The New York Herald Newspaper, May 13, 1858, Page 2

2 NEW YORK HERALD, THURSDAY MAY 13, 1857—QUADRUPLE SHEET. SHE BELFRY OF THE PAST, ay WILLaw 088 WALLACE. goto, or thunder the wo arewrey Gress scene the numbers may eo canion soul as it listens below, dt must throb to the changeable chime. mI For, but hark! now tne raptares of boyhood a} % a rainbow 18 spanni some 13e¢ + ov sees ‘with {te olou » and the eye Sith its When that bell in its belfry is stirr'a. Iv. Ah! no matter what themes from the music may sweep, And no matter what feelings may start; Not a mortal who listens but sometimes must weep, As he tremblingly looks in the — deep That is found in the happiest heart. v. ‘Yet, oh! A sag is there one who has listened that bell Rang by the breeze or the blast, Wonld o'erthrow—while the numbers sonorously we swell, over the spirit fall many a spell— belfry built up by the past? BLANCHE BERTRAND; OR, PERILS OF THE BORDER BY EMERSON BENNETT. Eatered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by Rongxt Boek, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Oourt for the Southern District of New York. OHAPTER I. ‘THE VOYAGERA ‘The angle on the right bank of the Great Kana. wha, formed by its junction with the Ohio, is called Peint Pleasant, and is a place of historical note. Here, on the 10th of October, 1774, during what is known as Lord Dunmore’s War, was fought one of the fiercest and most desperate battles that ever took place between the Virginians and their forest foes— ® battle which is believed by some to have been, rather than the action of Lexington and Concord, the opening scene of the great drama of the Revolu- tion—for the Indians in this instance, it has since in order to pave the way for an easy conquest, in the ‘event of the rebelliously-inclined colonists venturing ‘Bpon an open rupture with the mother country. After the battle in question, in which the Iidians | were defeated with great loss, and driven back to their towns, in the interior of what is now the State ef Obio—and whence Say would again have been routed by their indignant and chivalrous foes, but for the jimous condect of Virginia’s governor, unmore, who, a8 commander-in-chief of all the forces, pretended to have formed a treaty of with an almost conquered and barbarous i an inglorious retreat—after i ce it the <a scenes of strife which al- peniry areodhr-Tone followed, and which in this sec- tion of country were continued for many after ‘that establishment of peace which acknow! colonies of America a free and independent In fact, it may be said that there was no real for the hardy and daring settlers of the West till after Ger Wayne's celebrated treaty of ville in 1795; and Point Pleasant and vicinity, oo a interval, gem oe mae a cones — @ prominen' 7 , Magazine au rendezvous jor the different traders and emigrants of ‘the great interior of Vi , who found the dee; and navigable waters of the Kanawhaa safe an convenient channel for the transportation of their goods to and from the banks of the Ohio. ‘The first fort erected here was & large rectangular stockade; and within this enclosure,a year or two subsequent tothe battle of Point Pleasant, fell the woble and celebrated Shawnee chief, Cornstalk, to- ee acquaintance with the rude and perilous scenes of the Soutien, over tiag, be his mae, dress and appearance would seem to testify; but as we shall have occasion in the course of our narrative to fally ad = who aos ve oe will leave him for the present, and turn to the approaching group, whom he see! to be regarding with lively inte- Of this group, composed of a middle d man ana four female, with a blac! servant fol- k female some five or six paces in the rear, there was one W! the most casual eye would have singled out and rested <p eis poem, ann mea pe only we gon ive such & as will convey in the fewest words a ae of her appear- ance, with a slight ig of her character. The lady in question, then—for she evidently was a lady, born and bred—was a parently about twenty ears of of @ graceful figure, and of cast of feature which, besides being beautiful in every lineament; rarely fails to affect the beholder with something like a charm. Her soft blue eyes looked sweetly out from under long, drooping lashes; a kind of active, intelligent tion ap- to beam from the whole countenance; and when she spoke, disclosing two rows of pearly teeth, & witching smile played around two as pretty lips as were ever seen; and when she laughed, if we may be permitted the poetic idea, the music thereof seemed to come from the realm of sunlight, for her soul in such moments ever seemed to light up her fair face with an almost unnatural brilliancy. But effeminate to a refined degree, that face was not wanting in character; and he could have been no connoisseur in human nature who would have j id from ne pad or j moods; for was haman, passion, will and pride; and there wore times when those soft eyes could flash, those laughing lips curl, and those mellow tones become commanding and ste! Though of light complexion and a naturally skin, the present slight would have indi such as might result from a lot her dress, of finer materials an Her travelling costume—a fine brown habit, high in the neck, buttoned closely over the bosom and around the wrists, aud co: down to her small, retty feet, without trailing on the ground—was Deat and becoming; and with her riding cap and its waving ostrich plume, ‘set gaily above her flowing curls, her tout ensemble contrasted foreibly with the rough, unpolished ap ce of those of her sex beside her, with linsey bed gowns, scarlet flannel petticoats and bleached linen caps. “Oh, Blanche,” said one of the more venerable of her female companions, Porsaing @ conversation which had been maintained since quitting the open fort behind them, “I cannot bear to let you go, for it just seems to me as if something were going to bappen ap oan and wnen I feel that way something generally pen.” “Well, aunt,” returned Blanche, with a light eng. do a faut, ss the ae baged a will happen—for I e: one of these days to reac! my dear father and blessed mother, and give them such an embrace as is due from a dutifu ran goed to her parents—and that will be something that has not happened for two long years at least.’ “But I don’t mean that, Blanche,” returned the other, somewhat petulantly; “and jast laugh like a gay and thoughtless gir when you ought to ed Because yet we come safe thus me yu a partially sett! country, uu think, believe, your own etty face will af off danger in the more wilderness—but I warn you that a fearful journey is before “ha Let me repeat, dear Blanche, what your uncle here has already told you, that scarcely a boat descends the Ohio—as calm and beautiful as it looks to-day, under this bright sunshine—that does not encounter more or Jess peril from the savages that prowl along either shore; and some of them that go down freighted with human life are heard of no more, and none ever return to tell the tale.” “But why repeat this to me, dear aunt,” returned Blanche, with a more serious air, ‘when you know it is my destiny, either good or bad, to attempt the voyage? My nts have sent for me to join them in their new home, and it is my duty togo to them, be the peri] what it roe . “I know it, dear girl,” sighed the other:§ “but still I feel very sad about this jing, and desire to bem, | warn you of your anger, that you may not be lul into a fatef security.” “But Iam not the commander of the boat,” re turned Blanche, “nor even one who would make a | very good defender of it; #o pray, dear aunt, be- prot d your warnings upon Prod gin duty it is to carry it safely to its destination. For instance, now, | there stands ne Fairfax, my father’s ey f and my allo guide and protectore, with rifle in band, and looking very warlike; my black Duke, ‘too, is there, as brave as a@ lion when the is TD. fair brown se fe Senres ex; open air, pe Seurney: ead’ not more fashionable make than those around her, proclaimed her more recently from the older settlements at the eastward. \ | | | } at asafe distance; not to mention the three hardy | boatmen beside them, who look as if fi = be a rather pleasant pastime tl an dear aunt, and let me reap the benefit of it, sage toner toad otherwise; 80 suppose you give them their proper eharge, without | | LITERATURE. contained two berths, one for herself and the othe: for her waiting woman—a feet—a rude, but camp stools—a kind of front burean, evidently of ier workmanshii a mirror—a few books —end a few other Jes of minor importance; and though re @ proud beauty of to-day might have entered it a smile ot contempt, yet for that Hod and seqite of senate it was considered on elegant, drew many an encumium from V bal were thus occnpi low, the uncle of Blanche, calling the bostmuen, together, au warn- best , perhaps,” he , “be no as keep in the current; but your watch must not be elected for a ‘le moment, great either night or dea; and do not, I most solemnly charge and warn 1» any cleqnmeanee®, = on an; wi rr, yourselves to decoyed to either shore!” eaid one of the men, “T doubt it not,” rep! point; “I believe you are all faithful and true men or you woud not have been selected by the agent of Colonel Bertrand for down more precious freight than you ever before; but still the wisest and the best of men have lost their lives by ‘iving ear to the most earnest Sppeale of humanity. ‘ou understand what I mean? ite men, appa- rently in the greatest distress, will hail your boat, represent themselves as having just Lge from the Indians, and beg of you, for love of God, in the most piteous tones, to come to their relief; but turn a ear to them—to each and all of them—even should yor know the pleaders to be of your “T hope we maderstand our duty better, Colonel,” the * commander of the the " straightening himself LITERATURE. } Oh, dat’s a clar case, Miss Bl: tb an air rele oan t | up with an air; “claras de y of day, dat is, What Yad dis chile'do?” Golly heb bens! I'd just stand up and fight ’em, like Philip fit the Britiehers !” “But if I have heen rightly informed, my brave Duke,” pursued Blanehe, with a mischiewous smile, “you were not always noted for cou: 3 for daring time that your Philip fought the British, and especia!ly u re] hen made that the latter were ‘heart nie ae were not always to be found; and that when our was burned, you mae rather a narrow escape from the hay mow; but ry had stolen thither to get your wea- er ns «shia ahs } “Well, dar, now, Miss Blanche,” returned Dake, hanging his head and looking not a little foolish; u y nuffin more ‘bout dat; kase dat’s clar case, dat is; and I’s@ pusson as always has | de maggonimity to own up beat when I's cotched | clar, Tia, But den you see, Misa Blanche,” parsued | Duke, rousing up With s more martial air, I was qonngee den; 20. som or a | wasn’t Injuns, no how; and Injuns am what | ’ (SSS wee a “Well, I on! ‘will prove as brave as talk, for'it is more tha i le courage will be put to the test before we ‘our destination.” “You doesn’t see naffin, does you, Miss Blanche, to gib you dat dar nogstication?” inquired Duke, glancing rather more from one shore to the than seemed quite consistent with the charac- ter of one so v co gong “Well, I thought T did see something rather sus- picious,” said che, with a serious air. “Golly, hebbens! whar?” cried Nuke, his eyes opening to their greatest extension, and his face losing @ shade of its midnight hue Then verceiv- ing a rather mischievous twinkle in the eyes of his own ;,for in such a@ case your Own | mistress, and comprehen at once that she was brother might deceive —not wilfully and payin upon his feelings, inetantiy recovered voluntarily, perhaps—but locos of being - | himeelf, and added, in a tone intended to be very ed on b: savages, Ives conc: sed. Yes, ified and warlike, “Just show me de suspercious such gs have been known as on .iend being | objeck, Miss Blanche, and you'll see dar’s no flinch thus used to lure another to his destr. ‘ion; and 80 | in dis chile.” be cautious, vigilant, brave and truce, and may the God keep you all from harm!” As he fi speaking, Blanche returned to the deck with her friends, atence proceeded to take an ailectionate leave of all, recei many a tender message for her parents from these who held them in love and veneration, Quite 2 crowd of the idle and curious, mostly wo- men and children, had by this time collected around the landing, to witness the departure of the boat; and as the latter swung out, and with the current, a general cheer was given, followed by many eurnestly spoken wishes, and sileutly uttered prayers, for the tray hed the voyagers in general, and the “sweet