CHAPTER XXXIII.
We must now return to the scene in which this narrative commenced. Butoh, how changed was the aspect of all things from that which the houseof Mr. Prevost presented but five short months before! The father andthe daughter were there alone. The brother no longer glanced about thehouse with his blithesome air and active energies; and the thought ofhim and of his fate hung continually like a dark shadow over those towhom he was so dear. They were not wholly without comfort, they werenot wholly without hope; for, from time to time, renewed assurancescame to them from many a quarter that Walter would still be saved. Yettime wore on, and he was not delivered.
When one speaks of five months of uncertainty, it seems a long andtedious period, and it would be so if it were all one blank; but thereare a thousand little incidents--incidents external and internal--thatfill up the time, and make it pass wonderfully soon, especially iffear predominates over hope.
Didst thou ever sit up, reader, with the sick or dying through thelivelong night? In contemplation, it seems an awful task of longendurance to watch there with the eternal battle going on in yourbreast between the only two deathless passions--the only two which maybe called the immortal passions of the soul--from the fading of theevening light till the breaking of another day. And yet it iswonderful how soon, how very soon, one sees the faint blue light ofdawn mingling with the sickly yellow glare of the watcher's lamp.Every thought, every expectation, is an incident. The change ofbreathing, the restless movement, the muttered word, the whisperedcomfort, the moistening of the parched lip, the smoothing of thepillow,--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 rarelyvaried, yet the rapid changes of thought and feeling made the time flyfar more rapidly than might have been expected.
During the winter, Lord H---- visited the house very frequently; andit is probable that, had no dark cloud overshadowed the hopes as wellas the happiness of all, he would have pressed for the prize ofEdith's hand without delay; but he loved not the mingling of joy andsorrow. In that, at least, his view of the world, and life, and fate,was deceitful. He was not yet convinced, although he had someexperience, that such a thing as unalloyed happiness, even for a fewshort days, is not to be found on earth--that the only mine of goldwithout dross lies beneath the grave.
Once, indeed, he hinted, rather than asked, that an early day might befixed 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 theduties of a wife. In that respect his feelings were not changed; butthe loss of his son weighed heavily upon him, and, calling him awayfrom the present, had projected his thoughts into the future. Whatmight be Edith's fate, he asked himself, if he too should be takenfrom her? Any of the many accidents of life might leave her alone, andan orphan; and there is nothing which brings home so sensibly to ourthoughts the unstable hold which we have upon all earthly things, somuch as our tenderness for those we love.
But Lord H---- saw that it would be painful to Edith herself to becomehis 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 theHudson and the Mohawk had, like one wave meeting another, somewhatrepelled the Indian tribes. A runner, a half-breed, or one or two redmen together--more frequently from the nation of the Mohawks than fromany other tribe--would be seen occasionally wandering through thewoods or crossing the open ground near the settler's dwelling; butthey seldom approached the house; and their appearance caused noapprehension. Relations of the greatest amity had been re-establishedbetween the British authorities and the chiefs of the Five Nations;and several of the tribes were preparing to take part in the comingstrife upon the side of England.
Three times during the winter the house of Mr. Prevost was visited bya single Indian of the Oneida tribe. On two occasions it was a man whopresented himself; and his stay was very short. On the first occasion,Edith was alone; when, without the sound of a footfall, he glided inlike a dark shadow. His look was friendly, though for a moment he saidnothing. Edith, well knowing Indian habits, asked if he would takefood. He answered "Yes," in his own language; and she called some ofthe servants to supply him; but, before he ate he looked up in herface, 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 whospeaks?"
"Nay, it is Otaitsa," replied the man.
This was all Edith could learn; for the messenger was either ignorantof more, or affected to be so; yet still it was a comfort to her. Thenext who came was a woman somewhat past the middle age, and by nomeans beautiful. She stayed long; and, with good-humoured volubility,related all that had happened immediately after Edith's visit to theOneida castle. She dwelt upon the attempt of the Blossom to deliverher lover as she would have expatiated upon some feat of daringcourage in a warrior; and though in the end she had to tell how themaiden'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, ashour after hour and day after day went by without the lad's return, orany definite news of him, hope sickened and grew faint. By this timeit was known that the efforts of the Mohawks and Onondagas had beenfrustrated; and, moreover, it was plainly intimated by the chiefs ofthose two nations that they would interfere no more.
"The Oneidas have reproved us," they said, "and we had no reply. Wemust not make the children of the Stone hiss at our children; neithermust 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 recalledto the army early in the spring without having effected anything. Allthat had been heard at the forts showed that the young prisoner hadbeen removed to the very farthest part of the Oneida territory, whereit was impossible for any one Englishman to penetrate without beingdiscovered by the Indians.
