We must now return to the scene in which this narrative commenced. But oh, how changed was the aspect of all things from that which the house of Mr. Prevost presented but five short months before! The father and the daughter were there alone. The brother no longer glanced about the house with his blithesome air and active energies; and the thought of him and of his fate hung continually like a dark shadow over those to whom he was so dear. They were not wholly without comfort, they were not wholly without hope; for, from time to time, renewed assurances came to them from many a quarter that Walter would still be saved. Yet time wore on, and he was not delivered.
When one speaks of five months of uncertainty, it seems a long and tedious period, and it would be so if it were all one blank; but there are a thousand little incidents--incidents external and internal--that fill up the time, and make it pass wonderfully soon, especially if fear predominates over hope.
Didst thou ever sit up, reader, with the sick or dying through the livelong night? In contemplation, it seems an awful task of long endurance to watch there with the eternal battle going on in your breast between the only two deathless passions--the only two which may be called the immortal passions of the soul--from the fading of the evening light till the breaking of another day. And yet it is wonderful how soon, how very soon, one sees the faint blue light of dawn mingling with the sickly yellow glare of the watcher's lamp. Every thought, every expectation, is an incident. The change of breathing, the restless movement, the muttered word, the whispered comfort, the moistening of the parched lip, the smoothing of the pillow,--all are events that hurry on the time.
And so it was in the house of Mr. Prevost. Each day had its something; each hour; and although the object was always the same, or rarely varied, yet the rapid changes of thought and feeling made the time fly far more rapidly than might have been expected.
During the winter, Lord H---- visited the house very frequently; and it is probable that, had no dark cloud overshadowed the hopes as well as the happiness of all, he would have pressed for the prize of Edith's hand without delay; but he loved not the mingling of joy and sorrow. In that, at least, his view of the world, and life, and fate, was deceitful. He was not yet convinced, although he had some experience, that such a thing as unalloyed happiness, even for a few short days, is not to be found on earth--that the only mine of gold without dross lies beneath the grave.
Once, indeed, he hinted, rather than asked, that an early day might be fixed for his union with her he loved; but a tear rose in Edith's eye, and she bent down her head. Her father would have made no objection, although he still thought her very, very young to take upon her the duties of a wife. In that respect his feelings were not changed; but the loss of his son weighed heavily upon him, and, calling him away from the present, had projected his thoughts into the future. What might be Edith's fate, he asked himself, if he too should be taken from her? Any of the many accidents of life might leave her alone, and an orphan; and there is nothing which brings home so sensibly to our thoughts the unstable hold which we have upon all earthly things, so much as our tenderness for those we love.
But Lord H---- saw that it would be painful to Edith herself to become his bride as long as Walter's late was uncertain; and he said no more.
In the meantime the gathering together of the British soldiers on the Hudson and the Mohawk had, like one wave meeting another, somewhat repelled the Indian tribes. A runner, a half-breed, or one or two red men together--more frequently from the nation of the Mohawks than from any other tribe--would be seen occasionally wandering through the woods or crossing the open ground near the settler's dwelling; but they seldom approached the house; and their appearance caused no apprehension. Relations of the greatest amity had been re-established between the British authorities and the chiefs of the Five Nations; and several of the tribes were preparing to take part in the coming strife upon the side of England.
Three times during the winter the house of Mr. Prevost was visited by a single Indian of the Oneida tribe. On two occasions it was a man who presented himself; and his stay was very short. On the first occasion, Edith was alone; when, without the sound of a footfall, he glided in like a dark shadow. His look was friendly, though for a moment he said nothing. Edith, well knowing Indian habits, asked if he would take food. He answered "Yes," in his own language; and she called some of the servants to supply him; but, before he ate he looked up in her face, saying--
"I am bidden to tell thee that thy brother shall be safe."
"Whose words do you bear?" asked Edith. "Is it the Black Eagle who speaks?"
"Nay, it is Otaitsa," replied the man.
This was all Edith could learn; for the messenger was either ignorant of more, or affected to be so; yet still it was a comfort to her. The next who came was a woman somewhat past the middle age, and by no means beautiful. She stayed long; and, with good-humoured volubility, related all that had happened immediately after Edith's visit to the Oneida castle. She dwelt upon the attempt of the Blossom to deliver her lover as she would have expatiated upon some feat of daring courage in a warrior; and though in the end she had to tell how the maiden's bold attempt had been frustrated, she concluded by saying--
"Yet he shall be safe. They shall not slay our brother."
The third time the man returned, hearing the same assurance; but, as hour after hour and day after day went by without the lad's return, or any definite news of him, hope sickened and grew faint. By this time it was known that the efforts of the Mohawks and Onondagas had been frustrated; and, moreover, it was plainly intimated by the chiefs of those two nations that they would interfere no more.
"The Oneidas have reproved us," they said, "and we had no reply. We must not make the children of the Stone hiss at our children; neither must we break the bands of our alliance for the sake of one man."
The scouts who had been put under the order of Woodchuck were recalled to the army early in the spring without having effected anything. All that had been heard at the forts showed that the young prisoner had been removed to the very farthest part of the Oneida territory, where it was impossible for any one Englishman to penetrate without being discovered by the Indians.
