Beadle's Dime Library No. 16 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

i 1] ‘ ; ' i es 26 = $$ —_——— a At this moment he saw that Ona was turn ing, her canoe, as if to fly from some pursuer, and, to make her aware of his presence, he called to her in a low tone, yet sufficiently loud for her to hear. She recognized him, and, with a cry of joy, turned the prow of her canoe toward the island. At the same instant, a canoe darted across her course, com- ing from the east, and in it were three war- _riors, one of whom Clarence instantly recog- nized as Coacoochee, not.only by his person. but by his voice, as he yelled : “Holho! the White Dove has come te meet me at last, has she ?” “ Back, you dog, or you shall die!” eried Ona, as the prow of the other canoe struck against her own, and the bright barrel of a pistol was leveled at the ebief's head. “Shoot him, Ona; show no merey now,” shouted Clarence, who was exerting every nerve to close with the Indians in his canoe. The sound of his voice caused Coacoochee to turn toward him. “Ho! hot the pale-faced lover here? He shall die !” And the chief raieed his rifle with an ever deadly aim upun Clarence. But the report of Ona’s pistol rang loud and clear, and the rifle fell from the villain’s grasp, for she had sent a bullet through the arm which raised it. The next instant, one of Clarenee’s revolvers was at work, and one of Coacooche’s men—the nearest one to Clarence—fell dead in the canoe. The baffled chief, with a yell of rage and mor- tification, sprung from his canoe into the shallow cliannel, and ran into the tall grass, and in a moment was lost toview. The other warrior hurried up, and would have gained the samé refuge, had not Ona, whose “ blood was up,” served a “retainer” on him from her pistol, which tumbled him oyer in the water, where he struggled so desperately that, * pity, Clarence sent a bullet through his rain. The next instant, the lovers were in each other's arms. “Ona! mine—mine forever!” he cried. “Thine forever!’ she replied. Then, as he saw the Indians from the camp hurrying to the shore, having been aroused b the firing, he hade Ona follow him, and pad- dled back to the landing. There he explained the attack upon Ona by Coacoochee, and the fate of the latter and his ~ party. The Indians wished at once to pur- sue and kill Coaeooehee; but Clarence, re- ang time as all-precious now, for he feared , father’s pursuit, persuaded them to aban- don that idea, and at onee ‘to resume their course. When the warriors learned that Ona was determined to aceompany Clarence back to his people, they were sorely puzzled. They knew that Arpiaka would never forgive them if he knew that they helped to carry his daughter away—and yet he had bidden them to cbey every order of Clarence until he had been safely placed within reach of his people. One of them asked Ona: “ Will the ‘ White Dove’ leave her father and her red brothers and sisters ?” “ Yes, for a little time , but I will return to them,” she answered. “ When ?” asked the warrior. “ After the pale-faced chief has become my husband, I love my father, and I leve his people, and will not be long away fromthem.”’ “Will the ‘White Dove’ swear by the Great Spirit that she will come back ?” “ Yes, as sure as the Great Spirit hears me, [ will return!” said Ona. With this promise the Indians were satisfied, and instantly prepared to resume their voy- age. They wished Ona to leave her canoe - and enter theirs with Clarenee ; but she would not, preferring to go on with them in her own, which was so light and well-modeled, that she could very easily keep up with them, or even outstrip their best speed, if she 8o desired. They now moveu rapidly on, and bed , gained several’ miles before the day brone. They did not land to’ breakfast, but ate in their boat, and then, with every muscle strained, they pressed forward, hoping, before night reached them, to arrive at their destina tion. Leaving them thus, we will return t Arpiaka. oon after the sun arose, he ealled for Ona, for'she seldom was absent from the morning meal. The servant, who was sent for her, turned and said that her door was fastened n the inside, and that he could get no re- > his call. ee ee ne + ee ee ee ee ee _ The New York Library. In an instant, the threat which Ona had | in their canoe, taking the back track, 80 as t made not to live without Clarence, came to his memory, and knowing her strong will and passionate spirit, he feared that she had com- mitted suicide. Hurriedly he went to her room, and, after calling and receiving no an- swer, he forced in the door, The open win- dow told him in a moment how she had left the room, and a note, left upon her little table, told him the wherefore. It was as follows: “Ever Dear Farner :—For the first time in my life Iact in disobedience to your wishes. I am too young té die—to die of a broken heart. You have driven that heart’s master from me, and I have followed him. Pur- suit is useless, for 1 swear by the memory of my mother, that I will end my life with my own hand if you at- tempt to tear me from him! If you do not, when he is my husband, and I know that you will welcome me back, I will return: to you, and bé ever dutiful, ever fondly, your Ona,” A groan of agony burst from his lips, as he read this note. “ My child, my child!” he moaned. “ Alone, alone—all is dark without Ona!” He wandered out, and found that her canoe was gone, and then he went to her favorite arbor, and sat down and wept—wept long and bitterly. His tears seemed to relieve him, for, after a time, he became more composed, and returned to his lodge. But a cloud was on his brow, which he could not dispel. Who but those who have lost one dearer than life to them, one whose voice and smile was like the music and light of heaven te their souls, can appreciate his grief, his utter loneliness ! He would haye gone in pursuit, and be sought her return ; but he knew that she was one who, having her mind once set, could not be turned, and he dared not attempt it. And he knew, too, how truthful she was, and thaf she would return if she lived, and with that thought he sustained his heart in its desola tion, mourning now, when it was too late, thaf he had not consented to let Clarence remain. He liked the young man—had found him brave, honorable, and of good principle. He did not fear that his