 | CHAPTER XIV. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
And Charles—did no visions of joy
and happiness visit his pillow with
dreamy delight and pleasure? or did the
images of danger and trouble, which Red
Hand had evoked upon his head, fly in
sad and terrifying array before him?—
He remained late awake after retiring to
his couch. His mind was too busy, too
full; his heart too joyous, and crowded
with blissful emotions, to suffer him for
a long time to sleep. He reviewed his
day of love and delight with contented,
nay, with sweetest feelings. The image
of Coquese was before him, in all her
simple grace and surpassing loveliness.
He lived those charming hours over
again, and when his thoughts would send
their gaze far into the future, it was to
meet a captivating, enticing future of
deep and mutual love, and increasing
happiness, that should exist and crown
his lovely wife and his fortunate self.
With such thoughts, he at last fell
asleep, and the shadowy spirits and
sprightly fairies that hover o'er the
dreamer's pillow, came flocking round
him, bearing with them their rarest gifts.
Visions more bright, and scenes more
ravishing than in his waking moments,
were present to his view. These little,
but wonderous, powerful, and captivating
spirits unfolded them to him, such
only as they deign to bring to the happy
lover. So happy and blessed were his
dreams, that he was almost inclined to be
angry at the kind voice even of Le
Beaux, who, at a late hour in the morning,
came to awake him. For that same
voice that called him back to consciousness,
and broke his slumbers, frightened
and put to route the sweet companions
of his dreams. But there was no help
for it. Le Beaux would insist upon his
instantly rising and preparing himself for
the day's sport. The hunters, he said,
were already mustered, and were soon to
leave the village for the contemplated
bear hunt.
As soon as Charles recollected himself,
and was aware of the engagement
he had entered into for to-day, he at
once sprung from his bed, told Le Beaux
to get everything in readiness, and he
dressing himself, he sallied out of the
lodge. He found the chiefs, and braves,
and all the men of the tribe, with the
exception of a few too old to go on the
chase, and the two younger lads, with
their weapons in their hands, and prepared
to set out.
Wahalla, who was amongst them, as
soon as he saw him, went to him and
requested him to enter the lodge again
and partake of a breakfast, which was
ready for him. Charles took a hasty
meal, and then went to bid Coquese
good morning, and say a few words to
her before leaving. He found M. Boileau
ready to leave, and, therefore, had
time only to interchange a word or two
with his love. She was happy as her
contented, loving heart could make her.
She bade him take care of himself, and
not expose his precious life, and then,
with an affectionate look, bade him good-bye.
Charles took his rifle from Le Beaux's
hands, and, calling his hounds, he set off
with the party for the hills, where they
expected to find the game. On arriving
at the foot of the range of hills, after
forming their plan of operations, and
dividing into parties of two and three,
they separated to take different directions,
agreeing to meet at evening at this
spot, where they now parted company.
Our hero and Le Beaux, Wahalla and
Shoonshoone, formed one party; and
Charles noticed that Red Hand so arranged
it, that his braves were by themselves,
in two parties, and both took
paths very near each other, and leading
them rather round the foot of the hill,
than deeper into the forest, or further
from the village. But this did not excite
his suspicions. He thought it natural
they should prefer hunting together, and,
perhaps, they knew that the bears had
left the hills and come down to the level
lands, at their base. At any rate, he
soon forgot this circumstance, and with
eagerness and impatience began to search
the thickets for the expected victims.
After having climbed the hill about
half way, and finding no recent traces of
the bear, they halted and deliberated
upon the chance of their search. Wa
halla and Shoonshoone each proposed by
themselves to strike off a little distance
from each other, and from Charles and
Le Beaux, who were to keep together,
and so search through a wider space
until they reached the summit, where
they were to meet again. They had
been separated in this manner but a few
minutes, before the report of a gun in the
direction Shoonshoone had taken, and
the well known howl of the bear, gave
them notice that he had been successful
in coming upon one. Hastening to a
little knob, which gave them a wide
prospect in the direction of the sound,
they looked carefully through the trees
on each side of them, and great was their
horror, when they saw Shoonshoone
standing close by a thicket, his gun,
which he had just discharged, by his
side, and a huge bear with an angry
howl rushing upon him. Shoonshoone
had just time to gather himself up and
make ready, before the enraged animal
was close upon him. He had approached
the bear while sleeping, and
had not fired until within a few yards of
him. The ball had entered his head,
but seemed only to enrage him. For,
springing up, he turned at once, without
showing that he was wounded or hurt,
upon his enemy. Shoonshoone had just
time, as we said, to seize his gun, and,
raising it over his shoulder, high in the
air, he aimed a tremendous blow at the
creature's head. But the bear caught
the blow on his paw, like a well trained
fencer, with a side cuff, that the next
instant sent the gun at least ten rods
from Shoonshoone's hand, and the next
moment he had closed upon him with a
desperate bound, and was rolling over
him on the grass. His presence of
mind, however, did not desert him at this
moment of most imminent peril and
danger.
