University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.
RESUSCITATION AND WHAT FOLLOWED.

When I again opened my eyes to light and life, I saw
the face of Walter Moreland bending over me, with a look
of painful anxiety. My first impression was that we had
met in another world; and I said:

“So then, my friend, you were murdered as well as I—
but we are both beyond their reach now.”

“Oh, blessed be God, that hath heard my prayer and
restored you to life!” he cried, tears of joy filling his eyes.
“You know me, Henry, do you not?”

“Certainly—you are Walter Moreland, the brother of
Clara. Alas! poor Clara! would to Heaven I could
deliver her from the fiend who holds her in his power!”

“And so you shall, Henry—so you shall!” cried
Walter, with fiery energy. “With God's aid, we will
deliver her, and punish that treacherous villain as he
deserves.”

“But how, Walter? how?” inquired I, eagerly, still
under the impression that we were beyond the shores of
time. “They you speak of yet live on the earth.”

“And so do we, my dear Henry, as you will perceive
when your scattered faculties become collected from the
terrible shock they have received.”

“And am I still mortal, and on the earth?” cried I,
looking around me in a half-bewildered state. “Where
am I then? and what stream is this?”—for I was reclining
on the bank of a little rivulet, whose limpid
waters, as they rolled past me, murmured sweetly in my
ear.

“This is the stream by which we encamped last night;
and yonder is the tree from which I cut you down,”
replied Walter.

I looked in the direction indicated by a motion of his
hand; and there, sure enough, within a hundred yards of
me, I beheld the tree to which I had been suspended, and
a portion of the rope still dangling from the limb, and
waving to and fro in the light morning breeze. I now
began to comprehend my true situation; but the rope and
the tree brought back the awful sensations I had experienced
in undergoing the agonies of death by strangulation,
and I withdrew my gaze with a sickening shudder.

“But how is it that I am here, Walter, with you beside
me, whom I supposed dead, or far away?” I inquired,
eagerly. “How was I snatched from death at the
eleventh hour?”

“At the eleventh hour truly,” replied my companion;
“and for a time I feared too late. Thus it was;” and
Walter began by stating in what manner, and for what
reason, he had, about the middle of the night, withdrawn
himself into the wood; which, being in substance what I
have previously told the reader, I need not here repeat.
I will therefore allow his narration to commence at a
point of interest.

“I had taken my rifle with me,” he proceeded, “and
I now determined to punish Warncliff for his treachery.
I therefore kept my eye upon him, and brought my
weapon to bear—though I withheld my fire, for fear of
missing my mark. While he stood tantalizing my father, I
was sorely tempted to pull the trigger more than once;
but I restrained myself till he approached Clara; when
finding him and the ruffian with whom she was struggling
in fair bullet range, I sighted, as well as I could by the
firelight, and discharged my piece. At the very instant I

did so, Warncliff moved his head one side, and thus his
life was saved; but Tom, his lieutenant, fell, mortally
wounded.”

“But were you not afraid of shooting Clara?” inquired
I; “for she must have been very near, if not in range
also.”

“Yes,” replied Walter, “I was fearful of such a catastrophe;
but better death from the hands of a brother, I
reasoned, than life with such a villain; and I left the
issue to Providence.

“I knew,” continued Walter, “that the moment I
should fire, I should be pursued; and I had bethought me
of a stratagem for eluding the outlaws—which, it is needless
to add, proved successful. Some five paces behind
me was a large tree, surrounded by bushes; and to spring
behind this, and throw myself flat upon the ground,
was the work of an instant. I had just done so, when
they discharged their rifles, and burst into the thicket,
hoping to find me there wounded; but not finding me,
they naturally concluded I had fled deeper into the wood;
and instantly they dashed away in every direction, yelling
like so many Indians. I lay quietly till I heard them at a
considerable distance; and then putting the strap of my
rifle over my shoulders, I climbed the tree, and found
myself in safety.

“From my position, I could now see nearly every thing
that was taking place in the camp; and I was much
tempted to try another shot at Warncliff; but I recollected
that this would betray my hiding-place, and bring upon
me certain death; while, by escaping, I might yet be of
service to my friends. The last, rather than personal fear,
determined me to display no further rashness; and now I
feel I cannot too much rejoice at my prudence.

