The wanderings and fortunes of some German emigrants

by Friedrich Gerstäcker

CHAPTER X. THE MIGRATION.

We must now pass over a period of nearly a year, and I will merely relate, in few words, what took place in the settlement and its neighbourhood in the interim.

The sheriff, accompanied by two constables, had taken away Dr. Normann to the county town, but the settlers found themselves, in consequence, involved in infinite trouble, for almost every one of those who had taken part in the pursuit and capture of that scoundrel was summoned to give evidence upon oath, before the court; even Bertha and Louisa had to go there, and Wolfgang subsequently often expressed his opinion that it would have been better to have allowed him to pursue the course which he had wished to take, and then there would have been no occasion for all this trouble; Pastor Hehrmann, on the other hand, declared that he willingly submitted to it all, for that his conscience could not now accuse him of shedding, or of being party to the shedding of human blood.

Dr. Normann, or Wæhler, as his name was discovered to be at the trial, was found guilty by the jury, and sentenced to ten years' imprisonment in the House of Correction; it is true, that he subsequently appealed to the court of the United States, but without obtaining a more favourable result, and in the early part of the following year, he was delivered over in irons to the penitentiary of the state.

But how did it fare with the settlers, now that they had arrived in the foreign, but much-wished-for country? Alas, ill enough! At first, Helldorf and Schwarz had taken the greatest pains to induce them to migrate to a healthier district, and that without further loss of time, but the good folks would only profit by experience, and would first pass through every successive stage of expectation deceived and hope destroyed; without which practical lessons, Germans seldom follow advice. As Helldorf and Schwarz, therefore, soon discovered that further persuasion was not merely useless, but would even tend to confirm the obstinate people in their stupid resolution, they gave up preaching of colours to the blind, who could not see or comprehend them. Werner, on the other hand, brought into nearer contact with the Hehrmanns, and emboldened by his adventures and good fortune, sued for the little hand of the dear, blushing Bertha, and the parents gave their cheerful and willing assent, on condition that he should settle among them, and, like themselves, become a farmer. Mindful, however, of the warnings of his friends, and unwilling, besides, to cultivate a spot where the inexperienced Germans had been banished by the fraud of a fellow-countryman, he begged them to grant him a year's delay till he should have founded a little home for himself, when he would fetch bride and parents together, and would, with willing heart, work hard, in order to have all the dear ones beside him.

Pastor Hehrmann, at that time, it is true, shook his head, and replied very gravely, that he had, once for all, given his word to the association, faithfully to stay beside them so long as they required him, and he should be the last to go from so important and self-imposed a duty. Helldorf, however, gave his opinion, with a laugh, that if there were nothing else to detain him beside that, Pastor Hehrmann would, no doubt, be a free and independent man, in the following year, and would willingly accompany his son-in-law to a healthier climate, and pleasanter neighbourhood; he, moreover, would warrant, that within a year, Werner should have made a beginning on a sufficient little property; and he longed not a little himself for the time when he should become a neighbour of the families of Hehrmann and Werner.

Accordingly, matters remained thus for the present; Werner, after a stay of about three weeks, cleared out,—accompanied by Schwarz and Helldorf, and even by Wolfgang, the latter of whom, however, only intended to view the country, and to return to the Mississippi, for the present,—across to the southern part of Missouri, and there the three settled themselves on the woody banks of the Big Black River.

They had worked and toiled there during three months or so, and with the little capital which they possessed, and warned by the experience of Helldorf and Schwarz, they had really performed wonders, when one day, Werner got hold of that sealed letter of introduction, which was directed to a distant relative of his own, settled but a few miles from where they were living. Werner would hitherto, on no account, seek him out, but now that his own circumstances looked rather more prosperous, the wish occurred to him to make the acquaintance of the old man, of whom his uncle had formerly often spoken to him.

Dr. Wisslock resided, although he had but little intercourse with the neighbourhood, on the high road leading from St. Louis to Arkansas, and was reputed, as Werner had learnt from some of his neighbours, not only to be the possessor of a very considerable farm, and much property, but also, although very eccentric, to be a very good-hearted man.