If, in civilized times, with a country cleared in a great degree ofits forests, and with a regular organization ensuring rapidintercourse between place and place, it is possible for a man to behidden for weeks and months from the most diligent search; how muchmore easy was concealment in those days, when, with the exception of afew patches of maize or other grain, the whole land was one wildtangled wood, crossed, it is true, with innumerable Indian trails, butwith no direct means of communication, except by one large road, andthe lakes and rivers. Search would have been in vain, even if in thepolitical state of the country it could have been attempted; but theattempt was impossible, without rendering the whole country hostile;for the Mohawks themselves showed no inclination to suffer anyconsiderable body of men to cross their territory, except indeed asmall party of soldiers, now and then, destined to strengthen thegarrisons at Oswego, or any of the regular British posts.
Of Woodchuck himself, nothing was heard, till the flowers began tospring up close upon the footsteps of the snow. It was believed thathe was still in the forest; but even of this, no one was assured; andall that could with any accuracy be divined, was, that he had notfallen into the hands of the Oneidas, inasmuch as there was everyreason to believe that, had such been the case, Walter's liberationwould immediately have followed.
Thus matters had gone on in the household of Mr. Prevost, till about amonth before the period at which I have thought best to present to thereader the three Indians seated on the hill. The snow had melted,except in a few places, where it still lay in white patches, undershelter of the darker and thicker-leaved evergreens; here and there,too, it might be seen in the shade of a steep bank; but the generalsurface of the country was free, and, despite, the variable characterof the American spring--one day as soft as summer, and then two orthree following, with the icy fang of winter in the wind, and the skyco
vered with low lurid clouds--the flowers were peeping out in everycovert, and mingling themselves thickly with fern, and ground-pine,and hemlock, varying with many a brilliant hue the green carpet of theearth.
The day had been one of exceeding loveliness, and not without itsactivity too; for a party of soldiers had been thrown forward, forsome object, to a spot within a mile and a half of the house; and LordH---- had been twice there, making Edith's heart thrill, each time heappeared, with emotions so new and strange as to set her dreaming foran hour after he was gone. The evening had come, bringing with it someclouds 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 hashad to bear one up for weeks or months--no one can tell how it crushesone 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 itsbread. The sweet reverie of a lover's visit had passed away, and thebeautiful girl's thoughts had reverted to the subject of her brother'sfate, which took hold of her the moment her mind was free from sometemporary relaxation, and again chained the slave to the accustomedtask.
As she gazed, she perceived a figure slowly crossing between thegardener-boy and old Agrippa, who were working in the gardens, andapparently taking its course to the door of the house. At first shedid 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 withevery step it advanced, took possession of her, that it must be theman whose fatal act had brought so much wretchedness upon her family.He was very much--very sadly--changed; and, although the bear-skins inwhich he was dressed hid the emaciation of his form, the meagreness ofhis face was very evident as he came near.
Edith lifted her head from her hand, saying, "I think, my father, hereis Captain Brooks approaching. Poor man! he seems terribly changed!"
Mr. Prevost started up, gazed for a moment from the window, and thenhurried forth to meet him. Edith felt some doubt as to how her fatherwould receive him; for, in the purest and the highest hearts, thereis--there ever will be--one small drop of selfishness much to beguarded against. It may not poison our acts, but it too often poisonsour feelings; it mingles even with candour itself, diminishing theefficacy of that most noble of virtues; and if it do not make usdetract from the merit of others, it still gives some slight colouringto their acts when they are painful or disadvantageous to ourselves.
She had the happiness, however, to see her father take the wandererkindly by the hand, and lead him towards the door. Whatever had beenMr. Prevost's feelings, the sight of Woodchuck's altered face wasenough to soften them entirely. The next moment they entered the roomtogether, and Edith extended her hand kindly to him.
"Ah, Miss Prevost, you are very good," he said, "and so is yourfather, too. I have not been to see you for a long time."
"That was not right of Woodchuck," said Edith; "you should have cometo 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 beenglad to see you, both for your own sake, and for the sake of hearingall your proceedings as they occurred."
"Ah, but I have been far away," he answered. "I first tried to get atthe poor boy from this side, and, finding that would not do, I took along round, and came upon them from the west, but I got nothing exceptsome information, and then I made up my mind. Them Ingians are ascunning as Satan. I have circumvented them once; but they won't let aman do it twice."
Mr. Prevost had stood listening, eager to hear anything that relatedto his son; but now he interrupted, saying: "We will hear more of thisby-and-by, Brooks. Come into the hall and have some food; you must behungry and tired--both, I am sure."
"No," replied Woodchuck, "I am not hungry. Tired, a little, I am, Iguess, though I hav'n't walked more than forty miles; but I met ayoung Ingian two or three hours ago, who gave me a venison-steak offhis 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 heartof man--as the Bible says; and mine wants cheering, though it does notwant 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 todrink, evidently much to his benefit; for, though he did not lose thesad tone with which he spoke, his voice was stronger, and his featuresseemed 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 wehad in January."
