CHAPTER IV.
THE ATTACK.
About four miles north-west of Clontarf’s Post, in a secluded spot, stood a solitary log-cabin, surrounded on all sides by the dark, towering forest. It was a rude structure without, but its interior bore evidence of ease and comfort. But, the location was one sufficient to inspire the heart with awe, for, from morning till night, the dark forest shadows hung over the hut. Even if a patch of sunlight did fall upon it, it came and went like a white-robed specter.
Here, within this lonely and desolate hut, dwelt, with his daughter Madge, Talbott Taft, the Indian trader. Why he had selected this obscure spot for a dwelling was a mystery to settlers thereabouts. And why he, a man of no little intellectual culture, had left the refinement of civilization and brought his beautiful and accomplished daughter into the wilderness of a savage land, was still a greater mystery.
Talbott Taft was in the prime of manhood, with but little gray in his hair and whiskers; and the “crows’ feet” about his eyes seemed rather premature, than the marks of Time. His features, though extremely delicate, bore no evidence of dissipation, yet his dark eyes were wonderfully strange in their expression.
His articles of traffic consisted of whisky, tobacco and beads. These he obtained at a large trading-post on the Missouri river, and traded to the savages for furs and peltries.
The settlers of Clontarf’s Post often called at the cabin of the trader, and were kindly received and cared for. But no one had ever been there but what, on leaving, had declared that there was some mystery about Talbott Taft.
Madge Taft was a woman of more than ordinary beauty. She was not more than eighteen, judging from her looks, but from the beautiful and perfect development of her form, one would suppose her to be one and twenty. Her eyes were dark, lustrous and brilliant, possessed of an expression that was indicative of a wild, joyful and fearless spirit—such as only a true heroine could possess. Her hair was black and fine as silk, clustering about her head in shapely ringlets. Her complexion was healthful and white as alabaster, and the hues of the rose and lily were blended in her cheeks. Her hands were small, white and shapely, yet no circlets of gold flashed upon her tapering fingers.
Few young men, and in fact few old men, upon whose hearts there was no previous claim, ever called at the cabin of Talbot Taft and went away without realizing the fact that they were in love with the trader’s lovely daughter.
But of the many whose hearts had been thus captivated but a single one had ever received a friendly notice from the forest beauty. This son of fortune was a well-to-do young man of Clontarf’s Post, named Townsend Farnesworth.
His attentions to Madge were encouraged so far as to be permitted to call frequently at the cabin.
Early on the morning of the tenth of September, the day set for the camp-meeting at Wildwood lake, Town. Farnesworth called at the cabin of Talbott Taft to accompany Madge to the meeting. He found her awaiting him, and looking more lovely and bewitching than he had ever seen her before.
They did not tarry at the cabin, but at once set off for the lake, which was some two miles distant.
Their walk through the cool shaded aisles of the forest was pleasant and exhilarating; and they seemed unusually happy in each other’s society, and chatted and laughed as only youthful lovers could have done. Yet neither knew that the other really did love, for no avowal had ever passed their lips.
Arrived at the appointed place of meeting, the young people found that they were the first there, and to pass the time as pleasantly as possible, they walked down to the lake shore and seated themselves upon the moss-covered trunk of a fallen tree.
Wildwood lake lay before them, calm and placid, resembling a great mirror set in a rustic frame. No object was visible upon its glassy, unruffled surface to break the sameness of the glittering sheet.
The lake was perhaps a mile and a half in circumference, and it was bounded nearly all around with tall, frowning rocks, whose white faces were plowed and fluted by the wear of time. Here and there the black mouth of a subterranean vault was visible, partially hidden by creeping vines and tall aquatic plants.
Town. and Madge gazed out upon the lake, and it would have been an easy matter for a close observer to have marked the difference in the expression of each gaze. While Town.’s look showed that his mind was upon something else besides the beauty of the lake, Madge’s gaze showed that she was gazing, with no little interest and anxiety, and a look of half-expectation, carefully over the bosom of the glimmering sheet.
Town. was too deeply absorbed in the tumultuous fluttering of his heart, to note the expression of his fair companion’s face. After a moment’s silence he said:
“Wildwood seems unusually calm this morning.”
