CHAPTER VII.
Leaving the little party in the dismay occasioned by their new position, and that at a moment when they believed themselves secured from further interruption or danger, we must now return to the Fort, where their long-continued absence, coupled with the startling tidings conveyed by Ephraim Giles, had created equal anxiety and apprehension.
It will be recollected that during the examination of the latter, Ensign Ronayne had, after communicating with the commanding officer, suddenly departed across the river, taking with him a few armed men. The destination of this little party was the cottage occupied by Mrs. Heywood and her daughter, who, with a woman servant, were the sole occupants of a dwelling, simple in construction, but decorated, both within and without, by the hand of good taste. It was a low, one-storied building, painted white, with green window-blinds and shutters, and a verandah of trellis work of the same color, that extended a few feet square round the principal entrance. On either side, rose to the roof, on parallel lines, and at equal distances, cords of strong twine, on which already had began to interlace themselves, the various parasites indigenous to the soil, which winter had robbed of their freshness, but which a southern sun was now evidently vivifying and re-invigorating. A small garden of about half-an-acre, surrounded by a similar trellis-work, extended equally in front, and on the sides of the house—while the graceful form given to the various beds, and the selection of the plants and flowers, which, although still in their dormant state, were yet recognizable—testified the refined taste of those who had assisted at their culture. The pathway, which was recently gravelled from the adjacent sand-hills, ran in a straight line from the verandah, toward the little green gate, opening on the front of the garden, took a semi-circular sweep on either side, at about one-third of the distance from the gate. This form had been given to it for the purpose of affording room for the creation of a mound, on the summit of which had been placed a small summer-house, octagon in shape, and constructed of the same description of trellis-work. The sloping sides of the mound itself, were profusely covered with dahlias, rhododendrons, geraniums, and other plants of the most select kind—the whole forming, when in bloom, a circle of floral magnificence. A short and narrow path, just large enough to admit of the passage of one person at a time, led to the entrance of the summer-house, which, facing the gate, was also shaded from the light and heat of the sun's rays, by closely interlacing vines.
At the bottom of this artificial mound, and near the pathway, a small spud, such as is used for pruning, was stuck into some earth, newly drawn round a splendid tiger lily, and on the handle of the spud, were loosely thrown a white silk jacket, a blue velvet cap, and a light pink scarf—evidencing that no ordinary gardener had been that day employed in bringing into new life the gorgeous beauties of the variegated parterre.
“Little did I think,” mused the young officer, as, leaving his party at the gate, and hastening towards the cottage, his eye fell upon those articles of dress—“little did I imagine when I threw off these things a few hours since, to obey a summons to the Fort, that on my return to them, it would be with this heavy heart, and as the bearer of these tidings—but I must be cautious in my disclosure. Dear girl, here she is!”
“Why, Ronayne, what in the name of Heaven is the meaning of all this? Are you here to take the castle by storm, with all these armed warriors? A few hours since you were a man of peace, and now I behold in you a most approved and valiant knight of the true American school. Sword, cap, feather, epaulet, blue broad-cloth, and silver. Well it must be confessed that you are not a bad imitation of a soldier, in that garb, and it is in pity to me, I suppose, that you do not wear it oftener. But seriously, Harry, do satisfy my curiosity, and tell me the reason of this unusual—manner of visit!”
The question was asked playfully, but in tones replete with sweetness, by a tall and elegantly-formed girl, who on turning the further circle of the walk, in her approach to her favorite flower-bed, had for the first time, beheld the young officer, and the party stationed at the gate.
“Nay, dear Maria,” returned the youth, deeply grieved at the thought of casting a gloom over the spirits of her who thus rallied him. “I am sorry to say my errand is not one of mere parade—I have come to announce that which will give you pain; and but that I am charged with the agreeable duty of making you a prisoner, I never should have had the courage to be the bearer of the intelligence.”
Miss Heywood turned very pale, less at the words even than at the manner of the young officer, who it was evident, felt all the weight of the task he had undertaken.
“Ronayne,” she said, her voice suddenly assuming a rich melancholy of intonation, in strange contrast with her first address, “there is more in this than you would acquaint me with. But, tell me,” and she fixed her large dark eyes on his—“tell me all. What pain is it you fear to occasion me, and how is it connected with my being a prisoner? Ha!” and she grasped his arm, and betrayed deep agitation—“surely nothing in my father's conduct—”
“No, no, Maria,” returned the youth, quickly, “far from anything of the kind, and yet it is of your father I would speak. But have you heard nothing since I left you. Have you seen no one?”
