Part 9

Then lionhearted Conway, Beneath whose eagle eye Even savage foes once trembled Was offered up to die! Defiant still 'mid writhing flames, He heaped on them his scorn, And, with true prophetic voice He doomed their race unborn.

"Rejoice! rejoice! ye howling fiends, Distort your hideous face, Soon the white man's wrath shall sweep From earth your blood-stained race, While shining fields and cities fair Attest the white man's power, You accursed Creeks shall be Tradition's useless dower!"

Now comes your own ancestor, The gallant, brave McCray, Who planned this glorious campaign And led the awful fight. He was a perfect Hercules, Cast in Apollo's mould, With a heart of witching tenderness, Yet proud and dauntless soul.

Oft had he visited this tribe, On peaceful mission bent, And to many a savage His kind assistance lent. Yet little dreamed he, at this hour, One heart amid that throng Still beat responsive to his own, Attuned to love's mad song!

Yet, as they bound him to the stake And raised the flaming brand, The Chief that held it fell a corpse, Killed by a woman's hand! And Indian maiden loosed his bands And raised her voice on high: "Who harms my paleface lover By Tululah's hand shall die!"

Behold, the savage concourse stand, Transfixed by silent awe, And gaze upon Ocala's child, Held sacred by their law! They feared Ocala's spirit Might _then_ be hovering nigh; Nor dared to harm his darling child, Lest he who harmed her die!

The Queen, with head and form erect, Bore McCray undismayed, And in her _father's_ wigwam Her wounded lover laid! Then bending gently o'er him, Each wound she rightly dress, And with sweet plaintive melodies Lured the weary one to rest.

At dawning light McCray awoke, His Queen still lingering there; His eyes bespoke his gratitude, His lips were moved in prayer For the lithe and graceful maiden Whose love he knew to be Pure as early morning's blush, Yet deathless as--Eternity!

Although once failed, his savage foes Still thirsted for his blood; The hate within their bosoms Was as tireless as a flood. Not daring open violence, They sought Oneida's craft, And 'neath the guise of friendship Gave the lovers a sleeping draught.

When the mighty god of slumber Had locked them fast in sleep, The wily savage entered, His fearful oath to keep. They took McCray to the river In sight of these roaring falls, Whose sheer descent--two hundred feet-- The stoutest heart appalls!

They bound him fast in a frail canoe, Set adrift 'mid the current's flow, Believing his life would be dashed out On the jagged rocks below. Then, gladly turning homeward, A ready lie they make To appease her burning anger When Tululah shall awake!

Slowly the doomed man drifted, Yet faster, at each breath, The quickening current bore him To the open gates of death! Yet still he slept; aye, slept and dreamed Of the proud Creek's peerless flower Who, for deathless love of him, Had braved her nation's power.

Spurned her murdered siris corpse And to his murderer clung! Aye, on the spot that drank his blood, Love's soothing ditties sung! Dreamed of the eyes that flashed with fire When his foeman dared draw nigh, Yet softened into tenderness At her lover's faintest sigh.

Dreams of the hand that sped the dart That pierced the chieftain's breast, Yet with such witching tenderness Could tremble in caress! Dreams of the heart that proudly braved A nation's deadly hate, Yet, at a lover's first command, Would brook a martyr's fate!

Dreams of the hour when Tululah, Who so bravely saved his life, Shall desert her baffled kinsman To become a white man's wife! Dreams how he would love and prize her, Shielding her with tenderest care, Spending time, and life, and fortune But to grant her lightest prayer.

But his dream is rudely broken, And his blanched lip loudly calls, For he hears the well known rumbling Of this river's awful falls. Life was sweet, death was so near, And he so young to die! No wonder that his trembling lips Sought mercy from on high.

He bore ten thousand tortures With every passing breath, As he lay bound and helpless, Gliding swiftly on to death. He raised his clarion voice Above the deafening roar; Great heavens! can a human cry Reach that resounding shore?

"Yes! Yes!" a once familiar voice Calls loudly from that shore, And a well known trapper woos time To life and hope once more! By an effort, born of hope renewed, McCray sprang to his feet; The trapper saw, his lariat flew, His outstretched hands to greet.

