The Kentucky Ranger
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Edward T. Curnick >> The Kentucky Ranger
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Viola LeMonde was an only daughter of Judge LeMonde. She had one
brother, George, two years younger than herself. Her father and mother
almost idolized her, and gave her advantages far beyond those living
around her. A fine female boarding school then existed at Cincinnati,
Ohio, to which she was sent, and there she remained three years,
gaining that knowledge deemed best for young ladies in those days: the
common branches of education and the higher accomplishments of music
and drawing. At the time of which we write she was in her nineteenth
year, and was known far and near for her beauty of mind and person. She
was a perfect blonde. A bright light sparkled in her blue eyes; her
golden hair was simply arranged over temples and brows beautifully
formed. The color of her face was like a delicate peach, white with a
blending of red. Her nose was of Grecian type, mouth firmly chiseled
and of medium size, while the cherry red lips when parted showed two
rows of pearl-like teeth. Her chin was pear-shaped, and revealed
decision of character. Her whole appearance gave one the impression of
intelligence, purity, and benevolence. She was of medium height, and
her figure would have served as a model for the skill of a Phidias. Her
greatest accomplishment was music. Her voice was a high soprano, and
its naturally pure tone was improved by cultivation under the best
teachers.
Jasper Very's preaching appointments included the home of Judge
LeMonde, and he was given a hearty welcome from the first to his house.
Naturally he had seen the daughter Viola and had conversed with her
several times at the mansion and at church. He soon found that she was
superior to all the young ladies in the neighborhood both in strength
of mind and education. To this she added a bright and deep religious
experience. We must confess that the ranger's frequent visits to "Mt.
Pisgah" were not wholly on church business.
On a bright afternoon appeared a select company of preachers, including
Jasper Very and John Larkin, sitting under the lovely pine trees
fronting Judge LeMonde's mansion.
The judge had invited them to his house to rest a day or two after the
labors of the camp meeting.
The host and his beautiful daughter had joined the group of ministers.
They were a happy and merry lot as they looked over the tall, green
fields of corn, and beyond to the glorious trees lining the river bank,
and the sparkling stream seen between the trunks of the trees.
John Larkin was in his best mood, and the different subjects of
conversation reminded him of many stories. They were talking of a
sallow-cheeked preacher who was leaving his church located on Salt
River.
"That makes me think of the illiterate preacher I heard of, who lived
in the northern part of the State," said Larkin. "He was about to give
up his church, and so delivered a farewell address thus: 'My dear
bretherin-ah and sisterin-ah, I am about to leave you-ah, and I feel
solemncholy-ah, I can tell you-ah. This mornin' as I was ridin' to this
appintment-ah I looked up to the leaves of the trees-ah, and they
seemed to be sayin', 'Good-by, Brother Crawford-ah.' And then I see the
little birds singin' in the woods, and I fancied they said, 'Good-by,
good-by, Brother Crawford-ah.' Then I gazed at the purty squirrels
runnin' along the ground and climbin' up the trees, and they 'peared to
be barkin', 'Good-bye, O good-bye, Brother Crawford-ah!' After awhile I
come to a lot of pigs awallerin' in mud by the roadside. When my
hoss-ah got just opposite, they got up and gave some loud grunts--whoo!
whoo! whoo!--and that scart my hoss-ah, and he threw me in the dirt and
ran away-ah. I ris my eyes to look at my hoss-ah, and there he was
a-gallopin' down the road with his mane and tail a-flyin', and he
looked back at me and seemed to be sayin', 'Good-by, Brother
Crawford-ah; good-by, Brother Crawford-ah.'"
"It is a great pity," remarked Judge LeMonde, "that religion sometimes
must run through such rough channels to water the soil of morality and
piety when it deserves the best training of mind and voice."
"God can use very ignorant Hardshell preachers in building up his
kingdom if their own hearts are right before him," said Jasper Very;
"but if they are imposters, they are a disgrace and injury to the
sacred calling.
"I met a fellow once across the Ohio River whose name was Sargent. He
assumed the name of Halycon Church, and proclaimed himself the
millennial messenger. He professed to see visions, fall into trances,
and to converse with angels. We had a camp meeting near Marietta, and
this fellow came to it. He wanted to preach, and upon being refused
pretended to swoon away. One night he lit a cigar and got some powder,
and walked away about one hundred yards where stood a large stump. He
put the powder on the stump and touched it with his cigar. The flash
was seen by many in the camp, and they came up to find Sargent lying on
the ground. After a long time he came to, and told the people he had a
message from God for them. Seeing so many there, I lit a lantern and
went down to investigate. Stepping up to the stump, I smelled the
sulphur and saw the mark of the burnt powder, and near the stump lay
the cigar. As he was talking to the people, I stepped up to him and
asked him if an angel had appeared to him in a flash of light. He said,
'Yes.' 'Sargent,' said I, 'did not that angel smell of brimstone?'
