Nix's mate an historical romance of America |
| 1 |
| 1 |
| 1 | 11. |
| 12. | CHAPTER XII. |
| 1 | 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 2 | 22. |
| 1 |
 | CHAPTER XII. Nix's mate |  |
12. CHAPTER XII.
We buried him darkly.
Monody on Sir J. Moore.
And coming events cast their shadows before.
Campbell.
Where hast thou been, Sister?
Macbeth.
In the meantime night closed rapidly on the scene,
and left the peninsula wrapped in its deepest shadows.
The roar of the waters had gradually subsided,
and was now fast changing to the heavy, monotonous
sound of the beating surge, that, rolling
back from the rocks, rattled on its pebbly wheels to the
ocean. The stars were glittering in the firmament
like those celestial words that contain interior truths
too transcendent for unaided reason; but though
there were few to read them, they were not wholly
unread. There was one who was gazing upward
till her heart died away within her.
Alone at her wild observatory stood Nameoke, her
the flinty rock. Her eyes were fixed on the heavens,
and the stars shone down on her tears. Words are
the out-breathing of the full spirit that will and must
have listeners, though they be only the forest leaves
and the stars. In the excess of her agony, the feelings
of the wondrous girl found vent in her apparent
solitude.
“The Great Spirit reposes!” exclaimed Nameoke,
“but the heart of his child feels no rest. The clouds
have passed from the stars, but the thoughts of Nameoke's
bosom are like mist-wreaths on the water.
The waves rage and grow still again, but Nameoke's
heart rages for ever!
“Hark!” she interiorly ejaculated, turning slowly
round and wrapping her mantle closer to her bosom;
“hark!—tramp—tramp—tramp,—there is an
army, many as the sands—spirit—men coming to
battle. See! they make ready their fire-thunder
against the red-men of the forest. The red men are
strong, and the Great Spirit fights their battles. Oh,
blood!—blood!—blood!—rivers of red blood running,
running, running, rushing down, down—a
mountain-torrent of blood!—Stay, Massasoit!—Philip,
Nameoke's father! Nameoke calls—they are
smothering her in blood! The war-whoop! the
war-whoop, raise the war-whoop, sons of the forest!
The long-knives bring fire-water more terrible than
fire-thunder for your ruin! The log-houses are all
The red-men are all drunk—changed—changed—
changed—dreadful to look at! They are reeling
away to the west!—whipt, whipt like buffaloes by
the sharp, quick lashes of storm-lightning!”
And the Sibyl shrieking in the delirium of her
fore-vision, fell prostrate on the rocks. For a few
minutes exhausted nature slept; but when Nameoke
revived, it was only to vary her tortures. A creeping
chill passed over her as consciousness was restored,
and she shuddered as she spake.
“The foul-eyed women are again abroad—the
witch-hags of the far-off mountains. They come to
teach and work woe. They plant their hell-seed in
the hatred of men's bosoms, and the harvest is slander
and revenge. Nameoke would work good, but
in vain!—Nameoke has much to do before the
moon shines on her corpse—Son of the Vassal, Nameoke's
heart bleeds for thee!”
She pressed her hands to her forehead,—again she
gazed long and silently on the stars, and then, heaving a
deep, shivering sigh, Nameoke descended from Pulpit-Rock,
and slowly retraced her footsteps to her cave.
As soon as his guests had been comfortably provided
for, Seymour being confined to his berth, and
proper attendance having been arranged for him as
well as for his beautiful cousin, the barge was again in
readiness to take Fitzvassal to Nahant, who was
going there to bury the body of Felton.
Two other barges filled with sailors accompanied
their commander; and a number of lanterns gleamed
over the water from them, as it was now quite dark
already.
The sailors landed from their barges, leaving only
the oars-men and a petly officer in charge of each,
and followed their commander up the rocky ascent
to the place where lay the remains of the first lieutenant.
And now, while some were engaged in digging a
grave, others were occupied in preparing a sheet
which was dipped in melted tar, the mariner's proper
shroud. In this they wrapped the body of their officer,
which by the light of the lanterus they lowered
down into its long resting place; and having placed
a board above it, ranged themselves round the grave
to listen to the funeral service.
