The Project Gutenberg eBook, When Wilderness Was King, by Randall Parrish

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Title: When Wilderness Was King A Tale of the Illinois Country

Author: Randall Parrish

Release Date: March 1, 2006 [eBook #17890]

Language: English

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN WILDERNESS WAS KING***

E-text prepared by Al Haines

WHEN WILDERNESS WAS KING

A Tale of the Illinois Country

by

RANDALL PARRISH

Author of "My Lady of the North"

A. L. Burt Company, Publishers
New York
Copyright by A. C. McClurg & Co.
1904
Published March 26, 1904
Second Edition, April 20, 1904
Third Edition, July 2, 1904
Fourth Edition, September 20, 1904
Fifth Edition, October 20, 1904
Sixth Edition, January 2, 1905
Seventh Edition, December, 1905
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
All Rights Reserved

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

      I. A Message from the West
     II. The Call of Duty
    III. A New Acquaintance
     IV. Captain Wells of Fort Wayne
      V. Through the Heart of the Forest
     VI. From the Jaws of Death
    VII. A Circle in the Sand
   VIII. Two Men and a Maid
     IX. In Sight of the Flag
      X. A Lane of Peril
     XI. Old Fort Dearborn
    XII. The Heart of a Woman
   XIII. A Wager of Fools
    XIV. Darkness and Surprise
     XV. An Adventure Underground
    XVI. "Prance wins, Monsieur!"
   XVII. A Contest of Wits
  XVIII. Glimpses of Danger
    XIX. A Conference and a Resolve
     XX. In the Indian Camp
    XXI. A Council of Chiefs
   XXII. The Last Night at Dearborn
  XXIII. The Death-Shadow of the Miamis
   XXIV. The Day of Doom
    XXV. In the Jaws of the Tiger
   XXVI. The Field of the Dead
  XXVII. A Ghostly Vision
 XXVIII. An Angel in the Wilderness
   XXIX. A Soldier of France
    XXX. The Rescue at the Stake
   XXXI. A Search, and its Reward
  XXXII. The Pledge of a Wyandot
 XXXIII. An Intervention of Fate
  XXXIV. A Stumble in the Dark
   XXXV. The Battle on the Shore
  XXXVI. In the New Gray Dawn

  "I saw a dot upon the map, and a housefly's filmy wing—
  They said 'twas Dearborn's picket-flag, when Wilderness was King.

* * * * * *

  I heard the block-house gates unbar, the column's solemn tread,
  I saw the Tree of a single leaf its splendid foliage shed
  To wave awhile that August morn above the column's head;
  I heard the moan of muffled drum, the woman's wail of fife,
  The Dead March played for Dearborn's men just marching out of life;
  The swooping of the savage cloud that burst upon the rank
  And struck it with its thunderbolt in forehead and in flank,
  The spatter of the musket-shot, the rifles' whistling rain,—
  The sandhills drift round hope forlorn that never marched again."

—Benjamin F. Taylor.

When Wilderness Was King

CHAPTER I

A MESSAGE FROM THE WEST

Surely it was no longer ago than yesterday. I had left the scythe lying at the edge of the long grass, and gone up through the rows of nodding Indian corn to the house, seeking a draught of cool water from the spring. It was hot in the July sunshine; the thick forest on every side intercepted the breeze, and I had been at work for some hours. How pleasant and inviting the little river looked in the shade of the great trees, while, as I paused a moment bending over the high bank, I could see a lazy pike nosing about among the twisted roots below.

My mother, her sleeves rolled high over her round white arms, was in the dark interior of the milk-house as I passed, and spoke to me laughingly; and I could perceive my father sitting in his great splint-bottomed chair just within the front doorway, and I marked how the slight current of air toyed with his long gray beard. The old Bible lay wide open upon his knee; yet his eyes were resting upon the dark green of the woods that skirted our clearing. I wondered, as I quaffed the cool sweet water at the spring, if he was dreaming again of those old days when he had been a man among men. How distinct in each detail the memory of it remains! The blue sky held but one fleecy white cloud in all its wide arch; it seemed as if the curling film of smoke rising from our chimney had but gathered there and hung suspended to render the azure more pronounced. A robin peeked impudently at me from an oak limb, and a roguish gray squirrel chattered along the low ridge-pole, with seeming willingness to make friends, until Rover, suddenly spying me, sprang hastily around the comer of the house to lick my hand, with glad barkings and a frantic effort to wave the stub of his poor old tail. It was such a homely, quiet scene, there in the heart of the backwoods, one I had known unchanged so long, that I little dreamed it was soon to witness the turning over of a page of destiny in my life, that almost from that hour I was to sever every relation of the past, and be sent forth to buffet with the rough world alone.

There were no roads, in those days, along that valley of the upper Maumee,—merely faint bridle-paths, following ancient Indian trails through dense woods or across narrow strips of prairie land; yet as I hung the gourd back on its wooden peg, and lifted my eyes carelessly to the northward, I saw a horseman riding slowly toward the house along the river bank. There were flying rumors of coming Indian outbreaks along the fringe of border settlements; but my young eyes were keen, and after the first quick thrill of suspicion I knew the approaching stranger to be of white blood, although his apparel was scarcely less uncivilized than that of the savage. Yet so unusual were visitors, that I grasped a gun from its pegs in the kitchen, and called warningly to my mother as I passed on to meet the new-comer.

He was a very large and powerful man, with a matted black beard and an extremely prominent nose. A long rifle was slung at his back, and the heavy bay horse he bestrode bore unmistakable signs of hard travelling. As he approached, Rover, spying him, sprang out savagely; but I caught and held him with firm grip, for to strangers he was ever a surly brute.

"Is this yere Major Wayland's place?" the man questioned, in a deep, gruff voice, reining in his tired horse, and carelessly flinging one booted foot across the animal's neck as he faced me.

"Yes," I responded with caution, for we were somewhat suspicious of stray travellers in those days, and the man's features were not pleasing. "The Major lives here, and I am his son."

He looked at me intently, some