“And lonely,” replied Madge; “I wonder where those flocks of beautiful wild ducks and geese are that are most always seen upon the lake.”
“It is very probable that they are lying along in the cool shadow of the shores, or among the reeds and rushes over yonder.”
“The lake looks quite lonely without them,” said Madge. “Many pleasant moments have I spent here alone watching the feathered tribes gliding over the water, and—”
“Then you love to be alone—you love solitude, Madge?” questioned Town., with a perceptible change in his voice.
Madge raised her eyes and gazed into the young man’s face, as if touched by his question.
“Are there not times, Town.,” she asked, “when you would rather be alone than in company with your best friend?”
“Yes; but not my dearest friend. When I wish for solitude it is only to think and dream of you, dear Madge. Since we first met, my heart has gone out to you in the most passionate love, and I have longed for this moment, Madge, to ask you to be mine—mine forever!”
Madge was quite indifferent to this declaration of love. She had long been expecting it, and was prepared. As she lifted her eyes to those of Town., a smile, in which there was a shadow of sarcasm, passed over her face.
“You are jesting, Town.,” she said, a little reproachfully. “You do not know the desire of your own heart. When you have thought more of the matter, and consulted your own feelings and mind, you may have reason to feel a pang of regret that you ever asked the wild, wayward daughter of a poor Indian trader to be your wife.”
“Madge, do not doubt my affection and judgment in this matter. My heart is immovable, and I love you all the more of your humble life. It would not be a marriage of a prince and peasant, but two whose love I trust would be equal, as well as their birth.”
“Town.,” said Madge, and there was a slight tremor in her voice, “are you sure that Clara Bryant has no claim upon your heart? I know Clara loves you, Town., and would make you a better wife than I.”
“Until I saw you, Madge, I thought I did love Clara, but since our first meeting I find it was but pure friendship compared with the love I hold for you.”
“Then your love for me is of but a momentary growth. Dismiss me from your mind and you will find that the heart will go back to its first love.”
“You do not love me, Madge, else you would not trifle with my feelings thus,” he said, a little vexed.
“No, no, Town.; I will frankly admit that I love you, but can not promise you now to be your wife.”
Town. Farnesworth felt a thrill of joy pass through his heart, and his arm stole softly about the slender waist of the maiden. She gently withdrew from his embrace and continued:
“Do not let my avowal of love for you, Town., build up new hopes within your breast. I must admit the sin of being ambitious, and I could never give my consent to wed a man whose name was coupled with that of—”
“Cowardice!” exclaimed Town.
“Exactly, Town.”
“Madge!” and the young man’s voice grew stronger, and his eyes flashed indignantly, “then you, too, have given credence to that false report of a cowardly enemy!”
“I could not well help it, Town., when so many spoke of it. I may be doing you injustice to put any belief in it, but ambition, as I said before, is my besetting sin. Did you possess the fame of Rollo, the Boy Ranger, then I would not hesitate to become your wife.”
“I can not blame you, Madge, for refusing to wed one who bears the name of a coward, but that I am not a coward, I shall prove to you, if I have to wade through fire and blood; and not until I have won a fame equal to that of Red Rollo’s will I press my suit for your hand. All I ask now is that I may live in hope.”
“You may, Town.—but look yonder,” she said evasively, “what objects are those on the water just put out from the northern shore?”
Town. viewed the objects in question closely.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, after a while, his eyes having been upon one thing and his mind another, “it is a flock of ducks—quite three score of them; and how gracefully they move over the surface, their green heads erect, on watch for the least sign of danger.”
“How I love to watch them sporting over the smooth surface of the water!” said Madge. “They are so graceful in their movements—so shy and quick.”
“I see, Madge, that you are a lover of nature, as well as ambitious—but had we not better return to the place of meeting? I see a large number of the settlers are there.”
Madge consented, and together they joined the settlers.
They found that the people from each settlement were already arrived, and it wanted but few minutes of the hour for the beginning of service.
Town. and Madge seated themselves upon one of the many fallen logs that had been arranged for seats, and entered into conversation with those near them.
For a moment the young couple held the gaze of the assembly. Town. was the envy of all the marriageable youths there, while each maiden felt like hiding her own brown, plain face as she gazed upon the fair, lovely features of Talbott Taft’s daughter.