Strange as it may appear, those iron-hearted men
could not have rested unless this ceremony had been
performed, whether it be attributed to superstition or
to habit; for it is indisputab'e that most men will
cling to something like religion, even when they are
steeped in crime, and will kiss the cross with a delirious
sort of devotion while they are meditating to
plunge a dagger or rob a sanctuary. Yet man, for
all this, is noble, and posterity will cause to be forgotten
the insanities of his first generations; for he
has hardly yet thought of emerging from the savage
life, much less is he prepared for a millionth part of
now track his path are like the crises of a diseased
body; they show the better nature struggling for
mastery with the worse, and the very conflict proves
the soundness of that spiritual principle which will
one day both heal and regenerate.
An officer held in his hand the liturgy, from which
he proceeded to read the imposing funeral service of
the Church of England; but scarcely had the solemn
words with which it—commences passed his lips,
when a sudden peal of that same unnatural laughter
which had so terrified Felton, burst upon their appalled
hearing, and excited within their bosoms the
most fearful emotions.
The commander ordered the officer to proceed,
but as the same sound again smote on their ears, the
book dropped from his hand, and he could not go on
from apprehension.
Fitzvassal immediately commanded the liturgy to
be given to him, and though he was not himself entirely
divested of the cold horror that crept over the
hearts of all present, he managed so as not to betray
his emotions, and succeeded in finishing the funeral
service over the body, not without the same interruptions,
which grew louder and louder as he advanced,
till they finally broke out in diabolical yells, as if on
purpose to mock and frustrate the ceremony.
The sailors were now ordered to fill the grave, and
then immediately to take to their boats, and in fifteen
half petrified with what they had witnessed, which
was a hundred-fold exaggerated in the minds of all.
Our adventurer remained behind, his barge waiting
for him according to orders, at the place where
he landed. His curiosity was now raised to the
highest pitch. Nameoke, of whom he had only recently
heard, evidently knew him, and prophecied
darkly concerning him. In what way could she be
interested in his destiny? She judged that his intentions
were honorable relative to Grace Wilmer.
It was true, but how could Nameoke have known it?
The death, too, of his lieutenant, and the allusion
which had been made to it in the cave.—It now occurred
to him that Felton might have been murdered;
but then, who could have done it? Might he not
have been destroyed by those superhuman powers
which had terrified his crew that evening? Were
they superhuman? Much was talked abroad about
witchcraft, and many of the wisest believed in its
existence. Could it indeed be possible? These
thoughts, and similar ones, chased each other through
the brain of Fitzvassal, and he resolved that night,
if possible, to inquire into the wonders that surrounded
him.
“He returned to the Swallow's Cave, and as he
entered, its lonely occupant rose to receive him.
“You have buried the man of dark thoughts,”
said she, addressing him immediately, “and it is well;
“He met with an untimely death,” said her visiter,
“do you know any thing of its circumstances?”
“Suppose,” said Nameoke, looking earnestly upon
him, “suppose yonder maiden had been your sister,
and that she dwelt alone where the sea hymned her
nightly to her rest, and where the stars alone saw her
bathing in the waters.”
“Well,” replied Fitzvassal, “and what then?”
“Suppose that some ruffian had heard of her being
there, and his imagination had been fired by the
flames of hell to break in upon the sanctuary of her
solitude, and had meditated violence to her—what
would you have had your sister do to save herself from
the man of dark thoughts?”
“I would,” replied her visiter, “have her treat him
as a venomous reptile that crossed her path, and kill
him.”
“You are right!” exclaimed the enchantress,
“such was Felton to Nameoke, and she slew him!”
“You?” replied Fitzvassal, “is it possible? Did
the man offer violence to your modesty?”
“Nameoke would have saved him, as she would save
Fitzvassal,” resumed the enchantress, “she read his
doom in the stars and warned him to fly from the wrath
of the fates,—but he turned a deaf ear and perished.”
“If he was doomed to perish, how could he escape?”
inquired her visiter.
“When the blood spouts from an artery, is not the
man dying? And may not an active will save him
from destruction?”
“Well!”
“Even so the will of man may control the stars,
and the powers of darkness be defeated by his resolute
purpose.”
“Impossible!”
“I tell you,” cried the enchantress, and her eyes
flashed with supernatural beauty as she spoke, “I
tell you that the will of man in relation to all things
under the all-highest, is omnipotent for evil or for
good. It may be trained to strike a fellow-creature
dead by a thought, as he falls before a stroke of the
sun, or a chain-bolt of the thunder-cloud; it may
bring down angels out of heaven, or raise hell-fiends
from the fathomless abyss; it is the will of man and
only the will of man that makes paradise and death.”