“I have heard nothing—seen not a soul from without,” she answered, as he tenderly pressed the hand he had taken—“But, Ronayne,” she pursued, with melancholy gravity—“a sudden light dawns upon me—my heart tells me that some misfortune or other has happened, or is about to happen—you say you would speak about my father. You are the bearer of ill-news in regard to him. Yes, I know it is so; tell me, Harry,” and she looked imploringly up to him, “am I not right?—my father has been attacked by Indians, and he has fallen. Oh! you do not deny it!”
“Nay, dearest Maria, I know nothing of the kind, although I will not conceal from you that there is danger—you have guessed correctly as to the Indians having been at the farm, but little certain is known as to the result of their visit. That half idiot Ephraim Giles, has come in with some wild story, but I daresay he exaggerates.”
Miss Heywood shook her head doubtingly. “You deceive me, Ronayne—with the best intention, but still you deceive me. If you really think the rumor be exaggerated, why your own restlessness and seriousness of manner? Harry, this is no time for concealment, for I feel that I can better bear the truth NOW than LATER. Do not hesitate then to tell me all you know.”
“True, my love, this is no time for concealment since such be the state of your feelings. I was unwilling to admit my own apprehension on the subject, fearing that you might be ill-prepared for the disclosure; but after what you have just urged, the blow can never fall less heavily than now. You must know, then, that a party of hostile Indians have, there is too much reason to fear, used violence toward the inmates of the farm-house, but to what extent we have no means of knowing; though such is the alarm created by their presence that Headley, who you know is the very soul of caution, has ordered every white in the neighborhood of the Fort, to be removed for safety within its walls.”
“Would that instead of THAT,” remarked Miss Heywood, with solemnity, “he had despatched those soldiers, whom I see there fully armed, to the rescue of my poor father. Perhaps he might be saved yet—the house is strong, and might be defended for some time, even by a couple of men.”
“And me at their head. Is it not so, Maria?” inquired the youth.
“Yes, and you at their head, dear Ronayne,” repeated Miss Heywood; “to no one sooner would I be indebted for my father's safety, as no one would, I am sure, more cheerfully attempt his deliverance.”
The young American mused a moment, and then rejoined, despondingly; “Were these men at my disposal, Maria, how gladly would I hasten to encounter every difficulty, the removal of which would spare your gentle bosom those pangs; but you know Headley would never permit it. His prudence is a mania, and even were he to yield his consent—let me not sustain you with delusive hopes—I fear it would be too late.”
“God's will be done,” she ejaculated, as the large tears fell trickling down her pallid cheeks, “but what will become of my poor and now nearly death-stricken-mother, when she hears of this?”
“The blow is indeed a fearful one, but act, I pray you, with courage. Consider, too, your own safety. No one knows the force of the Indians, or how soon they may be here. Go in, dearest, prepare what you may more immediately require for a few days, and my men will carry your trunks down to the scow which is waiting to receive you.”
“And if I should consent to go, Ronayne, you know my poor mother cannot rise from her bed. What do you propose to do with her? To remove her, and let her know WHY she is removed, would soon finish the work her debilitating disease has begun.”
“I have made every necessary provision,” answered the young officer, glad to find that her thoughts could be diverted from the immediate source of her sorrow. “Elmsley's wife, to whom I spoke a few hurried words on leaving, is even now preparing for your temporary reception, and I have thought of an excuse to be given to your mother. You must for once in your life use deceit, and say that Van Vottenberg desires her presence in the fort, because his duties have become so severe that he can no longer absent himself to bestow upon her that professional care she so much requires. Nay, look not so incredulous. I am aware that the pretext is a meagre one, but I cannot at present think of a better; and in her enfeebled state she will not dwell upon the strangeness of the plea. Go on then, I entreat you, and desire Catherine to collect what you will want, while my men carry to the scow such articles of furniture as will be most useful to you in your new quarters. Quick, dear Maria, I implore you, there has already been too much time lost, and I expect every moment an order from Headley to return immediately.”
Sensible of a pressing emergency. Miss Heywood, with a beating heart, regained the cottage, in which so many blissful hours had been passed within the last two years, undisturbed by a care for the future, while the young officer joining his men, left one to take care of the arms of the party, and with the remainder hastened to the house making as little noise as possible, in order not to disturb the invalid. Having chosen such articles of furniture as he knew Mrs. Elmsley was most deficient in, and among these a couch and a couple of easy-chairs (which latter indeed were the work of his own hands), they were conveyed to the scow in two trips, and then followed three or four trunks into which had been thrown, without regard to order, such wearing apparel, and necessaries of the toilet as the short period allowed for preparation had permitted the agitated girl to put together. The most delicate part of the burden, however, yet remained to be removed, and that was the invalid herself. Desiring his men to remain without, the youth, whose long and close intimacy with the family rendered such a step by no means objectionable, entered the apartment of Mrs. Heywood, who had already been prepared by her daughter for the removal, and with the assistance of Catherine raised the bed on which she lay, and transferred it to a litter brought for the occasion. This they carefully bore through the suite of small and intervening rooms to the front, where two of the men relieved them, Catherine walking at the side, and unnecessarily enjoining caution at every step.
