Page images
PDF
EPUB

sword-a struggle ensued. Groné was sitting in the room underneath with Frank and another neighbour; upon hearing the noise they rushed up stairs, and found De Mirail on the ground, weltering in blood, which flowed from two mortal wounds inflicted by his furious antagonist. Groné and his companions were horror-stricken: the murderer rushed out unpursued. Madame de Mirail threw herself upon the body of her husband, weeping in despair. The witnesses of the crime, when on the point of giving the alarm, were moved by the beauty and heartrending grief of the lady, and by the prayers of her innocent boy. They promised silence, and having partly undressed the body of the unhappy Chevalier, and ascertained that no spark of life remained, they sunk it in the canal. Madame de Mirail fled in less than four-andtwenty hours, with her son. It was reported in the town that she had followed her husband to France. The murderer was never seen again. Groné and his companions obliterated as well as they could, without raising suspicion, every trace of the deed; but the broken surbase escaped their observation, behind which Madame de Mirail, in her haste and anxiety, had concealed the waistcoat. The three witnesses bound themselves by an oath never to speak of the transaction. One of the party soon sealed his oath with his death; but Frank, always a worthless fellow, was not to be depended on. Groné, who now trembled not only at the thought of the room, but at the sight of every officer of justice, made sacrifice upon sacrifice to bribe him to silence; and put upon himself such a restraint, that he did not even venture to relate the circumstances to his wife, who was absent at the time of the fatal occurrence. To-night, for the first time, Sara has heard from him the transactions of that dreadful night.

In the mean time, Madame de Mirail returned to France, and recovered her possessions. Her life was passed in the severest penance; when at the point of death, she conjured her son to visit this spot, to pray here for his father, if possible to possess himself of the hidden waistcoat, and to set Groné's mind at rest by the intelligence of her death. Young De Mirail willingly undertook to perform this sacred duty, and confided his intention to me as

well as to the abbé. Fate has assisted him, through you, to obtain what he sought; he counts upon your silence, and will to-morrow again leave this city, which forces upon him so many painful recollections."

Justus remained silent for some time.

"How wonderfully," said he at length, "how ridiculously we may lead ourselves astray! I fancied myself caught in the lowest den of murder. In this quiet house, everything from the very first has been so mysterious, from Sara's unwillingness to receive me, till--."

"Ah!" said Wittenhoff, smiling, "Susan's beauty, and the frailty of woman, made Sara unwilling to admit any more students. Still hoping for my return, she wished to preserve Susan's faith to me.

"Could they then doubt that I would remain true to you, Mr. Wittenhoff?" said a gentle voice, and Susan's little head appeared at the door.

"Ah, my dearest Susan!" cried Wittenhoff, embracing her warmly. "Now, Justus, 1 think the joy of this meeting will put the finishing stroke to your satisfaction, and drive away all traces of your horrors."

Justus embraced the happy pair, and congra tulated them heartily. He shook Groné and his wife by the hand, silently imploring their pardon. He assured the young Frenchman of his eternal silence; bestowed a liberal gift upon the fatherless Christina--but nevertheless he quitted the house the following day.

By the generous assistance of Wittenhoff, who soon set out with his wife for France, Groné was enabled to rebuild his quiet little house almost from top to bottom; and he and his wife passed there the peaceful evening of their lives.

But now that they are both long gone to their last home; that De Mirail has fallen in battle, and his race become extinct with him; that Wittenhoff and Susan are settled in America, and Christina has followed her husband to his home; now that the quiet house has passed into other hands, and that the name of the city in which it stands cannot easily be guessed-now, Justus, the student of those days, thinks that he betrays no confidence in relating to his friends, and simply as it happened, his singular adventure.

THE LEGEND OF INDIAN HOLE.

A TALE OF HARRIS COUNTY, TEXAS.
BY "ESPERANCE."

CHAP. I.

