University of Virginia Library

29. CHAPTER XXIX.
SICKNESS AND DESPAIR.

Instead of descending to the base of the mountain,
as had been our first intention, we ascended to its
summit—whence we had the same grand, beautiful
view to the eastward—while below us, to the westward,
we beheld a delightful valley, with a clear
stream of water flowing through green, shady banks,
and a still higher range of hills rising just beyond.
Keeping along the ridge we had ascended, in a
southerly direction, we hastened forward for several
hours—the scenery constantly changing, and presenting
scenes and objects pleasant to look upon.
Occasionally we roused the heavy-footed elk, or
startled the mountain deer, which went bounding
away to a denser and more distant cover; while
from the rocky front of a neighboring hill we espied
the mountain goat, springing up the dizzy heights
where foot of human being might not follow.
Smaller game darted away from us at almost every
step, and gay birds fluttered and sung around us;
and yet, in the midst of plenty, we had no means
to procure the food which nature demanded.

At last, wearied with our exertions, we seated
ourselves upon a rock; but had scarcely composed
our limbs to rest, when we were startled at the rustling

of some bushes behind us; and looking around,
we perceived a large, black bear deliberately making
his way toward us. Adele uttered a scream of terror,
and clutched me convulsively; and knowing
there was no time to lose, I started up, threw an
arm around her, and, half lifting and supporting her,
hurried her forward to a ledge of rocks, which fortunately
was not far distant, up which we clambered
about twenty feet to a flat projection, where
we took our stand and turned to take another look
at our enemy. The bear had leisurely followed us
about half the distance, and was now sitting on his
haunches, lazily swaying from side to side, and lolling,
and looking up at us with indolent composure.

“Thank God,” said I, “he is not maddened with
hunger, and will soon leave us in peace!”

“Oh! dear Roland,” cried Adele, sinking down
upon the rock, “I am getting disheartened—we are
continually in peril.”

“But so far,” returned I, “we have been wonderfully
favored in making our escape.”

“But what do we gain, dear Roland?”

“Life and time, dearest.”

“Life that is beginning to feel the pangs of hunger,
and is every moment growing weaker—and time that
perhaps brings us no nearer a point of safety!” she
rejoined, with a look of despair.

“Nay, dear Adele,” I pursued, “give not way to
this complaining mood! You have often cheered me

in my despondency; and I pray you let the thought,
that God watches over us, restore your hope now!”

“His will be done!” she murmured, burying her
face in her hands.

We remained where we were for more than an hour;
and then, the bear having long since disappeared, we
descended the rocks, and pushed forward, till the
declining sun warned us to seek a safe asylum for the
night. We found a wide fissure between some rocks,
which we thought would answer our purpose; and
there, without having tasted food since noon of the
preceding day, we made our camp and passed a night
of wretchedness.

The next day, weak and faint, we resumed our toilsome,
perilous journey; but we met with nothing to
encourage us till toward night, when we found a pawpaw
tree, the fruit of which we eagerly devoured.
Soon after eating, I began to feel strangely; and discovering
a small cave, we crept into it, before sunset,
determined to go no further.

That night I was attacked with terrible pains, and
before morning grew delirious; but my reason returned
with the dawn—though I was too weak and
sick to pursue my journey. What I suffered in mind
and body, I shall not attempt to say; but the reader
may form some idea of my desperate condition, when
I state, that my constant prayer was for death to release
me from the pangs and miseries of mortality. Adele
was, fortunately, spared the physical pain I endured;
but her mental sufferings were as great as mine; and

she too prayed that we might be removed to the spirit
world.

“It is death at last, dear Roland,” she said; “and
though an awful death, it shall be welcome.”

“Death for me, dearest, sooner or later,” I replied;
“but you have some strength remaining—and I conjure
you, by all I love, to use it, and perhaps you may
be saved.”

“What! fly and leave you here, to perish alone?”
she cried, throwing her arms around my neck, and
sobbing upon my breast. “Never! never! never!”

“But, dearest, listen a moment to reason!”

“There is no reason in such an idea!” she wildly
exclaimed. “Oh! Roland, I did not dream that my
noble preserver would ever harbor the thought that
I could desert him in his distress! Oh! Roland, take
back your cruel request—and say you did it to try
me—that you do not really think me so base and
heartless as to leave you here to die alone!”

