CHAPTER XV.
"Look, look, Prevost!" cried Lord H----, after they had gazed duringone or two minutes in silence; "the wind is drifting away the smoke; Ican see the top of your house; it is safe as yet--and will be safe,"he added, "for the wind sets somewhat away from it."
"Not enough," said Mr. Prevost, in a dull, gloomy tone. "The slightestchange, and it is gone. The house I care not for; the barns, thecrops, are nothing. They can be replaced, or I could do without them;but there are things within that house, my lord, I cannot do without."
"Do you not think we can reach it?" asked Lord H----. "If we were topush our horses into the stream there, we might follow its course up,as it seems broad and shallow, and the trees recede from the banks.Are there any deep spots in its course?"
"None, massa," replied the negro.
"Let us try, at all events," exclaimed Lord H----, turning his horse'shead; "we can but come back again, if we find the heat and smoke toomuch for us."
"My daughter!" ejaculated Mr. Prevost, in a tone of deep, strongfeeling; "my daughter, Lord H----!"
The young nobleman was silent. The stories he had heard that day, andmany that he had heard before, of persons getting entangled in burningforests, and never being able to escape--which, while, in the firstenthusiasm of the moment, he thought only of himself and of Mr.Prevost, had seemed to him but visions, wild chimeras--assumed aterrible reality, as soon as the name of Edith was mentioned; and hewould have shuddered to see the proposal adopted, which he had madeonly the moment before. He was silent, then; and Mr. Prevost was thefirst who spoke.
"I must go," he said, with gloomy earnestness, after some briefconsideration--"I must go, let what will betide."
He relapsed into silence again, and there was a terrible strugglewithin his bosom, which the reader cannot, even in part, comprehend,without having withdrawn for him that dark curtain which shades theinmost secrets of the heart from the cold eyes of the unobservantworld. He had to choose whether he would risk the sacrifice of manythings dearer to him than life itself, or go through that fiery gulfbefore him--whether he would take that daughter, far dearer than life,with him, exposing her to all the peril that he feared not forhimself, the scorching flame, the suffocating smoke, the fallingtimber--or whether he should leave her behind him, to find her way indarkness, and through a forest perhaps tenanted by enemies, to a smallfarmhouse, seven or eight miles off, where resided some kind andfriendly people, who would give her care and good attendance. Thencame the question--for the former was soon decided--whom he shouldleave with her. Some one was needed with himself, for, in the many,many perils that environed his short path, he could hardly hope toforce his way alone, unaided. Lord H---- might have been his mostserviceable companion in one view; for his courage, his boldness, hishabits of prompt decision, and his clearness of observation, werealready well and publicly known.
But then, to leave Edith alone in that dark night, in that wild wood,with nothing but a negro for her guide; a man shrewd and clear-witted,keen and active enough, yet with few moral checks upon his passions,few restraints of education or honour, and still fewer of religion andthe fear of God. It was not to be thought of. In Lord H---- he feltcertain he could trust. He knew that, in scenes as dangerous to thespirit as any he could go through would be to the body, he had comeout unfallen, unwounded, untouched. He had the reputation and thebearing of a man of honour and a gentleman; and Mr. Prevost felt thatthe man must be base, indeed--low, degraded, vile, who, with such atrust as Edith on his conscience, could waver even in thought.
Such considerations pressed upon him heavily--they could not bedisposed of by rapid decision; and he remained for two or threeminutes profoundly silent. Then, turning suddenly to Lord H----, hesaid,--
"My lord, I am going to entrust to you the dearest thing I have onearth, my daughter--to place her under the safeguard of yourhonour--to rely for her protection and defence upon your chivalry. Asan English nobleman, of high name and fame, I do trust you without adoubt. I must make my way through that fire by some means--I must savesome papers, and two pictures, which I value more than my own life. Iwill take my good friend Chando here with me. I must leave you toconduct Edith to a place of safety."
