Satanstoe, or, The Littlepage manuscripts : a tale of the colony |
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| 14. | CHAPTER XIV. |
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 | CHAPTER XIV. Satanstoe, or, The Littlepage manuscripts : |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why,
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;
Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh
Relieved her thoughts: dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by by those who served; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.”
Byron.
It was a most painful moment to me, when Herman Mordaunt,
an hour after all these facts were established, came
to summon me to the presence of Anneke and Mary Wallace.
One gleam of joy, one ray of the sunshine of the
unharmed enter the room, but it quickly disappeared in the
strong sympathy she felt for the sufferings of her friend.
As for Mary Wallace, death itself could hardly have left
her more colourless, or with features more firmly impressed
with the expression of mental suffering. Anneke was the
first to speak.
“God be praised that this dreadful night is passed, and
you and my dearest father are spared!” the precious girl
said, with fervour, pressing the hand that had taken one of
hers, in both her own. “For this much, at least, we can
be grateful; would I could add for the safety of us all!”
“Tell me the worst at once, Mr. Littlepage,” added Mary
Wallace; “I can bear anything better than uncertainty. Mr.
Mordaunt says that you know the facts better than any one
else, and that you must relate them. Speak, then, though
it break my heart to hear it!—is he killed?”
“I hope, through Heaven's mercy, not. Indeed, I think
not; though I fear he must be a prisoner.”
“Thank you for that, dear, dear Mr. Littlepage! Oh!
Thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart. But
may they not torture him? Do not these Hurons torture
their prisoners? Conceal nothing from me, Corny; you
cannot imagine how much self-command I have, and how
well I can behave. Oh! conceal nothing.”
Poor girl! At the very moment she was boasting of her
fortitude and ability to endure, her whole frame was trembling
from head to foot, her face was of the hue of death,
and the smile with which she spoke was frightfully haggard.
That pent-up passion, which had so long struggled with her
prudence, could no longer be suppressed. That she really
loved Guert, and that her love would prove stronger than
her discretion, I had not doubted, now, for some months;
but, never having before witnessed the strength of any feeling
that had been so long and so painfully suppressed, I confess
that this exhibition of a suffering so intense, in a being
so delicate, so excellent, and so lovely, almost unmanned
me. I took Mary Wallace's hand and led her to a chair,
scarce knowing what to say to relieve her mind. All this
time, her eye never turned from mine, as if she hoped to
learn the truth by the aid of the sense of sight alone. How
gaze!
“Will he be tortured?” She rather whispered huskily,
than asked aloud.
“I trust, by God's mercy, not. They have taken my
slave, Jaap, also; and it is far more probable that he would
be the victim, in such a case, than Mr. Ten Eyck—”
“Why do you call him Mr. Ten Eyck? You have always
called him Guert, of late—you are his friend—you
think well of him—you cannot be less his friend, now that
he is miserable, than when he was happy, and the pride of
all human eyes, in his strength and manly beauty!”
“Dear Miss Wallace, compose yourself, I do entreat of
you—no one will cling to Guert longer than I.”
“Yes; I have always thought this — always felt this.
Guert cannot be low, or mean in his sentiments, while an
educated gentleman, like Corny Littlepage, is his friend.
I have written to my aunt, and we must not be too hasty in
our judgments. The spirit and follies of youth will soon
be over, and then we shall see a shining character in Guert
Ten Eyck. Is not this true, Anneke?”
Anneke knelt at the side of her friend, folded her in her
arms, drew the quivering head down upon her own sympathizing
bosom, and held it there a moment, in the very attitude
of protecting, solacing love. After a brief pause, Mary
Wallace burst into tears, and I have ever thought that
that relief, under God's mercy, saved her reason. In a few
minutes, the sufferer became more calm, when she retired
into herself, as was her wont, leaving Anneke and me to
discuss the subject.
After turning all the chances and probabilities in our
minds, I promised my companions not to lose a moment, but
to use immediate means of ascertaining all that could be
ascertained, in Guert's behalf, and of doing everything that
could be done, to save him.
“You will not deceive me, Corny,” whispered Mary Wallace,
pressing my hand at leave-taking, in both her own.