It was a Sunday, when Werner determined to look him up, and with the letter in his pocket, he reached, just before dinner-time, the neat and well-kept fence of the fields of Indian corn, between which, a straight, broad road led to the homestead. Werner followed this, and arrived before the house, threw his horse's bridle over a rack erected there for the purpose, and after tapping twice at the door without receiving an answer, stepped into the house, and from thence walked into a room, the door of which stood ajar. Here he found himself at once in the presence of his relative, Dr. Wisslock, introduced himself briefly and pithily, and handed him the letter.

"Hem!" said the old man, when he had hastily skimmed through it—"hem? What has the young gentleman learnt, that he comes dropping, as from the clouds into the back woods in this way?—educated at a university—eh?"

Werner answered affirmatively.

"And now, all at once, wants to become a farmer?"

"A farmer's life has been described to me," replied the other, "by several friends, as most suitable for a German."

"Oh, ah! Yes, I dare say!" growled Dr. Wisslock, nodding his head, significantly; "I dare say, picturesque landscape—hanging woods and rocks—creepers and wild vines—bleating herds, and bear's flesh—the usual dream. You'll find out your mistake."

"I scarcely think so," said Werner, smiling; "what I have hitherto seen of the country, pleases me much."

"You'll think differently when you come to handle the axe and the plough," grumbled the old fellow, by no means more agreeably disposed by this reply. "Here, in the woods, there is no getting on without work, nor without right-down hard work either; we can't buy little niggers and blackamoors, directly. Do you intend to settle?"

"It's already done," replied Werner, rather shortly, for the reception of the old man began to displease him.

"Already done?" he asked, surprised, as he stopped a pinch of snuff midway to his nose. "Already done! why, how long has the young gentleman been in America, then?" and he opened the letter again, and looked at its date.

"Almost a year, and for the last half-year I have been your neighbour, though rather a distant one."

"Oh, the deuce!" exclaimed the old man, and a peculiar kind of movement played round the corners of his mouth, "the deuce! Then you're perhaps actually one of the three young Germans who have made such a good start on the Black River?"

Werner nodded his head silently.

"Very glad to make your acquaintance," continued the old man, becoming very friendly, and even hearty all at once,—"have heard nothing but good report of all of you, and was shortly coming to see you. But be seated, I beg, be seated. So you've carried the introduction about in your pocket for half a year! Hem! why didn't you come to me at once?

"I had brought introductions to New York and Philadelphia," replied Werner, "and seeing their result, or rather finding that they had no result, and, as I now feel well enough, could have had none, I laid by the rest of the letters in my box, and indeed shouldn't have delivered this had it not been sealed, and had I not wished besides to make your acquaintance."

"Hem—hem!" interjected the old man, and one could read in his looks how pleased he was with the firm, manly behaviour of the young man—"hem—hem! very reasonable that—must dine with me first—afterwards I'll take a ride over with you to the Black River—can sleep there, I suppose—eh? Should like to see your housekeeping there—hem—hem!—three bachelors—eh? Heaven have mercy upon us!—there is but one here, and even with him things are bad enough."

The old man chatted away for a long time in his peculiar, but good-tempered style, and actually trotted over to the "Three Mens' Farm," (as it was called in the vicinity, from the three proprietors,) that same evening.

But Dr. Wisslock was not the man to let the matter drop there. If Werner had brought the letter to him at first, and so, if not directly, still to a certain extent indirectly, challenged him to assist him, he might perhaps have met him with the usual American saying, "Help thyself!" But here was quite a different case—the young man did not want him; he had proved that he did not want him, and was only come there to make his acquaintance—that sounded quite differently. Besides, Werner knew nothing of a clause which was appended to the letter, and which his old uncle had not read to him with the rest.

The Doctor, as he was briefly styled in all the country round, now took a very particular interest in the plans of the three young people, whom he liked more and more upon further acquaintance. He inquired about one thing and the other, and made himself intimately acquainted with all, and not only helped them with excellent advice, but also subsequently, cheerfully, and with good will, by act and deed. Meanwhile, he had ascertained all the particulars, as well concerning the joint-stock settlement, as of Werner's love, and the worthy family of the Hehrmanns. But from that moment forward, he urged and urged Werner to go across and fetch the Hehrmanns out of the swamps, and put them in train to become acquainted with the real life in the west, that they might not in those poisonous swamps imbibe a distaste for the noble woods. But Werner knew but too well that Hehrmann would never desert the settlement so long as the colony had existence, however few the members might be of which it might consist.

