 "Come, come, Mr. Reid!" John replied pleasantly. "I 
 am not quite so green as you fancy. I suspect I could give 
 you some pointers about the turnkey that you don t even 
 dream of. I haven t spent a part of my life in tracking 
 the trails and circumventing the wiles of Indians on our 
 frontier, to be altogether at a disadvantage among the 
 official savages of Philadelphia." 
 
 "You don t say? Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Eeid 
 with a mixture of surprise and incredulity. "I m truly 
 glad to hear it, sir. You have had experiences, hey? Well, 
 well! But I can t stop to hear. It is now time our portly 
 Cerberus had come. I told him to be back in two hours, 
 and it is now ten minutes past the time." The lawyer 
 looked uneasily at his watch. 
 
 "You needn t wait for the turnkey, if that s all that 
 detains you," said John walking to the door and quietly 
 opening it. "Come; I will escort you to the court." 
 
 Mr. Reid looked on with blank amazement at this pro 
 ceeding. John smiled mysteriously. "Perhaps," he con 
 tinued, "you did not observe that when the turnkey left, 
 he quite forgot to lock the door. In fact, you didn t give 
 him time to do it. He was very much agitated. Perhaps 
 you observed that also?" 
 
 "No, no!" broke in the lawyer, "I observed nothing. 
 I haven t your keen eyes. Ah, a summer at scouting would 
 be fine training for a lawyer, I see." 
 
 "Well," said John, "whether you observed it or not, a 
 signal passed between us, which was meant to soothe the 
 turnkey s agitation. Probably you heard me say, It s all 
 safe, Locke; you can trust me/ y: 
 
 "Ye-es, I did, now that you speak of it. And thought 
 it curious, too, at the time. But I couldn t imagine what 
 you meant, in fact didn t try." 
 
528 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Just this; he was a little uneasy at having me closeted 
 with a lawyer. Do you take the scent, sir?" 
 
 "Whe-ew!" Mr. Reid issued a prolonged whistle. "But 
 come now," he continued, as John threw open the door 
 and followed him into the hall. "Isn t this rather too much 
 of a good thing? You don t mean that you can walk out 
 that way, and I. Turner Locke not call you to account for 
 it? Well; I will have to learn your secret some day. You 
 must have tipped the teaster with a vengeance, young 
 man." 
 
 "Oh, no," said John smilingly, as he walked along the 
 gallery. "There is something better, at least more forceful 
 even than the argumentum ad crumenam with turnkeys of 
 the Locke school." 
 
 "Impossible!" ejaculated the lawyer. "The argument 
 of tips and bribes is supreme with those fellows. What can 
 exceed it, sir?" 
 
 "Argumentum ad leculinum club law, sir!" John 
 responded. "But, we are at the court; and here is the 
 turnkey to escort you to the gate. Mr. Locke, if you have 
 no objection, Fll take a little fresh air before I go back. 
 And maybe you will join me in the court by and by." 
 
 "Certainly, Capt. Latimer, certainly! With great pleas 
 ure!" The turnkey bowed graciously to the lawyer, but 
 even more graciously to John. He conducted Mr. Reid 
 to the gate and dismissed him in a state of mind as near 
 wonder as he ever allowed himself to attain. 
 
 "An inexperienced young man, forsooth!" he muttered. 
 "Learned in forest lore, but ignorant of the snares and 
 wiles of designing men! 7 So my young lady client denned 
 this stalwart scout. Whe-ew! Credat Judea Appella!" 
 Softly whistling "Hail Columbia," Mr. Reid walked down 
 the street, hugging his blue bag underneath his arm. 
 
 As to John, hope had risen high in his bosom. But the 
 one thing that clung to him most tenaciously, and over 
 which he brooded most lovingly, was the address of his 
 unknown young lady friend, inadvertently made known 
 by the lawyer. He smiled within himself at the thought 
 that, with all the astute attorney s endeavors to conceal the 
 name of his client, and her own attempts to cover up her 
 trail, he had nevertheless been so easily able to reach the 
 facts. "Corner Fourth and Arch!" he murmured. Well 
 he knew that address, for during Blanche Oldham s visits 
 
THE LATIMERS. 529 
 
 West, her home had often been described in her talks with 
 Fanny McCormack and himself. He had several times 
 carried homebound letters for Blanche, to be mailed at 
 Pittsburg, superscribed "Fourth and Arch." Was it not 
 there that he not thinking and indeed not then knowing 
 where he was came across her when undergoing that 
 humiliating march through the streets of Philadelphia? 
 Was it not from that house that he received the generous 
 greeting which had warmed his heart for many a day? 
 There had been hardly a doubt before as to the identity of 
 his young lady friend. The matter was now placed within 
 the realm of absolute fact. 
 
 Presently the turnkey came up to John, as he was strid 
 ing back and forth along his favorite figure-of-eight walk 
 in the court, and received assurance that not a word of the 
 mysterious night s adventure had been communicated to 
 Mr. Justus Reid. There were, therefore, at least two per 
 sons that night, wihin the bounds of the city jail who had 
 untroubled sleep: John Latimer who was soothed by love 
 and hope, and I. Turner Locke whose craven fears were 
 quieted. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 JOHN LATIMER STANDS HIS TRIAL. 
 
 Mr. Justus Reid as he walked along Fourth Street from 
 Arch toward Spruce Street where he lived, differed little 
 in appearance from Mr. Justus Reid closeted in the City 
 Jail with John Latimer. He was -in evening dress, and 
 although the night was cool, was without a top coat, which 
 under no stress of weather, even in midwinter, would he 
 consent to wear. Except in the fineness of texture of coat 
 and small clothes, and greater smartness of the hat, and 
 the addition of gloves and a cane, he was dressed as his 
 friends and the public always saw him. A continental coat 
 of black cloth with a velvet collar; long buff waistcoat, buff 
 breeches clasped to gray silk stockings by massive silver 
 buckles, ruffled shirt front and ruffled cuffs, such was 
 Justus Reid, Esq., as to the outward man. In the office, 
 in the court, on the street, in the drawing-room, in his 
 high-backed pew on Sunday in Old Pine Street Presbyte- 
 34 
 
530 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 rian Church, his dress was always the same. His cuffs and 
 ruffles were immaculately laundered, and were kept spot 
 less under all conditions. No one ever saw them soiled or 
 even rumpled, though he took snuff in a moderate way, 
 rather as an aid to conversation and an adjunct to his 
 profession than for the satisfaction thereof. Yet he never 
 seemed to be looking after his clothes, nor to care espe 
 cially for dress, and was not in the least dandified. He 
 simply had the faculty possessed by so many women, and 
 by all insects, of moving freely through all sorts of litter 
 without taking the least ruffle or stain. 
 
 He had the habit of softly whistling some lively air as 
 he wrought at his papers or walked the streets, and its 
 measure was never quickened by success nor retarded by 
 trouble and failure. Whether or not, therefore, the inter 
 view in the Oldham mansion was satisfactory, could not be 
 determined by Mr. Reid s manner. Business was business. 
 It belonged to a separate sphere of life, and he had the 
 power of completely isolating it from all other affairs. 
 When he left his office at night he locked up his law cases 
 in certain brain cells, much as a prison turnkey does his 
 prisoners. There they stayed until he turned his key in the 
 morning, or at other convenient time, and bade them come 
 out, which they did along with his blue bag, quill pens and 
 ink horn. He was a happy man in this and most other 
 respects, including his home relations. Howbeit, the 
 rumor sped that his wife, who was a roly-poly domestic 
 body, whose whole life energy was consumed in taking care 
 of her house and husband (they having no children), was 
 occasionally inclined to conversation that smacked some 
 what more of high temper than of high learning or high 
 breeding. 
 
 However, we are wandering, our only excuse therefor 
 being that we are following the example of Justus Reid, 
 Esq., as he sauntered toward his big, old-fashioned house 
 on Spruce Street. That worthy had scarcely reached his 
 residence ere his lady client had written and sealed a note 
 whose preparation, judging by the play of her countenance, 
 seemed to give her equal perplexity and pleasure. It may 
 have only been a coincidence, but the next morning Mr. 
 Prosecutor Rawle had a consultation with his associate 
 counsel Mr. Wm. Bradford over matters suggested in the 
 following letter: 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 531 
 
 DEAR SIR: The writer has reason to believe that a 
 certain Andrew Burbeck of Washington County, Pennsyl 
 vania, has valuable information bearing on the case of Capt. 
 John Latimer, now under trial for treason. The said Bur- 
 beck is commonly engaged in Pittsburg in conducting a 
 ferry across the Monongahela River. It so happens that 
 the undersigned knows that the attorney for the defendant 
 has refused to summon the above-named Burbeck as a wit 
 ness on account of sundry compromising situations in 
 which he saw Capt. Latimer. 
 
 I have the honor to be, 
 
 A FRIEND OF JUSTICE AND THE GOVERNMENT. 
 Phila., April the 3d, 1795. 
 
 "A lady s letter that, I take it," said Mr. Bradford. 
 
 "A lady s handwriting, at least," Mr. Eawle replied, 
 "although the script is boldly writ. Yet the language is 
 not at all feminine. A gentleman s dictation and a lady s 
 writing, I fancy. But the hint is worth considering. We 
 will need all the evidence we can get in this case. What 
 would you suggest, sir?" 
 
 Leaving the learned counsellors to their deliberations, 
 we return to John Latimer. He had still much to learn of 
 the tedious and perverse course of justice. His patience 
 was sorely taxed by the frequent postponements of the day 
 for his trial. April passed and May day came, and still he 
 was in jail. The first two weeks of May brought to trial 
 another instalment of the insurgents, of whom all were 
 acquitted. At last the day for John s trial was fixed, the 
 18th of May. He dressed himself with unusual care, but 
 held to the scout s uniform. That seemed to him a mute 
 witness of fidelity to his country and of honorable service 
 in her behalf, most fitting for one in his position. In the 
 same spirit he put upon his breast his medals of merit. 
 His rough shoes and leggings he laid aside, and donned a 
 new pair of beautifully beaded moccasins, a gift from 
 Featherfoot. The long shanks came well up the calves of 
 the leg, which were covered with white ribbed wool stock 
 ings, his mother s gift and knitting; and these were fastened 
 at the knees with whangs of deer-skin. His broad leathern 
 belt, Panther s gift, was ornamented with beaded edging, 
 and like the knee breeches was fastened with whangs in 
 lieu of a buckle. 
 
 He longed to swing his woodman s hatchet in its loop 
 
532 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 at his belt, but neither that nor the hunting knife would 
 the sheriff permit; and John admitted the impropriety of 
 a prisoner going into court bearing deadly weapons. Yet 
 his pouch and powder horn he hung over his shoulder, 
 and this was allowed, seeing that the horn was empty. 
 These were the gift of his "sister Fanny," and he was 
 gratified at permission to wear them, for they com 
 pleted the armor of love and friendship with which he 
 fancied himself to be girded, as he went forth to the ordeal 
 on which his future depended. All his dearest ones were 
 represented in his uniform, for the coat was his father s 
 gift, the cap was Andy s, and the long necklace of buckeye 
 nuts alternated with claws and teeth of wild animals, 
 thrown across his left shoulder as a brace to his knife 
 sheath, was a present from Meg. A barbaric sort of orna 
 ment this, no doubt, but it suited John s purpose and it 
 was Meg s gift. And Blanche Oldham? Ay, she too should 
 have a place! Where the eagle s feather was looped upon 
 his coon-skin cap he fastened the little bow of azure ribbon 
 that had come from her with the Christmas holly. 
 
 Thus accoutred, he passed the inspection of even Mr. 
 Justus Keid, who greatly valued the effect of external 
 appearance upon a jury. "Sentiment rules one-third of 
 the world," he remarked sententiously. "And that third 
 rules another third. Of the remainder, a good moiety go 
 by blind chance, and the rest are swayed by reason, by 
 passion, by bribery and by bigotry in varying measures." 
 
 It was a bright day in the old Capital, which never 
 looks fairer than in the month of May. John felt like a 
 new being to get beyond the prison walls, even for the 
 short walk around the corner of Independence Square to 
 the City Hall. How balmy the air! How blithe the carols 
 of the birds, basking freely in the sunlight and singing 
 their songs of love and liberty! He expanded his lungs 
 and filled them with the delicious atmosphere, perfumed 
 with May blossoms and with the odor of lilacs, whose 
 homely bushes showed their purple blooms in a spacious 
 yard hard by. Yet in the midst of his joy, his heart grew 
 suddenly sick, and his cheek took a paler hue as the fear 
 arose within him that he might lose his suit and be sent 
 back from all this brightness and sweetness to his cell. 
 
 At the period of which we write, and until A. D. 1800, 
 
THE LATIMERS. 533 
 
 the United States Circuit Court for the District of Penn 
 sylvania held its sittings in the second-story room of the 
 City Hall, at the southwest corner of Fifth and Chestnut 
 Streets. To Philadelphians of this generation the room 
 was known as the Mayor s Office until, a few years ago, the 
 municipal offices were removed to the present ornate 
 Public Buildings on Penn Square. 
 
 John was placed in the prisoner s box or "bar" with 
 several others arraigned for like offence. The public seats 
 were all occupied, and a buzz of interest stirred the audi 
 ence as John entered. His tall and shapely form and 
 picturesque uniform attracted all eyes. He was embar 
 rassed by this notoriety, and felt relieved when the crier 
 called the Court to order. Justice Patterson presided, and 
 was supported by Judge Peters who had accompanied the 
 Western Army to the Monongahela as a representative of 
 the judiciary. The morning hour was largely consumed 
 in discussing a point of law. An Act of Congress required 
 that a person charged with treason should have delivered 
 to him a copy of the indictment and a list of the jury and 
 witnesses, with their abodes, at least three entire days 
 before the trial. This requirement had been omitted or 
 only partly attended to in the cases of the insurgents, and 
 the question was argued before the Court whether the 
 trials could go on. 
 
 The Judges held that the errors in notification must be 
 amended in the respects indicated, and that three days 
 must elapse after such amendment before trial. But John 
 Latimer waived the right of notification in his own case, 
 and urged that his trial proceed, in which position Mr. 
 Justus Eeid cordially acquiesced. As the witnesses were 
 present, many of them from a distance and at great incon 
 venience, and as all parties were quite agreed, the case was 
 called. A number of witnesses were examined, with only 
 one or two of whom this story is concerned. 
 
 "Call Andrew Burbeck!" said Prosecutor Rawle. 
 
 Mr. Justus Reid gave a slight start at the name, just 
 a slight betrayal of uneasiness mingled with a bit of self- 
 satisfaction at his shrewdness in discerning that this wit 
 ness would not be a helpful one for the defense. He 
 glanced at his client, and gave a little nod as much as to 
 say "I told you so!" 
 
 John Latimer was somewhat discomposed at the first 
 
534 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 intimation that his old friend was to be a witness against 
 him. But his face at once cleared up as he saw the genuine 
 pleasure with which Andy greeted him. Indeed that per 
 son seemed to have no thought of court or jury, or of 
 anything else but the satisfaction of once more seeing his 
 friend. He would have gone straight up to the prisoner 
 at the bar and shook hands with him, had not the tipstaff 
 sharply reminded him of the august presence in which he 
 stood, and led him to the witness stand. 
 
 "Do you swear or affirm?" asked the clerk. 
 
 "A swear, sir! A consated that affirmin was for 
 Quakers; an A m not of that persuasion, sir." 
 
 "Manifestly not!" said Mr. Eawle, with a smile. 
 "Hand the witness the Bible, Mr. Clerk." 
 
 "If your warship plaze," said Andy, "A niver kiss the 
 Buk. It s lettle more nor a relic of idolatry. A swear with 
 uplifted hand, sir, as did ma Covenanting forebears." 
 
 He held up his right arm, with palm and fingers spread 
 open wide, and reverently stood with a solemnity upon his 
 face and in his whole demeanor that at once impressed the 
 court and jury. A moment s silence followed which con 
 tinued until the ceremony was ended. "So help me, God!" 
 said Andy, echoing the clerk s closing asseveration, and 
 then dropped his arm. 
 
 After preliminary questions, the Prosecutor asked: 
 "Do you know the prisoner at the bar, Mr. Burbeck?" 
 
 "Do A know him, sir?" answered Andy. "Dade an A 
 do! A ve knowed Jock Latimer from a b y. An that s 
 himself; at laste, what s left of him. But if he spends sax 
 months more in your City Hotel, sir, A wouldn t wonder 
 if his own mother didn t know him. It goes to my heart, 
 sir, to see him lookin so pale an pinched like." 
 
 "Spare your sympathies for another occasion, Mr. Bur- 
 beck," said the Prosecutor. "Do you know the part that 
 Capt. Latimer took in the late insurrection?" 
 
 "A do, indade, your warship. An it ll not take much 
 of the honorable jury s time for til tell it. A short horse 
 is soon curried, sir." An audible titter escaped from one 
 of the jurors who was in the livery stable business. 
 
 "Did you ever hear anyone speak of the prisoner as a 
 traitor?" 
 
 Mr. Reid here objected to the introduction of hearsay 
 evidence. Whereat, Mr. Bradford explained that their 
 
THE LATIMERS. 535 
 
 purpose was to show a general reputation for disaffection 
 to the Government, which, under the circumstances, he 
 conceived to be quite proper, as showing a motive for and as 
 explaining certain actions which would be proven after 
 ward. The Court allowed the question, and Mr. Reid hav 
 ing entered a protest, took his seat and Andy answered. 
 
 "A did, sir," Andy replied. "But, indade, it s not worth 
 while troublin the gintlemin with what the likes of him 
 said about sich a gintlemin as Capt. Latimer." 
 
 "We will let the jury judge of that for themselves, Mr. 
 Burbeck. Tell us, if you please, just where you heard Capt. 
 Latimer called a traitor and by whom?" 
 
 "It was at Bower Hill, sir, whan Capt. Jock was es- 
 cortin Mrs. Neville and the ladies to a place of safety, 
 afore they began a-firin on the house. It was a duty he 
 had craved of the committee; an as he was gittin the party 
 through, he was stopped by a santinel. The Captain 
 showed his pass from the Commander, but the man was 
 obstreparous, an cussed the Captain for a stuck-up aris- 
 tycrat an a dawgoned traitor to the pop lar cause, an no 
 better nor Giner l Neville himself." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Eawle. "Is that all?" 
 
 "No, sir. That was n t all, by no manner of manes. 
 Mebbe your honor s fond of wrastlin ? Well, sir, jist you 
 try a throw with Captain Jock, there. He ll give you a 
 p inter about a twister well worth knowin . He s got a 
 wonderful trick with his heels, Capt. Jock has; an afore 
 that sassy giard knowed what he was about, he was 
 a-sprawlin in the dust with feet p inted heavenward an 
 his own bay net p inted at his buzzum. That s what he 
 got for callin Jock Latimer a traitor. A suppose your war 
 ship would like to know the man s name, too?" 
 
 "That doesn t matter, Mr. Burbeck," remarked Mr. 
 Rawle carelessly. 
 
 "Ay, your warship, that s jist what A was a-tellin you 
 at first, an you wouldn t bel ave me. It disn t matter what 
 a drunken, ne er-do weel like Dave Dandruff says. It s 
 him as swore out the afterdavy agin Capt. Jock Latimer. 
 Ay, he s a flamin patriot now, by all accounts; but he was 
 the blatentest insargent in all the West in them days. The 
 Lord s marcy is iver great, sir, an convarts the chief of 
 
 ners." 
 
 "Come, come, Mr. Burbeck!" said the Prosecutor im- 
 
536 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 patiently. "We want facts and not your opinions and com 
 ments. Save your pious observations for a more fitting 
 place. You re a little too free with your tongue, sir; and 
 my advice is that you restrain it a bit while you are giving 
 your testimony,, for it may bring you into trouble." 
 
