Read the book: «Elsie's Journey on Inland Waters», page 6

"No, not quite. General Henry, with his advancing columns, was hardly in sight of the combatants before that part of the battle was over; but at the same time that one bugle sounded for that attack another was heard on the left. Colonel Johnson and his troops moved against the Indians almost at the same instant that the first battalion – under his brother James and Major Payne – attacked the British regulars. He had divided his force and led them – the second battalion – across the little swamp to attack the Indian left. They were in front of Shelby, with a company of infantry. Harrison had taken a position on the extreme right, near the bank of the river, where he could observe and direct all the movements, and with him were Adjutant-General Butler, Commodore Perry, and General Cass.

"Tecumseh's savages reserved their fire till the Americans were within a few paces of them, then hurled upon them a deadly shower of bullets, wounding General Johnson very severely, and prostrating more than half his vanguard of forlorn hope. On this part of the field the undergrowth and the branches of the trees were too thick to allow mounted men to do much service with their rifles, therefore Johnson ordered them to dismount and fight on foot at close quarters. They obeyed, and there were many hand to hand fights, the Kentuckians as they fought raising now and again the fearful cry, 'Remember the River Raisin.'"

"What did they mean by that, papa?" asked Elsie.

"I will explain that at another time," he replied. "You may ask for the story to-morrow. And now, to go on with this – for a while it seemed doubtful which side would win; but General Shelby, perceiving it, ordered the regiment of Lieutenant-Colonel Donaldson to the support of Johnson, and General King to press forward to the front with his brigade.

"The Indians had already recoiled from the shock of the Kentucky riflemen, and now they fled; they were pursued and a scattering running fight ended the battle. Proctor was running away as fast as he could, like some hunted wild animal, and his savage allies scattered themselves through the forest behind the larger swamp."

"Tecumseh with the rest, papa?" asked Elsie.

"No, my child, Tecumseh was lying dead on the field of battle. But for his loss it is likely the Indians would have continued the struggle for some time longer."

"Who killed him, papa?" she asked.

"No one can say certainly," replied her father, "though probably it was Johnson. Tradition and history tell us that Tecumseh had wounded Colonel Johnson with a rifle bullet, and was springing forward to tomahawk him, when Johnson drew a pistol from his belt and shot him through the heart. It is said that Johnson himself never either affirmed or denied that his was the hand which slew Tecumseh. Probably he did not really know whether the Indian he had killed was the great chieftain or some other. However, it is certain that he, Tecumseh, was slain in that battle, – as it seems he had predicted that he would be, – and it is a question of little importance whose hand sped the bullet or struck the blow that ended his career."

There was a moment of silence, broken by Grandma Elsie's soft voice:

 
"'The moment was fearful: a mightier foe
Had ne'er swung his battle axe o'er him;
But hope nerved his arm for a desperate blow
And Tecumseh fell prostrate before him.
He fought in defence of his kindred and king
With spirit most loving and loyal,
And long shall the Indian warrior sing
The deeds of Tecumseh the royal.'
 

"I presume you are right, captain, in thinking," she added, "that even Johnson himself did not know whether the Indian he had shot was Tecumseh, but as you have just said, the question is of no historical importance. We do know, however, that Johnson behaved most gallantly in the battle of the Thames and was sorely wounded in the hip, thigh, and hand; the last from the Indian whom he shot. He was disabled and said to his friend, Dr. Theobald, one of his staff, fighting near him, 'I am severely wounded: where shall I go?' Theobald, saying, 'Follow me,' led him across the smaller swamp to the road and the stand of Governor Shelby's surgeon-general. Johnson was faint from the loss of blood, and his horse, it would seem, was still more sorely wounded, for as his master was lifted from his back he fell dead."

"Oh, did the man die too, grandma?" asked little Elsie, with a look of eager interest and concern.

"No, dear; they gave him water, dressed his wounds, and carried him on board a vessel they had taken from the British. Captain Champlin, the commander of the Scorpion, was there on it; he took the colonel down the river in that vessel to his own, lying at Dolsen's, and from there, in her, to Detroit."

"Papa, did he get well and go back and fight some more?" asked Ned.

