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In the Days of Poor Richard by Irving Bacheller

I >> Irving Bacheller >> In the Days of Poor Richard




In a letter he has thus described the incident: "It were a band o'
cutthroat robbers an' runnygades from the Ohio country--Hurons, Algonks
an' Mingos an' all kinds o' cast off red rubbish with an old Algonk
chief o' the name o' Splitnose. They stuffed their hides with the meat
till they was stiff as a foundered hoss. They grabbed an' chawed an'
bolted it like so many hogs an' reached out fer more, which is the
differ'nce betwixt an Injun an' a white man. The white man gen'ally
knows 'nough to shove down the brakes on a side-hill. The Injun ain't
got no brakes on his wheels. Injuns is a good deal like white brats.
Let 'em find the sugar tub when their ma is to meetin' an' they won't
worry 'bout the bellyache till it comes. Them Injuns filled themselves
to the gullet an' begun to lay back, all swelled up, an' roll an' grunt
an' go to sleep. By an' by they was only two that was up an' pawin'
eround in the stew pot fer 'nother bone, lookin' kind o' unsart'tn an'
jaw weary. In a minute they wiped their hands on their ha'r an' lay
back fer rest. They was drunk with the meat, as drunk as a Chinee
a'ter a pipe o' opium. We white men stretched out with the rest on 'em
till we see they was all in the land o' nod. Then we riz an' set up a
hussle. Hones' we could 'a' killed 'em with a hammer an' done it
delib'rit. I started to pull the young Huron out o' the bunch. He
jumped up very supple. He wasn't asleep. He had knowed better than to
swaller a yard o' meat.

"Whar was the wimmen? I knowed that a part o' the band would be back
in the bush with them 'ere wimmen. I'd seed suthin' in the trail over
by the drownded lands that looked kind o' neevarious. It were like the
end o' a wooden leg with an iron ring at the bottom an' consid'able
weight on it. An Injun wouldn't have a wooden leg, least ways not one
with an iron ring at the butt. My ol' thinker had been chawin' that
cud all day an' o' a sudden it come to me that a white man were runnin'
the hull crew. That's how I had gained ground with the red scout I
took him out in the aidge o' the bush an' sez I:

"'What's yer name?'

"'Buckeye,' sez he.

"'Who's the white man that's with ye?'

"'Mike Harpe.'

"'Are the white wimmin with him?'

"'Yes.'

"'How many Injuns?'

"Two.'

"'What's yer signal o' victory?'

"'The call o' the moose.'

"'Now, Buckeye, you come with us,' I sez.

"I knowed that the white man were runnin' the hull party an' I itched
to git holt o' him. Gol ding his pictur'! He'd sent the Injuns on
ahead fer to do his dirty work. The Ohio country were full o' robber
whelps which I kind o' mistrusted he were one on 'em who had raked up
this 'ere band o' runnygades an' gone off fer plunder. We got holt o'
most o' their guns very quiet, an' I put John Irons an' two o' his boys
an' Peter Bones an' his boy Isr'el an' the two women with loaded guns
on guard over 'em. If any on 'em woke up they was to ride the
nightmare er lay still. Jack an' me an' Buckeye sneaked back up the
trail fer 'bout twenty rod with our guns, an' then I told the young
Injun to shoot off the moose call. Wall, sir, ye could 'a' heerd it
from Albany to Wing's Falls. The answer come an' jest as I 'spected,
'twere within a quarter o' a mile. I put Jack erbout fifty feet
further up the trail than I were, an' Buckeye nigh him, an' tol 'em
what to do. We skootched down in the bushes an' heerd 'em comin'!
Purty soon they hove in sight--two Injuns, the two wimmin captives an'
a white man--the wust-lookin' bulldog brute that I ever seen--stumpin'
erlong lively on a wooden leg, with a gun an' a cane. He had a broad
head an' a big lop mouth an' thick lips an' a long, red, warty nose an'
small black eyes an' a growth o' beard that looked like hog's bristles.
He were stout built. Stood 'bout five foot seven. Never see sech a
sight in my life. I hopped out afore 'em an' Jack an' Buckeye on their
heels. The Injun had my ol' hanger.

"'Drop yer guns,' says I.