 Andy dropped his face, and assumed a look of the 
 utmost humiliation. Then, in a penitential tone, he re 
 marked: "A m greatly obleeged to your warship for your 
 good advice. It s jist what my Peggy, that s Mrs. Bur- 
 beck, your honor, sir, is always a-tellin me. Andy/ siz 
 she, the tongue s an unruly mamber; an nayther bit nor 
 bridle did ye iver try to put upon your own, tho you re 
 fell fond o checkin ither folks s. Barrin the lawyers , 
 siz she, there was niver a man but was the warse for a 
 loose-hung tongue, an if they re better for it, all the rest 
 of us mayhap are the warse. There s too much talk wid ye 
 Andy, siz she, an too lettle do. Ye re all cry an no 
 wool, as the shoemaker said whan he shore the pig/ 
 
 An outbreak of mirth in which even the judges joined, 
 and which was not suppressed by the crier s calls for order, 
 interrupted the staid proceedings of the Court of Justice. 
 The only person in the whole house apparently unaffected 
 thereby was the witness himself, who lifted up his face, 
 and fixing his eyes upon Mr. Justus Keid, who was espe 
 cially enjoying the situation, regarded him with a look of 
 injured innocence. 
 
 "You will be good enough, Mr. Burbeck," said Prose 
 cutor Rawle, "to tell the jury of any other time or place in 
 which you heard the prisoner classed with the insurgents. 
 Do you remember any other occasion?" 
 
 "Yes, sir!" answered Andy. "Whan Capt. Dunlap, of 
 the City Troop, an he s a gintlemin if there iver was one, 
 God bless him! arristed Capt. Jock at his father s funeral, 
 I misdoubt they miscalled him an insargent in the bit 
 paper they read til him." 
 
 "Never mind that, Mr. Burbeck. Is there any other 
 occasion that you remember?" 
 
 "There is, sir. Yes, there s one more." He hesitated 
 and paused. "But it mislikes me sore to tell it. It might 
 go agin the Captain, for the gintlemin seemed to have a 
 rare chanct for to know his opeenion of politics; leastways, 
 so he said, sir." 
 
 "You re not to consider whether your statements go 
 
THE LATIMERS. 537 
 
 for or against the defendant/ said Mr. Kawle, speaking 
 with severity and emphasis. "You are simply to declare 
 the whole truth. Go on with your testimony. 
 
 "This mornin , your warship, as A was a-waitin in the 
 anteroom there with other witnesses, some of the city officers 
 were havin a crack togither over the prisoner s trial. 
 There s one of em, sir, that s purty high up, judgin by 
 his talk, a captain of police, at laste, or sich like matter. 
 He was denouncin Capt. Latimer as the p isenest sort of 
 an insargent. His words were awful profane, your honors!" 
 turning to the judges bench "A would like your honors 
 to axcuse me from tellin the whole truth, though A ve 
 sworn to do it. A niver h ard sich cussin , aven on the fron 
 tier; an A niver axpacted to live for to hear it in this 
 Quaker city, sir. It s ralely too wicked to repate in your 
 honor s prisince, an A d be feard of shockin the gentlemin 
 of the bar." 
 
 "We will excuse the profanity," said Justice Patterson 
 with a smile, "out of regard for our lawyers morals. Give 
 the substance of what the gentleman said, and consider the 
 adjectives as excused." 
 
 "Thank your honor! Well, says this high officer, if they 
 don t hang this (axcused) Latimer, there s no use in gal 
 luses. He s the (double axcusedest) peskiest, p izenest 
 rebel of the whole pedogerie. I ve handled ivery one of 
 them (axcused) leather-breeched, linsey-woolsey, half-sav 
 age (axcused) bog-trottin , brogue-chatterin Scotch- 
 Irish riffraff, siz he. Ivery one of em, siz he, growin ax- 
 cited and bringin his big fist down on the window sill. 
 Ivery one of em I ve handled, an that (double axcused) 
 long-legged, sly-footed, Injun-huntin scout of a Latimer 
 is the bluest, beastliest, rankest an most rantankerous 
 (axcusedly axcused) rebel of em all! I d give a handful of 
 golden eagles to have the hangin of him. There, gintle- 
 min of the jury an your honors, that s the whole truth, 
 barrin the words which his honor was good enough to ax 
 cuse. A hope the honorable gintlemin of the jury won t 
 allow the opinion of sich a high officer of this honorable 
 city to prejudyce their minds agin the prisoner at the bar. 
 For sir, A as good as made him ate his wareds. A couldn t 
 stand thim sayin s agin Capt. Jock and the Scotch-Irish; 
 so A walked up til him with my doubled fists, an siz A : 
 You re a (axcused) liar! But this man here (turning to 
 
538 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 the tipstaff) pulled me away. Then he says to the captain 
 of police, or whativer he is, sir, you re jist the man they 
 want inside the coort room there. Come along now, siz he, 
 and give your tistimony, for A dar say it ll be vallyble 
 in hangin the prisoner at the bar. An what do you think, 
 your honors and gintlemin? That high-up officer sn aked 
 out of the room without as much as sayin by your lave! 
 A saw him go acrost the street intil the tavern; an A dar 
 say he naded coolin refrishment, for there must be a mort 
 o burnin brimstone inside a man as can pour forth sich 
 het-up stuff as that. Savin them two men, gintlemin, 
 A niver h ard mortal man accuse Capt. Jock Latimer of 
 bein a traitor to his country." 
 
 "You were at Bower Hill, Mr. Burbeck?" asked the 
 Prosecutor, quietly changing the subject. 
 
 "A was, bad luck to the same!" 
 
 "You saw the prisoner there?" 
 
 "A did sir. He was escortin " 
 
 "We have heard the fact before. Did you see him dur 
 ing the fight?" 
 
 "A did indade, sir, an had hard work persuadin him to 
 take to kiver; for the bullets was a-flyin that thick, an 
 barkin the trees all round us, an A was kinder ashamed 
 to take tree while the Captain stood up there. So to save 
 my own bacon " 
 
 "I daresay!" interrupted Mr. Rawle. "But what we 
 want to know just now is, if you saw the prisoner take 
 any part in the action?" 
 
 Here Andy thrust first one hand and then the other 
 through his hair, apparently in a state of embarrassed 
 excitement. 
 
 "Speak up, Mr. Burbeck. Tell us what part you saw 
 the prisoner take in the action at Bower Hill?" the Prose 
 cutor urged. 
 
 "Your warship an gintlemin, A did see him make two 
 charges; an. that s the truth, if A must spake out. 
 
 "The first one was jist this way. In the midst of the 
 scrimmage one of the nayger quarters was sot on fire. 
 Thereat Capt. Jock runs over to whar the insargent com 
 mander stood, an ast him if that had been done by his 
 orders. No, sir; says the Major. It s an accidint; an 
 I ve jist ordered a party to quench the fire. Can I lade 
 that party? says Capt. Jock. Sartain! says the Major. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 539 
 
 An away Capt. Jock tears like mad, the bullets flyin all 
 around him an 7 riddlin his clothes; for, ye see, the soldiers 
 an the naygers thought he was a-chargin on thim. But 
 he kep right on an began workin at the burnin shanty. 
 Then the darkies seein what we was at, stopped shootin 
 an began to help; an so we got the fire out. But the 
 Captain was a sight to see, A can tell you. He looked 
 more like a chimbleysweep nor a gintlemin. But niver 
 mind, siz he, we saved the property. That s one charge 
 Capt. Latimer led, your warship. An we was all mighty 
 sorry to see him take his life in his hand that way, an 
 mighty glad whan he got out safely." 
 
 "Well!" remarked Mr. Eawle, "the jury will not be 
 inclined to put that to his disadvantage, I daresay. But 
 the other charge that the prisoner made, was it of the 
 same peaceful nature?" 
 
 "N no, sir. It was not, indade. It was genuwine 
 fightin that; an pretty sayrious wark, sir." 
 
 "Capt. Latimer led in that, you say?" 
 
 "A m loth to say at he did." 
 
 "Very well; that s just what we want to hear. State 
 the facts precisely as you saw them, Mr. Burbeck." 
 
 "Whan the garrison showed a flag of truce," Andy 
 began, "Major McFarlane ran out to stop his men from 
 shootin . Jist then a volley came from the house an 
 struck him down in the road. Capt. Latimer rushed out 
 under a sharp fire an brought in the Major s body to the 
 shelter of the grove. But he was dead, sir. That put the 
 militia beyant all control, an they fired the outhouses, an 
 closed in on the mansion, so that the garrison had to sur 
 render. Out they comes, the soldiers from Pittsburg with 
 Lieut. Burd their commander, and Major Ivirkpatrick who 
 had been sarvin a musket. The soldiers was all sot free at 
 wanct; but somehow the rioters blamed Major Kirkpatrick 
 with killin their 1 ader, an that inunder a flag of truce. 
 So they made a rush at him an surrounded him, an began 
 cryin out to hang him, an to kill him, which A dar say 
 they might a done. Jist then a man charged intil the 
 midst of the mob, an began tossin em right an left, an 
 trippin up one, an knockin down another, an beatin up 
 muskets an rifles an a shoutin shame! shame! at the top 
 of his voice. It was amazin how soon he cl ared the ring 
 an got the old man out of the dust an onto his feet agin. 
 
540 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 That sir, was the pluckiest charge A ve seen, though A ve 
 been in manny a hot scrimmage, an that s the man, sir," 
 pointing to John Latimer "that led it! Ay, sir, led it- 
 single-handed. 
 
 "It mebbe would a gone hard with him, but jist 
 then his father come up, who had succaded to the com 
 mand, an the men got quieted down. Meanwhile, Capt. 
 Jock had led Major Kirkpatrick intil the woods, an 
 mounted him on his own horse, an bade him make tracks, 
 an lose no time, an started him out for a place of safety. 
 Which the Major not lackin in kenspeckle, whativer else 
 he may lack, sir, did without farder delay. That was the 
 ind of the fightin at Bower Hill, an Capt. Jock an maself 
 soon after left for home with his father, who was sore 
 hurted in the scrimmage. ISTex day the Captain left for 
 Wayne s Army, an was there a-scoutin till after the battle 
 of Fallen Timbers." 
 
 "May it please the Court," said Mr. Kawle, "we have no 
 more witnesses to present." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear my learned brother say so," said 
 Mr. Justus Reid. "Very sorry indeed! Especially if the 
 prosecution have any more witnesses like the last. We 
 decline to cross question, and there is only one witness 
 whose testimony we ask to present. That is done more 
 from regard to the wishes of our client for a complete 
 public vindication, than because his counsel thinks there 
 is the least necessity for it." 
 
 Capt. Burd was then placed upon the stand, and related 
 his interview with Capt. Latimer at Bower Hill. He told 
 the incidents of the prisoner s coming to the scene of the 
 attack, as explained to him at the time; and his reasons 
 for volunteering for the peaceful act of escorting the 
 ladies of the household to a place of safety. He also con 
 firmed Andy s account of John s gallant and humane be 
 havior in securing the safety of the surrendered garrison; 
 and his personal knowledge of John s unswerving loyalty 
 to the Government through all the anti-excise riots, and 
 that under circumstances peculiarly trying. He expressed 
 the decided opinion that instead of prosecution and the 
 six months imprisonment which this gallant officer and 
 loyal gentleman had endured, the Government should 
 have added to the marks of honorable service which he 
 already bore upon his breast from the hands of Gen. 
 Anthony Wayne. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 541 
 
 "Your honors," said Mr. Reid, when Capt. Burd s evi 
 dence was ended, "we have only this documentary testi 
 mony to present." He handed to the Court the written 
 instructions of Gen. Wayne to John Latimer and the 
 Mingo Indian Panther, to forward certain despatches and 
 letters to Major Butler, the commandant at Fort Pitt, and 
 to return with as full an account as practicable of the state 
 of things in Western Pennsylvania, and to report whether 
 the same was likely to interfere with the Western Army s 
 supplies. The order was endorsed by Major Butler, certi 
 fying that John Latimer had delivered the aforesaid de 
 spatches on the morning of July 15, 1794. 
 
 "Mark the date, your honors and gentlemen of the 
 jury. That was the very morning of the fight at Bower 
 Hill, and confirms the sworn statement of the witnesses 
 Andrew Burbeck and Capt. Burd as to the circumstances 
 under which the prisoner was present at that affair. The 
 motive of his appearance at the fight is made entirely 
 plain, and is as honorable to Capt. Latimer as his conduct 
 has been under all circumstances." 
 
 A brief consultation followed between the prisoner s 
 counsel and the attorneys for the prosecution, and then 
 by mutual consent Mr. Eawle addresssed the Court. "May 
 it please your honors," he said. "We have examined twelve 
 of the most substantial witnesses against the prisoner at 
 the bar. Others, whose testimony is circumstantial, we 
 deem it useless to present. After consultation with our 
 learned brother who represents the defendant, we have 
 agre?d to submit the case without further argument, and 
 leave it to your honors to give the charge to the jury upon 
 the testimony before you." 
 
 The presiding judge, Justice Patterson, arose and the 
 jury having been polled stood up and were charged as 
 follows: "Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the 
 accusation read against the prisoner, and you have listened 
 to the sworn testimony which has been presented. The 
 opinion of the Court is that the prisoner is not guilty. 
 The charge has not been supported by a single witness or 
 by the slightest proof. If you agree with the Court in this 
 opinion, you will find for the "defendant and bring in a 
 verdict of not guilty." 
 
 The jury bowed to the Court and after a consultation 
 of less than two minutes and without leaving: the box, re 
 turned a verdict of "not guilty." 
 
542 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "The prisoner is discharged!" said Justice Patterson. 
 
 A burst of applause followed this announcement, which 
 the Court did not try to restrain, although the crier lifted 
 up his voice and shouted: "Oh-yeez, oy-yeez! Order in 
 the honorable Court!" It was observable, however, that the 
 tone of this venerable functionary was rather like a cheer 
 than a call to order. 
 
 High above all these sounds arose the rich Doric of 
 Andy Burbeck s "Hurray! The Lord be praised!" He 
 stood outside the bar, swinging his wool hat in one hand 
 and with the other "hackling his hair," to quote Mrs. 
 Peggy s phrase, while the tears flowed freely down his 
 honest, freckled face. 
 
 Meanwhile, John was receiving the congratulations of 
 his faithful attorney and of the Prosecutor as well. Even 
 some of the jurors in the front seats leaned over the box 
 and grasped his hand. John was in an ecstasy of inward 
 joy, although his outward bearing was quiet, and marked 
 by that high courtesy which sat so easily upon him. He 
 was free! His honor was vindicated! He was a man, a 
 free man once more! He longed to go out into the sun 
 shine, and leap over the face of the earth, ay, to fall down 
 and kiss the ground over which once more he could walk at 
 liberty. 
 
 The voice of the judge quietly calling the next case fell 
 upon his ear. The crier s loud "0-yez" rose above the 
 momentary bustle and soothed the court room into quiet. 
 John passed beyond the bar. The tipstaff shook hands 
 with him, and bade him good luck. Capt. Burd waited to 
 greet him with warm congratulations. Then Andy, dear 
 old Andy, seized him with both hands and took possession 
 of him,, almost bearing him bodily down the stairway into 
 Independence Square. 
 
 Ah, Good Lord! what a glad day it was! The leaves on 
 the embowering trees waved to him as he walked along. 
 The birds bobbed their heads, and wagged their tails, and 
 as they flew away with their wings twinkling in the sun 
 light, seemed to wink at him and say: "Free, free! che- 
 wee, che-wee, che-weet! Sweet, sweet!" The horses as 
 they jogged along; the dogs frolicking in the street, the 
 children playing on the sidewalks and filling the air with 
 their glad, young voices, all seemed to John to be celebrat 
 ing his release. These familiar sounds had a strange tim- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 543 
 
 bre; a tjne and temper not new indeed, but as of somewhat 
 that had been unloosed from memory and was ringing up 
 scenes and sensations of long, long ago. Yet he had been 
 a prisoner just six months and six days! 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 A DISH OF NEWS AND A DINNER AT THE INDIAN QUEEN. 
 
 From the City Hall, John Latimer accompanied by 
 Andy walked to the jail. He would gather together his 
 few belongings and say good bye to friends and acquaint 
 ances who yet awaited their trials. Then he would 
 go forth, he knew not whither, but at least he knew that 
 he would be free. It was the work of but a few minutes to 
 pack his luggage in his saddle bags, which Andy insisted on 
 toting. 
 
 The prisoners were out at their daily exercise. The 
 companionship of suffering had drawn John closely to his 
 fellow captives, and as he bade them a tender good bye, 
 he cheered them with words of hope. It was a comfort 
 to him to feel that among them all there was not one who 
 did not with a sincere heart wish him joy at his deliver 
 ance, and yet not one who did not see him leave with some 
 sense of personal loss. 
 
 "It will be a gloomier prison," said one of the insur 
 gents, as he pressed John s hand, "when your bright face 
 has gone from among us. God bless and preserve you, 
 Capt. Latimer!" 
 
 "Ay, ay," arose from every side. 
 
 "Three cheers for Capt. Latimer!" cried one of the 
 group. The hurrahs were given with a will, and Andy s 
 lusty voice added not a little to their volume. 
 
 And now, as the last words were being spoken, Mr. I. 
 Turner Locke entered the quadrangle. His face was fairly 
 radiant, and was wreathed with smiles. He moved with a 
 vigor and agility that his ponderous frame seemed hardly 
 capable of. With both hands outstretched, he pressed 
 through the group of prisoners, and in a voice resonant 
 with seeming delight, exclaimed: 
 
 "Cap en Latimer, God bless you, sir! I have jest heerd 
 
544 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 the gelorious noos. I was a most too late to give you me 
 hearty congratulation. It has bean more than a windica- 
 tion; it has bean a triump, sir! They s none of your friends 
 happier than meself at your rekase. Although, we shall 
 miss you here; we shall miss you greatly, Cap en Latimer." 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Andrew Burbeck was exhibiting a 
 series of remarkable facial transformations. His eyes, that 
 were moist with pleasurable excitement, began to open 
 wide with wonder. The jolly face, red with the exercise 
 of shouting cheers for his friend John, lost its mirthful 
 curves, and lengthened by the dropping of the lower jaw 
 until the mouth was wide open. This amazement of visage 
 which had so swiftly followed his joyful expressions, was as 
 quickly followed by indignation. He dropped the saddle 
 bags, and springing between John and the approaching 
 turnkey, struck up the outreached hands. Mr. Locke 
 started back and exhibited as remarkable a facial transfor 
 mation as Andy had displayed. A flush of surprise and 
 displeasure came to John s face, but before he had time to 
 interfere, Andy broke forth: 
 
 "Back with ye! Would ye dar touch Capt. Latimer 
 with your greasy trecherous paws? You miserable moun 
 tain of puddings! You glib-tongued, double-faced cumber- 
 ground! May the false mouth of you be scaldered by the 
 soft solder that s a-gushin from it! Ye d like to have the 
 hangin of Captain Latimer, would ye? Ye d like to 
 thropple him with the hangman s rope, would ye? Oh, 
 ye lard-lapped limb of Sattan! Ye black-hearted son of 
 Jack Ketch! Up with the two fists of ye this minute; for 
 big as ye are, A ll lam ye till ye re as flat as a pancake." 
 
 Mr. Locke grew pale. He backed away from his enraged 
 adversary. He was evidently about to turn and run, when 
 John Latimer interposed. He laid his hands on Andy, and 
 exclaimed: "What does this mean? Are you mad, my 
 friend?" 
 
