CHAPTER XXV
The storm prognosticated from the red aspect of the setting sun thenight before had not descended when Edith Prevost left the door of herfather's house. No raindrops, fell, no breeze even stirred the trees,and it was only a sort of misty obscurity to the westward which gavetoken, to eyes well acquainted with the forest, that the promise ofthe preceding sunset would yet be fulfilled. Overhead all was clearand blue, and the sun, though there was some haze around the broaddisk, was powerful for the season of the year.
Edith's companions were only Chaudo the negro, the good woman SisterBab (whose kindness, faithfulness and intelligence had all beentried), and Woodchuck, who refused to take a horse from the stable,but set out on foot by the beautiful girl's side.
"You can't canter a step of the way, Miss Edith," he said, "so I cankeep up with you, I guess; for the road, such as it is, is betterfitted for two feet than four."
There were tears in Edith's eyes as she turned from the door, arisingfrom many a mingled source. She had seen her father and him whom sheloved as well, though differently, depart suddenly to danger and tobattle. Her brother was far away; and still she could not helpthinking him in peril. Not only was the future of all uncertain--forthat the future of everyone is--but the uncertainty was dark, and, asit were, more tangible than is generally the case with the dim, mistyvalley of the coming time. There was not only a cloud, but the cloudwas threatening.
The moment of departing from her father's door was one of thosepausing places of the mind for Edith Prevost. She did not cast herthoughts far back; she took in but a little range; six months was thelimit. But she remembered how calmly happy she had been in thatdwelling six months before.
She mused sadly, gazing down upon the horse's neck, and hardly seeingor thinking of the way she took. In the meantime, Woodchuck trudged onby her side, with his head erect, his face lifted toward the sky, hispace steady and assured. Edith suddenly and almost unconsciouslyturned her eyes toward him. There was a tranquil elevation of hiscountenance, a lofty resolution in his look, which gave her thoughts,in a moment, another direction. She was parting from a well loved homeand cherished associations, with some clouds hanging over her, someanxieties dogging her path, but with a probability of soon returning,and with many a sweet promise of future happiness. Yet she was sad anddowncast. He was marching onward, wittingly and voluntarily, to acertain and terrible death; and yet his march was tranquil, firm, andresolute. She felt ashamed of her tears. Nay, more, as thought ran on,she said to herself: "There is something more in life--somethinghigher, nobler, grander, than any human passion, than any mortalenjoyment, than any mere earthly peace can give--something that comesfrom heaven to aid and support us in our struggles here below. Heknows, he feels that he is doing his duty, that he is acting accordingto the commandment of his God, and he is calm and firm in the presenceof death, and in the separation from all earthly things. And I--whathave I to suffer? What have I to fear in comparison with him?"
She made a great effort, she shook off her sadness, she wiped thetears from her eyes, and said a few words to her companion in a quiettone. He answered briefly to her actual words, but then turned at onceto the feelings which he believed to be in her heart.
"Ah, Miss Prevost," he said, "it's a sad thing for a young lady likeyou to part for the first time with those she loves when they aregoing to battle, and I don't know that a woman's heart ever getsrightly accustomed to it; but it don't do to love anything too well inthis world--no, not even one's own life. It's a sad stumbling block,both in the way of our duty and our happiness. Not that I'd havepeople keep from loving anything; that would never do. They wouldn'tbe worth having if they couldn't love their friends, and love themvery well; but I guess the best way is to recollect always when we'vegot a thing, that it is but a loan--life itself all the same aseverything else. It's all lent--all will be recalled. But only yousee, my dear young lady, we've got a promise that if we use what we'velent to us well, it shall be given to us forever hereafter; and thatshould always be a comfort to us--it is to me."
