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McHenry, James, 1785-1845 [1823], The wilderness, or, Braddock's times: a tale of the west, volume 1 (E. Bliss and E. White, New York) [word count] [eaf269v1].
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CHAPTER XIV.

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O woman! in our hours of ease,
Uacertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wrung the brow,
A ministering angel thou!
Scott.

The excitement—the mixture of alarm and joy
produced on Charles's arrival at the house of his
kind host, upon the minds of its inmates, must,
like many other things hinted at in this history,
be left for the reader to imagine. Their joy soon
predominated, however, when Tonnaleuka, after
binding up his arm, as art, or rather as nature, suggested,
declared that the hurt was not dangerous,
and that a few weeks of care and good nursing
would restore him to as much vigour and soundness
as he ever possessed; and they warmly expressed
to Charles the great satisfaction they felt
at this successful termination of his contest with
his rancorous enemy. Paddy also came in for a
share of their joyful attention, and obtained many
hearty thanks and eulogies for his timely and fortunate
interference, with his steady and keen eye,
on this occasion.

“Goth, man!” said his father, “it was the best
guided an' luckiest aim ye ever took. Aye draw
ye're trigger in sitch a cause, Paddy; aye shoot
sharp in favour o' yere ain kind o' folk, an' dinna
spare the ithers when they wad do mischief, an'
I winna say, but after a' ye were born for a guid

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end, though ye'll no work christian-like on the lan'.
Heth, lad! ye hae at last done what maks me
prood o' ye!”

As for Charles, the assurance he now had of
being beloved by the mistress of his heart, and the
assiduous attentions which, in this period of his
affliction, she unhesitatingly paid him, gave him
such a delightful flow and buoyancy of spirits, that
he appeared all cheerfulness, animation, and gaiety,
happy in himself, and pleased with all around him.

Tonnaleuka, who did not know that he had discovered
the state of Maria's feelings, naturally ascribed
Charles's good humour to his having so
providentially got rid of his persecutor, together
with the prospect he now had of enjoying a longer
residence in the same place with the woman he
loved. His mind, being now at ease with respect
to Charles's safety, he was not, of course, so solicitous
for his speedy departure as he had been;
and the wounded arm making a delay of some
weeks necessary, he acquiesced in its propriety.
He thought it prudent, however, to take an early
opportunity of cautioning Charles against disturbing
the present serenity of Maria's mind by any
disclosure of his passion.

“You know, my son,” said he, “that there are
difficulties in the way of your union which you
may never be able to overcome. How unfortunate
would it then be for this young woman to fix
her affections upon one whom it is so unlikely she
shall ever call her husband. If you wish her well,
my son, you will be careful to conceal your passion
from her knowledge. I know it is, under the
circumstances in which you are now placed, a hard
task that I prescribe to you. There are few young
men who could accomplish it; but if you can do
it, so much greater will be your victory, and, in

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the end, believe me, so much greater will be your
self-approbation.”

“Father,” replied Charles, “it would be wrong
in me to conceal aught from you. Of my attachment
for her, she is already aware. If you have
discovered that she views it with indifference, it
is my misfortune. But, father, permit me to say,
that I cannot, and I believe no one can, love as I
do, without hope. Yes, kind-hearted, lovely maiden!
she has given me ground for hope. Ah, father!
I feel here, within my breast, a presentiment, in
which I cannot but confide, that this sweet, this
fascinating young woman and I are destined for
each other. Do not—do not, I implore you, you
who are my best of friends—do not, by your cold,
discouraging injunctions, forbid me to cherish that
sacred presentiment, which affords me so much
happiness!”

“My son,” observed the prophet, “I am then
mistaken in respect to Maria. I have talked to
her about you, and concluded, from her manner
as well as her language, that her mind was yet at
ease. I may have been deceived. But you yourself
said you were certain she did not love you.”

“I said so once, my father,” replied Charles;
“I was then miserable—I believe differently now,
thank heaven! and I am happy.”

