CHAPTER I. THE OUTLAW’S DAUGHTER.

It was near the close of a sultry day, late in the month of September, 1755, that Lieutenant Orville Deville, a young officer of Braddock’s provincial corps, urged his weary war-horse up the steep western ascent of the “Ridge of Spears,” one of the most difficult and dangerous of the mountain ranges in the western part of old Maryland.

Behind him, at some short distance, rode toilsomely his faithful servant, Nero.

As they gained the summit of the mountain an upward-glancing ray of the sun, striking full upon them, brought out each individual of the group in distinct relief.

The young soldier seemed not more than eighteen years of age.

His figure was tall, and finely proportioned; his features were cast in the purest classic mould; his complexion was 22fair as that of the fairest lady; his clustering curls were of a pale golden color, and his dark eyes were fringed with lashes of the same delicate bright hue. This really beautiful countenance was saved from the slightest suspicion of effeminacy by the whole character of its expression,—by the flash of the falcon eyes, the curve of the eagle nose, the curl of the short upper lip, the upward protrusion of the well-turned chin, the stately carriage of the head, the erect position of the body, and in short by the general and unmistakable air of conscious strength, invincible courage, and almost insufferable arrogance, that distinguished his whole bearing. He wore the blue-and-buff uniform of the provincials, and sat on his chestnut thorough-bred with the stately grace of a prince of the blood.

His negro servant, Nero, was an unmixed African, somewhat past middle-age, whom the birthright service in his young master’s family had endowed with certain pleasant privileges of familiarity which would scarcely have been tolerated in an alien, but which were excusable in an old and tried domestic. For the rest, Nero possessed the usual traits of his race and caste, somewhat exaggerated in the individual, namely, unconquerable self-esteem, invincible cheerfulness, irresistible wit, ardent affections, and an immutable attachment to his master and his master’s family.

To be the personal attendant of Mr. Orville Deville, Lieutenant in His Majesty’s provincial corps and heir of River-view in Maryland he considered just the greatest honor that could be enjoyed by a person of his color. In fact, Nero seemed to consider that there was but one greater man than his master’s servant, and that was his master’s SELF. Nero wore the buff-and-blue livery of a provincial officer’s retainer, and was mounted on a bay that had once been a draught-horse at River-view, and was more 23distinguished for strength of build than elegance of shape.

As they drew rein at the summit of the mountain, Orville took from his saddle-pouch a pocket-telescope, arranged it, and pointing it eastward took the sweep of the horizon.

The features of the landscape were grand and simple. Below his stand-point fell a precipice of rocks, broken with waterfalls and spiked with those stiff and bristling cedars that gave the range its name of the “Ridge of Spears.”

From the foot of this mountain eastward stretched a green valley of interminable forest-land, veined with broad rivers, waved with hills and dales, and reaching to the base of the distant Blue Ridge that was distinctly marked against the gray horizon.

“This is assuredly the ‘vast wilderness,’ the ‘boundless contiguity of shade,’ for which the poet sighed,—only I do not see the ‘lodge’ that forms so necessary an item even in the poet’s paradise,’ said the young man, as he gazed out upon this most unpromising prospect.

“Lodge? Marse Awful, honey, was yer looking out for any lodge?” inquired the groom, riding nearer to his master.

“Not with any expectation of seeing one, Nero,” replied Orville, lightly, running up his telescope.

“Don’t shut him up yet, Marse Awful, chile, till yer jes’ turns an’ looks at dat ere big black cloud, and see what it means.”

Orville wheeled around, adjusted his glass and took a sweeping view of the western prospect.

Its features were very similar to those on the east—that is to say, a wooded valley, diversified with hill and dale and river, stretched from the base of the mountain, westward to the Cumberland heights, immediately over which the setting sun, breaking through a black cloud, projected 24level rays of golden light, that for the moment kindled all the valley in a prismatic conflagration.

“Dar! what you t’ink o’ dat, Marse Awful, honey?” inquired the negro, when he thought that his master had gazed about long enough.

“I think, Nero, that there is no doubt but we shall have a storm before we find shelter for the night.”

“Dat’s ’couraging,” coolly remarked the black.

“There is not,” continued the young man, as he swept the landscape with his glass, “there is not a sign of a human habitation in sight—not a roof, not a chimney, nor even an eddying curl of smoke to mark the presence of man!”

“Dat’s more ’couraging nor de oder!”

