Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall England

by Matthew Stanley Kemp

"Hugh, this is my son, Andrew Trembath, who with his mother I had long thought dead, and I must introduce myself also, for the Loop and the settlers of Lycamahoning will see me not much longer. Now I know that my wife is living I shall return to the place of my birth. I have long been known by the name of Hunter Tom, and unknown by any other. I am Thomas Trembath, once Major of the 6th Royal Infantry of England, and have been a soldier in three wars, the War of the Colonies against England, the Peninsular War under the great Wellington, and the War of 1812 under Brock and Proctor. The tale of my whole life would be useless, but it is but fair to my son to narrate the last one, and the history of my hunter life here. Ye must know that there was a stain of treason against our house."

Hugh nodded his head.

"I mentioned that to him the first night I spent at his home," interjected Ande.

"Well," continued the Major, "it was mainly for the purpose of removing the stain that I came to this region from Spain. I would have much preferred to fight under the Iron Duke and against the French than against the Americans, but the thought of once more being in the region where my father was shot, and possibly gleaning something of value that would remove the stain of treason, spurred me on. Our regiment was on board the Royal George and landed at Quebec, and from thence to the interior it was a weary march, only part of the time alleviated by canoe trips. At first we were under that worthy imitator of Wellington, Brock, and had he lived I have no doubt but what the war would have terminated differently; but he was slain, and Proctor, a stain on British generalship, was placed in his stead. My life was spent part of the time with my regiment and then, for some months, I was an agent of the government among the Indians of the Ohio. It was my purpose to glean from them, of my own account, news of my father. Possibly some aged chiefs would still remember the capture of my father, and would know something of his being found in French uniform with a French commission as captain in his pocket. Should he be guiltless of any treason against England these savages, being so closely allied with the French of that time, would no doubt know of it. Since they were our allies then and friendly, an affidavit from them might be of some service. An Indian's word is as good as another in a court of law. I overcame the natural repugnance that I had to them, and ingratiated myself with them. An old chief gave me much knowledge of my father's capture, but concerning the rest nothing was to be learned. Then I thought of the second plan. My father had a great knowledge of mining and metals, and, while he was resident with the Indians of the Kittanning region, learned the secret of a mine somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Lycamahoning. I resolved to discover the whereabouts of the mine and possibly solve my father's honour at the same time. I learned much as to its location, but nearly lost my life by my incautious repetition of the Indian legend, for on the way back to Malden I was slightly wounded by an Indian. From that time on we were busy fighting, and due to the conduct of our own generals we lost Michigan and a part of Canada. It was after the fatal battle of the Thames that I received the letter from home that filled my heart with sorrow and made me an exile. It was a cruel letter, stating that my wife and boy were dead. England had no more charms for me. I plunged off into the wilderness of New York and Pennsylvania, and after a few years worked my way into this region. I hunted for many years before I resolved to make it my home. The mine I searched for again and again, but met no success, and I finally gave it up in despair. Then I built the cabin here, and the rest of the tale is known to you both as well as myself. Though I have not discovered the honour of my father, yet I shall return to my old home and take up my former life."

The Major finished his tale.

"Ye have had a wonderful life, Tom," said the pilot, "and I'll be right sorry to see you leave, but I have no doubt that Mr. Ande has a tale to tell?" He gazed questioningly at Ande Trembath.

Ande, thus summoned, related the story of his life. The Helston Grammar School, the smugglers, and that long night with Dick on the waves of the channel, the rescue by an outward bound Brazilian ship, their adventures in Brazil, and their sojourn in Minos Geraes in the Sierra Do Frio district, were all successively dwelt on, but he mentioned not the wealth he had accumulated there.

"Mr. Ande," said the pilot, after he had finished, "do ye ken aught of the metal box I handed up from the old excavation that night?"

"The metal box? Why, it must be still in the pocket of my coat, that I have not worn since that eventful time."

The Major entered the cabin and soon returned with the garment. The box was still there, from the bulging appearance of the exterior.