"The white man done as he were told. I spoke English an' mebbe them
two Injuns didn't understan' me. We'll never know. Ol' Red Snout
leaned over to pick up his gun, seein' as we'd fired ours. There was a
price on his head an' he'd made up his mind to fight. Jack grabbed
him. He were stout as a lion an' tore 'way from the boy an' started to
pullin' a long knife out o' his boot leg. Jack didn't give him time.
They had it hammer an' tongs. Red Snout were a reg'lar fightin' man.
He jest stuck that 'ere stump in the ground an' braced ag'in' it an'
kep' a-slashin' an' jabbin' with his club cane an' yellin' an' cussin'
like a fiend o' hell. He knocked the boy down an' I reckon he'd 'a'
mellered his head proper if he'd 'a' been spryer on his pins. But Jack
sprung up like he were made o' Injy rubber. The bulldog devil had
drawed his long knife. Jack were smart. He hopped behind a tree.
Buckeye, who hadn't no gun, was jumpin' fer cover. The peg-leg cuss
swore a blue streak an' flung the knife at him. It went cl'ar through
his body an' he fell on his face an' me standin' thar loadin' my gun.
I didn't know but he'd lick us all. But Jack had jumped on him 'fore
he got holt o' the knife ag'in.

"I thought sure he'd floor the boy an' me not quite loaded, but Jack
were as spry as a rat terrier. He dodged an' rushed in an' grabbed
holt o' the club an' fetched the cuss a whack in the paunch with his
bare fist, an' ol' Red Snout went down like a steer under the ax.

"'Look out! there's 'nother man comin',' the young womern hollered.

"She needn't 'a' tuk the trouble 'cause afore she spoke I were lookin'
at him through the sight o' my ol' Marier which I'd managed to git it
loaded ag'in. He were runnin' towards me. He tuk jest one more step,
if I don't make no mistake.

"The ol' brute that Jack had knocked down quivered an' lay still a
minit an' when he come to, we turned him, eround an' started him
towards Canady an' tol' him to keep a-goin'! When he were 'bout ten
rods off, I put a bullet in his ol' wooden leg fer to hurry him erlong.
So the wust man-killer that ever trod dirt got erway from us with only
a sore belly, we never knowin' who he were. I wish I'd 'a' killed the
cuss, but as 'twere, we had consid'able trouble on our hands. Right
erway we heard two guns go off over by the house. I knowed that our
firin' had prob'ly woke up some o' the sleepers. We pounded the ground
an' got thar as quick as we could. The two wimmen wa'n't fur behind.
They didn't cocalate to lose us--you hear to me. Two young braves had
sprung up an' been told to lie down ag'in. But the English language
ain't no help to an Injun under them surcumstances. They don't
understan' it an' thar ain't no time when ignerunce is more costly.
They was some others awake, but they had learnt suthin'. They was
keepin' quiet, an' I sez to 'em:

"'If ye lay still ye'll all be safe. We won't do ye a bit o' harm.
You've got in bad comp'ny, but ye ain't done nothin' but steal a pair
o' wimmen. If ye behave proper from now on, ye'll be sent hum.'

"We didn't have no more trouble with them. I put one o' Boneses' boys
on a hoss an' hustled him up the valley fer help. The wimmen captives
was bawlin'. I tol' 'em to straighten out their faces an' go with Jack
an' his father down to Fort Stanwix. They were kind o' leg weary an'
excited, but they hadn't been hurt yit. Another day er two would 'a'
fixed 'em. Jack an' his father an' mother tuk 'em back to the pasture
an' Jack run up to the barn fer ropes an' bridles. In a little while
they got some hoofs under 'em an' picked up the childern an' toddled
off. I went out in the bush to find Buckeye an' he were dead as the
whale that swallered Jonah."

So ends the letter of Solomon Binkus.

Jack Irons and his family and that of Peter Bones--the boys and girls
riding two on a horse--with the captives filed down the Mohawk trail.
It was a considerable cavalcade of twenty-one people and twenty-four
horses and colts, the latter following.

Solomon Binkus and Peter Bones and his son Israel stood on guard until
the boy John Bones returned with help from the upper valley. A dozen
men and boys completed the disarming of the band and that evening set
out with them on the south trail.


2

It is doubtful if this history would have been written but for an
accidental and highly interesting circumstance. In the first party
young Jack Irons rode a colt, just broken, with the girl captive, now
happily released. The boy had helped every one to get away; then there
seemed to be no ridable horse for him. He walked for a distance by the
stranger's mount as the latter was wild. The girl was silent for a
time after the colt had settled down, now and then wiping tears from
her eyes. By and by she asked:

"May I lead the colt while you ride?"

"Oh, no, I am not tired," was his answer.

"I want to do something for you."

