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 UCSB LIBRARY
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY.
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 BY E. R. ROE. 
 
 " Hard upon the hickory oar ! 
 
 She moves too slow; 
 Time we were at Shawneetown, 
 Long time ago." 
 
 BOSTON: 
 ESTES AND LAURIAT, 
 
 29^-305 WASHINGTON STREET. 
 1882.
 
 Copyright, 1882, 
 By ESTES AND LAURIAT. 
 
 All Rights Reserved.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 I. ADOWN THE WABASH 7 
 
 II. CAVE-IN-ROCK 19 
 
 III. EARTHQUAKES 34 
 
 IV. THE TIPPECANOE. A CHILD'S RELIGION. 
 
 THE CAVE 39 
 
 V. GOVERNMENT AT THE CIRCUMFERENCE. 
 
 DIVIDED COUNSELS 56 
 
 VI. A PERPLEXED FRENCHMAN. A RESCUE. 
 
 BACKWOODS SURGERY 67 
 
 VII. THE WOUNDED MAN'S STORY . ... 84 
 VIII. AN AMPHIBIOUS TOWN. WORSHIP IN THE 
 
 WOODS. "THE JERKS" .... 92 
 
 IX. SERVING GOD ON TRUST 109 
 
 X. " ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD." AFTER 
 
 THE WILDERNESS, WHAT? .... 135 
 XI. DOUBTFUL TIDINGS HYPOCHONDRIA. SIN- 
 CLAIR AT ST. GENEVIEVE .... 151 
 XII. THREE YEARS LATER. Tin; CLEW RECOV- 
 ERED. LEYBA IN THE TOILS . . . 168 
 
 XIII. AN INTERVIEW. LIGHT BREAKING IN . . 174 
 
 XIV. VIRGINIA IN COURT. FREEMAN AGAIN. 
 
 LEYBA 182
 
 4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 XV. SANTA CLARA. ANTOINE DE ULLOA . . 209 
 
 XVI. FATHER AND SON 228 
 
 XVII. A RIVER VOYAGE 237 
 
 XVIII. IN THE SHADOW 257 
 
 XIX. OLD TABBY'S STORY. Ho! FOR CUBA . 263 
 
 XX. A CATASTROPHE. CONCLUSION . . . 274
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ADOWN THE WABASH. 
 
 A MORE excellent craft than the good keel- 
 boat Tippecanoe never floated Indian corn to 
 New Orleans. At any rate, this was the opinion 
 of her commander, Captain Tom Summers. He 
 stood upon the banks of the Wabash at Port St. 
 Vincent, or Vincennes, as the Indiana town was 
 more frequently called, and contemplated his ves- 
 sel, ready laden for a voyage down the Ohio and 
 the Mississippi, with as much pride as any old salt 
 could feel who walked the deck of a full-rigged 
 ship. His crew were all on board, and as he was 
 about to push out into the stream, a gentleman 
 came down the bank toward the boat, and, with a 
 well-bred air, inquired if he had the pleasure to 
 address Captain Summers. 
 
 " My name is Summers," replied the captain, 
 with an inquiring look at the stranger. "What 
 might your name be ? " 
 
 " My name is Leyba," replied the stranger, " and
 
 8 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 I come to request a passage on your boat as far as 
 Shawneetown." 
 
 " Whar 's your traps, stranger ? " said Tom. " We 
 are just pushing her off." 
 
 "My baggage is at Shawneetown," said the 
 gentleman ; " I also am ready to move." 
 
 " Well, walk aboard, and we '11 soon bid Vin- 
 cennes good by." 
 
 Without another word, the new-comer did as he 
 was bidden, and quietly seated himself near the 
 stern of the boat. The line was cast off, the bow 
 of the boat thrown out into the stream, and the 
 Tippecanoe was soon floating rapidly down the 
 Wabash. 
 
 The sun had gone down, and it was already near- 
 ly dark ; the river was in fine boating condition, 
 and as his symmetrical craft glided rapidly down 
 the stream, Summers held the helm, and almost in- 
 stinctively controlled her movement, while he cast 
 occasional scrutinizing glances toward his passen- 
 ger. Finding him indisposed to talk, Summers 
 determined to ply him with a few civil questions. 
 
 " You said your name was ?" 
 
 " Leyba," replied the other. 
 
 "Spanish, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, Captain Summers ; my father was Spanish." 
 
 The deferential way in which he pronounced
 
 ADOWN THE W ABASH. 9 
 
 the words "Captain Summers" impressed Tom 
 favorably. It indicated that he appreciated the 
 importance of sailing with so reputable a com- 
 mander. Still there certainly was a sinister look 
 about the dark-haired stranger, and so, by mere 
 association of ideas, without any suspicion as to 
 the stranger's character, he added : 
 
 " They say them Cave-in-Rock fellers is Span- 
 iards." 
 
 This was really intended as an interrogation, 
 but Mr. Leyba (as he had called himself) either 
 did not so understand it, or he purposely evaded it ; 
 he said only, 
 
 " This is a fine craft of yours, Captain Sum- 
 mers. I think I know a good keel." 
 
 " I think the Tippecanoe is a right smart boat," 
 said Tom. "Here, George," continued he, to one 
 of the crew, " take the helm while the stranger 
 and I turn in. Keep her well in the channel; it 
 would be bad luck to run into the brush in this 
 high water." Then, turning to Mr. Leyba, "Come 
 below, and let me show you our inside." 
 
 As they turned to go down, the captain heard 
 the sound of paddles ; he stopped and awaited 
 their nearer approach, and soon discovered a single 
 Indian coming alongside in a small canoe. Without 
 any ceremony, the savage climbed on board, hold-
 
 10 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 ing a line from his canoe in one hand and a ham 
 of fresh venison in the other. Recognizing Sum- 
 mers as being in command, the Indian held the 
 venison toward him, and in a guttural tone uttered 
 the English word he knew best : 
 
 "Whiskee?" 
 
 "Yes," said the captain ; "where's your bottle?" 
 
 The Indian laid down the venison, put his hand 
 into the bosom of his old buckskin hunting-shirt, 
 and drawing forth a long-necked gourd, handed it 
 to Summers. Then, Tom beckoning Leyba to fol- 
 low, both descended into the boat. 
 
 The cargo of the Tippecanoe consisted of corn 
 and whiskey. But the boat was by no means fully 
 loaded, which Leyba manifestly observing, Tom 
 explained by saying that he intended to fill up 
 with salt at Shawneetown. Summers then knocked 
 the bung out of a whiskey barrel, filled the Indian's 
 gourd with water, and, reversing it suddenly, thrust 
 the long neck into the whiskey barrel. At the same 
 time he looked up at Leyba, and remarked with a 
 twinkle in his eye, "Turning water into whiskey ! " 
 
 A few minutes sufficed for the water and whiskey 
 to interchange places ; and suddenly withdrawing 
 the gourd, and putting in a corn-cob stopper, he 
 carried it up to the Indian. The savage took a few 
 swallows from it, and shaking his head exclaimed,
 
 ADOWN THE IV AD ASH. \\ 
 
 with well-marked disgust but in very bad English, 
 " Too muchee Wabash. Ugh !" meaning, of course, 
 that the whiskey had been watered. Then sud- 
 denly dropping over the side into his canoe, he 
 soon disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 After partaking of the venison, and such fare as 
 the boat's supplies afforded, Leyba declined to lie 
 down, and accompanied the captain again upon 
 deck ; and there he insisted on remaining until 
 morning. Summers soon gave up the effort to 
 draw his passenger into conversation, and devoted 
 his whole attention to his floating craft, but some 
 time about midnight, while he was trying to deter- 
 mine the position of his boat by uttering short, 
 sharp whoops, and listening to the echo which 
 came back, the stranger, as if forgetting himself, 
 said, 
 
 " She wants to go to larboard, Captain Summers." 
 Tom moved his helm accordingly, and remarked, 
 in a tone indicating a desire for conversation, 
 
 " You have got a good ear, Mr. Leyba. This is 
 not the first time you have run the rivers ? " 
 "Not the first," replied Leyba. 
 " You have been to Orleans, mayhap ? " 
 " I know every bend from here to the Gulf " 
 Summers remained silent for a few minutes ; but 
 the stranger's knowledge of the river won his
 
 12 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 admiration, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his 
 pocket and offering it to Leyba, he said, 
 
 " Take something, stranger ! " 
 
 " I thank you, Captain ; but I never drink any- 
 thing." 
 
 A man who knew every bend in the Mississippi, 
 and who yet never drank whiskey, was something 
 too deep for the comprehension of Tom Summers ; 
 and giving up all further attempts at familiarity, 
 he called another man to the helm and turned in 
 below for a short sleep. 
 
 The monotonous voyage upon the Wabash to its 
 mouth, was continued without any incident of note, 
 until the Tippecanoe entered the Ohio, and was 
 moored at Shawneetown, about sundown on the 
 next evening. Leyba thanked Captain Summers 
 for the accommodation which had been extended 
 to him, bade him adieu, and so soon as the boat 
 touched shore, walked away and disappeared. 
 After he was gone, one of the boat hands handed 
 to Captain Summers a leaf seemingly from an old 
 memorandum-book, which had been dropped on the 
 deck by Leyba. On it were these words, apparently 
 written some years before : 
 
 " Angela with the black woman." 
 " Known only as Virginia." 
 " Limestone to Shawneetown."
 
 A DOWN THE W ABASH. I3 
 
 Hoping again to meet Leyba, he put the paper 
 in his pocket for safety, with no suspicion of any 
 special interest attached to it. But Leyba was not 
 seen again, and his disappearance remained, for the 
 time, a mystery. 
 
 As Captain " Tom " Summers (as he was called 
 by his friends and he appeared to have no enemies), 
 played a principal part in the events of this veritable 
 story, it will not be amiss to have a closer view of 
 him. He was a characteristic and superior speci- 
 men of a now extinct order of river-men, the 
 keel-boatmen. Robust, muscular, hardy ; generous, 
 brave, intelligent in his proper sphere; master of 
 river-craft, and a natural leader among the men of 
 his class, Tom Summers was a man showing in 
 marked degree the effects of that broad freedom 
 which is born of the Great West. He thought for 
 himself, untrammelled by conventionalism ; and he 
 added to much natural shrewdness a practical knowl- 
 edge of men, acquired in his fifteen years of keel-boat 
 life on the Western rivers. While, therefore, he 
 was illiterate, being barely able to read and to 
 write, he was intelligent as to matters not beyond 
 his field of vision ; and as a brave and generous 
 man, master of his vocation, he well deserved his 
 eminence among men of his class. Such was the 
 captain of the Tippecanoe.
 
 I4 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 As the ancient village of Shawneetown ancient 
 to the Indian tribes who formerly inhabited the 
 place, was the residence of some of the principal 
 characters in our story, they will here be briefly 
 introduced to the reader. 
 
 "Old Dan Rose," as he was usually called, had 
 brought his family to this then rising village about 
 two years before. The family consisted of himself ; 
 his wife ; his grown son, Tim ; his daughter, Mrs. 
 Freeman ; and her daughter, Virginia, who was yet 
 a child. Besids these was an old slave named 
 Tabby, who came with the family from Limestone 
 (now Marysville) in Kentucky. 
 
 Mrs. Freeman or " Katy," as her parents called 
 her had been married at Marysville. Her hus- 
 band had treated her with such cruelty that she 
 had been compelled to seek relief in divorce. But 
 after their legal separation her late husband, Free- 
 man, had kept her in constant terror for some 
 years, by stealing away their child, Virginia, who 
 had several times been reclaimed by the mother 
 with great difficulty. A desire to get beyond the 
 reach of her tormentor had induced Dan Rose, her 
 father, to move five hundred miles down the river 
 to Shawneetown. The mother insisted on calling 
 her child by the family name, unwilling she 
 should ever bear that of her father ; and so the
 
 A DOWN THE WABASH. 15 
 
 young girl was known in the village as Virginia 
 Rose. 
 
 Two or three days before the arrival of the Tippe- 
 canoe at Shawneetown, Freeman, the girl's father, 
 had made his appearance in the town. He had 
 come down the Ohio in a small pirogue, with a 
 load of flour and a small crew of his own negroes. 
 After disposing of his flour, Freeman notified old 
 Dan Rose that he came armed with the proper 
 legal authority to reclaim his child, and that he 
 meant to take her away. He soon found, however, 
 that there was a higher law in the village than that 
 administered by any of the courts. The citizens 
 held a meeting, and notified Freeman t*hat he 
 would not be permitted even to see his child, 
 much less to take her away. This decision 
 was accompanied by such manifestations of indig- 
 nant feeling as to convince Freeman that his 
 effort was altogether hopeless. He then begged 
 permission to see the child in the presence of her 
 friends. This was granted him, and, hardhearted 
 as all thought him, he wept upon taking his leave 
 of her. This was only a few hours before the land- 
 ing of Captain Summers' keel-boat ; and the next 
 morning at break of day Freeman started up the 
 river on his return. 
 
 Within an hour after the departure of Freeman's
 
 1 6 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 boat, the mother awoke, and found that the daughter, 
 who always slept by her side, was gone. Alarmed, 
 she hastened to her father's bedside, exclaiming 
 with a cry of agony, " Tom Freeman has stolen 
 away my child ! " Without a word of reply old 
 Dan Rose sprang out of bed, and within a few 
 minutes the whole household were up. The neigh- 
 bors were visited, but there were no tidings of the 
 missing child. It was soon found that Freeman 
 had left, and his boat was still visible some miles 
 above the town, over the long reach of open water. 
 
 It was but the work of a few minutes for Tim 
 Rose to gather a few trusty companions, who, with 
 ready rifles and fleet horses, were soon taking the 
 shortest route through the woods to the mouth of 
 the Wabash ten miles above. 
 
 They reached the Wabash, entered a skiff kept 
 there for ferry purposes, and gained the middle of 
 the Ohio River in time to intercept Freeman. 
 They entered his boat, told him their errand, and 
 were permitted with apparent readiness to look for 
 the lost darling. She was nowhere on board ! 
 The negro boatmen were called, and questioned 
 with rifles at their heads, but they all declared 
 with trembling earnestness that they had seen no 
 girl on board. 
 
 Tim Rose was astonished, but not quite satis-
 
 A DOWN THE W ABASH. 17 
 
 fied ; he took one of the colored men into the 
 skiff, rowed off some distance from the pirogue, 
 and subjected him to a searching examination, 
 telling him he should be shot if he hesitated to 
 disclose the whole truth, and promising protection 
 and reward if he revealed the whereabouts of 
 'Ginia Rose. 
 
 "What is your name, boy ?" said Tim. 
 
 "Peter, sah." 
 
 " Would you like to be a free man ?" 
 
 " I reckon," answered the slave, with a light in 
 his countenance which shone even through his 
 terrible fright. 
 
 ' What did your master do with the little girl ? " 
 questioned Tim. 
 
 " Fo' God, I dunno nothin' 'bout de gal. Didn't 
 see no gal." 
 
 "Where was your master all night ? " 
 
 "In de pirogue, sah." 
 
 " Didn't he go ashore ? " 
 
 " No, sah ; didn't go out de boat last night." 
 
 " Nor before starting this morning ? " 
 
 " No, sah ; didn't go out no time." 
 
 " If you are lying, you are a dead nigger," said 
 Tim ; " but you seem to be telling all you know. 
 Let us go back, men, and put the boy on board. 
 It's mighty strange what became of 'Ginia." On
 
 r 8 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 returning to Freeman's boat, Tim exclaimed with 
 a tone and manner not to be mistaken, "Tom 
 Freeman, if you carry off my sister's child, you 
 die." 
 
 " Before God," replied Freeman, " I have not 
 seen my child since I parted with her yesterday at 
 your father's house." Freeman was evidently as 
 much surprised as her uncle at the disappearance 
 of the child, and after once more assuring himself 
 that 'Ginia could not possibly be hidden on board, 
 Tim and his party reluctantly, and with sad disap- 
 pointment, returned to Shawneetown.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CAVE-IN-ROCK. 
 
 A T the time of our story the United States 
 owned a manufactory of salt at a point twelve 
 miles back of Shawneetown, known as the " Illinois 
 Saline." From those works large quantities of 
 salt were shipped to various points up and down 
 the Ohio, and it was this trade chiefly which 
 had given a start to the town. It was for the pur- 
 pose of filling up his cargo with this salt, for 
 which New Orleans furnished a ready market, that 
 Summers landed at Shawneetown. A few hours 
 sufficed to get his lading on board ; and then, 
 having heard of the mysterious disappearance of 
 'Ginia Rose, he called on Mrs. Freeman and gave 
 to her the memorandum found on his boat, hoping 
 that it might at some time furnish a clue to the 
 abductor of the child. Immediately afterwards the 
 captain put his boat into the stream, to begin the 
 long voyage to New Orleans. 
 
 Soon after dark, before the Tippecanoe had floated 
 many miles down the beautiful river, there came
 
 20 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 up a very heavy fog ; and as a matter of caution at 
 that stage of water, Summers decided to lie by for a 
 a few hours, till the fog should disperse. He there- 
 fore headed his boat for the shore, and landed on 
 the Kentucky side, opposite the mouth of the 
 Saline River, some eight or ten miles below Shaw- 
 neetown. His men went ashore, built a fire at a 
 little distance, and made preparations for supper, 
 while Summers turned in below, where he laid 
 himself down, and soon fell asleep. 
 
 How long he had been sleeping he did not know ; 
 but on awakening he became conscious that some- 
 thing unusual was going on. He heard the sound 
 of oars, which he knew could not be those of his own 
 boat. He rose hastily, and started for the deck, 
 but the moment his head appeared above the hatch- 
 way, he found himself confronted by two men, with 
 heavy pistols in their hands. 
 
 "You are our prisoner, Captain Summers," said 
 one of them. " Your men are all on shore ; you 
 are alone and in our power ; but make no resistance, 
 and you shall not be harmed." 
 
 Tom Summers was not the man to do a foolish 
 thing. He saw that resistance was useless, and he 
 submitted. There was something in the voice of 
 the man who had addressed him which sounded 
 familiar, though the dress and appearance of the
 
 CAVE-IN-ROCK. 21 
 
 men were strange ; but he made no reply. With- 
 out a word, he returned below, leaving the deck in 
 the possession of his captors. The measured stroke 
 of oars told him that his boat was being towed by 
 some other craft, and after some time he felt a 
 slight, sudden shock, and knew that the boat had 
 touched the shore. 
 
 Captain Summers had already realized that he 
 was in the hands of the robbers of Cave-in-Rock ; 
 and that the recent accounts of the depredations of 
 the river pirates who made this cave their head- 
 quarters were but too well founded. After the 
 boat was made fast he was approached by a number 
 of armed men, who, telling him he would not be 
 harmed, bandaged his eyes and led him on shore. 
 
 Summers had often landed at Cave-in-Rock, and 
 he soon felt sure, from the closeness of the air, 
 that he had entered the cavern. When he had pro- 
 ceeded but a little way he was placed in a large 
 basket, or cage, and felt himself drawn up to a 
 higher apartment. From this point two men con- 
 ducted him through devious ways, to an inner 
 chamber of the cavern, unbandaged his eyes, placed 
 a lighted lamp and food before him, and telling 
 him to remain in that place at his peril, bade 
 him good-night. 
 
 By the time Summers had completed his meal,
 
 22 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 which was not only abundant but excellent, a man 
 appeared from an inner apartment of the cavern, 
 bearing a rude mattress and a little bedding, of 
 which very little, indeed, was necessary. He laid 
 them down near Summers, and addressed him 
 as follows : 
 
 " Captain Miner sends his compliments to Cap- 
 tain Summers, and says that he will do himself the 
 honor of calling upon his guest in the morning." 
 
 "And who might Captain Miner be ? " inquired 
 Tom. 
 
 "It is my business to give you the captain's 
 orders," said the man, "not to answer questions. 
 Good night, Captain." And so saying, he disap- 
 peared. 
 
 The man was evidently a foreigner, most proba- 
 bly a Spaniard ; but he wore the appearance of a 
 man of the world, and spoke English very well, 
 though with something of a foreign accent. 
 
 When he was alone Summers lifted the iron 
 lamp which had been left with him, and proceeded 
 to an inspection of his underground quarters ; but 
 seeing that the oil was nearly exhausted, he pru- 
 dently used the remaining light in adjusting his 
 bed, and laid down. It need not be said that he 
 did not sleep, his position was not favorable to 
 the approach of the drowsy god, but being alone,
 
 CA VE-IN-ROCK. 23 
 
 and, as he supposed, out of the hearing of all 
 others, he very naturally talked to himself : 
 
 " This is a pretty scrape for the captain of the 
 Tippecanoe to be caught in ! This is what comes 
 of knowing too much, and of not believing what is 
 told one. I have seen Cave-in-Rock twenty times 
 at least, and I knew that there used to be robbers 
 here ; but that Tom Summers has been taken 
 captive by them, has lost his boat and his liberty 
 together, without any chance to show fight, is 
 more than any man in Vincennes will believe ! I 
 hardly believe it myself. 
 
 " That voice upon the boat sounded to me very 
 much like but it couldn't be his. When did he 
 learn the bends of the river all the way to Orleans ?" 
 
 And so, with vain surmises as to the identity of 
 the robber captain, and bitter regrets for his care- 
 lessness in allowing all his men to leave him, he 
 spent the night. Some time towards morning he 
 fell asleep, in which condition he remained until 
 awakened by the entrance of his visitor of the 
 night before, with his breakfast and a light. 
 
 Setting down before Summers a good breakfast, 
 smoking hot, the man said, 
 
 "Captain Miner sends his compliments to Cap- 
 tain Summers ; and, if acceptable, will visit him 
 in the course of the forenoon."
 
 2 4 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Tell Captain Miner ? " 
 
 " Yes, Captain Miner." 
 
 " Tell your captain he is just the man I want to 
 see," said Tom. 
 
 The man took up the empty lamp, left the fresh 
 one burning, and departed without a word. On 
 examining the lamp Tom saw that there was barely 
 oil enough to last while he took his breakfast : so 
 he hastened his meal, poured the little remaining 
 oil into a cup-like depression in the rocky floor of 
 his prison, and blew out the flame. 
 
 In about an hour two men came to the opening 
 passage which led to his prison, bearing a light. 
 One of them approached Summers, while the other 
 retired, leaving the place in total darkness. 
 
 "Captain Summers," said the new-comer," you 
 and I are strangers. Nothing I could say to you 
 would justify my proceeding in your eyes : I shall 
 not make the attempt. But as it is solely owing 
 to my interposition that you have not lost your 
 life as well as your boat, you will perhaps permit 
 me to explain to you something of your prospect 
 for future liberation. First, then, your liberation 
 depends upon yourself. You have shown yourself 
 a man of sense, as I know you to be. Had you 
 made useless resistance, you must have perished. 
 I say must: you will understand why. Captain
 
 CA VE-IN-ROCK. 2 $ 
 
 Summers. When your boat and its lading have 
 been disposed of, and our own safety has been 
 assured, you will be set at liberty. In the mean 
 time you will be made as comfortable as our con- 
 dition and ability will permit. For the fulfilment 
 of this promise rely upon Captain Miner, who 
 knows how to entertain his friends and punish his 
 enemies. But mind, Captain Summers, no resist- 
 ance, and no attempt to escape!" 
 
 "Answer me one question," said Tom, when his 
 jailer had concluded. "Isn't your real name Ley- 
 ba?" 
 
 "Captain Summers," said the other, "such a 
 question as that among gentlemen is exceedingly 
 rude, and is not fairly entitled to an answer. But 
 I answer you on the honor of a man, No!" 
 
 "Well, Captain," said Tom, "I am your pris- 
 oner ; and I can do no better than to accept your 
 terms." 
 
 Captain Miner then briskly clapped his hands; 
 the man with the light approached near enough 
 to show the way, and the robber captain, bidding 
 Tom a polite "Good morning," retired. 
 
 In a few hours food and light were brought as 
 before. This time, after the bearer had retired, 
 Summers poured out nearly all of the oil in his 
 lamp into the little pit where he had emptied the
 
 26 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 other; and when his evening meal was brought, 
 he did the same thing. 
 
 Some time after he had eaten the last meal, 
 Summers laid down for sleep, but was roused by 
 the sound of distant music. He listened atten- 
 tively. The sounds came with gentle echoes 
 through the many avenues of the cavern; and 
 while he strained his ears to catch the notes of 
 this weird music, two men came to him with a 
 message : 
 
 "Captain Miner's compliments to Captain Sum- 
 mers : would be pleased to see him in the banquet- 
 room." 
 
 Summers permitted himself to be blindfolded 
 without a word, and was led away, through 
 various windings, to a long avenue, opening into 
 a large, high-arched cavern. Near the entrance 
 to this apartment he was received by the rob- 
 ber captain and conducted to a seat, and he 
 observed that while the whole cavern was brill- 
 iantly lighted, the little alcove in which the chief 
 and himself were seated, was purposely kept in 
 deep shadow. 
 
 The scene which met the eyes of Summers, as 
 he looked over the lighted cavern, filled him with 
 astonishment. There was a vast hall-like room, 
 large enough apparently, to contain a hundred
 
 CA VE-IN-ROCK. 27 
 
 persons. The floor was quite even and nearly 
 level ; and the sides, though rough and uneven in 
 general form, were ornamented with groups and 
 clusters of natural crystals of spar; while from 
 the roof here and there hung sparkling stalactites 
 in great variety and profusion. Around the sides 
 of the cavernous hall at various points, lamps 
 were suspended from the rocky walls ; and across 
 the room, just before Summers and the robber 
 captain, was extended a long table, loaded with 
 abundant and apparently luxurious food. In the 
 further end of the apartment sat a young man 
 thrumming a guitar; while in the middle space of 
 the room a number of men and women were 
 gayly dancing. To Tom Summers all these peo- 
 ple wore a foreign aspect. The women were dark 
 in complexion, Portuguese or Spanish, he decided ; 
 and the men were evidently of the same nation- 
 ality. The few words he heard spoken appeared 
 to be Spanish. 
 
 After Summers had viewed this apparently happy 
 scene for some time, wondering that such men as 
 these appeared to be could be pirates, Captain 
 Miner beckoned to a young man at the table, who 
 immediately poured wine, and placing the glasses 
 upon a tray, handed them to his captain. Pr jsent- 
 ing the tray to Tom, he said,
 
 28 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Captain Summers, here's that you may never 
 meet a worse man than Captain Miner!" 
 
 " I drink that," said Tom, and drank his glass. 
 Not knowing just how bad a man Captain Miner 
 might prove to be, he could safely drink to the 
 hope that he should meet no worse. But he ob- 
 served that the robber captain only put the wine 
 to his lips, and set it down without tasting. Sum- 
 mers felt tempted to repeat his question of the 
 evening before ; but contented himself with the 
 attempt to determine in the dim light around him 
 if the pirate captain were not in fact his passenger, 
 Leyba. The man was evidently disguised ; and 
 though his voice much resembled that of Leyba, 
 he spoke with such a foreign accent that Summers 
 was unable to fully satisfy himself on the question ; 
 indeed he said but little. After Summers had wit- 
 nessed the dance for half an hour, he was led back 
 to his own apartment. But before his eyes were 
 again bandaged, he observed several pots of paint, 
 designed, as he suspected, for repainting the Tippe- 
 canoe. 
 
 When Summers had reached his quarters in the 
 cavern, his conductors unbandaged his eyes, put 
 the lamp by his side, and left him alone. This 
 time his lamp was better supplied with oil than 
 formerly ; and after waiting until all was still, Tom
 
 CA VE-IN-ROCK. 
 
 2 9 
 
 took his pocket knife, and using it as a spoon 
 patiently transferred the oil which he had saved 
 into the lamp, and to his great satisfaction found it 
 full. He reduced its flame as much as possible by 
 depressing the wick, placed it in a little alcove in 
 the rock, to conceal its light from any who 
 might be guarding him, and then lay down as if 
 for sleep. 
 
 But Captain Summers gave no sleep to his eyes 
 that night. He patiently waited until the distant 
 music had ceased, and long after the faintest echoes 
 had died away. Then, taking off his shoes, to 
 make no noise, he carefully scrutinized his prison 
 throughout all its length and breadth. It was 
 simply a kind of grotto, hollowed out by some un- 
 known agency in the solid limestone rock. There 
 were stalactites and other curious modellings of 
 Nature, which at other times might have engaged 
 his attention ; but he was looking for something of 
 far greater present interest. In the most distant 
 part of his prison, high up in the wall he perceived 
 a crevice in the rock, to which, with some difficulty, 
 he climbed. His light was too dim to penetrate 
 the darkness beyond ; but, determined to regain 
 his liberty if possible, he entered the fissure, and 
 followed it. It led him to a yawning opening in 
 the rocks, and far down in the darkness he heard
 
 30 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 the sound of waters. At one point he thought it 
 possible to cross the abyss, and with cautious clam- 
 bering he reached the spot. Here he hesitated. 
 Any misstep would probably be instant death. He 
 took up a bit of loose stone and dropped it into the 
 cleft ; but in that movement the lamp slipped from 
 his grasp, and all was darkness. As he stood still, 
 almost horror-stricken, the falling stone sent rever- 
 berations of sound through the cavern, and fell 
 with a dull plunge into the waters below. Hazard- 
 ous as appeared the attempt, he was about to make 
 an effort to descend, when he saw, almost over his 
 head, but beyond the dangerous opening in the 
 rock, a few dim, twinkling lights. They were stars, 
 shining in their native heaven, and seen through a 
 cleft in the rock. With the cautious movements 
 of a man trained to difficulty, he slowly felt his way 
 across a narrow part of the fissure, and in ten 
 minutes more had succeeded in crossing the bar- 
 rier, climbing the cleft rock to the top, reaching 
 the outer world, and once more breathing the air 
 of liberty. 
 
 It was now midnight. Tom Summers had boated 
 night and day long enough to read the hour by the 
 familiar stars. After some reflection he resolved 
 to proceed down the river, not following its bends, 
 but keeping as near a straight course as possible,
 
 CA VE-IN-ROCK. 3 T 
 
 in the hope of overtaking the Tippecanoe, which 
 he had no doubt had been sent on her way to the 
 South. At the end of the third day, after a 
 laborious journey over hills, through swamps, and 
 across bayous, he reached the mouth of the Ohio. 
 Here he found no means of crossing ; and lying 
 down, chilled and nearly exhausted, he awaited the 
 return of daylight. 
 
 About midnight the attention of the weary trav- 
 eller was aroused by strange unwonted sounds, 
 which appeared to come from the river; they 
 resembled the measured and repeated soughing of 
 some huge beast. Presently he saw fire approach- 
 ing in the direction whence the sounds proceeded, 
 and he heard a regular beating sound upon water, 
 like the rapid but very powerful dash of oars. 
 Tom Summers was not a man to be frightened, but 
 that he was very much astonished could not be 
 denied. It soon occurred to him that this must be 
 one of those wonderful steamboats of which he had 
 heard rumors, but none of which had heretofore 
 been seen on the Ohio. On came the monster, 
 lashing the waters to foam, and breathing fire and 
 smoke through iron nostrils. On reaching the 
 confluence of the rivers, she rapidly and gracefully 
 rounded to, as if possessed of volition, and in a few 
 minutes more was lying quietly by the shore.
 
 32 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 The strange craft proved to be the New Orleans, 
 the first steamer ever built west of the Alleghanies. 
 She had been detained at the falls of the Ohio 
 some time by low water, and was now taking ad- 
 vantage of a recent rise in the stream. As no 
 wood was to be had along the river, only as it was 
 cut for the occasion, she had landed here for the 
 purpose of cutting dry wood from piles of accumu- 
 lated drift. 
 
 Going aboard the steamer, Summers found an 
 old acquaintance in the person of Captain Jack, the 
 pilot ; and although the boat was carrying only 
 freight, he had no difficulty in obtaining passage to 
 New Orleans. His story was considered marvel- 
 lous in the extreme ; and probably nothing but the 
 character for veracity given of him by Captain 
 Jack saved him from the suspicion of Munchausen- 
 ism, as all supposed that the robbers of Cave-in- 
 Rock had disappeared long before. 
 
 Early on the next morning the steamboat started 
 on her voyage, making nearly a hundred miles 
 before night. At nightfall a heavy fog arose, and 
 it was determined to lie by for the night at a small 
 island, some distance below the little town of New 
 Madrid on the west bank of the Mississippi. Sev- 
 eral keel-boats and flat-boats were moored to the 
 mainland some distance below the steamer, also
 
 CA VE-IN-ROCK. 
 
 33 
 
 detained by the fog. The early hours of the night 
 were spent in getting wood from a drift-pile ; and 
 as the fog did not abate, all hands then turned in 
 for sleep.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EARTHQUAKES. 
 
 A BOUT two o'clock in the morning after the 
 New Orleans was moored at the island below 
 New Madrid, the sleepers were aroused and star- 
 tled by a tremendous shock, which shook the boat 
 from stern to stem, and filled the astonished voy- 
 agers with horror.* In another moment the river 
 rushed violently from beneath the boat, and the 
 mud bottom bounded up against the frail craft ; 
 the returning waters came rushing up their chan- 
 nels in huge waves, bearing the steamer down 
 the stream with a violence which threatened in- 
 stant destruction. 
 
 Loud, hissing noises were heard from the shore ; 
 "huge trees, shaken from their position, tumbled 
 down, whirling their vast branches into the boiling 
 flood. The boats which lay further down the river 
 were torn from their moorings, and swept with 
 frightful speed down the roaring flood ; many of 
 
 * This account of the earthquake is historically true and 
 correct. (1811.)
 
 EA R THQ UA KES. 3 5 
 
 them were dashed to fragments against the shore. 
 The little island where the steamer had lain burst 
 asunder, and a huge column of sand was blown 
 out by the sulphurous vapors which rushed through 
 the vent into the lurid air. The wild water-fowl 
 which had been sleeping by hundreds in the 
 eddies, flew about, shrieking their terror ; and the 
 wife and children of the captain of the steamer 
 joined the affrighted cry. 
 
 As the effects of the first shock subsided, all 
 haste was made to raise steam on board the boat. 
 The river continued to run in a direction opposite 
 to its usual course ; and scarcely half an hour 
 elapsed ere the agitated earth was heaving with 
 another terrible throe. The second shock, though 
 not so violent as the first, was accompanied by an 
 increase of horrors. The whole earth seemed to 
 be thrown into progressive waves. Vast fissures 
 were opened, pouring out steam and sulphurous 
 vapors, and as it was afterwards learned over- 
 whelming vast bodies of land with sand. The 
 river margin sunk several feet for a distance of 
 many miles up and down the river, leaving the vil- 
 lage of New Madrid, formerly high ground, below 
 highwater mark ; and a large district of the in- 
 terior suffered similar depression. 
 
 Earthquake shocks continued at intervals until
 
 36 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 morning, when the steamer continued her difficult 
 course down the river. The morning was one of 
 terrible gloom, and the atmosphere wore a sulphu- 
 ric hue, as if sympathizing with the earth. About 
 sunrise the Father of Waters broke down the bar- 
 rier which had been raised by the upheaved earth, 
 and came rushing impetuously down, bearing upon 
 his waves the boats which had escaped the night 
 before. The steamer's engine enabled her to offer 
 partial resistance to the current, but the flat-boats 
 and keel-boats shot by like arrows. Several of them 
 were clashed to pieces on the buried logs which the 
 heaving earth had thrown from their long repose 
 in the river bottom. 
 
 For several days succeeding, there were slight 
 agitations of the river, indicating that the earth 
 had not yet regained its quiet ; and on landing at 
 the Chalk Banks, it was learned that even so far 
 from the centre of disturbance the shocks had been 
 sufficiently violent to excite great alarm. After 
 the danger was apparently past came the time for 
 an interchange of sentiments and opinions among 
 the men upon the boat, as she passed rapidly on 
 her way to New Orleans. 
 
 " Captain Jack," said Tom Summers, approach- 
 ing the pilot with an expression which indicated a 
 much stronger disposition to express his own views
 
 EARTHQUAKES. 37 
 
 than to obtain those of his old friend, " Captain 
 Jack, what do you suppose is the matter with the 
 earth ? " 
 
 " Why, Captain Summers," said the pilot, " we 
 have had an awful earthquake : that's all I know 
 about it." 
 
 " But what makes 'em ? " said Tom. 
 
 "I don't know, and I don't believe anybody 
 knows." 
 
 "But, Captain Jack, I think nothing happens 
 without a cause and earthquakes have a cause. 
 Now if this earth turns round on her centre every 
 twenty-four hours, it must get on a strain ; and 
 it seems very natural it should bust up some- 
 times." 
 
 "Yes, that's so, Tom; but why don't we have 
 earthquakes all the time ?" 
 
 "Why don't the fly-wheel of that engine bust 
 up ? Fly-wheels do bust when we don't look for it. 
 Anytfilrig on a strain must break sometime ; and 
 no man can tell when it is coming. I guess it is 
 so with earthquakes." 
 
 Tom's philosophy brought a smile from Captain 
 Jack, and a laugh from the men standing by. But 
 the keel-boat philosopher continued his talk all the 
 same, reiterating it day by day. 
 
 The steamer continued on her novel journey,
 
 38 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 and reached New Orleans without further acci- 
 dent, the tremors of the earth occurring at inter- 
 vals, though with less violence during the remain- 
 der of the voyage.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TIPPECANOE. A CHILD'S RELIGION. THE 
 
 CAVE. 
 
 OOME weeks after the arrival of the first steam- 
 er at New Orleans, Tom Summers was standing 
 on the levee, watching the approach from above of 
 a large, new, brightly painted keel-boat, which, not 
 withstanding its gay color and the word " Louis- 
 iana," painted upon its sides, he thought closely 
 resembled a certain other keel-boat he had known. 
 Indeed, he was ready to "take his Bible oath" 
 that the true name of the craft was Tippecanoe. 
 He kept his own counsel, however, and awaited 
 further developments. As soon as the boat was 
 landed, a gentleman closely wrapped in a cloak 
 came off, leading a young female whose form and 
 face were also studiously concealed, called a car- 
 riage which was near, and entering without a 
 word, was rapidly driven away. The curiosity of 
 Summers prompted him to watch the direction 
 taken by the carriage, but his interest in the keel- 
 boat interfered, and the latter feeling prevailed. 
 After several men had gone ashore, Tom stepped
 
 40 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 on board, and finding the cargo composed of salt, 
 corn and whiskey, he approached the man who 
 seemed to have the command, and asked, 
 
 "What is Vincennes whiskey worth?" 
 
 The man appeared startled : and after a little 
 hesitation replied that the whiskey was not for sale. 
 
 "Well, stranger," said Tom, "how much for 
 United States Saline salt ? " 
 
 "The salt is sold, sir," said the man. 
 
 "Well, mayhap you'll sell that Indian corn?" 
 
 "The whole cargo is consigned to a house in 
 this city," said the other. 
 
 "Oh, it is!" said Tom. "Well, stranger, what 
 will you take for the boat ?" 
 
 The man addressed turned his back in apparent 
 confusion, and went to the other end of the ves- 
 sel, while Tom proceeded into the city, for the 
 purpose of taking the proper legal steps to re- 
 cover his property, and to secure the robbers. 
 
 An hour after, when Summers returned with 
 the proper officers, not a soul was to be found on 
 board. The birds had flown. 
 
 A few days sufficed for the reclamation of his 
 boat by legal process, for the sale of the cargo, 
 and for taking on board a load suited for the West- 
 ern market. The word " Louisiana " was effaced 
 from the side of the boat, and "Tippecanoe" re-
 
 THE TIPPECANOE. 4I 
 
 stored to its wonted place. A crew of Western 
 men was soon found ; and Captain Summers 
 started on his return voyage up the Mississippi. 
 
 If Tom Summers had obeyed his curiosity 
 instead of his interest, and had followed the car- 
 riage which conveyed from his boat the myste- 
 rious personages whom he saw depart, he might 
 have seen them alight at a monastery in the sub- 
 urbs of the city; as thither they went with all 
 speed. The gentleman rang the gate-bell, and 
 was admitted with his charge ; and the carriage 
 was driven away. 
 