'Why,' said he 'do you ask such a foolish question?' 'Because,' said I,
'if an angel has spoken to you, he was from the lake which burneth with
fire and brimstone;' and, raising my voice, I said, 'I smell sulphur
now.' I walked to the stump and showed the people his wicked trick.
They were very indignant and called him a vile imposter, and soon he
left, and we were no more troubled with him and his brimstone angels."
"What a shame that men will take the livery of heaven in which to serve
the evil one," said Viola LeMonde. "Hypocrisy is like a counterfeit
coin: it is not only worthless in itself, but it also makes men suspect
the genuine money."
"Poor Richard says, 'Honesty is the best policy,' and that holds good
in preaching as in other things," remarked Larkin.
Jasper Very added: "Men who are dishonest cheat themselves. They narrow
their souls. They grasp after a substance and find a shadow. A sure
Nemesis follows the present gain. The great poet says: 'Who steals my
purse steals trash.'"
"Sam Wiles is a case in point," said Judge LeMonde. "He surely is
cheating himself. But what gave him the disposition he possesses?
Heredity and environment; and not one man in a thousand will rise out
of these. The fellow has some good in him; but it is strangled by his
bent and surroundings, like good seed choked by thorns. What say you,
Mr. Larkin?"
"There is only one hope for him, that is religion, which he seems to
despise and reject. His superior gifts, making him a leader of the
moonshine gang, constitute him a greater menace to law-abiding people.
The Bengal tiger kills more prey than the common wild-cat which
sometimes roams these surrounding woods. I am told that Wiles is the
ring leader in many reckless acts, and will stop at nothing to gain his
ends. Zibe Turner, called the monster dwarf, is his right-hand man, who
will pick his chestnuts from the fire, though he burn his impish
fingers in so doing."
"You remember, papa," said Viola, "when we and a few friends had that
picnic two weeks ago on 'Silver Knob' we passed by the cabin where Sam
Wiles lives? I felt sad to see his poor mother in her faded and torn
calico dress in the little front yard. She was stirring some food in an
iron kettle which was over a fire of logs. Her eyes had such a dull,
discouraged look in them. The children were dirty and half dressed, and
how the dogs barked as we came near! The lot of the 'poor whites' in
Kentucky is indeed unfortunate. Even the slaves look down upon them.
"When I saw the Wiles family and other families like them in their low
condition I said in my heart: 'Cannot something be done for the comfort
and uplift of these people?' Gentlemen, I put the question to you this
afternoon."
After a silence of some duration Jasper Very spoke:
"I am sure something ought to be done and can be done to brighten the
lives of these poor folks. They live in the hills remote from church
and Sunday School, which they never attend, and exist as heathen in a
Christian country. Their forefathers in England were among the best
yeomen of the land, and I believe many of these have the making of
good, honest, upright citizens."
"I think it is possible to organize a community school--a combination
of Sunday School and day school--for these dwellers in the hills,"
added John Larkin. "As I was riding down 'Sinex Knob' the other day I
passed a settler's cabin, larger and better built than most dwellings
in that section. The owner's name is Mart Spink. He has a wife and
several bright-looking children. Perhaps he would grant the use of his
living-room for school purposes. The Wiles family and a number of other
families live near enough to attend."
"My thought coincides with the suggestion of Mr. Larkin," said Viola
LeMonde. "We ought to have such a school. In it we should teach the
truths of religion and also the common branches of learning. Moreover,
we should help the whole community--the farmers to better cultivate
their lands and their minds; the farmers' wives to improve their
housekeeping, to get out of the ruts, and to take a wider interest in
developing their own intellects and those of their children; the sons
to have noble ambitions in life and to prepare to achieve them; the
daughters, besides the moral and intellectual training they receive, to
learn sewing, knitting, cooking, and other forms of domestic science.