“To be brief, I remained on the tree all night, watching
the outlaws, and overhearing much that was said.

On the return of my pursuers from a fruitless search, I
could see that Warncliff was half beside himself with rage
—though he took care not to vent it too loud, nor let my
friends know of my escape. He now ordered his men to
bury Tom, who had died meantime; and when this was
done, the whole party proceeded to hold a consultation;
after which they divided into groups, and spent the remainder
of the night in talking over the late exciting
events, and in relating wild tales and daring exploits of
former times.

“When, after the departure of the bandits in the morning,
I found that only two were left behind to execute
you, I felt certain that I could save you; and descending
from the tree, I concealed myself in the thicket, to watch
their motions, and take advantage of the most favorable
moment to come to your rescue. My first idea was to
shoot one and rush upon the other; but if this could be
avoided, and they be suffered to depart under the belief
that you were dead, or soon would be, I preferred it
should be so, for many reasons; and I thought it very
probable that the moment they should see you fairly suspended
by the neck, they would mount their horses and
dash away; and I believed there would then be time
enough for me to cut you down ere life should be
extinct.

“The result has been as I anticipated—save that, in my
haste to climb the tree, so as to reach the rope with my
knife, I slipped and fell, and for a moment lay half
stunned; and the delay this occasioned was nigh proving
fatal to you. In fact, when I had borne you to this
stream, and repeatedly dashed water in your face, without
perceiving any signs of life, I began to tremble with horror,
lest all were indeed over. But at length, to my great
joy, I fancied there was a slight tremor about the heart;
and I continued to labor for your restoration with redoubled

zeal. With your first gasp for breath, I was so overjoyed,
that I was forced to cry aloud to give vent to my
feelings; but even after this, there seemed to be a desperate
struggle between life and death; and for a time I
hardly knew which would conquer. But I need not dwell
on the painful scene; you are restored to life and to your
senses, and God be praised for it!”

“Amen! from my soul!” returned I. “But how much
time has elapsed since you cut me down?”

“I should judge about an hour.”

“To God, and to you, Walter Moreland, I owe my deliverance
from death,” said I, taking his hand; “and may
my senses fail me when I forget the debt due to either!”

“You owe nothing to me, for performing a common act
of humanity,” replied Walter, much affected; “but I trust
I may count on you to aid me in my endeavors to rescue
my father and sister from the hands of their ruffianly
captors.”

“Were they my bitterest enemies, but friends of yours,
my life and fortune should be at your disposal, to aid them
to escape; but since they are friends of mine as well as
yours, I cannot even make a merit of such an attempt.
But what is to be done first? what do you propose?”

“Why, so soon as you are able to bear the fatigues of
the journey, I know nothing better than to set out on their
trail, like Indians, and so follow on till we trace them to
their destination: what is then to be done must be determined
by circumstances.”

“I am ready now,” said I, as the image of the lovely
Clara rose in my mind; and I attempted to spring to my
feet—but fell back upon the earth, weak and exhausted.

“Ah! my dear friend,” exclaimed Walter, “I feared you
were reckoning without your strength. But do not exert
yourself now: a few hours I trust will restore you; remember:
you have been on the very brink of death, and you

naturally need rest and food. Good heavens!” he suddenly
cried, with a look of alarm—“your features express
pain! Are you suffering? are you ill?”

“I fear I am,” I replied, gloomily; “the blood seems
to rush into my eyes; there are sharp, shooting pains in
my head; and my heart seems turned to lead.”

“Keep quiet! keep quiet!” rejoined Walter, anxiously:
“you over-exerted yourself just now. Here, take a
drink;” and with a small tin cup which he carried with
him, he dipped up some water from the creek, and presented
it to my lips.

I was thirsty, and I drank; but the first draught, which
I took eagerly, I thought would strangle me; for my
throat was very much swollen; and now, for the first time,
I felt a strange sensation outside, where the rope had
encircled it. I succeeded, however, after several trials, in
swallowing about a gill, which refreshed me to a degree
far beyond my expectations.

