William Gilmore Simms - Guy Rivers: A Tale of Georgia

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[Illustration: Frontispiece.]

GUY RIVERS:

A TALE OF GEORGIA.

BY W. GILMORE SIMMS,

AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE," "THE PARTISAN," "MELLICHAMPE,"
"KATHARINE WALTON," "THE SCOUT," "WOODCRAFT," ETC.

"Who wants
A sequel may read on. Th' unvarnished tale
That follows will supply the place of one."

ROGERS' _Italy_.

New and Revised Edition.

CHICAGO:
DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.
407-425 DEARBORN STREET

1890

PRINTED AND BOUND BY
DONOHUE & HENNEBERRY
CHICAGO.

GUY RIVERS

CHAPTER I.

THE STERILE PROSPECT AND THE LONELY TRAVELLER.

Our scene lies in the upper part of the state of Georgia, a region at
this time fruitful of dispute, as being within the Cherokee territories.
The route to which we now address our attention, lies at nearly equal
distances between the main trunk of the Chatahoochie and that branch of
it which bears the name of the Chestatee, after a once formidable, but
now almost forgotten tribe. Here, the wayfarer finds himself lost in a
long reach of comparatively barren lands. The scene is kept from
monotony, however, by the undulations of the earth, and by frequent
hills which sometimes aspire to a more elevated title. The tract is
garnished with a stunted growth, a dreary and seemingly half-withered
shrubbery, broken occasionally by clumps of slender pines that raise
their green tops abruptly, and as if out of place, against the sky.

The entire aspect of the scene, if not absolutely blasted, wears at
least a gloomy and discouraging expression, which saddens the soul of
the most careless spectator. The ragged ranges of forest, almost
untrodden by civilized man, the thin and feeble undergrowth, the
unbroken silence, the birdless thickets,--all seem to indicate a
peculiarly sterile destiny. One thinks, as he presses forward, that some
gloomy Fate finds harbor in the place. All around, far as the eye may
see, it looks in vain for relief in variety. There still stretch the
dreary wastes, the dull woods, the long sandy tracts, and the rude hills
that send out no voices, and hang out no lights for the encouragement of
the civilized man. Such is the prospect that meets the sad and searching
eyes of the wayfarer, as they dart on every side seeking in vain for
solace.

Yet, though thus barren upon the surface to the eye, the dreary region
in which we now find ourselves, is very far from wanting in resources,
such as not only woo the eyes, but win the very soul of civilization. We
are upon the very threshold of the gold country, so famous for its
prolific promise of the precious metal; far exceeding, in the
contemplation of the knowing, the lavish abundance of Mexico and of
Peru, in their palmiest and most prosperous condition. Nor, though only
the frontier and threshold as it were to these swollen treasures, was
the portion of country now under survey, though bleak, sterile, and
uninviting, wanting in attractions of its own. It contained indications
which denoted the fertile regions, nor wanted entirely in the precious
mineral itself. Much gold had been already gathered, with little labor,
and almost upon its surface; and it was perhaps only because of the
limited knowledge then had of its real wealth, and of its close
proximity to a more productive territory, that it had been suffered so
long to remain unexamined.

Nature, thus, in a section of the world seemingly unblessed with her
bounty, and all ungarnished with her fruits and flowers, seemed desirous
of redeeming it from the curse of barrenness, by storing its bosom with
a product, which, only of use to the world in its conventional
necessities, has become, in accordance with the self-creating wants of
society, a necessity itself; and however the bloom and beauty of her
summer decorations may refresh the eye of the enthusiast, it would here
seem that, with an extended policy, she had planted treasures, for
another and a greatly larger class, far more precious to the eyes of
hope and admiration than all the glories and beauties in her sylvan and
picturesque abodes. Her very sterility and solitude, when thus found to
indicate her mineral treasures, rise themselves into attractions; and
the perverted heart, striving with diseased hopes, and unnatural
passions, gladly welcomes the wilderness, without ever once thinking how
to make it blossom like the rose.

