The war-path a narrative of adventures in the wilderness ; with minute details of the captivity of sundry persons ; amusing and perilous incidents during their abode in the wild woods ; fearful battles with the Indians ; ceremony of adoption into an Indian family ; encounters with wild beasts and rattlesnakes, &c. ... |
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| 23. | CHAPTER XXIII. |
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 | CHAPTER XXIII. The war-path |  |
23. CHAPTER XXIII.
THE EXILE'S STRONGHOLD—PADDY'S DIPLOMATIC SKILL—
THE ALARM—THE ENTRANCE—CONDUCT OF THE DOG.
When the girls entered the hut the aged exile cordially
greeted them, and, having the dark barrier removed in
readiness for their ingress, they passed at once into the
rock-bound chambers of the cliff.
“My dear children,” said the exile, “you are safe here.
They dinna ken the holes o' the old fox, but believe he is
in league wi' the de'il. But they will come again in the
gloom of midnight, or when the shimmering stars are
still gemming the early morning. They suppose there is
treasure hidden here, and for that they would delve into the
infernal regions. I have treasure for my bonny laddie and
his love, but not for the instruments of the usurper.”
He then exhibited to the admiring girls several rich presents
from Charles Edward and other Scottish monarchs to
of the deeds which had been commemorated by the
gifts.
But the glittering stones were but as pretty toys in comparison
with the indestructible products of mind; and
chief among these, and ever to be unrivalled, was the immortal
Shakspeare. “The artist and the lapidary might
fashion a gem produced by nature,” said he, “but the great
poet was a creator of worlds in which one might live and
breathe unconscious of the ills that flesh is heir to.”
Thus for several hours were Kate and Julia entertained,
when they were interrupted by the creaking of the massy
door communicating with the hut. It was Skippie, who
had come to inform his chief of the arrival of several of
the clansmen from the mountain, (being all that remained,)
and who, in accordance with the chief's directions, were
then concealed among the brambles on the summit of the
cliff, armed only with bows and arrows and spears, being
too weak in number to make any open resistance to the
assaults of Moody's party. He likewise informed his chief
of the scene he had witnessed under the tree, and repeated
to the girls (for he could speak when commanded by
Lochiel) the verses inscribed on the beech's rind.
Skippie was commanded to admit Paddy when he arrived,
and afterward to go in quest of Charles.
When the moon had dipped beneath the western horizon,
and the silent scene was wrapped in the solemn gloom of
darkness, the approach of Moody and his gang was announced
by the loud and shrill whistle of Skippie, who lay
concealed on the margin of the stream that meandered by
the base of the precipitous cliff. As he anticipated, the signal
was heard by the hostile party, which immediately halted.
“They have been informed of our approach,” said
Moody. “That is their signal. I have heard it before,
and every time we were foiled. It must not be so now.
They cannot have a large force, unless the old wizard has
the power of calling infernal spirits to his aid. Go, Paddy,
and deliver this paper to the old man. If he is not a fool
he will grant the demand, and save at least the lives of his
defenders and the two maidens with him, as well as his
own. You may say I have the positive assurance of an
officer of high rank that if he surrenders himself into my
there is not the slightest probability of his execution. Go,
Paddy, and bring me his reply to the summons. And beware
that you do not deceive us! We are at least ten to
one, and there could be no escape for you. And you may
say that Brandt himself, with five hundred warriors, is by
this time sweeping down the Wyoming Valley. The garrisons
are all surrendering. The tomahawk and the firebrand
are doing the work of extermination; and it is not probable
the old fox's son, or any of his company, will survive to
raise the siege, if we must be delayed awaiting the prize.
Tell him we believe—no, say we have learned—that he has
a cave under the hut, into which he usually retires in times
of danger, but that it will not serve him now. If he
refuses to yield himself, we will dig him out; and the more
labour and trouble he causes us, the greater will be the
exasperation of the Indians. Go! And if you neglect
your duty, or fail to return within ten minutes, we will
commence the assault, and you will be burnt at the stake!”
“Murther! And if they won't let me come to ye, am I
still to be roasted alive wid the wooden spit stuck in me?”
“Yes, you, and every one with him.”
“But they may kill me as I go till 'em, taking me for
an inemy!”
“Then you won't feel the fire. But you shall be roasted
for the wolves.”
“Och, Mr. Mody, don't say that, if ye plase! It makes
the cowld chills run up me back!”
“The flames will take them out again. No more words
—but go!”