 "I have brought you my daughter, according 
 to our arrangement," said the man, "and I confide 
 her to your motherly care and protection. She's 
 dear to me as the apple of my eye ; and I trust 
 her to you as a most precious jewel." 
 
 " You have done well," said the woman ad- 
 dressed, " as you thereby shut out the darkness of 
 this world, and let in the light of a better." 
 
 " I leave you the amount necessary for six 
 months, Sister Naomi," said the man ; "and should 
 you desire to communicate with me this paper 
 contains my address. Remember ! she writes to 
 none ; and no one outside your house sees her but 
 myself." 
 
 The man kissed his daughter (as he called her)
 
 42 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 with manifest emotion, bade the good sister fare- 
 well, and departed. 
 
 "What is your name, my child?" said Sister 
 Naomi, as she removed the girl's cloak and hood, 
 and looked into her bright blue eyes. 
 
 " My name is Virginia Rose," said the beautiful 
 child, "but everybody calls me 'Ginia." 
 
 "Sit down, my child; you must be tired," said 
 Sister Naomi, placing a seat for her. "How old 
 are you, Virginia?" 
 
 " I am twelve years old, ma'am ; and I am tired 
 doing nothing !" 
 
 "Strange!" said the good Sister; "so old, and 
 yet such native simplicity. Have you ever heard 
 of God?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; we have God in Illinois. My mother 
 taught me to pray to him." 
 
 "And the Holy Child Jesus?" said the Sister. 
 
 "Yes, the Son of God." 
 
 "And the Holy Mother of God?" continued 
 the Sister. 
 
 " My mother taught me that God was the father 
 of //," said the child. " How could he have a 
 mother?" 
 
 "Poor child!" said the good Sister, clasping her 
 hands in pity. " Behold this image of the Child 
 Jesus in the arms of the Blessed Virgin."
 
 A CHILD'S RELIGION. 
 
 43 
 
 The child examined the small sculpture with 
 a curious eye, and with doubtful hesitation in- 
 quired, 
 
 " Do people pray to such images as this ? " 
 
 " They pray to God and the Virgin through their 
 images," said the Sister. 
 
 " My mother taught me that all graven images 
 are abominable," said the child. 
 
 At this reply Sister Naomi gave up the argument 
 in despair ; and telling her charge that her mother 
 was a heretic, ended the first lesson. 
 
 The backwoods girl soon proved to her instruct- 
 ors that, instead of being entirely unlearned, she 
 had, in their opinion at least, learned too much. 
 However, as she was to remain in the convent 
 school, perhaps for several years, Sister Naomi 
 hoped that time and a rigid discipline would exter- 
 minate the germs of a false religion which had been 
 implanted in her mind by a heretic mother. 
 
 The sweet and kindly disposition of Sister Na- 
 omi's beautiful ward soon endeared her to all who 
 had any intercourse with her. They told her that 
 they did not know such girls as she grew in the 
 woods of Illinois ; and with affectionate playfulness 
 asked where she had found those big eyes of blue, 
 that golden hair, that pink and pearl complexion ; 
 did they grow on trees in Illinois ? Especially they
 
 44 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 wondered how such affectionate obedience, such 
 winning cheerfulness, could spring up " among the 
 savages ! " No bird was more blithe than this rosy 
 lipped girl ; and her rippling notes of sweetness 
 filled all her words with melody. Heretofore her 
 education had been limited to the merest elements ; 
 but Sister Naomi found the child so ready and apt 
 a pupil as to make it a pleasant task to give her 
 instruction ; and her stay at the Sisters' school 
 soon gave promise of rapid progress in all they 
 essayed to teach except their religion. They 
 declared the child was a born heretic. 
 
 After a long and tedious voyage against the 
 strong current of the muddy Mississippi, and 
 through the more gentle waters of the Ohio, Captain 
 Summers again made his cable fast to the shore in 
 front of the promising village of Shawneetown. 
 Here, after disposing of his cargo to the people of 
 the village, he determined to enjoy a few days' 
 repose, and to wear the laurels he had won by his 
 wonderful adventures at Cave-in-Rock. The re- 
 ports which had been given of the loss of the 
 Tippecanoe and the disappearance of her captain, 
 by the boatmen who had been on shore at the 
 time, and who had found their way back on foot by 
 the Kentucky shore, had excited the greatest won- 
 der ; and Tom's account of his captivity and escape
 
 THE CAVE. 
 
 45 
 
 now had made him a hero in the people's eyes. 
 His story was repeated again and again in the little 
 town ; and after a few days the excitement ran so 
 high that an expedition was planned against the 
 robbers, under the joint command of Summers and 
 Dan Rose, the frontiersmen. Summers' division 
 was to consist of his boat's crew, together with all 
 the boatmen who could be assembled at short no- 
 tice ; these were to go in the Tippecanoe by water ; 
 and Rose was to go down by land with his party, 
 consisting of ten or twelve white men and a few 
 friendly Indians. Summers made a rude map, 
 showing the position of the opening by which he 
 escaped, and so impressed its location upon the 
 mind of Rose that he felt confident he could 
 find it without difficulty at night. 
 
 After arranging the order of attack, both branches 
 of the expedition left the village about noon, so as 
 to reach the cave about midnight. They were to 
 communicate with each other a mile above the 
 cave, where the Tippecanoe was to land for the 
 purpose. 
 
 Dan Rose had not proceeded far with his com- 
 mand before he began to fear that they had under- 
 taken a much more difficult task than had been 
 imagined ; and as the party proceeded he called 
 their attention to the matter : " If we were after
 
 46 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 twenty- or thirty redskins in the brush, or even in 
 a swamp," said Rose, "we should stand some 
 chance of drawing a sight on them ; but how are 
 we to get at them fellows in their underground 
 block-house ? Suppose Tom Summers and his 
 men should get possession of the outer cave, and 
 the robbers should let down their big limestone 
 stopper, and close the bung-hole up ? No 'coon in 
 a green gum-tree was ever safer than they would 
 be." 
 
 " Smoke 'em out," said some one in reply. 
 
 " It can't be done," said Rose. 
 
 " Starve 'em out," said another. 
 
 "Why, according to Tom's theory they have 
 fodder enough for a year," said Rose. 
 
 " Wall 'em in," said an old man, who was a kind 
 of jack-stonemason. This suggestion was received 
 with a hearty laugh from all the company. 
 
 " Let us coax 'em out, father," said Tim Rose ; 
 "and when they vacate, we can take possession." 
 
 " Rather a bright idea, Tim," said the father. 
 "Tom Summers' boat will make good bait, and 
 we'll make the proposition to Tom when we meet." 
 
 This was unanimously voted to be good policy, 
 and the party moved on with vigor. At sunset 
 they had reached a somewhat noted locality, known 
 then and since as Lead Hill. From this place
 
 THE CAVE. 
 
 47 
 
 the Indians had long been in the habit of procur- 
 ing material for their bullets, though the metal 
 procured by the simple process then in use among 
 them, was a compound much resembling silver in 
 appearance. While crossing over this rather singu- 
 lar hill, the party came upon a rude furnace for 
 smelting the ore. It stood contiguous to an old 
 log-hut, which, after reconnoitring and rinding un- 
 occupied, some of the party entered and examined. 
 In this place they found apparatus for coining, and 
 portions of the base metal in various stages of prep- 
 aration up to the finished "bogus" coin. Every- 
 thing appeared to have been left as if suddenly 
 abandoned. The crucible in the furnace contained 
 a portion of the reduced ore, and the fire beneath 
 appeared to have burned out within a few weeks 
 for the want of some one to supply the fuel which 
 was lying ready prepared. 
 
 " Bogus fact'ry," said Tim. 
 
 " Ugh ! " said the Indians. 
 
 "Hush, men," said old Dan Rose, "we are now 
 within sound of their rifles. Nine miles more will 
 bring us to the cave. Round yonder point runs 
 the trail. We leave that to the right and make for 
 the river. Put in fresh priming, pick your flints, 
 and keep a sharp look-out." 
 
 The men were all too well trained in backwoods
 
 48 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 warfare to require a repetition of this caution. 
 They proceeded noiselessly through the woods, and 
 reached the rendezvous on the river about ten 
 o'clock, and finding the Tippecanoe not yet there, 
 they sat down and patiently awaited its arrival. 
 
 Tom Summers and his boatmen had also can- 
 vassed the probable success of the undertaking. 
 Lynch, a Kentuckian, who had joined the expedi- 
 tion at Shawneetown, swore that " five good rifle- 
 men from 'Kentuck' could defend the cave against 
 all creation." 
 
 After many opinions, pro and con, Summers 
 suggested that by keeping the robbers from the 
 river in front, they might be picked off with a rifle 
 as they attempted to obtain water from the rear of 
 the cavern where he had made his escape. This 
 was considered at least plausible by all hands. 
 
 Tom Summers was a native politician, and when 
 the mode of attacking the cave was settled he intro- 
 duced the new kind of boats as a subject of conver- 
 sation, and finally propounded his ideas of " co'pora- 
 tion," a favorite subject of discussion with him. 
 
 " I'm agin these smoke-boats," said Tom. 
 
 "What's agin 'em?" asked one of the company. 
 
 " What's agin 'em ? Everything is agin 'em. 
 What chance will a good, old-fashioned keel have 
 agin these porposes ? "
 
 THE CAVE. 
 
 49 
 
 " Well, but Tom, ain't they good for the coun- 
 try?" 
 
 "Ain't we a part of the country? " replied Tom. 
 "'Tain't no justice to ruin one class of men for the 
 sake of another class." 
 
 " Them's my sentiments ezactly," said a Ten- 
 nessean. 
 
 "Well, Tom," said Lynch, "we will all have to 
 build steamboats, that's all. Good bye, settin' 
 pole ! " 
 
 "Can you afford to build one?" said Tom. 
 " Can I ? No, these things cost too much money, 
 and they must be built by these blasted co'pora- 
 tions." 
 
 "What's your objection to co'porations, Tom?" 
 
 " ' Cause they have no souls, nor bodies either 
 to signify ; sue one of them for an honest debt and 
 it ain't thar. The company hasn't got anything, 
 though every man of it has his pocket full of Span- 
 ish dollars. But that's private property ', they say. 
 Ain't they the men that made the debt ? and don't 
 all the profits go into their private pockets ? Let 
 'em be made to pay their debts out of their private 
 pockets. Then I'm agin the whole breed." 
 
 " Them's my sentiments, ezactly," said the Ten- 
 nessean. 
 
 " Captain Summers," interposed Lynch, who
 
 50 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 was at the helm, " yonder is the mouth of the 
 Saline ; hadn't we better land, and lie by till ten 
 or 'leven o'clock ? " 
 
 " Good idea, Lynch ; throw her bow in and let 
 her come round." 
 
 The boat was accordingly brought to shore, 
 where she remained until about ten o'clock, when 
 she was to be dropped down to the place of rendez- 
 vous, a mile above the cave. 
 
 While Summers and his men are waiting for the 
 time to arrive, let us describe the good keel-boat 
 Tippecanoe, and the class to which she belonged, 
 and something of the race of hardy boatmen who 
 are unknown to the present generation. 
 
 In general appearance, the keel-boats of sixty 
 years ago resembled the more modern canal-boat. 
 The keel was very long and very narrow, and so 
 shaped as to combine the greatest floating capacity 
 with the least resistance to the water. The bow 
 was rather sharp and considerably greater in length 
 than breadth ; but the curvature was soon lost in 
 parallel sides which continued equidistant the entire 
 length of the boat. The stem resembled the bow, 
 but as a rule, was less sharp. The hull was so 
 placed upon this keel as to expose some twelve or 
 fourteen inches of the keel on each side of the 
 boat, running its entire length. These projecting
 
 THE CAVE. 51 
 
 sides rose but little above the water, were planked 
 over, and "cleated" with cross foot-holds for the 
 boatmen, who propelled the boat by placing their 
 "setting poles" upon the river bottom near the 
 stem of the boat, fixing one end against the 
 shoulder and pushing the boat from under them 
 as they walked towards the stern. The men upon 
 the opposite sides worked in pairs, so that an even 
 pressure was maintained on both sides of the boat. 
 But in the deep and turbid waters of the Missis- 
 sippi, the setting pole was not available. There 
 the "cordell" took the place of the pole. This 
 was a long, light rope, which was generally used 
 by fastening it to some tree or other firm body as 
 far above as the cordell would reach, and then pull- 
 ing on the other end in the boat. It was slow and 
 laborious work, and it required several months of 
 this arduous toil to propel a keel-boat from New 
 Orleans to the mouth of the Ohio River. 
 
 The hull of the keel-boat looked somewhat like 
 the modern ironclad gun-boats, but was less acute 
 in the angle of its sides. On each side, near the 
 centre was a large sliding door for convenience in 
 loading and unloading, and on top a hatchway, by 
 which the boatmen communicated with the in- 
 terior. The rudder, at the stern, had its steering 
 arm extended along near the deck, so that the
 
 52 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 steersman generally guided the boat with the lever 
 between his knees. 
 
 But the Tippecanoe was almost an exception 
 among keel-boats. She had been built at Vin- 
 cennes under Summers' own supervision, and with 
 all the improvements which had been suggested to 
 him by his long experience and practical good 
 sense. It was no ordinary event for the little 
 town, when the Tippecanoe, named from the then 
 recent battle between the Indians and General 
 Harrison, started on her long voyage to New 
 Orleans, with Tom Summers in command, and 
 the boatmen singing the well-known refrain : 
 
 " Hard upon the hickory oar, 
 
 She moves too slow; 
 Time we were at Shawneetown, 
 Long time ago." 
 
 On reaching the place of rendezvous, Summers 
 found Dan Rose and his men in waiting. After 
 some conference between the parties, it was decided 
 that, as the night was dark, it would be necessary 
 for Summers to go with the land party, to avoid 
 the danger of not being able to find the rear open- 
 ing to the cavern. Lynch therefore took command 
 of the boat ; and after giving the land party half 
 an hour's start, the Tippecanoe was put into the 
 current and permitted to float.
 
 THE CAVE. 
 
 53 
 
 When the shore party reached the vicinity of 
 the cave, Summers was perplexed to find that what 
 he had described as a hill in the rear of the cavern 
 now appeared to be a hollow or depression, as com- 
 pared with the ground around it. No fissure in 
 the rock was to be found, and the whole contour of 
 the surface appeared to be changed. He first 
 thought he must have missed the locality. But 
 one of the Indians declared that there used to be a 
 hill, and an opening in the rock at that very spot. 
 A messenger was sent around to communicate with 
 the other party. He returned with word that the 
 cave was deserted. The party from the boat had 
 cautiously landed some distance above, and now 
 had possession of the outer cavern. 
 
 Rose and his men joined the others in the cave, 
 and proceeded to examine it by the light of the 
 torches, which were already burning. 
 
 Boxes and barrels were lying around, very much 
 as Summers had seen them before. But they did 
 not appear to have been in any manner disturbed 
 for a considerable length of time. The central 
 opening, which communicated with the rooms above, 
 was not closed ; the heavy stone which Summers 
 had seen hanging over it appeared to have fallen, 
 and was lying at one side of the opening. The 
 large basket, which had been used for ascending
 
 54 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 and descending, was hanging from its suspending 
 pulley above. Summers seized the rope and was 
 about to climb, but one of the Indians called him 
 back, and placing a hat and coat upon a pole thrust 
 them up through the opening. He had supposed 
 that they might be fired on ; but all was silence. 
 
 Tom now boldly entered the opening, torch in 
 hand, followed by Rose, Tim, Lynch, and others. 
 The mouldy remnants of a feast which had never 
 been eaten were lying upon a table ; lamps were 
 hanging around, burnt out for want of oil ; and a 
 tray of glasses filled with untasted wine was on a 
 small stand ! But the avenues which had led to 
 the inner cavern had disappeared. The rock had 
 fallen from above in vast masses, and closed all 
 connection between the cave and the outer world 
 forever. Perhaps in the midst of gay festivity, 
 perhaps in the hour of music and dancing ! Who 
 could say ? Not a soul was left to tell the tale. 
 
 The men who had come to execute vengeance 
 could not now avoid sympathy for the dead. He 
 who hath said " Vengeance is mine," had sent the 
 earthquake to do His will, and these hardy men felt 
 that tjiey were in the presence of Eternal Justice. 
 They left the sparkling wine untouched in the 
 glasses, and descended to the room below. Here 
 they secured such articles as were of value ; and
 
 THE CAVE. 
 
 55 
 
 putting them on board the Tippecanoe, prepared to 
 return in the morning to Shawneetown. 
 
 Next day, bright and early, the boat was stem- 
 ming the current of the Ohio. The river was at 
 such a stage as to render the setting-pole of little 
 value, and recourse was had to the cordell. A 
 long line was sent ashore and made fast to a tree 
 at its full length above the boat ; and then by dint 
 of vigorous pulling at the other end by the men on 
 board, the boat was brought up to the point of 
 attachment, made fast, and the rope sent ahead to 
 another tree, as before. Occasional help from the 
 setting-pole, the number of men on board, and the 
 absence of lading, made the labor comparatively 
 easy ; and the Tippecanoe landed at Shawneetown 
 before sunset.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 GOVERNMENT AT THE CIRCUMFERENCE. 
 
 DIVIDED COUNSELS. 
 
 the night after the return of the Tippeca- 
 noe, Summers, Lynch, the Roses, and others 
 of the late expedition, together with several of the 
 good people of the village, were collected at Wil- 
 son's tavern to relate or to listen to the news of 
 the day, and, some of them at least, to partake of 
 the landlord's Vincennes whiskey. 
 
 Tom Summers was by common consent per- 
 mitted to give "official" account of the recent ex- 
 pedition to Cave-in-rock. Of course the story was 
 well told. He had not been with the land party 
 however ; and when Tim Rose exhibited a coun- 
 terfeit dollar from Lead Hill, as a sort of text to 
 his discourse, Tom was compelled reluctantly to 
 hold his peace. After both had told their stories 
 and answered the inquiries which arose, the con- 
 versation turned upon the subject of war with 
 England, a declaration of which was now confi- 
 dently looked for. 
 
 "Captain Summers, what do you expect about
 
 DIVIDED COUNSELS. 57 
 
 the war?" said a Tennessee boatman mentioned 
 in a former chapter. 
 
 " I expect that the sooner it comes, the better," 
 said Tom. 
 
 "Them's my sentiments ezactly," said the Ten- 
 nessean. 
 
 "I'm agin the British havin' Canada," said Tom. 
 "It's a splendid country, and ought to belong to 
 us ; and if Jim Madison will kick up a war instead 
 of making embargoes on trade, we'll Jiave it." 
 
 " Ezactly," responded the Tennessean. 
 
 Summers was so well pleased with his own pat- 
 riotism that he paused to order Mr. Wilson to 
 "treat the whole company " at his expense. Mr. 
 Wilson was disposed to draw Summers out far- 
 ther ; and as he filled the glasses with green Vin- 
 cennes whiskey, he turned to Tom and said : 
 
 "Isn't there danger of our country getting to 
 be too large, Captain Summers ?" 
 
 "Too large!" replied Tom. "It can't get too 
 large, 'cause its strength is in the circumference. 
 Monarchies git too large, 'cause the strength's is 
 all in the centre. I expect this nation to cover all 
 creation, some day, 'cause it's just naturally bound 
 to spread out." 
 
 "Then," said Lynch, " Kaintuck will be right in 
 the centre of the earth Hurrah!"
 
 58 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "Then there won't be any centre," said Tom. 
 "The people are the government. The people 
 will be everywhere, and in course there can't be 
 any centre." 
 
 This proposition was rather too metaphysical 
 for most of Tom's hearers ; but the Tennessee 
 boatman thought he understood it perfectly ; so 
 he assented as usual : 
 
 "Exactly; them's my sentiments." 
 
 Tom Summers continued: 
 
 "There won't be a centre for another reason : 
 There won't be any standin' army. In a mon- 
 archy, the standin' army is the centre of gover'- 
 ment ; but here the people is the army, and they 
 will be everywhere; and in course, then, there 
 can't be any centre." 
 
 "Ezactly," was the response. 
 
 "Boys, take a little more!" exclaimed Tom. 
 
 "Them's my sentiments," said the Tennessean, 
 at the same time swallowing his second glass of 
 Vincennes. 
 
 The conversation now turned upon the lost 
 daughter of Mrs. Freeman. "How about that 
 child?" said Summers, addressing Dan Rose. 
 "We started in such a hurry after them Cave-in-rock 
 gentry that I never got time to ask how the gal 
 got lost. What do you suppose became of her ? "
 
 DIVIDED COUNSELS. 
 
 59 
 
 "I have my own suspicions," said the old man, 
 " but it will never do to tell Katy. She is near 
 enough crazy now." 
 
 "Think that man, Freeman, got her?" inquired 
 Tom. 
 
 Rose slowly shook his head, but made no reply. 
 
 " Dan Rose," said Tom, " let me tell you some- 
 thing. Are you sure Freeman went home to 
 Kaintuck ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Tim, taking up the answer. " I 
 overhauled him way above the Wabash, making 
 for Limestone fast as his niggers could take him. 
 ' Ginia wasn't with him, sure." 
 
 "Well, I'll bet he took her to Orleans," said 
 Tom ; " and on that very boat down there, at the 
 landin'. When them Cave-in-Rock men landed 
 her at Orleans, the first man as stepped on shore 
 was wrapped all up in a cloak, and was leading a 
 little gal by the hand. They got into a carriage, 
 and drove off like a hurricane." 
 
 "What sort of a looking little gal was it?" 
 asked Tim. 
 
 " Could'nt see her face, Tim, all wrapped up 
 in shawls and veils." 
 
 " Father," said Tim, " that child is in Orleans. 
 I always thought that Tom Freeman had got her, 
 somehow : now I know it." Then he added, " If
 
 60 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 Freeman's about Limestone, I'll know it. If he 
 isn't I'll know that." 
 
 Tim's revolution was taken. He determined to 
 make a trip to Limestone, and learn whether Free- 
 man really returned directly home or not. 
 
 " You will waste your time, Tim," said the fath- 
 er, sadly. " Tom Freeman is no doubt at home, 
 and knows no more about the gal than you do. 
 But go if you please. " 
 
 "Come, boys," said Captain Summers, "let's go 
 aboard: it's time to turn in." 
 
 " Ezactly," said the assenting Tennessean. And 
 the company dispersed for the night. 
 
 Next morning, when Katy Freeman heard of 
 Summers's story about the persons whom he saw 
 leave his boat in the carriage, the half-closed 
 wounds in her mother-heart were opened afresh. 
 She had become assured that Freeman had not the 
 child. And although it had been intimated that 
 by bare possibility the child might have been stolen 
 by Indians, she rejected this alternative as im- 
 possible. Since the battle of Tippecanoe in the 
 preceding November, some bands of savages had 
 evaded the rangers, stolen some horses from the 
 Salt Works, and murdered a whole family, some 
 miles down the river. But she considered the 
 stealing of her child from her side a feat impossible
 
 DIVIDED COUNSELS. 6 1 
 
 even to Indians, and had recently settled down in 
 the belief that 'Ginia must have gone out unper- 
 ceived for a ramble on the river bank, fallen in, 
 and drowned. 
 
 It was now probable, however, that her daughter 
 was not only alive, but imprisoned and ill treated, 
 in a far-off city. The thought was agony, and she 
 gave way to her feelings in a flood of tears. 
 
 Her father attempted to calm her sorrow and 
 restrain her tears. 
 
 " Katy," said the old man, " there's no use cryin'. 
 God will take care of the little girl. The child has 
 given you a heap o' trouble always, Katy ; and now 
 Providence has taken her away. There's no use 
 cryin', Katy." 
 
 The tears fell all the faster. The old mother 
 then tendered her kind offices. 
 
 " Katy, my daughter, I loved my children as 
 nobody but a mother could : I saw Sam and Johnny 
 shot down dead before my eyes by the Indians. 
 But I never shed a tear." 
 
 " O mother," said Katy, " if I knew my child 
 was dead I think it would be a consolation. But 
 there is a mysterious and tender tie that binds me 
 to her, and tells me she is still alive. For months 
 and years I have lived only in 'Ginia ; and I still 
 feel it in my heart that she is alive and suffering."
 
 62 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "Tut, tut, Katy," said the old man. "For a 
 girl who has been raised on the frontier, as you 
 have, you talk real strange. A woman's child is 
 no more than any other little one she's nursed and 
 loved. A woman wouldn't know her own child any 
 more'n an animal. I remember a hen that hatched 
 an eagle's egg, and clucked kindly to the young one 
 'till it tore her eyes out." 
 
 "Father," responded Katy, "don't talk so! 
 Often as my child was stolen, long as she was from 
 my sight, I never for a moment forgot her cry ; I 
 would know it in darkness and in blindness. I 
 know the sweet odor of her breath; I knew her 
 peculiar and gentle touch upon my cheek ; I know 
 her gentle breathing, unlike any other's. Could I 
 forget her sweet prattle as she grew, or when she 
 first lisped the name of mother? And when she 
 walked alone ! no other child had just the step of 
 'Ginia. None but her mother could love her or 
 mourn for her as I do." 
 
 After a moment, she said, "Now I feel that 
 there's some kind of connection between that myste- 
 rious memorandum found upon Captain Summers's 
 boat and my lost child: 'Angela with the black 
 woman; known only as Virginia: Limestone to 
 Shawneetown;' what can this mean but my 
 'Ginia?"
 
 DIVIDED COUNSELS. 63 
 
 "O Katy," replied her father, "that is a mere 
 coincidence. What did Summers's strange passen- 
 ger know of your child?" 
 
 Katy's father had already considered this memo- 
 randum, and did not feel quite sure it was a mere 
 coincidence ; but as it gave no clue to the lost 
 child, he thought best to make light of it. 
 
 " Well, well, Katy," said the old man, after a 
 time, " there's reason in all things. Dry your eyes. 
 Your brother Tim is going to take another hunt for 
 the child ; and if 'Ginia is to be found this side o' 
 the grave, Tim will find her." 
 
 " It's very kind of brother Tim," answered Katy, 
 "but he will not find her. I was too happy too 
 happy with Freeman away and 'Ginia by me 
 always. Oh, I was too happy ! And yet I fondly 
 thought it might last always, and that I might 
 always hear my merry bird about me, and look 
 down into her heart through her clear blue eyes. 
 Oh! 'Ginia, my lost 'Ginia!" 
 
 A fresh burst of tears seemed to relieve her for 
 a moment, when she resumed, in a low, subdued 
 tone, 
 
 " I could have borne the long years of coldness 
 and abuse, the suspicion, the falsehood, the worse 
 than brutal cruelty ; I could have borne to be the 
 widow of a living husband ; I could have borne the
 
 64 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 cruel robbery of my child, sore and repeated afflic- 
 tion as it was ; and I could almost forgive it all for 
 the depth of maternal love which it kindled and re- 
 kindled, brighter and brighter, in my heart. Oh, 
 I could have borne all these if I might at last 
 possess my heart's jewel in safety. But this was 
 not for me. My cup of bitterness was not yet full. 
 May the God of the widow and the orphan enable 
 me to bear my fate ! " 
 
 A low "Amen!" passed from the lips of her 
 mother; and the weeper was left alone to the 
 soothing influence of tears. 
 
 In the early part of the ensuing day two keel- 
 boats were seen coming around the point of land 
 at the bend of the river below the village, and Tim 
 Rose made ready to depart, intending to obtain a 
 passage upon one of the boats. It was possible to 
 see an approaching boat several miles down the 
 river from the bank at the landing ; and while Tim 
 was waiting, an old slave, who had been in the 
 family for many years, and who had formerly be- 
 longed to Freeman, took occasion to call Tim aside, 
 and speak to him on the subject of his proposed 
 journey. 
 
 " Massa Tim, you gwine all de way back to de 
 ole place for nothin'."
 
 DIVIDED COUNSELS. 6$ 
 
 " Why, Aunt Tabby," said Tim, " how do you 
 know that ? " 
 
 " I knows it, Massa Tim ; I dreamt Missus' child 
 was dead, dat berry night it was tuk away." 
 
 "But, Aunt Tabby, I don't believe in dreams." 
 
 " I jest know Miss Katy's child's dead," said the 
 negress. 
 
 " Why, what do you mean, Tab, talkin' that 
 way ? " said Tim, with a stern look of inquiry into 
 the face of the slave. 
 
 " I doesn't mean nuffin, Massa Tim," said the 
 woman, "but when Aunt Tabby dreams, she 
 dreams." 
 
 The old creature had never been suspected of 
 knowing anything of the lost child ; but from this 
 moment Tim believed she knew the cause and the 
 manner of 'Ginia's disappearance. The woman 
 had been employed by Freeman to take care of the 
 child, on those occasions when he had stolen it 
 from its mother. And Tim now suspected that 
 Freeman must somehow have secured her aid in 
 getting 'Ginia away. The more he thought of this 
 the more plausible it appeared. How could the 
 girl have been taken out of the house, but by the 
 aid of some one in it ? And then Tabby's anxiety 
 to have him give up his expedition, how was 
 this to be accounted for otherwise ?
 
 66 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 The boats had now reached the landing, and as 
 Tim was more than ever determined to hunt up 
 Freeman, he went immediately on board and ob- 
 tained a passage to Limestone.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A PERPLEXED FRENCHMAN. - A RESCUE. - BACK- 
 WOODS SURGERY. 
 
 pHE journey of Tim Rose to Limestone and 
 back consumed a month. He found Freeman 
 at home, and learned with certainty that he had 
 returned directly there, after his visit to Shawnee- 
 town, and that he brought no one back with him 
 but his own negroes. Giving up the search in that 
 direction as hopeless, he hastened his return to 
 Shawneetown. At Cincinnati he learned that war 
 had been declared against England, and he was the 
 first to bring the intelligence to the towns below. 
 
 When Tim's failure to learn anything of the lost 
 Virginia at Limestone was known, it excited but 
 little surprise. None of the family had any con- 
 fident hope of his success. Old Tabby could not 
 refrain from indulging in an " I told you so, Massa 
 Tim ! " So she had, truly. But then Tim thought 
 she did so from design : now he attributed it to her 
 superstitious belief in dreams. 
 
 The news of the declaration of war was received
 
 68 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 with satisfaction, and even with gratification by 
 the people of the town, and indeed, throughout the 
 territory. It was thought that it could not make 
 matters any worse, and in the end must make them 
 better. The Indians on the Illinois River and on 
 the Upper Mississippi had long been hostile, and 
 were committing acts of rapine and murder daily ; 
 and it was supposed that the declaration of war 
 would compel them to throw off their disguise, and 
 join the standard of one or the other of the parties. 
 It would also compel the general government to 
 extend protection to the West, where the people 
 despairing of legal protection in many instances, 
 had taken the matter into their own hands. 
 
 The military spirit was aroused throughout the 
 territory. Companies of " rangers," chiefly com- 
 posed of volunteers, were formed, and were soon 
 scouring the country in various directions, on the 
 Illinois and Sangamon rivers, and through the in- 
 terior from the Wabash to the Mississippi. Dan 
 Rose put himself at the head of a small company 
 of volunteers, and undertook to drive off a band 
 of hostile Indians which had been prowling about, 
 occasionally visiting the settlements in the south- 
 ern part of the territory, and committing frequent 
 robberies and occasional murders. 
 
 In the company of Dan Rose, besides ten or
 
 A PERPLEXED FRENCHMAN. 69 
 
 twelve experienced backwoods riflemen, there 
 were three or four boatmen, including Summers, 
 Lynch, and the Tennessean already known to the 
 reader, and a negro belonging to Rose. Tim 
 Rose declined going ; he had devoted himself to 
 the continued search for his sister's daughter, and 
 had determined to visit New Orleans for that pur- 
 pose. 
 
 In less than a week after the news of the decla- 
 ration of war had arrived, Rose and his men were 
 equipped with everything necessary, armed with 
 the deadly backwoods rifle and the hunting-knife, 
 and on their way in search of the savages. In 
 frontier countries, the departure of such a band, on 
 such an expedition, was an event which interested 
 the whole community. There was hardly a family 
 which had not at least a dear friend, if not a father 
 or a brother in that little band. No wonder, then, 
 that there was a general turn-out of the villagers 
 to witness the departure. Mr. Wilson, the patriotic 
 landlord, knocked in the head of a barrel of whis- 
 key, the universal promoter of good feeling, and 
 also of some not quite so good, and bade the volun- 
 teers drink " to the destruction of redcoats and 
 redskins." It was the universal rule for men on 
 such expeditions to take no spirits with them 
 (unless for medicine), and the Rangers did ample
 
 70 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 justice to Mr. Wilson's Vincennes, as being the last 
 they would get for some time. 
 
 At the close of the first day, Captain Rose's 
 company had reached the Salt Works, where they 
 proposed to spent the night. Here the expedition 
 was joined by a very valuable little Frenchman 
 named Lesure. He had been for years engaged 
 about the Salt Works, and took extreme pleasure 
 in detailing various incidents in their history. 
 During the early part of the night the men were 
 gathered about the furnace fires, roasting corn, 
 which was just then "in the milk," and made a 
 pleasant and wholesome food. Lesure sat down 
 in their midst and talked for hours. 
 
 " You see, Captain Rose," said he, "we do ver' 
 leetel like de peoples do. Ven dey makes de vit- 
 tal cook, dey poot de wood to de fire ; but ven we 
 makes de salt cook, de fire must be poot to de 
 wood, eh ? you see ? " 
 
 " You move your furnace from place to place, 
 wherever there is plenty of wood," responded 
 Rose. 
 
 " Yes, sare, captain, ver' good, ver' good ! Hah, 
 ha ! And we put de de saline watare into 
 one leetel log, and bring him to the fire. I tell 
 you one ver' good joke, captain, 'bout dat leetel 
 log. Long time 'go, one Frenchman and one
 
 A PERPLEXED FRENCHMAN. -j\ 
 
 Yankee cook de salt here. Frenchman 'way up 
 dare, half mile ; Yankee down dare, half mile. 
 Frenchman dig ver' deep well ; find plenty saline 
 watare ; make good pump ; put on two horse to pump 
 him, and put one leetel log down to his furnace to 
 bring de watare. Yankee dig well too ; put on pump, 
 and make de one horse pump him, and put leetel 
 log down to his furnace to bring de watare. Ver' 
 well : Frenchman's two horses work ver' hard, his 
 pump work ver' good ; but de leetel log bring only 
 one ver' leetel watare, like my fingare. Ah, ha ! 
 By gar ! what is the mattare ? Frenchman look at 
 de leetel log all over ; leetel log not spill de watare 
 anywhere. Frenchman ver' moche surprise. Put 
 two more horses to de pump, all the same. De 
 leetel log not pour out all de watare, only big as 
 my fingare. Frenchman bear him long time, 
 six months, twelve months. Then he go and 
 see Yankee's pump : one horse pump a leetel 
 watare, big as my fingare, den he leetel astonish : 
 go to de Yankee's furnace, Yankee cook heap a' 
 salt, and he leetel log run out big stream. Den 
 Frenchman ver' moche astonish. Den he get mad, 
 and tear up de leetel log from de pump to the fur- 
 nace. By gar ! what you think ? " 
 
 The captain gave no answer, however, for the 
 very good reason that he was fast asleep.
 
 72 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " What you tink ? " he continued, now addressing 
 Lynch, who was still awake. 
 
 " I think it beats old Kaintuck," said Lynch. 
 
 " My sentiments," said the Tennessee boatman. 
 
 " I tell you what you tink," said Lesure. " De 
 Frenchman's leetel log and de Yankee's leetel log 
 run cross, like dis," holding up his fingers, one 
 across the other. " De Frenchman's log was on 
 top de Yankee's log ; and by gar ! dere was one 
 big hole bore from Frenchman's log ! De Yankee 
 was too moche for de Frenchman. He make de 
 Frenchman's four hosses pump watare for him, 
 while his one hoss pump for de Frenchman ! 
 What you tink?" 
 
 By the time Lesure had finished his story, the 
 Tennessee boatman was the only auditor left awake. 
 He therefore felt himself called upon for a response ; 
 and he answered by echoing the Frenchman's 
 words : 
 
 "What do I think?" 
 
 " Yes, sare. Yankee was one scoundrel." 
 
 "Ezactly." 
 
 " One big rogue ! " 
 
 "Ezactly." 
 
 And then, his feelings rising with his effort at a 
 climax of hard names, the Frenchman added, 
 now sure that the Tennessean would assent to 
 anything,
 
 A RESCUE. 
 
 73 
 
 " Yes, sare he was one one one infernal 
 Yankee ! " 
 
 Whether Lesure thought possible to continue 
 the climax any higher than the word " Yankee " is 
 uncertain. At any rate, any further attempt was 
 cut short by a most inharmonious concert of cow- 
 bells which suddenly broke upon the stillness of 
 the night, and made the forest ring with its discord. 
 The whole party was awake in a moment ; but be- 
 fore they had time to form an opinion as to the 
 origin of the noise though all suspected it to 
 have been produced by Indians their negro man, 
 Solomon, bounded into their midst on a large, fine 
 horse, with a string of bells around its neck. 
 
 " Massa Rose," said Solomon, " I bring you a 
 good hoss and plenty of cow-bells." 
 
 " Why, Sol, where in the name of your great 
 namesake did you get these ? " inquired Rose. 
 
 "Tuk 'em from de Injins, Massa Rose." 
 
 " From the Indians, Sol ? That story won't do. 
 Tell us where you got the horse and bells," said 
 Rose. 
 
 "Tuk 'em from de Injins, Massa, sure as Gos- 
 pel," responded Sol. " Ye see, I tell you jest how 
 'twas," he continued, as the company gathered 
 round to hear his story. " When Massa Rose an' 
 de Rangers turn in for de night, I slip ober to de
 
 74 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 Saline Creek to ketch some fish ; build little fire on 
 de bank ; put on de bait, an' lay down by de fire. 
 After 'while go to sleep little, and forget to wake 
 up. Big Injin come and git straddle o' me, and 
 say, " Got you now, nigga / " He, he, he ! So he 
 did got me. Nebba min', after 'while I got Jiim. 
 1 How de do, Injin ? ' says I. ' Glad to see you. I 
 want to see Injin long time : gwine to live wid you 
 long time ago.' ' Berry good,' say de Injin, 'berry 
 good. Git on de hoss, broder nigga, and go wid 
 Injin.' Injin den put ole Sol on de hoss and tie 
 all dese bell roun' his neck, and stuff 'em full ob 
 leaves, so dey would 'nt ring. Den Injin 'bout to 
 git on 'nudder hoss, an' ole Sol stick his heel in de 
 boss's flank, an' away he go troo de wood like old 
 Scratch ! Injin shoot, an' holler like wildcat. 
 Couldn't hit dis chile in de dark, no how ! Leaves 
 all come out o' de cow-bells, an' scare de hoss so 
 bad he run right here, straight. He, he, he ! 
 Massa Rose, I git you good hoss an' plenty of cow- 
 bells. He, he ! " 
 
 The fellow had secured a good horse and twenty 
 or thirty bells, worth a dollar apiece. Henceforth, 
 Old Sol was a hero ; and during the whole expedi- 
 tion never got done talking of his success in out- 
 witting the Indian. 
 
 Dan Rose questioned the negro closely to learn
 
 A RESCUE. 
 
 75 
 
 whether there were other Indians in the neighbor- 
 hood. Solomon had seen but one. It was nearly 
 certain, however, that a single hostile Indian would 
 not venture so near the settlement. Telling the 
 men to look to their rifles, Rose posted sentinels ; 
 and telling them to be ready to take the trail by 
 daybreak, laid himself down to sleep. 
 
 Before sunrise next morning the rangers had 
 partaken of their homely breakfast, and started in 
 search of the savages. Taking old Sol's fishing fire 
 as a starting point, they traced the Indian's horse 
 up to the north fork of the Saline Creek several 
 miles, where they found a camp-fire still burning. 
 Here it was evident a number of Indians had camped 
 the night before. A fresh trail, still distinct, led 
 off from the Creek directly north ; and the tracks 
 01 several horses were found in the company. 
 