“Nero!”

“Nero! an’ allus Nero! It used for to be ‘Uncle Nero;’ but since he done gone to the wars, he done put heself on to his diggerty an’ calls his old sarvint, as is ole ’nough to be his daddy, Ne-ro! but it ’comes him! ’deed it really do! he do look like any young prince a-speakin’ to his primest minister, when he lifts up his nose and says—Ne-ro,” thought the old negro, as he looked half in reproach, half in affectionate admiration, upon his haughty young master.

“Nero, I say!” repeated the latter.

“Well, sar, yes, here I is,” exclaimed the old man, approaching.

“Nero, we shall have to camp out all night.”

“Now de Lor’ forbid! How we dem gwine ’camp out all night’ widout any camp?—an’ a thunderstorm acomin’ along of a soaking rain, an’ you not fully ’covered of yer wouns’s!”

“There is no help for it, I am sure; so the best thing to be done now, is to look out for the most convenient spot for the purpose.”

“An’ find a water-prof tree for a roof an’ a sof’ rock for 25a pillow! What do you ’spose de fair Lady Adelaide say to dat?”

“Nero, you are privileged,” replied the youth, who, arrogant as was his nature, yet allowed to his old attendant somewhat of that wild liberty of speech accorded by a king to his court-jester.

“I am ‘privileged!’ I wonder ef how he thinks it’s a great privilege to be ’lowed to sleep on a downy stone underneaf of a thunder-cloud coverlet?—ef so ‘I waive de privilege,’ as I once hear one gemman say to anoder.”

“Come, come, sir,” impatiently exclaimed the young gentleman—“look to yourself! what are you thinking about?”

“I were a-thinking ’bout my privileges, marster,” demurely replied the old man.

“Well, now think about finding an encampment for the night. The sun has set; and look! how that cloud is spreading and darkening!”

“Yes, marster; it will make a good ample blanket to cover us bime-bye, when we find sof’, ’lastic, gravelly beds.”

“Rascal!” said the young man, half smiling, “get down and see to my saddle-girth and tighten your own, for we must descend the mountain to find a resting-place, and the steep is really very difficult.”

“Yes, marster, honey: but I makes no doubt as we shall get to de bottom of it—somehow,” said the negro, drily, as he looked down the fearful precipice, where jagged rocks, spiked cedars, treacherous sliding stones and rushing waterfalls, alike threatened interruption, or distruction to the daring adventurer.

“True; it is a very dangerous pass,” said the young gentleman, replying to his servant’s look, “but what then? you and I are used to these things: we have shared many dangers together.”

26“Y-e-s—y-e-s—,” said the old man, hesitatingly, “we have shared danger, but you have shared all de glory, which shows de unequality of human fortunes.”

“Are you discontented, sirrah?”

“No, I’m not a discontented sinner! but I hopes I’se a philosopher,” said the old man, bridling.

“Then let your philosophy regulate our horses’ accoutrements, or the storm will be upon us before we reach the base of the mountain. Come, come, let us hasten!”

“Marster, chile, de longer we is in getting to de foot o’ dat same mountain, de better for our state o’ health. ‘Slow an’ sure’ holds good dis time, sartin. What Lady Adelaide gwine do long of a crippled bridegroom?”

“Silence, sirrah!”

“Oh, I can be a silent sinner, ef yer likes; but dat don’t change nuffin,” grumbled the old man, as he dismounted and tightened his horse’s girdle, and then went and performed the same service for his master.

“Now then,” said the young gentleman, “keep a tight rein on your horse, Nero, or he will be likely to stumble and cast you over his head.”

“God knows my arms is almos’ pulled out’n der sockets now, wid keepin’ a tight rein on him,” replied the darky, as he prepared to precede his master, for the purpose, if possible, of finding a path down the precipice.

At that moment a low muttering of thunder reverberated through the sky, and was echoed sullenly from all the caverns. The black cloud driven before the wailing wind, overcast the whole heavens; its shadow fell darkly over the whole mountain, and heavily upon the hearts of the travelers. As the youth looked up a single large drop of rain fell full upon his forehead. Again the thunder rolled over head, and was re-echoed from the gorges.

“It is coming—it is upon us,” exclaimed the young soldier, looking around less in dismay than in admiration at 27the sublimity of the gathering storm. But just as the second peal of thunder rolled away, and died in silence among the distant dales, another and a very different sound was heard—a sound full of hope and promise—in fact a huntsman’s horn, winding the sweet, clear, short notes of the recall.