“I know I can depend on you, for he boasts of being your
friend.”
Anneke's painful smile added force to this request, and I
tore myself away unwilling to quit such a sufferer, yet unable
with Susquesus, in the court, and I joined him at once, determined
to lose no time.
“I was speaking to the Trackless on this very subject,”
answered Herman Mordaunt, as soon as I had explained my
purpose, “and am now waiting for his answer. Do you
think it, then, safe to send a messenger out to the Hurons,
in order to inquire after our friends, and to treat with
them!”
“No send? — Why not?” returned the Indian. “Red
man glad to see messenger. Go when he want; come
back when he want. How can make bargain, if scalp messenger?”
I had heard that the most savage tribes respected a messenger;
and, indeed, the necessity of so doing was, of itself,
a sort of security that such must be the case. It was true,
that the bearer of a flag might be in more danger, on such
an errand, than would be the case in a camp of civilized
men; but these Canada-Indians had been long serving with
the French, and their chiefs, beyond a question, had obtained
some of the notions of pale-face warfare. Without
much reflection, therefore, and under an impulse in behalf
of my friend, and my slave — for Jaap's fate was of lively
interest with me — I volunteered to bear a flag myself.
Herman Mordaunt shook his head, and seemed reluctant to
comply.
“Anneke would hardly pardon me for consenting to that,”
he answered. “You must remember, now, Corny, that a
very tender and sensitive heart is bound up in you, and
you must no longer act like a thoughtless, single man. It
would be far better to send this Onondago, if he will agree
to go. He understands the red men, and will be able to
interpret the omens with more certainty, than any of us.
What say you, Susquesus; will you be a messenger to the
Hurons?”
“Sartain;—why no go, if he want? Good to be messenger,
sometime. Where wampum—what tell him?”
Thus encouraged, we deliberated together, and soon had
Susquesus in readiness to depart. As for the Indian, he laid
aside all his arms, washed the war-paint from his face, put
a calico shirt over his shoulders, and assumed the guise of
certain that the Huron chiefs must understand its meaning;
and thinking it might be better, in bearing a message from
pale-faces, that he who carried it should have a pale-face
symbol of his errand. Susquesus found some wampum, too;
having as much faith in that, probably, as in anything else.
He then set forth, being charged to offer liberal ransom to
the Hurons, for the living, uninjured bodies of Guert Ten
Eyck and Jaap Satanstoe.
We entertained no doubt that the enemy would be found
in the ravine, for that was the point, in every respect, most
favourable to the operations of the siege; being near the
house, having a perfect cover, possessing water, wood, and
other conveniences. From that point the Nest could be
watched, and any favourable chance improved. Thither,
then, Susquesus was told to proceed; though it was not
thought advisable to fetter one so shrewd, with too many
instructions. Several of us accompanied the Onondago to the
gate, and saw him moving across the fields, towards the
wood, in his usual loping trot. A bird could scarcely have
flown more directly to its object.
The half-hour that succeeded the disappearance of Susquesus,
in the mouth of the ravine, was one of intensely
painful suspense. We all remained without the gate, waiting
the result, including Dirck, Mr. Worden, Jason, and
half-a-dozen of the settlers. At length the Onondago reappeared;
and, to our great joy, a group followed him, in
which were both the prisoners. The last were bound, but
able to walk. This party might have contained a dozen of
the enemy, all of whom were armed. It moved slowly out
of the ravine, and ascended to the fields that were on a level
with the house, halting when about four hundred yards from
us. Seeing this movement, we counted out exactly the
same number of men, and went forward, halting at a distance
of two hundred yards from the Indians. Here we
waited for our messenger, who continued on, after the
Hurons had come to a stand. Thus far everything looked
propitious.
“Do you bring us good news?” Herman Mordaunt eagerly
asked. “Are our friends unhurt?”
“Got scalp—no hurt—take prisoner—jump on 'em, ten,
two, six—cotch 'em, then. Open eyes; you see.”
“And the Hurons—do they seem inclined to accept the
ransom? Rum, rifle, blanket and powder; you offered all,
I hope, Susquesus?”
“Sartain. No forget; that bad. Say take all that; some
more, too.”
