 | CHAPTER XXVII.
NIGHT OF HORROR. The border rover |  |
27. CHAPTER XXVII.
NIGHT OF HORROR.
For perhaps a minute we remained in breathless
silence, as if paralyzed, striving to catch the slightest
sound, and moving not a muscle; but the dull, dreary
rustling of the leaves, with an occasional sigh and
moan of the breeze, as it swept with a varying current
through the little grove, was all that we could now
distinguish with the sense of hearing. My first
movement was to quietly return to the side of Adele,
she began to tremble, and the next moment said, in a
whisper:
“Oh! dear Roland, what is it?”
“I do not know,” I replied, with the same caution.
“I trust it is nothing to occasion further alarm. Our
noisy enemies may have scented other game, and fled
in pursuit.”
“But their's was a cry of terror,” she rejoined. “I
never heard any thing like it before. Perhaps the
savages are stealing upon us!”
I involuntarily shuddered—for I knew myself in a
condition to offer no resistance—but I combated her
fears as well as I could.
“They would hardly have fled so suddenly from
anything human, since they did not seem to fear us.
It is possible that, as has sometimes occurred to us,
they may have fancied danger when there was none
in reality.”
“I cannot think so, dear Roland; I feel strongly
impressed that there is a terrible foe near us: let us
remain quiet and listen.”
We did so for a while—but heard only the breeze,
with its sighing, moaning, rustling accompaniments.
“It is nothing, thank God!” said I at length, with
a feeling of relief.
“Hark! what is that?” inquired Adele, as at the
moment a distant howl of the hungry wolves came
floating on the breeze.
“It is an assurance that our fierce enemies are far
other game, and we have reason to rejoice at the
cause which drew them from us so unexpectedly.
I wonder if they attacked our noble beast. I think
not, or we should certainly have heard his cries of
terror and pain. Perhaps he has broken his bonds
and fled! I will steal down and see; and if still
hampered, I will release him, that in case of an
attack, he may save himself by flight.”
“Oh! no, Roland—do not stir from my side! I am
so terrified!” returned Adele, grasping me nervously.
“But I will only be a moment, dearest; and we
certainly owe this much to the noble animal, which
has more than once saved our lives.”
“I know it, dear Roland—I feel he ought to be
released—but I fear to let you go.”
“Do not fear—I will only be a moment—and it
now occurs to me, that should Indians be prowling
around, and chance to find him hampered, they will
know his riders are near, and that very fact may lead
to our discovery.”
“Be quick then—and oh! Roland, be very, very
cautious!”
“Trust me, dearest Adele, I will be very cautious,
if only for your sweet sake.”
As I spoke, I gently disengaged myself from her
trembling grasp, and quickly and quietly slid down
the trunk of the tree. I stood for a moment, peering
about me in the darkness; and then gently parting
the underbrush, I stole out from under the deep
the valley where the animal had been feeding.
The night being cloudy, and the moon not being yet
risen, I could not distinguish an object six feet from
my eyes; but feeling my way carefully, I was in the
very act of descending to the hollow, when I suddenly
heard a rushing sound, accompanied by a shriek or
scream, so wild and terrible that I felt my blood
curdle and my hair stand on end. The next moment
there came another sound, entirely different from the
preceding—but so frightful, and unearthly, that I
fairly sunk down, paralyzed with fear. Then immediately
arose a succession of the most horrible noises
I ever heard—sounds of a deadly struggle just below
me—with snarlings, growlings, and gnashings of teeth,
commingled with yells, and groans, and bellowings of
pain, terror and despair. Hardly conscious of what I
was doing, I staggered to my feet, when the shrieks of
Adele reached my ear and recalled me to myself. As
quick as my trembling limbs could bear me, I ran
back to our retreat, and clambered up to her side.
“Oh, Roland!” she cried—“are you really here?
are you safe?”
“I am here, dearest, safe and unhurt,” I rather
gasped than said.
“And what are those terrible noises? Oh, God
help us! I am so frightened I can scarcely speak.”
“I hardly know myself,” said I, “for I could distinguish
nothing in the darkness; but I fear some
wild beast has sprung upon our poor horse.”
“Oh, yes—I have it now!” she cried; “it is a
panther. Yes, I have heard them scream before; but
I was so terrified I did not recognize the sound. Holy
saints preserve us! what a narrow escape you made!
Give me your hands: I must grasp them, to realize
you are still with me. Yes, it is a panther, Roland;
and the keen-scented wolves knew of his approach,
and fled. Thank Heaven it is no worse! for had you
been killed, dear Roland, what would have become of
me.”
