 | CHAPTER VII. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
But hope had not utterly departed from the bosom of Selonee.
Perhaps the destiny which had befallen himself had made him
resolve the more earnestly to seek farther into the mystery of that
which hung above the fate of his friend. The day which saw him
enter the cabin of Macourah saw him the most miserable man
alive. The hateful hag, hateful enough as the wife of his friend,
whose ill treatment was notorious, was now doubly hateful to him
as his own wife; and now, when, alone together, she threw aside
the harsh and termagant features which had before distinguished
her deportment, and, assuming others of a more amorous complexion,
threw her arms about the neck of the youth and solicited
his endearments, a loathing sensation of disgust was coupled with
the hate which had previously possessed his mind. Flinging
away from her embrace, he rushed out of the lodge with feelings
of the most unspeakable bitterness and grief, and bending his way
towards the forest, soon lost sight of the encampment of his people.
Selonee was resolved on making another effort for the recovery
of his friend. His resolve went even farther than this. He was
bent never to return to the doom which had been fastened upon
him, and to pursue his way into more distant and unknown forests
—a self-doomed exile—unless he could restore Conattee to the
nation. Steeled against all those ties of love or of country, which
at one time had prevailed in his bosom over all, he now surrendered
himself to friendship or despair. In Catawba, unless he
restored Conattee, he could have no hope; and without Catawba
he had neither hope nor love. On either hand he saw nothing
but misery; but the worst form of misery lay behind him in the
lodge of Macourah. But Macourah was not the person to submit
to such a determination. She was too well satisfied with the exchange
with which fortune had provided her, to suffer its gift to
be lost so easily; and when Selonee darted from the cabin in
such fearful haste, she readily conjectured his determination.
those thunders—could she overtake him—with which she had so
frequently overawed the pliant Conattee, would possess an effect
not less influential upon his more youthful successor. Macourah
was gaunt as a greyhound, and scarcely less fleet of foot. Besides,
she was as tough as a grey-squirrel in his thirteenth year.
She did not despair of overtaking Selonee, provided she suffered
him not to know that she was upon his trail. Her first movements
therefore were marked with caution. Having watched his
first direction, she divined his aim to return to the hunting grounds
where he had lost or slain his companion; and these hunting
grounds were almost as well known to herself as to him. With
a rapidity of movement, and a tenacity of purpose, which could
only be accounted for by a reference to that wild passion which
Selonee had unconsciously inspired in her bosom for himself, she
followed his departing footsteps; and when, the next day, he
heard her shouts behind him, he was absolutely confounded. But
it was with a feeling of surprise and not of dissatisfaction that he
heard her voice. He—good youth—regarding Conattee as one
of the very worthiest of the Catawba warriors, seemed to have
been impressed with an idea that such also was the opinion of his
wife. He little dreamed that she had any real design upon himself;
and believed that, to show her the evidences which were to
be seen, which led to the fate of her husband, might serve to convince
her that not only he was not the murderer, but that Conattee
might not, indeed, be murdered at all. He coolly waited her
approach, therefore, and proceeded to renew his statements, accompanying
his narrative with the expression of the hope which
he entertained of again restoring her husband to herself and the
nation. But she answered his speech only with upbraidings and
entreaties; and when she failed, she proceeded to thump him
lustily with the wand by which she had compelled him to follow
her to the lodge the day before. But Selonee was in no humour
to obey the laws of the nation now. The feeling of degradation
which had followed in his mind, from the moment when he left
the spot where he had stood up for death, having neither fear nor
shame, was too fresh in his consciousness to suffer him to yield a
like acknowledgment to it now; and though sorely tempted to
had already inflicted upon his shoulders, he forbore, in consideration
of his friend, and contented himself with simply setting forward
on his progress, determined to elude her pursuit by an exercise
of all his vigour and elasticity. Selonee was hardy as the
grisly bear, and fleeter than the wild turkey; and Macourah,
virago as she was, soon discovered the difference in the chase
when Selonee put forth his strength and spirit. She followed
with all her pertinacity, quickened as it was by an increase of
fury at that presumption which had ventured to disobey her commands;
but Selonee fled faster than she pursued, and every additional
moment served to increase the space botween them. The
hunter lost her from his heels at length, and deemed himself fortunate
that she was no longer in sight and hearing, when he again
approached the spot where his friend had so mysteriously disappeared.
Here he renewed his search with a painful care and
minuteness, which the imprisoned Conattee all the while beheld.
Once more Selonee crawled beneath those sprawling limbs and
spreading arms that wrapped up in their solid and coarse rinds the
person of the warrior. Once more he emerged from the spot
disappointed and hopeless. This he had hardly done when, to
the great horror of the captive, and the annoyance of Selonee, the
shrill shrieks and screams of the too well-known voice of Macourah
rang through the forests. Selonee dashed forward as he
heard the sounds, and when Macourah reached the spot, which
she did unerringly in following his trail, the youth was already
out of sight.
“I can go no further,” cried the woman—“a curse on him and
a curse on Conattee, since in losing one I have lost both. I am
too faint to follow. As for Selonee, may the one-eyed witch of
Tustenuggee take him for her dog.”
With this delicate imprecation, the virago seated herself in a
state of exhaustion upon the inviting bed of moss which formed
the lap of Conattee. This she had no sooner done, than the
branches relaxed their hold upon the limbs of her husband. The
moment was too precious for delay, and sliding from under her
with an adroitness and strength which were beyond her powers
of prevention, and, indeed, quite too sudden for any effort at resistance,
up in full life before her, and, with the instinct of his former condition,
preparing to take to flight. She cried to him, but he fled
the faster—she strove to follow him, but the branches which had
relaxed their hold upon her husband had resumed their contracted
grasp upon her limbs. The brown bark was already forming
above her on every hand, and her tongue, allotted a brief term of
liberty, was alone free to assail him. But she had spoken but
few words when the bark encased her jaws, and the ugly thorn
of the vine which had so distressed Conattee, had taken its place
at their portals.
| CHAPTER VII. The wigwam and the cabin | |