Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 310, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 December 1916 — Page 2

TIPPECANOE

Recounting the adventures and love which came into the lives of David Larrence and Antoinette O’Bannon, in the days when pioneers were fighting red savages in the Indiana wilderness *:• m (Co*r right, 1916. by Bobbs-Merrill Co.)

CHAPTER XXlll.—Continued. She shrank away from his filthy hand In unutterable loathing and threw herself face downward in a paroxysm of weeping. The music of the drums and fifes had ceased. Outside, the camp buzzed with activity. The Prophet bent the red cup of his eyeless socket over a lapful of grotesque amulets, muttering incantations to himself. ' w, Girty passed his hand soothingly over the trembling shoulders of the girl, and patted the tangled, silken cloud of her hair. "I katn’t blame ye, my dear, fur not takln’ a likin’ to sech a ugly ole critter as I be, but I’ve hed a hard life, my dear, a hard life. I been ornery, I’ll grant ye, I been ornery, but I been obleeged to be. They’s a lot. o’ pesky mean men in this world, my dear, an’ I’ve hed to fight hard agin ’em. I’ve been waitin’ fur a likely young gal like you so es I kin go,into the settlements on the Canady side and live quiet, like a king. I’m askin’ ye quiet to go with me, ye see?” Toinette only sobbed. “Ain’t thet fair, es I put it to ye? What kin be fairer nor thet? I kin see thet es pretty es a picter—me an’ you a-settin’ in front of the fire, me h-readln’ in the Book about the blessed Lamb o’ God. Oh, ye may know I was es good es any on ’em when I was a leetle devil. I hed a good old mother 1” Toinette wondered to hear him name his mother. She made no reply, and he suddenly burst in a string of the foulest oaths, cursing and blaspheming. But he offered her no violence. He stlH hoped to find some officer in Malden who would pay a rich price for her. And such a purchaser would demand her physically sound. For fhls he had seen to it that no warrior had harmed her; and he meant to claim his money in the end.

The drums had begun again, loud, defiant; but Instead of drawing nearer their music passed farther and farther away, fainter and fainter. Elkskatuwa stole cautiously from the tent. Suddenly there swept over Toinette the realization that Girty had lied — the fifes were playing an air that redcoats never marched to —the stirring swing of “The President’s March!” She leaped to her feet, her eyes blazing. Fainter and fainter came the air to which she unconsciously fitted the triumphant words: —who fought and bled In Freedom’s cause. And when the storm of war was past—- !” she cried. “ ’Tis the men from home!” She faced Girty, and all her days of dread, all her hours of suffering were forgotten. “I have prayed to God and he has answered me For a moment Girty was silent before the white radiance of her faith; .but he threw off his hesitancy with a sneering laugh. “A pretty lot of good thet handful o’ sheep kin do,” he snarled. “By sundown tomorry we’ll bring ye ever’ one of their wet skelps fur ye to play weth.” He stepped hastily outdoors, and assuring himself that the troops had defiled from view, he returned, and, seizing Toinette’s arm, dragged her roughly from the tent. As she passed out into the raw November wind, Toinette shivered. “Ye kin see fer yerself they hain’t any on yer. precious sogers brave enough ter fight- a papoose, let alone all these braves,” he said tauntingly. The innumerable warriors of the Prophet, hideous in » war-paint, stalking to and fro among the tents of the village, contemptuous of the cautious whites,-lent support to his boast. Toinette looked helplessly from side to side, seeking some avenue of escape, and hope died in her eyes.

J. CHAPTER XIV. The Battle. Soundlessly, in the dark hour after midnight, the great war-bow of the Indian was strung. But the camp of the Americans slept. A light rain fell. It was nearly dawn. Suddenly through the black mist sfcat the red flame of a rifle; with the flame and the crack came the sound of a man running. It was the Kentuckian, Stephen Mars, of Geiger’s company, an outpost A dozen rifles in the hands of crawling Indians rang out; he fell in the wet and tangled brush, his face in the sodden ground. The night which had been soundless save for the soft rush of the rain and the dripping of the water from the trees, suddenly became filled with the stir and uproar of the awakening camp, with the whooping of the hidden foe, striking in the dark. David awoke from sleep and bounds. ad to his feet A hand clutched his wrist and dragged him down again, while a voice commanded, “Keep low!” He saw that all the others in the company were quickly, silently looking to their rifles, hut that all remained crouching on the ground. a The yells of the Indians seemed loudest at the, extreme left where Geiger’s horsemen stood, and at the extreme