Besides, he had firmly resolved not to return to the Halchee until he should be in a position to earn his livelihood, and subsist independently; such was, however, not yet the case, and full six months more elapsed before he had erected a little dwelling on his own land, and had procured all kinds of necessary implements. But when that was done the old man left him no more peace, and he and Helldorf, who volunteered as his companion, set out one fresh sunny morning in Autumn, after nearly a year's absence, to visit his sweetheart, and, with the parents' blessing, to fetch her home to his quiet cheerful house.

Mounted on hardy ponies, the two friends trotted freshly and merrily along through the autumnal forest canopy, and although the wondrous splendour of colour of the foliage, and the thousand various tints of the fading leaves, now and then riveted their eyes, distracting the gaze to and fro, and although they could hardly sufficiently admire the constantly fresh beauties which were presenting themselves, still they did not, on that account, stay the course of their horses, and after a difficult ride through the Mississippi swamps, which, although then dry, were yet overgrown with rank vegetation, reached the broad stream, took advantage of a ferry kept up near the southern boundary of Kentucky, to be set across, and now kept along the eastern shore, and at the foot of the hills as far as Jackson, in order to avoid the low land, and not to be further detained by the difficulties of the ground.

It was not until the fourth day that they entered upon the narrow bridle path which the settlers, under Wolfgang's guidance, had in former times marked out to the little town, by cutting blazes, or large pieces of bark from the trees standing on this line. But the road, even when they came quite into the vicinity of the settlement, seemed not to have been used for a long time past; the blazes were grown over, and the yellow leaves of Autumn covered, undisturbed, the slightest trace even of a path. Helldorf smiled quietly to himself, and after they had ridden silently for some time, merely observed—

"The young colony seems to keep itself pretty independent; at all events, it does not seem to keep up much intercourse with the interior of the country."

"Helldorf," said Werner, giving, at the same time, his own beast the spurs, and pushing on beside his friend as a somewhat more open space allowed of their riding abreast; "Helldorf, it seems to me as though the young colony stood in no further connexion at all. I see no cattle anywhere, nor, indeed, any traces of any having ever pastured here; no axe is to be heard, no—but, hold!—what was that? That sounded like one, at least; then, after all, I may have been mistaken."

The men halted for a moment to listen, and then heard distinctly enough the distant, regular strokes of an axe. The sound came from the quarter where the settlement lay, and as they now knew that they were near their destination, they cantered cheerfully along through thorn and thicket, no longer following the blazed trees, but the guidance of their own hearing, into the woods.

"It still looks rather rural round the town of Hoffnung," said Helldorf, as he was obliged to leap his nag over a great tree stem which lay crosswise in his way. Werner made no reply, but raised himself in the stirrups, and tried to get a view of the clearing, which began to be discernible through the lighter bush.

But, good Heaven! how deserted, how forsaken, did that place look! Where was the bustle and activity of a cheerful, industrious band of settlers, who must be intent on carrying the stores of harvest to meet the approaching winter? Where was the realization of those hopes which so many had nursed and revelled in, whereby a glad provision was to be made for them, and their children after them? Alas, they had all passed away!—those plans and fancies, those bold castles in the air, those notions of public spirit and friendship. Discord and ill will had sown their seeds even in that secluded colony of the Mississippi swamp, or rather the seed which had been long sown had sprung up, and ripened its evil crop, and those expectations which had filled the hearts of the better sort with cheerful confidence, and for which they had quitted their native land and everything dear, had there dissolved away into an evil, painful dream, and yonder stood the ruins, cold and bleak, staring towards Heaven, as though they would testify to the hateful, evil disposition of mankind.

"Good Heaven! what has happened here?" said Werner, as he drew in his horse's reins in alarm—"where are all the people gone who formerly animated this place?"

"Why, where should they be?" said Helldorf, shrugging his shoulders; "dispersed in all quarters, as I foretold you. That does not surprise me much; but that Pastor Hehrmann should not have let us know a word of his having left the place—that does seem extraordinary."

"There's some one back yonder, chopping," said Werner; "his back is towards us; now he turns this way. By all that's holy, that's Hehrmann!—may I never see paradise if I did not recognise the face! But how pale he looks!"

"Hehrmann, and alone here!" replied Helldorf, thoughtfully. "Well, we will leave the horses behind awhile, for they won't be able to make their way through this wild chaos of young shoots and old stumps; we can then soon convince ourselves whether you are right. I hope, at least, that it may be so; but let us advance—this uncertainty is dreadful."

