The wanderings and fortunes of some German emigrants

by Friedrich Gerstäcker

CHAPTER VII. THE FLIGHT.

Wolfgang, Herbold, and the elder Siebert, had gone off to the hills, in order to purchase from a farmer there, whom Wolfgang knew, such horses and cattle as they stood in need of for the moment, and which, if they should sell or leave that place within a short period, might either be driven on board of a steamer and so sent to the nearest town, or even be taken with them to their new place of abode.

Their journey had been anything but agreeable, for on the very first day it began to rain, and, during seventeen successive hours, it had never ceased from pouring. The swampy ground, damp at all times, became almost impassable, and besides they were frightened by tempests, which passed over their heads, with bright flashes of lightning, and loud peals of thunder, and that in such rapid succession, that the sound of one peal had not died away, before another already rendered them uneasy about their safety.

Siebert was especially frightened, and although, at first, he endeavoured to conceal it, as well as he could, yet, in the course of the day, he was unable to keep up this disguise, for the thunder and lightning seemed to have no end; he therefore candidly acknowledged his fears, and affirmed that it must be a presentiment that he should be struck by lightning.

Wolfgang laughed. "No, my dear Mr. Siebert, do not make yourself uneasy; the old belief, that lightning prefers to strike trees, and other high objects, is certainly well founded, and with us in the woods, here, it always lights upon a tree; indeed, I should like to know where else it is to go to; it would be quite a feat for it to pass into the earth, without striking one of them. No, I have heard of a good number of accidents, by falling trees or branches, under which men have been buried, or at least crippled, and cattle, more particularly, are often thus destroyed, but I have never yet heard of a man having been struck by lightning, at least, not in the woods. In the hills, there are a kind of natural lightning conductors, I mean the hickories or white walnut trees, although the inconstant fluid not unfrequently has its joke with some old oak. But it prefers the former tree, and I have found them split down to the very roots. But if I am not mistaken, we are approaching the hills, the rushes become thinner, and the soil is getting undulating. Now we have the prospect of surprising my friend at home this evening, and there we may rest ourselves for a day, to make up for our exertions."

Wolfgang had concluded correctly; the last slope of the hills stretched to where they stood, and thenceforward their road became better, as they forsook the swampy hollows, and remained at the border of the higher land.

The farm of Stevenson (the name of Wolfgang's friend) lay, according to his calculation, about five miles further off; but it was not until nearly evening that they reached the fence, and with it the boundary of a well-cultivated field of Indian corn, more than ten acres in extent, before which Herbold stood still, quite surprised and delighted.

Wolfgang, however, did not leave him much time to look about him, but hurried his companions on towards the house, so as to enable them to dry themselves, and to get something warm, for he feared that the other two, not yet inured to the climate, might not escape with a mere cold, but perhaps get the fever or ague.

Stevenson received them hospitably and heartily; his daughters set about making some good, strong, warm coffee for them directly, while his wife got out everything in the shape of clothes, either old or new, and ere long, the wet and hungry wanderers were seated, dry and refreshed, before a warm fire, so that even Herbold confessed that he had not felt more comfortable for many a year past.

Indeed, Stevenson's family seemed to be a pattern of American domestic life;—the interior of the house, simple, it is true, and even poor, was as bright and clean as one could have wished it; the utensils shone and glittered again, and the mother with her two grown-up daughters, clad in the homespun grey of the western forests, looked like the ideal of a worthy matron, surrounded and supported by youth and beauty. The strangers soon felt happy in their neighbourhood, and it only required a few words of encouragement to make them move about with as much freedom and ease as though they were at home in their own houses.

The storm which had so vexed them, and wetted them to the skin, like all other things in this world, had its bright side, too, for it had driven in the cattle towards the protecting dwellings of man, instead of wandering about the woods in all directions, as they otherwise would have been. Cows and horses stood in peaceful agreement, side by side, and licked the salt which a little fair-haired boy strewed for them, upon troughs hollowed out and fixed for the purpose, with an eagerness and enjoyment which told distinctly enough how long they had been deprived of it, and how fond they were of it. A small flock of sheep, with their leader, a stately ram, also approached, but the protector of the cows, a stout, broad-shouldered bull, did not seem particularly to relish his company, and lowered his sinewy neck towards him, and pawed the ground threateningly with his foot. The ram, on the other hand, who did not like to be looked upon as a coward before all his dames, and to forfeit the respect which he considered his due, also assumed a hostile attitude, bent down his head, and ran full tilt, carrying the war into the enemy's territory, at his hundred-fold superior adversary, so that the latter was quite taken aback, and merely awaited the attack with horns pointed down.

But the ram was too wide awake to let himself into a quarrel where he undoubtedly must come off second best, and therefore, when he found himself close before the bull, he turned suddenly off to the right, bringing a couple of cows between himself and his antagonist, called his own little flock together by a peculiar bleat, and in the next moment was on his way to the woods with it; so that the deluded bull, when at last, he threw up his powerful head in defiance, to see what had become of the threatened attack, saw no enemy in his vicinity, and could only express his contempt by a loud, hollow bellow, and by a little sand which he scraped up and threw in the eyes of a couple of cows.

Herbold had looked on at the whole game with much pleasure, and now turned to his friendly host with the question, whether sheep were advantageous and profitable stock in the backwoods.

"No," said he, "at least I have not found them so. The stock, of course, like the rest of our cattle, have to run about wild in the woods, and although the wolves rarely venture on a young calf, yet they persecute the sheep considerably; it is, therefore, only possible to preserve a flock if one has a good ram beside it."

"And do you really think that a ram can bid defiance to the wolves?" asked Herbold, surprised.

"Yes; I not only think so, but am certain of it," replied Stevenson; "they place themselves in a posture of defence, go round and round the flock, and constantly threaten the wolf with their attack, of which he is particularly afraid."

"But when several wolves are together, as no doubt is often the case?"

"The wolf is very cowardly," continued the old farmer; "he seldom ventures on an open attack, and is fearful of resistance. I am firmly convinced that a single sheep could drive away the large black wolf of the woods—to say nothing of the little, grey, prairie wolves—if it would advance resolutely upon him, and make a feigned attack or two. But, as sheep, after all, are but sheep, why, this is not often attempted; they try to fly, and Mr. Wolf seizes them by the collar. But that is not the only thing which interferes with the raising of sheep, there are other circumstances with which we have to contend. In consequence of their running about in the woods unrestrained, their wool gets full of burrs, and it would be still worse were we to keep them in fields or fenced places, where the burrs are yet more abundant; it is therefore out of the question, to wash the sheep before shearing them. That is the reason why, although there is pasture in abundance, we keep comparatively few sheep, and even those few, we should do away with, if our wives were not obliged to use a little wool, to weave and to spin clothes for themselves and us."

"Strange that wolves persecute sheep so everywhere!" said Herbold, with a sagacious shake of the head; "they are natural enemies, no doubt, and the sheep must be aware of it, and dread their worriers."

