 | CHAPTER VIII. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
“Well, I am your theme: you have the start of me: I am dejected;
I am not able to answer the Welsh flannel; ignorance
itself is a plummet over me: use me as you will.”
Merry Wives of Windsor.
Poets, aided by the general longing of human
nature, have given a reputation to the Spring, that
it rarely merits. Though this imaginative class of
writers have said so much of its balmy airs and
odoriferous gales, we find it nearly everywhere the
most reluctant, churlish, and fickle of the four seasons.
It is the youth of the year, and, like that
probationary period of life, most fitted to afford the
promise of better things. There is a constant struggle
between reality and hope throughout the whole
of this slow-moving and treacherous period, which
has an unavoidable tendency to deceive. All that
is said of its grateful productions is fallacious, for
the earth is as little likely to yield a generous tribute
without the quickening influence of the summer
heats, as man is wont to bring forth commendable
fruits without the agency of a higher moral power
than any he possesses in virtue of his innate propensities.
On the other hand, the fall of the year
possesses a sweetness, a repose, and a consistency,
which may be justly likened to the decline of a
well-spent life. It is, in all countries and in every
unite to furnish the richest sources of enjoyment.
If the Spring is the time of hope, Autumn is the
season of fruition. There is just enough of change
to give zest to the current of existence, while there
is too little of vicissitude to be pregnant of disappointment.
Succeeding to the nakedness of Winter,
the Spring is grateful by comparison; while the
glories of Autumn are enjoyed, after the genial
powers of Summer have been lavishly expended.
In obedience to this great law of the earth, let
poets sing and fancy as they may, the Spring and
Autumn of America partake largely of the universally
distinctive characters of the rival seasons.
What Nature has done on this Continent, has not
been done niggardly; and, while we may boast of
a decline of the year that certainly rivals, and,
with few exceptions, eclipses the glories of most of
the climates of the old world, the opening months
rarely fail of equalizing the gifts of Providence, by
a very decided exhibition of all the disagreeable
qualities for which they are remarkable.
More than half a year had elapsed, between the
time when the Indian boy had been found lurking
in the valley of the Heathcotes, and that day when
he was first permitted to go into the forest, fettered
by no other restraint than the moral tie which the
owner of the valley either knew, or fancied, would
not fail to cause him to return to a bondage he had
found so irksome. It was April; but it was April
as the month was known a century ago in Connecticut,
and as it is even now so often found to disappoint
all expectations of that capricious season of
the year. The weather had returned suddenly and
violently to the rigor of winter. A thaw had been
succeeded by a storm of snow and sleet, and the interlude
of the spring-time of blossoms had terminated
with a biting gale from the north-west, which
presence of a second February.
On the morning that Content led his followers
into the forest, they issued from the postern clad in
coats of skin. Their lower limbs were protected
by the coarse leggings which they had worn in so
many previous hunts, during the past winter, if that
might be called past which had returned, weakened
but little of its keenness, and bearing all the outward
marks of January. When last seen, Eben
Dudley, the heaviest of the band, was moving firmly
on the crust of the snow, with a step as sure as if
he had trodden on the frozen earth itself. More
than one of the maidens declared, that though they
had endeavored to trace the footsteps of the hunters
from the palisadoes, it would have exceeded even
the sagacity of an Indian eye to follow their trail
along the icy path they travelled.
Hour after hour passed, without bringing tidings
from the chase. The reports of fire-arms had indeed
been occasionally heard, ringing among the
arches of the woods; and broken echoes were, for
some hours, rolling from one recess of the hills to
another. But even these signs of the presence of
the hunters gradually receded with the advance of
the day; and, long ere the sun had gained the meridian,
and its warmth, at that advanced season not
without power, was shed into the valley, the whole
range of the adjoining forest lay in its ordinary dull
and solemn silence.
The incident of the hunt, apart from the absence
of the Indian boy, was one of too common occurrence
to give birth to any particular motives of excitement.
Ruth quietly busied herself among her
women, and when the recollection of those who
were scouring the neighboring forest came at all to
her mind, it was coupled with the care with which
she was providing to administer to their comforts,
efforts. This was a duty never lightly performed.