“You talk wildly!” said her listener in a half
whisper, yet so fascinated by her manner that he
could not withdraw his eyes from gazing on her
face.
“Nameoke tells nothing that she does not know,”
resumed the Indian girl, “but Nameoke sees realities
in what you call the future.—Man! man! why do you
not learn yourself, why do you dive into all and every
thing but the great thing of all; why do you leave
yourself unknown?”
She raised herself as she spoke, upright, and seemed
brighter and brighter, her cheeks swelled as if she
were struggling with some internal emotion too big
for utterance, and her lips parted and trembled as if
all speech were denied them. Suddenly her form
and features grew rigid, but still retaining their peculiar,
indescribable beauty of expression, while the
words poured from her lips in a torrent of impassioned
cadences.
She spoke of man, the greatest of all themes, of man
as he was, as he is, and as he is to be. She looked into
the great past, and told of his glorious innocence
before he could be truly happy in his blessedness, for
he knew no evil even by name, and therefore was
ignorant of the good which he possessed;—she told
of his communion with the heavens, and of his intercourse
with the angels; but even the angels were
like unto himself, and in the midst of his paradise,
man was not satisfied—for he was man only in infancy.
She spoke of his in-burning desire of something,
of every thing which involved relations and opposites,
and this she described as the dawning of his
youth and reason, and she said that all was right,
and that man might have come to the knowledge of
good and of evil and have still been true to his nature;
but as his reason dawned and he saw what
was good and what was evil, he fell from his state of
primal peacefulness, because having known evil he
knowing and enjoying, by attributing every thing to
the giver and nothing to himself.
She spoke of the present, and told how man was almost
unconsciously struggling with the weight of
ages, and was on the point of developing faculties
which he did not dream of possessing; that unheard
of sciences would come with a knowledge of self,
and add inconceivably to the happiness of the race;
that man would continue to progress and grow better,
notwithstanding the dark and discouraging appearance
of evils which encompassed him, and that
though punishment unavoidably followed what was
evil, the time would come when man would be restored
by the operation of his own will to that primal
state of peace from which he had fallen, and be truly
happy because he would be taught to be useful.
When the sibyl had finished, she sunk for a few
moments down upon a heap of dry sea-weed, and after
heaving a profound sigh, came to herself again.
Fitzvassal brought her some fresh water in a gourd,
which she tasted, and then fixing her eyes upon him
said,
“Nameoke thanks you for your kindness—and
would repay it—will you listen to her counsel?”
“Most certainly will I listen,” answered Fitzvassal,
who began to regard this extraordinary character
with the deepest interest; “and if I do not profit
fault.”
“Fly then, fly quickly, from these shores, and let
the stars of the other hemisphere shine on you—
there is death in your horoscope—and Nameoke
sickens while she thinks of your fate: leave these
shores to-morrow,—you will leave them to-morrow,
but oh, return not to the three hills again; the crime
you have already committed may be removed far
away by deeds of charity.”
Fitzvassal started as she spoke, and looked with
amazement on her. How could she know of his
crime?
“If,” she resumed, laying her hand on his shoulder,
“you harbor those thoughts that now occupy your
mind, you will have a still greater crime to atone
for.”
“What mean you?” asked the man, shuddering inwardly
as she spoke.
“Know you not that your father is abroad on the
ocean?” said the sibyl.
“My father!”
“He is even now returning with the gold that another
man found, and he is sharing the rights of another
with the blood of his body.”
“Nameoke!” exclaimed the conscious-smitten man,
“what mean you?”
“Nameoke means,” replied the enchantress, “that
Edmund Vassal is this moment on the ocean in a
Plata!”
“You amaze me!” exclaimed Fitzvassal, “is it
possible that avarice has driven him to the wreck!
His blood be upon his own head with vengeance!”
“Beware of parricide, unhappy man,”—replied
Nameoke, “fly, hastily from these shores, and avoid
every sail you encounter.”
“Have you aught else to command me?” inquired
Fitzvassal, “for it seems that one who knows me
so well, might tell me more.”
“Banish the memory of the only maiden you ever
loved, now and forever from your mind.”
“You demand impossibilities,” exclaimed Fitzvassal;
“but since you read my heart so well—tell me
whom it is that I love.”
“She is a beautiful being,” sighed Nameoke, “the
morning-glory of innocence. She was born to make
thee mad and another happy.”
Fitzvassal disguised, as well as he could, the incredulity
he felt at this declaration. Had not Grace
Wilmer smiled on him; had she not blushed when
he spoke to her, and blushed as often as she spoke?
