USA > Kentucky > Livingston County > Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement > Part 13
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distant, could be seen, and, intervening, an irregular valley, through which flowed several small streams. Few more quietly beautiful and picturesque spots could be found in any country ; and in that valley Elijah - and Polly Wright had chosen to make their home.
It was related of the devout old Polly that, some years before she died, she selected the spot where she wished to be buried. The spot is a small plateau on the eastern slope of the mount, from which can be seen the Cumberland River as it winds through the hills, and a broad sweeping valley across to the southward, which she often referred to as "the valley of the Shadow." What made the spot chosen for her grave so peculiarly attractive to her was that from it a good view could be obtained of the rising sun ; and there she wished to rest, because, as she said : "In the last chapter of the last book in my Old Testament it is written : 'But unto you that fear my name shall the sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings.' Besides," she added, " three verses farther on and next to the last in the book are these words : 'Behold I will send you Elijah the prophet, before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord,' and that comes home to my old heart like a promise to send to me my old husband, Elijah."
As Adair approached the house (of logs, and slowly falling into decay), he observed a middle-aged woman standing in the door ; who, on seeing him dismount, came forward to the gate to meet him. When he had introduced himself, and said that he wished to see Mr. Wright on business, the woman spoke.
"Just as I expected," she said, in a cold, hard voice. " I suppose you have come to take what little
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there is left, to pay the balance of that debt against my dead husband. It's mighty hard, but I reckon there 's no use in complaining. The law 's a hard thing sometimes. Father 's around there in the shade of the house. I will bring you a chair and go with you, for he is a little deaf, and may not hear you plainly."
The old man was seated in a large armed, withy chair, his hands crossed on the top of his strong hick- ory staff, and his head so bowed that his chin seemed to rest on his breast. As he looked up and perceived the presence of a stranger, his appearance was certainly striking : tall and gaunt, his large head covered with thick, bushy hair almost as white as snow ; his eye- brows, of an iron-gray, were very heavy and long ; and from underneath, deep set in his head, there shone bluish-gray eyes, somewhat dimmed by age, but still bright and penetrating. His strong, broad jaw showed that he had been a man of courage and resolution-just such a man as no one would ever suspect of falsehood or dissimulation ; simple, independent, homely honesty was clearly stamped in every lineament of a face rugged and angular, but which at one time must have been very attractive.
When his daughter spoke to him and explained who the gentleman was, and the nature of his business,- which Adair had virtually admitted by not correcting her supposition, -the old man drew himself up, but not a shade of surprise or displeasure crossed his face as he asked : "Sir, is that your business?" And when Adair had replied by an affirmative nod, " What, sir, is the exact balance due ? " he asked.
"Sixty-eight dollars and forty cents," was the reply.
" I have no money, sir," the old man said, " but I
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have a horse in the stable yonder "-pointing across the road,-"a yoke of young steers, two cows and calves, and some little corn in my crib. I suppose the horse and steers will bring enough to pay the debt."
" Oh, sir," said the widowed daughter to Mr. Adair, "can nothing be done to give us a few months more time ? The debt was against my husband, and was at first for four hundred dollars, when my father went security for him. My good man worked hard and paid off the debt as fast as he could, but death came and took him from us. If the horse and steers are taken from us, I don't see how we can get in the crop this fall, or haul firewood next winter. You likely know that my brother Simon is a preacher, but I really don't know what Circuit he was placed on by the last Confer- ence; we, however, hope to have a visit from him soon. He comes to see us as often as he can ; he don't often have any money, but when he comes he might be able to arrange this debt in some way ; I know he would try."
"Madam," replied Adair, " I see that your father is now too old to work. Whom have you to do the farm work ? "
"Only my son Elijah, who is now fourteen years old. He has done all the plowing and hauling this summer. He is a good and industrious boy, and but for him I don't know what we would have done. Von- der he comes now ; that's him with the steers," she said, pointing to a stout and well grown boy, who, after stopping his cart at the gate, came rapidly forward to where his mother stood.
" Elijah," said the boy's mother, " this is the Sher- iff, who has come about that debt of your father's."
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The boy stood for some moments with folded arms before he spoke. "I'm mighty sorry," he said. "If that old skin-flint that the money 's owin' to had only trusted us a year, I would 'ave kep' mny word, an' tried to pay him."