“And they have come to treat with us? What are we to
do, now, Susquesus?”
“Put down rifle—go near and talk. You go—priest go—
young chief go — that t'ree. Then t'ree warrior lay down
rifle, come talk, too. Prisoner wait. All good.”
This was sufficiently intelligible, and believing that anything
like hesitation might make the condition of Guert
desperate, we prepared to comply. I could see that the
Rev. Mr. Worden had no great relish for the business, but
was ashamed to hang back when he saw Herman Mordaunt
cheerfully advancing to the interview. We three were met
by as many Hurons, among whom was Jaap's friend `Muss,'
who was evidently the leading person of the party. Guert
and Jaap were held, bound, about a hundred yards in the
rear, but near enough to be spoken to, by raising the voice.
Guert was in his shirt and breeches, with his head uncovered,
his fine curly hair blowing about in the wind, and I
thought I saw some signs of blood on his linen. This might
be his own, or it might have come from an enemy. I called
to him, therefore, inquiring how he did, and whether he were
hurt.
“Nothing to speak of, Corny, I thank you,” was the
cheerful answer; “these red gentlemen have had me tied to
a tree, and have been seeing how near they could hurl their
tomahawks without hitting. This is one of their customary
amusements, and I have got a scratch or two in the sport.
I hope the ladies are in good spirits, and do not let the business
of last night distress them.”
“There is blessed news for you, Guert — Susquesus, ask
these chiefs if I may go near my friend to give him one
word of consolation — on my honour, no attempt to release
him will be made by me, until I return here.”
I spoke earnestly, and the Onondago interpreted what I
had said into the language of the Hurons. I had made this
and was surprised, as well as pleased, to find it
granted. These savages confided in my word, and trusted
to my honour with a stately delicacy that might have done
credit to the manners of civilized kings, giving themselves
no apparent concern about my movements, although they
occurred in their own rear. It was too late to retract, and,
leaving Herman Mordaunt endeavouring to drive a bargain
with Muss and his two companions, I proceeded, unconcerned
myself, boldly towards the armed men who held
Guert and Jaap prisoners. I thought my approach did
cause a slight movement among these savages, and there
was a question and answer passed between them and their
leaders. The latter said but a word or two, but these were
uttered authoritatively, and with a commanding toss of a
hand. Brief as they were, they answered the purpose, and
I was neither molested nor spoken to, during the short interview
I had with my friend.
“God bless you, Corny, for this!” Guert cried with feeling,
as I warmly shook his hand. “It requires a warm
heart, and a bold one too, to lead a man into this `lion's
den.' Stay but a moment, lest some evil come of it, I beg
of you. This squeeze of the hand is worth an estate to a
man in my situation; but remember Anneke. Ah! Corny,
my dear friend, I could be happy even here, did I know that
Mary Wallace grieved for me!”
“Then be happy, Guert. My sole object in venturing
here, was to tell you to hope everything in that quarter.
There will be no longer any coyness, any hesitation, any
misgivings, when you shall be once restored to us.”
“Mr. Littlepage, you would not trifle with the feelings of
a miserable captive, hanging between torture and death, as
is my present case! I can hardly credit my senses; yet,
you would not mock me!”
“Believe all I say—nay, all you wish, Guert. It is seldom
that woman loves as she loves, and this I swear to you.
I go now, only to aid Herman Mordaunt in bringing you
where your own ears shall hear such proofs of what I say,
as have been uttered in mine.”
Guert made no answer, but I could see he was profoundly
affected. I squeezed his hand, and we parted, in the full
I have reason to think Guert shed tears; for, on looking
back, I perceived his face turned away from those who were
nearest to him. I had but a single glance at Jaap. My
fellow stood a little in the rear, as became his colour; but
he watched my countenance with the vigilance of a cat. I
thought it best not to speak to him, though I gave him a
secret sign of encouragement.
“These chiefs are not very amicably disposed, Corny,”
said Herman Mordaunt, the instant I rejoined him. “They
have given me to understand that Jaap will be liberated on
no terms whatever. They must have his scalp, as Susquesus
tells me, on account of some severity he himself has
shown to one of these chiefs. To use their own language,
they want it for a plaster to this warrior's back. His fate,
it would seem, is sealed, and he has only been brought out
yonder, to raise hopes in him that are to be disappointed.