“It is bad enough as it is,” said I, gloomily; “for
now we are without food, without weapons, without
any means of protection, and must make our journey
on foot through a dreary wilderness.”
“God help us!” exclaimed Adele, bursting into tears.
Instantly I regretted what I had said—though I
believed it to be a painful truth, and that she must realize
it sooner or later. I made some effort to console
and cheer her—but I felt too sad and dispirited myself
to render my words effective. For some ten or
fifteen minutes we heard the fierce beast snarling and
growling, as he tore the flesh from his prey; and as
I remembered how gallantly our noble steed had
saved us from more than one fearful peril, and thought
upon his present condition—an awful return for his
noble deeds—it seemed as if a human, rather than
brute, friend had been snatched from us, and so
deeply affected me that I wept like a child.
Oh! that long, dismal, eventful night—would that I
could forget it! for even now I can only recall it
left his bloody work, and all became quiet—but
there was no sleep for us. Side-by-side among the
branches we sat, and listened to the sighing and
moaning breeze—which, to our excited senses, seemed
the solemn requiem of our hopes. The moon rose at
length, and shed a dim light upon the gloomy scene;
and soon after it began to lighten in the west; and
the heavy booming thunder came rolling along at
intervals, like peals of distant ordnance, gradually
increasing in volume, as the shower approached, till
at length the lightning flashed vividly, and the roar
or crash followed quickly, and the rain poured down
in large streams, drenching us completely, and chilling
us to our very bones.
I will not longer dwell upon that night of horror
and misery. Suffice it to say, that when the morning
dawned, dreary and rainy, we descended to the
ground, weak, benumbed, and absolutely wretched.
Though the shower had long since passed on, yet
the wind had changed, and was now blowing steadily
from the northeast, accompanied by a cold, drizzling
rain, that we knew from the signs would continue
through the day, and perhaps for many days together,
and this was anything but cheering. Our first proceeding
was to ascertain if our worst fears were realized;
for though we scarcely doubted, yet we had
tried to hope, even from the depths of our despair;
and accordingly, with a kind of timid haste, we approached
the valley below. One glance was enough to reveal
the worst in its most heart-sickening aspect; for there
indeed lay the mutilated remains of a large animal—
his fell destroyer having torn out his entrails and
eaten to satiety.
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Adele, bursting into
tears, and turning her head away.
I tried to keep from weeping, but tried in vain. I
could not look upon that poor brute, and remember
what he had done for us, without feeling that we had
lost the only friend we had had near us in all that
great wilderness; and giving way to my emotions, I
sat down on a stone, and paid a second and as sincere
a tribute to his memory as if he had borne the human
form.
“It is right to weep over him, dear Roland,” said
Adele, drawing close to my side, and throwing her
arms around my neck; “for in life he saved our lives,
and again in his death.”
“How in his death, dearest?”
“God works mysteriously,” she solemnly replied,
“and this noble animal was but an instrument in His
hands to turn the ferocious destroyer from human
prey. The panther drove off the wolves—but we
should have been his victims, perhaps, had he not
found one here which satisfied his ravenous desires.”
“You may be right,” said I, shuddering. “But
come—we must do something besides weep now. We
have a long journey, to be performed on foot, before
must be weak, faint, and perhaps sick, yet necessity
compels me, much against my will, dear Adele, to urge
you to set out now.”
“I am ready,” she rejoined; “and so let us hasten our
departure from this horrid place.”
“Ere we go,” pursued I, “I think stern necessity
demands of me one act, which, under any other circumstances,
would be revolting in the extreme; and
even as it is, I contemplate it with repugnance.”
“What is that, dear Roland?”
“I must tear off some of the flesh from yonder
carcass, and take it with us, to guard against starvation.”
“What! eat the flesh of our noble friend?” exclaimed
Adele, shuddering: “it seems like turning
cannibal. But it is not human,” she immediately
added, “and we are not in a condition to reject any
food which can satisfy the cravings of hunger. I
could not touch it now, it is true—but the time may
soon come when we both shall be glad to eat it.”
“Well, do you remain here, while I go down and
perform this unpleasant duty.”
Saying this, I hastened down the hill, to where the
carcass was lying—but I approached it with a sense
of loathing—for my appetite was not keen enough, at
this time, to render the flesh of our horse desirable
food. The morning, as I have mentioned, was dark
and rainy—and there was, besides, a kind of cloud-like
mist pervading the whole range of vision, which
at more than fifty or a hundred feet from the
eye. As I drew near the carcass, I naturally turned
my sight from what, under the peculiar circumstances,
I considered a revolting spectacle—nor did I again
look at it, till it became absolutely necessary for me
to do so, in order to perform my disagreeable task.