By SAMUEL McCOY

right, where Spencer’s riflemen lay behind their kneeling horses. Before his own company, which, with the other militia companies of Wilson, Norris and Wilkins, was stationed in the center of the rear line, the woods lay quiet, seemingly empty of any Indians. David turned about and glanced toward the center of the camp. Fifty yards away were the tents of the officers, lighted up by the campfires. He could distinguish the. figures of them all. They were alftlfuny dressed and were buckling on their sword-belts as they talked. Harrison was standing impatiently waiting while an orderly struggled with his horse. Hargrove, divining that it was the general’s intention to ride away toward the points where the savages were attacking in numbers, struck David on the shoulder in his hurry: “Go ask Colonel Decker if we are to stand here! Quick, before General Harrison goes!” David ran toward the officers. As he reached them, Harrison succeeded in getting his foot into the stirrup and threw himself into the saddle. Decker was about to mount. David saluted as he ; ran, crying, “Is Captain Hargrove to stand" where he is?” Harrison answered before the colonel could reply: “All the captains are to hold their companies as they stand! You will do nothing but hold the ground until light enough to advance!’^ He gathered up the reins and with a bound was gone through the falling mist, Boyd, Owen, Hurst, Taylor, Washington Johnston and Daviess urging their horses at his heels. David ran back toward his captain. The horrid tumult at the northwest and southeast angles grew louder. David listened with an excitement that filled his ears with the sound of his own heart’s throbbing. Two hundred yards away the rifles cracked in a ceaseless sputter.

The drums began. The orderly drummer at the officers’ tents was beating the long roll; the steady unvarying tattoo spread its imperious summons through the night with a sound that forced its way through all the wilder babel of the camp. David wondered why it had not begun sooner; it did not seem possible that not sixty seconds had elapsed since the first alarm had been given. A cold gust made- the raindrops waver. He became conscious that his teeth were chattering. Two men, wriggling on the ground, succeeded in scattering the fire so that its light died down to the embers. David saw the other company fires go out, one by one. But they had not all been extinguished soon enough. As the light of the fires died out the flashing of the rifles became more plainly visible. The damp air was heavy with the acrid smell of powder smoke. In the swamp at the east David could see the flames of the Indians’ rifles twinkling like fireflies. The uproar at the northwest angle of the camp, two hundred yards away, grew louder. David strained his eyes through the darkness but distinguished nothing. Suddenly from the dark angle a trumpet blared out its immemorial summons to charge. On the last note arose a burst of cheering. “Charging!” ejaculated Hargrove at David’s side.

It was the plan of the Indians to wait until a girdle had been formed on three sides of the camp, where a simultaneous attack might be made, north, east and south; but before, they had b completed this detour of the wooded plateau the impatient sav- ! ages stationed at the northwest cor- | ner had drawn in closer and closer j to the American septries in their eaI gerness to rush in. It was one of | these whom Stephen Mars had heard gliding through the wet underbrush; and at the report of his rifle the Indians threw aside concealment and began the onset on the north flank of the little army, without waiting.,for more of their numbers to complete the circle on the east front. And so the men of Geigbr’s Kentucky Rifles and those of Captain Barton’s regular troops, forming the northwest angle, awoke to find a hundred shadowy forms rushing-on them with the cries of wild beasts. Their -answering fire burnt the very breasts of the Indians aDd lighted up the painted, hideous faces. There was no time to reload; the rifles became clubs that swung and crashed against rib and skull, or red warrior and white went down locked in the terrible embrace which the bloody knife alone,, rising and falling, might end. But the angle held-firm. Wheu'Harrisbn and his staff reined in their hoU&s at the spot, the hgnd-to-h s and conflict was over, and the savages, had retreated to the shelter of trees, where they might have time to reload their, guns. Behind them' they left a score of dead and dying pf their own number ; but some bore at their belts they4ripping scalps of the newly slain. It w&s* then that the trumpeter, at Major Wells’ comniand, had placed the trumpet to his lips and blown the

