 | CHAPTER XI. The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
Dumb silence of the dreary hour!
In honour of th' approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour.
Yes, pour around,
On this pale ground,
Through all this deep surrounding gloom,
The sober thought,
The tear untaught,
Those meetest mourners at a tomb.”
Mallet.
It is a law of human nature, that the excesses of passion
bring their own rebukes. The violence of man feeds itself,
until some enormity committed under its influence suddenly
rises before the transgressor, as the evidence of his blindness
and the restorer of his senses. Guilt performs the
office of reason, staying the hand, stilling the pulses, and
arousing the conscience.
Thus it seemed to be with the squatters of Mooseridge.
A stillness so profound succeeded the crack of that rifle,
that I heard the stifled breathing of Dus, as she stood over
the body of her uncle, astounded, and almost converted into
a statue by the suddenness of the blow. No one spoke; no
was never known who fired that shot. At first I ascribed it
to the hand of Tobit; but it was owing more to what I knew
of his temper and character, than to what I knew of his
acts at that particular time. Afterwards, I inclined to the
opinion that my friend had fallen by the hand of Thousandacres
himself; though there were no means of bringing it
home to him by legal proof. If any knew who was the
criminal, besides the wretch who executed the deed, the fact
was never revealed. That family was faithful to itself, and
seemed determined to stand or fall together. In the eye of
the law, all who were present, aiding and abetting in the
unlawful detention of Dus and her uncle, were equally
guilty; but the hand on which the stain of blood rested in
particular, was never dragged to light.
My first impulse, as soon as I could recollect myself, was
to pass an arm around the waist of Dus and force her
through the crowd, with a view to escape. Had this attempt
been persevered in, I think it would have succeeded, so profound
was the sensation made, even upon those rude and
lawless men, by the deed of violence that had just been
done. But Dus was not one to think of self at such a
moment. For a single instant her head fell on my shoulders,
and I held her to my bosom, while I whispered my wish for
her to fly. Then raising her head, she gently extricated
her person from my arms, and knelt by the side of her
uncle.
“He breathes!” she said huskily, but hastily. “God be
praised, Mordaunt, he still breathes. The blow may not be
as heavy as we at first supposed; let us do what we can to
aid him.”
Here were the characteristic decision and thoughtfulness
of Ursula Malbone! Rising quickly, she turned to the
group of silent but observant squatters, and appealed to any
remains of humanity that might still be found in their
bosoms, to lend their assistance. Thousandacres stood foremost
in the dark cluster at the door, looking grimly at the
motionless body, over which Dus stood, pale and heart-stricken,
but still calm and collected.
“The hardest-hearted man among you will not deny a
daughter's right to administer to a parent's wants!” she
that filled me with love and admiration, and which had a
visible effect on all who heard her. “Help me to raise my
uncle and to place him on a bed, while Major Littlepage
examines his hurt. You 'll not deny me this little comfort,
Thousandacres, for you cannot know how soon you may
want succour yourself!”
Zephaniah, who certainly had no hand in the murder of
Chainbearer, now advanced; and he, myself, Lowiny and
Dus, raised the still motionless body, and placed it on the
bed of Prudence, which stood in the principal room. There
was a consultation among the squatters, while we were thus
employed, and one by one the family dropped off, until no
one was left in the house but Thousandacres, and his wife,
and Lowiny; the latter remaining with Dus, as a useful and
even an affectionate assistant. The father sate, in moody
silence, on one side of the fire, while Prudence placed herself
on the other. I did not like the aspect of the squatter's
countenance, but he said and did nothing. It struck me that
he was brooding over the facts, nursing his resentments by
calling up fancied wrongs to his mind, and plotting for the
future. If such was the case, he manifested great nerve,
inasmuch as neither alarm nor hurry was, in the slightest
degree, apparent in his mien. Prudence was dreadfully
agitated. She said nothing, but her body worked to and fro
with nervous excitement; and occasionally a heavy, but
suppressed groan struggled through her efforts to resist it.
Otherwise, she was as if not present.