"I hutted myself down," he said, "like an Ingian, or a beaver, andcovered the lodge all over with snow. I planted it upon a ledge ofrock, with its mouth close behind an old hemlock-tree, and made itwhite all over, so that they would have been worse than devils to findme; for life is sweet, Miss Prevost, even in winter time, and I didnot 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 thebest 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 makehimself very miserable in this world, he would not much care how soonhe went out of it. But I've changed my opinion on that matter alittle; for up there, on the side of the hill, after four or fiveweeks, half famished and half frozen, I did not feel a bit moreinclined to die than I did a year ago, when there were fewlighter-hearted men than myself. So I thought, before I did anythingof the kind, knowing that there was no need of it just yet, I wouldjust 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 somewhatmisunderstood even their obvious meaning; for Lord H----, not fullyknowing the character of the man, and unwilling to excite anythinglike confident hope, that might ultimately be disappointed by somechange of Woodchuck's feelings, had forborne to mention more of hispurposes than the mere fact of his intention to peril his own life tosave that of Walter Prevost. To Edith, then, the words used by Brooksseemed but to imply that he still contemplated some daring attempt toset her brother at liberty; and, in the hope, if she could learn theparticulars of his scheme, to be able to procure the co-operation ofOtaitsa 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 otherslabouring for him, too; and, perhaps, if we knew what you intended todo next--"
"To do next!" echoed the man, interrupting her. "Why, ha'n't I toldyou? I said, when I found I couldn't git in from the west, I made upmy mind."
"To do what, my good friend?" said Mr. Prevost. "You certainly impliedyou intended to do something; but what you did not state. Now I easilyunderstand Edith's anxiety to know your intentions; for we haveobtained friends in the Oneida camp, who might give great assistanceto your efforts, if we knew what they are to be. But I should tellyou, my dear daughter ventured across the Mohawk country to see ourdear little Otaitsa, who, like you, risked her own life to save mypoor boy--God's blessing be upon her!"
The tears rose in his eyes, and he paused for a moment. But Woodchuckwaved his hand, saying--
"I know all about it. I war on the bank of the creek, Miss Edith, whenthe 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 fatherwill be mighty angry;' and so he war, I guess."
"You are mistaken, my friend," said Mr. Prevost, laying his hand onEdith's with a tender pressure. "I was not angry, though I was mucha
larmed; but that alarm was not of long endurance, for I was detainedmuch more than I expected at Sir William Johnson's, and my anxiety wasonly protracted two days after my return. Still you have not told usyour 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 hisrough countenance the trace of many strong emotions flitted. Atlength, he said, in a low, distinct voice, "She can do nothing. BlackEagle has the boy under his keen eye. He loves him well, Mr. Prevost;and he will treat him kindly. But just inasmuch as he _does_ love him,he will make it a point to keep him safely, and to kill him too, if hehaven't got another victim. That man should ha' been one of them oldRomans I have heard talk of, who killed their sons and daughters,rather than not do what they thought right. He'd not spare his ownflesh and blood--not he; and the more-he loves him, the surer he'llkill him."
Edith wept, and Mr. Prevost covered his eyes with his hands; butWoodchuck, who had been gazing down upon the table, and saw not thepowerful emotions which his words had produced, proceeded, after agloomy pause--
"He'll watch his daughter sharply too. Yet they say he praised herdaring; and I guess he did, for that's just the sort of thing tostrike 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 knowsme, 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 calmmanner. "Mr. Prevost, I love my life as well as any man--a little toomuch, mayhap; and I intend to keep it as long as I rightly can, forthere are always things wrote in that chapter of accidents that noneon us can see. But I don't intend to let your son Walter--he's a goodboy--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 likea fool and a coward; and I would ha' skulked away into any hole justto save myself from myself. But I soon took thought, and made up mymind. Now, here you and Miss Edith have been praising and thanking mefor trying to save poor Walter's life. I didn't deserve praise, orthanks either. It was my own life I was trying to save; for, if Icould get him out secretly, we should both be secure enough. But I'vegiven that up. It can't be done, and Black Eagle knows it. He knowsme, too; and he's just as sure, at this blessed moment, that beforethe day he has appointed for Walter to die, Woodchuck will walk in andsay, 'Here I am!' as he is that he's in his own lodge. Then he willhave got the right man, and all will be settled. Now, Mr. Prevost--andyou, Miss Edith--you know what I intend to do. To-morrow, when I'm abit rested, I shall set out again, and take my ramble in themountains, like Jephtha's daughter, as I said. Then, this day month, Iwill be here again to bid you all good-bye. Walter will have to tellyou the rest. Don't cry so, there's a good girl. You're like to set mea' crying too. There's one thing more I have to ask you both, and thatis, never speak another word to me about this matter--not even when Icome back again. I try not to think of it at all myself, and I don'tmuch now. If I can screw myself up, like them Ingians, I shall justwalk quietly in among them as if nothing were going to happen, andsay, 'Set the boy free! Here is Woodchuck himself,' and then die--notlike an Ingian, but like a Christian, I trust, and one that knows he'sa' doing of his duty anyhow. So now not a word more--but let us talkof something else."