 Rose addressed his men, telling them that the 
 Indian who lost his horse and bells had, no doubt, 
 given the alarm, and so prompted the whole band 
 to hasten out of reach of the settlement as quickly 
 as possible, for fear of pursuit. He warned them 
 to be on their guard against surprise, and then 
 pushed on with all speed in the direction of the 
 trail. At dark they had reached the borders of a 
 prairie, without coming in sight of the savages, 
 though their trail was distinctly seen, leading
 
 ;6 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 across the prairie. Here Rose halted his men. 
 It was thought that the Indians had doubtless 
 camped on the other side of the prairie, as they 
 could not get wood any nearer, and would not be 
 apt to go further ; and so, after an hour's rest, the 
 Rangers again commenced their march. The 
 prairie was about four miles across. Taking their 
 course by the stars, the men proceeded in silence 
 until they reached the opposite border of the 
 prairie. Here, after careful reconnoitring, they 
 discovered the Indians' camp-fire. The men were 
 therefore halted, while Rose himself went forward 
 to more closely examine the position of the savages. 
 He found them under the bluff bank of a small 
 creek, where, with the water on one side and the 
 bank on the other, they had built their fire in such 
 a manner as to guard against surprise. By stealing 
 up a bend of the creek, he was enabled to see them 
 seated round the fire, apparently unsuspicious of 
 danger. He made them out to be ten in number ; 
 and distinctly saw by the firelight several scalps 
 dangling from one fellow's girdle. Two or three 
 horses were also tethered on the bank. 
 
 On returning to his little band of Rangers, Rose 
 divided them into two parties. They were to ap- 
 proach the creek at a right angle until they came 
 within a hundred paces, when the two parties were
 
 A RESCUE. 
 
 77 
 
 to diverge, one passing below and the other above 
 the Indians. Rose's party were to fire first ; and 
 before the Indians recovered from their surprise, 
 the other party were to pour in their fire. 
 
 When the two divisions had reached their posi- 
 tions, a new difficulty arose. The bend of the 
 creek was such that the two parties and the In- 
 dians formed the three points of a triangle ; and 
 just behind the savages, against the bank of the 
 creek, was seen a white prisoner, bound hand and 
 foot. If the original plan of attack were carried 
 out, this poor fellow was sure to receive the con- 
 verging fire of both parties. Rose hesitated for a 
 moment. Knowing that the other party would 
 wait for his fire, he adopted an expedient, sug- 
 gested by memories of his boyhood, to draw the 
 Indians away from their prisoner. Going into the 
 woods a little distance, and capturing a number of 
 lightning bugs, which were flying about in hun- 
 dreds, he took an empty glass 'bottle from his 
 pocket, put the living fireflies into it, and corked 
 them up. Then setting the bottle afloat in the 
 creek, he returned to his men and awaited the re- 
 sult. It proved as he anticipated. One after 
 another of the savages left the fire, and approached 
 the water's edge, to see the strange light which 
 was flashing and sparkling in the water. The
 
 ;8 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 favorable moment arrived, and Rose commanded 
 his men to fire. Five Indians fell ; and before the 
 remaining five recovered from their surprise, the 
 other party of Rangers delivered their fire, and 
 three more fell. The remaining two leaped upon 
 the bank, mounted their horses, and escaped in the 
 darkness. One of these ran by the prisoner as he 
 fled, and struck him a blow upon the head with a 
 tomahawk. 
 
 After reloading their rifles, both parties ap- 
 proached to examine the slain. Among the first 
 to reach them was old Solomon, the negro. Taking 
 it for granted that they were all dead, he impru- 
 dently ventured into their midst, was dragged 
 down by an old savage while in his very death- 
 struggle, and killed by a single plunge of the knife. 
 Poor Sol ! he was only a slave, but he was es- 
 teemed and trusted by all who knew him ; besides, 
 as legal property in man was acknowledged in Illi- 
 nois Territory, his death was also " a dead loss of 
 a thousand dollars," as Lynch remarked. 
 
 The prisoner had been severely wounded by the 
 tomahawk ; his skull was injured, and bleeding 
 badly. After his limbs were loosed, he was laid, 
 on a bed of leaves, and Lesure, the Frenchman 
 who now proved to be something of a surgeon 
 poured water from the creek upon the wound until
 
 A RESCUE. 
 
 79 
 
 the hemorrhage stopped, and then dressed it as 
 well as his means would permit. The prisoner 
 was found to be a young man, about twenty years 
 of age; but as he was stupefied by his wound, 
 could give no account of himself. He appeared, 
 from his dress and other indications, to be a stran- 
 ger in that part of the State, if, indeed he was 
 even a Western man ; and his rescuers were per- 
 plexed in the attempt to form a definite opinion 
 concerning him. 
 
 It was considered futile to follow the Indians 
 who had escaped ; and after posting sentinels out 
 in the darkness the Rangers laid themselves clown 
 for repose. 
 
 Early next morning, while preparing breakfast, 
 some of the men thought they heard the report of 
 a rifle in the direction of the prairie. A scout was 
 sent to reconnoitre. He found a company of 
 Rangers from Kaskaskia, who were scouring the 
 country from that place to Vincennes on the Wa- 
 bash. They had seen the trail of Rose's company, 
 but no signs of Indians, though a small band of 
 savages had been reported to them by a scout as 
 having committed a murder near the mouth of the 
 Ohio. 
 
 A conference was held between the two com- 
 panies, after which Rose and a portion of the vol-
 
 go BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 unteers with him joined the Kaskaskia company 
 as that had been organized under the authority of 
 Gov. Edwards, while Summers and the boatmen 
 prepared to return to Shawneetown. 
 
 A litter was made for the wounded young man, 
 which the men carried on their shoulders, relieving 
 each other in turn. The party was two days 
 reaching the Salt Works. The wounded man had 
 unexpectedly so far recovered as to be able to ride 
 on horseback ; though, owing to a depression of 
 the skull upon the brain, he was still unable to 
 give a coherent account of himself, or even his 
 name. He was therefore placed on a led horse, and 
 accompanied by the men to Shawneetown, after 
 resting one night at the Salt Works. Lesure did 
 his best to have him left behind to the tender 
 mercy of his primitive surgery ; but it was thought 
 best to take him to the town, where he might have 
 the benefit of more skilful treatment. 
 
 When they reached town, the Rangers carried 
 their patient, almost as a matter of course, to the 
 house of Dan Rose, for his good wife added to 
 her many housewifely accomplishments that of 
 being the best nurse in the village. She received 
 him with hospitality and the kindness of a good 
 Samaritan. 
 
 It was soon apparent that the stranger had fall-
 
 BACKWOODS SURGERY. 8 1 
 
 en into good hands. His general health was soon 
 restored, and he became to all appearances well ; 
 but he remained unconscious of his condition, hav- 
 ing apparently forgotten all past events, and had 
 nearly lost the power of coherent speech. The 
 few words which he did say, howev-r, filled his 
 nurse with astonishment. " Not Virginia Leyba," 
 he would say, " but 'Ginia Rose." 
 
 One day when he had been muttering these 
 words in the presence of Katy Freeman, she 
 turned to him suddenly *and asked, 
 
 "Do you know anything of 'Ginia Rose ?" 
 
 " Sh ! don't whisper it," said he. 
 
 Then, seeing tears come into her eyes, he said 
 in a low, soft tone, 
 
 " Why, how should you know ? How strange ! " 
 
 It was clear to Katy that this young man was 
 muttering the name of her daughter ; but how 
 was 'Ginia's fate wrapped up with his ? Where had 
 he heard her name ? and could he have had any 
 agency in her abduction ? The latter suspicion was 
 banished as soon as formed. The whole appear- 
 ance and bearing of the man, notwithstanding his 
 unconsciousness, forbade such a conclusion. Kind- 
 ness and generosity were impressed upon his 
 countenance, and there was a tone of sympathy 
 in his voice when he pronounced the name of
 
 82 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 'Ginia which showed him to be animated by a 
 generous emotion. At length the fear that her 
 daughter had shared his captivity with the Indians, 
 and fallen a victim to their cruelty, possessed the 
 mother's heart, and she sought by all the arts of 
 kindness to win the stranger's confidence, and to 
 draw from his clouded mind his knowledge of her 
 lost darling. 
 
 After several weeks, it was determined that the 
 wounded man should be trephined, in hope that 
 the operation would remove the pressure of the 
 skull upon the brain, and restore his reason. 
 
 The reader is no doubt aware that the instru- 
 ment with which surgeons usually perform this 
 operation is a small, hollow cylinder of steel, having 
 upon its end teeth resembling those of a saw. 
 With this the surgeon takes out a small button of 
 bone, by rotating the instrument backward and 
 forward upon the skull with his hand. The instru- 
 ment used by Dr. Reed on this occasion, however, 
 was of a somewhat different kind. It consisted 
 simply of a carpenter's centre-bit and brace. It 
 has been said that true skill consists in adapting 
 the means to the end. If that is true, then was 
 Dr. Reed a man of rare skill ; for, putting a shield 
 on the bit to prevent its going too far, he boldly 
 put the brace against his breast, and bored an inch
 
 BACKWOODS SURGERY. 83 
 
 hole through the skull. The effect was won- 
 derful, and its success clearly proved the doctor's 
 skill. 
 
 "Where am I?" said the stranger, the moment 
 his brain was relieved from pressure.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE WOUNDED MAN'S STORY. 
 
 ~\ /TRS. ROSE and Katy continued their kind 
 attention to the stranger, while the wound 
 inflicted by the rude trephine was healing. Katy 
 exhibited such interest in his welfare that when he 
 had sufficiently recovered to do so with safety, he 
 attempted to gratify her desire to hear the history 
 of his captivity among the Indians, and the events 
 which immediately preceded. Katy, with a woman's 
 prudence, avoided all allusion to the incoherent 
 words which he had spoken, until she could be sure 
 that he possessed some knowledge in relation to 
 her lost daughter. 
 
 Beginning with his name, like a sensible man as 
 he was, the young man proceeded : 
 
 " My name, as you already know, is Francis 
 Sinclair. I was born in New Orleans, and lost my 
 father in early life. My mother, who was a pious 
 Catholic, designed me for the Church ; and I was 
 accordingly educated for the priesthood. My 
 mother had a brother at St. Louis, on the Missis-
 
 THE WOUNDED MAN'S STORY. 85 
 
 sippi, engaged in mercantile business, who, ever 
 since the death of my father, had urged her to 
 remove to that place. But the difficult naviga- 
 tion of that river, together with my mother's strong 
 desire to be with her son, prevented her acceptance 
 of his invitation. Four months ago, however, he 
 sent her a renewed invitation, stating that he had 
 made arrangements with a good priest in St. Louis 
 to continue my instruction, if that should still be 
 necessary. 
 
 " I was now of an age to be able to choose for 
 myself my course in life ; and I must acknowledge 
 that the service of the Church was not that choice. 
 I hoped, therefore, that the opportunities of this 
 wild country would favor my desire of entering a 
 field of labor better suited to my taste ; and my 
 urgent solicitation decided my mother to risk the 
 journey, which has .had such a sad termination ! 
 My poor, dear mother fell a victim to the murder- 
 ous savages. But I will not anticipate. 
 
 " My uncle's barge, loaded with merchandise, 
 was lying at the levee; and three days after my 
 mother decided to go to St. Louis, we were on the 
 turbid waters of the Mississippi. On going aboard 
 the barge, we found that we were to have other 
 companions for the voyage beside the captain of 
 the vessel and the French boatmen. These were
 
 86 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 Sister Naomi, a nun whom I had known before, 
 and a young girl of some thirteen years, named 
 Virginia you look very pale, madam (speaking 
 to Katy). Are you ill?" 
 
 " Oh, I am better, sir," said she. " Please go 
 on." 
 
 Sinclair continued : 
 
 " This fairy creature was named Virginia Leyba. 
 From the first moment of our meeting, it seemed 
 to me that I was dreaming, so like the bright 
 images which had often filled my vision in my 
 dream-hours was this blithe, blue-eyed girl. 
 
 " Do not suspect me, my dear madam, of 
 having fallen in love at least after any ordinary 
 manner with this child, for she was a child, after 
 all ; and yet I loved her because she was a child. 
 
 "Well, this bright rosebud, just ready to burst 
 into womanhood, and the good Sister Naomi, were 
 our companions for the voyage. We were more 
 than two months slowly creeping up the muddy 
 river. The boatmen were seldom idle long enough 
 to feel the want of amusement, though they often 
 enlivened the tedium of the voyage by snatches of 
 song, or stories. But we poor passengers were 
 driven to many expedients to vary the dull monot- 
 ony. Sister Naomi managed for the first month 
 to keep her cheerfulness by giving to her young
 
 THE WOUNDED MAN'S STORY. 87 
 
 pupil lessons in literature and in religion. In the 
 former study her progress appeared to me marvel- 
 lous; but she did not give the good Sister very 
 satisfactory evidence of her devotion to Mother 
 Church. However, her ignorance of Catholic 
 theology was amply atoned for by her wit and 
 girlish philosophy. For my own part, I divided 
 my time between reading to my mother and listen- 
 ing to the voice of Virginia Leyba. After the first 
 month, Sister Naomi seemed to tire of her daily 
 routine of assigning lessons and hearing her pupil 
 recite. She gave up literature, therefore, and con- 
 fined herself to religious instruction, saying that 
 the child had imbibed such erroneous ideas and 
 opinions from her heretic mother that it would 
 require a good while to exterminate them. ' Oh, 
 yes,' said Virginia to me, laughingly, ' it will require 
 a long, long while.' 
 
 "Well, after this," continued Sinclair, "Virginia 
 and I enjoyed the golden hours together. We 
 watched the bubbling waters as they hurried by ; 
 we admired the gay festoons of pendent moss, as 
 they trailed from the river's bordering trees ; we 
 listened to the merry chatter of the paroquet, and 
 the exulting cry of the kingfisher as he rose from 
 the water with his finny prey ; we watched the 
 graceful swans, which sometimes floated in the
 
 88 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 eddies, and dashed the muddy water over their 
 snowy plumage. Whole hours we would sit at the 
 vessel's side, waiting for some unlucky fish to 
 swallow our baited hooks. And at this amusement 
 my companion was far my superior. There really 
 appeared to be a fascination in her touch, so that 
 the fish could not resist the temptation to swallow 
 her bait. My own hook might hang for hours 
 without a nibble ; and yet, only let Virginia touch 
 the hook with her fairy fingers, and the charmed 
 barb was sure to bring up its victim. 
 
 " One day I called her Virginia Leyba, as usual, 
 when she said, in an undertone, not to be heard 
 by others, ' Not Virginia Leyba, but 'Ginia Rose.' 
 
 " It appears that another did hear, however, for 
 Sister Naomi, with a voice of reprimand, called 
 her from the other end of the barge. From that 
 moment we were alone together no more. 
 
 " The next day my mother took occasion to say 
 that a young man who had devoted his life to the 
 priesthood, as I had, should never permit himself 
 to look twice at a pretty face, even though it were 
 the face of a child ; for that the young bud just 
 bursting into beauty is more dangerously fascinating 
 than the full-blown rose. I replied that not I, but 
 my mother, had so devoted me ; and that there was 
 that within me which I feared would sadly conflict
 
 THE WOUNDED MAN'S STORY. 89 
 
 with her intentions. I am now thankful that I said 
 no more, as my poor dear mother is gone forever." 
 
 "But my daughter, my 'Ginia," said his anx- 
 ious auditor, who could bear no longer. " Does she 
 yet live ? Oh, do not tell me she is dead ! " 
 
 " She escaped when I was made captain ; and no 
 doubt, is still living," replied Sinclair. " But can 
 it be possible that she is yours ? " 
 
 A full history of 'Ginia's disappearance was 
 given, and Sinclair became certain that the kind 
 nurse who had dressed his wounds, 
 
 "And with the healing potion poured 
 The opiate of a woman's word," 
 
 was the mother of the beautiful creature who had 
 crossed his path of life so strangely. 
 
 Sinclair anticipated his narrative to tell his audi- 
 tor that 'Ginia and her present guardian, Sister 
 Naomi, had no doubt arrived safe at St. Louis, and 
 then resumed : 
 
 " For days and weeks that sad, confiding under- 
 tone lingered on my ear, ' Not Virginia Leyba, 
 but 'Ginia Rose." A new tie had bound me to the 
 captive bird : that tie was mystery. What strange 
 history was hidden beneath the words ? 
 
 " I ventured one day to ask her kind guardian 
 for the girl's history ; she replied : ' Her father, 
 Don Antonio de Leyba, brought her to my care,
 
 QO BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 and as he trusted me with her instruction, I trusted 
 him with her history. I did not question him.' 
 
 " ' But who is Don Leyba ? ' " said I. 
 
 " ' A friend to our House, who, having devoted 
 large sums to the Church, has, wisely, no doubt, 
 devoted his daughter to its service.' 
 
 " I asked no more questions, but from that mo- 
 ment my resolution was taken. I determined to 
 rescue this young creature, who was formed to be 
 the light and joy of the social world, from her un- 
 natural destination. I could not doubt that there 
 was some hidden wrong connected with her pres- 
 ent position, and duty as well as inclination 
 prompted me to search it out." 
 
 "Did you not say her eyes were blue," asked 
 Katy. 
 
 "Blue as the summer sky." 
 
 " And her hair auburn ? " 
 
 "Ay, and beautiful as threads of gold." 
 
 " And her complexion fair ? " 
 
 " The lily is hardly fairer." 
 
 " Oh, she can only be my own 'Ginia. But then 
 that Spanish name." 
 
 "There lies a mystery, she denies the name." 
 
 These questions were asked and answered, and 
 Sinclair resumed his narrative : 
 
 " I approach the sad catastrophe which resulted
 
 THE WOUNDED MAN'S STORY. 91 
 
 in the death of my mother, and in my own cap- 
 tivity. 
 
 " With favoring winds, we had a short voyage, 
 and reached the mouth of the Ohio without acci- 
 dent. There we loaded, and remained a day for 
 the purpose of making some repairs upon the 
 barge. My mother and I walked out upon the 
 shore some distance to enjoy the cool shade of 
 some cottonwood trees, and we were fired upon by 
 Indians, within rifleshot of the barge and in sight 
 of Sister Naomi and Virginia. My poor mother 
 fell instantly dead, and I was captured and carried 
 off. I heard the screams of the women on the 
 boat as I was borne away to the woods. 
 
 " After being forced to travel on foot until 
 nearly exhausted, the savages placed me upon a 
 horse stolen from some settlement, and hastened 
 toward the prairies of the interior. 
 
 " The rest of my story you know. On the night 
 of the fourth day, your father and his noble band 
 rescued me from the savages ; and your family's 
 kindness since has nearly restored my usual 
 health."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN AMPHIBIOUS TOWN. WORSHIP IN THE WOODS. 
 
 "THE JERKS." 
 
 TT was widely known in " Illinois Territory," that 
 the goodly village of Shawneetown was subject 
 to frequent and unceremonious visits from la belle 
 riviere, and that this ordinarily genteel and well- 
 behaved stream was frequently known to come 
 when least expected, and to make a most ungentle 
 stay, notwithstanding the inhospitable reception it 
 met with from a people who are otherwise famed 
 for their hospitality. One of these unwelcome 
 overflows occurred about the time that Francis 
 Sinclair had sufficiently recovered from the effects 
 of his wound to begin to need and to desire out- 
 door exercise. His morning walks at first extended 
 far enough to enable him to take his breakfast with 
 a good appetite on his return ; but the flood hav- 
 ing overflowed the land behind the town one night, 
 he was admonished to cut short his walk, or con- 
 fine it to the river-bank, which was higher ground 
 than that behind the town. 
 
 On the next day the strip of dry land had nar-
 
 AN AMPHIBIOUS TOWN. 
 
 93 
 
 rowed to a quarter of a mile, and even that was 
 fast disappearing. He began to feel somewhat 
 uneasy, and on his return appealed to Katy Free- 
 man to know what the people would do " if the 
 river kept on rising." 
 
 "Well, my dear sir," said Katy pleasantly, "the 
 river was never known to 'keep on rising.' " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Sinclair, " I trust it will stop 
 some time. In the meantime, what will the people 
 do ? " 
 
 " Oh, they will get into the upper part of the 
 house, if the house happens to have an upper part. 
 Others will caulk up their old boats, which have 
 performed the same service on similar occasions 
 before, and will move into them. Others will camp 
 on those mounds which you observe above town : 
 these are the last spots under water. Finally, 
 when they can stay no longer, all go in the boats 
 to the hills, and wait until the water goes down." 
 
 "Well," responded Sinclair, "that must be a 
 delightful state of things ! I should prefer going 
 to the hills before the flood comes and never 
 coming back. I judge from the movements of the 
 people and the appearance of the water, which is 
 still very muddy and filled with drift-wood, that 
 there will have to be a general flight to the woods 
 on this occasion."
 
 94 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " We have an opportunity," said Katy, " to go to 
 the camp-meeting in the morning ; and as it will 
 continue for some time, the river will probably be 
 down by the time of our return. Will you not be 
 pleased to attend the meeting ? " 
 
 " Indeed I will," he replied. " The scenes which 
 I am told occur there are interesting to me on 
 more accounts than one." 
 
 On the following morning Sinclair, accompanied 
 by Mrs. Rose and party, got on board a small flat- 
 boat, and started for the hills. As the party passed 
 slowly on, Sinclair had a fine opportunity to ob- 
 serve the grotesque scene of a town under water. 
 A few small artificial mounds, of aboriginal origin, 
 and about three acres of dry ground at their base, 
 was all of terra firma which could be seen. On 
 those mounds, besides the cattle, horses, and dogs 
 which had not been ferried to the hills, were men, 
 women, and children, of all ages and colors, en- 
 gaged in occupations as multifarious as their char- 
 acters. Some were feeding stock, some were 
 "killing their pork," some were gathering drift- 
 wood from the water, some were boiling tar for the 
 purpose of pitching some old boat which had lain 
 there idle since the last flood. Boats of all manner 
 of shapes and sizes were passing to and fro between 
 the mounds and the vacated houses. Flats, skiffs,
 
 WORSHIP IN THE WOODS. 95 
 
 canoes, rafts, and even horse-troughs, were put in 
 requisition for this purpose ; one large flat-bottomed 
 boat was doing service as a ferry-boat, carrying to 
 the hills. A large portion of the population had 
 already left the village, most of whom passed on to 
 the camp-meeting on Cypress Creek, a few miles 
 in the interior. 
 
 On reaching the camp-ground, Sinclair witnessed 
 such a scene as could be found in no other country. 
 The camp was located at a place most easily acces- 
 sible to the people of all the " settlements " for 
 many miles round ; in the midst of a tall forest of 
 oaks, hickories, pecans, and other towering trees. 
 There were about forty tents or booths, built in a 
 semi-circle round an open space of about three 
 acres ; and another circle, composed chiefly of cov- 
 ered wagons, surrounded this inner circle of tents. 
 The tents were temporary huts of logs, and were 
 intended chiefly as sleeping apartments. Between 
 the circle of tents and the line of wagons large 
 fires were burning ; at these the people prepared 
 their food in the daytime, and they served to light 
 the centre camp-ground at night. At a prominent 
 central point the preachers' stand was erected. It 
 consisted simply of a platform, four feet from the 
 ground, built of slabs, supported by the same trees 
 which served as the only covering above the heads 
 of the preachers.
 
 96 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 Our little party reached the camp-ground just 
 after sundown. There were at least five hundred 
 persons on the ground, gathered from a distance of 
 thirty or forty miles around. Some of these were 
 cooking their evening meal ; some were singing 
 hymns of praise in the various tents ; while others 
 were pouring out their hearts in fervent prayers. 
 
 Mrs. Rose had been invited by the Elder to 
 occupy his tent in company with his own family, 
 and thither the party proceeded. This Elder was 
 a most devoted man of God. He had come all the 
 way from Vincennes to attend this meeting ; and 
 he had labored so incessantly, preaching to the 
 multitude, singing, praying, exhorting, and convers- 
 ing with the people, that he was hoarse and nearly 
 exhausted. But Elder Havens was not a man to 
 give up. He had consecrated himself to the work, 
 and was ready to fall in the battle with his harness 
 on. Two or three other preachers also were at the 
 meeting ; and all labored with a zeal worthy of 
 their cause. 
 
 After the frugal evening meal was disposed of, 
 the people began silently to seat themselves on the 
 rude benches in the open space in front of the 
 preachers' stand, waiting in the most orderly man- 
 ner for the services to begin. Occasionally some 
 one would start an old familiar hymn, which would
 
 WORSHIP IN THE WOODS. 97 
 
 be caught up by the entire assembly, who made 
 the very vault of heaven echo with their voices. 
 Fresh fuel was put upon the fires, which threw 
 their picturesque glare upon the tents, and cast a 
 dim illumination over the whole assembly. 
 
 Presently the Elder rose, and in a solemn voice 
 called upon the multitude to "unite in prayer." 
 Oh, what a scene was that ! The giant old trees of 
 a thousand years spread their vast arms over the 
 multitude, like the complex architecture of some 
 huge Gothic temple ; the blue sky vaulted it above, 
 and the calm, bright stars looked down, like 
 watchers in the spirit world. Then went up the 
 voice of prayer to God from a temple the work of 
 His hands. Then swayed the multitude of wor- 
 shippers, as they were moved by the eloquence or 
 the fervor of the preacher ; and the deep amens, 
 which ever and anon responded to his prayer, 
 marked the deep devotion of the worshippers. 
 
 After the opening prayer a hymn was 'given 
 out,' two lines at a time, and sung by the whole 
 congregation with an earnest fervor which would 
 put to shame the efforts of many of the more 
 modern choirs. 
 
 After the preacher had announced the text, and 
 had spent some time in elucidating it in his pe- 
 culiar manner, Sinclair began to think, from the
 
 9 8 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 stillness which prevailed, that he should not see 
 any of those scenes of excitement and physical 
 manifestation of which he had heard so much. 
 He had obtained a seat just in front of the preach- 
 ers' stand, among the most devout of the brethren. 
 On the same seat with himself sat an old gentle- 
 man who had been introduced to him by the Elder 
 as Brother Sands. There was something in the 
 appearance of this man which attracted Sinclair's 
 attention. He was over six feet in height, very 
 slenderly made, and of a nervo-bilious tempera- 
 ment. His body appeared to be almost without 
 bones in any part. In the first place, his form 
 from head to foot was straight as an arrow. His 
 legs and arms were not only marvellously straight, 
 but appeared to be without any increase in size 
 from his body outward. His shoulders ran out 
 from his neck at a right angle, and the arms hung 
 down from them at a similar angle. His hair was 
 straight and black, and his twinkling gray eyes 
 looked out from beneath straight, black brows, that 
 formed a line at right angles with his nose. Even 
 his voice partook of this same angularity, never 
 passing from tone to tone by natural modulations, 
 but by a succession of inharmonious intervals. 
 This man was a devout Christian, whose life was 
 a worthy comment on his profession.
 
 THE JERKS. 99 
 
 Some time after the sermon began, and before 
 any undue excitement appeared in the congrega- 
 tion, the right arm of this man Sands suddenly 
 flew up straight above his head, as if impelled by 
 some unseen and irresistible force. The man 
 gave a sudden, short, sharp shriek of pain. After 
 a few seconds the arm feU as if dead to his side. 
 In a moment more the other arm performed a 
 similar movement and with increased violence. 
 The man involuntarily cried out again with pain. 
 Sinclair was alarmed, and took hold of the arm 
 for the purpose of rendering some assistance. It 
 was rigid as stone ! The muscles on the top of the 
 shoulders were thrown into a hard, knotty mass ; 
 and the whole limb felt as if it were made of wood 
 instead of living flesh and blood. Some of the 
 persons near requested Sinclair not to interfere in 
 any way, as it would only make matters worse, 
 adding that it was " nothing but the jerks." The 
 arm soon fell down as the other had done ; while 
 the preacher, not at all interrupted by the occur- 
 rence, attended to his discourse as the more im- 
 portant duty. 
 
 After a little while the man's knees flew up into 
 his face, and he fell to the ground perfectly help- 
 less. Some of the brethren pulled him up and 
 laid him upon some straw which had been spread
 
 100 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 in front of the preachers' stand, where it had been 
 placed, in fact, for just such a purpose. Here, the 
 man lay, suffering these contortions and "jerks," 
 though less violent, until the close of the services. 
 
 Directly, a woman on the upper side of the 
 stand was attacked. Her jaws commenced jerking 
 with a short, quick bite, like the snapping of a 
 wolf. The first paroxysm had caught her tongue 
 between her teeth, and had inflicted a wound 
 which was bleeding profusely. She was placed on 
 the straw, also, to prevent injury from falling. 
 The contagion continued to spread until ten or 
 twelve persons had been drawn into the sympa- 
 thetic circle, and lay helpless on the straw, jerking 
 more or less violently. 
 
 Then the character of the affection seemed to 
 be changed. A woman suddenly fell from her 
 seat in a fit of convulsive laughter. She was soon 
 followed by others, similarly affected, until more 
 than a dozen were engaged in this strange cachin- 
 ation. This was chiefly confined to the women ; 
 one poor creature laughed so incessantly that her 
 lungs became exhausted, and she presented the 
 appearance of a person dying from suffocation. 
 One of the preachers dashed a cup of cold water 
 in her face, when she caught her breath with a 
 sudden sigh, and resumed her respiration.
 
 THE JERKS. 10 1 
 
 When the preacher had finished his discourse, 
 he came down from the stand and passed round 
 among the sufferers, addressing a few words of 
 consolation to each one ; and thus calmed the 
 strange excitement he had raised. The arms and 
 legs of Brother Sands, however, continued to per- 
 form their feats of triangulation for some time 
 afterwards, and he was carried to his tent ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 After the conclusion of the evening services, 
 when all had retired to the tents for the night, 
 Sinclair took occasion to converse with the Elder 
 on the subject of the labors performed by the 
 preachers of his denomination. 
 
 "I suppose, Mr. Havens," said he, "that such 
 protracted efforts as are called for on this occasion 
 are of comparatively rare occurrence ? " 
 
 "Not at all, my dear sir," said the Elder. "I 
 have attended four similar meetings in the course 
 of the last four weeks, no two of which were within 
 fifty miles of each other ; and in no one of them 
 have I had so much aid from other preachers as in 
 this." 
 
 "Well," said Sinclair, "you will certainly be 
 worn out after a while." 
 
 " Yes, thank God," said the Elder, " my Father 
 will call me home in his own good time."
 
 102 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Where is your permanent residence ? " 
 
 " My wife and little ones are at Vincennes," said 
 the Elder, "but my district extends over a hundred 
 miles. Still, I manage to be with my wife and 
 family five or six times a year." 
 
 " What remuneration do you receive ? " inquired 
 Sinclair. 
 
 " Remuneration ? Oh, yes, God be praised ! a 
 thousand times more than I deserve : the approba- 
 tion of my Saviour, ' Well done, good and faithful 
 servant ! ' ' 
 
 " But your salary : you get some kind of support 
 from the members, or you could not live ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; we all get a little something for food 
 and raiment ; but it is so little that no one is ever 
 tempted to look upon that as his remuneration. I 
 have a wife and five children ; and I am allowed 
 about two hundred and fifty dollars per annum. 
 But I scarcely ever get over half that amount." 
 
 "But, my dear sir," said Sinclair, "it appears 
 improbable that you could subsist at all on the 
 whole amount, much less the half." 
 
 " It is truly a poor pittance," was the Elder's 
 reply ; " and nothing but the sustaining arm of a 
 kind Providence enables us to bear up under it. 
 For myself, I fare better than my poor wife and 
 children ; for I am visiting from church to church,
 
 THE JERKS. I0 3 
 
 and always find some brother, who has more than 
 he needs for the present moment, to divide his 
 frugal meal with me, and then occasionally one 
 gives me a pair of shoes, or a hat, or even a coat ; 
 so that I manage to get from one Conference to 
 another. But my poor family without husband 
 and father, with none to watch over and protect 
 theirs is a hard fate." 
 
 A tear stole into the corner of the good man's 
 eye as he continued : 
 
 " I never murmur ; and I only talk thus plainly 
 of a preacher's life in the West that you may be 
 able to realize the sacrifices which are made by 
 those who are carrying the Word of God into the 
 Wilderness. But I do not murmur. Many a time 
 and often, as I have been seated at the well- 
 provided table of some brother, a silent tear has 
 stolen down my cheek at the thought that my poor 
 wife and children were living on corn-bread and 
 water ! Sometimes for many weeks not a mouth- 
 ful of any food was in my house but cornmeal ; and 
 then we thanked God that this could be had so 
 cheap. A little salt and a little water and a little 
 fire, and the simple cornmeal becomes a wholesome 
 and pleasant bread. Let us thank God for Indian 
 corn ! It has been the special friend of the Gospel 
 in this western country."
 
 IO4 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " I have seen the time, Brother Havens, when I 
 could not get that," said another preacher who was 
 present. " The year I was on the Wabash Circuit, 
 our people paid their quarterage in corn. From 
 that we fed our horses, cow, pigs, and chickens ; 
 and it was so far to the mill that we lived on hom- 
 iny more than half the year, because we could not 
 get our corn to the mill and back." 
 
 This last speaker was quite an old man ; and Sin- 
 clair asked him how long he had been preaching. 
 
 "Thirty years," was the reply. 
 
 " Suppose you should die to-morrow : what would 
 you be able to leave for the support of your 
 family ? " 
 
 " Not a penny ! " said the other. 
 
 " Let us pray," said the Elder. 
 
 Then went up to God the fervent prayer of this 
 man, who had consecrated his life, body and soul, 
 to His service. 
 
 Sinclair retired to rest with new views of Chris- 
 tian duty ; and a doubt, for the first time in his 
 life, of the infallibility of the Romish Church. 
 
 The next clay was the Sabbath ; and the num- 
 bers in attendance had increased by several hun- 
 dred, consisting of hunters, boatmen, salt-boilers, 
 negro slaves, etc., yet the most perfect good order 
 prevailed throughout the day. At that time there
 
 THE JERKS. 105 
 
 were numbers of men who lived a life divided 
 between hunting and agriculture. They raised a 
 little corn, or their wives did for them fre- 
 quently, just to feed themselves and their own 
 stock, and perhaps a little for market ; but still 
 depended on the rifle as their chief means of sup- 
 port. These men and their rifles had become such 
 inseparable companions that they were nearly 
 always seen together. At home or abroad, in the 
 field at work, in the village " tradin', " and even at 
 " meeting," the rifle was always at hand. 
 
 About the camp-meeting, rifles might be seen 
 here and there above the heads of the congrega- 
 tion. The men who carried them were, generally, 
 in hunting attire ; at one side of their girdles, by 
 way of balancing the powder-horn at the other, 
 there was generally seen a long-bladed hunting- 
 knife, which would answer just as well for slashing 
 "Injins" as wolves. 
 
 For the purpose of learning their character, 
 Sinclair introduced to some of them the subject of 
 the vote proposed to be taken throughout the 
 Territory upon the question of the second form of 
 government common to territories of that day. 
 
 "You backwoodsmen will have to lay by the 
 rifle, and stick closer to the plough, after a while," 
 said Sinclair.
 
 106 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " The territory will now make such an advance 
 that a few years more will make it a State. It will 
 hardly be forty years until there will be a million 
 of people in it." 
 
 " Stranger," said a hunter named Edwards, for- 
 merly from Tennessee, " it is my opinion it is bad 
 business, this thing of crowding all the good 
 land with people. The game is gettin' sca'ce 
 a' ready." 
 
 " Yes, that may be," replied Sinclair, " but one 
 plough will procure more of the necessaries of life 
 than twenty rifles." 
 
 " Me and my boys can get all the necessaries for 
 my family with our rifles. So can any man, as is 
 a man. Howsomever the women are gittin' to 
 think a straw bonnet isn't good enough for 'em 
 now ; the boys have a Sunday coat ; and the gals 
 is all gittin' above wearin' linsey any longer." 
 
 ' Yes, probably that is true," said Sinclair. 
 " But many good things come with the increase 
 of population which you cannot have without. 
 You will soon have school-houses, and perhaps 
 colleges after a while." 
 
 "Yes, stranger, that's the very thing. Let 'em 
 git a skull-house, an' its good-bye, spinniri wheel ! 
 No more ho'made jeans ; nothin' but books an'
 
 THE JERKS. lO/ 
 
 " Are you opposed to books ? " Sinclair ventured 
 to inquire. 
 
 " In course I ain't," said the man. " I don't say 
 that, but I can put a ball through the centre, 
 sixty yards, ten times, to any Yankee skule-master's 
 once. They don't know a b'ar from a bugaboo." 
 
 " Still, my dear sir, the country would make 
 poor progress without schools." 
 
 " Yes, that may all be true, stranger, as you say ; 
 but what's the use of progress ? there's 'Squire 
 Jones' family : I hain't nothin' agin 'em, but they 
 believe in progress, skules, 'cademies, and all 
 that. Their gal Jane lets her mother work like a 
 nigger, week in and week out, so as she may look 
 nice and keep her hands soft, that's progress. 
 And that same gal turns up her nose at a young- 
 ster because he wears a hunting-shirt, that's pro- 
 gress. I knew Jones the first time he ever seen 
 broadcloth in his life : now look at him ! " 
 
 " Still, I am told Mr. Jones is a very good man," 
 said Sinclair. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; Jones is a good enough fellow. He 
 used to put a ball in a tin cup at a hundred yards ; 
 but progress spiled Jones as well as his gal. He 
 sent that gal Jane to Vincennes, to the 'cademy 
 there, and paid twenty dollars to have her learn to 
 make music on a gatarr."
 
 108 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " To be able to play the guitar," said Sinclair, 
 "is a very pretty accomplishment." 
 
 " It don't accomplish nothin' with her, but make 
 a fool of the gal. She would rather turn, turn, turn 
 on her banjo than help her poor old mother about 
 the house." 
 
 Sinclair gave up the argument, satisfied that he 
 had found a genuine frontiersman who would retreat 
 before nothing but sunrise and civilization. 
 
 On the next morning the meeting was brought 
 to a close. The preacher on " the Shawneetown 
 Circuit," who resided for the present at a settle- 
 ment half way between Shawneetown and another 
 on the Wabash, thirty miles off, invited Sinclair, 
 Mrs. Rose, and Katy to go with him and to remain 
 for a few days, until the water should abate at 
 Shawneetown. The invitation was accepted, and 
 a ride of ten miles brought them to the humble 
 home of Rev. Wesley Hobart.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 
 
 r ["HE residence of Mr. Hobart was a small, log- 
 built house, with a loft above, in which a part 
 of the family had their beds. It was situated on 
 the brow of an eminence, on the outskirts of a 
 heavy forest, and overlooking a beautiful plain in 
 front. The plain, a small prairie of a hundred 
 acres or less, was bounded in the distance, on the 
 northeast, by the Little Wabash River, a romantic 
 stream, which gathers its waters up in the southern 
 border of the great prairies, and among the forest 
 trees between these and the true Wabash, and dis- 
 charges them into that stream a short distance above 
 its confluence with the Ohio, and it ran merrily along 
 on that day as if nothing but health and happiness 
 were to be found on its borders. From that little 
 log-house on the hill, the frontier parsonage, 
 the stream could be seen running off to the east- 
 ward, and disappearing in a distant forest of tall 
 cypress trees. The little prairie in front of the 
 parsonage was dotted with ten or fifteen log-houses,
 
 HO BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 most of them but one story high, and consisting of 
 a single apartment. The high ground on which 
 the parsonage stood continued back in a southwest 
 direction for many miles, covered with a tall forest, 
 and broken into numerous hills and valleys. As 
 the party who accompanied the preacher home 
 approached the little settlement, and had pointed 
 out to them the parsonage on the hill, they were 
 impressed with the romantic beauty of the place. 
 It was at that lovely season when the expiring 
 year in that region assumes a thousand hues of 
 beauty. The oaks, whose tall tops shaded the 
 little house upon the hill, had doffed their deep- 
 green hue and put on a livery of scarlet shaded 
 deeply with brown. The maples had shed much 
 of their foliage at the first frost, and the yellow 
 leaves were carpeting the ground around their 
 trunks. The sumach shone out in a suit of mot- 
 tled scarlet and gold, and the whole forest was 
 rich in the variegated tints of early autumn. Wild 
 grapes were hanging in clusters from the trailing 
 vines ; and a soft, balmy odor filled the breezes 
 which came from the forest hills. It was one of 
 those calm and gentle days in the Indian summer, 
 when a hazy dimness pervades the atmosphere, 
 and all nature seems to be resting in beauty. 
 " If I should give an opinion of the delightful
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. m 
 
 spot," said Sinclair to the preacher just before the 
 party entered the house, " I should say it must be 
 the very abode of health." 
 
