CHAPTER X
Toa man whose life is regulated on a basis of a difference in rank, a part of whose training is to conserve the respect due his military station and his social supremacy, who is habituated to stiff formalities of address, both in phrase and bearing, the familiarities of an inferior have a grossness which a custom of lenient condescension, or kindly indulgence, or careless indifference does not as readily perceive. But no man, however little fastidious, would have relished the peculiar impediments to Raymond’s progress across the limited space of the “beloved square” to the spot where he thought—he could now no longer see for the press—the old missionary was standing. Indeed, Raymond might have better exerted tolerance had he not perceived that the demonstration was actuated by a rancorous spirit. The contact with the blanketed shoulders of the braves intentionally thrust against him to impede his progress; a peering, painted face stuck almost against his own, the survey followed by a wild cackle of derision; a feathered crest of a man, not so tall as he, jerked into his eyes, were incidents calculated to try the self-control of an ardent, impetuous young soldier to the extremest tension. He set his teeth and held hard to his composure, though his cheek flushed and his eye glittered.Naught that was personal should jeopardize the success of the forlorn hope of his appeal to the fears of the old missionary. The sturdy soldiers at his heels marked his demeanor and emulated his self-restraint. Presently, he almost ran against the old man, still bare-headed, still between his guards, replying in Cherokee to the jeers or reproaches of his recent converts as they gathered about him, upbraiding for double-dealing, and threatening as if with the just wrath of the deceived. He had a wistful, pained look as he sought to justify himself, to explain the misunderstanding, and it cut Raymond to the heart. He was of the temperament which throws itself with ardor into the joys and griefs of others—especially he deprecated infinitely the sight of sorrow in the aged. Let the young wrestle with the woes of life—not when strength, and hope, and illusion are all gone! He accosted the old man in a cheery voice, speaking in English, that the crowd might catch no chance word of offence.
“Captain Howard presents his compliments, Reverend sir, and wishes me to say that we have a place in our boat, which is at your service, and we shall feel much honored if you will occupy it,” he said.
The old man, turning from the revilings and the insults heaped upon him by the savage rabble, must have felt an attraction toward the young, spirited face, and have softened to the sympathy in the ensign’s eyes, the respect that vibrated in every inflection of his voice.
“I thank you, my young friend,” he said in akindly tone, “but my station is here. I cannot desert my post. I am a soldier of the Cross.”
“Under your favor, Reverend sir, we are taught that we have no right to throw away our lives in desperate emprises, to the loss and detriment of the British service. And it seems to me that the rule ought to hold in the service of the Cross that sorely needs good soldiers.”
The argument struck home, and the old missionary made haste to justify his position.
“There is not more danger than usual,” he declared, “I have often heard such threats. I have weathered many such storms. My place is here. I must recall these troubled and wandering sheep that have believed in the truth and trusted in me, and whose faith has this day been so rudely jostled.”
“Troubled and wandering—wolves!” Raymond could not help exclaiming, as he noted the furious faces, the menacing gestures of a group here and there colloguing apart, their feathered heads almost touching each other, their drapery of coarse blankets intermingled as they stood together, an absorbed brow lifted now and again to glance at the subject of their conference. The dispensation that the sun shall shine alike upon the just and the unjust seemed more an insensate process of nature than a divine ordinance at that moment as he looked about mechanically in the pause, noting the pellucid brilliance of the noontide splendor that lay over all the wrangling crowd of braves, the huddled huts of the town, the vast stretches of leafless woods that had yet theaspect of winter, the blurred violet tones of the hills hard by, the far-reaching of the myriads of azure ranges, the differing blue of the sky as it bent to meet the horizon. So unwontedly still had been the town during the morning that a drift of white swans lay asleep in the river, close to the moorings of Raymond’s pettiaugre. Now, warned by the tumult on shore, they had lifted their heads and were beginning to glide imperceptibly along. A deer, approaching the town on the hither side, had taken sudden affright, and, plunging into the water, was swimming the river so near at hand that its head presented a fair target to the short-range rifles of the day and even for an arrow. No marksman sought the opportunity. The minds of the braves were all intent, undivided. The dogs of the town caught the scent and sight, and half a dozen hounds raced to the water-side, lustily yelping excitement. But there was no human cry of encouragement, no command to hie them on, and though one plunged in and swam twenty yards in the wake of the fleeing animal, he lost heart in thus proceeding on his own initiative, and turning about, came splashing in to the bank, all unnoticed. Significant incidents these trifles seemed to Raymond, showing an absorption that betokened no gentle fate to the old missionary. He marvelled that the old man could be so mad. He determined on a renewed effort.