"_Steady!_" the practical huntsman cried: "Your peril is almost o'er; Steady, for in a moment Your foot shall press the shore!" Then, as he drew the skiff ashore, He recognized McCray, But gazed in silent wonder _For late raven locks were grey_!

And never, to his dying day, Would McCray view the place Where, in suspended agony, He met death face to face! He shuddered at an Indian's name, And soon forgot the Queen, Who once so bravely saved him From a nation's senseless spleen.

He wooed and won a maiden Whose blue eyes, like your own, Held within their liquid depths, Love's nectarine full blown, And as I press your luscious lips I praise thee, brave McCray, Whose dauntless courage gave to me The girl I hold today!

Oh, yes; forgive me, darling, I did almost forget; But how can mortal silence keep By such sweet eyes beset? Grant me the boon of one more kiss And gaze into my face; Light fancy by your radiant eyes, Tululah's fate to trace!

Still let the pressure of your hand Chain me in rapture to the earth, For I must offer thoughts tonight That ne'er before had birth! No idle dreamer dares to pierce The mystery of this stream, Nor would I dare the bold emprise Save that your wish I deem

The highest law my loving heart Can now or ever know, And 'neath the witchery of your smile My raptured numbers glow! My fancy soars on eager wing, And will, perhaps, at last, Gladly at your high behest Unfold the misty past!

Tululah slept till evening shades Had deepened into night, And woke, alas! to find herself Bereft of her brave knight. Her Indian wit soon taught her Oguchu was to blame, And hastily she found him, Her eyes and cheeks aflame!

"Oguchu knows your mission; Your paleface lover fled While Tululah's starlit eyes Were wandering 'mid the dead. He is not worthy of your love; Let my sister choose a mate; Oguchu's lodge is open, Will my sister spurn her fate?"

"My paleface lover is a brave!" Tululah proudly cried; "_He_ never fled from friend or foe, Oguchu, thou hast lied! Thy double tongue is poison-tipped, Thy words a coward's dart, Before I clasp thy loathsome form Let panthers rend my heart!

"Speak, coward, speak! where is my brave? Tululah asks you where; Speak, lest I summon by a word The friends of earth and air To tear your quivering limbs apart, You lying, treacherous chief. Speak the truth! you Indian dog, The night is growing brief!"

The awestruck chief is conquered, And tells, with bated breath, Where last he saw him drifting, Into the jaws of death! Tululah heard, and wild despair Hurled reason from her throne. Low at her feet the wretches crouched, Their treachery to atone!

"Up! Up, you cowards! Up, you knaves! And lead me to the place. Tululah's hand shall save him yet Or curse your coward race! 'Tis mine to speak; yours, to obey;-- I am your Virgin Queen:-- I _swear_ to save my lover Or _nevermore_ be seen!"

They led her to the river, And, pointing to the place, They stood like criminals abashed Before the judge's face. She spurned their pleading counsel, And, springing in a boat, She cast the oars from her And set the skiff afloat!

Then, as she gazed adown the stream, Her eyes were all aglow With that deep yearning passion Such hearts alone can know. While sitting in the boat erect, With an Indian's willowy grace, She sang in tuneful numbers A song time can't efface:

"I am coming, coming, coming, Slowly drifting down the stream, While my heart is yearning, yearning For the idol of love's dream.

"I have left them--left them--left them! Farewell, treacherous Indian race; I can hear him calling, calling, And I go to seek his face.

"Now I'm gliding, gliding, gliding! And I hear the awful roar Of the waters tumbling, tumbling, Where no boat will need an oar!

"Now I'm rushing, rushing, rushing! And the spray obscures my sight; The angry waters leaping, leaping, Chill me with a strange affright.

"Oh, I see him! see him--see him, And I welcome death's alarms! Oh! I'm swiftly falling, falling, And I spring into his arms!"

Not a trace of boat or maiden Could the savage searchers find, And they fled the spot in terror, Daring not to look behind! Nor would they tarry near the river, But moved their wigwam's far away; No savage Creek would linger Near the spot by night and day.

And tradition says her spirit May be seen on nights like this, When the heavy moon, mist-laden, Greets the river with a kiss! Not in vain will be our vigil If Tululah knows tonight In your precious veins is flowing Genuine blood of her brave knight!