If, in civilized times, with a country cleared in a great degree of its forests, and with a regular organization ensuring rapid intercourse between place and place, it is possible for a man to be hidden for weeks and months from the most diligent search; how much more easy was concealment in those days, when, with the exception of a few patches of maize or other grain, the whole land was one wild tangled wood, crossed, it is true, with innumerable Indian trails, but with no direct means of communication, except by one large road, and the lakes and rivers. Search would have been in vain, even if in the political state of the country it could have been attempted; but the attempt was impossible, without rendering the whole country hostile; for the Mohawks themselves showed no inclination to suffer any considerable body of men to cross their territory, except indeed a small party of soldiers, now and then, destined to strengthen the garrisons at Oswego, or any of the regular British posts.
Of Woodchuck himself, nothing was heard, till the flowers began to spring up close upon the footsteps of the snow. It was believed that he was still in the forest; but even of this, no one was assured; and all that could with any accuracy be divined, was, that he had not fallen into the hands of the Oneidas, inasmuch as there was every reason to believe that, had such been the case, Walter's liberation would immediately have followed.
Thus matters had gone on in the household of Mr. Prevost, till about a month before the period at which I have thought best to present to the reader the three Indians seated on the hill. The snow had melted, except in a few places, where it still lay in white patches, under shelter of the darker and thicker-leaved evergreens; here and there, too, it might be seen in the shade of a steep bank; but the general surface of the country was free, and, despite, the variable character of the American spring--one day as soft as summer, and then two or three following, with the icy fang of winter in the wind, and the sky covered with low lurid clouds--the flowers were peeping out in every covert, and mingling themselves thickly with fern, and ground-pine, and hemlock, varying with many a brilliant hue the green carpet of the earth.
The day had been one of exceeding loveliness, and not without its activity too; for a party of soldiers had been thrown forward, for some object, to a spot within a mile and a half of the house; and Lord H---- had been twice there, making Edith's heart thrill, each time he appeared, with emotions so new and strange as to set her dreaming for an hour after he was gone. The evening had come, bringing with it some clouds in the western sky; and Edith, as she sat with her father, looked out from the window, with her head resting on her hand.
No one knows the full weight of a great predominant idea, till he has had to bear one up for weeks or months--no one can tell how it crushes one down, seems to resolve all other things into itself, and almost, like the giant in the child's fable, to grind one's bones to make its bread. The sweet reverie of a lover's visit had passed away, and the beautiful girl's thoughts had reverted to the subject of her brother's fate, which took hold of her the moment her mind was free from some temporary relaxation, and again chained the slave to the accustomed task.
As she gazed, she perceived a figure slowly crossing between the gardener-boy and old Agrippa, who were working in the gardens, and apparently taking its course to the door of the house. At first she did not recognise it, for it was more like an Indian than a European, and more like a bear than either. It had a human face, however; and, as it came forward, an impression, first faint, but increasing with every step it advanced, took possession of her, that it must be the man whose fatal act had brought so much wretchedness upon her family. He was very much--very sadly--changed; and, although the bear-skins in which he was dressed hid the emaciation of his form, the meagreness of his face was very evident as he came near.
Edith lifted her head from her hand, saying, "I think, my father, here is Captain Brooks approaching. Poor man! he seems terribly changed!"
Mr. Prevost started up, gazed for a moment from the window, and then hurried forth to meet him. Edith felt some doubt as to how her father would receive him; for, in the purest and the highest hearts, there is--there ever will be--one small drop of selfishness much to be guarded against. It may not poison our acts, but it too often poisons our feelings; it mingles even with candour itself, diminishing the efficacy of that most noble of virtues; and if it do not make us detract from the merit of others, it still gives some slight colouring to their acts when they are painful or disadvantageous to ourselves.
She had the happiness, however, to see her father take the wanderer kindly by the hand, and lead him towards the door. Whatever had been Mr. Prevost's feelings, the sight of Woodchuck's altered face was enough to soften them entirely. The next moment they entered the room together, and Edith extended her hand kindly to him.
"Ah, Miss Prevost, you are very good," he said, "and so is your father, too. I have not been to see you for a long time."
"That was not right of Woodchuck," said Edith; "you should have come to see us. We know all you have been trying to do for my poor brother. If you cannot succeed, it is not your fault, and we should have been glad to see you, both for your own sake, and for the sake of hearing all your proceedings as they occurred."
"Ah, but I have been far away," he answered. "I first tried to get at the poor boy from this side, and, finding that would not do, I took a long round, and came upon them from the west, but I got nothing except some information, and then I made up my mind. Them Ingians are as cunning as Satan. I have circumvented them once; but they won't let a man do it twice."
Mr. Prevost had stood listening, eager to hear anything that related to his son; but now he interrupted, saying: "We will hear more of this by-and-by, Brooks. Come into the hall and have some food; you must be hungry and tired--both, I am sure."
"No," replied Woodchuck, "I am not hungry. Tired, a little, I am, I guess, though I hav'n't walked more than forty miles; but I met a young Ingian two or three hours ago, who gave me a venison-steak off his own fire. Some rest will set all to rights."
"Take some wine, at least," said Mr. Prevost; "that will do you good; you look quite faint."
"Faint in limb, but not in heart," replied Woodchuck, stoutly. "However, I won't refuse the wine; for it was given to cheer the heart of man--as the Bible says; and mine wants cheering, though it does not want strengthening, for I'll do what I say, as I am a living man."
