University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

The twilight was darkening in the west, when
the three adventurers, stealing through tangled
thickets, and along lonely ridges, carefully avoiding
all frequented paths, looked out at last, from a
distant hill, upon the valley in which lay the village
of the Black-Vulture. The ruddy light of
evening, bursting from clouds of crimson and purple,
and shooting down through gaps of the hills in
cascades of fire, fell brightly and sweetly on the
little prairies, or natural meadow-lands; which,
dotted over with clumps of trees, and, watered by
a fairy river, a tributary, of the rapid Miami,
winding along from side to side, now hiding beneath
the shadow of the hills, now glancing into
light, gave an air of tender beauty to the scene
better befitting, as it might have seemed, the retreat
of the innocent and peaceful sons of Oberon
than the wild and warlike children of the wilderness.
Looking further up the vale, the eye fell
upon patches of ripening maize, waving along the
river; and beyond these, just where the valley
winded away behind the hills, at the distance of a
mile or more, thin wreaths of smoke creeping from
roofs of bark and skins, indicated the presence of
the Indian village.

Thus arrived at the goal and haven of their
hopes, the theatre in which was to be acted the
last scene in the drama of their enterprise, the
travellers surveyed it for awhile from their concealment,
in deep silence, each speculating in his

own mind upon the exploits still to be achieved,
the perils yet to be encountered, ere success should
crown their exertions, already so arduous and so
daring. Then creeping back again into a deep
hollow convenient for their purpose, they held their
last consultation, and made their final preparations
for entering the village. This Nathan at first proposed
to do entirely alone, to spy out the condition
of the village, and to discover, if possible, in what
quarter the marauders had bestowed the unhappy
Edith; and this being a duty requiring the utmost
secrecy and circumspection, he insisted it could
not be safely committed to more than one person.

“In that case,” said valiant Ralph, “I'm your
gentleman! Do you think, old father Bloody (and,
'tarnal death to me, I do think you're 'ginnin' to
be a peeler of the rale ring-tail specie,'—I do, old
Rusty, and thar's my fo'-paw on it: you've got to
be a man at last, a feller for close locks and fighting
Injuns that's quite cur'ous to think on, and I'll
lick any man that says a word agin you, I will,
'tarnal death to me:) But I say, do you think I'm
come so far atter madam, to gin up the holping
her out of bondage to any mortal two-legg'd crittur
whatsomever? I'm the person what knows this
h'yar town better nor ar another feller in all Kentucky;
and that I stick on,—for, cuss me, I've stole
hosses in it!”

“Truly,” said Nathan, after reflecting awhile,
“thee might make theeself of service to the maid,
even in thee own way; but, verily, thee is an unlucky
man, and thee brings bad luck wheresoever
thee goes; and so I'm afeard of thee.”

“Afeard of your nose!” said Ralph, with great
indignation; “ar'n't I jist been slicked out of the
paws of five mortal abbregynes that had me in the
tugs? and ar'n't that luck enough for any feller?

I tell you what, Bloody Nathan, me and you will
snuff the track together: you shall hunt up anngelliferous
madam, and gin her my compliments;
and while you're about it, I'll steal her a hoss to
ride off on!”

“Truly,” said Nathan, complacently, “I was
thinking of that; for, they says, thee is good in a
horse-pound; and it needs the poor maid should
have something better to depend on, in flight, than
her own poor innocent legs. And so, friend, if thee
thinks in thee conscience thee can help her to a
strong animal, without fear of discovery, I don't
care if thee goes with me: and, truly, if thee could
steal two or three more of the creatures for our
own riding, it might greatly advantage the maid.”

“Thar you talk like a feller of gumption,” said
Ralph: “only show me the sight of a bit of skinrope
for halters, and you'll see a sample of hoss-stealing
to make your ha'r stand on eend!”

“Of a truth,” said Nathan, “thee shan't want
for halters, if leather can make them. There is
that on my back which will make thee a dozen;
and, truly, as it needs I should now put me on
attire more suitable to an Injun village, it is a satisfaction
thee can put the old garment to such good
use.”