“Ah! thank God! you are better—I can see it,” cried
Walter, joyfully, who had been watching my features with
the deepest anxiety.

“I am, my dear friend—I am,” returned I, seizing his
hand.

“There! there! no exertion now!” he continued.
“Remain perfectly quiet till your strength is restored;
and do not attempt to get up till I return.”

“And whither are you going?”

“In quest of what we both need, food. Thank Heaven!
I have a good rifle, and plenty of ammunition—so we need
not starve.”

“Do not be long away, Walter!”

“A few minutes—only a few minutes, Henry,” he
replied, and disappeared in the wood.

It was a beautiful spring morning—all nature was
decked in her loveliest green—and as I lay upon the velvet

bank of the little stream, where the cloudless sun, just
risen above the mountain tops, poured down upon me a
warm, golden flood of light—and listened to the songs of a
thousand birds, which cleaved the blue ether above my
head, or fluttered among the branches of the neighboring
wood—I suddenly felt my soul bound with a joy as
inexplicable as inexpressible. I had had presentiments of
evil, followed by troubles dire: was this an omen of good,
to be succeeded by ultimate happiness? I hoped so—I may
say believed so—at least I fervently prayed it might be so.

Wonderful creature is man! wonderfully organized!
wonderfully endowed! Whence come these moments of
depression and exultation? Are we sometimes given the
prophet's inspiration, without the prophet's power of
prophesying? Are our spirits permitted to look into the
future, and convey the impression of good or evil to our
senses? Who shall answer? All is mystery. We have
been, we are, and shall be; but beyond this, how much do
we really know of ourselves?

I soon heard the report of Walter's rifle; and a few
minutes after he appeared, holding up a rabbit which he
had shot. This he dressed, and broiled on the embers of
the last night's fire. I ate a portion of it with some
difficulty, owing to my throat being so swollen; but what I
did eat seemed to strengthen me, and I felt much better
afterward.

In the course of two or three hours, I thought myself
able to begin our journey; and we set out accordingly;
but I was often obliged to stop and rest; so that we did
not make much progress that day. Our course lay for the
most part over a rolling prairie; and we had no difficulty
in following the wide, heavy trail of so many horses.
Game was abundant; and toward night Walter shot a
deer, from which we made our evening and morning meals.
We kindled a fire, which was necessary to keep off the

wild beasts; and besides, the nights were so cool, that this
means of protection detracted nothing from our personal
comfort.

Notwithstanding Walter had been up much of the
previous night, he insisted on standing guard, and on my
getting as much rest as I could; but waking toward
morning, and feeling almost myself again, I insisted on
relieving him; and throwing himself down by the fire, he
was soon fast asleep, much to my satisfaction.

By sunrise on the following morning we had resumed
our toilsome journey; and at sunset we selected our camp
some twenty-five or thirty miles from the previous one—
having, in the course of the day, swum two streams of
considerable note.

On the third morning, feeling myself fully recovered,
we began our march with renewed zeal, and so continued
it through the day. About an hour after setting out, to
our great delight, we came upon the first camp of our foes;
and so eagerly did we struggle forward after this, that our
exertions were crowned with the triumph of arriving at
their second camp just as the sun was going down. This
camp was on the east bank of the Brazos, some three or
four hundred miles above its mouth; and on reaching it,
we knew that our enemies were only a day's march in
advance of us. This distance we now determined to maintain,
by encamping each night where they had encamped
the night previous.

So far the trail of the bandits had led due south-west,
over an uninhabited tract of country; and we began to
have apprehensions from this, that Warncliff was bending
his steps for the frontier of Mexico—perhaps to join the
enemies of Texas, and so escape the punishment that might
overtake him, sooner or later, if he remained within the
jurisdiction of the United States. This was no agreeable
surmise, and depressed our spirits not a little; but we

determined to follow on, let him lead where he would, and
trust the rest to Providence.

The next day we crossed the Brazos; and finding the
wide trail of the bandits on the other side, pursued it
eagerly; and before sunset had the satisfaction of again
coming upon their last night's camp.