A slight sigh followed his words, and he walked on in silence for aminute or two, probably pursuing the course which he had laid down forhimself in his very excellent philosophy, of marching on straight to ahigh object, and casting from him all thought of the unavoidablesufferings of the way. Soon after, he looked up to the sky and said:"It's getting wonderfully black out there. I shouldn't wonder if wehad a flaw of wind and a good soaking rain. I say, Master Chaudo, putthat bearskin over the young lady's baggage and hold the horse betterin hand, or you'll have him down amongst these stumps. You ride betterthan you lead, my friend."
The negro grinned at him, but did as he was directed, and a fewminutes after they issued out of the wood upon a small open space ofground extending over the side of a slight eminence. The view thencewas prolonged far to the westward in a clear day, showing somebeautiful blue hills at the distance of some eight or nine miles.Those hills, however, had now disappeared, and in their place was seenwhat can only be called a dense black cloud, although those words givea very inadequate idea of the sight which presented itself to Edith'seyes. It was like a gigantic wall of black marble, with a faint,irregular line at the top. But this wall evidently moved, comingforward with vast rapidity, although where the travelers were not abreath of air was felt. On it rushed toward them, swallowing upeverything, as it were, in its own obscurity. Each instant some tree,some undulation of the ground, some marking object in the prospect,disappeared in its deep, gloomy shadow, and for a few moments Edithsat still upon her horse, gazing in awe, and even in terror. Woodchuckhimself seemed for an instant overpowered, but then he caught Edith'srein and turned her horse, exclaiming: "Back, Miss Prevost! Back asfast as possible! That's the blackest cloud I ever see in all my days.There! there! to the eastward! Get under them big old hemlocks! Keepaway from the pines and the small trees! It'll need to have beenfastening to the ground for a hundred years to stand what's coming!"
As he spoke he ran on fast by the side of Edith's horse till theyreached the edge of the wood, and there he checked her. "Not too farin! not too far in! You must be ready to jump out if you find thateven these old fellows commence crashing!"
He then left her bridle and walked carefully round several of thetrees, examining their trunks and roots with a very critical eye, toascertain that they were firmly fixed, and not decayed, and thenapproaching Edith again, he held out his hand, saying: "Jump down!Here's one will do. He must ha' stood many a hard storm and bitterblast, and p'raps will bear this one, too; for he's as sound as whenhe started up, a little twig, before the eyes of any mortal man nowliving winked in the sunshine--aye! or his father's, either. There,Chaudo, take the horses and grip them all tight, for depend upon itthey'll caper when the wind and rain come. Now, my dear, put yourselfon this side of the tree, keep close to it, and listen well. You mayfind him shiver and sway a bit, but don't mind that, for he's not sotall as the rest, and twice as stout; and what makes me trust him isthat in some storm his head has been broken off and his feet havestood stout. He won't catch so much wind as the others, and I thinkhe'd stand it if he did. But if you hear him begin to crack, jumpclear out here to the left, into the open ground. They'll fall t'otherway. If you keep close, the branches won't strike you when they fall,and the rain won't get at you, for it's taking a long sweep."
The next moment it came. The wind, blowing with the force of ahurricane, rushed over the valley below; the leaves were torn off, thesmall twigs, with their umbrageous covering, carried aloft into theair and scattered; a few large drops of rain fell, and then the wholeforce of the tempest struck the hillside and the more open space whereEdith stood. In an instant the scene of confusion and destruction wasindescribable. The gusts seemed to hiss as they passed through thebranches of the trees and between the tall stems. Large branches weretorn off and scattered far; the young pines and birches bent beforethe force of the storm. As in the case of war and pestilence, theweak, and the sickly, and the young, and the dec
ayed, suffered firstand most. Wherever the roots had not got a firm hold of the ground,wherever the frosts of the winter and the thawing of the spring, orthe heavy rains had washed away the earth, or loosened it, the treescame thundering and crashing down, and the din was awful, the howlingwind, the breaking branches, the falling trees, all joining in theroar; and a moment after the pattering rain, rustling and rushingamongst the withered leaves left by the winter, becoming thicker andmore dense every moment, seemed more as if a river was falling downfrom the sky, hardly separated into drops, than a fertilizing showerpassing over the landscape.