 " You will find how nearly you have guessed," 
 was the preacher's reply. " There is the doctor 
 coming up to the house now. I fear that some of 
 my family are sick." 
 
 They waited a moment for the doctor to come 
 up. He was introduced as Doctor Hains ; and all 
 entered the preacher's door together. Mr. Hobart 
 addressed his wife hastily, and as he extended his 
 hand asked anxiously who was sick. 
 
 " Oh, no one," said the wife encouragingly. 
 "Elizabeth and Sarah have the ague : that's all." 
 
 "That is all /" responded the preacher, looking 
 toward Sinclair with a sorry smile. He then 
 introduced his companion as a young gentleman 
 from New Orleans, a friend of Mr. Rose's family, 
 with whom she was already acquainted. 
 
 "What think you of your judgment now, friend 
 Sinclair ? Here are two subjects for the doctor 
 under one roof," said the preacher. 
 
 " Rather an unpropitious beginning, I admit," 
 replied Sinclair ; " but I trust this is something 
 unusual." 
 
 " It is rather unusual for my family to have but 
 two cases of ague at once," responded Mr. Hobart.
 
 112 DROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "Well," said Sinclair, "down on that beautiful 
 plain, how is it there ? " 
 
 " How is it, Doctor ? " asked Hobart, well know- 
 ing what the reply would be. 
 
 " Much worse than up here," said the doctor. 
 " There is less ague at this house every year than 
 at any other in the settlement." 
 
 A pale, feeble girl now came down the rude 
 ladder from the loft above. She was shaking 
 violently with ague, and her jaws rattled involun- 
 tarily together. 
 
 " Elizabeth, my daughter," said the father, as he 
 printed a kiss on her cold cheek, " I am sorry to 
 see your chill back again." 
 
 The girl took a seat by the fire, where the 
 mother was preparing the evening meal, and 
 approached so near in the vain effort to warm her 
 shivering limbs, that it appeared as if the skin 
 must have been burned from her hands. She was 
 about fifteen years old, naturally of slight frame, 
 reduced by the ague almost to a skeleton. Her 
 jet black eyes were rendered yet darker in ap- 
 pearance by the pallor of her skin ; and her hair, 
 from the same contrast, appeared of an inky black- 
 ness. Notwithstanding her suffering from fever 
 and ague for months, there were still lingering 
 traits of beauty about her, which impressed Sin-
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 
 
 113 
 
 clair as indicating greater culture than he expected 
 to find in so wild a country. 
 
 The doctor examined the patient, left medicine 
 for her ; and then walking alone up the ladder to 
 the loft above, as much at home as if in his own 
 family, he there examined the other patient, left 
 medicine with directions for its use, and returned 
 to the room below. 
 
 " How is my little Sarah, Doctor ? " asked Mr. 
 Hobart. 
 
 " Sally's chill was pretty hard, but came on an 
 hour later to-day than yesterday. She will hardly 
 have more than two or three more," was the reply. 
 
 " Did you leave medicine ? " inquired Mr. Hobart. 
 
 " I left ' barks ' enough for ten days," replied the 
 doctor. " I am going twenty-five miles to the Mc- 
 Lean settlement to-morrow, and shall not be back 
 till next day. Mr. Sinclair, I should be pleased to 
 spend some time with you ; but you will excuse 
 me, 1 have quite a number to see to-night. 
 Good-bye, sir. Good-bye all." 
 
 And Doctor Hains started on his mission, a 
 mission which in a new country requires as much 
 self-sacrifice as that of the Christian ministers. 
 
 Mrs. Hobart busied herself with the preparation 
 of supper. The poor girl was still shaking with 
 ague, and Sinclair began to feel a great interest in
 
 114 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 this disease, which appeared to have a victim 
 in every family. 
 
 " The burden of doctors' bills must be considera- 
 ble," said he ; " and I should think, Mr. Hobart, 
 that the doctor was quite certain to accumulate 
 wealth." 
 
 "We preachers are at least exempt from that," 
 said Mr. Hobart ; " though it does appear as if we 
 had more than our fair share of disease to struggle 
 with." 
 
 " And how do you avoid doctors' bills ? " 
 
 " No doctor would think of charging a minister," 
 replied Mr. Hobart. " I never knew one to do so 
 in the West ; and in fact if one should do so he 
 would soon have to leave the settlement. My 
 family have taken nearly five pounds of Peruvian 
 barks in the last year, worth a dollar a pound, 
 all furnished by the good Doctor Hains ; and if I 
 should ask him for his bill he would be offended. 
 As to the doctors getting rich, I think you are 
 mistaken there also. The people are too poor and 
 have too much sickness to be able to pay much in 
 the way of doctors' bills. No, no ; doctors get rich 
 only among a rich people ; and those are to be 
 found in the healthful regions, not the sickly 
 ones." 
 
 " Five pounds of barks, did you say?"
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. II5 
 
 " Yes," replied the preacher. " I think we have 
 used fully five pounds during the year." 
 
 " Why, my dear sir, this is horrible ! And will 
 nothing do but the eternal bark, bark, bark ? 
 How many have you in your family ? " 
 
 " We have one son and two daughters : it's just 
 a pound apiece." 
 
 By this time the " chill " had nearly passed off 
 the daughter, who sat by the fire ; and as the fever 
 began to rise, she left the fireplace and took a seat 
 near the door to obtain the benefit of the cool 
 evening air. She now joined in the conversation. 
 
 " I have taken a pound and a quarter myself, 
 Mr. Sinclair," she said. "How much more I shall 
 need I cannot guess." 
 
 "Do you have ague all the time?" inquired 
 Sinclair. 
 
 " Oh, no, sir," said she ; " not more than half the 
 time. It is beginning to wear out, too. I do not 
 have it so bad as formerly." 
 
 "Ah, my daughter," said the preacher in a tone 
 of sadness, " it is you are wearing out ; and, unlike 
 the terrible disease, passing away never to return." 
 
 The girl came and sat upon his knee and threw 
 her arms about his neck. 
 
 " Don't talk so sadly, my dear father," said she. 
 "The doctor says I shall be more healthy than 
 ever when I get well."
 
 116 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Still living on hope, Elizabeth ! " said the 
 father. " Bless God for hope ! It has borne us 
 up, Mr. Sinclair, when all but God was gone." 
 
 Just now the other daughter came down from 
 the loft, and hastened with a kiss to her father's 
 side. She was twelve years old, of fair com- 
 plexion, and with light hair and blue eyes, like her 
 mother. 
 
 " And here is my blue-eyed girl with cheeks red- 
 der than ever with the flush of fever. How do 
 you feel, Sarah ?" said the father. 
 
 " My head is still aching, father," said the girl, 
 in a voice of silvery tone, which instantly re- 
 minded Sinclair of the lost Virginia. " But," the 
 child added, " my chill was very slight." 
 
 During this conversation, Mrs. Hobart had been 
 silently getting ready the supper ; and having 
 arranged her table for her guests, she now came 
 forward and invited them to partake. 
 
 Mrs. Hobart was a lady of education and refine- 
 ment. She was the daughter of a wealthy gen- 
 tleman living near Lexington, in Kentucky, who 
 had discarded her because she persisted in being a 
 Methodist. 
 
 Sixteen years before she had been married to 
 Mr. Hobart, and had given up the life of ease and 
 luxury in which she had grown up, to share the
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. n; 
 
 toils and trials of a preacher's life in the wilder- 
 ness. She had possessed very considerable per- 
 sonal beauty, before time and the trials of a frontier 
 life had made their ravages ; and even yet, though 
 she was beyond the meridian of life, her blue eyes 
 were as radiant with the light of the soul within 
 as in her palmy days of youth. She was a woman 
 of great fortitude, exhibiting that admirable com- 
 bination of gentleness and courage, of suscepti- 
 bility and great power of endurance, which so 
 frequently strikes us as incompatible, and makes 
 us wonder how such apparently opposite traits can 
 be mingled in the same character. There was 
 really no incompatibility about her, however. The 
 mere mortal was feeble, shrinking from every 
 touch of injury or evil ; but the immortal defied 
 all the ills of the present, and looked with 
 undimmed hope to a better future. And this ever- 
 trusting, never-dying hope had sustained her, and 
 enabled her to console her despairing husband 
 when he would otherwise have fallen by the way- 
 side of life. 
 
 The evening meal, of which she now called on 
 her guests to partake, was spread upon a cloth of 
 domestic linen white as driven snow; the simple 
 fare had been prepared by her own delicate hands, 
 and everything had that air of exquisite neatness
 
 Il8 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 which gives such an inviting charm to the plainest 
 food. 
 
 The bread was made of Indian meal, but the 
 modest little "dodgers" were baked precisely to 
 that exquisite tint of golden brown, so difficult to 
 attain, and so necessary to the finest flavor. The 
 tea, to be sure, was not the product of the Celes- 
 tial Empire ; but its rich, amber-colored stream, as 
 it poured from the steaming urn, sent an aroma 
 through the apartment which placed the Western 
 sassafras on a par with its Oriental rival. The 
 sugar had never been submitted to the refining 
 influence of bullock's blood and gum, but had been 
 prepared from the maple-tree by her own hands. 
 The hominy was white as snow, and the plump 
 grains, instead of being boiled to a pulp and 
 spoiled, lay in the white dish distinct as hail- 
 stones ; while the delicately cut slices of dried 
 venison lay so lightly on the green-edged plate 
 that the rosy light played through them most 
 invitingly. 
 
 The whole party did ample justice to the supper, 
 not excepting the two daughters, whose cheeks 
 still wore the flush of intermittent fever. 
 
 " I am pleased to see that your daughters have 
 an appetite," remarked Sinclair, "and hope it 
 bodes an early recovery."
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. IICj 
 
 " Ah, my dear sir," said Mr. Hobart, "that is one 
 of the subterfuges of this fell demon! for there 
 seems to be a very demon about it, first shaking 
 the breath from its victims, then calling upon them 
 to eat and recover strength for another ordeal. 
 I believe none of its promises." 
 
 Mrs. Hobart replied to her husband's remarks 
 with a smile. 
 
 " You see, Mrs. Rose," said she, " my husband 
 still looks on the shady side." 
 
 "Yes," replied Mrs. Rose; "that's his way, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " Life has but two sides," said the preacher. 
 "The shady side is mortality, the bright one is 
 eternity. Did we not look beyond this life to a 
 better, gloomy indeed would be our existence." 
 
 "Still, Wesley," said the wife, "why should we 
 seek out all the gloomier paths to the better world, 
 and neglect all the flowers which a kind Provi- 
 dence strews by the wayside ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes ; I know," said the preacher. "Were 
 the world filled with such as my own dear wife, 
 we should forget our destiny." 
 
 The preacher spoke in such a tone of sadness 
 that his guests were touched by the same feeling, 
 and but little more was said to the close of the 
 meal. While the reader imagines the wife remov-
 
 120 BROUGHT TO BAY, 
 
 ing the dishes from the table, he may as well gain 
 a better insight into the character of her very 
 kind but very despondent husband, the preacher. 
 
 Wesley Hobart was forty years old, of fair pro- 
 portions, and of an industrious though sluggish 
 disposition. His complexion was dark and his hair 
 and eyes strikingly black. Although of untiring 
 perseverance, his thoughts and movements were 
 slow, and all he did deliberate. He added to a 
 great firmness of purpose and perseverance in 
 action, a distrust of the future and a tendency to 
 despond, which required the constant aid of his 
 religious sentiments to bear him up. He was a 
 native of Virginia, a preacher of religion in early 
 life, and had joined the Methodists at a time 
 when they were in some degree a despised sect. 
 Shortly afterward he was impelled from a strong 
 sense of duty to migrate to Kentucky for the pur- 
 pose of preaching the gospel. At Lexington he 
 saw and married his wife, with a warning from her 
 father that he would disown and disinherit his 
 daughter. He found a kind and dutiful wife, and 
 he loved her most devotedly ; but the trials he had 
 brought upon her by introducing her to the life of 
 a preacher on the frontier had been to him ever 
 since a constant source of annoyance and sorrow. 
 The wife herself was always hopeful, and never
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 121 
 
 murmured ; but this only added to his regret. 
 His ability as a preacher was but moderate, but 
 his labors of love among his people more than 
 compensated for any deficiency in rhetoric or ora- 
 tory. For fifteen years he had never failed to 
 attend the annual Conferences of his church, 
 though frequently compelled to go great distances 
 to reach them, and under the most discouraging 
 circumstances. During the last eighteen months 
 he had been suffering frequent attacks of ague and 
 fever. He had bravely struggled on, however, and 
 preached at all his regular appointments, some- 
 times in the midst of the chill or the succeeding 
 fever. He was a devoted minister, a kind hus- 
 band and father, and was universally esteemed for 
 his consistent piety. Such was Wesley Hobart. 
 
 When supper was over, and the preacher with 
 his family and guests were seated together, Mrs. 
 Rose and Katy both inquired for Joseph, the 
 preacher's son, who had not made his appearance 
 since his father's return. 
 
 "Joseph went to town this morning," said the 
 mother, " to see if there were letters for us at the 
 post-office." 
 
 " Do you send all the way to Shawneetown ? " 
 inquired Katy. 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Mrs. Hobart, '"there is no
 
 122 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 other way, that is the nearest post-office. Four- 
 teen miles is a long way to send the little fellow ; 
 but he knows the road and has often gone before." 
 
 " How old is your son ? " inquired Sinclair. 
 
 " Joseph is ten years old," replied the mother. 
 
 " Poor boy," said Mr. Hobart, " it is time he 
 should be home. I fear something detains him." 
 
 "Why, what can detain him, dear?" said the 
 mother. 
 
 "Well, the water may still be up, so that he has 
 had to ferry from the hills." 
 
 " It is certainly a long distance to send for your 
 letters," said Sinclair, " and for so small a lad to go 
 too. Is it not already night ? " 
 
 "The moon will shine," said Mrs. Hobart, "he 
 will soon be here." 
 
 " Does he have the terrible ague too ? " inquired 
 Sinclair. 
 
 "Not for more than a month past," replied the 
 mother. 
 
 "What a scourge it is!" remarked Sinclair. 
 
 The preacher heaved a deep sigh. He had been 
 sorely tried by the disease in his family, and sel- 
 dom let pass an opportunity to visit upon "the 
 demon " (as he termed it) his malediction. 
 
 " Mr. Sinclair," said he, " we have suffered more 
 by the demon than tongue can tell."
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 
 
 123 
 
 " Oh, no," said Mrs. Hobart. " We have suffered 
 very much, truly ; but I know a tongue which can 
 tell all about it." 
 
 " But isn't it a sad, sad story ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is both a sad one and a long one," said 
 the wife ; " but I never knew how much I loved 
 my husband, my children, or my Saviour, till the 
 ague came among us. I can trace the kind hand 
 of Providence through it all. For three months, 
 Mrs. Freeman, every soul in the family had the 
 ague ; but never in all that time were we all down 
 at the same hour." 
 
 " Think of that, sir," said the preacher, but in a 
 tone which did not partake of the same trustful 
 hope as his wife's. " I preached from one appoint- 
 ment to another, suffering under its scourge, leav- 
 ing my wife and three little ones at home all 
 stricken by the same disease." 
 
 " Still, when a part were down, others would be 
 up to wait on them ; sometimes Elizabeth, Sarah, 
 and I were all sick at once, but then Joseph's chill 
 was sure to be off, and he waited on us all so ten- 
 derly. The dear boy would come to my bedside and 
 ask, ' Mother, what shall I do for your poor head ? ' 
 It appeared to do him good even to give us a drink 
 of water. Sometimes all were down but Sarah, and 
 the sweet child would try so hard ' to get mother
 
 124 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 and sister a nice cup of tea,' as she would say. 
 The next day, perhaps, she would be down, and it 
 would be Elizabeth's turn to nurse. Lizzie is 
 always cheerful, and can almost charm away the 
 chill with her hopeful words. Oh, yes," she con- 
 tinued, " terrible as it is, the ague may be sanctified 
 to our hearts for good." 
 
 " Your heart, my clear wife," said the preacher, 
 " seems to throw a gleam of sunshine upon the 
 darkest passages of life. I fear, Mr. Sinclair, my 
 religion is only a partial one : it has never been 
 fully able to overcome the weakness of the flesh. 
 With my wife it is deep and thorough ; not only 
 does it enable her to look with the spirit's eye 
 through hope to a better world, but it seems to 
 soothe like a heavenly opiate all the ills of this 
 mortal frame." 
 
 "There comes brother!" exclaimed the sisters 
 simultaneously, as the sound of horses' hoofs was 
 heard approaching the door. 
 
 It had been many years, years full of tribula- 
 tion, since Mrs. Hobart had received a letter 
 from her father, though she occasionally heard 
 from her kindred through the letters of a sister 
 still in Kentucky. When, therefore, Joseph handed 
 her a letter postmarked " Lexington," and she 
 recognized her father's well-known hand in the
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 125 
 
 superscription, she eagerly broke the seal to know 
 if her father, to whom she had always been de- 
 votedly attached, had really so far relented as 
 to write to his cast-off daughter. And when she 
 discovered that such was the fact, and that he 
 addressed her as his dearest daughter, the tears 
 burst from her eyes, tears which long and cruel 
 neglect had never been able to wring from her, 
 and she asked her guest's indulgence while she 
 retired to the loft above to read the long-hoped-for 
 letter. 
 
 "Well, Joseph, my son," said the preacher, "you 
 have had a tedious journey to-day." 
 
 " O father," replied the boy, not heeding his 
 parent's words, " I saw the Pigeon Roost ! There 
 were millions and millions and millions of them. I 
 have more of them on Old Gray at the door, than 
 we can eat in a week." 
 
 Joseph had inherited his mother's disposition to 
 find enjoyment in everything, and was not at all 
 disposed to look on the shady side of life ; he had 
 seen the wild pigeons passing in innumerable hosts 
 to their nightly roost, and the sight more than re- 
 paid him for his long ride to the post-office. As 
 he passed the outskirts of the roost, the kind peo- 
 ple had supplied him with as many of the plump, 
 fat birds as he could carry. In answer to his
 
 126 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 father's remark he hastened to the door, and re- 
 turned with his trophies. As the girls retired to 
 prepare some of them for breakfast on the coming 
 morning, Sinclair turned to the preacher and re- 
 marked : 
 
 " I think, Mr. Hobart, that the disposition to be 
 happy or unhappy, sad or cheerful, is in a great 
 measure constitutional, and that it may descend 
 from parent to child. All of your children, for 
 example, appear to inherit your good lady's dis- 
 position to view all things in the best light." 
 
 "I believe you are right," said the preacher, 
 "though it required many years' observation to 
 satisfy me of the fact. It has been my sad priv- 
 ilege, Mr. Sinclair, to witness the death-scene of a 
 large number of persons, and the various manner 
 in which men pass from mortality to the hidden 
 world is a profound mystery, without some such 
 explanation. There was old Mr. Hathaway, on the 
 river ; to me his death was absolutely terrible, but 
 he regarded it merely as a physical phenomenon of 
 little importance. He was truly an unbeliever, if 
 ever there was such a man. I tried by all the 
 means in my power to awaken within him a sense 
 of his condition, but all in vain. When I told him 
 he was certainly dying, he answered, ' yes, the 
 frail old machine is almost worn out.' 'And yet,'
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 127 
 
 I would reply, " you have no hope of immortality.' 
 'Oh, yes,' he would reply, "I shall live on in my 
 children.' 
 
 "And that was his hope. The mortal form which 
 still held his immortal soul was to his mind a 
 machine ; and he was immortal only in his off- 
 spring. And this man died calmly and peacefully. 
 May God have mercy on his soul." 
 
 The preacher's voice trembled with the deep 
 earnestness of his prayer. 
 
 "I knew a man," said Sinclair, "who, when told 
 that he was dying, turned to his wife and said, 
 'Well, Sally, the jig's up; it's no use crying.' 
 They were the last words he uttered." 
 
 Early next morning, after a hurried meal, Sin- 
 clair, Mrs. Rose, and Katy started on their return 
 to Shawneetown. Before following them, let us 
 return to the preacher and his family, and learn 
 the termination of a notable episode. 
 
 It is probable that the sorest trial which can 
 befall a sensitive mind is one which places all the 
 social feelings at variance with the religious senti- 
 ments, the love of husband or wife and children, 
 and all that relates to their temporal welfare, on 
 the one hand, and the stern dictates of religious 
 duty on the other, opposing that welfare and de- 
 manding its sacrifice. Such was the conflict which
 
 I2 g BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 arose in the mind of Mrs. Hobart on reading the 
 letter from her unrelenting father. When he cast 
 her off for joining the Methodists, and setting his 
 will at defiance by uniting her destiny with that 
 of a preacher of the sect he despised, he had de- 
 termined to cast her off absolutely and forever ; 
 and although for years his naturally ardent paren- 
 tal feelings had prompted him to relent, still he 
 had maintained an unbroken silence toward her. 
 
 As he grew older, however, his parental feelings 
 gained the ascendancy, and for years he had longed 
 for an opportunity to reconcile his pride and his 
 affection. His only other child, a daughter, still 
 unmarried, was fast hurrying to a consumptive's 
 grave ; and he felt that his home would soon be 
 left desolate. He knew through Mrs. Hobart's 
 letters to her sister all the history of her priva- 
 tion and suffering, and especially of the consolation 
 she had found in her kind and dutiful children. 
 At length he could bear it no longer. His heart 
 became fixed upon his grandson Joseph, and in a 
 moment of strong emotion he wrote to his 
 daughter, for the first time in years. It was 
 this letter which Joseph had brought from the 
 post-office at Shawneetown, and which Mrs. Ho- 
 bart had retired to the loft to read. 
 
 The letter opened in the kindest manner, and as
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 
 
 129 
 
 if nothing had occurred to interrupt the relation 
 naturally existing between them, invited the whole 
 family to return to Lexington and enjoy her father's 
 bounty, and referred to his grandchildren as his 
 future heirs. After the signature at the bottom 
 was the following postscript : 
 
 " There will no longer be any necessity for your 
 husband's preaching, and I of course shall expect 
 him to give it up." 
 
 When Mrs. Hobart had opened the letter, her 
 first sensation was one of surprise that her 
 father had at last written to her in kindness. 
 Then, as she read farther, her heart swelled with 
 gratitude, and she was nearly overcome with emo- 
 tion. Could it be possible that the long estrange- 
 ment was over ; that penury had done its work ; 
 and that she was about to see her dear children 
 placed above the reach of want, and happy in the 
 smiles of a grandfather whose heart she knew by 
 her own early days was full of kindness, notwith- 
 standing the cruel banishment which had fallen 
 upon her own head ? The thought almost ren- 
 dered her delirious with gladness. While in this 
 state of feeling her eye fell upon the postscript. 
 She glanced at it ; then, as if doubting her eyes, 
 re-read it carefully word by word, and in an audible 
 voice. The letter then fell from her hand, and her
 
 130 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 whole frame was seized with trembling. Large 
 drops of sweat, cold and clammy, broke out upon 
 her temples, and a sense of some impending and 
 terrible danger took possession of her. 
 
 When she was sufficiently recovered to collect 
 her scattered thoughts, she bowed herself in 
 prayer, and supplicated the Heavenly Father 
 whom she so devotedly worshipped to deliver her 
 from temptation. 
 
 When Mr. Hobart ascended to the loft he found 
 his wife suffering from the effects of her extreme 
 agitation. To his anxious inquiries as to the cause 
 of her trouble, she replied only by putting her 
 father's letter into his hands. He read it through 
 in silence ; though he felt, if possible, even more 
 deeply than did his wife, the sore temptation which 
 was thrown in his way, not a sound escaped his 
 lips. He knelt beside his wife and communed in 
 silence with his Maker. 
 
 After a short time Mrs. Hobart rose, calmly 
 held her father's letter in the flame of the candle, 
 and after seeing it burn to ashes, said, " God is 
 still with us. Let us retire." Not another word 
 was spoken by either that night. 
 
 Next morning, when the preacher came down to 
 breakfast, he found his wife moving about her 
 household duties with an expression of counte-
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 13! 
 
 nance which appeared almost angelic. Not a trace 
 of sorrow, not the least lingering mark of the 
 struggle through which she had passed on the 
 night before, was to be seen. She spoke to her 
 children in tones of cheerfulness which startled 
 her husband from the intensity of their calmness. 
 
 Hobart seated himself at the table and attempted 
 to eat. But the thought of the terrible sacrifice 
 which that delicate and feeble woman had volun- 
 tarily made for him and for the Gospel's sake 
 made him almost loathe his food. His thoughts 
 wandered back over the long years of tribulation 
 she had borne without a murmur ; the loneliness, 
 the privation and sickness, the loss of home, 
 father, and friends, and the whole train of temporal 
 ills which had befallen her since her lot had been 
 cast with his. He thought of what she had re- 
 nounced, the prospect of instant and complete 
 relief held out by her father's letter, ease and 
 luxury, friends and home for her children ; and all 
 for him, a poor, unworthy Methodist preacher ! 
 It was too much ; and the poor, shattered form 
 was unable longer to bear the struggles of the 
 agitated soul within. He left the table ; reached 
 a chair ; and immediately vomited a large quantity 
 of blood, almost suffocating from its profusion. It 
 lasted only a minute, but so exhausted him that he
 
 132 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 was with difficulty able to make his way to the 
 bed. 
 
 The doctor was immediately sent for, and the 
 breakfast hurried away untasted. 
 
 The preacher beckoned his wife to his bedside, 
 and taking her hand in his said, with a peculiar 
 light in his countenance, 
 
 "My Father calls. I am going home." 
 
 " O my dear husband," said the wife, " I hope 
 you will soon be better." 
 
 " Yes, dear wife," said he, "a few hours, at 
 most, and no ill can ever reach me more. Blessed 
 be God! 'Though His providence may be in- 
 scrutable, it is always just and good." 
 
 He was interrupted by another hemorrhage. 
 The doctor came in ; and seeing that the blood 
 was very dark, and not of the bright red he had 
 expected, told the preacher he had hopes of his 
 recovery. 
 
 " You are very kind, Doctor," said the sufferer ; 
 "but my hour is come. All remedy will be un- 
 availing." Then, addressing his wife, he con- 
 tinued : " It was all a terrible mystery how a just 
 God could visit you with affliction for my sake. 
 Oh, it's all plain now. You have passed the fiery 
 ordeal in triumph, and now God is going to take 
 me to Himself, and thus send you and our little
 
 SERVING GOD ON TRUST. 133 
 
 ones to the abundance and protection of your 
 father's home." 
 
 Seeing his wife in tears, he said, " Not a tear, 
 not a tear. It could not at most have been many 
 years before my labors here would end, and then I 
 might have suffered the pangs of some dreadful 
 disease ; but now I have not a pain, not a single 
 pain." 
 
 Attacks of hemoptysis continued to occur, and 
 he rapidly lost strength, and finally conscious- 
 ness. Before this occurred he had called his 
 children around him and taken an affectionate 
 leave of them, telling them to be prepared to 
 follow him to that heavenly mansion to which he 
 was going. 
 
 An hour or two before his death, his wife ob- 
 served that his sight seemed to be failing him. 
 She took his hand and said, 
 
 " Your sight is dim ; your eyes are failing, my 
 husband." 
 
 " Oh, no," he replied ; " they are only looking 
 inward and upward. Oh, the ecstatic vision which 
 breaks upon my view ! " 
 
 His utterance was interrupted by the spouting 
 blood, and he spoke no more. But a calm com- 
 posure rested on his countenance ; and pressing 
 his wife's hand to the last, he died without a
 
 134 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 struggle. The wheel was broken at the cistern, 
 the pitcher was broken at the fountain, and the 
 preacher was done with toil. 
 
 A few days after the death of her husband, 
 Mrs. Hobart disposed of the few household goods 
 of any value which she possessed ; and with her 
 children commenced her sad journey to her fa- 
 ther's house.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD" - AFTER 
 THE WILDERNESS, WHAT ? 
 
 from the house of Mr. Hobart to 
 Shawneetown, the route of Sinclair and his 
 friends lay along the Indian path at the foot of the 
 range of hills which borders the wide "bottom" 
 extending for some distance up the Wabash to the 
 town, where it sweeps away to the Saline River, 
 ten miles lower down the Ohio. The waters had 
 so far subsided as to offer little obstruction to 
 their progress ; but their way was obstructed here 
 and there by large piles of drift-wood left by the 
 receding river. When they reached the town, 
 some time after noon, they found it still separated 
 from the hills by running water; but the water 
 was not deep, and with the boldness of dwellers 
 on the frontier, Mrs. Rose and Katy urged their 
 horses into the stream, telling Sinclair that they 
 knew where the road lay, and calling upon him to 
 follow. 
 
 The village offered a curious spectacle. Almost
 
 1 36 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 the whole population was engaged in scrubbing 
 out the houses. The river had -left a sediment of 
 clay and sand upon the floors ; and the people 
 were doing their best to make the same stream 
 act as chief agent in removing it. Mops and 
 brooms were dashing the now receding waters 
 upon the muddy floors ; and a ready joke or a 
 merry laugh could be heard at almost every door. 
 
 When the party arrived at home old Tabby met 
 them, with her shining face, boasting of her ex- 
 ploits. 
 
 "Tank fortin', Missus," said Tabby, "you's 
 gwine into de cleanes' house in de Territory. I 
 scrub out de house de fus' one in town ; dey 
 doesn't git ahead o' old Tabby, if she am old." 
 
 This was followed by a chuckle of self-satisfac- 
 tion, and a throwing open of doors to let in the 
 light, and enable her mistress to see how well she 
 had performed her duty. 
 
 "Dey aint gwine to git ahead o' old Tabby!" 
 she again exclaimed. Had any one else called her 
 old Tabby, she would have been mortally offended. 
 She claimed the right to the cognomen of "Aunt 
 Tabby," though so far as any one knew she had 
 neither niece nor nephew in the world. 
 
 "It does young massa good to go to de camp 
 meetin' ", the old woman continued, as the party
 
 ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD. 
 
 137 
 
 entered and seated themselves in the house. "He 
 was mighty good lookin' befo' de doctor bore de 
 hole in his head, an' bin gittin' better lookin' 
 eber sence." Having delivered herself of this 
 compliment, she retired to the kitchen to prepare 
 an early supper, or late dinner. 
 
 It may be that the reader would like to have 
 such a description as would enable him to form an 
 opinion as to the correctness of Aunt Tabby's 
 judgment, when she pronounced the young man 
 "good lookin'." 
 
 Admitting that the appearance of the outward 
 man is of little consequence compared with the 
 immortal within, yet it is universal custom when 
 we are learning the attributes of a character, to 
 clothe it also, in the mind's eye, with form ; and, to 
 make possible a clear conception of the individual, 
 the portrayal must be correct and careful. For say 
 what we will on the subject, there is a harmony be- 
 tween form and character, which, although difficult 
 to describe, may be very easily seen and appreciated. 
 Suppose, for example, that Mr. Sinclair should be 
 described as having red hair, a white and diapha- 
 nous complexion, and a soft, inelastic skin ; the 
 observant reader perceives that though such a 
 man might possibly fall in love with a blue-eyed 
 girl of thirteen, during a three-months' voyage up
 
 138 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 the Mississippi, his love would not be at all likely 
 to survive a week's captivity with the Indians, and 
 the boring of an inch hole in his cranium. 
 
 Be good enough now to imagine Mr. Francis 
 Sinclair as a young gentleman with very dark 
 chestnut hair, a fair complexion tending to a brown, 
 and a skin of delicate and elastic texture, which, 
 instead of resembling wet parchment, gave every 
 indication of being endowed with life. Let his 
 eyes be blue, so very blue as to be generally mis- 
 taken for black ; his height five feet eight, or pos- 
 sibly ten inches ; his flesh firm, with a round de- 
 velopment of the muscles ; his carriage upright, 
 and his step firm and decided. These were the 
 more obvious features and characteristics of the 
 man. But such an observer as the Swiss philoso- 
 pher Lavater might have noticed the indications 
 of great firmness in the drawing down of the angles 
 of the mouth, and of great kindness in the eleva- 
 tion of the same angles ; of defiant sternness in 
 the depression of the inner angles of the eye- 
 brows, and of quick humor in the elevation of 
 the outer ones. But the deductions to be drawn 
 from so careful an analysis, though they may reach 
 the truth, are yet too critical for the ordinary 
 observer. It is well enough to know, however, 
 that Mrs. Katy Freeman approved the judgment
 
 ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD. 
 
 139 
 
 of Aunt Tabby. And she thought, whatever 
 might be the lot of her lost 'Ginia, she must have 
 passed some pleasant hours with her compagnon de 
 voyage up the Mississippi River. 
 
 The morning after his return to Shawneetown, 
 Sinclair found letters at the post-office from his 
 uncle at St. Louis, containing remittances of 
 money, which he much needed ; and also replies 
 to inquiries he had made, in a letter written to his 
 uncle soon after recovering from the effects of his 
 wound, as to the presence of Sister Naomi and 
 her young charge at St. Louis. The uncle wrote 
 that they had left his boat at St. Genevieve ; and 
 that he had not been able to learn anything of 
 them since. Sinclair communicated this intelli- 
 gence to Mrs. Freeman, and told her that he had 
 resolved to visit St. Louis at the first opportunity ; 
 and if her daughter was not to be found there, 
 then he would go to St. Genevieve, and, if possible, 
 trace her out from thence. Tim Rose had not yet 
 returned from New Orleans, where he had gone to 
 search for 'Ginia ; but as Sinclair felt assured she 
 was not in that city, he would not await her uncle's 
 return. 
 
 During the day Sinclair had an opportunity of 
 witnessing the migration of the wild pigeons, 
 which were passing over the river from Kentucky
 
 140 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 to the woods, ten miles northeast of the town. 
 They began to pass over the town about three 
 o'clock in the afternoon, and were still passing in 
 innumerable hosts when darkness shut them from 
 view. The sight was new to Sinclair, and so full 
 of wonder that he gave himself up to the obser- 
 vation for several hours. 
 
 First the birds came in sections of a few hun- 
 dreds together ; then in large numbers, platoons, 
 companies, regiments, brigades, and then like 
 an army in solid column. And so, like a living 
 stream, they poured along for two hours or more. 
 Afterwards smaller divisions, more and more 
 broken into groups, came on until darkness hid 
 them from view. One thing struck Sinclair with 
 peculiar surprise : the line of flight had in it 
 occasional curves, and to those curves the whole 
 vast multitude conformed. When the advance 
 sections were first seen crossing the river above 
 the town, they performed the passage in a double 
 curve, heading downward almost to the surface 
 of the river and rising again without touching it ; 
 and afterward the whole multitude followed the 
 same line with critical exactitude. For the first 
 time in his life Sinclair was disposed to doubt the 
 evidence of his eyes, and even of his ears ; for the 
 sound made by the flapping of innumerable wings
 
 ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD. 
 
 141 
 
 was like " a rushing mighty wind." The main 
 army of birds was about half a mile in breadth, 
 the birds flying closely together as their wings 
 would permit, and the living stream unbroken 
 for hours ! 
 
 Finding that a number of persons were going 
 to visit the roost next day, he determined to 
 make one of the party, and see the wonder for 
 himself. The company consisted of Mr. Wilson, 
 the landlord, Tom Summers, Lynch, and a young 
 lawyer named Calvard. This man Calvard was a 
 fair type of a class of men, then and still common 
 in the West, who have exerted a great influence 
 on its destiny. He was a native of Ohio ; and 
 although only about twenty-five years old had made 
 as much advance in a knowledge of the world as 
 most men have made at fifty. He was a bold, 
 fearless thinker on all subjects, a native orator, 
 and an uncompromising Democrat. 
 
 The distance to the outskirts of the roost was 
 about ten miles ; and as the party rode leisurely 
 along in their wagon they improved the time by 
 the interchange of thought and opinion ; and as 
 all the party with the exception, perhaps, of Mr. 
 Wilson and Sinclair, were remarkable for an incli- 
 nation to " wreak their thought upon expression," 
 Sinclair had ample opportunity to inform himself
 
 1 42 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 on the subjects of backwoods philosophy and 
 frontier politics before they reached the pigeon 
 roost. 
 
 Mr. Wilson possessed a happy faculty of drawing 
 out the thoughts of others, while he kept his own 
 in reserve, or perhaps indicated them by the char- 
 acter of his interrogations. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Mr. Wilson, addressing the 
 party generally, "where under heaven do you 
 suppose such a raft of pigeons came from ? " 
 
 " My opinion, squire," said Lynch, " is that they 
 are just hatched, like other birds." 
 
 "Yes ; but, Lynch, there's fifty thousand wagon 
 loads of them at this one roost. Suppose we add 
 all the roosts together ; there will be more pigeons 
 than all the other birds in the world." 
 
 " So there ought to be," said Summers, taking 
 up the answer, "if they are like tame pigeons. 
 They hatch a nest full ten or twelve times every 
 year." 
 
 " Don't you know," interposed Mr. Calvard, 
 " that there is never more than one roost at the 
 same time ? Last year it was near Dayton, in 
 Ohio ; year before, in Kentucky ; now it is here. 
 Everything," he continued with an air of convic- 
 tion,- " indicates that it is so. In the first place, 
 there is never known to be more than one roost in
 
 ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD. 
 
 143 
 
 the same year. In the second place, it is known 
 that the pigeons of a single roost will gather and 
 consume the food in a circuit of a thousand miles 
 round. A gentleman in Kentucky told me they 
 consumed every acorn in the Oak Flats, which 
 cover twenty miles square, in two days. In the 
 third place, the numbers are so vast, that more 
 than two or three such roosts as this would con- 
 sume all the food on the continent in a short time, 
 and then perish of starvation. I think there is 
 little doubt that all the pigeons in the world, ex- 
 cept stragglers, gather in one roost, and that their 
 rapid flight enables them to feed over so vast an 
 extent of country, that they, are thus able to find 
 their sustenance." 
 
 " Do you find that in your books, Calvard ? " in- 
 quired Summers. 
 
 " Books ? No ! " replied he, with a sneer. " The 
 book of the backwoods is not yet written, on any 
 subject. Where is the book of backwoods politics, 
 or philosophy, or religion ? I tell you that this 
 Valley of the Mississippi will yet teach the world 
 a new lesson on all these subjects." 
 
 "I'm afraid," said Tom, "there won't be any 
 backwoods after a while, as things is agoing." 
 
 " No matter for the woods," replied Calvard. 
 " The same bold, self-reliant, and independent peo-
 
 144 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 pie will still be here ; the same cheap food, cheap 
 raiment, and well-paid labor ; the same stimulating 
 and invigorating climate, and the same bright and 
 cheerful skies : these all produce their effects on 
 the character of the people. Then, thank God ! 
 we have no veneration for old usages and old cus- 
 toms as such ; we have no respect for precedents, 
 only as they may happen to be right, and of that 
 we judge for ourselves. 
 
 "Then we have no aristocratic university," he 
 continued, /'to sanction a false philosophy, or 
 established church to sustain a false religion. We 
 have what the world never saw before, Mr. Wil- 
 son, a people with strong, cultivated minds, un- 
 trammelled by hoary errors, and hence, free to 
 investigate truth in politics, morals, and religion, 
 as has never yet been done." 
 
 Tom Summers listened to these expressions with 
 profound attention. 
 
