The dame, Mrs. Younker, was a large, corpulent woman of forty-five, with features rather coa.r.s.e and masculine, yet expressive of shrewdness and courage, and, withal, a goodly share of benevolence. She was one of that peculiar cla.s.s of females, who, if there is any thing to be said, always claim the privilege of saying it; in other words, an inveterate talker; and who, if we may be allowed the phrase, managed her husband, and all around her, with the length of her tongue. In the country where she was brought up and known, to say of another, that he or she could compete with Ben Younker's wife in talking, was considered the extreme of comparison; and it is not recorded that any individual ever presumed on the credulity of the public sufficient to a.s.sert that the vocal powers of the said Mrs. Younker were ever surpa.s.sed. Unlike most great talkers, she was rarely heard to speak ill of any, and then only such as were really deserving of censure; while her rough kind of piety--if we may so term it--and her genuine goodness of heart, known to all with whom she came in contact, served to procure her a long list of friends. She possessed, as the reader has doubtless judged from the specimen we have given, little or no education; but this deficiency, in her eyes, as well as in most of those who lived on the frontiers, was of minor consequence--the knowledge of hunting, farming, spinning and weaving, being considered by far the more necessary qualifications for discharging the social duties of life.

Of Isaac, with whom the reader is already, acquainted, we shall not now speak, other than to say, he could barely read and write--rather preferring that he develop his character in his own peculiar way. But there is another, and though last, we trust will not prove least in point of interest to the reader, with whom we shall close, this episodical history--namely--Ella Barnwell.

The mother of Ella--a half sister to the elder-Younker--died when she was very young, leaving her to the care of a kind and indulgent father, who, having no other child, lavished on her his whole affections. At the demise of his wife, Barnwell was a prosperous, if not wealthy merchant, in one of the eastern cities of Virginia; and knowing the instability of wealth, together with his desire to fit his daughter for any station in society, he spared no expense necessary to educate her in all the different branches of English usually studied by a female. To this was added drawing, needle-work, music and dancing; and as Ella proved by no means a backward scholar in whatever she undertook, she was, at the age of fifteen, to use a familiar phrase, turned out an accomplished young lady. But alas! she had been qualified for a station which fate seemed determined not to let her occupy; for just at this important period of her life, her father became involved in an unfortunate speculation, that ended in ruin, dishonor, and his own bodily confinement in prison for debts he could never discharge. Naturally high spirited and proud, this misfortune and persecution proved too much for his philosophy--and what was more, his reason--and in a state of mental derangement, he one night hung himself to the bars of his prison window--leaving his daughter at the age we have named, a poor, unprotected, we might almost add friendless, orphan; for moneyless and friendless are too often synonymous terms, as poor Ella soon learned to her mortification and sorrow.

Ella Barnwell, the young, the beautiful, and accomplished heiress, was a very different personage from poor Ella Barnwell the bankrupt's daughter; and those who had fawned upon and flattered and courted the one, now saw proper to pa.s.s the other by in silent contempt. It was a hard, a very hard lesson for one at the tender age of Ella, who had been petted and pampered all her life, and taught by her own simplicity of heart to look upon all pretenders as real friends--it was a hard lesson, we say, for one of her years, to be forced at one bold stroke to learn the world, and see her happy, artless dreams vanish like froth from the foaming cup; but if hard, it was salutary--at least with her; and instead of blasting in the bud, as it might have done a frailer flower, it set her reason to work, destroyed the romantic sentimentalism usually attached to females of that excitable age, taught her to rely more upon herself, and less upon others, more upon actions and less upon words, and, in short, made a strong minded woman of her at once. Yet this was not accomplished without many a heart-rending pang, as the briny tears of chagrin, disappointment, and almost hopeless dest.i.tution, that nightly chased each other down the pale cheeks of Ella Barnwell to the pillow which supported her feverish head, for weeks, and even months after the death of her father, could well attest.

The father of Ella was an Englishman, who had emigrated to this country a few years previous to his marriage; and as none of his near relations had seen proper to follow his example, Ella, on his side, was left entirely dest.i.tute of any to whom she could apply for a.s.sistance and protection. On her mother's side, she knew of none who would be likely to a.s.sist her so readily as her half uncle, Benjamin Younker, whom she remembered as having seen at the funeral of her mother; and who then, taking her in his brawny arms, while the tears dimmed his eyes, in a solemn, impressive manner told her, that, in the ups and downs of life, should she ever stand in need of another's strong arm or purse, to call on him, and that, while blest with either himself, she should not want.

This at the time had made a deep impression on her youthful mind, but subsequently had been nearly or quite obliterated, until retouched by feeling the want of that aid then so solemnly and generously tendered.

