USA > Kentucky > Livingston County > Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement > Part 15
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" The finder of this Note
Will please open and read it."
The note was sealed with wax, and had evidently never been opened. Adair, showing the superscription to Holman, said : " This is singular ! Have you any idea of its contents ? "
" Only the impression I have already referred to," Holman answered, without manifesting the least sur- prise at the question asked him.
Adair at once opened the note. It was not dated, and there were but three lines, in a man's handwrit- ing, which ran as follows :
" If you know Horace Benton, of Salem, tell him (or send him this note) not to be too certain. She deceived poor W-, and - deceive him.
" H. G."
Before speaking, Adair mentally reasoned thus : " The missing word before ' deceive ' should doubtless be 'may' or 'will.' But why was the note sealed ? As it was to be opened by any one who found it, why not leave it unsealed ? Force of habit, perhaps ; or he may have thought if it was found by any one of the negroes, they, seeing the large seal, would think it important and show it to some one who could read. And why was the note hid in this book ? Oh, he per- haps wrote it before determining the day or hour when he would commit suicide, and he did not wish it found too soon ; possibly he intended to take it from the book before the fatal hour, and leave it where it would more likely be found, but forgot it. And why this warning from Hinton Gowan to Benton ?- for that 'H. G.'
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stands for Hinton Gowan there can be no doubt ; and that 'she' stands for Miss Ritchie, and ' W-' for Walter Gowan, is almost certain." Then, handing the note to Holman, he said : " This is strange ; read it, and let me know what you think of it."
The writing was not very legible, and Holman scanned the lines and the entire note for some time before he replied. " There is one word missing, but I make it out that the dead man, in there, warns Horace Benton not to be too certain of his standing with Miss Ritchie."
" But why do you think Miss Ritchie is referred to ?" Adair asked.
" Why ? Well, I know of the rumpus between her and Walter Gowan," Holman answered. "I have heard too that Benton has been paying her much atten- tion ; and this, no doubt, he"-motioning towards the next room-" knew. Benton has done nothing wrong in the matter, that 's certain ; else he"-again the same motion as before-" would n't have written this. But she may have treated the dead man's brother badly, and Walter may be less to blame than most people suppose. Besides, when I was looking at that picture I was thinking of Miss Ritchie at the moment the impression came to me. A thought of her came into my mind ! Where that thought came from-who sent it, whether it was the picture of the dead woman, or whether it arose in my own mind, I know not. But this I do know : I sometimes have, or feel impressions that I accept, at once, as true, without further proof. That's what I call instinct, and I trust more to it than I do to what men call reason. Reason 's a mighty poor, blind guide. Men reason, and see how wrong
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they go ! Animals have superior senses ; can see, hear, and smell better than men ; they are closer observers, and have better memories ; can even foretell the changes in the weather, about which men know next to nothing without observing the actions of animals and . fowls. And as animals rarely make mistakes, rarely go wrong when left to their own guidance, I can't understand why men boast about reason and decry instinct. Besides, I have noticed that when man's reason is partially overthrown, he is more cunning, more observant, and quicker of perception than he was before. I have, therefore, as a man, and as a hunter, aimed to cultivate my instinct rather than my reason -- my feelings or impressions rather than my logic."
There is no telling what more this strange man (who had evidently reasoned much and had observed attent- ively, in order to arrive at his strange conclusions, and had thus, in a measure, upset his theories) might have said, but he was interrupted by the entrance of Benton and Duncan, which was soon followed by the announcement, by old Hannah, that supper was ready. While the four gentlemen were at supper, old Jim and Sophy stayed in the room they had left, it being the invariable custom to have some watcher remain with the corpse.
The supper over, Duncan and Benton took the place of watchers, while Adair and Holman walked out to the river bank. On their way, Adair suggested that it would perhaps be better not to mention the note to any one excepting Benton, as it might give rise to the pain- ful publicity of a young lady's name in connection with a deplorable event ; and that it would not be advisable to mention the matter, or even show the note to Benton,
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until they had left there. To all of which Holman assented.
