The amulet: A novel

by Charles Egbert Craddock

“Sure, papa, I’m neither sugar nor salt. I shan’t melt, except into tears for your cruelties. I am not such a dainty, flimsy piece of dimity as all that comes to. Why, when we crossed the sea every soul on board was sick—except me and the men that worked the ship. And there was wind, no capful like this, but blowing great guns—and water! the waves went all over us—the water came into the cabin. Aunt Claudia said she hoped we would sink; she would give all she possessed to be still one moment on the bottom of the ocean. And while she was helpless I staid on deck and advised the ship’s captain. He said he had heard of mermaids, but I was the first he had ever seen! Oh, he was very gallant, was the sea-captain, and made me a fine lot of compliments. And did I expect to be cooped up in Fort Prince George, as if it were in blockade!”

Captain Howard rather winced at the word, and thought ruefully of the lack of corn, and the coming of his marching orders.

“I expected to ride, papa. I thought you might lend me a mount some day—”

“Permit me to offer you a horse of mine that might carry a lady fairly well—” Raymond began, for among his few possessions he owned several choice animals which he had bought very young from the Indians. The Cherokees boasted at that day some exceedingly fine horses, supposed to be descendants of the Spanish barbs of De Soto’s expedition through that region. Raymond was an excellent judge and had selected young creatures at a low valuation at one of the sales when the Indians had driven down a herd to barter with the ranchmen of the pastoral country further to the south. His cheek flushed, his eye flashed with a sudden accession of joyful anticipation—but Captain Howard shook his head. He was not so secure in the peace of the frontier as he had earlier been. Certain incidents of the expedition to Little Tamotlee were not reassuring. He would hardly have trusted his daughter out for a canter along the smooth reaches of the “trading-path,” as the road was called that passed Fort Prince George to the upper country, or the trail the soldiers made in the forest for fuel supplies, even could he have detailed half the garrison as her escort. Only the guns of Fort Prince George he now considered adequate protection—not because of their special efficiency, but solely because of the terrors of artillery which the Indians felt, and could never overcome.

“Why, papa—when I have ridden cross-country to hounds, and twice in Scotland I was in at the death! Papa—why, papa! are you afraid I would fall off the pony?” she demanded, with such a glance of deprecation and mortified pride that it was hard for her father not to express the true reason for his withheld consent. But as commandant of the garrison he could not acquaint the two soldiers who rowed the boat, and through them the rest of the force, with his fears for the permanence of the peace on the frontier, and his doubts as to their speedy departure. Now that the period of their exile had been placed, and that they were in sight of home, as it were, they could hardly wait a day longer, and trained and tried and true as they were, he might well have feared a mutiny, had an inopportune suggestion of delay or doubt grown rife amongst them. He hesitated and cleared his throat, and seemed about to speak, then turned and glanced over his shoulder at Keowee Town, still lying apparently asleep. If the approach of the boat had been noted, the municipality gave no sign, whether from some queer savage reason, or disfavor to the visitors, or simply a freak of affectation, he did not care to think. He was acutely conscious of the face dearest to him in the world, downcast, deprecating, and flushed, appealing to him when he could not speak.

“Oh, I know you are a monstrous fine horsewoman—” he began extravagantly, “but there is no road.”

“And now I know you are laughing at me, papa,” she said, with dignity, “and I thought you were proud of my riding so well,”—with a little plangent inflection of reproach. “But I left the whole field behind in Scotland—I was in at the death, twice—I can ride”—with stalwart self-assertion. “And I can shoot—I won the silver arrow at the last archery meet at home!”

“There can surely be no objection to archery, sir,” Raymond glanced at the captain, aware in some sort of the nature of his difficulty, and seeking to smooth his way.

“No—no—” said Captain Howard, heartily,—then with a sudden doubt—“except a bow and arrows of a proper size; but I can have these made for you at once—if the Indians are not too lazy, or too sullen, or too disaffected to make them. I will see if I can order a proper weapon at Keowee.”

“I have the very thing,” exclaimed Raymond, delightedly, “if Miss Howard will do me the honor to accept it. When we were at Tuckaleechee last year, Captain,” he said, turning to the commandant, “I secured, for a curiosity, a bow and quiver of arrows which had been made for the Indian king’s nephew, who had died before they were finished. Otherwise they would have been buried with him, according to Cherokee etiquette. They are as fine as the Indians can make them, for he was the heir to the throne, following the female line. You know, Miss Howard, here among the Cherokee chiefs the nephew has the right of succession, not the son. This boy was twelve or fourteen years old, and the weapons are of corresponding weight.”