University of Virginia Library

SECTION IV.

Old Ballad.

A NIGHT IN A RUINED WIGWAM.

When the travellers glanced their eyes around the
interior of the hovel, the shelter of whose roof they
had now attained, they felt that the wigwam presented
to their anxious sight, as bare and rude an appearance as
its outer aspect: the fire was raised in the centre of the
building, which was without a floor or pavement of any
kind—and the blazing logs and fallen firebrands, were
only kept together by stakes driven into the ground at
the four angles, within whose ample bounds the fuel had

been laid: the flames, fed with dried brushwood, sent
up merrily their bright and brilliant gleams, as though
contending and mingling with the black column of smoke
which curled aloft, as one exulting in the prospect of
freedom, towards a circular hole in the top of the
cabin, and through the opening of which, in dusky masses,
it rushed tumultuously out unto the atmosphere—or
like stragglers from a charging force, scattered in broken
clouds, just as it reached the goal of egress—and then it
went floating and waving like plumes upon a hearse,
that mock death with pomp, along the dark edges of
the beams and rafters, which upheld the feeble and miserable
roof, seeking flight in every aperture, and eddying
in every nook, like sable folds of tapestry stirred by the
wind: there was neither window nor space, left ostensibly
for the admittance of air, which nevertheless passed
with the velocity of a bird, in innumerable currents,
that swept fiercely over the bickering blaze, bending its
forky and shooting tongues like a young and tender tree,
finding its entrance through the numerous crannies and
vacancies in the crumbling walls, and other less distinguishable
crevices of the decayed tenement: there were
doors to the dwelling, both equally uncouth and misshapen—the
one by which the party had received admission,
and which looked towards the south, and the
other exactly opposite, on the northern side of the hut—
each of the like dimension, and carefully closed from the
weather,—but what principally engaged the attention of
the travellers, fatigued and feeble with toil and weakness
as they were, was the persons that occupied the wigwam
for reclined on various mats, of strange and savage forms
and texture, which were outspread around the fire, and
close to its heat were eight men, dissimilar in habit, and
forbidding in countenance. It was a minute and more,
ere the vision of our travellers could pierce the torchless
fog around them, which was scarce relieved by the lanthorn
borne by their conductor, so as clearly to distinguish
the bearing of those in whose company they were
thrown—of but one, the garb corresponded with the
hunter, or was in the least resemblance to him whom
they had encountered in the forest: the attire of the
others, were motley and diversified as their complexion;
for although the darkened hues of toil and danger predominated
on their stern visages, there was seen among
these few men, the yellow locks of the European—the
black brow of the settler of the tropical isles, and the
curled hair and broad flat features of the dusky African:
there was, however, somewhat of a slight uniformity
in one particular, in which five of this group assimilated;
in the midst of the wild mixture of which their
dress partook, there was that which savoured the following
of the sea, rather than the peaceful pursuit of
the chase; and indeed, save one, who from his mantle
and straps, coarse hood and wallet, had much the look
of some itinerant trader—all the rest appeared armed
to the very teeth, not as men bent on healthful exercise
and lawful occupation, but as fearful of hazard, and prepared
for desperate encounters and resistance: in their
appearance alone, there was something likely to create
alarm and distrust to the eye, and unfavourable impression
to the mind, of those who viewed them: several
had their musquetoons resting on their knees—the pistolets
of others bristled in their belts at the side of a long
knife, or naked dagger, which was peculiar to the times,
and of the shape of that which is termed by the Spaniards
of the main, machete; added to these was seated on
the ground, with his elbow resting on his knee, smoking
a pipe whose stem was of cane carved and painted, a
man whose deep olive complexion and beardless lip,
proclaimed the aboriginal origin and race from whom he
sprung—his garments and looks were barbarous in the
extreme—a blanket of many curious dies, was girt about
his waist by strings of leather, and thrown loosely like a
mantle, over his shoulders; he also wore a sort of trowsers,
or rather leggins, likewise of blanket, laced tightly
with deer gut, and on his feet were mocassins made of
moose hide; his face and breast, the latter of which,
was naked and uncovered, were scored by numerous
hideous streaks, and wild, fantastic and rude cut figures,
in paint of a reddish hue, through which, nevertheless,
often his natural swarthy colour could be easily discerned;
a bare and narrow pointed knife, hung by a string
from his neck, and there depended on his back, a pouch
of bison horn, which probably contained either his powder
or tobacco—glittering bracelets of silver, were fastened
about his wrist, and on his breast, rested a gorget
of copper; pendants of beautiful and varied beads,
were affixed not only to his ears, the gristle of which
was split nearly round, and hung with ornaments in
the form of some unknown bird or beast of the wilderness,
but also to his nose, which was bored through for
the purpose; his head was shaven of hair, except of one
long, lank, coal black tuft, that fell down his back
sweeping the very earth on which he sat; and was tastefully
divided into several parcels and twisted strings,
each of which was stiffened and intermingled with divers
shining beads of a cylindrical shape, and curious
feathers of different hues, the whole being clubbed,
wound, and connected together, in one strange mass;
there were strings of wampum, made of white and black
shells, artfully mingled and interwoven in his belt collar
and blanket; a tomahawk was carelessly stuck in his
girdle, and at his side also, like to his companions, was
laid a musquetoon—and lastly, close by the fire, stood a
boy of lithe and slender stature, scantily and barely habited
in a cloak and doublet, tattered and worn nearly
to the woof, so that it appeared scarcely to protect him
from the cold, from which he seemed to suffer severely,
as he shiveringly drooped over a living bed of coals,
tending the slow progress of several steaks of venison
that were broiling thereon, yet reeking from the slaughtered
body of a grey and noble buck, whose bloodstained
carcass was cast stiff and stark with death, in a recess
of the hovel—the remote and farther portions of
which, were scarce discerned by the most searching eye,
although here and there in its distant corners, undefined
and formless masses were eked out in rude and strange
shapes and heaps, to the ever busy and wild paintings
and imaginings of fancy. The quick and eager hum of
voice and conversation, which had loudly sounded in
mingled confusion, at the entrance of the wayworn travellers,
was suddenly stilled in silence as they advanced
and were perceived: two or three of the men hastily
started from their recumbent postures, and stared rudely
at those, whom possibly they considered as intruders,
and then turned and whisperingly discoursed with their
companions, gazing alternately with sharp and fierce
glances, which betokened in appearance violence, rather
than good will or welcome; and the intention borne by
their countenances, seemed only dubious of action and
restraint for the moment—while at the same time, as if
partaking of the savage and inhospitable feelings of
their masters, two grim, gaunt hounds, gnashing their
tusks, sprang crossly from where they were couching,
towards the approachers—but awed by the well-known
and stern tone of the guide who led the party, the ferocious
animals sank their heads and paused, disappointed
and growling, midway in their career: of all, the Indian
alone was apparently most unmoved—for merely
turning his eyes for an instant, as the noise caused by
their advance in the hut met his hearing, with a slow
and listless movement, (which nevertheless, like the flashing
of the fire-fly's wings, reflected brightly to the blaze
near which he sat, his sparkling and trembling ornaments,)
he resumed his first attitude, with an air of total unconcern,
indifference and abstraction, which appeared impenetrable
and unaffected, by the event of the passing
moment.

The hunter now hastily singled out from this assemblage,
a slender made man of diminutive height, with
sharp pointed features, that had a peculiar expression
which conveyed to the remarker, feelings of an indefinite
cast, that left predominant an impression dubious as
to the character he might bear in life, yet certainly unfavourable
as to his temper—for he bore that strongly
marked and bitter frown on his brow, that bespoke passion
uncontrolled and unrestrained—violent anger, that
would outleap discretion's bounds, and leagued with unpitying
hate, war even to the death: and there were with
these, many and deep furrows ploughed in his forehead,

wrought by the power of stern and darksome
thought—while, withal, there was in his manner and
movements, something that betokened an acquaintance
with the courteous rules of the world, somewhat above
the sphere in which he was acting, and beyond the rude
and offensive bearing of his companions,—for although a
surly scowl, at first had contracted his sallow visage as
he viewed the persons who had entered within the wigwam,
to a look of ferocity, that spoke as it were of joy
or triumph, such as when the foul falcon, loosed from its
confining jesses, soars aloft and singles its prey, stretching
its blood-thirsty beak in pursuit—yet having briefly
exchanged a few words with their conductor, but in so low
a tone that they reached not the anxious ears of the
travellers, while from the significant glances and gestures
that passed, they were led to believe he was detailing
their destitute situation, this personage, after a
moment's hesitation, in which he probably was determining
on the course to pursue, came forward as principal
of those present, and greeted the wanderers who had
thus been thrown on his hospitality, in a voice of kindness.
Certes, the personal appearance of this man, differed
as much from the savage looking attendants who
surrounded him, as did the elevation of his carriage—and
savoured a little of the authority which he evidently
exercised over this wild and singular company, whose
muscular and athletic figures, might have vied with the
banditti of the Apulia, which the captive Salvator Rosa
loved so well to paint; his jerkin was gaudily and profusely
trimmed with tarnished lace,—thrown negligently
over his shoulder, he wore a cloak whose colours had
once been of the gayest court hue—but frequent exposure
to the weather, had dimmed and faded it, equally
with the embroidery, that seamed in what once had been
richness, the other portions of his dress; on his head,
he had a small cocked hat, ornamented with deep gold
fringe, with a long Spanish plume drooping downwards;
a belt about his waist girt a small hanger and a pair of
pistolets.

“It is needless for me to speak that you are welcome,

cavaliers, when your wants claim such assistance,” said
he, tempering a countenance not ill favoured—though
every line roughened by the fatigue and endurance of
storms, as well as by habitual indulgence of the coarsest
passions, “by the 'stress we have known ourselves,
we are ready to divide our tortunes—you is a brave
beast we have slain, and the mess is large enough to
spare a part.”

And yet as he spoke, the younger traveller deemed
that there flashed on him a sinister glance of peculiar
and daring inquiry, from the small grey eye of the host,
that was not only irksome, but threatening to him on
whom it turned, and almost belied the free and generous
reception which he was striving to extend by words.

Room was now made at the fire—than which, a more
pleasant sight could not have been offered to the frozen
and wearied frames of the rescued travellers—and as
their hosts heaped fresh wood on the flames, through
which the forky blaze mounted, licking the sides of the
branches it destroyed, like the darting adder—every nerve
of their outworn bodies, felt the grateful return of
strength: the genial and friendly heat, seemed almost
to renew the very sources of life, which had nearly
been extinct—and the blood flew freely in its accustomed
currents in their veins—yet the cold, as it retreated
from their flesh, left an agony inscrutable; every
bone seemed to tingle and smart, as pierced by a thousand
thorns; but slowly the pain and anguish that thus
severely rent them, departed; and from their escape,
they laboured under no detriment except weakness,
while the past terrors of the elements, which had so
nigh been fatal, grew as it were a dream; for such is
life, one hour after the deadliest pass that we have thrided,
even with narrow warding of breath or limb—it
seemeth but a vision—a thing to be remembered as having
known, but whose agonies, which, while passing, was
scarce to be endured—but after, grow faint in recollection,
and is only thought on as sickness in the fairest
hour of health, or as the past storm to the mariner in safety,
whose dangers cannot deter from new adventure:—

but nevertheless, though guarded from the immediate
and pressing ill, that had so late overhung them with
death, by the unlooked for obtainment of shelter, the
mind of the younger traveller was but little at ease; for
many and painful were the feelings that rushed upon
him, and distressful to his enjoyment of that rest, of
which both his body and mind stood in so much need—
he was a stranger in the land—the service imposed on
his bearing, was of the most important nature—such,
that in the present convulsed state of the king's colony
of New-Yorke, while the spirit of the time raged at its
height, in even a country so desolate and uncivilized—
should it be known to a foe, and who were such, he had
scarce the means to distinguish, it might cost his life—
but that was not in his thought so much, as the failure of
the business, which to his country, to him, was of the
utmost moment; and still, well was he aware that the
wild and outlawed, the lawless and blood-thirsty, roamed
at large and unrestrained; for he was in the land of the
savage red men—and of the white, more barbarous than
these; here the pirate, in defiance of the world, made
his home—and many were the desperate convicts, who
had been sent to till the earth, and pierce this wilderness,
when their deeds of crime had cast them from
their native land—a pathless, unknown and interminable
desert, was around, the lair of the most destructive animals,
or of human creatures more untamed; and with
these he was now mated—there was that which fed suspicion—cherishing
and adding to fear, rather than diminishing,
the more he viewed them—the fierce looks,
the rude and daring glances, the familiar and singular
manner of him who appeared superior, were all calculated
to inspire disgust and secret foreboding, rather than
ease and confidence; and the observer as he gazed, was
conscious of an involuntary shudder that crept upon
him: and when his eye ran over the remote, indistinct
and smoky recesses of the wigwam, from which, in case
it should prove that he was betrayed in hostile hands,
he saw no escape living, save at the will of his entertainers.

