 | CHAPTER IX. Westward ho! |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
Bushfield “trees a curious varmint.”
The next morning was signalized by a visit
from Mrs. Judith, that woman of evil omen,
whom Virginia now trembled to see approaching.
She came to announce the disappearance
of Rainsford, and that he had not been at home
all night. Virginia restrained her emotions
on receiving this information, which excited
the most fearful forebodings. There was in
her heart a union of tenderness and firmness,
more often found in women than men; and
which, wherever found, is the parent of deep,
silent, lasting impressions. A shiver of anguish
shook her limbs, a paler hue abided on
her cheek, and that was all. She dismissed
Mrs. Judith, who denounced her in her private
opinion as the most insensible of mortals, to be
so little affected on such an occasion; and took
the first opportunity of consulting Mrs. Dangerfield.
The result was a communication to the
colonel, which was immediately followed by a
search for the lost wanderer. It appeared, from
an examination of his room, that he had taken
nothing with him, except the clothes he wore.
Nothing remained to give the least clew to his
intentions, or to indicate whither he had gone.
Colonel Dangerfield and Leonard lost no
time in mustering the men of the village and
returned, one by one, at different intervals, in
the course of a few days, without having discovered
the least traces, or gained the slightest
information of the fugitive. Thus they remained
in the most harassing uncertainty whether
he had wandered no one knew whither, or
had made away with himself, none knew how.
We will not attempt to describe the feelings of
Virginia, during this period of racking doubt;
she made no display herself. To the eyes of
the villagers, when they occasionally saw her,
she appeared to be pursuing her usual course
of domestic duties and avocations; and it was
only the quick instinct of affection that detected
the deep wound she had received. At
the expiration of about a fortnight, a boat coming
up the river from the Ohio, brought news
of the body of a drowned man having been
found about a hundred miles below, and though
the description of his dress and person was
vague and uncertain, there were circumstances
enough to produce a conviction it was that
of Rainsford. The particulars were cautiously
communicated to Virginia, and received in silence.
On the bosom of maternal affection she
breathed a prayer for the repose of his immortal
soul, and his name was mentioned no more.
But she did not think of him the less for
saying nothing. She remembered his eloquence,
his affection, his gentle kindness, his
sufferings, and his death; yet she did not turn
her back upon the world, because of a thousand
blessings bestowed upon her, she had been
deprived of one, though that one was the
from her thoughts, and she grew, in time, to
think of him as one whom, perhaps, the mercy
of Heaven had snatched away from cureless
misery, to the enjoyment of happiness. “Better
that he should die thus, even thus, and be
buried among strangers,” she would say to
herself, “than live to realize what he has so
long anticipated.”
Thus passed the time, and Rainsford was
considered by all as no longer an inhabitant of
this world, when one day as Bushfield returned
to his home in the forest, after a long and unsuccessful
chase, he found Mammy Phillis in
great tribulation at having nothing to give him
for supper. He had come home in none of his
best humours, for this first disappointment had
brought a conviction to his mind that the game
was fast emigrating, and that he must soon
follow.
“What have you done with all those venison
steaks I left hanging up there, you greedy old
'possum?” said he.
“I no eat him, massa.”
“You no eat him! who eat him then, I
should like to know?”
“Why, gentiman did, tudder day.”
“What gentiman, you beautiful snowball?”
“Him go out all day wid massa, and shoot
nothin.”
“What, Rainsford?”
“Ees, massa, here dis morning, and take
away ebery ting he lay hands on.”
“Why, you fool, he's been dead, I don't know
in the Kentucky.”
Phillis screamed. “Ah! den him must be
him's spook. I tought he no eat like Christian.”
“Pshaw, who ever heard of a spook eating?”
“Huh! I guess dem eat well as udder folks.
I see spooks eat when I was in my own country.
I see plenty dare. All black, jus like
me.”
“A black ghost!” cried Bushfield, breaking
into a loud laugh. “I'd as soon think of a
white nigger. But what are you talking about
seeing poor Rainsford's ghost. Come tell me
all about it.”
By dint of questioning he drew from her the
following details. It appears she was occupied
in eating her breakfast, very intently, when on
a sudden a man, who she persisted was Rainsford,
bolted into the house, seized some of the
victuals, and began to devour them, as she said,
like a hungry wolf. He soon cleared the table,
and then helped himself to all the eatables he
could find, which he was carrying away, when
he seemed suddenly to recollect himself, put his
hand in his pocket and threw her some money,
exclaiming at the same time, with a laugh,
“There—there's the reckoning, the price of a
priest's religion, a lawyer's conscience, and a
patriot's vote. There, you angel of darkness,
go buy a white skin, and then you may bear
false witness against your neighbour, as well
as your betters.”
Phillis further stated that he was very
ragged; had a long beard; a bloodshot eye;
death.
“Poor creature!” said Bushfield, drawing the
sleeve of his hunting shirt across his eyes.
“But I shall tree him to-morrow.”
“What, tree spook?” chuckled old Phillis.
“Ecod, I believe massa tink he tree any ting.”
Bushfield went to bed, that is to say, laid
down on his bearskin, outside the house, under
a spreading tree, and slept as well without his
supper as with it, for he did not mind such trifles
as four-and-twenty hours' abstinence. In
the morning, bright and early, before the dew
was off the ground, he called unto him old
Phillis, and bade her show him, if she knew,
which way the spook went. She did so, and
he whistled his dogs, placed them on the scent,
and followed with his rifle on his shoulder.
The dogs pursued a devious winding course,
through the most difficult-passes of the forest,
until they reached a rocky eminence, which
formed the dividing line between two neighbouring
streams. It was a wild savage scene,
remote from the usual haunts of the hunters.
A signal from the hounds at a distance, indicating
that they discovered something, caused
Bushfield to hasten to the spot, where he beheld
the Black Warrior, standing at bay, with his
rifle pointed at one of the dogs, which was the
most clamorous and troublesome.
“Don't hurt the sweet varmints,” cried he,
“or its likely I may hurt you, anyhow.”
Bushfield “hated an Ingen mightily;” and, to
do him justice, he had tolerable good reasons
for it. But he would not have harmed one, except
dogs, on any account. He called them off,
and they commenced a parley.
“Game very scarce now,” said the Black
Warrior. “Indian must soon go cross the
great river.”
“Yes, and white man too, if he wants to follow
the track of the deer. Have you seen any
game?”
“No, only squirrel, he no worth powder and
shot. Has the white man seen any?”
“O, I'm on another track. I'm hunting a
white man.”
“Eh! I reckoned white man only hunted
Indian that way.”
Bushfield explained to him his object; and
the Black Warrior offered his aid.
“I like Misser Rainford, he sometime fill
my pouch wid tobacco.”
“We shall only be in each other's way, like
a couple of fellers in the same track.”
“Room enough here for white man and red
skin. White man want all room to himself,”
muttered the Indian. “But I must help find
Misser Rainford.”
They proceeded in different directions, after
agreeing to fire their guns in case of any discovery;
and had pursued their search for some
time, when the forest echoed with the report of
the Black Warrior's rifle. Bushfield hastened
in the direction, and found the Indian standing
guard at the foot of a high rock, on the very
verge of which was a figure scarcely human,
capering, and shouting, and looking down, as
if in scorn of the intruder. Sometimes he
he would laugh aloud; and at others pelt him
with sticks or stones. Bushfield approached
close to the foot of the rock, and he seemed for
a moment confused with some recollection,
while he looked wistfully down upon him. He
then shouted and disappeared; then returned
again, laughing and capering like a child playing
at bo-peep; and finally, sat himself down,
with his legs hanging over the edge of the high
rock, making faces at them.
Bushfield called him by name, and entreated
him to come down to his friends.
“Ah hah! catch me at that,” cried he, laughing.
“I know what you want; you want to
chain me; you want to clap me up in a dungeon,
and set a tiger to watch me. No, no, I
know a thing worth two of that. Whiz! look
here,” and he cut a huge caper, and sat down
again. “Here I am, a gentleman commoner
of nature. I can go where I please, and do as
I please, without asking leave of the parson,
the lawyer, the justice, or of those good people
who would kill me with kindness to save my
life.”
“I'll be shot if he don't talk more like common
sense than many roarers I have heard
make speeches in court, in my time, anyhow.
I think if I could only get a fight out of him,
I'd bring him to, pretty quick,” said Bushfield
to his associate.
They consulted together on the best method
of securing the wretched outcast, and at length
finally agreed on a plan. It was obvious that
he could not be secured where he was by any
rock nearest them was inaccessible, and, if
assailed in the rear, there was great reason to
fear he would dash himself down, and perish.
“Somehow or other,” said Bushfield, “I don't
think it a matter worth crying for if he did,
anyhow. But who knows, after all, but the
poor feller has some kind of pleasure in this sort
of out-door life that I don't know any thing
about? He's a free man, and that's something.
He can lay down and drink of the branch without
a cup, which is what I call being independent,
anyhow.”
As neither had any food with them, it was
determined to go home, and return the next
day with a supply, which they were to leave in
a conspicuous spot near the haunt of Rainsford,
in the expectation he would be compelled by
the wants of nature to come and take it. Each
was to hide himself in some convenient nook
for intercepting a retreat to his stronghold.
Accordingly they took leave of the maniac,
who told them to go and catch birds with fresh
salt, and saluted them with a volley of stones,
and returned to their respective homes. The
next day they put their plan into execution,
and awaited the result in their hiding-places.
Some hours elapsed, and the poor wanderer did
not appear. But about midday they heard his
laugh, and presently after saw him approach
the place where the food had been placed, which
he seized and devoured with the eager avidity
of a famished tiger. When he had done, he
laid himself down quietly, and fell asleep at the
foot of a tree.
Now was the time, and now the white man
and the red put in practice the tactics of the
warfare of the woods. They lay down on their
faces, and crawled along like wily snakes in
the grass, dragging their rifles after them, until
within striking distance; when Bushfield, who
never took odds, he said, against man or beast,
motioning the Black Warrior to halt where he
was, rose, and with the spring of a tiger pounced
upon the sleeping Rainsford, whose arms he
seized with the gripe of a vice, as he was wont
to boast. A struggle now ensued, too violent
to be lasting; after a few convulsive, phrenetic
efforts, accompanied by demonstrations of ferocious
anger, the strength of the poor maniac
became quite exhausted, and he remained on
the ground perfectly quiescent, as is the case
with persons of this class when they find themselves
fairly mastered.
He lay for a time with his eyes shut, and the
Black Warrior now brought some fresh grapevines
he had cut, for the purpose of binding his
hands behind him; but Bushfield demurred to
this.
“No, hang it, redskin, I could never yet find
in my heart to bind a free white man. There
are two of us; I'm half a whole team, and you
the other half; and it's a hard case if we can't
manage him without disgracing the poor cretur.”
“True,” said the Black Warrior; “and then
the Great Spirit would be angry if we hurt him,
for you know he loves all mad people can't take
care of themselves. Great Spirit make prophet
of 'em sometimes; love 'em very much. I most
Never shoot deer any more if I hurt him.”
“What ignorant Turks these Indians are,”
thought Bushfield, “to believe in such crossing
of the track as this. I'm a nigger if I think
this copper-washed man is a right clean, full-blooded
feller-cretur.”
Nothing is more passive than raging passion
when once overcome. Rainsford now rose from
the ground, and stood stock still, with a subdued
look, and languid expression of the eye.
His head, legs, bosom, and arms were bare;
and as Bushfield noted the bruises and the
marks which he had been forced to inflict upon
the poor youth, he felt his eyes grow dim. He
took his passive hand, shook it with honest fervour,
and, as if he thought himself understood,
made his apology for having treated him so
roughly. “If I hadn't sooner eat garbroth with
a real nigger, may I never see a tree nigh
enough to my house to make a fire without
the help of a cart and oxen,” said he. “But
come, stranger, I think now you'd best go home
again. There's the colonel and his lady are on
the wrong scent about you, and Miss Virginia
looks as white as an eggshell.”
“Virginia?” said Rainsford, “Virginia? ay,
Old Virginia. I've heard of her; she never
tires, they say.”
“Old Virginia! no, I mean young Virginia,
the yellow flower of the forest, the sweetest sap
that ever was boiled into maple sugar. O, she's
a beauty, anyhow. Have you forgot Virginia
Dangerfield, that I hear you were going to be
married to when you cut this caper?”
“Dangerfield! yes, now I recollect, that was
the name of the old beggar that cursed my
grandfather; he that was once an old black
woman that I stole venison from, and cooked it
on a gridiron made of the ribs of a rogue that
was gibbeted. Yes, yes—O, I remember it all
as if it was the day after to-morrow.”
“Then you will go with us?”
“To be sure I will. Give us your hand;
your fingers are as soft as iron bars, almost as
soft as Virginia's—I mean Old Virginia, that
never tires. As I was saying—but you talked
about going to be married just now, didn't you?
Now, if I marry anybody, it shall be the black
beauty I met t'other day, who gave me a good
dinner; but she made me pay for it. Look
here! what a grip she gave me!” and he held
out his bare bruised arms.
“Come then with me, and I will take you to
your friends, and they shall take care of you,”
said Bushfield, who long afterwards declared he
never had felt so since the time he lost his
mother and little sister at one shot.
“Well, come on; I'm a free man now, and
ready for a frolic anywhere. But don't talk of
being married, for that is the shortest cut to the
devil; the parson told me so. Come, don't look
as if I was lying about it. I tell you he swore
to me once by—I forget what it was—by the
sole of his shoe, that if the sky should happen
to fall, there would be a great squabble about
the stars. For my part, I should go for Saturn,
because he falls the farthest, and is a great traveller.
Hurrah, boys! come along; but here,
Mr. Dangerfield, you'll bring that old sexton
there with you, because I expect to be married.
It's curious,” whispered he to Bushfield, “but
I seem as if I remembered backwards, as a crab
goes to church. Hurrah! come to the funeral,
and then for the plum-cake and a lying epitaph.”
So saying, he took Bushfield by the arm, and
they went their way towards the village of Dangerfieldville,
where they arrived in the dusk of
the evening; Rainsford so fatigued, that he fell
into a deep sleep immediately. Persons were
appointed by Colonel Dangerfield to watch him,
that he might not wander away into the woods
again.
| CHAPTER IX. Westward ho! | |