 | CHAPTER XI. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
Early the next morning the trappers
set about their pursuits, as usual. The
traps were visited, and the captures
brought into camp, and dressed. The
remainder of the day was spent in hunting
with the new comers; and not until
evening did they return from the chase.
After supper our hero had a long conversation
with Le Beaux, upon the contemplated
visit to the Delawares; and it
was agreed that they—that is, Charles,
Le Beaux, and the two Delaware chiefs
—should set out as soon as they could
get ready, leaving Jonathan and Ottahontas
in charge of the camp, with the two
half-breeds. Accordingly, the next day
was spent in getting things ready.—
Charles selected from his stock many articles
for presents, which he intended to
give the chiefs. Nor was Coquese, the
Flower of the Valley, forgotten. A pair
of showy bracelets, a handsome string of
beads, and a bright-colored, pretty scarf,
were among the particular articles chosen
for this famous dusky maiden. Charles
could not help laughing to himself, as he
was thus engaged, at the idea of his deliberately
picking out these articles for
the Indian belle, whom he had never
seen. There was no fear that she would
refuse them. None of that hesitation and
tumultuous palpitation and wild throbbing
of the heart, which so often afflicts and
torments the white dandy, as he selects
and purchases some bauble love-token to
please the eyes of his heart's chosen; no
calculating whether she will be so kind,
so particularly condescending, as to accept
it; or whether she will laugh at
him for his presumption, and ridicule
him for his daring folly. And, then, the
framing of his speech, in which he humbly
begs her acceptance of the trifling present,
and hopes she will wear it on his
own, sole, particular account. None of
these; but, like a woman selecting potatoes
for the pot, he overhauls carelessly
his store, and readily chooses his presents,
and puts them into his packet.—
But we will see by and by how he feels
and how he acts with regard to this same
maiden, and whether an Indian belle is
so very different from a city belle—whether
her gallants are not as courteous, as
ardent, and as watchful to please her, as
any buck that sports his laced collar and
well-trimmed mustache, for his lady to
admire, in the refined and polished city
circle.
All was settled and everything in readiness
the next morning. They calculated
day after this, and expected to make
their journey without meeting any roving
bands of Indians, as the Delawares informed
them that the other tribes did not
often come so far from their villages to
hunt. The Delawares were much pleased
that the white chief, as they styled
Charles, was to return with them. They
were already much pleased with him.
The Indian is a great admirer of beauty
in the human species, and has a good eye
for beauty. His judgment is not often
wrong on this point. They had readily
acknowledged the superior claims of our
hero to manly beauty; and they had also
some more striking proofs of his generosity,
in the shape of presents which
he had bestowed upon them. To Wahhallah
he had given a hunting-knife, with
a handsomely carved handle and a polished
metal sheath, with which he appeared
to be much delighted, and was
constantly admiring it. To his younger
brother he had given a pair of brass-mounted
pistols and a powder-flask.—
The youth appeared pleased with them,
but evidently thought less of them than
Wahallah did of his present. He seemed
rather delighted to be in the company
of his new friend, and loved to listen to
his words. He saw that he was a great
man, and had much learning; his wisdom
and his kindness were the attractions
that bound him to the white chief,
and made him his fast friend. Charles
loved to talk of the red men, and to ask
questions of Shooshoone concerning
their lands, their language, their tribe,
and all their customs; and often would
he break forth in their praise, as Shooshoone
related some anecdote, illustrating
their devotion to their chiefs, or their love
for the land that held the boues of their
fathers; or their exploits in war, showing
the personal prowess of their great
warrior-chiefs. It would call forth his
admiration, and remind him of the tales
he had read of the chivalry of the old
feudal times. There was much, to his
mind, that resembled it in those untaught
natives of his own land.