 "Mad!" echoed Andy, "mad s no word for it, Mr. Jock. 
 Whativer do you interfare for? Look at yon hulkin hul- 
 lion! That s the man A telled the Coort about this 
 mornin . That s the Captain of Police, or whativer he is, 
 that denounced ye in the waitin room as the p isenest, 
 peskiest traitor in the whole lot, an said he only craved 
 the job of hangin ye. An him to come here an bam 
 boozle ye with his flam an pertanded congratoolations! 
 
THE LATIMERS. 545 
 
 L ave loose of me, Mr. John! All job the face of him! 
 ye barrel-shaped boogyboo!" 
 
 But John held tightly to his wrathful friend. He had 
 never seen Andy so wrought up before; and indeed he 
 would have broken away and made good his threats had not 
 Capt. Eobert Porter aided John to restrain his outbreak of 
 temper. Meanwhile several of the jail officers had gath 
 ered, and Mr. Locke somewhat recovered his equanimity. 
 But though relieved of bodily fear, he dared not look John 
 in the face. He slunk behind his official associates, and 
 without another word sneaked from the quadrangle. 
 
 "Come, Andy!" said John. "He is not worth a thought, 
 let alone such a tempest as this. You will get yourself 
 into a row that will land you in jail, and then I ll have to 
 come back and keep you company. A jolly time we ll 
 have of it, with turnkey Locke for our keeper!" 
 
 Andy took up the saddle bags, and put on his hat and 
 followed, but grudgingly. He felt that he had been 
 hindered in an act of justice. "What s a bit of tongue 
 lashin to yon trumpery besom?" he exclaimed. "It rolls 
 off n his slithery sides like water from a duck s back. It s 
 a thorough skelpin he nades. A ll be whupped if A 
 wouldn t pay a year s wages for the chanct til give him a 
 good lambastin . Ah, Capt. Jock, ye hindered me of a 
 rare, providential opportunity. What s justice worth in 
 this warld, if ye can t administer it wanct in a while to 
 sich a craitur as yon?" 
 
 As the two men left the prison grounds, an old gentle 
 man with a bowed back and long gray beard entered the 
 gate, and slowly made his way towards Mr. Locke s room. 
 It was Judah Solomons, the jeweler. He found the turn 
 key in a sadly dejected frame of mind. The public expo 
 sure of his double dealing with Capt. Latimer, and Andy s 
 terrible torrent of Irish expletives, had irritated and punc 
 tured even his pachydermatous sensibilities. Moreover, he 
 was greatly exercised in mind over the probable results. 
 His official record had lately grown unsavory, and his 
 standing had become insecure. He was conscious of this, 
 and the morning s flurry seemed to him to foretell the 
 storm that would sweep him out of office. 
 
 "Goot mornings, Mr. Locke!" said the Jew. "I haf 
 come to see you dis mornings about dot Cap en Latimer, 
 an his bit of old chewelry. What is de wort you haf for me? 
 Somedings goot, I hope?" 
 35 
 
546 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Even Mr. Solomons, hardened as he was to the ways 
 of the profane world, was shocked at the storm of oaths 
 that his question evoked. He stroked his beard violently, 
 and backed toward the door, while the turnkey invoked 
 all powers in the highest heavens and in the deepest hades 
 to confound and eschew Capt. Latimer and all his works. 
 
 "I haf nefer seen you in dis conditions, Mr. Locke/ at 
 last the Jew remonstrated. "Dis is highly unbecoming 
 a city officer, is dis. I will call again when you are quite 
 a sober mans/ He placed his hat upon his head and was 
 about to retire. 
 
 "If it is to see that Latimer," Locke thundered after 
 him, "you needn t come back here again. He s gone." 
 
 "Gone?" echoed the Jew, advancing a step towards 
 Locke in his anxiety. "Gone? Where?" 
 
 "To the devil, I hope! Were are your eyes, old man? 
 You must ave passed him as you came into the jail." 
 
 "Ah, so I dit, so I dit!" exclaimed Mr. Solomons, re 
 membering the outgoing party whom he had met as he 
 came in. He turned to run after the released Captain; 
 then seeing the folly of pursuit, came back and asked: 
 
 "Haf you not his address? Did he not say where he 
 haf gone? Tell me dot! You must know, surely. It will 
 be a golten eagle, ay, two golten eagles in your hant, if you 
 tell me where dis young man haf gone. My client haf 
 come back to me; an he offer me a huntert dollar for dot 
 trinket which de Captain of de Scout wear. Tell me where 
 I can fint him; I will rewart you well." 
 
 The turnkey only groaned. Twenty dollars lost after 
 such a morning s experience! Luck was all against him. 
 "I know nothing!" he exclaimed. "I can tell you nothing. 
 He s gone, and I don t know w ere. And get you after 
 him!" he cried. "0 Lord! The devil is in it all!" 
 
 Mr. Solomons retired precipitately to prosecute his 
 research as best he could, leaving the turnkey to his own bit 
 ter meditations. Fortunately for future prisoners, his pre 
 monitions of coming evil were soon realized. His resigna 
 tion was demanded within a few weeks, and to the joy of all 
 within the jail bounds, he betook himself to the little 
 provision store of Mrs. I. Turner Locke. This lady s vine 
 gary temper and bitter tongue, rendered trebly acrid by 
 the loss of her profitable jail connection, amply revenged 
 the wrongs of the prisoners whose unhappy lives had been 
 made more wretched by her husband s greed. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 547 
 
 At the Indian Queen Tavern John engaged rooms for 
 himself and Andy, and leaving an order for a six o clock 
 dinner, started out to look at the city. He had asked Mr. 
 Reid to dine with him, not only to celebrate his deliver 
 ance, but to advise him in a most important matter which 
 he would lay before him. Tired of sightseeing John got 
 back early, and went to his room, and while waiting for his 
 guest discussed with Andy the changes that had occurred 
 in the West. Mrs. Latimer had sold the Canonsburg place 
 and removed to Pittsburg, where Luke had made some 
 advantageous purchases of land. With the advice and aid 
 of her lawyer Mr. Brackenridge, she made yet larger invest 
 ments in town lots,, and settled in a comfortable home with, 
 her daughter Meg and Featherfoot as companions, and 
 Dungy, now a freeman by Luke Latimer s will, installed 
 as majordomo and man of all work. 
 
 The true story of John Latimer s adoption had been 
 told to the Canonsburg Church Session, and thence had 
 spread through the community. Mrs. Latimer had not 
 seriously lost caste thereby, yet she made up her mind that 
 she would be happier away from the old home, and pre 
 ferred to begin life anew in new surroundings. Meg and 
 Mort Sheldon had made it up to be married, and the wed 
 ding only awaited John s release that he might be present. 
 Mr. McCormack and George his son had got back from 
 their self-imposed exile in Kentucky, and Fanny McCor 
 mack was again free from the burden of the store. 
 
 The country had quieted down, and was never so pros 
 perous. The West was booming. The invasion of the 
 army had given impulse to business of all sorts. Emigra 
 tion had greatly increased. Many of the soldiers who had 
 crossed the mountains as invaders were returning as set 
 tlers. The composure of Indian hostilities by Gen. Wayne 
 had also stimulated emigration to the further West by 
 opening up the navigation of the Ohio and Mississippi 
 Rivers. That, with the furnishing and transportation of 
 supplies for the Legion, added to the quantity and profit of 
 business. Moreover, a circulating medium of coin was 
 introduced with which the farmers could pay their revenue 
 tax, and therewith the chief objection and burden of the 
 excise laws disappeared. The West waited to give John a 
 welcome, Andy averred, and there was a great field therein 
 open for him to enter upon. 
 
548 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 Jjohn assented to this. Indeed, it was what he had 
 determined upon. There were some things which he had 
 made up his mind to do,, and then Westward-ho! He 
 would make an effort to solve the mystery of his birth. 
 
 "Moreover," he continued, "I must call on Miss Old- 
 ham. That is perhaps my first duty. You remember her, 
 Andy, of course ?" 
 
 "Is my memory a cullender, do ye think?" Andy 
 answered, "that a lass like that would run clane out of it? 
 Ay, I mind her fine." 
 
 "She has shown a great deal of interest in my case/ 
 John continued. 
 
 "An what for not?" asked Andy. "You showed a lot 
 of interest in her whan she greatly naded the same; an one 
 good turn desarves another." 
 
 "Tush, Andy! You don t know what you re talking 
 about. Any true man would have done all that I did. A 
 gentleman is bound to relieve a woman when in danger 
 and trouble. But it is quite different with a beautiful and 
 accomplished lady. She is under no obligations." 
 
 "Now, Capt. Jock/ quoth Andy, "you re like the oars 
 man who looks one way and rows t other. If it s true gin- 
 tility in a man for til mind a favor, it s the same in a 
 woman. Sure, what s sauce for the goose is sauce for the 
 gander." 
 
 "Well, well!" John responded somewhat impatiently. 
 "Let that go. Whatever obligations the past imposed have 
 been fully cancelled. Miss Oldham volunteered to testify 
 for me, and suggested Capt. Burd as a witness to my lawyer. 
 Indeed, it is to her that I owe the employment of Mr. Eeid, 
 who has so successfully conducted my case, when I was 
 intent on standing trial without legal aid!" 
 
 Andy lowered the untasted mug of ale he was lifting 
 to his lips, and gazed at John with undisguised surprise. 
 
 "I have heard of her interest in many ways," John 
 continued; "although she never made herself known to me, 
 and tried to conceal her identity. Out of delicate regard 
 for my feelings, I suppose. She even called at the jail to 
 see for herself how I was treated, and made interest for me 
 with the prison officials." 
 
 Andy s mug, which had been held midway of mouth and 
 table during the last remark, now came down upon the 
 table top with a thump. The free hand made a quick jour- 
 
THE LATIMEES. 549 
 
 ney to his hair, which, after several excited excursions of 
 his fingers therein, presented its normal expression of in 
 tense emotion. 
 
 "That caps all!" he cried. "Whativer could have pos 
 sessed ye, Jock Latimer? Do you ralely mane what you re 
 sayin ?" 
 
 John flushed deeply, and glowering at Andy with no 
 pleased look, exclaimed: "Do you question my word? 
 What do you mean, man?" 
 
 "Ay, ay; A see it is aven so!" Andy returned, shaking 
 his head. "A ve h ard that love is blind! but A niver 
 knowed afore that it was deef an dumb too. If some half 
 clacket gawk had a done this, now, A wouldn t a won 
 dered. But that my old fri nd, Capt. Jock, that s as keen 
 as a brier and as wide awake as a bagful of fleas, should be 
 so stupid, passes all belafe! Why Jock, man, that wasn t 
 Blanche Oldham at all. It was Fanny McCormack!" 
 
 "What!" cried John, fairly lifted to his feet by the 
 impulse of this great surprise. He glared angrily at Andy. 
 "Don t trifle with me!" he exclaimed. "There s no man 
 living from whom I would bear as much as from you, but 
 there are some feelings that even our friends " 
 
 "A m not triflin with you, Jock," said Andy with a 
 soft voice and kindly look. "It s God s truth A m a-tellin 
 ye. Fanny McCormack was here durin Aprile, an only 
 went home two weeks agone. Your mother would a come 
 til ye, but she was laid up with the rheumatiz, an Meg, 
 of course, wouldn t do. So Fannv was ast, an she pulled 
 up stakes at wanct, an crossed the mountains, bringin 
 a racommind from Mr. Brackenridge to Mr. Justus Reid. 
 We all knowed that you was sacrificin -yourself, an we 
 resolved to bender ye if we could. That s the long an 
 short of it, John. An it s to Fanny McCormack an not 
 Blanche Oldham that ye owe Mr. Reid s interest an aid." 
 
 The red blood ran out of John s face, leaving it 
 blanched. The hand that rested on the back of his chair 
 trembled. He stared at Andy with dull, almost expres 
 sionless eyes. Then he dropped listlessly into his chair 
 and leaned his elbows on the table. "Fanny McCormack!" 
 he muttered, his eyes still fixed upon his friend. "Fanny 
 McCormack?" 
 
 "Ay, John!" Andy responded in the soft, sympathetic 
 way which he could so easily command. "Fanny McCor 
 mack it was, and none else." 
 
550 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Now the blood rushed to John s face until it was red 
 to the roots of his hair. He threw himself back violently 
 against his chair. Disappointment, surprise, mortification, 
 were struggling within his bosom. 
 
 "Idiot!" he cried between his teeth. "To think that I 
 have been living in such a fooFs paradise! Oh, this is 
 unbearable!" 
 
 A knock at the door startled him. The waiter had 
 come to lay the table. John arose and hurried from the 
 room into the open air, and paced to and fro the little side- 
 yard walk until the waiter came to tell him that Mr. Eeid 
 had arrived. No one would have known by his manner 
 what a tempest had been raging within him. Panther s 
 lessons in the Indian art of self-repression had not been 
 in vain. When dinner was served, the waiter brought in 
 Andy s contribution to the feast, a huge bunch of lilac 
 blossoms set within a crock. 
 
 "Capt. Jock loves layloeks," he explained, as they were 
 set in the middle of the table. "They re his favoryte 
 flower. A got these off a bit blue-eyed lass that A saw 
 swingin on a picket gate, with a yardful of shrubs ahint 
 her. A promised her saxpence for a han ful, an she didn t 
 skimp her measure, ye see, for she brought me an armful, 
 the ginerous little darlin ! An then, whan A offered her 
 the money, she refused to take it. Sure, they re worth 
 nothin to us! siz she, an you re welcome! 
 
 "As A was givin her my thanks, she eyed me curi 
 ously, an asks, Are you an Injun-sargent, Mister? An 
 what s an Injun-sargent? siz I. Well, I don t jist know, 
 she says; some kind of an Injun, I spose. But you re 
 dressed jist like the folks I saw marched through the 
 streets las Christmas that they sayd was Injun-sargents, 
 from way off West som ers. I thought mebbe you was 
 one of them kind of Injuns." 
 
 "Ha! Ha! God bless her curly pate! No, no, little 
 sweetheart, siz I. A m not an Injun-sargent, nor anny 
 other kind of an Injun. A m jist one of Capt. Jock Lati- 
 mer s scouts. An we re the folks at fought the Injuns, 
 an kep em from comin acrost the mountains an skulpin 
 all you Quakers. 
 
 "Then the blue-eyed lass laughed out loud and clear. 
 Ha, ha! siz she with a merry twinkle in her eye. I m 
 not a Quaker. I m a Presbyterian! An I belong to Mr. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 551 
 
 Ewing s. He says I m a little blue-stockin . I dunno 
 why, for I never wore em in my life. But you re got on 
 blue stocking haint you, Mister? 
 
 "So A have, siz I, laughin hearty; an good, warm, 
 home-grown wool, at that. An so you re a Presbyterian, 
 are ye? God bless ye, then! that s jist what A am maself. 
 Do you know your quistions, A asts, your Catechiz? 
 Not all of em, siz she, spakin up chirkey. But I m a 
 gon tuh! I m mos half through; but I git awful stuck 
 on " Who s the Eedeemer of God s elect?" an "Effectual 
 callin ." Do you know them, Mister? Well, siz I, kindeh 
 dodgin her quistion like, Here s good luck to you! So 
 A shuk hands with the little maid, an cam away with my 
 laylocks." 
 
 Mr. Reid sat down in high spirits. He was greatly 
 pleased with the issue of John s trial, and bubbled over 
 with quips and anecdotes and bright sayings, and quoted 
 bits of Latin for John s especial benefit. Andy caught the 
 contagion, and being particularly anxious to ease his 
 friend s disappointment, let his gayety run at full tap. 
 Ere the dessert came on, Mr. Reid declared that his sides 
 were sore from laughing. 
 
 "If good digestion waits upon good spirits and good 
 fellowship," he remarked, "this will be the best digested 
 meal I have eaten in a twelvemonth. Ah, Capt. Latimer, 
 those old Romans understood the secret of happy and 
 wholesome dining. ISfext to a good meal, yes, and doubt 
 less before a good meal, a sane man ought to prefer jovial 
 friends at his table. You know what Horace says: Nil ego 
 contulerim jocundo sanus amico/ 
 
 "Aha!" he said again, in response to a remark which 
 John had made, evidently to call him out on the subject; 
 "so you have found out who the fair unknown is? Well, 
 well! It was a little conspiracy among the ladies and your 
 friends to throw you off the trail. " At least to mystify you 
 a little. I suspect they did throw a bit of dust into your 
 eyes, hey, Mr. Scout?" 
 
 John made no reply. 
 
 "She s a wonderful woman, is that Miss McCormack," 
 Mr. Reid went on. "If she s a fair sample of your Western 
 ladies, our Eastern belles must look out for their laurels. 
 A different type from Miss Oldham, now. Entirely differ 
 ent! But they re both beauties. And both splendid speci- 
 
552 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 mens of womanhood. But Miss Fanny takes the lead 
 there, according to my thinking. Character? She s a 
 born diplomat and manager. As comely as she is deft, and 
 as strong as comely. There were lively times at the Old- 
 ham mansion when she was here, I can tell you. At least 
 half a dozen of our Philadelphia beaux have lost tkeir 
 hearts to her. They re still toasting the Fair Insurgent 
 and the Wild Eose of the Monongahela at all the bache 
 lor dinners. By the way, gentlemen, let us do the honors. 
 Here s to the health of the Captain s unknown friend! 
 
 "You ll have to look out, Capt. Latimer. There ll be 
 a migratory wave of Quaker City bachelors flowing over 
 the Alleghenies before the summer is over. You must try 
 not to be jealous. And no duels, mind you! Nothing 
 more serious than wraslin , at least. Hey, Mr. Burbeck? 
 You musn t give away that favorite twister of the Cap 
 tain s that you commended to Mr. Rawle at the trial. 
 Ha, ha!" 
 
 "By the way, I didn t know, at one time, but Miss Old- 
 ham might be jealous of her Western guest. But that s all 
 right now. She s fairly caught at last. Mrs. Reid has just 
 been telling me that her engagement to Capt. Ruel Burd 
 has been announced. They re to be married early in the 
 autumn. Well, they are a worthy pair and well mated. 
 Capt. Burd is a fine character. A splendid gentleman. 
 The Oldham family never had any objection to him, I be 
 lieve, except that he is not a man of fortune. But dear 
 me! What does that matter? Miss Blanche has enough 
 for both. And here s wishing her happiness! Gentlemen, 
 join me in the toast." 
 
 The little lawyer ran on with his chatter and gossip, 
 and took no note that the cheeks of his host had suddenly 
 paled, and that he sought, while responding to the toast, 
 to hide the sudden pain that shot across his face, behind 
 the glass that he lifted to his lips. Andy felt by the jar 
 on the table the shock that had come to his friend. With 
 the instincts of the true gentleman that underlay his rough 
 exterior, he did not raise his eyes toward him, but turning 
 quickly to Mr. Reid, launched upon an amusing story, 
 which left John unobserved and unsuspected to regain his 
 self-control, which he did with a mighty effort. John per 
 ceived the kindly device, and his heart warmed with grati 
 tude toward his humble friend. 
 
THE LATIMEKS. 553 
 
 At last the dinner was over. When the clock struck 
 nine, Mr. Eeid protested with genuine surprise that he 
 could not believe that the night had so far advanced. He 
 must away home. His good wife was lonely, and liked not 
 that he keep late hours. 
 
 "Before you go, Mr. Eeid," John began, "there s an 
 item of business to transact. If you will excuse me, as 
 another opportunity may not serve, I would like to settle 
 my account with you for your legal services. My friend 
 Andy has brotght me a goodly sum from the sale of my 
 horses and other belongings, enough I hope to satisfy your 
 just dues. But if that does not suffice, he bears also a well- 
 filled purse from my mother." 
 