"Don't suppose that," observed Stevenson; "strange to say, the thing is originally quite the reverse. I have experienced it several times myself. When I have removed to an unsettled district, which, be it said in passing, has been several times the case, I have not lost a single sheep during the first few months, sometimes even during the whole first year, and that surprised me the more as I found everywhere in the neighbourhood frequent tracks of wolves. At a subsequent period, I was once accidentally witness to the cause of their being so strangely spared, and which had already been mentioned to me by various neighbours. I was standing on the look out for an old buck that had passed that way, and from the spot where I had hid myself, could overlook a little plain below me, where my flock, then consisting of but seven ewes and a ram, was pasturing. Suddenly a wolf broke out from a neighbouring thicket, and was about to pass across the open space. But he certainly must have fallen in with the sheep for the first time then, and they must have appeared very strange to him, for just as I thought that he would select one for his breakfast, and was on that account about to step forward to hinder him, he halted, scented them, advanced timidly a step nearer, and suddenly, when one of the ewes turned round towards him, fled, with rapid bounds, into the cover of the thicket. He was afraid of the creatures which were as yet unknown to him, and it was only in the course of time, perhaps when driven by pinching hunger, that these wolves tasted the first mutton. Thenceforth, it is true, there was an end to safety; the ravenous beasts of prey soon learned how timid and inoffensive that alarming-looking animal was, and how sweet its flesh, and from that time forward did much havoc among the peaceable woolcoats."

"But, as the wolf liked the taste of the flesh," said Herbold, "so also might you rear them yourselves, for the sake of the meat."

"We don't like it much," Stevenson replied; "the fare of the backwoodsman is Johnny cake, or Indian corn bread, and pork, and on that he lives and thrives. We but rarely slaughter a bullock and cure the meat, for the sake of a change; for it is dry eating, and deer and turkeys generally serve the turn."

"Is there much game here?"

"Pretty well. He who knows where to seek for it can always find something, and need not come home empty handed, for if there are no deer to be had, he can get squirrels."

"Squirrels?" asked Herbold, in astonishment.

"Yes, yes, squirrels," said the farmer, smiling; "when you've been awhile in the country, you'll come to relish squirrels too; they are very good eating, especially the grey ones."

"But what do you shoot the squirrels with? I see nothing but rifles here."

"Well, what else should we shoot them with?" asked the other, surprised in his turn; "not with those smooth-bored shot guns, that shoot away a handful of lead into the air, besides spoiling flesh and fur? No, indeed. We have small bored rifles on purpose for such small game, and with those we can fetch down the agile leapers from out of the loftiest tree tops, where indeed your shot guns would not carry the charge at all."

"Do your cattle come home regularly, then?"

"Oh no; sometimes a single herd will remain away for months, and pasture ten or twelve miles from home beside other watercourses, and then we have to go after them, seek them out, and salt them."

"Salt them?" exclaimed the German, astonished.

"You are surprised at that," said Stevenson, with a smile; "but of course you are not yet acquainted with the management of cattle in the woods of the West. Well, I can give you at least some idea of it in a few words.

"Our chief wealth, if a poor devil like myself may be permitted to talk of wealth, consists in cattle—viz., horned cattle, horses, and hogs, for as to the sheep they are a mere trifle. But how is it possible that a man should keep large flocks and herds, who perhaps scarcely grows more corn than suffices to keep his own family in bread? Stall feeding is, therefore, out of the question, if, indeed, we had sheds. The woods, on the other hand, are full of the most valuable cattle food; in spring and summer, the beautiful grass—in the fall, the pea-vine and wild oats—in winter, the sweet leaves of the reeds in the reed brakes. It would be folly, with such abundance of food, to think of growing corn for cattle, for the hogs also have more in the shape of roots and acorns than they can get through. We, therefore, rear as much live stock as we can, and trust to Providence to feed it.

"But to prevent them from straying, we have a means which hardly ever fails of attaching them to the spot where they get it. I refer to salt. Horses, cows, and hogs, are all alike passionately fond of it, and to strew salt at certain periods on fixed places is almost sure to bring them back to those spots."

"Don't single heads of cattle sometimes stray?"

"Oh, certainly; sometimes small herds do so, and become wild, but that can't be helped; others grow up in their stead, and the loss is made up again."

"Wild animals destroy many, too; do they not?"

"Many!—no. The bear sometimes makes havoc among the hogs, but his hide must generally pay the damage; and if the panther occasionally tears to pieces a calf or a foal, yet after all it does not amount to much; others grow up."

"According to our notions of cattle breeding it would signify a good deal if a panther should destroy a calf or a foal," said Herbold, with a laugh, "but I perceive the thing is carried on upon a larger scale here. You have many cattle?"

"Pretty well," replied the farmer, "about two hundred head in all, counting cows and calves as one. But I am thinking of going westward, and want to sell them."

"What, forsake your farm!" exclaimed the German, astonished. "Why? Is the land not good, or is the neighbourhood unhealthy?"

"Oh, not for that; the land is capital, and we have no cause to complain much of sickness; a little ague, now and then; but that arises from the neighbourhood of the swamps, and it doesn't last long."

"But why do you wish to remove, then?"

"Well, I don't exactly know, but as I have heard the land hereabouts is to be surveyed——"

"And that is your reason? I should have thought that would have been acceptable to you."

"As you like to take it, pleasant or unpleasant; pleasant because one then gets to know whereabout to look for one's own land, and where one may, here and there, have the chance of buying good pieces to add to it; but unpleasant because I should have to pay for it now, and for the same money I could get just as good land further to the west, and much more of it, and perhaps also better cattle. Here I get at present a pretty good price for all that I have, and if a couple of years were only over one's head, and the settlements in this neighbourhood so thick as to impede a man in his free movements"——

"Good gracious!" Herbold interrupted him; "why, you haven't a single neighbour within nine miles' distance, as you yourself just now admitted."

"Yet the time is not so very distant," continued Stevenson, without noticing the objection, "when we may have towns upon towns along the margin of the swamp, and I had rather go out of the way of the people; the air of towns doesn't agree with me."

"Well, Heaven be praised!" said the other, laughing, "you haven't much to complain of on that score; the nearest town, as Wolfgang told me, is ten miles distant, and consists of five houses."

"And I shouldn't like any nearer," said the farmer.

"There is another thing which I wished to ask you; how, in the name of wonder, do you manage with the milch kine? You must place them at all events under shelter, and feed them, otherwise you can get no milk."

"We can manage that much more simply," was the reply; "we drive home the calves when we find them in the woods, and the cows, of course, come with them. The cow is milked at the homestead, and afterwards driven out of the clearing. During the first night she does not like to go away, but she is driven by hunger to go at last, seeks her food, and comes home regularly to be milked, and to see her calf."

"Certainly that is a convenient mode of keeping milking cows; and the calf remains all day long in a shed?"

"Shed! we don't know such a word here. Whoever may happen to have a stallion may perhaps keep him in a log-house built on purpose, differing in nowise from our own ordinary dwellings, except that it has no boarded floor, nor chimney, but otherwise we don't require those kind of buildings."

"Well, thus much I can see," Herbold now expressed his opinion; "there is no great art in raising cattle here; one has only to drive them out, and scarcely trouble oneself further about them."

"There," said Wolfgang, who had now joined them, and had heard the last remark, "you fall into an error common with emigrants from Europe. They go from one extreme to the other, and believe that, because in their own country they have so much trouble with stall feeding, and are obliged to conduct everything with so much care, therefore that here they have nothing further to do, for instance, than to drive out a breeding sow into the woods, in order to have a drove of some hundred hogs arrive some three or four years after. No, no; one must not neglect cattle here either, but must look after it, else they get wild, and become worse than deer or rabbits."