Cheerless in its exterior, however, the season of the year was one--a
mild afternoon in May--to mollify and sweeten the severe and sterile
aspect of the scene. Sun and sky do their work of beauty upon earth,
without heeding the ungracious return which she may make; and a rich
warm sunset flung over the hills and woods a delicious atmosphere of
beauty, burnishing the dull heights and the gloomy pines with golden
hues, far more bright, if for less highly valued by men, than the
metallic treasures which lay beneath their masses. Invested by the
lavish bounties of the sun, so soft, yet bright, so mild, yet beautiful,
the waste put on an appearance of sweetness, if it did not rise into the
picturesque. The very uninviting and unlovely character of the
landscape, rendered the sudden effect of the sunset doubly effective,
though, in a colder moment, the spectator might rebuke his own
admiration with question of that lavish and indiscriminate waste which
could clothe, with such glorious hues, a region so little worthy of such
bounty; even as we revolt at sight of rich jewels about the brows and
neck of age and ugliness. The solitary group of pines, that, here and
there, shot up suddenly like illuminated spires;--the harsh and
repulsive hills, that caught, in differing gradations, a glow and glory
from the same bright fountain of light and beauty;--even the low copse,
uniform of height, and of dull hues, not yet quite caparisoned for
spring, yet sprinkled with gleaming eyes, and limned in pencilling beams
and streaks of fire; these, all, appeared suddenly to be subdued in
mood, and appealed, with a freshening interest, to the eye of the
traveller whom at midday their aspects discouraged only.

And there is a traveller--a single horseman--who emerges suddenly from
the thicket, and presses forward, not rapidly, nor yet with the manner
of one disposed to linger, yet whose eyes take in gratefully the
softening influences of that evening sunlight.

In that region, he who travelled at all, at the time of which we write,
must do so on horseback. It were a doubtful progress which any vehicle
would make over the blind and broken paths of that uncultivated realm.
Either thus, or on foot, as was the common practice with the mountain
hunters; men who, at seventy years of age, might be found as lithe and
active, in clambering up the lofty summit as if in full possession of
the winged vigor and impulse of twenty-five.

Our traveller, on the present occasion, was apparently a mere youth. He
had probably seen twenty summers--scarcely more. Yet his person was tall
and well developed; symmetrical and manly; rather slight, perhaps, as
was proper to his immaturity; but not wanting in what the backwoodsmen
call _heft_. He was evidently no milksop, though slight; carried himself
with ease and grace; and was certainly not only well endowed with bone
and muscle, but bore the appearance, somehow, of a person not
unpractised in the use of it. His face was manly like his person; not so
round as full, it presented a perfect oval to the eye; the forehead was
broad, high, and intellectual--purely white, probably because so well
shadowed by the masses of his dark brown hair. His eyes were rather
small, but dark and expressive, and derived additional expression from
their large, bushy, overhanging brows, which gave a commanding, and, at
times, a somewhat fierce expression to his countenance. But his mouth
was small, sweet, exquisitely chiselled, and the lips of a ripe, rich
color. His chin, full and decided, was in character with the nobility of
his forehead. The _tout ensemble_ constituted a fine specimen of
masculine beauty, significant at once of character and intelligence.

Our traveller rode a steed, which might be considered, even in the
South, where the passion for fine horses is universal, of the choicest
parentage. He was blooded, and of Arabian, through English, stocks. You
might detect his blood at a glance, even as you did that of his rider.
The beast was large, high, broad-chested, sleek of skin, wiry of limb,
with no excess of fat, and no straggling hair; small ears, a glorious
mane, and a great lively eye. At once docile and full of life, he trod
the earth with the firm pace of an elephant, yet with the ease of an
antelope; moving carelessly as in pastime, and as if he bore no sort of
burden on his back. For that matter he might well do so. His rider,
though well developed, was too slight to be felt by such a creature--and
a small portmanteau carried all his wardrobe. Beyond this he had no
_impedimenta_; and to those accustomed only to the modes of travel in a
more settled and civilized country--with bag and baggage--the traveller
might have appeared--but for a pair of moderately-sized twisted barrels
which we see pocketed on the saddle--rather as a gentleman of leisure
taking his morning ride, than one already far from home and increasing
at every step the distance between it and himself. From our privilege we
make bold to mention, that, strictly proportioned to their capacities,
the last named appurtenances carried each a charge which might have
rendered awkward any interruption; and it may not be saying too much if
we add, that it is not improbable to this portion of his equipage our
traveller was indebted for that security which had heretofore obviated
all necessity for their use. They were essentials which might or might
not, in that wild region, have been put in requisition; and the prudence
of all experience, in our border country, is seldom found to neglect
such companionship.