I had been accustomed to seeing gun-shot wounds, and
possessed such a general knowledge of their effects as to
be a tolerable judge of what would, and what would not, be
likely to prove fatal. The first look I took at the hurt of
Chainbearer convinced me there could be no hope for his
life. The ball had passed between two of the ribs, and
seemed to me to take a direction downwards; but it was
impossible to miss the vitals with a wound commencing at
that point on the human body. The first shock of the injury
had produced insensibility; but we had hardly got the sufferer
on the bed, and applied a little water to his lips, ere he
revived; soon regaining his consciousness, as well as the
power to speak. Death was on him, however; and it was
might live days, but it was not possible for him to survive.
“Got pless you, Mortaunt,” my old friend murmured,
after my efforts had thus partially succeeded. “Got for
ever pless ant preserf you, poy, ant repay you for all your
kintness to me ant mine. T'em squatters haf killet me, lat;
put I forgif t'em. T'ey are an ignorant, ant selfish, and
prutal preed; ant I may haf triet 'em too sorely. Put Dus
can never pecome t'e wife of any of t'e family.”
As Zephaniah was in the room, though not near the bed
at the moment, I was anxious to change the current of the
wounded man's thoughts; and I questioned him as to the
nature of his hurt, well knowing that Chainbearer had seen
so many soldiers in situations similar to his own unhappy
condition, as to be a tolerable judge of his actual state.
“I 'm killet, Mortaunt,” old Andries answered, in a tone
even firmer than that in which he had just spoken. “Apout
t'at, t'ere can pe no mistake. T'ey haf shot t'rough my
rips, ant t'rough my vitals; ant life is impossible. But t'at
does not matter much to me, for I am an olt man now, hafin'
lifet my t'ree-score years ant ten—no, t'at is no great
matter, t'ough some olt people cling to life wit' a tighter grip
t'an t'e young. Such ist not my case, howsefer; ant I am
reaty to march when t'e great wort of commant comet'. I
am fery sorry, Mortaunt, t'at t'is accitent shoult happen
pefore t'e patent hast peen fully surfeyet; put I am not pait
for t'e work t'at is finishet, ant it ist a great comfort to me
to know I shall not tie in tebt. I owe you, ant I owe my
goot frient t'e general, a great teal for kintnesses, I must
confess; put, in t'e way of money, t'ere wilt be no loss by
t'is accitent.”
“Mention nothing of this sort, I do entreat of you,
Chainbearer; I know my father would gladly give the best
farm he owns to see you standing, erect and well, as you
were twenty minutes since.”
“Well, I tares to say, t'at may be true, for I haf always
fount t'e general to pe friently and consiterate. I wilt tell
you a secret, Mortaunt, t'at I haf nefer pefore revealet to
mortal man, put which t'ere ist no great use in keepin' any
longer, ant which I shoult have peen willing to haf tolt
shoult not speak of it—”
“Perhaps it might be better, my good friend, were you
to tell me this secret another time. Talking may weary
and excite you; whereas, sleep and rest may possibly do
you service.”
“No, no, poy—t'e hope of t'at ist all itleness ant vanity.
I shalt nefer sleep ag'in, tilt I sleep t'e last long sleep of
teat'; I feelt sartain my wount ist mortal, and t'at my time
must soon come. Nefert'eless, it doesn't gif me pain to
talk; and, Mortaunt, my tear lat, fri'nts t'at pe apout to
part for so long a time, ought not to part wit'out sayin' a
wort to one anot'er pefore separation. I shoult pe glat, in
partic'lar, to telt to a son all t'e kintness and fri'ntship I
have receivet from his fat'er. You know fery well, yourself,
Mortaunt, t'at I am not great at figures; and why it
shoult pe so, ist a wonter ant a surprise to me, for my
grantfat'er Van Syce was a wonterful man at arit'metic,
and t'e first Cojemans in t'is country, t'ey say, kept all t'e
tominie's accounts for him! Put, let t'at pe ast it wast, I
nefer coult do any t'ing wit' figures; ant, it ist a secret not
to pe concealet now, Mortaunt, t'at I nefer coult haf helt
my commission of captain six weeks, put for your own
fat'er's kintness to me. Fintin' out how impossible it wast
for me to get along wit' arit'metic, he offeret to do all t'at
sort of tuty for me, ant t'e whole time we wast toget'er,
seven long years ant more, Colonel Littlepage mate out t'e
reports of Cojeman's company. Capital goot reports was
t'ey, too, and t'e atmiration of all t'at see t'em; and I often
felt ashamet like, when I he'rt t'em praiset, and people wonterin'
how an olt Tutchman ever l'arnet to do his tuty so
well! I shalt nefer see t'e general ag'in, ant I wish you to
tell him t'at Andries tit not forget his gootness to him, to
t'e latest preat t'at he trew.”