lady” ‘ial, who had now, with high hopes and a beating heart, fairly entered npon the most perilous portion of her long and lous journey. to float down CHAPTER II. UNDER Way. Blanche Bertrand stood upon the deck of the boat, as it slowly glided down the stream, lookiug back to those trom whom she had tearfully parted, perhaps for the last time. She had been repeat- edly warned of danger, and was not ignorant of many of the perils which lay before her; and though young, brave, spirited and buoyant. she had secretly felt more than she had shown, while listen- ing to those who, childless themselves, loved her al- most asa daughter. She wel! knew it to be no mere ihe ney she had undertaken—that of travel- ing, only some two or three attendants, through the long wilderness which lay between the eastern section of Virginia and what was then called the Falls of the Ohio, now the city of Louisville ; but she had come of a high spirited chivalrous stock—of a descent noted for courage, from the troublous times which drove ner persecuted ancestors to Virginia, down to the present ; and s0, when summoned by the call of her father to join him in the far wilder- ness, she had hesitated not a moment to commit her- self to the perilous undertaking. The father of Blanche, Colonel Philip Bertrand, was a native of Virginia, and a descendant of one of the Huguenot refugees, who fled from their native | land after the reyocation of the edict of Nantz in 1685. He had been an officer of some note ree | the Revolution—a warm political and personal frien of the author of the Declaration of aay aaah and a gentleman who had always stood high in the esteem of his assoclates and cotemporaries. Though at one time a man of wealth, Colonel Bertrand had lost much, and suffered much, through British invasion, as already intimated in the preceding chapter ; and when, shortly after the close of the war, he had met with a few more sirious reverses, he had been fain to accept a grant of land, near the Falls of the Ohio, tender+d him by Virginia, which then held jurisdiction over the entire territ now constituting the State of Kentucky. This grant had decided the Colonel upon seeking his new possessions and building up a new home in the then far West; and as his wite had insisted upon accompanying him on his first tour, he had assented | to her desire, on condition that Blanche should be sether with his son, Elinipsico, Red Hawk, and | being obliged to treasure up such doleful matters in | another Indian—a)! basely murdered by the garri- ‘son, in revenge for the loss of one of their —- jens, who was unfortunately shot near the fort by another party of Indiana di the time that Corn- wtalk and hie comrades, on a visit to the command- ant, were being detained as by ostages. As if a curse had fallen upon the fort because of this most foul assassination of innocent parties, it soon after destroyed; and another and smali¢r composed of a cirele of cabins, was erected up the bank of the Ohio, about two hundred above the mouth of the Kanawha. This latter was standing at the period we have chosen for the ‘ing of our story, and contained several! families Pe men, women, and children, who lived by trading, annting, and cultivating the lands in the immediate For some distance back of the fort, and all be- ‘tween the angle of the two rivers, the ground had been swept of trees and put under cultivation; and Ss ot age se ‘es sharp it of the angle, and the a of those Pwho had fallen $0 nob in the bat- already rngges wield gg a ee 4 soft, green groun the youth and junior ‘csambers of 1 station, who not unfrequently frolicked here with all the light and hearty children who had no cause for fear, though each had more than once heard the shrill war whoop af the red man, and knew not at what moment it | hich oe ad pared to " scene which we are now presen one of ‘anid and picturesque of 1 °, veal torn 790, was ing down a —_ forest, sweet and | green ves an blossoms, Q i like 1 mirrors between, in their «till depths ever: above them—npon the open ground, | tle and fortified dwellings | settlers—and lastly, the settlers them- or romping groups, according » as ~~ lawn between the land- old, which was now deserted landing we have mentioned was fastened a of the kind used by the early navigators of estern rivers. In and a it unlike the canal boats of modern times, more roughly put together, it being only re- | the downward voyage. Ite gunwale, al- | it from stem to stern, was some five or the water; it had an arched deck, ne nearly to iy while a couple across, a long steering oar pnt the manner in which it was Upon the deck of this boat, at the moment we the scene to the reader, stood five indivi- | , of three distinct classes of society, bat all | alike engaged in watching a group of persona, most- ly females, who were slowly approaching the land- | over the green lawn already mentioned. Of five, one was a stout, sleek negro, in partial | livery, and evidently a house or body servant; three | } f | Fe 3 i i A cite ii fa : 2 Hl ye were boatmen and borderers, as indicated by their , bronzed and coarse attire; but the , of & different cast and higber grade than either of the others, would deserve from us more than a —_ notice, were he not indeed so connected with the thread and incidents of our story as to render a genera! description both necessary and pro- | . | P*Tie was » young man, some two and twenty years | of age, of a fine, jing person, and a clear, | intelligent countenance; and in the lofty | of his bead—in the gleam of his large, ye—in the inter lighting up of his and in hie easy, graceful, but there was a something which denoted one of superior mind, refinement and edaca- tion. His dress, too, though fashioned after the manner of the borders v i ho | told, to touch either shore between the different | Me borders, gave evidence Of one wi | something to divert her thoughts from asad and had an eye to his external appearance. His green | hunting frock, of finer fabric than those usually | worn in that section of country, was tastefully | ornamented with fringes of ‘different colors; | his buckskin trowsers fitted him as if cut by a tailor; bis leggins and moccasins were close, neat and ornamented aleo; and his felt hat, with its broad band, slightly looped brim, and dark, droop ing feather, was set proudly, almost