USA > Kentucky > Livingston County > Chronicles of a Kentucky settlement > Part 25
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"Ah, you're the very man I want to see ! Know ye then that I have been strangely undecided, since you handed me that infernal, mystifying note, as to what I should do with this corporeal frame of mine- whether to find for it a quiet retreat from the cares, crosses, and contaminations, the toil, tumult, and tur- pitude, and the vice, vexation, and vicissitudes of this depraved, degenerate, and degraded life, in one of Holman's Caves ! And, hark ye ! he knows where there's about sixteen of them in this amphitheatre of hills, in some of which no human foot but his hath ever trod ; and which are warranted to be compara- tively free from ghostly visitants from the other world to haunt my 'guilty soul with dreams of lost delight.' Or, secondly, whether deliberately, and with malice prepense, to force the dissolving ingredient of life into this distempered, dwindling, and decaying body, and thus let the unfettered spirit free to wing its flight to-"
" This climate will suit you best," interposed Adair, " and Salem will suit your malady better than any of Holman's Caves."
"But, great Cæsar !" exclaimed Benton, "can't
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you see I'm dwindling to a shadow, that the light of my eye is fading, and that my voice is becoming sepul- chral in its tones ? But," he continued, " think not, my friend, that my accumulated woes are all the result of that mysterious note. Nay-nay ; but, sit down, and I'll unburden my sorrow-sick soul to you."
" Well, up and out with it," said Adair, taking a seat.
" But, seriously, Adair, it is too-too bad, about- about-my poor brother," sighed Benton.
" What, Robartus ? What 's the matter with him ? " Adair anxiously asked.
" Yes, Robartus-poor Robartus !" groaned Ben- ton. " He has gone and ' did and done ' it again ; let another ancient Greek into the family !- fact ! it came yesterday. You know he named his first boy Leoni- das ; well, that was n't so bad ; besides, the town boys soon shortened it into Lon. The next, you know, was named Miltiades ; that had like to have been the death of me, but I recovered when the boys shortened it to Milt ; and I am not without hope that the world will suppose his name to be Milton. But-this-last-poor -little innocent, with more than a mill-stone-of-name hung around him !"
" What has he named it? " Adair laughingly asked.
" E-pam-i-non-das ; it's a solemn fact !" answered Benton, wiping his eyes. "And just to think of it ! I prepared a list of all the great American worthies from Christopher Columbus down to Henry Clay, but ' nary-a-one' of them would suit. Then I ransacked . England, and suggested Burke and Pitt, and Spencer, Shakespeare, and Sheridan, but it was no go. Then, in desperation. I went as far as ancient Rome, and pleaded for Horace, Virgil, Cicero, and Cæsar, and even
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mildly mentioned Pompey, but, sir, my pleading was in vain ; it had to be Greek, and the more of it the better ; and hence E-pam-i-non-das it was, and is, and is to be ! And, sir !" he exclaimed, rising to his feet and waving his long right arm," this all comes from the recent landing of Lord Byron on the classic shores of Attica ; and from the appeal of the Provisional Gov- ernment of Greece to England and the civilized world for protection. When I made my last and most heart- rending appeal to Robartus to spare the child, he gazed sorrowingly at me, and, pressing his hand to his heav- ing bosom, said : 'What heart does not throb, what bosom does not heave, at the very thought of Grecian independence ! Have you' (me) 'the feelings of a man ? and do you not wish that the blood of Greece should cease to flow, and that the groans and sighs of centuries should be heard no more?' Then came brother Robartus' pathetic appeal : 'And shall the land of the Muses ask our help in vain ?' 'No, brother Robartus,' I answered, 'the land of the Muses can have my last shin-plaster ; but nary-a-child will I sacrifice on that altar.' I'm sure brother Robartus has recently found that speech in some newspaper, memorized it, and knew more of it, but I stayed not to hear it ; I was already too full for utterance. But now, to think calmly over it ! With these three Greek heroes in the family, the battles of Thermopyla and Marathon, and I know not how many more ensanguined fields, must be fought over again and again. And, sir, whilst this may perchance very remotely contribute to the independence of the 'land of the Muses,' where, oh where, I ask, is to come in the peace, the quietude, and the repose of the Benton family, and of your humble
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servant in particular ? For I will have to do a larger proportion of brother Robartus' work than ever, so that he may assist in nursing those Grecian heroes."