"I don't know what Wolfgang means by extremes, or what extremes are, but in other respects he has hit it exactly. One has to drive about in the woods for many a long day to get the creatures together, and when that is done they never will remain where they are wanted. But you were saying that you wanted to buy some cows and horses; if you do, you couldn't have pitched upon a better time than just the present; my best cows are here, and there is not one of the horses missing."

"Certainly, we wish to buy both cattle and horses," said Siebert, who now also joined in the conversation; "that was just the cause of our coming hither; but in making our bargain we must rely implicitly upon Mr. Wolfgang and yourself, for——"

"Mr. Wolfgang understands the thing thoroughly," the old American interrupted him, laughing; "we have transacted many a piece of business together. He and his wife—by-the-bye, Wolfgang, how is your wife? she suffered much from the fever lately."

"It is well with her," said the young man, turning half aside; "she is dead."

"Dead! dear me! and we never heard a word of it, so that we might——"

"Don't press the subject," said the young man, deprecatingly; "the distance between this and the river is great, how could you hear of it? Besides, these worthy people helped me kindly with the burial. But," he continued, while he passed his hands lightly across his eyes, "I think it is better for me, and for all of us, if we let alone the melancholy past. We have business to attend to, and activity is the best preservative against sorrow."

"But your wife——" said Stevenson.

"Was an angel," Wolfgang interrupted him, in a low voice, "and I shall never, never forget her, so long as this poor heart beats; still, do me the favour not to wake the old sorrow. I have, Heaven knows! suffered enough already.—When are you going to clear out, Stevenson?"

The old man reached him his hand in silence, grasped heartily that which was offered him, and then changed his tone, in order not to sadden his friend yet more.

"It will be next year first," said he, as he drew one of his large mastiffs towards him, and patted his head; "there are always on those occasions so many things to look after, that one hardly knows where to begin or when one has done, and as I have got to cross the Mississippi, why I intend to take my time, and to get done with it all at once. To go back such a distance for something forgotten would be too tedious. How many cattle will you have—a hundred perhaps? The more you can get at first, the more advantageous for you, for the more rapidly and the more numerously does it increase, and it costs you little or nothing."

"That is very true," Wolfgang now took up the discourse; "if one is minded to stay in the place, or at all events in the neighbourhood where one is; but I would by no means advise the gentlemen to do that. The soil is good, but the location is unhealthy, and it will be fortunate for them if they can stand it during the summer; next fall they must seek out a healthier climate, and much cattle would only be an incumbrance to them. Where do you go to?"

"Into the Ozark Hills; but why will you not at once quit this part of the country, if you are already firmly convinced that you will not remain here long? I should go at once, for time here is money. Calculate merely the produce in cattle that you would gain by it."

"You are right," Siebert now said; "but where are we to find a neighbourhood directly that would suit us, particularly as we are unacquainted with the country; and then a removal with such a number of people is easier spoken of than executed."

"And how we have worked at our place already!" suggested Herbold; "how many trees have we felled!"

"Well, well, that would be the least part of the business," smiled Stevenson; "there can't be so very many in three weeks; besides, all that is not lost, it has been useful to you for practice, and cannot prove otherwise than beneficial hereafter. But I quite agree with Mr. Wolfgang. If you are not unanimous among yourselves whether to stay or go, as it almost seems to me is the case, why then only take some four or five milch kine and calves, so that you may have milk for the children and the sick, at all events three or four horses besides, and no hogs, they would only be a plague to you, and let that suffice for your beginning in cattle management."

Siebert and Herbold fully agreed with this, and with the assistance of Wolfgang and Stevenson selected such of the cows as appeared the best; then chose three horses, small but sturdy ponies, such as are serviceable in the woods, and, on the fourth morning after their departure from home, they had concluded everything with such good fortune, and so much more quickly than they had expected, that they were ready to think about their march back. But they first strolled, with old Stevenson, through all his fields and improvements, and Herbold especially was much astonished at a style of farming of which he had, up to that time, had no conception.

The Indian corn field claimed his chief attention, for although the emigrants, on their journey by canal through Ohio, had already seen fields with rail fences, yet that had always been in the more settled districts, and the fields really looked like fields. But here everything was more in its primeval state, and although the fences had been put up durably and well, yet in the interior there stood almost as many stumps and large girdled trees as there were stalks of corn. It remained an inexplicable riddle to Herbold how any human being could plough among those stumps and roots, for such a field, containing, at least, ten German morgens, or about twenty English acres, could not be tilled with the spade; yet the furrows seemed regular and straight. The plough unquestionably had done it, and Stevenson showed them one without wheels,[22] so as to allow the ploughman to draw it out before every root, to lift it out of the way of stumps of trees, and by pressing or easing it let it go shallower or deeper.

The old American explained to them the culture of the Indian corn, which was very simple, and conducted them between the rows of stalks, frequently from ten to twelve feet high, and which, with their heavy cobs, and drooping, dry, silky little bushes, or flags, presented a stately, and to the eye of the husbandman, most grateful appearance.

The stalks stood, as is customary, upon little mounds or hillocks, quite four feet apart, so as to leave full play for the leaves, and pumpkins or water melons had been sown between them, and throve amazingly, especially the former, which, in some instances, had reached an extraordinary size.

"What, in the name of Heaven, do you do with all these pumpkins?" asked Mr. Siebert, in astonishment, "why, there are actually enough to victual a whole colony."

"Pumpkins," said Stevenson, "are, properly speaking, one of the most useful things which a farmer can sow; horses and cows eat them eagerly, hogs will let themselves be beaten to death for them, and they are one of the most healthy and nourishing articles of food for mankind which we possess here in Tennessee, or indeed throughout the whole west of America.

"For mankind, too?"

"Yes, certainly; but by the time that you have got your fields cleared you will have learnt that yourselves. Pumpkins, boiled down fresh, make a capital preserve, of course not so delicate as plums or peaches, and when dried they yield an excellent winter vegetable, which I, at least, prefer to any other."

"And do they only grow Indian corn in this neighbourhood—no cotton, no tobacco?" asked Mr. Siebert; "the climate is assuredly mild enough."

"Mild enough, certainly. In the states lying north of this, immense quantities of tobacco, and even of cotton, are raised, and consequently, those plants would thrive still better in this more southern Tennessee; but, for the culture of cotton, as well as of tobacco, a great number of hands are required, and black hands if possible; slaves, on the one hand, to get in the harvest—that is, pluck the cotton itself—on the other, to attend to the picking of the small tobacco worm. A farmer who is restricted to his own family cannot attempt to raise those sorts of things, or at least can raise sufficient only for his own use. Else it is sure to be a failure, if the crop is not a total loss."

"But how is it with cereals?"

"Why, those might be more practicable, and here and there they are cultivated with extraordinary success, but Indian corn is better for cattle food,[23] and we always prefer it. Another inconvenience of these smaller grains is the bread; we have no suitable mills for it, and on that account alone must content ourselves with Indian corn. In the eastern and northern states, it is of course somewhat different; there they grow wheat and oats, and I am firmly convinced that in the whole course of your journey through New York and Ohio, or Pennsylvania States, whichever way you may have come, you did not get any Indian corn bread, or set eyes upon it."

Siebert and Herbold confirmed this; but Wolfgang had meanwhile busily occupied himself in tapping with his bent forefinger against several of the largest and ripest watermelons, to seek out the best of them for eating, as they could not remain much longer, but must return to their settlement.