jauntily, npon his classic shaped head. Above the polished belt around his waist, the bright blade concealed in its sheath below, projected the silver mounted bnek horn handle of his hanting-knife; bis n der horn and ornamented pullet pow y and conveniently adjasted under his ri $ and * in an attl of exquisite grace, that would have made a m for a sculptor, he partially leaned upon ed rifle. That he who had with the caste who had bad more than a slight than ong my poor, silly brain, and perforce become as lugu- brious as the most soberminded of my Huguenot an- cestors.”” “Oh, Blanche! Blanche! you are a wild, giddy girl yet, Sag) iret the per oy By side, tapping her cheek playfully; ‘and God fo iat, merry heart be ever saddened by a cnking calamity |" “Amén!” returned Blanche. ~ “ You never did know what it was to fear!” pur- sued the good woman, rather proudly. “No,” she repeated, turning to the others, “ Blanche Bertrand never did know what it was to fear, I do believe!” “ Just like ber father!” joined in the husband of the matron, the brother of Blanche's mother, the commander of the station, and the middle-aged gen- tleman mentioned as one of the party; “a true daughter of a true soldier. Her father, Colonel Phil heart !—never did seem to know what it was to foar—and Blanche is just like him, she is. Well do Tremember,” he went on, “when he and some hali-a-dozen brother off «wer pred yur- sued by that scoundr ton, ab the time the v: d was tryiug * fom Jefferson, and rest of the assembly, ivi lus brute master, Lord Cornwallis! Bless my soul! what do think? Philip wanted w make a stand overwhelming numbers to the kt gasp; and when he heard that the infernal wret shes had fired his barn and storehouses, it took mure than one man pgs 3 him from ey an e yengunse y 4. “Thank you, Unele, for recalling that troubloas time!” said Blanche; “for it reminds me of passing safely through one peril, and is © pre: of my ving another, even should sunt Mary's forebo- dings have a foundation in truth, which I trast have not. Ab! well do | remember the time scene you speak of, uncle!” pursued the fair ¢a, with heightened color and a flashing eye; “and had I then been a man, or even a youth in his teens, in- stead of a weak, 7, girl of eleven, my father would at least have one to join him in taking pay oon upon the ruthless destroyers of our beau- tiful home !” ‘ “Ay, that he would! that he would!” cried the elated commander, clapping. his hands; “that he would, I do believe! , Blanche, my pretty he- roine, you should have been born a man ' “So wish not all of your rex!" langhed Blanche. “And so would not eo) Ay ad I bony! years inger, single, and none in!” was the gallant foe laughing’ Inder of the uncle. By this time the parties had reached the boat; and the young man already described—and alluded to by Blanche Bertrand on aque Fairfax, the secretary of her father—at once stepped forward, and,in a plite and deferential manner, offered his a" to he different females, to assist them on board. The myth me bead ek); 4 lightl slightly, as sprung quickly and lightly to the deck ut a chose obesrver might have detected the slight fluch which mantled his noble, expressive features, as his 7 for a single instant met hers. She might herself have seen it—perhaps she did— but there was no ding glow on her own bright, pretty face, as she inquired, in the calm, dig- nified tone of one having the right to put the ques- sean 4 bot he pos npn Rows gE = inequality of position between herself an: ima eddremsed:— : ugene, is everything prepared for our depar- ture?” “So far asl know, Miss Blanche,” an young man, with @ reepectfal bow, and o more deeply. “Everything should be seen to before we set out on this long journey, which will only permit us some wered the ing still two or three safe landings between here and our des- | bend in the river # tination, the Falls of the Ohio,” par Hianche, in in a rather positive tone. “It will net do for our boat to spring a leak again, as it did coming down the Kanawha—for it will not be safe for as, 1 am forte and trading posts on our “No, indeed!” rejoined ber aiot, quickly; “ it will be as much as your lives are worth to veature | a foot from the main current of the Ohio—for news | reached us only the other day that many boats had been attacked this spring, and several lost, with all on board.” “No one feela more concerned absut the safe ze of Mise Bertrand than myself,” replied Ra gene, ina deferential tone; |“ and since our arrival here | have left nothing undone that I thonght might possibly add to her security and comfort.” “That is true, to my pe ! knowledge.” joined in the uncle of Blanche; ank you, Mr. Fairfax, in behalf of my fai n. if Eugene bowed; and Blanche, turning quickly away, with, “ Come, friends, jet me show you my little retreat,” at once led her femele com, anions, by a short stairway near the bow, ‘own into the body of the boat, where a emall, neat in had heen Cometructed and fitted up exprosely for her use, It Bertrand—God bless him for a true | last to touch his—and then | left among her friends till such time asa place could be prepared which might in some degree be con- | sidered a fit abode for one so carefully and tenderly | \ | ! reared. Blanche woold gladly have gone with her parents; but on this point her father had been inexorable— declaring that she would have to remain at the East | till he should see proper to send for her; and as he was aman of positive character, and a rigid disci- plinarian, the matter had been settled without argu- ment. Besides his wife, and the half a dozen ser- vants taken with him, leaving two with Blanche, there was another member of Colonel Bertrand’s household, whom it is proper to mention in this con- nection. We refer to ne Fairfax. This young man, of what in Virginia was consid- ered a it, had been lefta poor orpran in mere childhood, and been taken in charge by Colonel Bertrand, who had given him a good edacation and otherwise treated him as one of the family, rather than asa dependant. Yet being naturally of that same high spirited nature which characte: those around him, Eugene, as he grew ap, had sometimes felt the di ity between himself and the proud and beautiful Thane . Though for years beneath the same roof, there had never existed anything iike in- timacy between them. He had looked = her