The man, who had hitherto been chopping at a long stem, now lifted, with evident difficulty, a heavy log which he had cut off, on to his shoulder, and stepped with it towards the house; there, outside the door, he put it down, and a young lad, who came running from another corner of the clearing, helped him to carry in the load.

Helldorf and Werner hurried forward without exchanging another word, and in a few minutes were in front of the door, which was opened from within.

Hehrmann, who, with the assistance of Charles, the former glazier's apprentice, had just placed the heavy back-log on the fire, stood with his back towards them, but on his wife and daughters uttering a cry of surprise, on seeing those who had approached, he turned quickly round towards the door, and that with no presentiment of any good. But who shall describe his joyful astonishment, when he recognised the dear and long-wished for forms of those worthy men, for whose friendly voices he had so often longed? Who can paint his feelings when he grasped Werner and Helldorf's hands, and with a hearty, although certainly rather tremulous voice, bade them a joyful, sincere "Welcome?"

And what said Bertha to this meeting? Oh, my dear reader, thou art not to know everything; thou must rest satisfied with being told that Werner had been a full hour in the house, and since he was first welcomed by Bertha, and yet, as if in absence of mind, kept her little hand lying warmly and firmly in his. Hast thou ever thus held a being that was dear—very dear to thee? Then thou knowest what it means, and if thou hast not—then, poor reader, then, any explanations or description which I might give would not assist thee.

But how poor Werner's heart bled, when he learnt, as he now by degrees did, the whole story of the sufferings of the young colony. The prophecies with which those who meant them well had warned them, had been but too soon fulfilled. Quarrels and discord broke out first when the people discovered that they could not, as they had actually supposed, become rich and independent in half a year, and the majority would no longer work, as they declared that they had no occasion to labour so hard for their own livelihood, and that they were not disposed to toil for others of the "Gentry."

Becher had then, first of all, withdrawn himself from the affair, and given up what he termed a hopeless business; Siebert, junior, had followed him, and immediately afterwards the elder one had also disappeared, and that, as Hehrmann, Herbold, and Von Schwanthal could not conceal from the rest of the settlers, with a pretty considerable portion of the common funds. Pastor Hehrmann had then had great sacrifices to make, and gave up the greater part of his already much diminished property to pacify those who made the loudest complaints, and to stave off the ruin of all his hopes, which else would have taken place at once. But what hurt him more than all was the ungrateful conduct of those whom he had most obliged, whom he had most actively supported. People who, without means of their own, had been hitherto supported from the common stock of the society, showed themselves the most discontented; the most embittered quarrels and disputes followed the distaste for work, and although the better men among them, and Hehrmann as the foremost of these, gave way, and again and again endeavoured to restore a good understanding—although representations and even prayers were wasted upon the disturbers, it was in vain. "We are all equal here," was the eternal answer; "and if I'm to toil and moil here, I should like to know what for," said the stupid fellows, who either could not, or would not see, that by such bad faith they not only destroyed the society, but also brought the greatest evils upon themselves, as they now went off without knowing the language, without money, and without friends, into a strange country, and had to toil and plague themselves for yet stranger people, and that, perhaps, for six or seven dollars a month, and without receiving either thanks or a friendly word in return. Von Schwanthal had left later, in order to see Arkansas; for an American, who had passed through, had told him so much of the shooting in Arkansas, that he could no longer resist the newly awakened and mighty love of hunting any longer. He embarked himself and his baggage, after having formally taken leave of the colony, for Little Rock, and intended, as he had told Pastor Hehrmann at parting, to lead a regular hunter's life in the new state.

Becher had gone to New Orleans, and the rest gradually dispersed to all quarters of the compass. Hehrmann saw them, one after another, take their leave, or even forsake the place without leave-taking; but when he was left almost alone, and wished himself to seek a better, healthier home, when his last friend had disappeared with Wolfgang, who had cleared out for Missouri as late as seven months since, he found, to his alarm, that he no longer possessed the means. He had given away everything—sacrificed all, in order that he might not see his favourite plan, the union of Germans in, a fraternal society, founder. He had, when they learnt from Buffalo that the things left behind there were gone, and could not be traced, and the landlord pretended to know nothing about anything of the kind—when subsequently link after link of the chain fell away, when those forsook him on whom he had calculated most—even when ridicule or contemptuous laughter met his ear, he had never hesitated. "We are melted down to a few," he used to say to those few, "but we can yet prove that people who religiously are in earnest in the good cause, can carry it through in spite of the greatest difficulties."