Paddy started forward desperately, making a great noise
in the bushes. And when he was in sight of the hut he
began to call aloud, so that his voice might be recognised.
“Don't shoot!” cried he. “I'm Paddy, the Irishman, and
not an inemy. I'm only a flag of truce, that all the nations
howld sacred as the howly wafer! I haven't the speck of
a gun; and sure ye wuddn't fire at an unarmed and defenceless
man who has been wid ye—waah!” he screamed, as
he was seized by the lurking Skippie.
“Silence!” said Skippie, pulling him toward the hut.
“Ye may well say that, afther ye have taken me
breath!” said Paddy.
“Whisper!” said Skippie.
“I can't. Me mammy didn't tache me that. But I
kin run!” and he sprang forward with such activity that
he was soon sheltered within the hut, where he was surprised
to find no one to whom his message could be delivered.
“Where's the owld man?” he asked. “If he's gone,
I shall be kilt and roasted alive! Skippie, dear, I forgive
all the pranks you've played me, and only beg you'd git me
out of the scrape I'm fallen into! What shall I do?”
“Go in there!” said Skippie, pointing toward the fire.
“No!—ye don't mane it! Sure ye wuddn't see me burn
meself to save me life! And the minutes are flying like
the sparks up the chimbley! I had only a repraive of tin,
and half of 'em's gone a'ready!”
“Go in!” said Skippie, seizing the iron bar. “I'm in a
hurry.”
“In the fire, is it? Divil a bit! If I'm to be burnt, I
shall wait till the time's up. And what're ye doing now?
Tak care! The back o' the wall's moving, and the house'll
tumble down. But that wuddn't save us, as they don't
mane to lave wan stone on anither! Be me sowl, it's a
door! And there's a howl in the wall!” he continued, in
joyful amazement. “And if it lades to the divil himself,
I'll in!” And, leaping over the crackling billets, he entered
the opening, and the massy rock was pushed back by Skippie,
who uttered once more his shrill whistle as he plunged
into the woods.
The chamber Paddy was ushered into was illuminated
by a small lamp. He stood in the centre and gazed round
in utter astonishment. The aged exile and the girls were
silently observing him, themselves unseen.
“Be jabers, but this is a quare place! And if Skippie
is the divil afther all, it's Paddy himself who is caged!
I'm in it now! But I'll sarve him faithfully if there's
no worse punishment than to stay in sich comfortable
quarthers. Be me sowl, I don't know whether I'm draming
or waking. Rouse up, Paddy, and open yer eyes! Where
are ye, me boy? Be the howly St. Patrick, it's not a
drame, or I couldn't fale me ear when I pinch it! And
is it his infarnal majesty who kapes sich nice apartments?
I wondher if he allows his paple to ate, too? I smell
nather ragions. But, Paddy, don't forgit the ten minutes!
Time's up, by this time. And kin the blackguards come
here too? It's meself who hopes not! Wa-ah! Oo-oh!”
cried he, starting back, as he perceived Julia and Kate
emerging from the dark passage. “And is it yer blissed
selves the divil's got? And ye're smiling, too! Or is it
fairies me eyes behowld? Och, and wuddn't ye be kind
enough, gintle sperits, to tell me whether Paddy's raally
slaping or waking?”
“Your eyes are open, Paddy,” said Kate; “but still
you may be dreaming.”
“That's yer voice, I know. And so Paddy's alive, and
not roasting at the stake? And this is the rale house of
owld Misther Cameron! It's a palace for a king! And
there's his honour himself. Och, and I'll deliver me message,
onyhow!”
And he did so. The aged exile read the note and listened
to Paddy without stirring a muscle.
“Go,” said he, “into the balcony, facing the stream,
where our foes are awaiting my answer, and say, with your
loudest voice, that the usurper's enemy, whom they seek,
will hold no converse with them, and defies them!”
“And it must be thrue that we are safe, or sure you
wuddn't bid me say sich a thing? The saints be thanked!
And Paddy's the boy that'll answer 'em. Plase, now, swate
darlints, show me the way to that same balcony, and go wid
me, or I might stumble and fall through.”
“It is a solid floor, Paddy,” said Julia, smiling.
“And it's yerself who considers us safe in this house?”
“Quite safe, Paddy; even if they were to discover the
entrance from the hut, one man with a brace of pistols
could defend the passage.”
“And Paddy's as snug as a bug in a rug!” said he, half
singing and half dancing for joy. “And you don't think,”
said he, “that if the blackguards were to burn the house,
I mane the wudden hut, the hate would reach us here?”