as the beautiful heiress of a wealthy and distin: family—she upon him as a humble friend—a depend- ant, even ifaeonfidant. He had always borne in mind his station in her presence—she had never for a moment seemed to lose si «es own. And yet, strange as it may seem A a 5 for her ix his youth, which had st with his ripening years—and this in spite of his most earnest strivings to the contrary. Not a word tend- ing to reveal this feeting had ever passed his lips ; and if Blanche knew of it, it was only through a wo- man’s naturally quick, intuitive perception: and no- thing in her conversation or manner had ever shown that she was aware of what on his part she might ibly have considered the beight of presumption. When Colonel Bertrand removed to the West, Ea- gene Fairfax, as we have said, accompanied him. and coming of age shortly after, he had acce; the liberal offer of his benefactor to remain with him in the capacity of private secretary and confidential agent. On taking possession of his it, the Colonel had almost immediately erected a ort, and offered such indncements to settlers as to speedily collect around him qaite a little communi- ty—of which, as a matter of course, he became the ead and chief; and to supply the wants of his own family and others, and increase bis gains im a legiti- mate way, be had opened a store, and filled it with from the Eastern marts, which goods were sported y toy over the mountains to the Ka- nawha, we thence Hd re, 2m oy Rn whence their removal to F ran an tacy inatter. T6 purchase and ship these goods, and deliver a package of letters to ma in the Bast, Eugene bad been thrice despatched—his third com- mission aleo extending to the escorting of the bean- tifol heiress, with her servants, to her new home. ‘This last commission had been so far executed at the time chosen for the opening of our stor, to bring the different parties to the mouth of the Great Ka- nawha, whence the reader has seen them slowly floating off upon the still, glassy bosom of “the belie of rivers.” ‘ With this explanation of the relative positions and purposes of the different parties, and whieh we con- ridered necessary to a understanding of what ie to follow, we Will forthwith proceed te the action of our eventful story. Blanche Bertrand, as we have said, stood upon the deck of the boat, looking back at her friends, and occasionally waving her bend, and receiving almilar silent tokens of regard in return, till the first slight mt them entirely from her’ view; and then, with » long, deep sigh, she glanced over the calm, shining waters of the Ohio, at the dark, heavy, but beautiful forests whigh lined either shore, and turned to the different faces around her, with the air of one who felt ill at ease, and wished for gloomy train Perceiving her stout, sleek servant Duke, in con- versation with his colored female companion, she called him to her side. “Well, Miss Blanche?” said the negro, respectfully approaching bis mistress, and doffing his hat polite ly, his smouth, ebony face fairly shining with good humor. “Did you hear what Unele William said about the dangers of this voyage “Oh, yes, Mise Mlanche—T's heerd chery one of dem dar ob. watin —” Wel! what do you ‘hink about what you heard? Were you seared any “OF 10, Miee « neher mit skeered none, | coesn’t den dar kind of pus x P Dike that we «hontd what woul! yo fealty be att y lndian eor } ' “Very well, Duke,” returned Blanche, “I will take your word for the present. And now and tell ir Eugene I wish to speak to him.” bet ry , who was below wheo the mi of Blanche reached him, instantly turned on his heel, with a slightly flushed face, and repaired to the sock Sate tanto received him with er wont f° “T have sent for you, Bagene,” she said, “to know if you taink we really have anything to fear during this voyage ?—You have made the journey twice, I believe, and ought to know. It is true, you told me scmething of it before we crossed the moun- tains; but I confess I paid httle heed to it then; and pve should not now have thought of question- ~ you on the matter, except that the repeated warnings of my relatives at Point Pleasant have made me, ip spite of myself,a little uneasy. Not that I by any means intend to Ln ig timid maiden,” she added, with a somewhat kindling eye; “but still, where there is danger, one likes to Know it, and be prepared for it; and so I wish you to speak freely, and tell me the worst, without any reserve. “1 believe there is little danger, Miss Blanche—I should say com ‘ively little—so long as we keep vigilant, and not venture to approach either shore,” replied Eugene. ‘Many boats and their crews have been captured in descending the Ohio, it is true; two or three have in fact been seized by the savages this ey several others had very nar- row escapes; but in every instance, I am inclined to believe, the misfortane has resulted, either from negligence and carelessness on the part of the crew, or from their giving ear, as your uncle expressed it, to the most earnest appeals of humanity.” “I do not exactly comprehend the last remark, which ascribe to my uncle,” said Blanche. decaye expaiged Wagene. "Ia. ther words, as decoys,” e: iene. “In other we % you man undertand there are a number of white en among the Indians, either renegades or prison- who occasionally, either voluntarily or by com- pulsion, a) ‘apon the banks of the Ohio, hail some ing boat, and most piteously plead to be taken on board, alleging they have just effected their escape from a hornble ; and it is hard for men, with feeling hearts, to listen to their touching pray- ers and refuse to aid them. And in attempting to | aid them many have been lost, for often a number of Indians are lying in ambush to attack the boat the moment it touches the shore; and it not unfre- { quently happens that the kindly disposed boatmen | and passengers, when not all killed, are forced in turn to act as decoys to others, before being carried into a captivity which generally results in a death of the most agonizingtortures.” “But since it is so well known that men are thus acting as decoys,” said Blanche, “it seems very strange that any party should be so foolish as to | give heed to them for a single moment.” “But you must al-o understand, Misa Blanche, that there men are not known to be decoys, even when suspected, until too late for