"No, my son; he went into Congress and served his country well there. But now it is high time for you and Elsie to go to your berths. Bid us all good-night; to-morrow you may ask as many questions as you please, and papa will answer them to the best of his ability."

CHAPTER VIII

The wind had risen while Captain Raymond was talking, and now began to blow briskly, bringing with it an occasional dash of rain; a state of affairs that presently sent the whole party into the cabin, and a little later they had all retired to their staterooms but the captain and his two older daughters, who lingered a few moments for the bit of chat with their dearly loved father of which they were so fond.

"Do you think we are going to have a hard storm, papa?" Grace asked a little anxiously, as she came to him to say good-night.

"I hope not," he said, "do not be anxious; remember, 'the Lord hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet. He rebuketh the sea and maketh it dry.' Remember, too, that 'the Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; and He knoweth them that trust in Him.'"

"Oh, yes! Thank you for reminding me of those sweet words, father, dear," she returned with a sigh of relief, and laying her cheek affectionately against his as he put an arm about her and held her close for a moment. "I will trust and not be afraid."

"That is right, daughter," he said; "no real evil can befall us while trusting in Him."

"But, papa, Christians do have great and real distresses sometimes," she returned, with an enquiring and slightly troubled look up into his face.

"Yes, daughter, 'Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.' But 'like as a father pitieth his children so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him;' and He will sustain them under all the troubles that He sends. Remember that His promise is, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.'"

"Such a sweet, precious promise, papa!" she said. "I will just put my dear ones and myself in His care, trust in Him, and not lie awake, dreading shipwreck."

"That is what I would have you do, my darling," he returned. "Do not forget those sweet words of Holy Writ: 'The Lord knoweth them that trust in Him,' nor the promise that He will never leave or forsake them. Put yourself into His care and go to sleep untroubled by doubts and fears. Good-night," he concluded, as he kissed her tenderly and let her go.

"And how is it with my dear eldest daughter?" he asked, turning to Lucilla, who stood near awaiting her turn.

"I am not naturally so timid as Gracie, you know, papa," she answered, smiling up into his face as he passed an arm about her and drew her close to his side, while with the other hand he smoothed her hair caressingly, "and I do believe that God will take care of us all through the instrumentality of my own dear father, who knows so well how to manage a vessel in calm or storm. But you do not think there is much if any danger, do you, papa?" she asked, gazing searchingly into his face, "for you are not looking at all anxious."

"There is a pretty stiff breeze," he said, "and Erie is a stormy lake, owing to the shallowness of its waters, and the consequent liability to a heavy ground swell which renders its navigation particularly difficult and dangerous; but I have passed over it a number of times and do not feel any great amount of anxiety in regard to our safety – if I attend properly to my duty as commander of the Dolphin," he concluded, with his pleasant smile. "I must return to the deck, now; so good-night, daughter dear. May you sleep sweetly and peacefully, trusting in the care of your earthly father, and still more in that of your heavenly one."

"Oh, just one minute more, papa," she said entreatingly, as he released her. "I – I want to say that I am afraid that I was – almost, if not quite, a little disrespectful to you once or twice to-day."

"Ah! Well, darling, if you have been, it is entirely forgiven; so go to your bed in peace. I must hurry on deck and cannot wait to talk with you further now."

With the concluding words he hastened away, while she looked after him with eyes full of filial love, then as he disappeared she made her way as quickly as the rolling of the vessel would allow, across the saloon and joined her sister in their stateroom.

There were tears in Grace's sweet blue eyes as she lifted them to her sister's face.

"What, crying, Gracie darling?" Lulu asked, with concern.

"Yes; to think of poor papa out on deck in the wind and rain, while we are so comfortable in here," answered Grace with a sob, pulling out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. "Oh, I almost wish I were a big, strong sailor, and knew all about managing a vessel, so that I could take his place and have him to his berth to rest and sleep."

"I'm sure I wish I could," sighed Lulu. "He should never have an ache or pain of any kind if I might bear them for him; never be anything but the happiest man in the world if – " but she paused suddenly, while a vivid blush suffused her face. "I have no right to talk so," she added in a remorseful tone, "I, who so often fail to be the perfectly respectful and cheerfully obedient daughter that I ought."

"I really think you judge yourself very hardly, Lu," remarked Grace, with a surprised glance into her sister's face. "You are always perfectly obedient and very affectionate toward our dear father, seeming to take great delight in doing everything you can to please him and add to his comfort; I really do not think he has a child who loves him better or does more for his comfort; no, not even I, who esteem him the very best and dearest father in the world," she concluded, with a look and smile that said more than her words.

"Oh, thank you, Gracie! I do love him dearly, dearly; but as you know I am shamefully quick-tempered and wilful and sometimes look vexed at a reproof or prohibition, then the next minute could beat myself well for it."

"Lu, you never, never are in a passion nowadays!" exclaimed Grace. "I own you do look vexed sometimes for a minute or two, but then it's all over and you are just as sweet and pleasant as anyone could wish. Oh, you are just the dearest, dearest girl! Ah, you needn't shake your head and look so dolorous," she added, in a playful tone, putting her arms about Lucilla and kissing her with ardent affection.

"Ah, yes, you are all so dear and loving, so ready to excuse my faults," Lulu said, returning the embrace with interest. "No one more so than our dear father, though I well know I have given him more pain and trouble than any other of his children, if not than all put together. Gracie, let us kneel down together and ask God to take care of papa and all of us, and that if it is His will the storm may soon so abate that our dear father can go to his berth and get a good night's rest."

Grace was more than willing, and they spent some minutes in earnest supplication.

In that act of prayer Grace cast all her care upon the Lord, and scarcely had she more than laid her head upon her pillow before she fell asleep; but Lucilla lay for hours listening to the howling of the wind, the sound of the waves dashing against the sides of the vessel, her father's voice occasionally giving an order through the speaking trumpet, and the hurried and heavy tread of the sailors as they hastened to obey. It seemed a worse storm than any she had ever been in upon the water, and almost her every breath was a prayer for the safety of the yacht with all its living freight – especially her dearly loved father, now exposed to the fury of the wind, waves, and rain – that they might pass through it in safety.

But at last she fell into a deep sleep, and for some hours heard and felt nothing of the storm. Yet it was not over when she awoke; she could still hear the howling of the wind, the rush of the waters, and feel the rolling and pitching of the vessel. But it was daylight, and slipping from her berth with care not to rouse her still sleeping sister, she knelt for a moment of heart-felt thanks to her heavenly Father, that thus far they had weathered the storm, and fervent supplication that the vessel might outride it in safety to the end.

Rising from her knees she made a hasty toilet, then, anxious to learn of her father's welfare, stole from the room, and holding on by the furniture, crossed the saloon, then with some difficulty climbed the cabin stairway and reached the windswept deck.

One glance showed her her father standing at a little distance, giving some direction to a sailor. He did not see her. There was a momentary lull in the wind, and taking advantage of it she started on a run toward him. But just at that moment came another and fierce gust that took her off her feet and swept her toward the side of the vessel.

In another instant she would have been in the water, had her father not turned suddenly and caught her in his arms barely in time to save her from that fate. He held her fast with one arm while he grasped the railing with the other hand, and held on till the gale again moderated for a moment. Then he carried her back to the cabin. They were alone there, for the others were still in their staterooms. He strained her to his breast in silence, and she felt a tear fall on her head.

"Thank God, my darling, precious child is safe in my arms!" he said at last, speaking scarcely above a whisper, pressing his lips again and again to her forehead, her cheek, her mouth.

"And my own dear father saved me," she said in quivering tones, her arms about his neck, her face half hidden on his breast.

"It was a narrow escape, my child," he sighed, repeating his caresses, "a very narrow escape; and what would I have done had I lost my dear eldest daughter? You must not try it again; don't venture on deck again until I give you permission."

"I will not, papa," she returned. "But oh, haven't you been up all night? can't you take some rest now?"

"Not yet; perhaps after a little. There, there, do not look so distressed," smoothing her hair caressingly as he spoke. "You must remember I am an old sailor and used to such vigils. I had a cup of coffee and a biscuit a while ago which quite refreshed me."

"But can't you go to your berth now and take some hours of rest and sleep, papa, dear?" she asked entreatingly, her eyes gazing lovingly into his. "Surely someone among your men must be fit to take charge of the yacht for a while."

"Not just yet, daughter; perhaps before long I can do so. I must leave you now and go back to my duties; and do you go to your stateroom and thank your heavenly Father for your escape from a watery grave."

With that he released her and hurried away up the cabin stairs, she following him with looks of yearning affection till he disappeared from view, then hastening to obey his parting injunction.

Her heart was full of love and gratitude to God for her spared life, and that thus far they had escaped shipwreck, and even as she gave thanks it seemed to her that there was a lull in the storm – the wind almost ceasing to blow and the vessel rocking much less.

"Oh, Gracie," she said, as she rose from her knees and perceived that her sister's eyes were open, "I do think – I do hope that the worst of the storm is over."

"Do you?" cried Grace joyously, hastily throwing back the covering and stepping out upon the floor. "Oh, how glad I am! How good God has been to us all! But where is papa? Has he been up all night?"

"Yes," replied Lulu, "and oh, Gracie, if it hadn't been for him I would be at the bottom of the lake now," she added, with tears of gratitude filling her eyes.

"Why, Lu!" exclaimed Grace in astonishment, "you surely did not venture up on the deck in this storm?"

"I did, and was nearly blown into the lake, but papa caught me, held me fast for a minute, then carried me down into the cabin."

"Oh, Lu! Lu! I hope you will never venture so again! I'd be broken-hearted, and so would papa, and indeed, all the rest, if we lost you in that way. What could I ever do without my dear, big sister?" she concluded, putting her arms about Lucilla and holding her fast in a most loving embrace.

"Oh, but it is nice that you love me so, Gracie, dear," Lulu returned.

"It was very foolish in me to venture on deck in such a gale, but papa did not scold me at all; just held me fast, petting and caressing me as if I were one of his greatest treasures."

"Of course," said Grace. "But didn't he forbid you to try going on deck again before the wind dies down?"

"Yes," acknowledged Lulu. "Oh, I wish he could stay below too. I want him to go to his berth and sleep off his fatigue. He must be very tired after his long night's vigil. But it is nearly breakfast time, and we should be making ourselves neat to appear at the table, looking as papa would have us."

An hour later all had gathered about the table, the captain at the head of it as usual, and looking cheerful and pleasant-tempered as was his wont, though somewhat weary and worn. He reported the storm nearly over, no serious damage done the vessel, nor much time lost. He hoped to be in the Welland Canal before night, and that they would find themselves on Lake Ontario when they woke in the morning.

"And can you not go to your berth for some hours' rest and sleep when you have finished your breakfast, my dear?" queried Violet, with a loving, anxious look into his face.

"Probably; after a short visit to the deck to see that all is going right there. Excuse me, my dear," he added, pushing away his plate and rising to his feet as he spoke. "I must return to my duties at once, but would have everyone else finish the meal at leisure," and with the last word he hurried away.

"My dear papa looks so tired, mamma," remarked little Elsie in regretful tones, "what has he been doing?"

"Staying up all night to take care of us," replied Violet, the tears shining in her eyes. "Don't you think we ought to love dear papa and do all we can to make him happy?"

"Yes, indeed, mamma!" answered the little girl earnestly. "Oh, I hope he can get a good sleep soon so that he will feel rested and well. I was going to ask him to tell me about what happened at the River Raisin. You know our soldiers, in that fight with the British and Indians that he told us about yesterday, called out over and over again, 'Remember the River Raisin,' and papa said he would tell me what it meant if I would ask him to-day. But I can wait till to-morrow," she added, with a sigh of resignation.

"How would it do for grandma to take your papa's place and tell you the story?" asked Grandma Elsie, in cheerful tones, and with a loving, smiling look at the little girl.

"Oh, nicely, grandma! I don't know but you could do it as well as papa could," answered the child eagerly.

"Ah, dearie, it is a very sad story, and I think I shall have to make it short," sighed Mrs. Travilla; "the details would but harrow up your feelings unnecessarily."

"Bad doings of the British and Indians, grandma?" queried the little girl.

"Yes; it was that, indeed!" said Mr. Dinsmore; "the latter part of the tragedy a terrible slaughter of defenceless prisoners – tortured, scalped, tomahawked, slain in various ways with the utmost cruelty; many of them burned alive in the houses where they lay wounded, unable to move. It was a fearful slaughter which Proctor, far from trying to prevent, rewarded with praise and the purchase of the scalps."

"Oh, wasn't he a very, very bad man, grandpa?" exclaimed little Elsie.

"More of a devil than a man, I should say," exclaimed Walter. "I remember reading an extract from a letter written a few days later, from Fort Maiden, by a Kentuckian to his mother, in which he says, 'Never, dear mother, should I live a thousand years can I forget the frightful sight of this morning, when hideously painted Indians came into the fort, some of them carrying half a dozen scalps of my countrymen fastened upon sticks and yet covered with blood, and were congratulated by Colonel Proctor for their bravery."

"But all the British officers were not so cruel, Walter, my dear," said his mother. "I remember the story of the letter to which you refer, and that the writer went on to say that he heard two British officers talking of that scene together; that one of them, whose name, he had been told, was Lieutenant-Colonel St. George, remarked to the other that Proctor was a disgrace to the British army, that such encouragement to devils was a blot upon the British character."

"Oh, please, grandma," cried little Elsie in distress, "I don't want to hear any more of that story."

"No, dear, it is far from being a pleasant one, nor is it worth while to harrow up your feelings with it," returned Mrs. Travilla. "I will try to find some pleasanter one for you and Neddie boy to help you pass the time agreeably while the storm prevents us from enjoying ourselves upon the deck."

With that all rose and left the table to gather in the saloon for morning worship, which, in the captain's absence, was conducted by Mr. Dinsmore.

But the storm was abating so that in another half hour Captain Raymond felt it safe to leave the deck and retire to his stateroom for much needed rest and sleep, and the others could sit comfortably in the saloon, the ladies with their fancy work, while Grandma Elsie entertained the little folks with stories suited to their tender years.

Walter, too, was one of the listeners for a time, then with his grandfather ventured upon deck to take an observation of the weather and their surroundings. When they returned it was with the cheering report that the storm had evidently spent its fury, the wind had nearly died down, the rain ceased to fall, and the sun was struggling through the clouds.

"Oh, then we can go up on deck, can't we, grandpa?" cried Neddie, in eager tones.

"After a little, sonny," returned his grandpa, sitting down and drawing the young pleader to his knee.

"When my papa wakes up?" queried Neddie, in a slightly disappointed tone.

"Yes, indeed, Ned," said Lucilla, "for though I am so much older than you, papa forbade me to go up there without his permission."

"Why did he, Lu?" asked Elsie in a tone of surprise; "and haven't you been up there at all this morning?"

"Yes, I was, before papa had forbidden me – and would have been blown into the lake if he hadn't caught me in his arms and held me fast."

"Oh, Lu, tell us all about it!" cried Ned, while the others who had not heard the story expressed their surprise in various ways and asked question upon question.

"There's hardly anything more to tell," replied Lucilla. "I know papa is always on deck early in the morning, and as I wake early too, I have a habit of running up there to exchange morning greetings with him. That was what I went for this time, not at all realizing how hard the wind was blowing, but I had scarcely set foot on the deck when it took my skirts and sent me across toward the spot where papa stood holding on to the railing with one hand, his speaking trumpet in the other. He dropped that in an instant and threw his arm round me." As she spoke she shuddered at the thought of her narrow escape from a watery grave, and her voice trembled with emotion. Controlling it with an effort, "You see," she concluded, "that I owe my life to my dear father, and – and I love him even better than ever, though I thought before that I loved him as much as was possible."

At that Violet dropped her work, went quickly to Lucilla's side, and bending down over her, kissed her with warmth of affection.

"Oh, I am so glad – so thankful that he was able to do it," she said in trembling tones and with tears in her eyes. "Dear Lu, it would have broken our hearts to lose you in that sudden, dreadful way."

"As it would mine to lose you, dear Mamma Vi," returned Lucilla with emotion, putting her arms about Violet's neck and returning her caresses with interest, "for you are so very good, kind, and loving that I have grown very fond of you. And I know it would break papa's heart to lose you, even more than to lose me or all of his children."

"Oh, I hope he may never be so tried! for I know he loves us all very dearly, as we do him," said Violet. "I don't know what any of us could do without him."