When Adair and Holman reached the river bank, and had taken seats on a bench under a ghostly, white- limbed sycamore tree, the sun had already set, and there was no moon to throw her silver mantle o'er the sleeping earth, but one by one the baby stars were coming forth to peer on field and forest and on the silent, flowing river. It was just that gloaming hour when garish day breathes out its little span, to await its resurrection on the coming morn-an hour when medi- tative minds are prone to dwell on spiritual things rather than on those of time and sense. And the very bench on which they sat had been, during the sad years she spent on the farm, the favorite retreat of the mother of Hinton and Walter Gowan. There she often sat alone, for, from that point, not only could a charming view be obtained of " the beautiful river,"-which was here nearly a mile in width, and, within view, encir- cled three picturesque islands,-but seated here the unhappy wife and mother might hope to see some flat boat floating past, and possibly obtain from the crew some old weekly newspaper which would furnish her with some scrap of news from her old home beyond the mountains.
After a protracted silence, Holman was the first to speak. "From this night forward," he said, "yonder house will be to most negroes and to many whites a haunted house. Within its precincts a negro boy was brutally murdered ! I knew, or felt that I knew the very cabin where the devilish deed was done as soon as I laid my eyes on it. Moreover, from the door of yonder house went forth a strong man whose mind was
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haunted by a vision of that black boy's face, to drive which away he killed himself. It is not that death has been in yonder house, but death in such a hideous form and shape as will forever stamp it as a haunted house."
Just then, away down the river could be heard the sound of oars as they clicked in the rowlocks ; and presently could be heard the slush of water from the oars, and the rippling water parted by a skiff's sharp bow.
The skiff landed a few yards below, and under the high bank where Holman and Adair were seated. Four men stepped out ; two of them were the negroes who had pulled the skiff, and the others were Mr. Hawley and Doctor Clayton. Silently the two gentle- men walked up the bank. Adair, who knew them, met them, and, after short greetings, introduced his companion, Holman. Then there were several quest- ions and answers, all in a subdued tone, and by the time the new-comers had reached the house, they knew all that was known regarding Hinton Gowan's death. On entering the house, the gentlemen were introduced to Mr. Duncan-Benton they knew quite well. Greet- ings in a silent sort of way were soon over.
The six men then entered the room where the dead man lay. The Doctor stepped forward and removed the white linen cloth that covered the face, so cold and white ; placed his hand on the damp, cold forehead ; felt the clammy hands that were folded across the breast : and then -----
And then there came a long dismal howl from a dog in the yard, that crouched upon its haunches, and seemed to be looking up into space ; in response, appa- rently to the howling dog, there came from under the
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eaves of the house the shrill cry of the screech-owl, uttered as if in extreme anguish ; then, from back of the field, came the oft-repeated injunction to " Whip- poor-Will " ; and from afar off-from the deep, dense, dark forest, came the question of the sentinel owl- " Who comes, who comes, who comes there ? " Lastly, "O Lord ! O Lord !" came in frightened tones from one of the negro cabins. Five men, in that room with the dead man, shrugged their shoulders as if cold shivering chills crept down their backs. But Holman only slowly rubbed his hands and said to himself, " I felt it."
The Doctor having re-covered the cold, white face and stepped back from the bedside, all retired into the adjoining room, where hung the picture.
" Gentlemen," said Mr. Hawley, after a short silence, " I should explain to you that, as an old friend of the family, I received, some hours ago, a letter writ- ten by Hinton Gowan this morning ; in which, after referring to his ' cruel Letitia,' as he called his wife, and of her having left him-taking with her their ' darling baby,' he goes on to say that life had become an intolerable burden ; that he and his brother Walter intended to kill themselves; that by the time I re- ceived his note they would both be dead ; that their bodies would be found near their mother's grave ; and he begged ine to come and see that their bodies were decently interred. This, gentlemen," he continued, "is the substance of his letter, which, however, con- tains some further wild ravings about his cruel Letitia ; that she had misjudged him, but that he forgave her, and would pray for her, etc. The letter proves, to me, that the writer's mind was deranged ; and this, too,
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was no doubt the case when the negro boy George was put to death. In confirmation of this, I may tell you, gentlemen, that I have known the family for years, and that the father, Doctor Gowan, is, to say the least, a very-very strange man. Furthermore, a brother of Doctor Gowan, who was some years ago Governor of the Territory of -, did, when in the zenith of his fame and popularity, blow his brains out without any assignable cause ; showing conclusively, to my mind, a plain streakof insanity in several members of the family.
