Seth Jones

In this fine story we have reproduced, to the life, the Kentucky of the year 1800. It is one of the most exciting and absorbing of stories, embracing such characters and incidents as only Kentucky can produce. Jo Daviess was one of the most remarkable men of that remarkable period. He plays in the novel such a part as only Jo Daviess could play in and out of court. The great charm of Mrs. Victor’s works is heightened by the fact that her characters are historically true. In reading her novels we have, besides the story, real expositions of men and veritable events. This her last, is, also, one of her best. It will not fail to command a wide sale.

BEADLE AND COMPANY, Publishers, 118 William St., N. Y.
SINCLAIR TOUSEY, General Agent, N. Y.

Entered according to Act of Congress, In the Year 1863, by Beadle and Company, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

SETH JONES; OR, THE CAPTIVES OF THE FRONTIER

BY EDWARD S. ELLIS.

BEADLE AND COMPANY,
NEW YORK: 118 WILLIAM STREET.
LONDON: 44 PATERNOSTER ROW.

Entered according to Act of Congress, In the Year 1860, by

IRWIN P. BEADLE & CO.,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

SETH JONES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE;
OR, THE
CAPTIVES OF THE FRONTIER.

CHAPTER I. THE STRANGER.

The clear ring of an ax was echoing through the arches of a forest, three-quarters of a century ago; and an athletic man was swinging the instrument, burying its glittering blade deep in the heart of the mighty kings of the wood.

Alfred Haverland was an American, who, a number of years before, had emigrated from the more settled provinces in the East, to this then remote spot in western New York. Here, in the wilderness, he had reared a humble home, and, with his loving partner, and a sister, laid the foundation for a settlement. True, this “settlement” was still small, consisting only of the persons mentioned, and a beautiful blue-eyed maiden, their daughter; but Haverland saw that the tide of emigration was rolling rapidly and surely to the west, and, ere many years, the villages and cities would take the place of the wild forest, while the Indians would be driven farther on toward the setting sun.

The woodman was a splendid specimen of “nature’s noblemen.” His heavy coat lay upon a log a short distance away, and his swelling, ponderous chest was covered only by a close-fitting under garment, with the collar thrown open, showing the glowing neck and heaving breast. Substantial pants met the strong moccasins which encased his feet. A small raccoon-skin cap rested upon the back of his head, exposing his forehead, while his black hair swept around his shoulders. His features were regular and strongly marked. The brow was[6] rather heavy, the nose of the Roman cast, and the eyes of a glittering blackness. So he stood with one foot thrust forward; his muscles, moving and ridging as they were called in to play, betrayed their formidable strength.

Still the flashing ax sank deeper and deeper into the oak’s red heart, until it had gone clean through and met the breach upon the opposite side. Then the grand old forest king began to totter. Haverland stepped back and ran his eye to the top, as he noticed it yielding. Slowly it leaned, increasing each second, until it rushed seemingly forward, and came down to the earth with a thundering crash and rebound. He stood a moment, his hot breath issuing like steam from his chest, and then moved forward toward its branches. At that instant his trained ear detected a suspicious sound, and dropping his ax, he caught up his rifle and stood on the defensive.

“How de do? how de do? ain’t frightened I hope; it’s nobody but me, Seth Jones, from New Hampshire,” said the new-comer in a peculiar accent. As the woodman looked up he saw a curious specimen of the genus homo before him. He is what is termed a Yankee, being from New Hampshire; but he was such a person as is rarely met with, and yet which is too often described now-a-days. He possessed a long, thin Roman nose, a small twinkling gray eye, with a lithe muscular frame, and long dangling limbs. His feet were encased in well-fitting shoes, while the rest of his dress was such as was in vogue on the frontiers at the time of which we write. His voice was in that peculiar, uncertain state, which is sometimes seen when it is said to be “changing.” When excited, it made sounds singular and unimaginable.