Forcing his hand to his girdle, he contrived
to loosen his hunting knife, and, in
the struggle, his arm was freed, so that he
had a chance to give the bear a deadly
thrust, that for a moment made the animal
relax his hold. In an instant he
was upon his feet, but almost in the
same instant the bear again closed upon
him. In wrestling, the bear evidently
Shoonshoone's life seemed not worth a
straw. But the second time they grappled,
before they fell, Shoonshoone had
struck, with all the might and strength
which desperation lent his arm, several
good blows at the bear, and given as
many bloody wounds; but the infuriated
creature did not flinch or waver in the
conflict. He uttered a dreadful howl
and immediately grappled more closely
his foe. Again they fell together to the
ground. And, now, the bear had a decided
advantage. Shoonshoone was beginning
to grow weak from his desperate
exertions, and from the loss of blood
which flowed from his wounds.
And, now, the bear stood uppermost,
and over the prostrate body of Shoonshoone,
making ready to tear him with
his teeth. Our hero was horror-struck
at this spectacle, and stood motionless
and almost breathless with fear for the
fate of his friend, whom he fully expected
to see die before his eyes, without being
able to assist him. But Le Beaux, who
had been watching the fight with as deep
anxiety, but more calmness, and who
had brought his rifle to his shoulder,
ready to take advantage of the first
chance of sending a bullet through the
bear's heart, had advanced a considerable
distance nearer them, all the while keeping
his rifle to his shoulder. Now was
his time. He saw it. In an instant his
rifle was leveled in deadly aim. At the
same time the sharp crack followed.—
The ball sped true to his unerring sight,
and passed directly through the lungs of
the bear, tearing, at the same time, the
upper section of his heart. With a
groan, he fell dead at the side of Shoonshoone,
who, freed from his grasp,
jumped again to his feet. He wrung the
hand of Le Beaux in gratitude, as he
came up to where he stood, but said not
a word. His arms and shoulders had
suffered much in the struggle, and were
frightfully lacerated, and bleeding.—
Charles was relieved from his torturing
suspense the instant Le Beaux fired, and
without waiting to see the result, had
rushed to Shoonshoone.
Their first care was to examine the
wounds of Shoonshoone, and apply such
remedies as were at hand, to them. Le
Beaux had considerable skill and knowledge
in dressing wounds, and in a few
moments he had washed, dressed, and
bound up the wounds of Shoonshoone,
and stopped the flowing of his blood
from them. He bore all the operation
without a murmur; yes, even without
flinching, or changing countenance, and
spoke of the encounter in a tone of pride
and exultation. He had, young as he
was, achieved a deed worthy of the
notice of his tribe, and proved himself
worthy to be ranked with the older, and
acknowledged braves and chiefs. This
thought sustained and animated him,
though the pain he suffered was awful
and agonizing.
The bear was a huge animal, of the
very largest size; and on examining him,
Le Beaux found that Shoonshoone's shot
had struck him in the side of the head,
and passed clear through his cheek.—
The wound he had inflicted with his
hunting-knife was deep and severe, and
would have eventually killed him. Both
praised his courage and presence of mind.
He drank in with delighted ears their
words, and thought them sufficient reward
for all the pain he felt. They now
urged upon him the necessity of returning
to the village. He at first refused to
do so, but when Wahalla came up and
heard the account of the fight, and saw
the wounds, he joined his words to
their's; and at last, induced him to return;
but he would on no account suffer
either of them to accompany him. He
desired them to pursue the hunt, and
promised to see them at the village when
they returned at night. Charles was
very unwilling to accede to this proposition.
He thought it exceedingly rash,
on the part of Shoonshoone, and improper
in them, to allow him to go back to
the village alone, after such a severe
struggle, and after he had been so much
weakened by his wounds, and loss of
blood, and so much exhausted by his
violent efforts. It was several miles to
the village, and they had come on foot;
to go back, Charles thought was altogether
too much for Shoonshoone, in his
present state, if not impossible. But he
refused any assistance, and would consent
remained and pursued the chase. He
affected to treat lightly his wounds, and
said he should not be backward in engaging
again in a struggle of a like kind,
if there was an occasion.
Charles saw that it was useless to urge
him farther, and so gave it up, though
reluctantly, at last.
Shoonshoone slowly wended his way
back to the village. Often was he obliged
to stop and rest, from exhaustion, and
debility; and it was not until a late hour
in the afternoon, that he reached his
lodge. When his story was told, all
those who remained at home, came to
him, and praised his daring, and congratulated
him on his success. It was the
most important deed he had ever accomplished,
and won for him a name, among
his people. His wants were all carefully,
and kindly attended to; and his
wounds were now dressed with more
care and skill, by an old warrior, who
was famous for his knowledge of diseases,
and the manner of treating wounds.
