The Lost Hunter

by John Turvill Adams

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  Wide o'er the brim with many a torrent swelled, And the mixed ruin of its banks o'erspread, At last the roused up river pours along: Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes From the rude mountain and the mossy wild.

  THOMSON'S SEASONS.

  The company expressed their acknowledgments to Bernard for theentertainment he had furnished, although they all seemed to considerthe conduct of Wampum-hair inconsistent with his amiable character,and to pity the fate of Leelinau.

  "The writer must have had some suspicion of the inconsistencyhimself," said Bernard, "to judge from his attempt to obviatethe difficulty, by ascribing a magic change in his hero, to theapplication of the child's hand to the head, instead of as before,to the heart. This part of the tale is slightly and unskillfullydeveloped."

  "I cannot agree with you," said Faith, "and think you do yourfriend injustice. The idea is, that the guardian genius exercised acontrolling influence over the destiny of the young man; and I see noreason why if we concede the power to the genius to soften his nature,we may not grant also the ability to harden it."

  "Especially," observed Pownal, "as the object of the protecting spiritwould have been frustrated, had the lovers been united."

  All looked inquiringly towards him for an explanation.

  "I mean," said he, "that with such a fierce little squaw for a wife,the gentleman with the unpronounceable name, would not have continueda man of peace long. There certainly would have been war within thewigwam, however dense the puffs of smoke from the calumet of peaceoutside."

  All laughed at the sally, but Anne intimated that she would havepreferred a different termination.

  "At least," said Mr. Armstrong, who had listened in silence to thecriticisms of the young people, "it teaches a profitable lesson to yougirls."

  "What is that, Mr. Armstrong?" inquired Anne.

  "That young ladies should know their own minds."

  "A most unreasonable expectation!" exclaimed Anne. "We should becomeas stupid--as stupid as reasonable people."

  "Besides," said Faith, coming to her friend's assistance, "the storywas intended for the benefit of Indian girls, and not for those whoread Shakspeare."

  "I suspect," said Bernard, "that the writer was better acquainted withthe Shakspearean ladies, than with Indian girls."

  "Why do you think so?" asked Faith.

  "Do you not observe," answered Bernard, "that he confines himself togeneralities? Not a word does he venture to say about the toilette ofthe beauty. A description of the dress of the heroine, has always beenconsidered indispensable in every tale."

  "Poh, William!" said Anne, "what a savage critic you are. But,probably, there was so little to describe, the author did not think itworth his while."

  "And," said Pownal, "is anything admissible in a picture whichdistracts the attention and withdraws it from the principal figure?Good taste excludes ear-rings and gold chains from portraits."

  "Well," said Bernard, "I dare say you are right. It may be, too, thatthe dress was indescribable."

  "Who is this Manabozho, who comes in so opportunely, yet, withouteffecting much after all?" inquired Anne. "I am charmed with hisappearance; particularly, his big eyes."

  "He is a sort of Indian Hercules," replied Bernard, "who plays aconspicuous part in many legends. He is a compound of wisdom andfolly, of benevolence and mischief, of strength and weakness, partlyManitou and partly man, and is privileged to do anything, howeverabsurd and impossible, at one moment, while, at the next, he may beshorn of his power, so as to be incapable of taking care of himself."

  "A very convenient person indeed," said Anne.

  "Loosing the knot of a difficulty by the intervention of such a Power,shows but little ingenuity, I confess," said Bernard.

  "There is classical authority for it, though," said Mr. Armstrong."Homer, himself, condescends to introduce a God, when he cannotextricate himself from embarrassment without his help."

  "Aye," said Bernard, "but the rule of Horace must not be forgotten,nec Deus," &c.

  "True," said Mr. Armstrong; "but how would you have accomplished thefeat, like one of the labors of Hercules, without some such means?"

  "I do not pretend to be able to do it," answered Bernard, modestly;"but, doubtless, one possessed of more imagination could haveaccomplished it."

  "You are but a cold advocate for your friend," said Faith. "You do notallow him half the merit he deserves"

  "He would not complain were he to hear me," said Bernard. "No one canbe more sensible than himself, of the defects of his work."

  "And I say," said Anne, "that I like his story exceedingly; only,he knows nothing about our sex. It may be all very well for a man topraise that hard-hearted Wampum-head, and make poor Leelinau pine awayfor his precious sake, but, I do not believe she was so silly as tocare much about him."

  "If the truth were known," said Pownal, "I have no doubt that the girlrejected him, because she liked some one else better."

  "And her ungallant beau," said Anne, "made up the story, to cover hisconfusion."

