University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
ESCAPE OF LANGEE, AND WHAT FOLLOWED.

From the setting in of night, I lost sight of my strange
companion; and though I had every reason to believe
that he was still lying within six feet of me, yet for hours
I had heard no sound, not even a movement or a breath,
to assure me that such was the case. My natural conclusion
was, that he was asleep; but still I thought it very
singular that he should lie so quietly, and sleep so easily;
and I could have fancied he was not there now, only that
I knew I had not lost myself, even in a dose, for a single
moment, and regarded it as next to impossible that he
could have got away without making any noise.

Through the first part of the night, I had been so occupied
with thoughts peculiar to my own situation, that this
had not struck me as any thing remarkable; and when I
did think about it, I lay for some time pondering upon the
mystery of this silence.

At length, near what I judged to be the midnight hour,
I heard a slight movement, and a sound like the parting
of a thong. Then, for a few minutes, all was still, when
the same kind of noise was repeated.

Could it be that my strange companion was breaking
loose from his bonds? I hoped so, yet feared to ask,
even in a whisper, lest I should be heard by the sentry at
the door, and, by attracting his attention, peradventure
spoil some design of Langee.

Soon after this, the same sounds were again repeated;
and then I fancied I heard a footstep stealing softly away.

For perhaps ten minutes after this, all was again silent—
then I was startled by hearing sounds like persons struggling
together at the door. There was no outery—but,
instead, a smothered groan, a fall of some heavy body,
and labored breathing, like one strangling. This gradually
died away to silence; and though I laid awake all
night, listening and wondering, and pondering upon my
own hard fate, I heard nothing more.

The night, as may readily be believed, was to me one of
physical and mental torture. I was so bound that I could
move nothing but my head; and my limbs gradually swelling,
by reason of the tightness of my cords, the ligatures
became deeply buried in my flesh, and for a long time
pained me exceedingly. To this a numbness succeeded,
scarcely less pleasant; and for hours I felt as if portions
of me were dead.

And would any portion of me be living when the sun of
to-morrow should set? I asked myself; and the awful idea
that I might then be in the Spirit Land, made the blood,
where it did circulate, seem to run cold in my veins.

Daylight came at last; and with the first ray that penetrated
my prison-house, I turned my eyes to the spot
where I had last seen the Hermit. As I had anticipated,
he was no longer there. He had escaped; and the sounds
I had heard at the door, were doubtless his struggles with
the sentry, whom I readily conjectured he had strangled.

This conjecture seemed confirmed, when, so soon as it
was light enough to see around the building, I lifted my
head from the earth, and beheld a dark object stretched
across the doorway.

But how had Langee got away? had Dundenah aided
him? and what bearing would his escape have upon my

own fate? were mental questions to which I could append
no answers. Strange, too, I thought, if he were friendly
disposed toward me, as his words all along had implied,
that, after making his way clear, by killing the sentry, he
had not returned to set me free also, which he might then
have done with little or no risk.

But had he really escaped? and if so, for what purpose?
and would he seek to make his way to a white settlement,
and spread the news of our captivity? or would he return
to his hermit life, and bury all other thoughts in those of
self?

While thus mentally occupied, I chanced to espy, by the
increasing light, some marks upon the hard, well-trodden
earth where Langee had lain. I fancied they took a systematic
shape; and raising my head, I was both surprised
and rejoiced to perceive that a finger had traced on the
ground, in large letters, the single word:

“Hope!”

He had not forgotten me then, and had left this as a
token that I must not despair; though why he had not
communicated something of his design to me, after overpowering
the guard, which he might have done so easily,
was still a mystery I could not solve.

It was with no little anxiety I listened for the sound of
approaching footsteps, and strove to conjecture what would
be the conduct of the savages, when they should find one
of their party killed, and one of their prisoners escaped.

At length some one came to the door, and was about to
enter; but started back on seeing his prostrate companion,
and, uttering an Indian ejaculation, stooped down to examine
him. The next moment he sprang to his feet, and
with a wild, shrill, prolonged whoop, disappeared.

This alarm-cry was quickly answered by a dozen throats;
and immediately after a number of savages came rushing

[ILLUSTRATION]

Escape of Langee

[Description: 464EAF. Image of the hermit holding onto the arm of an Native American in the moonlight. The Native American is bleeding from a chest-wound. In the background are teepees.]

into the building; and while some stopped at the door to
examine their dead comrade, the others directed their
steps to me, with fierce looks and menacing gestures.

I thought my time had now surely come—for in their
rage I believed they would kill me—and commending my
soul to God, I awaited the result with all the fortitude I
could summon.

On coming up to me, however, and finding me fast
bound, and Langee gone, they appeared to see at once
that I had had no hand in the death of the sentry, or the
escape of the Hermit; and grouping themselves upon the
spot where the latter had lain, they held a brief consultation
among themselves, of which of course I understood
nothing.

Then turning to me, they uttered the word “Langee,”
in a deep, guttural tone, and made signs to know what had
become of him.

I shook my head, the only part of me I could move, as
a sign that I knew nothing about him; and muttering
among themselves, and fiercely brandishing their tomahawks,
they went back to their companions at the door;
and soon the whole party disappeared, taking the corpse
with them.

I had scarcely been left to myself, when Kenneloo came
stalking into the building, followed by Dundenah.

As the chief drew near me, I could perceive, by the
fiery gleam of his black eyes, and the fierce expression of
his countenance, that he was in no amiable mood. There
was a frown upon the brow of Dundenah, and her thin lips
were compressed—but the general aspect of her features
seemed to betoken as much of grief as of anger.

The chief halted by my side, and fixing his snakey eyes
upon my face, closely watched me while I was being
interrogated by Dundenah.