the escape of those who have sought in eye faith to assist them; for many times the cry for mercy has come from those in the greatest need, and many a deserving fellow bas been rescued in this manner If there | were any means of knowing the true from the falre, these sad results which so often follow might be avoided on both sides: first, in the boata bein, able to escape danger—secondl, , in those in need receiving due assistance: for if men have lost their lives by beeding the false appeals for succor, the truly suffering we likewise lost their lives through their abandopment by those who suspected them of treachery.” “T perceive it is not easy to discriminate between = - and wrong in either case,” retarned inche. “Therein bas ever lain the difficulty, with brave, noble-minded men,” sai “thoagh it will certainly not exist on our vo, td “Why will it not?” inquired Blanche. “Because, having one valuable life to preserve, we have resolved not to be turned aside by any human prayer, whether true or false.” “You say one valuable life!” with a like emphasis on the numeral one, then, of value aboard this boat’ “There is certainly one we esteem of more value ast e rest!” a. - “Well, von jon must consider ae ighty fion'eu, my, part 10 feign, goorance of the, party oon Mm, menat!” A ined the proud beauty, with a Took aad | in a tone #0 equivocal as to leave some dombt uj } the mind of whether she, was pi or otherwise. be it is leas a compliment than a simple statement of fact, that the life of the sole | daughter and heiress of Colonel Bertrand is of more consequence to the world than half-a-dozen lives of persons in more bumble conditions,” rejoined Ka- , in a tone and manner which left his own mean- as ambiguone as hers. looked at him for afew moments with a steady, searching gaze—a scrutiny which he bore with unchanged countenance, though he felt that py RAE LO and then she said, as if wishing to resume the main subject :— “1 trust nothing will happen to put any life In jeo- pardy, however valuable, or however humble!” “Such is my most earnest yer!” replied Eu- gene; “and | assure you, Miss Biatche, that nothin, on my part shall be wanting to insure the safety “While looking at Deautiful forest, with its green leaves, bright , and festooning vines,’ orsued Blanche, after a ar panting to the nor hern shore of the dark, placid river, “it is difficult to realize that murdering savages are lurking in its shadowy depths.” _ 2 ite many a human face and form,” re- turned Eugene; “fair and lovely to the view, but containing a base and treacherous soul within.” piafiché again tarned a quick, searching glance upon the speaker, as if she fancied there might be a hidden meaning in his words; but if sach was her surmise, his clear hazel eye met hers too frankly and oat, for the suspicion to be verified and re- tained to his disadvantage; and she forthwith re- sumed the conversation ina buoyant tone, advancin, one idea after another, and dwelling upoa each wi! & poetic fancy that quite astonished and charmed her hearer, to whom she had never seemed to un- bend #0 much before. Then, aa if suddenly recol- lecting berself, she changed the aupject abruptly to the voyage, made a few SS inquiries, and | turned away to descend below, saying as she de- | , in atone of musical sweetness; — “ Have a care, Eugene! I trast all to you!” “ And God knows | shall be faithful to the trast!" he murmured, gazing after ber retreating form, with an expression which revealed, more clearly than he might have wished, the secret passion which stirred the depths of his inmost being. The day, which proved a delightfal one through- out, pasted off without anything occarring worthy of note-- Eugene making a careful inspection of the arms and ammunition, seeing that everything was in a proper condi fon, and taking every precaution to insure the safety of all, and especially of the fair being whom he secretly worshipped, as the ancient idolators might have worshiped the sun, without hope of a reciprocity of feeling. Nt night a careful watch was set, the honrs of re- lief heing #0 arranged that nothing might be neg. lected through weariness; and yet so mach did Eugene feel his responsibility, as the head of the little party, that he remained up till near morning, walking to and fro along the deck, and now and then striving to penetrate the dim, starry light, which, along the broad bosom of the still, rolling river, lay heavy and black asa fonereal pall. The night, like the day, however, glided peacefal- ly away. the second morning of bat might fairly t be called the journey of pe daw ght and | giorions, and bringing our several rors to the Ceck with rene wed animation andt ry of epirite, The © cond day passed like the tiret rd like nd: and when on the tullowine nieht, nearly ul) the cuterent particr retired to reet, with that im | game of | ourrelves | when we reach our destination, you creased feeling of security which their so far event- had served to indace, it was little they an impending fate more terrible than their darkest fancies had ever conceived. CHAPTER IIL THS FIRST PERIL. Slowly and silently, save the occasional creak, dip and splash of the steerman’s oar, the boat of our voyagers was along 4; the bosom of the borne pon current, on the eventful night alluded to at the close of the pescomag Cry oe The hour was waxing late, and Eugene was the only one astir except the waten. The op ig uenmeatl calm and lovely, and the bright in the soft, blae vault above, were shining clearly down upon the dark, placid river, and upon the great sleeping forests which stietched far away from either sbore. Taking bis seat upon the deck as the different par- ties retired to rest, Eugene gradually became lost in @ pleasing reverie, his eyes occasionally resting upon the bosom of the stream and occasionally upon its dark, faintly defined boundaries, and yet with thonght so abstract and on so mechanical as not to note a single object within the range of his vision. His mind was upon Blanche—the proud, the beauti- ful and ng Blanche—and he was recalling a hundred little trifies of the last tew days, pape them together and weighing them in the ce of hope. Was she realy same as she had ap- peared of old—a being of indifference, dignity and reserve? Or had time and circumstances brought @ alight co lt if not hope At she was