The Courier of the Ozarks

by Byron A. Dunn

  CHAPTER XV

  A GIRL OF THE OZARKS

  In one of the loveliest valleys in the heart of the Ozarks lived JudgeMarion Chittenden. He was the youngest son of a Kentucky pioneer, onewho did much in the building up of that commonwealth when it was knownas "The Dark and Bloody Ground."

  In his youth, Marion Chittenden--that was not his name then--was wildand wayward, and became involved in numerous brawls and personalencounters. When about twenty years of age, in a drunken brawl he shotand killed one of his best friends. Filled with horror, and knowing theconsequences of his crime, he fled. Although a large reward was offeredfor his apprehension, all efforts to find him proved unavailing. Asyears passed and nothing was heard from him, his relatives breathedsighs of relief and considered him as one dead.

  The fact was, he had fled beyond the Mississippi and became lost in thewilds of Missouri. Here he changed his name, and no one ever knew butthat he always had been Marion Chittenden.

  In the Ozarks he made his living by hunting and fishing, and for someyears lived almost the life of a hermit. In one particular his crimemade him a changed man; from the moment he fled he never touched anotherdrop of liquor.

  One day while hunting he came across a lovely valley. Through it ran apurling stream, its waters as clear as crystal. Around and about thevalley the hills rose to a height of from five to eight hundred feet,clothed to their tops in a forest of living green.

  When he first saw the valley it was from the top of one of the hillswhere he had trailed and shot a bear. As he stood and looked, the scenewas so peaceful, so beautiful, that a longing for rest came over him.The wild and wandering life he had led for years all at once palled uponhim. The memory of his childhood came like a flood. His waywardness, hiscrime, arose before him with startling distinctness. He was naturally alover of the refinements of civilization, and the rough, lonely life hehad led was the result of his crime, not of inclination.

  Standing there, he suddenly exclaimed, "Here will I make my home; herewill I forget the past; here will I begin a new life."

  He descended into the valley, startling a herd of deer that bounded intothe forest which clothed the hills. But they need not have beenafraid--for the time being he had lost the instinct of a hunter.

  He stood by the side of the little river, its clear waters showing thefish darting to and fro, as if in wanton play. A little back was a knollcrowned with noble trees. "Here," thought he, "will I build my house.Here will I begin my new life. It is beautiful. The stream is beautiful.It shall be called La Belle, and this the valley of La Belle." And thevalley of La Belle it became.

  He went to St. Louis and preempted the land, for he had no fears therough, bearded hunter would be taken for the immaculate young dandy whohad fled from Kentucky.

  He built him a home; the range of thousands of acres of land was his,and his flocks grew and flourished. Time passed, and other settlersbegan to invade the seclusion of the Ozarks.

  One day there came into the hills a man by the name of Garland. He hadseen better days, but had become impoverished and fled to the Ozarks,thinking that in that wilderness he might make a home, and in a measureretrieve his fortune. His family consisted of his wife and one daughter,a young lady about twenty years of age.

  Mr. Garland settled some miles from where Chittenden lived his lonelylife; but in a wilderness those who live miles away are consideredneighbors. Mr. Chittenden visited them, and, though charmed by thebeauty of the daughter, he had no thoughts of giving up his bachelorlife.

  But misfortune seemed to have followed Mr. Garland. He had not beenthere a year before his wife died, and in a few months he followed her.

  Before this Mr. Chittenden had not thought of marriage, but now thehelplessness of the girl appealed to him. He proposed and was accepted.He never had cause to regret his action, for beautiful Grace Garlandmade a wife of whom any man might be proud.

  His marriage also made a great change in Mr. Chittenden. The house wasenlarged and beautified. He greatly prospered, and in time became one ofthe prominent men in his section of the country. He was called Judge,and sent to the Legislature, and was even pressed to run for Congress.Against this he resolutely set his face. The ghost of the past arose andfrightened him. As a congressman his past might be traced.

  A couple of years after his marriage a daughter was born and was namedGrace, after her mother.

  Mr. Chittenden continued to prosper, and in time bought a few slaves.This put him on a higher plane, for to be a slave-holder was to belongto the aristocracy, and it was a matter of pride among the Ozarks thatMr. Chittenden owned slaves.

  Little Grace grew up a true child of the mountains, as wild and free asthe birds. When she was about ten years of age her mother died. If ithad not been for his daughter, Mr. Chittenden would have lost allinterest in life. Now everything centered in her, and she became a partof his very life.

  The death of his wife left him without a competent housekeeper, so oneday he informed Grace he was going to St. Louis to see if he could notbuy a colored woman recommended as a good housekeeper, and that if sheliked she might go with him.

  The girl was overjoyed, for she had never been away from her lovelyvalley home. The hills to her had been the boundary of the world, andoften as she gazed at them she would wonder and wonder what was beyond.The birds were her friends, and they seemed to sing of things she didnot know. They had wings and could fly and explore that wonderfulbeyond. She often wished she too had wings, so she might fly with thebirds--then she would know too.

  Her mother early had taught her to read, and Mr. Chittenden had gatheredquite a library. Grace read every book in it with avidity, but they toldher of a world she could not understand.

  But now she was to go beyond the barrier; she was to see the world, andshe could hardly wait for the time to start.

  At last the day came and the journey was begun, first on horseback andthen by a lumbering stage coach.

  In due time they reached the city, and what she saw filled her withwonder and surprise. But when she woke in the morning and heard nosinging of birds, but instead the din and roar of the street; and whenshe looked out and saw no lovely valley, no stately hills, no La Belle,its waters sparkling in the sun, but instead row upon row of greatbuildings, she sighed--she hardly knew why.

  The next day when her father showed her around the city she said, "It'sall very wonderful, papa, but it isn't like home. The houses are not asbeautiful as the hills, and even the great river does not sing assweetly, and its waters are not clear and sparkling like La Belle."

  One day Mr. Chittenden told Grace there was to be an auction of slaves,and he would go and try to get one for a housekeeper. The little girlwas eager to go with him, but he would not allow it. She wondered whyand rebelled, but her father was obdurate and left her crying.

  Grace's slightest wish was generally law to her father, and to berefused and left alone was to her a surprise. She did not realize thather father did not wish her to see the distressing scenes which oftentook place at an auction of slaves.

  In due time Mr. Chittenden returned, accompanied by a comely mulattowoman about forty years of age. The woman's eyes were red with weeping,and now and then her bosom would heave with a great sob which she wouldin vain try to hold back.

  "This is Tilly, Grace," said her father. "She is said to be a goodhousekeeper and a famous cook."

  "Why do you cry?" asked Grace. "Papa is a good man; he will use youwell."

  "It's not that," sobbed the woman: "it's mah honey chile, mah littleEffie. I'll neber see her moah." And she broke down and sobbedpiteously.

  Grace turned with a distressed countenance. "Did Tilly have a littlegirl?" she asked.

  "Y-e-s," answered Mr. Chittenden, rather reluctantly.

  "Why didn't you buy her too?" she asked indignantly. "What if someoneshould take me from you?"

  Mr. Chittenden winced. "That is different, child," he answered. "As forTilly's child, a trader from New Orleans bought her, paying an enormous
price. She was nearly white, and gave promise of becoming quite abeauty. Rich people give large prices for such for maids. I could notafford to buy her. As it was, I had to pay a big price for Tilly."

  Grace said no more, but from that time new thoughts entered her mind,and when alone with Tilly she tried to comfort her.

  Tilly proved as good a housekeeper and cook as Mr. Chittenden could havedesired, and in time seemed to have forgotten her child. But Grace knewbetter, for when alone with her Tilly never tired of telling her abouther "honey chile," and Grace was learning what it meant to be a slave,and all unconsciously to herself she was drinking in a love of freedom.

  As for Tilly, she came to worship the very ground that Grace walked on.Willingly she would have shed every drop of blood in her veins for her.

  Years went by and other settlers came into the Ozarks, but they were arough, uneducated class, and Mr. Chittenden had little in common withthem. In time a Mr. Thomas Osborne settled about four miles from him. Hewas a northern man, well educated, and had come to the Ozarks for hishealth, being threatened with consumption. He had a daughter, Helen,about the age of Grace, and the two became inseparable friends.

  When Grace was about fifteen years of age it was evident that she wouldbe a very beautiful woman. She was by no means an ignorant girl, for herfather had employed a private teacher for her, and she was far betteracquainted with the elementary branches and with books than most girlswho attend fashionable boarding schools.

  But she was still a child of nature, the birds her best companions. Thewind whispering through the forest told her wonderful stories. She couldride and shoot equal to any boy who roamed the Ozarks, and was thecompanion of her father as he looked after his flocks and herds.

  The father saw she was fast budding into womanhood, and sighed, for hefelt she should know something beyond the rough life of the mountains,and, although parting from her was like tearing out his own heart, heresolved to send her to a boarding school in St. Louis. His daughtermust be a lady; he had not forgotten his early life.

  Grace heard his decision. She had not forgotten her visit to thatwonderful city five years before, and, now that she was older, thoughtshe would like to see and know more of it.

  "But how can I leave you, papa?" she exclaimed, throwing her arms aroundhis neck and pressing kiss after kiss upon his brow.

  Mr. Chittenden clasped her to his breast. "It will not be for long,child," he said huskily, "and I would have my little girl a lady."

  "Am I not a lady, now?" she asked, pouting.

  "Yes, yes, Grace; but I would have you know something of the ways ofsociety. I do not want you to be always a mountain girl. You are worthyto adorn the grandest palace in the city."

  "I don't want to adorn a palace. I love the valley of La Belle," shereplied. "I want to live and die here."

  "You may think differently some day, child. It is only for your good Iwould have you go, for, Grace, you do not know how hard it is for me topart from you."

  Again the girl threw her arms around him. "Don't make me go, papa," shesobbed. "I thought I wanted to go, but I don't now. I don't want to be afine lady. I want to stay with you."

  "No, Grace; it is for the best." And so it was fully decided.

  The time came for her to go. The parting with Helen Osborne was atearful one, but Tilly was inconsolable. "All de sunshine will be gonefrum de house," she moaned. "When Missy Grace goes, Tilly want to die."

  "Oh, no, Tilly; you want to be here to welcome me when I come back,"said Grace.

  Grace was taken to St. Louis and placed in one of the most fashionableschools in the city. Lola Laselle and Dorothy Hamilton were members ofthe same school, but as they were day pupils, Grace did not become verywell acquainted with them.

  Grace's gentle, unaffected ways soon made her a favorite, but there werea few of the pupils who looked down on the mountain girl as beneaththem. But gentle as Grace was, there was the blood of a fiery and proudrace in her veins, and she soon taught those girls she could not besnubbed with impunity. She was an apt pupil and soon became the mostpopular girl in the school, and the haughty ones were proud to beclassed as her friends.

  The rules and restrictions of the school were irksome to her, and shebecame the leader of a bevy of girls who delighted in having a goodtime, and many were the little luncheons they enjoyed together after theteachers thought all good girls were in bed.

  One day Grace heard the girls discussing a book which at that time wascreating a sensation.

  "It's dreadful," said one of the girls. "Every copy printed ought to bedestroyed, and the woman who wrote it burned at the stake."

  "Have you read it?" asked one of the girls.

  The first girl raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Read it!" sheexclaimed. "I would as soon touch a viper as that book."

  "How do you know it is bad, then?" persisted the second girl.

  "Because I have heard papa say so. It's all about slavery, and makes outthat the people that own slaves are the wickedest people in the world.Papa says the book will cause a war yet."

  "My papa says," spoke up another, "that the South is going to secede,and when it does he says there may be war."

  "Pshaw! the Yankees will not fight," exclaimed a girl from Mississippi."Brother Ned says they are a cowardly lot, and that one Southerngentleman can whip ten of them."

  The conversation now took a general turn over what would happen if warcame, and it was the opinion of most of the girls that it would be justgrand.

  Grace listened eagerly to the conversation, but took no part. So far shehad given little attention to the strife which was agitating thecountry. Even the conflict which had raged along the borders of Missouriand Kansas had only come as a faint echo among the Ozarks. But now sheasked, "What is the name of the book you girls are talking about?"

  "Uncle Tom's Cabin. It's a horrid book," replied one of the girls.

  Grace said no more, but she determined to have that book; she wanted tosee what made it so terrible. The first time she had leave to godowntown she made an excuse to go into a book store and purchase a copy.She concealed it in her clothes and then made a few other purchases.

  "Why, Grace, what made you so long?" asked the monitor in charge of thegirls when she returned.

  "Couldn't get waited on before," answered Grace demurely.

  That evening Grace swore her room-mate to eternal secrecy, and thenshowed her the book.

  The girl was horrified. "What made you buy it?" she wailed. "Why, if Ishould take that book home I would be arrested and sent to prison."

  "I am determined to see what kind of a book it is," answered Grace,doggedly. "When I see, I can burn it up if I don't like it."

  "I wouldn't touch it for the whole world," exclaimed her room-mate."Burn it up. Burn it up now, Grace. What if the girls found it out! Wewould be disgraced, ostracized, perhaps expelled!"

  "If you don't tell, I will take care that no one else sees it," saidGrace.

  The next day Grace feigned a headache, and remained in her room to readthe book. That evening her room-mate asked about it.

  "You will never see it," replied Grace. "I looked into it and concludedyou were right; it would never do for that book to be found in our room.I have destroyed it."

  "Grace Chittenden," cried the girl, "I believe you pretended to have aheadache so you could stay in our room and read that book! I have a mindto report you. What kind of a book was it? Tell me."

  "Do you want me to corrupt you too, Mabel?" laughed Grace. "No; the bookis destroyed, and that ends it. It is not the kind of a book I thoughtit was--not so horrid; but it makes one think. I am almost sorry I readit."

  That night Grace lay awake a long time thinking of Uncle Tom and LittleEva, and more than once she sighed, "Tilly is right. Slavery iswicked--wicked!"

  Grace had been in school two years when the war opened. Even theseclusion of a girl's boarding school could not help being penetrated bythe fierce excitement which swept through the whole country. The streetswere
filled with marching troops. Many of the girls had brothers inFrost's militia. Then Camp Jackson was taken.

  Grace heard the distant firing, saw the surging mob in the streets, butin the midst of the excitement her father came. He had hurried to thecity to take her home--to take her to the heart of the Ozarks, where hehoped the red waves of war would never come.

  Marion Chittenden was by nature fierce and combative, but the horrorfrom which he had fled had so changed him that it was only when somegreat excitement moved him that his passions were aroused. He was astrong partisan of the South and believed the North wholly wrong. It wasonly his age and an injury that forbade protracted riding on horsebackthat kept him from offering his services to the State.

  Mr. Chittenden's fierce denunciation of the North alarmed Grace. Whatwould he say if he knew she was for the Union? She resolved to keepstill and say nothing. She noticed a large number of rough men callingon her father, and a great number of secret consultations were held.

  The first great shock came to Grace when one day her father said,"Grace, I wish you would cease visiting Helen Osborne, and by all meansdo not invite her here. I want no intercourse between the two families."

  Grace opened her eyes in astonishment. "Why, father, what is thematter?" she asked.

  "Osborne is a sneaking Yankee, an abolitionist, and the old fool can'tkeep his mouth shut."

  "What difference should that make as far as Helen and I are concerned?"asked Grace, her eyes flashing.

  Surprised at the feeling his daughter showed, Mr. Chittenden said moregently: "Grace, you do not understand, you do not realize the feelingthroughout the country. To be friendly with the Osbornes would bringsuspicion on me. Even your visits would be misconstrued. Do as I askyou, Grace, for my sake."

  She promised, though very reluctantly. More than once she resolved totell her father her true feelings, but shrank from the ordeal.

  After that Grace did not leave the valley. Rough, uncouth men came tovisit her father more frequently than ever, and she heard enough to knowthat the waves of war had rolled clear down to Springfield and that thewhole State was becoming a vast armed camp.

  One day her father seemed much perturbed, and at last rode away incompany with several men. Grace noticed they were all armed. Feelingalarmed as well as lonely, she resolved to take a ride. Ordering herfavorite horse saddled, she soon was galloping down the valley towardsthe Osbornes. Why she took that direction she hardly knew. She rode asnear to the Osbornes as she thought prudent, and was about to turn back,when she saw a great cloud of smoke arising.

  "It must be the Osborne house," she exclaimed, and urged her horseforward. When she came to where she could see she reined in her horseand gazed at the scene in horror. Not only was Mr. Osborne's house inflames, but his barn and outbuildings, as well as stacks of grain.

  But it was not so much the fire as what else she saw that made her facepale and her breath to come in gasps. A little apart from the fire stooda group of men, and in their midst Mr. Osborne, with a rope around hisneck. His wife and daughter were clinging to him, and even from whereGrace was their shrieks and cries for mercy reached her ears. She tookone look, then struck her horse a sharp blow and, like a whirlwind, cameupon the scene. Astonished, the men stood like statues.

  "You pretend to be men, I suppose," she cried, "and call this war.Cowards! Poltroons! Murderers!"

  "You pretend to be men and call this war!"]

  Just then she caught sight of her father in the group. "You too!" shegasped, and fell fainting from her horse.

  When she came to she was in her father's arms, the men had gone, andbending over her was Helen Osborne, bathing her face. She opened hereyes and then, shuddering, closed them again. She had looked into theface of a man stricken as unto death.

  "Grace, Grace," he moaned, "another such look as that will kill me. Youdo not understand. I was trying to save life, not take it."

  A shiver went through her body, but she did not open her eyes noranswer.

  "Grace, hear me. I am not what you think. O God!"

  "What did you say, father?" she whispered.

  "That I was trying to save Mr. Osborne, not hang him."

  Once more her eyes opened, but now they looked with love into herfather's face. "Thank God!" she murmured, and her arms went around hisneck. The strong man wept as he clasped her to his breast and kissed heragain and again.

  "Take me home," she whispered weakly. "I feel, oh, so faint!"

  On the invitation of Mr. Chittenden the Osbornes accompanied him. Thenext day he sent them out of the country.

  When Grace was strong enough to hear, her father told her all. Mr.Osborne's pronounced Northern principles had made him very obnoxious tothose who sympathized with the South. "It was for this reason, Grace,"he said, "I forbade your visiting Helen. Even a friendly intercoursebetween you two would have brought suspicion on me. You cannotunderstand the terrible feeling towards all Yankees and those whosympathize with them. Mr. Osborne was repeatedly warned to leave thecountry, but he paid no attention to the warnings. Instead, he becameactive in giving information to the Federal authorities. Some time agoit became known that he had sent to the Federal commander at Rolla thename of every active Southern sympathizer in the country. My name was onthe list as one of the leaders.

  "This was too much for the boys, and they decided on summary punishment,but, knowing that I was opposed to extreme means, they tried to keepwhat they were to do from me. I found it out and did all in my power tosave him, but a vote was taken, and it was decided he should be burnedout and then hanged. It was only your timely arrival that saved him. Heis well out of the country now, for which I am thankful."

  Grace listened to his account in silence, then said: "I'm so glad,father, you tried to save him. I thought--oh, I can't tell what Ithought, it was so dreadful."

  She then seemed struggling with herself, as if she wanted to saysomething and dared not.

  "What is it, child?" asked Mr. Chittenden gently.

  Looking at him with yearning eyes, she whispered, "Do you love me?"

  "What a question, Grace! Better than my life! You should know that!"

  "And will you let anything come between? Will you always love me, evenif I am not what you think?"

  "Grace, what do you mean?" he cried, brokenly. A terrible suspicion cameto him that her mind was wandering, that the shock she had received hadunbalanced her reason.

  "Father, I must tell you. I cannot think as you do. This war isterrible, and I believe the South is all in the wrong."

  Mr. Chittenden could only gasp his astonishment, then he commencedlaughing. "Is that all, Grace? I thought--well, it hardly matters what Ithought. It was unworthy of me. But what makes you think the South isall wrong?"

  "I do not know as I can make you understand, but, father--I hateslavery! I think I was born with a love for freedom. I have drunk it infrom my childhood. This valley, the grand old hills around it, all speakof freedom. La Belle murmurs it as her waters dance and sparkle on theirway to the sea. The wind in the trees sings of freedom, the birds warbleit."

  "Grace, you are poetic; it is only these fancies that make you think asyou do."

  "No, father. You know I love history, and you have some good historiesin your library. I have learned how slavery came into this country, howit grew; and I also know something about what is called State Rights. Ibelieve the South claims any State has a perfect right to withdraw fromthe Union at pleasure."

  "Yes, the doctrine is true. We are no rebels."

  "I can't believe it. To trample on the flag of our common country isrebellion. Father, I love the starry flag. I carry it next my heart." Toher father's surprise, she put her hand in her bosom and drew forth atiny flag. "I made it, father, at school. While the other girls weremaking Confederate flags, I made this one."

  Mr. Chittenden could only say, "Thank God, you are not a boy."

  "Father, you do not hate me?"

  "No, child; I look at what you have said as only the f
oolish fancies ofa girl. You will laugh at them yourself when you are older. But, Grace,let me ask you a question. According to your ideas I am a rebel. Doesthat make you love me less?"

  For answer she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "No,father, for you are doing what you think right. If you were in the army,riding at the head of your regiment, I would be proud of you--pray foryou."

  "Would to God that I could," cried Mr. Chittenden, "and, old as I am, Iwould if it were not for this infernal rupture. But, Grace, I can neverforget that look you gave me when you thought I was one of the gangabout to hang Osborne. If I had been, would you still love me?" Hisvoice trembled as he asked the question.

  The girl shivered and was silent for a moment, then said: "When--when Ithought you were, it was as if a dagger had pierced my heart. I believeI would have died then and there if I had not learned differently. Itwould have been my love for you that would have killed me. To think myfather was a mur----"

  She did not finish the sentence. A look of anguish, of terror, came intothe father's face. He trembled like a leaf--what if his daughter knewhis past!

  "What is it, father?" cried Grace in alarm.

  With a tremendous effort Mr. Chittenden recovered his composure."Nothing now, Grace, but your words were so terrible. Don't say themagain, Grace. I--I would die if I lost my daughter's love."

  "You never will, father. You are too good, too noble," and she drew hishead down and kissed him again and again.

  Oh! the past! the past! How it stung that father as he felt hisdaughter's pure kisses on his brow!

  "Father, you are not angry with me, are you?" asked Grace, wondering athis silence.

  "No, darling; only, for my sake, keep your belief to yourself."

  "For your sake I will be just as little a Yankee as possible," answeredGrace, smiling.