So much for the personal appearance and the equipment of our young
traveller. We have followed the usage among novelists, and have dwelt
thus long upon these details, as we design that our adventurer shall
occupy no small portion of the reader's attention. He will have much to
do and to endure in the progress of this narrative.

It may be well, in order to the omission of nothing hereafter important,
to add that he seems well bred to the _manege_--and rode with that ease
and air of indolence, which are characteristic of the gentry of the
south. His garments were strictly suited to the condition and custom of
the country--a variable climate, rough roads, and rude accommodations.
They consisted of a dark blue frock, of stuff not so fine as strong,
with pantaloons of the same material, all fitting well, happily adjusted
to the figure of the wearer, yet sufficiently free for any exercise. He
was booted and spurred, and wore besides, from above the knee to the
ankle, a pair of buckskin leggins, wrought by the Indians, and trimmed,
here and there, with beaded figures that gave a somewhat fantastic air
to this portion of his dress. A huge cloak strapped over the saddle,
completes our portrait, which, at the time of which we write, was that
of most travellers along our southern frontiers. We must not omit to
state that a cap of fur, rather than a fashionable beaver, was also the
ordinary covering of the head--that of our traveller was of a
finely-dressed fur, very far superior to the common fox skin cap worn by
the plain backwoodsmen. It declared, somewhat for the superior social
condition of the wearer, even if his general air and carriage did not
sufficiently do so.

Our new acquaintance had, by this time, emerged into one of those
regions of brown, broken, heathery waste, thinly mottled with tree and
shrub, which seem usually to distinguish the first steppes on the
approach to our mountain country. Though undulating, and rising
occasionally into hill and crag, the tract was yet sufficiently
monotonous; rather saddened than relieved by the gentle sunset, which
seemed to gild in mockery the skeleton woods and forests, just
recovering from the keen biting blasts of a severe and protracted
winter.

Our traveller, naturally of a dreamy and musing spirit, here fell
unconsciously into a narrow footpath, an old Indian trace, and without
pause or observation, followed it as if quite indifferent whither it
led. He was evidently absorbed in that occupation--a very unusual one
with youth on horseback--that "chewing of the cud of sweet and bitter
thought"--which testifies for premature troubles and still gnawing
anxieties of soul. His thoughts were seemingly in full unison with the
almost grave-like stillness and solemn hush of everything around him.
His spirit appeared to yield itself up entirely to the mournful
barrenness and uninviting associations, from which all but himself,
birds and beasts, and the very insects, seemed utterly to have departed.
The faint hum of a single wood-chuck, which, from its confused motions,
appeared to have wandered into an unknown territory, and by its uneasy
action and frequent chirping, seemed to indicate a perfect knowledge of
the fact, was the only object which at intervals broke through the spell
of silence which hung so heavily upon the sense. The air of our
traveller was that of one who appeared unable, however desirous he might
be, to avoid the train of sad thought which such a scene was so
eminently calculated to inspire; and, of consequence, who seemed
disposed, for this object, to call up some of those internal resources
of one's own mind and memory, which so mysteriously bear us away from
the present, whatever its powers, its pains, or its pleasures, and to
carry us into a territory of the heart's own selection. But, whether the
past in his case, were more to be dreaded than the present; or whether
it was that there was something in the immediate prospect which appealed
to sterile hopes, and provoking memories, it is very certain that our
young companion exhibited a most singular indifference to the fact that
he was in a wild empire of the forest--a wilderness--and that the sun
was rapidly approaching his setting. The bridle held heedlessly, lay
loose upon the neck of his steed; and it was only when the noble animal,
more solicitous about his night's lodging than his rider, or rendered
anxious by his seeming stupor, suddenly came to a full stand in the
narrow pathway, that the youth seemed to grow conscious of his doubtful
situation, and appeared to shake off his apathy and to look about him.

He now perceived that he had lost the little Indian pathway which he had
so long pursued. There was no sign of route or road on any side. The
prospect was greatly narrowed; he was in a valley, and the trees had
suddenly thickened around him. Certain hills, which his eyes had
hitherto noted on the right, had disappeared wholly from sight. He had
evidently deflected greatly from his proper course, and the horizon was
now too circumscribed to permit him to distinguish any of those guiding
signs upon which he had relied for his progress. From a bald tract he
had unwittingly passed into the mazes of a somewhat thickly-growing
wood.

