 | CHAPTER VI. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
The last and worst humiliation was yet to come—that which
put me for a long season out of humour with all human and woman
nature. Conscious of an unusual degree of bustle without, I
was suddenly startled by sounds of a voice that had been once
pleasingly familiar. It was that of a female, a clear, soft, transparent
sound, which, till this moment, had never been associated
in my thoughts with any thing but the most perfect of all mortal
melodies. It was now jangled harsh, like “sweet bells out of
tune.” The voice was that of Emmeline. “Good heavens!” I
exclaimed to myself—`can she be here?” In another instant, I
heard that of Susannah—the meek Susannah,—she too was among
the curious to examine the features of the bedlamite, Archy Dargan.”
“Dear me,” said Emmeline, “is he in that place?”
“What a horrid place!” said Susannah.
“It's the very place for such a horrid creature,” responded
Emmeline.
“Can't he get out, papa?” said Susannah. “Isn't a mad person
very strong?”
“Oh! don't frighten a body, Susannah, before we have had a
peep,” cried Emmeline; “I declare I'm afraid to look—do, Col.
Nelson, peep first and see if there's no danger.”
And there was the confounded Col. Nelson addressing his eyes
to my person, and assuring his fair companions, my Emmeline,
my Susannah, that there was no sort of danger,—that I was evidently
in one of my fits of apathy.
“The paroxysm is off for the moment, ladies,—and even if he
were violent, it is impossible that he should break through the
pen. He seems quite harmless—you may look with safety.”
“Yes, he's mighty quiet now, Miss,”—said one of my keepers
encouragingly, “but it's all owing to a close sight of my whip.
He was a-guine to be obstroplous more than once, when I shook
the roaring fit is coming on—for he breaks out in such a dreadful
sort of laughing.”
“Ha! Ha!—he laughs does he—Ha! Ha!” such was the
somewhat wild interruption offered by Col. Nelson himself. If my
laugh produced such an effect upon my keeper, his had a very disquieting
effect upon me. But, the instinctive conviction that
Emmeline and Susannah were now gazing upon me, prompted
me with a sort of fascination, to lift my head and look for them.
I saw their eyes quite distinctly. Bright treacheries! I could
distinguish between them—and there were those of Col. Nelson
beside them—the three persons evidently in close propinquity.
“What a dreadful looking creature!” said Susannah.
“Dreadful!” said Emmeline, “I see nothing so dreadful in
him. He seems tame enough. I'm sure, if that's a madman, I
don't see why people should be afraid of them.”
“Poor man, how bloody he is!” said Susannah.
“We had to tap him, Miss, a leetle upon the head, to bring him
quiet. He's tame and innocent now, but you should see him
when he's going to break out. Only just hear him when he
laughs.”
I could not resist the temptation. The last remark of my keeper
fell on my ears like a suggestion, and suddenly shooting up my
head, and glaring fiercely at the spectators, I gave them a yell of
laughter as terrible as I could possibly make it.
“Ah!” was the shriek of Susannah, as she dashed back from
the logs. Before the sounds had well ceased, they were echoed
from without, and in more fearful and natural style from the practised
lungs of Col. Nelson. His yells following mine, were
enough to startle even me.
“What!” he cried, thrusting his fingers through the crevice,
“you would come out, would you,—you would try your strength
with mine. Let him out,—let him out! I am ready for him,
breast to breast, man against man, tooth and nail, forever and forever.
You can laugh too, but—Ha! Ha! Ha!—what do you say
to that? Shut up, shut up, and be ashamed of yourself. Ha!
Ha! Ha!”
There was a sensation without. I could see that Emmeline
into an attitude, had grappled the logs of my dungeon, and
exhibited a degree of strange emotion, which, to say the least,
took every body by surprise. My chief custodian was the first to
speak.
“Don't be scared, Mr.—there's no danger—he can't get out.”
“But I say let him out—let him out. Look at him, ladies—
look at him. You shall see what a madman is—you shall see
how I can manage him. Hark ye, fellow,—out with him at once.
Give me your whip—I know all about his treatment. You shall
see me work him. I'll manage him,—I'll fight with him, and
laugh with him too—how we shall laugh—Ha! Ha! Ha!”
His horrible laughter,—for it was horrible—was cut short by
an unexpected incident. He was knocked down as suddenly as
I had been, with a blow from behind, to the astonishment of all
around. The assailant was the sheriff of Hamilton jail, who had
just arrived and detected the fugitive, Archy Dargan—the most
cunning of all bedlamites, as he afterwards assured me,—in the
person of the handsome Col. Nelson.
“I knew the scamp by his laugh—I heard it half a mile,” said
the sheriff, as he planted himself upon the bosom of the prostrate
man, and proceeded to leash him in proper order. Here was a
concatenation accordingly.
“Who hev' I got in the pen?” was the sapient inquiry of my
captor—the fellow whose whip had been so potent over my imagination.
“Who? Have you any body there?” demanded the sheriff.
“I reckon!—We cocht a chap that Jake made affidavy was
the madman.”
“Let him out then, and beg the man's pardon. I'll answer for
Archy Dargan.”
My appearance before the astonished damsels was gratifying to
neither of us. I was covered with mud and blood,—and they
with confusion.
“Oh! Mr.—, how could we think it was you, such a
fright as they've made you.”
Such was Miss Emmeline's speech after her recovery. Susannah's
was quite as characteristic.
“I am so very sorry, Mr.—.”
“Spare your regrets, ladies,” I muttered ungraciously, as I
leapt on my horse. “I wish you a very pleasant morning.”
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” yelled the bedlamite, writhing and bounding
in his leash—“a very pleasant morning.”
The damsels took to their heels, and went off in one direction
quite as fast as I did in the other. Since that day, dear reader, I
have never suffered myself to scare a fool, or to fall in love with
a pair of twins; and if ever I marry, take my word for it, the
happy woman shall neither be a Susannah, nor an Emmeline.
| CHAPTER VI. The wigwam and the cabin | |