Yes, and I would have a primitive dispensary, that the neighbors might
have at least first aid in case of sickness or accident. Tomorrow I
will have my servant Mose Williams to drive me in the phaeton to David
Hester's house. There I will talk with his daughter Henrietta, and I am
sure I can induce her to join me in the project. Together we will
explore the ground and make a beginning.
"I shall ask you gentlemen to aid us in every way in your power by
sympathy, advice, prayer, and work."
"Most gladly will I do so on one condition," Very responded with a
laugh, "that is, that we now adjourn to the parlor, and you will favor
us with music both instrumental and vocal."
"Would you have me to be so selfish as to be the whole show?" rejoined
Viola. "I will do nothing of the kind, sir; but I will play and sing if
the company will unite with me in singing the hymns."
This demand was heartily accepted, and the group at once left the shade
of the pine trees for the parlor.
Christianity is said to be the only religion that can be sung. It began
with the angels' song, and its music will continue on earth till it is
transferred to the song of redemption in heaven.
The hymns of Christendom are among its most cherished and valuable
possessions. They sound the depths of the human heart. They express the
varied emotions of the soul.
It is no wonder that Jasper Very requested Viola LeMonde to play and
sing.
We behold this queen of song seated at the piano, while around her
stood her father and her mother (the mother having just come in) and
the preachers.
First Viola favored them with several instrumental selections from the
great masters. It was interesting to watch her hands. They were perfect
in size, shape and color. The slender fingers were tipped with nails
curved like almonds. They struck the keys with a precision, force and
grace, leaving nothing to be desired. The quick interplay of mind and
muscle interpreted the music to her hearers in a way almost to produce
tears.
After a rest during which some bright, witty remarks, like sparks,
passed from one to another, they prepared to sing some of the great
hymns of the church. They were well equipped for their task. Viola's
voice was pure, sweet, soulful, and high. She might have been a sister
of Jenny Lind. Her mother sang also in a rich and expressive manner.
Jasper Very possessed a fine deep bass voice. John Larkin sang an
acceptable tenor. All the rest were able to use their voices in song.
As by common understanding they began with songs of adoration and
praise. Each one entered into the spirit of that inspiring hymn of
Charles Wesley:
"O for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer's praise,
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of his grace."
The persons here were advanced agents in bringing civilization to
Kentucky. They had the heroic spirit. These preachers had endured
hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ. They had climbed mountains,
crossed valleys, forded streams, slept in the open, encountered wild
beasts and base and desperate men. Songs to cheer, encourage, and
strengthen their faith and zeal were needed and provided. Naturally
they desired to sing on this occasion. So the company sang with zest
Luther's great battle hymn:
"A mighty fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing:
Our helper he, amid the flood
Of mortal ills prevailing."
Then was sung that hymn of triumphant trust, beginning:
"Though troubles assail, and dangers affright,
Though friends should all fail, and foes all unite,
Yet one thing secures us, whatever betide,
The promise assures us, The Lord will provide."
The pioneers of that day had an exultant experience of the religion
they professed and taught. Viola next turned to hymns expressing this
state. She and those gathered around her sang them with joyous, even
ecstatic, acclamation:
"O happy day, that fixed my choice
On thee, my Savior and my God!
Well may this glowing heart rejoice,
And tell its rapture all abroad."
And:
"Love divine, all love excelling,
Joy of heaven, to earth come down;
Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
All thy faithful mercies crown."
After they had sung a number of other hymns, Jasper Very said to Viola
LeMonde: "I have heard, Miss LeMonde, that you have composed the music
to a new paraphrase of the Ninety-First Psalm. I am sure we should all
be delighted to hear you sing your music to the words. Will you kindly
favor us by so doing?"
Viola LeMonde replied: "I am not an adept at composing music, but the
words of this poem impressed me, and I joined them to an air which came
to me almost spontaneously. I shall take pleasure in singing this
melody, if you will be charitable in criticism." Thus speaking she sang
the following words simply but with much feeling:
The Saint's Refuge.
Dwelling in God's secret place,
Safe doth his beloved lie,
Shaded by his sovereign grace
From the tempests fierce and high.
Love Divine will hear his prayer,
Be his refuge and defense;
Save him from the fowler's snare,
And the noisome pestilence.
Sheltered 'neath the Father's wings,
Covered with his pinions wide,
Truth the ransomed homeward brings,
Shielding him on every side.
Fear recedes from terror's night,
Harmless flies the dart by day;
In the darkness or the light
Wasting death shall flee away.
Sees he, falling in their pride,
Twice five thousand wicked men;
But destruction's wrathful tide
Shall not touch his garments then.