"Old Blucher," he said, addressing his horse, and speaking in clear
silvery tones--"what have you done, old fellow? Whither have you brought
us?"

The philosophy which tells us, when lost, to give the reins to the
steed, will avail but little in a region where the horse has never been
before. This our traveller seemed very well to know. But the blame was
not chargeable upon Blucher. He had tacitly appealed to the beast for
his direction when suffering the bridle to fall upon his neck. He was
not willing, now, to accord to him a farther discretion; and was quite
too much of the man to forbear any longer the proper exercise of his own
faculties. With the quickening intelligence in his eyes, and the
compression of his lips, declaring a resolute will, he pricked the
animal forward, no longer giving way to those brown musings, which,
during the previous hour, had not only taken him to remote regions but
very much out of his way besides. In sober earnest, he had lost the way,
and, in sober earnest, he set about to recover it; but a ten minutes'
farther ride only led him to farther involvements; and he paused, for a
moment, to hold tacit counsel with his steed, whose behavior was very
much that of one who understands fully his own, and the predicament of
his master. Our traveller then dismounted, and, suffering his bridle to
rest upon the neck of the docile beast, he coursed about on all sides,
looking close to the earth in hopes to find some ancient traces of a
pathway. But his search was vain. His anxieties increased. The sunlight
was growing fainter and fainter; and, in spite of the reckless manner,
which he still wore, you might see a lurking and growing anxiety in his
quick and restless eye. He was vexed with himself that he had suffered
his wits to let fall his reins; and his disquiet was but imperfectly
concealed under the careless gesture and rather philosophic swing of his
graceful person, as, plying his silent way, through clumps of brush, and
bush, and tree, he vainly peered along the earth for the missing traces
of the route. He looked up for the openings in the tree-tops--he looked
west, at the rapidly speeding sun, and shook his head at his horse.
Though bold of heart, no doubt, and tolerably well aware of the usual
backwoods mode of procedure in all such cases of embarrassment, our
traveller had been too gently nurtured to affect a lodge in the
wilderness that night--its very "vast contiguity of shade" being
anything but attractive in his present mood. No doubt, he could have
borne the necessity as well as any other man, but still he held it a
necessity to be avoided if possible. He had, we are fain to confess, but
small passion for that "grassy couch," and "leafy bower," and those
other rural felicities, of which your city poets, who lie snug in
garrets, are so prone to sing; and always gave the most unromantic
preference to comfortable lodgings and a good roof; so, persevering in
his search after the pathway, while any prospect of success remained, he
circled about until equally hopeless and fatigued; then, remounted his
steed, and throwing the bridle upon his neck, with something of the
indifference of despair, he plied his spurs, suffering the animal to
adopt his own course, which we shall see was nevertheless interrupted by
the appearance of another party upon the scene, whose introduction we
reserve for another chapter.

CHAPTER II.

THE ENCOUNTER--THE CHEVALIER D'INDUSTRIE.

Thus left to himself, the good steed of our traveller set off, without
hesitation, and with a free step, that promised, at least, to overcome
space hurriedly, if it attained not the desired destination. The rider
did not suffer any of his own doubts to mar a progress so confidently
begun; and a few minutes carried the twain, horse and man, deeply, as it
were, into the very bowels of the forest. The path taken by the steed
grew every moment more and more intricate and difficult of access, and,
but for the interruption already referred to, it is not impossible that
a continued course in the same direction, would have brought the rider
to a full stop from the sheer inaccessibleness of the forest.

The route thus taken lay in a valley which was necessarily more fertile,
more densely packed with thicket, than the higher road which our rider
had been pursuing all the day. The branches grew more and more close;
and, what with the fallen trees, the spreading boughs, the undergrowth,
and broken character of the plain, our horseman was fain to leave the
horse to himself, finding quite enough to do in saving his eyes, and
keeping his head from awkward contact with overhanging timber. The pace
of the beast necessarily sunk into a walk. The question with his rider
was, in what direction to turn, to extricate himself from the mazes into
which he had so rashly ridden? While he mused this question, Blucher
started suddenly with evidently some new and exciting consciousness. His
ears were suddenly lifted--his eyes were strained upon the copse in
front--he halted, as if reluctant to proceed. It was evident that his
senses had taken in some sights, or sounds, which were unusual.