The third afternoon of their journey
they found themselves approaching the
village of the tribe. It was still some
miles distant, and Wahallah proposed
going forward to inform his people that
guests were approaching, with the desire
to hunt with them, and remain at their village
during the winter. This was according
to Indian etiquette. A chief always
sends a courier ahead to prepare his tribe
to receive his guests. It was, therefore,
agreed that Wahallah should go forward
for this purpose; and he fixed upon a
place where he would again rejoin them
the next day—under the guidance of
Shooshoone, who was to remain with
them, and conduct them on the route.—
The next day when they had approached
to within two miles of the village,
Shooshoone led them to an oak grove,
where, he said, they were to await the
coming of Wahallah. They had been in
the grove but a few minutes, before a
horseman was seen at full gallop crossing
the plain, in the direction of the village,
and approaching them. He soon came
up, and they recognized in him (though
with some surprise) Wahallah, now superbly
mounted on a dark, wild horse,
adorned with trappings of strange device
and brilliant colors. He wore a
large and showy plume of eagle's feathers
on his head; his moccasins were
highly ornamented with stained porcupine
quills, and a pair of fine buckskin
leggins, ornamented with the same material,
covered his nether limbs. A gaudy
hunting-shirt, made of calico, completed
his dress. He told them his tribe was
ready to receive them; and stopping a
few moments to talk with them, turned
and rode back. Charles thought this
singular deportment in his friend, but the
guide told him that he was one of the
leading chiefs, and it was the custom of
the tribe for the chiefs to receive their visitors
in a body, and Wahallah had gone
back to join them, but he would soon see
him again.
They now mounted their horses again,
and set forward to reach the village. After
having proceeded awhile in silence,
they were interrupted by Le Beaux, who
said to Charles—
“Look yonder: they are coming to
meet us.”
Charles suffered his eyes to take the
direction pointed out to him; and there,
them, were a large body of Indians, all
mounted on horseback. They came
gaily on, their horses prancing, and striving
to show themselves off to the best
advantage, while their riders performed
various feats of horsemanship, which
showed them both bold and dexterous
horsemen. In this manner they approached
almost to the place where our
horsemen had drawn themselves up and
came to a halt. They then fell into close
ranks, in perfect order, and advancing to
our party, bade them welcome to their
village. Then, wheeling round, they returned
in company with our friends to
the village. Arriving here, Wahallah
leading the way to his tent, he invited
them to dismount and enter. He gave
their horses in charge of the young sanaps
that stood by ready to take them. A
few minutes elapsed, when Wahallah,
who had gone out immediately upon ushering
them to his lodge, returned, and
motioned them to attend him. They
followed him in silence through the village,
to a lodge that stood apart from the
others, and was tenanted by Chihua, a
venerable-looking man, upwards of eighty
years old. This was the hall of audience.
Here they held their councils, and
received their ambassadors from other
tribes; here, too, their guests were introduced
to the chiefs, and when this ceremony
was once performed, they were under
the protection of the tribe, and they
considered themselves sacredly bound to
perform towards and extend to them the
rites of hospitality.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, they
saw some dozen chiefs and braves, who
were accustomed to give attendance on
such occasions as the present. They
were presented to each of them in turn.
Le Beaux was on terms of familiarity
with all the tribe, and received a cordial
greeting from all the assembly. After
this ceremony was over, the pipe was produced,
which is always used on state occasions,
and is the indispensable companion
of the red man in times of council,
whether the object be one of war or
of peace, or, as at present, the reception
of guests. It is the mode, the symbol
which concludes and completes their
compacts and treaties. It is the warrant
which binds them to inviolably respect
the rights and property of their guests;
and from the time of this ceremony, so
long as he remains, a guest may put confidence
in their acts.
The pipe was lighted, Chihua puffed a
few clouds, and with his own hand presented
it to the white chief, who did the
like, and then presented it to the chief
on his right. In this way it made the
circuit of the assembly, each one puffing
at it in silence a minute, and passing it to
his next neighbor. Chihua then, in a
short speech, invited the white chief to
become his guest. He said the Indian
was weak, and the pale faces were strong,
and dwelt in large cities—not in camps,
like the poor Indian—and had many
goods, and much wealth; they had grown
numerous as the stars in the sky, and
they had conquered all their enemies in
war; their horses were strong, and fed
in flocks in green pastures that the pale
face had made for them. The pale face
had plenty of rifles, and was rich in powder
and lead. He said, the poor Indian
could not equal his white brother; but,
the pale face brought the fire-water to the
Indian, which made him mad, and changed
him into a beast. This was wicked,
he said. His white brother knew not
the suffering, the curse, it brought upon
the poor Indian. His arms fell dead at
his side, his feet caught in the grass, and
he reeled like the tree shaken with the
whirlwind; but, said he, I knew my
white brother would bring no fire-water
to his tribe; he was the red man's friend;
Wahallah had told them what the white
chief had said, and his people loved him.