Accordingly, after trying some of her supposed true-hearted friends--who had more than once been sharers in her generosity; and who, in return, had professed the most devoted attachment; but who now, in her distress, unkindly treated her urgent requests with cold neglect,--Ella hastened to make her situation known to her uncle; the result of which had been her adoption into a family, who, if not graced with that refinement and education to which she had been accustomed, at least possessed virtues that many of the refined and learned were strangers to--namely--truth, honesty, benevolence, and fidelity.

Ella, in her new situation, with her altered views of society in general, soon grew to love her benefactor and his family, and take that sincere pleasure in their rude ways, which, at one time, she would have considered as next to impossible. With a happy faculty, belonging only to the few, she managed to work herself into their affections, by little and little, almost imperceptibly, until, ere they were aware of the fact themselves, she was looked upon rather as a daughter and sister, than a more distant relation. In sooth, the former appellation the reader has already seen applied to her during the recorded conversation of the voluble Mrs. Younker--an appellation which Ella ever took good care to acknowledge by the corresponding t.i.tle of mother.

About a year from the period of Ella's becoming a member of the family, the Younkers had removed, as already stated, to what was then considered the "Far West," and had finally purchased and settled where we find them in the opening of our story. In this expedition, Ella, though somewhat reluctantly, had accompanied them--had remained with them ever since--and was now, notwithstanding her former lady-like mode of life, through the tuition of Mrs. Younker, regularly installed into all the mysteries of milking, churning, sewing, baking, spinning and weaving.

With this brief outline of her past history, we shall proceed to describe her personal appearance, at the time of her introduction to the reader, and then leave her to speak and act for herself during the progress of this drama of life.

Eighteen years of sunshine and cloud, had served to mould the form of Ella Barnwell into one of peculiar beauty and grace. In height she was a little above five feet, had a full round bust, and limbs of that beautiful and airy symmetry, which ever give to their possessor an appearance of etherial lightness. Her complexion was sufficiently dark to ent.i.tle her to the appellation of brunette; though by many it would have been thought too light, perhaps, owing to the soft, rich transparency of her skin; through which, by a crimson tint, could be traced the "tell-tale-blood," on the slightest provocation tending to excitement. Her features, if examined closely, could not be put down as entirely regular, owing to a very slight defect in the mouth, which otherwise was very handsome, and which was graced with two plump, pretty, half pouting lips. This defect, however, was only apparent when the countenance was in stern repose; and, as this was seldom, when in company with others, it was of course seldom observed. The remainder of her features were decidedly good, and, seen in profile, really beautiful. Her eye was a full, soft, animated hazel, that could beam tenderly with love, sparkle brilliantly with wit, or flash scornfully with anger; but inclining more to the first and second qualities than the last. Her eye-brows were well defined, and just sufficiently arched to correspond with the eyes themselves. Her forehead was prominent, of a n.o.ble cast, and added dignity to her whole appearance. Her hair was a rich, dark brown, fine and glossy, and although neatly arranged about the head, evidently required but little training to enable it to fall gracefully about her neck in beautiful ringlets. The general expression of her face, was a soft, bewitching playfulness, which, combined with the half timid, benevolent look, beaming from her large, mild, hazel eye, invariably won upon the beholder at the first glance, and increased upon acquaintance. Her voice we have already spoken of as possessing a silvery sweetness; and if one could be moved at merely seeing her, it only required this addition to complete the charm. To all of the foregoing, let us add an ardent temperament--capable of the most tender, lasting and devoted attachment, when once the affections were placed on an object--a sweet disposition, modest deportment, and graceful manners--and you have the portrait in full of Ella Barnwell, the orphan, the model of her s.e.x, and the admiration of all who knew her.

[Footnote 3: Mrs. Younker is the only authority we have for supposing Indians poison their bullets, although we have read of poisoned arrows, and hence infer such a proceeding to be rather a supposition with her than a certainty.]

CHAPTER III.

THE TALE AND FATAL SECRET.

The dwelling of Benjamin Younker, as already mentioned, stood at the base of a hill, on the margin of a beautiful valley, and within a hundred feet of a lucid stream, whose waters, finding their source in the neighboring bills, rushed down, all gleesome and sparkling, over a limestone bed, and

"From morn till night, from night till morn,"

sung gentle melodies for all who chose to listen.

The building itself though rough, both externally and internally, was what at that period was termed a double cabin; and in this respect was ent.i.tled to a superiority over most of its neighbors. As this may serve for a representative of the houses or cabins of the early settlers of Kentucky, we shall proceed to describe its structure and general appearance somewhat more minutely than might otherwise be deemed necessary.