 " Calvard," said he, " how did you ever happen 
 to be a lawyer ? you don't learn this from the law 
 books, old Blackstone and the like ? " 
 
 " If Blackstone had been an Illinois farmer," 
 replied Calvard, " he would have written about as I 
 talk. He brought all the order possible out of the 
 confusion he found in England : here there is no 
 confusion, no old errors nor established wrongs ;
 
 ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD. 145 
 
 and he would have been free to develop the Law 
 of Right. There he commented on the law of 
 England ; here he would only point out the natural 
 law which grows out of the relations of man to man 
 when they stand as equals." 
 
 " What do you think of these smoke-boats ? " said 
 Tom. " They will drive all the boatmen out of the 
 country. That ain't justice ; it can't be right." 
 
 "Yes, it will be," replied Calvard, "and when 
 they have employed you at good wages for twenty 
 years, you will be ready to acknowledge it is all 
 right. The steamboats must have pilots ; and 
 none are so good as the old keel-boatmen. No, 
 no, Tom ; the steamboats will enable us to build 
 an empire in fifty years, such as the world never 
 saw ; and it will be an empire in which you and I 
 and all of us will be emperors." 
 
 " Whoop ! " exclaimed Tom, with a yell of delight 
 at the anticipation of realizing hopes which, al- 
 though they had floated vaguely in his own mind 
 for years, now first found form in these words from 
 the lips of Calvard, " whoop, hurra ! we've got the 
 largest rivers, the deepest lakes, the biggest moun- 
 tains, and the greatest country in the world." 
 
 " Hurrah for old Kaintuck ! " exclaimed Lynch, 
 catching the spirit of Tom's patriotism. " Kain- 
 tuck is jist in the centre of the airth."
 
 146 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " How much farther do we go," inquired Sinclair, 
 "before we reach the pigeon roost ?" 
 
 " Look thar ! " responded Lynch. " That's the 
 way they do it." 
 
 He pointed to a large chinquapin oak by the 
 roadside, stripped of its leaves, and its branches 
 torn and broken from the weight of the birds upon 
 them the night before. 
 
 " Can it be possible," inquired Sinclair, " that 
 this is really the work of birds ? " 
 
 " Even so," said Mr. Wilson. 
 
 The party now reached the borders of the forest 
 in which the pigeons had established their roost ; 
 and they soon began to meet persons loaded down 
 with the game. A mile or two farther on they 
 halted for the night in the midst of a heavy forest. 
 They pitched their tent near a spring of pure 
 water, and in the vicinity of other tents put up by 
 parties who had preceded them, some of whom had 
 been there several days, and were now engaged in 
 "jerking" the birds obtained the night before. 
 Vast piles of dead pigeons were lying around, and 
 men, women, and children were preparing them for 
 carrying away. This was done by taking the 
 breasts alone, stringing them on sticks, and drying 
 them rapidly before fires which were kept con- 
 stantly burning. Some of the men had become so
 
 ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD. 
 
 147 
 
 expert that they would separate the breast from 
 the bird by a peculiar twist of the hands, and so 
 rapidly that one man could " strip " the breasts 
 from the birds as fast as three or four could string 
 them and get them before the fire. The rejected 
 portions were thrown to the hogs, which had been 
 driven in for the purpose of consuming them. The 
 roost extended over several miles, and on all sides 
 were collected persons who came to assist in the 
 havoc, and to jerk and carry off the game. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon, the birds 
 began to arrive, first in small parties, and dis- 
 posed to avoid the vicinity of the tents, then in 
 large bodies, consisting of hundreds of thousands, 
 and paying little attention to the presence of man ; 
 and at last they came in such immense numbers 
 that the sky was obscured. Their wings made a 
 noise like that of a hurricane, and they alighted 
 upon the trees in such masses as to break off huge 
 limbs, which came crashing down, killing large 
 numbers of birds in their fall. As night came on 
 the birds which came latest, finding all places oc- 
 cupied, and " no rest for the soles of their feet," 
 attempted to perch upon trees already full, till the 
 overloaded branches would fall bringing all down 
 together. The people aided in the havoc, attack- 
 ing the falling masses of birds with sticks and
 
 I4 8 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 clubs, so that long before midnight there were 
 more dead birds than could be disposed of all next 
 day. 
 
 But though man, their enemy, had from sheer 
 satiety ceased from slaughter, the cracking and 
 falling of branches and the dropping of the 
 wounded birds continued until morning. Then 
 came the excitement of the departure. Before it 
 was fully daylight the advance squadrons were in 
 motion, their wings making a noise like a tornado, 
 and filling the air with leaves and small branches 
 torn from the trees. Before sunrise all that could 
 fly were off south for Kentucky, and those which 
 could not fly fell victims to man and to that inevi- 
 table accompaniment of civilization, the hog. 
 
 The whole scene was so exciting that Sinclair 
 looked on in silence for hours. At length, when 
 the living tide had ebbed back to the mountains of 
 Kentucky, he turned to Calvard, 
 
 " I give up, I am beaten, I am convinced," he 
 said. " Yesterday I laughed at your theory that 
 all the pigeons in the world are congregated at the 
 same roost. To-day I adopt it as the only one 
 which is at all plausible." 
 
 " I believe it," replied Calvard ; " it agrees with 
 all the facts. In fact, Mr. Sinclair, this is the 
 country in which to study to advantage the char-
 
 ALL THE PIGEONS IN THE WORLD. 
 
 149 
 
 acter of a creature much higher in the scale of 
 being than a wild pigeon. What do the philoso- 
 phers of Europe know of man's character and 
 capabilities ? They study him crowded, hampered 
 in cities, hungry, half naked and half sick ; they 
 observe him under the restraint of partial laws, 
 hereditary privileges, and restricted energies ; and 
 they must almost necessarily mistake his true 
 character. Here all there is in him will come out 
 and manifest itself, and he may be studied under 
 the most favorable circumstances. And here, 
 therefore, all honest men have admitted his ca- 
 pacity to govern himself." 
 
 While the party were loading their wagon with 
 game, Mr. Wilson continued the conversation by 
 inquiring of Calvard whether he thought the 
 experiment of man's self-government had yet been 
 fairly tested. 
 
 " No, sir," replied Calvard ; " it never will be 
 fairly tested until universal suffrage is established. 
 Let every man vote for every officer, and by him- 
 self or his representative have a voice in every 
 law : then it will be fairly tried." 
 
 " That's it, 'Squire," said Tom Summers. " I'm 
 for that, and all of it." 
 
 "Would you elect judges by the people?" in- 
 quired Mr. Wilson.
 
 150 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "Yes, everything," replied Calvard. "The peo- 
 ple, as a rule, will always choose the best men." 
 
 Mr. Wilson shook his head. He felt that the 
 experiment would be a dangerous one, and he was 
 too cautious a man to be willing to risk much in 
 experiment. But Calvard, now fairly started on 
 his favorite topics, defended his views on universal 
 suffrage, then considered the various incidental 
 questions growing out of it, and so occupied the 
 time until the party reached the village. 
 
 Sinclair found that the Roses, in his absence, 
 had received an unsatisfactory but interesting 
 letter, concerning the lost and lamented Virginia.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. HYPOCHONDRIA. SINCLAIR 
 
 AT ST. GENEVIEVE. 
 
 r I "*HE letter received by Mrs. Freeman during 
 Sinclair's visit to the pigeon roost was from 
 her brother, Tim Rose. It had been written on 
 board the boat as he descended the Mississippi, and 
 sent up by the captain of an ascending boat. It 
 contained the substance of a conversation which he 
 had overheard between two boatmen as he was 
 lying in his berth, asleep as they supposed. One 
 of them, a grim-looking fellow with unshaven 
 whiskers and moustache, turning to his compan- 
 ion, said, 
 
 "Jose, what did the captain do with that blue- 
 eyed girl o' his ? " 
 
 " How should I know," replied the other. 
 " Captain Leyba generally knows how to keep his 
 own counsel." 
 
 " Why, you helped to bring her to the cave, and 
 might have picked up something." 
 
 " Not a bit," said the man who had been ad-
 
 152 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 dressed as Jose. " I knew the captain had a 
 daughter at Shawneetown, long before. He had 
 arranged to steal her off more than a year ago, but 
 he gave that up. My opinion is, that he took her 
 to a nunnery at New Orleans." 
 
 " How did the girl happen to be in Shawnee- 
 town ? " inquired the first speaker. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what I heard a year ago. 
 The Captain told Guzman that he had a daughter 
 in Shawneetown, which a woman was bringing up 
 hi mistake for her own ; and that the woman 
 treated the girl so kindly and loved her so dearly 
 that he hadn't the heart to take her away." 
 
 Something more was said about the ^.girl be- 
 coming much attached to her father before the 
 boat reached New Orleans, and the conversation 
 was thus dropped. 
 
 It was Tim's opinion that the girl spoken of was 
 ' Ginia Rose. He was at first much perplexed at 
 the whole conversation between the men ; but he 
 finally came to the conclusion that either they 
 knew he was not really asleep, or that some one of 
 the Cave-in-Rock party had stolen the girl, and 
 concocted the story of her being his daughter to 
 justify the act to his companions. 
 
 " And what do you think of the matter, madam ? " 
 inquired Sinclair of Mrs. Freeman, when she had 
 read the letter to him.
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. 
 
 153 
 
 " Indeed," she replied, " I know not what to 
 think." 
 
 " It cannot possibly be that you could have 
 gotten possession of another child as your own ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " exclaimed the mother. " She 
 was once out of my sight three months, just before 
 she was a year old ; but her father had her then, 
 and he could not possibly be mistaken in her ; and 
 we recovered her directly from his possession." 
 After a moment she continued, " Oh, it isn't 
 possible that I can be mistaken in my child ! " 
 
 " Did not this old negro woman formerly belong 
 to Mr. Freeman?" inquired Sinclair. 
 
 "She did," replied Katy ; "and the faithful 
 creature always nursed ' Ginia while in Freeman's 
 possession, and was much attached to the child." 
 
 " Well, there is mystery somewhere," said Sin- 
 clair. " Have you ever suspected Tabby of being 
 privy to ' Ginia's disappearance?" 
 
 "No, I have not," replied Mrs. Freeman. 
 " Brother Tim once thought so for a short time ; 
 but he gave the idea up. She loved 'Ginia too well 
 herself to be guilty of such cruelty." 
 
 "At any rate," said Sinclair, "it is nearly cer- 
 tain and Tim's account makes it more so 
 that Virginia is not in New Orleans ; but with the 
 nun Sister Naomi, at St. Genevieve. I shall visit
 
 154 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 St. Louis immediately, for the purpose of con- 
 ferring with my uncle ; and will then search out 
 my Virginia at whatever trouble. And if she 
 shall prove as I trust and believe to be also 
 your 'Ginia, so much the better." 
 
 At this time a line of " stations " had been 
 established, block-houses erected, and companies 
 of Rangers or mounted riflemen were constantly 
 scouring the country from Edwardsville, near the 
 Mississippi above St. Louis, to the United States 
 Saline Works, back of Shawneetown, and already 
 known to the reader, for the purpose of preventing 
 the incursions of Indians. Sinclair had decided 
 to prepare himself with a good horse, and equipped 
 with a rifle, to pass along the line of stations to 
 Edwardsville and thence to St. Louis. Accord- 
 ingly, on the next morning, he proceeded to the Salt 
 Works as his point of departure. Here he found 
 Lesure, the Frenchman, ready to make the same 
 journey on business connected with the Salt 
 Works. Lesure did not recognize him at first, 
 having only seen him in his wounded condition. 
 When he learned that he was really the hero of 
 Dr. Reed's new operation in surgery, and that he 
 was also bound to St. Louis, he was delighted. 
 
 " Ah, ha, sare ! " said Lesure. " Glad to see 
 you, Mistaire Seenclair. Ha, ha, first de torn-
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. ^5 
 
 'hawk knock in de cranium ; dat not keel you. 
 Den Doctare Reed bore beeg hole in heem with 
 centare beet ; dat not keel you. Ha, ha ! You can 
 go to San Louis safe." 
 
 " Yes," responded Sinclair ; " I am tolerably 
 hard to kill. I am to have the pleasure of your 
 company on the way, am I ?" 
 
 " Tank you, sare," replied the polite French- 
 man ; "dat weel give me ver moche plaisure." 
 
 The distance from the Salt Works to the first 
 station was about fifteen miles ; and as the small 
 squad of Rangers, whose duty it was to pass and 
 repass from the works to the station daily, were 
 just ready to start, Sinclair and Lesure accom- 
 panied them. 
 
 The reader who happens to be familiar with 
 Western history, is aware that those stations 
 which were then common, were generally log-built 
 "block-houses," built in such a manner as to resist 
 the attack of Indians ; with the upper portion pro- 
 jecting beyond the lower on all sides, to enable 
 the defenders to fire down upon any who might 
 approach. Those along the line which Sinclair 
 was about to travel had been built under the direc- 
 tion of Governor Edwards to protect the settle- 
 ments in the southwest angle of the territory 
 between the Ohio and the Mississippi rivers ; %nd
 
 156 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 mounted men in small numbers, and often a single 
 scout, were kept passing and repassing between 
 them daily. 
 
 When the party with Sinclair reached the first 
 station it was nearly night. The station consisted 
 of a single block-house made of logs, it was 
 twenty feet square and two stories high, the tipper 
 story projecting about three feet over the lower 
 one. It had been erected over a spring of fresh 
 water ; and a small stock of provisions, ammuni- 
 tion, and other necessary supplies, were stored 
 away within. This description will answer for 
 most of the stations on the lines; though some of 
 them were real settlements, including a group of 
 block-houses surrounded with pickets. 
 
 When the men with Sinclair arrived, they were 
 admitted by another squad of Rangers from within, 
 and the entrance was closed for the night. 
 
 Sinclair, not being accustomed to the saddle, 
 found himself weary ; and learning that the Ran- 
 gers would start on their beat to the next station 
 at daybreak, laid down to obtain the benefit of a 
 night's rest. But the voluble Frenchman had 
 been inured to midnight vigils at the Salt Works, 
 and was not disposed to sleep so long as he could 
 find a listener. In this he was fortunate ; for a 
 nunlber of the Rangers, finding there was amuse-
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. 
 
 157 
 
 ment in the man, gathered around and encouraged 
 him to gratify his propensity. Lesure repeated 
 the story of the Yankee who outwitted the 
 Frenchman by tapping his saltwater pipe ; the 
 account of black Sol's escape with the Indian's 
 horse and bells ; and at length he very naturally 
 came to the story of the rescue of Sinclair, and 
 the wonderful surgical operation of Dr. Reed. 
 Supposing Sinclair to be asleep, and willing to 
 sacrifice strict veracity to effect, he gave the story 
 a coloring which the facts would hardly justify. 
 
 " You will see, sare," said he to the sergeant 
 commanding the squad, "you will see dat what 
 will keel one man will cure de nex' man, eh ? 
 Doctare Reed bore one auger hole in de cranium 
 of dis gentleman, and it cure heem ! Suppose he 
 bore only ver leetle hole in my cranium ; dere be 
 one dead Frenchman, eh ? " 
 
 "But, Lesure," said the sergeant, "did the doc- 
 tor really bore an auger hole in his head ?" 
 
 " Yes, sare ; Doctor Reed bore one hole in de 
 head of the gentleman, like dis monies, (holding 
 up a Spanish dollar), and you see de gentleman is 
 not murdared." 
 
 " No," responded the sergeant, with a look 
 towards Sinclair ; " he's not murdered, that's cer- 
 tain. But if he were not here to speak for him-
 
 158 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 self I should suspect you were lying. The story 
 is equal to that of Jack Hays, who took a notion 
 that there was a worm in his head ; and nothing 
 would do but that the doctor must bore a hole in 
 his head and take it out. So the doctor cut down 
 on his skull and scratched the bone a little, and 
 then produced a grub-worm which he pretended 
 came out of the head." 
 
 " Is that a fact ?" inquired one of the men. 
 "Yes ; I know all about it." 
 " Well, did it cure him of his fooling ?" 
 " Yes ; the man went right to work, and . didn't 
 take the notion again for two years. Then he and 
 his old woman had a squabble ; and she told him 
 he had been silly enough to let Dr. Dake fool him 
 with a grub-worm. ' Is that a fact, Sally ?' said he ; 
 ' Yes, it is,' she replied ; ' I got the grub-worm for 
 the doctor myself ! ' And don't you think, the fel- 
 ler went to bed crazy as ever, believing he had a 
 worm in his head." 
 
 This grub-worm story pleased Lesure very 
 much; and he already enjoyed in anticipation the 
 pleasure of repeating it to the people at the Salt 
 Works when he returned. He continued to talk 
 until the sentry was placed for the night, and then 
 reluctantly laid down with the others to rest. 
 Next morning Sinclair and the Frenchman
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. 
 
 159 
 
 started in company with a few Rangers for the 
 next station. And in this manner, escorted from 
 station to station by the mounted men, they 
 reached Edwardsville on the third day, without 
 anything of importance occurring on the way. 
 From thence they reached St. Louis at the close 
 of the next day. 
 
 Sinclair immediately called upon his uncle, who 
 received him kindly, and listened to the details of 
 his captivity among the Indians and the succeed- 
 ing events with much interest. When he came to 
 relate his trip up the river, and alluded' to his warm 
 interest in the girl Virginia, his uncle laughed at him 
 as a madcap, who had sported away the hours of a 
 lon^ voyage so pleasantly with his only compan- 
 ion as to permit a pretty child of thirteen to steal 
 away his heart. Sinclair permitted his uncle to 
 enjoy his laugh, but vowed that he would search 
 out and find that same " pretty girl of thirteen," 
 even though it should require years. 
 
 Receiving a supply of money, chiefly the pro- 
 ceeds of the sale of property brought up the river 
 by his mother and himself in his uncle's boat, and 
 satisfying himself that Sister Naomi and Virginia 
 were not in St. Louis, he left in a pirogue with 
 some Frenchmen for St. Genevieve. Finding that 
 one of his French boatmen resided at St. Gene-
 
 160 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 vieve, Sinclair endeavored to learn something of 
 Sister Naomi and her charge. 
 
 "You live at St. Genevieve, do you?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Yes, sare," replied the man. 
 
 " Is there a nunnery there ? " 
 
 "Maybe not nunnery," replied the man, "but 
 good many nun." 
 
 " Have they a school for girls ? " 
 
 " De Sistare teach de girl, sometime, sare ; not 
 moche school." 
 
 " Do you know anything of the Sisters ? " 
 
 "Yes, sare; great manys." 
 
 " Did any come there recently, two or three 
 months since ? " 
 
 " Yes, sare : Sister Naomi from New Orlean. 
 You know Sister Naomi ? " 
 
 "Yes, very well," replied Sinclair. " Is she still 
 there ? Was there a young woman with her ? " 
 
 " Young woman ? Yes ; one leetle woman, so 
 beeg," replied the Frenchman, showing with his 
 hands how tall he supposed the child to be. 
 
 " And do you think you could find her, or show 
 me where to find her ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes; ver' quick. Wait, I show you." 
 
 Sinclair was now quite hopeful of finding the 
 lost Virginia ; but the thought occurred to him
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. 161 
 
 that any interest he might exhibit in her on his 
 own account might seem very strange, and he 
 could not prove himself authorized by her mother 
 to reclaim her even if he found her ; then he was 
 sure, from her conduct in the boat, that Sister 
 Naomi was disposed to keep her charge very 
 closely. At length, after long reflection, he de- 
 cided, if he learned where Virginia was to be 
 found, to see her, if that were possible, merely 
 as an acquaintance, without making known the 
 fact that he was acquainted with her parentage, 
 and sought her with consent of her mother. After- 
 wards he could act as circumstances might dictate. 
 After reaching St. Genevieve, therefore, he took 
 lodgings, and sent the French boatman to learn 
 Sister Naomi's whereabouts, without letting her 
 know of his presence in the town. 
 
 Sinclair waited all the next day ; but, as the 
 Frenchman did not come back according to prom- 
 ise, he began to suspect treachery, and proceeded 
 to look for him in the village and at the boat- 
 landing. He found the man in his boat, on the 
 point of returning to St. Louis. On inquiring of 
 him why he did not come back and report, he at 
 first said he had forgotten ; but, on being closely 
 questioned, acknowledged that he had made inqui- 
 ries among the Sisters, though he persisted in
 
 1 62 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 saying that he could hear nothing of Sister Naomi 
 or her charge, as they had gone away, no one knew 
 whither. The man's account was so confused and 
 inconsistent that Sinclair did not doubt that he 
 had been bribed to silence, and that the story of 
 Sister Naomi's departure was false. 
 
 After remaining in the town several days in the 
 vain hope that accident might enable him to learn 
 something of the Sister, he went to the Religious 
 House, which he thought must be her home and 
 Virginia's hiding-place. 
 
 He was received by a woman who appeared to 
 be the Superior of the sisterhood. She called him 
 by name at once, and, politely offering him a seat, 
 inquired when he left Shawneetown. 
 
 " I left that village a week since," he replied ; 
 "but I am certainly surprised to find that I am 
 known to any one here." 
 
 " You have more friends than you knew of, 
 then," said the woman. 
 
 " I was certainly not aware of having a friend, 
 or even an acquaintance, in yourself," responded 
 Sinclair, somewhat mystified, and not knowing 
 just what was best to be said. 
 
 "Perhaps not," replied the Sister; "sometimes 
 our best friends are least known to us." Then, 
 with a meaning smile, she continued : " I am not
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. 163 
 
 surprised that, having forsaken the church, your 
 first love, you should now pursue the ignes fatui 
 of two blue eyes. But I commend your good 
 taste, nevertheless." 
 
 Sinclair, satisfied that himself and his history 
 were equally well known, concluded that any fur- 
 ther attempt at concealment would be useless. 
 He therefore abruptly inquired : 
 
 " May I ask you if the daughter of Mrs. Free- 
 man for you appear to know the object of my 
 visit is in this house ; and if I may see her, if 
 only for a moment in your presence ? " 
 
 " I tell you truly, sir," replied the woman, " she 
 is not here, nor even in the village." 
 
 Then, observing the look of incredulity with 
 which he regarded her, she added : " It is so, by 
 my faith in the Virgin ! " 
 
 " I am bound to believe you," replied Sinclair, 
 " but no doubt you can inform me where she is. 
 You would do me a great kindness in so doing, be- 
 sides performing a righteous deed in relieving the 
 suspense of a bereaved mother." 
 
 " To tell you the truth," replied the Sister, " I 
 know nothing of either the person you speak of or 
 her daughter." 
 
 Sinclair, finding further inquiry hopeless, at 
 least so far as Virginia was concerned, then
 
 1 64 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 asked where he should find his friend, the Sister 
 Naomi ? 
 
 " Indeed I cannot tell," was the reply. 
 
 Despairing of learning anything of the object of 
 his search, this woman being evidently unwilling 
 to communicate even what she knew, Sinclair took 
 his leave. He spent a few days longer in St. 
 Genevieve in the vain endeavor to find there some 
 clew to the mystery, and then, disappointed him- 
 self, and reluctant to bear so discouraging a report 
 to the bereaved mother, he returned to St. Louis, 
 and thence to Shawneetown. 
 
 On his arrival at Shawneetown, Sinclair found 
 Tim Rose, who had returned from New Orleans 
 without obtaining any clew to the lost one, save 
 vague suspicions he had gathered from the conver- 
 sation between the boatmen. 
 
 After earnest and most serious reflection, and 
 prolonged consultation with his friends, for the 
 present Sinclair determined to remain at Shawnee- 
 town, and to pursue the study of the law under the 
 tutorship of Calvard, who is already known to the 
 reader. But neither his studies nor any other 
 cause was to be for an hour permitted to interfere 
 with the search for Virginia ; every faintest clew 
 was to be followed ; every suggestion acted on that 
 held out the least promise of success.
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. 165 
 
 As time passed without any tidings of the lost 
 one, hope almost died with all but Sinclair. Even 
 the loving and sorrowing mother had fallen back 
 upon the belief that her lost darling had wandered 
 from home and been drowned. And although this 
 appeared to her kindred the most improbable, the 
 mother's heart, searching for relief from the agony 
 of suspense, rested at last upon that solution of 
 the mystery. 
 
 Some two years after Sinclair's visit to St. Gen- 
 evieve, in a conversation concerning the very mys- 
 terious disappearance of Virginia, he requested the 
 mother to let him have the bit of paper found 
 upon the boat by Tom Summers, which had never 
 since been out of her possession. He took it to 
 his office and subjected it to a most careful scru- 
 tiny. 
 
 He first satisfied himself that it was really a leaf 
 from a small book of blank paper, probably used 
 for memorandums, as it was written upon one side 
 only, the other being blank. It was worn, and 
 gave evidence of long use. He next became 
 satisfied that it had not been torn from the book 
 by design, but that it had been detached by the 
 wear and tear of frequent handling. His final con- 
 clusion was that it had fallen from its attachment 
 to the other leaves of the memorandum book, and
 
 1 66 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 dropped upon the deck of the boat by accident. 
 All these facts (if facts they indeed were) indicated 
 to Sinclair that the memorandum was esteemed as 
 of value by its owner, and that it referred to impor- 
 tant facts. What were these facts ? 
 
 "Angela with the black woman." 
 
 " Known only as Virginia." 
 
 " Limestone to Shawneetown." 
 
 Sinclair studied each of those mysterious lines 
 separately, for each was complete in itself ; and 
 yet the three lines were no doubt closely related. 
 
 Keeping the result of his questionings of the 
 memorandum to himself, he one day suddenly con- 
 fronted old Tabby, whom he found alone, with this 
 inquiry : 
 
 " Aunt Tabby, what do you know of the child 
 Angela ? " 
 
 The old negro was embarrassed, and after a lit- 
 tle while, Sinclair still quietly watching her and 
 waiting for an answer, she echoed him : 
 
 " The child Angely ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Don't know nuffin 'bout any Angely," said 
 Tabby. But she was evidently agitated by the 
 question ; and Sinclair decided that she spoke 
 falsely, and that she could give the clew to the 
 mysterious memorandum. But she persisted in
 
 DOUBTFUL TIDINGS. 167 
 
 her denial ; and Sinclair thought best to drop the 
 matter for the time. 
 
 Sinclair now felt sure the man who called him- 
 self Leyba, and who had dropped the memorandum, 
 had abducted Virginia Rose ; that there was some 
 mystary about her known to Leyba, and unknown 
 to Mrs. Freeman, and that old Tabby was in some 
 way privy to the carrying away of the child. But 
 here the clew was lost. Not another ray of light 
 was thrown upon the mystery for long years suc- 
 ceeding. 
 
 The reader will now permit a veil of silence to 
 cover the events of three succeeding years. They 
 were years of bitterness to the bereaved mother, 
 and of disappointment to the generous-hearted 
 and constant Sinclair. All efforts to find and re- 
 cover the lost Virginia had failed. 
 
 Dan Rose had returned to his home at the close 
 of the war, Captain Summers had seen the steam- 
 boat rapidly superseding the keel-boat and the 
 barge ; and Sinclair had divided his time between 
 the vain search for Virginia and successful efforts 
 to master the subtleties of the law.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 
 
 THREE YEARS LATER. THE CLEW RECOVERED. 
 
 LEYBA IN THE TOILS. 
 
 TN St. Louis, three years after the events last 
 narrated, and five years after Sinclair's visit to 
 St. Genevieve, occurred the trial of a man charged 
 with piracy. The case had created much excite- 
 ment ; and curiosity took Tom Summers, who was 
 in the city, as it did others, to see the subject of it. 
 What was his astonishment to find in the prisoner 
 his old acquaintance of Cave-in-Rock ! 
 
 Tom Summers was generous as he was brave. 
 He had supposed that Captain Miner had fallen a 
 victim to the catastrophe which overwhelmed the 
 inmates of the Cave ; and though he now bore the 
 name of Leyba, he recognized him instantly. He 
 sought an interview, and assured the prisoner that 
 he would keep his secret on the subject of Cave- 
 in-Rock, and would not testify against him. The 
 stony heart of the man was softened by this gen- 
 erosity. Seizing Summers by the hand he ex- 
 claimed,
 
 THREE YEARS LATER. 
 
 " Captain Summers, the gratitude of a man who 
 stands charged with crime can hardly be worth 
 your acceptance. But had the world been rilled 
 with such as you, I would not be the wretch I am 
 to-day. As it is . But my curse is as power- 
 less as my gratitude ! " 
 
 After a few minutes of suppressed emotion he 
 continued, 
 
 " Some years ago I reclaimed a daughter, 
 pure and beautiful as the falling snow. She is 
 the sole tie which binds me to my kind. Oh, 
 terrible alternative ! I must now disown that 
 daughter, or stain her pure and spotless life with 
 my own disgrace." 
 
 He sat down, almost overpowered by his emo- 
 tion. 
 
 Summers now called to mind the history of 
 Virginia Rose ; her disappearance about the time 
 that Leyba left his boat at Shawneetown, and the 
 mysterious persons whom he had seen come from 
 the Tippecanoe at New Orleans, and disappear in 
 the carriage : could they have been this man and 
 'Ginia Rose ? He ventured to question Leyba on 
 the subject ; but he courteously, though firmly, 
 refused to make any further communications. 
 
 On his return to Shawneetown, a few days after 
 his interview with Miner, or Leyba, if they were
 
 170 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 the same, Summers communicated to her kindred 
 at that place the possible clew to the discovery of 
 the lost Virginia. 
 
 On hearing Summers's account of his interview 
 with the prisoner at St. Louis, now bearing the 
 name of Leyba, it was arranged that Tim Rose 
 and Sinclair should visit him, and endeavor to 
 force from him an explanation of the mystery 
 which hung about the girl whom he had claimed 
 as his daughter. Mrs. Freeman had little faith in 
 the success of the undertaking : she could not 
 believe that this girl would prove to be her lost 
 darling. But Sinclair, relying on the hints which 
 he had gathered from the mysterious bit of paper 
 which he had studied so long, did not doubt that, 
 whatever might be the explanation of Leyba's 
 claim to the girl as his daughter, she would still 
 prove to be the lost Virginia. 
 
 When Tim Rose and Sinclair reached St. Louis, 
 the prisoner utterly declined all communication on 
 the subject of their search. Finding that any 
 direct approach to the subject was impossible, 
 Sinclair determined to try the effect of an appeal 
 to the father's heart. He related an account of 
 his voyage up the Mississippi. He dwelt upon 
 the purity and loveliness of his fair companion, 
 her confiding attachment to himself, her generous
 
 THREE YEARS LATER. \-j\ 
 
 and happy disposition, and all those traits, at once 
 childlike and womanly, which had made such a 
 deep and lasting impression upon him ; spoke of 
 the long years that he had worn her image in his 
 heart, and of all his vain efforts to search her out. 
 
 Leyba listened with evident emotion. When 
 Sinclair had completed his story, he took advan- 
 tage of the prisoner's awakened feelings to make a 
 last appeal : 
 
 "And now, sir, I appeal to your heart, if you 
 are a father who loves his daughter so dearly that, 
 rather than have her share his ignominy, he denies 
 and disowns her. Who is to love her when you 
 are gone ? Will that world which will detest you for 
 your fate, regardless of its cause, will such a 
 world be likely to give either love or respect to 
 your offspring ? You deny her : who will believe 
 you ? Can you hope to shield her by such means ? 
 I offer you the evidence of five years of devotion 
 as proof of my attachment, and you do not, you 
 cannot, doubt my sincerity. I come to you on the 
 verge of a death of infamy, on the very steps of 
 the scaffold, and ask to share that infamy : can 
 you still refuse me ? Nay, more. I know the 
 hidden springs of Virginia's heart ; I know that, 
 whatever you may say, she will not accept your 
 disavowal, even for the good opinion of a world
 
 172 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 which is not worthy of her. I appeal to you by 
 that tie which you say is all that binds you to 
 your kind : will you leave her to the scornful pity 
 of a heartless world, or will you yield her to a 
 love as deep and disinterested as your own ? " 
 
 "My son, you unman me," exclaimed the 
 prisoner. 
 
 " Rather say that I awaken the sleeping man 
 within you," said Sinclair. 
 
 Leyba bit his lips till they dropped blood in a 
 vain effort to restrain his emotion. Suddenly he 
 turned, and said to Sinclair, 
 
 " How know I, liow know you, that Angela, 
 that my daughter has not long since forgotten 
 you ? " 
 
 " Let me see her but for a moment," responded 
 Sinclair, "and if she does not reciprocate my 
 affection, even to the uttermost, I will renounce 
 her love and pledge my honor not to reveal her 
 place of retreat." 
 
 " Suppose I tell you that her father's hands are 
 stained with blood?" said the prisoner. 
 
 " No matter : she is pure as the falling snow- 
 flake." 
 
 "That his heart is filled with hatred to his 
 kind ? " 
 
 " No matter : hers has no trace of aught but 
 love and kindness."
 
 THREE YEARS LATER. 
 
 173 
 
 " That poverty and infamy will be her only 
 dowry." 
 
 " I know, I know," responded Sinclair. " You 
 relent, and I accept the terms." 
 
 " You have conquered ! " said the stern man. 
 " O God, that there should be yet a man upon thy 
 footstool could bring a tear to these eyes ! My son, 
 ay, my son ; you do not start to hear the title 
 from a pirate's lips, the adamant of my heart is 
 broken up, the scaffold will yet wring a groan 
 from its victim. Yesterday I smiled at the threats 
 of the king of horrors : he had no horror for me. 
 But now I have a daughter and a son." 
 
 After composing himself, he took a pen and 
 wrote the following words : 
 
 Sister Naomi will permit the bearer to see and converse 
 in private with Virginia. ANTOINE DE LEYBA. 
 
 He then gave Sinclair directions to find Sister 
 Naomi, and Sinclair departed.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AN INTERVIEW. LIGHT BREAKING IN. 
 
 ~\~\ 7 HEN Sinclair had time to reflect upon his 
 position, he began to suspect that he had 
 undertaken a task much more delicate and difficult 
 than he had at first permitted himself to believe. 
 Five years before he had been charmed by a bright- 
 eyed girl of thirteen, into whose presence he was 
 accidentally thrown during a journey up the Mis- 
 sissippi River. He had never seen her before or 
 since, though by musing upon her image, his early 
 attachment had ripened into most devoted love. 
 But was not this an ideal love which he had been 
 gradually developing in his imagination ; and would 
 the living original realize this ideal ? or even 
 so, could her heart be trusted through the five 
 years of absence, during which she had passed 
 from girlhood to womanhood ? These very natural 
 questions flitted across his mind as he took his 
 way to the religious house where he was to see 
 Sister Naomi, and, as he fondly hoped, her charge, 
 the fair Virginia.
 
 AN INTERVIEW. 
 
 175 
 
 On being introduced to her presence, Sister 
 Naomi recognized him, and expressed her aston- 
 ishment at his wonderful escape from the savages. 
 Without giving her time to question him as to his 
 course since his escape, or his future purposes, he 
 presented the note from Leyba. 
 
 "This comes from the prisoner charged with 
 piracy, Antoine de Leyba," said Sister Naomi, as 
 she folded up the note, with a tone of voice and 
 expression of countenance anything but promising. 
 " I know nothing of his daughter." 
 
 " You will be good enough to observe," remarked 
 Sinclair, " that he does not speak of his daughter, 
 but simply of Virginia." 
 
 " The man is beside himself ! Why does he talk 
 of a son ? Does he claim and disclaim children at 
 will ? " 
 
 " He has lived to learn that sons and daughters 
 may be born of the affections, that love and 
 charity form the true bond of union." 
 
 "Francis Sinclair," said the Sister, "do you 
 know this man ? " 
 
 '' I know that his hand is stained with blood." 
 
 " Do you know that it is the blood of your own 
 father that stains it ? " 
 
 " Surely that cannot be." 
 
 " But it is. Will you see her now ? "
 
 176 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Sister Naomi," said Sinclair, " I know nothing 
 of the death of my father, and I must not doubt 
 your words. But the union of the hearts of the 
 offspring will sanctify the feud of the parents. 
 May I see Virginia Leyba ? " 
 
 " I know nothing of her," said the Sister. "She 
 is not under my care." 
 
 The door opened and Virginia herself came into 
 the room ! Immediately approaching Sinclair in 
 the most unaffected manner, she reached out her 
 hand, and exclaimed, 
 
 "I am happy to meet you, Mr. Sinclair even 
 in this, my day of sore tribulation." 
 
 Sinclair returned her salutation with something 
 more than cordiality, and when he resumed his 
 seat, Sister Naomi handed him an open letter, ask- 
 ing him to read it before he allowed himself to 
 doubt her veracity. 
 
 The paper read as follows : 
 
 The cause which prompted me to pretend that the child I 
 placed in your care was my daughter, has passed ; and I do 
 but an act of justice though you may appreciate it as some- 
 thing more in hereby disclaiming her. Her only relation 
 to me is that she has been forced to receive a strange kind- 
 ness from the hands of one whom the world considers inca- 
 pable of such a feeling. I cannot risk the danger of entailing 
 infamy upon her by longer pretending to be her parent. 
 
 ANTOINE DE LEYBA.
 
 AN INTERVIEW. 
 
 177 
 
 " Sister Naomi," said Sinclair, after he had read 
 this letter, "your words were no doubt literally 
 true ; I do not complain. But this note, has 
 Virginia been made acquainted with its con- 
 tents ?" 
 
 The Sister shook her head to intimate that she 
 had not, at the same time reaching for the paper. 
 
 "The paper is yours," admitted Sinclair. Then 
 turning to Virginia he said : 
 
 " I have your father's permission, if it shall meet 
 your approbation, to see you for a moment in pri- 
 vate." 
 
 Virginia turned an inquiring look towards Sister 
 Naomi. 
 
 " Not in this house," said the Sister with em- 
 phasis. " Its rules require the presence of a third 
 party." 
 
 " Be it so," said Sinclair. " What I have to say, 
 I am willing to say in the presence of my Creator ; 
 surely I should not hesitate to speak before one 
 who professes to be his servant. 
 
 " Virginia, forgive me if I am compelled to pain 
 you by speaking of your father, if, indeed he be 
 your father, which I now more than ever believe. 
 I came with his consent to lay open before you an 
 honest heart in which I have worn your image for 
 five long years of separation and mystery. Through
 
 178 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 all that trying period, that image has grown brighter, 
 and my affection deeper. My life has been devoted 
 to a vain search for you. Accident at length en- 
 abled me to see and converse with your father, 
 for I must call him your father, though the depth 
 of his parental love has driven him to desperation, 
 and he disowns you." 
 
 "Oh, do not tell me that!" exclaimed the girl. 
 
 " I must tell you the truth ; but his motive is 
 worthy of a hero. I sought by all the means which 
 a deep affection could devise to wrest from him the 
 secret of your concealment. It was all in vain : he 
 told me that he never Jiad a daugJiter ! At length 
 I unbosomed all my love, as I do now. I told 
 him of our journey from the South ; of the happy 
 hours we passed together, and all that made that 
 voyage dear to me. I told him of my years of con- 
 stancy, and poured out my whole heart before 
 him. He was moved, he hesitated. I appealed 
 to his father-heart : who would love his Virginia 
 when he was gone ; who would seek to share with 
 her the infamy which her father dreaded chiefly for 
 her sake ? I reminded him that I was seeking you 
 from the scaffold, not the palace, from poverty and 
 reproach, not riches and honor ; and I warned him 
 that the world would mock at his denial : he could 
 not disown you if he would. Nay, I told him that
 
 AN INTERVIEW. 
 
 179 
 
 you would deny the words which cost so much, and 
 share his infamy with his love." 
 
 " Oh, how I thank you for that ! " exclaimed 
 Virginia, as the hot tears coursed down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " A tear stole into your father's eye perforce : I 
 had won ! Suddenly appealing to me, he asked 
 how I could know that the love which I professed 
 would touch an answering chord in your heart. 
 I pledged him my honor that if I found no echo 
 there, I would renounce forever the right to see 
 you. Did I pledge too mucJi ? " 
 
 The agitated girl placed her hand in his in si- 
 lence. Her bosom heaved with emotion, and her 
 form swayed from the conflict of her feeling. Pres- 
 ently she said in a low but firm voice : 
 
 " My father trusted you when he had known you 
 only for an hour ; I have known you for years." 
 