Surely it must be love, or at least a sentiment of deep
tenderness that she entertained toward him!
But he had yet to learn that smiles are not the
coinage of affection only, and that the philosophy
of blushing is more than skin-deep. A person may
blush by accident, or from a rude suspicion, or from a
of association. This is the true cause of that painful
manifestation of sensitiveness, which the iron-nerved
and coarse-fibred never feel, and which is
sometimes attributed to vanity! Vanity never
blushes. Women, and men too, blush because they
remember that they blushed—and often from no other
cause.
“Nameoke!” said Fitzvassal after a pause, wishing
to call her attention to a subject which had principally
occupied his thoughts at the time he entered
the Swallow's Cave,—“Nameoke! tell me, if you
can, what laughter and disturbance did I hear while
the body of Felton was burying?”
“It was the laughter of those,” replied the maiden,
“who love evil and work wo. Would you see the
monstrous-visaged women who come to you in spirit,
and prompt you to abominable thinkings, the bad-eyed
revellers that whisper in the human ear, deeds
it were a sin even to name?”
“Surely you do not believe in witchcraft!” said
Fitzvassal, in a tone of half inquiry.
“There are those,” exclaimed Nameoke, “who
think that witchcraft is a chimera; but evil is mighty,
and malicious thoughts will blast even the flowers of
the field: much more can they trouble the spirit of
man. He who wills evil mightily, never wills in vain,
though the blight comes back on his own heart, and
kills him with reverberated curses.”
“Do you pretend to say that one can assume the
form of another, and thus torture the object of his
hatred?”
“The spirit of one may assume the shape of another's
spirit and manifest itself for evil; but it is the
work of the father of lies.”
“You are dreaming, Nameoke, surely you do not
believe in this.”
“When you learn to know yourself,” replied the
sibyl, “stranger things than this will be familiar to
you; and it will not be long before such scenes will
be exhibited by those who are now sowing for the
harvest, that the ears of future generations will tingle
as they listen.”
“Shall I behold them, Nameoke?”
“You will, and yet you will not. Come with Nameoke,
and she will show you a page of the future. But
the son of the Vassal must be secret as the grave. In
future times when men read the testimony of their
fathers, it will seem that credulity was the mother of
witchcraft begotten by diseased imagination, when
it will have been rather the will of man that has
subdued it. But Nameoke speaks to after ages. Let
us away!”
As she spoke she took from her bosom a talisman
of black-veined agate set in gold, which she hung
upon his neck.
“Keep this,” said she, “for Nameoke's sake; though
it will not guard you from danger, it will keep your
distilled from the hollow fang of the rattle-snake, the
copper-head, and the mad-dogs' blood. Come with
Nameoke.”
Immediately she seized her mace, and leaving the
cave, followed by Fitzvassal, ascended to the plain
above. In the direction of the Spouting-Horn was
seen a livid light that alternately rose and fell, brightened
and faded, as they gazed upon it. The sibyl
was the first to break silence.
“Nameoke will now show you a fearful sight which
she would have shown to Felton. But his heart
was harder than the flint, and the fire within him
burnt toward the regions of woe. The son of the
Vassal has already done evil; may the visions of
this night turn his heart from the way of destruction!”
“Whither are you going, Nameoke! and what
do you mean to show me?”
“Nameoke will show you the witches of the far
Hartz, that sometimes leave the Brocken as the missionaries
of the hells. They hold to-night their
revels, and in diabolical mockery of the great mystery,
administer the communion of the damned to
those who are willing to be initiated. What you
will behold would be invisible to common men, as
we shall be invisible to the actors. See! we approach.
Stand near to Nameoke, and hold her
hand, thus!”
As they neared the Spouting-Horn, its briny
belchings grew louder and louder, and by the reflected
light of the witch-fire its mounting waves
gleamed hideously terrific. This was on their right
as they approached. As they came nearer, they
found that the light flashed up from below nearly
down at the bottom of the broad and steep ravine to
which at present a rude and craggy footpath leads
in the direction of the Horn; far above this wonderful
fissure the rocks rise almost perpendicularly a
hundred feet, against which the huge jet of the
Spouting-Horn, dashes violently and is whirled aloft
by the opposing crags, in proportion to the violence
of the waves.
“Nameoke will lead you to a place of safety,”
said the sibyl, drawing Fitzvassal after her, and
taking another path to the Spouting-Horn on the
south-east side of the place. “Behind yonder crag
where the shadow deepens like a cavern, we shall
be near to them and in no danger of discovery. Be
careful lest you speak. Should you be so unguarded
as to utter even a monosyllable, that moment
the vision will be ended.”
Slowly and cautiously they wound their way
among the rough crags, careful lest their unguarded
steps should loosen any fragment of rock, which,
tumbling down the precipice, might alarm the weird
sisterhood below. Fitzvassal still held the hand of
Nameoke, following her step by step till at last they
was spoken by either of them. They could only
see each other's faces, and feel the pressure of the
hand on any suddenly-awakened emotion. The
night was clear and beautiful; not a cloud was
under the firmament, but the stars shone calmly and
tranquilly, as if none but the pure in heart were
abroad to gaze upon their splendour, and none but
the worshippers of heaven were breathing beneath
its arch of glory.
But the attention of Fitzvassal and his guide was
absorbed by other objects, and their pulses throbbed
hard and heavily while they gazed.
Upon a flat rock at the left of the Spouting-Horn,
an enormous skull of a rhinoceros was discovered,
supported by four human thigh-bones fixed transversely
to sustain the weight; these were lashed together
by a number of huge snakes, that writhed and
twisted about, darting their fangs in every direction,
hissing and rattling with fearful fury as the flames beneath
them scorched their exposed bodies. The fire
did not burn from any common fuel, but the hags
which went by turns to the task, poured out at times
certain substances like oils, which gave variously
colored fires, and threw the most ghastly shades on
all surrounding objects. Close to this skull-chauldron
was a heap of dead bodies, that seemed to have
been lately dragged from the water, two of which
were interlocked in each other's arms.
As Nameoke gazed upon them, an involuntary
shudder ran through her frame, for she knew they
were the lovers who had been sacrificed to the fiendish
malice of the Hartz hags, and she held her breath
to subdue, if possible, her expression of abhorrence.
Fitzvassal was petrified with horror.
At a little distance from this infernal hearth, a
stageing was erected to resemble a church altar. It
was formed of decayed coffins, and they were so arranged
as to form steps by which it could be approached.
On the top of this altar was placed a
large goat, around the neck of which was suspended
a cross, contrived of the two forefingers of a dead
infant. A black velvet pall was stretched over the
altar, underneath the goat, tricked out with rusty
coffin-plates, and at the foot of the stairs were a large
number of dead bodies in every state of decay.
The smoke from the oil-fire of the witches curled
round the neighboring rocks in thick pitchy wreaths,
and the lurid light shone full on their dreadful faces.
There were twenty of them, the principal of whom
Nameoke recognized as the two deformed monsters
she had seen at the Pulpit-Rock. They had been
feeding the fire for some time in the manner already
described, and mumbling over inaudible charms as
the oils burnt blue and green; but they now joined
hand in hand and moved round the strange chauldron,
which boiling over, foamed up with blood, and
ran down the walls of the skull, scalding the snakes
knots, writhing and screaming with harsh hisses.
While this was doing, they uttered unintelligible
incantations, at certain intervals terminating a cadence
with peals of unnatural laughter, that reverberating
from the neighboring cliffs, found another
echo at Egg Rock, that sounded like a response from a
company as infernal as their own. They would then
stop, and after robbing the corpses of hair and finger-nails,
they dropped them into the seething receptacle,
while the snakes, disengaging themselves from their
bondage, twined round their skinny arms, till suffocated
by the stench of the decoction, they fell and
mingled with the ingredients.
There was now on a sudden an appearance like
many shooting stars, accompanied by a sound like
fast rushing in the air. As soon as this was perceived,
the hags put their withered fingers to their
lips, and for a moment were silent. The pale woman
of Pulpit-Rock then beckoned to the others,
and bounding over the intervening gulf, followed
by all the rest, immediately landed at the foot of the
altar, where, after kissing the goat, they prostrated
themselves before it, and continued kneeling in silence,
each with her finger on her lips.
In a few moments after there were six new-comers
in the company, when they who were kneeling rose
together and welcomed them by clasping their hands.
The newly-arrived guests were younger and less revolting
at their orgies, but their faces were either bloated or
haggard, and the impress of confirmed iniquity was
deeply imprinted on their forms.
They now sat themselves down in a circle, while
several of the older ones, retiring behind the altar,
brought each a human scull which had been made
into a drinking cup; then going to the chaldron they
filled it with the hellish fluid, and returning passed
the same to the laughter-shaking hags.
