Beadle's Half Dime Library, Vol. III, No. 78 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

: ' ; ’ a face; for on looking upon it, no one could mis- take its expression to be other than sadness. The cause was simple, as it is not uncommon, The lover of her choice was not the choice of her father. A youth, poor in purse, but rich in almost every other quality to make esteemed—of handsome person, and mind adorned with rare cultivation—a stranger in the land—in short, a young Irishman, who had strayed into Mississippi, nobody knew wherefore or when. Such was he who had won the friend- ship of Clara Blackadder, as the enmity both of her brother and father. In heart accepted by her—though her lips dared not declare it—he was rejected by them, in words scornful, almost insulting. They were sufficient to drive him away from the State, for the girl, constrained by parental! authority, had not spoken plain enough to retain him. And he went as he had come, no one knew whither; and perhaps only Clara Black- adder cared. As she stood in the porch, she was thinking | more of him than the punishment that was being inflicted on Blue Dick; and not even on the day after, when her maid Cynthia was dis- covered dead under the trees, did the dread spectacle drive from her thoughts the remem- brance ofa man lodged there for life! As the overseer had predicted, Squire Black- adder, on his return home, was angry at the chastisement that had been inflicted on Blue Dick, and horrified on hearing of the tragedy that succeeded it. The sins of his own earlier life seemed rising in retribution against him! CHAPTER ITI. A CHANGED PLANTATION, WE pass over a = of five years succeed- ing the scene recorded. During this time there was but little change in the dwellers on the estate or the administra- tion of its affairs. Neither castigation by the cowskin, nor the punishment of the pump, was discontinued. Both were frequent and severe as ever; and whatever of work could by such means be extracted from human muscles, was taken out of the unhappy slaves, who called Mr. Snively their ‘ obaseeah.” Withal, the planta- tion did not prosper. Blount, plunging yet deeper into dissipation, drained it of every dol- lar of its profits, intrenching even on standard value of the estate. The number of its hands had become reduced, till there was scarce | enougb left for its cultivation; and despite the | constant cracking of Mr. Snively’s whip, weeds began to show themselves in the cotton-fields, and decay around the * gin-houses.” At the end of these five years, however, came a change, complete as it was cheerful. The buildings underweut repair, *‘ big house” as well as out-offices; while the crops, once more carefully cultivated, presented a flourishing ap- pearance. In the courtyard and negro-quarters the change was still more striking. Instead of sullen faces, and skins gray with dandruff, or browned with dirt, ill-concealed under the tat- tered copperas-stripe, could now be seen smiling countenances, with clean white shirts covering an epidermis that shone with the hue of health. Instead of profane language and loud threats, often followed by the lash, could be heard the twanging of the banjo, accompanied by its simple song, and the cheerful voice of Sambo excited in “ chaff,” or light-hearted laughter. The change is easily explained. It was not the same Sambo, nor the same ‘ obaseeah,” nor et the same massa. The whole personnel of @ place was different. A planter of the patri- archal type had succeeded to the tyrant; and Gotire Blackadder was gone away, few of his neighbors knew whither, and fewer cared. By his cruelty he had lost caste, as by the courses almost brought him to bankruptcy. To escape this, he had sold his plantation, though still re- taining his slaves—most of them being unsal- | able on account of their well-known wicked- ness. Taking these along with him, he had “ started west.” To one emigrating from the banks of the Missis- | sippi, this may scem an unfitting expression. But at the time a new “* West” and a “far” one had just entered on the stage of colonization. It was called California, a country at that time little known: for it had lately come into the possession of the United States, and the report | man | our history. Ne EEE | who had undertaken it, on the sarge of Squire Blackadder; either | ' south-western States. the | pursued by his son—the latter having | ful. _ 0S a ee Blue Dick. far more than its auriferous riches, that attracted planter Blackadder to its plains—this and the necessity of escaping from the too respectable society that had sprung up around him in the ‘Choctaw Purchase.” He had not taken departure alone. Three or four other families, not very dissimilar either in circumstances or character, had gone off along with him. Let us follow upon their track. Though three months have elapsed since their leaving the | eastern side of the Mississippi, we shall be in time to overtake them; for they are still wend- | ing their slow and weary way across the grand | prairie. The picture presented by an emigrating party is one long since become common: yet never | can it be regarded without a degree of interest. It appeals to a pleasant sentiment, recalling the earliest, and perhaps most romantic period of The huge Conestoga wagon, with its canvas tilt bleached to a snowy whiteness by many a storm of rain, not inappropriately Styled the “ship of the prairies”; its miscella- neous load of tools and utensils, with house fur- niture and other Penates, keeping alive the re- membrance of the home left behind, still more forcibly brought to mind by those dear faces half hid under the screening canvas; the sun- tanned and stalwart horsemen, with guns on shoulder, riding in advance or around it; and if a southern migration, the sable cohort forming its sure accompaniment, all combine to forma tableau that once seen will ever be remem- bered. And just such a picture was that presented by the migrating party of Mississippi planters, en route for far California. It was a *‘ caravan” of the smaller kind—only six wagons in all— with eight or ten white men for its escort. The journey was full of danger, and they knew this But their characters had hindered them from increasing their num- ber; and, ger left behind was almost as’ much dreaded as any that might be before them. They were following one of the. old ‘ trails” of the traders, at that time becoming used by the emigrants, and especially those from the t was the route running up the Arkansas to Bent’s Fort, and thence striking northward along the base of the Rocky Mountains to the pass known as “ Bridger’s.” At