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND

charge. With a cheer, the men of Barton’s company heard the order repeated by their own captain and went ahead at a run. Only a dozen or so of Geigers men had been able to secure their frightened horses at the trumpet call, but these, riding from tree to tree, drove the baffled Indians before them into the willows by the creek, where the horses could go no farther. From the angle came an aide with Harrison’s order to sound the recall. They came back. It was wisdom that saved them from being cut off from the main body of the troops. For the fight had just begun. Only a little breathing space they had r and in it they looked upon the faces of their degd. *The comtnander and his staff inspected the lines, letting their horses pick way through the .trees, through darkness, loose-reined; each company, as they passed it, pleading to be allowed tp go into the thick of the fight, and *he commander counseling v each to hold its ground, until at last they came to Norris’ and Warrick’s companies at the corner of the ijight flank and here found Spier Spencer’s riflemen from Corydon in the midst of a red baptism of carnage such as Geiger’s and Barton’s companies had just gone through. »At this moment David heard someone calling to his captain. He strained lyp- eyes through the mist, and as the man rhn up to Hargrove, David recognized him as Georgie Croghan. Captain Hargrove spoke sharply: “What’s the matter?” Croghan saluted. “The chief surgeon has requested Colonel Decker to let him have some assistance. We have only three surgeon’s mates. We need "more help with the stretchers. Can you detail someone, sir?” Hargrqve named Larrence and Cockrum; they hurried, away as Croghan led. From company to company they ran, lifting the dead and wounded on rude litters and bearing them to the shelter of the wagons In the center of the camp; here they left their burdens and went back for a second and a third time, and each time found some new victim. And then David was in the thick of the panting struggle which Spier Spencer’s men Were enduring. The horses lay on the ground, and from over their backs the riflemen fired into the darkness peopled with the vague shapes of,the howling savages; but the horses, terrorized by the uproar and mysterious stinging things that tore them, tried again and again to their masters kept them down only by superhuman exertions. There was a momentary lull; from across the little valley where the rushing creek gurgled among the willows there came a strange and wild chanting ; high above the groans and the sounds of hurrying feet it rose, the sonorous eadertce of ’the aborigine’s prayer to the Great Manitou, the father of all. “’Tis the Shawnee Prophet, singing his own song,” said Dubois,’ the interpreter at Harrison’s side. David looked at General Harrison. The silent horseman seemed to have gathered his eyes all the tremen-

"'Tis the Shawnee Prophet, Singing His Own Song.”

dous tragedy of the despairing race of red men. And then a grim smile crossed his face, as he reflected that he and his little army, uncouth, profane, greedy for material things, sordid as all humanity, was the flaming sword of the progress of humanity—driving out old order, substituting the new. The song Of Elkskatawa, the Prophet, the Loud Voice, went on. The Kvhite men heard it and were troubled. The red men heard it and grew drunk audacity. “The bullets of the white man shall fall at your feet, my children, and their powder shall be sand!” How could they be harmed? Again their wild attack commenced; they left the shelter of, .trees and fallen log and charged the slender line that held the right flank. Harrison shouted orders to his aids: “Sqnd Robb’s company here for reenforCement I Tell Major Floyd. to place company in Robb’s position Senfi Snelllng to the north-