 "As you please!" said Mr. Eeid; and after a brief count 
 ing up of columns, and comparing of notes, that matter 
 was settled to the satisfaction of both parties. 
 
 "Now," John continued, "I have a matter of great 
 importance to myself in which I ask your advice and aid." 
 Thereupon, he told the story of his babyhood as Mrs. Lati- 
 mer h#d related it. This done, he brought out his relics, 
 the Bible and coral necklace and the infant gown. 
 
 Mr. Eeid did not try to conceal his surprise at this 
 revelation. He was highly excited as the tale went on, ai-d 
 when the relics were produced, examined them with intense 
 interest. "Strange, very strange!" he exclaimed. "No 
 name anywhere. No clue that I can see, except the coat- 
 of-arms on this bookplate. And that s very uncertain, 
 for the Bible may have been a second-hand purchase. I 
 have several old volumes in my library with as many coats- 
 of-arms. The flotsam of broken-up libraries. Or chance 
 books brought over by emigrants and sold under stress, 
 and drifting through book stores into our libraries. Very 
 uncertain! Have you any theory, Capt. Latimer? You 
 must have thought much about the matter." 
 
 "I cannot say that I have a theory," John answered, 
 "except that I feel sure the book was not a second-hand 
 purchase, as you suggest. Look at the gold bead on the 
 necklace. You observe that it has the same crest and the 
 same motto as appear on the bookplate. That seems to 
 establish a connection between the two, does it not?" 
 
 "You are quite right. An acute reflection!" Mr. Eeid 
 answered. He carefully studied the engraving on the gold 
 bead, and compared the figures with those on the book- 
 
554 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 plate. "Yes, they are quite the same. An uplifted arm 
 holding a naked sword, issuing from some kind of a cap or 
 chapeau. I m an ignoramus in heraldry. Never thought 
 that my profession would ever need to draw upon that 
 department of human knowledge. Ah! a lawyer ought to 
 know something of everything as well as a good deal of 
 some things. The same motto, too, I observe, Honeur 
 sans Bepos. Yes, you are quite right. The owner 
 of the necklace and the owner of the bookplate were one. 
 But the name is scratched out; no trace of it left on the 
 cover. Is there no name elsewhere?" 
 
 "There is none/ John answered. "There has been a 
 name here, you observe, on the title page. But it has been 
 inked out so thoroughly that it is impossible even to trace 
 a letter. There is just one more clue. Beneath the name 
 is written a date and address. The date is gone. After 
 long and careful study, I detect, or think I do, the frag 
 ments of the last three letters of the address. They are 
 hia/ the closing letters of Philadelphia." 
 
 "A shrewd guess. Scouting still, I see!" exclaimed the 
 lawyer. "The book was probably purchased here. The 
 parties seemed to have belonged to this city. Is that what 
 you mean?" 
 
 "Yes. I have no other clue except two letters "M. M." 
 written here, you see, opposite this text in a lady s hand. 
 Now you have my case, Mr. Eeid. I am anxious to solve 
 the mystery that hangs over my birth. I have little doubt 
 of my mother s death. My father may be living, and I 
 want to make an effort to find him, or at least to find out 
 who he was, and I wish you to help me." 
 
 "I will, I will most heartily," Mr. Reid exclaimed. 
 "Thank you for your confidence. But I fear I can do 
 little. Yet, who knows? I have solved some perplexing 
 mysteries in my day. Did you ever unravel an old stocking? 
 I have done it often to make a ball. You want to pick out 
 the right thread to start on. Then, a pull and, whirr-r 
 away it goes! Let me think! The coat-of-arms on the book 
 plate is our clue. Fie! Fie! -Why don t I know more of 
 heraldry? Who does know? Let me think! 
 
 "I have it! Fureka! There s my friend Elias Boudi- 
 not. Yes, and Charles Thomson, the first Secretary of 
 Congress. They were on the committee to devise the 
 Great Seal of the United States, and I remember they 
 
THE LATIMERS. 555 
 
 gave a lot of time and pains to such affairs. They were 
 mousing over all sorts of sketches and studies and samples 
 of coats-of-arms and seals. Mr. Thomson is at his country 
 seat on the Schuylkill. But Mr. Boudinot lives with Mrs. 
 Win. Bradford over here on Arch Street just below 
 Second. ^N"ot far from your friend Miss Oldham, Captain. 
 He is our man! We will go to him. I will call to-morrow 
 morning at nine o clock promptly, and we will go over to 
 Mr. Boudinot s and ask him to help us. If he cannot do 
 it of his own knowledge, he will know some expert or other 
 to whom to refer us. Good night! At nine o clock to 
 morrow! Good night, gentlemen!" 
 
 John hastened to his room. He seemed to himself to 
 have lived a score of years in that one day. What a day 
 it had been! Breakfast in a prison cell His trial Vindi 
 cation Freedom Parting with the friends of his cap 
 tivity The stirring news from Western friends Xews 
 that the old home was broken up The rude awakening 
 from his dream of Blanche Oldham s friendly interest in 
 his case Fanny McCormack s sisterly and successful aid 
 The tidings of Blanche Oldham s engagement, the last 
 blow that shattered all his hopes of love! The opening 
 up of a possible clue to his parentage! Thus a destiny had 
 been crowded into a day. What extremes of emotion had 
 been his, from the highest joys to the depths of despair! 
 
 Blanche Oldham to be married! All then was over. 
 He threw himself upon a chair, and burying his face within 
 his hands sobbed aloud. Only twice before since he was 
 a slip of a boy had he shed tears, when his father, Luke 
 Latimer, had died, and when his mother told him the 
 true story of his babyhood. The tears relieved him. He 
 rose and walked the floor until after midnight. Then he 
 lay down and slept. 
 
 He was up with the sun, and went out and strolled 
 along the banks of the Delaware. He hired a skiff from a 
 waterman, and pushed into the middle of the stream. The 
 tide was flowing out. The current ran swiftly. He drifted 
 down, down by the city shops and homes; past the shipping 
 at the wharves, lightly plying his oars and keeping in mid 
 stream. The sun had risen over the Jersey plains, and its 
 rays sparkled and shimmered and rippled on the face of the 
 river. They lit up the spire of Christ Church, and the 
 old "Second Church" steeple on Third and Mulberry, 
 
556 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 the State House tower, and St. Peter s spire, and the 
 front of Pine Street Church. He was drifting, drifting! 
 Whither? What mattered it? Had not his life been cut 
 rudely loose from all its old anchorage? 
 
 He leaned over, and with cheeks resting on his palms 
 looked drearily back across the stern of the boat upon the 
 city from which he was receding. A flash of color, blue, 
 white and red, shot up into the air. It waved and shim 
 mered in the full, bright beams of the May sun. It stopped 
 suddenly. It spread into a broad band of glory and 
 streamed forth in the wind. It was the Flag of his Coun 
 try, which the janitor had just sent aloft upon the flag 
 staff of the State House. At the same moment Independ 
 ence Bell gave tongue, and its joyous notes pealed over the 
 city and echoed from the river banks. 
 
 John s heart leaped within him at the vision. He sat 
 erect upon the thwart. He grasped the oars firmly and 
 swung the boat about, setting the bow upstream. The 
 whole tenor of his feelings was changed. His combative 
 energy was roused. The tide and current were against 
 him. Let them flow! He -bent to the oars. He threw all 
 his vigor into his strokes. The heavy skiff seemed to fly 
 through the water against the tide, against the current, 
 until Pine Street, and Spruce, Walnut and Chestnut and 
 Market, Arch and Vine Streets had been left behind. 
 
 The sailors and watermen and workmen on the wharves 
 looked at him and wondered. But he did not heed them. 
 There was a wild satisfaction in the exercise of his 
 strength; a joy in overcoming something; in making head 
 way against obstacles; in forcing his boat whither he would, 
 although the forces of nature seemed to say he should not. 
 
 At last he stopped and turned his boat down stream, 
 and slowly paddled to the Market Street wharf. He was 
 flushed with heat and the pleasure of exercise, and sweat 
 ing at every pore. The fresh air, the bright sunlight, the 
 cheerful voices of the morning, the ripple and plash of 
 the stream, the combat with the tide and current and the 
 sense of triumph, the stir of human life, the natural buoy 
 ancy of health and youth, all wrought upon and wrought 
 themselves into his heart. 
 
 He had felt the wounds of grief, as was the lot of man. 
 But only the ignoble would void their grasp of duty and 
 service because of that! The woman he loved, loved an- 
 
THE LATIMERS. 557 
 
 other. Well, that other was worthy of her love 1 . She 
 would be happier with him, because of her love for him. 
 What but selfishness would inspire grief at such an issue? 
 True love seeks the highest happiness of its objects, even 
 though by the way of self-sacrifice. If he truly loved 
 Blanche Oldham, let him be content, yes, let him be glad 
 that she was happier with another than she could have 
 been with himself. God bless her, and good bye! 
 
 Farewell his dream of love! He would hide his disap 
 pointment in the depths of the forest, and learn, not to 
 forget, no, never that! but to do life s work as duty and 
 honor showed the way, and learn contentment, even happi 
 ness, it might be, in such paths as Providence should open 
 up. So the inward conflict ended, and John Latimer s full 
 manhood was once more at the helm. 
 
 Back to the hotel, and after a bath and breakfast, he 
 was ready for what the new day might bring forth. He 
 greeted Andy with the usual heartiness, a little subdued 
 and a savor of sadness therein; but enough like the old- 
 time manner to bring laughter into the honest fellow s 
 eyes and set his heart beating with pleasure. 
 
 CHAPTER LVL 
 
 THE STORY OF A BOOKPLATE. 
 
 Promptly at nine o clock, Mr. Justus Reid was at the 
 Indian Queen Tavern, and set forth with John Latimer to 
 the Bradford house. The two gentlemen had hardly got 
 to the library when the door knocker again sounded, and 
 Mr. Charles Thomson was shown in, just as Mr. Boudinot 
 himself entered. He had dropped in for a few moments 
 on some matter of business. 
 
 "Most wonderful .stroke of good fortune!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Reid, when greetings had been exchanged. "Nay, it 
 is almost providential. I count it a happy omen. Of all 
 the men in Philadelphia you are the two that I washed to 
 see togther. And here you are!" 
 
 He related John s history, and placed before his dis 
 tinguished acquaintances the Bible and necklace. "Now 
 gentlemen," he continued, "I know something of the law, 
 
558 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 I hope, but heraldry to me is a terra incognita. Can you 
 help me identify this bookplate? Or at least put me on the 
 track of some one who will do so?" 
 
 "I am but a tyro in the science," said Mr. Boudinot, 
 laughing. "But here is Mr. Thomson; he is the man of 
 authority you are looking for. What little I know of her 
 aldry I owe chiefly to him, having got it by absorption 
 while we were making up the Great Seal of the United 
 States. What say you, Mr. Thomson? Do you remember 
 anything of this sort?" 
 
 Mr. Thomson examined the engraving closely. "I think 
 I have seen this before," he said with some hesitation. 
 "Where are your notes and memoranda used in preparing 
 the seal of our Church General Assembly, a few years ago? 
 You were much interested in that as President of the Trus 
 tees, and I gave you some help in the matter. You col 
 lected quite a lot of seals, emblems and coats-of-arms, and 
 I fancy I have seen this engraving among them." 
 
 Mr. Boudinot went to his library shelves, and after a 
 little search found a portfolio of plates. He laid it upon 
 a centre table and untied the binding strings. The other 
 gentlemen gathered about him and looked on with eager 
 interest as he slowly turned over the sheets, making com 
 ments as the various figures passed in review. 
 
 "Those look like old friends," said Mr. Thomson as a lot 
 of national emblems were turned up. "There s Washing 
 ton s seal. And that s Washington s coat-of-arms. And 
 that s Washington s bookplate. Ah; Barton s sketches for 
 the United States Seal! And there s a copy of my own 
 first rude sketch! What s that?" 
 
 "An old Masonic figure," answered Mr. Boudinot. "A 
 serpent on a cross, quite an ancient design. We used that 
 \n preparing the device for our Church seal. You remem 
 ber it, do you not? A serpent on the cross lifted up in the 
 wilderness." 
 
 Still he turned the sheets; now and then giving the 
 titles of the figures. "Pennsylvania s coat-of-arms. The 
 seal of the Province of Pennsylvania. Seal of the City of 
 Philadelphia. New York Colonial seals. Ah, these are 
 what are we looking for! Here are cuts of the coats-of-arms 
 borne by Philadelphia gentlemen and their ancestors, and 
 bookplates of private libraries." All eyes were now fixed 
 upon the figures as Mr. Boudinot slowly turned the plates. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 559 
 
 Mr. Reid meanwhile held John s Bible upon the table for 
 easy comparison. 
 "There!" 
 
 The word fell at the same moment from the lips of 
 John and the lawyer 
 
 "That s it!" cried Mr. Thomson in the same breath. 
 "What s the name?" 
 
 "Hugh Montgomery!" said Mr. Boudinot. 
 
 "Major Montgomery!" Mr. Reid exclaimed. "To be 
 sure, I might have known. Stupid! I have seen that 
 bookplate in his library." 
 
 "That s the name! I recall it now!" It was John who 
 spoke., and with such an emphatic and excited manner that 
 the others turned quickly toward him. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Mr. Reid. 
 
 John explained the cases of mistaken identity which 
 had so perplexed him at Carlisle, and the name that he had 
 heard, but imperfectly, attached by one of the parties to 
 the title "Major." 
 
 "Was the Major with the Western army?" Mr. Boudinot 
 asked. 
 
 "He was/ the lawyer answered. "He went out as one 
 of the President s staff, and came back with him from Bed 
 ford. And now that we have the cue, look at this young 
 man, gentlemen! You both know Major Montgomery. 
 What say you?" 
 
 "A striking likeness!" Mr. Boudinot exclaimed. 
 
 "A marked resemblance, certainly!" said Mr. Thomson. 
 
 "Ay!" exclaimed Mr. Reid. "The only marvel is that 
 it didn t occur to me before. I don t wonder that in a dim 
 light the one man should have been taken for the other. 
 Barring his younger face, John Latimer is the duplicate in 
 size, figure and features of our friend Major Hugh Mont 
 gomery. But come, gentlemen, let us look a little more 
 closely into this. We have enough to start on, but we must 
 make sure, make sure! Let us compare the two plates." 
 
 "They are the same, no doubt of it!" said Mr. Thom 
 son. "In both, the shield is parted quarterly, as you see, 
 the first and fourth quarters azure, with three golden 
 fleur-de-lis, the historic Montgomery arms. The second 
 and third quarters are red, bearing three golden annulets. 
 And here also is the red ineseutcheon with its golden 
 sword and sceptre crossed. The two engravings are un- 
 
560 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 doubtedly impressions from the same block, and this Bible 
 must have once belonged to Major Montgomery s library." 
 
 "Examine the locket, please/ said Joiin. "Here it is." 
 
 Mr. Thomson scrutinized the figure on the gold bead. 
 "It is a miniature of the crest on these two bookplates/ 
 he remarked. "A dexter arm issuing from a chapeau or 
 cap of dignity, and holding a naked sword. They are the 
 same." The necklace now made the circuit of the group, 
 and all confirmed Mr. Thomson s observation. 
 
 "Was Major Montgomery ever married?" asked Mr. 
 Boudinot. 
 
 Mr. Eeid hesitated. "I know little of his early life, 
 although I attend to his legal business. We have occa 
 sionally met one another socially; but he is not a society 
 man. He is a widower; at least that is the common belief, 
 but I never heard him speak of his domestic history. Yet, 
 now that I mention it, I remember to have heard my wife 
 speak of some incident, something sad and romantic, that 
 befell his early years. But the Major is not a man to en 
 courage talk about his private affairs." 
 
 "Young man, you will excuse me for speaking frankly," 
 said Mr. Boudinot, turning to John and looking at him 
 gravely. "You perhaps know enough of the world to 
 understand that the search upon which you are bent may 
 uncover facts that most men prefer to conceal. Whatever 
 Major Montgomery may be now, his youth may not have 
 been blameless. Supposing, for the moment, that you can 
 trace your parentage to him, the discovery might give little 
 satisfaction to him and less to you. A bar sinister on one s 
 escutcheon " 
 
 John interrupted. "Sir, I understand you, and thank 
 you for your candor. But I would stake my life on the 
 womanly purity of her whom I believe to be my mother. 
 Look at this Bible! Since I learned its true history, I have 
 gone over it from cover to cover, and have traced the 
 spiritual life of her who doubtless owned the book, by its 
 marked texts and passages. Look at this text opposite to 
 which are written her initials M. M. ? When my father 
 and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me 
 up. Look at this one! turning rapidly over the leaves 
 of the New Testament to Matthew 11: 28-30 Come unto 
 me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give 
 you rest/ No woman whose soul was anchored upon such 
 
THE LATIMERS. 561 
 
 hopes as these, and could set up such landmarks of her 
 inward life, could be aught but a good woman. I would 
 pledge my life that her honor was unsullied, and that I was 
 born in lawful wedlock. But, gentlemen, were it other 
 wise, I would desire to know the truth. The reality cannot 
 be worse than the suspicion. I would not wish to pass 
 among my fellow-men for wh^t I am not. If the sinister 
 bar is on my shield, I would count it false and dishonorable 
 to wish to hide the fact from myself or from others, and go 
 through life under false colors." 
 
 "Very well, then!" said Mr. Boudinot, looking at John 
 with a pleased expression. "It shall be as you wish; and 
 whatever the issue your sentiments are highly creditable. 
 I hope, I almost believe you are right as to your mother. 
 Major Montgomery s office is not far from here on Market 
 Street. He has been ill, and confined to his house since 
 New Year, but is now able to look after his affairs, and I 
 daresay will be found at his desk. I will send for him." 
 
 He summoned a waiter and despatched him with a 
 note, saying that Messrs. Boudinot and Thomson would 
 be glad to see him without delay on business of the utmost 
 importance. In the meantime, Mr. Reid and John w T ere 
 asked to wait in the adjoining room while Mr. Boudinot 
 and his friend arranged their personal business. The 
 messenger soon returned saying that Major Montgomery 
 would attend immediately. In a little while the gentleman 
 was announced, and ere he was shown into the library, Mr. 
 Justus Reid was called in, John being told to bide where 
 he was until summoned. 
 
 "AYe have sent for you on a matter of some delicacy," 
 said Mr. Boudinot. "And at the outset, I must crave your 
 indulgence if we seem to be intruding upon personal and 
 it may be sacred affairs. But it seems to be our duty to 
 proceed. Do you recognize this bookplate?" he asked, 
 handing the little Bible to the Major. 
 
 "Of course," was the response, "it is my own. My 
 family coat-of-arms, sir. But how came it " 
 
 "Look at the book itself," Mr. Boudinot continued, 
 "and see if you recognize it. Look carefully." 
 
 Major Montgomery stood by the centre table, slowly 
 
 turning over the leaves. John had placed a bookmark 
 
 between the pages containing the passage marked with the 
 
 initials M. M. Thereat the Major paused. He read the 
 
 36 
 
g^> THE LATIMERS. 
 
 text. He noticed the letters, and raised the book to his face 
 to examine them more closely. A flush of recognition 
 passed over his countenance, an expression of pleasure fol 
 lowed by one of pain. The bright color in his cheeks slowly 
 faded out. He looked up and cast a searching glance upon 
 the three men, who were intently watching him. Then he 
 dropped his eyes, and having again scanned the letters, 
 hurriedly turned back to the title page, and scrutinized it 
 carefully. The book trembled in his hands as he looked 
 up once more, and asked with a voice broken with emotion: 
 "Gentlemen, where did you get this book?" 
 
