In the days of St. Clair; a romance of the Muskingum valley

Front matter

The lone warrior was Silverheels

IN THE DAYS OF ST. GLAIR

A 'Romance of the Valley

Chapter I

IT was the autumn of seventeen hundred and eighty-nine. The morning sun stood tiptoe on the ramparts of the Blue Ridge and hurled his javelins into the peaceful valley of the Shenandoah. Clouds of dun-colored fog — like smoke from a burning city — arose from the bosom of the Shenandoah itself, and floated lazily over the adjoining fields and woods. Rose-colored beacon lights of dawn began to appear upon the crest of the Alleghenies ; and here and there along the valley columns of blue smoke shot heavenward, indicating that the inhabitants were astir and the war of day was on.

Midway between the dancing waters of the river and the foothills, was the Lovelace mansion ; and upon its broad veranda stood a young woman. She was tall and queenly. Her raven hair, soft and silken in texture, was gathered in a loose coil at the back of her head, and her sloe-black eyes — that could harden and flash with pride or anger, or soften and glow with love or pity — were bent upon the bright river several miles away. One white and shapely hand shielded her eyes from the slanting arrows of the sun, while the other rested upon the railing of the veranda. A black gown of soft woolen accentuated the whiteness of her skin — in which there was no hint of sallowness — and swaying in the crisp breeze, revealed the matchless contour of her limbs. The white neckerchief that encircled her slender neck was folded upon her breast and fastened with a small brooch of gold.

A few moments she stood motionless, her gaze riveted upon the river, the fog that overhung it, and the distant range of the Blue Ridge that appeared as a low-lying cloud-bank against the brightening sky. Then she turned, and, walking to the end of the veranda, directed her attention toward the stables at the back of the house. She smiled involuntarily as there came to her ears :

"Oh, Marse Paull Marse Paul! Fo' de Lo'd's sake hurry !"

She continued to smile as she murmured to herself:

" The silly black ! He seems to be greatly excited about something. What can be the matter ? "

" Marse Paul ! Marse Paul ! De bay filly's got 'er fo' foot in de manger, an' she's jes' ramshacklin' eb'ryt'ing!"

The young woman heard the excited tones of the negro, the sound of shod hoofs upon the floor of the stable, and the crash of breaking planks. Her smile faded, and hard lines took its place.

"What's the matter here, Gumbo? " cried a cheery voice.

" Fo' de Lo'd, Marse Paul, de filly's got bofe 'er feet in de manger, an' I can't do a t'ing wid 'er! 'Deed an' dat's a fack ! "

Apparently the mare ceased her struggles and stood still, for the young woman heard no further noise. Her harsh look gave way to one of melting tenderness.

" Ah, Paul, how I love you ! " she whispered, clasping her strong white hands in front of her. " I'd travel barefoot over red-hot coals to win you, were it necessary. And you must be mine! I have loved you long ! "

Her black eyes were moist and her bosom was heaving with emotion. She saw two horsemen riding from the stables toward the house, and she descended the steps to greet them. One of the riders was a young man of twenty-five years, tall, straight and sinewy. His face was smooth-shaven and his brown hair fell in ringlets upon his shoulders. His laughing blue eyes denoted a merry, good natured disposition, while his square jaws and firm mouth were indicative of high moral courage and imperious will power. A broad-brimmed soft hat surmounted his brown curls, and a cloak of blue cloth, fastened at the neck with a clasp, fell about his shoulders. The horse that he bestrode was a black of fine form and great beauty ; and he sat the animal with the easy grace of one accustomed to the saddle. His companion, a middle-aged negro, was mounted upon a restive, high-stepping bay mare. A bullet-pouch and powder-horn hung at the slave's side, and a long rifle rested upon the pummel of his saddle.

" Good morning, cousin," was Paul Graydon's greeting, as he cantered up to the fence and doffed his hat

Hester Lovelace smiled winsomely upon him, as she answered :

"Good morning — a most beautiful morning 1 Where now, Paul?"

