University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
NIGHT WANDERING.

“Oh, Heaven! what is that?” whispered the terrified
Isaline, convulsively clutching the arm of Henry.

“It is the same sound I have heard before,” he
answered, with an involuntary shudder—“the Phantom—the
Demon—the dread Unknown of the forest
—God only knows what!”

“Oh, what will become of us?”

“Courage, dear Isaline—courage!” rejoined Henry.
“If it is from the other world, as the superstitious
scouts believe, it will not harm us; and if it belongs
to this world, we have less to fear from it than from
the savage men we have eluded. Wherever we are,
dear lady, we are in the hands of an ever-watching
and all-seeing God; and let us put our faith and
trust in Him who has so far mercifully preserved us
through the most fearful perils!”

“Yes,” said Isaline, resignedly, “we will put our
trust in Him who alone is able to deliver us! I thank
you for the consoling words! It is strange,” she
continued, after a momentary reflection, “that the
prophecy of Rough Tom should have had such a
singular fulfilment! You remember how he declared,
in the most positive manner, that disaster

would befall every one so unfortunate as to even
hear this mysterious Unknown; and how true the
prediction has been in our case, our situation here
tells.”

“To my mind,” returned Henry, “there is no connection
between the prediction and the facts. It is
an easy matter to declare that misfortune will come
upon all who venture upon a long journey through
a perilous wilderness, for the chances are that the
prophecy will in some degree be verified; but
beyond that I have no faith in idle signs and omens.
What has happened to us, would have happened
had there been no mysterious Unknown abroad, and
we shall neither be the better nor the worse for
what we have heard to-night. What I do fear, are
the living, savage men who have so closely followed
us, and I pray God we may be able to put leagues
between us and them before the light of another
day. Come! let us move on, again, cautiously but
bravely, and leave the rest in the hands of Him who
notes the fall of a sparrow.”

Slowly, cautiously, and almost noiselessly, Henry
again parted the bushes and moved through them,
holding one little trembling hand of Isaline in his—
leading her forward through the darkness, with the
fond hope that he might ever so continue to lead her
through the journey of life.

Having at last cleared the thicket, without anything
further to alarm them, they ascended, with
great caution, a steep, rocky ridge, with a few bushes

growing here and there, and occasionally a small
tree, which evidently had not felt the force of the
tornado, and which led Henry to believe they had
now got clear of the track of devastation.

On reaching the top of this ridge, they paused,
under the deep shadow of an oak, to look about
them and arrange the course to be taken as most
likely to carry them back to their companions.

They were wet, chilled, hungry, and not a little
fatigued; but they regarded these things as mere
trifles in comparison with their almost wonderful
deliverance from the dangers which had so closely
beset them, and their hearts were too full of gratitude
for the mercies received to have a repining
thought for the misfortunes which had pressed upon
them. The storm had all passed and gone, the
heavens were now clear and serene, and myriads of
stars were shining out brightly from their far-off
regions in space. They looked around them, in the
dim light, but there was little they could see, and
nothing that was cheering. The scene was still and
gloomy, and the shadows of night lay too deep on
the earth to permit them to trace more than a faint
outline of the nearest woods and hills. To the
northward the hill they were on rose still higher and
obstructed a view of the country in that direction;
but as the distance was short to the summit of this
elevation, Henry proposed they should go to the top
and take a full survey of the landscape, saying it was
possible they might discover the camp-fire of their

enemies, which, under the circumstances, was a
matter of great importance, as it would enable them
to shape their course so as to avoid an accidental
contact. They went up the acclivity accordingly,
and almost the first thing they saw was the light of
a fire in the valley to the eastward.

“There they are,” he whispered; “and if only
you were in a place of safety, and my friend Tom
and a few of his brave companions were with me,
nothing would suit me better than to go down and
take them by surprise.”

“Let us go!” returned Isaline, nervously; “let us
get as far from them as possible while we are favored
by the darkness!”

“Yes,” rejoined Henry, “let us go at once. I
think I know my course now, and, with God's help,
we will leave a vicinity where our perils have been
so great.”

“And do you think it possible for us to find our
way back to our companions to-night?” anxiously
inquired Isaline. “How can you tell in the darkness
what course to take?”