Charles and his two companions continued
their hunt for bear. Wahalla
dressed the bear that Shoonshoone had
killed, and hung the meat up by a tree
which he marked, to be taken home on
the morrow; then striking off into the
woods a short distance, commenced his
search anew. He had not been long engaged
in this manner, before he came
upon a young bear, that had concealed
itself in a little thicket that grew by a
stream, which came leaping down the
hill-side. The bear was on the watch,
and started off before he had advanced
near enough to be sure of him. He took
the direction which would lead him
directly across the path pursued by
Charles and Le Beaux. Wahalla followed
him, and fired at him; the ball
entered the lower part of the body, but
did not inflict a bad wound. It made
him utter a wild, shrill scream, that
warned Charles and Le Beaux of his approach,
and at the same time they heard
the voice of Wahalla shouting to them.
Both immediately cocked their rifles,
prepared to give him battle, as soon as
he should be discovered. They had
not long to wait; in a few moments they
saw him coming, as fast as his sluggish
gate could carry him, directly towards
them. When he was about a hundred
yards from them, Charles was anxious
to fire upon him, but Le Beaux coolly
said to him:
“Wait till he gets within thirty yards,
then take good aim, and let him have it.
I will wait until after you have fired, and
be ready, in case you fail to bring him
down.”
Charles acted as Le Beaux suggested,
and fired at the distance mentioned; the
ball struck him higher than he intended
to hit him, but it gave him a bad wound,
however, and brought him to his knees.
He instantly recovered himself, however,
and now furious from pain, made at them
with open mouth, uttering a savage
growl. Le Beaux, upon whose rifle depended
their safety, kept his eye upon
him, and waited till he had advanced to
within ten yards of them, before he fired;
the bear gave one bound in the air, and
fell dead upon the grass,—the ball passed
directly through his heart. Wahalla
soon came up; and upon examining him,
they found that each one had lodged a
ball in him. Wahalla dressed him, and
hung him up, again marking the spot.
While they sat down to rest themselves,
Charles gratified his curiosity in observing
the manner Wahalla used the hunting-knife,—the
skill and rapidity with
which he executed this part of the sportsman's
duty,—they heard far off on the
neighboring hills the shouts and cries of
the other parties, as they drove before
them the routed game; and occassionally
the sharp crack of a rifle would awaken
the echoes that lay hidden in the depths
of those solitary forests.
Soon they were on their path again.
Now the loud clamor of a successful
party would break in loud shouts of victory,
upon their ears, in joyful tones,
that cheered and excited their hearts;
and again, the faint, feeble echoes of the
wild hunter's halloo, would come borne
on the breeze, from some party far along
the wooded hill-side. But for a long
time, they met with nothing but small
game, after they had killed the bear
which Wahalla had started, and were
almost on the point of giving up the hope
when Charles proposed that they should
separate for a short time, a little distance
from each other saying that in this way
they could extend their search over a
wider range, without additional labor.—
His hounds, at an early part of the day,
had bounced a buck, and followed after
him, and had not yet come in; so
Charles started off alone, agreeing to
meet his companions, in a short time, at
a spot ahead agreed upon, and which
they were to approach in different directions.
Le Beaux was rather reluctant
to separate from him; he had a sort of
presentiment that he would need him before
long, and this feeling was so strong
within him, that it kept him near the
course taken by him. They had not
pursued this separate search long, when
Charles arrived in his path at a narrow
pass on the hill, through which he must
advance, if he would continue on in this
direction. Suddenly he perceived in
a little thicket, on one side of his path,
two small, glistening orbs, that glowed
like balls of living fire. He was too
much of a sportsman not to know at
once, that this appearance proceeded
from nothing but the watchful and savage
eyes of a wild beast. Whether it was a
bear, or panther, or wolf, he could not
decide. He hesitated a moment, to determine
what course to pursue. Those
flaming balls were evidently watching
him; and of one thing he was certain,
that retreat would be fatal,—the moment
he turned his back, the creature would be
upon him, and to keep on would not, apparently,
be less so. He saw how he
was circumstanced,—fight the beast he
must. The question now was, how
should he best encounter him? It must
be a bold, sharp shot,—a steady hand,
and a cool sight; this alone would save
him. His first step was carefully and
cautiously to raise his rifle, and examine
the lock to see that the cap was well put
on. This done, he threw the barrel of
his trusty rifle across his left arm, all the
while keeping his eye fixed upon the animal.
Noiselessly, and with great caution,
he advances his right hand along
the breech of his rifle till it rests upon
the lock; then, in the same quiet, cool
manner, he cocks it, and the fourth finger
of his right hand he places upon the trigger—now
he is ready; slowly, but
coolly, he advanced a pace or two; but
the bear,—for such it proved to be,—did
not keep him in suspense, as to his intentions.
He had not proceeded more
than five paces, when the bear, with a
deep, savage growl, dashing aside the
branches that concealed his covert, rushed
out, and at once sprung upon him.—
Charles exercised, at this terrible moment
of awful peril, the most perfect
presence of mind. He took as good aim
as the sudden attack would permit, and
fired. The ball passed through the bear's
cheek, breaking a part of his jaw, on the
right side; but apparently, the wound
had no other effect than to render him
still more furious, and raving. Oh!
what would he have given now for his
brave and trusty hounds; but they were
not with him. He had permitted them
to leave him, and with their deep notes,
so cheerful to the hunter's ear, he had
listened to them, and hallooed them on,
as they followed the flying feet of the
startled buck. And now he felt they had
but too well answered to his exciting
halloo.