The wretches do not scruple to avow this, in their own sententious
manner. As for Guert, they say he slew two of
their warriors, and that their wives will miss their husbands,
and will not be easily quieted unless they see his scalp, too.
They offer to release him, however, on either of two sets of
terms. They will give up Guert for two of what they call
chiefs, or for four common men. If we do not like those
conditions, they will exchange him, on condition we give
two common men for him, and abandon the Nest to them,
by marching out, with all my people, before the sun is up
above our heads.”
“Conditions that you cannot accept, under any circumstances,
I fear, sir?”
“Certainly not. The delivery of any two is out of the
question—would be so, even to save my own life. As for
the Nest and its contents, I would very willingly abandon
all, a few papers excepted, had I the smallest faith in the
chiefs' being able to restrain their followers; but the dreadful
massacre of William-Henry is still too recent, to confide
in anything of the sort. My answer is given already, and
we are about to part. Possibly, when they see us determined,
they may lower their demands a little.”
A grave parting wave of the hand was given by Muss,
and the three Hurons walked away in a body.
“Best go,” said Susquesus, significantly. “Maybe want
rifle. Hurons in 'arnest.”
On this hint, we returned to our friends, and resumed our
arms. What succeeded, I learned in part by the relations
of others, while a part was witnessed by my own eyes. It
seems that Jaap, from the first, understood the desperate
nature of his own position. The remembrance of his misdeeds
in relation to Muss, whose prisoner he had more
especially become, most probably increased his apprehensions,
and his thoughts were constantly bent on obtaining
his liberty, by means entirely independent of negotiation.
From the instant he was brought out of the ravine, he kept
all his eyes about him, watching for the smallest chance of
effecting his purpose. It happened that one of the savages
so placed himself before the negro, who was kept behind all
near him, as to enable Jaap to draw the Huron's knife from
its sheath without being detected. He did this while I was
actually with the party, and all eyes were on me. Guert
and himself were bound, by having their arms fastened
above the elbows, behind the back; and when Guert turned
aside to shed tears, as mentioned, Jaap succeeded in cutting
his fastenings. This could be done, only while the savages
were following my retreating form with their eyes. At the
same time Jaap gave the knife to Guert, who did him a
similar service. As the Indians did not take the alarm, the
prisoners paused a moment, holding their arms as if still
bound, to look around them. The Indian nearest Guert had
two rifles, his own and that of Muss, both leaning negligently
against his shoulder, with their breeches on the
ground. To these weapons Guert pointed; and, when the
three chiefs were on the point of rejoining their friends, who
were attentive to their movements in order to ascertain the
result, Guert seized this savage by his arm, which he twisted
until the Indian yelled with pain, then caught one rifle, while
Jaap laid hold of the other. Each fired and brought down
his man; then they made an onset with the butts of their
pieces on the rest of the party. This bold assault, though so
desperate in appearance, was the wisest thing they could
do; as immediate flight would have left their enemies an opportunity
pursuit.
The first intimation we had of any movement of this sort
was in the reports of the rifles. Then, I not only saw, but
I heard the tremendous blow Jaap gave to the head of
Muss; a blow that demolished both the victim and the instrument
of his destruction. Though the breech of the
rifle was broken, the heavy barrel still remained, and the
negro flourished it with a force that swept all before him.
It is scarcely necessary to say Guert was not idle in such a
fray. He fought for Mary Wallace, as well as for himself,
and he overturned two more of the Indians, as it might be,
in the twinkling of an eye. Here Dirck did good service
to our friends. His rifle was in his hands, and, levelling it
with coolness, he shot down a powerful savage who was on
the point of seizing Guert from behind. This was the commencement
of a general war, volleys now coming from both
parties; from ourselves, and from the enemy, who were in
the cover of the woods. Intimidated by the fury of the
personal assault under which they were suffering, the remaining
Indians near Guert and the negro leaped away towards
their friends, yelling; leaving their late prisoners
free, but more exposed to fire than they could have been
when encircled even by enemies.