“If it be so,” said Tonnaleuka, “then the die
is cast. If she loves you once—I know her—she
will love you for ever; and the only method to
secure her happiness, will be to promote yours,
and use every fair means to clear the way for
your union. She has been more than a favourite
pupil with me. She has been the very child of
my tuition. I must for ever feel concerned in her
welfare. My son, if you have her affections, you
have, indeed, a valuable prize, which, I trust, you

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will ever possess wisdom enough to appreciate
justly, and honour enough to cherish fondly.

“My son, I go off to-morrow to the northward.
An Indian council requires my presence in a few
days. It will be three weeks before I return here.
You will be then much recovered, and, under your
present prospects, I expect will have no objection
to proceed soon to Philadelphia, where you may
smooth the way for the attainment of your future
views.”

During Tonnaleuka's absence, Charles, who
had, as we have seen, exchanged an almost broken
heart for an altogether broken arm, was so rejoiced
at such an improvement in his affairs, that he
felt as if all the world was in the Wilderness—
all of it, indeed, that he at this time considered
necessary to his happiness, namely, Maria Frazier,
was there.

Since the accidental discovery he had made of
her feelings towards him, she had not shown him
the same shyness and reserve as before; nay,
during the first few days of his fracture, she manifested
for him unusual tenderness and sympathy,
under the persuasion that his misfortune was sufficient
justification for the display of such feelings.
But she soon found herself under the necessity of
abating her attentions, and sometimes even of
avoiding his presence, in order to prevent him
from exposing both her and himself, by an ill-timed
display of his fondness; and also, perhaps,
with the view of keeping alive that respectfulness
of passion which he had hitherto borne for her,
and which she supposed (for she had occasionally
a slight tincture of the prude in her disposition)
that too much familiarity would tend to weaken
and diminish. She, however, knew how to regulate
this slight assumption of dignity so well, that
in place of reserve, it appeared gracefulness, and

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instead of displeasing, it only the more charmed
her lover. But she, in reality, allowed him so
many opportunities of enjoying her society, of
talking of his love, of his hopes, and of his intentions
with respect to her and connubial happiness,
that he had, on the whole, during Tonnaleuka's
absence, no reason to complain.

His love matters, that is, the matters dearest to
his heart, being thus providentially placed on the
most favourable footing, he began seriously to reflect
on the propriety of returning home, that he
might not only acquaint the Ohio Company of the
misfortunes that had befallen their expedition, but
also arrange matters for a speedy return to the
Wilderness, with the necessary means of making
Maria his wife. Paddy Frazier, to whom gratitude
now naturally much attached him, was desirous
to accompany him on his journey, for the
purpose of carrying his furs and peltry wares to
Philadelphia, to exchange them there for such
merchandise as suited the Indians. This desire of
Paddy was very agreeable to Charles, not only
because he would be both a useful and agreeable
companion on the way, but because he would have
an opportunity, when they should arrive at Philadelphia,
to reward him by a present of merchandise,
for the active and dexterous management by
which he so critically saved his life; and, if the
whole truth must be told, he also wished to have
the means of writing to his beloved by some safe
and speedy conveyance, if it should so happen that
uncontrollable circumstances compelled him to
remain longer personally, for he felt assured that
he could never be mentally, absent from her.

Paddy accordingly having resolved upon this
journey, (considerably to his father's satisfaction,
who hoped he might fall in with some good christian
woman on the journey, whom he might bring

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back with his other eastern goods, as his own property,)
was now busied preparing for the great undertaking,
by assorting, cleaning, and packing up
his wares, and adding considerably to their quantity,
by hastily purchasing whatever the Indians in
the neighbourhood could spare him.

At length Charles's arm was sufficiently recovered
to permit him to undertake the journey,
and the day drew near when he was to bid farewell
to his beloved. Tonnaleuka had returned
from the Indian council which he had been attending,
and the guide whom he had some time before
provided for Charles was in readiness. This man,
whose name was Manhulseh, was much in awe of
Tonnaleuka, and was, at the same time, well acquainted
with the whole mountainous district of
Pennsylvania, from the Chesnut Ridge to the
South Mountain. He was also a tolerably brave
man, and could handle a musket or a tomahawk
with any individual of his tribe. Hence he was
one of the best qualified persons our travellers
could have procured, to conduct them through the
vast, intricate, and appalling Wilderness they
had to traverse; and his reverence and attachment
for Tonnaleuka, secured to them the full
benefit of his fidelity.