Edith gazed round her in affright, for she could, as Woodchuck hadpredicted, feel the enormous but low-stemmed hemlock against which hehad placed her, tremble and quiver with the blast; and a number oftrees hard by were rooted up and cast prostrate, bearing the turf andearth in which they had stood up into the air, while here and theresome more firmly fixed in the ground, but defective higher up, snappedin the middle, and then the whole upper part was carried many yardsaway. But though she gazed, little was the distance she could see, sothick and black was the covering of the sky; while all around, whatbetween the close-falling deluge and a sudden mist rising up from theground, the sort of twilight that the storm cloud left was renderedstill more murky and obscure.
The two negroes, as usual with that race, were clamorous and excited,adding the noise of their tongues to the roar of the tempest; but thehorses, contrary to the expectation of Woodchuck, seemed cowed andparalyzed by fear. Instead of attempting to break loose and rushingaway, they merely turned from the wind and rain, and with hoofs setfirm, and drooping heads, abode the storm, with now and then ashivering thrill, showing the terror that they felt. Woodchuck himselfstood silent, close by Edith, leading his strong shoulder against thetree, and, with his eyes bent down upon the ground, seemed to losehimself in heavy thought. A man who has parted with the world and theworld's hopes is tempest-proof.
After the first rush of the storm there came a lull, and then anotherfierce roar, and more falling trees and crashing branches. The wholeforest swayed and bent like the harvest in a breeze, and down came thetorrent from the sky more furiously than ever. But in the midst of itall Woodchuck started, leaned his head a little to one side, andseemed to listen, with his eye fixed upon vacancy.
"What is the matter?" asked Edith, alarmed by his look.
"I thought I heard a footfall," he answered.
"In the roar of such a storm?" said Edith. "It must have been somefalling branch."
He only smiled for an answer, but still he listened, and she could seehim lift his arm a little from the lock of his rifle, on which it hadbeen tightly pressed, and look down upon it to see that it was dry.
The next moment, however, he resumed his ordinary attitude, and saidin a quiet tone: "It's all nonsense, however. The Ingians are allquiet and friendly on this side of the lake. But you see, MissPrevost, I have been so many months on the watch every minute, notknowing whether I should not feel the scalping knife or the tomahawkthe next, that I've got over-wary. The Mohawks are all on the moveabout here, and no Hurons or any other of the enemies would ventureacross, except in a large body, to fight a regular battle. It musthave been the tread of some friendly Ingian I heard, though they don'tusually leave the trail except they've some object in view."
"But is it possible you could hear anything distinctly amidst thisawful noise?" asked Edith. "Are you sure you are not mistaken?"
"Oh, no, I'm not likely to be mistaken," answered Woodchuck. "One'sears get sharp with continued listening. I'm putty sure it was a footI heard, and a man's foot, too. It seemed to be as if it had slippedoff a loose stone hidden under the leaves, and came down harder,perhaps, than he expected. But that's no proof that he meant mischief,for they've all got those cat-like sort of ways, creeping aboutsilently, whether there's 'casion for it or not; and as I said justnow, they're all friendly here on this side of Horicon."
A few moments' silence succeeded, while the wind again swelled up,raged for a minute or two, and then fell again; and Woodchuck, puttingout his head from beyond the shelter of the great trunk, observed: "Itseems to me to be getting a little clearer there to the westward. Iguess it won't last more nor half an hour longer."
Edith felt a strong arm seize her by the shoulder, andturning her head in terror, she beheld the gleaming eyes of an Indian.Page 281.--_Ticonderoga_.]