Look! Look! 'mid the river's silvery sheen Tululah's Phantom Boat is seen, While the air vibrates like a quivering lyre, Touched by the hands of an angel Choir! Oh, wondrous music soft and low, Like rippling streamlets' gentle flow! Oh, pathos laden, heart refrain, No mortal lips can breathe that strain!

Immortal love! not even death Can damp thy flame or chill thy breath! Nay, while eternal ages roll, 'Tis thine to feed the hungry soul With manna dipped in passion's fire, True birthright of the heart's desire; Blest food no mortal lips can take And fail enrapturing bliss to wake!

Heaven's corner-stone, earth's chief delight. Tululah's captive soul tonight Is but living o'er the dream Thou didst create beside this stream. Her hapless fate all must deplore, Self-sacrificed in days of yore; And, could Tululah live again, At least one heart would soothe her pain!

The legend may be overdrawn, Yet 'tis not all a dream! Nor will you ever say again: "This is no haunted stream!" Other eyes beside our own Have seen the Phantom Boat, And other ears than ours have heard That wild, weird? music float!

But, precious little darling, As I strain thee to my breast, I am conscious you are weary, Thus deprived of needful rest. Let us hasten to thy cottage, Parting with a lingering kiss; Little Daisy, then, can slumber And awake in perfect bliss!

_AN INITIAL ACROSTIC._

Hear, O hear the melting music pouring from inspired hearts! In the race of life they stumbled, victims of temptation's darts. Ruin's billows them engulfing, all their hopes and joys to blight; And the scorpion lash of conscience scourges them by day and night! Man has doomed them to a prison where shame's torrents hourly roll

Pouring every known affliction on the crushed and bleeding soul! Every legal right has perished, every social tie is snapped! Crushing Force is ever present, body mind and soul entrapped! Kindness is a total stranger, human treatment rarely shown,

Man _is_ faultless when his fellow for a fault must needs atone! Can such beings know the rapture Heaven decrees to poet souls?

Know they where to place the cymbals of the sounding lyre Never yet has human malice stilled the music of the spheres! In _the loathesome prison dungeon Heaven the sweetest music hears!_ Guilt or shame, or human anger, ne'er can fold the poet's wings. Howsoever deep his anguish, still his heart exultant sings-- Tunes his lyre, still triumphant, and to you these pages brings!

_ACROSTIC TRIBUTE TO

DR. H. R. PARKER._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

He towers above his fellow men, like some grand knight of old. Endeavoring to right all wrong with spirit bold and free! No craven fear usurps his soul, no task his spirit quails. Religion to his soul is _love_, and love no wrong entails! Ye who love eternal right and wish your fellows well

Refuse him not the meed of praise--'tis his our aches to quell! Each heart within these prison walls that tests his wondrous skill Unites to sing his praises and bless his generous will. By kindly words he cheers the soul of those whom dread disease Envelops in her mystic folds and gives each patient ease. Naught caring for their praise or blame, he steers his course aright,

Proving duty, well performed, is matchless in its might. And, tho' but a youth in years, his well instructed mind Reveals all pathologic truth and practice well combined. Kindly may the fates decree that he may rise to fame, Ever free, as he is now, from error and from shame. Refuse him naught of happiness and bless his honored name!

_LINES TO MY WIFE._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

Years and years have passed away Since last we met, my darling wife; Oft have I felt the tooth of pain Gnaw at the vitals of my life.

The brow thy hand has oft caressed With such sweet, hypnotic power, The lines of care and grief has traced And wrinkled, like a withered flower.

The dark brown locks you loved so well, Now interspersed with silver thread, Shows plainly that the march of time Has left its footprints on my head.

The deep gray eyes that once could flash With passion's fire, or melt in love, Have lost the wanted fires of youth, Like some poor offcast, limpsy glove.

Yet in my breast there beats a heart That never will nor can grow old; Thy image keeps its pulses warm With love that never shall grow cold.

Thy grace and beauty won that heart Long years ago, when thou wert young: Thy gentle, generous, faithful care Has bred a love I cannot tongue.

Heaven can grant no sweeter bliss, To crown the evening of my life, Than Iulu's sweet, enraptured kiss, When time restores me to my wife.