" I'm going to join Isaac Meeks in a bear-hunt among the mountain laurel bushes," returned the young man, as he reined in his steed and patted its glossy neck.

A shade of annoyance swept over Hester's lovely features, but it was gone as she inquired :

" What occasioned the uproar at the stables just now?"

" Bess was indulging in one of her tantrums ; and I suppose Gumbo attempted to chastise her," he said smiling.

Miss Lovelace looked very grave as she asked:

" Paul, don't you think you are too lenient with the slaves sometimes — especially with Gumbo? "

" It may be, Hester," he admitted, rather reluctantly, "but I'm what I am. I wasn't born for a slave driver — I don't like it. I'd rather lead than drive. However, I shan't have it to do for long."

" What do you mean, Paul ? " she asked, opening her black eyes very wide.

"This, Hester: I've eaten the bread of idleness too long; too long I've led an aimless existence. My uncle, your kind father — peace to his ashes — gave me a home, reared and educated me. I've no right to expect more. I must go out into the world, armed with ambition, energy and good health, and hew out a road to success. I can't respect myself fully until I've done so."

All this he said in a manly, decided way that left no shadow of doubt in regard to his real intentions. Hester watched him narrowly as he spoke, studying his every expression and gesture. Her own face expressed surprise, incredulity, and downright anger in turn. When he had finished she asked coldly :

" Are you tired of staying with us, Paul?" " Xot at all, Hester," he replied quickly. " You know it's not that — "

She interrupted him with : "Why go, then?"

" For the reasons I've given."

" They're neither good nor sufficient." He looked at her in surprise and began : " I don't understand you, Hester. I — ** Again she broke in on him :

" Let me explain, cousin. You say that my father gave you a home, reared and educated you. You might have added that he loved you as his own son. My mother has been your mother, my father has been your father. You and I have been as brother and sister. Now, when my — our father is dead and our mother is an invalid, when the management of the large estate devolves upon you and me, you propose to go away and leave me to bear the burden alone. Surely you've a strange way of showing gratitude, Paul."

Tears were in her eyes. Her voice was trembling. She stood unmasked before Paul Graydon, but he was too blind to see. He did not understand that her tears were tears of love and mortification ; he did not realize that she had shown him her woman's heart. Well as he knew her, accustomed as he was to all her moods, he did not understand her now. He thought that her emotion had been caused by the mention of her dead father.

" Hester, I can't consent to stay here much longer." He spoke kindly but firmly, u Don't misunderstand me ; I'm not ungrateful. You've been very kind to me. But when a man reaches the age of twenty-five years, it behooves him to think of procuring home and substance for himself. The life I'm leading here — that of a gentleman of leisure — is a pleasant one. But I'm accomplishing nothing. You say that if I go away, I leave the care of the estate to you alone. I don't flatter myself that you'll feel the loss very greatly. You can readily obtain a better overseer. As you've said, I'm too easy with the field-hands and servants."

Hester Lovelace strove with conflicting emotions. She loved her handsome cousin. Her passion was one of slow growth but overmastering power. She had no idea of giving him up — of permitting him to go out into the world beyond her influence. She was angry that he had not understood her. Yet she was ashamed to put her meaning in plainer language. Did Paul love her as she loved him? She did not know — she scarcely dared to think. A happy thought came to her. She was rich, Paul was poor. Perhaps that was the reason he had never spoken of love. She would make one more effort. She leaned across the low fence of whitewashed palings, and smoothed his horse's glossy coat, as she said in a low, intense tone :

" You shan't entertain such ideas for a moment. Father's dead, mother's an invalid. This vast property will soon be yours and mine. There's enough for you and me both. There's no excuse for your going, Paul."