Adair laughed-and laughed heartily-at the quaint- ness and varying moods of his friend, and wondered what it all meant. After a Leonidas and a Miltiades, an Epaminondas in the family of the classical Clerk of the Court was not surprising. But Benton himself-was he merely acting ? Was his serio-comico-farcico rig- marole an effort to cover the wound that mysterious note had made? But there was no use in mentally debating the matter, for Adair knew exactly how to find out ; so, rising from his seat and picking up his hat as if he were about to leave, Benton at once said :
"Oh, hold on, Adair, don't go; and excuse my infernal buffoonery and hear me !"-and it was evi- dent he was now speaking earnestly, seriously : " I could not see Holman until last night, when he and I sat on a log in his wood-pile and talked for an hour or more ; mainly about that note. You know his peculi- arities ; however, he frankly told me his impression (his decided opinion, as I understand him) was that Walter Gowan had been deceived by Miss Ritchie ; who, however, in the beginning might herself have been mistaken, or merely thoughtless and inconsid- erate in receiving his advances as she did ; or, lastly, that her feelings towards him may have undergone an excusable change after she became better acquainted with Gowan's temper and character. In conclusion, he said, substantially, what you did : that I should not condemn Miss Ritchie unheard ; that I should be on my guard, weigh well any explanation she might give me, and carefully study her character before I sought
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her hand in marriage. But, Adair, I must say, as I did to you once before, that in the beginning Miss Ritchie was, as most young ladies would have been, flattered by Mr. Gowan's attentions ; that the suitor's wealth and great family connections caused Mr. and Mrs. Ritchie to warmly favor his suit ; and, finally, that Miss Ritchie became engaged to him. Her subsequent discoveries, as to the temper and character of her affi- anced, caused her, I doubt not, the bitterest regret at the step she had taken; and this, followed as it was by Gowan's ungentlemanly conduct, fully justified her in breaking off the engagement ; and, consequently, if any unhappy results have grown out of it, they should in no degree reflect upon her. But," he added, speak- ing with great earnestness and some emotion, " while these are my deliberate convictions, I must admit the matter has caused me much anxiety of mind, and hence my ranting when you entered about the Caves, etc."
" But, Benton, have you any idea when Miss Ritchie will return home ? " Adair asked.
" I have not. But I have written her of the chief events that have occurred since she left here, and I hope soon to have an answer from her."
" I do hope," said Adair, as he rose to go, " that all will turn out well. In the meantime, however, take my word for it, you will find more relief in hard work than in anything else."
" I don't know," responded Benton, half jocularly, " but that your remedy is about as bad as the disease ; however, I was trying it when you came in. O Life ! thou art a-''
But Adair was off, and heard no more of Benton's aprostrophe.
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CHAPTER XXV.
How Good News Affected Duncan-Little Anna's Journey- Holman's Unexpected Disclosures-Lost in the Woods- Mrs. Adair Questions her Brother Joseph-She Finally Obtains an Admission-Memory of Past Happy Days.
A FTER leaving Benton, to finish or not his apos- trophe to Life, Adair went over to the shop to see Duncan, whom he found alone; but, instead of wearing a smiling face, he was looking more serious than usual ; when, however, he looked up and saw Adair, smiling faintly, he said :
" Good-morning, and I hope you slept more last night than I did."
" What !" said Adair, "is that the way good news affects you ?"
" Well, it never did so before," answered Duncan. " But the fact is, the news was so good and so unex- pected, that, more than once while you were with me, I felt like dancing the hornpipe or a Highland fling ; but, after you had left, I put on such a studying cap as I never wore before in all my life. And the more I think of it, the more solemnly serious this thing of get- ting married appears. But in all my thoughts there has been no admixture of regret for the step taken. On the contrary, my happiness is so complete as to be
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entirely new to me, and hence unnatural. Yet, min- gled with all, there is a feeling of distrust of myself- that I am unworthy of such a treasure."
" Well, I have just been over to see Benton," replied . Adair, " and he, poor fellow, has the doleful dumps ; and, although he made me laugh heartily at some of his speeches, I left him feeling a little depressed, and came over here expecting to find you in a great good- humor ; but instead of a 'song . it has turned out a 'sermon.' However, that you take such a 'solemnly serious' view of marriage only convinces me that you are fitted to assume its responsibilities. But I must now leave you-am going to the country ; and, should any one wish to see me, say I expect to return by sun- down."
That evening Adair returned in time to give little Anna her ride ; and, seated on a pillow in front of her uncle, and holding the reins, she succeeded in guiding Ben Simon-or the horse succeeded in making his way -to the trough at the town-well ; and, after he had slaked his thirst, the journey was continued until the stable was reached. Then, of course, the " ole hos- see " had to be fed ; and so the riders dismounted and made their way home on foot. When at home it took little Anna nearly as long to relate to her mother and sisters the wonderful incidents of her ride as it did to make the journey.
After supper Adair took a seat on the porch where he could look up at "The spacious firmament on high " (the first line of an old hymn by Addison which had been taught him in early boyhood by one of his old blind Quaker grand- uncles, and which he often repeated entire). He had, however, been seated only
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a few minutes when Silas Holman came slowly walking down the street.
"Come in, Holman, come in !" Adair called out. " I want some one to talk to, and you are the very man."
As Holman entered, Adair brought out another chair, and soon the two were seated.
" Won't you light your pipe, Holman ?" Adair asked. "I don't smoke myself, but I like to see others enjoy a smoke."
" I would, but I have no tobacco with me," Holman answered.
" That can be easily supplied, I think," said Adair ; and, calling to Viney, who was in the kitchen, a few yards in the rear, he asked if she could not furnish Mr. Holman with some smoking tobacco. Now Viney, like most middle-aged and old negro women of that day-and white ones, too, for that matter-was fond of her pipe, particularly when the day's work was done, and she could sit down quietly and enjoy the soothing effects of the mildly narcotic plant. In answer to the master's call, Viney soon made her appearance with a small reticule containing a good supply of natural leaf, broken up into small fragments by being rolled, when dry, between the hands.
Holman having filled and lighted his pipe, talk went on for a few minutes about town and country matters : when, some reference having been made to their ride to the Gowans' farm, Adair remarked :
" And that little story, Holman, which you told me on our way, about poor John Dyer and his young wife Molly, has since been very often in my mind."
"Ah," sighed Holman, in his peculiarly deep but
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musical voice, " that was a sad blow to me, for I liked John and Molly mightily ! But," he continued after a short pause, " I have another little story which I don't mind telling you ; and perhaps you ought to know it, for it may have some bearing on Benton's matters. He, Benton, and I had a talk last night about that note, -he came to see me,-and I told him my im- pressions much as I had told you ; but I did n't say anything to him about the little matter I am now going to tell you, 'cause I was in doubt whether it would be best for him to know it."
"Some few years ago," Holman went on, "John Dyer and I hunted together one day, and we killed several deer. At night I stayed at John's. He, John, had told me of a turkey roost some mile or two north of his cabin, and I concluded I would go out next morning and see if I could n't kill a gobbler or two. I started before daylight, so as to get to the spot before the turkeys would fly down from their roost. John was engaged that morning in skinning and dressing the deer we had killed the day before, so I went on the turkey hunt alone. You, may-be, know that turkeys generally roost on the limbs of large trees near some hill. Their way is to pick out their tree to roost in, then ascend the hill until they are slightly above the level of the limb they have chosen, so that their flight will be an easy one. By daylight I was on the hill-top to the west of the trees where I expected to find the turkeys, so as to have them between mne and the light ; and, sure enough, I soon saw a dozen or inore on one tree, got a good shot, and killed two-one gobbler and one hen. Scarcely had the report of my gun died away when I saw a man running towards me ; it was Walter
