CHAPTER XIV
The meeting with my parents has a place in my memory so sacred thatdescription seems desecration. My mother went white as the linenhandkerchief she wore, and with one sharp cry, "O! William, it isDonald, our son! Oh my laddie, my laddie!" fell into my outstretchedarms, weeping and laughing, in a violent hysteria of joy.
"There, there, Rachael, wife, don't take on so," said my father. "Ofcourse it's Donald! You know I've always said he was not dead; he's welland strong, only broader and more manly looking,"--and he took motherout of my arms, and began to stroke her hair and to soothe her.
"And this is the little sister I left three years ago"--turning to Jeanto hide my own emotion. "I can hardly believe it, yet the eyes are thesame," and I kissed her and held her off to look at her, sayingteasingly, "Why, Jean, you are almost as pretty as our mother."
"Do you hear that, mother?" asked my father in pleased tones. "Donhasn't forgotten his blarneying ways, either;--just the same lad whowent away from us so many months ago."
Mother smiled at this, and ceased weeping, and together we went joyfullyinto the big room, where I was forced to turn aside to the window toblink back the tears that welled up at the recollections of mygrandmother, which the familiar room with her chair still in its placecalled forth. Not until mother followed me to my room that night, to siton the side of my bed, as she used to do when I was a little boy, did wetalk of her. None of us wished to dim the pure joy of our first hourstogether by reference to our bereavement, and I had so much to tellthem, so many questions to answer.
Then, mother gave me a minute history of grandmother's last days. "Youand I, dear daughter," she had said to my mother, "will not for long beseparated; I am just gangin' on a little before you, to make our realhame the mair ready for your welcome, but Donald's a young man, and willlive a lang an' useful life, I trust. I should like to see him once mairon earth, an' gie him my last message. But since that could not be,Rachael, kiss him for me, and tell him the message's just the verra sameas that I told him the day he held the last hank o' yarn for me--he'llnot fail to remember, I'm sure."
Then I told my mother what it was grandmother had said to me, and alsoof the resolution I had made that day to live hereafter a Christian'slife. Mother wept with me, tears of joy mixed with tears of regret thatgrandmother was not there to hear the glad news. "I hope, dear Donald,"she said, as she kissed me good night, after the clock had chimed themidnight hour, "that your dear grandmother in heaven knows of yourconversion, and that it adds to her perfect joy this day, as it has tomine."
I was too happy to go to sleep, my heart too full of thankfulness andhigh resolve, to be willing to waste the blessed moments inunconsciousness. So I lay awake until daybreak, tasting with keener andkeener relish my new found holy joy. Then I fell asleep, and slept sorestfully that, after two hours' repose, I awoke feeling as fresh as therobins, caroling joyously in the branches of the elms that shaded theeastern window of my room.
Mother seemed to avoid talking of Ellen. I knew it was because she couldnot bear to blame her sister, and yet she could not, in justice,exonerate her; but with father I discussed the matter freely. He blamedAunt Martha's severity, and had little excuse to make for her:
"She was not only unsympathetic, and harsh with the child," he said,"but, in all save blows, she was cruel. She overworked her, and triedhard to break her spirit. Many a child would have been driven to lying,but Ellen was honest through all, if she was at times defiant anddisrespectful. I do not blame her for running away; it is what any highspirited lad would have done, long ago."
"Yes, father," I answered, "but Ellen, being a girl, should have beenmore submissive to authority, more meek it seems to me. Think whatfearful risks she took in running away."
"The very fact that a woman must take such grave risks in pursuing anycourse of action not countenanced by her lawful protectors, makes hercondition the more pitiable under oppression. Ellen was completely inyour aunt's power; no relief was possible to her, save from some act ofdesperation such as the one she was guilty of."
"Could she not have found refuge somewhere in the neighborhood?"
"No one would have taken her in. It would not do to encourage the childin disrespect and disobedience."
"What do you surmise has been her fate, father?" with an effort to speakcalmly.
"I think it most likely she has been carried off by some band of rovingIndians. She doubtless tried to find her way back to Baltimore, lost herway, and was picked up by the savages. She, I surmise, watched thechance to turn the horse loose, that he might find his way home."
"They would hardly kill her."
"No; more likely they have taken her to their village, and are trainingher for a chief's squaw."
The thought blanched my cheek, and I resolved to make inquiry and searchfrom the crest of the Blue Ridge all the way to the Mississippi, and notto return home till I had found Ellen, or had gotten some clew to herfate.
"Uncle Thomas has searched the neighborhood thoroughly you think?"
"He and Tom have made enquiry at every house in the county, I am sure;have sent to Charlottesville and Richmond; written to Baltimore, andposted notices at every store and cross roads between here and Maryland.No, I think there's little room for doubt that she's been carried westby Indians."
"That's what I told Thomas, yesterday, and advised him that our bestchance to find her was to go with Clark on this expedition to theKentucky border, next month."
"What expedition, son? I had heard no rumor of it--and do you meanGeorge Rogers Clark, the Kentucky pioneer and friend of Daniel Boone?"
"The very same, father, and a most remarkable young man he is." Then Iwent on to tell of my interview with Governor Henry, Captain Clark, Mr.Jefferson and the rest, and of the service to which I had engagedmyself.
I saw at once that my father was not pleased, and now for the firsttime, I felt the chilling influence of his disapproval of my plans. Hehad never approved the forward movement into Kentucky, believing it tohave been worked up by land companies, that they might line theirpockets at the expense of the lives of the settlers.