Everything passed with fearful rapidity. Guert seized
the rifle of a fallen Indian, and Jaap obtained another,
when they fell back towards us, like two lions at bay, with
rifle-bullets whizzing around them at every step. Of course,
we fired, and we also advanced to meet them; an imprudent
step, since the main body of the Hurons were covered, rendering
the contest unequal. But, there was no resisting the
sympathetic impulses of such a moment, or the exultation
we all felt at the exploits of Guert and Jaap, enacted, as
they were, before our eyes. As we drew together, the former
shouted and cried—
“Hurrah! Corny, my noble fellow—let us charge the
woot—there 'll not be a reat-skin left in it, in five minutes.
Forwart, my friends—forwart, all!”
It certainly was an exciting moment. We all shouted
in our turns, and all cried `forward,' in common. Even
Mr. Worden joined in the shout, and pressed forward. Jason,
many bull-dogs. I fancy the pedagogue thought the fee-simple
of his mills depended on the result. On we went, in
open order, reserving our fire for the last moment, but receiving
dropping shots, that did us no harm, until we dashed
into the thicket.
The Hurons were discomfited, and they fled. Though a
panic is not usual among those wild warriors, they seldom
rally on the field. If once driven, against their will, a close
pursuit will usually disperse them for a time; and such was
the case now. By the time I got fairly into the ravine, I
could see or hear of no enemy. My friends were on my
right and left, shouting and pressing on; but there was no
foe visible. Guert and Jaap were in advance, for we could
not overtake them; and they had fired, for they got the last
glimpses of the enemy. But one more shot did come from
the Hurons in that inroad. It was fired from some one of
the retreating party, who must have been lingering in its
rear. The report sounded far up the ravine, and it came
like a farewell and final gun. Distant as it was, however,
it proved the most fatal shot to us that was fired in all that
affair. I caught a glimpse of Guert, through the trees, and
saw him fall. In an instant, I was at his side.
What a change is that from the triumph of victory to the
sudden approach of death! I saw by the expression of
Guert's countenance, as I raised him in my arms, that the
blow was fatal. The ball, indeed, had passed directly through
his body, missing the bones, but injuring the vitals. There
is no mistaking the expression of a death-wound on the
human countenance, when the effect is direct and not remote.
Nature appears to admonish the victim of his fate.
So it was with Guert.
“This shot has done for me, Corny,” he said, “and it
seems to be the very last they intended to fire. I almost
hope there can be no truth in what you told me of Mary
Wallace!”
That was neither the time nor the place to speak on such
a subject, and I made no answer. From the instant the fall
of Guert became known, the pursuit ceased, and our whole
party collected around the wounded man. The Indian alone
seemed to retain any consciousness of the importance of
not easily disturbed by the sudden appearance of death
among us. Still he liked Guert, as did every one who could
get beyond the weaknesses of his outer character, and fairly
at the noble traits of his manly nature. Susquesus looked
at the sufferer a moment, gravely and not without concern;
then he turned to Herman Mordaunt, and said—
“This bad—save scalp, that good, though. Carry him
in house. Susquesus follow trail and see what Injin mean.”
As this was well, he was told to watch the enemy, while
we bore our friend towards the Nest. Dirck consented to
precede us, and let the melancholy truth be known, while I
continued with Guert, who held my hand the whole distance.
We were a most melancholy procession, for victors.
Not a serious hurt had any of our party received, in this
last affair, the wound of Guert Ten Eyck excepted; yet, I
question if more real sorrow would have been felt over two
or three other deaths. We had become accustomed to our
situation; it is wonderful how soon the soldier does; rendering
death familiar, and disarming him of half his terrors;
but calamities can, and do occur, to bring back an army to
a sense of its true nature and its dependence on Providence.
Such had been the effect of the loss of Lord Howe, on the
troops before Ticonderoga, and such was the effect of the
fall of Guert Ten Eyck, on the small band that was collected
to defend the possessions and firesides of Ravensnest.