Wahallah would lead him to his lodge,
and the white man should hunt with the
Delawares, and eat at his table, and sleep
in his lodge, safe from his enemies.
It now was our hero's turn to answer.
This he did in a short speech, in which
he thanked the chiefs for their ready hospitality,
and repeated to them his professions
of friendship and good-will. He
assured Chihua, that he looked upon the
practice of the pale faces of selling fire-water
to his red brothers as wicked and
detestable; and that he had no heart to
do it. Then, turning to Le Beaux, he
contained the presents he had brought
with him. These consisted of powder,
lead, tobacco, knives, and a quantity of
highly colored pieces of calico; together
with various other articles, such as are
most esteemed by the Indians. These
he distributed to the different chiefs, who
were much delighted with their gifts, and
praised him in warm expressions of gratitude
for his kindness to his red brothers,
and pledged their friendship and protection
to him.
Wahallah, at his own request, had
taken upon himself the office of host;
and, now, as the assembly was broken
up, he led them to his lodge again, where,
he told them, they were to make their
home. It gave him great satisfaction to
entertain the white chief, so great an impression
had Charles already made upon
him, not only from the presents he had
received from him, but because of his
wise talk, as he called it, and his noble
bearing. Also, the guide was a well
known and highly respected friend of this
tribe. They knew him to be a great
warrior, and a good friend to the Delawares.
There was in the council one
man who had particularly attracted our
hero's attention, and who had saluted Le
Beaux more familiarly than the rest. He
was a tall, fine-looking man, as, indeed,
were all that band of chiefs and braves;
but, even in such a company, his figure
was strikingly commanding. Taller than
the rest, he was, at the same time, finely
and symmetrically proportioned, so that
his uncommon stature showed none of
that awkwardness which often is connected
with men of very tall stature.—
He was dressed after the fashion of those
around him, save that there was about him
a certain attention to neatness and tidiness
which none of the others could claim.
His features, too, although almost as dark
as his companions, were more regular,
and resembled more the European than
the Indian. His hair, instead of being
black and straight, like the others, was a
dark brown, and hung in thick curls all
over his head and neck. He occupied
the next seat to the old chief, at his right
hand, and seemed to be treated more like
a superior than an equal. He did not
display that eagerness and admiration the
others showed when the presents were
distributed, though he received his share
with the others, and thanked our hero in
the Delaware tongue for them.
“Who is he?” said our hero, as soon
as they were alone in their lodge. “I
do n't think he is an Indian by birth; if
he is, he is not of their tribe, certainly.
He is a captive, who has been taken from
the settlements in time of war, perhaps.
He is, truly, one of the noblest men in his
bearing I ever met.”
Le Beaux was evidently pleased rather
than astonished or surprised at these
questions. He was pleased at the quickness
with which Charles made the discovery,
and the truth which had been so
suddenly developed by him. He, therefore,
in a pleasant tone, said to him—
“Well, really, you are a very shrewd
man, to see through so complete a disguise
at a single glance. I must confess
there is not one in a hundred who could
have done it. I dare say you are right
in part of your supposition, and wrong
in part. He is not an Indian by birth,
though he has lived long with this tribe,
and adopted them as his people, and has
married the old chief's daughter—and a
very pretty woman she is, too, and makes
him as good a wife as many a white woman
would have done. He is esteemed
the strongest and the bravest man in the
tribe, and is known as a great warrior.