Amidst the broad plain that the Rio San Jacinto bounds on the north, and the Brazos on the south, rises the small but well-known stream of Clare (now called Clear) Creek. Like all streams or bayous of its class, it presents nothing remarkable in its appearance. During the Summer and Fall--the dry season-the bed

near its source remains nearly destitute of water; but, as you descend, the waters increase, the banks become wider, and the timber, which was but small and scattering at first, assumes a larger and thicker growth, graduating its density and size with that of the bayou, the course of which it follows until finally it swells out to a large forest as the creek enters Clear Lake; through the lake the bayou forces its way on,

winding along through prairie and woodland, until it empties its waters into the broad Bay of Galveston.

As I remarked, there is nothing extraordinary in the appearance of this creek, either in its size or length, to distinguish it from many others similar, and in the same section of country; and it probably never would have been so but for a scene enacted on its banks-the memory of which is still green in the recollection of many. Some six or eight miles from its source, the bayou swells out around a kind of point or projection of the bank, and then, coutracting again, forms a basin or pond which remains full, or nearly so, of sweet clear water, during the entire summer. This is a lovely spot, and the one our tale refers to it is known as Indian Hole.

66 Here, scattered wild, the lily of the vale

Its balmy essence breathes; here cowslips hang Their dewy heads, and purple violets lurk, With all the lowly children of the shade." Look around you whilst we are here, and behold this vast extended plain that spreads out before us in solemn grandeur, its unbroken view extending far away in the distant horizon, where the blue-arched sky seems to descend and meet it in gentle embrace! What author's pen can do justice to this boundless prairie ocean? Its magnitude reminds one of the Atlantic; and its grassy ridges waving in long rolls, with the sunlight glistening in the valleys, also recall to mind the ocean's swell after the gale has passed. Who can paint the bright flowers of rainbow tint that stud its bosom, whose odour-the prairies' breath -scents the air, transporting the weary hunter into an elysium sweeter than that created by fairy music, or the Mussulman's vision of his future Paradise!

Let us dismount, and, whilst our horses are grazing the tender young grass, we will recline under the shade of this oak, and, in the mean time, enjoying the soft air from the Gulf, and the warbling of birds overhead, I will relate to you the history of this place-the Legend of Indian Hole.

CHAP. II.

For ages these green woodlands and plains were unknown and untenanted-the deep, oppressive silence, which reigned over all, unbroken save by the war-whoop of the savage, the howling of beasts, and the tramp of the wild horse and buffalo. But anon a change came over the spirit of the scene. The fame of the country spread abroad-its rich lands, salubrious climate, and abundance of game, were strong inducements to the emigrating portion of the Western people. The white man appeared-his rifle rang through field and forest; the gigantic old trees-patriarchs! venerable in years, and gray-headed with their mantles of moss-bowed beneath the sharp strokes of his axe. Soon cabins arose, forming the nucleus of a settlement. Hundreds of hardy pioneers poured in from the Valley of the Mississippi, bringing

with them their all. Settlement after settlement was formed, and their foothold made good against the nations of the wilderness.

The Red Men soon saught the destruction of the intruders, for it needed no prophet's warning voice as to the result of this encroachment on the hunting-grounds of their forefathers. Now came the strife for the supremacy, and, in the struggle that followed, the red tribes of the forest were scattered like leaves before the whirlwind. Many were the bloody scenes enacted; but, for every white man's scalp taken, a dozen aborigines bit the dust. The Indians fled-leaving their hills and plains, their homes, and graves of their forefathers, in the possession of the conquerors. Unhappy race! Years have passed away, and the places that once knew you know you no more! The forest that once sheltered the lodges of your tribe, and echoed to the dance and war-whoop, is now usurped by the rising city! The ploughshare has again and again passed over the bones of your ancestorsthe golden grain of Ceres waves over their tombs!

"Your day is o'er
Your fires are out from shore to shore;
No more for you the wild deer bounds→→
The plough is on your hunting grounds.
The pale man's axe rings through your woods,
The pale man's sail skims o'er the floods;

Your pleasant springs are dry;
Your children-look, by power oppressed,
Beyond the mountains of the West-

Your children go-to die."