"Oh, my father!" cried Edith; but he continued to speak withoutheeding her.
"If you follow that road," he continued, pointing to the one which ledsouthward, "you will come, at the distance of about seven miles, to agood-sized farmhouse on the left of the road. Edith knows it, and canshow you the way up to it. The men are most likely out, watching theprogress of the fire; but you will find the women within; and good andfriendly they are, though homely and uneducated. I have no time tostop for further directions. Edith, my child, God bless you! Do notcloud our parting with a doubt of Heaven's protection. Should anythingoccur--and be it as He wills--you and Walter will find at the lawyer'sat Albany all papers referring to this small farm, and to the littlewe still have in England. God bless you, my child, God bless you!"
Thus saying, he turned and rode fast down the hill, beckoning thenegro to follow him.
"Oh, my father, my father!" cried Edith, dropping her rein andclasping her hands together, longing to follow, yet unwilling todisobey. "He will be lost--I fear he will be lost!"
"I trust not," said Lord H----, in a firm, calm tone, well fitted toinspire hope and confidence. "He knows the country well, and can takeadvantage of every turning to avoid the flame. Besides, if you lookalong what I imagine to be the course of the stream, you will see adeep undulation, as it were, in that sea of smoke, and, when the windblows strongly, it is almost clear. He said, too, that the bankscontinued free from trees."
"As far as the bridge and the rapids near our house," replied Edith;"after that, they are thickly wooded."
"But the fire has evidently not reached that spot," observed the youngnobleman; "all the ground within half a mile of the house is free atpresent. I saw it quite distinctly a moment ago, and the wind issetting this way."
"Then can we not follow him?" asked his fair companion imploringly.
"To what purpose?" returned Lord H----; "and besides," he added, "letme call to your mind the answer of the good soldier, CorporalClithero, just now. He said he must obey orders, and he was right. Asoldier to his commander; a child to a parent; a Christian to his God,have, I think, but one duty--to obey. Come, Edith, let us follow thedirections we have received. The sun is already beneath the forestedge; we can do no good gazing here; and although I do not think thereis any danger, and believe you will be quite safe under my protection,yet, for many reasons, I could wish to place you beneath the shelterof a roof and in the society of other women as soon as may be."
"Thank you much," she answered, gazing up into his face, on which thelingering light in the west cast a warm glow; "you remind me of myduty, and strengthen me to follow it. I have no fear of any danger,with you to protect me, my lord--it was for my father only I feared.But it was wrong to do so even for him. God will protect us all, I dohope and believe. We must take this way, my lord." And with a deepsigh she turned her horse's head upon the path which her father hadpointed out.
There is no situation in which good feeling shows itself more brightlythan in combat with good feeling. It may seem a paradox; but it is notso. Lord H---- did not at that moment like to hear Edith Prevost callhim by his formal title. He would fain have had her give him some lessceremonious name. Nay, more, he would have gladly poured into her ear,at that moment of grief and anxiety, the tale of love which had morethan once during their ride been springing to his lips, and which hefondly fancied, with man's usual misappreciation of woman'ssensitiveness, might give her support and comfort--for by this time hefelt sure that, if he rightly appreciated her, she was not indifferenttowards him. But he remembered that she was there a young girl, leftalone with him, at night, in a wild forest--a precious trust to hishonour and his delicacy; and he struggled hard and manfully to governevery feeling, and regulate every word. What if a degree of growingtenderness modulated h
is tone?--what if the words "Miss Prevost," wereuttered as if they should have been "Edith?"--what if the familiarexpression of "my dear young lady," sounded almost as if it had been,"dear girl?" We must not look too closely, or judge too hardly. Therewas but enough tenderness to comfort, and not alarm--just sufficientfamiliarity to make her feel that she was with a friend, and not astranger.
No general subject of conversation could, of course, be acceptableat that moment; only one topic had they to discuss. And yet LordH---- made more of that than some men would have made of a thousand.He comforted, he consoled; he raised up hope and expectation. Hiswords were full of promise; and from everything he wrung someillustration to support and cheer.