Quick as lightning these thoughts and
wishes flashed through his mind. Seeing
his peril, in an instant he had seized
his rifle by the barrel, and raising it by
the side of his head, prepared to deal his
foe a tremendous blow upon his head,
with the butt of it. But bruin was too
good a boxer to be tapped in such a way.
He raised one of his fore paws, and very
skillfully threw off the blow one side.—
The next instant, Charles felt the strong
legs of the shaggy beast folded about
him, and pressing him in a closer and
closer hug. He dropped his rifle from
his hand, and struggled to draw his knife
upon him. In the struggle the bear
threw him down, and was standing over
him, or rather pressing down upon him.
One of his strong, brawny paws clenched
his left arm; each hard, protruding talon
pierced through his thick, stout, buckskin
shirt, and tore his flesh. The other paw
rested heavily upon his chest. He felt
as if every moment its sharp claws would
tear his very heart from his side. His
dizzy; still like a brave hunter, he fainted
not, nor ceased to struggle with all his
might for the victory. His right arm,
which he had contrived to extricate from
the monster's grasp, was busy for his relief.
He held his knife in that hand, and
continually dealt vigorous and severe
blows at the throat of the bear; in this
way, he prevented him from bringing
into play his bloody jaws, which he was
endeavoring to fix upon his face and
neck. The hot breath of the bear was
poured upon his face, and the hot blood
flowed in streams from the wounds he
had dealt him, down his face and upon
his chest, almost suffocating him.
Such a fearful, desperate struggle could
not possibly be of long continuance; one
or both must soon yield. The burning
eye-balls of the furious bear were glaring
nearer and nearer his cheek; hotter and
hotter glowed his breath upon his face;
but still, so long as Charles wielded the
bloody knife he held in his hand, the
cowardly beast held back, as if conscious
of the superior bravery, though inferior
strength of the man whom he pressed
beneath him.
Charles' power at last relaxed; nature
had done her utmost in his behalf,
she was at last exhausted. He had exerted
every limb, every muscle to the
utmost; every nerve was stretched, but it
was all in vain. The gloom of despair
was on the point of overwhelming him,
his very soul, and death was about to
claim and seize his victim, when the
clear deep bay of his faithful blood-hounds
broke upon his ear, and revived
his sinking heart, and brought back consciousness.
Never was there to him so
joyous a sound before. The next moment
the branches crashed and yielded
beneath a heavy, hasty bound; and his
two blood-hounds, with an overpowering
leap, bounded together upon the merciless
and well nigh victorious foe. The
shock hurled the weakened, but still
obstinate bear, from off our hero's prostrate
form; and Charles leaping to his
feet, felt that he was saved from a most
cruel death, saved at the last moment.
Had his brave dogs delayed their coming
a moment longer, they might have, would
avenged their kind and loved master's
death; but they, too, would have howled
their wailing grief, and bemoaned in sorrow
more true, and deep, than many a
human, rational being, above his lifeless
and mangled form. But this was not
now the case; they came on swift feet,
and came just in the nick of time.
The reader will easily conjecture the
explanation of this sudden appearance,
and truly providential, nay, almost maraculous
rescue of Charles, from the very
jaws of death, by the blood-hounds.
They had run down the buck they
started in the morning, and killed him;
they returned to seek their master.—
They fell in with M. Boileau's party, as
they returned, who endeavored to keep
them with themselves; but it was in vain
they coaxed and tempted them,—all
would not do. They took a hasty look
through the party, and seemed to ask for
their master; then, as if haste was required
of them,—as if they had an instinctive
knowledge of the peril he was
about to encounter, and that this assistance
would be necessary for his safety;
off they sprung, and never tired or slackened
their speed, until their unerring
instinct brought them to his side, just in
time to save his life, as we have said
above.
And where was Le Beaux, all this
time? you will be ready to ask, I fancy.
He had not been out of sight of our hero,
five minutes, when he was startled by
the report of his rifle. Hastening as fast
as possible in the direction of the sound,
he arrived at a spot where he could see
what was taking place, just as the bear
made the first leap upon him. What
his feelings were, when this sight met
his eyes, we will not attempt to describe.
We feel we could not do them justice if
we should try. He had become more
and more attached to Charles, from the
first, and felt for him as strong, as deep
love, as if he had been his own son.—
He thought it was all over with him; he
was not prepared for such calm coolness,
and determinate resolution, on the part of
Charles. He, however, set himself to
work at once, with great earnestness,
and presence of mind, to render him all
possible assistance. He hastened to him
chance, but so manfully did Charles
struggle, and so constantly was he in motion,
that he did not dare to fire, for fear
of hitting him at the same time he might
wound the bear. Great, as may be conceived,
was his joy when the bay of the
hounds told him that a safer, surer succor
was at hand; and fervently did he
pray in his heart, that Charles' strength
might hold out a little longer, until it
reached him.