“Oh, no doubt their hate would reach us anywhere; but
we can defy their malice.”
“I don't mane that, but the hot hate of the burning
tambers.”
“No; they burnt the hut once, and no one suffered.”
“Good! Paddy's a fraa man agin! and as lively as an
aal. Now, plase, lade me to the balcony, and jist listen at
the brave missage I'll spake till 'em!”
Julia and Kate led Paddy to a sort of masked balcony
ingeniously carved in the rock, where there had been a
fissure, overgrown with ivy and small cedars.
“Now, Misther Mody, where are ye?” he cried, in a loud
voice.
“Here! What does he say, Paddy?” responded Moody.
“He ses he won't disgrace himself by howlding any
conversation wid sich a set of blackguards as ye are.”
“What? What's that?”
“He says ye may all pack off to the divil, and—”
“Why, Paddy,” said Julia, “he said no such thing!”
“I know it, Miss Julia. It is an imbillishment of me
own.”
“And you use the devil for an embellishment,” said
Kate.”
“Och, if the ladies turn agin me, poor Paddy must surrinder!”
“If that's his answer, Paddy, you may come back,” said
Moody.
“Many thanks to ye, Misther Mody. And could ye tell
me what time o' the day it is?”
“Day, Paddy?' observed Kate.
“Double day, miss, since two suns are baming on me.”
“There!” said Julia. “Whoever heard a more gallant
speech?”
“What do you mean, Paddy?” asked Moody, who, guided
by the voice of his messenger, seemed to have drawn nearer
to the cliff.
“What do I mane?”
“Yes. I don't understand you. Come back, if my demands
be not complied with.”
“But, Misther Mody, me time's up long ago, and I'm
not going back to be roasted alive. I'm comfortable here,
taking care o' the ladies, and I shan't lave 'em as long as
they nade a protictor.”
“That's very kind in you, Paddy,” said Kate. “But,
bless me, they're firing at us!”
This was true. More than a score of guns were discharged
at the hut and the cliff; and some of the balls, as
rock, sending dust and scales into his face, which stung him
smartly.
“Who're ye shooting at, ye nasty blackguards?” cried
Paddy. “Have ye no betther manners than to be pointing
yer falthy irons toward the young ladies?”
“Come in, Paddy!” said Julia. “Don't you hear their
feet approaching?”
“If you command it, I must obey,” said Paddy, ducking
his head at the flash of another volley, and rejoining
the party in the large apartment, where the aged exile sat
in undisturbed composure.
“They'll niver find us here,” said Paddy; “and if it
wasn't for the Tories the Indians wud soon lave us. They're
great cowards.”
“Cowards, Paddy?” said Kate.
“Yis, indade—cowards. I'll tell ye how I put a whole
party to flight meself; but I mustn't tell ye—”
“What? Do, Paddy, give us a narrative of your adventures
to-day,” said Julia.
“I must lave out the bloody part. Yer sinsitive narves
couldn't stand it.”
“Very well—go on. But, first, tell me where Rose is.”
“Rose! Rose, is it? Did ye say Rose, or Solo?”
“Solo is asleep on his couch of leaves. He is safe. But
what has become of Rose?”
“I'll tell ye when I'm done. Forty of 'em came to the
house, and were afther sculping all they could lay hands
on, Misther and Misthress Schooley and—”
“Mercy! You don't mean—”
“No, I don't mane to say ony sich thing. But they
intinded to kill 'em if I hadn't riscued 'em.”
“And how did you accomplish that?”
“Ye saa, I was up in the loft of the waiving-room,
whin—”
“Pray tell us how you happened to be there,” said Kate.
“How? How, is it? But that's nayther here nor
there. It was the luckiest thing in the world. For they
brought in Misther and Misthress Schooley, after they had
tomahawked Dinah before me eyes as she was waiving—”
“Oh, Paddy! why did you permit them?”
“Wait a moment, and ye shall hear. It wasn't good
the ould white folks. I waited in silence, looking down in
revinge. But when the tomahawks were lifted against the
vinerable heads of Misther and Misthress Schooley, I
plunged down upon 'em, calling upon the saints to help
me! I called so many, the yaller divils thought I had a
whole ragiment at me back. They ran off, and I say they
are a pack of cowards!”
“Now, Paddy, tell me about Rose.”
“Could ye bear it? And are ye prepared to hear the
worst?”
“Oh, yes! She would linger, to hunt some article of
clothing! Poor Rose!”
“She killed an Indian as dead as a hammer!”
“Rose!”