"Look here !" said Adair, addressing the sturdy boy. "Have you ever proposed to take upon yourself to pay this debt ? "
" I reckon that 's about it, sir," the boy answered. " I told old man Keep if he'd wait on granpa 'nuther year, I thought I could pay him, an' 'ud do so if I lived."
" Well now," said Mr. Adair, "I'll tell you what I will do. I see that you are an honest and hard- working boy, and that you are doing all you can to help your mother and aged grandfather. Now, I will pay this debt to Mr. Keep, if you will give me your word-your promise to repay me as soon as you can without depriving your mother or your grandfather of anything they may need."
" That's mighty good in you !" exclaimed the boy. " I'll do it ! I'll do it ! Put it down in writin', sir, an' I'll sign it."
" If you were to sign such a promise, it would not be binding on you in law, because you are under age," Adair explained. "However, I will draw up the agreement, which will serve to show the amount of the debt."
" Oh, sir," said the widow, " I thank you-I thank you so much ! This takes a load from my heart, and it will be such a comfort to my old father ! And you are only a stranger to us, and say you will trust my boy,-but I will go his security, and, should he be
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taken from me, I will, if God spares me, pay the debt."
" Madam," replied Adair, "I require no other security than your son's promise."
The old man, who had kept his eyes on the different speakers, but, owing to his deafness, had heard but little of what was said, on observing the emotion of his daughter, rose from his chair, stood erect, and, address- ing his daughter, said : "Nelly, how is this?" She placed her hand gently on his shoulder, and bending forward and speaking very distinctly, repeated almost word for word the conversation that had passed be- tween " the gentleman " and her son. When she had spoken, the old man turned slowly to Adair, and, taking him by the hand, said : "Sir, you have done an old man and his widowed daughter a great kind- ness ; you have trusted a good and industrious lad, and will, I am sure, in no wise lose your reward. But," he added, " I have not yet learned your name."
" Adair, sir ; Joseph Adair ; I am the Deputy Sheriff."
The old man then resumed his seat, and was soon apparently lost in a profound reverie. The boy, meanwhile, by direction of his mother, brought from the house a small table, and Adair, who had pen, ink, and paper with him, soon drew up the agreement. which was as follows :
" HOME NEAR BIZZELL'S MOUNT.
" MR. JOSEPH ADAIR :
" Present. Sir. If you will, as proposed by you. pay the debt due by my grandfather, Elijah Wright,
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to Johnson Keep, amounting to sixty-eight dollars and forty cents, I promise to repay you the amount, with interest at the rate of six per cent. per annum, as soon as I can do so without depriving my mother and grandfather of such articles as they may need. Wit- ness my hand this August 2d, 1826 ; and given in the fifteenth year of my age."
" There," said Adair, handing the agreement to the boy, " can you read that ? If so, read it to your mother, and, if all right, you can sign it."
The boy took the agreement, and read it without much difficulty ; and, turning his bright eyes up to his mother, said : " Ma, that's all right."
" Yes, my son," she replied. " And see ! Mr. Adair will charge you only six per cent. interest, and your father had to pay Mr. Keep twelve per cent., and give security too."
The boy then went to the table, and in a slow and awkward manner, but with great care and quite legibly, subscribed his name in full, Elijah Kane Kent, and with a flushed face handed the agreement to his friend, who, on receiving it, said :
" Well done ! I suppose this is the first written agreement you ever signed ; and I have no doubt that at some future day you will be proud, and justly so, to be the possessor of this bit of paper."
" Sir," said the old man, rousing himself from his reverie, and rising from his chair, "did I understand you to say your name was Adair?" And, observing the affirmative nod in answer to his question, he con- tinted : " Many years ago-it was in the days of the Revolution-I knew a brave soldier, under Marion in
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Carolina, whose name was Adair-Tom Adair, or Dashing Tom as we generally called him."
At the mention of his father's name, Joseph Adair approached the old man, and, taking him by the hand and speaking so that he could be distinctly heard, said : "Thomas Adair, who fought under General Francis Marion, is my father ; and he is yet alive, and I hope will soon visit me at my home in Salem."