 Sister Naomi had looked upon this scene in 
 silent amazement. At first her countenance ex- 
 pressed a feeling of insulted dignity that such a 
 scene should take place in the house of a religious 
 sisterhood, and in her presence. ^ Then she exhib- 
 ited an interested curiosity ; then an involuntary 
 sympathy ; and at last a tear stole into the corner 
 of her eye and nearly escaped in spite of her efforts. 
 When the lovers turned to part, she could no
 
 l8o BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 longer suppress the woman within her, she rose, 
 and reuniting their hands, exclaimed : 
 
 " May God bless you ! May the Lord bless you ! 
 May the Holy Virgin bless you ! What God hath 
 joined together let no man put asunder. Surely 
 there is some miracle here, for only angels love 
 thus ! " 
 
 Sinclair was willing to change the current of 
 feeling, and replied : 
 
 " I offer you gratitude, my good Sister, but I am 
 compelled to assure you that there is at most but 
 one angel in the case, and I fear, if measured from 
 your standard, not a single saint." 
 
 The mind of the good Sister Naomi had under- 
 gone a complete revolution. She had long been 
 aware of the state of Virginia's feelings with re- 
 gard to Sinclair, but had striven by all means in 
 her power to banish her love and win her to the 
 services of the church. When Virginia had re- 
 tired, therefore, she turned and addressed Sin- 
 clair : 
 
 " My dear sir, I give you joy. You have had 
 the rare good fortune to discover and possess your- 
 self of a wealth of love which will no doubt prove 
 undying as it is pure. I strive no more against it. 
 Never have I devoted such unremitting care to the 
 guidance of a young heart as I have for five long
 
 AN INTERVIEW. T 8i 
 
 years given to hers. I strove to win her to the 
 church and to lead her from the world, to a higher 
 service, but there is that within her which has 
 overruled it all. All have not the same gifts ; every 
 woman may not attain the consecration of the bride 
 of Christ ; and it is very manifest that Virginia was 
 never intended for the veil. But there are other 
 duties in life. May the blessed Virgin watch over 
 her and keep her from sin in that world which she 
 is calculated to bless and adorn ! " 
 
 Sinclair expressed his gratitude for the good 
 will of the Sister, and when he took his leave it 
 was arranged that he should be permitted to return 
 the following day.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT FREEMAN AGAIN. LEYBA. 
 
 OINCLAIR returned to his lodgings and passed 
 a sleepless night. He was agitated by a thou- 
 sand conflicting emotions. He had seen and con- 
 versed with the object of his long-tried affection, 
 and found that the real even surpassed the ideal. 
 The young and beautiful being of his early attach- 
 ment had developed to the perfect grace of wom- 
 anhood. Her slender form had rounded into 
 the fulness of complete beauty, and all her move- 
 ments were calm and graceful. The gold of her 
 twining tresses had taken a darker hue ; and her 
 complexion was radiant with the bloom of health. 
 Within the deep blue of her beaming eyes, the 
 fountains of the soul were welling up ; and the 
 clear rich tones of her now saddened voice fell on 
 his ear like memories of a happy dream. 
 
 Then there was that constant, trusting, and con- 
 fiding love which he prized more than life, a rich 
 recompense for any ill. He had tested it ; it was 
 his forever. And yet shadows would intrude on
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 183 
 
 this bright picture ; they thrust themselves darkly 
 before his mind. The mystery still hung about 
 Virginia's parentage ; could it be that the appar- 
 ently hardened man he had seen the day before 
 was indeed her father ? He had not said so, he 
 had even denied it ; but then the very manner of 
 his denial was confirmation. If he was not, 
 whence his profound interest in her welfare ? Was 
 she the lost daughter of Mrs. Freeman, and this 
 man Leyba the divorced husband ? Could that be 
 possible ? 
 
 Then the acknowledgment of Leyba that his 
 hand was stained with blood, and the assurance of 
 Sister Naomi that it was the blood of Sinclair's 
 father. O God, could this be possible ? 
 
 Agitated with such thoughts as these Sinclair 
 passed the night. 
 
 On the following day he repaired to the meeting 
 with Virginia, as arranged the day before. The 
 scruples of Sister Naomi respecting the presence 
 of a third person seemed to have vanished ; or 
 the good Sister found it convenient to forget them. 
 She welcomed Sinclair with great cordiality, 
 called her fair charge into the room, and did her 
 best to be agreeable by striving to banish all re- 
 straint. After a few commonplace observations, 
 she brought Virginia's guitar, and remarked to
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 Sinclair that he should bear witness to the pro- 
 ficiency of her backwoods pupil in at least one 
 department of her studies, at the same time 
 remarking that though she had found her pupil 
 slow to learn the lessons of the church, she could 
 complain of no other deficiency. Seeing that Vir- 
 ginia hesitated, as if the mingled sadness and hap- 
 piness that filled her heart were too deep for such 
 expression, she gently urged her to relieve the 
 strain which her feelings had recently undergone by 
 the soothing influence of music. 
 
 " That sweet little song," said she to Virginia, 
 "now you may indeed feel its sentiment." 
 
 With only a moment's hesitation, Virginia took 
 the instrument, and, after touching the chords to a 
 gentle and plaintive prelude, sang : 
 
 'Tis sweet to muse over the past 
 
 Which brought only sighing and sorrow; 
 To give our despair to the blast, 
 
 And smile with a hope for the morrow. 
 'Tis joyous to meet the loved one 
 
 From whom we had dreaded to sever ; 
 To feel that our parting is done, 
 
 That now we may love on forever ! 
 
 During the interlude which followed the singing 
 of the first stanza, Sister Naomi took the oppor- 
 tunity to withdraw from the room.
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 185 
 
 "My dear Virginia," said Sinclair, after a brief 
 silence, "where did you find those lines that so 
 fully express what I this moment feel ?" 
 
 Virginia blushed slightly, and replied, 
 
 " Sister Naomi called it cottonwood poetry, in 
 allusion to its backwoods origin." 
 
 "And so, my fair 'Ginia ventures into the 
 haunts of the Muses ?" 
 
 " Never but once, upon honor. These lines 
 comprise all my poetry ; and even these are the 
 offspring of a moment's inspiration which never 
 would return. I once attempted to recall with 
 poetic coloring my recollection of the earthquake 
 and its scenes of startling grandeur ; but all in 
 vain. The impressions came vividly, as they do 
 now, but they were not poetry." 
 
 " The earthquake, Virginia ? Were you in New 
 Orleans at the time ?" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Virginia; "not in New Orleans. 
 I was on the Mississippi, near New Madrid. I 
 witnessed such scenes as tongue can never tell ! 
 And it was the more terrible to me because my 
 father, who had reclaimed me a few days before, 
 was yet almost a stranger to me, and I knew not a 
 living soul on board. And in that dreadful night, 
 when the earth was heaving like a stormy sea, and 
 the river ran boiling and seething by with a sullen
 
 1 86 BROUGHT TO DAY. 
 
 roar, I first learned my own strange history ; and 
 then I began to return the love of that father 
 who, whatever may be his offences, has loved me 
 with a fervor scarcely human." 
 
 "And thus the light breaks in," said Sinclair. 
 " Your father found you, carried you to Cave-in 
 Rock, and thence to New Orleans, on board the 
 Tippecanoe ?" 
 
 " Even so, my shrewd diviner. But how should 
 you know this ?" 
 
 " Oh, my maid of mystery," responded Sinclair, 
 " I begin to untangle the web. You know the 
 purpose for which the cavern was used, and the 
 awful fate which befel its inmates?" 
 
 " My father told me they all perished by the 
 earthquake. But surely you did not learn all this 
 among the savages ?" 
 
 "Oh, no," replied Sinclair, "I learned it among 
 a kind and hospitable people whom you will not 
 call savages, at Shawneetown." 
 
 Virginia started, turned deadly pale, and looked 
 suspiciously toward the door, as if fearful that 
 there was treason in Sinclair's words, and that the 
 walls and the doors were listening. Recovering 
 herself, she said, 
 
 "Excuse me. For five long years. I have not 
 breathed that name ; and only once have I whis- 
 pered the name I loved for years-! "
 
 VIRGINIA AV COURT. ^7 
 
 "Do you know," said Sinclair tenderly, "that 
 that whisper sank so deep into my heart that 
 when I had forgotten my own existence I still 
 remembered that low, confiding murmur, 'Not 
 Virginia Leyba, but 'Ginia Rose ' ! " 
 
 " And that enabled you to trace out and find my 
 dear bereaved foster-mother ? " said Virginia. 
 
 "No," said Sinclair; "you give me more credit 
 for shrewdness than I deserve. I should just as 
 soon have thought of going to any other town in 
 the wide world to inquire for a lost maiden with 
 bright blue eyes, named 'Ginia Rose." 
 
 Sinclair then related the particulars of his rescue 
 from the Indians, his arrival at the Roses' house, 
 and the kindness he had received there ; his in- 
 coherent wanderings while laboring under the 
 effects of a depression of the cranium, his re- 
 covery, and the mutual explanations between 
 himself and Mrs. Freeman ; and finally his long 
 search after the bright-eyed girl who had so 
 bewitched him five years before. 
 
 " I fear," said Virginia, with an arch smile, 
 " that this same long search is evidence that the 
 doctor's newly-invented trephine did not quite 
 accomplish its purpose. But how do you think I 
 passed that same long oh, very long five 
 years ? "
 
 !88 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Oh, devoutly practising your Ave Marias, of 
 course." 
 
 "Well," responded Virginia, "I am compelled 
 to tell you that there was much more devotion in 
 my prayers when the name of a certain young 
 person whom I supposed to have perished among 
 the savages, took the place of Mary's. The truth 
 is, I was too early trained to the worship of God to 
 be able to approach him through the medium of 
 images, or the intercession of Saints." 
 
 " But how did you manage with the good Sister's 
 lessons ?" 
 
 " Oh, I first learned them very dutifully ; and 
 then I very undutifully argued their points, like a 
 wild backwoods girl as I am." 
 
 " And did Sister Naomi permit that ? " 
 
 "She could do no otherwise. She pronounced 
 me the most studious, ready, and obedient pupil, 
 but the most incorrigible heretic, she had ever 
 known. She loved me dearly, and always treated 
 me with great kindness ; but she declared I was 
 the last pupil she would receive from the arms of 
 a heretic mother." 
 
 Then, drawing a deep sigh, she continued, 
 
 " That poor, dear mother ! a mother indeed to 
 me. Would to God I could soothe the suffering 
 of her bleeding heart."
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 
 
 189 
 
 " She really is not your mother, then ? " said 
 Sinclair. " What is the clew to this strange 
 mystery ? " 
 
 Before Virginia could reply the door was opened 
 from without, and two men entered the room un- 
 announced. One of them was an officer of the 
 law, the other gave his name to Sinclair as 
 " Mr. Thomas Freeman, of Limestone, Kentucky ; 
 and father of this young lady," he added, looking 
 at Virginia. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss," said the officer, "for 
 thus entering without notice ; but this gentleman 
 who procured the writ and claims to be your 
 father Help, sir, help! the young lady has 
 fainted " 
 
 Sinclair caught the falling form in his arms, and 
 bore her to a sofa. Water was at hand, which 
 Sinclair, with perfect presence of mind, dashed 
 gently into her face; and in a few minutes she 
 was sufficiently restored to speak. Still pale as 
 death, she turned to Freeman, saying, " God's will 
 be done! Do your worst, sir." 
 
 " My dearest Virginia," said Sinclair, "be calm ! 
 No harm can come to you." 
 
 " Officer, do your duty," said Freeman. 
 
 The officer then read the writ of habeas corpus, 
 issued out of the United States District Court,
 
 1 90 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 commanding himself and the woman known as 
 Sister Naomi, or either of them, to forthwith bring 
 the body of Virginia Freeman, alias Virginia Rose, 
 alias Virginia Leyba, before said court, now in 
 session, etc. The officer, who was a gentleman 
 in the better sense of the word, then courteously 
 asked Virginia if she was sufficiently recovered to 
 accompany him. 
 
 " I am ready for any fate," said she, still pale 
 and trembling. 
 
 " I have a carriage at the door, 'Ginia," said 
 Freeman, with obtrusive kindness. " You will 
 ride with me." 
 
 " Never ! " exclaimed she resolutely ; at the same 
 time taking Sinclair's arm, and motioning the 
 officer to lead the way. 
 
 Virginia detested the man who now claimed her 
 as his daughter when she really supposed it was 
 so. She now knew otherwise ; but the memory of 
 his former unkindness to her foster-mother made 
 her almost loathe him. When they reached the 
 court-room, Sinclair sent a note to Sister Naomi, 
 informing her of what had happened, and request- 
 ing her attendance forthwith. 
 
 "Who defends this case?" inquired the judge, 
 when all the parties had arrived. 
 
 Sinclair replied,
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. I9I 
 
 " May it please your honor, I respectfully ask, 
 as next friend to the young lady, to make a short 
 statement of facts for the purpose of enabling the 
 Court to decide wha should defend, under the cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 Counsel for Freeman objected. 
 
 The Court then asked Virginia her age and 
 name. She replied : 
 
 " I believe I am in my nineteenth year. My 
 name is Virginia ," and then after a little hesi- 
 tation, she added with great emotion, " Not Vir- 
 ginia Freeman. I hope the Court will pardon me 
 for such an answer." 
 
 " The Court is willing to respect your feelings," 
 said the judge ; "but the least possible amount of 
 mystery will best serve your cause. Mr. Clerk, 
 swear this gentleman." 
 
 The oath was administered to Sinclair, and he 
 addressed the Court as follows : 
 
 " May it please the Court : Five years ago this 
 young lady was placed under the guardianship of 
 Sister Naomi, now present, to be educated and 
 reared to womanhood under her care and protec- 
 tion. The man who so placed her I have every 
 reason to believe is her father, and that her mother 
 died while the young lady was an infant. A few 
 days ago, with the assent of her father, and the
 
 192 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 approbation of the Sister, her guardian, the young 
 lady and myself were affianced. If the Court so 
 judge, I am defendant in this case." 
 
 The judge replied that the Court would hear the 
 testimony of all the parties interested, and decide 
 the case upon its merits. 
 
 The plaintiff's counsel had asked an attachment 
 for a witness who had refused to attend and tes- 
 tify, and whose testimony was material. The 
 Court so ordered ; and in a little while the officer 
 returned with Tim Rose. On being asked by the 
 Court what excuse he had to offer for refusing to 
 appear before, he respectfully replied that he would 
 state his reasons under oath. He then consulted 
 with Sinclair a moment, who asked the Court 
 whether testimony as to the character of the plain- 
 tiff and his fitness to take charge of the young 
 lady would be admitted. The judge answered that 
 it would. 
 
 The attorney for the plaintiff desired to offer 
 the testimony of Freeman himself. The judge 
 said he would hear it, but added that the young 
 lady and her father, if present, would also be 
 heard. 
 
 To this the plaintiff's counsel sneeringly re- 
 plied, " Oh, very well, we do not object." 
 
 Freeman then testified as follows :
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 
 
 193 
 
 " In the year 1 798 I was united in marriage to 
 Catherine Rose, at Limestone, in Kentucky. A 
 year afterwards a daughter was born to us whom 
 we named Virginia. Afterwards unfortunate family 
 difficulties raised a separation between myself and 
 wife, which terminated in a divorce on her peti- 
 tion. Afterwards our child was sometimes in my 
 possession and sometimes in hers. But never on 
 any occasion was she out of my care so long that 
 I could forget her or have the least doubt concern- 
 ing her identity. At the time of our divorce my 
 wife attempted to resume her maiden name, but 
 never fully succeeded ; and after her removal to 
 Illinois with her parents, some years ago, she was 
 still known by my name. Our daughter, however, 
 was urged by her mother, as I believe to dis- 
 claim the name of Freeman, and was known in 
 Illinois only as Virginia, or more frequently 'Ginia 
 Rose. 
 
 " Five years ago the courts of Kentucky, on a plea 
 of divorce in my own behalf, granted me the custody 
 of the child. I repaired to Shawneetown for the 
 purpose of taking her to Kentucky. But her 
 mother or the family had poisoned her feel- 
 ings against me so that the child had learned to 
 hate her own father ; and I returned to Kentucky 
 without her. My child shortly afterward disap-
 
 194 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 peared. She was sent away, as I believe, by the 
 mother and the mother's family, to prevent me 
 from reclaiming her. 
 
 " A few days since accident led me to the dis- 
 covery of the place of her retreat. I saw her, and 
 recognized her instantly. She is not yet eighteen 
 years of age ; and I claim the right to exercise 
 some judgment in her choice of a husband." 
 
 The story of Freeman seemed to be sufficiently 
 conclusive ; and the many spectators who were 
 present on account of the peculiar interest excited 
 by the case, wondered what could be urged against 
 so plain a statement. Freeman was cross-ques- 
 tioned by Sinclair, who was prompted by Virginia 
 in a whisper on many points of which he was 
 ignorant. 
 
 " How often did you steal the child you speak of 
 from its mother ? " 
 
 " I frequently had the child with me," said Free- 
 man. 
 
 " How long was it out of your sight at any one 
 time before it was two years old ? " 
 
 " Never over a month until it was a year old, 
 when I did not see it for about six months." 
 
 " How long was it out of the mother's sight be- 
 fore it was a year old ? " 
 
 " The child was with me from nine months to
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 195 
 
 twelve months old, during which time it was not 
 seen by the mother." 
 
 " You are right. Now, do you think it pos- 
 sible that a mother who has not seen her child of 
 six months of age for a quarter of a year should 
 fail to recognize it ? 
 
 " It may be possible," said the witness ; " but I 
 rely on my own memory. What has the mother's 
 knowledge to do with the case ? " 
 
 "No matter," said Sinclair. "And now, sir, 
 suppose that after you had stolen that child of 
 only nine months, before a child has acquired 
 any very distinctive features, and had kept it out 
 of its mother's sight for three months, the mother, 
 in an effort to reclaim it, should get possession of 
 another child, strongly resembling her own ; might 
 she not mistake it for her own ? " 
 
 " I admit that she might." 
 
 " May it please the Court, I object to these 
 questions," said the plaintiff's counsel. " They do 
 do not bear on the plaintiff's testimony." 
 
 " May it please the Court, we will show presently 
 that they do. And now, sir, if the mother should 
 thus get possession of a child not her own, and if, 
 six months afterward, you should steal that child 
 away, would you be more likely than the mother 
 to discover the mistake ? "
 
 196 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 Witness, by advice of counsel, declined answer- 
 ing. 
 
 " Well, sir," resumed Sinclair, " I ask you now, 
 in the full view of the case, and on the strength of 
 your own statement, whether you will swear that 
 you were not mistaken, and that this young lady is 
 your daughter ? " 
 
 " I believe she is my daughter," said the witness. 
 
 " Do you swear?" 
 
 Witness did not answer, but was permitted to 
 take his seat. 
 
 Tim Rose was sworn, and testified as follows : 
 
 " I am unwillingly compelled to corroborate 
 much that this man has said. Catherine Rose, his 
 former wife, is my sister. The facts about the birth 
 of the daughter, and her possession ultimately by 
 father and mother, are true as far as they go. 
 But they are not all the truth. It was proven on 
 the application for divorce by my sister that Free- 
 man had been guilty of the most cruel and abomi- 
 nable abuse toward her, beginning a few weeks 
 after marriage, and increasing in enormity until the 
 divorce. He never could have obtained an order 
 for the possession of her child where he was known ; 
 nor could he have taken her away in any community 
 where himself and the history of the case were 
 known. When he came to Shawneetown for that
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 
 
 197 
 
 purpose the people rose as one man, and threatened 
 him with violence if he attempted to take the child. 
 Shortly afterwards, however, the girl disappeared ; 
 and, as I always believed until now, by his agency." 
 
 ' You know this young lady to be the daughter 
 of the plaintiff, do you not?" asked Freeman's 
 counsel. 
 
 " She is certainly the same my sister raised, 
 believing her to be her daughter." 
 
 " Have you any doubt that she is the plaintiff's 
 daughter? " 
 
 " I have not," replied Tim ; but with manifest 
 reluctance. 
 
 Question by the Court. " Do you know whether 
 the alleged mother of the young lady your sister 
 consents to her marriage with this gentleman? " 
 
 " I know that she does," replied Tim. 
 
 Plaintiff's counsel resumed: "Was Mr. Free- 
 man ever accused of ill-treating his daughter ? " 
 
 " I think not," replied Tim. 
 
 " Do you not know that he always treated her 
 kindly?" 
 
 " He may have done so. I do not know. 
 
 " Is he not a respectable man, and a man of prop- 
 erty, able to support and educate his daughter 
 properly ? " 
 
 " Well," responded Tim ; " if a man who would
 
 1 98 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 compel his wife to follow him through the woods 
 when he went hunting, force her to walk after him 
 for miles in the wilderness, and threaten to shoot 
 her if she murmured or refused is so then he is a 
 respectable man." 
 
 " Your name is Timothy Rose, I believe ? " said 
 the lawyer. " Be good enough, Mr. Timothy Rose, 
 to tell the Court how you happened to be in this 
 town so opportunely for our cause ?" 
 
 " I came here some days since, in company with 
 Mr. Sinclair, in search of this young lady." 
 
 " How came you to suspect she was here ? " 
 
 " We have had reason for several years to think 
 she was somewhere in this town, and have looked 
 for her in vain until now." 
 
 " You have not told us what led you to a knowl- 
 edge of her place of concealment : what was it ? " 
 
 " Mr. Sinclair can tell you better than I," replied 
 Tim. 
 
 " But we want your account," said the attorney. 
 
 "We had heard that she is now known by a 
 strange name. There was a person in the town 
 bearing the same family name ; and through him 
 Mr. Sinclair learned where Virginia was." 
 
 " What was the name she bore, and who is this 
 person you refer to ?" 
 
 Tim Rose declined to answer. The Court inter-
 
 VI RG I XI A IiV COURT. 
 
 199 
 
 posed, and instructed the witness to answer the 
 question. Tim still hesitated, when Virginia rose, 
 and exclaimed with an earnestness almost terrible, 
 
 " Let the truth come ! That person was my 
 father, Antoine de Leyba." 
 
 The words sent a thrill through the court-room. 
 All eyes were turned towards Virginia, and all in 
 breathless silence awaited her next words. 
 
 "The pirate!" exclaimed Freeman's attorney. 
 
 " Ay, call him pirate, if you will ! He never 
 drew tears of blood from an innocent and injured 
 wife ; he never tortured my mother " 
 
 The judge interposed and called upon Tim to 
 proceed. 
 
 " Tell us, Timothy," said the attorney, with a 
 sarcastic smile, " what you know about the circum- 
 stances which led this man Leyba to pretend to be 
 the parent of your sister's child." 
 
 " I know nothing about it," said Tim, "and I do 
 not believe it. But judging by my own feelings, I 
 hardly know which would be worse : to be proven the 
 daughter of Leyba, or to be compelled to go with 
 that man, who is too great a coward to be a pirate." 
 
 " Witness will confine himself to a statement of 
 facts, and omit his opinions," said the judge. 
 
 The attorney for Freeman having no more ques- 
 tions to ask, the witness was turned over to the
 
 200 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 other side. Sinclair asked on cross-examina- 
 tion: 
 
 " Has not your father an old negro slave named 
 Tabby, and did not this Tabby once belong to Free- 
 man ? " 
 
 " We have such a servant in the family," replied 
 Tim, "and she was formerly the property of Free- 
 man." 
 
 " Five years ago, when Virginia disappeared so 
 strangely, did you not suspect this woman Tabby 
 of being privy to the abduction ? " 
 
 "I certainly did," was the reply. 
 
 " Did she not have abundant opportunity, if so 
 disposed, while living at Freeman's to change the 
 child which was under her care, and permit Mrs. 
 Freeman to reclaim the wrong child ? " 
 
 " If she had any motive to do it, the old hag is 
 cunning enough," replied Tim. 
 
 " How old would your sister's child be now, if 
 living ? " 
 
 "She was born in the year 1798, on the first 
 day of November, I believe." 
 
 " Was it not October ? Think a moment." 
 
 " I may be mistaken," said Tim, " I am afraid to 
 be positive." 
 
 Tim took his seat, and Sister Naomi was called. 
 
 " Sister Naomi," said the attorney for Freeman,
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 2 OI 
 
 with a complete change of manner, " we are pleased 
 to see a disinterested witness on the stand. Be 
 good enough to tell us all you know about the par- 
 entage of this young lady." 
 
 " I have known her father for fifteen years," said 
 the Sister, " the man known as Leyba. At least 
 so long ago I knew that he had a daughter in Ken- 
 tucky (and afterward in Illinois) in the care of a 
 woman who believed her to be her own. The girl 
 was left in my care five years ago, though the 
 father had promised to bring her two years sooner. 
 He has always paid for her support and tuition until 
 the present time." 
 
 Question by the attorney. " Have you any evi- 
 dence that the young lady is his child, except his 
 assertion when he brought her to you ? " 
 
 " He had spoken to me of her, several years be- 
 fore," said the Sister. 
 
 "What was his reason for not reclaiming her 
 sooner ? " 
 
 " Regard for the feelings of the kind lady whose 
 mistaken affection had nurtured her so kindly." 
 
 " And why did he finally take the child away ? " 
 asked the attorney. 
 
 " Solely for the sake of her soul. Her foster- 
 mother was a kind, good lady, but a heretic." 
 
 " And do you really believe that this young lady 
 is the daughter of the pirate Leyba ? "
 
 202 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " I do believe she is the daughter of the man 
 who is here known by that name," was the reply. 
 " But his name is Antoine de " 
 
 "Leyba!" exclaimed Virginia, in a tone which 
 so startled the good Sister that she could not 
 finish the sentence. 
 
 " No matter about the name," remarked the 
 judge. 
 
 "Will you tell us, if you please," said the attor- 
 ney, with much less deference in his tone, as he 
 found the witness not likely to serve his purpose, 
 "how a love affair ever managed to come into ex- 
 istence among the good and pious Sisters of your 
 house ? " 
 
 Sister Naomi related the manner of Sinclair's 
 first meeting with Virginia, his persevering efforts 
 to find her, and his coming to the Sisters' house 
 with the written consent of her father to see 
 Virginia. 
 
 When she had concluded the judge turned to 
 the marshal, and ordered him to bring the man 
 Leyba into court, saying, " This is a strange case, 
 and the Court wants all the facts which can be 
 obtained." 
 
 While the officer was gone for the prisoner, 
 Sinclair and Virginia consulted together in a low 
 tone ; while the crowd of persons in the house was
 
 VIRGINIA IN COXRT. 
 
 203 
 
 still increasing from the new interest given to the 
 case by the order to bring de Leyba. 
 
 Tim Rose really believed Virginia to be his 
 sister's child, and he would not see her pass into 
 Freeman's keeping on any terms ; yet his feelings 
 revolted from the attempt to prove his sister's 
 daughter the child of Leyba, the pirate. He used 
 argument and persuasion to induce her to deny de 
 Leyba's claims, trusting that the Court would 
 commit her to her mother's care, instead of Free- 
 man's. She was immovable. 
 
 " Come honor or shame, come life or death," 
 she replied, " I will not disown my father. I will 
 plead his parental love at the bar of heaven against 
 his alleged crimes : at the bar of the world, I will 
 not plead ; it cannot destroy my consciousness of 
 right." 
 
 Tim then turned to Sinclair, demanding if he 
 required such a sacrifice. 
 
 " God forbid," said Sinclair. " I would resign 
 her forever rather than see the slightest blemish 
 fall on her life even by inheritance." 
 
 " Oh, do not say that ! " pleaded Virginia ; " the 
 thought is unworthy of you." 
 
 Amid the murmurs of the expectant audience, 
 the officer now brought Leyba into the court- 
 room. He was unaware of the object for which
 
 204 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 he had been brought ; and seeing his daughter in 
 the seat of the witnesses, he exclaimed with vio- 
 lent emphasis, 
 
 " Hell-hounds ! Have you brought my child to 
 testify against me ? I dare you I defy you ! 
 She will but speak of my love and tenderness ; 
 she will tell you that the world, with all its soul- 
 destroying laws, could not destroy one affection ; 
 and that the shadow of a crime I did not commit, 
 in which I have walked for twenty years, could not 
 blight the love I bore my child." 
 
 Virginia hastened to her father's side, threw her 
 arms about his neck and wept. When she told 
 him the object of his being brought into court, 
 Leyba instantly controlled himself, folded his arms 
 on his breast, and calmly said, " I am ready." 
 
 "The witness will be sworn," said the judge. 
 " Though already convicted of an infamous crime, 
 the Court will hear him." 
 
 "An oath would be mockery to one who has 
 been the victim of your laws for twenty years," 
 said the prisoner. " The word of de Leyba must 
 suffice." 
 
 Sinclair looked inquiringly at the judge ; but 
 the Court said it knew no way to compel the 
 witness to take the oath ; for if he were com- 
 mitted for contempt, it could only be to the same
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 205 
 
 prison to which he was already condemned, and 
 the examination was allowed to proceed. 
 
 " Is this young lady your daughter ? " asked 
 Sinclair. 
 
 " No," exclaimed Leyba, sternly. " I never had 
 a daughter ! " 
 
 " May it please the Court," said the attorney for 
 Freeman, " we ask a decision in our favor on that 
 assumption." 
 
 " The Court is not prepared to come to a decis- 
 ion," said the judge. "The answer of the witness 
 contradicts the words he has already uttered. 
 The Court will hear the lady herself." 
 
 "May the God of justice bless you ! " exclaimed 
 Virginia. " Not that I may aid in determining 
 who is to have control of this mortal form, God 
 alone can control the spirit, but that I may 
 prove myself worthy of a father who breaks his 
 own heart, who denies his own affection to save his 
 child from sharing his infamy. Know, then, most 
 righteous judge, that I elect to take the infamy 
 with the love. When I deny my father, may I be 
 denied by my Saviour." 
 
 Trembling with emotion, her whole countenance 
 lighted up by the soul within, she turned to de 
 Leyba : 
 
 " Look upon me, father ! " she cried. " Do I
 
 206 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 look like a craven to fear the world's contempt ? 
 Do you read the word ingrate upon my forehead ? 
 Have I not loved you too deeply, too truly, to for- 
 sake you in your day of trial ? This tongue which 
 you tell me syllables the very tones of that mother 
 I never knew, think you it can deny you when 
 ignominy falls upon you, that it can thus dis- 
 grace and dishonor her memory ? No, my father, 
 I dare the world's contempt, and will you be less 
 resolute ? " 
 
 De Leyba rose instantly as Virginia concluded, 
 and exclaimed : 
 
 " I am ready. Let the oath be administered, 
 infamous though I be." 
 
 The conduct of Leyba toward Virginia had evi- 
 dently changed the feeling of the people, and when 
 he rose to take the oath a sudden murmur of 
 applause ran through the court-room. It was evi- 
 dent from the expression upon the countenance of 
 the multitude that they doubted whether a man 
 who could thus love his child, thus voluntarily 
 disclaim and deny her forever for the sake of shield- 
 ing her reputation from the stains which soiled his 
 own, could be the hardened wretch he was be- 
 lieved. 
 
 When Leyba had taken the oath, he began in a 
 tone of assumed calmness, painful to hear :
 
 VIRGINIA IN COURT. 
 
 207 
 
 May it please the Court : Seventeen years ago 
 I had the misfortune to lose a dear and devoted 
 wife by the hand of death, while descending the 
 Ohio, just about Limestone. My child was with 
 me. I was alone with her ; and I had not a friend 
 in the wide world. To go down the river alone 
 with that infant was impossible, and I placed it for 
 a few days in the care of a negro nurse. The very 
 next day the child was stolen away by this man 
 here present, Mr. Rose, in mistake for another. 
 From that day to this, I have never lost sight of 
 her for a month at once. Five years ago I re- 
 claimed her by the agency of the same nurse into 
 whose care I committed her more than twelve 
 years before. Since then she has been in the care 
 and under the protection of Sister Naomi." 
 
 " And what became of my daughter ? " exclaimed 
 Freeman. 
 
 " You must seek her at the hands of the negro 
 nurse in whose care you left her. I can only say 
 that had she remained in the hands of her mother, 
 she might still be there to gladden her heart. I 
 have done." And Leyba took his seat. 
 
 " The Court awards the keeping of the young 
 lady to Sister Naomi, until she be twenty-one 
 years of age," decided the judge, " unless sooner 
 married."
 
 208 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 A shout of approbation went up from the audi- 
 tors as the judge pronounced the decision of the 
 court. 
 
 Virginia embraced her father, who was then re- 
 conducted to his prison ; and Sinclair accompanied 
 Virginia and the good Sister Naomi home.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SANTA CLARA. ANTOINE DE ULLOA. 
 
 \\ 7"HEN Sinclair had returned to his quarters, 
 he felt confused and bewildered. The depth 
 and strength of Virginia's character, which had 
 been disclosed to him so recently, had been a reve- 
 lation to him. He knew that she was beautiful, 
 even beyond his fondest recollections, his brightest 
 dreams ; he knew that she was generous, sympa- 
 thetic, and affectionate. But he was hardly pre- 
 pared for the courage she had shown, her heroic 
 devotion to the doomed man whom she persisted 
 in claiming as her father. What was that father's 
 real character? What the mystery which envel- 
 oped it ? Evidently, he was no common man ; for 
 with a full knowledge of his life on her part, he 
 had won from his daughter, who never knew him 
 until she was passing out of childhood, such love 
 and such devotion as reflected back honor even 
 upon the criminal himself. Was he indeed a crim- 
 inal ? He did not know the specific charge on 
 which Leyba had been convicted, nor the evidence
 
 2io BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 upon which that conviction had been obtained. 
 But did he not know, at least, that Leyba was a 
 party to the seizure of the Tippecanoe ? He 
 thought of Leyba's words, that under the 
 shadow of a crime which he did not commit, he 
 had walked for years. What hidden mystery 
 lurked behind Sister Naomi's statement, that 
 Leyba's hands were red with the blood of Sinclair's 
 own father ? 
 
 All these questions came crowding upon him at 
 once ; and he could find no answer. He had some 
 recollection of hearing it said in his childhood that 
 that his father had fallen in a duel ; but duelling 
 was not considered criminal in Cuba, where his 
 youthful days had been passed. 
 
 Leyba had at one time apparently by inadver- 
 tence spoken of Virginia as "Angela;" if that 
 were her real name, why had she not borne it since 
 being reunited to her father. Was there further 
 mystery connected with that name so unwittingly 
 pronounced ? He had even been led to suspect 
 that the name Leyba bore was not his real one : 
 was that real name stained with crime? 
 
 Unable to find rest, his thoughts confused them- 
 selves in vain attempts to solve the mysteries 
 which for the last few days had been so rapidly 
 gathering about him. Baffled in every attempt to
 
 SANTA CLARA. 211 
 
 unravel the tangled web, he turned his troubled 
 thoughts from these vain questionings. He passed 
 in review the more recent events of his life : his 
 hospitable reception at Shawneetown ; the strange 
 fortune which had led him there in so remarkable 
 a manner ; and the clew of her lost Virginia which 
 he had brought her mother, as he had thought her : 
 a devoted mother, who had mourned her lost dar- 
 ling through all these years, and who would now 
 find the lost one only to lose the right to call her 
 daughter ! 
 
 For the first time in his life, Sinclair became 
 troubled about his own early history. His mother 
 had always been reticent on the subject of his 
 father's death, saying only that he had died while 
 his son was but an infant. Then, while his 
 thoughts were lingering on his new history, came 
 to him the question which comes to every un- 
 selfish man who has won the heart of a noble 
 woman : was he worthy of that deep and un- 
 questioning affection which had been given him 
 by Virginia ? 
 
 Burdened by such thoughts as these, Sinclair 
 retired to a disturbed slumber to await such fur- 
 ther revelations as the morrow might bring. 
 
 Before leaving the court-room, Leyba had re-
 
 212 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 quested Sinclair and Virginia to visit him in prison 
 on the next day, as he wished to make some com- 
 munication of importance to them. They accord- 
 ingly proceeded on the next morning to the prison 
 where Leyba was confined. He received them 
 with much emotion, taking Sinclair's hand, and 
 pressing it in silence, while his chest heaved with 
 the earnestness of his feelings. He pressed his 
 daughter to his bosom and imprinted a kiss upon 
 her cheek, while a tear traced its unwonted way 
 down his face. 
 
 "My son," said he, "my eyes have long been 
 a stranger to tears ; and now that your faithfulness 
 and the love of my daughter have broken up the 
 fountain again, they burn my flesh like fire. Your 
 hearts have not yet been seared by the world's 
 injustice, as by a hot iron ; and the love I bear to 
 you the love you bear to me prompts me to 
 tell you the history of a soul stricken blind by the 
 cruel glare of the world's 'justice.' 
 
 " Some of the events I am about to relate are 
 already known to my daughter ; but I repeat them 
 to you, my son, that you may understand all ; what 
 was my offence against the world, and what the 
 world's offence to me. 
 
 " I was born in the city of Havana. My father, 
 Antoine de Ulloa "
 
 SANTA CLARA. 213 
 
 " \Vhat," interrupted Sinclair, " de Ulloa ? Surely 
 you are not " 
 
 " Do not interrupt me," said Leyba sternly. 
 " My father gave me a good education, and when 
 I was old enough procured me admission into the 
 army as a lieutenant. My knowledge of the Eng- 
 lish language, and my father's influence, procured 
 me the situation of private secretary to the Cap- 
 tain-General ; and for some time I was apparently 
 on the high road to preferment. The captain of 
 the company to which I belonged was a man 
 named Santa Clara. He was a proud, overbearing 
 man why do you tremble, my son ? Know you 
 anything of his history ?" 
 
 " My father," interposed Virginia, " Don Santa 
 Clara was his father. But he can bear it ; tell it 
 all." 
 
 " My father's name certainly was Santa Clara," 
 said Sinclair. "My own is but the English cor- 
 ruption of his. Sister Naomi once intimated that 
 difficulties had existed between my father and 
 yourself. No matter. I am prepared for all." 
 
 De Leyba continued : 
 
 "Sister Naomi might also have informed you 
 that Leyba is not my name. Ah, I remember 
 when in the gay circles of Havana I was proud of 
 the name of de Ulloa !"
 
 214 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "Your father crossed my path. He taunted me 
 with the charge of meanness ; he insulted me with 
 the assertion that I had obtained my place by 
 undermining him in the good-will of the Captain- 
 General. I scorned the deed he charged me with, 
 but my proud heart would not stoop to call it 
 false. He reiterated it, still more insultingly ; 
 and in a moment of sudden passion I pronounced 
 him a liar. 
 
 " That which I knew must happen followed. 
 He challenged me to mortal combat. We fought 
 beyond the city, and alone. Oh, the curse, the 
 folly of that act ! One single witness would have 
 saved me from infamy. But there was none ; we 
 fought with none to see but God. Don Santa 
 Clara fell, and I escaped unharmed. When I saw 
 him lying dead before me, then, and not till then, 
 the probable consequences of my deed occurred to 
 me. I should be charged with murder, the mur- 
 der of my superior officer. I fled to the interior 
 of the country. Ten days afterwards I was arrest- 
 ed and taken to Havana to be tried for murder, 
 and, O God, was it possible ! for robbery also. 
 The body of Don Santa Clara had been found, 
 his pockets cut open, and rifled of his watch and 
 a large sum of money which he was known to 
 have had when he left the city in the morning.
 
 SANTA CLARA. 
 
 215 
 
 May God forgive the man who did that deed, and 
 brought infamy on my head ! 
 