“Her arm was as thick as a traa, and as strong as an
elephant's trunk. They threw a tomahawk at her, which
struck the bundle of clothes. They were spylt, but they
saved her. So she tuk up the hatchet and chapped one of
their heads in two.”
“Paddy, is that so?”
“I'll take me oath on it!”
“And so Rose was saved?'
“I hope so. But I don't saa how it could be, aither,
for she had no praist.”
“Priest? Didn't you say she was saved?”
“From the tomahawk. But her clothes couldn't turn
the rifle-bullets. They shot her, and she's defunct.”
“Oh, poor Rose!”
“She died widout a sthruggle, as Misthress Schooley informed
me; and, as she didn't scrame, we may belave she
suffered no pain. Don't wape, Miss Julia. Consider what
you'd've done if it had been yerself, and be thankful it
was no worse.”
“Oh, they are burning the house!” cried Kate, hearing
the roaring of flames and the yells of the assailants.
The aged recluse, awakened from his reverie, turned his
calm countenance toward the young ladies, and besought
them not to be alarmed.
“You can now comprehend,” said he, smiling, “why the
exile did not build a better house in the valley. It was
would be its fate.”
“There!” cried Julia; “one of the Indians has been
killed by somebody. I heard the death-halloo!”
“Probably a shaft from one of my brave Scots posted
overhead. They cannot bear to see my poor house, worthless
as it is, destroyed by my enemies.”
“Mercy on us!” cried Kate; “and what is that?”
“Another familiar sound!” said Julia. “It is the awful
signal of blood!”
“It seems to me like the braying of an ass,” said the
old man.
“And yer ears don't desave ye,” said Paddy. “Wan
of Quane Asther's guards, who follers us from wan end of
creation to anither, rides on a jackass that brays like the
divil ivery time he smells blood. I hope the blackguard
the Scots have kilt is that same murthering Seneca wolf.”
“And can they not mount to the summit of the cliff and
slay the poor Scots?” asked Kate.
“They might gain the summit,” said Mr. Cameron,
“but it would then be deserted. My men have holes, like
foxes, to hide in.”
“Be me faith!” cried Paddy, “but they'll find 'em!
The Indians know how to hunt the foxes. They'll mount
up to the top of the house and come down on us. Thirty
to one! And it was Paddy who forgot there was any top
to the Tower Rock!”
“Your alarm is needless,” said the old man. “It is a
solid rock. Long before they can cut through my roof,
nearly two hundred feet in depth, my son will be here.”
“Thrue, yer honour,” said Paddy, reassured. “And
I'm sure I trust the walls are strong enough to support
such a roof as that.”
Another fatal shaft from the summit was announced by
the furious yells and maledictions of the besiegers, and it
was succeeded by a general discharge of their pieces at the
precipitous face of the rock. The altitude from which
Paddy had spoken to Moody betrayed the locality of the
besieged, and the mystery of the means of escape from the
smouldering tenement was, in part, explained. It was
announced by Moody to his followers that the refugee had
retired into a cave whose entrance had hitherto escaped
when the rich treasure, so often dwelt upon in his speeches,
and which had excited the cupidity of his company, would
be divided among them.
Fortunately the mass of glowing embers deposited by
the consumed hut prevented an immediate approach to the
only place of ingress. Nor was it likely that the besiegers
would suspect an orifice had been cut in the solid base of
the cliff. They would rather look for an excavation under
the hut, supposing the diminutive habitation had been
erected over the mouth of the cave. And, impelled by
this idea, the greater portion of the Tories and Indians
were soon engaged in removing the smouldering rubbish
from the earth, but still failed to perceive the entrance at
the fireplace. The rest were dispersed in various directions,
seeking the foe who winged the fatal shafts.
Another terrific yell announced some new event. Kate
and Julia clung tremblingly to the aged chief, while Paddy
turned pale and glanced toward the darkest recesses of
the room.
“Fear not, my children,” said Lochiel; “there is no
danger. There is but one avenue of approach, and that a
child might successfully defend. There are caves also entering
into these chambers, which I have recently opened.
But they are dark, and seemingly interminable. I have
explored them, and do not think they lead to the surface
anywhere.”
“I saw the dark howls,” said Paddy. “And we can
hide in 'em if they find us here.”
“We must defend the passage,” said the exile, “if they
discover the door. Listen! I understand it now. Some
one has discovered whence the shafts of my faithful Scots
are launched. Hark! They are rushing up the valley to
attain the summit. But my eagles will have flown when
they reach their eyrie. There are innumerable crags,
moss-covered fissures, brambles and cedars; and my trusty
clansmen are familiar with the hiding-places. Be not
alarmed, dear lassies; the old chief will answer for your
safety. Go to your couch and rest in peace.”