west angle, Cook and Baen here! Tell Colonel Docker to send Wilson’s company to the northwest angle, Colonel Bartholomew to send Scott’s company with Wilson’s!” The night was slowly giving place to the gray'tinwn. A faint light stole gradually through the dripping branches. David could see how yellow of the wounded looked in the pale break of day. Baen, he knew, was wounded mortally, Bartholomew hurt. As he neared the center of the camp, Robb’s Mounted Rifles, 70 men, went by him with a rush, the galloping hoofs thudding Qn the wet turf. Here and there the smoldering embers of the campfires Mazed up again,, David went on with the sickening work "of the hospital corps. He was carrying a wounded man to the shelter of the wagons when little Jimmy Spencer, Captain Spencer’s fourteen-year-old son, ran from the tents and clutched him by the sleeve, begging to be told if his father was unhurt. David answered the boy reassuringly ; he had just seen the captain cheering on his men, a bloody handkerchief tied about his head. When they went back to the right, Jimmy ran at David’s side, refusing to stay behind. “Father!” he cried, and the soldier turned at the hail. He was about to warn the boy to go back when a bullet struck him in the hip and passed through both thighs; he tottered and fell. “Go back to the tent, son,” he said, smiling. “Your mother will need you if I don’t go home.” He drew the boy down and kissed him. 9 For a long minute he rested till his faintness passed; and then he began calling to his men to fight on. Suddenly the voice ceased altogether as at ball tore its way through his heart. With the fife’s shrill music in their ears, the Yellow Jackets held their ground, though MacMahan, who took Spencer’s place, fell dead, and Berry, his second lieutenant, fell also; held It for two hours in the face of the frenzied attack of the Indians. The men with the litters were very busy; not only here but back at the northwest angle, where the first attack had been made. At the opposite angle Jo Daviess was still chafing with impatience. From behind a log, seventy yards away, a dozen Indian sharpshooters were pouring a wicked fire into the mass of tethered horses of the three squadrons of dragoons— Parke’s, Funk’s and Beggs’ companies. Twice Daviess had sent to Harrison for permission to charge and dislodge them. The stripling Croghan carried his third request. Presently Croghan came back on the run. He was wild with delight. ... “Tell Major Daviess,” Harrison had said, “that he has heard my opinion twice; he may now use his own discretion.”

“God be praised!” ejaculated Daviess. Hastily he called for twenty volunteers. Quickly they threw themselves in the saddle. David saw them dash across the little space between the line and the log where the Indians were hidden and saw the spurts of red flame run along the top of the log. For every flash of fire a trooper reeled in his saddle; at the front rode Daviess, the idol of the backwoodsmen. As the red warriors began to break and scatter from behind the log, the last o's their rifles rang out together, and the Kentuckian rose in his stirrups, clutched at his breast, and pitched headlong. As he saw Daviess fall, David drew a deep breath and began to run across the wet and slippery grass that lay between the-camp and the ambuscading woods beyond. The bullets ripped viciously through the dripping weeds and tore into the frozen ground at his feet. He heard shouts of warning, like voices in a dream, behind him; but he paid no heed and reached the Kentuckian’s side unhurt. He placed his ‘hand under Daviess’ shoulders and the dead weight sickened him. Three men from Parke’s company ran out and joined him as he strove to lift the body; with a desperate heave they raised up the dying man and staggered back toward the line of riflemen. The men of Parke’s and Beggs’ dragoons began to cheer as the four men laid their unconscious burden down in safety, and the exultant yells spread like fire from end to end of the little plateau; for Daviess had been struck at the very moment when the attack of the savages had ceased, and from group to group of powder-grimed and bloodstained riflemen ran the shouts of victory.

The sky had scarcely lightened. The trees still dripped with rain. They had been fighting less than four hours; and the -baffled Prophet, his incantations futile, his power shattered, was flying through the woods. A hundred of his btaves lay upon the sodden field; the rest had faded away like the mist that drifted through the forest. \AII day the men rested, caring for the wounded, burying the dead, repairing their rifles. All day Daviess lay beneatb-tbe tree where they had placed him, his life slowly ebbing out; and when atjast his eyes closed, they bur fed him by the side of Thomas Randolph, the Virginian, his friena. The battle was wofi; and, although they did not know It then, this handfuLof men had saved to the nation an entire. Men threw themselves on the ground, the dreadful tension relaxed; young John Tipton scrawled in his daily journal; but David could not rest. In the night that followed he wrested in agony with Ms fesr for Toinette. At davyn they were to attack the Prophet’s Village. Would; she be found there, living or dead? He could

not shut from his eyes the picture of what dreadful signs might be found 'in the tents —a tern robe, a tress of blood-stained hair,'even her body—shuddered and the dold sweat stood upon his forehead. At last dawn came and the men were once more unleashed.