All three accordingly followed his example, and now sought, heavily laden, the shadow of the house, there to enjoy the melons at their leisure.

Mrs. Stevenson had meanwhile prepared an ample and excellent dinner, such a one as is only to be met with in the woods, so that the fresh comers, who besides had not been much used to dainties latterly, acknowledged with animation that they had not made such a meal for a long time.

Game, turkey, and fat pork formed the "pièces de resistance," the heavy artillery as it were, and preserved pumpkin, beans, sweet potatoes, honey, and milk the by-meats. All was prepared simply but well, and the men did justice to it. But after the meal, Wolfgang again urged their departure, and although Herbold (who began to like the place very much) would have willingly passed at least that day there, yet he gave way to the wish of their conductor. Mounting the horses, therefore, which they had bargained for, they bade a hearty farewell to the family of the worthy old Stevenson, and commenced their homeward journey, driving the cows and calves before them. Stevenson also promised shortly to look them up in their new settlement, perhaps within that very week, to make the acquaintance of his new neighbours, as he called them.

But, although they were now mounted, they scarcely advanced more quickly than they had done before on foot, for to drive cows through the woods is a task which, as the Americans say, teaches even methodists to swear, and which certainly offers many difficulties to the tyro. Besides this, Mr. Siebert knew little or nothing about riding, and had trouble enough to keep his seat, owing to the many leaps which the horse was obliged to make over prostrate stems of trees or swampy spots. He had, therefore, to keep in the centre, while Wolfgang and Herbold rode on either wing, in order, not only to make the cattle move on by shouting and swinging their hats, but also to drive back, from thicket and swamp, into the prescribed track, the stragglers, which were constantly straying.

We will not stop to inquire how often, while thus engaged, Siebert and Herbold were dragged from their horses by dangling creeping plants and vines, or lost their seats by sudden shying, or stumbling, or leaping of their beasts, and kissed the earth any way but gently. They progressed very slowly with their charge, and it was near sunset of the second day before they reached the neighbourhood of the settlement, and heard the strokes of the workmen's axes at regular intervals.

* * * * * *

But it is high time that we should return to the settlement once more, where those two villains were steadily progressing towards the execution of their criminal plan. But as Normann wished to await the return of Siebert, senior, he and Turner assisted the emigrants with their work, partly to pass the time, but partly, also, in order to restore their former friendly footing more and more. The settlers had thus just concluded two new fenced inclosures, wherein the expected horses and cows were to be kept, for they could not yet make up their minds that the cattle should be allowed to run at liberty in the woods all the winter.

Even Hehrmann, who, as he could not forget the last scene on board the steamer, had carefully observed Normann the first day or two, appeared to allow his suspicions to be lulled, when he noted his open and candid behaviour. One could plainly see in every one of the doctor's movements how much afflicted he was that he should have been the cause of a company of Germans—of people who were his friends—being cheated and defrauded, and how he now strained every nerve to repair, as far as lay in his power, the evil, although it had not been caused by his own act. He had, on that very day even, assured Hehrmann and Becher, that not only did he not entertain the slightest doubt, but that, indeed, he was firmly convinced, that the rascally land-jobber could be successfully brought to account.

The settlers had succeeded, with the assistance of the doctor and the American, in laying "the worm," as the lower row of rails laid in zig-zag is called, and to erect the whole fence faultlessly, so that Mr. Becher, when he surveyed the successful work with self-satisfied look, observed, smilingly, that now the drovers might arrive as soon as they pleased with their beasts, and that Wolfgang would stare to see such a workmanlike performance, as he had before hazarded an opinion that probably he should have to pull the fence down again, if it were not firm enough.

"Wolfgang!" said Dr. Normann, who now heard his name for the first time, inasmuch as hitherto, when the absent had been spoken of, only Siebert and Herbold had been named. "Wolfgang!—the name sounds quite German; does that gentleman belong to your association?"

"He is a German settler," Becher answered, "to whom the cordwood beside the Mississippi belongs, which you probably noticed piled up."

"Has he also lately come over from Germany?" asked Normann, and that with more interest than might have been expected about a stranger.

"No, he formerly lived in Arkansas," was the answer, "and probably has been some years here in Tennessee."

"A singular case," said Trevor (or Turner) in the Pennsylvanian dialect—"a very singular case, that a Backwoodsman should clear out eastward; an American never would have done that."

Normann was silent, and cast his eyes on the ground; but an attentive observer might have noticed that within a few minutes he had changed countenance very much, and was actually quite pale. The settlers, however, were too much taken up with their new fence, to heed him, and it was only when Normann, after exchanging some words with Turner in a low tone, was preparing to leave for the houses, that Hehrmann noticed the change in his features, and exclaimed jocularly—

"There you see, Doctor, you have over-exerted yourself; this kind of work affects persons who are not accustomed to it, over much; you look deadly pale."

The doctor explained it away, by attributing it to a headache, but affirmed that a short walk would do him good, and, taking Turner's arm, he walked with him towards the houses which were near at hand.

"We must go," he exclaimed, as soon as they had got out of ear-shot of the labourers—"we must be off; we have not a moment to spare, for any instant may bring back those men."

"What men?" asked the American, surprised.

"Those who are gone to fetch the cattle and horses," said Normann, looking suspiciously round.

"Well, who the devil is to understand you? first, you plague and insist upon waiting until this Liebert, or Siebert, as he is called, shall come back, and talk of nothing but riding off, so as to get away more conveniently, and now it almost seems as though you were afraid of the arrival of those whom you were so eagerly waiting for. What ails you?"

"You shall learn all," replied the doctor—"I have no need to keep back a secret of that description from you, for a tenth part of what I know of you, would sentence you to the gallows in any Christian country. But now is not the time for story-telling—on the road—this evening—to-morrow morning—any time but now; let us, for the present, manage to persuade the girls to take a walk. But this much I can tell you, I have well-founded reasons for avoiding the sight of this Wolfgang. When I relate all to you, by-and-by, this evening, you will allow that I have good grounds. Shall we be off?"

"Why certainly," said Turner, laughing, "you are the principal character in this business; I have only come with you to oblige you, so that it is only proper that I should not leave you in the lurch when danger threatens you. Away, then, within the next hour if you like—indeed, the sooner the more agreeable to me, although I should have liked to have waited till dusk, because it could be accomplished then with less danger. Well, perhaps we may talk the girls over to accompany us, while it is yet light, as far as where the nigger with the boat lies hid, but then we must certainly gag them until we get to the Mississippi, otherwise their cries might attract some uncalled-for audience, and as no one goes into the woods here without a rifle, perhaps even bring a ball about our ears."

"And our place of concealment?"

"We shall reach it this very evening," replied Turner; "it is a famous little spot, and you will be delighted with it."

"But you have never told me yet where it is," said the doctor suspiciously; "why all this secrecy?"

"You'll know it soon enough. But what is to be done with the girls afterwards?"

"Oh, let us drop all further plans for the present," said Normann, "we have plenty of time for that when we have nothing else to do; now for the smooth side outwards. In fact, I think we have won the confidence of the young ladies to such a degree that they will go with us without much difficulty, if we ask them to accompany us for a walk."

"No fear; I know a capital lie, which seldom fails to raise the curiosity of a young lady of sensibility."

"And that is——"

"Hallo, there," said the American, jocularly, "does it produce its effect upon you? Well, as far as that goes, also, you must allow me to keep my own counsel. What will you bet, now, that it does not succeed?"