He drew himself up proudly : " Hester — cousin, do you think me base enough to rob you of your own ? "

"If you don't accept what I offer — offer you with all my heart, you do rob me, indeed ! "

There was a world of meaning in her tone, and her black eyes turned full upon him. Something of the truth flashed through his mind; but he cast the thought aside as unworthy.

" Rob you by leaving you? " he ejaculated, gazing into her upturned face.

" Yes."

"Of what Hester?"

I4 IN THE DAYS OF ST. CLA1R

"Of yourself!"

He could misunderstand her no longer. Her face and neck were suffused with hot blushes, as she dropped her head and tapped the earth, with her slippered foot. Paul Graydon was greatly embarrassed. He shifted his position in the saddle, and nervously knotted the rein in his hand. He regarded Hester as a sister, and he loved her — but not in the sense that she loved him. He laughed uneasily — a forced, artificial laugh ; and attempted to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat. His words sounded hollow and insincere, as he said :

" You'll not miss me greatly, Hester. You'll be lonely for a time, no doubt ; we've been long together. But time heals all wounds. I must get me to Isaac Meek's house, however, or hell grow weary of waiting and start upon the hunt, alone."

She thought that he had misinterpreted her language, and quickly recovered her composure; for she was humiliated that she had laid bare her heart before him. She must say something. Already he was gathering up the reins. With a miserable attempt at a smile, she asked :

" Why do you associate with Isaac Meeks, Paul ? He's far beneath you."

He was pleased and relieved that she had abandoned the subject of their conversation, and answered readily and carelessly :

" I don't regard him as an associate or friend,

Hester. He appears to be an honest, good-natured fellow, and is a skillful guide and hunter."

" Is that all the interest you have in him or his family?"

He hesitated a moment, and became aware that she yas keenly scrutinizing him.

" Yes; that is all."

She said not another word, but continued to look him full in the face.

" Why do you ask ? " he inquired, slightly irritated at her manner.

" You're more interested in the fair Marie, than in her uncle," was her unexpected rejoinder.

Paul's face flushed, and he could not look her in the eyes.

" Hester ! " was all that he could say.

She clapped her hands and laughed a harsh, grating laugh.

" You stand convicted ! " she cried.

" What do you mean ? " he managed to inquire.

" That you love Marie Fontanelle ! I've long suspected it; now you've told me. So you wish to go out into the world, to build a nest for your gay bird. It yould be cruel in me to hinder you ! " And a faint sneer curled her thin lips.

" I've not said I mean to marry Miss Fontanelle," he replied coldly.

" You've said that you love her."

"Hester! When?"

" Just now. Your face told what your tongue refused to tell. You love her — what matter? It's naught to me that you mean to ruin your life by marrying a French woman. Go — go to her ! She is waiting for you — she of the noble pedigree ! A slattern Meeks for her mother, and a French trader for her father ! "

She was beside herself with rage and shame. Seeing that neither explanation nor argument would prove availing, he gathered up the reins and, dashing the spurs into his steed, galloped from her sight. She watched him with dry eyes until he disappeared at the turn of the road. Then she covered her face with her hands and wept silently.

Chapter II

T"" HE fog had lifted from the river, and the sun was •*• climbing the eastern arc of the heavens. The negroes were singing and working in the tobacco fields. To the right and to the left of the mansion, half-naked pickaninnies were gamboling and laughing in the warm sunshine. A restless catbird squawked and complained over the advent of autumn, as it hopped from limb to limb of the quince bush in the corner of the garden. The shaggy watchdog — toothless, old and feeble — trotted to her side, and, raising his gray muzzle, begged for a caress. But Hester heard and saw nothing. At last, with slow footsteps, she entered the house.

The Lovelace plantation included some of the best farming and grazing lands in the valley of the Shenandoah — "the garden spot of Virginia," It consisted of several thousand acres of hill and bottom, and stretched from the foothills of the Alleghenies to within a few miles of the river.