They took him into the hall, and persuaded him both to eat and to drink, evidently much to his benefit; for, though he did not lose the sad tone with which he spoke, his voice was stronger, and his features seemed to grow less sharp.
"And where have you been ever since this snow has been on the ground?" asked Edith, when he seemed a little revived; "you cannot, surely, have been wandering in the woods during the terribly severe weather we had in January."
"I hutted myself down," he said, "like an Ingian, or a beaver, and covered the lodge all over with snow. I planted it upon a ledge of rock, with its mouth close behind an old hemlock-tree, and made it white all over, so that they would have been worse than devils to find me; for life is sweet, Miss Prevost, even in winter time, and I did not wish to be tomahawked so long as I could help it."
"You must have had a sad, desolate time, I fear," said Mr. Prevost; "at least, till the spring came round."
"I guess it warn't very cheerful," answered Woodchuck; "but that's the best way to teach one's-self not to care for what's coming. At least, I used to think so once, and to believe that if a man could only make himself very miserable in this world, he would not much care how soon he went out of it. But I've changed my opinion on that matter a little; for up there, on the side of the hill, after four or five weeks, half famished and half frozen, I did not feel a bit more inclined to die than I did a year ago, when there were few lighter-hearted men than myself. So I thought, before I did anything of the kind, knowing that there was no need of it just yet, I would just go and take a ramble among the mountains in the fine weather, like Jephtha's daughter."
His words would have been enigmas to Edith, had she not somewhat misunderstood even their obvious meaning; for Lord H----, not fully knowing the character of the man, and unwilling to excite anything like confident hope, that might ultimately be disappointed by some change of Woodchuck's feelings, had forborne to mention more of his purposes than the mere fact of his intention to peril his own life to save that of Walter Prevost. To Edith, then, the words used by Brooks seemed but to imply that he still contemplated some daring attempt to set her brother at liberty; and, in the hope, if she could learn the particulars of his scheme, to be able to procure the co-operation of Otaitsa and others in the Oneida Castle, she said,--
"You are, indeed, a good kind friend, Woodchuck; and you have, I know, already undergone great risks for poor Walter's sake. There are others labouring for him, too; and, perhaps, if we knew what you intended to do next--"
"To do next!" echoed the man, interrupting her. "Why, ha'n't I told you? I said, when I found I couldn't git in from the west, I made up my mind."
"To do what, my good friend?" said Mr. Prevost. "You certainly implied you intended to do something; but what you did not state. Now I easily understand Edith's anxiety to know your intentions; for we have obtained friends in the Oneida camp, who might give great assistance to your efforts, if we knew what they are to be. But I should tell you, my dear daughter ventured across the Mohawk country to see our dear little Otaitsa, who, like you, risked her own life to save my poor boy--God's blessing be upon her!"
The tears rose in his eyes, and he paused for a moment. But Woodchuck waved his hand, saying--
"I know all about it. I war on the bank of the creek, Miss Edith, when the Ingian woman paddled you back; and I guessed how it had all been. I said to myself, when I heard more of it two days arter. 'Her father will be mighty angry;' and so he war, I guess."
"You are mistaken, my friend," said Mr. Prevost, laying his hand on Edith's with a tender pressure. "I was not angry, though I was much alarmed; but that alarm was not of long endurance, for I was detained much more than I expected at Sir William Johnson's, and my anxiety was only protracted two days after my return. Still you have not told us your plans. If that dear girl, Otaitsa, can help us, she will do it, though it cost her life."
Woodchuck paused a moment or two in deep, absent thought, and over his rough countenance the trace of many strong emotions flitted. At length, he said, in a low, distinct voice, "She can do nothing. Black Eagle has the boy under his keen eye. He loves him well, Mr. Prevost; and he will treat him kindly. But just inasmuch as hedoeslove him, he will make it a point to keep him safely, and to kill him too, if he haven't got another victim. That man should ha' been one of them old Romans I have heard talk of, who killed their sons and daughters, rather than not do what they thought right. He'd not spare his own flesh and blood--not he; and the more-he loves him, the surer he'll kill him."
Edith wept, and Mr. Prevost covered his eyes with his hands; but Woodchuck, who had been gazing down upon the table, and saw not the powerful emotions which his words had produced, proceeded, after a gloomy pause--
"He'll watch his daughter sharply too. Yet they say he praised her daring; and I guess he did, for that's just the sort of thing to strike his fancy; but he'll take care she shan't do it again. No, no. There's but one way with Black Eagle. I know him well, and he knows me, and there is but one way with him."
"What is that?" asked Mr. Prevost, in a tone of deep melancholy.