"It would be against my own interest to bet against it," smiled the doctor, "inasmuch as I am interested in its success; so let us to work, for the ground begins to burn under my feet, and may next hour find us in possession of two angels that might well excite a sultan's envy!"

* * * * * *

Bertha and Louisa had just helped their mother to wash up and put away the plates and dishes, and were busied making up summer clothes for the men, in which labour Meier played a prominent part, he having been relieved for a few days from hard work out of doors, and left within to cut out. Turner and Normann walked in; made their obeisance to the ladies, and sat themselves down on a couple of chunks of wood, sawed off for the purpose, and which did duty for chairs. But although the weather was really tempting, and the doctor began several times to say how wrong it was of the young ladies to shut themselves up in the house, and to devote themselves so entirely to work, while they ought to be enjoying the fresh healthy air, and thereby keeping off fever, yet Bertha excused herself on account of the quantity of work which had to be done, and declared that she had so much to do that she could hardly think of a walk, however short, for three days to come. Her mother confirmed this, and Normann, in despair, whittled about on the log, whereon he was sitting, with his penknife. Turner then took up the word, and led the conversation to the cattle, to the cows and calves, which they were expecting, and probably would cause a little change in their monotonous life.

"Oh, yes," said Bertha, "I look forward with pleasure to the little calves, there is something so pretty and confiding in a creature that one has brought up oneself, and so made familiar to one; hitherto we have had no living thing upon the farm, except the chickens, which Mr. Wolfgang was kind enough to bring with him."

Again, that name! Normann drew a deep breath, and looked up anxiously to his comrade, as though he would remind him of the promised assistance.

"Oh, yes," continued Turner, without taking any notice of this movement; "I am very fond of tame animals myself; formerly, for instance, I once brought up a young bear, and I must confess that it pained me very much when I had to part with him afterwards, when he grew too big."

"Bears are dangerous animals—are they not?" asked Louisa.

"Bears! oh, no!" said Turner, as he brought his right knee over the left one, and clasped it there with both hands—"oh, no, not to mankind, but very much so to young game; they persecute young deer a good deal."

Normann looked across at Turner, in amazement, for he knew very well that what he was stating was a falsehood, and consequently that he must have some object in it. Turner, however, retained his former attitude, and looked straight before him.

"It is a melancholy reflexion," said Bertha, after a short pause, "how, among animals, one is always seeking the destruction of others; mankind must have learnt it from them. The poor little deer-calf, how frightened it must be when it sees such a formidable enemy approaching!"

"Oh, that enemy, notwithstanding its strength, is the least dangerous!" said Turner, with a smile; "his attack is, at least, straightforward and open; but the poor little creature has much worse enemies, who better know how to employ cunning to get it into their power, and are thereby more formidable and less easily avoided; these last are, especially, the panther and the wolf. Indeed, everything nearly persecutes the young deer:—wild cats, ferrets, even eagles and carrion-vultures pounce down on them, kill them, and eat them on the spot."

"Oh, that is dreadful!" exclaimed Louisa; "but why doesn't the dam hide them better?"

Normann got up, and walked uneasily towards the door; Turner cast a smiling look after him, and continued:—"So she does; and it is seldom that the buzzards, especially, can find out such a little creature, yet it does sometimes occur—I had an example to-day."

"But, Turner, it is getting late," said Normann, who could no longer control his impatience and his fears—"consider that we must send off the letter to-day, and that very soon, for the messenger will have no time when the cattle arrives and have to be attended to."

"There's time enough," replied Turner, quite quietly; "I have reconsidered the matter, and think we had better not send till to-morrow morning."

Normann turned away, to conceal the emotions which he could hardly suppress.

"You have seen that to-day, Mr. Trevor?" asked Bertha and Louisa, laying down their work, and looking up anxiously at the man; "and the buzzards found and killed such a poor little creature?"

"They haven't killed it yet," replied Turner; "but will probably do so as soon as it becomes dusk, they are always most ravenous then, and generally save their prey until that time."

"But I don't understand you," said Bertha, surprised; "why do you suppose that they will destroy a deer-calf?—can they observe it in their flight? It is not possible!"

"No, certainly not," said Turner, with a smile; "but just after dinner, to-day, when I was taking a stroll in the woods, I saw five or six of these birds; at first I thought that a panther might perhaps have destroyed some animal or other, and went to see what it could be; but found a pretty little deer-calf, only a few days old, which lay there alone and forsaken. Most likely its mother had been torn to pieces by a panther, and the poor little thing would have to starve to death there unless the vultures should free it from its misery."

"But why didn't you bring it with you, then?" said Mrs. Hehrmann, stepping towards them; "good gracious! why it would be shocking if the poor creature should lie like that, helpless and unprotected."

"Oh, how could you be so cruel as to leave it!" exclaimed Bertha.

"Is it far from here?" asked Louisa. "If, as you say, the vultures don't eat their prey until evening, perhaps it may still be living."

"Oh, if you would but fetch it!" asked Bertha.

"My dear young lady," said the American, "the poor thing cannot be very well transported here, unless it were fed first where it lies. I took it up and stroked it; but it was so weak that it was hardly able to move. Men's hands are but rough instruments for handling such a weakly creature."

"You said that it was but a few hundred yards from this?" asked Bertha, once more.

"It is not a rifle-shot off," said the stranger.

"Oh, mother!" begged Louisa.

"Go, children—go," said Mrs. Hehrmann, quickly; "go and try to get the dear little thing home alive; your father will be particularly pleased; he has long wished for some such tame thing."

"Oh, that is capital," exclaimed Louisa, jumping up for her bonnet and shawl; "but we must take some milk with us to strengthen our little charge."

"Alas! if the buzzards should have got it," whispered Bertha, sadly, "I should be so sorry!"

"I should scarcely think they have," said Turner, taking the milk-jug, which she had fetched, out of her hand; "it is but a short time since I was there, and the cowardly birds do not venture very readily upon anything while living."

"Have we got enough milk?" asked Louisa.

"I should think so," replied Bertha.

There was fully milk enough to have filled three full-grown stags.

But Normann, who had regained new life at the turn which the conversation had latterly taken, and could have willingly embraced the American, so grateful was he, now expressed himself ready, with the ladies' permission, to take part in the expedition of rescue, and all four were in the next minute on their road towards the woods.

But scarcely had they left the houses, and entered upon the Bush, before the cracking of whips, and hallooing of voices, was heard in the distance, and the children of the settlement came rushing towards the houses, and announced, in delight, that "the cows were coming along, and the calves too."

Universal activity now prevailed, and all ran confusedly hither and thither, for this was an epoch in their farming life. This was the first stock, which was to make them wealthy and comfortable. All streamed by, not only to assist in driving them into the fenced yards destined for them, but also to see them, to admire them, and—to criticise them. But the cows, rendered shy by the crowding upon them of so great a number of persons, began to trip about timidly, and to low; and Wolfgang exhorted the people to stand back, and not to make such a heathenish noise; but they paid no attention, nor did they obey his warnings, until one of the cows, a fine handsome animal, with lofty and pointed horns, sprang right among them, and, naturally meeting with little resistance, disappeared in the next moment in the woods.