His joy was unbounded as he came
up a little after the arrival of the hounds,
and found Charles safe. He washed
the blood from his face, examined his
arm, and bound it carefully up. Charles
had suffered but little, otherwise than
from being considerably bruised. The
only wounds he received were on his
left arm, and these were not deep or dangerous.
They were mere nothing, compared
with those Shoonshoone had received.
The reason he had not suffered
more from the claws of the bear was
this: Le Beaux had advised him in the
morning to put on a thick, stout deer-skin
hunting shirt. He had done so,
and this, in a great measure, had protected
him.
Wahalla had heard his rifle, and hastened
to his assistance. He had come
in season to witness the closing part of
the struggle, and the brave rescue by the
dogs. He seemed to look upon them
with the most profound veneration and
wonder, not unmixed with admiration, at
their dauntless courage and generous
interference for their master's safety.
Le Beaux, after everything was attended
to, proposed to return to the place
of meeting, and be ready to go home, as
soon as the other partner should come
in. This, his companions readily assented
to. They were quite satisfied
with the results of their hunt, and willing
to cease. They were rejoiced at the
escapes they had from the imminent perils
and dangers they had encountered,
and satisfied with the game they had
won. Moreover, it was now almost
sun-set.
They slowly retraced their steps, and
in little more than an hour came to the
spot agreed upon in the morning as their
rendezvous after the hunt was over.—
Several bands were already there when
our little party came in. All had met
with good success, though the first
adventure of the day, and most daring
personal encounter, were allowed without
hesitation to belong to Shoonshoone.
He was inquired after, and when his
exploit was related to the others by Wahalla,
in his lively, eloquent manner, a
murmur of approbation and praise was
expressed by all.
To Charles, however, they were full
of praises of his courage and skill; and
the story of the hounds, which Wahalla
told in a manner highly favorable to
those four-footed sportsmen, seemed to
excite little less wonder than the sight
had done on him. It was late in the
evening when the last band of the Delawares
came in, and yet nothing was seen
or heard of Red Hand or his people.—
They waited some time for them, but in
vain.
Some suspicions began to take possession
of the minds of the Delawares
with regard to the conduct and intentions
of the missing bands. As we have
before said, they had entertained or
rather endured their presence among
them more on the grounds of policy, and
a desire to avoid offending them, which
they certainly knew would bring on a
war with the powerful and warlike
nation, of which Red Hand was the
principal chief. They treated them
kindly, but there was no mutual friendship
or regard in their hearts. They
even distrusted them, and believed that
some hidden, secret, and hostile purpose
was concealed at the bottom of their professedly
friendly visit.
Charles revolved in his mind all the
facts and circumstances which had come
under his observation, while among them,
relating to Red Hand. And, now, the
observations which he had made in the
morning, and the scene of their camp, on
the day before, so different from the
appearance of the Indian camp on the
eve of a hunt, where two rival tribes are
to try their skill and daring, all came
with startling distinctness and vividness
before his mind, and connected themselves
at once with the scene at the little
prominent a part, and where Red Hand
had so suddenly declared his passion for
her, and, mortified and enraged at her
refusal and frank avowal, that she was
already another's, had displayed his as
sudden hate, and muttered the threats
against him, which he had disregarded
and quite forgotten, but which had caused
Coquese so much uneasiness and alarm
for his safety. And he at once concluded
that Red Hand's absence at this time
was another step in his hostile plans
towards Coquese and himself. He
feared the worst from him. He believed
he had seized this occasion of the
absence of the warriors of the tribe, who
could protect the village, to accomplish
his purposes towards her by force. He
knew that his hated enemy would have
no scruples as to the measures he would
use, and, as he reflected upon this, a
shudder jarred over his frame. He
trembled at what his fears brought up
before him. His cheek grew pale, and a
feeling of blight and sickened hopes of
despair came over him. But it was for
an instant only. He quickly rallied
himself, and bent his thoughts at once
upon the framing of measures, which
should defeat his enemy, if his suspicions
should prove true.
His first thought was to communicate
his views to Le Beaux and M. Boileau,
privately, and consult with them on the
course best to pursue. And no sooner
had he conceived this thought than he
immediately put it into effect. And,
drawing them one side, that he might
not be disturbed or overheard by the rest
of the party, he, in an earnest but distinct
manner, told them his thoughts and
his fears, omitting no circumstance which
might serve both to enlighten them and
impress upon them more fully his belief.
He related the scene between Coquese
and Red Hand, and himself, at her little
bower. At the relation of this a cloud of
anxiety and trouble darkened the countenances
of both his companions, and
they instantaneously adopted the view
which Charles had taken of the case.—
Charles could not forbear, at this time,
from confiding to M. Boileau and his
friend, the guide, the story of his love for
Coquese, and the return she gave him,
and soliciting, in any plans they might
adopt, or in any emergency that might
arise, that his aid and personal exertion
might be given a first place. He eagerly
declared that he would, if necessary, lay
down his life for her.