"Just to do what I intend," returned Woodchuck, with a very calm manner. "Mr. Prevost, I love my life as well as any man--a little too much, mayhap; and I intend to keep it as long as I rightly can, for there are always things wrote in that chapter of accidents that none on us can see. But I don't intend to let your son Walter--he's a good boy--be put to death for a thing of my doing. You don't suppose it. Atfirst, when the thing came fresh upon me at Albany, I felt mighty like a fool and a coward; and I would ha' skulked away into any hole just to save myself from myself. But I soon took thought, and made up my mind. Now, here you and Miss Edith have been praising and thanking me for trying to save poor Walter's life. I didn't deserve praise, or thanks either. It was my own life I was trying to save; for, if I could get him out secretly, we should both be secure enough. But I've given that up. It can't be done, and Black Eagle knows it. He knows me, too; and he's just as sure, at this blessed moment, that before the day he has appointed for Walter to die, Woodchuck will walk in and say, 'Here I am!' as he is that he's in his own lodge. Then he will have got the right man, and all will be settled. Now, Mr. Prevost--and you, Miss Edith--you know what I intend to do. To-morrow, when I'm a bit rested, I shall set out again, and take my ramble in the mountains, like Jephtha's daughter, as I said. Then, this day month, I will be here again to bid you all good-bye. Walter will have to tell you the rest. Don't cry so, there's a good girl. You're like to set me a' crying too. There's one thing more I have to ask you both, and that is, never speak another word to me about this matter--not even when I come back again. I try not to think of it at all myself, and I don't much now. If I can screw myself up, like them Ingians, I shall just walk quietly in among them as if nothing were going to happen, and say, 'Set the boy free! Here is Woodchuck himself,' and then die--not like an Ingian, but like a Christian, I trust, and one that knows he's a' doing of his duty anyhow. So now not a word more--but let us talk of something else."
An hour had passed after the conversation detailed in the last chapter, and Woodchuck had steadily and sturdily refused to pursue any further the subject of his fixed determination, although both Mr. Prevost and Edith, deeply touched, and, to say truth, much agitated, would fain have dwelt upon the topic longer. Edith felt, and Mr. Prevost argued in his own mind, that the poor man was performing a generous and self-devoted act, which no moral obligation forced upon him. They felt, too, that so noble a heart was not one which ought to be sacrificed to the vengeful spirit of the Indians; and the natural feeling of joy and satisfaction which they experienced at the apparent certainty of Walter's deliverance from death seemed to them almost a crime when it was to be purchased at so dear a price.
Woodchuck's obstinacy, however, had conquered; the subject had been changed; and, as they now sat together in the little room, to which he had led the way after speaking the last words cited, they continued, while the shades of evening gathered quickly round them, a broken sort of conversation upon topics connected with that which they had quitted, though avoiding the point which was most painfully prominent in the mind of each. They rambled a good deal indeed, though ever taking a direction which faintly showed, like the waves in the trees marking the course of a forest-path, what the mind was running on beneath the mere words.
Sometimes gazing into the embers of the fire with his feet upon the hearth, Woodchuck would talk, neither unphilosophically nor unlearnedly in the best of all learning, upon a world to come, and life immortal, and compensation beyond the grave; and, in his simplicity, his words would reach almost to the sublime. Then, at other times, they would speak of the Indians, and their habits, and their good and bad qualities; and here many of the poor man's prejudices were seen clinging to him strongly.
"They are like vermin," he would say; "and the devil himself has a share in them. I have heard people talk largely of their generosity, and all that; but I guess I've not seen much of it."
Mr. Prevost was silent, for his feelings had suffered a natural change towards the Indians; but Edith exclaimed warmly--
"We cannot say that of dear Otaitsa, at all events, Woodchuck, for she surely has a heart full of generosity and everything that is noble."
"That's nat'ral, that's nat'ral," answered Woodchuck; "that comes of the blood that is in her. For that matter, Black Eagle has some fine things about him--he's the best of them I ever saw. We used to say, whole Ingian, half devil; but I think in his case it must have been quarter devil, and that's saying a good deal for so fierce a man as he in battle. They say he has scalped more enemies than all his tribe put together; especially in that war down upon the Pennsylvania side some nineteen years ago, when some of our people foolishly took part with the Mohaguns."
Mr. Prevost started, and Woodchuck went on, saying,--"He has good things about him, for he always makes his people spare the women and children, which is what them Ingians seldom think of. A scalp's a scalp to them, whether it has got long hair on it or only a scalp-lock. But, as I was saying, the Blossom has got all that is good in him, and all that was good in her mother, poor thing! and that was a mighty great deal."
"I have often wished," said Mr. Prevost, "that I could hear something of Otaitsa's history. Her mother, I believe, was a white woman, and I have more than once tried, when I found the Black Eagle in a communicative mood, to lead him to speak upon the subject; but the moment it was touched upon, he would wrap his blanket round him, and stalk away."
"Ay, he has never forgotten her," said Woodchuck. "He never took another wife, you know; and well he may remember her, for she was his better angel, and ruled him completely, which was what no one else could. But I can tell you all about it if you like to know; for I heard it all from an old squaw one time, and I saw the lady once too myself, and talked to her."
"I think," said Edith, thoughtfully, "that she must have been a lady; for, when I was in their lodge, I saw in Otaitsa's little chamber a great number of things of European manufacture, and of high taste."
"May not those have been procured for the dear girl by our good friend Gore?" asked Mr. Prevost; "he is a man of much taste himself."
"I think not," answered Edith; "they are evidently old, and seemed to have belonged to one person. Besides, there are a number of drawings, all evidently done by one hand--not what any one would purchase, and apparently the production of an amateur, rather than of an artist."
Mr. Prevost fell into a fit of thought, and leaned his head upon his hand; but Woodchuck said,--
"Oh, they are her mother's; beyond doubt, they are her mother's. She was quite a lady every inch of her; you could hear it in the tone of her voice; you could see it in her walk; her words too were all those of a lady, and her hand was so small and delicate, it could never have seen work. Do you know, Miss Edith, she was wonderful like you--more like you than Otaitsa; but I'll tell you all about it just as I heard it from the old squaw.