daughter would meet with wrong at his hands but still se grieved for her absence. CHAPTER XLII. It was noonday, or, perhaps, a little later, when the two canoes, containing Clarenee, Ona, and their party, arrived opposite the once-lovely and fruitful island upon which Clarence had been first taken prisoner, the former home of iaka and his braves. Here they stopped and landed for a short time. Ona’s dark eyes were tearful when. she saw how desolate and blackenad all was now which had been so full of fruitful beauty when she left the spot, and the faces of the warriors were gloomy ; but they remembered how Chikika had punished the second invad- ers, and of Indian Key, and were silent. They had lost, fruit-trees, and corn, and houses ; but the one could grow, and the other be built again, But the pale-faces had lost many lwes, which could never be restored again ! After eating dinner, the party were ready to proceed again, but, before leaving, one of the Indians ascended the lofty tree which had before been used as a look-out, for, from amid its thick-leaved branches, the sentinel placed there could command # most extend- ed view, reaching with the vision as, far as the main land, and quite overlooking the emal! island, some three or four miles distant, which we have noticed before., He had hardly reached the first limb, when a cry of alarm broke from his lips. He had detected the pale-faced sentinels in the tree tops upon the small island—the soldiers who had been placed there by the commander of the third expedition of invsion, for they had not the Indian cunning to conceal themselves from an experienced eye, like that of the war- rior, He instantly communicated the disco- very to his companions, one of whom soon joined him. ae could from their position see the camp of the soldiers and their boats, for the island on which they were, as well as the tree in which they stood, was much higher than the other. Their little party, comin from the west through a narrow channel, h evidently not been seen by the look-outs, for |, no stir was visible on the smaller island to in- dicate it. The Indians having reported to Clarence, @ gonsultation was held, and with the consent, in fact by the strenuous advice of the latter, | the warriors silently and stealthily deoamped | gd ot ire: they paddled swiftly. toward wart, Chikika and Arpiaka of this expedition, and to themselves avoid danger. Clarenco, told them that to ensure their safety he and Ona would remain concealed uatil near night, and then would go on and meet the whites whom they would endeavor to persuade to re- turn, and not succeeding in that, would at any rate so misdirect them as to put them off the eourse which endangered their red ‘friends. Ona gave them a message to her father, which would exonerate them from all blame, and Clarence gaye them a liberal amount of gold from his purse. ) And then they went off silently, and Ona and Clarence felt that they were alone, and,to each other all in all. What to them was the. world, its good: or its evil, its riches or its overty, its self-righteousness, or its, misery. hey knew not, cared not for any world but} their own, peopled, enriched, beautified, light- ed by their love! Oh, such a world is heaver, more than heaven! Time was not counted while they spoke of the past, and pictured out their future, and soon the low-sinking sun told them that it was: time to move so as to. reach the other island before it set. Clarence had ascended the tree, and with a small field telescope satisfied himself that the. party was com of soldiers of his own: regiment; therefore he felt no fear/in advane:. ing ; but. though he was in his uniform, which, still showed the rents made when he received the numerous. wounds, he determined, for Ona’s safety, to hoist a handkerchief as, a white flag in the bow of his canoe, for she) was in the picturesque costume of an Indian girl, and her sig, SSE might, without pro- raw fire upon her. ith her in the stern and himself in ;the bow of the canoe, he at. last; pushed off, and. e camp of the soldiers. They, knew in a short time that they were watched, but no signs of @ move- ment upon; the island eine seen, C halted just outside of gun shot from. it and fired a gun to attract attention, He then stood up in the canoe and waved his flag, be- ing determined to avoid every risk, of being shot by his own friends. : After a short delay, three armed boate put off from the:island, and approached cautious- ly, for an ambuseade was feared, until an offi« cer in ther leading: boat, Captain Fulton, re cognized Clarence. "then he dashed on 4 Tapicly, and in a mo- ment had him by the ; | “Heavens, Febiger! Is this. you, really “ Me, or all. that is left of me, for I’ve been cut up and thinned down considerably since I left the regiment!” replied Clarenee. “ Why, we thought you surely had been killed, and I have your commission now with me, which J was going to send. home to your mother, with an account of your supposdd fate. And this—this squaw with! you, does, she speak English? She looks very light for an Indian!” Clarence laughed outright,,and Ona smiled. “ Permit me, Captain Fulton,” said the former, “to introduce to you, Miss Livings- ton; formerly of New York, but late of Mag- nolia Place, Florida, who will soon be my | bride !” ; Fulton blushed deeply, and said: “ Excuse : me, lady—we soldiers, become very rough here in the wilderness and swamps. Your costume misled me !” “It requires no excuse from the lips of a friend to. my Clarence!” said’ the beautiful girl. ‘When lam beyond the wilderness, I will resume the dress which 18 worn by ladies of my race !” «And ‘well will it become you, lady. | Ex- cuse the bluntness of an old soldier, but never have I seen in our halls of beauty one to compare with you. My lieutenant is a fortu- “you, or your ghost ?” » nate man!” Ona bowed and blushed, for she was all un- used to compliments ; yet she need not, for the captain was too sincere and honest to think of flattery, “But we must hurry back—the. colonel ‘is _ in one of his devilish humors to-day—killed. & poor devil of an Indian, after torturing him. almost to death to try and make him betray , the hiding-place of his people. We are all heartily sick of him and his brutality. We must return, and then you mnat tell me how you eseaped aud all about itl” Eomicbooks (E(o)