From such painful reflections, he was shortly aroused
by the serving of food, which at a signal, was placed
before the assemblage by the boy, to whom was given
the most servile duties; he fulfilled them with a stupid
and nervous air, that called forth frequent and vociferous
reproofs and curses, from the savages on whom he tended—and
once or twice, the attention was drawn to the
helpless creature, by blows, which for some slight negligence,
he received from his brutal masters—and which
he bore in sullen silence—indeed so vacant and lustreless
was the gaze, and the careless patience with which he endured
this ill treatment, as to lead to a supposition that
his intellect was injured by long, harsh usage—for his
features, which, though thin and pale, seemed naturally
handsome and delicate, were distorted by an unsettled
and simple expression, that savoured of idiocy—which,
though not confirmed on inquiry, still it was learnt that
the unfortunate youth was destitute in nearly an equal
degree, being totally deprived of the faculty of hearing.

“The lousy dog,” said the person who has been designated
as the principal of the group, “maketh no lie
of the old saw—for he that is born to wear a hempen
necklace, never drank death from salt water: you must
see, my masters, that we, that's you hard faced knaves,
and myself—thof we are sporting ashore now, with these
lubbers of the land, follow old ocean from our choice;
well, it so chanced that the balindra, that I commanded
some two years since, was laid aboard in the very stream
of the gulf, by a terrific blow, through which the
oldest seaman scarce hoped to see her live—by my soul,
the waves rolled down upon us, as thof the clouds were
falling—the wind piped shrill along the shrouds, with
voice that woke despair—and on the angry deep the
bark fluttered like a dying bird.”

“By the beard of Rubens, what a picture it would
have made—I vow by my halidome, I would have given
a year's life to have been there, to catch the subject—a
sea storm—heavens filled with flashes—white capped
waves—the wreck parting in pieces—drowning mariners,
in the style of Schellinks—no, from nature itself, by Jost
Stoll,” broke out the ensign, catching fire from the idea.

“Well sirs,” continued the narrator, scarce heeding
the interruption, “morning came at last—we had weathered
the gale, thof shattered and mastless; not so it
seems did another vessel, who, ere the sun went down,
lay to our windward—but of which, at day-break, there
was no vestige—yet as we lay too, repairing, there came
floating by, that which might once have been a goodly
spar, but then so splinted and broken that it scarce
buoyed from death a shapeless creature, that hung to it
as an infant to its mother—we fished it up, and saved the
springal, who, with his sullen humours and useless ear,
but ill repays the trouble of his rescue.”

“By the pencil of Sir Godfrey,” exclaimed the soldier,
“the urchin has a good face, though—a sketch in a
loose, careless, masterly manner, of his head—hair
dishevelled, rags floating, would not make such a bad
specimen—an excellent companion to the gipsy boy by
Kneller, on my faith—he's in a fine position—it wont do
to lose the outlines—sit still, youngster, and I'll immortalize
you in my fuelle.”

So saying, the eager amateur drew forth his tablets
and crayons, and in spite of his situation, weariness, and
that which he had encountered, in a minute, forgetful of all
about him, and wrapt in his employment, so that he remarked
not the frown of his comrade, he was as busily
engaged as if his very existence depended on the accuracy
of his delineation.

The fare, though coarse and ill cooked, fatigue and
hunger that accompanied, rendered palatable—it was
roughly placed on wooden vessels of Indian make, which
might probably have been left by the last inhabitant of
the wigwam; and they were forced to carve with knives
and dirks, which they took from their belts. When the
meal was finished, to the surprise of the travellers, a
keg of spirits was rolled forward, and each one as he
chose, helped himself with large and eager draughts of
the potent liquid. Until now, there had been an unwilling
and somewhat constrained intercourse, and but few interchange
of words, with most of this party and their

guests—which had been felt by the latter, as peculiarly
unencouraging and alarming, to men in their destitute
condition; but as the cup passed freely one to another,
much of the cold and forbidding manners of the hosts, departed
beneath its influence: they no longer spoke apart
in low tones, nor gazed with ireful and audacious eyes, at
the persons who had entered their circle, possibly against
their will; while soon the gay wassail reigned of such
whose days are spent in hardy toil, and to whom each
enjoyment is more cheerful and precious, as it is seldom
and brief. The savage alone was silent, and seemed
from the first, to hold little or no conversation with the
rest; he ate and drank apart unnoticed by his companions,
who showed indeed no disposition to disturb
him. The liquor was copiously used and quaffed
almost undiluted, yet it appeared to have but a transient
effect on the hardened frames of the drinkers, and although
the coarse joke and unrestrained burst of merriment
made the very building ring, yet little else than what
fell from the lips of the person who has been mentioned as
appearing a superior, could be gathered by the younger
traveller, as to the character of the entertainers—yet
there were some things that graved suspicions and contradicted
the account he had given—there was an acquaintance
with the hut—there were stores and conveniencies
which it afforded, that led unconsciously to the belief that it
was not the temporary shelter represented, but that the same
persons had assembled at an appointed meeting, beneath
its roof before: and then their language and discourse,
though doubtful and ambiguous, was too often garnished
with vile obscenity and horrid execrations, and larded
with dark and obscure phrases, which were eked forth
with too significant, though to the observer, unintelligible
gestures, not to impress with unfavourable sentiments—and
truly, as the strong, broad red light of the
fire, with its irregular splendour glared duskily on the
swarthy, uncouth, savage, and storm beaten visages of
those who crowded round it, throwing its vivid lustre on
portions of the desperate looking features, and rendering
harsher the rough lines of countenance, as they were
backed by the strong and gloomy shades of the apartment,
all forcibly struck the alarmed and startled imagination
of the guest, as if he looked on a darksome
crowd of demons, carousing in their midnight and subterraneous
vault, or on a troop of evil spirits, as they flitted
rejoicingly about the furnace of the cabalist.

“Another subject on my troth,” said the delighted Jost
Stoll, as he chanced to glance his eye around him, “what
a fortunate artist I am—as sure as I kissed the hand of
his sacred majesty, this is a group that beats all Salvator
ever painted—I must not lose this opportunity—give me
nature before your copyists. By my halidome! what
lights, what shadows are here—divine art I thank thee
for this enjoyment.”

On the side of the fire, opposite to where the younger
traveller was placed, sat, however, a man over whom the
liquor was now fast gaining a triumph, and going far to remove
the caution with which his comrades evidently
governed. From the long, repeated, and unsparing potations
which he had swallowed, he was already at that stage
of inebriation when the mind, unsettled and wayward, flies
from one thing to another, and if in the least opposed in
its wild career, becomes displeased, and the tongue noisy
and quarrelsome with every thing it meets to vent itself
on. The person of this man, though somewhat bloated,
was muscular, bony, and square made, and being a little
undersized, he apparently joined that bodily activity and
sinew which combines such prodigious advantage in close
conflict; his face was naturally unprepossessing, sunburnt
and freckled, while numerous blotches and reddish streaks
about his cheeks and nostrils, proclaimed his propensity
to debauchery; long grizzled and projecting eyebrows
overhung like a beetling rock his small sharp grey eyes,
the expression of which was extremely inauspicious; his
hair and mustachios were of a deep red cast; he was clad
in a long jerkin of brown cloth, and doublet of the same
material, about his waist was a buff belt, in which were
placed numerous weapons of violence—he had been for
some time engaged in earnest discourse with the only
peaceable looking and unarmed man of the party, who

has been mentioned above, and who was reclining on a
mat next to him; heretofore the words that had passed between
them were uttered so low as only to be heard by
him to whom they were addressed; but at this period the
drunken ruffian attracted the notice of all by the sound of
a voice as disagreeable as his physiognomy, and whose
screech-owl notes were heard above the loudest of the
others, like the voice of the tempest above the waves of
the sea.

“The foul fiend give thee his benison,” said he, “you
make yourself as much at home as you were in your hole
by Cherry Garden; curse thee, an hast treated me as in
the last voyage—do you hear what I say? that is, if the
pieces lack weight; that is, if they are some o' you're
damn clipper's coin—do you mind me? I'll capsize your
fleshless carcass like a shallop in the trough of the sea.”

“On the word of an honest man,” returned the other,
who had a face like an adze, and a voice that shrunk in
his throat to a groan, with awe of the person he addressed,
and at the same time that he spoke he edged himself
away from his disagreeable neighbour, “may I never be
a fence to a highbinder again, an I ha' not fairly done by
thee. I ha' been in the trade this eighteen years and
upwards, and in my worse times ha' been an honest man—
I've a character to lose; my reputation all know is, in
the way of business, irreproachable—I ha' ne'er yet cut
the quid—no, on my honour, thou hast not one sop o'
cogniac in the boottle—I'll take my oath at assize, before
my friend Dirk Von Rikkettee, an you like, that I ha'
done right by thee.”

“The devil rot you, skinflint,” cried the first, “I'll stake
a bowl of bomboo that you have wronged me, sin you swear
contrary—howsomever, I'll take a drink first—for you
are a damn'd rogue, you know you are; you always
douse helm when you should not, and thof you may talk
it well—what's your palaver worth? not a rope yarn, for
don't I know you? you are as great a picaroon on land
as the old man is on the ocean—you know who I
mean.”

And jerking up one shoulder, he gave a meaning leer

with his eyes, throwing them on one side towards the
direction where the principal of the party stood. A
hearty laugh from most of the company followed, but a
deep frown darkened the face of the superior.

“Come, boys,” said he, “you have forgotten our agreement.
Gabriel, these matters are such as it would be
proper for you to defer talking on; there are more fitting
places and times.”

“Damn it, an't we ashore?” replied the man, whose
intemperance had overcome whatever obedience he at
other times possessed, “now or never I'll make him settle—there's
no bamboozling Gabriel Loffe; who knows
but the knave to-morrow may dance with a halter for his
cravat, and leave his debts to be collected; no curse it,
the ghost of Tom More, captain, shall not hinder me from
getting what he owes me.”

“Rascal! another word like that—”

“You need not look so squally on me,” continued
Loffe in a surly tone, the dogged obstinacy of his nature
increased by drinking, “I am one, you know, that always
speaks my mind; none of your skulking under hatches
for me:—I am sworn by the bread and the wine—and I
am bold to say, thof you are master aboard there, there's
not rover's law, but you've an equal in a swabber ashore.
And do you see now, you need not think I'm drunk—I
can tell when a man calls me rascal, an he means offence
—so I am one that says, if the cord will fit a man's neck
he should not disdain to have it tied—thof damme, I
have sailed the sea since staunch old Morgan burnt the
rancharias, at Panama, and there never was the breeze
that blew me a rascal from man's mouth, unless he felt
the point of a handspike—rascal! the lubber who makes
so free with dirty colours, mostly fights under his own
flag—I a'nt drunk when I say that, curse me!”

“Dog! do you dare mutiny and—” shouted the other,
while his cheek glowed with ire, and his brows met as he
fixed his eye sternly on the insolent ruffian, while at the
same time he hurridly thrust his right hand towards the
handle of his pistolet, leaving his speech unfinished with
a sudden and startling pause, drawing in his lips, which

were blanched to an ashen hue, so that his teeth were
shown set strongly together as in deadly rage, “thy life,
thy heart's blood, dog.”

Yet, however, ere he could pursue the action implied,
the event of which would have probably from appearances
proved bloody and fatal, one of the party who was
wrapped in a dark sea cloak and had been silently viewing
the passing scene, abruptly started from the mat on
which he lay, and rising in an instant to his feet with a
quick, true, and nervous blow felled the savage Loffe
like a log to the earth.

“Lie you there, knave as you are,” exclaimed the conqueror,
“until the padre gives you un bula de defunctos,
for your peccadilloes. Santo Espiritu, learn, thou stupid
buey, to keep thy mouth close as a caulked deck, nor
hoist sail thus at random withouten compass or rudder.”

Loffe, though borne down by the power of his antagonist's
arm, was merely stunned for a moment—he rose
again immediately, like the wounded tiger lashed with the
strength of fury; the blow had sobered him, and as he
felt the warm blood rush in a current from his head and
trickle down his face, his every limb trembled with revenge
and hate—his hand flew to his belt, and the bared
blade of the long knife shone in the light of the fire as he
flourished it before him.

“Comrades, messmates,” roared he in a voice of thunder,
while his eyes glared with the frenzy of a demoniac,
“will you keep to the leeward, and let me be murdered
like our gunner—curse it, we can take 'vantage of the
king's proclamation, so he that's a man let him show his
steel, and win Bass' golden Jacobuses.”

Two or three only ranged at his side, and grasped
their hangers with dark and gloomy visages—the others
sternly clenched their long and glittering cutlasses or
raised the deadly musquetoon, and awaited the superior's
commands. There was a brief and fearful pause, which,
however, was broken by the master's darting between
the adverse parties, and seizing the mutineer by the
throat with the grasp of a lion, while he levelled the
weapon he hastily snatched from his girdle at his head.

“By God!” he cried, in a loud tone, “he that makes
the least advance in this brawl, shall roll a corse at my
feet. Why this is serpent-like—have I not glutted ye
with gold, and would ye devour me? Sooth, ye are brave
sparks! put up your arms, dare to disobey, and may my
soul broil in hell but I will feed on the heart of him that
refuses—and thou, villain, foul-faithed slave, that would
bite the hand that feeds thee, an thou darest longer grumble
or threaten one word of treachery, damn thee, sot, be
ye in liquor or not, thy brains shall be as water beneath
my heel, which thus will I trample on.”

He flung the heavy frame of the brutal Loffe from him,
while either awed by his determined manner, or moved
by a sense of returning duty, scarce had he finished
speaking, ere, with one accord, every offensive weapon
was silently returned to its place by the rest; however,
over the countenance of the ringleader, a malignant look,
that betokened his spirit still unquelled and ready to
brave the worst to satisfy revenge, yet remained; but
no one appeared to second him, so contending with his
feelings, as far as not to renew the contest on such unequal
grounds, with a slow step and in sullen silence he
withdrew himself to the darkest part of the wigwam,
where, having thrown himself on the earth, his discontented
and heated mind brooded over its imaginary
wrongs.

It was astonishing how quick all was tranquillized;
scarce a minute passed and no trace of quarrel remained;
those who but a while before had thirsted for each other's
gore, and who with scornful eye had exchanged ireful
looks of mortal hatred, and the stern defiance of deadly
war, were again calmly sitting side by side, and drank
from the same cup like brethren in love. The broil had
died away like a thought, and was forgotten; the master
alone deemed it necessary to make some explanation to
the travellers for passages which had evidently alarmed
them; Jost Stoll had paused in his pursuit, and stood up
with one hand holding his tablets, and the other placed
on the hilt of his sword, as about to rush in the fray and
part the combatants; his comrade had also taken to the

last movement, but started in anxious suspense on the
words that fell from the lips of the engaged parties; the
master had observed this, and he was sensible the unruly
conduct of his wild associates was fast rendering abortive
his designs.

“We are a mad, strange set of fellows,” said he, “but
cavaliers, you will not think the worse of it, if you have
marked as much of mankind as I have; the hand that
is nearest the steel grasps the warmer from the heart—
I hate the man who knows no change like Hecla's snow,
but—by hell this is not the first time the drunken brute
hath wrought disturbance, and let him beware,” he raised
his voice “lest he tempt mine anger once too often—you
see, sirs, how needful for a man who would command that
he forget his nature even to tyranny. I do regret it, yet
else, these wretches would tread me to dust; sooth. I
wonder not the best have forgot in such a state their
meekness, for where is the man who could gaze on treason
open-eyed and let it destroy him, no, the breath of
mutiny should be stilled in death, and may my soul fry in
hell-fire, if on such provocation, I refrain from the
extent.”

“By my halidome,” interrupted Stoll, with his usual
quickness and lack of caution, “it runneth in my mind
your argument is erroneous; by the bye a painting of a duello
or single fight might do very well, though there would
be a want of figures, yet that might be supplied in scenery;
but natheless, master, although I am a soldier, and have
seen blood, I cannot agree with you that a mutineer should
be slain unless after fair trial, and I just think me of a
case exact in point: there's that rascal Kid, the rover,
against whom the statute of outlawry is in force: I have
no dubitation, that were he once in the purlieus of
Newgate, that the murders committed against his comrades
would weigh as much at Old Bailey to get him a
Tyburn blessing, an the worst of his piracies, bad as they
are.”

During this dissertation of the ensign, the sallow visage
of the person whom he addressed, underwent various
changes; at the first, he turned peevishly and hastily

from the speaker, while his lip curled with contemptuous
impatience, and his brows gathered darkly: ere,
however, Stoll had ended, his attention became attracted,
and he gazed on him with a look, suddenly, as though he
would have read the very soul of the soldier; but apparently,
his curiosity found but little satisfaction to requite
that which had aroused it—for in an instant after,
as though being conscious of having betrayed some
weakness, he withdrew his eye, and walked slowly backwards
and forwards through the hovel.

“Santa Madre, si Senor,” said the seaman, beneath
whose prowess Loffe had fallen, while a smile of singular
expression lurked about the corners of his mouth,
“that's to say, d'ye see, I am under the same tack in that
wind as you are—Cielo!—'tis hard smothering a man
in his own hammock—for the hound—Kid I mean—this
is between decks,” winking humorously “as great a scoundrel
as he may be, hath those on this side of the water,
seeing as how you are from abroad, and an't like to
know these things—that wish him fair seas and a ballast
of gold and silver—but as for me, carra! I would sort
the perro a round dozen a-day, from his own cat well
laid on amidships, and damme, if that does not sink a
man, his sky scraper will always swim above water.”

“But the old hunks would'nt be so bad either, did he
not sing long Ben Bridgeman's song to his crew,forty shares
of booty to his own locker, and damned a peeling of the
cable to his men” muttered a coarse and swarthy faced
man, with a loud, gruff voice, that sounded like the notes
of a dying bear.

“Grant ye, David Mullins—grant you, he is of the
true fox breed; while he takes venison, hide and tallow,
he cares not how his followers quarrel for the ten
branchings of the antlers,” responded one in the dress
of a hunter.

“Ay, the old boy's commission is a broad one—there's
not a ferret hawker that has cruised about Cape Cormorin,
that knows the weight of a piece of Arabian gold like
him,” said another.

“Nor is there a cutter, but he can bilk him with
damaged muslins and romels from Cutshean,” joined in
the smooth, lean personage, who had been Loffe's first
adversary.

The master stopped abruptly in his walk, and gazed
on the speakers, “By God—this is Judas like,” he spoke
in a low tone, that became more pointed and bitter as he
proceeded, and rolled to the startled ear, like thunder
while distant—“when the cur hath his bone to lick,
should he growl? should the slave refuse to how the
knee to him who gives him bread? dare the groveling
ground worm writhe against the heel that spares its miserable
existence? dogs! what are ye? was it not for
me—on my soul it doth amuse one, to see the forked
tongue of the snake spit out venom against the bosom
that cherished it”—his dark eyes dilated, and his words
swelled with the deep energy of stifled passion—yet recollection
of a sudden, moved him, and he withdrew his
extended arm, and relaxed the strong clenching of his
hand, and looking more calmly around, he turned to the
travellers “sooth, it wearies my patience,” he continued,
“to see grown men act thus the ways of childhood.
Sirs, ye have prudence, and can well deem how
rash these light, ill judged sayings, come from the mouths
of mariners—men whose lives are of the sea—whose
very breath is at the risk of storm and steel—and ye
know we cannot have more caution than is wanted—for
who marks what ear listens? there are many of us here,
strangers, asking your pardon—yonder forester, too, a
few hours since we knew not, and we have met and joined
company in his native woods—and there is a sad warning
in the tale that's abroad—ye have doubtless heard it,
how Kid tricked the Dutchman off Bonavis—the thick
headed fool in a possada at the Madeiras, had reviled the
free trader, scarce believing who was near—so by God,
when he took him, he reckoned scores on his hide; the
rover hoisted the boaster and his crew—ran them up
the main yard by the arms, and then burnt their vessel

to the water's edge;[4] and may my soul be damned, if he
served them not rightly—what say you, ha?”

He broke off, and glanced his eyes around with a stern
and savage look, while his lawless looking followers,
stricken as with awe, answered not a word in return, but
gazed silently in each other's faces as men who have
fearlessly, rashly, and unaware of the danger, strolled beneath
the sparkling base of an avalanche, and behold it
tottering above them, ready to crush with death at the
slightest whisper even of their fears; and each recoiled
from the anger that had been roused, like the bold skater
of the north, who in confidence and hardihood, braves the
fast rotting bosom of the ice, that binds the cold visage of
some wintry stream, and hears the hollow creak and
groan of the frail crystal that upholds him, which seems
parting asunder as he glides:—a pause followed, the
Indian raised his head with a slow action, and bending
his body gracefully after his wild fashion of address, as the
noble top of some verdant tree, stirred to motion by the
gentle southern breeze that wantons in the living forest,
he spoke—

“Yonnondio,[5] hearken to the voice of the White Skinned
Beaver; my words fly to reach your ear. Listen
Yonnondio, Areouski hath stricken with the red hatchet
even to the roots of my name—the blood of my house wets
the ground at Sankikani[6] —I am a desolate man; the
Great Spirit only knows why I live, for I am like a blasted
hemlock; the winds of the tempest have bared the pride
of my branches—I am dead from the top; my generation,
my race hath gone by—my ancient fire is extinguished—
but though my heart is sick, the rain of the black cloud
is not in my eyes; yet these are the deeds of a red man—

his mouth was a snare, for the friendship of his lips was
as sweet as the sagamite, but the roots of his tongue were
bitter—and now the ashes of my wigwam, and the bones
of my kin are blown towards the setting sun; his knife
left not a dog to call me master; my pirouge hath swam
the stormy waters of the Shatamuck,[7] as swift as the
flight of the red bird—for three days and three nights did
I follow in the blood-stained tracks of his retreat, with an
eye sharpened like the lynx, a foot like the deer, and an
arm like the great bear of the Apalachian hills, and the
last sun went down, while the wind howled over the beaver
blanket of the Black Buffalo, and the desert wolf
sang his death song; his blood is not dry on my hatchet—
Yonnondio, though the words of mine enemy hath stung
my ear to the quick with the bite of the rattlesnake, the
White Skinned Beaver had not sought his life, for such
madness is not the commands of the Great Spirit, but of
Kitchi Manitou—but he drank the blood of my name,
both sannup and squaw—yet white man, I rejoice not over
the body of my foe, for he died like a warrior.” The
red man ceased and replaced the calumet to his lips.

“By God! I doubt me but the heathen dog hath some
wit in his speech,” said the master, after a minute's pause,
“Indian, thou hast not spoken wrong; I feel it doth not
become, that is, it is going far to take life for a quick
word alone—but have I not been driven to it?” continued
he, in a lower tone, as communing with himself and disregarding
the presence of others, “By God, I say, I
have been forced to do that which I have done; but it
matters not. I do not care so much for the death of my
gunner, as for other passages in my voyage—for I have
good friends in England who will bring me off.”

The buccaneer (for such he was) measured a short distance
with a pensive tread, as one buried in serious
thought, at last he fronted his guests. “Our discourse
hath taken an over strange tack,” said he, “that may
not guile a wearisome man. Sirs, your stress hath, craving
your mercy, been but sadly looked to; but Olyve

shall outlay your couches—coarse ones, forsooth, and
lacking little invitation to rest; but wot ye gentles, ye
are not in a lady's bower.”

He made a hasty signal to the boy, who, laying on the
ground at a distance from his rude masters, seemed as
banquetting on a brief moment of ease, snatched from his
hard and servile toilings, he arose, when he caught the
master's eye; but approached sullen and discountented,
and as he conducted the travellers in pursuance to the
rover's directions, his step was unwilling and his countenance
scowled with displeasure, and he appeared moved
with the angry feelings of petulent childhood in the execution
of an unwelcome command—Sullenly he flung a
few mats on the ground, and pointed to each his separate
place of rest.

“A right soldier's bed this, comrade, as I live,” quoth
Ensign Stoll, “yet on my halidome, there never was a
picture in better keeping. Why now this wild pallet,
whereon I am about to stretch my aching bones, would
make as exquisite a model for—death and the devil,
springald, what are you about?”

The boy, who had been busied with apparently great
reluctance in assisting to adjust and gather the wide
flowing cloak of the soldier round his brawny shoulders,
ere he cast himself on the destined spot for his repose,
had at the moment of the exclamation unloosened the
leathern belt that supported the ensign's rapier—who as
he spoke beheld the weapon in the grasp of the disobliging
urchin, who had undone the buckles, however, with
so sly and cautious an action, as scarce to be perceptible
to the wearer. The stripling was in some confusion,
whatever were his intentions in possessing himself of the
steel, when detected; but resuming confidence almost
instantly, he with an insolent motion and unchanging
countenance gave to understand that it appeared a
slight on the entertainers that the guests should encumber
themselves with their arms—and that if resigned to
him they should be well cared for.

“We are vowed men, be where we may, to retain our
defence at hand,” said the younger traveller expressively,

and at the same time putting back the arm of the
officious stripling, that had approached to the pistolets in
his girdle, “that light blade will not inconvenience or
hinder my fellow here from one moment's repose—and
as for these barkers of mine, young friend, they were polished
by Wynkyne of Hainault, an expert artisan, who
charged me with peculiar care of them.”

The boy recoiled and disappointed gave back from the
soldier's touch; but not, however, without venting a
half formed sound of anger and spiteful rage, in which it
seemed as if nature contended against incapacity of
utterance, with a force nearly of mastery—while, as he
retired, as though to make up for words, a malicious and
threatening look clouded his visage, with a mischievous
and gloomy meaning, savouring of that wicked gratification
and elvish glee with which one of the swart goblins
of German story, might have gloated on some sleeping infant,
ere with its bony and sinewy fingers it pressed the
life from the tender and unguarded throat of the unconscious
child. The traveller marked the lurking devil of
the urchin's eye—but the gaze of the hosts was on them,
and he could but whisper unperceived a brief caution to
Jost Stoll not to close his sight, but which that worthy
scarce heeded, being thoroughly overpowered and exhausted;
for not a moment after he stretched his jaws
with a yawn to their utmost width, and having tossed and
tumbled about in vain, and seeming unconscious from
weariness, of comprehending his companion's suspicions,
he was fain soon to yield to a slumber deep and overwhelming,
the most decided tokens of which were announced
by long and heavy breathings, whose music was
strengthened by certain variations or notes that wound
through his nostrils and sounded not unlike the long
winded drone with which some warlike moscheto sounds
his battle call about the face of the feverish sleeper, ere
he uses his hungry spear.

Although there was not a limb of the younger traveller
but what trembled with pain, and required all the refreshening
succour that slumber could bestow for a renewal of
vigour—yet so troubled, anxious, and awakened was his

mind by the events that he had but a short period before
witnessed, together with the situation in which he was, at
the mercy of beings who to him appeared as tameless and
uncurbed by the ties of law or nature, as the waves they
were wont to plough—that he forced himself to combat
against that now necessary indulgence of sleep, which
hung over him in very mockery, like the phantom waters
of the dry and parched desert, which flow with gentlest
ripple, that might lull the storm worn mariner, to the eye
of the eager and deceived pilgrim, who with high hopes
and renovated strength rushes to the shadowy shore to
bathe his heated brow and slake his burning thirst—but
finds sand alone—scorching sand and bitter death: yea,
his pulse and temples throbbed with feverish and restless
anxiety, like the bull when worried and driven by the
javelins of the sportsman of the corrida del toros. Indeed,
the perils by which he was evidently encompassed,
were a sufficient cause of watchfulness; for however he
might at first have hesitated on the object and character
of his entertainers, momently every latent doubt disappeared,
and it was not possible to mark unmoved, the
disgusting mixture of impertinent curiosity, barefaced hardihood,
and ruffian surliness of the manner and conversation
of these men; all was convincing in a bosom the
least prone by circumstance to suspicion: and now he
could not shut out the fearful reality that closed about
him—with a quick and ghastly eye he gazed upon the
stern and savage forms that moved in the red gleams
that shot in vividness from the fire—and as the strong
light bronzed the hardy visages and gloomy brows of
those who ministered in its radiance, a hundred accidents
rendered certain the truth of his fearful and desperate
fancies. The rumour had ran abroad that the blood
stained pirate, the rover Kid, was in a distant sea; in
that confidence he had landed—but now the thought was
blighting and searing as a blast of death, and yet he
could not banish it—for there was the motlied garb—the
deep swarthy and sunburnt hue of countenance—the
wild reverly and reckless riot that were ascribed to the
free trader and his followers—and then for him there
was no escape. A thousand times better, he mentally
acknowledged, had he died, perished, and now lay a
frozen stark corpse in the snow, than thus to drain to the
dregs the bitterness of despair, and await the descending
sword which by a single hair hung above him, like that
which dropped o'er the head of the luxurious Syracusan.

“Were it possible,” thought he, “to destroy these
papers, could I effect that, my own blood were scarce
worth avenging.” He thrust his hand in his bosom, and
shot a quick glance around the dusky hovel—the view
was cheerless and without comfort—the idea—the wish,
that prompted the act, was as false and fatal, as that
which urges the spirit of the wicked Moslemite, to rise
at the call of the two angels that wait upon the sepulchre,
and forswear his faith—for darkness like death,
came o'er his heart, as his sight drank in the scene; he
gazed sadly on the black and rugged walls—they were
as chains to bind him prisoner in the uttermost moment
of danger—his heart sank—and when his eye rested on
the tall figures that stalked like giant shadows before
him, his imagination became excited, and wandered as in
a feverish dream; and he could scarce refrain from believing,
that as he looked on them, their forms distended
and enlarged, and their features grew sterner—and that
every glance they threw towards him, was savage, and
threatening murther; his hand quitted the vellum, and
slid with involuntary haste to the haft of his sword—
“There is no chance against such fearful odds,” said he
to himself firmly, “if I have fallen in the snare they've
set, at least I will die as a man: some few of these dogs
shall never read the neck verse, if my arm weakens not
in the encounter, and this good steel serves me as wont.”

There is a fascination, that at the trying hours of men's
lives, seizes as with a grasp of fate upon their intellect—
they are dead—they become powerless, and watch without
a care, to evade the instrument of destruction that
creeps gradually from its concealment, in their view,
fluttering in the toil like the simple tranced bird, which
hovers over the basilisk serpent, as bound by strings of
iron to its destroyer—even so the younger traveller, lay

with ear painfully acute to the stirring of the slightest
breath within the wigwam, while often such was the
intense anxiety of his mind, that cold beads of dew hung
on his forehead, starting as if they were drops of blood
gathered from his veins;—with what a bursting vision,
must the defenceless victim, bound in the embrace of the
brazen and crowned idol of those accursed vallies, Tophet[8]
and Hinnom, have drank in the horrid preparations
of the bloody priests and sacrificers—the tumultuous
cries about him—the shrieks of the mad worshippers—the
riotous sounding of tymbal, sackbut, or psaltery,
could not for a second have withdrawn his fixed attention,
or aroused him from the misery of his situation;
and so, though the younger traveller dropped his heavy
lids o'er their blood-shot balls, to give them an instant's
ease, and to collect his energy for the emergence which
he deemed was nigh—yet it struck him as if in that short
time, every machination which was to be dreaded, had
been compassed—and immediately he turned the disturbed
orbs with quick strained sense upon those he had so
briefly closed them on; his sight came unware upon a
near, and that which had awhile been an unnoted object;
his glance met in its wild sweep an answer—but not of
sympathy, as it seemed to him, but adding to alarm—for,
seated idly a few paces distant from his rude mat, was
the attendant boy, with looks bent intently on the agitated
traveller, with an anxious and apparent watching: as
soon as he caught the gaze that observed him, and which
was nearly simultaneous to both, the expression of his
eye sunk to glassiness and vacancy—the former meaning,
however, that had disturbed the features of this
stripling, from their common idiot and stolid character,
had not been unmarked by the traveller—but it was so
much like the hate and anger-swelled countenance of vexed
childhood, that the busy mind dwelt not on it—yet now
it was repeated, and in such a shape and manner, as
could leave no doubt but this fragile and feeble creature,
was soon about to take a share in some determined act
against him, and to which he looked as one gloating on
expected revenge.

“Can nature, in so young and tender a plant, have
sowed feelings so fiendlike?” whispered the traveller to
himself, “good God! what could I have done to this
springald? my memory serves—I recollect him not—and
yet, though treated so brutally by these men, he seems
as if he would vent the gall of his soul on me—a stranger
to him, who hath never crossed him in life—still,
would he were all I had to fear—howbeit, he looks as very
an imp of mischief and blood, as ever Satan sent
earthward to plague and curse mankind.”

But the traveller, in this last sentence, had done the
youth injustice: his garments, as has been mentioned,
were of the poorest kind, but there was a nobleness and
singular beauty in his person, that ill accorded with his
wretched attire: nevertheless, his mantle, with its tattered
drapery, was wrapped so close about him, that
the delicacy of his form and features was greatly concealed,
except from the most prying search—and whether
assumed or not, yet there was in general, that absent
and unattending air about him, which well bespoke
his mental incapacity, and his want, as the hosts had heretofore
informed, of the powers of speech and hearing—
he sat partly in the light, and partly in the shadow, and as
the traveller pursued the chain of his thought with his eye
on him, he could not but acknowledge a surprise, that he
had passed this creature so cursorily, and but now been
stricken in observing him—the complexion of the youth

wore apparently a dusky tinge, but clear as the sweet scented
olibanum,[9] yet where the cloak had fallen from his neck,
his skin denied that as its native hue, for in those places,
it was transparent and white as an infant's, while his
long black hair, of womanish loveliness, hung floating
careless and dishevelled, around his head—his face was
pale and wan, and his features, though regular, were
thin and emaciated by want and suffering; there he sat,
every limb motionless, stirring not from the spot where
he had placed himself, which now was lit by the quick
and bickering flame of the distant fire; and anon as it
died, left almost in dusky night, while he seemed so
fading and shadowy, that the straying fancy might have
dressed him out as some spectre in a vision, or a lost spirit
sitting penitent at the gate of Gehenna and weeping for
its departed glory. And could it have so chanced, was
the traveller in his mistrust at error, had his active
mind, eager in rendering him torment, conjured an omen
in the stripling's glance, that had never been? could he
have been so deceived as thus to imagine harm where
there was none? Yes, it was plain. The broken spirited
urchin was too much taken up with his own grief, to injure
others—for as the observer continued to look upon
him, he perceived his bosom rise and swell as if the heart
it covered was bursting beneath; and with slender fingers
he swept away hastily the cloud of tears that had sprung
like rain drops on his long eye-lashes.—in truth the unfortunate
child might well have expressed that image of
patient sorrow, who with

The traveller felt his heart yearn in pity to the parentless,
abandoned creature; but his was not a condition to
extend assistance, and with a bitter pang he found that
he was selfish in his despair: restless and agitated, he

turned on his rough mat, and strived to shut out the
misery he beheld in the sharp remindings of the desperate
circumstances in which he believed himself placed;
but that mild, tearful eye, and saddened countenance,
was still before him—he could not combat against them;
they seemed to beseech help, but how could he extend
it? they were as the dying cries of the perishing follower
of an Arabian caravan, that seeketh but a drop of water
from his comrade, to moisten his burning lip and
tongue, when he who is besought, hath but an empty
cruise, and reels himself with death and perishing thirst.

And now, as if some demon revelled in the torture
inflicted on him, and urged the barbed arrows, unsated
with the anguish he had already endured, came new food
for doubt and alarm: the guide, to whose obstinacy and
ignorance all was owing, had disappeared; when and
whither, he knew not: fruitless were the efforts he made
to recollect the Dutchman's departure; an indistinct remembrance
of his having been a short time in the wigwam,
alone remained; the rest was uncertainty and
doubt; a hundred unpleasant ideas, crowded at once
upon him—all was confirmed—they had been betrayed;
the road had been wandered from designedly, and if
aught had yet been wanted, it was but this, and to see
the hanger bared and pointed at the victim's breast.

Of the group near the fire, all except three abandoning
their debauch had drawn their huge cloaks about them
and stretched their limbs upon their mats, as composed
for sleep—and those on watch, sat basking their brawny
bodies before the blaze, feeding the flames at times with
fresh fuel, and discoursing together in a low and stifled
tone of voice, of which now and then a half muttered
sound, louder than the rest, would reach the eager and
expectant ear of the listening traveller; but from these,
he was scarce enabled to gather much, though he held
his breath with intense attention, and though when the
light of the fire round which they had closed, and which
now scarcely pierced the sable precincts of the darkening
hovel, cast a vivid and reddening glare upon the
deep and earnest brows of the discoursers, he strove

to read the very motions of their lips, and workings of
their muscles, but it was in vain; a faint noise was all
he could distinguish, like the busy fluttering of the wings
of some teasing insect; yet it struck him that at times,
when the mounting blaze battled through the sullen
smoke, and played strongly on the bluff and hardened
visages of the speakers, that he detected glances fearful
and ferocious, that were cast towards the place where he
lay, betokening impatience and disappointment: however,
after a short while, two of these men seemed to follow
the example of their companions; for breaking off their
conversation, they crouched themselves on the earth as
if to seek rest; while he who was left, though contending
against his weariness, stalked about the fire as on watch
and in tendence lest it might expire from neglect, looking
as he walked upon his round with stealthy pace, like
some midnight plunderer guarding his booty; but this he
soon abandoned and sitting down he bent over the blaze
and spread his huge and sinewy hands to the heat, delighting
in the grateful warmth; then slowly his eye lost
its habitual fierceness—first his head wavered like the
furze on the mountain steep, and now he would start
suddenly awake, and gaze around, yet it was not long ere
it dropped on his broad shoulder and he yielded to the
slumber, whose tyrant approach appeared to conquer all
his exertions.

Time gradually moved forward in the night. From
out the smouldering and burning heap that formed the
body of the fire would tower a tall and wavering pillar of
flame, which as sudden as it rose would sink down, flooded
as it were by a vast and floating cloud of stifling
smoke that almost threatened its extinction, even like
the black mist of time that enshadows the glory of the
great dead, or like the dark mantle of envy that enshrouds
and hides the glowing flight of genius; as the
fire's strength grew fainter and fainter, at intervals it
would flash up with a fitful irradiation that lit the whole
place, and rendered the sleeping and cloaked forms
around visible, stretched out like the bodies of the slain
upon the battle field, near the night fires of the warriors

that had triumphed; and now the blaze would fall,
changing the colour of every sportive flash to as many
dies as streak the skin of the dying dolphin. As it
burnt low and expiring, a small blue flame would dart like
a barbed spear on the tops of the coals and embers,
many of which still looked bright with life and ignition,
though the others wore a dye blacker than the curled
locks of the Numidian, whose darkness was slowly creeping
on the whole bed, with an approach as sure as death
steals on the body. Still ever and anon, some wandering
breath of wind, like a small streamlet sporting from the
parent flood, leaving the rude shrill blast that it had
made a part, and which whistled fierce and angrily
around the hut, stole through some unguarded aperture
of wall, and swept o'er the fading warmth, making for a
moment, the lively red run through the blackened
stumps, like blood revisiting the veins of the heart; but
these would rejoice and sparkle but an instant, for as the
air fell the heat retired again, leaving an ashy whiteness
on the logs like the shroud of a corpse.

As the cause for vigilance seemingly declined, a sort of
stupor began involuntarily to weigh upon the senses of
the traveller. Gleam after gleam as it started or perished
he marked, and counted minute after minute as they
departed down the stream of time; he listened to the howl
of the wild animals without, which by times would echo
from the distance, and then were answered so close to
the sides of the wigwam, as to arouse the large dogs
from their dozings at their master's feet, and force them
to point their eager ears, and utter in defiance a short
deep note of hate, ere they again sank their heads between
their outstretched paws; he heard the moan of the
never tiring breeze, and the grief-like and hollow voice
of the forest, as it bent beneath the violent attacks of the
half renewed storm;—and soon his thoughts grew uncontrolled,
and wandered from the objects to which he
strived to direct them, like the scattered fragments of a
wreck borne from their owner's grasp by the gamboling
waves; by degrees the gloomy figures and objects around
faded and fluctuated before his dim eyes, until the sight

could neither rest on them nor descry their forms or
shapes: and yet he neither slept or waked, but lay like
one under the influence of a dream in the delirious dozes
of a fever, in which the wild wanderings of the disturbed
mind takes the fantasies that its own workings conjures
up, as the real actions and passings of life; and still,
withal, he thought not but that he was watching warily
and intent; for often he tossed and threw his heated and
feverish limbs from side to side on his hard couch, as he
deemed the forgetfulness of slumber preyed on his brain,
while a nearly indistinct moan would burst unconsciously
from his trembling lips—for it seemed unto him that broken
and disturbing murmurs rang in his ears, and at
intervals there rushed before and about him, multitudinous
figures, and distorted and frowning masses of beings;
and there passed fearful events and actions around,
with the swift and rapid course of a winged whirlwind.
In vain his vision strained at first to distinguish and mark
the crowd, or one single shape; all impressed him as familiar,
yet his exertion to retain the memory an instant
longer than their presence, was powerless; they were a
strange, mingled and ghastly spectacle, that swam quickly
away like the waves of a stormy ocean, crossing, bursting
and contending with each other, and taking a thousand
varied forms, that is beyond the mariner to remember:
yet at one time, amid this trooping of unearthly phantoms,
his vision met a human face, but it was pallid and
wan—its eyes lustreless and fixed, as those in the sockets
of a strangled man: and when it had caught his sight, it
stirred not, but stood without motion, with its dull and
lifeless gaze rivetted on him; while he seemed bound to it
as fascinated by some spell, against whose influence he
was unable to resist, though his heart panted and knocked
at his ribs, and his brain felt as bursting: anon the
spectre came nearer to him, and he felt a cold and icy
grasp, that thrilled through every nerve, and the damp
and clammy perspiration sprang from every pore at the
death-like touch,—sore he strove to fly, and struggled
in agony, as one battles for life: but his antagonist grappled
him with the strength of a giant; vain he strained;
he was as a stripling in the gripe of a grown man: and
then he deemed he was dragged along, in spite of his
convulsive efforts, with a velocity like the wind drives
an atom; his head grew giddy, and his sense whirled in
faintness;—at last they appeared to reach the steep brink
of a dark precipice, adown whose gloomy side his enemy
strove to thrust him,—below, was black and gloomy as a
den; the depth was pierceless, fathomless; and now it
seemed as if his limbs sank beneath him, and he was
struck still and strengthless, in the hands of his merciless
foe; his very voice was thralled, and his cries were
choked in his throat, while his parched tongue clove
dry as dust to his mouth; then a weight like lead was
heaped upon his breast; it pressed heavier and heavier;
the ribs creaked, scarce able to support the burthen; his
veins started, and a cold shivering ran through his blood;
when, as if loosed by the invisible hand of a sorcerer,
he was disenthralled; freed from the terrible force that
lay upon him; but as he fled, a hundred months appeared
shrieking and shouting around him; onward and
onward he went, through mist and night, but the steps
of pursuit were behind, while his ear throbbed at the
sound, as though pierced with the sharpest steel; closer
and closer they came; he felt the very wind pass him,
from the floating of their garments; he shuddered with
terror; again he thought that grave-cold hand was on
him; he sank as he felt its icy gripe, as withered by a
stroke of palsy; a broken shriek of pain and horror
rose on his lips, as he heard the triumphant howl of his
persecutor; with desperate and frenzied force, he struggled
and—awoke. But yet so lively was the impression
made on his heated imagination, by the wild and thronging
phantasies of his fevered vision, that it was sometime
ere he could drive away the shapes—the gliding and
gibbering phantoms that had disturbed him in dream—
nor was he able to hinder his distress of mind, giving itself
vent and relief by a deep and desparing sigh.

“Merciful heaven,” he ejaculated unconsciously, half
aloud, though in that whispering tone of voice that assimilated

to his agitated chain of thought, “the very
bitterness of death, exceeds not this.”

“There are those who watch for thy safety at hand,”
said a voice in answer close to his side—the words, though
they were tremulous and low, as if the lip that uttered
them, had quivered in doubt or fearful haste, yet sounded
distinct, sweet and clear, as the music of a viol.

The traveller started with involuntaty surprise—the
the strange and stirring fancies of his sleep, seemed
scarcely dissipated.

“Good God! what are you?—how—where?” exclaimed
he rapidly, and eagerly glancing his eyes around
in the darkness.

He could see nothing, and no answer was returned—
he repeated his words, and sought his question louder.

“Who do you want? what the devil are you?” returned
a hoarse and surly voice—“why the devil do you
set off your pederero at this rate? an you rest not yourself,
break not that of others.”

The incident had now completely aroused the traveller;
he deemed an explanation with the last speaker would afford
no satisfaction, for even yet he felt uncertain whether
the voice had not been a mere delusion of his thoughts, half
sleeping and awakening, embodied in an answer, that had
impressed not the ear, though the mind had so fancied; he
therefore remained silent, and in a few moments heard
the person who had just addressed him, renew his inquiry
with an oath, at having been disturbed without reason—
then again all was still and hushed, unbroken by a sound,
except the deep and hard breathings of the sleepers
around.

The fire had by this time sank to a few, half-lighted
and nearly dying brands, that sent out neither heat nor
warmth, and the traveller shivered as he felt the chillness
of the night, and the cold of the season strike his
blood; he drew his mantle closer to his body, and lay
with his limbs huddled on his mat. Suddenly, there was
a slight movement near him, as of the gliding step of one
stealing with cautious pace, as fearful of being discovered,
and almost at the same time, the voice he had before been

startled by, came to his ear with a note as melodious and
as soft as the silvery song of beauty in her midnight
bower.

“For your life's sake, be still—speak not,” said the
voice hurriedly, “your rashness will endanger others,
and you are lost for ever: stir not, notice not whatever
come that may alarm—you are in bad hands, yet trust in
heaven—” there was a hasty noise as of a guarded and
suppressed converse in a farther part of the wigwam—the
voice pursued, as if quickened at being overheard, and
at the same time, making the communication so low as to
render it impossible for any listening, to distinguish a syllable,
“time wears fast—can you, will you place confidence
in a stranger—you must, you've no other chance,
and I swear—but what avails an oath; you have those
things with you that will cost your heart's blood; give
them me, they shall be safe—it will preserve you.”

The total darkness around, though he must have even
stooped above him, rendered the traveller unable to see
his mysterious visiter, and the rapidity with which he was
now spoken to, gave him scarce time to reflect, and his
first impulse was to draw partly from his bosom the
packet that was demanded; but as he felt a cold, eager,
trembling hand touch his lightly to receive the treasure,
an indecisive feeling came on him.”

“I dare not—who are you?” said he, “that knoweth
my business so well, and seeks so singular a favour from
me: What pledge of your faith have I?—No! no! my
life, if it be sought, shall end with my duty.”

“Rash man, you know not what you do,” returned the
voice in a yet quicker and hurried accent, “for God's
sake, delay not thus. If I mean you not fair, may I drop
a corse the instant—hush, I hear them—they come; they
are here.”

As the voice finished the last broken sentence, the traveller
became conscious, that with an action sudden as
unexpected, the hand of the speaker had glided under his
arm, and bewildered as he was by the boldness of the
attempt, as by all that had passed, ere he could guard
against it, or even seize the intruder, the entrusted documents,

the charge on which so much depended, were
gone; snatched from him in a moment. With a terrific
cry of rage, he would have sprung after the nocturnal
demon who had robbed him, but as he strove to rise, a
powerful grasp withheld him, and bore him backwards to
the earth.

“Vile assassin! loosen thy hold, or bitterly shalt thou
rue the hour,” cried the traveller, as with desperate force
he endeavoured to free himself from his antagonist, and
to draw his weapon from his side.

“Nuestra senora, an you swing your martinets thus,
damn thee, I shall cut your painter,” said the adversary,
pressing his knee on the bosom of the prostrate soldier.

“Base dog! dost thou intend to murther me? Stoll,
comrade—help! help!”

“Carra, man, thy mate will have enow to do to fight
his own ship.”

“Alas! Hal, I hear thy call,” said the voice of the en
sign, dolefully, “but I am bound, and my body lays as
dead as ever did the mullar of Poussin.”

“Ho, Lumby, Jenkins, Lofe,” shouted the pirate impatiently,
“hang out the glim; curse ye, lazy lubbers, it is
as dark as a squall of Cape Hatteras. Congo, you black
serpent, why you are as slow as thof you'd never handled
a rope, and this fellow flounders like a fresh caught shark.”

After a few vain and exhausting efforts of resistance,
the limbs of the traveller were secured, and he became
motionless in the power of the desperadoes; the faint
rays of a lighted lanthorn, upheld in the hand of one of
the ruffians, now pierced the gloom of the hovel.

“Mass, senor caballero, but it is no small job to hold
off thy capstern, whelps,” said the conqueror, “carra,
thy hawse is crossed this side of the windlass, for damn ye!
d'ye see, we are lads con todo el mondo guerra, as Don
Anthonio, our linguister, says, and it must be a quick
helmsman that steers clear of the grapnel of the brethren
of the coast.”

“Oho, mate, change thy mizen,” interposed a ruffian,
savagely placing his hand on the prisoner, “blast it, the
tide waits for no man; so let's overhaul the prize.”

Aye, lads,” added another, “what's their cargo? clear
away the rigging, and let's have a sight of all under
hatches.”

“Move thy hulk aside,” echoed a third, “why damn
it, thou art like a head sea—let me rip the canvass.”

“Give sea room—what has he aboard? give sea
room,” vociferated others, as they crowded about the
captives.

“In a few minutes, the garments of the travellers
were rifled of every valuable, and rent and cut to pieces,
by the brutal hands and keen tucks of the freebooters,
as they eagerly contended for the spoil.

“Avast, messmates,” said the commander, interposing,
“this is no time to slacken your braces—each lad shall
have his fair share of the booty, but now there's no time
for it; so look close to what papers the dogs bear; for
an I am not on a wrong coast, we have ta'en to-night
that which is worth the bravest flota.”

“Now by my halidome!” said Jost Stoll imploringly,
“kind masters, ye know not what ye do; touch not
my fuelle with such irreverent hands—good heavens—
you will deface my best copy of Vandyke—be satisfied—
you have my gold, cavaliers—be not worse than Goths—
than Vandals, I implore ye—take my life, but harm
not that sketch—it is from the bull of Paul Poter—and
Sir Godfrey Kneller said at the last meeting of the KitKat
club, that—now by Saint Paul—see, you are crushing
that cartoon to pieces—and there's my study from
Gerard Dow, under your foot—my Julio Romano—masters,
that is my most precious work—if ye have any
pity, any mercy, kill me—rend me in atoms, but—have
ye no eyes—no taste? I shall go mad.”

“Fools, what have ye here?” exclaimed the rover,
as with a quick and careless hand, disregarding the intercessions
and anguish of the agitated ensign, he ran
over the papers that contained the drawings so sacred to
the amateur, and which, after a moment's examination,
were cast to the earth in contempt, “these are not
what I seek—are there none other? art sure? none
other—by—, the vile and crafty knave hath suspected

me, and destroyed them—speak out—where is thy
trust?” continued he gazing furiously in the face of the
younger traveller, who moved not beneath his eye, but
kept a sullen silence—“where hast thou hid the papers
with which thou wast charged? dost hear me? hadst
thou nothing for Van Courtlandt's friends—for the
younger Bayard faction—for Schuyler? wilt not answer?
do you know who you brave? may my soul be
damned, an I rip not the secret from thy heart.”

“Thou hast already done thy worst, base outlaw,” at
length returned the traveller composedly, and with a
calm and determined utterance, “why then mock me
with inquiries thou knowest are as bootless, as if thou
sought an answer from the rocks? I have fallen by thy
stratagem; I know my life is forfeit, and I have no wish
to live: therefore trouble me no more, but end my miseries
with your hungry knives.”

“Obstinate, rash idot,” cried the buccaneer, apparently
goaded by the firmness of his prisoner, beyond
the controlling of his raging passions, “dost brave me—
by hell! young man, thou hadst better rouse the wild devil,
than waken my anger; sooth, boy, thou may'st not deem
thou art in danger—hast heard of Kid—Richard Kid—
him whom they call savage—murderer—pirate,—bold
wight, he is before you:—come, tempt me not to drive
my hanger through thy body—but give forth the papers
I have sought of thee—it may save the shedding of
blood:” he paused in expectation of an answer, but
none was returned—for an instant he appeared as endeavouring
to smother the rising choler which almost
choaked him; his limbs trembled like a child's, or as if
stricken with an ague fit; then no longer able to bound
the tiger fury which swelled him, he burst forth with a
voice hoarse as the first tremendous rush of the travado,
when it leaps from the mountain to the ocean—“spawn
of hell,” he cried, “wilt keep thy damned silence? thou
art bold—a very bold man: now hearken, thou wilt not
wag that tongue o' thine one jot—ha! by — may I be a
dead man this hour, if I have it not torn out by the
roots; it shall not serve thee for one word again; thou

knowest not what I can do; of all, thou dream'st not,
what I will have done to thee; thou shalt die piecemeal;
what ho! my hounds there—ye shall have food; your
tusks shall peel a banquet from this fellow's carcass.”

As he spoke, he gave an encouraging signal, which
was answered by the dogs, who with savage bounds
sprang from the earth, towards their victim, growling,
and showing through the snowy foam that hung upon
their lips, their white huge and sharp teeth, and their
eyes kindling to balls of fire: the rover's followers
stood in a gloomy crowd, advancing their fierce visages
to view the scene—while a horrid gratification seemed
dwelling on their hardened features.

“On him, knaves,” shouted the marauder, “an ye
leave one gout of flesh to moisten his bones, by — I'll
have you beaten that ye have done your duty so ill.”

With a ferocious howl, the dogs flew on the captive—
who, defenceless and bound, vainly struggled to free a
limb, to oppose the blood seeking animals—he strained
and tugged, until the veins of his arms swelled thick as
cords upon the skin—his heart throbbed quickly against
his side—the blood coursed in floods of fire through every
part of his body—yet had he been as still and stirless
as a corse stark for the burial, he had not been more
powerless—with the strength of despair, he bit at the
bonds that held him—but his vain endeavours to free
himself, merely excited bursts of unpitying laughter
from the merciless tormentors, who gazed upon his agonies
with that brutal indifference of the pain inflicted, and
with that exultation of enjoyment of the sport, with which
the matador eyes the dying gasps of the conquered bull.
The fangs of one of the dogs were fastened in his side,
the other, hanging to his shoulder as to the flank of a
flying hind, darted at his throat; wildly, madly did he
strive to cast him from his hold, but the well trained
beast kept snapping at that which instinct seemed to
guide him, as the fatal spot from which he could destroy
life. The baited victim felt the animal's teeth compress
and pierce the collar that was wound around his neck, as
though it was the edge of some deadly instrument that

cut it through; their sharp points seemed to touch his
skin like the ends of needles, and his very marrow thrilled
within him; a moment the stiff ruff was his defence—
then it parted, severed, and the bare tusks entered his
flesh, which appeared to peel away before their iron
power like shrivelled parchment, and the blood trickled
warm as fire adown his bosom, and dyed the jaws of the
ferocious brute;—his sense wavered, his brain seemed
bursting in agony, the balls of his eyes distended, and all
around was vivid as day:—the flash of the beast's eyes
met his, they looked like flakes of living flame—the force
of a giant gathered in him—the cords that tightened
round his wrist broke in twain—an instant and his fingers
tore open the gullet of the animal who had seized him so
dangerously—he pursued his conquest—the bite of the
dog relaxed—he hung fainter—he dropped—staggered
—sunk his head and died, uttering a savage moan with
his last breath.

The whole action was but an instant, for almost ere
the companion fell, the other dog had sprang on the arm
that had o'erthrown him, and was fast urging the revenge
for his death, while his antagonist, enteebled even by his
victory, shook as one dying; for now a film of darkness
came upon him, and he seemed stricken as by a blow of
lightning unto ashes; he strove against it, but the blood
rushed to his head; beads of cold dew streamed on his
brows, until they ran like dust into his sight; his ears
were filled as by the gurgling of waters—nature could
not bear his agonies—he reeled,—he could see—he
could hear no more, but dropped down on the bloody
carcass of his dead foe, and lay in the welling flood of
gore, like a thing without motion, feeling, or life.

How long he remained thus insensible he recked not,
but it was not long; though it was a void dismal, chill,
and vacant—an unbroken dreamless sleep; yet soon his
scattered faculties began to return, and gather might and
distinctness, like a defeated army when rallied after the
rout and the pursuit; at first he strove to rise, but found
his limbs yet firmly chained by his bonds, and in the vain
effort the thongs almost cut him to the bone, with the quickness

of tempered steel: a hundred pains shot through every
nerve, violent shiverings shook his limbs;—then he moved
his hand to his heart; his clothes were rent in the struggle,
and his fingers stuck to the bare flesh; he drew them
away, for they were covered with clotted blood that
poured down from his wounds, which were now numbed,
deadened; he gazed wildly about him; the swarthy and
unrelenting countenance of the buccaneer met his look;
there he stood holding back the hound, that had been
called off from the prey, and whose eagerness was yet
untamed, so that he could scarce be restrained from again
leaping on the traveller—for the instant he saw him stir,
he started as though he would have rushed on him and
sated his hate. The fainting captive closed his eyes; a
sensation at once sickly and blasting came over him—he
felt like some prisoner respited at the death hour, but for
a day; brought back when the bitterness of death was
past, again to have his miseries renewed, again to gaze
with anxious thought beyond the darksome gate; again
to feel minute after minute glide away towards that fearful
hour of inevitable fate; again to count drop after drop,
as the sand ran through the prison hour of glass; while
his every prayer for life was mocked by his persecutors,
who rejoiced in his despair like the cruel urchin who
triumphs in the convulsive contortions of a tortured worm,
whose pains and distress he increases by repeated wounds,
till the last spark of existence fleets away, and is then
hardly glutted with its miserable death,—a groan burst
from the lips of the traveller in the very bitterness of his
anguish.

“How say you now, master?” said Kid, “am I not
one who keepeth the words of threat I give? troth, thou
art of right stuff, as is thy comrade, you jolly knave;
but this is no place or hour to spin long yarns—so which
of ye have taken wit in your counsel and will satisfy on
that which I have sought?”

“By the memory of Leonardi De Vinci,” muttered
Jost Stoll, doggedly, “though you make dog's meat of
me, you'll find me as dumb as a pannel ere it is touched
by the brush; ay, on my halidome, what have I to live

for? look at my sketches, my studies, originals and copies,
all torn, stained, trod under foot—oh, you barbarians, had
I but the use of my rapier. I'd make a composition among
you equal to Holbein's dance of death.”

“What! and is it these daubs, these crankums, that it
would take a conjuror to make head or tail of, that you
make this storm about?” said the free trader, “why curse
it, man, they are not worth thy care; they are not baubles
that would amuse a child—cheer up and bear a hand—
come, my boy, we'll have faith between us; chuck this
nonsense overboard, and venture with me, I'll glut you
with golden pictures; thof an you like, there's many an
altar piece that would bring ducats with the rich at home,
that we'll not grudge you ship room, after sacking a church
or rifling a convent.”

The ensign's attention appeared alone to be aroused by
the first words of the buccaneer's address to him—

“What mean you?” replied he, angrily, “'sdeath,
daubs! now by the soul of Rembrandt, I have never
been so insulted—daubs! hark you, Sir, do you know what
sketching is? did you ever see the studies of Raphael
D'Urbino? of Michael Angelo? of Titian? of the Caracci?
daubs! death and the devil! just (I am tied, and
can't) pick up that outline of a landscape that lies by my
foot, I'll show you perspective, keeping, composition,
grouping, foliage:—damn it, it is easy to see you have no
more taste than an owl. What would you say to Sir Godfrey's
first study of his Bacchante? daub! daub! ha?”

“I tell thee what master,” returned the other,” thy
comrade here keeps his stays too taught, and thy jaws
are too slack, for thy brain is as cracked as ever was the
chink of a rotten wreck; so d'ye hear? I'll have no more
of your wild palaver; but damn you, you porpoise-faced
swab, an thou and thy mate here do not see fit to answer
me in one half hour, you shall both be beaten to death
with the flats of our cutlasses—I swear it; you have but
that short while to reckon accounts with this world; so
curse ye, mulish dogs, make the best of it. Come boys,”
continued he, addressing his companions, “you have not
turned in long to-night, and we have two glasses yet, ere

morning, or ere we can see the way to our lugger, so you
that stand in need, take out your mats—stay Eumet, it is
your watch; you will find Luath beyond the threshhold—
keep a look out ahead, there may be ferret-hawkers
aboard—there is no fear of these knaves getting loose or
disturbing our sleep, but at all events, at times, give an
eye. At the first peep of dawn arouse me, and by God,
an they then speak not to the better purpose, their mouths
shall be sewn up for ever.”

So saying, the reckless freebooter enfolded himself in
his wide mantillo, and threw himself on the ground; his
ruffian attendants, with the exception of Eumet, who left
the interior of the wigwam as he was ordered, followed
the example of their leader, and in a short time all was
again hushed and still as the grave within the so late busy
and stirring hovel.

The traveller attempted not to arise from the cold earth
whereon he had sank, lost and despairing: indeed so
hard and strongly had his bonds now been drawn and secured
around his limbs, that an endeavour was uselessly
exhausting their weakened and waning power—and as
he felt the moments pass, conscious that each that flitted
to the shades, drew him nearer to the close that awaited
him—his death hour, the very desire of existence,
appeared as departing; and fast he gave way to a hopeless
lethargy, which seemed to tighten with cords of iron
about his brain; his lacerated neck, his torn side, were
painless—the blood had ceased to flow, though the black
and curdled gouts hung stiff and dry to his broken garments.
A few paces from him, unremoved by his careless
masters, lay the carcass of the slain hound—his half
opened eyes still retained a glassy lustre, and his teeth
were firmly set against each other; large dashes of gore
were on him, and his contracted limbs showed what
dreadful struggles had preceded death: sick, wearied and
fainting, the traveller closed his eyes, and in the depth
of his anguish, he wished for the death that now was lingering—and
he lay as if the stroke had already fallen; but he
remained not so long, for soon he was conscious of a
cooling feeling that came o'er his burning and aching

brow, as if his beating temples were bathed by some
pleasant liquid, and like in the pauses of some dream,
he distinguished a gentle voice that strove to impart
comfort, as though some benignant and ministering being,
like a guardian spirit of pity and succour, that wings
around the tiresome couch of sickness, hovered about
him; he looked, and beheld the pirate's boy.

“Awake,” whispered he in a tone low and fearful,
“your bonds are cut—your comrade is at my side—be
quick, and follow silently—for should they stir, we're
lost.”

He started from the ground mechanically, at the bidding
of the youth, and stood a moment breathless; a
mist swam before him, and with a faint sigh, he would
have again fallen to the earth, had it not been for the
supporting arm of the ensign. “This way, this way,”
said the boy hurriedly, and gazing wild and trembling
about him as he spoke, “your lives depend on your caution—follow
me.”

“By my halidome! brave youth,” exclaimed the ensign,
but I—

“For God's sake, question me not now—but swift—
follow,” said the boy, “tread light, lest you arouse them.”
And like a spectre flitting among church-yard tombs,
he glided over the prostrate bodies of the sleepers: by
the flickering light of the lanthorn, which still burned
from the centre of the hut feebly and irregularly, they
pursued their guide with a step so soft, that not an echo
was heard from it: as they stole along, the sleeping Kid
lay before them; they started, for his eyes were wide
open and looking towards them; and his lips moved as
to stay their flight—“Fear not,” said their preserver,
“he sleeps soundly.”

As the boy spoke, he stooped above the buccaneer,
and dexterously undid the long dark sea cloak which
wrapt his brawny limbs, and gently drawing it from his
body, he turned back and threw it over the shoulders of
the younger traveller—who pressed in silent gratitude,
the hand of the noble youth.

“By my halidome,” exclaimed Jost Stoll, “that dog's

head were worth carrying away—Warren would give
the weight in gold to have it[10] —and by Saint Paul, it
would make an exquisite sketch—hist, yonker—do you
think there is time for me to take the outlines? I wont
be a minute—”

Are you mad,” said the boy, “see you not he stirs?
heaven have mercy! I fear me Loffe has wakened—this
way, for your lives sake—for mine, if you care not for
your own—follow me in silence.”

With a quick and noiseless pace, hardly daring to look
behind them, lest they should behold the dark visages
of the buccaneers peering over their shoulders, or feel
their deadly and iron grasps, they proceeded on and
gained the door of the wigwam unmolested; its covering
of deer hide was uplifted, and the sweet and free breath
of the heavens blew in upon them, bearing, with its refreshening
touch, renewed vigour to their doubting hearts.

“By the fame of Lanfranco,” exclaimed Jost Stoll,
looking back in the hovel, “an my eyes deceive me not,
yonder by that snoring slave, lays my head from Tintoretto;
it seems but little injured: an I die for it, I will
not lose it; troth, to abandon so fine a specimen, were
an insult to the arts.”

“What are you about?” exclaimed his comrade, withholding
him as he motioned to return, “surely you will
not so rashly run on danger, and risk instant death to all,
and for such a bauble?”

“Bauble!” replied the ensign, struggling to break from
him, “a drawing like that a bauble—such sweetness of
shadow, flowing of lines, mellowness of finish, for it is coloured
the very counterpart of the original, which brought
five hundred louis at the auction of the famous collection
of the Duc de Montmorenci, and is now one of the chef
d'œuvres in the gallery of the Luxemburgh—bauble!
why man, you know no more of the arts than a half

bred spaniel. You should hear what Sir Godfrey Kneller
said—”

“For mercy, ensign, hold a moment; hear me—think
where you are—think—”

“Think, and such a picture at stake? by my halidome,
there is not time to think.”

“On! on! we shall be lost,” cried the youth, impapatiently
urging forward the younger traveller.

“I must not, will not, leave this incautious man behind.
See, boy, he quits us though I—”

“Then let the dotard idiot perish in his obstinacy; there
are more lives at hazard than his,” as the stripling spoke,
with a hasty and firm grasp, he seized the arm of the
irresolute traveller, and with a strength beyond his childish
appearance, but which was mustered by a sudden desperation
and determined action, he drew him onwards,
and ere he had a thought to oppose, they were without
the wigwam, and the hide was dropped athwart the doorway:
but their escape was not yet effected.

“There is a friend who should have watched here;
but I see him not,” anxiously whispered the boy as he
paused and gazed around: “what could have happened?
he cannot be false—yet I fear me all is not right.”

Upon the broad visage of the heavens but slight vestige
of the late fearful tempest remained; here and there
alone, a few small, broken and fleecy clouds of rack, like
gay flocks of white-winged birds, swept in scattered
bodies on the blue horizon, at times obscuring the lordly
moon, who was hastening to her wane, with a misty veil;
yet beneath the light of the fair orb, all was a wide and
blighted waste: the clear snow, ghastly as the cheek of
death, lay all around; wreaths of it dangled like garlands
on every tree and bush, and hung on the low and ruinous
gables of the hovel, which could scarcely be discerned from
the deep and heavy drifts which had been piled against it
by the wind. A small cloud floated before the moon; the
fugitives waited with breathless impatience till it had
passed on its course, and the full radiance glittered on the
sparkling snow.

“Great God! I do not see him; he has deserted us—
what will become of us?” cried the youth in a tone of
piercing despair, and wringing his hands in fear.

A slight quick sound, like the foot of a living creature,
pressing in the fresh snow and beating gently the ground,
met the anxious ear of the traveller.

“Hark!” softly whispered he to his companion, “I
hear some one; he whom you look for—”

“Oh no! no!” cried the youth bitterly, “undone!
undone!”

At this moment, the hound that had accompanied the
huntsman who had discovered the travellers, in the former
section, came leaping from around an angle of the
hut. When he beheld the fugitives, he stopped short,
and drawing himself back on his hind legs, he raised his
long ears, and uttered a hoarse, deep growl; the stripling
seemed sinking to the earth in terror; but at once mustering
his self-possession, he advanced boldly towards the
animal, who, as he drew near, apparently laid aside his
ferocity, and when he had recognised the youth, bounded
joyfully about him.

“What cheer, springal, ha? who have you there?”
said a fierce voice, and the hunter stood before them.

The boy, with a wonderful command of feeling, at the
very instant he beheld the man, composed his countenance
and resumed the idiot gaze of listlessness, which
he had worn within the wigwam when in attendance on
the ruffians; slowly appearing to gather the meaning of
the question, from the action that accompanied it, he
made a hasty sign, pointing towards the hovel and the
traveller and then to the forest, as if to intimate they were
despatched on an errand by those within; and lastly, he
made a sign as if to enforce that the matter was secret
and emergent. The traveller drew the pirate's cloak close
about him.

The hunter hesitated. “This is a strange business—
who is with you,” said he, motioning the question as he
spoke.

The youth signed again in return. “What, Eumet,”

said the hunter; “by God! this is not so; one might as
soon snare a leveret out of season, as to keep him silent
from an outlandish proverb; this is not him; and—Ha!”

As he spoke, a loud and terrific shout, that rung like a
death knell, was heard from within the wigwam

“By hell! I was not out of the scent,” cried the hunter,
as he levelled his musquetoon at the traveller;
“yield thy life.”

But ere his hand touched the lock of the piece, the boy
sprang upon his arm, and held it down in spite of his efforts
to free himself. At the same time the traveller,
darted forward, and ere he could shake off the hold that the
youth had seized with the energy of desperation, the hunter
was fiercely grappled with, and was cast to the earth,
more by the quickness of the attack than the strength of
his adversaries; the musquetoon was wrenched from his
hand.

“Villain!” cried the traveller, as he pointed the weapon,
“take thy rich deserts.”

A loud and heart-rending shriek from the youth broke
on the attention of the traveller ere he could discharge
the gun.

“Save me, oh save me!” cried the boy.

The dog, attracted by the scuffle and the imminent
stress of his master, had with a loud bark flown at the
throat of the youth, as if he would have torn him to
pieces in the rescue. The traveller stepped back and instantly
fired; the beast, with a long, hollow, and revengeful
howl fell weltering in his blood—while at nearly the
like instant something passed by the traveller, cutting the
air with a sharp hissing noise. The traveller turned
hastily round, and beheld the hunter reel back, while his
brains and gore gushed out in every direction; the tomahawk
of the Indian was buried in the skull of the ruffian.
The whole struggle from the alarm to the hunter's
death, scarce occupied the time taken in the relation.

“Brother,” said the savage, “thy feet must be like
the wild cat, thy foemen are behind.”

He seized the traveller by the hand, and plunged forward
towards a small thicket of underwood, followed by

the boy; dashing loads of snow on every side as they ran.
Scarcely had they gained the cover of the brush, which
was but a stone's throw distance from the wigwam, ere
their flight was quickened by the hoarse curses of the
buccaneers, whose shouts and cries sounded loudly in
their rear, while a shower of balls, followed by the quick
reports of the arquebusses, flew thick about them, cutting
the air and branches, and shaking down wreaths of
snow from the trees around. With the celerity of a
squirrel the Indian rushed onwards, dragging his comrades,
whose limbs were strained by desperation to the
tightest chord; they darted down a rocky and stony
path, whose shagged points and splinters pierced their
feet at every bound—but yet it staid them not; through
hedges dark and tangled, of the strongest rushes, which
winter had not been able to destroy, and of which at other
times there was not one of them could have bent a
branch, they struggled, nor paused to draw a breath;
they looked behind but as the panting stag in the hot
pursuit, to gather fresh power of limb to speed, from the
closer shouts of the hunters. After having pursued a
straight course for a considerable distance, the ground
becoming more and more unequal, rendered the route
tedious and difficult; at last altering their direction of
path, the Indian led for a dark grove of gloomy pines,
within whose embowering shade they entered; and
there owing to the closeness of the trunks of the trees,
the snow was not deep, and afforded them more ease in
running. And now the cries of the pursuers, and the
deep-mouthed bay of their hound, grew more distant;
and the scattered reports of their musquetoons, as they
fired signals to each other, or at the shadows which deceived
them with likeness of the fugitives, grew fainter
and fainter, and at last all ceased; and they could
hear the quick and heavy beatings of their hearts alone,
as they panted against their ribs with the exertion that
they had undergone; at length, after nearly an hour's unceasing
speed along the most precipitous and unbroken
ways, the Indian paused, although his swiftness had been
unabated, and he appeared now but little wanting of
rest; but his companions were worn down and jaded to
sickness; yet now, danger was o'er—and they seated
themselves on a small rise of ground which the wind
had swept clear of snow, and rested in safety.

Wild and tumultuous were the feelings of the traveller—he
could scarcely realize the events that had passed;
all was like the thronging objects of some swift
fleeting vision of sleep, that although transitory and unsubstantial,
clings still vividly to the memory; his own
action in the incidents of the flight, seemed prompted by
impulse alone, that was not to be swayed unshared by
the guidance of the mind; indeed so utterly hopeless
had he been, so sunken and lost by despair, that not a
wish remained, but a speedy extinction of his miseries:
and when roused from this bitterness of wo, when freed
and rescued from bondage and death, he felt as much
overpowered with the sudden change of fortune, as he
had been in his uttermost depth of sorrow; he was like
the desperate and shipwrecked seaman, who had clung
long to the rock, and struggled long in vain to climb from
the wave, lifted by some friendly hand to the secure shore,
even in the last moment when his strength was failing, and
his hold to the bare and slippery side grew weaker and
weaker, and his eye was dim with death; and now,
though distant from danger, the whelming waters of the
unquiet sea, were hurtling in his ears, and still the sky-crowned
billows were tumbling in his sight: the limbs
of the traveller yet smarted from the bonds that had
held him, but he moved them unshackled; his soul drew
in the very breath of the free air that wantoned around,
but his lips uttered not a sound, though his hand pressed
on his swelling and surcharged bosom.

“Brother,” said the red man, “the great Spirit hath
looked on you with an eye like a father looks on his
dearest child—the edge of the tomahawk was sharpened
—the fires of the captors were lighted, and the victim
was led to the stake; but the arrows of thy enemies
have not reached you, but have fallen to the earth as
heavily as the musklonghi plunges in the deep lake;
and now thou art far from the following of thy foes; the

gamesome wekolis that sings in the broad espetonga
tree, is not more fearless than thou mayest be brother,
the rising sun will show thee the smoke of the white
man's fires; thy brethren are within the echo of thy
voice.”

“Brave, generous preservers—what do I not owe
thee?” burst from the traveller as he seized their hands
and pressed them fervently within his own, “thou hast
saved my worthless life at the risk of your own
blood; can I ever make you a return—no—but yet
something I may do—you know not whom you have rescued—it
may not be proper now—but there will come a
time, when it will be mine to grant you favours beyond
all you can hope; and when I refuse you what you may
ask, even though it be that which I may not well
do, yet if I refuse you, I repeat it, may the face of
heaven, which hath so smiled upon me, be for ever
turned from me.”

“Stranger,” said the boy in a solemn and melancholy
tone, “I, for my own part, ask nothing of you—yet there
may happen that, even in my life, which may cause you to
remember what you have just spoken, and that one whom
you met in the midst of murderers, and who perhaps had
as much cause as they to wish you dead, preserved you
from their hands: remember this, I seek no more.”

“I will never forget it, and from this moment thou
shalt be a constant care to me.”

“No, stranger, we were not born to be friends,” replied
the youth firmly, “the sun that now wakens on the waters
below us, will see our courses divide perhaps for
ever.”

“Nay, but hear me—”

“Thou need'st not speak,” said the stripling, “for
words are waste to change my counsel. I am neither
friendless, nor deserted; you have been deceived in my
appearance; talk not of it—when I want your assistance,
I shall not fail to call on you; till then, let the subject
sleep—and look down, mark you not through the cleft of
you hill, the roofs and spires and masts? Yon is the
city.”

The quick piercing cold, that preludes a winter morning,
had slowly abated; a pallid hue blanched to whiteness
the broad eastern sky, and a vivid light ran like fire
through the whole heavens; yet when the sun rose, it
was dull and dim of aspect: shorn of its tabernacle of
glorious clouds of purple and of gold, it looked like some
warrior from the field of discomfiture and defeat, his
armour stained, his weapons soiled, and his eyes turned
earthwards, for very shame at his lost conquest and his
flight. A sharp, frosty wind heralded his approach, and
as it whistled over the tall heads of the forest and the
mountain, drove before its rushing path, mighty clouds of
mist and vapour, that had slumbered above the snow from
whence they had gathered—yet the wind did not wholly
dissipate these dense and voluminous masses, though it
blew them along, rendering distinct the deep gullies of the
hill and the peaks of the high rocks, throwing the mists
that had hid and crowned them, in mingled troops and
confused and changeful heaps, that mimicked to the eye
of fancy the shapes of crowded armies, of tall castles,
ample palaces, and towering pinnacles; but as the sun
rose higher, these faded away, and the scene became
more plain and clear to the eager sight. They sat on the
verge of a hill; behind them lay the forest they had fled
through in the night, close, dark, leafless and dreary, unpiercible
to the inquiring eye; to the left was a flat waste
land, covered with drifts of snow, and chequered with
blue ice, that bound the numerous morasses and swamps
in a wintry garment, while here and there, on the firmer
ground, rose the steep roofs and tall chimneys of some
Dutch farm house; to the right, yet lower than where
they looked from, lay thickets of dwarf oak, garlanded
with icicles that sparkled in the sun, rocks, knolls, and
crags, and the varieties of uncultivated nature; and washing
the broad bases of these, rolling and curling beneath
the morning breeze, and glittering like silver in its course
under the sunbeam, flowed a mighty river, whose opposite
shores were high hills and banks and waving woods,
that twinkled in the light, and over whose tops the fleeing
mists hovered in fleecy whiteness, looking like a filmy

veil of silver gauze; a howker, with its broad and snowy
sails set to the wind and its leeboard up, was riding the
waves, looking like the white bosomed cygnet swimming
the river, and here and there in the distance, almost lost
in the frosty atmosphere, peered forth the sails of other
water craft, while dark spots upon the afar off waves,
showed the gay islands that gemmed this noble stream Immediately
before the gazer's eye stretched out a point of
land, dark and black, and where the fog lingered longest,
but when at last it cleared away, there was the city to
which the boy had pointed, the tiled roofs glittering in the
silvery radiance of the now smiling sunlight, and a few
domes and spires, that rose above these like spears over
the heads of a marching band of soldiers.

“Stranger,” said the stripling, “the time hath arrived;
we must now separate. Be not surprised when I tell
you I know the man and the objects that you seek: but
ere I go let me give safely back to your hands, unopened,
the packet which I snatched from your reluctant keeping.
Think not that I have pryed into these papers; that what
I have learnt of you has come from these: it is not so,
for your own eyes must convince you that not a seal that
holds them hath been even strained.”

So saying, he drew forth the papers, and gave them to
the surprised and wondering traveller.

“Noble, inexplicable boy!” exclaimed he, “how shall
I thank you? But do you really intend to leave me, and
now?”

“Our ways are different,” replied the youth; “yonder
road, that leads downwards to the lowlands, will carry
you safe and straight to Bayard's Bouwerie—if I mistake
not that is the path that will suit you. Mine is to the
borders of yon gallant river.”

“Yet stay one moment—answer me—you must not
leave me thus.”

“Brother,” said the Indian, “it is in vain for you to
track our footsteps, as for the heavy bear to gain on the
speed of the cleft footed moose; thou wilt turn unto the
dwellings of the warriors of thy race; our path is towards
the setting sun; I have sworn to follow the brave

youth who loosened the cords of thy enemies—and the
White Skinned Beaver breaks not his oath; my mother the
earth, hath taken back the warriors and the children of my
name, yet I have found one for whom I would live; my
heart was vacant, desolate—but it hath received the
balsam that the great Spirit pours in the wounds of the
hopeless; brother, thou seekest the fires of the white
man—go—yet remember the white man loves not his
brother, more than he loves the red Indian—ye belong
to one family—ye walk in the same path—yet ye
assist not each other to bear your burdens—though ye
slake your thirst at the same spring, ye lend not unto
each other your cups—brother; beware—the white people
are to one another like poisonous serpents; they
give not the weary man a place to spread his blanket, or
wood to kindle his fires; rather would they be the wolf,
to make his wigwam tenantless, and his corn field a desert;
they love to take up the hatchet against their
brother, and make it fat with blood; they will drink the
blood even of their own people. Brother, if we meet
not again, may our great Father, who is alike the friend
of the white and the red man for we are all his children,
protect you as he hath done since the last sunset; may
the great Spirit be angry with thy enemies, and destroy
them from the earth with his terrible breath, which is a
devastating wind—a rushing water.”

As the savage finished speaking, he departed after
the boy, leaving the traveller to pursue their swift steps
with his eyes, in astonishment, as he stood lone and deserted
on the rugged side of that high and towering
hill.