Nu

Among the many hostile tribes with whom the white men were often engaged in deadly strife, there were none they encountered more frequently, or who made more desperate resistance, than that of the Caronqueways. This tribe inhabited the entire coast of Texas; and, from their number, bravery, and savage character, were more dreaded than all others. merous and deadly were the encounters they had with their white foes-defeat, instead of weakening their courage, served but to exasperate them the more-they fought long and well, and were among the last to retreat. Their battlefields extend from the forests and canebreaks of the Trinity to the surf-beaten shore of the Gulf of Mexico.

66

At the time of our tale, but a few years had passed since this part of the country had been settled by immigrants; and the feud was at its height. Scarcely a month would pass away without witnessing the blazing of some lonely squatter's" hut-the murder of his wife and children, and the quick and fearful retribution that followed. Such was the state of affairs when a report came to the settlers, on and near the Brazos, that a large party of Caronqueway Indians had just returned from a successful foray against a tribe friendly to the whites; and that they, flushed with their late victory, were now preparing to attack and exterminate the settlers. This news spread like prairie fire, and very soon every man and boy within fifty miles, capable of bearing arms, had shouldered his gun

and marched to a designated point, where all were enrolled into a company. As soon as possible, they reached the encampment of Indians, and the memorable fight with the Caronqueways, near the pass of that name, took place soon after. Many of the combatants say the fight was well and bloodily contested. The Indians finally gave way-not before, however, they had lost half their number, and made their escape with their prisoners towards Clear Creek.

shatte has spoken. Will his white brothers aid him in taking the young bird from the clutches of the hawk?"

The Indian's gestures were so vehement, his looks so appealing, and the grief he felt evidently so sincere, that, although the white men were worn down by fatigue and excitement, they with one accord determined to pursue the robbers and rescue the prisoners, if alive, at all hazards. As soon as the dead were buried and the wounded properly attended to-a few being left to guard them-the company proceeded at once on the track of the fugitives. The Indian took the lead, showing all the eagerness and instinct of a bloodhound; and often, when every

erring sagacity, find and pursue it with a rapidity that left the others far behind. On the evening of the second day, about sunset, the party reached Clear Creek about four miles below, where we will leave them, for the present, pursuing their course which led direct to this

With the white men engaged in this fight was a tall, finely-formed, young Indian warrior. He belonged to the tribe whose village had been lately sacked and destroyed by this band. He it was who brought the intelligence to the whites, and had eagerly supplicated their aid in chas-vestige of the trail was lost, he would, by untising them, and rescuing some of his tribe still prisoners in their hands. During the encounter he fought with great bravery-his war-cry ringing like a trumpet's note above the din of battle -cutting down all who opposed him, and following the white men in every charge that was made. But after the enemy had given way-spot. when the noise and confusion of the conflict had subsided-and the whites were busily engaged in burying the dead and relieving the wounded, Coshatte-for such was his nameretired to a short distance, and, covering his head with his robe, seemed to be the prey of great emotion. The captain of the company, seeing him evidently in distress, and fearing he was severely wounded, called him up, and, with a friendly speech, sought to know of him the cause of his trouble. The Indian drew himself up, and, dropping the buffalo robe which had covered his breast, so as to give full freedom to his gestures, spoke to the following effect—

"White brothers, listen! This day has the red wolf been struck. The white man's bullets are deep into his body! Already do the black vultures scent his blood, and are wetting their beaks for the feast. Many a warrior will be missed from the council fire of his tribe. There will be mourning in the lodges of the Caronqueways. Coshatte has fought by his white brothers; his tomahawk has been buried in the brains of their enemy; his knife has drunk their blood-it is good, but the heart of Coshatte is not happy. White men, listen! But two moons have passed since I accompanied the warriors and young braves of my tribe to the big plains of the west, to chase the wild horse and hunt the buffalo. Our old men, our women and children we left behind us-for we were at peace with the white man, and we dreamed no harm from our red brothers: but we were mistaken; the Caronqueway wolves had their spies upon us, and but a few days had we left when they attacked our village. They killed our old men, they carried off our women and children, and our tents are but a heap of ashes!