The sides of the cottage in question, were composed of logs, rough from the woods where they had been felled, with the bark still clinging to them, and without having undergone other transformation than being cut to a certain length, and notched at either end, so as to sink into each other, when crossed at right angles, until their bodies met, thereby forming a structure of compactness, strength and solidity. Some ten or twelve feet from the ground, the two upper end logs of the cabin projected a foot or eighteen inches beyond the lower, and supported what were called _b.u.t.ting poles_--poles which crossed these projections at right angles, and, extending along the front and back of the building, formed the eaves of the roof. This latter was constructed by gradually shortening the logs at either end, until those which crossed them, as we said before, at right angles, came together at an angle of forty-five degrees, and the last one formed the ridge-pole or comb of the whole. On these logs, lapping one over the other, and the lower tier resting against the b.u.t.ting poles, were laid slabs of clapboard--a species of plank split from some straight-grained tree--about four feet long, and from three to four wide. These were secured in their places by logs in turn resting on them, at certain intervals, and answering the purpose of nails; necessity requiring these latter articles of convenience to be dispensed with in the early settlements of the West. As the cabin was double, two doors gave entrance from without, one into either apartment.

These entrances were formed by cutting away the logs for the s.p.a.ce of three feet by six, and were closed by rude doors, made of rough slabs, pinned strongly to heavy cross bars, and hung on hinges of the same material. These, like the rest of the building, were rendered, by their thickness, bullet proof--so that when closed and bolted, the house was capable of withstanding an ordinary attack of the Indians. With the exception of one window, opening into the apartment generally occupied by the family, and flanked by a heavy shutter, the doors and chimney were the only means through which light and air were admitted. These were all firmly secured at night--the unsettled and exposed state of the country, and the dangerous proximity of the pioneers to the ruthless savage, particularly those without the forts, rendering necessary, on their part, the most vigilant caution.

The internal appearance of the cabin corresponded well with the external. The apartment occupied by the family during the day, where the meals were cooked and served, and the general household affairs attended to, was very homely; and might, if contrasted with some of the present time, be termed almost wretched; though considered, at the period of which we write, rather above than below the ordinary. The floor was composed of what by the settlers were termed puncheons; which were made by splitting in half trees of some eighteen inches in diameter, and hewing the faces of them as regular as possible with the broad-axe.

These were laid, bark side downwards, upon sleepers running crosswise for the purpose, and formed at least a dry, solid and durable, if not polished, floor. At one end of the cabin was the chimney, built of logs, outside the apartment, but connecting with it by a s.p.a.ce cut away for the purpose. The back, jambs, and hearth of this chimney were of stone, and put together, in a manner not likely to be imitated by masons of the present day. A coa.r.s.e kind of plaster filled up the surrounding crevices, and served to keep out the air and give a rude finish to the whole.

The furniture of the Younkers, if the t.i.tle be not too ambiguous, would scarcely have been coveted by any of our modern exquisites, even had they been living in that age of straight-forward common sense. A large, rough slab, split from some tree, and supported by round legs set in auger holes, had the honor of standing for a table--around which, like a brood of chickens around their mother, were promiscuously collected several three-legged stools of similar workmanship. In one corner of the room were a few shelves; on which were ranged some wooden trenchers, pewter plates, knives and forks, and the like necessary articles, while a not very costly collection of pots and kettles took a less dignified and prominent position beneath. Another corner was occupied by a bed, the covering of which was composed of skins of different animals, with sheetings of home-made linen. In the vicinity of the bed, along the wall, was a row of pegs, suspending various garments of the occupants; all of which--with the exception of a few articles, belonging to Ella, procured for her before the death of her father--were of the plainest and coa.r.s.est description. A churn--a clock--the latter a very rare thing among the pioneers of Kentucky--a footwheel for spinning flax--a small mirror--together with several minor articles, of which it is needless to speak--completed the inventory of the apartment. From this room were two exits, besides the outer door--one by a ladder leading above to a sort of attic chamber, where were two beds; and the other through the wall into the adjoining cabin, whither our hero had been borne in a state of insensibility on the night of his mishap, and where he was for the second time presented to the reader. This latter place was graced with a bed, a loom for weaving, a spinning-wheel, a large oaken chest, and a few rough benches.

Such, reader, as our description has set forth, was the general appearance of Younker's dwelling, both without and within, in the year of our Lord 1781; and, moreover, a fair representative of an hundred others of the period in question--so arbitrary was necessity in making one imitate the other. But to resume our story.