CHAPTER tfV. On Wildcat Creek. Toinette was dead. The news came to David and left him without hope or aim or wish for life. One of the Indian prisoners told the horrible story of her death to his captors, with a gleam of fiendish malevolence in his eyes. David shuddered as he had not among all the carnage of battle, and his limbs tottered beneath him. Some one of the soldiers raised up his rifle and struck dow r n the boaster as if he were crushing a snake. No “one held back his hand. One, with awkward sympathy, put his hand on the shoulder of the shaken David and led him tjack to the American camp. Behind them the ruined village lay smoldering in the November sun; but David himself walked as in a dream. Men who met him stepped aside in silence, to let him pass, daring to ask no question. Behind him rose the w’ailing of the Indian women, mourning for their dead, willing among the trampled maize; and the unutterable sorrow in his heart grew heavier beneath their unending lamentation as the stalks of corn are beaten to the Sodden ground In the cold rains of the dying year. Mechanically he took up his work of watching over the’wounded in the heavy wagons. The camp was struck, the homeward journey begun. The suffering of the men in the wagons was torture indescribable. Over the uneven ground the oxen dragged the lumbering carts, the wooden disks that served as wheels slipping and jolting over rocks and into ditches with a cruelty which was no less heartrending because it was unavoidable. The carts were springless. Hot with fever under the icy wind and racked with the terrific jolting, the wounded men raved, cursed, sang in delirium. Of the 151 wounded, 25 died on the merciless journey from the battlefield to the blockhouse on the Vermilion river, where the boats had been left. Day and night David heard their pitiful moaning, the snatches of pleadings, the imprecations and the incoherent wanderings of their tortured minds:

“A tubful of honey in the lean-td and the bear got it” —“That ball went through the hoop”—“Make the stockade higher”—“From Kaskasky with Georgie Clark, I tell ye” -“The Angel Gabriel set his feet on those stones”—“That calf’s got the milksick”—“No, dearie, there ain’t no more meal”—“Teacher, may I get a fresh quill?”—“l’m a old man an’ I want some whisky”—“All the Federalists’ scheming”—“Water! ain’t there even some rainwater?”—“Oh, Molly, Molly, Molly!”—“Watch the right flank ! The right flank !”—“Water! Water I” Three miles below Tippecanoe the fleeing Prophet made a night’s camp on Wildcat creek, the Panse Pichou of the French. Dubois’ scouts found the warm ashes of his campfire there and close by one of the guides picked up a bit of lace. The man put it in the pocket of his shirt and brought it back to the marching column. David was among the men who crowded about him to gaze at the tiny shred of cloth; and having seen it he put out his hand and took It, and no man said him no; for they saw that he had recognized it as a part of a garment of Antoinette O’Bannon, whom he had loved and who was slain. Willingly the man who had found the cloth led David, at his request, back to the ashes of the fire and there left him in silence; and for a long time David stood looking at the ground where Toinette’s feet last had been.

The frozen wilderness was very still. The bare branches of the forest creaked and groaned in the November gusts, but there was no sound of human life. On a dead limb a mottled woodpecker with a scarlet cap searched Industriously and vainly for its food. A sleek, brown-furred beaver crawled to the top of the stream’s bank, looked inquiringly at the motionless figure brooding over the ashes of the fire, and slid back into the water with a splash. Deep in the woods a flock of wild turkeys clucked among the underbrush. And so standing, David tasted to the dregs the bitterness of his failure, the numbing conscious-, ness of irremediable loss; tasted the bitterness of helpless defeat and spent his hour of agony and vain selfreproach, while the grim forest shut him in with silence. A rifle cracked. The ball knocked the cap from David’s head. An inch to the right and he would have fallen, his skull shattered; but he, bent his head at the very rabment when the hidden marksman’s finger pressed the trigger. He was all. alone; only his own speed and quickness of resource saved him.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Arbitrament of Arms.

Charles was In high spirits after an afternoon’s play at one of tne neighbor’s. "You seem satisfied with your visit,” his father remarked. "Yes, but” Jimmy refused to let me touch any of his playthings. But I piayed with them, all the same.” “How could you do that If he objected?” asked his father. “Why, we had a fight to settle It”

Each man in the regular army is said to cost: Great Britain 11,500 a year. ~

THE ESCAPE

By ANITA REYBURN.