“I will do all you ask of me, Chainbearer—surely it
must give you pain to talk so much?”
“Not at all, poy;—not at all. It is goot to t'e poty to
lighten t'e soul of its opligations. Ast I see, howsefer,
t'at Dus ist trouplet, I wilt shut my eyes, ant look into my
own t'oughts a little, for I may not tie for some hours
yet.”
It sounded fearful to me to hear one I loved so well speak
so calmly, and with so much certainty of his approaching
end. I could see that Ursula almost writhed under the
agony these words produced in her; yet that noble-minded
creature wore an air of calmness, that might have deceived
one who knew her less well than she was known to me.
She signed for me to quit the side of the bed, in the vain
hope that her uncle might fall asleep, and placed herself
silently on a chair, at hand, in readiness to attend to his
wants. As for me, I took the occasion to examine the
state of things without, and to reflect on what course I
ought to take, in the novel and desperate circumstances in
which we were so unexpectedly placed: the time for something
decisive having certainly arrived.
It was now near an hour after the deed had been done
—and there sat Thousandacres and his wife, one on each
side of the fire, in silent thought. As I turned to look at
the squatters, and the father of squatters, I saw that his
countenance was set in that species of sullen moodiness,
which might well be taken as ominous in a man of his
looseness of principle and fierceness of temperament. Nor
had the nervous twitchings of Prudence ceased. In a word,
both of these strange beings appeared at the end of that
hour just as they had appeared at its commencement. It
struck me, as I passed them in moving towards the door,
that there was even a sublimity in their steadiness in guilt.
I ought, however, in some slight degree to except the woman,
whose agitation was some proof that she repented of what
had been done. At the door, itself, I found no one; but,
two or three of the young men were talking in a low tone
to each other at no great distance. Apparently they had
an eye to what was going on within the building. Still no
one of them spoke to me, and I began to think that the
crime already committed had produced such a shock, that
no further wrong to any of us was contemplated, and that
I might consider myself at liberty to do and act as I saw
fit. A twitch at my sleeve, however, drew my look aside,
and I saw Lowiny cowering within the shadows of the
house, seemingly eager to attract my attention. She had
been absent some little time, and had probably been listening
to the discourse of those without.
“Don't think of venturing far from the house,” the girl
whispered. “The evil spirit has got possession of Tobit;
and he has just sworn the same grave shall hold you, and
Chainbearer, and Dus. `Graves don't turn State's evidence,'
he says. I never know'd him to be so awful as he is to
night; though he 's dreadful in temper when anything goes
amiss.”
The girl glided past me as she ceased her hurried communication,
and the next instant she was standing quietly
at the side of Dus, in readiness to offer her assistance in any
necessary office for the sick. I saw that she had escaped
notice, and then reconnoitred my own position with some
little care.
By this time the night had got to be quite dark; and it
was impossible to recognise persons at the distance of twenty
feet. It is true, one could tell a man from a stump at twice
that number of yards, or even further; but the objects of
the rude clearing began to be confounded together in a way
to deprive the vision of much of its customary power. That
group of young men, as I suppose, contained the formidable
Tobit; but I could be by no means certain of the fact
without approaching quite near to it. This I did not like to
do, as there was nothing that I desired particularly to say
to any of the family at that moment. Could they have
known my heart, the squatters would have felt no uneasiness
on the subject of my escaping; for were Dus quite out
of the question, as she neither was nor could be, it would be
morally impossible for me to desert the Chainbearer in his
dying moments. Nevertheless, Tobit and his brethren did
not know this; and it might be dangerous for me to presume
too far on the contrary supposition.