With these words, Nathan stripped off his coat
of skins, so aged and so venerable, and gave it to
the captain of horse-thieves; who, vastly delighted
with the prize, instantly commenced cutting it into
strips, which he twisted together, and fashioned
into rude halters; while Nathan supplied its place
by the loose calico shirt he had selected from
among the spoils of the Indian party, throwing
over it, mantle-wise, the broad Indian blanket.
His head he bound round with the gawdy shawl
which he had also taken from the brows of a dead

foeman; and he hung about his person various
pouches and ornamented belts, provided for the
purpose. Then, daubing over his face, arms and
breast with streaks of red, black, and green paint,
that seemed designed to represent snakes, lizards,
and other reptiles; he was, on a sudden, converted
into a highly respectable-looking savage, as grim
and awe-inspiring as these barbaric ornaments and
his attire, added to his lofty stature, could make
him. Indeed, the metamorphosis was so complete,
that Captain Ralph, as he swore, could scarce look
at him without longing, as this worthy personage
expressed it, `to be at his top-knot.'

In the meanwhile, Forrester had not deferred
with patience to an arrangement which threatened
to leave him, the most interested of all, in inglorious
inactivity, while his companions were labouring
in the cause of his Edith. He remonstrated,
and insisted upon accompanying them to the village,
to share with them all the dangers of the
enterprise.

“If there was danger to none but ourselves,
truly, thee should go with us and welcome,” said
Nathan; representing justly enough, the little service
that Roland, destitute of the requisite knowledge
and skill, could be expected to render, and
the dangers he must necessarily bring upon the
others, in case of any, the most ordinary, difficulties
arising in their progress through the village.
Every thing must now depend upon address, upon
cunning and presence of mind; the least indiscretion
(and how many might not the soldier, his
feelings wound up to a pitch of the intensest excitement,
commit,) must of a necessity terminate in
the instant destruction of all. In short, Roland
was convinced, though sorely against his will,
that wisdom and affection both called on him to

play the part Nathan assigned him; and he submitted
to be ruled accordingly,—with the understanding,
however, that the rendezvous, in which
he was to await the operations of the others,
should be upon the very borders of the village,
whence he might, in any pressing emergency, in
case of positive danger and conflict, be immediately
called to their assistance.

When the twilight had darkened away, and the
little river, rippling along on its course, sparkled
only in the light of the stars, the three friends
crept from their retreat, and descended boldly into
the valley; where, guided by the barking of dogs,
the occasional yells of a drunken or gamesome
savage, and now and then the red glare of a fire
flashing from the open crannies of a cabin, they
found little difficulty in approaching the Indian
village. It was situated on the further bank of
the stream, and, as described, just behind the bend
of the vale, at the bottom of a rugged, but not
lofty hill; which, jutting almost into the river, left
yet space enough for the forty or fifty lodges composing
the village, sheltering them in winter from
the bitter blasts that rush, at that season, from the
northern lakes. Beyond the river, on the side towards
the travellers, the vale was broader; and
it was there the Indians had chiefly planted their
corn-fields,—fields enriched by the labour, perhaps
also by the tears, of their oppressed and degraded
women.

Arriving at the borders of the cultivated
grounds, the three adventurers crossed the river,
which was neither broad nor deep, and stealing
among logs and stumps at the foot of the hill,
where some industrious savage had in former
years begun to clear a field, which, however, his
wives had never planted, they lay down in concealment,

waiting until the subsiding of the unusual
bustle in the village, a consequence manifestly
of the excesses which Nathan predicted the victors
would indulge in, should render their further
advance practicable. But this was not the work
of a moment. The savage can drink and dance
through the night with as lusty a zeal as his white
neighbour; the song, the jest, the merry tale,
are as dear to his imagination; and in the retirement
of his own village, feeling no longer the restraint
of solid gravity,—assumed in the haunts
of the white-man, less to play the part of a hero
than to cover the nakedness of his own inferiority,—he
can give himself up to wild indulgence,
the sport of whim and frolic; and, when the fire-water
is the soul of the feast, the feast only ends
with the last drop of liquor.

It could be scarcely doubted that the Indians of
the village were, this night, paying their devotions
to the Manito of the rum-keg, and drinking folly
and fury together from the enchanted draught,
which one of the bravest of the race—its adorer
and victim, like Logan the heroic, and Red-Jacket
the renowned,—declared could only have been
distilled `from the hearts of wild-cats and the
tongues of women,—it made him so fierce and
so foolish;' nor could it, on the other hand, be
questioned that many a sad and gloomy reminiscence,
the recollection of wrong, of defeat, of
disaster, of the loss of friends and of country,
was mingled in the joy of the debauch. From their
lurking-place near the village, the three friends
could hear many a wild whoop, now fierce and
startling, now plaintive and mourning,—the one,
as Nathan and Ralph said, the halloo for revenge,
the other the whoop of lamentation,—at intervals
chiming strangely in with unmeaning shrieks and

roaring laughter, the squeaking of women and the
gibbering of children, with the barking of curs,
the utterance of obstreperous enjoyment, in which
the whole village, brute and human, seemed
equally to share. For a time, indeed, one might
have deemed the little hamlet an outer burgh of
Pandemonium itself; and the captain of horse-thieves
swore, that, having long been of opinion
“the red abbregynes war the rale children of Sattan,
and niggurs only the grand-boys, he should
now hold the matter to be as settled as if booked
down in an almanac,—he would, 'tarnal death to
him.”

But if the festive spirit of the barbarians might
have lasted for ever, there was, it appeared, no
such exhaustless quality in their liquor; and, that
failing at last, the uproar began gradually to decrease;
although it was not until within an hour
of midnight that Bloody Nathan declared the moment
had arrived for entering the village.

He then rose from his lair, and repeating his
injunctions to Roland to remain where he was,
until the issue of his own visit should be known,
added a word of parting counsel, which, to Roland's
imagination, bore somewhat an ominous
character. “The thing that is to come,” he said,
“neither thee nor me knows any thing about; for,
truly, an Injun village is a war-trap, which one
may sometimes creep into easy enough; but,
truly, the getting out again is another matter.
And so, friend, if it should be my luck, and friend
Ralph's, to be killed or captivated, so that we cannot
return to thee again, do thee move by the first
blink of day, and do thee best to save thee own
life: and, truly, I have some hope thee may succeed;
seeing that, if I should fall, little Peter,

(which I will leave with thee, for truly he would
but encumber me among the dogs of the village,
having better skill to avoid murdering Injuns than
the creatures of his own kind,) will make thee his
master,—as verily, he can no longer serve a dead
one,—and show thee the way back again from the
wilderness. Truly, friend, he hath an affection
for thee, for thee had used him well; which he
can say of no other persons, save only thee and
me excepted.”

With that, having laid aside his gun, which as
he represented, could be, in such an undertaking,
of no service, and directed Stackpole to do the
same, he shook Roland by the hand, and, waiting
an instant till Ralph had followed his example,
and added his farewell in the brief phrase,—
“Sodger, I'm atter my mistress; and, for all
Bloody Nathan's small-talk about massacree and
captivation, we'll fetch her, with a most beautiful
lot of hosses; so thar's no fawwell about it,”—
turned to little Peter, whom he addressed quite as
gravely as he had done the Virginian. “Now,
little dog Peter,” said he, “I leave thee to take
care of theeself and the young man that is with
thee; and do thee be good, and faithful, and obedient,
as thee always has been, and have a good
care thee keeps out of mischief.”

With these words, which Peter doubtless perfectly
understood, for he squatted himself down
upon the ground, without any attempt to follow
his master, Nathan departed, with Roaring Ralph
at his side, leaving Roland to mutter his anxieties
and fears, his doubts and impatience, into the ears
of the least presuming of counsellors.