Julia and Kate, yielding to the desire of the aged chief,
retired for the night. The old man, left alone, with profound
indifference to the machinations of his foes, opened
of the inspired poet.
Paddy was endeavouring to sleep on a bed of rushes in
a corner near the aperture of one of the recently-opened
passages in the rock. Into this cave it was his determination
to plunge if they should be surprised before
morning.
His recent fatigues and excitements soon caused him to
succumb to the approaches of slumber. But he made many
fitful starts and exclamations in his dreams. And once he
was roused upon feeling his cheek strangely fanned. He
lifted his head and gazed round; and his heart palpitated
audibly when he beheld, a short distance from him, two
luminous globes, the staring eyes of some frightful visitant.
He turned over and groped in a circle round the object of
his terror. But the eyes turned too, still fixed steadily on
him.
The aged chief continued to bend over the volume,
while the lamp flickered dimly, and Paddy crept noiselessly
to his side.
“Plase yer honour!” said Paddy.
“Weel!” said the chief, slowly lifting his head.
“Plase yer honour, look yonder! It's the divil!”
“Ye kenna what it is, mon! Why should the de'il come
hither? Why should we fear him? Gae to bed. That is
ane of my owls, hunting the mice. And if you see a lizard,
do not be alarmed, nor seek to injure it. Such creatures
are better companions than ungrateful men.”
Paddy, reassured both by the words and looks of the
chief, returned to his couch.
Without, a solitary Indian stood by the crystal stream
near the base of the cliff. He peered through the darkness
at the place whence Paddy's voice had proceeded, in height
some twenty feet, and, through entangled bush and creeper,
distinguished the rays of the lamp within as they shot
feebly upward in empty space. Lochiel was too thoughtful
to permit them to reach rock or tree so as to betray his
locality; but the Indian had perceived them in the atmosphere.
He stood with folded arms, gazing with direful
intent. Near him, on the margin of the water and opposite
the cliff, was a tall hickory-sapling. The dusky son
of the forest, when he removed his eyes from the leafy
After measuring its height as well as possible in the obscurity,
he divested himself of his rattling beads, wampum,
and silver plates, and placed them beside his gun on the
ground. A strong buffalo thong, taken from his leathern
pouch, was wrapped loosely round his neck. He then
climbed the tree, as a sailor would a mast. There were no
branches near the ground, and his ascent was unimpeded
until he reached a height equal to that of the aperture in
the cliff.
After pausing a few moments and gazing fixedly at the
dimly-illuminated fissure, during which neither sound nor
motion could be distinguished within, he proceeded upward,
even when the stem of the sapling was no greater in
diameter than his arm, and swayed to and fro with his
weight. Keeping his back on the side next the cliff, he
continued to ascend, until, arching over the running stream,
the topmost bough of the tree rested against the face of the
cliff. The Indian made it fast to a point of rock which
projected over the vine-masked balcony, and then, softly
detaching himself, obtained a lodgment in the rift where
Paddy had been standing. Perfectly motionless, he
listened for many moments; but, neither sound of voice nor
motion of feet being detected, he entered the chamber.
Guided by the light of the lamp, he approached the
table where the white-haired exile still lingered over the
entrancing pages of the poet. He gazed cautiously round,
and, perceiving no one else in the apartment, glided noiselessly
toward the table, his glittering tomahawk brandished
in his hand. The old man, unconscious of his approach,
was smiling sweetly. This the savage perceived, and
paused. Why should he smile? Was it an ambuscade he
had plunged into? Certainly not; for the Kacha Manito
and not man had made the hickory-tree. But might not
the exile be a magician or great prophet? Again he
paused. No! If so, why seek security within the rock?
Raising his tomahawk once more, the Indian stepped forward
and aimed the fatal blow; but his arm was arrested
midway by the teeth of Solo, who had been lying in the
dark shadow of the protector of his mistress. The weapon
fell clanging upon the stone floor. Releasing the arm, and
twice barking sharply, the faithful dog grappled the throat
awakened by the sound, sprang up, screaming hysterically,
for they believed the place to be in the possession of the
enemy. But, seeing no one near, they ran toward the lamp,
still flickering on the table in the adjoining apartment.
