"I reckon as how they war," answered Mrs. Younker; "for the poor thing war a prisoner along with us, crying whensomever she dared to, like all nater."
"Well," rejoined the old hunter, musingly, "we've done all we could—I'm sorry it didn't turn out better—but we must now leave their fates in the hands o' Providence, and return to our homes. We must bury our dead first; and I don't know o' any better way than to sink thar bodies in the Ohio."
Accordingly, after some further conversation, four of the party proceeded for the body of Millbanks—with which they soon returned—while Boone conducted the ladies away from the scene of horror, and down to where Ella informed him the canoes were hidden, leaving his younger companions to rifle and scalp the savages if they chose. In a few minutes from his arrival at the point in question, he was joined by the others, who came slowly, in silence, bearing the mortal remains of Millbanks and Beecher. Placing the canoes in the water, the whole party entered them, in the same silent and solemn manner, and pulled slowly down the Miami, into the middle of the Ohio; then leaving the vessels to float with the current, they uncovered their heads, and mournfully consigned the bodies of the deceased to the watery element.
It was a sad and impressive scene—there, on the turbid Ohio, near the midnight hour—to give to the rolling waters the last remains of those who had been their friends and companions, and as full of life and activity as themselves but an hour before;—it was a sad, impressive, and affecting scene—one that was looked upon with weeping eyes—and one which, by those who witnessed it, was never to be forgotten. There were no loud bursts of grief—there were no frantic exclamations of woe—but the place, the hour, and withal the various events which had transpired to call them so soon from a scene of festivity to one of mourning—together with the thoughts of other friends departed, or in terrible captivity—served to render it a most painfully solemn one—and one, as we said before, that was destined never to be forgotten.
For a short space after the river engulphed the bodies, all gazed upon the waters in silence; when Boone said, in a voice slightly trembling.
"They did their duties—they have gone—God rest their souls, and give peace to their bones!" and taking up a paddle, the noble old hunter pulled steadily for the Kentucky shore in silence, followed by the other boats in the same manner. There they landed, placed the canoes in safety, in case they should again be needed, rekindled their fire, and encamped for the night.
On the following morning, they set out upon their homeward journey; where they finally arrived, without any events occurring worthy of note.
A hunter's phrase for taking sight.