The shoemaker and the brewer happened to be just standing on the spot where she broke through, and the latter, upon the sudden charge of the excited animal, threw himself against the former with such force as to knock him right through a sassafras bush into the totally decayed stem of a tree, out of which he had to be got by the united efforts of two sturdy Oldenburghers. But if the settlers had laughed at the half-buried shoemaker, their merriment was yet further increased, when they discovered Meier in the boughs of a stunted oak, in which he must have climbed with indescribable activity and speed, when the first movement of the horned cattle was perceptible, and when the attention of every body else was directed towards them.

Herbold, with irrepressible zeal, followed immediately, full gallop, after the cow; but Wolfgang, who well knew that that was almost an impracticable task in the thick underwood, was acquainted with a surer and much more convenient mode of bringing back the cow of her own accord: he cut off the calf's retreat, so that it could not follow its mother, and then drove it after the rest, which now, by the combined exertions of all, especially by those of the Oldenburghers, had just reached the entrance of the fence, and they soon saw all the cattle, with the exception of the run away cow, safely within fence and rail.

The cows and calves were to remain together during the first night, but after that the former were to be let out, and thus the American mode of treatment be followed.

Shortly afterwards poor Herbold returned, tired and weary, and, as Wolfgang had anticipated, without the cow; but Wolfgang comforted him (for he was annoyed about it) by the assurance that the mother would not leave her calf in the lurch, but would come back to it, most probably on the same evening, or at all events in the course of the night. The result showed that he had spoken truly, for the cow came within a few hours to the fence which held her young one enclosed, and lowed and ran round it until she was admitted too.

It was not until the men had entered the house, and were about to take some refreshment, that Hehrmann thought of making his friends acquainted with Dr. Normann's arrival. Siebert dropped the fork, which he had just taken up, and cried—

"What! that fellow has the impudence to show his pale hang-dog face among us?"

Hehrmann pacified him, and explained, in few words, why Dr. Normann had sought them out again, and that he hoped not only to recover the purchase-money for them, but also considerable damages.

"My good Mr. Hehrmann," said Wolfgang, "the gentleman must have some other object, otherwise he would not have followed you. If he is not himself really the vendor of this land—which, however, I strongly suspect he is,—yet he can never hope to recover, in this manner, even a cent of the money which has once been thus expended. He appears to me, moreover, from all that I have hitherto heard of him, to be much too knowing really to believe anything of the kind himself."

"But he told us that the laws——" said Hehrmann.

"Why those very laws"—Wolfgang interrupted him—"do but too much assist those who wish to act unjustly. It is true that if the debt be small, under fifty dollars, and you have a formal note for it, then it may be recovered readily enough; but such debts as exceed fifty dollars, and more especially claims of such a description as require fraud to be established, are very difficult, if not impossible of prosecution."

"Look you, my dear Wolfgang, how much you wrong him; foreseeing that, he has brought a friend of his, who happened to come up the river with him. He minutely inspected and surveyed all with his own eyes, and is to give testimony for us in New York."

"Moonshine,—moonshine!" said Wolfgang, contemptuously; "that is, at most, a mere excuse and cover, to insure themselves a friendly reception here: I don't know of what other use it could be. That such testimony would be of no use to him in New York, Dr. Normann certainly knows full well. Is his companion a German?"

"No, an American; but he speaks a little German, though with a very foreign pronunciation."

"Where is he now, then?" asked Siebert; "and where are the young ladies? I have not seen them yet since our arrival."

"The American had seen a young deer in the woods,"—Mrs. Hehrmann now took up the word,—"and as we feared that it might be starved, or attacked by the buzzards, the children have taken a jug of milk, and have gone with Dr. Normann and Mr. Trevor to fetch it."

Wolfgang laid down his knife and fork, and looked up, alarmed, and almost astonished, towards the speaker.

"The American found a deer-calf in the woods, which, as he feared, would starve!" he repeated, as though he were in doubt whether he could have rightly understood the words.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Hehrmann, "and which, he said, was but a day or two old; and, in order that the bears might not devour it, or the buzzards, which had already congregated about it, get it, he went at once."

"A deer-calf—day or two old—bears devour it—buzzards get it!" repeated Wolfgang, astonished.

"Why, yes; and he added, besides, that he must fetch it before evening, for that it was then that the buzzards became most ravenous and most bold, and when they attacked their prey."

"Gentlemen," said Wolfgang, who had suddenly become very earnest, "this American, whom I do not yet know, has either taken the liberty to play off a joke upon the young ladies, your daughters, or—some scoundrelism has been carried out."

"For God's sake, what do you mean!" cried Mrs. Hehrmann, becoming deadly pale, and the men sprang from their seats in alarm.

"What makes you think that?" said Becher; "is not all which the man said plausible?"

"Plausible! Yes," said Wolfgang, "but a lie! Where, I should like to know, do you find, at this season, a deer-calf which may be expected to starve—they are all of them, even those which were dropped latest, several months old; he, therefore, cannot have found that in the woods. Then, again, no bear eats a young deer-calf—that's a fable; and the buzzard, which, besides, troubles itself little about anything which has life, goes to roost as other birds do, like the turkeys and the Prairie hens, at dusk. All that is pure invention to entice your daughters from home; and my advice is instantly to break up in pursuit—perhaps, we may yet overtake them!"

"But where to seek them?" asked Hehrmann, tearing his double-barrelled gun from the wall: "Where to find them? Which of us can follow their track?"

"I know what part of the woods they are gone to," said Schmidt, who had just entered. "I had left a cross-cut saw there this morning, and just went to fetch it."

"Show us the way, then," said Wolfgang, looking at the priming of his own rifle, which, prior to his journey, he had left behind him in Hehrmann's house.

"Oh, God—my children!" cried Mrs. Hehrmann, disconsolately. "Oh! let me go with you!—let me go with you!"

"Don't be terrified, my dear," said the worthy Hehrmann, consolingly, to her; "who knows whether our fears are well founded?—we have at once supposed the worst. It's quite possible that they have only gone into the woods to look for berries, and that we may meet with them close by here."

"I believe, altogether, that you think too badly of Dr. Normann," said Siebert, senior; "I don't think him capable of such villany."

"You are right!" exclaimed Hehrmann, who probably thought of the last conversation of Normann with his daughter, but would not torture his wife yet more by betraying too great an anxiety on his part. "You are right; still, we will go after them; perhaps, too, we may fall in with the runaway cow."

"But she—is in the opposite direction," the shoemaker was just going to blurt out, when he was stopped by an emphatic dig in the ribs from Becher; and when he turned angrily towards the latter, he made such desperately quieting faces that the shoemaker was quite taken aback, and held his peace without concluding the sentence.

Wolfgang, Hehrmann, and Von Schwanthal, mounted the horses to go in search of the poor girls; and the remaining settlers, with very few exceptions, followed on foot, to cross the woods in all directions, and, if possible, to get on their track. Schmidt strode on manfully before them towards the spot where he had seen the two men with Hehrmann's daughters for the last time.

* * * * * *

"If we can but find the poor little thing!" said Louisa, timidly, when they had entered right into the woods, and were gliding forward, in Indian file, along a narrow track.

"Is it much further?" asked Bertha, shyly, who began to feel ill at ease in the dark shadows of the woods in the company of the two men, neither of whom had spoken a word since they lost sight of the houses.

"No, Miss Bertha," answered the American, with a smile, "we are nearly there. Do you see yonder regularly formed circular hillocks?—the poor little creature lies between them."

"Hark!" said Louisa; "I hear shouting and the cracking of whips—they've certainly arrived with the cows and calves. Oh, if we had but waited a little longer!"