We entered the gate of the house, and found most of its
tenants already in the court, collected like a congregation
in a church that awaits the entrance of the dead. Herman
Mordaunt had sent an order to have his own room prepared
for the sufferer, and thither we carried Guert. He was
placed on the bed; then the crowd silently withdrew. I
observed that Guert's eyes turned anxiously and inquiringly
around, and I told him, in a low voice, I would go for the
ladies myself. A smile, and a pressure of the hand, showed
how well I had interpreted his thoughts.
Somewhat to my surprise, I found Mary Wallace, pale it
is true, but comparatively calm and mistress of herself.
That instinct of propriety which seems to form a part of the
nature of a well-educated woman, had taught her the necessity
of self-command, that no outbreak of her feelings
gentle, mourning, and full of sympathy for her friend.
As soon as apprised of the object of my visit, the two
girls expressed their readiness to go to Guert. As they
knew the way, I did not attend them, purposely proceeding
in another direction, in order not to be a witness of the interview.
Anneke has since told me, however, that Mary's
self-command did not altogether desert her, while Guert's
cheerful gratitude probably so far deceived her as to create
a short-lived hope that the wound was not mortal. For myself,
I passed an hour in attending to the state of things in
and around the house, in order to make certain that no negligence
occurred still to endanger our security. At the end
of that time, I returned to Guert, meeting Herman Mordaunt
near the door of his room.
“The little hope we had is vanished,” said the last, in a
sorrowful tone. “Poor Ten Eyck has, beyond a question,
received his death-wound, and has but a few hours to live.
Were my people safe, I would rather that everything at Ravensnest,
house and estate, were destroyed, than had this
happen!”
Prepared by this announcement, I was not as much surprised
as I might otherwise have been, at the great change
that had occurred in my friend, since the time I quitted his
room. It was evident he anticipated the result. Nevertheless
he was calm; nay, apparently happy. Nor was he so
much enfeebled as to prevent his speaking quite distinctly,
and with sufficient ease. When the machine of life is stopped
by the sudden disruption of a vital ligament, the approaches
of death, though more rapid than with disease, are
seldom so apparent. The first evidences of a fatal termination
are discovered rather through the nature of the violence,
than by means of apparent effects.
I have said that Guert seemed even happy, though death
was so near. Anneke told me, subsequently, that Mary
Wallace had owned her love, in answer to an earnest appeal
on his part, and, from that moment, he had expressed himself
as one who was about to die contented. Poor Guert!
It was little he thought of the dread future, or of the church
on earth, except as the last was entitled to, and did receive
on all occasions, his outward respect. It seemed that Mary
had been accustomed to converse freely with Guert, and
that she had made a serious effort, during her residence in
Albany, to enlighten his mind, or rather to arouse his feelings
on this all-important subject, and that Guert, sensible
of the pleasure of receiving instruction from such a source,
always listened with attention. When I entered the room,
some allusion had just been made to this theme.
“But for you, Mary, I should be little better than a heathen,”
said Guert, holding the hand of his beloved, and
scarce averting his eyes from their idol a single instant.
“If God has mercy on me, it will be on your account.”
“Oh! no—no—no—Guert, say not, think not thus!”
exclaimed Mary Wallace, shocked at this excess of his attachment
even for herself at such a moment. “We all receive
our pardons through the death and mediation of his
Blessed Son. Nothing else can save you, or any of us,
my dear, dear Guert; and I implore you not to think otherwise.”
Guert looked a little bewildered; still he looked pleased.
The first expression was probably produced by his not exactly
comprehending the nature of that mysterious expiation,
which baffles the unaided powers of man, and which,
indeed, is to be felt, rather than understood. The look of
pleasure had its origin in the `dear, dear Guert,' and, more
than that, in the consciousness of possessing the affections
of the woman he had so long loved, almost against hope.
Guert Ten Eyck was a man of bold and reckless character,
in all that pertained to risks, frolic, and youthful adventure;
but the meekest Christian could scarcely possess a
more lowly opinion of his own frailties and sins, than this
dashing young fellow possessed of his own claims to be
valued by such a being as Mary Wallace. I often wondered
how he ever presumed to love her, but suppose the apparent
vanity must be ascribed to the resistless power of a passion
that is known to be the strongest of our nature. It was
also a sort of moral anomaly that two so opposed to each
other in character; the one verging on extreme recklessness,
the other pushing prudence almost to prudery; the one so
gay as to seem to live for frolic, the other quiet and reserved,
should conceive this strong predilection for each other; but
varieties in temperament awaken interest, and that they who
have commenced with such dissimilarities, but have assimilated
by communion, attachment, and habits, after all, make
the happiest couples.