 "First tell us, please," said Mr. Justus Eeid, now taking 
 up the case, "if you recognize the volume?" 
 
 "I do, I do!" said the Major with emotion. "Yes, 
 though it is many years ago but there can be no doubt of 
 it! It is a pocket Bible which I gave my young bride 
 twenty-three years ago. It is associated with the sweetest 
 joys and deepest sorrows of my life. It disappeared sud 
 denly after her death. It was lost, as I supposed " 
 
 "Stop! Before you go further, look at this!" said Mr. 
 Reid, and placed in his hand the necklace. "Did you ever 
 see it before?" 
 
 Major Montgomery laid the Bible upon the table and 
 eagerly took the necklace into his hand. He glanced at the 
 faded ribbon bow tied upon it, and nervously stroked it 
 with his fingers. He looked a moment at the oval bead 
 with its engraved crest and raised his eyes. They were dim 
 with tears. His lips were twitching with emotion. 
 
 "Great God!" he cried, and turned quickly toward Mr. 
 Reid. "How came you upon this? my baby boy! My 
 poor lost child! Sir, I know this necklace well. It was a 
 gift from my mother, who gave it fo me because I had 
 worn it when an infant. When my son was born, I placed 
 it upon his neck. He was lost, drowned in a fearful 
 flood that swept away my home on the bank of the Alle 
 gheny near Pittsburg, and the necklace was lost with him. 
 I have never seen it since, until I chanced to recognize it on 
 the breast of a young insurgent last Christmas. I knew it 
 first by the MacKinlay tartan on the ribbon, for my mother 
 was of that clan. I tried to trace it, and buy it from the pris 
 oner. I believed that my child s body had drifted ashore 
 somewhere, and had been found, and the necklace taken 
 from it, and I wished to know how it had come into this 
 
THE LATIMERS. 
 
 person s possession. It seemed to me that it would "be a 
 satisfaction to learn whether the little body had been found, 
 <md where it is buried." 
 
 "Why did you give up your search?" asked Mr. Reid. 
 
 "I did not. But soon after Christmas I was taken sick, 
 and my quest was suspended until my recovery. A week 
 ago, I again set my agent upon the track. I have heard 
 nothing of the matter since. And the Bible? Yes, that 
 must have been picked up with the drift of the deluge. 
 But how came they together? And how came they into 
 your hands?" 
 
 He spoke rapidly, his voice quivering with the intensity 
 of his feelings as the melancholy events, so suddenly and 
 strangely recalled, passed before his mind. 
 
 "Be seated, Major;" said Mr. Boudinot, seeing how 
 deeply his friend w r as affected. "There, compose yourself! 
 Mr. Reid has something further to communicate. He will 
 explain all. Perhaps, he may have some good news to tell 
 you. Compose yourself, sir! Gentlemen, be seated/ 
 
 The good man had evident need of the advice which he 
 gave, for his feelings were profoundly stirred. The other 
 gentlemen were equally moved. The little lawyer, to dis 
 guise his emotion, drew out his snuff-box, thumped the 
 top vigorously, opened it, snapped the lid to, and returned 
 it to his vest pocket quite forgetting to partake of the con 
 tents. Then he told of John s rescue by Luke Latimer and 
 the Bended Knee, and recited his history up to the present. 
 
 Major Montgomery started to his feet in a tremor of 
 excitement. 
 
 "My child lives?" he cried. "Can it be possible? Gra 
 cious God, Thou art indeed merciful! Only this morning 
 I read the account of Capt. Latimer s trial and vindication. 
 I was pleased that any innocent man should be set free, but 
 not especially concerned. And to think that he is my lost 
 child!" He paused, almost overcome by his emotions. "But 
 gentlemen, stop! Are we not taking too much for granted? 
 This all seems plausible. But is it proof? Full proof, sat 
 isfactory proof? May I depend upon it confidently? 
 Something more, it seems to me, must be required before I 
 can be sure of a matter of such vital importance to me." 
 
 "Well, there is something more. There s a good deal 
 more, in fact," said Mr. Reid, rising and crossing the library 
 floor, He opened the door of the room in which John had 
 
564 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 been waiting, and returned leading him by the arm. He 
 brought him up to Major Montgomery, and taking that 
 gentleman by the arm also, led the two, one on either side, 
 to a large pier glass at one end of the library. Then he 
 stepped away and left the two men standing side by side 
 looking at the two images that faced them from the mirror. 
 
 The same height, six feet two inches! The same broad 
 shoulders. The same tapering trunk and straight, shapely 
 legs. The same hand, large yet nervous looking, and with 
 broad squarish finger tips. The same fair complexion; the 
 same curling chestnut hair, except that through the scat 
 tered locks of the elder there were threads of gray. No one 
 spoke. The three gentlemen looked on at the two stalwart 
 figures and the two reflected images thereof, and awaited 
 results. 
 
 "My son, my son! Great God, it must be my son!" the 
 Major exclaimed, and reached out his hands. John grasped 
 them warmly, and the two men stood looking into each 
 others faces. Their hearts were bounding with unutterable 
 emotion. But there was no embrace. That eager, silent 
 hand grasp, the trembling voice, the quivering lips, the 
 tear-dimmed eyes, uttered all. It was not in the blood of 
 their race, even in a supreme moment like that, to make 
 greater demonstration of what was passing within. 
 
 Mr. Boudinot advanced. "Gentlemen, I wish you joy! 
 Major Montgomery, I congratulate you. God has given 
 you back your child. It is indeed wonderful!" 
 
 "Ay," said the Major, grasping his hand, "Blessed be 
 His Name!" 
 
 Mr. Thomson gave his hearty greetings, and then Mr. 
 Justus Eeid. 
 
 "You are satisfied, Major, I hope?" said the lawyer. 
 "You have reason to be. The proof is unquestionable. 
 I have not the least doubt myself of the identity of this 
 stalwart, noble fellow with your lost child. The case would 
 stand in any court of law in Christendom. And, sir, let 
 me say, you have every reason to be satisfied with the 
 result. I know something of this young man. Any father 
 might be proud of him. He s a chip off the old block, 
 sir. A second edition; ay, and meaning no disparagement 
 to yourself, revised and if anything a little improved." 
 
 "I am satisfied!" Major Montgomery replied. "Yes, I 
 believe I am fully satisfied. Yet, there is one thing else 
 I think of, that would clinch and confirm all." 
 
THE LATIMERS. 565 
 
 "What is it, sir?" asked Mr. Reid. 
 
 "I remember little of my infant, of course/ the Major 
 resumed. "He was so young and small, and I was ignorant 
 of fcuch matters. But L recollect that the Scotch nurse who 
 had charge of the babe and was lost in the flood that swept 
 him away, pointed out a birthmark on the bairn that seemed 
 to me very curious. It was a crescent-shaped mole on the 
 left foot. I often looked at it afterwards, for I loved to 
 hold the wee, soft pink feet in my hand, and thus came 
 to remember it. Such birthmarks I believe never disap 
 pear." 
 
 "On what part of the foot was it placed? asked John. 
 
 "At the side of the instep, just about midway of the 
 heel and toes." 
 
 "Gentlemen, will you excuse me if I uncover my foot?" 
 John asked. 
 
 "Certainly!" said Mr. Boudinot. "Do it at once." 
 
 John kneeled upon the floor, unlaced the left shoe, 
 unbuckled the stocking, and stripped it off the leg display 
 ing the naked foot. All the gentlemen bent eagerly for 
 ward to look. The half moon-shaped mole was there! 
 
 "It is enough!" cried Major Montgomery. "Gentle 
 men, I take you to witness that this is my son and heir. 
 I doubt no longer. God be praised!" He once more grasped 
 John s hand and pressed it warmly. 
 
 "It is past ten o clock," said Mr. Thomson. "Yet I am 
 sure we all would like to hear so much of Major Mont 
 gomery s life as may complete the remarkable and romantic 
 disclosures of this morning; provided, of course, the Major 
 has no objection to the narration." 
 
 Mr. Reid seconded the suggestion, and added that such 
 a statement would really be necessary to connect and 
 explain all the facts. 
 
 "I have not the least objection, gentlemen," said Major 
 Montgomery. "Indeed I think you ought to know all. 
 I have nothing to conceal, though much to regret and 
 much to mourn. I am an Irishman by birth, although of 
 pure Scotch ancestors, and my family is a younger branch 
 of the noble house of Montgomery. At my majority, as 
 my preferences were for the army, my father bought me a 
 Lieutenant s commission, and I was sent out to the Ameri 
 can Colonies. In the early seventies, I was ordered to 
 Philadelphia. I was fond of society; and as his Majesty s 
 
566 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 officers were welcome guests and visitors in the best Colo 
 nial families, I soon found many pleasant acquaintances. 
 Among the young ladies whom I met was one in whom 
 I became greatly interested. The interest was mutual, and 
 ere long deepened into a mutual affection. 
 
 "I informed the father of my love for his daughter, and 
 asked to be recognized as a suitor for her hand. He was 
 satisfied with my family standing and character, but denied 
 my plea. He was a member of the Society of Friends, and 
 I a member of the Scotch Kirk. He, as a Quaker, was 
 opposed to war. I was a warrior by profession. He had 
 a third reason which I afterwards learned. The troubles 
 between the British Government and the American Colo 
 nies had already begun to foment, and he was a determined 
 patriot and partisan of the Colonies; while I, of course, as 
 one of his Majesty s officers was necessarily on the other 
 side. These facts made a series of incompatibilities too 
 formidable to be overcome. In view of the circumstances, 
 my suit was not only rejected, but I was asked to discon 
 tinue my visits to the family. 
 
 "Of course, I was greatly broken up by this decision, 
 but tried to submit. Yet I could not forget the young 
 lady. I loved her too sincerely and deeply for that; and I 
 found that she was as much grieved over the matter as I, 
 and as persistent in her love. Why should I dwell on what 
 followed? A painful and hopeless effort to change the 
 purpose of the parents at last ended in a clandestine mar 
 riage, or rather a runaway match. I had a small patri 
 mony, which with my pay as a Lieutenant seemed to justify 
 me in taking a wife. At least, I was able to support one 
 in a modest fashion. I do not attempt to justify my act. 
 As I look at it now, it wrought a great wrong to one whom 
 I truly loved. Her Church and her family disowned her. 
 As she was a woman of a most affectionate and domestic 
 nature and deeply attached to her kindred, this alienation 
 nearly broke her heart. 
 
 "She had hoped and believed that her parents would 
 soon relent and be reconciled; but they were unyielding. 
 My family also were greatly displeased with my act, but I 
 never told my wife of that. Had it not been for this trou 
 ble, we would have been perfectly happy. Even with that 
 cloud hanging over us, I look back to those days as the 
 sweetest and brightest of my life/ 
 
THE LATIMERS. 567 
 
 "You have not mentioned the lady s name, Major/ 
 said Mr. Reid. "Have you any objection to do so?" 
 
 "Certainly not!" was the reply. "It was Mercy Rhodes. 
 She was the eldest daughter of Jonathan Rhodes, a wealthy 
 and influential tea merchant. He had but two daughters, 
 Mercy and Rebecca." 
 
 "Jonathan Rhodes!" exclaimed Mr. Reid. "Then she 
 must have been the sister of Mrs. Rebecca Oldham." 
 
 "She was," the Major answered. "The gentleman had 
 only two children; daughters both. Rebecca was the 
 younger, and is now the only surviving member of the 
 family. She also married out of meeting as her sister 
 Mercy had done; but though the Society of Friends dis 
 owned her, her parents did not. Their sad experience 
 with their eldest daughter had softened their hearts 
 and perhaps had enlightened their minds. I have 
 reason to believe that they bitterly deplored their course 
 with us. Perhaps, had Mercy lived longer they would have 
 relented. But I had no communication with them, except 
 to inform them of their daughter s death and of the death 
 of our infant. They never made approaches of any sort 
 to me, nor I to them, and the alienation has continued 
 with the Rhodes connection." 
 
 "According to that, then," said Mr. Reid, turning to 
 John, "you are a full cousin of Blanche Oldham and Col. 
 Neville; for Rebecca Rhodes married the youngest brother 
 of Gen. Neville s wife." 
 
 John who had followed the narrative with keen inter 
 est, started and flushed deeply, but said nothing, and his 
 father resumed his story. 
 
 "In the autumn of 1772, I was ordered to Fort Pitt on 
 special duty. The Colonies were then almost in a condi 
 tion of revolt over the revenue laws, and the Ministry 
 were anxious concerning the condition of the frontier 
 posts, and of the probable attitude of the Indian tribes in 
 case of armed resistance. I was to consult with the Com 
 mandant at Fort Pitt about these matters, and to forward 
 whatever negotiations might be thought necessary. 
 
 "My young wife insisted upon going with me, and I 
 was willing enough, for I knew that, cut off as she was 
 from her kindred, she would be wretched in Philadelphia. 
 It was a rough journey at that early day; but we had a 
 strong escort and pleasant fellow-travellers, and the glory 
 
568 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 of the American October was upon the landscape. Every 
 thing was strange and new, which made the trip a con 
 tinual pleasure to us both. We reached Fort Pitt in No 
 vember, 1772, and I at once reported to the commander. 
 Among the villagers, however, I was known as a Mr. 
 Eglinton, engaged in establishing trading posts for a Fur 
 Company. I bought a bit of land and built a cabin on the 
 banks of a little stream called Two Mile Eun, that flows 
 into the Allegheny River. 
 
 "Here we spent a happy winter, though at times it wa? 
 lonely enough for Mercy, for my duties compelled me to 
 make several long journeys into the backwoods. But I had 
 brought with, me a steady middle-aged Scotchwoman 
 named Jane Campbell, who was a most faithful companion 
 and attendant, and to whom I could confidently commit 
 the care of her whom I held dearest. 
 
 "In May, 1773, our child was born. A few bright days 
 followed. How happy the little mother was, and how 
 proud of her fine, big baby boy! But soon she sickened 
 with fever, and in two weeks after the baby s birth, I 
 buried her in the graveyard of the First Church, whose 
 site adjoins that of Trinity Church in the plot of ground 
 granted to those congregations by the Penn proprietors. 
 
 "Two weeks afterwards, while I was at the Fort, a 
 storm suddenly arose. I hurried homeward, but ere reach 
 ing the cabin my course was stayed by such a downpour as 
 I had never seen. A cloudburst had broken above the 
 hills, and the little Run that threaded so quietly the 
 meadow before my door had become in a few moments an 
 angry torrent. When at last I reached a point where I 
 could look upon the site of my cabin, I saw only a broad 
 sheet of fiercely running water. Not a trace of my home 
 remained. That hour and that spot are wrought into my 
 memory so deeply by the awful agony of my soul, that T 
 recall the whole scene as vividly as if it had happened 
 yesterday. I could only stand helplessly there in the rain 
 and wind, and gaze at the flood raging before me, and toss 
 my arms wildly and cry out for my child. I seemed for 
 saken of God. I was tempted in my misery to rush into 
 the cruel waters, and let them engulf me also. But hope, 
 the barest shadow of a hope that something might have 
 happened, withheld me. Perhaps, the good Scotch nurse 
 to whose care the baby had been entrusted, might have 
 foreseen the flood and escaped in time? 
 
THE LATIHERS. 569 
 
 "Alas! It was a vain hope. When the waters went 
 down, which they did almost as quickly as they had arisen, 
 not a fragment of my house remained. The whole home 
 stead from the cabin to the border of the stream was a level 
 of yellow mud. We found nurse Campbell s naked body 
 wedged between the branches of a tree. A neighbor whose 
 cabin was on the hill opposite us had seen her shortly be 
 fore the cloud-burst sitting in the open porch reading 
 and rocking the cradle beside her. When the flood began 
 to roll down the ravine, fearing for our cabin, which stood 
 upon the flat, this neighbor ran out to look. He saw Jane 
 running towards the stable, and stopping at the door as if to 
 open it. Then a mighty wall of water intervened, and he 
 saw no more. 
 
 "We inferred that the nurse, seeing the waters come up 
 to the stable which stood much nearer to the run, and hav 
 ing no idea of what had happened, and perceiving -that the 
 cattle might be made uncomfortable, had run to open the 
 door and let them out, intending to come back to the child. 
 But the flood overtook her. 
 
 "The edge of the torrent, pushing up toward the hill 
 side, must have lifted up the cradle with the sleeping child 
 within it and the Bible where Jane Campbell had dropped 
 it, and floated it out of the open porch, and borne it upon 
 the quieter margin of the inundation to the river, and so on 
 to the place where the Latimers found it. It seems to me 
 little less than a miracle that it could have been safely car 
 ried such a distance. But I have long ago learned that 
 the marvelous is a permanent factor both in the preserva 
 tion and the destruction of human life. Above all yes, I 
 dare not doubt it! Some good angel of God must Jiave 
 guided the little vessel. 
 
 "Gentlemen, there is little more to tell. In a few days 
 I left my Western post. Indeed, there was no more for me 
 to do, that I was willing to do, and I returned to the East. 
 By that time the Boston Tea Party, as it is commonly 
 called, had occurred, and the country was full of excite 
 ment. The British Government was stubbornly and blindly 
 bent upon that policy which eventually led to the Revolu 
 tion. 
 
 "I was in sympathy with the colonists in their conten 
 tion for liberty, as were many British officers, and some of 
 the noblest and best of the citizens of England and Scot- 
 
570 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 land. Shortly afterwards I received directions from Gen. 
 Gage, then in Boston, to go to the West on secret service. 
 The instructions which I received thoroughly aroused my 
 indignation. They were little less than to foment hostili 
 ties among the Indian tribes against the frontier settle 
 ments, and to turn hordes of cruel savages upon the help 
 less border. No doubt it was a policy of diversion and 
 retaliation which the tactics of war may sometimes sanc 
 tion. But my conscience and heart revolted against it. I 
 threw up my commission, and when the Revolution began 
 in earnest, offered my sword to General Washington. 
 
 "You know, gentlemen, that I served during the war 
 with some degree of fidelity on the side of the colonists, and 
 since independence was won, I have given myself to busi 
 ness. I have lived quietly and alone. I could not quite 
 shake off the shock of my double sorrow. But the old love 
 and the old joy will live again in this resurrection of the 
 son whom I have so long mourned as dead." 
 
 CHAPTEE LVIL 
 
 FATHEK AND SON. 
 
 It was a striking looking trio that issued from the Brad 
 ford mansion and walked along Arch Street and down 
 Third. At Market Street, Mr. Eeid bade his companions 
 good morning, but not before he had received a charge to 
 call soon at the Major s office, since this day s disclosures 
 had made his professional services necessary in the testa 
 mentary disposal of certain properties and values. 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure!" was the cordial response. 
 "A worthy charity or two may suffer by the change. But 
 you are quite right, sir. Charity begins at home. And 
 (laying his hand upon John s arm) that blessing is now 
 yours. A man without a family may keep house, but can 
 not have a home. Good bye! You have both gained at 
 least an inch this morning, I verily believe. I will be 
 utterly overshadowed if I stay longer with such sons of 
 Anak. Au revoir!" 
 
 He folded and rolled his hands in a transport of satis 
 faction, and flung them toward his stalwart companions as 
 
THE LATIMERS. 571 
 
 if for the moment happy to toss such a burden off his mind. 
 His clerks got a great surprise when he reached his office. 
 Something extraordinary happened. For a full half hour 
 the lawyer s books and papers lay untouched before him 
 on the table, while Mr. Justus Eeid sat in a brown study 
 thrumming the table with his fingers, a look of vast content 
 upon his face, and ever and anon smiling and nodding his 
 head as though pleasant thoughts were having a merry 
 chase around his brain. 
 