"White men, listen! Among the prisoners is our head chief's daughter, Keleotuc- the wild flower'-the pride of our tribe, and the betrothed wife of Coshatte. His heart cannot be happy, nor will he rest while she remains a prisoner among the destroyers of his tribe. Co

CHAP. III.

It was midnight. A large fire burned brightly in the bottom of this ravine, throwing a strong glare upon the forms of about forty warriors, who stood, with bows and war-clubs in their hands, in a circle around it. Many a head and limb bore frightful marks of a recent conflict; and every face wore an aspect as hideous as paint and rage could make it. Some few lay around wrapped in skins, and appeared, from their restless motions and the occasional groans that proceeded from them, to be desperately wounded. Some exciting topic had evidently been lately discussed and settled by the warriors in council; and, from the large heap of brush and dry-wood that lay piled up close by, and from the angry gestures that were occasionally directed to a particular spot, it was not hard to divine what it was, nor that which was soon to follow. Close by the group of warriors, and in full view, tied hand and foot to a tall stake, was an Indian girl. Her feet and arms were swollen and bloody from many wounds inflicted by thorns and briars. An embroidered and highly dressed skin of some wild animal hung in strips from her shrinking body, disclosing a form youthful and full of beauty. Her head was bowed in deep dejection, from which the long dark hair flowed wildly over her heaving bosom. Now and then her eyes would wander restlessly over the painted faces of her captors, seeking, but in vain, to catch some ray of hope in their un pitying glances: but for this, she neither moved nor stirred, and, to all appearances, was as inanimate as the trees that towered around her. As well might she expect mercy as the young lamb when the jaws of the wolf have fastened upon him-or her sweet namesake, "the wild flower," when winter's icy breath has touched it. Her fate was sealed! Soon, very soon, would her fragile body be given to the fiery heat of the blazing fagot, and her gentle spirit would pass

away amid shouts, and taunts, and yells of exultation. There she stood, bound and helpless, a feeble, unresisting woman-a sacrifice to be of fered on the altar of Indian superstition! She knew that even now those chosen for the purpose were preparing to commence their infernal offices upon her. But her thoughts were far away. Before her mental vision arise the home of her childhood, her aged parents, and the young brave to whom her troth was plighted. Now her fancy roves through the green woodlands and wide fields where she had so often strayed, listening to the singing bird and running water. No more shall the songs of the one, and the plaintive rippling of the other, gladden the heart of Keleotuc! No more will she greet them living!

far

Now are the warriors gathering around her. See! they are heaping up the fagots. Listen to the taunts they cast upon their gentle victim; but she answers not-she hears them not. Like the dying swan, she pours forth her latest breath in touching melody. Her soft, flute-like tone of voice comes floating through the midnight air. In solemn chant, she sings, "Green earth! bright flowers! running waters! bear hence, away unto Coshatte, the young brave, the last sigh of Keleotuc! Spirit of the waving trees! whisper forth through the air-let the fate of the wild flower' reach the home of her kindred--let it burn in the hearts of her tribe. Companions of my childhood, ye birds of sweet note, sing my requiem! Silvery stream of the mountain, murmur forth my name! And now, Great Father, listen to thy suffering child! Oh! send forth thy winged messengers-speed them quickly on-let them shield and bear me to thy bosom! Hark! like meteors flashing through the sky I see them! Their snowy pinions beat the air, and songs of joy are floating round. Welcome, sweet shadows of the spirit land! Welcome, bright sisters of the starry robe! To your outstretched arms I come! I come!"