Mary Wallace lost all her reserve, in the gush of tenderness
and sympathy, that now swept all before it. Throughout
the whole of that morning, she hung about Guert, as the
mother watches the ailing infant. If his thirst was to be
assuaged, her hand held the cup; if his pillow was to be
replaced, her care suggested the alteration; if his brow was
to be wiped, she performed that office for him, suffering no
other to come between her and the object of her solicitude.
There were moments when the manner in which Mary
Wallace hung over Guert, was infinitely touching. Anneke
and I knew that her very soul yearned to lead his thoughts
to dwell on the subject of the great change that was so near.
Nevertheless, the tenderness of the woman was so much
stronger than even the anxiety of the Christian, that we perceived
she feared the influence on his wound. At length,
happily for an anxiety that was beginning to be too painful
for endurance, Guert spoke on the subject, himself. Whether
his mind adverted naturally to such a topic, or he perceived
the solicitude of his gentle nurse, I could not say.
“I cannot stay with you long, Mary,” he said, “and I
should like to have Mr. Worden's prayers, united to yours,
offered up in my behalf. Corny will seek the Dominie, for
an old friend?”
I vanished from the room, and was absent ten minutes.
At the end of that time, Mr. Worden was ready in his surplice,
and we went to the sick room. Certainly, our old
pastor had not the way of manifesting the influence of religion,
that is usual to the colonies, especially to those of the
more northern and eastern portion of the country; yet,
there was a heartiness in his manner of praying, at times,
that almost persuaded me he was a good man. I will own,
however, that Mr. Worden was one of those clergymen
who could pray much more sincerely for certain persons,
than for others. He was partial to poor Guert; and I really
thought this was manifest in his accents, on this melancholy
occasion.
The dying man was relieved by this attention to the rites
of the church. Guert was not a metaphysician; and, at no
period of his life, I believe, did he ever enter very closely
into the consideration of those fearful questions which were
connected with his existence, origin, destination, and position,
in the long scale of animated beings. He had those general
notions on these subjects, that all civilized men imbibe by
education and communion with their fellows, but nothing
more. He understood it was a duty to pray; and I make
no doubt he fancied there were times and seasons in which
this duty was more imperative than at others; and times
and seasons when it might be dispensed with.
How tenderly and how anxiously did Mary Wallace
watch over her patient, during the whole of that sad day!
She seemed to know neither weariness nor fatigue. Towards
evening, it was just as the sun was tinging the summits
of the trees with its parting light, she came towards
Anneke and myself, with a face that was slightly illuminated
with something like a glow of pleasure, and whispered
to us, that Guert was better. Within ten minutes of that
moment, I approached the bed, and saw a slight movement
of the patient's hand, as if he desired me to come nearer.
“Corny,” said Guert, in a low, languid voice — “it is
nearly all over. I wish I could see Mary Wallace, once
more, before I die!”
Mary was not, could not be distant. She fell upon her
knees, and clasped the yielding form of her lover to her
heart. Nothing was said on either side; or, if aught were
said, it was whispered, and was of a nature too sacred to be
communicated to others. In that attitude did this young
woman, long so coy and so difficult to decide, remain for
near an hour, and in that quiet, cherishing, womanly embrace,
did Guert Ten Eyck breathe his last.
I left the sufferer as much alone with the woman of his
heart, as comported with prudence and a proper attention on
my part; but it was my melancholy duty to close his eyes.
Thus prematurely terminated the earthly career of as manly a
spirit as ever dwelt in human form. That it had imperfections,
my pen has not concealed; but the long years that have
since passed away, have not served to obliterate the regard
so noble a temperament could not fail to awaken.
| CHAPTER XIV. Satanstoe, or, The Littlepage manuscripts : | |