 | CHAPTER VIII. The King of the Hurons |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind,
More quick than words, do move a woman's mind.”
—Two Gentlemen of Verona.
The purest pearl may hide:—
Trust me—you'll find a heart of truth
Within that rough outside.”
—Mrs. Osgood.
The movements of Major Grover for the few days succeeding the
events last related were of a singular character. He was much
alone, was often wrapt in contemplation, and occasionally gave way
to unusual expressions of feeling. At times he was closeted with a
rough sailor-like man, to whom, in the presence of third parties, he
talked loudly of cargoes and consignments, but for whose private ear
he had other themes. Captain Snell had just arrived in the city,
and his ship, anchored off Staten Island, had not yet been able to
get into port, notwithstanding the most favorable winds that ever
wafted keel. He had, indeed, a rich cargo of goods, which he had
procured with much labor and peril on the high seas, and he wanted
a market and protection while he disposed of his property: he
wanted, as he significantly said, “to be winked at” by the government.
He needed in short exactly what Grover could procure for
him, which the latter very well knew, and he played his card
accordingly.
“It's only a wedding trip, Captain Snell,” he said, summing up
the substance of many previous remarks to his acquiescent auditor;
“a few weeks' absence, a little assistance, perhaps, in conveying my
it was all fair and voluntary—that's all.”
“That's all easy enough, major,” replied the sailor,—“I did
something such a job once for a count in Lisbon, and she was quiet
enough when we got back; they won't prosecute their husbands, of
course, and have to make the best of it.”
“That's it, exactly,” said Grover, who next proceeded to explain
the details of his proposed plan, to all of which the other listened
attentively, and pronounced it easily practicable.
“It is n't anything at all,” he said; “I thought it must be a life
and death affair, at least, from the way you tacked and shifted
around the subject before you came to it; but it aint anything, that
aint, and she lives where she is so easily to be got at, too; just let
me know when you are ready—that's all.”
Grover, who was quite in earnest in his infernal scheme, proceeded
to make the necessary arrangements, yet without taking any one
fully into his confidence. The temporary absence of the widow and
Emily was to be procured; and Shiel was considered the fitting
agent for this part of the enterprise. On the day selected he invited
the ladies to take a drive with him on Long Island; and easily
accepting Blanche's excuse, which had been anticipated, he found
little difficulty in persuading the other two to accompany him.
That there was mischief on foot of some kind, he very well knew,
but of what particular variety, he was ignorant. It would have been
easy to lure the servant girl from home, who was a colored slave
about twenty years old; but as such a measure might excite
Blanche's suspicions, it was resolved rather to kidnap and dispose of
her at some southern market. Unwilling, however, to resort to
these extreme measures, while there remained the slightest hopes of
success by milder means, and still flattering himself that Miss Montaigne
might already have repented her decision, Grover resolved to
make first a final effort at persuasion. He had, indeed, exhausted
every variety of blandishment; he had practised all those pleasing
one additional effort, and fortify it, if necessary, by disclosing to
Blanche the mesh with which she was surrounded, and from which
she could indulge no hope of escape.
It was a calm afternoon in June that had been selected for this
daring and atrocious exploit, and Miss Montaigne, seated alone in the
little parlor which has been described, was reflecting upon the
marked events which had recently diversified her life, and changed
it from one of singular monotony to one of unusual and varied
action. What fortune was in store for her in that mysterious future
which seemed thickly shrouded from her view, it was impossible to
conjecture. Separated since infancy from every near relation, she
was about to join a parent who manifested no affection for her, and
one whose Huron wife and half Huron daughter would occupy
towards her the legal relation of mother and sister. With such
companions she was to pass her time, buried in the forest, and even
of less consequence than her Indian sister, who doubtless at least
possessed the affection and regard of her savage relations. Of Myrtle
and her mother she could only think as of tawny and blanketed
women, like those of their race whom she had seen during her
abode in New York. It was a dismal prospect to contemplate
closely: but Blanche would not yield to despondency; there was,
after all, something of wildness and romance in the picture, and her
playful imagination gave to it tints and hues which belonged less to
the subject than to the joyous and innocent heart from which they
emanated. She resolved, too, to find happiness in duty; she would
soften her father's heart by unremitting kindness; she would educate
her Indian sister, and surprise her with the thousand novelties of
civilized life; she would even make a friend of the dreaded baroness,
if the latter were not altogether a cannibal, and past the hope of
reclamation. What pets, too, she would have! A pair of gentle
fawns should feed daily from her hands, and race with her through
the fields; the rabbits should burrow in the garden; the birds
exhaling an atmosphere of fragrance, should tempt the bee, and the
tiny hummer, and the gorgeous butterfly; and all these would be
her friends and playmates.
As Blanche gazed from time to time out of the window while
engaged in these reflections, her eye was attracted by several rough
looking individuals in the garb of sailors, who were idly sauntering
in the vicinity. One leaned indolently against a post at a
little distance from the house, trolling some nautical chorus;
another lay stretched upon the grass on the common; and a party
of three, further towards the river, were chatting and smoking
beneath a tree, but not giving way, as might be expected from
sailors on furlough, to any noisy mirth. She felt some alarm at
first, remembering the isolated situation of the house, but inasmuch
as the men remained quiet, and made no nearer approach, her
apprehensions soon subsided. She remembered the ludicrous results
of her fears in the forest a few weeks preceding, and resolved not
again to play so childish a part. She had, indeed, withdrawn her
eyes from the landscape and was again wrapt in contemplation,
when she became suddenly conscious that she was no longer alone,
and on looking up she discovered the detested Grover at her side.
He had entered the room with a silent and cat-like motion, and
there was something in the bland expression of his face and in the
soft, purring tone of his voice as he addressed her, equally feline in
its character.
“I have again come unbidden,” he said; “may I hope not
entirely unwelcome? One of my vessels, long due, has arrived
since I left your presence, and I have hastened to lay some of its
treasures at your feet.”
An attendant at his signal entered the room, and depositing a
large package upon a table, immediately withdrew: Grover followed
him to the door, which he carefully closed, and returning, proceeded
to open the parcel, while Blanche, who had before made several
ineffectual efforts to speak, rose suddenly to her feet.
“Do not open it,” she said, speaking with some vehemence, yet
in a low, trembling voice, “do not leave it, Major Grover. I can
accept no favors which I have neither the power nor the wish to
requite; if I have not, heretofore, spoken plainly—”
“But too plainly, my dear Miss Roselle; but ladies are proverbially
changeful, even as the shifting colors of this beautiful silk,” unfolding
and displaying a piece of the most gorgeous fabric, and piling upon
it a profusion of rich laces—“these might make bridal robes for a
princess; and here,” he continued, unclasping a box of costly jewelry,
“are ornaments which would adorn all other beauty, but which will
receive new lustre from Miss Blanche Roselle.”
Miss Montaigne looked on with scorn, and cast frequent glances
towards the door, as if with a presentiment that an attempt at egress
might be opposed; there was something strange and threatening in
the eye and manner of her suitor, which impressed her with vague
forebodings; and, seemingly without design, she slightly changed
her position to one more favorable for flight. The movement was
not unnoticed by Grover, who also, with apparent inadvertence,
placed himself between her and the door, and somewhat changing
the tone of his voice, continued:
“I have made all allowances for the modesty, which, Cæsar-like,
has thrice refused what it intended from the first to accept. My
rank and wealth have, I know, rendered you incredulous as to the
honesty of my intentions; you have, perhaps, even heard some
old-wives' tales of deserted flower-girls or heart-broken milk-maids,
whose cause you may be chivalrous enough to wish to avenge—but
to you, beautiful Blanche, I swear perpetual fealty; for your sake, I
will bear the chains of Hymen, and as you so much mistrust me, I
will ask not even the favor of a smile until we are wedded.”
A passing color and a quick breathing alone told of the suppressed
indignation of the listener; she did not dare to reply; the words of
her companion were those of entreaty, but his voice was in a tone
of command, and there was a menacing expression in his face, which
window in the anxious hope of seeing Emily and Mrs. Sniff returning,
or of seeing some visiter approaching the house; but there was
nothing that gave prospect of relief. She did not dare to attempt to
pass out lest she should learn that she was really a prisoner, and should
precipitate whatever of evil she had to fear. She resolved, therefore,
to gain time by parley, but even in this design she seemed to be
anticipated by her persecutor. He continued to urge his suit as yet
in respectful language, but the uneasiness of his air, and his frequent
outward glances, seemed to indicate the expected approach of some
other party. He was, in fact, awaiting the promised arrival of a
legal functionary, who was authorized to tie the matrimonial knot,
and on whose perfect subserviency to his interests he could depend;
on his approach, if persuasion continued fruitless, he had determined
at once to disclose to Blanche her peril, and make the alternative proposition
of instantaneous marriage or abduction. The suddenness of the
demand, the imminency of the danger, the few minutes which she
would be allowed to decide, combined with the force of prior
arguments, he did not doubt would overcome every obstacle and
produce a complete acquiescence. But while he waited, he grew
momentarily impatient; delays were dangerous; there was indeed
no fear of the return of Shiel and his companions, and one of the
sentinels was even prepared to prevent the casual approach of
strangers to the house, by the alarm of an infectious disease which
was to be sedulously shunned. But still he felt that haste was
desirable; and although it was not yet the appointed time for his
coadjutor's arrival, he resolved to go personally and expedite his
movements. Blanche, he thought, was yet unalarmed, and although,
perhaps, angry at his pertinacity, she did not, he believed, entertain
the least suspicion of his design. She would not, therefore, think
of flight, and if she attempted could not accomplish it, for the
pirates had orders to prevent her departure, and if she persisted in
going or in making an outcry, they were to carry her forcibly to
of his intended return, and only paused near the door to
give directions to one of the banditti for additional vigilance during
the few minutes of his expected absence. But Miss Montaigne, as
has been already seen, was by no means unalarmed; her first fears
had been allayed, but the strange deportment of Grover and the
continued presence of the sailors who still lounged listlessly about
the premises, now combined to excite her worst apprehensions.
It has been said that there was in the house besides Miss
Montaigne, one individual, too insignificant to be dreaded, even as
an informant, yet whom Grover intended to include, if convenient,
in his kidnapping enterprise. Jule, for such was the slave's name,
had belonged to the Sniffs from childhood, and her faculties had
been somewhat sharpened by the necessity of inventing expedients
to evade some of her mistress's inordinate exactions of labor. She
was a good-natured girl, warm in her attachments, and, since the
arrival of Miss Montaigne, had manifested the greatest pleasure in
serving her. Unused to words of kindness and consideration from
those above her, Jule had seen the beautiful stranger manifesting an
occasional interest in her welfare, which had astonished and delighted
her; and the heart of the negress had closed with avidity upon
this rare object of affection. Nothing could be too good, nothing
too nice for Miss Blanche: and the least smile of approval from her
was more than a reward for every exertion of the humble servitor.
Powerless as such an ally might seem, Miss Montaigne hastened
to seek her counsel and aid; but Jule, already alarmed, and flying
from what seemed the post of more imminent danger, met her with
intelligence that confirmed all her fears, and added tenfold to their
intensity. She had herself watched the strange movements of the
men, had noticed their sailor-like garb, and had overheard Grover's
instructions, on departing, for a vigilant watch, and forbidding any
egress from the house. There was little time for reflection; and
Blanche implored the negress to make an attempt to escape and
pursuit, and that whatever danger impended over herself would not
be enhanced by flight, even if unsuccessful, Jule readily saw; but
even if it had been otherwise, she would have refused nothing to
Blanche. With ready wit, too, she reflected that if she went out,
apparently unalarmed, and as if bound on some ordinary errand,
she might perhaps be allowed to pass unmolested. Her absence
might even be considered an advantage, inasmuch as the abduction
of one individual could of course be accomplished more
safely and quietly than that of two. Hanging a basket, therefore,
upon her arm, and hastily informing Blanche of her design, she
sauntered lazily from the door, singing, with half-choked voice, a
negro refrain, and carefully dissembling her fears. Her exit was
from the rear door, and her course through the garden towards a
lane in its rear, led directly past two of the guards. They had
been instructed to prevent any attempt at flight; but they had also
been ordered not to excite any premature alarm or suspicion on the
part of the inmates of the house, and for a moment they hesitated
on their proper course. Here was evidently no flight; the slave
would soon return, and if not, her absence would rather do good
than harm; and with this view of the matter, they had well nigh
permitted her to pass, when one, still undecided, suddenly accosted
her.
“Avast—there, avast, Nan! You sing merrily for a blackbird—
just drop alongside here, and tell us where you are bound to; 't aint
every one that dares to sail openly under such dark colors—is it,
Jack?”
“You mind yer own business, and git out of our garden, afore
Mrs. Sniff sees you, or you'll ketch it,” answered Jule. “I'm going
to pick peas over in dat field; `Massa eat de sugar, Sambo git de
cane;”' and she passed tremblingly on towards the fence.
“Blast the blackamoor!” exclaimed the sailor, following as he
spoke; “can't you answer a civil hail better than that? bring to, I
as how,” he continued, as Jule slackened her pace, and looked back,
“if as how you are really under sailing orders for that field, over
there—”
“I didn't say any such thing,” replied Jule, “and I haint got any
papers, nor notting elst but dis ere pail.”
“Let her go, Bill, or elst don't let her go, one or t' other,” said
the other sailor; “what's the use of jabbering to the wench? I
says, let her go, and very good riddance it is.”
“And I says, mebbe not, Mr. Jack,” said the first speaker, who
seemed to imbibe the spirit of contradiction from the interference of
his companion; “you just bring her to a minute, while I run around
and ask Bluff about it, kase, you see, it's a kind of a nice question,
after all.”
So poor Jule was brought to, and compelled to await the decision
of higher authority.
“It's a high time of day,” she said, with affected wrath,—“if
people can't come for to go in their own mistress's garden, which
they've lived with twenty years—in broad daylight, it is—you let
go my arm, you scaramouch, you!”
“Steady, lass, steady,” replied Jack, “least said, soonest mended;
I aint no scarrymouse, neither, and it's well for you you aint aboard,
or you might get a dozen or two for your impudence.”
With emotions that cannot be portrayed, Blanche beheld from a
window the scene which has been described; she saw Jule unaccosted,
nearly pass the guard, and, after a temporary detention,
resume her progress, only to be a second time stopped and questioned,
and held rudely by the arm. While she waited with fearful misgivings
for the result, the bandit, who has been called Bill, returned
from his embassy, and, speaking in a voice that reached the ears of
Miss Montaigne, said, “Mr. Bluff says there aint so much as a cat
to go out of the house, 'cause she mout be a kind of carrier-pigeon,
like, you see, which this ere thing don't look much like, of course;
either.”
Jule hesitated for a moment; but there was nothing to do but
submit, and with a heavy heart she returned to the house, where
Blanche was already giving way to all the anguish of despair.
| CHAPTER VIII. The King of the Hurons | |