The girl with a loose white sweater over her evening dress to guard against the cool of the night, pussed like a shudow from column to column of the terrace, passe4 tall flower-filled urns, a fountain ami statues glistening white in the moofilight. At the top of the broad steps that led down to the river, she paused under a spreading tree. She hesitated, then started down the steps, cautiously , keeping in the shudow of the high stone rail. At the foot of the flight, a boathouse snuggled against the slope and beside it lay a yacht pointing seaward like a great white bird ready for flight., She remembered with relief that the captain and crew were in the house, having a share in the festivities of the wedding rehearsal. The groom was to arrive that evening and the bridal party was assembled and guests were invited to receive the wonderful person of title who was to wed the family fortune in exchange for a coronet. She pussed on, spurning launches and rnqtor boats of various kinds, and chose*a*rowbout rocking gently on the eusy swell of the river. Gathering her skirts close, she got in and pulled a long, easy stroke up the river. Two miles away was a fgvorite haunt of hers, a flat, grassy dell, where willows hung over a clear little stream thut lost its identity here with the big river. The little boat swung into the haven as she rested one oar, and slid in under the willows. Moonlight filtering through the tiny leaves made a wonderful lacework of shadow on the water. “4t is fairyland,” breathed the girl softly, and the place caught the echo and sent it back to her. “It is heaven!” said echo and, k), the voice was masculine! She looked around surprised, and not displeased, for the voice had thrilled her.’ “Better than heaven! It’s here and heaven is yet to come,” she answered. “Fairyland then, and you are Titania.” “Yes, I am Titania. And who are you, mysterious stranger?” “Oberodif- Didn’t you guess?”

“Stupid of me, good king of the fairies! I don’t think I shall call you Oberon, either. He was a mischief maker, and led Titania a terrible life, liemember how he put the ass’ head on the clown and caused her to fall in love with him?” “That isn’t a fairy trait. It’s very human. Many people love as they are toW-and marry also.” CAu odd look crossed her face. “Come out, kind stranger. Be you Oberon, Puck or the donkey-headed clown, I should like to see you,” she coaxed. And then the branches rustled and a canoe slid out of the willows quite close to her. The girl saw how ereft he sat and his strong, clear features. Susceptible to his smile and voice, she felt her heart beating strangely. Her answer was irrelevant. . “Isn't this a truly wonderful night?” “It is—because you are here!” “And aren't people foolish to stay indoors?” “They are—when you are outside!” “And why do people have stupid weddings?” “Becmfsfi two people are in love!” “No. vNot always! Do you know, I’ve just run away from a wedding, or rather the preliminaries. The real .wedding is tomorrow.” He was instantly interested. “You don’t say so! And who, pray, is the bride?” She-told him. “Ah! And you?” he asked. “What have you to do with it all?” “I,” she said, “I am in the bridal party.” “I am going to confess, too,” he added. “I am in the bridal party also.” “What! You 1” “Yes. And drawn by the beauty of the night I ran off just as you did. We’re both in the shine boat.” She laughed delightfully. “My sin Is less heinous now," she said, “since I have company.” “And we are not in the same boat, either, are we?” he broke in. “But I would like to be if you allow. We could have jjittle journey of our own up thiS"tvonderful river.” “I’d Move it,” she said. “And I’ll show yod Howlkubstantial I am when it tilts.” up and held out her hand, and as he took it she sprang lightly from one rocking boat to the other and settled herself in the low seat facing him. “Where to?” he asked. “Let’s go Out on the river and—” “Never come back ?” he said impetuously. “Never come back!!!” she breathed. A-spell was over her —strong, real, enduring. She wanted to drif't on anywhere, forever and always 'with this Stranger who had taken her heart by storm. “I love you!” he said softly. “And I love you!” she breathed. He* nodded toward the shore. “There is a village and a parson. Will you marry me now, dear, tonight?” “Yes. But first I must tell you that I who ran away was to be the bride.” “And I!” he cried ecstatically, drawing her to hfm as the boat touched shore, “was to be the The ge*ls are kind indeed!” ~ - (Copyright, 1916, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) &

Three hundred species ox turtles and tortoise are known. ,