"At the time I talk of," continued he, "that's a good many years ago--eighteen or nineteen may be--Black Eagle was the handsomest young man that had ever been seen in the tribes, they say, and the fiercest warrior too. He was always ready to take part in any war; and whenever fighting was going on, he was there. Well, the Delawares had not been quite brought under at that time by the Five Nations; and he went down with his warriors, and the Mohawks, to fight against the Mohaguns--they were Delawares too, you know; some were on the Monongahela river, just at the corner of Pennsylvania and Virginny. Our people had given some help to the Mohaguns, and they were at that time just laying the foundations of a fort, which the French got hold of afterwards, and called Fort Du Quesne.
"Well, there was an old general officer, who thought he would go up and see how the works were going on; and, as things were quiet enough just then--though it was but a calm before a storm--he took his daughter with him, and journeyed away pleasantly enough through the woods, I dare say, though it must have been slow work; for, as he intended to stay all the summer, the old man took a world of baggage with him; but, the third or fourth night after leaving the civilized parts, they lodged in an Ingian village; when, all in a minute, just as they were going to bed, down comes Black Eagle upon them, with his warriors. There was a dreadful fight in the village; nothing but screams, and war-whoops, and rifle-shots; and the Mohaguns, poor devils! were almost put out that night, for they were taken unawares, and they do say, not a man escaped alive out of the wigwam.
"At the first fire, out runs the old general from the hut, and at the same minute a rifle ball, perhaps from a friend, perhaps from an enemy, no one can tell, goes right through his heart. Black Eagle was collecting scalps all this time; but when he turned round, or came back, or however it might be, there he found this poor young lady, the officer's daughter, crying over her father. Well, he wouldn't suffer them to hurt her; but he took her away to the Oneida country with him, and gathered up all her goods and chattels, and her father's, and carried them off too, but all for her; for it seems that he fell in love with her at first sight. What, they say, made her first like him, was, that he wouldn't let his savages scalp the old man, telling them that the English were allies, and declaring that the ball that killed him had not come from an Oneida rifle.
"However that may be, the poor girl had no choice but to marry Black Eagle, though his mother said that, being a great chief's daughter, she made him promise never to have another wife; and, if ever a Christian priest came there, to be married to her according to her own fashion."
While he spoke, Mr. Prevost remained apparently buried in deep and very gloomy thought. But he had heard every word; and his mind had more than once wandered wide away, as was its wont, to collateral things, not only in the present, but in the past. It was a strange habit of his--a sort of discrepancy in his character--thus to suffer his thoughts to be turned aside by any accidental circumstance even in matters of deep interest; for, in times of action--when it was necessary to decide and do--no intellect was ever more prompt and decisive than his own, going straight forward to its object with great and startling rapidity. Where there was nothing to be done, however, where it was all a matter of mere thought, this rambling mood almost always prevailed: but still, like a stream flowing through a level country, and turning aside at every little obstacle, though pursuing its onward course towards the sea and reaching it at length, his mind, sooner or later, got back into the course from which it had deviated. When Woodchuck stopped, he raised his head and gazed at him for a moment in the face, with a look of earnest and melancholy inquiry.
"Did you ever hear her name?" he asked. "Can you tell me her father's name?"
"No," replied Woodchuck. "I had the history almost all from the old squaw, and if she had tried to give me an English name she would have manufactured something such as never found its way into an English mouth. All she told me was that the father was a great chief among the English, by which I made out that she meant a general."
"Probably it was her father's portrait that I saw at the Indian castle," said Edith. "There was hanging up in Otaitsa's room a picture that struck me more than any of the others, except, indeed, the portrait of a lady. It was that of a man in a military dress of antique cut. His hand was stretched out with his drawn sword in it, and he was looking round with a commanding air, as if telling his soldiers to follow. I marked it particularly at first, because the sun was shining on it, and because the frame was covered with the most beautiful Indian beadwork I ever saw. That of the lady too was similarly ornamented; but there was another which interested me much--a small pencil drawing of a young man's head, so like Walter, that, at first, I almost fancied dear Otaitsa had been trying to take his portrait from memory."
"Would you remember the old man's face, my child, if you saw it again?" asked Mr. Prevost, gazing earnestly at his daughter.
"I think so," answered Edith, a little confused by her father's eagerness. "I am quite sure I should."
"Wait then a moment," said Mr. Prevost, "and call for lights, my child."
As he spoke, he rose and quitted the room; but he was several minutes gone, and lights were burning in the chamber when he returned. He was burdened with several pictures of small size, which he spread out upon the table, while Edith and Woodchuck both rose to gaze at them.
"There, there!" cried Edith, putting her finger upon one, "there is the head of the old officer, though the attitude is different, and there is the lady too; but I do not see the portrait of the young man."
"Edith," said her father, laying his hand affectionately upon hers, and shaking his head, sadly, "he is no longer young, but he stands beside you, my child. That is the picture of my father, that of my mother. Otaitsa must be your cousin. Poor Jessie! we have always thought her dead, although her body was not found with that of her father. Better had she been dead, probably."