 The senior clerk thrust his quill behind his ear, and 
 left his high stool to submit to his chief an important docu 
 ment which he was copying. "Beg pardon, sir?" he said at 
 last, seeing that he was unnoticed. 
 
 "Certainly, certainly!" said Mr. Reid smiling at the 
 corner of the ceiling. "Excellent!" And kept on softly 
 whistling and beating time with his fingers. Thereat the 
 senior clerk w r ent back to his stool, rubbed his bald poll in 
 perplexity, smoothed down the green baize apron that pro 
 tected his well-rounded waistcoat, and waited. 
 
 "Odd, this!" he muttered. "I never before saw the 
 chief even the least bit 0-be-joyful. And at this time o 
 day, too!" He shook his head in solemn deprecation of 
 such impropriety. 
 
 "Fuddled, by jings!" quoth the junior clerk leaning 
 across the desk and eyeing Mr. Reid furtively. A broad 
 grin wrinkled his cadaverous face, for he was delighted to 
 catch the chief in a weakness for which he had often taken 
 his clerk to task. 
 
 At last the lawyer pulled himself together with a sud 
 den jerk, and looked around as one who had just awak 
 ened from sleep. The keen, accustomed business glance 
 came back to his eyes. 
 
 "Here, Mr. Scribely!" he exclaimed briskly. "We have 
 lost two good hours this morning. AVe must buckle to it 
 now. Have you those papers ready? Ah, yes, to be sure." 
 Then he bent to the day s work; and there was no more 
 dreaming until he sipped his Madeira after dinner, and 
 listened in an absent way to Mrs. Reid s voluble comments 
 upon the rare news about "the Montgomerys." 
 
 As for the clerks they concluded that some strange mis 
 take had been made in their diagnosis of the lawyer s case. 
 Mr. Scribely cast sundry anxious looks towards the chiefs 
 desk during the day, and as often shook his head gravely, 
 
572 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 "Too much head work!" he ejaculated. "Ah; there s a 
 brain for you!" 
 
 " Say, Scribely," quoth the junior clerk, "we was all out 
 about the chief, wasn t we? Sober as a parson, by jings! 
 I m kind-lib, sorry for it, too. Just for once, you know. 
 Hey?" To which Mr. Scribely s only response, his dignity 
 being offended by such familiar address, was the queak, 
 queak of his goose-quill pen as he vigorously drove it across 
 the paper. 
 
 John and his father walked silently up the street side 
 by side. Their hearts were throbbing with a strange glad 
 ness, the ecstasy of a new-born affection. Friends and 
 acquaintances of Major Montgomery returned his quiet 
 but cordial greeting as they passed upon the sidewalk; but 
 stopped, and looked back, and wondered to see the Major s 
 double pacing the pavement at his side. That morning 
 John had left off his scout s uniform, and donned a suit 
 in the ordinary fashion of the time, differing little from 
 that which his father wore. This change of dress made the 
 likeness between the two men more striking. 
 
 The Major would have taken his son immediately home, 
 but John must first have him to the Indian Queen, where he 
 knew that Andy eagerly awaited the outcome of the visit 
 to Mr. Boudinot. To this the Major heartily consented 
 when he learned the warmth and depth and fidelity of 
 Andy s friendship. 
 
 That worthy had grown somewhat weary during the 
 long delay. He had got his few belongings together and 
 stowed within his saddle bags ready to leave for the West 
 on the next day by the Pittsburg stage, which had lately 
 been set up. But that was a brief service. He had ex 
 hausted the contents of a pitcher of home-brewed beer ; 
 which he had hospitably shared with the landlord. Then, 
 with time hanging heavily upon his hands, he betook him 
 to the stable. The hostler, and the stable boy, and two 
 idle urchins of the sort wont to be attracted to such a place 
 by the savory odor of mews, were gathered about him, as 
 he smoked his pipe and spun a yarn of Indian adventure. 
 Of course, Capt. Jack Latimer figured therein promi 
 nently, and it is to be feared not altogether accurately. 
 But the audience was none the worse for Andy s wide 
 swing of imagination, and the story was doubtless much 
 the better. Just as the adventure had reached its climax 
 
THE LATIMERS. 573 
 
 and close, the stable boy shouted with a wild whoop and 
 wave of the horsebrush over his head, 
 
 "There he is now!" 
 
 The hostler and the two urchin amateurs started as if 
 some of Captain Jack s Indians had suddenly appeared, 
 and rushed pell-mell to the stable door. Andy withdrew 
 his pipe and followed: but as he glanced toward the gate 
 way quickened his leisurely pace and brushed by the hostler 
 and his aids. He even dropped his pipe in his excitement 
 as he ran through the yard. He stopped face to face with 
 John and his father. For a moment not a word was spoken 
 as Andy looked from one to the other with a subdued awe 
 upon his countenance. Then with the rush of gladness 
 from his heart solemnity fled from his face, and with eyes 
 gleaming with joy, he grasped John s hand. 
 
 "Ah, Jock lad!" he exclaimed. "You don t nade for 
 til say a worred. It spakes for itself. If the gintleman 
 were yourself you couldn t favor him a bit more nor you 
 do. This must be your father, my b y! You have found 
 your father, A m sure." 
 
 "Yes, Andy, you have guessed rightly. This is my 
 father, Major Hugh Montgomery." 
 
 "I am pleased, sir, to meet you!" said the Major, his 
 fine, old-fashioned manners fairly illumined by the hearti 
 ness of his feelings as he warmly shook Andy s hand. "I 
 have already heard somewhat of your long and faithful 
 attachment to my son. I thank you, sir, with all my heart, 
 and I hope you will let me have an opportunity to show my 
 gratitude." 
 
 Andy was not wont to be abashed in the presence of 
 men; but his readiness and volubility for once failed him, 
 and he stood bowing and blushing like a schoolboy, and 
 teasing his hair with his fingers. John relieved his em 
 barrassment by bidding the party into the house; and not 
 until they were seated in John s apartment and the Major s 
 story briefly told, did Andy regain his self-possession. 
 
 "What was the name by which you christened your 
 infant b y?" was one of his first questions. "Faith, it s not 
 much of a baby he is at this prisent; risin sax feet two 
 inches an still agrowin , A do belave." Strangely enough 
 no one had thought, at least no one had spoken of the 
 point which Andy raised. 
 
 "What did we name the lad?" the Major answered. "I 
 
574 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 had no opportunity to get him christened, but we had 
 agreed upon a name. I wanted him called Hugh, an 
 honored family name of the Montgomerys for many 
 
 fenerations, and the mother readily consented. But the 
 ay before her death, knowing no doubt that the end was 
 near, her thoughts turned often and tenderly to her child 
 hood s home. She spoke much of her father, and looking 
 up tenderly at me and then lovingly down at the infant by 
 her side, she asked me if I would mind it very much if the 
 laddie were named Jonathan instead of Hugh? Jonathan 
 being her father s name. No, darling," I said, no indeed! 
 Have it as you wish. Jonathan it shall be. I stooped and 
 kissed the pale little mother, and then the wee red-faced 
 laddie. For the two weeks that my dear wife lived, we 
 called him naught but Jonathan. And so it is written in 
 my Family Bible, in which I made record of the date and 
 day of my marriage, and of Mercy s death, and of the sup 
 posed death of our child. And there you will see it, my 
 son, when you go home. Ah, well!" The strong man 
 signed, and wiped a tear from his eyes, as indeed the 
 others did also. "But, thank God!" he continued, "we will 
 write an addendum thereto; and it will be a happy event, 
 God be praised! And you, sir," turning to Andy, "must 
 come and dine with us, and see the record made." 
 
 Andy was highly pleased with the invitation, but with 
 generous thoughtfulness declined it. "No, no, you must 
 have your first dinner your lones. Sorry a soul should 
 come atween you two at sich a time. And so the b y s 
 name was Jonathan? Well, well! It s not so far out of 
 the way, for the lad was christened John by Dr. McMillan. 
 A mind well when it was done, for he kicked and yelled 
 brawly when the water fell upon him. The gossips 
 threaped Mrs. Latimer that she had pinched the bairn to 
 make him cry; for, siz they, it s good luck for a wean s 
 voice to be h ard in the Kirk at it s bapteesin . Jonathan! 
 Ay, the poor lettle mother had her will after all; for what 
 is John but short for Jonathan? Will ye be after changin 
 the name, think ye?" 
 
 The Major laughed pleasantly, and said they would 
 have to settle that matter later. It would hardly do to 
 have another christening; and if they were to venture on 
 such an impropriety "the infant," perhaps, would have 
 something to say about the name. However, to put that 
 
THE LATIMERS. 575 
 
 matter to rest in the reader s mind, it may here be stated 
 that no change was ever made except to add the paternal 
 name to the old one, and thereafter our hero was known as 
 John Latimer Montgomery. In sooth, however, among his 
 Western friends, it was rarely enough that he was called 
 by the new surname. 
 
 Another point that struck Andy s fancy was the connec 
 tion which John s new relationship established between 
 him and the Nevilles. "Blanche Oldham your cousin?" he 
 exclaimed, "an first cousin at that! Faith, you might a 
 gone furder for kin an fared warse, Mr. Jock. Quare how 
 the Good Bein brings things about! Who d a consated, 
 whan you two uns were first acquaint on that trip down 
 the Ohio, that ye were cousins all unbeknownst? She s a 
 bonny lass, is Miss Blanche, an worthy to have kinship 
 aven with John Latimer, beggin your pardon! A should 
 a said John Montgomery. It sounds oddly, disn t it? It ll 
 be hard wark a-wormin my tongue around the new name, 
 A misdoubt." 
 
 "Don t try it, Andy!" said John. "Keep the old name, 
 Jock. I will always be that to you, dear old fellow, what 
 ever I may be to others." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. John!" Andy responded with great 
 heartiness. "A d prefar to bide by the old name, if it s all 
 the same to you. We ve good authority, indade, for sayin 
 that the old is better. The new name s a grand one, no 
 doubt. Didn t your father Latimer sarve a while with 
 Ginerl Richard Montgomery in the war for Indepandence? 
 Ay, A defy the face o clay to find a better name nor that 
 in the auld country or in the new. But an auld name is 
 iver the tastiest to an auld friend, Major Montgomery. 
 
 "An to think of Captain Jock bein a cousin of Col. 
 Presley Neville! That s not so bad, mebbe. But there s 
 the auld Giner l! Jock Latimer a nevvy til him! Uncle 
 Neville, to be sure! Ha, ha! No doubt, he ll be proud of 
 his new connection, the auld curmudgeon! He thought 
 for to break ye intirely, but it s himself that is broken up. 
 He digged a pit for another, as the Good Book hath it, an 
 he s fallen intil it himself. Ay, there s manny a slip twixt 
 cup an lip. But A misdoubt, A m talkin in riddles to 
 your father here, so A ll e en axplain." 
 
 And explain he did, with high satisfaction, and many a 
 merry quib and sarcastic fling and sundry compliments 
 
576 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 meanwhile to the landlord s home-brewed. The Major 
 was surprised at what he heard, for he knew the Nevilles 
 well, and waxed indignant and even wroth as Andy s tale 
 proceeded. But John mollified his anger, and softened 
 his friend s statements as much as truth would permit. 
 
 "Ay, Capt. Jock, that s you, forsooth! Al ays ginerous 
 an forgivin . An it s quite right; an highly Christian, 
 A ll no deny that. But A go in for the Screeptur policy 
 of forgivin the returnin an penitent prodigal. Whan 
 the Giner l comes back in that fashion Ah well! But it s 
 a brave bit of humble pie he d be atin , whan he h ard at 
 the man he helt too common to aven spake to Blanche 
 Oldham, is his own nevvy! An a Montgomery, at that! 
 A Montgomery as was a mighty fam ly among the notables 
 five centuries afore the Nivilles was thought of. Ay, ay, 
 Giner l, ye wrought your plan out fine to ruin Capt. Jock; 
 but it s been bravely undone for ye. Sure, what comes in 
 over the divil s back goes out under his belly, as ma auld 
 mother uset til say; an she niver taught me truer words 
 nor them. You wouldn t a splashed along in your plans 
 so bold mebbe, if you d a knowed what was comin . Faith, 
 you was wadin in dreggy waters, an got beyant your depth 
 afore you know d it. Axcuse me, gintlemin, but A ll be 
 mighty plazed for til see him flounderin about a bit. De- 
 spisin an parrsecutin his own relation! Ay, but there s 
 a marrciful Providence that sands curses like chickens home 
 to rroost. But letabee, siz I. The Giner l aimed to do ye 
 a harem, but it s only good he s done ye; an we beeta not 
 abuse the bridge that carries us over. Though it s small 
 thanks to the bridge in the prisent case." 
 
 If Andy was exalted to the seventh heaven of satisfac 
 tion over his friend s rare good fortune, Major Montgomery 
 was, in his milder way, highly pleased with Andy. "A most 
 original character!" he exclaimed as John and he walked 
 homeward. "I don t wonder you are so strongly attached 
 to him. A witty dog! How he did score my old comrade 
 Gen. Neville! And his fun is informed with genuine good 
 sense. Does he always quote proverbs as freely as to-day?" 
 
 John laughed. "Proverbs? Yes. I verily believe he 
 thinks and even dreams in proverbs. Wherever he got 
 them all, and how he remembers them, passes my compre 
 hension. He has the accumulated proverbial wisdom of all 
 Ulster at his tongue s end." 
 
THE LATIMERS. 577 
 
 "Which is simply the wisdom of Scotland, once re 
 moved!" the Major interposed. 
 
 "Yes, no doubt. But Andy seems to give the imported 
 articles a peculiar flavor and force native to the soil. At 
 all events, they rarely suffer in either humor or wisdom in 
 the process of transition through Andy s brain. He is a 
 natural genius; and if it had been his good fortune to re 
 ceive an education in his youth, he would have made a man 
 of rare power. He is as true as steel, and as honest as the 
 sun; a man of genuine piety and goodness, with just enough 
 old-fashioned prejudice to give an effective foil to his 
 piquant character. A little too free occasionally with the 
 bottle; but never drunken, and never coarse nor unkind 
 even in his cups. Rare old Andy Burbeck! He ll never 
 lack a friend while I live." 
 
 "Bravo!" exclaimed the Major. "Let me join you in 
 that pledge, for henceforth your friends shall be mine." 
 
 We will not further follow the two men, father and 
 son, as they entered Major Montgomery s house on Spruce 
 Street. Nor will we try to picture the gladsome fussiness 
 of the old housekeeper; the stir of excitement that dis 
 turbed the placid order of the place; the revolution 
 wrought by the coming in of a new, young life; the swift 
 transformation in the Major, in his habits, in his home; 
 the flurried happiness of fitting up John s room; the cosy 
 breakfasts, and hearty dinners, with Andy an early guest, 
 for he was persuaded to defer his journey home another 
 week, and then Mr. Justus Reid and Messrs. Boudinot and 
 Thomson; and other friends, by and by. Nor can we enter 
 upon the long delightful evenings as the two sat chatting 
 in the cool southern porch, around whose sides the fragrant 
 woodbine climbed, while the soft southern breeze brought 
 up to them the scent of roses from the garden. Nor can 
 \\e record the mutual exchange of personal history, as the 
 father learned the story of his son s romantic life in the 
 Western forests, and the son learned the varied incidents 
 of his father s long and honorable and checkered career. 
 All these we must leave the reader to imagine. The 
 month that followed was one of the happiest that the two 
 men had known, or were to know. Sorely grieved the 
 Major was that these incomparable domestic sweets were 
 so soon to cease. 
 
 37 
 
578 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 A PACKET OF LETTERS. 
 
 In the possession of one of the writer s friends is a 
 small leathern-covered box. The leather is dyed red and 
 ornamented with round, brass-headed nails arranged along 
 the sides and angles and over the top in divers geometrical 
 figures. Within the box are bundles of letters folded in the 
 old-fashioned way that our grandsires practiced, with 
 marks and remnants of wafers and sealing-wax along the 
 edges, whose little ragged gaps show where .the precious 
 missives were opened. The paper is brown with age, and 
 some of the letters are darkened by creases and thumb 
 marks that show signs of much handling and frequent 
 reading. Two, at least, bear on the wax well-preserved 
 impressions of the counterpart in miniature of the Mont 
 gomery arms, as engraved upon the bookplate that bore 
 so prominent a part in discovering to John Latimer his 
 parentage. 
 
 In sooth, these letters are the property of a grand 
 daughter of that worthy gentleman, who gave them to 
 her when he was a stalwart, white-haired man, delighting 
 to tell the child tales of the Western borders and waiting 
 to pass beyond this earthly Border into the Fields Illimit 
 able. To the courtesy of this lady the reader and author 
 are indebted for the privilege of reading what follows. In 
 the copying some liberties have been taken with the spell 
 ing, which is only what our ancestors themselves were 
 wont to do, and sometimes to a degree that would sorely 
 prejudice their standing did they live in these exacter 
 days. Some of the profuse capitalization has also been in 
 part at least revised, and the grammar altered, if not im 
 proved, in accordance with modern usage. Otherwise, the 
 reader has these old-time letters just as they came to the 
 author, with all the odor of the past upon them, yet with 
 the freshness of that present which is continually being 
 renewed in the unchanging emotions, affections, hopes 
 and fears of humanity. 
 
THE LATIMERS. 579 
 
 LETTER No. 1. 
 From Blanche Oldham to Fanny McCormack. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, May 21, A. D. 1795. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIEND FANNY: I take my pen to write 
 you a few lines before the weekly Western stage leaves 
 for Carlisle and Pittsburg. There are great News for you 
 to hear; indeed the City has been all agog with it. John 
 Latimer has found his Father! And what is more wonder 
 ful, he turns out to be my own full Cousin! This is how it 
 all happened. * * * Is not that a strange Story? It 
 reads like a romance, and you may know into what a State 
 of Excitement it has thrown us. My poor dear Papa was 
 the youngest of the Oldham Family of whom Aunt Neville 
 was the oldest child. So you see that in spite of all Uncle 
 Neville s prejudices against Cousin John how odd it 
 seems to call him so! he is one of the Family Connection. 
 I knew that Major Montgomery had married Mamma s 
 oldest Sister, who had died years ago; and that there was 
 something that quite separated him from our Family. 
 But I never knew the Particulars until they all came out 
 in proving Cousin John s birth. There is no doubt about 
 it at all. The lawyers have gone over the Evidence, and 
 everything is made as plain as can be. And to think that 
 the little baby Things that he wore should have kept all 
 this time, and should have led to his Discovery! Major 
 Montgomery is a highly respectable person, indeed, and 
 comes of a very good old family. I believe he claims to 
 have descended from one of the ancient Scotch or Irish 
 Gentry. Mamma says he is well off, so that Cousin John 
 is thought to be very Fortunate. 
 
 He has been to see us once with his Father, and the 
 old Family trouble has been reconciled. I like Major 
 Montgomery (who, of course, is my Uncle), very much; 
 and Mamma says he is a fine Gentleman with courtly 
 Manners, and reminds her of the old Stock. That, you 
 know, is the highest praise Mamma could pass upon any 
 person. After this visit, John came to see us by himself. 
 Poor fellow! he seems sad. It is hard for him to get set 
 tled into the new Soil, as he says. He is very fond of his 
 mother (Mrs. Latimer, I mean) and his sister Meg. It 
 seems like tearing up the Roots of his past Life to give 
 them up as his own kin. He will never cease to love them 
 as his mother and sister, I am sure, from what he says. 
 