Although thus well supplied with a guide, and in
every other respect fully equipped for the journey,
Charles felt at his heart such a reluctance to
commence it, that, under various pretences, some
of which were even so frivolous as to be seen
through and smiled at, although they were indulged
by his friends, he succeeded, in spite of all
Paddy's efforts, who was very impatient to proceed,
in getting their starting postponed, from day
to day, for upwards of a week after the time originally
fixed upon for it. At length all pleas and
excuses were exhausted, or rather he felt

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ashamed to advance more; and, becoming resigned to
the necessity of separating, for a time, from his
heart's best and dearest treasure, he agreed, that
the next rising sun should see him on his way. He
had just enjoyed what he considered would be his
last private interview, at this time, with Maria,
and was wandering, towards the evening, alone in
one of Gilbert's fields, indulging a train of none of
the most agreeable kinds of reflection, in which
he was entirely absorbed, when he was startled by
a person springing over the fence near which he
was meditating, and suddenly, to his great astonishment,
stood before him the well-known and
identical person of Peter M'Fall, who, while he
eagerly caught Charles's hand, exclaimed—

“Och, Master! now I have found you at last!
Just put your hand here, and feel how Peter's
heart beats, for I'm all out of breath with joy, and
with running to see you alive. By the powers of
Moll Kelly! but I thought the ould prophet had
taken you to heaven with him, and I feared I
should never see you again.”

“Had I been taken to heaven, indeed,” said
Charles, “it is likely you never should. I therefore,
suppose, Peter, that my being there would
have much displeased and grieved you.”

“Arrah, master! now believe me, for its as
true as the gospel, that I would almost as soon
have wished myself to be there. But, my blessing
on the lucky head of you, I see that you are
not so badly off yet.”

“Then you are pleased,” observed Charles,
“that I must fret and fight a little longer with
this troublesome world.”

“By the sweet Hill of Houth!” replied Peter,
“and sure I am so—and many a hard fight may you
have of it, and the blessing of Saint Kenan into the
bargain! But, master, yonder comes the doctor who

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set my arm in a sling so neat—but, how! what!
your arm in tapes, too! Not broken! master—I
hope—but arrah! by my sowl, the doctor must
cure it. Not broken, I hope!”

“Yes broken, but mended again,” replied
Charles.

“Mended!” repeated Peter, “och! sure now,
wastn't it a pity to get it done so soon, master,
before either the doctor or I could get to you to
fix it. Doctor Killbreath is the best hand at soldering
bones ever came from a college. Arrah!
now how lucky it would have been if you had
known we were coming, for, sure now, wouldn't
you have waited to get the doctor to cure it?”

“It is pretty well as it is, Peter,” observed
Charles, “and a good deal better, I believe, than
if I had kept it hanging these five or six weeks by
flesh and skin, in order to accommodate you and
the doctor with a job. But I beg your pardon,
doctor!“he continued, turning to the surgeon, who
had just approached, for he had not exerted his
speed on seeing Charles, with such enthusiasm as
Peter had done; but coming forward at a moderate
rate, he arrived just at this point of the conversation.
“Doctor, I beg your pardon,” said
Charles, “I was just excusing myself to Peter for
not permitting my arm to remain for the last six
weeks in a state of fracture, in order that you
might now have the pleasure of reducing it.”

“Had you done so,” said the doctor, smiling,
“it is ten to one if you should now have had any
arm to talk about.”

“Why sure, now, doctor,” observed Peter,
“he didn't get them both smashed. Arrah, master,
I think that you still would have had one of
them to show, and to talk about.”

“I hope so, Peter,” replied Charles, “I am
glad you are so witty. Why, you have really

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detected the doctor in a bull; unless he supposes,
that, had I paid him the compliment to wait for
his services, both of my arms should now have
been food for the worms, and consequently unfit
for me to talk about. But, my friends, I am glad
you have come here at such a critical moment,
for I was about setting off to-morrow for Philadelphia.
Now we can all go together. What say you
doctor? My good friend, Frazier, who lives here
can have you both equipped for the journey in a
single day.”