"No, no, Prevost," said Woodchuck, "not a bit of it. Black Eagle made her as kind a husband as ever was seen. You might have looked all Europe and America through, and not found so good a one. Then think of all she did, too, in the place where she was. God sent her there to make better people than she found. From the time she went, to the time she died, poor thing! there was no more war and bloodshed, or very little of it. Then she got a Christian minister amongst them--at least, he never would have been suffered to set his foot there if she had not been Black Eagle's wife. It is a hard thing to tell what is really good, and what is really evil, in this world. For my part, I think, if everything is not exactly good, which few of us would like to say it is, yet good comes out of it like a flower growing out of a dunghill; and there's no telling what good to the end of time this lady's going there may produce. Bad enough it was for her, I dare say, at first, but she got reconciled to it; so you mustn't say, it would have been better if she had died."
"It is strange, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, "what turns human fate will take! That she--brought up in the midst of luxury, educated with the utmost refinement, sought and admired by all who knew her--should reject two of the most distinguished men in Europe, to go to this wild land, and marry an Indian savage! Men talk of Fate and Destiny; and there are certainly strange turns of fortune so beyond all human calculation and regulation, that one would almost believe that the doctrine of the Fatalists is true."
"Do you not think, my dear father," said Edith, waking up from a profound reverie, "that this strange discovery might be turned to some great advantage? that Walter, perhaps, might be saved without the necessity of our poor friend here sacrificing his own life to deliver him?"
"That's like a kind, dear girl," interposed Woodchuck; "but I can tell you it's no use."
"Still," urged Edith, "Otaitsa ought to know; for Black Eagle certainly would never slay the nephew of a wife so dear to him."
"It's no use," repeated Woodchuck, almost impatiently. "Don't you know, Miss Edith, that Walter and the Blossom are in love with each other? and that's worth all the blood relationship in the world--
'Sometimes it doesn't last as long,But, while it does, 'tis twice as strong.'
'Sometimes it doesn't last as long,But, while it does, 'tis twice as strong.'
Then as to Black Eagle, he'd kill his own son, if the customs of his people required it. I guess it would only make him tomahawk poor Walter the sooner, just to show that he would not let any human feeling stand in the way of their devilish practices. No, no; much better keep it quiet. It might do harm, for aught we can tell; it can and will do no good. Let that thing rest, my dear child. It is settled and decreed. I am ready now, and I shall never be so ready again. Let me take one more look at my mountains, and my lakes, and my rivers, and my woods, and I have done with this life. Then, God in His mercy receive me into another! Amen.--Hark! there is some one coming up at a good gallop. That noble young lord, I dare say."
It was as Woodchuck supposed; and, the moment after, Lord H---- entered the room with a beaming look of joy and satisfaction in his countenance. He held a packet of considerable size in his hand, and advanced at once to Mr. Prevost, saying--
"My dear sir, I am rejoiced to present you with this letter, not alone because it will give you some satisfaction, but because it removes the stain of ingratitude from the government of the country. His Majesty's present ministers are sensible that you have not received justice; that your long services to the country in various ways--all that you have done, in short, to benefit and ameliorate your race, and to advocate all that is good and noble--have been treated with long neglect, which amounts to an offence; and they now offer you, as some atonement, a position which may lead to wealth and distinction, which, I trust, is but the step to more."
"What is it, George, what is it?" asked Edith, eagerly.
"It is, I am told," replied Lord H----, "in a letter which accompanied the packet, a commission as commissary-general of the army here, and an offer of the rank of baronet."
"Thank God!" exclaimed Edith; and then, seeing a look of surprise at her earnestness come upon her noble lover's face, a bright smile played round her lips for a moment, and she added--"I say, thank God, George--not that I am glad my father should have such things, for I hope he will decline them both; but because the very offer will heal an old wound, by showing him that zealous exertions and the exercise of high and noble qualities are not always to be treated with neglect, forgetfulness, and contempt. He will be glad of it, I am sure, whatever his decision may be."
"Now I understand you, my own love," answered Lord H----. "With regard to the baronetcy, he shall do as he will; but I must press him earnestly to accept the office tendered to him. To decline it might show some resentment. By accepting it, he incurs no peril, and he serves his country; for, from his knowledge of the people here, of the physical features of the land and its resources, and of the habits and feelings of all classes, I believe no man could be found, with one or two exceptions, so well fitted for the task as himself. Ah, my good friend, Captain Brooks, how do you do? I have much wished to see you lately, and to hear of your plans."
"I am as well as may be, my lord," replied Woodchuck, wringing in his heavy grasp the hand which Lord H---- extended to him. "As for my plans, they are the same as ever--you did not doubt me, I am sure."
"I did not," returned Lord H----, gravely; and, looking down, he fell into a fit of thought. At length, looking up, he added, "And yet, my good friend, I am glad you have had time for reflection; for since we last met I have somewhat reproached myself for, at least, tacit encouragement of an act in the approval of which so many personal motives mingle that one may well doubt oneself. Forgive me, Edith--forgive me, Mr. Prevost,--if I ask our friend here if he has well considered and weighed in his mind, calmly and reasonably, without bias--nay, without enthusiasm--whether there be any moral obligation on him to perform an act which I suppose he has told you he contemplates."
"There is no forgiveness needed, my lord," replied Mr. Prevost. "I would have put the same question to him, if he would have let me. Nay, more; I would have told him--whatever I might suffer by the result--that, in my judgment, there was no moral obligation. Because he did a justifiable act, these Indians commit one that is unjustifiable upon an innocent man. That can be no reason why he should sacrifice his life to save the other. God forbid that, even for the love of my own child, I should deal in such a matter unjustly. I am no Roman, father--I pretend not to be such. If my own death will satisfy them, let them take the old tree withered at the root, and spare the sapling full of strength and promise. But let me not doom--let me not advise--a noble and honest man to sacrifice himself from a too generous impulse."
"I don't know much of moral obligations," replied Woodchuck, gravely; "but I guess I have thought over the thing as much as e'er a one of you. I have made up my mind just upon one principle, and there let it rest, in God's name. I say to myself: 'Woodchuck, it's not right, is it, that any one should suffer for what you ha' done?' 'No, it's not.' 'Well, is there any use talking of whether they've a right to make him suffer for your act or not? They'll do it.' 'No; there's no use o' talking; because they'll do it. It's only shuffling off the consequences of what you did upon another man's shoulders. You never did that, Woodchuck; don't do it now. Man might say, "It's all fair;" God might pardon it; but your own heart would never forgive it.'"
Edith sprang forward, and took both his hands, with the tears rolling over her cheeks.
"God will prevent it," she said, earnestly. "I have faith in Him. He will deliver us in our utmost need. He provided the Patriarch with an offering, and spared his son. He will find us a means of escape if we but trust in Him."
"Miss Edith," replied Woodchuck solemnly, "He may, or He may not, according to His good pleasure; but of this I am certain, that, though Christ died for our transgressions, we have no right to see any one else suffer for our doings. I have read my Bible a great deal up there on the hill-side lately--more than I ever did before, since I was a little boy--and I'm quite certain of what I'm about. It has been a comfort and a strength to me. It's all so clear--so very clear. Other books one may not understand--one can't misunderstandthat--unless one tries very hard. And now, pray let us have an end o't here. My mind is quite made up. There is no use in saying a word more."
All the rest were silent, and Edith left the room, with: the large tears falling down her face.
The great apothecary's shop of Human Vanity is filled with "flattering unctions;" and there is not a sore spot upon the heart or mind of man, which cannot there find its unguent--whether the disease proceed from a self-generated canker, or from a blow inflicted by others. The greatest, the wisest, the healthiest, the soundest-minded of mankind have all occasion to apply to this shop; and they do so now and then, under the sores of regret, and failure, and disappointment, or the wounds of superciliousness, forgetfulness, or neglect. Oh,
"The insolence of office, and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,"
"The insolence of office, and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,"
how often do they drive the iron into the flesh which requires that apothecary's shop to heal it!
Yet, let us not look too curiously into the motives which induced Mr. Prevost, after some hesitation and some reluctance, to accept the appointment offered to him by the government through Lord H----. It was pleasing to him to think that his merits, and the services of which he was conscious--though, be it said, not too conscious--had only been so long overlooked, not from being unapparent or forgotten, but because, in some of his views, he had differed from the ministers lately dismissed. He knew not--or, at least, he did not recollect--how easy it is to forget when one is not willing to remember; how rarely qualities are brought before the public gaze, except by interest, accident, or position--unless by impudence, arrogance, and self-sufficiency. One in ten thousand men of those who rise, rise by merit alone; though there must be some merit in almost all who rise. But the really great are like fixed stars; few of the greatest are ever near the eye; one requires a telescope to see them, and that telescope is Time.
Putting aside military chiefs, who write their names in fire, many of the greatest men of all ages have been overlooked by Fame. The author of Job is unknown; the builders of almost all great buildings of antiquity are nameless: the sculptor of the one Venus, and the one Apollo--doubtful, doubtful--never recorded in history. Then look at the fate of others. Behold Friar Bacon and Galileo, in their dungeons; Dante proscribed and banished; Shakspeare, a mere yeoman at Stratford; Homer and Milton, blind and poor; Virgil, Petrarch, Verulam, the flatterers of a court; Newton, the Master of the Mint! Heaven and earth! what a catalogue of black spots upon the great leopard! To hardly one of them did contemporary fame ascribe a place pre-eminent. Why, it is a salve and a comfort to every fool and every driveller. No spawner of a penny pamphlet--with vanity enough--can be sure that he is not twin brother to the blind beggar of Greece.
But Mr. Prevost forgot all this. He was conscious of having laboured well and diligently in what he believed, the right path: there was in him a sense and an experience of intellectual power: he had felt, and had exercised, the capability of guiding and directing others aright; and, more than all, he had seen many a time the schemes which he had devised, the words which he had written or spoken, adopted--appropriated--filched--by others, and lauded, making the fame and the fortune of a weak, impudent, lucky charlatan, supported by interest, family, or circumstances, while the real author was forgotten, and would have been hooted had he claimed his own. This gave him some confidence in himself, independent of vanity; and be it not for us to assay the metal too closely.
He accepted the office tendered, and at once set about preparing for its duties. There was but one impediment--his anxiety for his son; for, notwithstanding every assurance, he felt that quivering doubt and fear which can only be felt by a parent when a beloved child's fate is in the balance--which all parents worthy of the name have felt, and no child can comprehend.
When Edith rose, on the day following the visit of poor Captain Brooks--somewhat later than was her custom (for the first half of the watches of the night had known no comforter)--Woodchuck was gone. He had waited for no leave-taking, and was on his road towards the mountains before the dawn of day.
It was better for all, indeed, that he should go; and he felt it: not that there was any chance of his resolution being shaken; but, as he had himself said, he wished to forget that resolution as far as possible--to think no more of his coming fate than the dark remembrance of it within his own heart forced him to think; and the presence of Mr. Prevost and his daughter--the very absence of Walter from their fireside--would have reminded him constantly of the rock on which his bark was inevitably steering. With Mr. Prevost and Edith, his presence would have had the effect of keeping up the anxious struggle between affection for Walter and a kindly sense of justice towards him. His every look, his every word, would have been a source of painful interest; and the terrible balancing of very narrowly-divided equities, when life was in the scale, and affection held the beam, would have gone on, in the mind at least, continually.
When he was gone, the agitating feelings gradually subsided. His self-sacrifice presented itself to the mind as a thing decided: the mind was relieved from a greater apprehension by a less; and a quiet melancholy, whenever his coming fate was thought of, took the place of anxious alarm. In some sort, the present and the past seemed to transpose themselves; and they almost looked upon him as already dead.
True, all fear in regard to Walter was not completely banished. There was nothing definite; there was no tangible object of apprehension; they felt perfectly certain that Woodchuck would execute his resolution; yet the heart, like an agitated pendulum, vibrated long after the momentum had ceased. It grew quieter and quieter by degrees, however, on the part of Mr. Prevost: a change of thought and of object did much. All his preparations had to be made for the proper execution of the office he had undertaken; he had more than once to go to Albany, and on each occasion he took his daughter with him. Each change had some effect; and both he and Edith recovered a certain degree of cheerfulness, at least in general society. It was only in the quiet and the silent hours, when either was left alone--when those intervals took place during which sleep refuses to visit the eye--when all external sounds are still--when all external sights are absent, and the mind is left alone with thought, and nothing but thought, for its companion,--it was only then that the fears, and the anxiety, and the gloom returned.
Every moment that could be spared from military duties was passed by Lord H---- at Edith's side, whether in her own home or in the city. People remarked his attentions, and commented on them as usual; for no publicity had been given to their engagement, and the good-humoured world thought fit to judge it strange that a young nobleman of such distinction should be so completely captivated by the daughter of a simple gentleman like Mr. Prevost.
Their comments affected the two lovers little, however. They were thinking of themselves, and not of the world; and though the happiest hours of Lord H---- were those in which, at her father's quiet hermitage, he could pass a brief space in wandering with her alone through the beautiful scenery round, or sitting with her under the verandah, gazing out upon the prospect and watching the advance of summer over the forest world, still he was happy by her side anywhere; and her demeanour in society, her grace, her beauty, as compared with others, only served to render him proud and happy in his choice.
Thus passed nearly three weeks; by which time the bustle of active preparation, the marching of several regiments towards the north, and signs of activity in every department, gave notice to the inhabitants of Albany that some important military movement was about to take place. The fife and drum, and the lumbering roll of the cannon, were daily heard in the quiet streets. Boats were collecting on the river; parades and exercises occupied the greater part of every day; scouts and runners were seen hurrying about in different directions; and clouds of Indians, painted and feathered for the war-path, hovered round the city, and often appeared in the streets.
Lord H---- had advanced with his whole regiment to the neighbourhood of Sandy Hill; other bodies of troops were following; and the Commissary-General, whose active energy and keen intelligence surprised all who had only known him as a somewhat reserved and moody man, had advanced to a spot on the Hudson where a small fort had been built at the commencement of what was called the King's Road, to see with his own eyes the safe delivering and proper distribution of the stores he had collected. Long ranges of huts were gathered round the fort, which was judged so far within the English line as to be a place of perfect security; and many a lady from Albany, both young and old, had gathered together there to see the last of husband, brother, or father, before they plunged into the forest and encountered the coming strife.
Here everything was done as usual to smooth the front of war, and conceal its ugly features; and certainly after the arrival of Lord H----, with his regiment and the wing of another, the scene was brilliant and lively enough. Bright dresses, glittering arms, military music, fluttering flags, and prancing chargers were beheld on every side; and gay and lively talk, only interrupted now and then by the solemn words of caution or direction from anxious heart to anxious heart, hid, in a great degree, the deeper, stronger, sterner feelings that were busy underneath.
In all such expeditions, amidst the bustle and excitement, there come lapses of quiet inactivity, especially before the first blow is struck. Some accident causes a delay; some movements have not been combined with sufficient accuracy; one party has to wait for another, and is left unoccupied. Thus was it in the present instance. A small but important division of the army, to be accompanied by a large body of Indians, was retarded by a deficiency of boats; and the news arrived that two days must elapse before they could reach the fort.
A superior officer was now present; and both Lord H---- and Mr. Prevost felt that it would be no dereliction of duty to seek leave of absence in order to visit once more the house of the latter, and personally escort Edith to the place where she was to remain till the object of the expedition was accomplished.
The same day it was first made known what the object of that expedition was. The word "Ticonderoga" was whispered through the encampment, running from the general's quarters through every rank down to the private soldier. A strange sort of feeling of joy spread throughout the force; not that many knew either the importance of the object or the state of the place, but simply that all were relieved from an uncertainty.
The comment of Lord H---- was very brief. He had, indeed, long known the fact now first published; but, as he told it to Edith while seating her on her horse to set out, he said--
"The place is luckily near; and the business will soon be brought to an end, my love." A something indefinable in his heart made him add, mentally, "one way or another."
But he gave no utterance to the gloomy doubt; and the little party rode away.