"And, Mr. Adair," Mr. Hawley resumed, "I should tell you that I was on my way to see Doctor Clayton,-who has for some years been the physician of the family,-with the letter I had received from Hinton Gowan, when I met the messenger sent by you, and received your note. We brought up with us, as you saw, a coffin ; and the Doctor and I think the burial should take place quietly to-morrow, as there are no friends whose arrival can be expected. Doctor Gowan, as you, Mr. Adair, perhaps know, was, a short while ago, in Salem, with his two daughters. But he, I understand, -and much to the surprise of most of his friends,-suddenly left for Virginia, leaving his daugh- ters in or near Salem. I should add that as there is now no white person here to take charge of the farm and slaves, I will, as an old friend of the family, attend to the matter until I can hear from Doctor Gowan, to whom I will write at once, and inform him of all that has transpired. One word more ! We-the Doctor and I-have to thank you, Mr. Adair, and your friends, for remaining here until now ; and we trust you can and will all remain until we have buried the body of Hinton Gowan."
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" We will remain," responded Adair.
(It should be understood that there was then no such an official as a Coroner in the county ; nor were any legal requirements necessary before an interment could take place of one who had died by violence, as in this case. )
A few hours later all had retired to bed excepting Adair and Duncan, who kept watch over the body of Hinton Gowan until two o'clock A.M., when Benton and Holman, who had retired early, arose and took their places and watched during the remainder of the night.
That night, while Adair and Duncan were sitting alone in the room where the portrait of the lady hung, Duncan told his friend the story of his life.
15
CHAPTER XVI.
George Duncan's Story-His Recollections of Liverpool, Eng- land - His Voyage to Charleston, S. C .- St. Andrew's Society-In Philadelphia-His Letter to Jennie Banner- man, and the Answer - George and his Brother Go West- At the Cave-in-Rock-Night and a Storm on the Ohio River-George Arrives in Smithland.
T T HE story of George Duncan's life, which he told to Joseph Adair, was as follows :
" Adair," he began, " you have often spoken to me of your boyhood's days, have told me something of your family -particularly of the good old Quaker brothers,-and of your travels and adventures since the close of your apprenticeship. In return, I have told you pretty much who and what I am ; but there is one story of my life I have never told you, and I have lately been wishing for a quiet leisure time to do so.
"To begin then at the beginning, I was born in old Scotland about eight and twenty years ago. My father was for many years the bookkeeper and confidential clerk in a large woollen mill in the city of Glasgow. His old employer dying, left my father two hundred pounds, or nearly one thousand dollars, which was more money than he had ever had before. He was then five and thirty years of age, and had a wife and
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two sons-John McGregor Duncan, aged four, and my- self, aged two. After the death of his old employer, my father obtained a situation in Liverpool, England, with Messrs. Mason & Cook, who were engaged in the American trade.
"For three years all went well, but then my-good- mother-died ! Her death made such an impression on me that it is yet distinct in my memory. We lived on what was known as Duke Street, and near a large quarry on the side of a hill. It was my delight to go to the top of the hill, where I could see the broad Mer- sey, on which Liverpool is situated, and see the big ships as they sailed in and out of the port ; and could also look down into the great, deep quarry and hear the cannon-like reports of each blast. But the day came when the quarry, as such, was abandoned, and it was converted into a cemetery ; and there my dear mother was buried, -not in an ordinary grave, but in a vault hewn out of a wall of soft reddish sandstone.
" My mother gone, home was no longer home to my poor father ; and, a few months later, he gladly accepted a proposition, made him by Messrs. Mason & Cook, to go out to Charleston, South Carolina, as their agent. We sailed from Liverpool in the good ship Annie Royden, Captain James Bailey, and after a rough voyage, during which I suffered much from sea-sick- ness, we arrived safely in Charleston harbor.
