“A will!” Agnes started to her feet again.
Jimmy waved her back. “Jest wait a bit, an’ I’ll tell me tale; sure it’s a good wan as ye’d find in a book. Yer gran’ther was took be the Injuns an’ condemned to death some five or six year back as I understand. The same band o’ marauders that took Jimmy O’Neill took him, but he wa’n’t so lucky as Jimmy, havin’ been dead this manny a day, pore soul. Well, faith, sirs, in that same camp o’ Injuns was the same white man I was tellin’ ye about a while back, an’ when it come that Muirhead knowed he’d have to die, he gits a chanst to have spache with the paleface, who’d been adopted like into the tribe, an’ is given some privileges. Says Muirhead, ‘I’ve got to die, an’ if yer a friend an’ a brother, ye’ll do me a turn,’ says he. ‘I’ve made me will, but not signed it, an’ it’s in me home,’ sez he, ‘an’ no good is it there at all, since I can’t reach me hand so far to make me mark to it. Now it’s poor the chanst is, but I’d like to take it, an’ I’ve a bit av paper here, the back av a letter, that’ll do. I’ll make another will an’ sign it in yer prisence an’ in the prisence o’ some o’ me comrades that’s been took wid me, an’ if ye’ll skirmish ’round an’ fetch me the paint pot the Injuns uses for their decraytin’, I’ll be obliged to ye.’”
The auditors were listening eagerly; it was surely a strange tale. Jimmy sat looking into the fire for a moment before he went on. “The white man, Brown be name, got him the paint, an’ Muirhead wrote, wid a quill, what’s here. Will ye be kind enough to read it, Mr. Willett?”
He handed it to Parker who took it carefully and read:—
“I, Humphrey Muirhead, being of sound mind, and being at the point of death at the hands of Indians, do hereby make my last will and testament. To my daughter, Margaret Kennedy, of Carlisle, wife of Fergus Kennedy, and her heirs, I will and bequeath all whereof I die possessed whether real or personal estate, with the exception of one shilling which I give to my son Humphrey Muirhead.
“(Signed)
Humphrey Muirhead.
“October 15, 1793.
| { | John Stark, | |
| “Witnesses | { | William Brown, |
| { | Henry Foster.” |
“What’d I tell ye? Hear to that!” cried Polly, in ecstasy.
“Me tale’s not done,” said Jimmy, with a silencing nod. “He furthermore says to Brown: ‘It’s a poor chanst fur me daughter to git her own, but if be at any time ye see a chanst o’ gittin this to me friends, give it to anny one that’ll take it,’ says he. ‘I’ll trust ye,’ he says, ‘bein’ as yer one o’ me own race.’ Well, Brown, he’d not then made up his mind to tarry along with the redskins, an’ he says he’ll take it. So the next day Muirhead, poor soul, is despatched, an’ Brown keeps the bit o’ paper. He’s a quare fish, is Brown. The Injuns make him wan o’ them, an’ he’ll not return to his own when he gits a chanst, but I misdoubt it ain’t for a rayson, fur more’n wan o’ his own color has he been able to git off to their friends. He didn’t put obstacles in my way o’ goin’; in truth, he rayther encouraged it, an’ he trusted this to me; ‘For,’ says he, ‘if anybody kin git away, it’s yersel’, Jimmy O’Neill, who’s so strong. An’ if ye kin seek out the darter o’ this man Muirhead, he’ll lie aisier in his grave if grave he had, poor soul.’”