But he soon discovered that those who continued with him were, for the most part, merely compelled to do so, because they did not possess a single dollar wherewith to pay their passage anywhere else, and gladly seized upon the first opportunity which offered, without troubling themselves much as to what became of Pastor Hehrmann and his family, whom they left alone in the swamps.

One only continued with them honestly and faithfully—one only never forgot how well, how kindly he had been taken by the hand by this family, when he himself stood alone and friendless. This was Charles, the former glazier's apprentice, and richly did he requite all the benefits he had received, especially during the past summer, when Pastor Hehrmann, himself, was confined to his bed for weeks, by fever. Oh, how often, how ardently had they longed for Werner to come back—that he might keep his word, and seek them again in their now disconsolate solitude! Alas! the mother had already begun to doubt, and had said—

"You'll see, my child; he has acted like the rest of them; he has gone off, far, far away, and no longer thinks of those, formerly his so dear friends, whom he has left behind."

"Or, perhaps, lies ill and helpless himself among strangers," worthy Hehrmann would then usually interrupt her, for still he never could make up his mind to think ill of any one, unless, as, alas! had latterly often been the case, he was compelled to do so, against his will. Bertha would on such occasions stealthily press her father's hand, and wipe a tear from her eye, for still she did not doubt her lover's word; but the idea that he might be ill and suffering, might stand in need of her help, that alone it was which pained her, and which, however much she might strive against it, oppressed her with melancholy.

Louisa, too, who had, by this time, grown up to full, blooming womanhood, had latterly become strikingly sad and melancholy, and had even, when the conversation turned upon Werner and his friends, several times left the room, and afterwards returned, with eyes dimmed and red with crying.

Such was the posture of affairs at the "Hoffnung," or "Hope," as they had (with so little presentiment of the result) named the town, which, indeed, was destined to remain a hope, merely. But Werner and Helldorf now sat down beside Hehrmann, who in this one year seemed to have added ten to his age, and spoke to him of courage and comfort.

"You cannot stay here any longer," said Helldorf, at last. "Wolfgang, too, has particularly commissioned us to bring you away, at all events. We have capital land, in Missouri, and although not adequately furnished, still have such conveniences as a farmer in the woods needs. A farm lies ready for you: you can begin to work, and till it, at once; cattle there are also; so that with what yet remains here——"

"Oh, my good Mr. Helldorf!" said Hehrmann, shrugging his shoulders, "it would certainly be difficult to begin with what remains here. Not a single head remains—not even a single horse, to perform the most needful work. The people have left me nothing, and what cows and pigs we had, were all eaten half-a-year ago. I would gladly have bought a cow again, in order to have milk for my family, at least—but, in the first place, I could not spare time to leave the farm so long, and then I doubted whether the price might not be beyond my means. Our ready money has, perhaps through our own fault, very much dwindled down."

"Hem!" said Helldorf, reflectively, not wishing to let it be seen how much all that he heard pained him; "hem—then matters are indeed come to extremity. But, my dear Mr. Hehrmann, don't let that trouble you; you have purchased experience dearly, it is true, but yet, perhaps, not too dearly; you are all still healthy, you know; consider how it fared with poor Wolfgang. No; from henceforward, I trust a better life is in store for you. You will come with us—won't you?"

"Gladly, to a healthier climate," replied he. "I have done all that God or man can require of me, and now I owe it to my family to lead them hence; in order to do so, I certainly stand much in need of your help, but, if I keep my health, be assured that you will not have obliged one who will be ungrateful."

"Enough, enough!" said Helldorf, smiling; "who knows how soon we may not hold you to your word."

"But what is to become of Charles?" asked Madame Hehrmann—"we cannot leave the poor boy here all alone."

"No, certainly not," said Werner; "he shall go with us, and if he has a liking for farming, shall found a home for himself; so far as it is in our power to help him, he may rely upon us. That he has kept with you so honestly and faithfully deserves not only our warmest thanks, but also some return, and he shall never find us behindhand."