If he had appeared amiable in the eyes of Edith, in the quietintercourse of calm and peaceful hours, much more so did he appear toher now, when the circumstances in which she was placed called forthall that was kind and feeling in his heart, naturally gentle, thoughit had been somewhat steeled by having to struggle and to act withcold and heartless men in scenes of peril and of strife.
A few moments after they left the summit of the hill, and began themore gentle descent which stretched away to the south-east, the lastrays of the sun were withdrawn, and night succeeded; but it was thebright and sparkling night of the American sky. There was no moon,indeed; but the stars burst forth in multitudes over the firmament,larger, more brilliant, than they are ever beheld even in the clearestEuropean atmosphere, and they gave light enough to enable the twotravellers to see their path. The wind still blew strongly, andcarried the smoke away; and the road was wide enough to show thestarry canopy overhanging the trees.
Lord H---- lifted his hand, and, pointing to one peculiarly large orbwhich glittered not far from the zenith, said in a grave but confidenttone, "The God who made that great, magnificent world, and who equallycreated the smallest emmet that runs along our path--who willed intobeing innumerable planetary systems with their varied motions, andperfected the marvellous organization of the most minute insect, mustbe a God of love and mercy, as well as of power; and is still, I dobelieve, acting in mercy in all that befalls us here on earth."
"I believe and trust so too," answered Edith; "yet there are times andseasons when, in our blindness, we cannot see the working of themerciful, in the mighty hand, and the heart sinks with terror for wantof its support. Surely there can be no sin in this. Our Divine Master,himself, when in our mortal nature, on the cross, exclaimed, in thedarkest hour, '_My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me!_'"
Obliged to go very slowly, but little progress had been made in anhour, and, by the end of that time, a strong odour of the burning woodand a pungent feeling in the eyes showed that some portion of thesmoke was reaching them.
"I fear the wind has changed," said Edith; "the smoke seems comingthis way."
"The better for your father's house, dear lady," answered Lord H----."It was a change to the westward he had to fear; the more fully east,the better."
They fell into silence again; but in a minute or two after, looking tothe left of the road, where the trees were very closely set, thoughthere was an immense mass of brushwood underneath, Lord H---- beheld asmall solitary spot of light, like a lamp burning. It was seen andhidden, seen and hidden again, by the trees as they rode on, and musthave been at about three or four hundred yards' distance. It seemed tochange its place, too; to shift, to quiver; and then, in a longwinding line, it crept slowly round and round the boll of a tree, likea fiery serpent, and, a moment after, with flash, and crackling flame,and fitful blaze, it spread flickering over the dry branches of apitch-pine.
"The fire is coming nearer, dear Miss Prevost," said Lord H----, "andit is necessary we should use some forethought. How far, think you,this farmhouse is now?"
"Nearly four miles," answered Edith.
"Does it lie due south?" asked her companion.
"Very nearly," she replied.
"Is there any road to the westward?" demanded the young nobleman, withhis eyes still fixed upon the distant flame.
"Yes," she answered; "about half a mile on, there is a tolerable pathmade along the side of the hill, on the west, to avoid the swampduring wet weather, but it rejoins this road a mile or so farther on."
"Let us make haste," said Lord H---- abruptly; "the road seems fairenough just here, and I fear there is no time to lose."
He put his hand upon Edith's rein as he spoke, to guide the horse on,and rode forward, perhaps somewhat less than a quarter of a mile,watching with an eager eye the increasing light to the east, where itwas now seen glimmering through the trees in every direction, lookingthrough the fretted trellis-work of branches, trunks, and leaves, likea multitude of red lamps hung up in the forest. Suddenly, at a spotwhere there was an open space or streak, as it was called, runningthrough some two or three hundred yards of the wood, covered denselywith brush, but destitute of tall trees, the whole mass of the fireappeared to view; and the travellers seemed gazing into the mouth of afurnace. Just then, the wind shifted a little more, and blew down thestreak: the cloud of smoke rolled forward; flash after flash burstforth along the line as the fire caught the withered leaves on the topof the bushes: then the bushes themselves were seized upon by thefire, and sent flaming far up into the air.