“You could return at a more propitious time, dear sir. And permit me to express my wonder, Mr. Morton,” he said, with gentle reproach, “thatthough you do not entertain fears for yourself, you have no consideration of the fears of your friends for you. Captain Howard, who is a man of great experience on the frontier, thinks your life is not worth an hour’s purchase after our departure, and I, myself, who am no alarmist, feel that if we leave you here I look upon you for the last time.”
Despite Raymond’s self-control, he was greatly harried during this speech by the antics of a young tribesman, who had taken up his position on the other side of Mr. Morton and was reproducing in grisly caricature every word and gesture of the British officer—even to the motions of the cocked hat in his hand. The ensign had uncovered in token of his respect and as he talked he gesticulated, in his earnestness, with the hat. In the florid imitation of mockery the Indian permitted Mr. Morton’s hat, which he himself held, to sharply graze, in one of his flourishes, the pallid cheek of the aged minister. It was in effect a buffet, and Raymond gave a quick audible gasp, recovering with difficulty his impassive demeanor.
“My dear young sir,” said the old man, “I have stanch friends among these good people, who will not see me evilly entreated. I cannot put aside—I cannot postpone the Lord’s work to a more convenient season. I must remain—I must repair the damage to the faith of these new Christians done by their chief’s crafty cross-questioning of the commandant to-day. I must not leave my sheep to the lion, the weaklings of all my flock to the raveningwolves of doubt. I must be with them—but have no fears for me. I have twice been bound to the stake, and yet came safely off.”
Raymond was at his wits’ end. There was a shifting in the crowds. They were converging down the sunny slope toward the river-bank. Beyond their heads he caught a gleam of scarlet against the shining current, near the white flashing of the swans’ wings as the great birds rose in flight. The soldiers were embarking. There came to his ears the loud, guttural voice of the chief of the town, Rolloweh, pronouncing the sonorous periods of his official farewell to Captain Howard. Time pressed. The response of the captain would be curt and concise,—there was scant utility to mint phrases for Rolloweh,—and Raymond could well divine that the commandant was sick at heart. On the smooth spaces of the “beloved square” there lingered those inimical plotting groups, still whispering, still casting speculative glances at the missionary and the ensign, still waiting, Raymond faithfully believed, to seize the old man and bear him to his doom, before the English boats should be a furlong down the river.
The ensign’s patience, never a formidable endowment, gave way suddenly. He clapped his hat on his head with a nonchalant flap. He turned a burning eye on two stalwart young soldiers of his escort and spoke but one short phrase, with a significant gesture. The intelligent fellows comprehended the extraordinary order in an instant. With light willing steps they ran forward, bent down, seized the ReverendMr. Morton in their strong young arms, lifted him bodily, and at a swift, sure, steady run they set out with their captive for the river-bank, their young officer close on their heels calling out in Cherokee, with glad bursts of laughter, “The ‘beloved man’ shall be removed!”
The whole community was in an uproar. The culmination came so suddenly, with no sort of warning, that the crowds by the water-side, remembering the urgency of the chiefs that the “beloved man” should be removed, fell in with the apparent spirit of the exploit and shouted and laughed as at some rude jest and boisterous horse-play. The conspirators of the “beloved square” did not catch the significance of the incident for one brief moment of stunned surprise, roused as they were from the absorptions of their secret plottings, but though they came howling their baffled rage and vengeance and frenzied protests hard upon Raymond’s party, that one moment saved the life of the Reverend Mr. Morton. Their voices were overborne in the joyous clamors of the populace, not yet admitted into the plans of revenge, and chorusing the ensign’s jocular mockeries. Raymond, himself standing in the bow of the pettiaugre and urging his crew,—“Push off—Let fall—Back oars—Row—Pull, lads, pull for your lives!” in a half-stifled undertone of excitement, did not feel that the return trip was a possibility till the pettiaugre reached the centre of the shining stream, then turning southward caught the current and began to slip and glide along as fast as oar could ply, andthe momentum of the stream could aid. Even then a rifle ball came whizzing past.