“I have thought of that,” said Henry; “and as we
cannot now be far from the Licking River, it will perhaps
be best to go on till we come to that, and then
it will be an easy matter to keep along its right bank
to the Blue Lick ford, where our companions, if
they have met with no disaster, are probably now
encamped.”

“Oh, what if they have been assailed by the savages?”
shuddered Isaline.

“I have little fear of that,” replied Henry; “for,
unless abroad in greater force than I think, they
would hardly venture against so many deadly rifles.
They are probably a small party, who have crossed
the Ohio with a view of attacking and plundering
such isolated settlers as they may chance upon; and
it may be they are the same who attempted to decoy
us ashore, and who have since crossed and leisurely
followed the train, in the hope of cutting off a few
stragglers. We will leave them now, however, I
trust forever.”

Henry and Isaline now set forward together, to
make their way, as best they could in the darkness
to the Licking River. It was a dreary journey they
had before them—for the night, which concealed their
trail from their enemies, also hid from their view
their own best course, so that they depended as much
upon chance or Providence in going right as upon
reason and calculation. It was literally a plunge in
the dark—up hill and down—through woods of
trees, and thickets of bushes and cane—now around
a marsh and now across a stream—till poor Isaline
was almost ready to faint from exhaustion and
fatigue.

At last they came to a steeper and higher hill
than any they had before ascended, and Henry said:

“From the best calculation I have been able to
make, dear Isaline, we are now but a little way from

the Licking River—for I feel almost certain it flows
through the valley on the other side of this acclivity.”

“And how far do you suppose we are from the
ford?” she inquired, in a feeble and dejected tone.

“I hardly dare guess,” he replied, in a manner
that expressed much uneasiness and anxiety; “but
I fear it is much too far for you to walk there to-night;
for we have been much longer in getting here
than I expected, and I know you must be nearly
worn out. Oh, it is terrible to think how you are
suffering! and that I have no shelter, food and fire
to offer you! no place where you can rest and be refreshed!”

“I must confess I do feel the worse for my
journey,” returned Isaline, “perhaps because I have
never been accustomed to such physical exertions;
but I will try to go on, hoping and praying the Lord
will give me strength enough to accomplish my
deliverance!”

“It is absolutely necessary for you to have rest,”
said Henry, “or you will be overdone; but the night
air is cool, and to sit down in your wet garments I
am afraid will do you great injury. If you were
to fall sick here—But God forbid! I dare not
think of it! Let me see! Something must be done!
Fortunately I have my flint, steel, and tinder-box
with me, and can soon start a fire. If I only had
my rifle also, I should be comparatively happy, for
then I should feel almost certain of taking you

through in safety—if not to our companions, at least
to the nearest station. But do not despair, dear
Isaline—do not despair! Once on the other side of
the Licking, we shall not have to go far, I think, to
discover some settler; and if we find the way to the
ford too long, we will cross the stream and take our
chances over there.”

“Is that side of the Licking more settled than
this?”

“Yes, a great deal more, for as yet but few have
ventured to build their cabins on this side of the
stream.”

“But how shall we cross the river, Henry?”

“If you are not afraid, I will swim over with you
—or we will find some old logs and lash them together.”

“And should we be safe on the other side?”

“I think so.”

“Oh that we were there now, then!”

“Will you venture to let me swim across with
you?”

“If you think the risk of life is not too great!”

“If you will follow my directions in every particular,
and not become alarmed, dear Isaline, I am
certain I can carry you safely over.”

“Would you cross to-night?”

“I would rather have daylight for it.”

“But we have not yet come to the river.”

“True! and before we swim it, it may be as well
to find it,” said Henry, with a light laugh—not because

he felt in a light or merry mood, but that he
might seem so to his companion, in order to raise
her spirits.

They toiled up the hill slowly, and, on reaching
the summit, looked down upon what might have
been a bottomless pit—for so thick were the trees
and bushes, and so deep the valley, that it was
covered with a pall of darkness impenetrable to the
eye.

“Oh, I can never venture down there!” shuddered
Isaline.

“It is the valley of the Licking, I am almost certain!”
said Henry.

“Say rather the Valley of the Shadow of Death!”

“No, dear Isaline, we have just passed through
that to get here. Come! do not be discouraged or
alarmed! for so far all has gone better than we
could have hoped.”

“Yes, and God knows how thankful I am to Him
for all his mercies, in so wonderfully preserving us
through that awful tempest, and delivering us from
almost certain captivity, if not death!”