Onward rushed the destroying light, with a roar, and a crackle, and ahiss--caught the taller trees on either aide, and poured across theroad right in front.
Edith's horse, unaccustomed to such a sight, started and pulledvehemently back; but Lord H----, catching her riding-whip from herhand, struck him sharply on the flank, and forced him forward by therein. But again the beast resisted.
Not a moment was to be lost; time wasted in the struggle must havebeen fatal; and casting the bridle free, he threw his right arm roundher light form, lifted her from the saddle and seated her safelybefore him. Then striking his spurs into the sides of his well-trainedcharger, he dashed at full speed, through the burning bushes, and intwo minutes had gained the ground beyond the fire.
"You are saved, dear Edith," he said,--"you are saved!"
He could not call her Miss Prevost then; and, though she heard thename he gave her, at that moment of gratitude and thanksgiving itsounded only sweetly on her ear.
I have not paused to tell what were Edith's thoughts and feelings whenshe first saw the fire hemming them in. They were such as the feelingsof any young and timid woman might be at the prospect of immediate andterrible destruction.
As always happens, when any of the stern events of Fate place beforeus an apparent certainty of speedy death--when the dark gates betweenthe two valleys seem to be reached, and opened to let us pass--whenthe flood, or the fire, or the precipitous descent, or any othersudden casualty, seems ready to hurry us in an instant into eternity,without dimming the sight of the mind, or withering the powers ofreason and of memory, as in the slow progress of sickness or decay--asalways happens, I say, in such cases, Edith's mind passed rapidly,like a swallow on the wing, over every event of her past existence;and thoughts, feelings, hopes, joys, griefs, cares, expectations,regrets, rose one after the other to the eye, presented with theclearness and intensity which will probably appertain in a futurestate to all the things done in the flesh. Every memory, too, as itrose before her, seemed to say, in a sad and solemn tone, "We aregone for ever!"
It is terrible to part with life--with all its joys, ay, and even withits cares--at the bright season of hope and happiness; to have theblossom broken off the bough of life, before the fruit can form orripen; and Edith felt it as much as any one could feel it. But it isonly necessary to allude to her feelings, in order to contrast themwith the joy and gratitude she felt when the moment of peril hadpassed away.
"Thank God, thank God!" exclaimed Edith; "and oh, my lord, how can Iever show my gratitude to you?"
Lord H---- was silent for a moment, and then said, in a low tone--forit _would_ be spoken:--
"Dear Edith, I have no claim to gratitude; but if you can give me loveinstead, the gratitude shall be yours
for life. But I am wrong, verywrong, for speaking to you thus, at this moment, and in thesecircumstances. Yet there are emotions which force themselves intowords, whether we will or not. Forget those I have spoken, and do nottremble so, for they shall not be repeated till I find a fitteroccasion--and then they shall immediately. Now, dear Edith, I willride slowly on with you to this farmhouse; will leave you there withthe good people; and, if possible, get somebody to guide me roundanother way, to join your father, and assure him of your safety. Thathe is safe, I feel confident; for this very change of wind must havedriven the fire away from him. Would you rather walk? for I am afraidyou have an uneasy seat, and we are quite safe now; the flames all goanother way."
From many motives, Edith preferred to go on foot, and LordH---- suffered her to slip gently to the ground. Then, dismountinghimself, he drew her arm through his, and, leading his horse by thebridle, proceeded along the road over the shoulder of the hill,leaving the lower-road, which the flame still menaced, on their left.
Edith needed support, and their progress was slow, but LordH---- touched no more upon any subject that could agitate her, and atthe end of about an hour and a half, they reached the farmhouse, andknocked for admission.