“Where is Langee?” asked the latter.

“I know no more than yourself,” I replied.

“Did he tell the Dark-Eye nothing before he left?”

“Nothing—not a word passed between us.”

“But the Dark-Eye knows when he escaped?”

I narrated to her what I had heard in the middle of the
night.

“And this is all the Dark-Eye knows?”

“All, I assure you.”

Dundenah translated my answers to her father; who
replied in a fierce, angry tone; and glaring upon me, more
like some savage beast than a human being, he immediately
quitted the Council House.

“This is most unfortunate,” said Dundenah, in what
seemed a dispirited tone; “and the Dark-Eye, I fear,
will have to suffer for the baseness of Langee.”

“How so?” I inquired: “It is easily seen that I am
not to blame for what he did.”

“But who shall stay the vengeance of the Wepecoolahs,”
she pursued, with a kind of poetical wildness, “against
him who is of the race of him who has broken from their
bondage and laid one of their race low? Can the Dark-Eye
stop the mountain torrent as it rushes toward the
valley? Like the mountain torrent is the rage of the
Wepecoolahs against the paleface for the deeds of his
brothers! They have counted the moccasins that went on
the warpath and came back no more; and while the death
wail is fresh in the lodges of the fallen braves, a new wail
is heard for a son and a brother slain within the sacred
limits of their Council House, by the hand of one whose
language is that of the Dark-Eye, and the hue of whose
skin proclaims him of the same hated race! Who shall
dare step between them and the victim of their wrath?
Who has power to do it and live?”

“I understand you, Dundenah,” I said, as she paused
and fixed her gaze, with a kind of mournful solemnity,
upon my features: “I understand you. Whatever hope
your previous language gave me, that you might in some
way avert my awful doom, I now give over, and pray God
to aid me to die with fortitude, forgiving those who do me
this wrong because of my race, and not because I have
ever done an injury unto them.”

“Is it not hard for the Dark-Eye—so young—to say
farewell to sun, and moon, and stars, and earth, forever?”
inquired my singular companion.

“Yes, Dundenah—to say nothing of my friends, who
peradventure will never learn my fate—or learn it to shed
more bitter tears than at the uncertainty in which it was
previously involved.”

“The curse of Wandewah be upon Langee for what he
has done!” she cried, vehemently, with flashing eyes.

“And yet you cannot blame him,” I replied, “for
seeking life and liberty—and, above all, escape from such
painful bonds as these.”

“Can the Dark-Eye excuse him, when he left him to
suffer the consequences of his selfishness?” asked my
companion, quickly.

“I blame him not for embracing the means of escape
which Providence seems to have given him,” I answered.
“Could I have got away, I should not be here now.”

“And were the Dark-Eye free, and his companion in
bondage, would he leave him so, when he could set him at
liberty with no risk to himself?”

“No, I certainly would not.”

“Then the curse of Wandewah be upon Langee for his
inhumanity and selfishness!” she again cried, with lofty
scorn.

“Shall I infer from this, that Dundenah would have me
free?” I inquired.

“Dundenah would have the Dark-Eye free, but his
home among the Wepecoolahs.”

“Have me live among the enemies of my race? No,
no—that can never be.”

“But Dundenah would have the Dark-Eye and the
Wepecoolahs as brothers.”

“As well ask the fawn and the tiger to be playmates,”
I rejoined. “No, no, Dundenah—I thank you sincerely
for the interest you have manifested in my fate—but what
you wish can never be. Between the Wepecoolahs and
myself there can be no affinity—for we differ so much in
manners, customs, thoughts, and feelings, that what would
delight them, would probably prove an annoyance, not to
say an abhorrence, to me. But, Dundenah, I am suffering
much from the manner in which I am bound—is it necessary
that I should continue in this position, with these
thongs cutting into my flesh?”

“It is usual for captives condemned to the torture, to
remain so bound till taken hence,” she replied; “but the
Dark Eye shall suffer thus no longer, be the consequences
what they may.”

Saying this, she took a knife from her girdle, and
severed the ligatures; but I was so benumbed, that for
several minutes I could make no use of my limbs.

“I thank you, Dundenah, for your kindness,” I said, in
a voice of emotion, while tears involuntarily started to my
eyes.

For, placed as I was among savages, condemned to death,
with no friend by to pity or condole with me, such an act
of mercy, trifling as it may seem to others, touched me to
the heart; and for the time I was almost wrought upon to

regard my beautiful companion as a ministering angel, sent
for my deliverance.

My language, the tone in which it was spoken, and the
look which accompanied it, seemed to touch the feelings of
Dundenah; for she turned aside her head, and it was some
moments ere I again had a full view of her features.

I have mistaken her, I thought to myself; she is not the
stony-hearted, cold-blooded creature I have been led to esteem
her; beneath her proud, chilling, haughty exterior
beats a warm, affectionate heart; and now, while that heart
is stirred by gentle feelings, I will question her concerning
Clara.

Accordingly, throwing much feeling into my voice, I
said:

“Since the Leaping Fawn has been so kind as to free
me of much bodily pain, will she not continue her kindness
by relieving my mental anxiety concerning my companion
in misfortune?”

She turned quickly upon me, and her black eyes remained
fixed upon mine for some time, with an expression so peculiar
that I was at a loss to understand the workings of her
mind.

“What would the Dark-Eye know?” she at length inquired,
in a quiet tone.

“I would know what has become of the gentle maiden
who was taken prisoner with myself?”

“If the Dark-Eye lives to see the sun go down, he shall
be answered,” she replied; and abruptly turning away
from me, she quitted the building.

What means this mystery? I asked myself.

But I could not solve the riddle.