_OUT OF THE DEPTHS._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

In a cell of rock and iron, Where remorse and shame environ, Sat a convict sadly dreaming-- Dreaming of the days of yore. Dreamed he of a land of flowers Where, amid Love's smiling bowers, He had spent such happy hours, To memory ne'er so sweet before. And he softly, fondly questioned: "Shall I know such bliss once more?" Hope made answer, "_Yes, once more!_" In a home which love had founded, Now by grief and care surrounded, Sat a wife and mother, weeping, Weeping for her prisoned swain. Wept she o'er fate's mad endeavor, That such loving hearts could sever, With a blow, that seemed to never Lose its agonizing pain; And her cry arose to heaven: "Father, shall we meet again?" Mercy answered, "Once again." Ope those doors of latticed iron, Lift the clouds that now environ; Faithfulness shall be rewarded-- Love the victory hath won. Learn that I, your God, am heeding Prayers that rise from hearts now bleeding, And my hand is ever leading, Tho' the clouds obscure the sun. Bows my heart in adoration-- Shall my lips repeat Amen? Hope and faith repeat! "Amen."

_ELLA REE'S REVENGE._

Beside Saluda's silver stream, Where flowers nod and poets dream, A cabin stood, in days gone by, Whose history should never die.

Here lived and led a blameless life, Brave Hayward and his peerless wife, With three sweet pledges of that love, Cradled on earth, but born above.

Surrounding them, on every hand, Was the Red man's native land. No paleface, save themselves, ever dared To live in wild these Indians shared.

Treacherous alike in peace and war, The Seminole obeyed no law Save one he spake with bated breath: "Traitors shall die a coward's death!"

The haughty chief who led this tribe, Fear could not daunt nor favor bribe; And this lone settler, living here, Knew white man never dared come near.

He Caucanoe's heart had won By a kindness nobly done, In rescuing from a watery grave The favorite child of this fierce brave.

A frail canoe--swamped in mid stream: A father's cry--a maiden's scream; A hunter bearing a maid ashore, A volume writ would tell no more.

"The land beside this murmuring stream Thy future home, brave paleface, deem, And on Caucanoe's word depend, No Indian dares molest my friend!"

"Yours 'twas to save Caucanoe's pride, Mine be it to protect your bride; If here a future you would seek, I listen: Let my brother speak."

"Great Chief! your words, so kind and true, Fall on my ears like evening dew; Ere the buds begin to swell Your brother 'mid your tribe shall dwell."

So Hayward built, with eager haste, As best befits a woman's taste, A cabin palace, reared by art, Each room as secret as your heart.

Here they lived and tilled the ground, The happiest pair for miles around; The Indians swarmed around their door With useful gifts to swell their store.

Caucanoe often sought their door And played with the children, o'er and o'er. He brought them many a curious toy, Their happy childhood to employ.

The winsome sprite, who sat on his knee, Pleased him most of the guileless three; Her limped eyes and golden hair Caucanoe thought divinely fair.

As the happy years flew swiftly by, Beneath Caucanoe's watchful eye, Paralee grew, with rapid pace, Into a maid of faultless grace.

Caucanoe loved this lovely child With a passion fierce, and deep, and wild, Yet hopeless, he feared, that love would be, Since naught could bridge the raging sea

Of racial and tribal pride, That lay between them, deep and wide; And well he knew another's soul Brooked naught on earth save his control.

King Ulca's daughter, the proud Ella Ree, Graceful and lithe as a willow tree, With eyes and hair like the raven's wing, And voice as soft as the babbling spring,

Had sought him for her wigwam brave, Weeping o'er his late wife's grave; And well he knew the tears she shed, By tribal law their bodies wed.

True love for her he could not feel, Yet such a fact dared not reveal; His squaw she was alone in name And never to his wigwam came.

Another love, oh, fateful thought! With direful misery doubly fraught, Surged and tossed within his soul Until it spurned his late control.

At last he sought her much loved side And begged her to become his bride. The maiden heard and laughed outright, And thus let loose the fiends of night

That of late had lain at rest Within Caucanoe's savage breast. Now, naught could stay this rising ire Save to light the Council Fire.

At last among his braves he stood, Like some monarch of the wood; While burning words flowed from his tongue, That showed how deep his heart was wrung.