"Why?"

"I am so grateful. I feel like the King's cat. I am trying to express
my feelings. I think I know, now, why the Indian women do the
drudgery."

As she looked at Him her dark eyes were very serious.

"I have done little," said he. "It is Mr. Binkus who rescued you. We
live in a wild country among savages and the white folks have to
protect each other. We're used to it."

"I never saw or expected to see men like you," she went on. "I have
read of them in books, but I never hoped to see them and talk to them.
You are like Ajax and Achilles."

"Then I shall say that you are like the fair lady for whom they fought."

"I will not ride and see you walking."

"Then sit forward as far as you can and I will ride with you," he
answered.

In a moment he was on the colt's back behind her. She was a comely
maiden. An authority no less respectable than Major Duncan has written
that she was a tall, well shaped, fun loving girl a little past sixteen
and good to look upon, "with dark eyes and auburn hair, the latter long
and heavy and in the sunlight richly colored"; that she had slender
fingers and a beautiful skin, all showing that she had been delicately
bred. He adds that he envied the boy who had ridden before and behind
her half the length of Tryon County.

It was a close association and Jack found it so agreeable that he often
referred to that ride as the most exciting adventure of his life.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Margaret Hare," she answered.

"How did they catch you?"

"Oh, they came suddenly and stealthily, as they do in the story books,
when we were alone in camp. My father and the guides had gone out to
hunt."

"Did they treat you well?"

"The Indians let us alone, but the two white men annoyed and frightened
us. The old chief kept us near him."

"The old chief knew better than to let any harm come to you until they
were sure of getting away with their plunder."

"We were in the valley of death and you have led us out of it. I am
sure that I do not look as if I were worth saving. I suppose that I
must have turned into an old woman. Is my hair white?"

"No. You are the best-looking girl I ever saw," he declared with
rustic frankness.

"I never had a compliment that pleased me so much," she answered, as
her elbows tightened a little on his hands which were clinging to her
coat. "I almost loved you for what you did to the old villain. I saw
blood on the side of your head. I fear he hurt you?"

"He jabbed me once. It is nothing."

"How brave you were!"

"I think I am more scared now than I was then," said Jack.

"Scared! Why?"

"I am not used to girls except my sisters."

She laughed and answered:

"And I am not used to heroes. I am sure you can not be so scared as I
am, but I rather enjoy it. I like to be scared--a little. This is so
different."

"I like you," he declared with a laugh.

"I feared you would not like an English girl. So many North Americans
hate England."

"The English have been hard on us."

"What do you mean?"

"They send us governors whom we do not like; they make laws for us
which we have to obey; they impose hard taxes which are not just and
they will not let us have a word to say about it."

"I think it is wrong and I'm going to stand up for you," the girl
answered.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"In London. I am an English girl, but please do not hate me for that.
I want to do what is right and I shall never let any one say a word
against Americans without taking their part."

"That's good," the boy answered. "I'd love to go to London."

"Well, why don't you?"

"It's a long way off."

"Do you like good-looking girls?"

"I'd rather look at them than eat."

"Well, there are many in London."

"One is enough," said Jack.

"I'd love to show them a real hero."

"Don't call me that. If you would just call me Jack Irons I'd like it
better. But first you'll want to know how I behave. I am not a
fighter."

"I am sure that your character is as good as your face."

"Gosh! I hope it ain't quite so dark colored," said Jack.

"I knew all about you when you took my hand and helped me on the
pony--or nearly all. You are a gentleman."

"I hope so."

"Are you a Presbyterian?"

"No--Church of England."

"I was sure of that. I have seen Indians and Shakers, but I have never
seen a Presbyterian."

When the sun was low and the company ahead were stopping to make a camp
for the night, the boy and girl dismounted. She turned facing him and
asked:

"You didn't mean it when you said that I was good-looking--did you?"

The bashful youth had imagination and, like many lads of his time, a
romantic temperament and the love of poetry. There were many books in
his father's home and the boy had lived his leisure in them. He
thought a moment and answered:

"Yes, I think you are as beautiful as a young doe playing in the
water-lilies."

"And you look as if you believed yourself," said she. "I am sure you
would like me better if I were fixed up a little."

"I do not think so."

"How much better a boy's head looks with his hair cut close like yours.
Our boys have long hair. They do not look so much like--men."

"Long hair is not for rough work in the bush," the boy remarked.

"You really look brave and strong. One would know that you could do
things."

"I've always had to do things."