Angels, ministrant, shall fly
From their dazzling upper zones,
Charged by heaven's Majesty
Him to keep from crushing stones.
On the lion, bold and dread,
Seeking ever to devour,
And the hissing serpent's head,
He shall tread with victor's pow'r.
God will wipe away his tears;
Grant him honor and release;
Crown his life with length of years;
Save, and keep in perfect peace.
CHAPTER VII.
The Horse Race.
We left Sam Wiles, Zibe Turner and other disturbers of the peace in the
county jail. In due time they were brought before Judge LeMonde for
trial. They were found guilty and sentenced to prison for one month.
A few days after their liberation the following conversation took place:
_Turner_: "Most all de folks on de hills and in de valleys air
goin' to de races tomorrer, and I look for a gay o' time."
_Wiles_: "Yes, and all de niggers that can get off'n work will be
there too."
_Turner_: "Dat feller from Lexington has a right smart of a hoss.
You know he wants me to ride him in de last race, and I'm bound to
beat George LeMonde, if beat is in de critter. His hoss stands
seventeen hands high, is rangy in de legs, has a deep chest, and
has a will to go. He can easily bear my weight, and you know dat
dey count me de best jockey in de whul county. If I can't win by
far (fair) means, I will by foul."
_Wiles_: "I hearn dat Jack Ketcham's sorrel goes like de wind, and
Jack's hoss is goin' to be in de big race."
_Turner_: "George LeMonde has been speeding his bay over de track
for days, and he will get every bit of go out of him. His mother
and sister are dead set agin hoss-racin' and dey are begging him
not to ride; but George likes de sport too well to please dem."
_Wiles_: "Mr. Rawlins, of Lexington, swears by his black, and will
put up a great deal of money. George will try to match it, and ol'
farmer Ketcham won't be slow with his cash."
_Turner_: "It will be an excitin' time, and I low, as many will see
de races as went to de big camp meetin'."
_Wiles_: "Well, Zibe, you must stick to your hoss like a monkey,
and do your best to win de money and down that upstart, George
LeMonde."
With this remark the two men separated.
George LeMonde was a youth about seventeen years of age, well-built,
good-looking, full of life and vigor, and at this time engaged in that
serious occupation, common to many young men, sowing his wild oats. He
was boisterous and rather reckless, but not vicious. His moral nature
was touched by evil, but not yet corrupted. However, he had begun to
walk in the broad way of youthful folly, and was in great danger of
going its full length. He was restrained from drinking the full cup of
unlawful indulgence more by the prayers, example, and love of his
mother and sister than by the correct moral life of his father.
The greatest danger to that priceless thing, character, which
confronted him was his association with the hillside young men. They
never felt that he was one in desire and purpose with them; but
sometimes he would meet them on the big road by Franklin Schoolhouse or
occasionally go to their cabins on the hills. Then he would sip lightly
their moonshine whiskey, join in their coarse talk, and share in their
few pastimes.
George LeMonde probably inherited his love for horses. His father,
Judge LeMonde, for many years had raised his own colts from the best
stock he could procure. On his broad acres they had every chance to
develop their physical powers. His fields produced an abundance of the
best corn and hay. Skirting the hill which bounded his farm on the
north were extensive meadows rich with grass. Here his blooded stock
browsed, ran and grew. It was under similar conditions that many
Kentucky horses were raised early in the nineteenth century, becoming
sires of the greatest racing stock in the world.
At the time of which we write Judge LeMonde owned a bay, of his own
raising, which was his pride and joy. The horse, Velox by name, was far
and away better than any other he had ever possessed. He was known
throughout the entire county as a splendid specimen of horseflesh, and
for beauty and utility had won the blue ribbon at a number of
surrounding fairs.
When George LeMonde reached his sixteenth birthday his father gave him
this fine animal. The son was delighted with the gift, and took the
best care of Velox, often feeding him with his own hand. George rode
his horse so much that he learned all the traits and peculiarities of
his steed; for horses, like men, have their own individual make-up and
notions. On the other hand, Velox got to know, trust, love and obey his
master. He would come at his call, and could be guided when on a
journey nearly as well by the motions of his owner's body as by the
rein.
George LeMonde decided to enter Velox for the race which was soon to
take place, and many times did he ride his willing steed over the race
course to prepare for the great event.
Horse racing then, as now, was one of the most popular diversions of
multitudes in Kentucky, but the preparations then were quite primitive.