The preparations for removal were soon made; the little which the settlers had left Pastor Hehrmann, and which was really worth carriage, such as the clothes and linen of the family (of which, however, very much had been carried off) was got together. But the little family-council, which was called for the purpose, really did not know how that little was to be transported as far as the Mississippi, as the horses could not possibly carry all, and the road was too long to make more than one journey. At this juncture, Helldorf made a suggestion which was immediately accepted, and quickly put into execution—namely, to form a light raft on the then swollen Halchee, to cover it with the boards which roofed the house, and upon this to float down their whole stock. They had no occasion to chop trees for this purpose, but took a small log-hut rudely erected for storing Indian corn, but which, as no Indian corn had been yet raised, had never been used, carried the short and not very heavy stems to the rivulet, tied them together with such ropes as yet remained, and soon found that the new construction answered its purpose admirably.

The things were then made fast upon it, and Helldorf and Charles undertook to steer it down stream. Werner and Hehrmann were to lead the little caravan towards the Mississippi, for which the two saddles were by ingenious contrivances turned into side saddles. One of these was occupied by Madame Hehrmann, and Bertha and Louisa occupied the other by turns.

Helldorf had wished, at first, to take the women with him upon the raft, upon which they certainly might have performed the journey very smoothly. And the otherwise so bashful Louisa had been quite ready to throw aside all fear, and to confide herself to the care of the new captain of the raft, as he called himself in joke; but Madame Hehrmann feared to trust herself to so fragile a conveyance, and the land journey consequently received the preference.

They reached the stream without any accident, and were there compelled to avail themselves of Wolfgang's almost ruinous hut, to avoid an approaching storm, and to await the arrival of a steamer, going up stream. Fortunately, the latter happened first. It was the Marmion, a dreadfully slow boat, which crept along the shore like a snail, but, on that very account, landed anywhere whenever a signal was made to take in passengers or goods. She was bound for Cincinnati, and they availed themselves of her as far as Benton, in Missouri, landed there, hired a large carrier's wagon, to the teamster of which they entrusted their whole luggage, bought some more horses, and then prosecuted their journey quickly, and without further hindrance.

They thus reached a spot, within about a mile of their future abode, where speculative heads had, in earlier times, planned a town which did not answer, and was abandoned. An old Yankee lived by himself upon the spot, and had planted the clearing, destined for public buildings, with Indian corn.

Here, to Werner's astonishment, Dr. Wisslock came to meet them, saluted the company very politely, and then, as opportunity occurred, appeared to have much and important business to discuss with Helldorf. The latter had not left Louisa's side during the whole ride from Benton, and must have had a great many very interesting things to tell her, for the two had often, out of mere absence of mind, lagged several hundred yards in the rear, and could only be brought up with the main body by repeated shouts and signals.

Werner could not imagine what, in the name of wonder, could have induced Dr. Wisslock to ride thus far to meet them, and then to carry on this conversation aside, which surely could have very well kept till the end of their journey. But he did not remain long in the dark as to the object of this mysterious conduct, for Helldorf suddenly advanced toward the Hehrmann family, who were encamped under a wide spreading hickory, and proposed—Werner's astonishment may be conceived—formally for Louisa's hand!

"And in order that you, dear father," he turned to him, "may no longer stand alone in the world—in order that you may not be forsaken by your children also, as others have forsaken you, come and live with me, on my farm, and we will conduct our farming together, so that it shall be a pleasure to us both, and so that you may look forward with courage and confidence to an old age, cheerful and free from care."

"I protest against that," exclaimed Werner, without leaving any one else time to speak. "I have priority—you come with me and Bertha; or, if you won't do that—at least, live alternately with each, so that each of your children may enjoy your society."

"Hallo there, young gentleman!" said Dr. Wisslock, who had by this time approached, and taken hold of Werner's arm. "First of all, that young lady yonder, who has suddenly turned so red, has got a word to say, and then we two have also a crow to pick together."

"We two?" said Werner, astonished.

"Yes, we two," continued the old man, without losing his gravity, whilst Louisa, as if dyed in crimson, hid her blushing face in her mother's bosom, and at last, when Helldorf again and again pressed her, merely reached him her little hand without looking at him or changing her posture.

"But, my dear doctor, what, in the first place, have you to say to me?"

"That I'll explain directly to the young gentleman. Does he suppose that he brings me a letter, in which my cousin—but that would be a secondary matter—no, the best friend of my youth—charges me, by all that I hold dear, to care for him as for a son!"