On hearing this the old man placed his hand on Adair's shoulder and said : "I thank God that I have seen his son, and that he is such a son ! And Tom himself is coming to Salem ! My God, if I could but see him !"
" When he arrives," responded Adair, as he pressed the old man's hand, " I will tell him of you, and if you are not able to come to Salem to see him, I will bring him here to see you."
" I pray God to spare me until then ! I have long been waiting to join Polly, my wife, on yonder mount, but now I would like to see Tom before I go." And the slow and solemn words of the old man showed the earnestness of his prayer.
Adair having been pressed by Mrs. Kent to remain for dinner did so, and his horse was well cared for by his young friend. After dinner, which was a plain but substantial meal, Adair remained for some hours in conversation with the old man, and was much interested in the account given him of many of the pioneer settlers of the county. But what interested him most was that the old man told him of many incidents in the early life of his father, Thomas Adair, which he, Joseph, had never heard before. From these it appeared that not only had Elijah Wright and Tom Adair been fellow
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soldiers and warm personal friends, but on one occa- sion, during a skirmish. Tom's horse having been killed under him, his friend Elijah rushed to his rescue when he was about falling into the hands of the enemy, and assisting him to mount behind him, they were both borne safely out of danger.
Adair, as he rode home that afternoon, felt much satisfaction in the reflection that he had been able to serve the worthy family as he had done : for, in addi- tion to the pleasure ever derived from kindly acts, he had aided the friend and companion in early life of his own father. This served, in some measure, to dispel the gloom occasioned by his interview the day before with Davidson, and the consequent certainty, as he now thought, that the woman he had loved so earnestly had given her heart and would soon give her hand to another.
CHAPTER XIII.
The "Unfortunate " Gowan Family-Adair Summons a Posse -Rudolph's Trepidation-The Posse's Ride-Holman's Sad Story of John Dyer and his Wife.
S OON after his visit to the old pioneer, Elijah Wright, Adair had another exceedingly disagree- able official duty to perform.
About the year 1808 or 1809, there removed from Vir- ginia, and settled on a farm on the Ohio River, a few miles above its junction with the Cumberland, a physician named Gowan, whose family consisted of his wife, three sons, two daughters, and a dozen or more slaves. The Doctor was known to be highly connected, his wife being the sister of one of the most eminent of Ameri- can statesmen ; but never, perhaps, was there a more unfortunate family. The Doctor was a highly educated man, but of a cold, haughty disposition ; and why he should have left the comforts and refined society of his native State, and have settled in such a wilderness as the western part of Kentucky was at that date, was always a mystery. His wife, who was believed to have led a most unhappy life, had resided in her new home but a few years when she died, and was buried in a lonely grave in the forest, a short distance from the residence.
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Thereafter, the Doctor and his two daughters, who were just verging into womanhood, passed most of their time in Salem, and rarely visited the farm. A little later, Randall, the eldest son, died from the effect- of a snake bite ; and Hinton, the second son, soon after- wards lost his wife, who was buried beside her mother- in-law. Hinton, however, remained a widower only a year or two, and then married a very beautiful young lady-one of the belles of Livingston County.
There were many strange and contradictory rumors about Hinton and his second wife. There were those who said that, owing to his dissipation and cruelty to his slaves, his young and beautiful wife was not only thoroughly miserable, but was in constant apprehen- sion lest her husband should do herself some personal violence. On the other hand, there were those who said that Hinton, during the lifetime of his first wife, was a temperate man, a kind husband, and a strict but not unkind master, and that his cold, proud, and scornful young wife-his " cruel Letitia," as he was known to have once called her-was the cause of most of the troubles into which he fell.
About a year after Hinton Gowan's second marriage. and when his wife was confined to her bed-she having a few days before given birth to a child,-a negro boy named George, a kind of general house servant, sud- denly disappeared, and, after remaining secreted for a few days, was arrested and bound with chains in one of the cabins near the residence. That night, horrible to relate, Hinton Gowan and his younger brother, Walter, caused most of the slaves on the farm to assem- ble in the cabin where George was bound, flat upon the floor, with each limib extended, and, with drawn
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pistols, forced one of the negro men to literally chop the bound boy to pieces, and, as joint by joint and limb by linib were severed from the body, they were cast into a roaring fire prepared for the purpose of consuming every trace of the body. When the hellish work was done, the assembled slaves were given to understand that such a fate as George's awaited any of them who should ever whisper a word about George's fate ; and, if questioned regarding his disappearance, they were to answer that he had run away and had never been heard from. The cowed slaves were further told that should any of them ever run away they would, when captured, be treated as George had been.