“There is nothing I wish for more sincerely,” replied
the doctor; “the sooner we get out of these
wilds the better. I am happy that we got here so
opportunely. I have indeed, reason to thank Peter
for it.”

“No, by my sowl!” said Peter, “you may thank
master, there, for I would not have thought of leaving
the French yet, if the ould prophet hadn't told
me to a shaving, how master lived here with a decent
christian and an Irishman, heaven bless him!
but I must see him and shake his ould bone for
him on account of the sod.”

“Come along then, Peter,” said Charles, “old
Gilbert will be glad to see you. Yonder comes
his daughter, Nancy. Doctor, you must take care
of your heart, for she's a pretty girl—and I know
it is rather tempting to meet a pretty girl in the
wilderness.”

“I suppose you have found it so, Mr. Adderly,”
replied the doctor.

“I cannot say much about it,” observed
Charles, “but I know, doctor, you are no woman-hater—
and Nancy, as you will soon see, is really
handsome.”

“I acknowledge,” returned the doctor, “that
in this desert, I should consider the sight of a
handsome young woman a real treat.”

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“Well—take care of your heart, my good
friend,” said Charles, “for here comes temptation.”
At this moment, Nancy, who had been in
the woods on some errand, and was now returning
home, turned off in another direction, as if to avoid
the men with whom Charles was conversing, for
she had advanced near enough to perceive they
were strangers. Charles called on her to stop,
which she did, and the party approached her.

“Why do you run away from me, Nancy?” said
he, “these are some of my Philadelphia companions
just escaped from Le Bœuf, and one of them
is a countryman of your father.”

“My father will be glad to see them, doubtless,”
said Nancy.

“And won't you too, make them welcome for a
couple of days?” asked Charles. “Here is Doctor
Killbreath, my friend, who, I hope, will be
found a pleasant companion.”

“Sir,” said Nancy, who had taken one or two
sly looks at the doctor, for she had observed his
eyes fixed upon her, with a meaning she did not
exactly understand, but which she thought did not
denote any thing uncivil. “Sir, I will do my best
to make your friends comfortable, for I doubt not
that they will deserve our kindness.”

“Doctor! why don't you thank the young lady,”
said Charles: “Why man! you seem to be
in a reverie.”

“I feel, I feel—her kindness,” replied the doctor,
rousing up at this reproof. “Miss—Miss Frazier,
I assure you I feel your kindness as much as
if I expressed it better.”

“Why, I think,” observed Nancy, “you express
well enough what there is, indeed, no need
at all for mentioning. You should first receive the
kindness, before you give thanks for it.”

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“Agh! let the lasses alone for good manners!”
cried Peter M'Fall, “the pretty creatures can
still teach us genteelity. God bless the kind hearts
of them, for, sure, my mother was one of them!”

“And have you never seen any of them you
loved better than your mother?” asked Charles.

“Well, the devil take me, master, but I have,”
replied Peter, “but it was in sweet Dublin, your
honour. Och! there, how I longed, till I was
bothered almost out of my senses, for a little bit of
the cherry lips of Molly M`Nickle, of Thomas-street.
Arrah, master, just think now how it
pleased me to sit beside her and sing


“Oh, Molly Astore!
How much I adore
The sweet smiling charms of your beautiful face,
On your lovely white breast,
Oh! how fond I could rest,
And enjoy all the bliss of a mutual embrace.”
Alas, poor Molly! she may never hear me again!”

The party had now arrived at the house, and a
hearty shake of Gilbert's Irish fist soon dispelled
from Peter's volatile heart, the melancholy which
the remembrance of the happiness he once enjoyed
with Molly M`Nickle had excited.

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McHenry, James, 1785-1845 [1823], The wilderness, or, Braddock's times: a tale of the west, volume 1 (E. Bliss and E. White, New York) [word count] [eaf269v1].
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