Her situation was one eminently fitted to foster the
best affections of woman, since it admitted of few
temptations to yield to other than the most natural
feeling; she was, in consequence, known on all occasions
to exercise them with the devotedness of
her sex.
“Thy father and his companions will look on our
care with pleasure,” said the thoughtful matron to
her youthful image, as she directed a more than
usual provision of her larder to be got in readiness
for the hunters; “home is ever sweetest after toil
and exposure.”
“I doubt if Mark be not ready to faint with so
weary a march,” said the child already introduced
by the name of Martha; “he is young to go into
the woods, with scouters tall as great Dudley.”
“And the heathen,” added the little Ruth, “he is
young too as Mark, though more used to the toil. It
may be, mother, that he will never come to us
more!”
“That would grieve our venerable parent; for
thou knowest, Ruth, that he hath hopes of working
on the mind of the boy, until his savage nature shall
yield to the secret power. But the sun is falling behind
the hill, and the evening is coming in cool as
winter; go to the postern, and look out upon the
fields. I would know if there be any signs of thy
father and his party.”
Though Ruth gave this mandate to her daughter,
she did not the less neglect to exercise her own
faculties in the same grateful office. While the
children went, as they were ordered, to the outer
gate, the matron herself ascended to the lower
apartment of the block, and, from its different loops,
she took a long and anxious survey of the limited
prospect. The shadows of the trees, that lined the
across the broad sheet of frozen snow, and the sudden
chill which succeeded the disappearance of the
sun announced the rapid approach of a night that
promised to support the severe character of the
past day. A freezing wind, which had brought with
it the cold airs of the great lakes, and which had
even triumphed over the more natural influence of
an April sun, had however fallen, leaving a temperature
not unlike that which dwells in the milder
seasons of the year among the glaciers of the upper
Alps.
Ruth was too long accustomed to such forest
scenes, and to such a “lingering of winter in the lap
of May,” to feel, on their account, any additional
uneasiness. But the hour had now arrived when
she had reason to look for the return of the hunters.
With the expectation of seeing their forms issuing
from the forest, came the anxiety which is an unavoidable
attendant of disappointment. The shadows
continued to deepen in the valley, until the gloom
thickened to the darkness of night, without bringing
any tidings from those without.
When a delay, which was unusual in the members
of a family circumstanced like that of the
Wish-Ton-Wish, came to be coupled with various
little observations that had been made during the
day, it was thought that reasons for alarm were beginning,
at each instant, to grow more plausible.
Reports of fire-arms had been heard, at an early
hour, from opposite points in the hills, and in a
manner too distinct to be mistaken for echoes; a
certain proof that the different members of the hunt
had separated in the forest. Under such circumstances,
it was not difficult for the imagination of
a wife and a mother, of a sister, or of her who
secretly confessed a still more tender interest in
some one of the hunters, to conjure to the imagination
were engaged in these expeditions were known to
be exposed.
“I doubt that the chase hath drawn them further
from the valley than is fitting for the hour and the
season,” observed Ruth to her maidens, who had
gathered in a group about her, at a point that over-looked
as much of the cleared land around the
buildings, as the darkness would allow; “the gravest
man becomes thoughtless as the unreflecting child,
when led by the eagerness of the pursuit. It is the
duty of older heads to think for those that want experience—but
into what indiscreet complaints are
my fears leading! It may be that my husband is
even now striving to collect his party, in order to
return. Hast any heard his conch sounding the
recall?”
“The woods are still as the day the first echo of
the axe was heard among the trees,” returned Faith.
“I did hear that which sounded like a strain of
brawling Dudley's songs, but it proved to be no more
than the lowing of one of his own oxen. Perchance
the animal misseth some of its master's care.”
“Whittal Ring hath looked to the beasts, and it
may not be that he hath neglected to feed, among
others, the creatures of Dudley. Thy mind is given
to levity, Faith, in the matter of this young man.
It is not seemly that one of thy years and sex should
manifest so great displeasure at the name of a youth,
who is of an honest nature, and of honest habits,
too, though he may appear ungainly to the eye, and
have so little favor with one of thy disposition.”
“I did not fashion the man,” said Faith, biting
her lip, and tossing her head; “nor is it aught to
me whether he be gainly or not. As to my favor,
when he asks it, the man shall not wait long to know
the answer. But is not yon figure the fellow himself,
Madam Heathcote?—here, coming in from the
mean is just here; you may see it, at this moment,
turning by the bend in the brook.”
“There is one of a certainty, and it should be
one of our hunting party, too; and yet he doth not
seem to be of a size or of a gait like that of Eben
Dudley. Thou shouldst have a knowledge of thy
kindred, girl; to me it seemeth thy brother.”
“Truly, it may be Reuben Ring; still it hath
much of the swagger of the other, though their
stature be nearly equal—the manner of carrying
the musket is much the same with all the borderers
too—one cannot easily tell the form of man from a
stump by this light—and—yet do I think it will
prove to be the loitering Dudley.”
“Loiterer or not, he is the first to return from
this long and weary chase,” said Ruth, breathing
heavily, like one who regretted that the truth were
so. “Go thou to the postern, and admit him, girl. I
ordered bolts to be drawn, for I like not to leave a
fortress defended by a female garrison, at this hour,
with open gates. I will hie to the dwelling, and see
to the comforts of those who are a-hungered, since
it will not be long ere we shall have more of them
at hand.”
Faith complied, with affected indifference and
sufficient delay. By the time she had reached the
place of admission, a form was seen ascending the
acclivity, and taking the direction which led to the
same spot. In the next minute, a rude effort to enter
announced an arrival without.
“Gently, Master Dudley,” said the wilful girl,
who held the bolt with one hand, though she maliciously
delayed to remove it. “We know thou
art powerful of arm, and yet the palisadoes will
scarcely fall at thy touch. Here are no Sampsons
to pull down the pillars on our heads. Perhaps we
stay abroad out of all season.”
“Open the postern, girl,” said Eben Dudley;
“after which, if thou hast aught to say, we shall
be better convenienced for discourse.”
“It may be that thy conversation is most agreeable
when heard from without. Render an account
of thy backslidings, throughout this day, penitent
Dudley, that I may take pity on thy weariness. But
lest hunger should have overcome thy memory, I
may serve to help thee to the particulars. The
first of thy offences was to consume more than thy
portion of the cold meats; the second was to suffer
Reuben Ring to kill the deer, and for thee to claim
it; and a third was the trick thou hast of listening
so much to thine own voice, that even the beasts
fled thee, from dislike of thy noise.”
“Thou triflest unseasonably, Faith; I would
speak with the Captain, without delay.”
“It may be that he is better employed than to
desire such company. Thou art not the only strange
animal by many who hath roared at the gate of
Wish-Ton-Wish.”
“Have any come within the day, Faith?” demanded
the borderer, with the interest such an
event would be likely to create in the mind of one
who habitually lived in so great retirement.
“What sayest thou to a second visit from the
gentle-spoken stranger? he who favored us with so
much gay discourse, the by-gone fall of the year.
That would be a guest fit to receive! I warrant me
his knock would not be heard a second time.”
“The gallant had better beware the moon!” exclaimed
Dudley, striking the but of his musket
against the ice with so much force as to cause his
companion to start, in alarm. “What fool's errand
hath again brought him to prick his nag so deep
into the forest?”
“Nay, thy wit is ever like the unbroken colt, a
headstrong run-away. I said not, in full meaning.
that the man had come; I only invited thee to give
an opinion in the event that he should arrive unexpectedly,
though I am far from certain that any
here ever expect to see his face again.”
“This is foolish prating,” returned the youth,
provoked at the exhibition of jealousy into which
he had been incautiously betrayed. “I tell thee to
withdraw the bolt, for I have great need to speak
with the Captain, or with his son.”
“Thou mayst open thy mind to the first, if he
will listen to what thou hast to say,” returned the
girl, removing the impediment to his entrance;
“but thou wilt sooner get the ear of the other by
remaining at the gate, since he has not yet come in
from the forest.”
Dudley recoiled a pace, and repeated her words
in the tone of one who admitted a feeling of alarm
to mingle with his surprise.
“Not in from the forest!” he said; “surely there
are none abroad, now that I am home!”
“Why dost say it? I have put my jibes upon
thee more in payment of ancient transgressions
than for any present offence. So far from being
last, thou art the first of the hunters we have yet
seen. Go in to the Madam without delay, and tell
her of the danger, if any there be, that we take
speedy measures for our safety.”
“That would do little good, truly,” muttered the
borderer, like one musing. “Stay thou here, and
watch the postern, Faith; I will back to the woods;
for a timely word, or a signal blown from my conch,
might quicken their footsteps.”
What madness hath beset thee, Dudley! Thou
wouldst not go into the forest again, at this hour
and alone, if there be reason for fear! Come farther
within the gate, man, that I may draw the bolt;
long.”
“Ha!—I hear feet moving in the meadow; I
know it by the creaking of the snow; the others
are not lagging.”
Notwithstanding the apparent certainty of the
young man, instead of going forth to meet his friends,
he withdrew a step, and with his own hand drew
the bolt that Faith had just desired might be fastened;
taking care at the same time to let fall a
swinging bar of wood, which gave additional security
to the fastenings of the postern. His apprehensions,
if any such had induced this caution, were
however unnecessary; for ere he had time to make,
or even to reflect on any further movement, admission
was demanded in the well-known voice of the
son of him who owned the valley. The bustle of
the arrival, for with Content entered a group of
companions loaded with venison, put an end to the
dialogue. Faith seized the opportunity to glide
away in the obscurity, in order to announce to her
mistress that the hunters had returned—an office
that she performed without entering at all into the
particulars of her own interview with Eben Dudley.
It is needless to dwell on the satisfaction with
which Ruth received her husband and son, after
the uneasiness she had just suffered. Though the
severe manners of the Province admitted of no violent
exhibition of passing emotions, secret joy was
reigning in the mild eyes and glowing about the
flushed cheeks of the discreet matron, while she
personally officiated in the offices of the evening
meal.
The party had returned teeming with no extra-ordinary
incidents; nor did they appear to be disturbed
with any of that seriousness of air which
had so unequivocally characterized the deportment
of him who had preceded them. On the contrary,
the expense of a luckless companion, and sometimes
in order that no part of his own individual skill, as
a hunter, should be unknown. The delay was accounted
for, as similar delays are commonly explained,
by distance and the temptations of an unusually
successful chase. As the appetites of those
who had passed the day in the exciting toil were
keen and the viands tempting, the first half-hour
passed quickly, as all such half-hours are wont to
pass, in garrulous recitals of personal exploits, and
of the hairbreadth escapes of deer, which, had
fortune not been fickle, should have now been
present as trophies of the skill of the hand by
which they fell. It was only after personal vanity
was sufficiently appeased, and when the hunger even
of a border-man could achieve no more, that the
hunters began to look about them with a diminished
excitement, and to discuss the events of the day
with a fitting calmness, and with a discretion more
suited to their ordinary self-command.
“We lost the sound of thy conch, wandering
Dudley, as we fell into the deep hollow of the
mountain,” said Content, in a pause of the discourse;
“since which time, neither eye nor ear of any has
had trace of thy movements, until we met thee at
the postern, stationed like a looker-out on his watch.”
The individual addressed had mingled in none
of the gaiety of the hour. While others fed freely,
or joined in the quiet joke, which could escape the
lips of even men chastened as his companions, Eben,
Dudley had tasted sparingly of the viands. Nor had
the muscles of his hard countenance once relaxed
in a smile. A gravity and silence so extraordinary,
in one so little accustomed to exhibit either quality,
did not fail to attract attention. It was universally
ascribed to the circumstance that he had returned
empty-handed from the hunt; and now that one
to the discourse, the imaginary delinquent was
not permitted to escape unscathed.
“The butcher had little to do with this day's
killing,” said one of the young men; “as a punishment
for his absence from the slaughter, he should
be made to go on the hill and bring in the two bucks
he will find hanging from a maple sapling near to
the drinking spring. Our meat should pass through
his hands in some fashion or other, else will it lack
savor.”
“Ever since the death of the straggling wether,
the trade of Eben hath been at a stand,” added
another; “the down-hearted youth seems like one
ready to give up his calling to the first stranger
that shall ask it.”
“Creatures which run at large prove better
mutton than the stalled wether,” continued a third;
“and thereby custom was getting low before this
hunt. Beyond a doubt, he has a full supply for all
who shall be likely to seek venison in his stall.”
Ruth observed that the countenance of her husband
grew grave, at these allusions to an event he
had always seemed to wish forgotten; and she interposed
with a view to lead the minds of those who
listened, back to matter more fitting to be discussed.
“How is this?” she exclaimed in haste; “hath
the stout Dudley lost any of his craft? I have never
counted with greater certainty on the riches of the
table, than when he hath been sent among the hills
for the fat deer, or the tender turkey. It would
much grieve me to learn that he beginneth to lack
the hunter's skill.”
“The man is getting melancholy with over-feeding,”
muttered the wilful tones of one busied among
the vessels, in a distant part of the room. “He
taketh his exercise alone, in order that none need
go over sea, in order to become a trooper.”
Until now, the subject of these mirthful attacks
had listened like one too confident of his established
reputation to feel concern; but at the sound of the
last speaker's voice, he grasped the bushy covering
of one entire cheek in his hand, and turning a reproachful
and irritated glance at the already half-repentant
eye of Faith Ring, all his natural spirit
returned.
“It may be that my skill hath left me,” he said,
“and that I love to be alone, rather than to be
troubled with the company of some that might
readily be named, no reference being had to such
gallants as ride up and down the colony, putting
evil opinions into the thoughts of honest men's
daughters; but why is Eben Dudley to bear all the
small shot of your humors, when there is another
who, it might seem, hath strayed even further from
your trail than he?”
Eye sought eye, and each youth by hasty glances
endeavored to read the countenances of all the
rest in company, in order to learn who the absentee
might be. The young borderers shook their heads, as
the features of every well-known face were recognised,
and a general exclamation of denial was
about to break from their lips, when Ruth exclaimed—
“Truly, the Indian is wanting!”
So constant was the apprehension of danger from
the savages, in the breasts of those who dwelt on
that exposed frontier, that every man arose at the
words, by a sudden and common impulse, and each
individual gazed about him in a surprise that was a
little akin to dismay.
“The boy was with us when we quitted the forest,”
said Content, after a moment of death-like
stillness. “I spoke to him in commendation of his
beating up the secret places of the deer; though
there is little reason to think my words were understood.”
“And were it not sinful to take such solemn evidence
in behalf of so light a matter, I could be qualified
on the Book itself, that he was at my elbow as
we entered the orchard,” added Reuben Ring, a
man renowned in that little community for the accuracy
of his vision.
“And I will make oath or declaration of any sort,
lawful or conscientious, that he came not within the
postern when it was opened by my own hand,” returned
Eben Dudley. “I told off the number of the
party as you passed, and right sure am I that no red
skin entered.”
“Canst thou tell us aught of the lad?” demanded
Ruth, quick to take the alarm on a subject that had
so long exercised her care, and given food to her
imagination.
“Nothing. With me he hath not been since the
turn of the day. I have not seen the face of living
man from that moment, unless in truth one of mysterious
character, whom I met in the forest, may
be so called.”
The manner in which the woodsman spoke was
too serious and too natural, not to give birth in his
auditors to some of his own gravity. Perhaps the
appearance of the Puritan, at that moment, aided
in quieting the levity that had been uppermost in
the minds of the young men; for, it is certain, that
when he entered, a deeper and a general curiosity
came over the countenances of all present. Content
waited a moment in respectful silence, till his father
had moved slowly through the circle, and then he
prepared himself to look further into an affair that
began to assume the appearance of matter worthy
of investigation.
| CHAPTER VIII. The wept of Wish-ton-Wish | |