Both master and man drew rein to stop and listen, and look in each other’s faces with joy.

“There is at least a prospect of shelter. Some stanch sportsman who has been out all day, warned by the rising storm, is now returning home by this pass. Good! we will join his company.”

“Yes, marster, sartin, glory be to the Lord! but aint it reyther airly in the season for a huntsman to be about?” inquired the negro, in doubt.

“The last of September. Well, yes, rather, as you say—at least we on the Potomac should think so; but I suppose these wild mountaineers do not adhere very rigidly to the laws of woodcraft. We will wait until this huntsman comes up. By my life a sweet note!” said the young gentleman, as the hunting-horn was heard again, sounding nearer.

But just then a crash of thunder, attended by a glare of lightning, broke over the earth. The air shook, the horses trembled under their riders. Yet, when the shock was passed, and the smoke, as it were, cleared off, again was heard the silver notes of the huntsman’s horn winding the recall.

“Trallal lalla! Trallal lalla! Trallal lalla! Tralleura—leura—leu!”

“A very sweet note!” exclaimed the youth.

“I wish he would hurry along,” said the servant.

And, as if in an answer to his prayer, the horn suddenly wound up its notes and ceased, and the sound of a horse’s hoofs were heard approaching at full gallop from the opposite or western declivity of the ridge.

28“Ah! he is mounted. So much the better, we shall reach shelter all the sooner.”

“And he has a whole pack of hounds at his heels! Listen, marster, I hear the pattering of their feet!”

“We hear every thing in these echoing passes.”

“I wish we could see as well, marster; you has good optics—can you see him?”

“No; he has not yet appeared above the edge of the ridge,—yes! there he is!” said the young man, as an equestrian figure was seen rising upon the edge of the mountain.

When, just at that instant, a blinding glare of lightning seemed to set the whole heavens and earth in flames, and a deafening peal of thunder broke and rolled crashing down the abyss of space, followed by a sudden darkness that seemed to have swallowed up all nature in original night and chaos!

For a full minute the young soldier remained transfixed to the spot

But, in the mean time, the equestrian hunter, through storm and darkness, gloom and deadly peril, had reached his side; for as soon as the thunder had rolled away, and howled itself to death in the distance, and the black cloud was lifted——

Orville Deville looked up, and saw, with astonishment, in the person of the supposed huntsman—a young girl, a beautiful, wild creature, well mounted on a spirited black horse, accoutred, cap-a-pie, as a huntress, and attended by a pack of stanch hounds.

For a moment the young soldier stood gazing in silent admiration.

Yes! For she who thus ominously heralded by lightning and thunder had suddenly broken upon his sight, was beautiful, beyond possibility of comparison with any woman whom he had ever before gazed upon.

She was a brilliant brunette, of not more than fifteen 29years of age, with a slight, elegant, and graceful form, that sat her horse with equal ease and command. Her features were irregular, as those of every characteristic or bewitching face must necessarily be; her complexion was of a warm, rich olive, ripening into a ruddy bloom upon the round cheeks: her shining hair, her flashing eyes, quaintly curved eyebrows and long eyelashes, seemed intensely black. But that which gave individual character to the enchanting face was this combination,—eyes too full of lightning, and lips too plump and red, indicating a nature at once tender and spirited, loving and fiery; one of those characters that seldom or ever follow a common-place career, or fill an ordinary station; one who, according to circumstances, may become devoted and heroic, or sensual and vindictive; that may be developed, in this world, into heroes or into criminals, and become in the next—angels or devils!

The costume of this beautiful wild creature was picturesque. A riding-habit of black merino fitted perfectly her elegant figure; a riding-hat of black felt, adorned with one black plume, shaded her sparkling face; gray-gauntlets with deep cuffs, recently donned, covered her hands. From the right-side saddle-horn hung a game-bag well filled, and the silver pipe whose sounds had preceded her approach. Lastly, in her right hand, she carried a light fowling-piece.

Such were her dress and accoutrements; but ever from them the eyes of the spectator came back to look upon her beautiful strange face, with all its dark and bright promises. Intellect, passion, will,—all were here in their undeveloped strength—what should life make of them and of her?