Fitzvassal and his companion when they beheld
this horrible spectacle, could with difficulty restrain
their feelings of disgust; particularly when they
saw them drink hot blood, in which such revolting
ingredients had been mingled. As the hags drank
largely, their eyes gleamed in their hollow sockets,
when all at once a strange fury possessed them.
They suddenly sprang on their feet and clapped their
hands in mad and tumultuous mirth, and whirled
round with a velocity that made even the gazers giddy.
At length their frenzy subsiding, they again shook
hands and bowed themselves down to the beast;
then, at a signal from one of them, they rose to their
feet, and turning round, seated themselves in rows on
the coffins. The pale hag then took a small black
book from under the velvet pall, and passed it round
among the hideous company, each one of whom in
turn kissed it with seeming devoutness, when the
ceremony of drinking was repeated.
This ended, they began to boast of their exploits.
One of them gloried in murders, several of them in
daring robberies, most of them in seductions, but the
two of the Pulpit-Rock bore away the loudest acclamations,
by producing the bodies of the drowned
lovers, and vaunting of the horrors of the wreck.
They now joined hand in hand, and danced frantically
round the chaldron, seeming not to touch the
rocks as they moved, and all the while uttering dismal
sounds of mingled mirth and madness.
This was but the prelude to another scene: for
they now, at a signal given, arranged themselves as
before, while two of them fed the fire again with
oils, from which evolved thick smoke, that for a
time enveloped surrounding objects in darkness.
As the dense vapor curled away, one of them was
discovered, less haggard and offensive than the rest,
standing upon a tripod, and waving above her head
a long white wand.
“The future! the future!” exclaimed one of the
terrific sisterhood, “let us see the future!”
“Hush!” hissed one half the company, and holding
their lank fingers to their skinny lips, they all
leaned forward in eager expectation of the result.
The smoke-wreaths attenuating as they rose, presently
assumed the forms of human beings. There
were two beautiful girls who appeared to be sisters,
and they were interchanging tokens of affection.
Near them stood an evil-eyed woman, who for a
while seemed to gloat upon them as the boa does on
in the form of one of the fair creatures, when
the two kissed each other and separated. No sooner
had one gone, than the witch, in the shape of the
departed, began to assail the other.
A scream of delight arose as one voice from the
witch company when they saw this, and they clattered
their husky hands together, as if some new invention
of evil had been achieved.
The girl seemed now to be tormented by her own
sister, and was writhing in agony beneath the cruelties
she inflicted. Among other forms of torment,
she was strangling her, with her two hands clenched
round her throat, till her face became black as soot.
The scene changed. The girl who had been tormented
had accused her own sister, who stood before
the judgment-seat of the land. Near by was a
stake with bundles of faggots, and the unhappy
creature was bound to the same and burned. A
crowd of spectators were looking on, who seemed to
take pleasure in witnessing a just retribution.
“They believe it! they believe it!” screamed the
assembled beldames as they gazed, “that will do!
that will do! they believe it!”
And as they spoke, they screamed triumphantly,
and clapped their hands as before.
The same witch that ministered at the fire, now
threw fresh oil on the flames, and as the smoke grew
thin in ascending, other forms appeared. As yet
they were not so developed in their outlines, as to
went before was more clearly seen than the others.
In a moment after, Fitzvassal was thunderstruck to
recognise in the first, the exact image of his own father!
He shuddered, but said nothing; for Nameoke
held him hard by the arm, and by her expression,
urged him to be silent. The form that followed
was now seen to brandish a dagger, which it was
about to plunge into the back of the pursued.
Fitzvassal could contain himself no longer, but
with a voice that broke harshly among the rocks, he
shouted “Revenge!” The surrounding crags took
up the cry, and reverberated “Revenge!” And the
diabolical crew, as they vanished in the air, screamed
close in Fitzvassal's ears, “Revenge!”
He gazed, bewildered, on the fading phantasmagoria
around him, and as it passed, Nameoke, pointing
to the figure of the murderer, cried emphatically,
“See! Fitzvassal, see!”
He turned, and recognised himself in the figure
of his father's assassin.
A slight faintness oppressed him, but soon recovering,
he wound his way back among the rough crags,
under the guidance of Nameoke; but he spoke not
a word to her. Nameoke preserved the same unbroken
silence, and they parted at the Swallow's-Cave,
without uttering a syllable on the subject of
their adventure, or even in exchanging the farewells
of the night.
| CHAPTER XII. Nix's mate | |