"I have never grudged your services in the cause of our independence,Donald," he said, "nor would I your life even, were the sacrifice of itnecessary; but I cannot feel it our duty to give you up a victim to thescalping knife of some savage, in order that this rash project of thepremature settlement of Kentucky should be encouraged. Have we notalready more land than we can protect, and properly cultivate? TheKentucky settlers would do much better to move back over the mountains'til our independence has been won--when Virginia will be able toestablish posts, garrison them adequately, and furnish sufficientprotection to make emigrating to Kentucky other than wantonself-destruction. Why not stay with us, lad, since you are honorablyreleased from service for a while?--you'll never know how much we'vemissed you these three long years."
"Father," I replied, laying my hand on his, and inwardly reproachingmyself bitterly for my comparative indifference, now that I realized howmuch my long absence had really meant to him, "if my word had not beengiven, if I had not already taken service for this expedition, it wouldbe my pleasure to make my own wishes second to yours. But now, father,it is too late. I cannot honorably draw back. Moreover, I must join inthe search for Ellen. I could never stay quietly at home as long asthere is uncertainty as to her fate. And I think I can unite the twoduties, follow Clark and make constant search for Ellen from themountains to the mouth of the Ohio. Thomas will go with me, I think.He'd far better do that than some of the rash things he iscontemplating."
"It will almost break his mother's heart, but she deserves it," spoke myfather, harshly for him, who was usually calm and mild in his judgments.
I think at this time I had more tolerance for Aunt Martha than any onein the family, except my mother. To my mind Ellen had not beenblameless, and Aunt Martha's harshness was to have been expected fromher character, and the spirit in which she had received the child. I putmuch of the blame o
n Uncle Thomas for his unmanly meekness, and part onthe neighborhood for not speaking out its sympathy for the child untiltoo late. And when I thought of her probable sufferings, and dangers, Ialmost ground my teeth in impotent rage with them all.
Poor little Ellen! With her indomitable spirit, and courageousfaithfulness, what a cold, hard, loveless life she had had these threeyears! And hers was a nature made for happiness and love, one to expandunder appreciation and sympathy, as a morning glory opens in the earlysun's rays, and to fold close all its beauty and sweetness under thechilling influence of disapproval, as the morning glory on a cold andsunless day.
"You'll not withhold your consent, I hope, father, to my going withClark," I said when we had sat together in silence for a while. "Thisexpedition means far more to our country than appears, and before theexpiration of my year's parole I shall be back, I hope, ready to engagein the regular service again, should the war not yet be ended."
"You will take my consent and blessing, Donald, and my love and prayersupon any honest adventure you see fit to enter. But I grieve, lad, foryour mother. This last strain of anxiety about you, following so soonupon the shock of her mother's death, came nigh killing her. Tell heryourself, lad, and soften the blow as much as you can."
Women are unaccountable creatures. They are apt to do the least expectedthings, and to take quietly the news you most dread to break to them. Soit proved in my mother's case. She went white for an instant, and herhands began to tremble, but she spoke quietly:
"I knew, Donald, you'd never be content to dwell idly at home, whenthere's so much doing in the land; nor would I be so proud of my ladwere he less a man of deeds, and duty. Governor Henry and Captain Clarkhonored you in taking you into their confidence; they saw that my son isno ordinary man," and she stroked the hand that had taken hers, andsmiled tearfully upon me.
"That such men as Governor Henry, Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Mason, and Mr.Wythe take an interest in the expedition would seem to mean, Donald,"she went on presently, "that they have some more important object inview than to protect a few scattered emigrants. If the rumored allianceof the French with us is confirmed, they may intend to use Clark'stroops to make a surprise advance on the western forts, recently cededby France to England. That would overawe the Indians and strike a blowat the British power at the same time."
My mother's shrewdness so astonished me that I came near telling her allI knew. "You may be right, mother," I answered nonchalantly, after amoment; "certainly we hope to overawe the Indians, but our presentinstructions go no further than safe conduct for the band of emigrants,and an attack upon the Indians, should we find them on the warpath, orplotting an attack on the border settlements. It lifts a weight from myheart, mother, dear, to have your approval," I added.
"You are a man, Donald; it would be presumption in your mother towithhold her blessing from any worthy thing you had set your heart upon.As for your safety, dear, I must leave that in God's hands. I trust youto Our Heavenly Father's care, my son, with only the shield of ourhourly prayers about you."
* * * * *
Recruiting was no easy task, especially with the account I was free togive of the object of our expedition. I encountered all sorts ofobjections and discouragements, and was obliged to travel from end toend of the county, and into the district of West Augusta, with littleleft of my two months' anticipated holiday to spend at home. I grewimpatient of my ill success, especially since all my enquiries in thecounty concerning Ellen were as fruitless as Thomas' had been. There wasno other conclusion left us than the one my father had reached, and bothThomas and I grew more and more restless to start westward, that wemight begin a more hopeful search.
At last I was enabled to add Captain Bowman's company to the score ofvolunteers I had been able to get together, although this made itnecessary that I should yield him my place as captain, and contentmyself with a lieutenant's rank. Captain Bowman was encouraged by theprospect of glory and land grants, the men satisfied with large butvague promises; and by the middle of May we were ready to start.
Clark--recently made colonel by Governor Henry--with three companies,each of less than fifty men, and a band of emigrants, had alreadyreached the falls of the Ohio, and we were ordered to join him there asspeedily as possible.