  "I am satisfied with it as it is," said Faith. "We pity and loveLeelinau, now; her haughtiness and pride are forgotten in hermisfortunes, and we remember her as one faithful unto death."

  "Your tale reminds me," said Pownal, addressing Bernard, "that thereis a tremendous freshet in the Wootuppocut, and that the waters areincreasing. Suppose, if the ladies consent, we make up a party, toview it, to-morrow?"

  The proposition was received with approbation by all, and it wasagreed, that they would meet at the house of Mr. Armstrong, as thestarting-point, on the afternoon of the next day. The evening beingnow considerably advanced, Faith's friends took their leave.

  The nine o'clock bell was ringing, as the young people passed throughthe quiet streets. The custom of ringing a bell, at that hour, is onewhich has fallen into desuetude, although, once, almost universal inNew England, and may be said to bear some relation to the vesper-bell,in Roman Catholic countries. Its avowed object, indeed, was not, asin the case of the latter, to call the people to prayers, but, itseffect, perhaps, was the same; for, it marked the hour at which thepopulation of the village were in the habit of retiring to rest; and,in those days of simple faith, many were the families whose membersunited together, before seeking their pillows, to return thanksfor the blessings of the day, and ask for protection during thedefenceless hours of the night. Luxury and dissipation have sincecrept in, and parties assemble, now, at an hour when they formerlybroke up. We call ourselves more refined, but, it may admit of adoubt, whether all our show and parade are not purchased at too dear arate, at the price of substantial comfort and happiness.

  The shore was lined with spectators, when the little party approachedthe scene of the freshet. We do not know that we have succeeded inconveying a clear idea of the river we have attempted to describe. Itmay be recollected, that it was spoken of as one of the tributaries ofthe Severn, coming in from the East, and sweeping round that side ofthe town. The banks, on the side opposite, were high and precipitous;but, on the hither side--with the exception of the narrow passagethrough which the river poured itself into the Severn, and for ashort distance above--the ground rose gently from the stream beforeit reached the foot of the hill, interposing a piece of comparativelylevel land. The road that ran on this flat spot, and connected theeastern portion (which, from the extempore character of its buildings,as well as from other causes we do not choose to mention, was calledHasty-Pudding), with the rest of the town, was, usually, in very highfloods, overflowed. Such was the fact in the present instance, andboats were busily engaged in transporting persons over the submergedroad. As you stood near the mouth of the river, and looked up thecurrent, a scene of considerable interest, and, even grandeur,presented itself. At that time, the innumerable dams higher up thestream, that have been since constructed, had not been built, nor hadthe rocks, at the throat, been blasted to make a wider egress. Theice, which then rushed down, as it were by agreemen
t, simultaneouslyand in huge blocks--but, now-a-days, at intervals, and broken up byfalling over the dams--unable to escape in the eager rivalry of thecakes to pass each other, was jammed in the throat, and piled up highin the air, looking like ice-bergs that had floated from the NorthPole. You saw the stream, at all times, rapid, and now, swollen vastlybeyond its ordinary proportions, rushing with ten-fold force, andhurrying, in its channel, with hoarse sounds, the ice-cakes, which, inthe emulous race, grated against, and, sometimes, mutually destroyedone another, to drive some under the icy barrier, thence to glide awayto the ocean, and to toss others high above the foaming torrent on thecollected masses, more gradually to find their way to the same bourne.Looking away from the channel, one saw the cakes caught in the eddies,whirled up against the banks, and, in some instances, forced intosmoother and shoaler water, where they grounded, or were floated intolittle creeks and bays formed by the irregularities of the shores.These quiet places were, of course, on the side nearest the town, theopposite bank being too abrupt and the water too deep, for therewas the channel, and there the water tore along with the greatestviolence.

  In one of these placid bays a party of school-boys were amusingthemselves with getting upon the loose blocks and pushing them aboutlike boats. The amusement appeared to be unattended with danger, theplace being so far from the current, and the water but two orthree feet deep. The children, therefore, were but little noticed,especially as they were at quite a distance from where the multitudeof spectators was assembled, being considerably higher up and near theflat-land, bearing the undignified name which only historical accuracycompels us to introduce. After a time a cake, on which one of the boyswas standing, began slowly to slip away from the shore. So graduallywas this done that it was unobserved by the boys themselves until ithad quite separated itself from the neighborhood of the other cakes,so that no assistance could be rendered, when one of his companionscried out to the little fellow upon it, to push for the shore. Thishe had already been attempting to do, but in spite of all exertionshe was unable to come nearer. On the contrary, it was evident he wasreceding. The water had now become so deep that his pole could nolonger reach the bottom. The current had drawn in the cake, and wassweeping it with its precious freight to destruction. The children setup a cry of alarm, which was heard by the spectators below, and firstattracted their attention.