Madge greeted all their looks with a smile, and for a moment there was a “buzz” in that particular corner of the congregation. Even the eyes of the aged, sober, sanctimonious Israel Ainesley, who was seated alongside of Father Earnshaw on a raised platform, facing the congregation, became fixed upon the lovely face of the maiden with a kind of a fascinated gaze, which Madge acknowledged with a pleasant smile.
After a while the congregation engaged in singing, the sound of their voices rolling away in sweet, melodious anthems through the green forest aisles. And, too, the lake seemed to have caught the inspiration of the music within its own pulseless bosom and carried the sound back among its hills and caverns.
The spot selected for the meeting was well calculated to inspire the heart with the infinite power of God.
It was a smooth lawn sloping down to the water’s edge, over which was thrown the cool shadows of the stately towering oaks. Upon one side, within full view of the congregation, lay the placid lake, and upon the other the great silent forest.
With the natural precaution born of backwoods life, the settlers had brought their side-arms with them, and had even posted guards out in the woods, some distance from the place of service, to guard against surprise. Still, no fears whatever had been entertained of danger from the Indians, as they had long been perfectly peaceful and quiet.
After singing, followed prayer by the Reverend Mr. Earnshaw. Then Mr. Ainesley arose, and in a clear but tremulous voice announced his text; and at once began his discourse in a manner of force and ability that, from the first, enchained the attention of his hearers. He possessed a power of eloquence and delivery profound and comprehensive. His comparisons were striking, and his similes beautiful.
The eyes of all the congregation, Madge’s excepted, became riveted upon the speaker, and though the trader’s daughter heard every word that was spoken, she sat in a kind of mental abstraction and gazed out upon the lake at the flock of wild ducks, which, since, the beginning of the sermon, had continued to approach nearer and nearer that end of the lake, as though drawn thither by the magnetic influence that enabled the eloquent Mr. Ainesley to hold such a power over his audience.
Once during the discourse, the preacher, in calling the attention of his listeners to the presence of God in all the surroundings, turned toward the lake and said:
“In those beautiful fowls yonder, sailing so gracefully over the glassy surface of the element, behold the power, the wisdom—yea, the presence of God.”
Of course all eyes followed in the direction of the speaker’s, and every one within the assembly saw the flock of beautiful wild fowls, shyly, but slowly and steadily, nearing the beach.
Just then their ears were greeted by the long report of a rifle on the opposite side of the lake, that came booming over the water like a sunset gun, and reverberating away back among the hills, and rolling in a prolonged clang and crash through the forest aisles.
A small jet of water flashing upward in the center of the flock of ducks showed the settlers where the bullet, sent from the hunter’s rifle, had struck.
As the report of the rifle, which had so suddenly startled them, died away, a slight commotion was noticed among the settlers. By the report of the piece they knew full well who had fired it, for there was but one rifle of so heavy a caliber upon the border.
That rifle was owned by the celebrated hunter and scout known as Roll Raynor—nicknamed Old Tumult.
And the presence of Roll Raynor in the neighborhood betokened the coming of danger! However, the Rev. Mr. Ainesley soon quieted the fears of his audience and continued his discourse.
Madge Taft still sat, apparently in deep thought, watching the approaching fowls.
Suddenly, the ears of the audience were again greeted by the thunderous boom of Old Tumult’s rifle. And before they had fully caught the full report of the gun, a wild and almost unearthly scream was heard to issue from the waters of the lake.
Every eye was turned in that direction, and to the awful horror of the settlers, they beheld the half-naked body of an Indian warrior leap upward from the water, but a few rods from the shore, HIS HEAD AND FACE CONCEALED IN A CAP MADE OF THE FEATHERED SKIN OF A WILD DUCK!
The savage had been shot through the head by a bullet from the rifle of Old Tumult, but no sooner did the death-wail peal from his lips, than the whole flock, of what the settlers had supposed to be living wild-ducks, was seen to rise up from the water upon the heads of as many half-naked savages, whose bloody war-whoops, as they dashed aside their feathered caps, and sprung ashore with drawn tomahawks, sent a thrill of terror to the stoutest heart.