The Council heard and thus decreed: "Our land from paleface dogs be freed. Tomorrow night the proud paleface Shall rue Caucanoe's late disgrace!"

"'Tis well," the haughty chief replied; "Who scorns to be Caucanoe's bride Shall feel a living flame of fire Quench the last spark of life's desire!"

But, ere the morrow's sun had set, Awakening love brought deep regret. Love fought the savage till he fell, And Pity's tears began to well.

He crept the cabin light within, And there confessed his double sin. "'Tis done," he cried, "you shall not die; The boat is ready; up, and fly!

"Saluda's stream shall guide you right, Caucanoe lays to die tonight! Once you are free, I die content. Nor deem the blow untimely sent."

The boat has left the silent shore, And Hayward tugs at the muffled oar; The craft sweeps on, like a thing of life, Impelled by the prayers of a weeping wife.

Caucanoe stood on the bank hard by, With heaving breast and tear-dimmed eye, That proved a hero's soul could rest In the natural dome of a savage breast.

The flashing oars in the moonlight pale Give forth no sound and leave no trail; Naught is heard save the breath Of the fleeing ones in their race with death.

Hark! What means that frightful yell? 'Tis a cry of triumph, born of hell; Their savage foe, long under way, At last have seen their wanted prey.

They see the foe and wildly fly The flashing oars, till they almost fly; "We'll yet be saved," brave Hayward spoke, But his oars shivered beneath his stroke.

He sprang to his feet, with ashen face, And his trusty rifle flew to its place; A maddening yell from the savage crew Proved the ball to the mark had straightway flew.

Six times his trusty rifle spoke; Each time an Indian skull it broke. His gallant sons stood near their sire And reinforced his deadly fire!

Their doom was sealed. The savage horde Soon reached their bark and sprang aboard; Yet scorned they even then to yield, While strength was left a knife to wield.

Each one dared a hero's part; Each knife it sought a savage heart, Nor did they cease to bathe in gore Till they sank beneath to rise no more.

Paralee and her mother lay To savage hands an early prey; For neither knew, nor felt they ought, Of what they did or what they sought,

Since terror and alarm, too deep, Had locked their senses all in sleep. Alas! that they should ever wake: Returning senses meant the stake.

Soon homeward with the living dead The savage horde in triumph sped; And bore to haunts of Ella Ree The paleface foe she longed to see.

Better for Paralee had she died Amid the battle's raging tide. "Not wounded tigress in her lair More dangerous than a jealous fair!"

Assembled around the Council Fire, With haughty mien and rising ire, Each chief was ready to relate His own exploit or vent his hate.

Safely bound by cruel thong, In the center of the throng, The captives sat in silent dread, Envying none except the dead.

"Brothers! the paleface Ella Ree, Whose words from guile are always free, Will tell you all you need to know. Who scorns _her_ words must brave my blow!"

Thus Ulca spake, then glared around With a mighty monarch's haughty frown, "That held his hearers more in awe Of his dread prowess than his law."

"Chief! Warriors! Braves in battle tried, Your blood Saluda's stream has dyed; Your brothers sleep no more to wake! Will _you_ sit by nor vengeance take?"

"A traitor warned the doomed paleface; Shall _he_ yet live to brave our race? How the white lily wrought the spell, Caucanoe, and not I, must tell!"

"Caucanoe does not fear to die! 'Twas he that bade the paleface fly; Let these women now be set free; Vent your hate alone on me."

"Paralee I loved, and her alone; Mine was the fault--let me atone. Ella Ree, herself, shall light the fire And chant around my funeral pyre."

"Loose the captive! Raise the stake! It shall be thus," brave Ulca spake. "If love shall brave the cruel flame, Yon captives go from whence they came."

In haste they reared the ready stake, And bade the Chief his place to take. He lightly stepped in proper place, A conquering smile upon his face.

The signal given--a lighted brand-- Ella Ree raised with trembling hand, Yet begged Caucanoe not to die, But to her willing arms to fly.

Pardon was his, both full and free, As the proud brave of Ella Ree; The hated captives should atone For all blood spilt, and they alone!

Caucanoe frowned and thus replied: "If Ella Ree would be my bride, Let her light the fire and stand Here beside me, hand in hand."