The mansion — if it merited so dignified a name — was large and rambling. It had been builded piecemeal. Originally a double hewed-log house of two stories, the outside had later on been weatherboarded, and from time to time additions had been 2 (17)

made to it, as the needs or fancy of its owner dictated. It was unpainted and weatherstained. Its immense whitewashed chimneys of undressed stone, on the outside of the structure, were in strange and glaring contrast to its gray exterior. A low, broad veranda extended along two sides of the house, and stone steps led down to the flag-paved walks. Back of the residence were the stables and other outbuildings ; and to the right and to the left of it — scattered along the country highway — were the negro quarters.

The interior of the mansion was suggestive of the birthplace of its original owner. The polished oaken floors, the wide and deep fireplaces, the smoke-stained joists and wainscotings, the cumbrous carved funiture, and the heavy brass andirons and candlesticks, gave the impression of an English country-house of the period.

George Lovelace, Hester's father, was the younger son of an English nobleman. At the age of twenty-seven he married, and with money inherited from his mother's estate he came to America to seek his fortune. He bought this tract of land in the Shenandoah valley, and cleared and improved the estate. Here Hester, the only child, was born twenty-three years before the opening of our story. Several years after her birth, Mr. Lovelace went to England ; and on his return brought back with him his dead sister's son, Paul Graydon. The "bonnie English laddie," as his uncle lovingly called him, found a place in his aunt's motherly heart, became the baby Hester's constant companion and playmate, and waxed fair and lusty under the genial Virginia skies.

As has been said, Paul and Hester were inseparable from the day of his arrival. As children, they romped and frolicked about the gray mansion; a little older grown, they explored the fields and woods together ; and not until he had reached young manhood and she young womanhood, were they ever long apart.

Then he went to college in New England, while she stayed at home under the instruction of a private teacher. When he returned after graduating, they promptly resumed their old relationship. Both were strong-willed and imperious — both English to the core — and the clash of steel on steel was not an infrequent occurrence. When the battle ceased, however, the participants were better friends than before. One gave ground and yielded the contested point as frequently as the other ; and after each encounter, each had the good sense to refrain from mentioning the cause of their wordy duel, or the result of it.

As the years passed, Paul's love for Hester grew stronger — but it was the protecting love of a brother. Not so with her love for him. It underwent a change — a wonderful transformation. At first, she was barely aware of it. She felt that Paul was nearer and dearer to her than ever before, that the

I.\ THE DAYS OF ST. CLAIR

.skies were bluer and the flowers fairer for his presence — and that she was unhappy when he was absent. Then she realized that she grew jealous if another woman — especially if the woman were young and beautiful — showed even a passing interest in him. \Yhat did it all mean? She propounded the question to herself many times. At last the startling truth flashed upon her that she regarded her handsome cousin as a lover.

From that time onward she looked upon Paul as her future husband. She did not stop to ask if he loved her — had not he been kind and loving always? Of course he would ask her to be his wife sometime. Not until her cousin began to go upon frequent hunts with Isaac Meeks, and to spend days away from her, did she begin to question the character of his love.

On an ill-fated day she met Marie Fontanelle, Isaac Meeks's niece, and was surprised at the girl's almost angelic beauty, so different from her own. Paul frequently went to the Meeks place. Had he fallen in love with the dainty forest flower? She trembled with apprehension. Was this French girl — this daughter of an adventurous trader — to take from her all the sunshine of existence? She would not permit it — and she stamped her little foot in ragei

From that time forward, she exercised even- power to win and keep her cousin. She was a fascinating woman, and she knew it. She bent all her energies to her task. She welcomed him home with a smile, and sped him on his journey with a lingering caress. She consulted him in everything, and did her best to make him understand that he was necessary to her very existence. She read to him, she dressed to please him. But she failed to hold him. Slowly but surely he drifted away from her.