  A thrill of horror ran through the crowd. Men drew in their breathhard, and women shrieked, unable to turn away their eyes, fastened bya terrible fascination on the peril. Horrid apprehensions invaded themind of many a parent. The doomed boy might be his own son. Despairingglances were cast around in every direction for help. In vain: nonecould be given. There was time for nothing: with every second thechild was swept more rapidly to destruction.

  Meanwhile the brave little fellow, planted firmly on the centre of thecake, was balancing himself with the pole, and intrepidly confrontingthe danger he could not avoid. Not a cry escaped, nor did hisself-possession desert him. As the vexed and whirling water raised upthe one side or the other of his frail bark, he would incline his bodyin this or that direction to preserve the equilibrium, now standingupright and now cowering close to the surface of the uncertainfooting. And now the block approached the throat, where the torrentran the swiftest and was most turbulent. The child seemed to haveescaped thus far by miracle, but now it appeared impossible he wouldbe able to maintain his place. His head must become dizzy, his couragefail in the awful confusion of so many threatening dangers; thetormented waves must upset the block, or another must strike againstit and cast the boy into the water. And now the cake has reached theicy barrier stretched across the stream. It strikes; it is sucked inbelow and disappears.

  The spell-bound spectators, their eyes fastened upon the danger of theboy, had not noticed the figure of a man, who, descending the oppositebank, and clambering at considerable risk over the masses of heapedup ice, stood waiting for the approach of the child. So truly had hejudged the sweep of the current, that he had planted himself upon theedge of the ice at the precise spot where the block struck. Reachingout his arm at the moment when it slipped beneath, he seized the boyby the collar of his jacket and drew him to the place on which hestood. As soon as the crowd caught sight of the man, they saw that itwas Holden.

  The position of the two was still one of danger. A false step, theseparating of the ice, the yielding of a cake might precipitate bothinto the torrent. But the heart of the man had never felt the emotionof fear. He cast his eyes deliberately round, and with a promptdecision took his course. Raising the rescued child in his arms, hestarted in the direction of the wharf, built just below the narrowopening. Springing with great agility and strength over the blocks,selecting for footing those cakes which seemed thickest and fastenedin firmest, he made his way over the barrier and bounded safely onthe land. The spectators, seeing the direction he was taking, had rundown, many of them, to the place, and were waiting to receive them.

  "I vow," said our friend, Tom Gladding, who was among the first towelcome Holden, "if it ain't little Jim Davenport. Why, Jim, you comepretty nigh gitting a ducking."

  "Yes," said the boy, carelessly, as if he had been engaged in afrolic, "I wet my shoes some, and the lower part of my trousers."

  Here a man came hastening through the crowd, for whom all made way. Itwas Mr. Davenport. He had been, like the rest, a witness of the dangerand the rescue, but knew not that it was his own son who had made theperilous passage. But a report, running as if by magic from one toanother, had reached his ears, and he was now hurrying to discoverits truth. It was, indeed, his son, and Holden was his preserver.He advanced to the boy, and examined him from head to foot, as ifto assure himself of his safety before he spoke a word. Shaking withagitation, he then turned to Holden, and grasping his hand, wrung itconvulsively.

  "May God forget me, Mr. Holden," he stammered, in a broken voice,"if I forget this service," and taking the boy by the hand he led himhome.

  "Well," said Gladding, who had been looking on, "Jim don't mind itmuch, but I guess it'll do old Davenport good."

  Holden, according to his custom, seemed indisposed to enter intoconversation with those around him, or to accept the civilitiestendered, and started off as soon as possible, upon his solitary way.As he emerged from the crowd, he caught sight of the advancing figuresof Faith and of her companions, who had more leisurely approached, andstopped to greet them. From them he seemed to receive with pleasurethe congratulations showered upon him, though he disclaimed all meritfor himself.

  "Be the praise," he said, devoutly, "given to Him who, according tothe purpose of his own will, maketh and destroyeth. The insensibleblock of ice and I were only instruments in His hands." He turnedaway, and walking rapidly was soon out of sight.

  Constable Basset, who was present, had just sense enough to understandthat this was no occasion for his interference, and although hefollowed the retreating figure of the Solitary with longing eyes,while his hands clutched at the writ, ventured on no attempt toexercise his authority.