In the after part of a day as mild and beautiful as the one on which we opened our narrative, but some four weeks later, Ella Barnwell, needle-work in hand, was seated near the open door leading from the apartment first described to the reader. Her head was bent forward, and her eyes were apparently fixed upon her occupation with great intentness--though a close observer might have detected furtive glances occasionally thrown upon a young man, with a pale and somewhat agitated countenance, who was pacing to and fro on the ground without. With the exception of these two, no person was within sight--though the rattling of a loom in the other apartment or cabin, betokened the vicinity of the industrious hostess.

For some moments the young man--a no less personage than our hero--paced back and forth like one whose mind is harrowed by some disagreeable thought: then suddenly halting in front of the doorway, and in a voice which, though not intended to be so, was slightly tremulous, he addressed himself to the young lady, in words denoting a previous conversation.

"Then I must have said some strange things, Ella--I beg pardon--Miss Barnwell."

"Have I not requested you, Mr. Reynolds, on more than one occasion, to call me Ella, instead of using the formality which rather belongs to strangers in fashionable society than to those dwelling beneath the same roof, in the wilds of Kentucky?" responded the person addressed, in a tone of pique, while she raised her head and let her soft, dark eyes rest reproachfully on the other.

"Well, well, Ella," rejoined Reynolds, "I crave pardon for my heedlessness; and promise you, on that score at least, no more cause for offence in future."

"Offence!" said Ella, quickly, catching at the word: "O, no--no--not offence, Mr. Reynolds! I should be sorry to take offence at what was meant in all kindness, and with true respect; but somehow I--that is--perhaps it may not appear so to others--but I--to me it appears studied--and--and--cold;" and as she concluded, in a hesitating manner, she quickly bent her head forward, while her cheek crimsoned at the thought, that she might perhaps have ventured too far, and laid herself liable to misconstruction.

"And yet, Ella," returned Reynolds, somewhat playfully, "you resemble many others I have known, in preaching what you do not practice. You request me to lay aside all formality, and address you by your name only; while you, in that very request, apply to me the t.i.tle you consider as studied, formal and cold."

"You have reference to my saying _Mr._ Reynolds, I presume," answered Ella; "but I see no a.n.a.logy between the two; as in addressing you thus, I do but what, under the circ.u.mstances, is proper; and what, doubtless, habit has rendered familiar to your ear; while, on the other hand, no one ever thinks of calling me any thing but Ella, or at the most, Ella Barnwell--and hence all superfluities grate harshly."

"Even complimentary adjectives, eh?" asked Reynolds, with an arch look.

"Even those, Mr. Reynolds; and those most of all are offensive, I a.s.sure you."

"I thought all of your s.e.x were fond of flattery."

"Then have you greatly erred in thinking."

"But thus says general report."

"Then, sir, general report is a slanderer, and should not be credited.

Those who court flattery, are weak-minded and vain; and I trust you do not so consider all our s.e.x."

"Heaven forbid," answered Reynolds, with energy, "that I should think thus of all, or judge any too harshly!--but there may be causes to force one into the conviction, that the exceptions are too few to spoil the rule."

"I trust such is not your case," responded Ella, quickly, while her eyes rested on the other with a searching glance.

"No one is required to criminate himself in law," replied Reynolds, evasively, with a sigh; and then immediately added, as if anxious to change the topic: "But I am eager for you to inform me what I said during my delirium."

"O, many things," returned Ella, "the half of which I could not repeat; but more particularly you spoke of troubles at home, and often repeated the name of Elvira with great bitterness. Then you would run on incoherently, for some time, about pistols, and swords, and end by saying that the quarrel was just--that you were provoked to it, until it became almost self defence--and that if he died, his blood would be on his own head."

"Good heavens, Ella! did I indeed say this?" exclaimed Reynolds, with a start, while his features became deadly pale. "Did I say more? did I mention further particulars?--speak! tell me--tell me truly!"

"Not in my hearing," answered Ella, while her own face blanched at the sudden vehemence of the other.

"Well, well, do not be alarmed!" said Reynolds, evidently somewhat relieved, and softening his voice, as he noticed the change in her countenance; "people sometimes say strange things, when reason, the great regulator of the tongue, is absent. What construction did you put upon my words, Ella?"

"Why, in sooth," replied Ella, watching his features closely as she spoke, "I thought nothing of them, other than to suppose you might formerly have had some trouble; and that in the chaos of wild images crowding your brain, after being attacked and wounded by savages, it was natural some of these image should be of a b.l.o.o.d.y nature."

"Then you did not look upon the words as having reference to a reality."

"No! at the time I did not."

"At the time?" repeated Reynolds, with a slight fall of countenance; "have you then seen or heard any thing since to make you suspicious?"