580 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 He talks of going West again; can t be content in the 
 East. Mother fears his roving Habits in the Forest have 
 spoiled him for Steady Life here. But that must soon 
 pass away. There is something else, I am certain, and 
 you will pardon me, dearest, if I speak of it * * * 
 Of course, I would not have told anyone but you all this, 
 and I greatly fear you may think it unmaidenly to speak 
 of it even to you. But somehow I always feel like un 
 bosoming all my Perplexities as well as my Pleasures to 
 my dear Fanny. I think I must have learned that from 
 Cousin John. * * * I daresay if We had known more 
 of one another at that time, instead of being so long and so 
 far separated, those Feelings which were excited in my 
 Breast during that first Meeting on the Ohio Eiver and the 
 stirring Incidents that followed, might have grown into a 
 deep and strong Affection. 
 
 Then Uncle Neville was very bitter against Cousin 
 John, without the least reason in the world; and Aunt 
 Neville has such high notions about Family, and all that. 
 Really, I have no Patience with her in these Matters! But 
 dear Mamma is greatly influenced by her, and indeed 
 feels a great deal in the same Way. That s the way with all 
 our best Philadelphia Families; they are dreadfully set 
 on Good Blood and Respectable Connections. I never 
 believed half nor quarter of the Stories told about John; 
 no indeed! But I must confess they did influence me some. 
 Then we were so far away from one another; and when we 
 met, as it happened afterwards, I thought he was distant, 
 and maybe cold. Poor fellow! I daresay he felt but, I 
 must not enter on thit again. 
 
 I am glad that Capt. Burd and he are great Friends. 
 The Captain thinks he is the very Soul of Honor and Cour 
 age, one of the Manliest Men he has met. That is true of 
 Capt. Burd himself, I am sure. It is pleasant to hear them 
 talk. But the Captain is all bubbling over with joy these 
 days, and Cousin John is so gentle and sad even with all 
 his bright and pleasant ways. Mamma says she never saw 
 a young man with finer Manners. He is quite like his 
 Father in that, and she wonders at it. But Blood will Tell, 
 as she says. Ah me! if some Folk had found that out 
 sooner, who knows what might have happened? But it 
 was for the Best and truly Providential. * * * 
 
 And now dear Fanny, you must believe me the one 
 
THE LATIMERS. 581 
 
 Thing that influenced me more than anything else was that 
 Discovery. Indeed it was not hard to see that you loved 
 the very ground he walked on. To think that he was so 
 stupid as never to suspect it! Sister, indeed! But I ve 
 noticed that some of these very Clever Men are regular 
 bats and moles in some things. I am sure, my dearest 
 Fanny, that you, and only you, could make him Truly 
 Happy, Happier far than I. You are just suited for one 
 another, and just meant for one another, I do truly believe. 
 And down in his Heart somewhere there is a a Some 
 thing, that some day will ripen into True Love, Stronger 
 and Sweeter than any he has ever Felt. * * * That 
 is what I pray for day by day, and I believe that now he 
 knows how it is with Capt. Burd and myself, he will find it 
 out for himself. * * * Capt. Burd thinks He is sure 
 to be ordered West before long, and then I will be once 
 more at Pittsburg, and we will have how many Things 
 to talk about! 
 
 Your loving Friend, 
 
 BLANCHE. 
 
 P. S. My Engagement was announced on the day 
 before Cousin John s trial, and the Wedding will be early 
 in the Autumn. How I wish you could come on! Capt. 
 Burd s Evidence at the Trial was very Strong, and just 
 broke down the Prosecution. He says Andy was at his 
 best. It was better than a Play to hear him; and Mr. 
 Rawle, the Prosecutor, was greatly pleased with Andy, too. 
 He came to see me, and is rollicking full of Joy. Dear 
 me! he thinks there is no one like Capt. Jock, and he says 
 his Peggy thinks there is only one woman in the world 
 worthy of him, and she well, dear, just look into your 
 mirror, and you will see her! 
 
 LETTEK No. 2. 
 From Blanche Oldliam to Fanny McCormack. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, June 23, A. D. 1795. 
 *********** 
 
 I hope the Things which I sent you by Andy Burbeck, who 
 left two weeks ago, have safely reached you. He seemed 
 to have as much Pleasure in taking as I had in sending 
 Them. It is Wonderful how much Improved the Traffic 
 between Philadelphia and Pittsburg has become since I 
 first rode over the Mountains. Capt. Burd says He thinks 
 
582 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 there will soon be a tri-weekly Stage to the West. Think 
 of it! But one must allow something for His Enthusiasm 
 about our Country and its Progress. * * * If all is 
 true that I hear, you will see Cousin John before long. It 
 is said that President Washington has commissioned him 
 to carry some Important Despatches to General Wayne 
 whose Army is somewhere out in the far West, Ever so 
 far; you will know better than I Where it is. It is some 
 thing about the Treaty with the Indians they are making at 
 a place called Greenville. The President wants Someone 
 who can be trusted for Intelligence, and who knows the 
 country and can travel rapidly- It seems Cousin John has 
 a great reputation as a Scout. Capt. Burd says it is a great 
 Compliment to him. I think He would like to go along 
 if it was not for the Wedding; and maybe if it had not been 
 for that, President Washington might have selected Him. 
 I am sure no one can be Braver or Wiser; though perhaps 
 Cousin John knows more of the woods as he was brought 
 up in them, almost. 
 
 Major Montgomery does not favor the plan, but John 
 is resolved to go, the Captain says, and the President s 
 wish goes a Great Way, of course. The Major thinks of 
 going as far as Pittsburg with John. He fancies it would 
 be a good place for Investments; and then he is so devoted 
 to his Son and would like to see as much of him as possible. 
 * * * Mamma has just bought the Stuff for my Wed 
 ding Gown. I am sure you would like to hear about it. 
 Ever your affectionate Friend, 
 BLANCHE. 
 
 P. S. It is all true. John will go West by the very 
 Stage that carries this Letter. He came to bid me good 
 bye. It was very sad, poor Fellow! I am truly sorry for 
 him. He says he don t know when he will be back, which 
 I thought was very strange. He brought me a little Box 
 for a Wedding Present, he said, as he could not be here: 
 and when I opened it, you may judge what a Surprise I got! 
 It was a Pearl Brooch! Such Beauties, and so Large, and 
 the Loveliest Setting! I couldn t help crying, and when 
 he said good bye, I just reached up and kissed him. The 
 Captain said "well done, Blanche!" and I am sure he mean* 
 it, too. Why should I not kiss my own Cousin? John must 
 have felt sad at going, too, for I saw just a little Tear on his 
 Eyelids when he stooped the big Fellow he is! to get m^y 
 Kiss. 
 
THE LATIMEES. 
 
 583 
 
 LETTER No. 3. 
 
 From Capt. John Latimer Montgomery to Major Hugh 
 Montgomery, Spruce Street above Sixth, Philadelphia. 
 GREENVILLE, OHIO TERRITORY, 
 
 August 21, A. D. 1795. 
 
 MY DEAR AND RESPECTED FATHER: An Army-mail is 
 about to leave this point, and I take advantage of the 
 occasion to advise you of my condition and occupations. 
 I have been and am in my usual excellent health. Sick 
 ness, thank God! I have never known, and but little pain 
 (at least of body) beyond occasional trifling hurts that 
 borderers are exposed to. But if I were ever so doncie, a 
 trip into the open prairies and wild woods would be sure 
 to bring me to myself again. I am never better than when 
 out upon a Scout. I was fortunate enough to get my Des 
 patches into General Wayne s hands with unusual 
 Promptness, having made the shortest journey ever yet 
 accomplished between Pittsburg and this point. This feat, 
 of course, gratified me and won me some Applause. I 
 shall return in a few days with a Copy of the Treaty with 
 the Indians fully signed, which I am to deliver to the 
 Commandant at Fort Pitt to be forwarded thence to the 
 Government at Philadelphia. I daresay you will be dis 
 appointed that I do not go through to the Capital, and 
 indeed, for some Reasons I could wish to do so. But I 
 have accepted an important and delicate Service which 
 will take me to the Mississippi; first to St. Louis and 
 thence into the Spanish Possessions at New Orleans. This 
 will consume the entire Winter, and it will be an agree 
 able change to pass these Months in that warm Climate. 
 I do not expect to get back to Pittsburg before the Spring 
 of 1796, and am doubtful if I get to Philadelphia again 
 before the Summer or Autumn of that year. You know 
 my Reasons for this long delay * * * I will not say 
 anything more on this point, having already opened up 
 candidly and fully the State of my Feelings. As matters 
 now are, I cannot return to Philadelphia. If Capt. Ruel 
 Burd and his Bride (as I heard it rumored before I left) 
 are to be stationed at Pittsburg next Spring, I would find 
 it too trying upon my feelings to be there. All this seems 
 foolish and unmanly to myself, and I am therefore all the 
 more grateful that you were able to exercise so much 
 Charity and Sympathy with me in the deep wound which 
 
584 THE LATIMEKS. 
 
 my heart has received. I have struggled and am strug 
 gling against the feeling, and believe I will overcome it in 
 the end; but I am happier for the present in the Solitudes 
 of these distant Wilds, engaged in the Activities and Ad 
 ventures of my Life as a Scout. * * * 
 
 I was vastly pleased that Mother Latimer (you will par 
 don me if my heart still clings fondly to that name) made 
 such an agreeable impression upon you, and you were 
 able to discover so soon the solid worth and strong natural 
 gifts of this noble lady. For such I may surely call her, 
 if not by external Polish of Society, yet by native Endow 
 ment and Grace. She is well worthy of your Esteem, and 
 I know how greatly she enjoyed having you as her Guest 
 along with myself and the others. As for sister Meg, her 
 delight in having you at her Wedding was only second to 
 that of having her "brother John." She is a most attrac 
 tive character, none the less so for the peculiar Charm of 
 Simplicity and traces of Forest wildness which still cling 
 about her. You have inspired her with a high Degree of 
 Eeverence as a wise and good Chief, and therewith also a 
 strong Affection as my Father. It was amusing to hear 
 her propound a problem that had sorely puzzled her un 
 tutored Mind. If I am her brother, and on that point her 
 Indian notions of adoption admit of no doubt, and you are 
 my Father, are you not then also her Father? That was 
 her quandary. I did not venture to solve the question 
 positively, but comforted her with the Assurance that you 
 would doubtless feel highly complimented to have such a 
 comely lady as Mrs. Morton Sheldon for a Daughter. 
 
 I thank you for your kind offer of money, but my wants 
 are so few here, that I am more than able to provide for 
 them. Indeed, I have sold a large pack of furs, gathered 
 last season, the proceeds of which I have invested in Lots 
 in the new town called Cincinnati on the north Bank of 
 the Ohio, opposite the Licking River. It already has 
 several hundred Inhabitants, and promises to be an im 
 portant and growing Point. I expect to spend a Month or 
 two in the late Winter hunting with a few of my pioneer 
 Friends, and hope to get a goodly Eeward therefor from 
 the fur Traders. Thus you see I am not likely to need 
 your kindly proffered Aid, but am none the less grateful 
 for the same. 
 
 I have noted the point raised by Mr. Justus Eeid and 
 
THE LATIMERS. 585 
 
 communicated by you without comment, since as you say 
 it involves my own interests solely. The lawyer may be 
 correct in his view that since Mr. Jonathan Rhodes died 
 intestate I have a good claim upon my Mother s share of 
 the Estate. But if the case were already decided, and the 
 money proffered me, I would reject it. My Grandfather s 
 strange neglect to make a Will may have been caused by 
 his Satisfaction with the provision which the Law would 
 make for his Family in that event. Certainly, he never reck 
 oned on any other heir than his Wife and surviving 
 Daughter Mrs. Oldham. My Mother was dead, and my 
 Existence not even suspected. Whatever my supposed 
 Right in Law may be, I have none in Morals or in Honor. 
 I would scorn to touch a penny of such ill-gotten gear. 
 In truth, even were that difficulty out of the way, I would 
 never consent to better my own estate at the expense of 
 my Cousin Blanche. I now ask, nay, I demand that the 
 matter be dropped at once. And please tell Mr. Reid 
 under no circumstances to allow Blanche or her Mother 
 even to suspect that this question has been mooted. 
 
 Accept the most sincere Expressions of my continued 
 Respect and filial Esteem, and believe me, 
 
 Your Dutiful and Affectionate Son, 
 
 JOHN LATIMER MONTGOMERY. 
 
 LETTER No. 4. 
 From Major Hugh Montgomery to Capt. John Montgomery. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, June 16, A. D. 1796. 
 MY DEAR Sox: I Avrote you quite a long letter from 
 Pittsburg whither I went on my second visit early in the 
 Spring as soon as the Roads were opened. I addressed it 
 to Cincinnati, thinking it might catch you there on your 
 way up the Ohio River. I need not tell you how greatly 
 I was disappointed at not finding you there; but the 
 two letters from you came to my hand through the Polite 
 ness of Mrs. Latimer, to whose care you had sent them. 
 These gave me much desired Information as to your where 
 abouts and doings; and the Contents of your last Letter 
 added to my Satisfaction, and mitigated my Disappoint 
 ment at not seeing you and my not being able to await 
 your Coming. I hail with heartiest Joy your Announce 
 ment to abandon your roving Life in the Woods, and take 
 up some settled Occupation! Need I say how strongly I 
 
586 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 yearn to have you near me that you may solace with your 
 Companionship the closing years of my Life. Yet, I trust 
 I am not altogether selfish in this, for I am well aware that 
 your future Interests as well as your highest Usefulness 
 will be greatly forwarded by the change in your Mode of 
 Life. * * * In view of the uncertainty of the Mails, 
 I may repeat some of the News written in my former 
 Letter. Your sister Meg is the Mother of a Fine Boy, and 
 both Mother and Infant are doing well. There was some 
 serious Discussion over a proper Name for the little Man, 
 but at last filial regard triumphed, and the lad is to be 
 christened Luke. But should the Parents be blessed with 
 another Son, you may be confident it will be a Namesake of 
 Yours. Mrs. Sheldon is worthy of the high regard in which 
 you hold her, and her husband is a person of remarkably 
 strong character. He is prospering finely, and is already 
 one of the most substantial Landholders in Washington 
 County. 
 
 Your Indian friend Featherfoot is still a protege of 
 Mrs. Latimer, but I learn is beginning to decline in health. 
 It is hard to transplant these wild natures into the Soil of 
 Civilization. But the good Squaw seems anxious to join 
 her warrior Husband in the Happy Hunting Grounds. 
 Dungy continues to be the invaluable majordomo of Mrs. 
 Latimer s Establishment, and begs me to send his duty to 
 Massa John and say that Marion is in prime condition. 
 "Jist tell Cap n John," says he, nodding his head and roll 
 ing up the whites of his eyes, "dat ole Dungy keeps Marion 
 all ready for him when he gets home; an dat he can gallop 
 over to Canonsburg in forty minutes an not hurt him a bit, 
 an be better for it, as de Cap n will be hisself, to say nomn 
 of oder folkses." I am sure I do not understand what 
 occult meaning lies in the old negro s Message, but he evi 
 dently was greatly pleased over it, and went away chuck 
 ling within himself and shaking his sides with suppressed 
 Pleasure. 
 
 Mrs. Latimer insisted that I should again be her guest, 
 but I could not bring myself to tax her Hospitality, and 
 so found pleasant quarters in the Maine House. But I often 
 called, as Mrs. Morton Sheldon was on her first visit witl 
 the Baby to its Grandmother, and Mr. Sheldon was There 
 also. I found it Very Pleasant. By the way, I was more 
 surprised at the Superior character of Mrs. Latimer than on 
 
THE LATIMERS. 587 
 
 my first trip to Pittsburg nearly a Year ago. She is cer 
 tainly a Remarkable Woman, full of Information, and a 
 most piquant and original way of imparting it. Though 
 not possessing great advantages of Education, her original 
 Powers have been so well cultivated that she would not do 
 discredit to the best Society. For that matter, even in 
 Education she is not behind many of our leading Society 
 Ladies in Philadelphia. Moreover, she is in the Prime of 
 Life, and is certainly one of the most comely Matrons that 
 I have seen in these parts, or even in Philadelphia, which is 
 justly famous for its Handsome Ladies. I do not wonder, 
 since I have corne to know her and her daughter Meg, that 
 this Western country has such strong Attractions for you 
 I fear I shall never be able to overcome the Attraction and 
 get you all to myself, unless I form some kind of an Alli 
 ance with the powers that be at Pittsburg, and transfer the 
 Attraction to my own Home! 
 
 I frequently met Gen. Neville and his son the Colonel, 
 and indeed all the Connection. I was at first disposed to 
 resent the General s action towards you; but he was so 
 polite to me and expressed himself so kindly toward you 
 (on which Subject he appears to have experienced a change 
 of heart) that I concluded it better to bury the hatchet. 
 Mrs. Latimer, however, is not so indulgent, and still feels 
 very bitter, which perhaps is not to be wondered at. Pitts- 
 burg is growing rapidly and everything there is moving 
 briskly and showing great signs of increasing Prosperity. 
 A party asked me about your bit of Ground, and wondered 
 if you would sell it? But I would not advise you to do so 
 yet. I am pleased to know that your Venture in Cincin 
 nati holdings is likely to turn out well. I would advise you, 
 if this reaches you in time, to put all your ready money in 
 other desirable lots. Mrs. Latimer I may say, has shown 
 great Business Shrewdness in her Investments, though 
 she has been well advised by Mr. Brackenridge. Her Prop 
 erty has rapidly advanced, and if discreetly managed will 
 make her in a few years a Woman of considerable Fortune, 
 quite equal, indeed, if not Superior to my own. That, 
 however, I trust is large enough for the Happiness of my 
 self and Son. Yet, if what I learn be not exaggerated, he 
 has inherited a goodly share of Ancestral canniness from 
 both the Scotch and Quaker sides, and promises to do so 
 well for himself that I suspect I might recall Mr. Justus 
 
588 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 Reid and restore to divers Charities some of the Bequests 
 expunged from a former Will. 
 
 Your adopted Mother showed much concern over your 
 future Welfare. She seems to love you as tenderly and 
 strongly as though you were her own born Son. I sin 
 cerely pity her. When talking of your return to Philadel 
 phia and final separation from her, she could not conceal 
 her Grief. Truly I feel as if Something were due to her long 
 and loving Devotion, and that such sacred Feelings ought 
 not to be rudely dealt with. Yet how can it be helped? A 
 father surely has the best right to his own Son. But the 
 Lady s sincere grief and deep motherly Affection have 
 moved my pity as well as Admiration. She eyidently 
 thinks you will not be happy and quite settled until you 
 are married to some Worthy Woman, and I suspect she 
 has some match-making project for you in her Brain. No 
 doubt Marriage is the best Estate for all men, though my 
 long widowerhood would seem to contradict that Opinion. 
 But even if the old wound should be healed (and time com 
 poses all such hurts of the affections), I hope you will not 
 be hasty in your choice, nor allow yourself to be unduly 
 influenced by others. Your Happiness is a matter of the 
 highest Concern to me; and as Marriage may well add 
 greatly thereto, so also it might bring into one s home a 
 life-long bitterness and burden. 
 
 Your affectionate father, 
 HUGH MONTGOMERY. 
 