When the two drunken and fiendish brothers left the cabin and were returning to their house, a sudden and terrific rumbling noise was heard, and soon the sur- face of the earth seemed to rise and fall-rise and fall again like quick succeeding waves. To add to the horror of the phenomena, what appeared like a great blazing ball of fire darted hissing through the heavens, apparently close by, and by its brilliancy momentarily lighting up every object around, which but a moment before was shrouded in dense darkness. The drunken brothers were each prostrated upon the ground by the violence of the earthquake shock (for such it was), and one of them, Walter, in his horrible affright, cried out : " My God ! my God ! ! what is this ?" The reply of the beastly brother by his side was : "It's only the devil in h-1 rejoicing over having got hold of George !"
When Hinton Gowan, some minutes afterwards, staggered into the bedroom where his sick wife lay, he found her upon the floor, and apparently lifeless. Two
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female servants were quickly summoned, and after repeatedly sprinkling water in her face and chafing her hands, the young mother showed signs of returning consciousness. The shrieks of the boy George, as he was being slowly murdered, had reached her ears, and she knew that some horrible tragedy was being en- acted. This caused her to faint, and the violence of the earthquake shock had thrown her from the bed on to the floor. A few days later, the mother and child mysteriously disappeared from the home of Hinton Gowan, and when next heard from were under the roof and carefully guarded by the parents of the un- happy woman.
For several days affairs went on at the farm of the Gowans as if no unusual event had occurred ; but fewer haughty orders were given, and fewer loud words were spoken than usual. But the time did come, and that very soon, when the disappearance of the boy George was talked about ; and day by day public atten- tion was more aroused, and fresh suspicion awakened. Finally, it was known that a highly respected farmer, a neighbor of the Gowans, when passing near the house, had seen a dog gnawing what he discovered to be a human jaw-bone. Then, what had been whis- pered suspicions rose into a loud cry for vengeance ; for the two brothers, Hinton and Walter Gowan, had previously been strongly suspected of having plotted to decoy Miss Ritchie from her home, and escape with her to Illinois, where a ceremony uniting her to Walter Gowan was to be performed, or other and greater out- rages enacted.
Before, however, the gathering storm had time to burst, a warrant was issued for the arrest of Hinton
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and Walter Gowan, and placed in the hands of Joseph Adair.
Adair was in Salem when he received the warrant. His first step was to go to the Clerk's office and confer with his friend Horace Benton.
Benton well knew of the reports in circulation regard- ing the Gowan brothers, and was thoroughly informed as to the current of public opinion on the subject, hence was not surprised by what Adair told him. "Well, Adair," he said after a few moments' reflection, "the Gowans are now, no doubt, desperate men, and you should have a good posse with you when you under- take to arrest them ; and include me in the lot."
"Thank you," replied Adair. "Then get ready as soon as you can. I will pick up some others as soon as possible, and will try and be ready to start within an hour."
On the street the first man Adair met was Henry Rudolph, and stopping him, he said : " Mr. Rudolph, I summon you as one of a posse comitatus to aid me in arresting certain parties, as per warrant just placed in my hands. I know you have a good horse ; be ready to start within an hour."
"My dear Adair," replied Rudolph, whose white face had turned rather whiter than usual, "please excuse me. I have some important matters to attend to this evening."
" I am sorry to inconvenience any one," said Adair, "but this matter admits of no delay," and walked away. He soon found three others to accompany him, of whom his friend and partner, Duncan, was one ; Silas Holman, a well-known hunter was another ; and Dabney Coffield, a young farmer, the third. Within
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an hour all assembled in front of the Brick Hotel with their horses.