There was no answer, however; no dogs barked; no sounds were heard;and all was dark within. Lord H---- knocked again. Still all wassilent; and, putting his hand upon the latch, he opened the door.
"The house seems deserted," he said. Then, raising his voice, hecalled loudly to wake any slumbering inhabitant who might be within.
Still no answer was returned; and he felt puzzled, and more agitatedthan he would have been in the presence of any real danger. No otherplace of shelter was near; he could not leave Edith there, as he hadproposed; yet the thought of passing a long night with her in thatdeserted house produced a feeling of indecision, chequered by manyemotions which were not usual to him.
"This is most unlucky!" he ejaculated. "What is to be done now?"
"I know not," replied Edith, in a low and distressed tone. "I fear,indeed, the good people are gone. If the moon would but rise, we mightsee what is really in the house."
"I can soon get a light," rejoined Lord H----; "there is wood enoughscattered about to light a fire. Stay here in the doorway, while Ifasten my horse, and gather some sticks together. I will not go out ofsight."
The sticks were soon gathered, and carried into the large kitchen intowhich the door opened directly. Lord H----'s pistols, which he tookfrom the holsters, afforded the means of lighting a cheerful fire onthe hearth; and, as soon as it blazed up, a number of objects wereseen in the room, which showed that the house had been inhabitedlately, and abandoned suddenly. Nothing seemed to have been carriedaway, indeed; and amongst the first things that were perceived, muchto Edith's comfort, were candles, and a tin lamp of Dutch manufacture,ready trimmed. These were soon lighted; and Lord H----, taking hisfair companion's hand in his, and gazing fondly on her pale and wearyface, begged her to seek some repose.
"I cannot, of course," he said, "leave you here, and join your father,as I proposed just now; but, if you will go upstairs, and seek someroom, where you can lock yourself in, in case of danger, I will keepguard here below. Most likely, all the people of the house have goneforth to watch the progress of the fire and may return speedily."
Edith mused, and shook her head, saying,--
"I think something else must have frightened them away."
"Would you have courage to fire a pistol in case of need?" asked LordH----, in a low tone.
Edith gently inclined her head, and he then added,--
"Stay, I will charge this for you again."
He then reloaded the pistol, the charge of which he had drawn to lightthe fire, and was placing it in Edith's hand, when a tall, dark figureglided into the room with a step perfectly noiseless. Lord H---- drewher suddenly back, and placed himself before her; but a second glanceshowed him the dignified form and fine features of Otaitsa's father.
"Peace!" exclaimed the old chief. "Peace to you, my brother!"
And he held out his hand to Lord H----, who took it frankly. BlackEagle then unfastened the blue blanket from his shoulders, and threwit round Edith, saying,--
"Thou art my daughter, and art safe. I have heard the voice of thecataract, and its sound was sweet. It is a great water, and a good.The counsel is wise, my daughter. Go thou up, and rest in peace. TheBlack Eagle will watch by the cataract till the eyes of morning openin the east. The Black Eagle will watch for thee, as for his ownyoung; and thou art safe."
"I know I am when thou art near, my father," said Edith, taking hisbrown hand in hers; "but is it so with all mine?"
"If I can make it so," answered Black Eagle. "Go, daughter, and be atpeace. This one, at least, is safe also; for he is a great chief ofour white fathers, and we have a treaty with him. The man of the FiveNations who would lift his hand against him is accursed."
Edith knew that she could extract nothing more from him, and, her mindsomewhat lightened, but not wholly relieved, she ascended to the upperstory. Lord H---- seated himself on the step at the foot of thestairs; and the Indian chief crouched down beside him. But both kept aprofound silence; and, in a few minutes after, the moon, slowly risingover the piece of cleared ground in front, poured in upon their twofigures as they sat there, side by side, in strange contrast.
The Black Eagle; or, Ticonderoga Page 15