His history he has before now told me;
and if there is an honest and a generous
heart in the world, it beats in the breast
of M. Boileau. He is a Frenchman by
birth, and is of good family, and was once
rich; but the world treated him cruelly,
basely, and he turned his back upon it,
and sought the friendship of the Delawares,
who gladly received and soon
came to love him. For more than twenty
years he has lived with them, and has
not, for the first time, quitted them to visit
his former acquaintances. He seems
happy and contented here, and has done
the tribe much good, by teaching them,
and reforming their bad habits. Through
his means intoxicating drinks have been
banished from the tribe, and are forbidden
to be brought into their villages. He has
a family growing up about him, whom
Some hour, or thereabout, after their
introduction to the tribe, they were
summoned to a plentiful feast. This
lasted about a half hour, and was spent
in eating. Conversation is not a gift of
the red man; he wears it, like a great
coat, only to put on when it is impossible
to do without it. If some of the pale
faces would do the like, I fancy there
would be less worn-out garments displayed
before the parior firesides and in the
crowded saloons of fashionable people.
So thought Charles. There was one exception
to this wholesale eating in the
ranks: that was observed in M. Boileau,
who had now come in for an increased
share of Charles' attention, that he had
gleaned a few facts from Le Beaux, in
conversation with him, of his history. He
ceased eating about the same time that
Charles did, who thought himself
wonderful for his powers of stuffing. It
was, however, comparatively moderate
in that company.
Charles felt an inclination to take a nap
after he had retired to his lodge, but his
attentive host was already at his side, with
the tempting pipe—that emblem of all
that is good and true and noble in Indian
life and character—that dear friend, to
whom they fly for comfort and consolation
in peace and war, in hope and despair.
It is, at all times and in all places,
a true friend of the red man's. It inspires
the tongue of the orator, when he
sways, by his convincing and persuasive
word, the councils of his tribe; it renders
soft and fascinating the out-pourings of
the Indian lover, when he wooes the dusky
maid, and breathes, in passionate
tones, the story of his love, when he
paints the glory of his course, and lays the
promises of future greatness and fame
that await his steps down humbly at her
feet, as an offering to her, his divinity and
idol. In victory and prosperity it sends
up to the clear heavens its white, curling,
clustering wreaths of smoke in dense
clouds, that follow thick and fast, and
mount up gaily. In sorrow and adversity
it sympathises with the crushed and
chastened heart; now its thin, light
wreaths come slowly forth, and cling
around the face and neck, as if to soothe
and caress the sufferer. Slowly they
lift themselves, tardily they spread their
ærial wings for flight, and often, with
streaming eyes, he sees them depart. All
this the mute, silent, speechless pipe does,
and boasts not of its deeds; and much
more does it do, and can it do for its
friends. Is it strange, then, that Charles
shook off his drowsiness, and put his
mouth eagerly to one of these blessed instruments?
For a long time he sat smoking, and
ruminating all the while, upon the strange
scenes he had just witnessed. When
he had finished he carefully knocked the
ashes from the bowl, and looking lovingly
upon it, handed it back to Wahalla;
then rising he took his cap and gun in
his hand, and turning to his companious
told them he was going to take a stroll in
the woods near the village, and would be
back soon. His faithful hounds, that we
last saw on the track of the flying deer,
now watching the movements of their
master, slowly roused themselves from
sleep, and getting up, prepared to follow
him. He left the lodge with them at
his heels; and directing his steps to the
opposite side of the village, passed by
several lodges that lay in his way, an
object of observation and interest to the
many dark eyes that turned towards him
from the inmates. But heedless of
them all, he reached the woods that
skirted the opening close by the village,
and without any definite motive or attention
to his way, took the first path that
he met leading to the forest. For some
time he walked on, following the windings
and turnings of the path, occasionally
stopping to admire some strange bird
that leaped from among the branches of
the trees which overhung his way, or
alighted on the ground before him.—
And here and there his eye was attracted
by the blooming flowers that opened
their bright tinted leaves to catch the sun
beams, that found their way through the
tangled and netted foliage that grew
above and around them; when a sudden
bend in the direction brought him in full
view of a beautiful little stream, which
wound its peaceful way in noiseless flow
through the dense forest shades. It was
but a few steps in advance of him, and
bank that confined its waters to their
narrow channel. Dark and shining were
the clear waters of that little stream, hidden
in the depths of the forest. The
bending branches of the tall trees that
grew on either side, seemed to mingle
and interlock with each other, as if in
close friendship, and in many places
formed a complete shade from the sun's
rays.
The air was calm and still. Not a
breath of wind disturbed its smooth and
polished surface; but here and there the
sportive gambols of some tiny fish, that
lived in its limpid bosom, for a minute
would dash aside the water, as it leaped
into the air, and as quickly darted away
again in its native element, just showing
in its brief visit, the shining scales that
covered its gracefulshape. Or perchance
some luckless little insect that rashly
ventured on its domain, would bring its
watchful tenants to the surface, to punish
the intrusion.
Charles stood for some minutes, gazing
with pleasure on the scene, and watching
the movements of the fish. As he at
last cast his eyes along the banks, up
and down the stream, he saw not far
below where he stood, a small, slight
canoe that lay by the bank, fastened by
a cord. Curious to examine it, he took
his way to the spot, and coming up, his
curiosity was a good deal heightened as
he discovered on examining it, that it was
singularly modeled, and constructed most
skillfully, with evident attention to beauty.
It was curiously ornamented along the
sides. Near the top, from stem to stern,
stained bark of various rich colors, was
interwoven with bands of dressed skin.
A painted figure of a fish, adorned the
bows, with an imitation of its native
element about it. The inside was lined
with skins, and fur cushions covered two
small seats that stretched from side to
side, at either end. The paddles that
lay on the bottom of the canoe, were
covered with carving of various devices,
and were the work of great labor. It
was altogether a fairy little boat, and
a fit bark for the nymph of the stream,
when she might wish to ride over her
kingdom.
Charles examined it long and attentively,
and as he did so, wondered to
whom it might belong. He thought it
too fragile and little for a man's use, and
everything about it denoted it a pleasure
bark, rather than one for common use.
But he puzzled his brains in vain; he
could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion
with regard to it.
As he turned round and looked up the
bank, he discovered near where he stood,
a little sylvan arbor. It covered a space
not greater than ten feet square. Living
branches of green, closely woven and
interlaced, formed its sides, and these
were turned into an arch above, which
rendered it completely impervious, both
to the rays of the sun, and the drops of
rain. The front that looked out upon the
stream, was mostly open; the branches
had been trimmed, and their leaves cut off
to afford a wider prospect. Two or
three low seats were placed at the farther
side. Fresh green boughs were spread
on the ground, and it looked like a suitable
abode for the possessor of the little
canoe.
Charles now felt persuaded that there
was something more than the untutored
and rude taste of the Indian in these
woods, that had formed these really beautiful
structures. It looked to him more
like the garden bower of an Eastern
princess, than the tent of a North American
Indian girl. But he resolved to
enter and see if there was not something
within this enchanting little arbor, that
would give him a clue to its owner. But
in vain he searched every nook and corner;
nothing rewarded his efforts. And
after having gone over it some half dozen
times at least, he sat down as wise as
when he commenced.
After sitting a few minutes, he concluded
that he would wait here for the approach
of its tenant, and in this way discover the
mystery. He accordingly stretched himself
at full length on the soft boughs, and
taking off his cap, he placed it under his
head, laid his gun by his side, while his
dogs stretched themselves at his feet.—
This was a dangerous position for a man
to take after a hearty dinner, if he wishes
to keep awake.
But Charles did not intend to remain
to the lodge. Such was his resolution.
But alas! for his resolution. A few
minutes only had passed in this quiet
spot, upon his really soft couch, ere he
had fallen into a quiet slumber. He had
been asleep for more than an hour.—
He dreamt of fairies dwelling in rustic
bowers, in wild solitudes, and clothed in
more than mortal beauty and purity.—
And he would see them skimming the
smooth water in painted barges, and little
fairy boats, that floated gracefully over
the waves, propelled by their slender
hands. A smile was breaking over his
face, his long, silken, dark eye-lashes,
that fell upon his cheek, trembled; his
long clustering curls fell down his neck
and over the side of his face, partly hiding
his white forehead; his red lips slightly
parted. His neck was mostly exposed,
his collar having fallen back from his
throat, exposing the clear white skin.
As beautiful, voluptuous a spectacle he
presented, while there he lay in graceful
ease, as a real, living, breathing Apollo.
Just at this moment, had he been awake,
he might possibly have heard a light,
merry footstep, that came tripping over
the grass in a different direction from that
which he had taken, and approaching
the bower, with a smiling face, the stranger
turned at the opening of her accustomed
haunt, when suddenly a sight met
her eyes that checked her course and
arrested her step, and caused her to draw
back. But she did not scream or faint;
but listening a moment to the breathing
that came from the intruder upon her
privacy, she carefully advanced again,
and as she looked upon the young pale
face that was thus sweetly slumbering,
the blood mounted to her face and neck,
and a modest blush suffused them both
with a deep glow; her heart beat quicker
in her bosom. His exceeding beauty,
now that she saw him, (for at first she
had only discovered that there was some
one in her arbor), fascinated her, and
held her gaze riveted upon him. Her
fond and tender heart overflowed towards
him, and feelings such as her heart had
never known before, stirred within her.
The trusty hounds that lay at his feet,
raised their heads and glanced quietly at
her, then, as if knowing their master was
safe in such hands, offered no opposition
to her advance. As if impelled by an
irresistible fate, she slowly, step by step,
advanced towards the sleeper, stopping
at each step, and listening carefully, lest
she might awaken him. But still he
moved not, but continued to sleep on,
his face changing as his dreams broke
over his vision. She reached his side,
and stooping over him, she gazed upon
him with looks of love and melting tenderness.
And there by his side she sat;
still, scarcely breathing, lest she should
disturb his slumber, gazing eagerly upon
his face. Every feature, every line was
impressed upon her heart with a power
that would never suffer it to be effaced.
She compared him with all she had ever
seen before; but how mean did they all
seem when contrasted with him. She
almost fancied that he was a sleeping
angle, and feared he would spread his
golden wings and seek the sky, should
he awake.
As she hung over him brushing away
the flies that sought to light upon his
face, and watching his every movement,
his lips parted, and a low sound came
from between them. She bent low her
ear, as if to catch the sound, but it died
away in an indistinct murmur, and came
not again. His lips moved, but there
was no sound. Then of a sudden, he
turned round on his side, with his face
towards her; as he did so, his hair fell
over his face, and disturbed him. She
gently put back with her soft, little, plump
hand, the truant curls. As she did so,
her hand touched his cheek; at the
touch, a thrill ran through her whole
frame, filling it with the most delightful,
most exquisite sensation, and sent the
blood swiftly through her veins.
Her love grew as she gazed upon him,
and ere she herself knew it, or ere he
had opened his eyes, she had yielded up
her heart to the sleeping stranger. What
pleasure to sit and watch by him. It
was a new, strange feeling. She had
found in this youth, the ideal image she
had pictured in her dreams. Alone in
the woods, in her private bower, as if
dropped there from the skies, she had
found him. But look, he moved his
thought to herself. But now his face is
shaded as if with pain. His hand has
fallen under him, and he is pressing upon
it. Tenderly as a mother raises her
infant, she moves him and takes his hand
from under him. Again that thrilling,
exquisite sensation runs through all her
frame. She folded his hand in her
bosom, and pressed it to her lips. Oh!
what bliss! what sweet happiness!
And now emboldened by his sound sleep,
she stooped low over him, and parting
the hair that falls about his forehead, she
softly kisses him, her blushes all the
while chasing each other over her glowing
face. How she longs to have him
open his eyes, that she might see him
smile upon her. She already fancies
that he will love her. Such was her
pure and simple heart; so void of guile,
so destitute of art, that she, feeling that
she had given him all her fond heart,
believed he must return her love.
At last he moves; again his long eye-lashes
tremble, he is about to wake.—
Now she, poor thing, trembles; she
would fly if she could, from what a
moment ago she desired so strongly;
but her strength has forsaken her. Before
she recovers herself, he opens his
eyes; he looks confusedly about him at
first. Suddenly his eyes meet hers; he
opens them wider, and with wonder depicted
in his face, he for an instant stares
at the lovely being that sits by his side;
then closes his eyes again. It must be
a dream. Is he awake? can it be that
the nymph of the stream is really, truly
beside him? “Would that it were so,”
he murmurs to himself. But he almost
fears to open his eyes once more, lest the
sweet vision shall have fled. Slowly
he opens them again. 'Tis true; there
by his side sits the fairy. With blushing
modesty her eyes are veiled beneath
her silken lashes; her swelling bosom
heaves full plainly to his sight, beneath
her light mantle. Her breath is almost
on his cheek.
“Yes,” he exclaims, “it is, it is a
blessed reality, and you are not a spirit,
a phantom of a dreamy brain.”
In eager, but beseeching tones, he
utters these words. She starts at the
sound of his voice, and lifts her eyes to
his flushed and excited countenance.—
If she admired him while sleeping, how
is she now fascinated as his bright,
sparkling eyes, lighting up his whole
countenance, and giving life and expression
with double force, are turned in
admiring gaze upon her. She understood
very well the language he used,
and a slight smile at his eager words,
and ardent, wondering look, broke over
her face. Charles saw it, and this at
once recalled him to his senses, which
had wandered a little at first. Rising
at once, and blushing deeply, he attempted
an apology for his intrusion. He had
not meditated for a moment the purpose
of sleeping there, he said. He had for
a minute or two rested, but sleep over-took
him before he was aware of it. He
hoped she would pardon him for the intrusion.
While he spoke, the rich tones of his
manly voice came upon her ear like sweet
music. She hardly dared to look at him,
and yet she desired to do so. When he
ceased speaking, he humbly and anxiously
awaited her answer. In a soft, silvery
voice she answered him, that no apology
was needed for his intrusion. She was
glad indeed, very glad, her little arbor
had afforded him a shelter. It was a
great pleasure to her to find him there;
she would love to have him come there
and rest himself often; and would he not
come to her father's lodge? it was but a
step, close at hand, she added.
As she spoke, Charles, who now had
regained his presence of mind, jumped at
once to the conclusion which his quickened
senses pointed out. Yes, thought
he, it is she; it is Coquese, the Valley
Flower, that Shooshoone spoke of. And
with this conclusion, he raised his eyes
to see more fully her queenly beauty.—
As he did so, he thought he had never
beheld so fair, so rich a beauty before in
his life. Above the medium height, she
was most beautifully proportioned. The
graceful curves of her limbs; the soft,
swelling roundness of her beautiful bust;
her plump, round arm; her small, neat
ankle, and pretty foot; her long, wavy
auburn hair, that floated so gracefully
about her beautifully moulded shoulders,
dark, expressive eyes, that seemed to
swim in love and tenderness; her
straight, Grecian nose and profile; her
small mouth, with the curved line of
swelling lips, that blushed more rosy
than the morn; her chiseled chin, with
the soft, full round throat; all her rare
perfections of form and feature, were
adorned and gathered farther beauty from
the rich, clear olive complexion, that
looked almost transparent, and glowed
with her blushes to a rich, deep red, a
lovely hue, that defies description, and
mocks at imitation, while it rendered
more conspicuous and brilliant, the dazzling,
pearly whiteness of teeth that were
regular and even. By chance, her small,
and delicately formed hand rested upon a
slender branch, that had broken from its
training, and displayed her taper fingers.
From these Charles suffered his eyes to
wander again to her face, and wondered
at the dark, and beautifully penciled eye-brows,
which o'erarched her lustrous
eyes. Love and feminine tenderness
played over all the lineaments of her
lovely face. Whilst free from the reserve
and restraint that fetters and distorts
ladies of fashion, there was an ease in
her movements, a true, simple delicacy,
an air of grace, an alluring charm
about her, that not all the wealth of the
world can purchase, nor all the honors of
high birth can give.
Charles was spell-bound by her beauty
and her loveliness. A strange reluctance,
or rather diffidence, seized his tongue,
and made him speak broken sentences
and stammering words, when he attempted
to address her. The simplicity, the
ready confidence, and affectionate reception
which she offered him, all made a
strong impression upon him, and called
forth such feelings from his heart as all
the wealth and all the polish and glittering
attractions that had assailed him in
civilized society, had failed to awaken.