“It is nothing,” said Captain Howard, reassuringly—“some lawless miscreant. The head-men intend no demonstration.”
The plans of the conspirators, divulged in that moment of embarkation, had mightily caught the fancy of the “mad young men” of the assemblage—that class on whom the Cherokee rulers charged the responsibility of all the turmoils and riots, those who fought the battles and endured the hardships, and carried out the treacherous enterprises and marauding massacres which the head-men secretly planned and ordered and abetted. Some who had just been rollicking with laughter came running after the boats along the bank, their breath short, their features swelled with savage rage, their eyes distended with futile ferocity. Some were crying out mockeries, and blasphemies, and furious maledictions on the head of the old missionary, and others, among whom were the conspirators of the “beloved square,” were protesting craftily that the missionary was abducted against his will and was to be carried as a prisoner to Fort Prince George—adjuring the commandant to permit him to return and threatening force to stop the boats if he were not immediately set ashore.
“We shall meet them, sir, when we round the bend,” said Raymond, in a low voice to Captain Howard, for the river made a deep swirling curve around a considerable peninsula, and a swift runnercutting straight across this tongue of land would have little difficulty in anticipating the passing of the pettiaugre, although the men were bending to the oars with every muscle stretched, and the iterative impact of the strokes was like the rapid ticking of a clock.
As the boats came shooting with an arrowy swiftness around the peninsula, an Indian, the foremost runner, was already there, standing high on a rock. His figure on the promontory, distinct against the blue sky with his hands up-stretched, the palms together, ready to spring and dive, was visible from far off. He looked back over his shoulder to make sure that other Cherokees were following, then timing his adventure with incredible precision, he sprang into the water with a great splash, was invisible a few seconds, and came up alongside the pettiaugre, with a hand on the gunwale, near the bow.
A hundred braves, almost all armed, stood at gaze on the lower banks, a trifle blown by the swift pace, a score or two laying aside their weapons, apparently preparatory to entering the water. The soldiers, well within rifle range, all frontier veterans, young though they were, as obedient and as unmoved as parts of a mechanism, rowed steadily on, disregarding their muskets, stowed in the bottom of the pettiaugre. Only the man nearest the Indian, hanging to the boat, contrived in a lengthened stroke to hit the pendulous legs some heavy covert blows with a feathered oar, which, sooth to say, might have broken less stalwart limbs.
“Ensign,” suggested Robin Dora, in the bow, plaintively, “wad it fash your honor gif I dinged that fist a clout wi’ ae drum-stick? It’s gey close to my shoulther.”
“Be silent,” said Raymond, severely, and Robin Dora subsided, even ceasing to glance over his shoulder at the uncanny hand so close to his arm.
Captain Howard, in the haste of embarkation had taken his place in Raymond’s boat, and his own had fallen under the conduct of the adjutant. It followed like a shadow the craft in the lead, as silent as a shadow, as swift. Captain Howard had not by virtue of his rank assumed command, the crew being already organized. He earnestly desired to provoke no attack from the Indians, but he expected it momently, and fingered his pistols in his belt as he eyed the gathering tribesmen on shore; under these circumstances he was in doubt as to his wisest course; the impunity of the figure clinging to the boat invited recruits, yet to it Raymond gave not a glance. Captain Howard was moved to a comment.
“You give transportation to passengers, Ensign?” he queried.
“It seems so, sir,” Raymond replied, succinctly.
It had evidently been the plan of the Indians to send out swimmers to the boats, and demand and secure the return of the missionary on the pretext that he was torn from them against his own desire, and if the crew dared to refuse, despite the coercion of the rifles of the hundreds on shore, the swimmers were to upset the craft, seize their prey,and make for the main body. The leader had far out-stripped his following, and his zeal had jeopardized the practicability of the feat. He had given the little British force the opportunity to make a great display of coolness and indifference. The contempt with which their demonstration was treated disconcerted the Cherokees, who relished naught so much as the terrors their presence was wont to inspire,—the surprise, the agitation, and commotion that were the sequence of their sudden attacks.
The crowd on shore stood at gaze, watching the unexpected scene—the Indian clinging like a reptile to the boat, while its keel cleft the clear brilliant waters, and the silent crew rowed like men spurting for a prize. Suddenly the Indian, belabored possibly beyond endurance by an eccentric oar, made a movement as though he would spring into the boat. Raymond swiftly leaned forward, and with a courteous manner, as of offering aid, caught the Cherokee’s arm with a grip like steel, and fairly lifted him into the pettiaugre.
The Indian stood for a moment, staring at the calm faces of his enemies. Had he been fifty instead of one the matter might have resulted far more seriously, but his fellows had not followed; their plans had not matured; they stood doubtful, watching the results of his effort and its futility, for he was going straight down the river as a prisoner to Fort Prince George. He looked bewildered, agitated, glanced wildly from one to another, then as if fearing detention leaped high into the air, fell into the water, and struck outfor the shore as fast as his limbs might carry him, while the tribesmen on the bank, whom he had expected to lead, burst into derisive cries, and laughter, and gay buffoonery.
It was the turn of the tide; it was the trifle that so often broke the designs of the inconstant Indians. The two officers knew that the game was played out when they heard, far up-stream, so fast was their progress, the shouts of raillery and ridicule as the adventurous wight waded ashore.
“Very well managed, Ensign Raymond,” said Captain Howard, laughing with comfortable reassurance. “It might have been much more serious.”
“But is this well, Captain Howard?” said the deep melancholy voice of the missionary. “I am a British subject. I have done naught to forfeit my independence of action, my liberty. I am made a prisoner, and torn from my sacred work and my chosen habitation against my will. I am in no sense within your jurisdiction or under your control as commandant of Fort Prince George, and I protest against this infringement of my rights as most unwarrantable tyranny.”
Captain Howard, who happened to be standing in the pettiaugre, and being a landsman had no sea legs to speak of, toppled to and fro in his surprise and agitation, and had he not fallen instead against the bulk of a tall and burly oarsman he might have fallen overboard. He hastened to place himself on a seat, and then, red-faced, dumbfounded, and sputteringwith half a dozen phrases that tumbled over each other in his amazement he exclaimed:—
“My God! sir, do I understand you? Can I believe my ears? Are you not with us now by your own free will, the exercise of your own mature judgment?”
“Indeed, no, sir, as I have already stated,” said the old man, with dignity. “Did you not see, sir, that I was literally carried to the boat in the arms of soldiers under the command of your own officer?”
“By God Almighty, sir,” declared the agitated commandant, “I swear when I saw you carried in the arms of the soldiers I supposed it was in a measure to shield you from the fury and malevolence of the Indians. Ensign Raymond,” he turned upon the young officer, who was calm enough to stand steadily, “you shall answer for this. I empowered you only to invite, to persuade Mr. Morton to come with us.”
“And I did persuade him, sir,” Raymond stoutly averred.
“Do you define ‘persuasion’ as the kidnapping of a minister of God? Damme, but you shall answer for this!”
“I am more than willing, sir, to endure any punishment that I may have deserved,” Raymond replied, downcast and dreary. It seemed to him that he was now always under the ban of reprimand. “But to leave Mr. Morton there was to my mind like committing murder on a minister of God when I have the means to bring him away.”
Captain Howard had a sudden recollection of thefaces of hate and craft, the frenzied foolish reasoning, the fateful ferocity of temperament. He shuddered even yet for the old man’s sake.
“You ought to have had the reverend gentleman’s consent,” he said more mildly.
“It is hard to be old and poor, and of no earthly consideration,” plained the old man. “My consent was very easily dispensed with. But—Iama British subject!”
“He ought to havegivenhis consent,” Raymond boldly replied to Captain Howard, “and saved one who only sought to do him kindness from the necessity of incurring ignominy for his sake. But I care not,” he continued, doggedly, tossing his head in its cocked hat. “I should liefer have taken his life, old and gray as he is, than have left him where he stood, if art, or force, or persuasion failed to get him away. No—no, I could not leave him there—if I am to be broke for it!” he declared with passion.
The generous temper of the old missionary was reasserted, although the smart in his heart for his deserted Indian sheep was keen. He looked up wistfully, anxiously, at the young officer who stood in the shadow of discipline, of professional ruin, perhaps, on his account. Oh, it was not his mission to wound, to drag down; but to bind up, to assuage, to save. He spoke suddenly and with a different intonation.