“For the love of God, Adele—dear Adele—calm
yourself—and listen one moment to reason!”

“Reason!” she cried; “call you such ingratitude
reason? Oh! Roland—oh! Roland—that I should live
to hear such a proposition from your lips!”

“You will kill me, without allowing me a chance
for explanation, if you go on this way!” said I, reproachfully.

“Well, speak, then—speak! but oh! dear Roland—”

“There, there,” interrupted I—“calm yourself and

hear me for one moment—and hear me out before
you reply.”

“Speak, then!”

“But will you promise to hear me out before you
reply, dearest Adele?”

“I will hear anything but a proposition to leave
you, my benefactor and preserver!” she sobbed.

“But would you not save my life if you could?”

“Oh! Roland, can you ask me that?”

“Well, perhaps you can save my life.”

“How? how?”

“Let me tell you: be calm now, and let me tell you
how.”

“There, there, (hastily drying her feverish eyes)
you see I am calm, dear Roland.”

“Listen then, and do not interrupt me, dearest.
Situated as I am here, unless I receive succor soon, I
must certainly die. There, there, now—hist!—you
are not to interrupt me, remember! Now I am prostrated,
and can go no further, be the consequences
what they may; and if you would serve me, there is
but one way in which you can. I am inclined to
think, that if you will only hurry forward in the
same direction we have been pursuing for the last
two days, you will get sight of St. Vrain's before
your strength gives out—and once there, you can
send me assistance.”

“But you might die in my absence?”

“Perhaps not; but if my minutes are numbered,
your remaining cannot save me. You have some

fearful risks to run, in going, I know; but I see
nothing but death for both if you remain.”

“I fear not for myself,” hastily rejoined Adele;
“for death may as well come in the shape of a wild
beast as starvation; my only fear is that you may
perish in my absence.”

“Then go, dearest, at once! and, under God's
Providence, we may both be saved!”

I had no hope of life when I said this—for the
racking pains of body, and the terrible pressure
upon my brain, led me to expect delirium at any
moment, and a termination of my sufferings by congestion
in a few hours,—but, by holding out the
idea to Adele that she might find succor before
all should be over, I thought it barely possible she
might be saved herself through her exertions in
my behalf. It was no easy matter, however, to persuade
her to leave me; and it was not till I had
repeatedly assured her it was the only means of
saving my life, that she consented to the separation.
The parting was a trying and painful one—for there
was great probability we should never meet again
in this world; and though each strove to console
the other with a different idea, we both secretly
acknowledged there was a much better foundation
for our fears than our hopes.

“Adele,” said I, as she stood sobbing by my side
—and every word was spoken amid racking pains
that required a powerful and constant concentration
of my will to avoid betraying to my sympathizing

companion—“Adele, should it be God's pleasure
that I never behold you again in life—and we cannot,
of course, know what is His design—I want
you, if you escape, to write to my parents, and tell
them how and where I came to my end; and assure
them that I passed away, praying for their forgiveness,
and with the hope of meeting them in a happier
world.”

“Oh! Roland,” she burst forth—“I cannot leave
you! indeed I cannot!”

“Not even to save my life?”

“Oh! how you torture me!”

“It is to save my life you go, dearest.”

“But you do not yourself think you will live till
I return.”

“I think, sweet angel, your going now, at once, is
the only chance I have of being alive a week from
this. Oh! if you love me, as I know and feel you
do, linger not here another moment! There—adieu—
and God protect you!”

She dropped down on her knees, threw her arms
around my neck, and pressed her lips to mine. For
some moments she neither moved nor spoke, and I
was beginning to fear her emotions had proved too
much for her physical system, when she suddenly
disengaged herself from the embrace and staggered
to her feet. One look—one thrilling look—a look of
love agonized—and with the words, “God in Heaven
be merciful!” she turned and vanished.

For some minutes after her departure, I rolled to

and fro in the most violent agony of body and mind;
but I suppressed my groans, lest they should reach
her ears and draw her back to perish with me. Suddenly
I found my sight growing dim, and felt as if
my senses were deserting me.

“It is death!” I murmured—“it is death! but
Adele will be saved!” and as the last word passed
my lips, I became unconscious of sorrow and pain.