Of course, our traveller was by no means heedless of this behavior on
the part of the beast. He well knew the superior keenness of the brute
senses, over those of the man; and his own faculties were keenly
enlisted in the scrutiny. There might be wolves along the track--the
country was not wanting in them; or, more to be feared, there might be a
panther lurking along some great overhanging forest bough. There was
need to be vigilant. Either of these savages would make his propinquity
known, at a short distance, to the senses of an animal so timid as the
horse. Or, it might be, that a worse beast still--always worst of all
when he emulates the nature of the beast--man!--might be lurking upon
the track! If so, the nature of the peril was perhaps greater still, to
the rider if not the steed. The section of the wild world in which our
traveller journeyed was of doubtful character; but sparingly supplied
with good citizens; and most certainly infested with many with whom the
world had quarrelled--whom it had driven forth in shame and terror.

The youth thought of all these things. But they did not overcome his
will, or lessen his courage. Preparing himself, as well as he might, for
all chances, he renewed his efforts to extricate himself from his thick
harborage; pressing his steed firmly, in a direction which seemed to
open fairly, the sky appearing more distinctly through the opening of
the trees above. Meanwhile, he kept his eyes busy, watching right and
left. Still, he could see nothing, hear nothing, but the slight footfall
of his own steed. And yet the animal continued uneasy, his ears pricked
up, his head turning, this way and that, with evident curiosity; his
feet set down hesitatingly, as if uncertain whether to proceed.

Curious and anxious, our traveller patted the neck of the beast
affectionately, and, in low tones, endeavored to soothe his
apprehensions:

"Quietly, Blucher, quietly? What do you see, old fellow, to make you
uneasy? Is it the snug stall, and the dry fodder, and the thirty ears,
for which you long. I'faith, old fellow, the chance is that both of us
will seek shelter and supper in vain to-night."

Blucher pricked up his ears at the tones, however subdued, of his
rider's voice, which he well knew; but his uneasiness continued; and,
just when our young traveller, began to feel some impatience at his
restiffness and coyness, a shrill whistle which rang through the forest,
from the copse in front, seemed at once to determine the correctness of
sense in the animal, and the sort of beast which had occasioned his
anxieties. He was not much longer left in doubt as to the cause of the
animal's excitement. A few bounds brought him unexpectedly into a
pathway, still girdled, however, by a close thicket--and having an
ascent over a hill, the top of which was of considerable elevation
compared with the plain he had been pursuing. As the horse entered this
pathway, and began the ascent, he shyed suddenly, and so abruptly, that
a less practised rider would have lost his seat.

"Quiet, beast! what do you see?"

The traveller himself looked forward at his own query, and soon
discovered the occasion of his steed's alarm. No occasion for alarm,
either, judging by appearances; no panther, no wolf, certainly--a man
only--looking innocent enough, were it not for the suspicious fact that
he seemed to have put himself in waiting, and stood directly in the
midst of the path that the horseman was pursuing.

Our traveller, as we have seen, was not wholly unprepared, as well to
expect as to encounter hostilities. In addition to his pistols, which
were well charged, and conveniently at hand, we may now add that he
carried another weapon, for close quarters, concealed in his bosom. The
appearance of the stranger was not, however, so decided a manifestation
of hostility, as to justify his acting with any haste by the premature
use of his defences. Besides, no man of sense, and such we take our
traveller to be, will force a quarrel where he can make his way
peacefully, like a Christian and a gentleman. Our young traveller very
quietly observed as he approached the stranger--

"You scare my horse, sir. Will it please you to give us the road?"

"Give you the road?--Oh! yes! when you have paid the toll, young
master!"

The manner of the man was full of insolence, and the blood, in a moment,
rushed to the cheeks of the youth. He divined, by instinct, that there
was some trouble in preparation for him, and his teeth were silently
clenched together, and his soul nerved itself for anticipated conflict.
He gazed calmly, however, though sternly, at the stranger, who appeared
nothing daunted by the expression in the eyes of the traveller. His air
was that of quiet indifference, bordering on contempt, as if he knew his
duties, or his man, and was resolved upon the course he was appointed to
pursue. When men meet thus, if they are persons of even ordinary
intelligence, the instincts are quick to conceive and act, and the youth
was now more assured than ever, that the contest awaited him which
should try his strength. This called up all his resources, and we may
infer that he possessed them in large degree, from his quiet forbearance
and deliberation, even when he became fully sensible of the insolence of
the person with whom he felt about to grapple.