not wholly indifferent to his presence; that, if noth warmer, she considered him a friend, an intellectual companion, who might appreciate @ poetic thonght and fancy above the material plane; and these times he was recalling with delight—and almost unconsciously drawing a secret augury that he might not have ventured apon in more reasoning momenta—when he was suddenly roused, and somewhat startled, by a rough hand be- his shoulder, accompanied by the voice ot the boatman:— say, Cap'n, here's trouble!” hat is the matter, Dick?” inquired Eugene, weDois yuu see thar’ heavy fog rising that’ “Don’t you see ‘sa. t soon Biver us iy so thick that wow be able to tell a white man from a nigger?” replied the boatman— Dick Winter by name—a tall, bony, muscular, athle- tic specimen of his class. “Good beavens, so there is!” exclaimed Eugene, lcoking off upon the already misty waters. “It must have gathered very suddenly, for all was clear a mi- bute ago. “Not exactly, Cap’n, for I've watched it thicken- ing for five minutes, anyhow; but then, when a man’s asleep, & half hour seems not mofe’n a minute some- times.’ “But I was not asleep, Dick,” returned Eugene. “A rayther quar wake then, Cap’n—a deaf wake, by thunder!—for I called you three times afore I shu ou. z “That is strange,” said Eugene; “but no matter. What is to be done now? This is something I was not prepared for on such a night as this.” ks troublous, Cap'n, I'll allow,” returned Dick; “but we're in for’t, that’s sartin, and I s’pose we'll have to make the best on’t.” “But what is to be done ?—what do you advise ?” asked Eugene, in a roy excited tone, that indica- beg =) sears of alarm. a i - ef warn’t so skeered about the youn; lady, and it pot 80 dead agin orders ‘omen ng my plan would be a cl’ar and easy one— a run over to the Kaintuck shore, and tie up.’ “No! no!” said Eugene, positively; “that will never do, Dick—that will never do! { would not think of such a thing for a moment !—we must keep in the current, by al] means!” “Ef we can,” the boatman; “but when it gits so dark as we can't tell one thing from t’other, it'll be powerful hard to do; aud ef we don’t run agin a bar or bank afore morning, in spite of the best.o’ us, it’ll be the luckiest that ever I hada hand in. See! Cap’n—it's thickening up fast; can't see eyther hank at all, nor the water n the stars is getting dim, and it looks as if thar war a cloud all round us.” “I see! I see!” retnrned Engene, excitedly. “Merciful heaven! I hope no accident will befal us here ‘—and yet my heart almost misgives me !—for this, I believe, is the most dangerous part of our urbey—the vicinity where most of the boats have n captured by the savages.” “It basa bad look, Cap'n, thar’s no denying it; and I think the Kaintuck shore, whar the brutes is least like to be, is the safest ran we can make; but ef we put for that, we'll hev to do it while thar's light ——- to see our way, or elxe we mought find . bke @ capsized land turkie—legs up'ard, and no go. “No! no!” returned Eugene; “it must not be; I tell you we must try to keep the current.” “Then I'll jest ventur’ to obsarve, Cap'n, that it won't astonish me amazining ef we fetch up smash at the fost bend.” “At all events, we mast do the best we can, and trust the rest to Providence” “Jest as you say, Cap'n—Dick Winter's one of them as al’ays obeys orders, bit or miss And thar's one thing sartin, let happen whatsomever may—the red niggers can't see a alore we can them—and ef | it comes to the scratch, we're good for a few shots, anyhow.” “Heaven preserve us!" ejaculated Engene, think- ing of Blanche; “I would give up many a bright hope to be ineured inst thix rh There would be no safety in the Kentucky shore,” he pursued, as it weighing the advice of the boatman; the Indians | = — prowling along that shore as well as the - not quite so like to be,” returned Win- ter, Kase it's not quite so near thar stomping “Your advice may be good, Dick,” continued Eu- gene, beginning to pace rapidly to and fro, and watching the gathering and now almost imperetra- ble mist with an anxiety really painfal; “put I dare not take it; for it is only bay the most posi- tive orders of the Colonel, but T also have a presenti- ment that if we touch the land we are lost, “Wall, you're cap'n,” said Dick, “and it’s for you toway. Til do the best I can, forit’s little as I wants to gin the bloody brutes my scalp—to say nothing Shake Forse lad sy the boat nel a paure, @ more cheerful tone, proba intended to relieve in some de; the ap; 4 iety of his young commander, he — we can keep her afloat; and ef appen to strike it'll be easy pushing off; foiler that thar'll be Injuns thar to eyther. I'll stick to the steering oar, current, and it’s like we'll come Sa tion - e pom Kany i! Dick, 1 will cal yer pan yon.” Saying this Eugene hastened below, where require considerable effort on his part to wake them. At last, getting them fairly roused, he informed them, . he did not care to “A week. exclaimed one, in a tone which pm he comprehended the peril with the “Hosh!” returned Pugene, “there is no necessi for waking the others, and having a scene, Up! follow me, without a word!” of the Kentucky shore; but frankly ada = CF BAL ae difficulty and nger, a was a ity of theo “4 possibility of keeping “Then make that ibilfty a certainity, and it shall be the best nigh@s work you ever jormed!” rejoined Eugene, in a quick, excited tone. “We'll do the best we can, Cap'n/’ was the re- pape “but no man can be sartin of the current of is here crooked stream in a foggy night.” For the next half hour there was scarcely a word spoken—the men putting over their long sweeps or care, and trying, as Dick Winter it, to feel the current-.and Eugene pacing steadily to and fro along the deck, and striving in vain to pierce the misty gloom, which had gradually deepened, till not a thing could be perceived above, below, or around, At length, stopping suddenly, be said: — “What success, men? what snocess?”’ “All right, reckon, Cap'n—leastways aa far as we can see!” replied one to the right, witha light at his own joke. “Thar's no bottom round on this here side, and that’s one good sign. How is’t with you, Tom?” “Haint teched nary once, Seth,” replied his com- panion to the left. “Cheerily, men—be vigilant—leave nothing an- done— and we shall carry her safely through, I do believe!” rejoined Eugene, in a lighter and more ani- | mated tone. Another half hour passed away, when nearly the same questions were asked and answers given. “Bravo!” said Eugene, with inc) buoyancy of spirits; “if we can carry ber safely for an iy we may for two: and if for two, why not for ten and less than that will give as back our glorious sun ! Re vigilant.