Perhaps it may have struck the reader as something a
little marvellous, that we, on foot, should be able to
advance as far in a day as our mounted foes; but I trust
I need only state the fact, that they did not press forward
at a very rapid rate for horsemen, and that we began each
day's journey at the first streak of daylight, and toiled on
as if our lives were at stake.

The third day from crossing the Brazos, we struck a
range of mountains known as the Colorado Hills; and the
trail here leading into a very wild, gloomy ravine, between
high rocks, (which we judged to be the bed of a mountain
torrent, or the channel of some former stream, which had
either found another outlet, or whose sources had become
dry,) we entered it with great caution, thinking it not
improbable we were now close upon one of the strongholds
of the freebooters.

About half a mile from where we entered the ravine, we
came to a spot where the rocks receded on the right and
left, with a precipice in front, over which the rushing stream
had once probably formed a beautiful cascade. Here we
found evidences of the party, of whom we were in quest,
having recently encamped; and what was of still more
consequence, we every where saw indications of the spot
having been made a place of resort—peradventure a general
rendezvous for a large band of freebooters, of whom Warncliff's
men might be only a small detachment.

The rocks, I have said, here receded on either side;
but perhaps I may convey to the reader a better idea of
the general appearance of this singular retreat, by saying

that it had a circular form, resembling a dipper in shape,
of which the outlet might be termed the handle. On the
summit of the rocks, which here rose some fifty feet nearly
perpendicular above our heads, was a thick growth of
bushes, overtopped by trees of pine, oak, and hemlock,
whose branches, extending far over the verge of the cliffs,
almost met, and rendered the place where we stood of a
twilight gloominess. From the outlet of this basin, on
either side, and running back to what I may call the
cascade precipice, was a kind of log and brush fence,
forming two distinct enclosures, within which the horses
were kept secure, both from straying and from wild beasts.

No horses were here now, nor could we see a living
soul. This emboldened us to make further explorations;
but we proceeded with the greatest caution; and afraid
that even a whisper might betray us, we communicated
with each other only by signs.

At length we discovered some rude steps, partly natural
and partly artificial, which led up the side of a steep rock;
and these, after some serious deliberation, we ventured to
ascend. It required no little care to maintain a foothold
—nor could we do so without using our hands. Some
twenty-five or thirty feet above the ground, we reached a
kind of platform, which extended around the angle of a
huge rock, which shelved out over our heads, and we could
discover no means for a higher ascent. On turning
the angle, we perceived a chasm in the rock, as if it had
been rent in twain by some mighty convulsion. This
chasm extended back some twenty feet to another rock,
which rose perpendicularly to a great height, and was just
wide enough to permit one person to enter it at a time.
The fissure, however, did not descend to the bottom of the
basin, from which we had ascended, but only about four
feet below the platform rock on which we stood. To enable

one to pass down into it easily, some stones, probably
thrown in from above, were arranged in the form of steps;
and this led us to infer that the chasm communicated with
a still more secret retreat. At all events, since we had
ventured thus far, we determined to know for a certainty
whether our surmise were correct or not.

Accordingly we descended into the opening, very cautiously,
and moved forward in the same manner. High
above us, on either side, rose the granite rocks, solid and
stupendous; nor could we discover any other opening till
near the end of the passage, when we came suddenly upon
the mouth of a cavern in the rock to the right. It yawned
upon us with midnight blackness, and so impressed me
with something terrible, that I felt my hair rise and the
blood run cold in my veins.

Was it inhabited? That it had been, and very recently,
I did not doubt—but was it inhabited now? We listened,
but could hear no sound,—all was dark, and chill, and
silent, as the chamber of death.

“Shall we explore it?” I ventured to whisper to Walter,
who like myself stood gazing upon it in awe.

“For what purpose?” was his whispered reply. “No,
no, Walton—we have ventured far enough already—too
far, perhaps, for our safety. Let us return; I shall not
breathe freely till my foot is once more in the open wood.”