Almost as he spoke, from every side but that which opened upon thehill, came a yell, so loud, so fierce, so fiend-like, that ere sheknew what she was doing, under the sudden impulse of terror, Edithdarted at once away from the tree into the open space, and ran a fewsteps till her long riding dress caught round her small feet, and shefell upon the grass. At the same instant she felt a strong arm seizeher by the shoulder and heard the rattle of a rifle, and turning herhead in mute terror, she beheld the gleaming eyes and dark countenanceof an Indian, rendered more hideous by the half-washed off war paint,bending over her. His tomahawk was in his right hand; her last hourseemed come, but so sudden, so confounding had been the attack thatshe could not collect her ideas. She could not speak, she could notthink, she could not pray. The weapon did not fall, however, and thesavage dragged her up from the ground and gazed upon her, utteringsome of the uncouth exclamations of his people in tones ofsatisfaction and even merriment.
One hurried glance around for help showed Edith that all hope for helpwas vain; and no words can describe her horror at the scene she saw.At the very moment she looked round, a tomahawk in the hands of agigantic Indian was falling on the head of the poor negro Chaudo, andthe next instant a wild, shrieking yell told her his agony was comeand gone. Woodchuck, hatchet in hand, was battling for life againstanother savage, and seemed nearly, if not quite, his match, but eightor ten more Indians were rushing up, yelling like wolves as they came,and in the midst of the struggle, while hatchets were playing andflashing round the heads of the combatants, a young and active Indiansprang upon the poor hunter from behind and threw him backward on theearth. He lay perfectly still and motionless, gazing up at thetomahawk lifted over his head; but at that instant the young Indianput his arm around his companion's naked breast and pushed himviolently back, with a loud exclamation in the Iroquois tongue. Thenseizing the hand of Woodchuck, he pulled up the sleeve of his huntingshirt and pointed to a blue stripe tattooed upon his arm.
The lifted hand and tomahawk of the other sank slowly by his side, andWoodchuck sat up and gazed round him, but without attempting to risealtogether from the ground.
Some five or six of the Indians came quietly up, and some kneeling,some bending down, gazed upon the blue line, while the savage who hadseized upon Edith dragged her forward to the spot, and still holdingher fast, gazed likewise. A few quick and muttered words succeededamongst their captors, some only of which Edith heard and understood.
"It's the sign! it's the sign!" said one. Then came a sentence or twothat escaped her ear, and then another cried, "Ask him! Ask him!"
Then one of the Indians seated himself on the ground before Woodchuck,spread out his hands like a fan, and addressed some words to him,which Edith, notwithstanding her perfect knowledge of the Iroquoislanguage in most of its dialects, did not in the least comprehend. Theanswer of Woodchuck was equally unintelligible to her, and the onlyword or words which she caught was "Honontkoh."
The moment he had spoken, two of the Indians placed their hands underhis arms and raised him from the ground. They took the precaution ofdisarming him entirely, and then, gathering round, they talked quicklyand eagerly in low tones; but now they spoke a language which Edithunderstood, and though she did not catch all that was said she heardenough to show her that they were discussing what was to be done withherself and Woodchuck, whom it seemed to her that from some cause theyrecognized as a brother. Suddenly the savage who held her pressed hisfingers tighter upon her arm, exclaiming aloud in a fierce, angryvoice: "She is mine! I will dispose of her as I please."
"No one will oppose the brother of the Snake
," said another elder man."Scalp her, if thou wilt, but where canst thou carry her if thou dostnot slay her?"
"Let us all go to the other side of Corlear, Apukwa," said the man whoheld her. "I will take her with me; she shall cook my venison for me.'Twas for this I brought you hither."
"What! Shall we become women amongst the Hurons?" said Apukwa.
"No," replied the brother of the Snake; "there are many of our tribeand order there, of our own nation, outcasts like ourselves. We willbecome, like them, warriors of the great French king, and fightagainst the accursed Yengees."
"But how shall we cross?" said Apukwa.
"There are canoes in plenty," said the other. "Besides, our Canadabrethren are here, close at hand, at Che-on-de-ro-ga. They will giveus help."
A silent pause succeeded, and then Woodchuck stretched forth his arm,recovered from the confusion which perhaps the suddenness of theattack, perhaps the violence of his fall, had produced, and addressedthem after their own fashion.