They came up to the party who had stopped to camp for the night. It
was a clear warm evening. After they had hobbled the horses in a near
meadow flat, Jack and his father made a lean-to for the women and
children and roofed it with bark. Then they cut wood and built a fire
and gathered boughs for bedding. Later, tea was made and beefsteaks
and bacon grilled on spits of green birch, the dripping fat being
caught on slices of toasting bread whereon the meat was presently
served.

The masterful power with which the stalwart youth and his father swung
the ax and their cunning craftsmanship impressed the English woman and
her daughter and were soon to be the topic of many a London tea party.
Mrs. Hare spoke of it as she was eating her supper.

"It may surprise you further to learn that the boy is fairly familiar
with the Aeneid and the Odes of Horace and the history of France and
England," said John Irons.

"That is the most astonishing thing I have ever heard!" she exclaimed.
"How has he done it?"

"The minister was his master until we went into the bush. Then I had
to be farmer and school-teacher. There is a great thirst for learning
in this New World."

"How do you find time for it?"

"Oh, we have leisure here--more than you have. In England even your
wealthy young men are over-worked. They dine out and play cards until
three in the morning and sleep until midday. Then luncheon and the
cock fight and tea and Parliament! The best of us have only three
steady habits. We work and study and sleep."

"And fight savages," said the woman.

"We do that, sometimes, but it is not often necessary. If it were not
for white savages, there would be no red ones. You would find America
a good country to live in."

"At least I hope it will be good to sleep in this night," the woman
answered, yawning. "Dreamland is now the only country I care for."

The ladies and children, being near spent by the day's travel and
excitement, turned in soon after supper. The men slept on their
blankets, by the fire, and were up before daylight for a dip in the
creek near by. While they were getting breakfast, the women and
children had their turn at the creekside.

That day the released captives were in better spirits. Soon after noon
the company came to a swollen river where the horses had some swimming
to do. The older animals and the following colts went through all
right, but the young stallion which Jack and Margaret were riding,
began to rear and plunge. The girl in her fright jumped off his back
in swift water and was swept into the rapids and tumbled about and put
in some danger before Jack could dismount and bring her ashore.

"You have increased my debt to you," she said, when at last they were
mounted again. "What a story this is! It is terribly exciting."

"Getting into deeper water," said Jack. "I'm not going to let you
spoil it by drowning."

"I wonder what is coming next," said she.

"I don't know. So far it's as good as _Robinson Crusoe_."

"With a book you can skip and see what happens," she laughed. "But we
shall have to read everything in this story. I'd love to know all
about you."

He told her with boyish frankness of his plans which included learning
and statesmanship and a city home. He told also of his adventures in
the forest with his father.

Meanwhile, the elder John Irons and Mrs. Hare were getting acquainted
as they rode along. The woman had been surprised by the man's intimate
knowledge of English history and had spoken of it.

"Well, you see my wife is a granddaughter of Horatio Walpole of
Wolterton and my mother was in a like way related to Thomas Pitt so you
see I have a right to my interest in the history of the home land,"
said John Irons.

"You have in your veins some of the best blood of England and so I am
sure that you must be a loyal subject of the King," Mrs. Hare remarked.

"No, because I think this German King has no share in the spirit of his
country," Irons answered. "Our ancient respect for human rights and
fair play is not in this man."

He presented his reasons for the opinion and while the woman made no
answer, she had heard for the first time the argument of the New World
and was impressed by it.

Late in the day they came out on a rough road, faring down into the
settled country and that night they stopped at a small inn. At the
supper table a wizened old woman was telling fortunes in a tea cup.

Miss Hare and her mother drained their cups and passed them to the old
woman. The latter looked into the cup of the young lady and
immediately her tongue began to rattle.

"Two ways lie before you," she piped in a shrill voice. "One leads to
happiness and many children and wealth and a long life. It is steep
and rough at the beginning and then it is smooth and peaceful. Yes.
It crosses the sea. The other way is smooth at the start and then it
grows steep and rough and in it I see tears and blood and dark clouds
and, do you see that?" she demanded with a look of excitement, as she
pointed into the cup. "It is a very evil thing. I will tell you no
more."

The wizened old woman rose and, with a determined look in her face,
left the room.

Mrs. Hare and her daughter seemed to be much troubled by the vision of
the fortune-teller.

"I hope you do not believe in that kind of rubbish," John Irons
remarked.

"I believe implicitly in the gift of second sight," said Mrs. Hare.
"In England women are so impatient to know their fortunes that they
will not wait upon Time, and the seers are prosperous."