It was love which, although he knew it
not, nor would acknowledge it, perhaps,
even to himself, was yet destined to fill
his heart, and sway his future life. Sometimes
love is the growth of long acquaintance,
and is fed by the esteem or regard
first felt towards its object. Little
by little it works its way into the heart,
where it grows and fixes deep its strong
roots, that strengthen until they have entirely
gained the affections. Sometimes
the elevated character and great reputation
of the beloved object first kindle the
flame that, by degrees, burns with an all-consuming
fire. At others—as in the case
of Charles and Coquese—it leaps, at a
single bound, over all barriers, and a
glance as fully and as completely enthrals
the heart with its strong, enduring bands,
as if it had been the idol they had cherished
in their hearts from childhood. We
venture to say that our hero was as much
in love with this fair girl of the forest the
first time he saw her, and that she as
strongly, as ardently loved him in return,
as ever two mortals were with each other,
or ever can be. Love leaped out of
their eyes and seized upon their hearts,
like the flash of an electric shock. How
this can be possible we shall not attempt
to say, but that it was so we feel assured.
Love is blind, says the old proverb. We
do not believe a word of it; on the contrary,
we boldly affirm that it sees quicker
and farther than any other passion that
moves the heart. It wants no argument,
it seeks no counsel, but at once, by itself
alone, it accomplishes its purpose. It is
a strange but no less true observation, that
its way is the same, whether it is found
in the wise and learned, or in the weak
and illiterate. It acknowledges no
classes or distinctions, it obeys no masters,
it lays down no rules. A look, a
sigh, a tone, a word, may bring it full-grown
into life, and give it strength to defy
the world.
Charles soon regained his self-possession,
and recovered his lost power of
speech. He lingered by the side of his
new found treasure, delighted to listen to
her voice, to watch her lovely countenance,
to study her every motion. His
whole soul was at once centred in her;
he forgot everything else in her presence;
and, now, he tells her of his ramble, and
how, by chance, his footsteps wandered
to this spot; how the little canoe, which
he now learns from her own pretty lips,
is her own, caught his eye; how he admired
it, and how he praised its beauty,
and wonders how she can guide it in the
be her companion, and to ply the delicate
little paddles in the deep stream, with her
seated at his side. Then, the story of
the beautiful little arbor is again re-hearsed
to her pleased ears, and she asks
if he did, indeed, dream that a nymph
from the stream came to him; if he did,
truly, search the little bower to find its
owner; and what he thought when he
first awoke and saw her sitting there.
And, then, she tells him, in her own simple,
beautiful way, how fearful she was
that she might awake him, and how she
started when she first found that some
one was in her arbor, and how long she
had sat by him watching for him to open
his eyes; and when, at last, he did open
them, how she trembled; and how
frightened she was.
Thus did our happy lovers, (for lovers
they were, indeed, though they, perhaps,
did not know it) delighted with each
other, the first warm sweets of love expanding
in their hearts, and each minute
growing stronger and deeper, converse
with each other. Their looks, their
words, all that they did, however trivial
in other eyes, seemed full of meaning to
them, and brought fresh pleasure to their
enchanted bosoms; and, as they sat, side
by side, in this solitary spot, they heeded
not the hours that flew so swiftly by.
The sun went down behind the western
sky, and shed a glorious beauty over the
world at his departing. They marked it
not, so much were they absorbed in each
other; and, yet, no word of love, no
vows, no promises, were on their lips, or
dwelt in their hearts. They were too
happy with each other in their present
enjoyment, to think of aught else. But
the darkening shades of night at last
aroused them to a sense of their situation,
and they awoke, as from a dream of bliss
and love. Coquese started up, exclaiming—
“Now we must go to our homes.
Night, alas! how quick it steals over the
bright sky!”
They hastily traced their way homewards.
Tenderly did Charles support
the fair girl, and joyfully and smilingly
did she look up into his face, as she
pointed out the path she now trod so
happily. It was not a long distance from
the village to this spot, but it seemed to
them far less than it really was; and,
now that they were about to separate, it
gave a pang to their loving hearts, and
showed what progress swift-footed love
had made with them in a few short hours.
A lingering farewell came from their reluctant
tongues, and so they separated.
Their tender glances followed each other
to their respective doors.
| CHAPTER XI. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure | |