 | CHAPTER XIV. The King of the Hurons |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
But how I should begin, or in what language
Speak the unwilling word of parting from you,
I am yet to learn.”
—Massinger.
“We are compelled, Mr. Huntington,” said Blanche, rising with
an excited air, as Henrich entered the room, “to make you the
depositary of a few secrets, which, if they were ever important, will
cease to be so when we are gone.”
“Gone!” answered Henrich, with astonishment,—“whither?—by
what means? surely, Miss Roselle, you are not in earnest —”
“We are summoned,” replied Blanche, interrupting him, “by one
who has the right to control our movements, and who doubtless has
properly provided for our safety. But I will explain all: you are
already acquainted with some of the circumstances connected with
our accidental arrival in this city—the shipwreck of the St. Cloud—
the singular escape of one of her passengers, and the subsequent
banishment of our friend and protector, Father Ledra.”
“I know the whole sad story,” said Henrich; “the fugitive, of
whom you speak, was the haughty and powerful Baron Montaigne;
the friend and counsellor of Louis; the man by whose courage and
diplomacy with the Indian nations, the whole tottering government
of New France has long been upheld—whose craft and cruelty
have —”
“Mr. Huntington is speaking of my father,” rejoined Miss Montaigne,
with quiet dignity.
Amazement for a while held the young man silent; and when he
again spoke, it was with the apology that the occasion seemed to
require.
“The picture is drawn by his enemies,” he said, “and we may
easily suppose that it is not impartial: I can believe nothing ill of
the father of Miss Blanche Montaigne.”
“The packet which we have received,” continued Miss Montaigne,
“I need scarcely say, is from him; but it has been prepared with
reference to the contingency of falling into other hands than ours,
and contains, therefore, no explicit information. A few words
without a signature, but in penmanship which is familiar to me,
instruct us to trust ourselves with implicit-confidence to the protection
of the bearer,—a Huron Chief, called the Lynx,—and whom
we are to know as genuine by his knowledge of us. We have not
yet proved him; because feeling the importance of avoiding any
error on so vital a point, we dared not rely upon our own judgment
alone: Emily has frightened me with a horrible supposition that
the true messenger may have fallen into the hands of foes, who have
obtained his credentials, and now seek to decoy us into their
power.”
“Too much caution cannot be used where everything is at stake,”
replied Henrich, with a saddened air; “I think I have already
sufficient proof that the Indian is a Huron—yet we will leave nothing
to conjecture; but how is he accompanied? where is his force? and
what are his means of conveyance? You surely will not confide
yourselves to the charge of a single man, however trustworthy?”
“It is not probable that we are required to do so,” said Blanche;
“but we know nothing as yet—the savage seemed suffering from
fatigue and hunger, and is now partaking of your grandfather's
hospitality; he will rejoin us in a few minutes, and we trust to you
to interrogate him as to all the particulars of his mission.”
She had scarcely ceased speaking when the Huron stalked
silently into the room, and answering an invitation to be seated by
and seemingly awaiting his expected examination. Henrich was
familiar with the abrupt and sententious style of colloquy used by
the Indians, and naturally adopted it in conversing with them; he
addressed the stranger in French, which the latter, like many of his
northern brethren, spoke with tolerable correctness.
“My brother comes with a talking paper,” he said; “can he tell
us what it says?”
“It talks to her,” answered the Huron, laying his hand lightly
on the head of Blanche, “and to her,” pointing to Emily, “and to
an old man, with long white hair—I do not see him: it talks to
them, not to me; I have listened, but cannot hear it.”
“Whose are its words?” asked Henrich.
The Indian's countenance brightened and assumed a loftier
expression as he answered: “they are the words of my cousin, the
great general—the Baron Montaigne—the King of the Hurons; and
this,” he said, again touching the head of Blanche—“this is his
daughter.”
“And this?” asked Henrich, pointing towards Miss Roselle.
“Is his sister's child—I have said—I have but one tongue, and it
is not forked.”
“Yonr words are true,” replied Henrich, “we receive them into
our hearts; yet tell us of this Baron Montaigne: what is he like?”
“He is a great Brave,” said the savage, with an air of unbounded
admiration—“bold as the grizzly bear—quick as the elk—with
eagle's eyes—tall, large, straight as the oak—I cannot speak
him.”
“It is enough!” exclaimed Blanche, offering her hand frankly to
the Huron—“you are our friend; tell me,” she said, with an affectionate
interest, which showed that desertion and neglect had not
chilled her filial love—“tell me, is my father well?—did he—did he
speak kindly of me?”
The Indian answered only: “He is well;” and Blanche turned
disappointed.
The remaining part of the messenger's story was soon told: he
was one of a company of seven, who had descended the lakes and
the Hudson river in canoes, and who, passing the few settlements
and exposed places always under cover of the night, had reached the
vicinity of New York without molestation. There had been, indeed,
no recent active hostilities between the French and English at the
time of the setting out of this expedition; and as far as Montaigne
could learn from his vigilant runners, there were no Indians on the
war-path, in that part of the territory of the Five Nations which it
would be necessary to traverse. These circumstances, in connexion
with the almost uninterrupted line of water communication for the
whole route, and the width of the river and lakes, which would
permit of avoiding an enemy on either side, were supposed to render
the proposed journey of the ladies reasonably safe, in an age and
country in which human life was never abundantly secure. It was
rather the hardships than the perils of the undertaking which formed
its chief objection; but these Miss Montaigne resolved cheerfully to
encounter, when once assured that her father deemed it prudent,
and that his agents were fully reliable.
But her surprise and curiosity were not a little excited when she
was informed by the Huron that the party was under the command
of one Count Carlton, a young French officer, and an intimate friend
of the baron, a piece of intelligence which went far to reconcile
Emily to the journey. To her imagination, which no remembrance
of past events could wholly correct, it began to assume the character
of a romantic enterprise, in which nothing was wanting to increase
its attraction but the certainty of being pursued by a party of those
delightful Mohawks, all of whom were to be slain by their gallant
champion, the young French count. The name fell ominously upon
the ear of Henrich, who already pained beyond expression at the
prospect of Blanche's departure, at once foresaw, with a lover's
however, to every incident, he did not fail to observe that the Huron
spoke of his commanding officer with a scowl that seemed to indicate
displeasure, and that he did not designate him as a Brave, or apply
to him any of those terms by which the savage so freely expresses
his admiration of all noble qualities.
The count, with the remainder of his small detachment, of whom
four were French soldiers, and the other an Algonquin Indian, was
encamped in the forest about ten miles north of the city, where a
small creek, connecting with the river, afforded a safe hiding-place
for his boats. The Huron had left the encampment early on the
morning of the preceding day, and it became important that no
further delay should occur, lest Carlton should withdraw his men,
and abandon the expedition, under the impression that his messenger
had fallen into the hands of the enemy. The Huron, indeed,
urged that they should depart on that very evening, and as Miss
Montaigne, though pale with emotion, did not hesitate to assent, the
bustle of a hurried preparation at once ensued, and before it was
yet sufficiently dark to set out, the ladies were both in readiness.
Henrich, whose aid was of course volunteered to accompany
them to the camp, had in the meantime procured a boat and
despatched it in charge of a slave to await the party on the shore
of the river, a little north of the city wall, but there was at the
same time something in the character of his arrangements which
indicated a view to some ulterior purpose. Miss Montaigne, who
had contemplated with dread a perilous night-walk through the
forest, was delighted at the-comparatively easy means of travel which
had been provided, and something like a gleam of cheerfulness began
to illumine her features, as the moment for departure approached.
It was in vain, however, that she sought to conceal her trepidation,
and she seemed to seek a re-assurance for her failing courage in the
language and bearing of Henrich. He would have rejoiced at the
lightest intimation from Blanche, that his services would be acceptable
and only dared not make the offer, lest its refusal, founded on the
suspicion of his daring love, should involve, by implication, a rejection
of his suit, and extinguish for ever the flickering light of hope,
which served now at least harmlessly to irradiate his heart. There
was something in the romantic character of his attachment which
admitted of his gathering bliss even from an acknowledged illusion,
as long as it did not transcend the limits of possibility, but he had
not courage to face the reality of a present and certain despair.
“We look to you, Mr. Huntington,” said Miss Montaigne, “to
infuse a little courage into us before we part; confidence, you know,
is ever inspired by example, and you are really looking as if you
boded evil.”
Accident had left them a moment alone, and Henrich replied with
a smile—“You must allow me to be a little dismal at the prospect of
losing the companionship of yourself and your cousin and falling back
upon the Wappenos, and wolves for society. Your escort, I hope, is
safe; it is doubtless such as will best secure secresy and celerity of
movement; yet I could have wished it somewhat stronger.”
“Do you think there is much danger?” asked Blanche, quickly.
“With vigilance, prudence, and valor, on the part of your guard,
no;” said Henrich, “and we must presume they have been selected
for qualities like these; yet I would that you felt sufficiently insecure
to permit of my offering to enrol myself among your defenders.”
Blanche slightly colored as she replied, “We are already laden
with obligations to you that we cannot requite, and although I cannot
deny that it would add greatly to my sense of security—”
“It would!” exclaimed Henrich, laughing; “then say not
another word, Miss Montaigne; it is a charity to give occupation to
an idle man, and I have really nothing else in the world to do: I
think, too, that grandfather Waldron will gladly bew rid of me for a
few weeks.”
“You cannot blind me thus, Mr. Huntington,” said Blanche,
and probable peril which it would cost you.”
“The school of danger is one in which I need a few lessons,”
answered Henrich, gaily; “and as to privations,” he continued,
lowering his voice, to escape the ear of Miss Roselle, who re-entered
the room at that moment, “Miss Montaigne's permission to accompany
her will postpone for a while the only evil of that nature
which has any terrors for me.”
Henrich withdrew from the apartment as he concluded speaking,
and proceeded to complete his preparations, not forgetting to provide
for the liquidation of his debt to his forest friends, the payment
of which involved the loss of his favorite rifle. It became necessary
to procure a substitute for this weapon, and he was fortunate in
obtaining one of tried worth, which had acquired a wide celebrity,
even in less skilful hands than those by which it was in future to be
wielded. The party set out about nine o'clock in the evening,
accompanied by a few slaves, who transported to the boat some
light but necessary stores, and brought back intelligence to Mynheer
Waldron and his household that the travellers were safely embarked.
Leaving them to pursue their nocturnal voyage, we must precede
them to the camp of Count Carlton, and take a hasty survey of its
inmates and their condition.
| CHAPTER XIV. The King of the Hurons | |