"We can be back within a quarter of an hour," said the American, cheerfully, to her. "According to my reckoning, we must be almost at the place."

"But the ground is so damp here," said Bertha, "and mother has particularly cautioned us against getting wet feet—and you too, Doctor."

The doctor was silent, and cast an anxious uneasy glance towards his comrade. Bertha looked up in astonishment at the men, and now first observed in their whole behaviour something strange and unfamiliar—and, like a dash of cold through heart and marrow, the idea of treachery arose in her mind.

"We will turn back," she said, suppressing her fears with all the power of which her strong heart was capable. "We will turn back—Mr. Trevor must have missed the direction; no deer-calf could lie hereabouts, the ground is wet and swampy."

"Where lies the boat?" whispered Normann to his comrade; "are we far from it?"

"Over yonder—scarce a hundred yards from this."

"But what shall we do with the girls?"

"We must bind them," said Turner. "Scipio will come running with the ropes, as soon as I give the signal."

Bertha had seized the hand of her sister convulsively—and the latter looked up to her timidly, but still without any foreboding of what was in agitation.

"Why do the men whisper so together?" she asked her sister. "Cannot they find the spot? But, Bertha, what's the matter—why, you are as pale as a corpse! Oh, Doctor!"

She turned round towards the doctor, but in the next moment she herself stood in need of the support of her sister; she started back with a loud cry of horror, and hid her face in her hands.

Before her, a cocked pistol in his hand, stood the American, and, with a look which raised fears of the worst, in a threatening whisper, hissed out these words—

"Dare to scream!—dare to call for help!—and one of you falls a corpse—the other her murderess!"

"Doctor!" begged Louisa, in a low voice—"oh! can you not protect us from this dreadful man?"

But, without even bestowing a look upon the petitioner, the doctor exclaimed—"Give the signal, Turner!—we dare not lose a second more; if Wolfgang should learn under what pretext we have led the women into the woods at this season, his suspicions will be roused, and in tracking he equals an Indian."

Turner raised his fingers to his lips, and gave a low whistle; immediately after, the bushes on the river's edge, which was not many yards distant, rustled, and Bertha herself could scarcely suppress a cry of terror, when the bright yellow, devilish countenance of the mulatto, with greedy, glowing eyes, and grinning teeth, dived out of the thicket, and hurried towards them, carrying a bundle of cords in his hand.

"What are you going to do?" cried Bertha, who was the first to regain her presence of mind; "what is your purpose? Is this the return, doctor, that you make for my father's friendly reception? Let us go, and I pledge you my word that I will not say a word of what has hitherto passed.—Back, I say! don't touch that child."

The American had seized Louisa, who was paralysed with fear, and was about to bind her hands, when Bertha rushed upon him. But without heeding the interruption, he flung her with powerful grasp towards the mulatto, who made fast her limbs with fearful rapidity, while Turner exclaimed threateningly—

"Speak but another word, and I'll drive the steel into your sister's heart! By everything sacred, I am not joking! You are prisoners, and must give way to your fate."

"Help, help!" screamed Bertha, contemning every threat, for she did not fear death, if it could save her from shame. But in the next moment the broad palm of the mulatto was lying on her lips, and he exclaimed, with a grin—

"Must put little gag in the little mouth—make too much row!"

Bertha soon found herself incapable of further resistance, and the same thing took place with Louisa, although less was to be feared from her, as she was restrained by the threat of death to her sister, from attempting anything for her own safety.

"Now, away," said Turner, lifting Bertha in his arms. "Come, doctor, you take the lighter one, and, now, Scipio, carry the rifles yonder, and let us see how you can row. You know the reward which awaits you."

He sprang forward to the banks of the small river, and down towards the concealed boat; the doctor, who appeared to be momentarily moved by fear, and perhaps, also, by repentance, stood for some seconds, as if petrified, but when he saw Turner disappearing beneath the steep river bank, with his own booty, the former passion was once more aroused; he raised the other girl, who looked up to him beseechingly, in his arms, and with rapid strides followed his confederate.

A few minutes sufficed to get afloat the light and rapid skiff, and, with a low chuckle of triumph, the American pushed from shore. He sat in the stern of the boat himself, and steered; beside him, her back leaning against the cross-bench, with hands and feet tied, and her mouth wrapped round with a silk handkerchief, lay Bertha. The mulatto sat on the middle seat, with the starboard (or right) oar, and on the further seat, Dr. Normann, with the larboard (or left) oar, and quite forward, with her little head on the roughly dragged-in rope, lay Louisa, also bound and gagged, and the clear tears coursed down the poor girl's cheeks, which were as cold and as white as marble.

The sharply-built boat shot forward like an arrow in the somewhat swollen stream, and Turner exclaimed, laughing—

"That was capitally executed; now, for a couple of hours' start, and the devil himself shall not overtake us."

"But we require that, too," whispered the mulatto; "the little river is very crooked—runs first north, then south, in all directions. If they know that we are off, they only want a good horse, and then might shoot us one after another out of the boat."

"That's true, Scipio," said the American, "but it can't be helped. But, hang it all! the Germans wont be such sharp trackers, either—Normann, don't make such an infernal row with your oar as to discover our place of departure so soon!—it would be horrid, if they should—that's a fact!"

"Why, at the worst, we might always save ourselves," said Scipio, "though we should have to leave the pretty little bits of woman-flesh in the lurch."

"But, look, for God's sake, at our course, again!—due east, slick away from the Mississippi!"

"That's the great bend," said Scipio, "we shall take an hour to get round it, and yet 'tis but a couple of hundred yards across."

"Stretch out, you two!" cried Turner; "we must make haste, and leave this little watercourse, with its high, uncomfortable, overgrown banks, behind us. I shan't feel myself in safety, till we're on the other side of the Mississippi."

The men, thenceforward, observed a deep silence; Bertha endeavoured with all her power to raise herself, and looked up entreatingly at the dark man, who sat beside her, with the helm in his hand; but he, guessing well enough that she wanted to speak to him, shook his head, smiling, and whispered, in a low voice—

"No, my dear, you mustn't make any use of your pretty lips yet—the danger is too great, here; besides, begging, or praying, or offering ransom, or whatever else those tricks and evasions may be called, would be unavailing.—You are mine!"—and he hissed the word out so softly, between his teeth, that it escaped even Normann's ear: "thou art mine, and no devil shall tear thee from me!"

The boat was now approaching the spot where the curve of the stream terminated, and where it almost resumed its former course. At this point, by reason of the great bend which it made to the right, the rivulet had washed away nearly the whole of the lower part of the left bank, so that the upper stratum of earth, in many places, overhung like a roof, and could only have been retained in its position by the roots of willows, and swamp maples.

The boat, too, had been drifted by the current towards the outer side of the bend in the river, and Turner was just about to keep her head more towards mid-channel, in order to avoid the danger of getting foul of, and, perhaps, overturned by the tree stems which projected from the vicinity of the bank, when the mulatto suddenly held up his hand, and ceased rowing; Dr. Normann instantly followed his example, and the former stood up from his seat, and listened, holding his hands in the form of a funnel to his ear in the direction of the left bank.

"Do you hear anything?" asked Turner.

The mulatto made a sign with his hand to be quiet, but remained in his former attitude.

The boat still shot quickly forward, although no longer urged on by the oars.