"But, my good——"

"Hear me out!—to care for him as for a son, I say. Does the young gentleman suppose that I have so quickly forgotten all that I owe his old uncle? and that is all I possess. No, indeed! In order, however, that I may, in discharging a portion of my obligation, yet derive a benefit from it, I have planned the thing in this way:—The young gentleman marries Pastor Hehrmann's elder daughter, and goes to live on my farm, which he——"

"Doctor——"

"Hear me out, I say!—which he uses and works as though it were his own. But the old doctor, with whom ploughing and chopping have not exactly agreed for the last two years, must be fed and nursed until his end, in return for which he engages besides to find the young gentleman and his family in medicine and medical attendance during any illnesses which may occur—without the use of calomel—and gratis. When I happen to die, of course he inherits what I have scraped together here; but it is to be hoped that he will have quite enough to do with me, and can very well afford to leave his wife's parents to their other son, whom, by-the-bye, he may always take as a pattern for himself. So now the young gentleman may speak—is he content?"

"Dear doctor—your goodness—you—you heap benefits upon me which—I really don't know—Bertha——"

"Well, of course, that's understood," the doctor quickly interrupted him; "you must first ask your bride whether she will undertake the arduous office of sick nurse to an old man like me—she of course has the principal voice in the matter, for hers will be the greatest burthen and trouble. Well, miss," he said, turning with gravity to the charming girl, "Do you say 'Yes' or 'No,' to the bargain?"

Bertha, with agitated feelings, seized the old man's hand, and assured him, that she would always be a good, faithful daughter to him. This so pleased the doctor, that he first looked kindly and fixedly in her bright eyes, and then, all at once, without further warning, took hold of her head, and gave her a hearty kiss.

Is there any need of further description of these happy people? Hardly—Love and Friendship made to them their rude home in the woods a paradise, and the old doctor, who had been already vegetating there for many long years past, forsaken and alone, completely revived, in the midst of them, to a new and almost-forgotten existence.

What became of the other settlers remained for the most part unknown. Von Schwanthal had gone to Arkansas, as already mentioned; the elder Siebert was subsequently met by Becher in New Orleans, but he was not destined long to enjoy the fruits of his breach of trust; he died of yellow fever, and was robbed, by a mulatto woman, who had waited on him during his brief sickness, of everything which he called his, and, by reason of total absence of funds, was earthed away with a thousand others whom "Yellow Jack" had swept off about the same time, in the Potter's field, in a wet, swampy soil. The brewer made his way to Cincinnati, and was quite hearty, when the shoemaker subsequently met him there; Herbold, too, started a distillery, somewhere in Ohio state, and Schmidt was, after a lapse of some years, reported to have been seen in Illinois. The poor tailor fared, perhaps, the most strangely; he was very lucky at first, went to Little Rock, got work there, and earned so much money that he was enabled to begin business on his own account, in a small way; but then bad times came, money got scarce, and saving had to be practised, to which rule of conduct, Meier, who, by this time, had begun to play the dandy a little, would, on no account, conform. The natural consequence did not fail to ensue: he got into debt, and accepted an offer of marriage from a rather elderly lady, on condition that she should pay his debts; this was done, and Meier was now to become a happy husband. But not wishing to carry the joke to that length, he endeavoured to escape southward, on a steamer which happened to be there at the time, but was discovered, and, on that very day, united in the holy bands of matrimony to his forgiving bride.

Next year, they learnt that Dr. Normann, or Wæhler—perhaps even that was not his real name—had been transferred to the Penitentiary of the State; but of Turner, no further trace was ever found, save that Pastor Hehrmann affirmed at a subsequent period that he had seen him at St. Louis, whither he had gone on business; he had too quickly disappeared again, however, for the former to make himself certain of the fact. Nor did any one know the name there.

But what cared the happy ones about these scoundrels? They left them to their own shame and dishonour, and to the contempt of all good and honest men; whilst they themselves toiled and laboured on, in their allotted, although narrow sphere of life, according to the best of their ability, and the "Three Men's Farm," as the settlement still continued to be called—when Schwarz, too, afterwards sought unto himself, from among the daughters of the land, a dear little wife—was soon reputed to be one of the best in the United States.

THE END.

T. C. Savill, Printer, 4, Chandos-street, Covent-garden.