Thus sang Keleotuc, as a warrior seized a lighted torch and hurled it at her feet. Quickly the dry brush ignited, and a canopy of smoke, black as a volume from hell, rose fiercely to the sable sky. One wild shriek of agony burst forth from the dying girl as the flames, wreathing round, blasted her with its fiery breath; a maddened howl of derision from the infuriated savages answered her. A moment more, and a crushing sound from the tramp of feet was heard, and, before the Indians could gain a cover, the party of whites burst forth from the adjoining thicket, and poured out the contents of their rifles upon them—

"Then arose so wild a yell Within this dark and narrow dell, As if the fiends from Heaven that fell Had pealed their banner-cry of Hell!" The Indians, although losing several of their number, and taken entirely by surprise, main

tained their ground for some time, fighting hand to hand with the courage of despair and the ferocity of tigers. The blow of the tomahawk, the thrust of the knife, the shrieks of the wounded and dying, were now intermingled with the shouts of encouragement from one party and the yell of defiance from the other. None expected or asked for mercy, but fought desperately, like the wolf, to the last gasp.

In the mean time the flames rolled on, lighting up the scene of battle with all its horrors, bringing every combatant into full view. Foremost, from the commencement of the affray, was Coshatte, who, wielding his war-club, fought with the fury of a maniac, in the direction where he had discovered Keleotuc bound and enveloped with fire. None withstood him, for he struck down all who opposed, and made his way through flame and smoke to the side of the Indian girl. With one sweep of his knife he severed the bonds that held her, and springing back, bore her out of reach-but, alas, too late! No sooner did the blackened and charred remains of the young girl meet his gaze, as he bore her body off, than, with a cry like that of a wild beast, he dropped his burden and rushed amid the fight. Already were his arms, face, and breast deluged with blood, and now his knife at every thrust was deeply painted with its gory colour. On he rushed to the very centre of the enemy, and, in despite of the wounds and blows he received from all sides, he grappled with the chief, and bore him, writhing and struggling, to the blazing fire that still roared and hissed for its victim. With a bound like that of a panther, he sprang with his enemy full in the midst of the roaring column of flame that shot forth its forked tongues for yards around. For a moment a cloud of ashes and smoke obscured the view; then thousands of bright sparks ascended and fell again like hail on the green sward around. An instant more, and Coshatte-his whole person, even to his long scalp-lock on fire-burst forth, with his blazing shroud, like a tortured devil loosened from his chains, and, feebly sounding his war-cry, dashed again among them. His enemies-the few Caronqueways that were left-fled in terror before this blazing, frightful apparition; and to this day they believe that the white men were guided and assisted by a supernatural being at the fight of "Indian Hole."

Coshatte lived but a few hours after the battle: his body, as well as that of the Indian girl, was taken some three miles from the Creek, and laid side by side at the edge of the prairie-his war-club and knife being placed with him-and a strong enclosure of young trees and brush built around them, which can be seen to this day.

The fate of Coshatte the brave, and Keleotuc the "wild flower," forms the legend of "Indian Hole!"

U

[blocks in formation]

EVA'S STEPMOTHER.

BY HANNAH CLAY.

"Now, hold your head up, there's a pretty dear. I'll be bound my darling will look as well as the best of them. And take care not to tumble your frock, nor shake out your pretty curls, there's a beauty."

This very foolish and pernicious speech might have been spared, for the motherless little girl to whom it was addressed was already vain enough, and thought much more of her pretty curls and fine dresses than of her kind papa,

* Furze.

and the pains she ought to take to please him and improve in her studies. Her little head was just at this time especially filled with vanity, for Mr. Lyman had invited a grand party to celebrate her birth-day; at which a great many ladies and gentlemen were to be present, as well as little boys and girls. The carpets were taken up in both drawing-rooms, and a band of music was engaged for the occasion. Eva expected it to be quite the happiest evening of her life.

At length the hour of festivity arrived, announced by the roll of carriages through the square, and the loud rat-tat-tats at the hall-door. Eva, dismissed from the hands of her old nurse with the foolish flattery above recorded, entered

« PreviousContinue »