But the most delighting triumph of all to Will was, that he could now claim his blue-eyed love, Mattie, as his own. In defiance of opposition, he took her for his bride. Years of unalloyed happiness were the reward of his trials and his toils. Care, sorrow, endurance were forgotten, even ambition slumbered, while he basked in the contest of his new-found joy.

But changes awaited him. The noble contest for freedom and independence arose, and then all that was elevated and unselfish in his nature awoke. Wealth, ease, were relinquished with the ready consent of Mattie, joyful if her beloved remained at her side. Will's services in his country's cause were unremitting and effectual. His. sincerity was proved by the sacrifice of his entire fortune; for the conclusion of hostilities saw him a beggar, the result of his hardly earned possessions flown! Energy and enterprise he knew must open a fresh path of progress for him. The glorious lands beyond the Alleghanies offered the best resource; and thither he resolved, if Mattie would accompany him, to repair. He met with no remonstrance from his sweet wife. Her whitening cheek alone told the one pang of consent.

The journey was long and arduous, but the travellers found compensation in the stimulus of novelty, as well as in the charms of the lovely

scenes presented by the new-found lands, already bearing a semblance of civilization from the numerous forts and settlements which appeared. Will, having arrived on the borders of the Sinking River, deposited there his family with a powerful guard in camp as their defence, while he, careful to secure further supplies, pressed on to meet his friend Boone at a given spot. Six days only he was absent, six eventful, memorable days. Doubly long seemed the separation to Will's loving heart. He hurriedly sought the spot where all that was precious on earth to him remained—consecrated as home by one

blest presence.

He perceived with astonishment the camp broken up, and the few remaining emigrants retreating. Hastening after them, he sternly demanded his wife and children of those whom he had constituted their guardians.

“You will find them where you left them; ask the Shawnees, they can tell you the rest," was the reply. "Traitors,” exclaimed Smith, "you have neglected your trust, they are murdered !” Then with a sudden spring at the throat of the hunter who had spoken, he hurled him to the ground, and without turning to see the result, the wretched man returned to the camp. He was found there stretched on the floor be

side the lifeless remains of his Mattie and his children, whom he alternately embraced. He then rose, and silently and with an awful solemnity proceeded to work for hours, until a grave was formed, large and deep, in which he placed side by side his treasures. Their youngest-born lay on the fair mother's breast, the eldest with the death frown of a hero on his brow, still grasped the rifle with which he had vainly sought to combat the deadly foe! The miserable father, having completed his task, erected a small pile of stones where reposed the remains of his all of earthly bliss. Then snatching up his rifle in one hand, with the other he waved a farewell to his companions, and disappeared following the track of the Shawnees.

He never left that track. For years he haunted the hunting grounds of the Shawnees, slaying them as they slept, or as they sat at their feasts, or as they groped in the paths of the forest. Gradually, such numbers had fallen under his terrible rifle, that he was dreaded as the phantom of murder, and the Shawnees deserted their old resorts on the banks of the Green River. As the last of their canoes dropped down the stream, a bullet struck one of its crew, who fell into the water, dead. The others looked up, and saw their fearful enemy retiring into the forest. A simple stone sarcophagus, such as

TOMB OF THE SILENT HUNTER.

27

are common in Kentucky, marks the restingplace of the “Silent Hunter," whose singular and melancholy history has more than once lent its romantic interest to fiction.

CHAPTER III.

A

UDUBON continued to make valuable ad

ditions to his collection, until his portfolio was enriched by nearly two hundred drawings. He received the most friendly assistance from Galt, the botanist, Ferguson and others. Thus welcomed and encouraged, perhaps no epoch of his life was happier; nor can we imagine pleasanter pictures than those afforded by the hours of hospitable entertainment, friendly intercourse, and communings of love at Louisville. One circumstance which occurred during his residence there, in 1810, seems to have been especially remembered by him. He was surprised by a visit from the celebrated Alexander Wilson, author of the American Ornithology, of whose existence even he had been in ignorance until then. The peculiarity of Wilson's countenance and appearance was vividly retained in Audubon's memory, impressed probably more particularly from the strangeness of the connected circumstances.

His long hooked nose, keen eyes and promi