The track was laid in a level piece of ground some miles from Judge
LeMonde's farm. It was in the form of a circle, and was one mile in
circumference. The inclosure was protected by a rough fence, hewn out
of logs. Within the course, near the starting place, and on the inside
of the track, was a stand upon which the judges of the races sat. Some
rough seats were provided for a part of the spectators, but most of the
people stood during the races.
Saturday dawned clear and beautiful. It was a perfect day to bring out
the speed of the racers. The time selected was near the last of August,
and a crispness in the air gave a faint indication of coming autumn.
People from far and wide had come to enjoy the sport. They made the
occasion a holiday. Many came on horseback and by team, and families
brought well-filled baskets of fried chicken, corn pone, blackberry
pie, and other good things to refresh the inner man.
A number of minor races were run by horses in harness and under the
saddle, which only increased the people's appetite for the grand event
of the day. At four in the afternoon the three horses were called for
the two-mile race. Their riders soon brought them from their stalls to
a position in front of the grand stand and judges. The steeds were all
in perfect condition, their glossy coats shining with bright luster in
the afternoon sun. The horses seemed to feel the meaning of the
occasion. They champed their bits and moved about restlessly as though
impatient to be off. Their riders, however, had them under good
control, and now the judges tossed the coin for choice of position on
the track. Zibe Turner secured the inside place, George LeMonde came
next, and Hiram Ketcham, Farmer Ketcham's son of eighteen, was on the
outer rim of the circle, next to the fence.
The grand stand, composed of rough boards, was filled with the best
dressed citizens of the county: while far down the track, and separated
from it by a frail line of fence, stood a great company of tall
Kentucky pioneers with their wives and children. Many negroes were also
in the crowd, interested spectators, and the small boy was much in
evidence.
A silence fell upon the waiting throng as the three horses, bearing
their riders, proceeded up the track a few rods to make a dash for the
line. The signal was given, and they came like three thunderbolts to
the starting place; but reaching this they were not abreast, and
another start must be made. They tried four times before they got away
in line, when some one shouted: "Now they are off!" For a few paces
they were neck and neck; but then Hiram Ketcham's sorrel, though on the
outer circle forged ahead. When the half-mile point was reached, the
sorrel was several lengths in the lead, and Zibe Turner's black was
leading George LeMonde's bay by a dozen feet. They came in this
position down the home stretch, and as they crossed the line a great
cheering rose from the crowd. Turner's friends from the hills were
there in large numbers, and were the loudest in their shouts. "Go it,
Zibe; you'll beat, old boy!" "Hurrah for de black! push him along!"
"I'll bet my money on de Lexington hoss!" were some of the words that
were shouted at Turner as he dashed past the starting point for the
second mile. Hiram Ketcham did not lack for admirers, who encouraged
him with cheers and waving of hats and handkerchiefs. Many of the
farmers living in the rich river bottom seemed to be partial to the
sorrel horse. George LeMonde's friends were plentiful in the grand
stand and, in fact, throughout the crowd. They were somewhat
disappointed to behold him the last in the race; but they saw that
Velox was going well, and they had hopes for his winning during the
next mile.
As for young LeMonde, he saw nothing and gave heed to nothing except
the business in hand. Only once did he raise his eyes from looking
straight ahead between the ears of his noble horse, and that was when
he was passing the grandstand. Then he gave a swift look in that
direction, and was repaid by seeing a young girl of some sixteen years
of age, Stella Nebeker by name, dressed in a pure white muslin gown
with short sleeves, waving a delicate handkerchief toward him. For an
instant their eyes met, then he looked along the race course as before.
LeMonde had a method in his racing which he was now working. He knew
the reserved powers which were in his horse, and he purposely held him
back from putting forth his greatest speed at the beginning. Turner,
the monster dwarf, was also using all his skill in horse racing. His
monkeyish face was lighted up with a look of more intelligence than
usual, which made his ugly features more forbidding and repulsive. His
eyes shone with excitement, determination, and reckless courage. His
teeth were clenched, and the muscles of his lips drawn over them gave
him an expression half laughing, half demoniac. On the first round his
cap had fallen off, and the shaggy hair of his head and face streamed
in the wind, adding greatly to the fierceness of his looks. He had
perfect control of himself and horse, and rode like a centaur, ready to
take any advantage which circumstances or guile threw in his way. He
also had held in his horse with bit and bridle, reserving his best
efforts for the closing part of the race.
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