She could not stand that. She grew jealous and unhappy. She vented her displeasure upon the unoffending slaves ; was moody and silent in the presence of her mother ; and at times treated Paul in a cold and distant manner. Paul, blind to everything but his love for Marie Fontanelle, scarcely noticed Hester's changed demeanor. He treated her, as he had always done, with courtesy and respect ; showed her the same attentive kindness and felt for her the same old brotherly love. All this was just what she did not want. She grew desperate, and, on the morning that opens our story, unmasked her heart to him.

When Hester entered the house, after Paul's departure, she found her mother half reclining upon a stiff-backed sofa in front of the white hearth. The sun was warm without, but within the air would have been cool, had it not been for the bright fire that blazed in the wide fireplace. Caroline Lovelace was a pale, white-haired woman, whose face — drawn and seamed with the indelible lines of great suffering — still showed traces of former beauty. She was tall, thin and worn ; and the white hands that lay listlessly in her lap had a semi-transparent appearance. She was gazing into the depths of the gentle blaze with a far-away look in her dark eyes. Glancing up — as her daughter drew a chair toward the fire — she asked :

"Where have you been, child? You look blue and cold."

"Out on the front veranda," Hester answered, without looking at her mother.

" You're shivering — are you sick ? " Mrs. Lovelace inquired, with concern.

" I'm not sick " — The answer came in a cold, inflexible tone — " but I don't feel very well. Please don't talk to me, mother."

"Hester, what's the matter? You're sick — I know you are. Don't be afraid of alarming me ; tell me what ails you."

" Mother, I'm not sick — I wish that I were — I wish that I could die ! I'm tired — tired of life ! "

" Hester Lovelace ! " was all that her mother could exclaim, as she slowly and feebly arose to a sitting posture. She looked at her daughter in silence for some time ; but Hester did not deign to reply.

" My child, don't you know that it's very wicked to talk as you've been doing? "

Hester could restrain herself no longer. She turned upon her parent, and in a tornado of passion cried:

" Mother, I know nothing of the kind 1 It's not wicked to tell the truth ; and I am tired of life — for

I've nothing left to live for. You don't know — you can't know — what I feel ! Oh, I'm so unhappy — so miserably unhappy ! "

She buried her face in her hands, while her form shook. Mrs. Lovelace was puzzled and alarmed. She had noticed for some time that Hester was not herself ; but she had never seen her give way to such a storm of passion. They were very like, this mother and daughter. Each was willful and self-reliant ; neither was of a confiding disposition. For this reason they had never known the intimate relationship that had existed between daughter and father. Mrs. Lovelace did not know of Hester's love for Paul, and was at a loss to account for her strange behavior. Now she said, as she wearily sank back upon the cushions :

" Come here, dear — I can't come to you ! Come and tell me your troubles; perhaps I can help and comfort you."

Hester had partly recovered her composure ; and, apparently, was coldly indifferent to her mother's appeal. Her indifference was assumed, however. She felt that she must tell some one — and the kind, indulgent father to whom she had always gone was dead. She hesitated.

Mrs. Lovelace went on :

" Come, dear ! Your father's gone now, and you must make a confident of me. We've not been to each other what we should have been. Let us start anew and aright. I, too, have something that's worrying me very much — something that I want to tell you. Come, dear ! "

She held out her arms toward her daughter, and said this last pleadingly. Hester's heart was touched. Was her patient, long-suffering mother in trouble, too? The young woman burst into tears, and dropping upon her knees beside the sofa hid her face in her mother's lap. Mrs. Lovelace gently and caressingly stroked the girl's dark hair, until the latter ceased her weeping, and, looking up with a half smile, inquired:

"What is it, mother?"

" You want to know what troubles me ? "

" Yes."

" Tell me first of your own troubles, dear child. You're so changed — you're not your old self."

" Tell me first, mother ; you know how hard it is for me to confide."

" Well," replied Mrs. Lovelace, slowly, " take a seat here, Hester, and let's talk calmly. We can help and comfort each other, perhaps. I'm failing and must leave you alone soon."