—be active—leave nothing undooe—and all have canee to remember this night with pleasure, gloomy as it looks now !” “ y, Cap'n!” was the cheerfol response. ‘or long silence followed——the voyagers slow- ly drifting down through a misty darkness impene- trable to the eye-—when suddenly our young com- mander, who was standing near the bow, felt the ex- tended branch of an overhanging limb slightly bruh ! | his face, He etarted with an exclamation of alarm ! ite some moment the boatman on the rig here, boys! we're agin the sbore, as sa e: in cnn th ic he ute aaa ing of boatmen i togetver in loud, quick, exci Push off the bow I" eried one “Quick! altogether, now! over with her!”’ shot eavatwe devil's in it! she’ “ "i 6 a muddy bottom !”” Prnnand a tare 9 Meantime the taden boat was brushing alo: against projecting bushes and overreac! limt and every moment getting more and more entangle gel while the long and pe oe of the boatmen, her off, were often plangt we oy enction, tom, into what withont ching: D what a) to a soft, clayey mud, from which the yes d tricated by such an outlay of ag tended st more to draw the clu craft upon the bank th wished to avoid. At Tength, scarcely more than minute from the first alarm, there was a kind of « tling together, as it were, and the boat immediate became fast and immovable. ‘The fact was announced by Dick Winter, in t characteristic manner, who added, with an oat that it was just what he e: ted. For a mome or two a dead silence followed, as if each comp: hended that the matter was one to be viewed in bia oye light. “Why do pause, men?” almost shouted I ne. “For God's sake, set to work at once, and g er off! Every moment we remain here is as mu: as our lives are worth!” “Its erful easy to say ‘git her off” Cap'n,” a swered Dick, “but I'd jest like to see ary ten m that could do it, in a night like thi: “And I'd jest like to aee anything!” put in the o called Seth, who was ever with his joke, } surrounding circumstances be what they might. “But you will make an effort?” said T “You surely do not think of si quietly dov here, and waiting for daylight, with perhaps t anno, Sree nl do our best, ef it dor “No, we’ , Cap'n; we’ our best, ef it dor come to nothing!” x the nse. “And where are we, do you think?” sngetied b gene, fairly trembling with excitement—not much through fear on his own account as becan of the danger which perhaps menaced the fi Blanche. “It seems like we are stuck in the mud,” repli the voice of Seth. z 7 a ing, Harper, and attend to duty!” re} Eugene, in a stern, tone. 7 “T warn’t jesting then, Cap’n, rep the bo man, di ly: “I war jest stating a right sme fact; ef anybody knows whar else we is, I'd li vem to spesk out and ‘lighten a feller!” “I think we're agin the north bank of the Ohic observed Tom. “That's amazing cl’ar wisdom 0’ yourn, Harris tigieed Bayer, with an oath; “thundering cl’: at “As cl’aras yourn, anyhow!” retorted Tom. “And mine war cl'ar as mud,” returned t) other. ‘We war gwine down this here river, ai stuck agin the right bank, and you think it’s t) Obio side. bale f whar else mought we be?” “ Agio u island, for all you know,” growled Tom. “In Heaven's name!’ Eugene, e citedly, “cease Nog amy | and yy ogo and e deavor to get the boat off before it is too late! employed you for true, earnest, faithful men, and find you neglectin Your duty in the first momen of our test perl . “Cap'n Fairfax,” returned Seth Harper, “th arn't so. I’m one o’ them as thinks as how a mi: may as well laugh as cry over what he can’t help but I'll do my duty with any man as ever walke You tell us to git the boat off o’a muddy bottor where she’s stuck like a turkle in his shell—ar itso , too, that we can’t see afore nor ahind. nothing knowed about the lay o’ the land and —and ‘spect us to do it as easy as we'd snap po corn from our thumbs. That's not reasonous, ar goes — natur’; but whatsomever can be dor we'll Come, boys, let's try for a look 0’ t) this, the went below, ht c and at called a light, and held it over the side of the boat, but if by the dense vap: the la} forthwith } +) “T'll get over the bow, and try to the with my feet,” said Tom, an: set about the not very pleasant At this moment beard his name pr. nounced by a voice that seldom failed to excite *| peculiar emotion in his breast, and now sent strange thrill through every nerve; and hastenir below, be found Blanchefffully dressed, with a ligt yep me po mq . of her cabin, i e regul w ugthwise throug FI he foe of the oat. ka ‘ | “I have heard something, Eugene,” she saic*] ‘enough to know that we fave met with an acc it not sufficient to fully comprehend its 1 bs abont an how anda half 4 replied Eugene, “we suddenly became tavelved fe. | dense fog, and in spite of our every precaution anj| care we have run aground; it may be against th Ohio shore—it may be inst an island; it is dark we cannot tell. But be not alarmed, Mi, Blanche,” he hurriedly added; “1 trust we shall soo 4 be afloat again, though, in any event, the darknes ix sufficient to conceal us from the savges, even wer?] they in the vicinity.” “I know little of Indians,” retarned Blanche; “br Ihave always understood that they are somewha! remarkable for their acuteness ig; and §] such is the case, there would be no necessity of thei ms very near to be made acquainted with ov* locality, judging from the loud voices I heard a fe’ minutes ago.” “I fear we have been rather impradent,” sai Eugene, in a tone; but in the exci ment——” His words were suddenly cut short by several lou? voices of alarm from without, followed by a quic and heavy trampling across the deck; and the next moment Seth Harper and the paseage, the former exclaiming “We've run plum into a red ni commencement of Emerson Bert nett’s wrest story, which is now being published i” the New York Ledger. We give this a a sample’ LEDGER, LEDGER RS, SIGOURNEY WRITES FOR THE [LEDGER ONLY LEDGER! LEDG| LEDGE LEDGER] LEDGER A cory. RS. SIGOURNEY WRITES FOR THE ONLY FOUR CENTS A cory. LEDGER,