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Gowan. He was lost, and had been in the woods all night ; and, hearing the report of my gun, hastened to where I stood. I never saw any one so bewildered as he was ; at first he could hardly answer my questions. However, I soon learned that he had left home the evening before, hunting squirrels, and after killing several he started home, being certain that he knew the way. As twilight was coming on-and when he was perhaps within a mile of his farm-a coon started up near him ; he took after it, and it ran up a small tree. Not wishing to fire his last ball-which was in his gun -he walked around the tree for some time, trying to kill the coon by throwing stones at it. In the mean- time night had come on ; and, being cloudy, he had no stars to guide him when he left the coon and again started home. It was then he must have taken the back track, and was soon completely lost and bewil- dered. After wandering about for several hours in the darkness, and hallooing until he was hoarse, he, by stopping the touch-hole of his gun and flashing powder in the pan, succeeded in kindling a fire, and was proceeding to cook one of the squirrels he had killed, but he was soon surrounded by so many fierce- barking wolves that he became alarmed and took to a tree for safety, where he was seated when he heard the report of my gun. I told him the way home, and gave him such instructions that, I thought, he could easily make his way alone ; but, so bewildered was he, that he declared he was sure to get lost again, and begged me to go home with him, offering to pay me liberally. You see, Adair, how little it takes to turn the head of a man-how little his boasted reason is worth. But, to go on, I went home with him. On the way he sev- 25
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eral times said I must surely be going wrong, and when I finally pointed out to him his fields, beyond which was his house, he declared everything looked strange to him, and insisted on my going with him to the house, which I did. Once in his house, he soon regained his composure ; and, on my refusing to accept payment for my services, he was profuse in his thanks, asked me to take breakfast with him, which I did, and when I left he invited me to call and see him when- ever I could. Such was my introduction to Walter Gowan.
"The next time I saw Walter Gowan," Holman continued, " I met him by accident down on the Smith- land road near the Daniel's farm. He stopped me, appeared glad to see me-in fact, said I was the very man he wanted to see. He was perfectly sober, and soon explained that he was planning to elope with Miss Ritchie, and wished mne to assist him ; said that he would require me only as a guide to a certain point on the Ohio River ; that he would there cross into Illinois, where the marriage ceremony was to be performed ; and he offered to pay me extravagantly for my services. I said to him that I could not understand why there should be an elopement, and that I hoped there was to be no foul play. He solemnly assured me there was to be none ; and, taking from his pocket a letter, he urged me to read it, saying that it was written by Miss Ritchie, and from it I would see that the opposition to the mar- riage came from Mr. Ritchie ; and that, notwithstanding her father's opposition, Miss Ritchie was willing to elope with him. I declined to read the letter, or to have anything to do with the elopement. That is all of my story-my only interviews with Walter Gowan."
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" And it puts a new face on Benton's affair," said Adair, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "He, I am sure, thinks that Mr. and Mrs. Ritchie did, at least in the beginning. favor Gowan's suit-that, in fact, they were mainly instrumental in bringing about the engage- ment. Nor has he, I suppose, any idea that she ever consented to an elopement, or ever contemplated such a step. He, Benton, has doubtless received his inform- ation exclusively from Miss Ritchie, and has based his opinions upon what she has herself told him. It now, however, looks as if she had misrepresented the facts to him ! But," added Adair, "it appears she did at one time discard Gowan, and that he then acted very rudely and made some threats."
" Yes, so I have heard," replied Holman ; "but the accounts of that interview, and the threats, were, I reckon, mainly, if not entirely, given out by Miss Ritchie. That she did at one time agree to elope with Gowan, in opposition to the wishes of her father, I am convinced, although, as I have said, I never read her letter. That she did afterwards change her mind and determine not to marry Gowan, looks certain from her having gone away. And it may be that she had good reasons for doing so, aside from the opposition shown by her father to the match. The discovery that Ben- ton loved her may have had much to do with shaping her course. But my decided impression is that, in planning an elopement, Walter Gowan, up to the last, expected Miss Ritchie would willingly go with him. It was only when she had left-gone he knew not where, he realized that she had deceived him. And, to make matters worse, he soon found that he was generally believed to have intended and planned a gross outrage,
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such as he had never contemplated. Hence his drink- ing and rash conduct."