that time the pass and the trails on both sides of it were reported ‘‘safe.” That is, safe by comparison. The Indians had been awed by a sight unusual to them—the passage through their territory of large bodies of United States | troops—Doniphan’s expedition to New Mexico, with those of Cooke and Kearney to California. For ashort interval it had restrained them from their attacks upon the traders’ caravans; _ even from the assassination of the lonely trap- per. As none of Blackadder’s party was either very brave, or very reckless, they were pro- ceeding with great caution, keeping scouts in the ecyange by day, and guards around the camp y night. ee thus, watchful and wary, had they reached Bent’s Fort in safety. Thence an In- dian hunter who chanced to be hanging around the fort—a Choctaw who spoke a little English— was engaged to conduct them northward to the Pass; and, resuming their journey under his guidance, they had reached Bijou Creek, a trib- utary of the Platte, and one of the most beauti- ful streams of prairie land. They had formed their encampment for the night, after the fashion practiced upon the prai- ries—with the wagons locked tongue and wheel, inclosing a hollow space—the corral—so called after a word brought by the prairie merchahts from New Mexico. The travelers were more than usually cheer- The great chain of the Rocky Mountains was in sight, with Long’s Peak raising its snow- covered summit, like a vast beacon-star to wel- come, and show them they way, into the land of oe that lay beyond it. They co) abate moreover, to reach St. Vrain’s Fort, by the evening of the next day: where, safe from Indian attack, and relieved from camp watching, they could once more rest and recruit themselves. sut_in that hour of relaxation, while they _ were looking at Long’s Peak, its snowy crown still gilded by the rays of the setting sun, there was a cloud coming from that same quarter that threatened to overwhelm them. — ——— eee eee. — in the ease of more than one. the dan- | g a eg — os knew of its existence; and, as they gathereé around their camp-fire to make their evening repast, they were as gay as such men might be expected to be, under similar circumstances. To many of them it was the last meal they were ever destined to eat; as was that night the last of their lives. Before another sun shone upon Long’s Peak, one-half their number was | sleeping the sleep of death—their corraled wa gons inclosing a space afterward to beeeme their cemetery. CHAPTER IV. A PAINTED PARTY. ApovT five miles from the spot upon which the emigrants were encamped, and almost at the same hour, another party had pitched their tents upon the plain, There was not the slightest resemblance be- tween the two sets of travelers, either in per- sonal appearance, in the language spoken, or in their camp-equipments. The latter were all horsemen, unincumbered with wagons, and without even the impediment of tents. On dismounting they had eg of staked their horses on the grass, and lain down upon their buffalo-robes, that were to serve them both as shelter and for couches. There were about two score of them in al; and all without exception were men. Not a woman or child was among them. They were young men, too; though to this there were sev- eral exceptions. To have told the color of their skins, it would have been necessary to submit them to ablution; since that portion of it not covered by a breech- clout with legging continuations of leather, was so besmeared with paint that not a spot of the natural tint could be detected. Atter this, it is scarcely necessary to say that they were Indians; or to add that their painted bodies, nude from neck to waist, proclaimed them “on the war-trail.” There were other evidences of this. in the manner in which they were armed, Most of them carried guns. On a hunting excursion | they would have had bows and arrows—the prairie tribes prefer these weapons in the chase. | ees Chey had their spears, too, slung lance-fashion by the side of the saddle; with tomahawks stuck in their belts. All of them were furnished with the lezo. Among them was one sufficiently conspicuous to be at once recognized as their chief. His sir perior dress and adornment told of his title te this distinction; while there was that in his bearing toward the others, that placed it beyond doubt. They seemed not only to fear, but re- spect him; as if something more than the acci- dent of hereditary rank gave him a claim to command them. And he on his side seemed to rule them: not despotically, but with a firmness of tone and bearing that brooked no disobedience. On alighting from his horse on the spot selected for their camp, the animal was unsaddled by an other, and taken away to the pasturing place: while the chief himself, doffing a splendid cloak of white wolf-skins, spread it on the grass, and lay down upon it. en taking a pipe fr his embroidered pouch, and lighting it, he seem ed to give himself up to solitary meditation—as if he had no need to take further trouble about . the affairs of the camp, and none of the others would venture to intrude upon his privacy. None did, save his immediate attendant, who brought him his supper, after it had been pre- red, and assisted also in arranging his sleep- ing-place. tween him and his attendant not a word was exchanged, and only a few with one of the others. They related to setting the camp-sen tinels, with some instructions about a scout that might be expected to come in during the night. After that the chief stretched himself along. his robe, refilled the pipe with fresh tobacce taken from his pouch, and for some time lay smoking with his eyes fixed upon the moon) Her light, resplendent in the pure atmosphere of the upland prairies, falling full upon him, djsplayed a figure of fine proportions—indicat- ing both toughness and strength. As to the face, nothing could have been tolé of it, even if it had been seen under sunlight St eae with vermilion on a ground of ocherous earth, with strange devices on forehead and cheeks, it resembled a painted escutcheon more than a human face. he features, howevey showing a certain rotundity, told them to be of its golden treasures, although on the way, It was not the darkening of the night, nor had not yet reached the meridian of the Missis- | ad | mist from the mountain-sides; but a dusky i | shadow more to be feared than either. | t was its grand agricultural wealth, worth | They had no fear of it. They neither saw, nor | those of a young man, who, but for the disfig- uring of the paint, might have appeared banc- some, Still, there was something in his eyes, as they oOmicbooks-com