None of these questions, however, passed through the mind of young Orville Deville as he gazed for a moment, entranced, upon the beautiful wild maiden before him. In her singular, bright countenance he saw only its marvellous 30beauty, felt only its wondrous fascination. He did not even speculate upon the circumstance of meeting in the mountain wilderness this bright young girl in the garb of a sportsman. He felt only her “glamour” that was momentarily growing upon him.

For a moment they gazed upon each other—he with ardent admiration, she with surprise and curiosity.

Then suddenly recollecting himself, he lifted his tasselled cap, and bowing deeply, even to the flaps of his saddle, said:

“Young lady, I am Lieutenant Orville Deville, of his Majesty’s Provincials, returning with my servant from the fatal field of Braddock’s lost battle. I have missed my way, and would crave of your courtesy some direction to the nearest place of shelter.”

With the fearless gaze of a young Amazon, the wild girl looked at the speaker, as though she would have read his history, character, and purpose in his face. She hesitated to reply.

Old Nero looked upon both with infinite disgust—“Why de debil don’t Marse Awful speak plain? De young thing don’t unnesstan’ de fus word he say. Why can’t he ax her—Young gall, for goramity’s sake, tell us whar we can run in out o’ de storm?”

Nero was wrong. She understood the speaker: she only paused to read him—as if ever a young girl read aright a young man whom she began first by admiring. The scrutiny, however, seemed to satisfy her, for she answered him by saying, in tones which he thought the clearest and sweetest that he had ever heard,

“At the foot of the mountain, sir, is my father’s house: he will make you welcome to a supper and lodging.”

“Dar! dat’s somefin like talk, now!” said the black to himself.

With another and a deeper bow, and with his eyes, 31whose admiring gaze he could scarcely restrain, fixed upon her face, the young man replied:

“I earnestly thank you, and gladly accept your kind proffer.”

And so saying, with a smile and a wave of the hand, he backed his horse and gave the young girl the pass.

But instead of going forward, she turned her sunbright face over her shoulder and looked in the direction of the way whence they had all come.

“Pardon me; you are waiting for some one?” suggested the young man, with a just perceptible tinge of—what? yes, early as it was in their acquaintance—of incipient jealousy!

“No, sir, I am waiting for no one; but since I have been so lucky as to meet you, perhaps you would not mind doing me a small favor?” said the young huntress, turning her graceful head, and lifting her dark eyes to his face.

“A thousand with delight! Speak, bright one: we are at your orders,” exclaimed the gentleman, earnestly pressing closer toward her steed.

“Marster in hebben, ef de ’fernal fools don’t mean ter stand here and larver der furnel nonsense all night, wid de rain jes ’bout ter come down. Lord! Lord! Lord! Lord! now she’ll take jes as long ter larver back again!” mentally ejaculated the old negro, in distress.

She did not, however. Eying the young officer shyly yet proudly, she answered promptly and to the point:

“Well, sir, since you are so good, I must tell you that to-day, on the other declivity of the mountain, I was so fortunate as to shoot a young buck, which, however, I had no means of bringing home.”

“Humph! dat aint de onliest young buck as you’ve shot to-day I’ll take my oath,” significantly commented the old man.

32“Well, beautiful Diana, I should applaud that feat in one of your sex, did admiration for the bright girl leave room for admiration of the keen huntress,” exclaimed the youth, scarcely able to withdraw his fascinated eyes from their gaze of adoration.

“Sir!” ejaculated the untamed creature, suddenly flashing upon him her black, scintillating and sparkling eyes. She evidently had not caught the sense or spirit of his courtly speech.

Her unsophisticated perplexity must have confused Orville Deville, could any thing have embarrassed that self-possessed young gentleman; he replied:

“I await your commands, bright Diana.”

“My name is not Diana. It is Lionne, if you wish to know it; but that is not what I was talking about. The buck I struck lies some half a mile back. I should thank you if you would let your man go with me and bring it before him on his horse.”

“Oh! Lor’ goramity, ef she don’t mean to keep me out’n de storm all night, long o’ her buck!” whined the old man, to himself.

Apparently Mr. Deville disapproved the proposition; for, after some seconds delay, he gently inquired:

“But would you linger longer in the storm?”

“What!—a soldier and AFEARD?” suddenly hissed the wild creature, in his ear, with a look and tone that might have become Lady Macbeth, when uttering the same words.

So startling was the effect of the change that transfigured her whole countenance, that the old negro, taken by surprise, suddenly backed his horse, and, with the superstition of his race, exclaimed: