 | CHAPTER XXI.
THE LOST FOUND. The border rover |  |
21. CHAPTER XXI.
THE LOST FOUND.
I shall make no attempt to describe my feelings, as
I lay upon the ground, bound hand and foot, beneath
an Indian lodge, the captive of a savage foe. A few
hours since, and I was free, and full of hopes and
bright anticipations—a few hours hence, and what
would be my fate?
While I thus lay pondering, in a painful position,
hungry, and almost choking with thirst, a small,
slender figure glided into the lodge, and a sweet,
thrill, said, in a tone of holy sympathy:
“I pity you, sir, whoever you are! and though a
prisoner myself, I have obtained permission to visit
you. I cannot release you; but if you are thirsty, I
think I may be allowed to bring you a cup of water
—and food, perhaps, if you are hungry.”
There were firelights outside the lodge; and from
one came a ruddy gleam through the open door, and,
falling upon the fair visitant, revealed the outlines of
form and feature. I could not be mistaken; the
senses of hearing and seeing could not both deceive
me; to say nothing of that sympathetic, magnetic
thrill, which seemed to pass the grosser material of
body, to bury itself, as it were, in my very soul!
No! I could not be mistaken! It was the being I
had seen once to remember ever; it was the being I
had mourned as lost; it was the being for whose
safety and happiness I had often prayed; it was the
being I had sought through difficulty and danger; it
was the being whom my wildly beating heart now
assured me I loved with a love that would no longer
be disguised under the colder term of friendship: in
a word, she who now stood before me, in the form of
a ministering spirit, speaking her sympathy in the
voice of an angel, was Adele Loyola.
My first impulse was to call her by name, and
reveal my own; but ere I spoke, the whim seized me
to try her first; and disguising my voice, I replied:
“I am very thirsty.”
“You shall have water, sir,” she said, and disappeared.
In a short time she reappeared, bringing a gourd
full of the pure element, which she held to my parched
and feverish lips. I drank eagerly, and never in my
life had I tasted a draught so refreshing. Had my
cup-bearer been old and ugly, I could have loved her
for her kindness; could I do less than love the fair,
sweet, beautiful being before me?
“I thank you from my heart!” I said; and my
voice, made tremulous by emotion, must have convinced
her of my sincerity.
“I would I could give you more cause to be thankful,
by releasing and setting you free! but this I cannot
do,” she rejoined. “But here is some food, if you are
hungry,” she added, producing a kind of wooden
platter, containing boiled maize and a piece of cooked
meat. “The chiefs have permitted me to bring you
this sustenance. Will you eat?”
“I am somewhat hungry,” I answered; “but at
present my curiosity gets the better of my appetite.
Will you permit me to ask you a few questions?”
“I will, sir; but I may soon be called away; so I
pray you speak at once, and briefly, that I may have
time to place this food to your lips, since you cannot
feed yourself.”
“You say you are a prisoner here as well as myself?”
“I am, sir!”
“Where were you captured? and how long
since?”
“I was captured a few weeks ago, at a place called
Turkey Creek. My father and myself belonged to a
company trading between Missouri and Santa Fe;
and while encamped one night at the place mentioned,
the Indians attacked us, and killed my father and
several others; and myself, and the wife of an emigrant
who was traveling with us, were taken prisoners.”
“And is this other lady you speak of still a prisoner
with you?”
“No, sir—she was killed the same night.”
“Accidentally, or intentionally?”
“She had the misfortune to offend a chief, who
buried his tomahawk in her brain.”
“Did you witness her death?”
“I knew when it took place; but it was dark, and
I did not see the awful deed done.”
“How did it affect you?”
“I almost wished it had been myself.”
“But how is it that you have so much liberty
among such a savage people?”
“It is, perhaps, because a powerful chief has signified
his intention of making me his wife; and by
treating me with marked favor, even above others of
my sex, he hopes to win my regard—so at least he
tells me in broken English.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed I; and my changed voice
nearly betrayed me. “And is it possible you can
your father and friends?”
“Alas! sir, what can I do? I am a poor, helpless
girl!” and she burst into tears.
“But you certainly have a choice between the monster
and death?”
“Would you have me die by my own hand?”
“No! no! for that, we are told, would entail eternal
misery hereafter. I see! unless the savages put you
to death, or you escape, you have no choice.”
“Oh! would to God I could escape!” she said.
“Do not despair! your friends may even now be
seeking you.”
“Alas! sir, I have no friends.”
“No friends? are you sure? It is hardly possible
that one like you can be without friends.”
“But I have none, sir, that would seek me here,”
she replied, in a tone of sadness. “I never knew any
relation but my father, and he is dead.”
“But surely there must be some one who will not
be indifferent to your fate!
“It is possible I may be pitied by some who knew
me—but I have no hope that any will seek me here;
and even should any venture here, for the purpose of
releasing me, you see how vain would be the attempt,
while I am surrounded by so many warriors who are
enemies of my race!”
“But could not your freedom be purchased?”
“And who will offer to purchase the freedom of a
poor, friendless girl?”
`Did you never see any one that would take
interest enough in you to do so, if your misfortunes
were known to him?”
She hesitated, and at length replied:
“There was one, sir, whom I met under painful
circumstances, who did profess warm friendship; but
he was a stranger, seen only for a brief hour, and has
doubtless forgotten me. I have sometimes hoped he
would hear of my fate; though I know not why I
should wish him to learn of my misery, since it could
not benefit me and might give him pain.”
“Permit me to inquire the name of this stranger?”
“It was Roland Rivers, sir.”
“Indeed!” said I; “I know him.”
“Do you, sir? do you?” she cried, eagerly.
“I do; and it is not a week since I saw him.”
“Was he well, sir?”
“At that time he was.”
“And where do you think he is now?”
“Somewhere among the Indians, I have reason to
believe.”
“Oh! sir, not a prisoner, I hope!”
“I cannot say he is not. When I saw him a few
days ago, he was on his way, with a small party of
armed men, to seek a large and powerful tribe, for
the purpose of procuring the release of a female
captive, a young and beautiful girl. Ah! good sooth!
now I think—perhaps it was you of whom he was in
search.”
For a short time Adele made no reply, during
murmured, in a low tone, evidently not intended for
my ear:
“God and all holy saints bless and preserve him,
wherever he is!” And then she said to me: “Will
you let me give you this food now?”
I could maintain my assumed character no longer;
but allowing my voice to take its natural tone, I said:
“Adele—do you not know me?”
Instantly she sprung aside, so as to admit the light,
and, bending down, peered eagerly into my face.
“Holy Virgin!” she exclaimed; “it is Roland
Rivers himself!”
“It is no other, Adele,” I replied. “I was on my
way, with several others, to effect your release, when,
having become separated from my companions, I was
surrounded and taken prisoner.”
“Oh, Heaven! this is terrible! and I have been the
unlucky cause of your misfortune!”
“Let that give you no pain, my dear Adele—for I
feel it a kind of pleasure to suffer in your behalf.
You must forgive me for not making myself known
the moment I recognized you; but I could not resist
the desire to know if I still lived in your memory.”
“Oh! sir, how could I forget you, if I would!” she
rejoined, with perfect naivete; “you who spoke such
words of kindness to one who has had but little kindness
to remember! And now to see you here, bound,
a prisoner, in the hands of a savage foe, makes me
more miserable now.”
“But perhaps I shall soon be free.”
“Oh, Mr. Rivers, do you think so?”
“I hope so, Adele—for I have done nothing to
excite the animosity of the Indians.”
“Why then are you bound and placed here?”
“I cannot say—do you not know?”
“I do not.”
“Have you no idea what they intend to do with me?'
“I have not.”
“But if they had any design against my life, would
they have permitted you to visit me?”
“Indeed, sir, I cannot say—for you are the first
prisoner I have seen in their hands since they killed
my companion, Mrs. Mason.”
“But what do they say of me among themselves?
we may judge by that.”
“You forget, Mr. Rivers, I do not understand their
language.”
“Pray call me Roland, Adele—any other name
from you sounds too cold and formal. You say you
do not understand their language—pray how do you
converse with them?”
“Partly by signs; but there are three or four in the
village who understand a little English, and can
speak a few words. Waralongha, the chief I have
mentioned, speaks the English tongue rather plainly
—but he is now away.”
“Ha!” said I; “the chief of the party that captured
me could converse in my native tongue.”
“Then you were taken by Waralongha himself,”
said Adele. “How is it that he sent you here before
him? for he has not yet returned.”
“I think he and his party went in pursuit of my
companions,” I replied; and I proceeded to give her a
brief account of the whole affair.
“Oh, Roland, I hope your companions will not be
made prisoners also!” cried Adele.
“I fear some of them will,” said I.
“I think you will be kept here till Waralongha
returns,” she rejoined.
“And what then?”
“Alas! I do not know. Should your companions
resist, and he lose any of his men, I fear your life may
be taken in revenge; and should he be unsuccessful
in getting your goods into his possession, he may vent
his rage on you for that.”
“In any event, then, my life is in danger!”
“Alas! I fear so.”
“But can I not escape?” I said, in a low whisper;
for if there were any who could understand our conversation,
I thought it possible they might be within
hearing, perhaps listening.
“How, Roland?”
“With your assistance, Adele. But tell me first
how you obtained permission to visit me? and why
I am left unguarded?”
“You are not unguarded, Roland—would to Heaven
“There are no less than four warriors watching this
lodge.”
“Indeed! where are they?”
“They are lounging on the earth outside, at no
great distance; but are so disposed, that, by the lights
of the different fires, they can see completely round
your prison.”
“But why are you permitted to visit me, and bring
me food and drink, since they have seen proper to
treat me so roughly, and offer me none?”
“I do not know, unless because you are a prisoner
of Waralongha, and they think it might offend
him to refuse my request.”
“You requested to see me then?”
“Yes! I was one of the crowd that surrounded you,
after you were brought in; but I only got near
enough to see you were a white man; and I spoke to
one who can understand the most simple English
words, and requested him to ask leave of the chiefs
for me to visit you. He did so, and I came to you as
soon as my request was granted. Arguing from this
permission, that I should be allowed to bring you
food and water, I took the liberty to do so, and so far
I have been unmolested and unrestrained; but how
much longer this may continue I cannot say; and
this reminds me you have not yet eaten: pray let me
give you some of this food now, before I am called
away.”
“I would rather talk than eat, Adele, for the time
is precious.”
“You can do both,” she said, putting some of the
frugal fare to my lips. “Eat, Roland, I pray you! I
shall feel better to know you have taken sustenance.”
I hastily ate a few mouthfuls, took another drink
from the gourd, and continued:
“You have been treated well by the Indians?”
“Better, at least, than others of my sex.”
“But you are suffering mental torture?”
“Oh! yes, Roland—I would rather die than remain
here, the wife of a savage. Great God! what a fate!”
“What a fate indeed!” said I. “I heard of your
capture while at Council Grove; and I afterward
resolved to set you free, or die in the attempt; and I
now fear the attempt will cost me my life. What is
to be done? I am here, a more helpless prisoner than
yourself even; and I fear my companions are, or will
be, overpowered—in which case we shall all be at the
mercy of the savages.”
“Alas! what is to be done indeed?” cried Adele,
wringing her hands.
At this moment a grim-looking savage appeared at
the door of the lodge, and made signs to Adele that
she must follow him.
“There,” she said; “it is as I feared; we must part
now, perhaps never to meet again.”
“Farewell, and God bless you!” said I. “Keep up
your spirits, and hope! all may not be so bad as it
seems.”
She put her hands to her eyes, as if to restrain her
tears, and in a choked and trembling voice murmured:
“Adieu! I will come to you whenever I can. God
bless you! God bless you! If it had not been for
me, you would not now be here. The heart of the
friendless orphan shall ever pray for your deliverance,
prosperity, and happiness!”
With this she hurried out, the savage glided away,
and I was again alone.
| CHAPTER XXI.
THE LOST FOUND. The border rover | |