Before mounting, Benton, addressing the posse, said : " Before starting on so hazardous an expedition as that before us, it is the proper thing-in fact the bounden duty of the officer, under whose command this posse comitatus has the honor of serving, to see that each and every man shall not only be allowed but required to take a stiff drink of rifle whiskey with the requisite gunpowder concomitants ; the aforesaid preparation to be imbibed at the expense of our said commanding offi- cer, to whose health and success we ----- '
"Cut it short !" interposed Adair, jocularly ; for he well knew there would be no dissenting voice. " And as I have to treat, let it be quickly over, for we have no time to lose." So saying he led the way into the bar-room of the hotel, the posse being followed by several others, who had been attracted to the spot by the unusual sight of six men, and horses held in readi- ness for mounting. In the crowd was Ben Bolton, the burly blacksmith, who, after the free and easy manner of the times, when with friends, waited for no invita- tion, but stepped up to the bar and said : " I '11 never be g'ilty of sich deesrispec' to a' officer of the law, as ter refuse ter drink with him."
There was soon a jingling of glasses and a smack- ing of lips. Rudolph watched for an opportunity to speak privately to Adair, and again urged to be ex- cused from going; said that his engagements were of the most urgent nature, etc. His pleas were, how- ever, overheard, and at once several jocular remarks and innuendoes were aimed at him, followed by an almost unanimous declaration that no " backing out "
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must be allowed ; Benton declaring that the posse was already too small, considering the hazardous nature of the undertaking ; and that, in an emergency like the present, individual duties must give way to the public weal.
"Come, let 's be off," said Adair, leading the way ; and the six men were soon mounted and riding rapidly down the road in a westerly direction ; Adair and Duncan riding side by side in advance, and Benton and Rudolph bringing up the rear. Benton had long suspected that his companion was a "coward, most devout coward, religious in it," but had never seen him fairly tested. He, however, now watched him closely, and, shrewd and observant as he was, it did not take him long to discover that Rudolph was really nervous about the risk to be run. This only provoked Benton to put on his most serious face, and not only agree with his " friend " as to the "imminence of the danger to be encountered," but he went so far as to say : " Rudolph, you are a man of property and noted for your prudence ; I may, therefore, hope that you have not, like too many others, neglected so important a matter as the making of your will."
" What ! a will ?" said Rudolph, with emphasis ; for the bare mention of such a document-a document that was of no importance until after one was dead -- served to sensibly increase his uneasiness, but he made an effort to shake it off, and, with a rather ghastly smile, continued : "No, I have made none ; nor have I thought it necessary."
"There is no telling what a day or an hour may bring forth," said Benton, in his gravest and most lugubrious tones.
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During the ride, Benton sought an opportunity, and, approaching Adair's side, said : "Our friend Rudolph is a little nervous, and, to cure him of so pernicious and womanly an ailment, I would respectfully suggest that, when the fight begins, you place him in the van ; and leave me, of known and approved courage, to bring up the rear."
Adair knew Benton well enough to regard his wish to be left in the rear as other than a humorous request ; but as his reference to Rudolph's nervousness con- firmed his own and Brantley's opinion of the man's cowardice, he felt some inclination to adopt Benton's suggestion ; but no man was further from being a prac- tical joker, and he smilingly replied that he did n't suppose there would be any occasion to test one's courage.
The road they were travelling -- that leading from Salem to "The Point." opposite Smithland, -passes. when about three miles from Salem, over Champion's hill, from the summit of which a beautiful view is obtained of the almost circular and undulating valley, near the centre of which, and clearly to be seen, Salem is situated. Here Adair, who was, like most men given to reflection, a great admirer of natural scenery, made a short pause to survey the scene before him. Looking eastward, the "deep-tangled wild woods," the cultivated fields, a few distant farm-houses, then the town, the peak of Gray's knob, and the range of high hills which curve around to the south and west, made up a picture of quiet beauty bordering upon grandeur, such as would have enraptured many a landscape painter.
But Adair's pause was only for a few moments, and
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gave his noble horse, Ben Simon, of whom he was ever mindful, a short breathing spell after ascending the long and steep hill. From the top of Champion's hill the road for seven or eight miles wound through a high and comparatively level country. Then came the steep descent of Dyer's hill, at the base of which, and but a few yards to the north of the road, there was, and doubtless is yet, a remarkable spring. Adair was asked by Silas Holman, the hunter, who was riding by his side at the time, if he had ever examined the spring. Adair replied that he had often passed along that road, but was not aware that there was any spring in the vicinity. Holman then pointed out its exact location, and added, "By all means, when you have leisure, stop and see it."
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