There they beheld the aged exile rising slowly from his
great chair, with a finger on the page, that the place might
not be lost. At his feet stood Solo over the prostrate Indian,
who breathed with difficulty under the pressure of the
faithful animal's jaws.
“What is it? who is it?” exclaimed Julia.
“Bless my life!” said the old man, “it is an Indian!
How did he find access?”
“It is, indeed!” said Julia, thrusting away the tomahawk
with her foot, and ordering Solo to relax his hold.
“It is one of the terrible Queen Esther's guards—one of
my captors—and the chief who wounded Solo! It is a
just retribution.”
“The noble animal has saved my life, lassie,” said the
old man, reluctantly withdrawing his finger from the page.
“It was not so much revenge for the injury he had sustained,
as the generous impulse to rescue me from death.
Noble dog! Cherish him, Julia, my bonnie daughter!”
“Oh, I shall certainly do so!” said Julia, bending over
the Indian, whose breathing became easier under the relaxed
pressure. “See how bloody!” she continued. “I
would not have him die. He might recover. He is a
Mingo or Minisink chief.”
“Do you surrender?” asked the aged chief. The Indian,
still speechless, nevertheless comprehended the meaning
of his words, and lifted up his hands beseechingly.
“Where's the Irishman?” asked the old man. “Let
him bind his hands.”
“Paddy! Where are you, Paddy?” cried Julia and
Kate, but no Paddy answered. They sought his couch,
and found his bed of rushes, but Paddy himself had vanished;
and so they returned to the old man and his captive,
the latter being narrowly watched by Solo.
“Stand up,” said Mr. Cameron, placing his foot against
the savage, “and tell me how you got into my house.”
The Indian was soon sufficiently recovered to give the
information demanded. He could speak enough English
MR. CAMERON AND THE MINGO CHIEF.—P. 314.
[Description: 622EAF. Illustration page. Image of an elderly man sitting at a table reading by candlelight while a dog or wolf attacks a prone Native American man by his feet. The man is watching the attack.]
did the rest. The tree was remembered, but no one had
ever thought it could be made the means of gaining access
to the apartments; and the old man smiled at the ingenuity
of the savage, and felt satisfied that his little fortress was
well enough guarded at all other points, and was not likely
to have many assailants from the quarter whence the Indian
had found an entrance.
“Pronounce his doom, my bonnie lassies,” said the aged
chief, drawing forth a pistol from beneath his chair.
“Oh, do not kill him!” exclaimed the girls. “He may
become a friend, if his life be spared.”
“He has penetrated my secret. His eyes are even now
glancing at my little wealth scattered about the room—”
“Still, it will be out of their power to reach us. They
will retire to their own country, and you will not be molested
again!” said Julia, pleading for the life of the captive.
“I have no pleasure in slaying my foes, my dear children,”
said the old man, replacing the pistol. “Lead him
to the balcony, and tell him he is free.”
The savage understood him, and offered his hand in
token of gratitude. It was not refused by the exile, who,
a moment after, resumed his seat, and was once more bending
over the volume.
Julia motioned the savage to retire toward the balcony,
while Kate and herself, preceded by Solo, followed his steps.
He cast a wistful glance at his tomahawk lying near the
feet of the exile, but did not stoop to pick it up, for the
teeth of his vanquisher were still visible.
The enfranchised Indian, by his looks and gestures, expressed
to the young ladies the thanks his tongue could not
utter. And when he reached the aperture, through which
the early gleams of day were now struggling, he extended
his hand to each of them, and bade them a grateful adieu.
The next moment he had vanished, having descended the
tree without detaching its top from the rock.
Then it was, and just as Julia and Kate turned back to
seek their couch in the dim obscurity, that the face of
Paddy became visible.
“Who's that?” cried Kate.
“It is Paddy!” said Julia. “Where have you been?
Why are you so pale?”
“Pale, is it? It's rage—it's hate—I'm furious, because
you lit him go. I wud've sculped the blackguard!”
“Why were you not present, Paddy, when we were deciding
his fate?”
“Och, and if I wasn't there, I couldn't help it. It was
no fault of mine, Miss Julia. I sprung up when the dog
barked, thinking the whole gang was on us. I was half
aslape, and couldn't saa objects distinctly; and so I got
into the dark hole, where I couldn't behowld me hand before
me eyes. There I stood with me knife and gun, thinking
the savages had got in that way, and detarmined to
defind the passage to the last dhrop of me blood. And
this explanation, I hope, ye will repate for me to the owld
chafe.”
And, saying this, Paddy likewise returned to his couch.
| CHAPTER XXIII. The war-path | |