"What's the matter?" asked Normann, timidly.

"They are coming!" the mulatto suddenly whispered, and pointing, alarmed, upwards.

A glad ray of hope passed across the countenances of the unhappy captives. There was some sign of salvation from their awful danger; and Bertha cast a look of joyful gratitude towards the blue canopy of heaven.

But Turner, who, quickly as thought, perceived their only chance of remaining undiscovered, acted as promptly. He could no longer expect to get away on the opposite side, for he heard the approaching hoofs himself; and there, he must have fallen under the bullets of his enemies before he could climb up the steep bank. On the other hand, on the side whence the pursuers were approaching, the shore was bushy, and, as already mentioned, overhanging. Without betraying the fears which crept over himself therefore, by so much as the twinkling of an eyelash—even with the same cold smile upon his thin lips—he let the boat fall off into the current.

In the next second, he glided between and among some willow shoots which grew close to the water's edge, and were overhung by thick bushes, and there the boat lay, held by the strong arm of the mulatto, still and motionless.

At the same moment, some dry branches broke off above, and the leaves rustled—a rider bounded forward, heedless of the closely interwoven branches, and severing them with a sharp hunting-knife only when they actually stopped his passage, nearly to the edge of the bank, and, bending forward, gazed up and down the stream.

"Do you see nothing, Wolfgang?" the anxious voice of Pastor Hehrmann was now heard to ask—"can you discover nothing of my children?"

Bertha, hearing the voice of her father close above her, made a desperate exertion of strength to free her mouth, but Turner held her with an iron grasp, so that she was hindered from making any movement whatever; whilst Normann applied the same restraint to the younger sister, and in addition, pointed a knife at her breast. Although not a syllable escaped him in this action, yet his eyes betrayed the devil that was lurking within.

"Nothing!—nothing at all to be seen or heard!" said young Wolfgang, with a sigh. "And yet it appeared to me, just before we reached the bank, as though I heard the sound of an oar; but I must have deceived myself."

A contemptuous smile played round the corners of Turner's mouth.

"And are you quite certain that they had a boat above here?" asked Herbold's voice.

"I can pledge my neck for it!" Wolfgang answered him; "the tracks were plain enough to be seen."

"Perhaps they are not so far yet," said Becher, who had now also arrived. "As you say yourself, the river hereabouts makes great bends, all of which we have cut off, and I should think, therefore——"

"Perhaps—but perhaps not," Wolfgang interrupted him. "But we must consider this, above all things—that in case they should have passed, we are wasting valuable time in a most inexcusable manner, for we give them more and more the start; and if they once reach the Mississippi, little hope remains of our overtaking them."

The mulatto, in the boat below, nodded his head, with a grin that disclosed two rows of dazzling white teeth.

"How would it be if we were to gallop along the banks of the water-course?" asked Mr. Hehrmann.

"Yes, if we could do that," said Wolfgang; "then they should not escape from us—I know that; but scarce half a mile from this, a deep slough empties itself into this little river, and that with such steep banks, that riding through it is out of the question: those on foot might make the attempt, for, if I am not mistaken, there are some cypresses fallen across it, which permit of a passage."

Turner looked interrogatively at the mulatto, who confirmed the statement by a silent nod.

"But how are we to get on, then?" demanded Hehrmann, anxiously.

"We must ride back almost the same way that we came with the wagon," said Wolfgang. "'Tis true that it is several miles round, but it can't be helped."

"Suppose we were to station men along the banks? Then they couldn't slip by, anyhow."

"If we had more horses, and if it were daylight, that might do; but as it is, I fear that we should be dividing our forces too much. Besides, we could do little in a place like this before us, for example—for the scoundrels would know how to cover themselves by the bodies of their unhappy victims, so that we should not dare to fire upon them. My advice is, for all of us to start for the mouth of the Big Halchee, and we horsemen as fast as our beasts will carry us. The Big Halchee, too, is very narrow there, and if we put ourselves in ambush, and draw a couple of ropes across the stream, they must fall into our hands."

"But shall you be able to find the route in the dark?" asked Herbold, anxiously.

"Yes, with the help of Providence," said the young man. "I am no longer a novice in the woods, and have spent many a long night abroad among them. But now, let's away. The men afoot may keep close to the river; from this part forward, the Halchee does not take so many turnings; and although the road is rough and bad to travel, yet, on the other hand, you cannot lose your way in the woods. But if you should discover the boat, still, for God's sake, do not fire into it, lest you should hit one of the poor girls, but keep it in your eye till you come to some shallow place, and perhaps may cut off their retreat. Now, gentlemen, give your horses the spurs, and away!"

Wolfgang accompanied the word with the deed, and immediately afterwards, the bushes crackled again, and the horsemen disappeared in the woods. But the other settlers sprang and ran along the bank, over prostrate stems, through reed-brakes and thickets, keeping the rivulet in their eye at first as much as possible; but they soon discovered with what difficulties they had to contend, especially in the approaching darkness, and were obliged to confine themselves merely to keeping in its vicinity, so as to be able to recognise its banks. They thought that they should be thus enabled to reach the mouth of the Big Halchee before the boat. All, however, swore solemnly, each time they got entangled in some wild vine—every time they stumbled over the trunk or branch of a tree—when a thorn tore their faces or hands—that they would exemplarily punish the scoundrels who had so vilely abused their confidence.

However, when the chase had lasted an hour or so, many a one among them would have willingly turned back; but, then, the very idea of returning alone by the road which they had come was dreadful. No; to go forward was preferable to that, with the hope of being party to the capture of a couple of traitors who, according to Meier's sentence, deserved to be pricked to death with red-hot needles.

Turner continued under cover of the willows for about a quarter-of-an hour more, until some time after the last of the pursuers had quitted the bank of the stream, fearing some spy might have been left behind; at last, however, further delay was attended with just as much danger as actual discovery, for the horsemen would thereby get too much the start of them; and the American knew but too well that he should be a lost man, if his flight into the Mississippi were cut off.

It was not that alone, however, which urged the scoundrel to reach the shores of that mighty stream half-an-hour, at least, before the pursuers; but he told his comrades nothing about that—indeed, he spoke not a word, but pushed the bushes gently and carefully aside, so that the boat could glide out between them; made signs to the mulatto, which must have been intelligible to the latter, to muffle the oars, so as to prevent the noise of the tholes, and the next moment the slim-built boat was gliding down close under the shadow of the left bank, and that with such extraordinary rapidity that it appeared to mock all further pursuit.

But what, meanwhile, were the feelings of the poor, unhappy girls, thus torn from the arms of their parents, in the power of rude and desperate scoundrels, after having heard their father's voice close over them; after having seen salvation before their eyes, and yet tried in vain to make known their presence by a word, by a sound. Alas! they saw every hope of being restored to their own people, of being rescued from the violence of these traitors disappear.

But, no; there yet remained one hope—they had heard Wolfgang's voice; they had heard the sound of the horses' hoofs, as they galloped off, and knew that they were hurrying towards the mouth of the little river to meet the ruffians there; it was yet possible that they might arrive first, for there must exist danger, or the mulatto would not have strained his sinews until his heavy breathing became more and more audible, more and more distinct, and betrayed the zeal with which he worked.

This was the single gleam of hope which fell upon the torrid night of misery and despair which they suffered; and they could only pray to the Almighty that he would give wings to the footsteps of their people, and bring them in time to their rescue.