"I have no faith in it," said Mr. Irons. "What she said might apply to
the future of any young person. Undoubtedly there are two ways ahead
of your daughter and perhaps more. Each must choose his own way wisely
or come to trouble. It is the ancient law."

They rode on next morning in a rough road between clearings in the
forest, the boy and girl being again together on the colt's back, she
in front.

"You did not have your fortune told," said Miss Margaret.

"It _has_ been told," Jack answered. "I am to be married in England to
a beautiful young lady. I thought that sounded well and that I had
better hold on to it. I might go further and fare worse."

"Tell me the kind of girl you would fancy."

"I wouldn't dare tell you."

"Why?"

"For fear it would spoil my luck."

They rode on with light hearts under a clear sky, their spirits playing
together like birds in the sunlight, touching wings and then flying
apart, until it all came to a climax quite unforeseen. The story has
been passed from sire to son and from mother to daughter in a certain
family of central New York and there are those now living who could
tell it. These two were young and beautiful and well content with each
other, it is said. So it would seem that Fate could not let them alone.

"We are near our journey's end," said he, by and by.

"Oh, then, let us go very slowly," she urged.

Another step and they had passed the hidden gate between reality and
enchantment. It would appear that she had spoken the magic words which
had opened it. They rode, for a time, without further speech, in a
land not of this world, although, in some degree, familiar to the best
of its people. Only they may cross that border who have kept much of
the innocence of childhood and felt the delightful fear of youth that
was in those two--they only may know the great enchantment. Does it
not make an undying memory and bring to the face of age, long
afterward, the smile of joy and gratitude?

The next word? What should it be? Both wondered and held their
tongues for fear--one can not help thinking--and really they had little
need of words. The peal of a hermit thrush filled the silence with its
golden, largo chime and overtones and died away and rang out again and
again. That voice spoke for them far better than either could have
spoken, and they were content.

"There was no voice on land or sea so fit for the hour and the ears
that heard it," she wrote, long afterward, in a letter.

They must have felt it in the longing of their own hearts and, perhaps,
even a touch of the pathos in the years to come. They rode on in
silence, feeling now the beauty of the green woods. It had become a
magic garden full of new and wonderful things. Some power had entered
them and opened their eyes. The thrush's song grew fainter in the
distance. The boy was first to speak.

"I think that bird must have had a long flight sometime," he said.

"Why?"

"I am sure that he has heard the music of Paradise. I wonder if you
are as happy as I am."

"I was never so happy," she answered.

"What a beautiful country we are in! I have forgotten all about the
danger and the hardship and the evil men. Have you ever seen any place
like it?"

"No. For a time we have been riding in fairyland."

"I know why," said the boy.

"Why?"

"It is because we are riding together. It is because I see you."

"Oh, dear! I can not see _you_. Let us get off and walk," she
proposed.

They dismounted.

"Did you mean that honestly?"

"Honestly," he answered.

She looked up at him and put her hand over her mouth.

"I was going to say something. It would have been most unmaidenly,"
she remarked.

"There's something in me that will not stay unsaid. I love you," he
declared.

She held up her hand with a serious look in her eyes. Then, for a
moment, the boy returned to the world of reality.

"I am sorry. Forgive me. I ought not to have said it," he stammered.

"But didn't you really mean it?" she asked with troubled eyes.

"I mean that and more, but I ought not to have said it now. It isn't
fair. You have just escaped from a great danger and have got a notion
that you are in debt to me and you don't know much about me anyhow."

She stood in his path looking up at him.

"Jack," she whispered. "Please say it again."

No, it was not gone. They were still in the magic garden.

"I love you and I wish this journey could go on forever," he said.

She stepped closer and he put his arm around her and kissed her lips.
She ran away a few steps. Then, indeed, they were back on the familiar
trail in the thirty-mile bush. A moose bird was screaming at them.
She turned and said:

"I wanted you to know but I have said nothing. I couldn't. I am under
a sacred promise. You are a gentleman and you will not kiss me or
speak of love again until you have talked with my father. It is the
custom of our country. But I want you to know that I am very happy."

"I don't know how I dared to say and do what I did, but I couldn't help
it"

"I couldn't help it either. I just longed to know if you dared."

"The rest will be in the future--perhaps far in the future."

His voice trembled a little.

"Not far if you come to me, but I can wait--I will wait." She took his
hand as they were walking beside each other and added: "_For you_."

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