"Are we not brothers?" he said. "Are we not all Honontkoh? Are we notall bound by the dreadful name to aid each other, even unto blood anddeath? I demand, therefore--ye who have lifted the hatchet against usunjustly--to set me and this maiden free, to make our feet as the feetof the panther, to go whither we will. I have spoken the terriblewords. I have uttered the dreadful name; the sign of the order is inmy flesh, and ye dare not refuse!"
A look of doubt and hesitation came over the faces of the Indians, andApukwa replied: "Whither wouldst thou go, my brother? We have allsworn the oath in the presence of the dark spirit that we will aid oneanother, and that each of the Honontkoh will defend and protectanother, though he should have eaten fire or shed his brother's blood.Thou hast shed our brother's blood; for we know thee, though we knewnot that thou wert of our order. But we are Honontkoh, and we willkeep the saying. We will defend thee; we will protect thee; butwhither wouldst thou go?"
"I go," answered Woodchuck, with unfortunate frankness and truth, "Igo to lay down my life for your brother's life. I go to the Castle ofthe Oneidas, to say: 'Woodchuck is here. Let the hatchet fall upon theold tree, and let the young sapling grow up till its time be come. Ikilled the Snake. Take the blood of him who slew him, and set the boyWalter free.' As for this maiden, she is mine. I have adopted her. Iclaim her, as brother claims from brother. Ye cannot be Honontkoh andtake her from me. If ye be true to our order, give her into my hand,and let us go."
While he spoke, the countenances of the Indians round betrayed no markof any emotion whatever, though there were many and varying feelings,undoubtedly, busy in their breasts. As he ended, however, a slight andsomewhat scornful smile came upon the cunning face of Apukwa, and hereplied: "We cannot let our brother go on such an errand. It would becontrary to our laws. We are bound to defend and protect him, and mustnot let him make wind of his life. The yellow leaf falls of itselffrom the bough; the green leaf is torn off by the tempest. We mustpreserve our brother's life, though the young man perish."
Edith's eyes wept fast with the bitterest drops of despair, but Apukwawent on: "As for the maiden, we will hear and judge more another day.Thou sayest thou hast adopted her. We will hear how, for we know herto be the daughter of the paleface Prevost. If she be the prize of thebrother of the Snake, the brother of the Snake must have her. But ifshe be thy daughter, she is thine. Let her be with thee till we haveheard all and judged. We have not room now; for time goes fast, and weare near danger. The palefaces are to the rising and setting sun,toward the cold and toward the soft wind. The Honontkoh is the enemyof the paleface, the abandoned of the Mohawk, and the outcast of theOneida. Take the maiden in thy hand, and go on toward the rising sun.We come with thee as thy brethren, and will preserve thy life."
Woodchuck gave an anxious glance to Edith, and said in a low voice andin English: "We can't resist, but we may outwit them. Come on for thepresent, for I guess it may be no better. I will shed my blood foryou, my dear, if I cannot for your brother." And taking her hand, heled her on toward the northeast, preceded by one, and followed by fiveor six Indians, who, on their usual cautious plan, walked singly, oneafter another, well knowing that their prisoners could not escapethem. Several remained upon the spot a few minutes longer, engaged instripping the pack-horse of all that he carried, and taking thesaddles and bridles of the other horses, which they knew would bevaluable in the eyes of the French. All this was done withextraordinary rapidity, and then the last party followed the firstinto the depths of the wood.
By this time the wind had considerably abated, though it still rainedhard. The moment after the Indians had departed, however, the leavesand branches of a large flower-covered bush, of the kalmia, growingunder a low-spreading hemlock, moved gently, and the next instant ablack face protruded. After one hasty glance around, the whole form ofthe negress, Sister Bab, was drawn slowly out from the bush, andrunning from tree to tree with silent speed, she stopped not till shecaught sight again of the retiring Indians, and then followed themquietly and cautiously on their way toward Champlain.
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