It was thus I reached the body without inspecting it;
and, in fact, I was in the very act of bending over it,
when, with a kind of nervous desperation, I suddenly
turned my gaze full upon it. At the first glance I
started, and the next moment I was jumping up and
down, clapping my hands, and shouting like a madman.
Adele, who had been watching me, on perceiving
my singular and unaccountable manœuvers, came
bounding down the hill, in the utmost alarm, fearing
I had indeed lost my senses.
“Oh! Roland,” she cried, “what has happened?
Have you been bitten by a rattle-snake? or are you
mad? For the love of Heaven, if you know me,
speak! and tell me the worst!”
“There! there!” cried I; “look there!” and I
pointed to the mangled carcass, and fairly laughed
aloud.
“Merciful Heaven! what is this?” cried she, looking
down, as directed, for the cause of my supposed madness.
“As I live, this is not the body of our horse,
but of a buffalo!”
“You have the secret,” I fairly shouted almost
sudden transition from despair to joy. “Our
noble friend has escaped! Do you hear, dear Adele?
he is not dead—but has escaped—Heaven be praised!”
Perhaps the reader may think I had small cause
for such powerful demonstrations of delight; and to
fully appreciate my feelings, it might be necessary
for him to pass through similar scenes of peril, trial
and suffering; and then to realize that the living
thing which had saved him, and one more dear to
him than his own life, had groaned out his death-agonies
in his very ears—seeming to call on him, in
turn, for that aid in distress which he was powerless
to render; and then, withal, to believe that, with the
noble brute, had perished his main hope of escaping
with life from a dreary wilderness. Place him in my
situation, let him experience the horrors of one such
eventful night, and I think the veriest stoic would
show the common feelings of humanity, and mourn
the loss, and rejoice at the escape, of his brute friend,
with outward demonstrations not unlike those of
mine.
“How has this happened, dear Roland?” at length
inquired Adele, when the first powerful excitement of
both had begun to subside.
“God only knows!” said I; “but I feel that His
goodness and mercy have been manifested here.”
“They have, indeed!” rejoined Adele, solemnly;
“and it becomes us, as intelligent beings, to show our
gratitude in proper devotion.”
As she spoke, she kneeled down upon the wet
earth — I impulsively followed her example — and
then and there, alone in the great wilderness, feeling
ourselves directly in the presence of the Great
Unseen, we poured out our souls in fervent thanksgiving
for our wonderful preservation, and the recent
joy which had come as sunlight through clouds of
gloom to our desolate hearts.
But though our horse had escaped, and we rejoiced
in the fact, yet there was no certainty that we should
ever find him again; and so, after ascending the hill,
and looking in vain for him over the extent of country
within the range of our vision, we resolved to set
forward on foot, with no further delay than would
be required to complete our simple preparations.
Collecting the remains of the bridle, the saddle-cloth,
and some straps and buckles, that we might be able
to make use of the beast should we be so fortunate as
to find him, I proceeded to disengage a large piece
of meat from the hump of the young buffalo, and
then announced to Adele that we were ready to bid an
eternal adieu to a spot where we had passed through
so much physical and mental suffering.
Still laying our course, to the best of our judgment,
due west, we set off at a fast walk through the
wet grass and misty rain; and for the first hour we
found a rather pleasurable sensation in the exertions
which caused our chilled and sluggish blood to again
circulate freely and warmly through our veins. But
after two or three hours of this severe exercise, we
with, aside from both speed and safety—for our feet,
which were only covered with moccasins, now gave
us warning that we could not perform a long journey
without much physical suffering. The ground was
rough and uneven; and, being softened with the rain,
our feet slipped at almost every step; and often sinking
below the surface, were bruised and cut with the
small, sharp gravel-stones which lay immediately
beneath.
Our appearance at this time was not such as to
adorn a fashionable drawing-room. I was not only
habited in the plain, rough costume of the mountaineer,
but looked like one who had seen hard service—for
my beard was long, my skin bronzed, my
hair matted; while my garments, covered with mud
and soaked with rain, were wrinkled, shrunken, and
clung to me like a second skin. Nor had Adele any
thing to boast of. Dressed much as she was when
I first described her—with the addition of moccasins,
leggings, and a kind of wampum-worked waistcoat,
which she had herself constructed from materials
furnished her by Waralongha while a prisoner—she
looked all the worse for her long journey, and exposure
to heat, dust, rain and mud; and with her black
hair streaming down in tangled masses, and her face
and hands tanned and soiled, she presented an exterior
little calculated to excite the envy of a fashionable
city belle. However, I may say, so far as
externals were concerned, we looked well to each
than life, liberty, health and safety.