At this moment a strange, wild, unaccountable thrill
pervaded my frame, and I felt impelled onward, as by the
invisible hand of destiny. Whoever has approached the
brink of an awful precipice, and, while gazing shudderingly
down, has felt an almost irresistible something urging him
to take the fatal leap, and thus rashly enter upon the
dread Unknown, will understand something of the sensation
I now experienced, but cannot describe.

“I must go forward,” I whispered to Walter.

“No! no!” he said, hurriedly—“let us turn back.

This is undoubtedly the rendezvous of a banditti, of whose
formidable existence I never before dreamed, and more
especially that Warncliff is one of them; but we shall gain
nothing by entering their foul den; and should we be
discovered, farewell to life! and woe to our friends, whose
rescue we seek!”

“I must go forward,” I replied, firmly; “and will,
though I go alone.”

“Nay, then, if you are set upon the venture,” he rejoined,
“I will be your companion, though death be the
penalty.”

I grasped his hand, pressed it hard, and without uttering
another syllable, immediately began to feel my way
into the awful darkness. The passage I now entered was
smooth and level under foot; and keeping hold upon the
rocks on one side, I groped my way forward some two
hundred feet, as near as I could judge; then bidding Walter,
who was close behind me, stand still, and look with
all his eyes, I discharged a pistol.

For an instant the flash lit up the gloom around us; and
we had barely time to perceive that we stood in a large
cavern, when all was again dark; but not still; for the
report echoed and re-echoed, and went rolling away, away,
away, till it seemed to fairly die out in the distance. By
this we knew that the cave was of great dimensions, and
extended far, far into the bowels of the earth.

“We must have a light,” said I; “and I doubt not
the materials are here for keeping it burning, if we can
only see to find them.”

With this I poured some powder into the pan of the
pistol—which was one I had received from Walter—and
by flashing the powder, ignited some raw cotton which we
carried for wadding. This flame I continued to feed, while
Walter made a hurried search for some more durable combustible.
Fortune favored us; and presently he came

running to me with a half-burnt torch, which he had found
on the ground. Having lighted this, we renewed our
exploration in a more satisfactory manner.

By the gloomy light of the torch, we could see the rocky
ceiling of the cave far above our heads, and the rocky wall
nearest us; but in every other direction a pall of rayless
darkness shut in the vision—denoting the cavern, as the
echoes of our pistol had in fact proved it to be, of vast
extent and magnitude. Moving away from the wall toward
the centre of this subterranean cavity, we soon, greatly to
our surprise, stumbled upon a forge, around which lay
tools of various kinds, and, scattered carelessly about, a
few pieces of bogus coin of the Mexican stamp.

“Counterfeiters, as well as robbers and murderers!”
exclaimed I: “this is the second fountain-head of spurious
issue I have discovered in Texas.”

“Hist! hark!” said Walter, grasping my arm and
speaking in a whisper. “I heard a noise: I fear we are
discovered.”

I listened with suppressed breath and a beating heart.
Presently I heard a stifled groan. My blood ran cold.

“There it is again!” said Walter. “Quick! out with
the light!”

“Hush! listen!” returned I.

Again I heard the moan. My hair stood on end.

“Perhaps it is some human being in distress!” I whispered.

Again I heard the moan, and felt my conjecture
strengthened.

“This way,” said I—“follow me;” and I set forward in
the direction whence the sound proceeded.

After advancing about fifty feet, we came to a projecting
wall, which partially divided the cavern. Here we paused
and breathlessly listened. Presently we heard the sound
again—low and stifled—but evidently near us. I hastened

[ILLUSTRATION]

Morton and Walter exploring the cave.

[Description: 464EAF. Image of Morton and Walter exploring the cave with lit torches. They are both looking into an abyss.]

to examine the rocks; and soon discovered what appeared
to be a small cavity, closed up by movable stones.

“Perhaps some human being is here buried alive!”
exclaimed I, with a shudder; and, as if in answer to my
suggestion, we distinctly heard the moan come up from
the stones.

“Good heavens! it is so!” cried Walter.

To tear away these stones was the work of a moment.
A small cavity was thus disclosed, within which, half-doubled
together, lay a human being.

Instantly I held the torch to his face.

Almighty Providence! The ruddy light flashed upon
the pale features of Morton Harley, gagged and bound.