The darkness was intensest near the house, as a matter
of course; and I glided along close to the walls of logs until
I reached an angle of the building, thinking the movement
might be unseen. But I got an assurance that I was watched
that would admit of no question, by a call from one of the
young men, directing me not to turn the corner or to go out
of sight in any direction, at the peril of my life. This was
plain speaking; and it induced a short dialogue between us;
in which I avowed my determination not to desert my
friends—for the Chainbearer would probably not outlive the
heated and excited, and had merely left the house for air;
if they offered no impediment I would walk to and fro near
them for a few minutes, solely with a view to refresh my
feverish pulses; pledging my word to make no attempt at
escape. This explanation, with the accompanying assurance,
seemed to satisfy my guard; and I was quietly permitted
to do as I had proposed.
The walk I selected was between the group of squatters
and the house, and at each turn it necessarily brought me
close to the young men. At such moments I profited by
my position to look in through the door of the dwelling at
the motionless form of Dus, who sat at the bedside of her
uncle in the patient, silent, tender, and attentive manner of
woman, and whom I could plainly see in thus passing.
Notwithstanding the fidelity of my homage to my mistress
at these instants, I could perceive that the young men uniformly
suspended the low dialogue they were holding together,
as I approached them, and as uniformly renewed it as
I moved away. This induced me gradually to extend my
walk, lengthening it a little on each end, until I may have
gone as far as a hundred feet on each side of the group,
which I took for the centre. To have gone farther would
have been imprudent, as it might seem preparatory to an
attempt at escape, and to a consequent violation of my word.
In this manner, then, I may have made eight or ten
turns in as many minutes, when I heard a low, hissing sound
near me, while at the extremity of one of my short promenades.
A stump stood there, and the sound came from
the root of this stump. At first I fancied I had encroached
on the domain of some serpent; though animals of that
species, which would be likely to give forth such a menace,
were even then very rare among us. But my uncertainty
was soon relieved.
“Why you no stop at stump?” said Susquesus, in a voice
so low as not to be heard at the distance of ten feet, while
it was perfectly distinct and not in a whisper. “Got sut'in'
tell—glad to hear.”
“Wait until I can make one or two more turns; I will
come back in a moment,” was my guarded answer.
Then I continued my march, placing myself against a
leaning there for an entire minute or two, when I returned,
passing the young men as before. This I did three several
times, stopping at each turn, as if to rest or to reflect; and
making each succeeding halt longer than the one that had
preceded it. At length I took my stand against the very
stump that concealed the Indian.
“How came you here, Susquesus?” I asked; “and are
you armed?”
“Yes; got good rifle. Chainbearer's gun. He no want
him any longer, eh?”
“You know then what has happened? Chainbearer is
mortally wounded.”
“Dat bad—must take scalp to pay for dat! Ole fri'nd—
good fri'nd. Always kill murderer.”
“I beg nothing of the sort will be attempted; but how
came you here?—and how came you armed?”
“Jaap do him — come and break open door. Nigger
strong—do what he like to. Bring rifle—say take him.
Wish he come sooner—den Chainbearer no get kill. We
see!”
I thought it prudent to move on by the time this was said;
and I made a turn or two ere I was disposed to come to another
halt. The truth, however, was now apparent to me.
Jaap had come in from the forest, forced the fastenings of
the Onondago's prison, given him arms, and they were both
out in the darkness, prowling round the buildings, watching
for the moment to strike a blow, or an opportunity to communicate
with me. How they had ascertained the fact of
Chainbearer's being shot, I was left to conjecture; though
Susquesus must have heard the report of the rifle; and an
Indian, on such a night as that, left to pursue his own course,
would soon ascertain all the leading points of any circumstance
in which he felt an interest.
My brain was in a whirl as all these details presented
themselves to my mind, and I was greatly at a loss to decide
on my course. In order to gain time for reflection, I stopped
a moment at the stump, and whispered to the Onondago a
request, that he would remain where he was until I could
give him his orders. An expressive “good” was the answer
I received; and I observed that the Indian crouched
restrained his impatience, in order to make his leap, when
it did come, more certain and fatal.
I had now a little leisure for reflection. There lay poor
Chainbearer, stretched on his death-pallet, as motionless as
if the breath had already left his body. Dus maintained
her post, nearly as immovable as her uncle; while Lowiny
stood at hand, manifesting the sympathy of her sex in the
mourning scene before her. I caught glimpses, too, in passing,
of Thousandacres and Prudence. It appeared to me
as if the first had not stirred, from the moment when he had
taken his seat on the hearth. His countenance was as set,
his air as moody, and his attitude as stubborn, as each had
been in the first five minutes after the chainbearer fell.
Prudence, too, was as unchanged as her husband. Her
body continued to rock, in nervous excitement, but not once
had I seen her raise her eyes from the stone of the rude
hearth, that covered nearly one-half of the room. The fire
had nearly burned down, and no one replenishing the brush
which fed it, a flickering flame alone remained to cast its
wavering light over the forms of these two conscience-stricken
creatures, rendering them still more mysterious and
forbidding. Lowiny had indeed lighted a thin, miserable
candle of tallow, such as one usually sees in the lowest
habitations; but it was placed aside, in order to be removed
from before the sight of the supposed slumberer, and added
but little to the light of the room. Notwithstanding, I could
and did see all I have described, stopping for some little
time at a point that commanded a view of the interior of the
house.
Of Dus, I could ascertain but little. She was nearly immovable
at the bed-side of her uncle, but her countenance
was veiled from my view. Suddenly, and it was at one of
those moments when I had stopped in front of the building,
she dropped on her knees, buried her face in the coverlet,
and became lost in prayer. Prudence started, as she saw
this act; then she arose, after the fashion of those who imagine
they have contributed to the simplicity, and consequently
to the beauty of worship, by avoiding the ceremony
of kneeling to Almighty God, and stood erect, moving to
and fro, as before, her tall, gaunt figure, resembling some
the greater portion of its verdure, rocked by a tempest. I
was touched, notwithstanding, at this silent evidence that
the woman retained some of the respect and feeling for the
services of the Deity, which, though strangely blended with
fanaticism and a pertinacious self-righteousness, no doubt
had a large influence in bringing those who belonged to her
race across the Atlantic, some five or six generations previously
to her own.
It was just at this instant that I recognised the voice of
Tobit, as he advanced towards the group composed of his
brethren; and speaking to his wife, who accompanied him
as far as his father's habitation, and there left him, apparently
to return to her own. I did not distinguish what was
said, but the squatter spoke sullenly, and in the tone of one
whose humour was menacing. Believing that I might meet
with some rudeness of a provoking character from this man,
should he see me walking about in the manner I had now
been doing for near a quarter of an hour, ere he had the
matter explained, I thought it wisest to enter the building,
and effect an object I had in view, by holding a brief conversation
with Thousandacres.
This determination was no sooner formed than I put it in
execution; trusting that the patience of the Indian, and
Jaap's habits of obedience, would prevent anything like an
outbreak from them, without orders. As I re-entered the
room, Dus was still on her knees, and Prudence continued
erect, oscillating as before, with her eyes riveted on the
hearth. Lowiny stood near the bed, and I thought, like her
mother, she was in some measure mingling in spirit, with
the prayer.
“Thousandacres,” I commenced in a low voice, drawing
quite near to the squatter, and succeeding in causing him to
look at me, by my address—“Thousandacres, this has been
a most melancholy business, but everything should be done
that can be done, to repair the evil. Will you not send a
messenger through to the 'Nest, to obtain the aid of the
physician?”
“Doctors can do but little good to a wound made by a
rifle that was fired so cluss, young man. I want no doctors
here, to betray me and mine to the law.”
“Nay, your messenger can keep your secret; and I will
give him gold to induce the physician to come, and come at
once. He can be told that I am accidentally hurt, and
might still reach us to be of service in alleviating pain; I
confess there is no hope for anything else.”
“Men must take their chances,” coldly returned that obdurate
being. “Them that live in the woods, take woodsmen's
luck; and them that live in the open country, the open
country luck. My family and lumber must be presarved at
all risks; and no doctor shall come here.”
What was to be done—what could be done, with such a
being? All principle, all sense of right, was concentrated
in self—in his moral system. It was as impossible to make
him see the side of any question that was opposed to his
interests, fancied or real, as it was to give sight to the physically
blind. I had hoped contrition was at work upon him,
and that some advantage might be obtained through the
agency of so powerful a mediator; but no sooner was his
dull nature aroused into anything like action, than it took
the direction of selfishness, as the needle points to the
pole.
Disgusted at this exhibition of the most confirmed trait of
the squatter's character, I was in the act of moving from
him, when a loud shout arose around the building, and the
flashes and reports of three or four rifles were heard. Rushing
to the door, I was in time to hear the tramp of men, who
seemed to me to be pushing forward in all directions; and
the crack of the rifle was occasionally heard, apparently
retiring towards the woods. Men called to each other, in
the excitement of a chase and conflict; but I could gain no
information, the body of darkness which had settled on the
place having completely hidden everything from view, at
any distance.
In this state of most painful doubt I continued for five or
six minutes, the noise of the chase receding the whole time,
when a man came rushing up to the door of the hut where
I stood, and, seizing my hand, I found it was Frank Malbone.
The succour, then, had arrived, and I was no longer
a captive.
“God be praised! you at least are safe,” cried Malbone.
“But my dear sister?”
“Is there unharmed, watching by the side of her uncle's
dying bed. Is any one hurt without?”
“That is more than I can tell you. Your black acted as
guide, and brought us down on the place so skilfully, that
it was not my intention to resort to arms at all, since we
might have captured all the squatters without firing a shot,
had my orders been observed. But a rifle was discharged
from behind a stump, and this drew a volley from the enemy.
Some of our side returned the discharge, and the squatters
then took to flight. The firing you have just heard is scattered
discharges that have come from both sides, and can be
only sound, as any aim is impossible in this obscurity. My
own piece has not even been cocked, and I regret a rifle has
been fired.”
“Perhaps all is then well, and we have driven off our
enemies without doing them any harm. Are you strong
enough to keep them at a distance?”
“Perfectly so; we are a posse of near thirty men, led by
an under-sheriff and a magistrate. All we wanted was a
direction to this spot, to have arrived some hours earlier.”
I groaned in spirit at hearing this, since those few hours
might have saved the life of poor Chainbearer. As it was,
however, this rescue was the subject of grateful rejoicing,
and one of the happiest moments of my life was that in
which I saw Dus fall on her brother's bosom, and burst into
tears. I was at their side, in the door-way of the hut, when
this meeting took place; and Dus held out a hand affectionately
to me, as she withdrew herself from her brother's
arms. Frank Malbone looked a little surprised at this act;
but, anxious to see and speak to Chainbearer, he passed into
the building, and approached the bed. Dus and I followed;
for the shouts and firing had reached the ears of the wounded
man, and Andries was anxious to learn their meaning.
The sight of Malbone let him into a general knowledge of
the state of the facts; but a strong anxiety was depicted in
his failing countenance, as he looked towards me for information.
“What is it, Mortaunt?” he asked, with considerable
strength of voice, his interest in the answer probably stimulating
his physical powers. “What is it, poy? I hope t'ere
hast peen no useless fightin' on account of a poor olt man
who owest to his Maker t'e life t'at wast grantet to him
seventy long years ago. I hope no one hast peen injuret in
so poor a cause.”
“We know of no one besides yourself, Chainbearer, who
has been hurt to-night. The firing you have heard, comes
from the party of Frank Malbone, which has just arrived,
and which has driven off the squatters by noise more than
by any harm that has been done them.”
“Got pe praiset! Got pe praiset! I am glat to see Frank
pefore I tie, first to take leaf of him, as an olt frient, ant
secontly to place his sister, Dus, in his care. T'ey haf
wantet to gif Dus one of t'ese squatters for a huspant, by
way of making peace petween t'ieves ant honest people.
T'at woult nefer do, Frank, as you well know Dus ist t'e
ta'ghter of a gentleman, ant t'e ta'ghter of a laty; ant she
ist a gentlewoman herself, ant ist not to pe marriet to a
coarse, rute, illiterate, vulgar squatter. Wast I young, ant
wast I not t'e gal's uncle, I shoult not venture to s'pose
I coult make her a fit companion myself, peing too little
edicated ant instructet, to pe the huspant of one like Dus
Malpone.”
“There is no fear now, that any such calamity can befall
my sister, my dear Chainbearer, answered Frank Malbone.
“Nor do I think any threats or dangers could so far
intimidate Dus, as to cause her to plight her faith to any
man she did not love or respect. They would have found
my sister difficult to coerce.”
“It ist pest ast it ist, Frank—yes, it ist pest ast it ist.
T'ese squatters are fery sat rascals, ant woult not pe apt to
stop at trifles. Ant, now we are on t'is supject, I wilt say
a wort more consarnin' your sister. I see she hast gone
out of t'e hut to weep, ant she wilt not hear what I haf to
say. Here ist Mortaunt Littlepage, who says he lofes Dus
more ast man efer lovet woman pefore —” Frank started,
and I fancied that his countenance grew dark—“ant what
ist nat'ral enough, when a man dost truly lofe a woman in
t'at tegree, he wishes fery, fery much to marry her”—
Frank's countenance brightened immediately, and seeing
my hand extended towards him, he grasped it and gave it a
most cordial pressure. “Now, Mortaunt woult pe an excellent
young ant goot lookin', ant prave, ant honouraple, ant sensiple,
ant rich, all of which pe fery goot t'ings in matrimony;
put, on t'e ot'er hant, he hast a fat'er, ant a mot'er,
ant sisters, ant it ist nat'ral, too, t'at t'ey shoult not like,
overmuch, to haf a son ant a prot'er marry a gal t'at hasn't
any t'ing put a set of chains, a new compass, ant a few
fielt articles t'at wilt fall to her share a'ter my teat'. No,
no; we must t'ink of t'e honour of t'e Coejemans ant t'e
Malpones, ant not let our peloved gal go into a family t'at
may not want her.”
I could see that Frank Malbone smiled, though sadly, as
he listened to this warning; for, on him, it made little or no
impression, since he was generous enough to judge me by
himself, and did not believe any such mercenary considerations
would influence my course. I felt differently, however.
Obstinacy in opinion, was one of the weak points in
Chainbearer's character, and I saw the danger of his leaving
these sentiments as a legacy to Dus. She, indeed, had been
the first to entertain them, and to communicate them to her
uncle, and they might revive in her when she came to reflect
on the true condition of things, and become confirmed by
the dying requests of her uncle. It is true, that in our own
interview, when I obtained from the dear girl the precious
confession of her love, no such obstacle seemed to exist, but
both of us appeared to look forward with confidence to our
future union as to a thing certain; but at that moment, Dus
was excited by my declarations of the most ardent and
unutterable attachment, and led away by the strength of her
own feelings. We were in the delirium of delight produced
by mutual confidence, and the full assurance of mutual love,
when Thousandacres came upon us, to carry us to the
scenes of woe by which we had been, and were still, in a
degree, surrounded. Under such circumstances, one might
well fall under the influence of feelings and emotions that
would prove to be more controllable in cooler moments. It
was all-important, then, for me to set Chainbearer right in
the matter, and to have a care he did not quit us, leaving
the two persons he most loved on earth, very unnecessarily
miserable, and that solely on account of the strength of his
own prejudices. Nevertheless, the moment was not favourable
on the future, when we were all startled by a heavy groan
that seemed to come out of the very depths of the chest of
the squatter.
Frank and I turned instinctively towards the chimney, on
hearing this unlooked-for interruption. The chair of Prudence
was vacant, the woman having rushed from the hut
at the first sound of the recent alarm; most probably, in
quest of her younger children. But Thousandacres remained
in the very seat he had now occupied nearly, if not
quite, two hours. I observed, however, that his form was
not as erect as when previously seen. It had sunk lower
in the chair, while his chin hung down upon his breast.
Advancing nearer, a small pool of blood was seen on the
stones beneath him, and a short examination told Malbone
and myself, that a rifle-bullet had passed directly through
his body, in a straight line, and that only three inches above
the hips!
| CHAPTER XI. The chainbearer, or, The Littlepage manuscripts | |