Le Beaux's face was illumined with a
gleam of satisfaction at Charles' avowal
of his love and his determination to sacrifice
everything for her. He grasped
his hand and pressed it warmly, declaring
he would stand by him in every
trouble.
M. Boileau received his avowal with
surprise, and with mingled pleasure and
regret. He thanked him for the honor
he proposed his family, and expressed
in a calm tone, the hope that they would
find things better than their fears led
them to anticipate. He kindly said to
Charles that on some future occasion
they would speak fully on what he said,
but now they must turn their immediate
attention to the danger they feared.—
Then, going to his band, he briefly
related what Charles had said, suppressing
what concerned our hero and Coquese
personally, but giving them a full
account of Red Hand's demand upon his
daughter for her hand.
They listened in silence, but the kindling
of their dark eyes, the compressed
expression of their faces, and knitting of
their stern brows, as he spoke his fears
that their guests had taken advantage of
their absence to accomplish their purposes,
showed their readiness and determination
to avenge any wrongs that had
been inflicted.
Without further deliberation, the Delawares
immediately set out on their
return to the village; they were distant
some four miles, and they set out at a
rapid pace. Their fears lent them speed,
and in less than three-quarters of an
hour from the time they started from their
rendezvous, they arrived at the village.
Charles forgot his wounds, in the deep
anxiety he felt for Coquese's safety, and
her uncertain fate, and kept in the front
rank. When they reached home, they
found everything apparently quiet, and
as they had left it. The squaws were
standing at the doors of their several
to welcome them. The sight at once
dispelled their fears, and they concluded
that they had wronged their guests by
their suspicions. A load of anxious
thoughts was lifted from their burdened
and troubled hearts, and they could hardly
restrain the joyful disappointment they
experienced, from manifesting itself in
some exulting, outward show. But as
they looked upon the face of their wise
chief, M. Boileau, and saw that it still
wore that anxious expression which had
clouded it, when he addressed them at
the rendezvous, and saw the same stamp
of fear on their two white friends' countenances,
their rising joy was checked.
They all, as if by a secret and unanimous
agreement, remained without their lodges,
awaiting the movements of M. Boileau.
Charles, with him hastened to the lodge
of M. Boileau, and with trembling, eager
haste, greeted Leila, his wife, who stood
at the door, and smiled upon him as he
approached, not noticing the anxiety and
impatience which his face wore. Her
husband saluted her with his accustomed
tenderness, and quiet manner. As he
approached, he had noticed her undisturbed,
fond, affectionate looks, in which
there was expressed nothing but sweet
contentment, and full happiness. This
led him to believe that their fears were
groundless, which he had felt on account
of his daughter, and swept away the
clouds from his thoughtful brow, ere he
reached her. She scanned him with the
watchful eye of affection, and saw at a
glance, that he was safe and unhurt; but
as she turned to Charles to observe him,
with the same purpose, she noticed what
had at first escaped her attention,—that
his arm rested in a sling, and his clothes
were torn and bloody. She started, and
turned pale, and in a breath asked him if
he was hurt badly; for she had already
formed a strong attachment for him, and
had observed the feelings Coquese could
not hide from her mother's eye, which
she had for him. It had pleased her, and
in her heart she hoped that some day
she might become the happy bride of our
hero, whose gentle manners, kind, and
generous disposition she had observed,
and whose praises Le Beaux had enter
tained her with, since his arrival among
them. 'Tis no wonder, then, that seeing
these signs which she could not mistake,
of his hurt, she should exhibit such feeling
and sympathy for him; nay, it needed
not such an interest in him to awaken
these kind and pitying feelings, in her
tender heart. She was accustomed to
render acts of kindness and sympathy to
all who were in suffering, that came
within her observation, or whom she
might find in her rounds through the
village, which she frequently made on
errands of mercy and benevolence.
Charles answered her quickly, that he
was not hurt,—he had received a few
scratches, which did his clothes more
damage than his flesh; it was a trifle,
not worth a thought; “but,” said he,
almost in the same breath, “I do not see
Coquese here,—is she at home?”
He spoke in a trembling, tender tone,
as he asked this question, and his face,
always so ready to mirror the feelings
that stirred his heart, showed the deep
interest he felt in the expected answer;
for so strong was the feeling, the presentiment
of some evil about to fall upon him,
and that through his loved and betrothed
Coquese, that all he saw in the village,
the contented and happy face of his darling's
mother,—all that would, under ordinary
circumstances, have dispelled his
fears, and quieted his anxious heart, could
not now banish the fearful, dreaded forebodings
that harrowed his whole soul,
and filled him with agitation, and painful
suspicion. He would not, could not be
satisfied of her safety, till he again saw
her dear face, and folded her to his loving
heart.