 In preparing the next following letter for the printer, 
 the author has been embarrassed as to how far his censor 
 ship would justify alteration of its matter and form. By 
 such changes as he has ventured upon, he does not imply 
 that honest Andy s phonetic and original methods of 
 spelling and divers rhetorical peculiarities are in the least 
 inferior to the revised text. But the prejudices of readers 
 are so pronounced in these matters, that not only in kind 
 liness to their feelings, but in order to preserve their 
 favorable opinion of this admirable character, some degree 
 of revision has been attempted. It is hoped that the racy 
 flavor of Andy s style has not thereby been edited quite 
 away. If the personality of the letter-writer appears occa 
 sionally to be somewhat confused, and certain monologues 
 and dialogues not usually inserted in letters are herein 
 
THE LATIMERS. 589 
 
 presented, the reader will be good enough to remember 
 that Mr. Burbeck had somewhat the reputation of a genius 
 in the parts where he was best known. As genius is allowed 
 some eccentricities, and occasionally is applauded for strik 
 ing out into new lines in literary method, as well as in 
 other fields of human activity, the author has not felt that 
 he would be justified in eliminating these peculiarities. In 
 short, he has left parts of the letters as they appear in the 
 original autograph. 
 
 LETTEK No. 5. 
 
 PITTSBUKG, PAY., Sevinteen hunder-96. 
 To the Honorble Capt. John Latimer Montgomery, Esq.: 
 
 HOXORBLE SIR AND DEAR JOCK: I take my pen in 
 hand, bad luck to it! (the pen I mane, for it s a spluttery 
 one) to write you these few lines, and hope your Honor is 
 the same. P. S. If them addrisses and Titles is not all 
 right, we ast your pardon (that s Peggy an me); I jist 
 wanted to begin "dear Jock," but Peggy threeped me it 
 wouldn t do, an made me git in them high-an -mightys, 
 which is your desarts an more too, but pesky bothersome 
 to handle. Howsomiver, I got in Dear Jock in spite of her, 
 an I won t scratch it out, though it s spattered a bit, but 
 that s the pen, bad cess til it! But he ain t no pernickety 
 popinjay, says I, if he has struck a broad trail of good luck, 
 but jist the same ole Jock as iver. As I laid out to say, me 
 an Peggy s pretty hearty; an so is Bouse, an Bounce an 
 Betty, though the last litter of pups is a rother mangey 
 lot. I reckon it comes of grievin for your bein aw r ay so 
 onconscionably long. They hain t had a reg lar out-an -out 
 jig since you left. So you see you re missed by high an 
 low. Like master like man, folks say, which is true of a 
 dog as well as a man, says I; an that s why our fambly is 
 younanimous in sendin love to Cap n Jock an wishin 
 him a safe an suddent return. 
 
 We ve moved over to Pittsburg; for the ferryin biz- 
 ness has been jist royal; an I was kep a-goin so stiddy 
 that Peggy wouldn t stand it, no more would Bounce an 
 Betty, bein jelous (that s Peggy I mane) seein there s so 
 manny fine lasses around Pittsburg. Witch isn t a ward 
 of troot in it, an lie knows it. It was the tavvirns, more 
 belike! But I muss say he s gittin a long well, and is a 
 savin upp munny. An I can niver be two greatful for 
 ewer Farther s kvneness in lavein of him half the Feree. 
 
590 THE LATIMERS. 
 
 Dear Jock, Peggy writ that while I was out restin a 
 spell, for this ritein s offal hard wark. It makes a feller 
 sweat wuus n polein up strame. So don t you mind, for 
 you know Peggy pritty well. God bless her bright eyes! 
 P. S. That s for her, you see, for she will read over my 
 shoulder an korreck my letter, sayin I don t know how 
 to spell! Well, says I, Peggy, my love, I know someone 
 as can talk a whole libary an not spell a page korreck 
 witch isn t meant for her, leastways not to rite it out. 
 Well, we moved to Pittsburg and is comfortable enough, 
 considerin . An Peggy couldn t live without bein near 
 til Mrs. Latimer, which I don t blame her for. 
 
 All your friends here are hearty, an some as aint here. 
 That s not includin Dave Dandruff, drat him! Jist kape 
 still Peggy, I won t scratch it out! Don t you think Cap ji 
 Jock wants a feller to rite to him nayteral like, jist as he 
 would talk? Double drat him! says I, the dirty skunk! 
 He stole one of Mort Sheldon s bosses, an they catched 
 him, an was a goin to string him up. But Mort wouldn t 
 hear til it; so they jist tarred an feathered him, an railrid 
 him to the Chartiers an pitched him in, and said if he iver 
 showed up in them coasts agin he would stretch hemp. 
 So he s gone to jine the robbers down the river, I reckon. 
 Look out for him. He s a reglar snake in the grass, an no 
 mistake. 
 
 Talkin of Mort Sheldon, you mind Passon Lane his 
 head man? Well, it s the beatenest thing I ve h ard. If 
 I knowed how to laff on paper I d do it sartain. He s bin 
 a tryin to set up with the Widder Latimer! Think o 
 Passon Lane agoin courtin ! But he got his walkin 
 papers short metre, I can tell you. No sich as Passon 
 Lane nade apply at tliim headquarters! It s true, an you 
 naden t conterdick it, Mrs. Peggy! Tain t no discredit 
 to the Widder if folks fancy her, as I knows on. An 
 there s a heap higher folks nor Passon Lane as have their 
 eyes sot that way, betwixt me an you. An it wouldn t be 
 no discredit to the wi elder aven ef she should take a fancy 
 to sum other folks, says Peggy; for Andy, says she, love s 
 like sourkraut, all the better when it s warmed over. I 
 don t see annything out n the way in tellin Cap n Jock 
 all about it. Ain t he bound to hear it? says I to Peggy. 
 But you naden t be consarned about the matter, Jock my 
 b y, for you ll find that Lady all an allays the same til 
 
THE LATIMERS. 591 
 
 yoursilf. For niver mother loved a child more truly nor 
 she loves you; an aven if she d a marrit your own Farther 
 hisself she couldn t love you a mort more. 
 
 yes! I was jist a goin to tell him tbout that when 
 you nudged me. There, Peggy! You ve made me splatter 
 that line! So you muss axcuse us Cap n Jock; for rightin 
 ain t our trade. It was jist about a month ago I was a-sittin 
 on the bank waitin for a customer, whin along comes your 
 old fri nd Mad Ann Trotter. "Goodness gracious!" says 
 I. "Is it you, Mrs. Trotter?" "No, it haint," says she, 
 "not by a long shot! Try agin, Sonny!" says she. 
 "Helloa!" says I, "none of your cranks on me, ole leddy! 
 You re Mad Ann Trotter or I m a nayger." "Well, Andy 
 dear," says she, "then a h Ethiopian you are, to be sure, 
 for hit s not Mad Ann Trotter. Wat would you say now 
 to Mad Ann Bailey?" "Jiminy crackies!" says I, "Is that 
 so?" "Ay, indade!" says she. "An w at for not?" "No 
 rayson in the warld, Mrs. Bailey," says I, "if that s your 
 name. An here s my hearty congratulations; for Aleck 
 Bailey is as fine a man as is on the Border. Bu ut," 
 says I hesitatin like. "But w at?" says she, sp akin up 
 sharp an eyein me keenly. "Well, Mrs. Ann, you may be 
 comfotable enough, bu-ut how s Aleck?" says I, lookin 
 sort of solemn like, an a-shakin my head. "Does lie kape 
 heart} r these days? Or is he kind o pinin away, an gunk 
 like?" 
 
 Boys-0! how she laffed at that! "You re a sly rogue, 
 h Andy!" says she. "An ye can t vex me with your chaff. 
 Jist you come down to h our plantation near W eelin Crick, 
 an I ll show you a man as isn t en-pecked, like someone I 
 knows of at isn t a mile h off. An jist as appy an arty 
 as the day is long. Good bye, h Andy!" says she, laffin an 
 jogglin her head as she walked down the road. "Good 
 bye; h it s all right! Like Jack an Jill is me an Bailey. 
 Love to Mr. Peggy!" No, I won t scratch it out, nuther! 
 It was "Mister" she called you. "I reckon Mad Ann thinks 
 it s a compliment!" says Mrs. Peggy, tossin her head in a 
 pretty huff, "for she s half a man her ownself !" Lord bless 
 the dear old gal, Jock! Ef I do taze her a bit, whiles, she s 
 the best wife in the Western Survey, an well she knows I 
 belave it. 
 
 Your new Father has been West agin, an a lookin 
 round to plant a little spare cash, as he says. He s a grate 
 
592 THE LATIMEES. 
 
 favoryte out here, an you may well be proud of him. 
 Tanny rate he s mortal proud of you. There s nothin 
 starchy nor stuckup about him. He s a ginuwine old cava 
 lier. But that s the way with the rale quality. The higher 
 up you go the clearder runs the strame. It takes one of 
 them mushroom ristocrats that s jist fresh up out of the 
 dirt-heap to put on airs an let on they re some punkins. 
 
 The Major is the rale old sort, an no mistake. He 
 took a lot of satisfaction in visitin your ole home., an 
 made me take him round to your ole hants, an niver 
 seemed tired a-talkin about you. We went over to the 
 McCormack s, of course, an Fanny would have us stay to 
 supper. The Major says she s the most "queenly damsel" 
 he has seed for manny a year, an laughin ly vowed if he 
 was as young a man as his son Jock he would lose his heart 
 til her at first sight, w ich Peggy says she could find a 
 woman nearder his own age as would suit him better. "Is 
 she engaged?" the Major ast me, as we rode home talkin 
 up our trip. "Not jist yit," says I, kind of onsartin like, 
 as tho it mought be so. "Oh? Then, I suppose she has 
 prospects. I might have known that!" says he, kind o 
 sighin . Bless his rare ole Soul! I belave he was rayther 
 disap inted, an had sort o picked out our Fanny at the 
 first blush for a daughter-in-law! An he might a gone a 
 long way f urder and fared a nation sight warse, Cap n Jock, 
 says Peggy an me. 
 
 He has a high opinion of Mrs. Latimer, the Major has, 
 an niver missed an avenin callin on her while he was in 
 Pittsburg. He went up regular to see your sister Meg an 
 the baby, says he. He staid a week or more longer nor he 
 meant, a-waitin for you to come on, he said; though I 
 told him there wasn t anny chanct for it afore July. 
 But he stayed all the same, an seemed to have a good time 
 a-visitin Mrs. Sheldon an the baby. * * * I ve been 
 jist a plum week, a-ritin out this plaguey letter, which if 
 it causes you as much worry as it did me, I d better throw 
 it intil the fire nor send it. But somehow that would seem 
 like an offal waste o precious time. That s not countin 
 the Holy Sabbath that intervaned. Which Peggy allowed 
 I might right on that day, bekase it s not your ord nary 
 implymint, says she. "But don t it say Thou shalt do no 
 work?" says I. "An if iver I struck work afore in these 
 settlemints or elsewhere it s a-righten of letters. It would 
 
THE LATIMERS. 593 
 
 a been a offal breakin of the Sabbath!" says I. Kunnin 
 a ferry isn t a patchin to t. Fve whitted up 2 goose quills 
 aready, an my fingers is all cramped, an the corners of my 
 tongue is all sore a-bitin it, which Peggy says is a judg 
 ment for a-sassin her so, an 11 give her a good rest not to 
 spake of other folks. So no more letters at prisent, an the 
 Good Lord deliver us! Witch is all the piscopole sarvice 
 as I knows, an comes in amazin pat. So wishin the same 
 to your Honor an dear Jock, an all other blessin s till you 
 git back, I am 
 
 Your obaydint Sarvint, an faithful to comeand with 
 highest respicts, 
 
 ANDY BURBECK AN PEGGY, TWO. 
 
 At the bottom of the old leather box in which the above 
 were kept was a little packet of letters browner and more 
 worn than the rest. They were carefully tied together with 
 a faded blue ribbon. "These," said the lady who owns them, 
 Mrs. Fanny Montgomery Fleming, "were my grand 
 mother s, and she cherished them as the apple of her eye. 
 They were given to me by grandfather shortly before his 
 death because I was named after grandma and (as he 
 thought) greatly favored her in personal appearance when 
 she was young." 
 
 They are love letters, and they disclose experiences too 
 sacred to be set before the public gaze. Perhaps after all, 
 the reader will have a keener pleasure in putting imagina 
 tion to the task of interpreting their contents. Across the 
 back of the outer fold is written in a somewhat wavering 
 hand, apparently of an aged man, this endorsement: 
 
 "These Letters tell how I awoke from a long and pain 
 ful Dream, to find the greatest Blessing and Joy of my life. 
 Underneath the withered Foliage of a disappointed Affec 
 tion lay the Seeds of a life-long Love, which waxed 
 Stronger and Brighter till the End came. And now my 
 Dearest awaits me in the Heavens with the Benediction 
 of an Eternal Love. And I wait with Patience, yet with 
 Longing, for the Glad Keunion. J. L. M." 
 
 [THE END.] 
 
TENANTS OF AN OLD FARM. 
 
 Leaves from the Note-book of a Naturalist. 
 
 By REV. HENRY C McCOOK, D*D*, Sc*D* 
 
 Introduction by SIR JOHN LUBBOCK, Bart. 
 
 One hundred and forty illustrations from nature by 
 Dan Beard and others. 480 pages, with index. Eighth 
 edition, 12mo, cloth, $1.50. 
 
 THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW (BRITISH) 
 
 "Dr. McCook has literally lived among his pets, has studied 
 them by day and by night in their natural state, has not scrupled 
 to subject himself to their formidable stings, and has deemed no 
 pains too great to make the world acquainted with insects, upon 
 which he looks with a species of respectful veneration. He is, in 
 truth, a veritable enthusiast, and it would, indeed, seem as 
 though ants, bees, and wasps, all belonging to the same order of 
 insects, possessed a fascination for the true naturalist far greater 
 than that excited by larger animals." 
 
 BOSTON LITERARY WORLD. 
 
 " We will venture to say that the Colorado beetle, the apple- 
 worm, moths, bumble-bees, caterpillars, ants, and spiders were 
 never before made so picturesque, never so idealized. The author 
 likes them, humanizes them, lives among them, finds an inner 
 meaning in their little lives, makes in every way the most of 
 them. . . . Housekeepers will surely be amused and probably 
 surprised by learning just how moths go to work, and the chapters 
 on crickets and katy-dids, are very fresh and animated ; the same 
 is true of the bumble-bees and spiders ; and what is not really new 
 is put in new shape." 
 
 NEW YORK EXAMINER. 
 
 " Belongs to a class which might with great profit take the 
 place of much of the literature, sentimental and otherwise, which 
 finds its way into the hands of our children through Sunday- 
 school and other libraries. It is pleasantly written and beauti 
 fully illustrated with original drawings from nature." 
 
 ILLUSTRATED CHRISTIAN WEEKLY, N. Y. 
 
 " The illustrations are a noteworthy feature of the book. Many 
 of them are admirable illustrations of their subjects, while to 
 these have been added a number of comical adaptations from the 
 pencil of Mr. Dan Beard." 
 
 For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent postpaid by the publishers, 
 
 George W* Jacobs & Co*, Philadelphia* 
 
OLD FARM FAIRIES; 
 
 Or a Summer Campaign in Brownie Land against King 
 Cobweaver s Pixies* 
 
 By REV. HENRY C. McCOOK, D.D., Sc.D., 
 
 author of Tenants of an Old Farm, etc., with one hundred 
 and fifty illustrations, by Dan Beard, Harry L. Poore and 
 others. 12mo, cloth, 432 pages, $1.50. 
 
 EDINBURGH SCOTSMAN. 
 
 "The story tells of a war between the brownies and the spiders, 
 and will interest a child by the oddity and strangeness (greater 
 than a purely imaginative writer could conceive) of the devices of 
 strategy and warfare to which the spiders resort. The illustra 
 tions to the book are partly fanciful, partly true to the nature of 
 spider life, and they serve well to help put the strong natural in 
 terest of the book. A story so fresh in its idea and so well worked 
 out is sure to please a young reader, and to lend a peculiar attrac 
 tion to the study of natural history. 
 
 SUNDAY-SCHOOL TIMES. 
 
 "He not only brings upon insect lives the acute scientific vis- 
 sion, but he enters into their very being in a way that shows inti 
 mate personal relations with them. He joys and sorrows with 
 them. These little creatures of his love not only invest him with 
 their characters, but he, in turn, invests them with human charac 
 teristics or, rather, he personifies them in the imaginary crea 
 tures of fairy lore/ The spiders are assigned the part of Pixies, 
 the ill-natured fairies of Scotland. The Brownies, or friendly folk, 
 personify those insect forms, especially those useful to man, 
 against which spiders wage continual war. The nexus between 
 these lower creatures and human life is established by the intro 
 duction of human characters, in the conflict between the Pixies and 
 Brownies. The book covers the range of emotion from humor to 
 pathos, and the extraordinary Pixie performances in engineering, 
 ballooning, cave-making, sailing, are scientific facts, picturesquely 
 and dramatically painted." 
 
 DETROIT FREE PRESS. 
 
 "A most delightful book, one which will enjoy the distinction 
 which Miss Alcott craved for Little Women, that of being the most 
 soiled and thumb-worn in the library." 
 
 For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent postpaid by the publishers, 
 
 George W. Jacobs & Co., Philadelphia. 
 
THE GOSPEL IN NATURE. 
 
 Scripture Truths Illustrated by Facts 
 in Nature* 
 
 By REV. HENRY C. McCOOK, D.D., 
 
 with an introduction by W. Carruthers, President Linn. 
 Society, F.R.S. New edition, 12mo, 380 pages, $1.00. 
 
 PRESS REVIEWS. 
 
 From the Interior. Dr. McCook ranges through the earth 
 and air finding exemplifications of the wisdom and power of the 
 Almighty Creator in the hail and snow, the rain and the rainbow, 
 flowers and vines, and showing both forcibly and beautifully, how 
 the elements of nature can be used to illustrate and work out the 
 Divine Will, and the knowledge of that will toward man. The 
 work is one of wonderful and rare attractiveness. 
 
 From the Sunday-School World. Sunday-school teachers may 
 find here admirable illustrations for enforcing Divine truth. 
 Young ministers may get impulses for enlarging the scope of their 
 preaching, that they may unfold more adequately the wonderful 
 works of the God of Nature and the God of Revelation. 
 
 From the London Nonconformist. This is unquestionably one 
 of the class of volumes which we can afford to have indefinitely 
 multiplied. Most cordially do we recommend it. We commend 
 the volume to the attention of preachers and of intelligent students 
 of Nature sparables. 
 
 From the Friends 1 News, of London. Studies in the material 
 world are worked out in such a way as to strengthen one s faith in 
 the supernatural. The book is one to be commended, for no pur 
 chaser is likely to be disappointed. 
 
 From the Scottish Leader. The author combines in an unusual 
 degree the power of accurate observation of the natural world with 
 poetic fancy and overmastering fervor. He is, perhaps, at his best 
 in descriptions of nature, which give evidence of a loving and 
 patient study, not merely the poetic, generalizations of a clever 
 amateur. Some of his renderings, such as a night in the woods, 
 and atmospheric effects in the Alps, are extremely good at litera 
 ture, and in their didaticuses are managed with much ingenuity 
 andforce. 
 
 From the Church Fortnightly. Here is a volume of sermons 
 which the clergy would find it to their advantage to buy and read. 
 The taste for natural science is growing greatly in our day. It is 
 regarded as a progressive and fruitful department of knowledge. 
 Congregations will willingly listen to and fully appreciate illustra 
 tions of moral and spiritual truth derived from physical science. 
 Dr. McCook has made use of scientific material, and that with 
 great skill, and we heartily recommend his book, especially to the 
 clergy. 
 
 For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent postpaid by the publishers, 
 
 George W. Jacobs & Co*, Philadelphia* 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $i.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 NOV 25 1844 
 
 LD 21-100m-7, 40 (6936s) 
 
I 
 
 ; 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY