 | CHAPTER XVIII. The King of the Hurons |  |
18. CHAPTER XVIII.
Yea, smoother than the sand;
The waves that woltering wont to be,
Are stable like the land.
“So silent is the cessile air
That every cry and call,
The hills, and dales, and forests fair
Again repeat them all.”
—Alexander Hume.
Four hours the voyagers proceeded northward, keeping a most
vigilant watch in every direction, not only for the party of which
they were in pursuit, but for the roving bands of Indians which
they had reason to fear they might encounter. The danger which
threatened from this source, though slight as yet, increased at every
mile's remove from the capital, for although the tribes who inhabited
or rather who hunted in the adjacent forests, were in alliance with
the English, the Huron guide would doubtless give character to the
whole party in their eyes if the travellers should be unfortunate
enough to be intercepted. No signs of human life, however, were
visible, and in vain was every eye pained with the intense effort to
discover, in the bright pathway of waters that seemed to extend
interminably northward, some trace of the object of their search.
“I am afraid to penetrate further into these solitudes,” exclaimed
Blanche at length, “the stillness of death hangs over them, and the
echoes of our voices come back to us from shores that are half a
mile distant; what say you, Emily, shall we not return?”
“As you please, cousin Blanche,” said Miss Roselle, fully seconding
the wishes of Miss Montaigne, yet willing to gain credit for the
larger share of courage, “I am only lady of the bed-chamber to
your royal highness, and as duty seems to be quite the watchword
here, I have made up my mind that it is mine either to be scalped,
or tomahawked at your bidding, without repining.”
“Ah, do not trifle, Emily; I am really alarmed—say, have we
not done all—?”
“Our duty—you would say again,” interrupted Emily—“yes
cousin Blanche, all—all believe me, and works of supererogation
enough beside to constitute a capital for a canonized saint; Father
Ledra might envy us, and shall draw upon me for my share, if he
chooses, when we are once safe in Castle Montaigne.”
“Do not jest at the faith of our dear friend; whatever may be
its errors, his prayers rise daily for us, Emily, and there seems something
of their influence in the gentleness of the fate which has thus far
attended us. We will return,” she added, sadly, and with starting
tears; “it will be a disappointment to my father, and he will
perhaps even blame me, but it cannot be avoided.”
Blanche buried her face in her hands, and scarcely suppressed the
feelings which every allusion to her parent seemed to awaken; and
while the others remained silent from respect to her emotion, the
skiff was quietly turned about, and with no change in its steady,
monotonous motion, pursued its returning course. The hour was
about nine in the morning, the same morning and the same hour in
which Ensign Midge, baffled in his gallant enterprise of capturing a
prisoner of state, had carried back to Major Grover the tidings of
his discomfiture.
It was long past mid-day when the travellers reached the creek
from which they had set out in the morning; and Henrich and the
Lynx, who had taken alternate hours at the oars, were sufficiently
fatigued to look longingly at the cool landscape past which they
were gliding. The proximity of the city left little to fear from
lunch in the woods, was readily accepted. A favorable spot was
selected, and the vessel having been landed within the cover of
some bushes, its wearied occupants leaped gladly upon the shore,
the baskets were brought out, and while, at the command of Miss
Montaigne, the oarsmen extended themselves in the shade for
repose, the ladies proceeded to arrange the meal.
“It becomes us,” said Blanche, “to see that the strength is not
uselessly expended which is required in our service; please to let
those dreadful guns point in the other direction, or we shall never get
past you—there, you may sleep now, if you choose, for the next
fifteen minutes—now, Emily, it is our turn to work.”
A dinner that might have excited the envy of a modern pic-nic
party was speedily set out from the varied and liberal supplies of
Dame Waldron; a little eminence or knoll, garnished with wild
flowers, serving for the table, for which even a cloth of spotless
white was not wanting. Water was procured from the creek, and
everything was soon arranged with a delicacy and neatness that
seemed to impart an additional flavor to the viands; yet there were
appetites in waiting which scarcely required tempting; and the
companions, without distinction of caste, were soon actively employed
in appeasing them.
Many good things were disposed of, and some sparkling thoughts
were generated under their influence; but while the mirth of the
party was at its height, a sudden sound of oars, and of voices close
at hand, came distinctly to every ear, and elicited a quick but slight
ejaculation of alarm from the ladies. Henrich sprang instantaneously
to his feet, grasping his gun as he rose, while the Lynx,
also seizing his weapon, threw himself as suddenly upon the ground,
and each remained a moment motionless, gazing towards the shore.
The sound continued, and came nearer, seeming to proceed from
the immediate margin of the river; but the bank, which was somewhat
view, and rendered their voices indistinct to the listeners.
The Huron signified to his companions that they should remain
seated and silent while he crept to the shore and reconnoitred the
strangers; when, with the stealthy motion of a cat, slow and noiseless,
rustling no leaves, crackling not so much as the smallest stick
in his path, the Indian gained the bank, and buried his head in a
bush that overhung its edge. No portion of his person was suffered
to protrude through his leafy covert; but his eyes, brought nearly
to its outer side, rolled, sparkling, in every direction, like those of
the watchful snake, gleaming from the still grass at the unconscious
invader of his haunts.
Henrich's situation was one which gave him a partial view of the
Huron's face, and he watched it with the hope of gleaning from its
expression the earliest intelligence of the nature of the interruption;
but for some moments it gave no evidence of any discovery. Suddenly,
however, it lighted with animation, and, at the next moment,
a marked and extraordinary change came upon it; a look which, but
for the Lynx's known bravery, Henrich would have pronounced to
evince the most unequivocal fear. The Indian drew cautiously back,
and when his face came fully into the light, there was no longer room
for a doubt as to the character of the emotions it depicted; terror,
absolute and unqualified, such as a warrior may not exhibit, such as
the tortures and the stake in the Wappeno village had not inspired,
were plainly marked upon his features. So apparent was this, even
to Blanche and Emily, that each turned pale as they gazed upon
him, and for some moments after he had crept silently back to the
knoll, his companions waited in vain for him to speak and explain
the mystery.
“What has my brother seen?” whispered Henrich, at length,
disguising, as best he could, his own growing alarm; “are the
Wappenos upon us? if so, we have but little cause to dread them—
but perhaps they are Mohawks from the north?”
The Huron shook his head, and laying down his gun with a
carelessness as to its position that seemed to evince no expectation
of requiring its aid, pointed steadily to the ground, and muttered
some unintelligible words in his own dialect.
“Merciful Father!” exclaimed Emily, grasping the arm of Henrich;
“what does he mean? let us fly into the woods, quick—quick
—there is no time to lose.”
“Keep silence, Miss Roselle, I implore you,” whispered Henrich,
with great equanimity, passing, at the same time, a cup of water
from the grassy table to Blanche, who stared at him with deathly
paleness; “we must not stir or speak; an Indian's ears are like
the mole's, and the whole forest is but a whispering gallery to their
acute senses; once more I implore you,” he continued, turning to
the Lynx, “to tell us the cause of the alarm: what was it that you
saw?”
The Huron again pointed to the ground, and whispered, “What
you call him—with the pitchfork—down there—our good fathers at
the chapel have told us—he roasts the Iroquois—see!”
A look of horror closed this explanation, as a rustling was heard
near the bank, and the white hair and black visage of Harry Bolt
emerged from the parted bushes, followed by his long, ungainly body.
A burst of laughter succeeded from Henrich, at once re-assuring
the alarmed ladies, and partly allaying the fears of the puzzled
Indian who continued to gaze with a bewildered air, alternately at
the approaching negro, and at his own now merry companions.
Harry was hatless and coatless, his brawny arms were bare to the
shoulders, and it was scarcely strange that the Lynx, who had never
seen an African, and had been taught by his spiritual guides at the
castle, not only the existence of the author of evil, but his frequent
personal appearance on the earth, had suspected his presence in so
strange an apparition; especially in the land of the Iroquois, where,
according to the Huron belief, he would have frequent employment.
Harry was followed at a little distance by a boy of his own color,
and seemed to be in a state of excitement not materially less than
that which had recently agitated the Indian.
“Oh, massa Henrich! massa Henrich!” he exclaimed, as he drew
near, with widely distended eyes, and upraised arms, “oh massa
Henrich—massa Henrich!”
“What's the matter, Harry?” said Henrich, laughing; “speak out,
and have done with it, if you have anything to say; you have
frightened the Lynx enough already; I don't want to flatter you,
but he really mistook you for the devil!”
“Oh, no, no, Massa Lynch,” said Harry, “I ain't de debbil, but
he's comin', sartain; Gaffer Wallon send me to tell you, Massa
Henrich; oh golly, oh gosh!”
“What can the chattering baboon mean?” exclaimed Huntington,
“he hasn't come here for nothing, that's evident; here, you, Ruppy,”
he continued, addressing the boy, “do you know anything about
this? what did my grandfather send Harry here for?”
“I don't know,” said the boy, more composedly, though with a
bashful air—“but the house has been full of sojers, this morning,
ramsacking it all ober, sir—and they cotched Miss Doxy and wuz
goin' to carry her off, kaze dey said it was Miss Mountain.”
“Yes, sir,” chimed in the senior negro, “and Gaffer 'fraid you
come back, or go too slow, and dey send a sloop arter you, or
sumpin—oh golly, we look ebery where for you, and wuz jes goin'
back, when Ruppy, dare, seed your boat in de bushes.”
“It is some new device of that dreadful man,” exclaimed Blanche,
with ashen lips, “do you know, Harry, whether Major Grover was
with the soldiers?”
“No, mum,” answered the boy, hastily, “he wa'nt dare—it was
General Midge, and he s'rounded de house, and drawed his sword,
and looked mighty grand.”
“Ensign Midge,” said Henrich, “is one of Grover's creatures, and
I fear it is as you suspect; they have evidently learned your name,
this is some pretence of making you a prisoner of state; what did
you say they called Doxy, boy?”
“Dey called her Miss Mountain, sar; and she said she was ony
Doxy, and was goin' to tell ware you wuz, and Gaffer Wallon made
her shut up.”
“A thousand blessings on his venerable head!” exclaimed
Huntington—“we must not neglect his warning; Miss Montaigne,
the moment has come for an important decision; on either hand is
peril, and you must choose between them; a return to New York,
or a long, weary, dangerous journey, with, I grieve to say, a sadly
deficient guard.”
“I need no time for choice,” exclaimed Blanche, with an earnestness
that startled her hearers; “I would trust myself this moment
in the camp of the Mohawks, rather than in the hands of that
fearful man; but you, Emily, I have no right to require to share
such perils; nor you, my friend; I will go with the Lynx alone, and
God, who protects the friendless, will be our shield.”
It was with an air of lofty resolution that these words were
uttered, imparting to the beautiful features of the speaker, a new
and singular expression; whoever had beheld the marked countenance
of the Baron Montaigne, and the eagle-like flashing of his
eye, could not fail to perceive the passing resemblance—revealed,
as it were, by the lightning flash of feeling—betwixt father and
child.
“Do not believe, Miss Montaigne,” replied Henrich, “that I can
be induced to desert you; were I willing to do so, the world of
chivalry would cry shame on such an act; I approve, aye, applaud,
your choice, and am ready to share its perils; one more, therefore,
is added to your guard—what say you, Harry Bolt, at making a
third?”
“Making what, massa Henrich?” asked the negro.
“Will you go with us to protect this lady, three hundred miles
and danger—perhaps death.”
“Massa Henrich,” said the negro, “I will go to de moon with
Missa Blanche: I will go to de land of de Hottenpots with her! I
cry half de way up here, fear de sojers cotch her—she make Jule
free, oh golly!”
Henrich grasped the hand of the negro, and shook it as if they
had been brothers, while the tears poured like rain down the cheeks
of Miss Montaigne. “We are three strong men,” he said, “and the
Lynx alone is a host in sagacity and skill; add to this that there is
some hope even yet of overtaking the count, and our cause is by no
means desperate; only one question more remains to be decided;”
and Huntington turned to Miss Roselle as he spoke.
“It is decided!” said Emily, catching the contagious enthusiasm
of the moment—“I will go with my cousin, even to death.”
If Miss Roselle was ever captious and trifling in the hour of security,
she yet possessed in her inner nature much of woman's self-sacrificing
spirit; Blanche bestowed upon her a look of exceeding
tenderness; and when, at the next moment, Henrich turned to
converse aside with the negro, the cousins, for the first time, perhaps,
since childhood, were locked in a sisterly embrace.
“Let us then lose no time,” said Henrich; “Ruppy can take back
Harry's boat, but we must guard against his prating; here, boy,”
he continued, thrusting several pieces of silver coin into the lad's
hand, “mind now what I say to you: you must not speak a word
in two days, excepting to grandfather Waldron—do you hear?”
“Yes, Massa, I won't tell —”
“Tut—tut—that isn't enough—if your mouth opens, out it will
come in some shape, I know; but you must not speak a word to a
living soul in two days, excepting to grandfather—will you
promise?”
“Yes, Massa, I promise; I'll go to sleep,” said the boy, grinning,
sparkling coin.
The party now proceeded at once to re-embark; and as they
approached the water, an ejaculation of pleasure from the Lynx was
heard, which proved to be occasioned by a sight of the boat in which
the negro had come up from the city: it was a long, light, and
narrow canoe, of moderate size, and admirably adapted for the purpose
of the fugitives.
“This is truly a windfall,” exclaimed Henrich,—“whose is this,
Harry?—but no matter—if it were the Queen's I would take it in
such a cause: whose is it, I say?”
“It's mine, by jingo!” answered Harry, triumphantly; “I buy
him of Winny last spring to go fishin' on de Sound, and cotch him
half full de fust time: and dat's my gun, too,” he added; “don't
Massa Henrich remember how I shoot de turkey's tail off with him
last Christmas, at de shootin' match; and ole Gummel wouldn't let
me hab him, 'kaze I didn't draw blood—blast his old pictur!”
“All our fortunate stars seem to be in conjunction to-day,” said
Henrich; “I knew, indeed, that Harry never stirs abroad without
his rifle—but the canoe is an unexpected treasure.”
The necessary changes were hastily made, and within five minutes
the two boats were receding from each other.
“Remember, Ruppy, you are to give my best love, and our
thanks to old Mr. Waldron,” Blanche called out as the boats began
to separate.
The boy nodded.
“Will you remember, Ruppy?” she asked again, with much
earnestness, bending over the side of the boat, and looking back as
she spoke; and again the boy replied only with an affirmative
gesture of the head.
“Why don't you speak, you ill-mannered fellow?” asked Henrich,
angrily: “do you hear what Miss Montaigne says to you?”
Ruppy bowed his head to his knees, but still kept his lips tightly
together; and then, by way of explaining his conduct, stopped
rowing, took the silver coins from his pocket, and held them up to
view.
“All right!” answered Henrich, laughing, and the travellers proceeded
rapidly on their way.
| CHAPTER XVIII. The King of the Hurons | |