" Too bad-too bad !" ejaculated Adair. " The whole thing looks clear ; it certainly looks as if Miss Ritchie had deceived Benton on some points-misrep- resented some facts,-and, if so, she is not worthy to be his wife. But, Holman, I am, as you are, in doubt as to whether Betiton should know all these facts. In the first place, it is always a delicate matter to interfere between lovers. Then, you never read Miss Ritchie's letter to Gowan, and you have only his word as to its contents ; but I feel sure, as you do, that he never would have made the statements he did, and thus left himself open to be contradicted by you on the spot, had you read the letter, as he no doubt thought you would. But suppose Benton should speak to Miss Ritchie about her letter to Gowan, and she should deny that any such letter was ever written, it would place Benton in an unfortunate position ; for while perhaps doubting her word, he would have no means of disproving what she said. On the other hand, if she is, as I fear, unworthy to be the wife of our friend, it looks as if it would be wrong to let him go on blindfolded. It's a matter that requires a good deal of thought."
" Well, that's just the way I felt about it," said Holman. "You can think it over, and if you see clearly that it's best to tell Benton, you can do so."
After Holman left, Mrs. Adair came out on the porch where her brother was seated, and at his request she took the vacant seat. She seemed paler than usual, and, to several of Adair's questions, she answered only in monosyllables. Presently, however, she seemed to shake off her timidity or reserve, and said : " Brother
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Joseph, there is a matter that has come into my mind about which I wish to speak with you."
"Certainly, sister," Adair kindly replied. "I would like you to speak freely to me about whatever may interest you ; for the better we understand each other -know each other's wants and wishes, -the better will it be for both. But I hope nothing has gone wrong, and that you have no fresh cause for trouble or anxiety."
"No ; nothing has gone wrong with me, nor with the children. But, brother, I have recently noticed that at times you have appeared much lost in thought, and, occasionally, more than a shadow of sadness has passed over your face. I never observed this so plainly as I did last evening after you had told the children your little tale of the three little boys and the three old men."
"Oh, come, sister ! You must not let my little humors cause you any trouble ; if I thought you did, it would really trouble me. I did not expect the little tale would have taken so sad a turn, but the chicks asked so many questions, in their innocent way, to which answers had to be given, that some matters were mentioned I did not purpose referring to. Besides, I supposed my tale would be over before you entered the room, for I did not wish to distress you by recall- ing your afflictions."
" No, brother Joseph, it was not that you recalled iny loss-which is rarely absent from my mind,-but what distresses me is that I fear you are unhappy."
"Oh, fie !" interposed Adair, speaking with assumed gayety. "It's been many a day since I have had less to annoy and trouble ine, in other words, more cause for satisfaction and contentment, than in the last day or
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two ; several matters that were troubling me having turned out exactly as I wished."
"I am glad to know it," was the calm reply, " but, brother, there may be other matters-and please hear me. I know you well enough to believe that you desire to keep from me, so far as you well can, your troubles, fearing they may cause me additional sorrow. Your father and his youngest son will soon be here, and I have been thinking of the great burden there will be upon your shoulders, and-"
"Humpty-dumpty ! " exclaimed Adair. "Haven't I begged to be permitted to carry the load ? It won't overburden me, but will only steady me ; and I need some ballast. Besides, the more of us the merrier."
"Yes-yes ! I know you would have it so for our sakes. But, brother, please hear me ! There is one thing I wish to know-and for your sake."
Adair, who now saw how much in earnest his sister was, and wishing to allay any unnecessary anxiety she might feel, smiling, replied : " Well, speak out. You need have no fears of giving offence; and if I can relieve your mind of any trouble or anxiety, I will be glad to do so."
" Thank you, brother," was the low, earnest reply. " What I wish to know is this : Were you not, before William's death, thinking of getting married ? and has not that caused some delay, or changed your plans ?"
Adair was completely taken aback. He had never thought of his sister asking him such a question. His first impulse was, for her sake, to answer, "No" ; but his next thought was, "That would be false." He could only resort to some subterfuge. "What," he asked, " ever put such a thought into your head ?"
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"Many things," was the steady answer. "You, brother, have reached, if you have not passed, the time of life when most men, who are as fond of a home and children as you are, desire to get married, and-"
"Oho !" exclaimed the brother, seeking an escape from his sister's question. "And have n't I got a home ? and three little daughters ? And when Dan comes I '11 have a son ! What more should I want ? " "There is much lacking," persisted the sister. "And, brother, I see clearly that what I suspected is true ! You would hide it from me because you would not have me believe that I and my children are a burden to you, and stand in the way of your marriage and fuller happiness. But this must not be."
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