“If I am not mistaken in the character of the
country,” said Henry, “we shall, by keeping along
on this ridge of hills, soon come to a ledge of rocks,
where we can find some secure retreat—some little
cave, perhaps, in which we can kindle a fire and get
some rest. If we do find such a place, dear Isaline,
would it not be well for you to take a short sleep,
and let me stand guard? and even were you to

sleep all night, and renew the journey at daylight,
would it not be better than to go on as we have
done in this dark uncertainty?”

“I will be advised by you, Henry,” she answered.
“I confess I do feel the need of rest, and will take it
if you think it can be done with safety.”

“Undoubtedly it can, Isaline—for we are at least
some miles from our savage enemies by this time,
and they cannot possibly find our trail till daylight,
if at all; and the chances are, that, having failed to
overtake us before dark, they will not attempt to
renew the pursuit.”

“But you need sleep as well as myself, Henry!”

“And I can get what I need, and guard our camp
also,” he replied, “for I have been so long used to this
wild, watchful life, that I can sleep sitting, or even
standing, and the least sound will wake me.”

“Oh, what will our friends think of our long absence?”
said Isaline: “my poor servants will nearly
go demented!”

“There will be the greater joy, then, when we
return.”

“If we ever do!” sighed Isaline.

“Nay, you must not think that, but look hopefully
to that future which I trust has many bright
days in store for both of us.”

“Who could have predicted this morning that we
should be wandering here in this wild, gloomy
place to night, in this sad condition! Truly we know
not what a day or an hour may bring forth!”

“Truly we do not, indeed!” responded Henry.
“And it is even so in the moral journey of life. If
we turn aside never so little from the straight path
of rectitude, we cannot foretell the amount of pain
and suffering that will ensue.”

Thus they continued to converse as they slowly
picked their way forward along the summit of the
hills, around the imbedded rocks, through the
bushes, and under the trees that had stretched up
their tall trunks and cast their deep shadows over
the ground for centuries.

Suddenly the deep stillness was broken by a
long, plaintive howl from the dark valley below,
which was answered by another far in the distance.
Isaline trembled with fear, and almost convulsively
clutched her companion.

“Be not alarmed, dear one!” said Henry; “it is
only a wolf or two, and they will not venture to
attack so formidable a creature as man at this season
of the year.”

“I know I am a little coward,” returned Isaline,
“and I fear you will lose whatever good opinion you
may have formed of me.”

“Nay, dear lady, if you will believe me, I think
you a remarkable heroine—for the very fewest number
of your sex, with as little experience of this
wild life of danger as you have had, would have
borne up as bravely; and as to my losing my good
opinion of you—ah, Isaline, if I dared to express

my feelings, you would have little cause to repeat
the observation!”

To this Isaline did not reply, and the two moved
on for some distance in silence.

Suddenly again they were both startled by a
savage growl, coming up from the thick darkness, a
few feet below them to the right.

“Oh, Father in Heaven!” gasped Isaline, again
clutching her companion.

“This is more serious!” he said, throwing his left
arm around her and drawing his knife with his right
hand. “It is a bear—perhaps with cubs—and we
must give the beast a wide berth. Here! this way,
as quick as you can, and with as little noise as possible!”

Both hurried off to the left, and the animal did
not follow them. These sudden alarms, in connection
with what had gone before, made Isaline so
weak that she would have been unable to proceed
but for the support of her companion.

Soon after this they reached a point where the
trees were more dwarfed, the bushes somewhat
thinner, and the soil more rocky; and a few hundred
yards further on they came to a ledge, similar to
what Henry had pictured in his mind.

“Here,” he said, “I feel almost certain we shall
find a place where we can pass the night in safety.”

The rocks were of all sizes and shapes, and our
two friends began to move in among them with
greater caution; Henry making the best exploration

he could in the darkness for some cave-like opening,
or cave itself, where his fair companion could be
both sheltered and concealed. While they were
thus occupied and conversing with each other, both
were once more fearfully startled, this time by a
human voice, which came up in a deep, guttural
tone from the black pit below, gruffly articulating
the words:

“Who you?”

“Oh, merciful Heaven! we are captured at last!”
groaned Isaline, ready to sink with dismay—for both
she and Henry believed it was the voice of a savage
that had addressed them.