We toiled on till the mid-day hour, and found to
our dismay that we had made but little progress.
From an elevation, we could look back to the point
we had left in the morning; while the clouds, with
their appendages of vapor, floated too low to give us
a glimpse of the still distant mountains.
“This seems labor without reward,” said Adele,
despondingly. “We shall have to spend another
night, at least, on this rolling prairie.”
“But we may be as safe here as among the mountains,”
I rejoined. “One great object I had in reaching
the hills, was the fear that we should get no food
save roots and berries; but we fortunately have meat
enough with us to last us twenty-four hours; and
when this is gone, the same Providence that provided
it may furnish us another supply.”
“Forgive me, dear Roland—and ye holy beings
who watch over us—for having dared to murmur,
when I have so much cause for being thankful!” contritely
exclaimed Adele.
“You are fatigued, foot-sore, and faint, poor girl!”
said I, tenderly; “we will seek a suitable place, and
stop and rest. If we could only start a fire, and cook
our game, we should be in a better condition to resume
our journey; but as it is, I fear we shall be
compelled to devour some of it in its raw state.”
“I cannot taste it at present,” replied Adele, turning
away her head—“but perhaps I may before night.”
hill, added: “Yonder appears to be a shelving
rock—perhaps we can crawl under it, and rest in a
dry place.”
“A happy discovery!” said I—and we immediately
set off toward it.
On arriving at the rock, we found, to our great delight,
that it was only one of several, which lay piled
together in such a manner as to form a little cave, of
some ten feet in extent, with just sufficient depth and
breadth to permit us to sit erect, side by side; and
what was of equal importance to its shelter, and increased
our first delight to rapture, its floor was
strewn with dead leaves, those farthest from the entrance
being dry as tinder.
“Thank Heaven! we shall soon have a fire!” cried
I, as I looked out, after having crawled cautiously in
to explore it; “a few sticks are all that is wanting;
and then we shall have a meal that, taken in connection
with our appetities, an epicure might envy. Go
in, dear Adele, while I collect some sticks in the little
hollow below.
Within half an hour from discovering this charming
retreat, we were broiling, toasting and devouring our
meat, and drying our garments at a bright, cheerful
fire, kindled just at the entrance; and never was meal
ate with better relish or more thankful hearts.
“Is it not wonderful,” said Adele, “that just at the
moment of greatest necessity our wants are unexpectedly
supplied?”
“We are wonderfully favored indeed,” returned I;
“and when I cease to be grateful to Him who feeds
the raven, may I cease to have a being.”
Having finished our meal, and cooked the remainder
of our meat, to serve us on the morrow, we sat
by the blazing fire, feeding it with fresh fuel, and
conversing on congenial subjects, till our garments
became dry, and we felt that we could resume our
journey with buoyant spirits.
“But what do you say, Adele?” pursued I, as we
looked out upon the driving storm, and began to
think of quitting our comfortable quarters; “had we
not better remain where we are till another day?”
“It is certainly not pleasant to think of passing
the night in the rain, to say nothing of such horrors
as deprived us of sleep at our last encampment,” she
replied.
“Enough, dearest—God willing, we will pass the
night here in safety—for we certainly need rest.”
Having thoroughly dried our garments, we let the
fire die out—for, under cover, the weather was too
warm to require it for comfort. I then proceeded
to close up the mouth of our little cave with sticks,
brush and stones, which kept me occupied for an hour.
This done, and being fairly shut in, so that we had no
occasion to feel apprehensive of an attack from wild
beasts, we gave ourselves up to the enjoyment of the
time, and never did hours fly more swiftly and happily.
The past, since our first meeting, had been
full of perils, privations and sufferings—the future
we felt was ours, to mingle soul with soul through
that connecting link of love which we believed could
never be broken. I told my history to Adele, and,
from her lips, gathered all that she knew of her own;
and then, with the romance of youth, we built airy
castles in the future, peopled them with airy forms,
and seemed to live ourselves, as ethereal sensations,
above and beyond the jars, discords, troubles and
perplexities of a material world. It was a waking
dream, it is true—but one of the most happy of my
life—and when night drew around us her sable curtains,
we fell asleep, to rest in happy unconsciousness
till the dawn of another day.
| CHAPTER XXVII.
NIGHT OF HORROR. The border rover | |