" My father obtained boarding for us three with a Scotch family. There had already been organized in Charleston a society known as Saint Andrew's, com- posed of members of Scotch birth or descent, and de- signed for social and benevolent purposes. My father soon became a member. A few months later came
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another terrible blow : my-poor-father-died ! com- mending his sons to the care and protection of the Society of St. Andrew. Well and nobly the society did its duty by us poor orphan boys ; they buried our father, and found us homes among its members ; mine with a Mr. Bannerman, a married man with but one child-a little girl about one year younger than myself : and my brother with a Mr. Muir, who was married but had no children. W'e both had good homes. The sec- retary of St. Andrew's wrote to Messrs. Mason & Cook of the death of my father ; and, in reply, received from them a letter in which they not only spoke of their great regret at losing a friend and agent whom they esteemed so highly, but they remitted the society the amount of my father's credit with them, and a year's salary-two hundred and fifty pounds, -to be used, at the discretion of the society, in the maintenance and education of us two boys. That money was, I am sure, religiously devoted to those purposes.
"Soon after our father died, my brother was placed at school ; but for the first year my chief duty, and pleasure, was to play with little Jennie Bannerman, whom I soon loved as a little sister, and run on short errands for Mrs. Bannerman, who always addressed me as her ' son.'
" Thirteen more years rolled rapidly away, during which my brother and I went to school some six months in each year ; and, after we had passed our twelfth year, when not going to school, we were put to work : I to learn the saddlery trade ; and my brother, that of a hatter. Those, on the whole, were pleasant days ; for, orphan though I was, I had a loving brother, almost a father and a mother in Mr. and Mrs. Banner-
--
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man, -who were sober, industrious, and pious people, -and, as time went on, in little Jennie I had more than a sister. Smile if you will, but I had begun to look forward to the time when Jennie and I would be man and wife ; and although we had never told our love, we looked and acted it every day.
" But then came a time-a long time of sorrow and inisfortunes. First, Mr. Muir, with whom my brother lived, moved to New Orleans, but John did not wish to leave me and chose to remain. He was now old enough to manage for himself and earn a living ; and for a time he found a home with me in the family of Mr. Bannerman. But alas ! this was speedily followed by the death of Mr. Bannerman, who had ever been a delicate man. Mrs. Bannerman's parents were still living in Scotland, and thither she, in a few months, sailed with her daughter Jennie ; and I, a boy of nine- teen, was left, excepting for my brother, alone and almost broken-hearted. But still there was hope. Jennie had said to me before we parted that she would ' na'er forget her George,' and would wait through the 'lang, lang years' for me to come o'er the seas and bring her back again. And I prayed God to prosper me, and hasten the day when I could return to my native isle, see again the grave of my mother, in the solid rock of the quarry-cemetery at Liverpool, and then 'hie to auld Scotia,' and claim for wife the bonni- est lass that e'er the sun shone on.
" To my father, home was home no longer when my mother had died, and so now that Jennie was away, Charleston-although I had every reason to love the good old town and its people-was no longer like a home to me. A strange unquiet, a restless longing
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for change, came over both my brother and myself. But whither should we go? There was a ship in port to sail soon for Philadelphia, and thither we determined to go. Our friends of St. Andrew's gave us testi- monials as to our character, and with letters of intro- duction to two business firms in Philadelphia, and about twenty dollars each in our pockets-after paying our passage,-on board we went. We had hoped to work our way, but the ship, the Sergeant Jasper, had her full complement of men, and we had to go as passengers.
" As we sailed out of Charleston harbor, I felt, for the first time in my life, that I had indeed and in truth unmoored and ventured out upon the voyage of life ; and how little did I dream that I was to drift away into this western wilderness. But I was not alone ; I had my brother by my side. I was young and hopeful, and I was nearing Jennie. Both John and I suffered much from sea-sickness, but in due time we arrived in Philadelphia.
" Thanks to the letters of introduction, but more particularly to the testimonials we had from St. An- drew's Society, we soon obtained employment : John with a furrier, and I in a small saddlery warehouse.
"Soon after my arrival in Philadelphia, I wrote to Jennie. That letter cost me more than a day's hard work. It was the first I had ever written. and I had much to say : why I had left Charleston ; then a de- scription of that never-to-be-forgotten sea voyage ; of my new home and employment : and, finally, of how hard I intended to work, and how saving I would be, so that I might soon make that other sea voyage, which no one else in all the world but she could induce me to
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undertake. For days and nights I dreamed of the delight my letter would give the dear lass. And then the time came when I supposed she might be reading it ; and then-oh, how slowly the days did pass away ! for surely the answer was on the way to me, and when, oh ! when would I receive it ? At last, after months of weary waiting, a letter came to me, but-"
Here Duncan stopped. His voice had for some mo- ments been husky, but now tears were in his eyes. At last he stammered out some apology for his weakness.
" Make no excuse," said Adair. "I am glad to see that you can shed tears. It is nature's own method of relief. I have often wished that I could find relief in tears, but in the arid desert of my heart there is no fountain."
Duncan looked up as these words were spoken. The man, the face, the tone of voice, everything betokened that it was no mere figure of speech Adair had used, but a veritable truth he had spoken : and, impressed as he was, it was some moments before he resumed his narrative.
" That letter," Duncan resumed, " was not from Jennie, but from her mother. She told me, in few words, of a violent cold, a cough, and then a rapid con- sumption ; that her darling had read my letter o'er and o'er again, and kissed it ; that she had talked of me. and, at times, to me, as if I were present before her eyes ; that the struggle was soon over, and how the dear, dear lass went quietly to sleep-the sleep of death-with a smile on her face. Then the mother spoke of her great bereavement, and of her earnest desire and prayer to follow the loved ones who had gone before.
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" When I had finished reading that letter it seemed to me that the sun of my life had gone down-had set in black clouds, the shadows of death, and never to rise again with ' healing in his wings.' Then came another longing for change, for adventure, excitement, danger, anything to escape from myself ! But my brother did not wish to leave Philadelphia, and, with- out him, I would not go. However, in the course of two years he obtained a good general knowledge of furs and peltries and of the trade in them ; and he then conceived the idea that there was a great for- tune in store for him, by going to the far West and buying and shipping furs to the Eastern markets, and he wished me to go with him. His proposition pleased me much, for what, thought I, could be more exciting and alluring than the life of a hunter, trapper, and trader among the Indians. Our preparations were soon completed ; and, with our old testimonials from St. Andrew's Society at Charleston, and open letters of introduction from our employers in Philadelphia, we started, our objective point being St. Louis, Missouri. We descended the Ohio River, from Pittsburg to Louis- ville, in a flat boat, and after remaining a few days in Louisville we again started on another flat boat, in- tending to go on it as far as the mouth of the Ohio River or near there.
" Then began the most memorable journey of my life, and one that I cannot look back upon without mingled feelings and emotions. The boat-a ' broad- horn'-was in charge of one Jonathan Lumley, who owned a large proportion of the cargo, which con- sisted of corn, provisions, and whiskey. With Mr. Lumley were three other stout young men as hands,
-
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making, with my brother and myself,-who had agreed to work our way for food and passage, -six persons on board.
" Day after day as we floated along, and I got better acquainted with my companions, the more I found that, under a rough exterior, they were warm-hearted, generous, and confiding fellows, equally ready for a jig or a knock-down, for a shooting match or a drinking bout, for a song or a sermon.
" But now I come to a part of my story that stirs my blood to this day, notwithstanding the four years almost which have since elapsed. Our boat was nearing Cave- in-Rock, and when within full view of the high rocky bluff, at the base of which is the entrance of the Cave, we observed a woman, on the top of the bluff, hailing us, by waving a white cloth, whereupon our captain, as we called Mr. Lumley, ordered us to pull in close to shore, within easy speaking distance, so as to learn what was wanted.
"Presently a man came from the entrance of the Cave, and called out : 'Hey, Cap ! have yer enny bacon or whiskey on board ? '
"'I-yie !' shouted back our captain.
"'Won't yer land ? We're short er rations here, an' want ter buy right smart !' said the man.
"'Goin' to the lower Mississippi !' answered our captain, 'and don't want to break bulk so high up.'
"'But, Cap, we 'ud be mi'ty obleeged ef you'd lan'. An' we've got a woman here and a boy who want passage down ter the mouth er Cumberlan'. They've bin waitin' a long time, an '11 pay passage.'
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