The daughter raised her hand deprecatingly, but the mother paid no heed.

"I'm much concerned about your future, and would see you well married and settled in life before I die. Your cousin Paul's a clean and honorable young man, and you've known each other intimately for years. You'll need some one to help you in the management of the estate. Who could assist you so well as Paul ? I feel confident he loves you, Hester, and that in the near future he'll ask you to be his wife. I used to think you loved him, child; and was happy in the thought that he whom I've regarded as a son would be my son indeed. But, of late, I've thought you don't love him as a woman should love the man she marries. It was your dear father's wish that Paul should be your husband, Hester. Is the thought unwelcome to you ? "

Hester was astonished at her mother's want of discernment. She could have laughed aloud in scorn. She burst forth:

" Mother, you're blind — blind ! What but my love for Paul has been burning as a consuming fire within me, for months ? What but my love for him has caused me to treat him as I have ? I am almost crazed with grief and humiliation, for he does not love me. He loves another ! "

Mrs. Lovelace stared hard at her daughter. " Hester, is this true — do you love Paul ? "

" Haven't I told you, mother? "

" And he loves another ? "

" It's true."

"Her name, Hester?"

" Marie Fontanelle."

" Who's Marie Fontanelle, pray ? "

" A niece of Isaac Meeks, the hunter, who lives up in the foothills."

" A coarse and vulgar backwoods wench ! "

" Far from it, mother ! She is lovely, but she comes of plebian stock. Her mother was a Meeks — poor, illiterate whites — and her father, an adventurous French trader. But what matters her origin ? Paul's infatuated with her ; and talks of leaving us and going out into the world, to seek his fortune."

Hester spoke in a hopeless tone that went straight to her mother's heart. Mrs. Lovelace closed her dark eyes, until they looked like two black slits in the whiteness of her face, compressed her pale lips and asked :

" How do you know all this, Hester? "

" I've picked it out of Paul, bit by bit. This morning I surprised him, by accusing him of loving her ; and his face revealed the secret. It's too true, mother ! "

Caroline Lovelace's face was a study. Little by little the look of habitual calm forsook it, as the tempest gathered. Rage corrugated her brows; and from her eyes flashed an indomitable will that brooked no opposition.

" The beggar ! " she hissed between her set teeth. " How dare he flout you, my daughter, with the blood of English peers in your veins and with your rich dowry ? The dolt ! to go daft over the insipid beauty of a half-breed French huzzy ! Has he no memory for all he owes to us? He scorns your love ! Very well, we shall see ! Leave it all to me, child ; he shall be yours. I think that I shall have no trouble in bringing him to his senses — and to your feet. Bah, the fool ! "

Hester Lovelace's face brightened. She saw that she had an earnest and powerful ally in her mother. The younger woman bent down and kissed the upturned face. And in the compact sealed by that kiss was a world of trouble for Paul Graydon and Marie Fontanelle.

Chapter III

PAUL overtook Gumbo at the turn of the road; and together they cantered forward at a brisk pace. The sunshine was warm and genial ; the air was crisp and clear. It was one of those rare autumn mornings that bring the glow of health to the invalid's cheek and make the blood dance and tingle in the veins of the healthy. Paul rode with bent head and downcast eyes, giving little heed to the beauties of the morning. He was engrossed with his own thoughts — and bitter enough they were. He realized at last that his haughty cousin looked upon him as a lover ; and he realized as fully that for him the world held but one woman — and that woman was little Marie Fontanelle.

His horse stumbled, and Paul, riding with loosened rein, almost lost his seat. Mechanically he pulled up the black steed ; but his reverie was unbroken.

Gumbo was an observant, quick-witted fellow, and he noticed his young master's mental abstraction. The negro had been Paul's body servant ever since the latter's arrival in America. At that time, Mr. Lovelace said : " Gumbo, this is your young master ; see that you take good care of him. Paul, (28)