 " On the trial I succeeded in producing a chal- 
 lenge to myself in his handwriting. This I had 
 never received ; but it had been found among the 
 papers which had been taken from his pockets. 
 This paper saved my life. But I could not account 
 for the rifling of his pockets and the loss of his 
 money and watch ; and so the law the law which 
 is so much extolled ; which all men are called upon 
 to revere ; which is the strong barrier against all 
 wrong, that law pronounced me a robber! No 
 matter that my character had always been above 
 reproach ; no matter that there was no shadow of 
 proof of robbery against me, while I admitted the 
 duel ; no matter that such a decision would blast 
 my hopes forever; I was convicted of theft, 
 and doomed to the degrading punishment of the 
 chain-gang. Oh, had it only been death ! I was 
 chained with a gang of vulgar thieves, and sent to 
 a distant part of the island to work upon a sea- 
 coast fortification. Here for three months I re- 
 mained bearing the jeers and taunts of my fellow- 
 prisoners, who, because I did not sink to their 
 own low level, named me 'the gentleman robber.' 
 
 " I had not yet let go my integrity, notwith- 
 standing this taste of the world's justice. I
 
 2l6 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 endeavored to palliate the action of the court, 
 which condemned me, and the law which per- 
 mitted the condemnation ; and I fondly looked 
 forward to the day when, in some other land, I 
 should be able to stand upright as a man ! I was 
 willing to bear exile from my native land forever, 
 while the hope was left me of winning an honest 
 reputation in another. 
 
 " One evening pirates landed on the coast, drove 
 the soldiers from their position, and set the pris- 
 oners free, offering them the protection of their 
 vessel. I accepted the offer, and on going on 
 board was immediately carried to sea. 
 
 " The name of this pirate captain I have for- 
 gotten. He was a Spaniard, and possessed the 
 manners and address of a gentleman. That man 
 heard my story through, with interest. When I 
 had finished he said that he would not insult me 
 by asking me to join his band ; he wished me 
 better fortune in the world to which I sought to 
 return, and hoped that I might not have cause to 
 regret that I had not accepted the career as well 
 as the hospitality of a pirate, and promised to put 
 me ashore somewhere in the United States. I 
 learned that man's history : he too had known the 
 tender mercies of the unrelenting law. But to 
 myself.
 
 SANTA CLARA. 
 
 217 
 
 " After some time I was put on board a vessel 
 bound to New Orleans, and soon reached that city 
 in safety. I assumed the name of Leyba, and 
 sought employment as a teacher of the Spanish 
 language. I should have mentioned that the 
 pirate captain had furnished me with suitable 
 clothing and a sum of money sufficient for my 
 immediate wants. 
 
 " Before I had been in New Orleans three days, 
 a police officer tapped me on the shoulder, and 
 calling me Ulloa, bade me beware, as the police 
 knew my history. My heart sank within me. I 
 almost despaired of ever being able to get beyond 
 the reach of that unjust sentence which had fol- 
 lowed me thus far. Still, determined to hold fast 
 my integrity, I privately left the city and took 
 passage in a brig bound for New York, which city 
 I reached after a short and prosperous voyage. 
 
 " I remained a year in the city of New York, 
 supporting myself by giving lessons in the Spanish 
 language. At the end of that time I could restrain 
 my desire to hear from my father no longer. I 
 wrote to him at Havana, still protesting my in- 
 nocence of the infamous crime for which I had 
 suffered, and giving an account of my life since my 
 escape ; and I begged that he would write to me, 
 that I misrht feel that he at least had not forsaken
 
 2i8 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 me. I waited long for a reply to this letter. My 
 father had never fully believed in my guilt, al- 
 though apparently disposed to doubt my inno- 
 cence ; and I confidently hoped that after receiving 
 my letter he could doubt no longer. 
 
 "At length I received my father's reply to 
 that letter. Eternal God ! How it crushed my 
 wounded spirit. In that letter my own father, 
 who had never known in all my life a dishonest 
 thought or deed, not only asserted his belief of the 
 charge of robbery that had been brought against 
 me, but accused me also of piracy ! I had ex- 
 plained the mode of my escape from the island, 
 but he now pronounced it false, and said the police 
 had ascertained that I had voluntarily joined the 
 pirates in an act of piracy. Merciful God ! what 
 more could he have added to crush me down 
 forever ? And yet his cruelty went further yet. 
 He directed his letter to Antoine de Ulloa, alias de 
 Leyba ; and to the care of a police officer. When 
 I asked the officer how he found me, he replied, 
 ' Oh, we have watched you for a year past.' " 
 
 Here Sinclair interrupted him to inquire if it 
 might not be possible that his letter had never 
 reached its destination, but had been intercepted, 
 and that the reply had not been written by his 
 father.
 
 ANTOINE DE ULLOA. 
 
 219 
 
 " No," said Ulloa. " I flew to that suspicion 
 myself, as a relief from the thought that my 
 father my father could have written me that 
 letter; but I could not be deceived in the hand- 
 writing; and the conviction was forced upon me 
 that even my father had steeled his heart against 
 me. 
 
 " After receiving that letter I locked myself in 
 my room for several days, meditating on my fate 
 and deciding upon my future course. For a short 
 time the thought of self-destruction haunted me ; 
 but I put it away forever as unworthy of me. I 
 felt myself as wholly undeserving the world's scorn 
 and hatred, and determined to renew my efforts to 
 clear my life of stain. But a rising resentment 
 against the world and its unjust laws took pos- 
 session of me ; and I resolved, if finally compelled 
 to stand at bay, to defy that law which denied me 
 its protection. 
 
 " I determined to remain in New York, where I 
 had succeeded in gaining some repute as teacher 
 of the Spanish language ; but I also resolved that 
 myself and the officers of the law should under- 
 stand each other thoroughly. To this end I 
 sought an introduction to the chief of police, told 
 him my story, and asked that he would give his 
 officers such instruction as would save me from
 
 220 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 unnecessary annoyance. I had no objection to 
 being known to the police, and even watched by 
 them ; but I called his attention to the fact that 
 any breath of suspicion would destroy my only 
 hope of gaining an honest livelihood. What was 
 his reply ? Hear it, God of Justice ! He told me 
 it was his duty to catch thieves, and execute the 
 laws ; that the law had pronounced me a thief, and 
 that his duty required him to warn others of the 
 law's decision whenever he thought their safety 
 required it. And I did not strike him down, like 
 a dog, as he deserved ! Still my visit to the police 
 appeared to have saved me from any public ex- 
 posure, although I was often aware that an officer 
 was dogging my steps. 
 
 " One of my first pupils in New York was a 
 young lady named Loring, Angela Loring." 
 
 Ulloa hid his face and wept. When he resumed, 
 turning to Virginia, he said : 
 
 " She was the mother of my daughter, and while 
 she lived proved to me indeed a good angel. Our 
 attachment was mutual from the first hour of our 
 acquaintance, and for several months we met al- 
 most daily. I succeeded in establishing a reputa- 
 tion as a successful teacher, and as soon as my 
 income was large enough, I proposed marriage to 
 Angela, intending to continue my residence in
 
 ANTOIXE DE ULLOA. 2 2I 
 
 New York. I was accepted, and the wedding-day 
 appointed. Before the day came, a police officer 
 called upon her father, and warned him that his 
 daughter was about to be united to a thief. Her 
 father called for proofs, and the law's officer con- 
 vinced him that I had been found guilty by the 
 law, ah, the tazv / Curses on its injustice! It 
 drove me to the contest, and I will triumph in the 
 end. 
 
 " It was the old story, her father was convinced 
 and he forbade the marriage. But my heroic 
 Angela was faithful to the end. When convinced 
 beyond a doubt, that I had been convicted by 
 the law, she still upheld my innocence, and no 
 decision of the courts could shake her faith. But 
 her father remained inexorable. Then she pleaded 
 my good conduct since my escape, and urged 
 that as evidence of repentance and reformation. 
 What, think you, was the answer ? ' Bad men never 
 repent : a convicted thief is never after to be 
 trusted ! ' It is the moral code of hell, and would 
 forever prevent the return of the repentant to the 
 paths of virtue. But this one frail, delicate woman 
 turned from all else to the man whom all the world 
 distrusted. Angela told her father that she would 
 fulfil her promise at all hazards. And then that 
 father, a professed follower of Him who has taught
 
 222 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 his disciples to forgive their enemies, showed how 
 well he had learned his lesson by having me 
 arrested and thrown into prison ! We were mar- 
 ried nevertheless. Oh, how the memory of my 
 Angela, daring thus for me the scorn of a world 
 comes up before me now ! I see her large blue 
 eyes, so like yours, my daughter ; I hear her 
 soft, sweet accents of consoling hope ; I recall the 
 steady courage with which she met and defied all 
 threats, all danger, all disgrace for me, as did my 
 daughter, her daughter ! since worthy to be the 
 daughter of such a mother. 
 
 " We were married in the prison ; and no charge 
 of crime committed under the laws of the United 
 States appearing against me, I was discharged. 
 My wife's father forbade her ever to enter his 
 house ; and she never again saw the face of her 
 kindred. But her love made her bold, and she 
 looked Fate in the face with defiance. 
 
 All hope of further occupation in New York was 
 gone, and we went to Baltimore. In that city, at 
 the end of a year, a daughter was born to us ; 
 and I called her Angela, after her mother. One 
 saved me for years from cursing man : the other 
 has brought me from dark despair to the conscious- 
 ness of an all-directing God. 
 
 "The old charge of robbery followed me to Balti-
 
 ANTOINE DE ULLOA. 223 
 
 more. Our friends forsook us one by one, until at 
 the close of another year, we were again compelled 
 to change our residence. Determined, if possible, 
 to put my pursuers at fault forever, I resolved to 
 cross the mountains and plunge into the forests of 
 the West. Vain hope ! the righteous law had not 
 yet done its worst. We crossed the Alleghanies, 
 and tarried a few days at Pittsburgh. Here again 
 I was charged with being a robber ; we were driven 
 from the hotel where we were resting ; and 
 climax of the world's sweet charity ! an attempt 
 was made to take our child from us on the ground 
 that we were not fit persons to have charge of it ; 
 and the law was called upon to enforce this right- 
 eous decision ! But we fled the city ; taking pas- 
 sage in the night on a boat bound down the Ohio. 
 But the cup of sorrow was full : my Angela sunk 
 beneath these accumulated troubles. She was 
 attacked with a violent nervous fever on the night 
 of our departure, and a few days afterwards yielded 
 up her spirit." 
 
 At this point in his narrative De Ulloa became 
 very much agitated ; his breast heaved, his eyes 
 flashed, and the rapid throbbing of his heart was 
 audible. Seizing the water-pitcher which stood 
 near, he emptied it with rapid and almost spas- 
 modic swallows.
 
 224 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 His daughter begged him not to continue his 
 narrative, at least for the present. 
 
 " No," said her father, " the present alone is 
 mine : I have no future. Give me more water, 
 my throat is burning my brain is on fire." 
 
 More water was brought ; and after a little while 
 he partially regained composure, and continued in 
 low, heart-broken tones, that went to the hearts of 
 his auditors : 
 
 " I saw her life go out. She was my hope my 
 solace my saint. An over-righteous world, on 
 the unsupported evidence of inconclusive circum- 
 stances, which would not justify even a suspicion, 
 had branded me with guilt, and, disbelieving in re- 
 pentance and reformation upon any testimony, 
 even the most conclusive, had hunted her to the 
 grave for presuming to bless with her love one who 
 had fallen under the ban of its laws. 
 
 " She knew the weight of the burden that lay 
 on my soul ; she knew how I had struggled against 
 my fate ; and she felt that forbearance would cease 
 when I was left alone in war against a world ; and 
 so it did ! Can you chide me ? Even the hunted 
 deer will at last stand at bay. I turned upon the 
 world." 
 
 After a pause, and an effort at greater calmness, 
 he took Virginia's hand.
 
 ANTOINE DE ULLOA. 
 
 22$ 
 
 " Angela, my daughter Angela, let me feel the 
 gentle touch of your hand. Is it night already, or 
 do my eyes grow dim ? " 
 
 "My father," said Virginia, "let us come to- 
 morrow. You are weary now very weary." 
 
 " No," said de Ulloa ; " there is no to-morrow. 
 My tale is not ended ; a little while and I have 
 done. 
 
 " I buried my wife at Limestone, and there I 
 left my daughter. You know the rest of that ; the 
 kindness of her foster mother (may the God of 
 love reward and bless that woman !), her abduction, 
 and all her history since. But my history since 
 mine ! I was myself no more. My heart of 
 flesh was gone ; and all love left me but the yearn- 
 ing for my daughter. Through years of warfare 
 with the world, that little spark of love to her who 
 was and is the image of my Angela prevented 
 me from degenerating from man to demon, and 
 kept my hand from blood. When the world's in- 
 justice waited for my vengeance, I thought of her 
 and stayed my hand ; when the agents of the law 
 were in my power, I thought of her, and remem- 
 bered mercy ; and when the earthquake struck my 
 followers down, and in the midst of destruction 
 singled out my boat and me for safety, I thought
 
 226 DROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 upon my daughter, and knew that for her sake 
 God had turned away his wrath. 
 
 " My day draws near its close. The world and 
 I are quits. When the shades of eternity close 
 around me, I shall still live in the heart of my 
 child, in the hearts of my children ! The world 
 will call me pirate, but you will call me father ; 
 the world will remember my hatred, but you my 
 love." 
 
 De Ulloa covered his face with his hands ; after 
 a brief silence, he continued : 
 
 " My daughter, I desire that you will ever re- 
 vere the foster-mother who loved you so long and 
 so dearly. Tell her your father's story, and bear 
 her the gratitude of a dying man. No weeping, 
 my daughter ! Keep your tears for occasions of 
 sorrow ; this should be one of joy. Let the priest 
 be brought let the rite go on here, where I 
 may be present. Then, when the deadly feud 
 which procured my ruin has been healed by your 
 union, will my destiny be accomplished." 
 
 De Ulloa persisted in sending for Sister Naomi 
 and the priest ; and the marriage of Francis Santa 
 Clara and Angela de Ulloa took place in the 
 prison. 
 
 When they were about to leave him, Ulloa took
 
 ANTOINE DE ULLOA. 
 
 227 
 
 the hands of his children in his, and his voice was 
 almost cheerful as he said : 
 
 " Farewell, my children ! Your love has con- 
 quered destiny. When you come again you will 
 not hear me murmur. Farewell !
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 /^\N the morning after the scene related in the 
 last chapter, and before the keeper of the 
 prison had made his visit to the cell of Ulloa, he 
 was waited on by an old gentleman requesting to 
 be permitted to see "the prisoner, de Ulloa." 
 The man who made this request might have been 
 sixty-five years of age. His complexion was dark 
 and apparently embrowned by residence in the 
 South; and some slight peculiarities in his accent 
 betrayed the fact that English was not his mother- 
 tongue. There was a sadness in his voice while 
 proffering his request which made the jailer 
 observe him closely ; and it was with some trace 
 of sympathy, which the stranger's manner had 
 awakened, that he replied, 
 
 " Perhaps the man you wish to see is some 
 friend of yours ; but indeed, sir, there is no per- 
 son of that name in the prison." 
 
 The stranger paused, in evident disappointment. 
 Then, "pardon me, sir," he continued; "perhaps I
 
 FATHER AND SON. 229 
 
 should have called him Leyba. Can I see Antoine 
 cle Leyba ?" 
 
 "Immediately," responded the jailer. "I am 
 now going to his cell." 
 
 When the key had turned in the creaking lock, 
 and the heavy door swung open, the old man 
 approached the rude bed on which the prisoner 
 lay sleeping heavily. For some moments he gazed 
 in silence on the stern, sad face. When he spoke, 
 even the jailer's heart was thrilled by the anguish 
 of his low, broken voice. 
 
 " And this is Antoine de Ulloa !" 
 
 The prisoner started up at the voice, as if for a 
 moment forgetting that his hands were manacled 
 and his feet bound with chains. His dark eyes 
 glittered beneath his shaggy brows, and his sunken 
 cheeks glowed with an angry fire. Turning to his 
 visitor he exclaimed, 
 
 " Who dares defy the world, and pronounce that 
 name in such a tone ?" 
 
 " Antoine," said the stranger, in a voice trem- 
 bling with emotion ; " I have good tidings for you !" 
 
 " Who are you ?" asked the prisoner. 
 
 " I come from your father." 
 
 "Then you should smell of brimstone," replied 
 the prisoner, with a low maniacal laugh ; while the 
 vacant and restless expression of his eye indicated 
 that his mind wandered.
 
 230 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Do you know that your father still lives, 
 Antoine ?" the stranger went on. 
 
 " No, he is dead," said de Ulloa. " The man 
 may still live ; but the father died when the son 
 turned pirate. No, I am wrong ; the son turned 
 pirate when the father died. Do you understand ?" 
 
 The last word was uttered in a loud, harsh tone 
 which startled the stranger, and caused him to 
 step back a few paces. Seeing this, the prisoner 
 in a milder tone continued, 
 
 "Look at these manacles, behold these heavy 
 chains ! Tell Don de Ulloa that the law has done 
 its perfect work ; and assure him that you your- 
 self witnessed its tender mercies. Should he 
 still doubt the power of the God he worships, tell 
 him it blasted the fair fame of his son, and con- 
 sumed his hopes to ashes ; he will sing its praises. 
 Tell him it left him childless, and hunted down 
 his innocent son ; he will utter hallelujahs to the 
 Law. Tell him it pursued me for twenty years 
 and never once loosened its fangs ; he will bow 
 down and glorify the Law !" 
 
 During this passionate address from the pris- 
 oner the stranger was deeply affected ; and when 
 it was ended asked in a tone of sadness, 
 
 " Can you not forgive your poor old broken- 
 hearted father ? My son, look on me !"
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 231 
 
 The prisoner opened his eyes with a wild stare ; 
 and then, with a sardonic smile playing about his 
 mouth, said, 
 
 " So it is ! Don Antoine de Ulloa, the senior ! 
 Quite a green old age outlived your son twenty 
 years, sir !" 
 
 " Antoine," said the old father, " for ten long years 
 of repentant sorrow I have sought for you in vain. 
 Your innocence has been proven beyond a doubt, 
 and I have brought my tottering form a thousand 
 miles to ask you to forgive me before I die." 
 
 The son was totally unmoved. 
 
 "Ask forgiveness from God," said he, "from 
 governors, judges, and law-makers, not their 
 victim. Does the Law accuse you?" 
 
 "Oh, my son, forgive me, pity me!" cried 
 the old man, while hot tears ran down his fur- 
 rowed cheeks, and his extended hand trembled 
 with agitation. 
 
 The prisoner looked curiously at the hand which 
 the father offered, and muttered in an undertone, 
 as if talking to himself, 
 
 " There's no blood upon it ; and yet it joined 
 with the relentless law to crush the innocent ; it 
 set the police bloodhounds on the stricken victim ; 
 it interposed between husband and wife, sending 
 Angela to God, and me ? "
 
 232 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 He paused ; firmly closed his jaws, and he 
 looked into his father's eye as if awaiting a reply. 
 The old man merely repeated his son's name in a 
 supplicating tone, and still held out his trembling 
 hand. The prisoner made no movement to accept 
 it. His eyes became fixed, as if from muscular 
 spasm ; and he fell back upon his straw pallet in a 
 state of partial paralysis. His limbs, his body, and 
 even his tongue, had become motionless. A cer- 
 tain periodic heaving of the chest in respiration 
 was all that indicated remaining life. After lying 
 in this condition a few minutes a sudden throe of 
 agony seized him, changing the expression of his 
 eyes, and leaving him conscious, and evidently able 
 to see and hear, but without the power of speech 
 or voluntary motion. The old man sent the jailer 
 for a physician, while he himself sat down by his 
 son's bedside. He called him by the tender names 
 of childhood, he chafed the now unresisting hands 
 and the palsied limbs. It was all in vain. The 
 heart still beat, and the chest heaved with a re- 
 ciprocating motion ; but there was no voluntary 
 movement. 
 
 The physician came, looked at the sufferer a 
 moment ; and pronouncing the case beyond his 
 power, retired. It was still manifest, however, 
 from the expression of the motionless eyes, that
 
 FATHER AND SON. 233 
 
 consciousness remained. The poor old father, 
 holding his son's hand, and looking into his staring 
 eyes, his own dim with tears, told him how he too 
 had suffered, 
 
 " You lost a father," said he ; "I lost a son : 
 what could either have suffered more ? " 
 
 The fixed eyeballs glared on in the silence. 
 
 " You were cut down in the hour of promise : I 
 in the day of proudest success." 
 
 The glassy eyes wept not in sympathy. 
 
 " You were supported by the consciousness of 
 innocence ; while I was crushed by my insane 
 belief in your guilt. Ah, how bitterly have I 
 expiated that cruel wrong ! And now that my 
 gray hairs are ready to go down to the grave in 
 sorrow, I have sought you out, to ask forgiveness 
 before I die." 
 
 Still the spirit lingering on the confines of earth 
 looked out through the rigid eyeballs, looked, 
 but answered not. 
 
 The jailer now approached, and in a kindly 
 voice asked the old gentleman if it would not be 
 well to send for the prisoner's daughter. 
 
 " His daughter ! " exclaimed the old man in 
 astonishment. " Has he a daughter ? " 
 
 Before the man could answer, a throe of mortal 
 agony convulsed the sufferer's frame. When it
 
 234 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 passed he extended his hand to his father, and 
 murmuring "My daughter my sou ! " expired. 
 
 Take off the manacles, break the chains from 
 the stiffening limbs, unbar the door ! The Shadow 
 of a Crime has lifted, and the Law's victim has 
 escaped. 
 
 The jailer in a few brief words explained to Don 
 de Ulloa the little he knew concerning the daughter 
 of the dead prisoner, and told him of the wedding 
 in the prison on the day before ; and the bereaved 
 father went in search of Sinclair and Virginia. 
 
 It were vain to describe the feelings of the heart- 
 stricken old man as he passed from those gloomy 
 walls. He had been a proud and haughty man ; 
 proud of his family, proud of his rank, proudest of 
 all of his son the sole hope of his house, who he 
 confidently expected would some day shed new 
 lustre upon the ancient name he bore. When that 
 son was convicted of the infamous crime of rob- 
 bing the dead the dead his own hands had slain 
 all his high hopes were crushed forever. His 
 pride hardened the father's heart, darkened his 
 better judgment, and poisoned his life with the 
 bitter belief in his son's guilt. And when he 
 heard that his son had joined a band of pirates, he 
 not only believed the charge, but strove to tear 
 from his heart all memory of a son so base. Some
 
 FATHER AND SON. 235 
 
 years after the event which brought sorrow upon 
 both father and son, a priest called upon him, and 
 related the confession of a man who had suffered 
 the death penalty. This man had confessed that 
 it was he who had rifled the pockets of Santa 
 Clara, thereby wholly exonerating young de Ulloa 
 from the charge. The man had said that he had 
 been sent to the chain-gang for another offence, 
 and was among the number who escaped on the 
 pirate ship. When asked by his priest whether 
 de Ulloa had joined the pirates in any act of 
 piracy while on board, he had solemnly declared 
 that he had not. The father's repentance was 
 bitter but unavailing, for he could find no trace of 
 his son. As the only atonement which he could 
 offer, he immediately obtained his son's pardon for 
 the offence of which he had been convicted, and a 
 royal decree declaring his innocence, and restoring 
 him to his civil privileges. He then commenced 
 a systematic search for the lost son ; but all his 
 efforts enabled him to trace the fugitive only to 
 Baltimore. Finally, after years of almost hopeless 
 efforts, he by chance saw a notice of the arrest in 
 St. Louis of a man called Leyba, on the charge of 
 piracy. The description of the man, and the fact 
 that his son had taken that name on reaching 
 New Orleans, induced him to make the voyage
 
 236 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 from Havana to St. Louis in search of him. The 
 reader is acquainted with the result. 
 
 When Don de Ulloa reached the house where 
 Sister Naomi lived, he asked for Sinclair and Vir- 
 ginia, made himself known to his grandchildren, 
 and told them that for their sake his son had 
 forgiven him, and besought them to take him into 
 their affection. 
 
 A carriage was called ; and the old man, accom- 
 panied by Sinclair and Virginia, returned to the 
 prison, and followed the remains of Antoine de 
 Ulloa to their final resting-place. 
 
 Charity hopeth all things ; let it be accorded to 
 the law's victim.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 
 
 A FEW days after the death of Antoine de 
 Ulloa the younger, Sinclair, with Virginia 
 and her grandfather, prepared to return to Shaw- 
 neetown. Tim Rose had met with Captain Sum- 
 mers at the landing, where he had just arrived with 
 a boat-load of government stores which he had 
 brought from Cincinnati ; and as his boat was 
 about to return up the Ohio with a light freight, it 
 furnished a favorable opportunity of conveyance. 
 
 Virginia bade farewell to the good Sister Naomi, 
 who parted from her pupil with deep and genuine 
 sorrow, and left forever the place where she had 
 met her life's greatest sorrow and greatest joy. 
 Tom Summers was much gratified to welcome his 
 passengers on board the gallant Tippecanoe, which, 
 although a little the worse for wear, was yet tough 
 and strong, and had just been repaired and newly 
 painted from stem to stern. 
 
 On going on board the boat, Virginia was struck 
 with something in its appearance which seemed
 
 238 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 familiar ; and after she had satisfied herself that 
 she was not mistaken, she turned to Captain Sum- 
 mers, saying : 
 
 " Do you know, Captain Summers, that this 
 same pretty craft of yours is an old acquaintance 
 of mine ? " 
 
 Tom took the rudder between his knees, bowed 
 deferentially to his fair questioner and replied : 
 
 " Maybe it may be, ma'am ; but I am sure I 
 can't tell where or when." After a moment's re- 
 flection, he added, "yes, yes ! She was called the 
 Louisiana then." 
 
 "But I saw her before," said Virginia. " It was 
 not until after the earthquake that the name was 
 painted over and the new one put on." 
 
 " Ah, the airthquake," said Tom. " And was 
 you on board through all that dreadful airth- 
 quake ?" 
 
 " Indeed I was," said Virginia. " It makes me 
 tremble yet, even to remember it." 
 
 The pleasant morning air had brought Don de 
 Ulloa on deck. He had heard Virginia's remark, 
 and now pressed her for a description of the earth- 
 quake and its accompanying scenes ; and while the 
 Tippecanoe made rapid progress down the Missis- 
 sippi, Virginia gratified her grandfather with the 
 recital. The old man had already taken her to his
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 
 
 239 
 
 heart of hearts ; and now hung upon her words as 
 if listening to the voice of a superior being. 
 
 The recital of the scenes which accompanied the 
 earthquake, and the history of Virginia's journey 
 from Cave-in-Rock to New Orleans, naturally in- 
 troduced the subject of her residence at Shawnee- 
 town, and all the strange events of her life. She 
 talked on for so long a time that Sinclair expressed 
 his fear that she would suffer from the effort. 
 
 " Oh, no," said she, " if it interests my grand- 
 father I could talk for hours." 
 
 " My daughter," said the old man, " you cannot 
 imagine what a melancholy pleasure your history 
 gives me ; and if you are not already weary, I hope 
 you will go on. I wish to know the history of your 
 father, of your foster-mother, who, you say, 
 loved you so well ; and the thousand things which 
 you know would interest me so much." 
 
 Virginia related all the more important events 
 in her history, not omitting her voyage up the 
 Mississippi in company with Sinclair ; and includ- 
 ing so much of her husband's history as was neces- 
 sary to a knowledge of his parentage. 
 
 " And can it be possible," said the old man, 
 " that you are the son of that Santa Clara whose 
 history is so closely interwoven with that of Vir- 
 ginia's father ? "
 
 240 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "It is indeed true," replied Sinclair. "A 
 strange providence has united the offspring of 
 those men who engaged in mortal combat. May 
 the union heal all wounds the old feud has 
 made ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " responded the old man ; but silence 
 and sadness fell on the little circle. And all fur- 
 ther allusion to the events of that fatal day was 
 avoided. 
 
 The Tippecanoe made rapid progress on her 
 voyage, and before sunset, came in sight of the old 
 town of St. Genevieve. 
 
 " My dear Virginia," said Sinclair, looking over 
 the bow of the boat toward the town, " do you 
 know anything of that little town on the shore, 
 with rude limestone edifices rising in the dis- 
 tance ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do," replied Virginia. " I shall not 
 soon forget St. Genevieve ! And do you know 
 that I was in that ancient village when (as I have 
 since learned) you made your fruitless visit there 
 in search of me ? Nay, I was in the very house 
 when the Sister told you she knew nothing of me ! 
 You will be surprised, but I assure you it is so." 
 
 "Why," said Sinclair, "is it possible the holy 
 woman would tell a deliberate falsehood ? " 
 
 " You asked for the daughter of Mrs. Freeman,"
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 241 
 
 said Virginia, " she told you she knew nothing of 
 her." 
 
 " Still, it was a base and cruel equivocation. 
 And besides, she told me Sister Naomi was not 
 there." 
 
 "That was indeed true," replied Virginia, "she 
 had gone to St. Louis a few days before. On her 
 return Sister Mary told her a gentleman had been 
 to inquire for me ; and I learned about it from her. 
 You may be sure I charged her with the falsehood. 
 She replied that the end justified the means, a 
 most abominable doctrine, which Sister Naomi 
 tried in vain to teach me afterwards." 
 
 " But even if the doctrine were true," said Sin- 
 clair, " what important end was to be gained ? " 
 
 " Nothing less than the salvation of my soul," 
 replied Virginia. " The Sister declared that my 
 only hope was in being kept out of your sight until I 
 forgot you. ' And how long, think you, will that 
 be ? ' inquired I. ' Oh, I fear it will be a good 
 while,' said she. This awakened my resentment, 
 and I told her she was right, it would take long 
 enough for me to become as old and as ugly as- she 
 was." 
 
 "And what did she say to that ?" inquired Sin- 
 clair. 
 
 " She said not a word," replied Virginia, " she
 
 242 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 only looked at me with a large, round tear stand- 
 ing in each eye. This was too much ; it was my 
 turn to shed tears then. I begged her pardon 
 instantly." 
 
 "And are you not a Catholic, my daughter?" 
 asked her grandfather, who had been silently lis- 
 tening for some time to the conversation. 
 
 Virginia was perplexed how to answer. She 
 saw that he was troubled about the matter, and 
 feared her reply would cause him deeper anxiety. 
 " We Americans," she said smiling, " are too demo- 
 cratic to make very good Catholics." And to her 
 relief, the old man pursued the matter no further. 
 
 The sun was setting. It was one of those 
 gorgeous cloud-scenes which occur nowhere in 
 the world with more magnificence than in the 
 Mississippi Valley. The far-off ether glowed like 
 a sea of molten gold, where light clouds, their 
 glowing tints mellowed by distance, floated fair 
 and far as Islands of the Blest. Farther east the 
 undulating vapors, playing in the purple light, 
 gradually faded into the soft neutral tints of 
 mingled day and night. All nature was radiant 
 with the pervading light. The dark forests upon 
 the banks deepened to intensity of green as they 
 threw back the glancing rays from their thick 
 foliage. The very river muddy and ever seeth-
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 
 
 243 
 
 ing in restless eddies grew beautiful under the 
 magic of the sunset. 
 
 Virginia called the attention of her grandfather 
 to the scene. 
 
 " You tell me Cuba is a lovely land," said she, 
 " and for your sake I will try to think it so ; but 
 can you rival there this glorious sunset ? Forgive 
 me, my dear grandfather. We are going with you 
 to Cuba, but the memory of my native land will 
 still linger with me, the freest, the fairest, the 
 greatest, on which the sun shines ! " 
 
 " I commend your patriotism," replied de Ulloa. 
 " We all love our native land. But this country is 
 only a vast wilderness. Look at this muddy river ! 
 It flows a thousand miles before it reaches a civil- 
 ized people. The land must remain a wilderness 
 forever ! " 
 
 Captain Tom Summers was standing near 
 enough to hear this observation. He considered 
 himself justly entitled to take part in any dis- 
 cussion on the subject of rivers ; and he therefore 
 turned to Don de Ulloa with the inquiry, 
 
 " May I make bold to ask, sir, whether you ever 
 saw a steamboat ? " 
 
 De Ulloa was somewhat surprised at this abrupt 
 question, but he replied, 
 
 " I have not. May I ask you why ? "
 
 244 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Keep your eye on yonder black smoke which 
 you may see away in the bend of the river. That's 
 a steamboat. Watch her close as she runs past 
 us." 
 
 " As we run past her, perhaps you mean," 
 responded de Ulloa. " She appears to be coming 
 against the current." 
 
 " No matter," replied Tom. " Current or no 
 current doesn't make any odds with her. Watch 
 her ! " 
 
 De Ulloa, Sinclair, and Virginia, together with 
 the boat's crew, now clustered on the bow of the 
 Tippecanoe to observe the approaching steamer. 
 A few minutes brought her alongside. On she 
 came, smoking and puffing, dashing the foam from 
 her round and swelling bow, much like that of a 
 sea-going vessel, their builders have grown wiser 
 since, and ploughing through the resisting current 
 with a speed which soon carried her out of sight 
 around a bend in the river. During the few 
 minutes while the two boats were passing each 
 other, no word was uttered by the party on the 
 Tippecanoe save an occasional exclamation of 
 surprise or admiration. When the steamer had 
 fairly disappeared, Summers turned to Don de 
 Ulloa, and remarked that he had now seen a 
 steamboat, at the same time regarding him with
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 
 
 245 
 
 an interrogating look, as if he would say, " Now 
 what do you think of the future prospects of this 
 * wilderness ? ' ' 
 
 " Wonderful ! " exclaimed the Don, " wonderful ! 
 the problem is solved : the steamboat will settle 
 and civilize the world." 
 
 " Them's my sentiments," said one of the boat's 
 crew ; and the familiar phrase will introduce an 
 old acquaintance to the reader. 
 
 "That's jest the machine that'll do it," said Tom 
 Summers, whose sentiments in regard to the im- 
 portance of the "smoke-boat," as the reader will 
 perceive, had undergone a marked change since 
 his first trip to New Orleans on board of one. 
 
 "I am not superstitious," continued Tom, "nor 
 anyway over-religious ; but I jest think that Prov- 
 idence sent the steamboat for the express purpose 
 of settling up this wilderness. Mayhap, you don't 
 know how long this river really is ? " 
 
 "I am told," replied de Ulloa, "that it rises 
 more than a thousand miles above St. Louis." 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Tom; "but that isn't the 
 Mississippi, although it is called so. The Missouri 
 is the real Mississippi ; and that rises three or four 
 thousand miles off, up in the Rocky Mountains." 
 
 " But why do you say that is the true Missis- 
 sippi ? " inquired Ulloa.
 
 246 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "Well, sir," was the reply, "I've seen enough of 
 rivers to know that rivers is individuals, same as 
 men. You would no more make a boatman who 
 was acquainted with the Mississippi down below 
 St. Louis believe that the Missouri was not the 
 same river than you could make him believe he 
 was not the same boatman in either place. You 
 came up the Mississippi from Orleans, sir; and 
 you saw it take in Red River, which comes a thou- 
 sand miles to meet it, and the Arkansas, which 
 comes another thousand, and the Ohio, which 
 comes another thousand, and half-a-dozen more 
 rivers ; and you found it still the same rolling, 
 rapid, muddy, boiling Mississippi. It didn't turn 
 red from the waters of Red River, nor become a 
 bit clearer after it had drank the Ohio, which is 
 clear as crystal and almost as big as itself ; and it 
 takes in the upper river just above St. Louis, and 
 is not a bit changed. No, sir, I tell you, rivers is 
 individuals, and has characters of their own. You 
 may go where the two rivers jine, above St. Louis, 
 and you will see one of them running way off 
 northwest to the Rocky Mountains ; and it is the 
 same muddy, whirling river that the Mississippi is 
 here, and the true Mississippi only they got the 
 name wrong. But the other river, running way 
 off North beyond the Great Lakes, is clear as crys-
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 
 
 tal. You can't make no boatman believe that's 
 the same river as this." 
 
 By the time that Summers had finished his de- 
 monstration of the individual characters of rivers 
 it was quite dark. Don de Ulloa, therefore, ex- 
 pressing himself pleased with Summers' ideas, re- 
 tired below with his companions for the night. 
 
 Some time afterward, when the little party were 
 comfortably seated in the forepart of the boat, 
 which Summers had caused to be prepared specially 
 for their accommodation, Don de Ulloa turned to 
 Sinclair and remarked : 
 
 " That boatman, Summers, appears to be a man 
 of more than ordinary intelligence. Why does he 
 not seek a higher position ? " 
 
 "If you were to ask him that question," re- 
 sponded Sinclair, "you would astonish him. He 
 would think something like this, if he did not re- 
 ply : ' Why, sir, I am captain and owner of the 
 Tippecanoe, as pretty a craft as follows any cordell ; 
 I know the river from St. Louis and Cincinnati to 
 New Orleans in the dark ; I have been trusted 
 with the most valuable freight for a voyage of two 
 thousand miles without bond or witness : I owe no 
 man anything, and want for nothing ; I vote for 
 President, and General Jackson, who whipped the 
 British at New Orleans, can do no more. In short,
 
 248 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 sir, I am a free and independent American citi- 
 zen ! ' That would be about the substance of his 
 reply ; and he would then wonder where could be 
 found a higher position." 
 
 "Still," responded de Ulloa, "a man of his parts 
 should be something more than a boatman." 
 
 " Not at all, sir. This very intelligence makes 
 him the prouder of his position. In this country 
 all men are equals under the law ; and industry, 
 honesty and intelligence are the basis of social 
 gradation." 
 
 " The true measure of a man in this country," 
 interrupted Virginia, " is not so much what he is 
 as what he can do. My mother, at Shawneetown, 
 stands at the head of the list among the women of 
 that goodly village, because, though she was only 
 a backwoodsman's daughter, she could weave mure 
 linsey in a day, and do it better, than any other 
 woman." 
 
 " There was another reason," said Sinclair, 
 " why she headed the list ; she was believed to be 
 the mother of one 'Ginia Rose, the fairest of the 
 village maidens." But his words did not have the 
 effect Sinclair intended. 
 
 The mother she had never known, on whose name 
 her father had loved to linger, was to Virginia a 
 sad, sweet memory, something sacred and apart ;
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 
 
 249 
 
 but she loved Mrs. Freeman with the love a child 
 feels for the one whose arms have cradled it, whose 
 voice has soothed it, whose care and tenderness it 
 has never sought in vain, and she was saddened by 
 the thought that in a few days her kind foster- 
 mother would learn the true parentage of her whom 
 she had so long loved and mourned, and that it 
 would be but a little while before her departure 
 with her grandfather to Havana would separate 
 them forever. Sinclair saw that he had awakened 
 some deep emotion, and said no more. 
 
 Nothing of interest occurred the next day. The 
 Tippecanoe was making good progress, and Cap- 
 tain Summers told his passengers that by daylight 
 next morning they would be at the mouth of the 
 Ohio. When the party went on deck next morn- 
 ing, soon after daylight, they found the boat tied 
 up to the shore, and saw that the water was nearly 
 transparent. 
 
 " Ah," said Don de Ulloa to Captain Summers, 
 "have we left the Mississippi? I was anxious to 
 observe the confluence of the two rivers." 
 
 " Thar's the Mississippi," replied Tom. " My 
 rudder is still in the muddy old stream. You see, 
 sir, we reached the mouth three hours ago ; but I 
 wanted you to see how the two rivers looked side 
 by side. So we just tied up, and waited."
 
 250 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "You are very kind, Captain Summers," replied 
 Don de Ulloa. 
 
 The party walked to the stern of the boat to 
 obtain a better view. The Mississippi came whirl- 
 ing down upon the right hand, and the Ohio 
 swept gracefully down on the left. They met, but 
 they did not mingle. A distinct line of separation 
 was visible as far as the eye could distinguish. 
 Had the two bodies of water been ice instead, 
 tlvey could not have been more distinct ; and 
 owing to the transparent waters of the Ohio, the 
 muddy Mississippi could be seen several feet 
 beneath the surface, standing up like a wall 
 against its clearer affluent. 
 
 " This is a most surprising state of things, 
 Captain Summers," said Don de Ulloa, after he 
 had carefully observed the curious spectacle. 
 " How far down the stream does it continue ?" 
 
 "Well, generally some three or four miles," 
 replied Tom, ' 'fore they get well mixed up." 
 
 " According to your doctrine, Captain Summers, 
 that rivers are individuals, this may be called a 
 wedding of the waters," said Ulloa pleasantly. 
 
 "Yes, that's true enough," said Summers 
 thoughtfully. " When a woman marries she must 
 either stand on the defensive, as the Ohio does 
 here for a little way, or be swallowed up by
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 251 
 
 yielding, and so lose her separate character, and 
 be no longer an individual. That's just what this 
 same pretty river does ; it's all the Mississippi a 
 few miles further down." 
 
 Tim Rose had not been well during the voyage ; 
 but feeling better he had just ventured on deck, 
 and heard Tom Summers moralizing on the meet- 
 ing of the rivers. 
 
 " I think, Tom," said he, "you must have waked 
 up in a new place since we started. I never heard 
 you preach afore." 
 
 "That's no preachin'," replied Tom ; "it's noth- 
 in' but common sense : there's some difference 
 between that an' preachin'." 
 
 " Where did you learn it, Tom ? asked Tim, 
 apparently braced up by the cool morning air, and 
 disposed to quiz. 
 
 "I didn't learn it at all," replied Tom. " It is a 
 fact as any man may see for himself, that's got 
 half an eye. I never seed married folks get along- 
 smooth and happy where the woman held out 
 tryin' to be an individual. It takes the husband 
 and wife both to make one complete individual. 
 A man without a wife is only half a man, and a 
 woman without a husband, what does she amount 
 to ?" 
 
 "That last remark relieves me very much,"
 
 252 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 observed Virginia pleasantly ; " for even if my 
 husband swallow me up, I shall at least be a 
 woman with a husband." 
 
 " Cast off, boys !" exclaimed Captain Summers 
 to his men. 
 
 "The wind is rising and blows dead up the 
 stream. It's a hundred and twenty miles to 
 Shawneetown, a good five days' run. Good by, 
 Mississippi ! We are off." 
 
 The Tippecanoe carried a broad square sail, like 
 a regular barge ; and with the favorable wind 
 which was blowing, made rapid way up the Ohio. 
 The river was at a good stage for boating ; and as 
 the Tippecanoe had but a light load, and the wind 
 continued favorable, any resort to the cordell was 
 unnecessary. And at the close of the third day, 
 after reaching the mouth, the boat had reached 
 the vicinity of Cave-in-Rock, without accident or 
 any incident of importance occurring by the way. 
 
 When Captain Summers remarked in the pres- 
 ence of his passengers that they would reach the 
 cave a little after dark, and lie by till morning, 
 because of a fog which was rising, Virginia ex- 
 presses herself as much gratified at the announce- 
 ment. She told Sinclair and her grandfather that 
 she was exceedingly anxious to visit the cave, in 
 the hope of finding there a manuscript which her
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 
 
 253 
 
 father had given into her care on the night of 
 their departure for New Orleans, and which she 
 had laid away in a cleft of the rock and forgotten. 
 She was aware that the earthquake had thrown 
 down the walls of the inner cavern, and closed up 
 the entrances with broken fragments of rocks 
 still she hoped that the spot she wished to reach, 
 which was at the very opening of one of the aven- 
 ues, might still be accessible. 
 
 The Tippecanoe soon reached the cave, and was 
 made fast to await the returning daylight. Next 
 morning early, every one went on shore for the 
 purpose of examining the Cave, the boat's crew 
 from the popular interest which was then gen- 
 erally felt in the cavern, and Summers and his 
 passengers, from its connection with memorable 
 events in their past history. When the visitors 
 had reached the interior of the outer cavern, one 
 of the boat's crew appealed to Tom to know if 
 that was all there was to be seen. 
 
 " No," replied Tom, " there's the hatchway over- 
 head you see," at the same time pointing to the 
 circular opening overhead, which led to the inner 
 apartments of the cave. 
 
 " Where is the basket ? " asked Virginia, as if 
 familiar with the place. The boatmen seemed 
 somewhat surprised at Virginia's apparent famil-
 
 254 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 iarity with the noted robbers' den, and especially 
 with the method of reaching the upper rooms. 
 
 " Oh, that disappeared long ago," replied Tom. 
 "There's no way of getting up there now." 
 
 " But I must go up there, Captain Summers," 
 replied Virginia. 
 
 " My daughter, it is impossible," interposed her 
 grandfather. 
 
 " Oh, no, grandfather," replied she, laughing. 
 "You may have impossibilities in Cuba, but 
 there are none in this country." Then turning to 
 Sinclair, she added, " You must help me to get up 
 there, some way." 
 
 Sinclair began to feel some uneasiness. He saw 
 no means for her to reach the upper cavern safely, 
 and yet he knew she would not easily be turned 
 from her determination. 
 
 " I am sure I know not how you are to get 
 there," he remonstrated. " Besides, the whole in- 
 terior of the cavern has been demolished by the 
 earthquake ; and even if possible, the attempt 
 would be dangerous." 
 
 But Tom Summers devised a means by which 
 the difficulty could be overcome and the ascent 
 accomplished. He sent one of his men on board 
 for a rope and pulley. A spar was then cut from 
 the woods near by, and one of its ends thrust up
 
 A RIVER VOYAGE. 255 
 
 into the cave above, the rope and tackle having 
 first been made fast to this end. One of the men 
 now ascended by the rope to the upper cavern, and 
 an empty bunk was attached to the rope below, in 
 which Sinclair and Virginia seated themselves and 
 prepared to ascend, the boatmen, with a cheery, 
 "yo, heave oh ! " pulling away at the rope. Don 
 de Ulloa beheld them ascending in their rude car 
 with mingled feelings of uneasiness and amuse- 
 ment, the latter prevailing as they stepped safely 
 into the upper apartment. 
 
 Virginia took a light from the boatman and at- 
 tempted to direct Sinclair in exploring the cave. 
 But so completely had it been altered by the 
 agency of the earthquake that she was with much 
 difficulty enabled to recognize the ruined remains 
 of former avenues. A feeling of sadness came 
 over her as she thought of the fate which had 
 overtaken its former inmates, almost deterring her 
 from making any further attempt to recover her 
 father's manuscripts. 
 
 Suddenly she recognized the place where she 
 had laid the long-lost papers, but a heavy mass of 
 rock had fallen down upon the spot. She had 
 little doubt that could the broken rock be removed, 
 the manuscripts would be found. At the request 
 of Sinclair, therefore, several of the boatmen pro-
 
 256 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 vided themselves with handspikes, and ascended to 
 the upper cavern to attempt the removal. They 
 succeeded in raising the heavy fragment upon its 
 edge, when, as Virginia had anticipated, the papers 
 were found beneath. They had been kept dry, 
 and were in a good state of preservation. 
 
 Having secured the object of their search, Sin- 
 clair and Virginia, anxious to reach Shawneetown, 
 hastened to return to the cave below ; and in a 
 few minutes afterwards, the Tippecanoe was 
 gliding over the waters of the beautiful Ohio. Be- 
 fore sunset her cable was made fast in front of 
 the village where Virginia had passed her days of 
 childhood.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IN THE SHADOW. 
 
 " I "HE papers which Virginia had recovered, ap- 
 peared to be a kind of diary in which, during a 
 course of years her father had recorded his wander- 
 ings, and various phases of his feelings and reflec- 
 tions. She seated herself with Sinclair, near the 
 bow of the boat, soon after they left Cave-in-Rock, 
 and read the manuscript aloud to her husband. It 
 will be given to the reader entire, revealing the 
 life for years of one who, though guiltless, had 
 walked in the shadow of a crime. 
 
 And this is the city of New York ! I have looked 
 around for the indications of human love. I have 
 sought evidence of that philanthropy which would 
 save man from crime, rather than punish him for 
 being criminal. Surely, said I, in the laws and in the 
 police system of this people, who have taken Jesus for 
 their teacher, I shall find the principle of Love. 
 Surely they will not return evil for evil, as do those 
 who have never been taught. 
 
 To-day I saw a crowd hurrying to the outskirts of 
 the city. " What," said I to one of the passing multi-
 
 258 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 tude, " What is there to be seen, that men, women, 
 and children hasten thus without the city? " " Come 
 along! " said he in reply. " They are going to hang 
 a fellow ! " Verily ! Was this the Christian philan- 
 thropy of the New World? 
 
 The law of all Christian lands is based on retalia- 
 tion. But the law of God is above all, and it is a law 
 of Love. Love only can awaken love ; and punish- 
 ment, retaliation, vengeance, can only arouse the very 
 passions they seek to exterminate. Jesus taught the 
 forgiveness of sin ; and his teachings apply to nations 
 as to individuals. 
 
 "My business is to catch thieves," said an officer 
 of the law. I appealed to him as a man in the name 
 of humanity. I told him my sad story, my convic- 
 tion, my sentence, my exile, my baffled hopes at New 
 Orleans, my flight to New York, and my subsequent 
 efforts to gain an honest livelihood. I pleaded for 
 justice, I prayed to be permitted to win a reputation 
 unstained by the foul wrong that had blighted my 
 dearest hopes. And this was his answer ! 
 
 Only a few short months are passed, and I can once 
 more feel the fangs of the law. I have loved that 
 which is lovely ; I have sought to make Angela my 
 wife : this is my offence. 
 
 O God of Justice, how mysterious are Thy ways ! 
 I adore Thee, I praise Thee, I worship Thee ! 
 When man, my fellow, fears me and persecutes me, 
 a woman's faithful love is mine. O, my Angela,
 
 IN THE SHADOW. 
 
 259 
 
 angel indeed to me, for thy dear sake I curse not 
 my race. My father, who knew my childhood, my 
 youth, my manhood, and never knew me guiltv of a 
 a thought of dishonor, forsook me, but nothing can 
 change thy constant love. The vindictive law fol- 
 lowed me even to thy father's house, and thy father 
 has cast me into prison ; but even in prison thou art 
 with me. 
 
 To-morrow we turn our backs upon the dungeon, 
 but I have felt the world's cold charity, and go with 
 fear and trembling : will there not be the laiv at 
 Baltimore ? 
 
 I have torn out a portion of my diary and com- 
 mitted it to the flames. It was false : there is no love 
 in man. A few kind offices we had received in this 
 city had again awakened hope in my heart. Fool 
 that I was ! Henceforth Angela is my world. 
 
 Days, and weeks, and months ! and now I have a 
 daughter. Let her be called Angela, like her mother : 
 that is the name of love. 
 
 My sweet child ! Let me gaze into thy fair face. 
 An immortal soul looks through those blue eyes ; and 
 smiles are playing in the dimples round thy mouth, as 
 if this were a world of joy. Sweet babe, that lookest 
 into thy father's face with such confiding trust, 
 fathers have betrayed their children : dost thou know ? 
 
 The law's bloodhounds pursue me still. Vindictive, 
 insatiable Law ! But we will baffle thy minions ; we
 
 260 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 will cross the mountain barrier and plunge into the 
 depths of the western forest. There, amid the wild- 
 flowers of the prairies, and under the bright skies 
 which have not yet looked on the law's injustice, we 
 will rear our child. How my heart swells with the 
 thought ! 
 
 I stand upon the mountain top, I look out upon the 
 far West. Yonder, where the sun goes down, we 
 will build our cottage and enjoy our home. Yon 
 infant city, where the hurrying waters meet, shall 
 receive our farewell to the world. 
 
 Now, God of Justice, save me from cursing man ! 
 Do I live and breathe? Is it real, this climax of 
 Christian charity ? My child, they would take away 
 my child, and give it to the care of strangers. They 
 say, forsooth, I am a thief, and should not have the 
 care of an innocent child. Who, then? 
 
 And so I am pursued beyond the mountains, and 
 the law invoked to rob me of my child. No matter 
 now : we are on the unchained waters of the Ohio. 
 We float beyond reach of cruelty. This is the road 
 to liberty. Once more I seek to live a man's free life. 
 
 Oh, what a night was last! My Angela my 
 wife, my joy, my hope prostrate with burning fever, 
 Has even death conspired against me? No, she can- 
 not die, though they have filled her heart with bitter 
 sorrow ; hunted her down with the law's bloodhounds, 
 for the crime of loving, blighted her brain with fever, 
 and laid her upon a bed of pain, oh, if I thought
 
 IN THE SHADOW. 2 6l 
 
 she could die ! No, no, I have not yet cursed my 
 race, but let Death strike away the link which still 
 holds me to my kind, and I am Ishmael. 
 
 Is it so, my sweet babe ? Art thou alone with me 
 in the wide world? Thank God for love: even the 
 selfish love of our own offspring is ennobling. I see 
 thee, my child, raising thy tiny hands and smiling on 
 me, hear thy sweet, familiar cry, my birdling, calling 
 for thy mother, when no mother's voice replies. 
 Death is beside thee, and thou knowest it not. 
 
 A woman has lost her babe, death took it ; and 
 now she is pouring out the tide of maternal love upon 
 my own sweet darling, blindly but sweetly believing it 
 her own. 
 
 And can such things be ? Is there no hidden chord 
 of sympathy by which the mother knows her own ? 
 Could I forget my blue-eyed child? I will trust my 
 heart, but I will still be near thee ; I will watch the 
 tiny form expand, and see the spark of love grow 
 brighter until thou shalt be like thy mother. I will be 
 near thee. 
 
 At this point there appeared a break in the 
 manuscript ; after which, and apparently written 
 some years later, was the following entry : 
 
 And thus have passed twelve years of strife with my 
 fellow-man. The law will call it crime ; but the
 
 262 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 hunted stag which stands at bay is not a criminal. 
 More than twelve years of strife, and not a deed to 
 make me tremble. But now ! To tear that idol from 
 a doting mother, who fondly thinks the child her own, 
 this makes me tremble. Alas ! thy little one 
 passed long since to the spirit-land. But mine? I 
 must do my duty. 
 
 Virginia, having finished the reading of the 
 papers, turned to Sinclair, a tear trembling in her 
 eye. 
 
 " And that makes me tremble. Before the sun 
 sets we shall reach my home of other days ; and 
 my fond, expectant mother O, my dear husband, 
 how can I deny the mother who has waited for me 
 so long ? "
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 OLD TABBY'S STORY. HO ! FOR CUBA. 
 
 TT was proposed that Tim Rose should precede 
 the others, and prepare his sister for Virginia's 
 arrival. When he reached home, the first person 
 he met at the door was his sister, Mrs. Freeman. 
 He saw at a glance that something had occurred 
 during his absence to give her sorrow. After some 
 moments of embarrassment, during which Tim 
 was meditating how to break the subject of 'Ginia's 
 parentage, his sister burst into tears, and throwing 
 her arms around his neck, exclaimed : 
 
 " Ah, brother Tim, I am so miserable ! My 
 poor 'Ginia turns out to be the daughter of the 
 robber of Cave-in-Rock. It was he who stole her 
 away ; and the poor child is still with him, no- 
 body knows where." 
 
 " O, no," replied Tim, astonished to find his sis- 
 ter aware of so much of Virginia's history. " You 
 will see her again, Katy. She loves you as much 
 as ever, and " 
 
 " Indeed, brother Tim," interrupted his sister,
 
 264 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 "it is all true. Old Tabby is dead, and she told 
 us all about it. The old creature gave my little 
 one so much laudanum as to kill it, and induced 
 you to bring away another child for mine." 
 
 Tim was meditating what to reply, and made no 
 answer. Mrs. Freeman continued : 
 
 " If they had only left me 'Ginia I could bear it ; 
 my poor, lost 'Ginia ! " 
 
 Tim felt that this was his opportunity. " Let 
 me tell you that our little 'Ginia is a grown 
 woman, and not a little girl," he said, "and got a 
 husband too, nobody but Frank Sinclair. And 
 here they both come now, and 'Ginia's own grand- 
 father with them," he added breathlessly. 
 
 It may well be imagined that Mrs. Freeman was 
 startled by this announcement ; but before her 
 surprise had time for expression, the door opened, 
 and the long-lost Virginia was clasped in her arms. 
 
 Had this meeting been witnessed by any one 
 who believes that there exists a mysterious sym- 
 pathy between the mother and her offspring, that 
 belief must have been much shaken ; and it is more 
 than probable that the witness would have adopted 
 in its stead the theory that the mother's love, like 
 other emotions, "grows by what it feeds on." The 
 first embrace was long and silent. Virginia was 
 the first to speak.
 
 OLD TABBY'S STORY. 26$ 
 
 " My mother, my dearer than mother, I am 
 your daughter still." 
 
 " Still my own dear 'Ginia," replied the foster- 
 mother, "dearer now than ever ! " 
 
 Mutual explanations followed, and mutual hap- 
 piness at the glad reunion prevailed. 
 
 Mrs. Freeman related the manner in which Vir- 
 ginia's parentage became known to her friends at 
 Shawneetown. When Sinclair had gone to St. 
 Louis in search of her, suspicions began to arise in 
 her mind as to some things connected with Vir- 
 ginia's abduction, when an event occurred which 
 solved the mystery. This was the death-bed reve- 
 lation of the old family slave, Tabby. She con- 
 fessed her knowledge of the fact that Virginia was 
 not the daughter of her mistress, and detailed in 
 the most minute and consistent manner the mode 
 by which the child came into the family. Ac- 
 cording to Tabby's account, it occurred in the fol- 
 lowing manner : 
 
 When Mrs. Freeman's daughter was about one 
 year old, and during the separation of the parents, 
 the father had stolen her away, and brought her to 
 this woman Tabby, to nurse. Some three months 
 afterwards a white man, who said his name was 
 Leyba, came to Tabby's cabin with a child of the 
 same age as Virginia, and very strongly resembling
 
 266 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 her. He stated that the child's mother had died 
 the night before on the river, and offered Tabby a 
 large sum to take care of the child for a few days, 
 when he said he would return for her. On the 
 night of this new arrival, the negress had given 
 the little 'Ginia an overdose of laudanum, of which 
 the child died. In the morning the stranger re- 
 turned to see his child, and observing the woman's 
 fear and distress at her carelessness, he proposed 
 to her that his own child should be dressed in the 
 clothing of the other, and the dead one buried as 
 his own. The woman, dreading punishment, ac- 
 cepted the proposition, and the little 'Ginia Free- 
 man was buried as the child of the stranger. This 
 had happened while Freeman was temporarily 
 absent ; and before his return his wife, by the aid 
 of his brother Tim, had secured the stranger's 
 child as her own. The real father of the girl, who 
 had never for a moment thought of forsaking 
 her, secretly watched over her welfare until he 
 determined that the time for reclaiming her had 
 come. This he had done by working on the fears 
 of the negress. By threatening her with prosecu- 
 tion for the murder of her mistress' child and the 
 imposition of another in its stead, he succeeded in 
 making her decoy his daughter from her foster- 
 mother's side, and deliver her into his hands.
 
 OLD TABBY'S STORY. 267 
 
 As to where they went, or where they were, the 
 negress protested her utter ignorance, and died 
 protesting the truth of her story. 
 
 When Mrs. Freeman had concluded her account 
 of the death of old Tabby, and her explanation 
 concerning 'Ginia, old Mrs. Rose cut short all fur- 
 ther conversation by calling the company into the 
 adjoining room to supper. As they passed through 
 the doorway between the rooms, the old lady 
 turned to her husband and said half aside, "jest 
 as I told you, Dan. The gal has got prettier and 
 prettier." 
 
 Old Dan Rose was not the man to express his feel- 
 ings in hyperbole, but he nevertheless replied : 
 
 " True, old woman. A better specimen of a 
 backwoods gal can't be found in the settlement." 
 
 The old folks had doated on their blue-eyed pet, 
 and were delighted at her return. But the old 
 lady remembered that when young birds are 
 fledged and mated, they always fly away to a nest 
 of their own. After the company was fairly seated 
 at the table, therefore, she took occasion to say in 
 an undertone to Virginia, as she handed her a cup 
 of her favorite sassafras : 
 
 " 'Ginia, you won't leave us now, will you ? " 
 
 Virginia appreciated the affection which prompted 
 the inquiry, and replied :
 
 268 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " Wait until I tell you after supper, grandmother, 
 then I will leave it all to you." 
 
 But Mrs. Freeman heard both the question and 
 reply. She immediately exclaimed : 
 
 " Where Virginia goes I will follow, even though 
 it be out of the United States." 
 
 " That's just what I wanted to have you say, my 
 dear mother," replied Virginia. " Grandfather de 
 Ulloa is going to take us to his own home in 
 Havana." 
 
 " Katy, you don't eat anything," said old Mrs. 
 Rose. 
 
 " I cannot eat, mother," replied Mrs. Freeman. 
 " I am thinking of the desolation I should leave 
 behind." 
 
 "Tut, tut, Katy," interrupted Dan Rose. "Your 
 mother and I are getting old, and you will soon be 
 left alone. My advice is to go with 'Ginia. I 
 don't want to part with you, Katy ; but things 
 are best in the long run, even if they do go agin 
 the grain." 
 
 Don de Ulloa added his persuasion to the homely 
 argument of Dan Rose. He told Mrs. Freeman 
 she should be rendered as happy as wealth, good- 
 will, and the society of Virginia could make her ; 
 and concluded by reminding her that, now the 
 steamboats were running with such speed against
 
 HO! FOR CUBA. 269 
 
 the current, it would not be a great undertaking to 
 visit her parents every year or two. 
 
 "That's sensible," said Dan Rose. "'Ginia's as 
 much her daughter as though she had been born 
 so, and loves her just as much." 
 
 By the time supper was ended it was agreed 
 that Mrs. Freeman should accompany Virginia to 
 Havana, old Dan Rose and his wife advising the 
 measure, at the same time that their eyes filled 
 with tears at the thought of separation, perhaps 
 forever. On the next morning began the bustle of 
 preparation for the journey. A steamboat was 
 expected to pass on her way to New Orleans with- 
 in a week, and it was decided to take advantage of 
 the opportunity thus afforded to make a short pas- 
 sage. Old Mrs. Rose was very busy making prepara- 
 tion for the comfort of the young folks. She even 
 talked of preparing eatables for the voyage. 
 
 " Why, grandmother," said Virginia, " steam- 
 boats are like the fine hotels in the city ; they sup- 
 ply all your wants, and leave you nothing to do but 
 enjoy yourself." 
 
 "Ah, yes, 'Ginia," said the old lady, "but they 
 say they are terrible things to bust the biler and 
 kill folks ! " 
 
 " I'hope that is rather imaginary than real, grand- 
 mother," responded Virginia. " I suppose if there
 
 2/O 
 
 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 was really much danger, people would stay away 
 from them, and they would go out of use." 
 
 " I don't know about that, 'Ginia," replied the 
 old lady. " People git used to danger, so as to 
 kinder like it after a while." 
 
 " Well, grandmother, you know I was never in 
 the habit of taking trouble in advance. Let us 
 hope for the best. At any rate, while we live at 
 all on board the steamboat, we shall live well ; so 
 you will save all your nice things until we come 
 to see you." 
 
 The old lady turned her face away to hide a tear. 
 She knew it was not probable that they should 
 meet again. " ' Ginia," said she, " I never murmur 
 at Providence, though it goes hard sometimes. 
 Providence sent you to us, and Providence, and 
 that nice young man, are going to take you 
 away. I think it was all to be so, 'Ginia, else it 
 wouldn't a 'bin so. Why was Sinclair's life spared, 
 with a crack in his skull from the Indian's toma- 
 hawk ? Why did you and he travel up the Missis- 
 sippi in the same barge ? Why did he escape from 
 the Indians, and come to our house to be nursed ? 
 Why did he prove true to you for five years in spite 
 of all the bright eyes in the territory ? And why 
 did he find you when nobody else could ? Ah, 
 Providence does great works, 'Ginia ! "
 
 HO! FOR CUBA. 
 
 271 
 
 " You have really made out a strong case, grand- 
 mother," replied Virginia, "but the most striking 
 facts extend further back than your knowledge goes. 
 Do you know, grandmother, that I do not think 
 there was any special Providence about it ? " 
 
 At the conclusion of Virginia's remark, her 
 grandmother laid down the clear-starched laces 
 she had been clapping, took her iron-rimmed 
 spectacles from her nose, and looking with an air 
 of alarm into 'Ginia's face, said, 
 
 " 'Ginia, you haven't turned heretic with them 
 Catholics, I hope ?" 
 
 Virginia burst into a laugh. She had so often 
 heard the religion of her mother called heresy, 
 that now to hear the same term applied thus dif- 
 ferently, struck her as simply ludicrous. She 
 replied, 
 
 " No, no, grandmother : if by heretics you mean 
 Roman Catholics, I am still Orthodox." 
 
 The old lady restored her spectacles to their 
 wonted position, and Virginia continued, 
 
 " Nevertheless, I have found the true spirit of 
 the Saviour among Catholics as well as Protestants; 
 when love to our fellow-man is wanting, whatever 
 our creed, we are heretics." 
 
 For want of a better reply, the old lady clapped 
 the clear-starched laces all the faster. But Vir-
 
 2/2 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 ginia desired a more definite reply, so she 
 asked, 
 
 "Is there any heresy in that, grandmother?" 
 
 "Elder Havens says all Catholics are heretics," 
 responded Mrs. Rose. 
 
 "And the pope and priests say all Protestants 
 are heretics," said 'Ginia. 
 
 " Then how are we to know anything about it ?" 
 queried the old lady. 
 
 " I judge by the fruit," replied Virginia, " if that 
 be love, the tree is not heresy." 
 
 At this moment Tim Rose entered the room 
 hastily, and cut short further discussion by 
 announcing that a steamboat was in sight at the 
 island, nine miles above the town, and coming 
 down with all speed. In an hour or less she 
 would be at the landing ; and all who were going 
 must then be ready. 
 
 This sudden parting was more than the old lady 
 could bear ; so she turned to Virginia and said, 
 
 " Don't you go, 'Ginia ! I'll be bound there'll be 
 other steamboats along in a little while ; besides 
 besides, 'Ginia ." 
 
 "Tut, tut!" exclaimed Dan Rose, who entered 
 from an adjoining room where he had overheard 
 his wife's remark, " the longer you wait, the worse 
 you will feel. Stir about and git all ready ; and if
 
 HO! FOR CUBA. 
 
 273 
 
 we must cry a little, wait 'till we see 'em on the 
 boat, and then it will do no harm." 
 
 All was now bustle and excitement for the next 
 hour, trunks were strapped and baggage carried to 
 the bank of the river to be ready for the steam- 
 boat ; friends and neighbors came to bid farewell ; 
 and half the village gathered on the bank to see 
 the approaching vessel and witness the departure 
 of Don de Ulloa and his newly found family. 
 
 Within the hour the steamer came in front of 
 the town and commenced the then somewhat diffi- 
 cult manoeuvre of "rounding-to." She required 
 something less than a mile of the river for that 
 purpose, the successful accomplishment of which 
 she announced by firing a cannon, much to the 
 gratification of the people on shore, who nearly 
 all belonged to a class naturally fond of the explo- 
 sion of gunpowder. 
 
 Then came the hurry of departure, the farewell 
 kiss of parents and children, the mother's silent 
 tear, and the father's words of encouragement ; 
 the pressure of friendly hands, and the expression 
 of sincere regrets : then a ringing of bells, a 
 rush of steam, and a clatter of machinery, and 
 they were gone.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A CATASTROPHE. CONCLUSION. 
 
 HPHE steamboat Ohio, on which the chief sub- 
 jects of our story were now embarked, was 
 not one of those light and graceful vessels which 
 now meet the eye upon our Western rivers. Her 
 hull was built very much after the fashion of a 
 Dutch merchantman intended for sea service; 
 her bow was broad and round, her sides high, and 
 her draft of water some twelve or fifteen feet, 
 The fore part of the hull was occupied by the 
 boilers and engine, and the after part by the 
 heavier articles of freight. On the lower deck a 
 gangway divided the vessel amidships, aft of which 
 was fitted up for the use of passengers. There 
 were no state-rooms, as at present, but three or 
 four ranges of berths ran along each side of the 
 cabin, screened by red and yellow curtains. The 
 upper deck was used as steerage room for the 
 lighter and more bulky articles of freight. Such 
 was the general character of the Ohio. 
 
 When our voyagers went on board they found
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 
 
 275 
 
 the cabin occupied by various people from different 
 places, most of whom, like themselves, were 
 bound for New Orleans. Berths were assigned to 
 Virginia and Mrs. Freeman near the stern win- 
 dow, where the ladies' department was, separated 
 from the main cabin by folding-doors. Don de 
 Ulloa and Sinclair took their chances among the 
 berths near the engine. 
 
 No event of special interest occurred for several 
 days. The weather became more pleasant as they 
 approached the South; and all on board were 
 enjoying the prospect of a pleasant voyage as the 
 revolving wheels carried them rapidly down the 
 stream. 
 
 Three or four days after the party left Shawnee- 
 town, Don de Ulloa, in the presence of Virginia, 
 handed a sealed paper to Sinclair, requesting him 
 to preserve it with strict care ; if he should never 
 call for it during his life, it was to be opened after 
 his death in the presence of witnesses. The tone 
 and the expression of countenance which accompa- 
 nied the injunction somewhat startled Virginia, 
 and she asked with some misgiving, "Is there 
 anything wrong, grandfather ? " "I hope not, my 
 daughter," replied the old man. "I do this as a 
 measure of prudence. I know there is no wrong 
 in that."
 
 276 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Freeman, who was stand- 
 ing at the stern window, called their attention to 
 another steamboat which could be seen only a mile 
 or two behind, and which appeared to be rapidly 
 gaining on their own boat. At the same moment 
 a shout went up from the crew on their boat : they 
 had also just discovered the approaching steamer. 
 The voice of the captain was suddenly heard, 
 speaking to his men. 
 
 " Fire up, boys ; fire up ! It will never do to let 
 the Vesta get ahead of us." 
 
 " Ay, ay, sir ! " responded the men. " Fire up 
 it is." 
 
 The wood was crowded into the furnace, and the 
 grates freed from ashes to increase the draft ; but 
 still the other boat was gaining. A barrel of rosin 
 was brought, and the contents shovelled into the 
 fires. A thick, black smoke poured out of the 
 smoke-stacks, and the overstrained boilers hissed 
 with the escaping steam. By this time the women 
 had taken alarm, and sent for the captain for the 
 purpose of begging him to desist. He assured 
 them there was no danger ; and then, as he hastily 
 withdrew, he closed the folding-doors which cut 
 off the ladies' cabin from the fore part of the 
 vessel. Sinclair, Virginia, and Mrs. Freeman 
 watched the approaching boat from the stern win-
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 
 
 277 
 
 dows, and saw the thick, black smoke pouring from 
 her smoke-stack, evidence that she too felt the 
 excitement of the race. 
 
 Don de Ulloa's heart sickened, as he thought of 
 the possible result of the reckless contest, and he 
 lay down in his berth to await the issue. The 
 steam, which before had been rushing from the 
 safety-valve with a noise almost terrific, was now 
 prevented from escaping by tying down the valve, 
 the captain saying it would otherwise alarm the 
 passengers. 
 
 The captain proved to be just half right ; for 
 when his passengers no longer heard the escaping 
 steam, a large proportion of them really imagined 
 the danger vras past. But the pale-blue steam 
 hissed between the boilerplates, like the laboring 
 breath of some huge monster in pain ; and the 
 whirling waters gathered in foam around the ves- 
 sel's bow, in startling contrast with the sable 
 smoke-clouds above. Over all could be heard the 
 sound of the crackling fires, the voices of excited 
 men, commands, encouragements, and curses 
 mingled in the same breath. 
 
 Suddenly there was a deep, cavernous, explosive 
 sound ; and an atmosphere of hot steam enveloped 
 the boat, almost shutting out the light from the 
 ladies' cabin. Some of the women, in great alarm,
 
 278 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 ran to throw open the folding-doors, but Sin- 
 clair, with perfect presence of mind, opposed them, 
 and kept the doors closed as the only protection 
 against the steam which rilled and enveloped the 
 boat. 
 
 Groans and cries came from the forepart of the 
 boat. Until this moment Virginia had remained 
 silent, but she now begged to have the doors 
 opened, and search made for her grandfather ; 
 others who had friends in the main cabin joined in 
 the entreaty, and Sinclair opened the doors. 
 
 Although partially cooled, the steam entered the 
 doorway with much force. Sinclair attempted to 
 find his way through the murky steam to the berth 
 of Don de Ulloa, but found it impossible from the 
 mass of ruins which lay in his way. 
 
 By this time the other boat had reached the 
 scene of the disaster. The captain of the Vesta 
 took the helpless vessel in tow, and himself and 
 men did their best to pick up the drowning and aid 
 the wounded. 
 
 The reader will not be pained by a recital of the 
 particulars of the scenes of carnage and woe ; since 
 that day the world has learned to know them but 
 too well. Suffice it to say that the captain and 
 most of the officers were among the missing, while 
 not one of the passengers except those in the
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 2 ?g 
 
 ladies' cabin at the time of the explosion escaped 
 unharmed. The body of Don de Ulloa was found 
 in a part of the boat which had escaped destruc- 
 tion, still in his berth. He had apparently died 
 from inhaling the hot steam. 
 
 The Vesta remained at the scene of the wreck 
 for several hours, burying the dead. Then the re- 
 maining passengers were taken on board, and she 
 proceeded on her voyage. The body of Don de 
 Ulloa was placed in a rude coffin, pitched within 
 and without, and was taken on board the Vesta for 
 transportation to New Orleans. 
 
 On the morning after the disaster, Virginia wrote 
 a detailed account of the accident, to be ready to 
 send by the first opportunity to Shawneetown. 
 
 She knew that accounts of the catastrophe would 
 be carried by the first boat, and cause great anx- 
 iety to their friends there. The letter was written 
 before Sinclair thought of opening the papers 
 which had been left in his care by Don de Ulloa, 
 and it bore to Shawneetown the promise that after 
 a brief visit to Cuba, the party would return. The 
 captain promised to put the letter on the first up- 
 ward-bound boat, which he did several days before 
 they reached New Orleans, at which port they ar- 
 rived in safety. 
 
 At New Orleans Sinclair first thought of open-
 
 280 DROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 ing the papers confided to him by Don de Ulloa. 
 It was finally decided, however, to defer this until 
 the party should reach Havana, as the document 
 was probably subject to the authority of the local 
 laws. 
 
 The voyage on the Gulf was short and pleasant ; 
 and they were soon among a people who spoke an 
 unfamiliar tongue. 
 
 After they had comfortably settled themselves 
 at a hotel and had recovered from the fatigue of 
 the journey, Sinclair sought a lawyer who could 
 speak the English language, stated his case to him, 
 and asked his advice. The man of law looked at 
 him with a scrutinizing gaze, and instead of giving 
 him the necessary information, asked him if his 
 name was not really Santa Clara. 
 
 " My name is Sinclair or was, in the United 
 States ; my father's name, however, was Santa 
 Clara." 
 
 "And he lived here in Havana? " said the attor- 
 ney. " I knew him and all about him. It was rather 
 an unfortunate decision of the law that sent his 
 antagonist to the chain-gang. You look just like 
 him, and " 
 
 But Sinclair cut him short : " I wish to prove 
 how I came by these papers," said he. " Will you 
 tell me how I shall proceed ? "
 
 CONCLUSION. 28l 
 
 The attorney immediately turned his attention 
 to business. He accompanied Sinclair to the 
 proper court, and a carriage was sent for Virginia 
 and Mrs. Freeman. 
 
 For greater safety it was thought best to have 
 the witnesses testify to all points which might be 
 found to bear upon the papers. The parentage of 
 Virginia and Sinclair, and Virginia's former con- 
 nection with Mrs. Freeman, all came before the 
 court ; then the delivery of the papers, the charge 
 of Don de Ulloa concerning them, and his subse- 
 quent death on the steamboat, together with the 
 fact that his body was still awaiting burial in the 
 city. 
 
 The papers, when opened, proved to be de 
 Ulloa's will, duly executed, witnessed, and re- 
 corded at St. Louis, in the Territory of Missouri, 
 in Northern Louisiana ; and also a full recog- 
 nition of Virginia as his granddaughter, with a 
 brief summary of the evidence which bore upon 
 her identity. The testator devised the whole of 
 the estate to Virginia and Sinclair jointly, regard- 
 less of any question of identity, on condition that 
 they should reside permanently in Cuba ; it also 
 made provision that the body of his son should be 
 brought from St. Louis and interred in the family 
 vault, and the testator's body placed beside it, and
 
 282 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 their resting-place marked by the following joint 
 inscription : 
 
 ANTOINE DE ULLOA: 
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 Separated in Life by Law : United in Death by Love. 
 '' In the midst of Wrath remember Mercy." 
 
 The story of Sinclair and Virginia was a nine 
 days' wonder in the city. They came into pos- 
 session of the estate of de Ulloa without difficulty ; 
 and soon, surrounded by the gay society of Ha- 
 vana, they began to feel that permanent residence 
 in Cuba was by no means an unpleasant fate. 
 Under the guidance of a teacher Virginia rapidly 
 acquired a familiarity with the Spanish language, 
 and Sinclair recovered his mother-tongue ; even 
 Mrs. Freeman was compelled to admit that she 
 had known worse people than the Cubans, " for 
 instance," she said pleasantly, "the Indians." 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Three years after their arrival in Cuba, our 
 friends made a long-promised visit to Shawnee- 
 town ; but that is no part of our story, and is only 
 referred to now for the sake of introducing the
 
 CONCLUSION. 283 
 
 young Antoine de Ulloa Santa Clara, who made 
 one of the party. 
 
 Great names do not always indicate great men, 
 and the bearer of the very long one just recited 
 was a little fellow indeed ; but in the eyes of 
 Sinclair and Virginia at least he was worthy of 
 his name ; and to Mrs. Freeman his awkward 
 attempts to pronounce the word "grandmother" 
 were evidence of unusual talent. 
 
 When the little company reached Shawneetown, 
 they learned that Dan Rose was no more ; old Mrs. 
 Rose was still alive, however, and retained her 
 memory in full vigor ; for among the very first 
 things she said to Virginia was, " I told you the 
 steamboat would bust her biler, didn't I ? " 
 
 " Yes, grandmother, indeed you did, unfortu- 
 nately. If you had not, perhaps it might not have 
 happened." 
 
 The old lady was shrewd enough to observe the 
 pleasantry and laughed heartily. 
 
 Tim Rose had taken a wife, and was enjoying 
 the honeymoon. 
 
 " What has become of my old friend, Captain 
 Summers ? " inquired Virginia of Tim. 
 
 " Would you believe it, 'Ginia ? " laughed Tim. 
 " Tom Summers is at Cincinnati, building a steam- 
 boat ! "
 
 284 BROUGHT TO BAY. 
 
 " I am hardly surprised, Uncle Tom," replied 
 Virginia. " Tom Summers is the man to keep up 
 with the times." 
 
 " Yes," responded Tim, " but he is getting ahead 
 of the times now ; he says the steamboats are all 
 built wrong, and he is going to show them what a 
 fresh-water boat ought to be. I half believe he 
 will do it, too." 
 
 "And I altogether believe it," replied Virginia. 
 " It is a want of judgment to build these broad, 
 deep hulls for river navigation." 
 
 "Why, our 'Ginia's become quite a sailor," said 
 Tim, laughing. 
 
 " Well she might ! " exclaimed old Mrs. Rose. 
 " She's been blowed up, she ought to know." 
 
 " And what about Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Calvard ? " 
 inquired Sinclair. 
 
 " Well," replied Tim, " Wilson has gone to 
 heaven, I have no doubt ; and Calvard has gone 
 to Congress, I know." 
 
 "And now if I could only hear from my old 
 friend Sister Naomi," said Virginia, " I believe / 
 should be up with the times." 
 
 Nobody could tell anything about the Sister, and 
 when the visit was over, and Sinclair and his party 
 started on their return to Havana, they had still
 
 CONCL US ION. 285 
 
 been unable to learn anything concerning her. 
 The reader must trust, as Virginia did, that the 
 Sister's good heart would still bring her friends, 
 however the question of heresy be decided. 
 
 THE END.
 
 UCSB LIBRARY
 
 A 000 604 285
 
 
 c