“You intended a benefit, doubtless, young sir. You urged me first with every argument in your power, I admit. You found it hard and not without dangerto yourself to persist so long, till indeed the very moment of departure. You shall incur no rebuke nor ignominy on my account. Your methods of ‘persuasion,’ it is true, are somewhat arbitrary,” he added with a wintry smile. “But, Captain Howard, I call you to witness—and soldiers, bear witness, too—I accompany this expedition of my own free will, for doubtless the commandant, after what he has said, would put me ashore if I so desired. I am going to Fort Prince George on the invitation of the commandant very thankfully, and I am grateful to this kind young man for ‘persuading’ me.”
He held out his hand to Raymond, who was still standing. The ensign was startled by this sudden change, and touched by the look in the old man’s face. He made haste to offer his hand in response, and sank down on one knee beside the seat to obviate the distance between them. Suddenly Raymond became aware of that which in the stress of the embarkation and the unusual excitement of their progress down the river had escaped the notice both of officers and soldiers—the fact that in the rapid progress across the “beloved square” some heavy missile unnoticed in the mêlée had inflicted a severe bruise and cut on the face of the old man; a livid line, ghastly and lacerated, extended almost from brow to chin. It had bled freely, and wisps of the thin gray hair were matted upon the wrinkled brow, even more pallid than its wont, for the shock had been severe, inducing for some little time a state of semi-insensibility.
At the sight of this Raymond cried out sharply, as if he, himself, had been struck; the blood surged swiftly into his face; his heart beat almost to suffocation; he looked piteously into the faded, gentle eyes, full of that sanctity which hallows a stainless old age. The sense of sacrilege and horror overcame him.
“Those fiends have wounded you!” he exclaimed, in the low, appalled, staccato tones of intense excitement. Suddenly his eyes filled, and hiding his face against the worn sleeve of the old clergyman’s coat, he burst into a flood of tears, his shoulders shaking with his sobs.
Captain Howard stared in blunt and absolute amaze, but Mr. Morton, better accustomed to ebullitions of emotion, only gently patted the soldier’s scarlet coat as if he were a child.
“I hope you will be more careful how you persuade people after this,” said the commandant, with the manner of improving a moral lesson. Now, however, that Captain Howard had recovered somewhat from the shock of the interference with the liberty of a British subject, he was disposed to congratulate himself on the fact that he had the missionary hard and fast in the boat, and to think that Raymond had conducted himself in a dilemma almost insoluble with extraordinary promptitude, resource, and nerve, and to be rather proud of the subaltern’s ready aplomb.
As to the tears—they were incomprehensible to Captain Howard, and by the rank and file they were deemed a disgrace to the service. The soldiers couldnot enter into Raymond’s complex emotions, and they were at once the source of wonder and disparagement.
When the discipline which had prevailed at the outset was somewhat relaxed, and the men at the rowlocks, still pulling steadily down the river, were free to talk in subdued voices, the events of the day were canvassed with much spirit. The personality of various Indians was discussed, certain parties from the upper towns were recognized by soldiers who had seen more than one campaign in this region, the jeopardy of the occasion was argued, individual experiences narrated, threats that had been overheard were repeated, and it was agreed that the ensign’s little party had been in great danger during the progress of the “persuasion”—they all grinned at the word. Then one of the young giants who had performed the feat of abduction, remarked—“But I always feel safe with the ensign. Somehow he allus gits the short cuts.”
“I did too—thin; more fool, me! Begorra, I niver dhramed he was such a blasted babby!”
They giggled at the word, and when their rations were served, it was pleasant to old Mr. Morton and the officers to see such hilarity among the honest fellows. They could not divine the men were badgering the quarter-master-sergeant from time to time to know why no “sago-gruel” or “sugar-sops” had been provided for the nourishment of the “babby” they had in command, and threatening to report the deficiency to Captain Howard.
Raymond had recovered his serenity. He had snatched up the hat of the old missionary, when the mimicking Indian had tossed it on the ground, and now he tenderly helped him to adjust it. As the boat glided on into the sunset waters, enriched with the largess of the sunset sky, and the tranquil evening came on apace, and the shadows leaned far across the western bank, the subjects that allured the old man’s mind reasserted their fascination, and he talked on with placid pleasure of the Hebraic origin of the Indians, their possible identity with the “Lost Tribes,” the curious similarity of certain of their religious observances with the rites of the Mosaic dispensation, and cognate themes, while Raymond punctiliously listened, and Captain Howard dozed and nodded with no more compunction than if he were in church.