Leila could but be struck by his earnest,
anxious manner, and the deep sadness
of his expression, but not knowing, or
being able to conjecture the reason for
them, she was perplexed and puzzled
how to answer him; and a minute or
two of torturing suspense to our hero,
was suffered to pass, before she recovered
from the surprise and confusion his manner
had thrown her into. She, at the
expiration of this time, answered him,
looking at the same time, inquiringly
into his face, that she was not at home
but had gone out to take a walk by her
with her.
Charles waited to hear no more, but
without a word, or even a look of parting,
darted away in the direction of the
little bower. He ran at the top of his
speed, till he was hidden by the forest
trees from their sight.
We must now leave him for awhile,
to pursue his search at the bower for
Coquese, and turn to the Delawares, who
remained standing in a body, awaiting the
result of M. Boileau's interview with his
wife. They had all, on second thought,
believed that their first impression that
all was right at the village, was a little
too hasty, and might yet be false. As
they recalled the words of M. Boileau to
them, when he spoke his fears, and remembered
that it was the Flower of the
Valley that Red Hand aimed at, and was
come among them to carry off, and though
it was the common method pursued by
hostile tribes to inflict as much injury as
possible upon each other on every occasion
that offered, yet they conjectured
that Red Hand, whose cunning and
shrewdness they well knew, might have
reasons for leaving the rest of the tribe
unmolested, while he was contented to
gain alone the chief object that led him to
their camp. They thought, therefore,
that it was yet possible that Coquese
might have been carried off by him, by
some devilish art he had practised upon
her credulity, and by which he had either
lulled the suspicions, or avoided exciting
the attention of those at home, to
himself and his people. They had observed
with the closest attention, what
had transpired at the door of M. Boileau's
lodge, and their fears were awakened
anew as they saw Charles set off alone
at such headlong speed, and bend his
way to the forest. Wahalla, who had
become very strongly bound to Charles,
could not, or did not resist the feeling
which moved him to follow his footsteps.
He had seen the daring, and almost reckless
bravery which he displayed in his
encounter with the bear, in the morning,
and he believed that should any danger
offer him now in his search for Coquese,
as he hastily concluded his errand to be,
he would rush on heedless of all odds.
He therefore resolved to follow him, and
if danger was in his path, to stand by
him to the death.
Such was his noble, generous nature;
and had he known that he followed to
certain destruction, he would not have
faltered or hesitated for a moment. He
had guessed at the relation which Charles
bore to Coquese, and with a refined and
touching delicacy, he avoided coming up
with him, or annoying him with his
presence, should he meet with Coquese.
He kept sufficiently near him to be ready
to assist him at the first sign of danger;
but at the same time, far enough behind
to conceal himself from his view. In
this way he followed him to the bower.
Leila had looked with silent surprise
and wonder after Charles, as he so abruptly
and strangely left her, and ran as
if he were mad,—like a hound to the
woods. She gazed after him as long as
he was in sight, and then turning to her
husband with a bewildered, inquiring
look, she sought to read an explanation
of his conduct in his face.
He appeared little less surprised than
herself at the moment, but his wife's
appealing look recalled him to the circumstances
around him, and interpreting
at once her look, he hastily, but distinctly,
narrated to her the fears and suspicions
which Charles had first suggested
on noticing that Red Hand and his party
had not returned; and then detailed the
facts Charles had recounted to him and
Le Beaux concerning Red Hand's passion
and declaration to Coquese, and
finished by telling her of Charles attachment
and secret engagement to their
daughter. This latter information at
any other time would have inspired
Leila with hope and joy, and been the
crowning of her fondest wishes, with
regard to her daughter's future prospects;
but now, coupled as it was with dark
and sad fears—it made her shudder
for the fate of her beloved child, and
awakened the same forebodings that had
darkened and grieved the soul of our
hero, and which served to explain his
conduct to her better than words could
do. So sudden, so unexpected to her,
was this information, that it overcame
her. She grew deadly pale; her brain
M. Boileau caught her in his arms. He
spoke in cheering tones of hope to her,
and endeavored to soothe her excited
fears. He had been deceived by her
manner, and supposed that Coquese was
at home, or that she was satisfied that at
least she was safe, and this had led him
to speak out his fears more plainly and
suddenly to her than he otherwise would
have done. But so tender and loving
was her heart, so watchful of the welfare
of her family, that although she had
thought, and had reason to believe, that
Coquese had simply gone out to take her
accustomed walk, and would soon return
again, yet on the first mention of the
fears which her husband and Charles
entertained for her, her mind was filled
with images of suffering and misery,
which her dear Coquese might at that
moment be enduring. All confidence in
her own reflections were gone in a
moment.
Oh, how bitter, how sad the thoughts
of a fond, loving, devoted heart, when it
feels that its cherished darling is torn
away from its warm embrace by cruel
hands, and plunged in misery and grief.
And a mother's love! Who can fathom
it, or take its measure, or say how great,
how infinite, how holy, how lovely it is?
It is boundless and deep as the ocean.—
It is immortal and eternal. Nothing can
quench it, or take it from her heart.—
Through all the changes of life, in poverty,
in wretchedness, in deepest woe, in
vice, and dark sin, in the lowest, most
degraded stations in life, will it seek its
offspring, and, like a holy, bright angel,
cover and protect them. Tender and
watchful, it is quick to feel the pangs of
alarm, and grieve at the rising fears and
doubts its own holy anxiety awakens.—
Ah, it is the loveliest, purest thing on
earth; the only heavenly, native grace
that was left our race when they were
driven from the golden gates of happy
paradise.
And in Leila's heart lived in all its
strength and purity such love. Wonder
not then, and call them not idle fears,
which so overpowered her, and crushed
for the moment her senses. She made a
violent effort to be composed, and such
was the force of her strong will, which
had been expanded and strengthened by
her peculiar education, that she did calm
herself, and spoke to her husband in a
quiet, even tone.
But now he, too, felt as if his life were
gone. The fear of his wife had in a
moment changed all, and he saw at once
that Charles was right; that there was
no reason yet to dismiss fear. Red
Hand would in his cunning have done
this secretly, if he did it at all, that he
might get a sufficient start to baffle his
pursuers. He saw it all in an instant.—
Both kept silent, awaiting with breathless
interest the return of Charles. They
strained their eyes in the direction where
they supposed he would appear, as if
they by so doing could pierce through
the thick overshadowing foliage, that
formed an impenetrable hiding place the
eye could not reach. They had but a
few minutes to wait, however, though it
seemed like so many hours to their
brooding minds, racked with torturing
suspense.
Leila uttered a wild, heart-rending
scream as she saw him emerge from the
woods alone. Her fears, her worst
fears returned again. Her cheek lost its
color. Her heart almost ceased to beat.
It beat but slowly, feebly sending back
the blood that hurried to it. In fright
he approached. They saw he held in
his hand a piece of the silk scarf she had
worn when she left the lodge, which had
been a gift from himself but a few days
before. It was torn, as if by violent
hands, near the centre, and he had found
it on the ground, at the entrance of her
little arbor. There were other marks
he said, around the spot, which too
clearly, too surely, showed that his dear
Coquese had been torn from her home
by the cruel, bloody Red Hand.
He spoke in a voice choked with feeling
and wretchedness, and his agony of
feeling, which was so startlingly portrayed
in his face, and which would burst
forth in his heart-rending words and deep
sighs, so deeply moved the pity of Leila
that, for a moment, she forgot herself in
the endeavor to comfort him. So utterly
crushed and blighted were his cherished
fairest hopes, that no tongue can speak
dear girl. Such a fate, so cruel, so
utterly and completely miserable and
wretched must it make her. And then
she must live on to die by inches, till
her crushed and bleeding heart should
cease to move, and lay cold in death; a
death welcome to her in the spring-time
of life, as the only means of delivering
her from a greater woe. Such were the
thoughts that burnt in Charles' soul, and
in broken and agonized sentences found
vent in his words, that seemed to tear
and rend his heart with their utterance.
But his violent grief was not long permitted
to hold sway over him in this
terrible manner. Le Beaux had, during
his absence, joined M. Boileau and his
wife, and by his calmness and kind
words had done much towards calming
her fears and restoring her to herself.—
And now, she and those about her could
not look upon Charles, and see the grief
that crushed and weighed him down, or
that tortured him to agony, without feeling
that his great sorrow was more than
all their own, however much they suffered,
and deserved their sympathy.—
And for this end Le Beaux now advanced
and sat down by his side. He had to
turn away and brush the tears from eyes
that were not apt to weep, so profound,
so touching was his young and adored
friend's sorrow. But he whispered to
him now that there was hope, that there
was vengeance to be taken on the cruel
foe, due to Coquese and to himself; that
they might yet overtake him and rescue
her from his fiendish grasp.
Charles did not at first appear to
understand him, but Le Beaux repeated
it again. As he did so, Charles looked
him full in the face, and catching his
meaning, his eye kindled into a blaze,
his face changed to one complete, absorbing
expression of determined resolution
and earnestness, and springing to his fect,
he exclaimed in a resolute tone, “You
are right, Le Beaux. It is idle to sit
here and indulge our grief. We can, we
must, I feel we shall yet overtake the
villain.” And his face glowing, his arm
raised on high, he bound himself by an
oath to follow him so long as they lived,
or until he should rescue his betrothed,
or if dead slay her destroyer. Quick!
quick! let us mount our horses and pursue
them.”
“Calm yourself,” said Le Beaux,
“and let all the chiefs deliberate what
measures to pursue, and then we will
lose no time in carrying them into action.
See you that the warriors are yet drawn
up in the village ready to do battle for
Coquese, whom they all love.”
M. Boileau spoke to his wife a few
soothing words and led her into the
lodge. He told her he would soon
return to her; he must now go to the
council: and, so saying, he hurried out to
where the Delawares stood.
| CHAPTER XIV. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure | |