The Phantom of the River by Edward Sylvester Ellis (epub read online books txt) 📖

danger of running into any of the overhanging limbs and vegetation.

Jethro did not make the mistake of paddling the flatboat into the middle of the current, which was so much stronger there as to impede, if not to check, its progress altogether. And, as before stated, there could be no saying how much longer this favorable wind would continue.

The dusky youth overflowed with complacency when he sat down at the prow and noticed the satisfactory trend of events.

He was within a dozen yards or so of the wooded bank, sometimes approaching still closer, in accordance with the configuration of the land. His desire to keep advancing, while the chance was his, led him to venture further in, in order to take advantage of the sluggish current. Once or twice he felt a projecting root graze the bottom, and again the craft came almost to a standstill from partially grounding in a shallow portion. Its momentum, however, carried it over into deeper water, when its speed instantly increased.

Seeing nothing for him to do, Jethro seated himself at the bow, with his rifle resting in the boat near him, and his feet hanging over the water.

"Mr. Kenton and Boone and Altman and Ashbridge and all de rest ob de folks couldn't hab tought ob dis if dey had put their minds altogeder onto it. It was Jethro Juggens dat trotted out de idee. Some folks tinks he ain't much more dan a fool, and mebbe he ain't, but he knows a ting or two, and when dey cotch sight--"

At that instant the flatboat struck a shallow portion with such suddenness that it instantly stopped, and the youth, unprepared for the shock, sprawled overboard with a loud splash.

Nothing more serious than a shock and wetting resulted, and when he clambered to his feet the water did not reach to his knees. Grasping the prow with his huge hand, and applying his prodigious strength, he easily forced the front of the boat into deeper water and swung himself over the gunwale.

"Dat sort of bus'ness am inconwenieut, and it musn't happen agin."

Several sweeps of the two oars, he grasped one in either hand, worked the craft sufficiently far from land to prevent any repetition of his mishap. Then, caring naught for his moistened clothing, he sat down at the prow again.

The boat was moving steadily up stream, with more speed, indeed, than it had ever shown descending it. So long as the strong wind blew from the west this progress would continue. The moon, veiled at intervals by the drifting masses of clouds, sometimes revealed the trees on his right sweeping backward and occasionally, when the light was wholly unobstructed, he could catch the dim shadowy outlines of the Ohio shore. Not only was the water rippled by the bow of the boat as it forced its way forward, but it was broken into tiny chopping seas by the action of the gale.

The roving eyes detected no sign of life in any direction. The gloom was not pierced even by the starlike twinkle of some Indian campfire or signal light, but the dull boom of a rifle report, rolling over the river from the direction of Rattlesnake Gulch, proved that life, fierce, alert and vigilant, still throbbed with terrifying intensity.

It so came about that the second Shawanoe, he who succeeded in recapturing the canoe from Simon Kenton, was returning in the direction of the clearing. The sagacious warrior knew the ranger would be quick to discover the theft of his property, and would make search for it. Only by the utmost care and skill could he escape an encounter with the terrible scout, whom he held in unspeakable dread.

It was natural, therefore, that he should give his closest attention to the shore he was skirting, confident that that was the only direction whence danger could come. So, while the canoe skimmed the water, he held his gaze on the bank, and watched and listened with the acuteness of long training.

"Who dar?"

The question was asked in a sepulchral voice, and would have startled the bravest man. The head of the Indian whirled about like a flash, and he saw that which, it is safe to say, no member of his race had ever seen--an Ohio flatboat gliding up stream, with a broad spread of white sail, and moving with a noiselessness of death itself.

More than that, it was almost upon him. Only by dextrous work could he save himself from being run down. Less than a dozen feet separated them.

Glancing at the frightful object, the Shawanoe observed the figure of a sturdy, broad-shouldered man, standing near the bow with his rifle in his grasp. The sight was more than he could stand. With a frantic sweep of his paddle he drove the canoe like a swallow against the bank, leaped out and dashed into the woods.

"Dat chap acts as dough he am scared," remarked Jethro, in doubt whether or not to fire; "de next time, I 'spose, I oughter shoot fust and den make my obspectful inquiries afterward."

The incident was hardly over when to the surprise and disappointment of the youth the progress of the boat began to slacken, soon ceased, and then it slowly floated down stream. The wind had died out more suddenly than it had risen. He quickly dropped the anchor overboard.

"Wonder how fur I've come," he thought, peering at the bank and unable to locate himself; "reckon I must hab come fifteen or twenty miles--but dat can't be either, for de folks at de block-house would hab seen me if I didn't see dem--hulloa! dat chap must tink he knows me; it ain't him after all."

The canoe which had shot under the bank so suddenly, now emerged again and paddled straight towards the flatboat, only a short distance away. The action so startled the dusky youth that he would have acted upon his own suggestion of firing before asking any questions, had he not perceived that the occupant was a white man.

"Dat can't be Mr. Kenton or Boone," mused Jethro, closely studying the stranger. "No, it am somebody dat hasn't de honor ob my obquaintance. Him and me ain't neber met afore."

As the individual came closer and was more plainly shown in the dim moonlight, he was seen to be a sturdy man in middle life, dressed much the same as Mr. Ashbridge and Altman--that is, with more regard for the fashions of the age than was shown by men like Boone and Kenton.

"Good evening," he called, nodding his head in salutation; "may I come aboard?"

"Who am yo'? Am yo' name Girty?" asked Jethro, in doubt whether to permit the man to join him, now that his canoe was near enough to permit him to do so. His appearance was pleasing, and his voice had a hearty ring about it, but the African, since he was master of the situation, felt he could not be too careful of his company.

The stranger laughed at the question asked him, and replied:

"Bless me, that's the first time I was ever taken for Mr. Girty. You seem to be alone on the boat."

Jethro suspected this to be a trick meant to make him unmask his weakness. He was not to be caught that way.

"No, sah! dar's whar yo's mistooken, sah. Dan'l Kenton and Simon Boone, and 'leven oder gemman am in dis boat wid me, and if yo'----"

"Tut, tut," interrupted the stranger, with another laugh, so genial in its character that it disarmed the youth.

"'Scoose me; I meant to say dat dem folks would like to be wid me."

"My son, you and I are the best of friends; you surely have no misgiving regarding me; my name is Finley."

And, with this remark, he stepped over the gunwale and cordially shook the hand of Jethro, who was won by his looks and manner. He helped fasten the canoe at the side of the flatboat, and invited the visitor to seat himself upon the remaining sheets at the stern, an invitation that was so agreeably accepted that Jethro was certain he had never met so delightful a gentleman.

There may be some among my readers who have recognized the name of the man who paddled out in the canoe as among the most honored in the early history of the West. He was James B. Finley, the famous missionary, whose career is one of the brightest pages among the many stained by cruelty, vice and crime. For years he carried his life in his hands, traversing the vast stretches of wilderness with rifle over his shoulder, living on the game brought down by his own marksmanship, or what he could obtain in the lodges of the red men or the cabins of the pioneers. He slept in the woods, freezing by the lonely campfire, or sweltering in the smothering heat of the summer sun.

And wherever this devoted man went, he carried the message of his Master. He labored unceasingly in His vineyard, illustrating precept by his own example, and winning many to the right way, not only among the rough bordermen, but from among the fierce warriors themselves.

Without turning aside in this place to refer more fully to Rev. Mr. Finley, the interesting fact should be recalled that it was under his exhortation that Simon Kenton, years subsequent to the events we are now recording, professed conversion, and became a deeply devout man.

The missionary showed his tact by making no reference to the tremendous falsehood he had just brought home to Jethro Juggens.

Laying his hand in a fatherly way upon the shoulder of the youth, he remarked:

"You will believe me, my son, when I tell you I am surprised."

"Yes, I offen s'prise folks."

"What is your name, please?"

Jethro answered all his questions truthfully and respectfully, so that in a few minutes the gentleman gained a fair understanding of the incidents in which the colored youth had been involved during the past few days, and which placed him in his present extraordinary situation.

"I have seen a great many flatboats pass down the river," remarked Mr. Finley, at the close of the interesting narrative, "but this is the first time I ever saw any go up stream."

"Yes, I tinked I'se begun de fashine."

"But why is it you are at rest?"

"'Cause de anchor am drapped overboard."

"But don't you notice that the wind is blowing again, and the boat will move readily."

Jethro had not observed the fact until his friend reminded him of it. Then he made haste to hoist the anchor, and once more the flatboat resumed its singular voyage up the Ohio.


CHAPTER XX.

WAR'S STRATEGY.

Even after considerable more conversation than has been recorded, Jethro Juggens and the missionary had much to learn of each other.

The youth was especially puzzled to understand how it was that almost immediately following the flight of the Shawanoe in the extremity of panic, the good man should have paddled out to the flatboat in the canoe that had been so hurriedly deserted.

"That was a curious circumstance," said Mr. Finley, musingly; "sit down beside me and I will tell you about it."

"I's bery glad to do so," replied Jethro, placing himself at a respectful distance from the good man, "if you don't tink I had better keep a lookout dat we don't run by the block-house afore we knows it."

"My dear boy, we are still a long way