“This is, indeed, an unexpected change, Ronayne,” said Miss Heywood, sadly, “but this morning, and I was so happy, and now! These poor flowers, too (for after having fastened the windows and doors of the house, they were now directing their course towards the mound), that parterre which cost us so much labor, yes, such sweet labor, must all be left to be destroyed by the hand of some ruthless savage. Yet, what do I say,” she pursued, in a tone of deep sorrow, “I lament the flowers; yes, Ronayne, because they have thriven under your care, and yet, I forget that my father perhaps no longer lives; that my beloved mother's death may be the early consequence of this removal. Yet think me not selfish. Think me not ungrateful. Come what may, you will yet be left to me. No, Harry,” and she looked up to him tearfully, “I shall never be utterly destitute, while you remain.”
“Bless you, thrice bless you for these sweet avowals of your confidence,” exclaimed the youth, suddenly dropping her arm, and straining her passionately to his heart. “Yes, Maria, I shall yet remain to love, to cherish, to make you forget every other tie in that of husband—to blend every relationship in that of one.”
“Nay, Ronayne,” she quickly returned, while the color mounted vividly to her cheek, under the earnest ardor of his gaze, “I would not now unsay what I have said, and yet I did not intend that my words should exactly bear that interpretation—nor is this a moment—”
“But still you will be my wife—tell me, Maria?” and he looked imploringly into her own not averted eyes. “You will be the wife, as you have long been the friend and companion of your Ronayne—answer me. Will you not?”
Her head sank upon his shoulder, and the heaving of her bosom, as she gently returned his embrace, alone conveyed the assurance he desired. She was deeply affected. She knew the ardent, generous nature of her lover, and she felt that every word that had just fallen from his lips, tended only to unravel the true emotions of his heart: but soothing as was his impassioned language, she deemed it almost criminal, at such a moment, to listen to it.
“Nay, dearest Harry,” she said, gently disengaging herself from his embrace, “we will be seen. They may wonder at our delay, and send somebody back from the scow. Let us proceed.”
“You are right,” replied the young officer, again passing her arm through his own, while they continued their route, “excess of happiness must not cause me to commit an imprudence so great, as that of suffering another to divine the extent. Yet one word more, dear Maria! and ah! think how much depends upon your answer. WHEN shall I call you mine?”
“Oh! speak not now of that, Ronayne—consider the position of my father—my mother's health.”
“It is for that very reason that I do ask it,” returned the youth. “Should Heaven deprive you of the one, as it in some degree threatens you with the loss of the other, what shall so well console you as the tenderness of him who is blessed with your love?”
“Hush, Harry,” and she fondly pressed his arm—“they will hear you.”
They had now approached the scow, into which the men, having previously deposited the furniture and trunks, were preparing to embark the litter upon which Mrs. Heywood lay extended, with an expression of resignation and repose upon her calm features, that touched the hearts of even these rude men. Her daughter, half-reproaching herself for not having personally attended to her transport, and only consoled by the recollection of the endearing explanation with her lover, which had chanced to result from her absence, now tenderly inquired how she had borne it, and was deeply gratified to find that the change of air, and gentle exercise to which she had been subjected, had somewhat restored her. Here was one source of care partly removed, and she felt, if possible, increased affection for the youth to whose considerate attention was owing this favorable change in the condition of a parent, whom she had ever fondly loved.
It was near sunset when Ronayne, who, with the robust Catherine, had carefully lifted the invalid into the centre of the scow, reached the landing-place below the Fort. Here were collected several of the women of the company, and among them Mrs. Elmsley, who had come down to meet and welcome those for whose reception she had made every provision the hurried notice she had received would permit. The young officer had been the first to step on shore, and after he had whispered something in her ear, she for a moment communicated with the group of women—then advanced to meet Miss Heywood, whom her lover was now handing from the scow. She embraced her with a tenderness so unusually affectionate, that a vague consciousness of the true cause flashed across the mind of the anxious girl, recalling back all that inward grief of soul, which the deep emotion of an engrossing love had for a time absorbed.
In less than half-an-hour the fugitives were installed in the council hall, and in another small apartment, dividing it from the rooms occupied by the Elmsleys. The ensign, having seen that all was arranged in a suitable manner in the former, went out to the parade-ground, leaving the ladies in charge of their amiable hostess, and of the women she had summoned to assist in bearing the latter into the Fort.
On his way to his rooms, he met Captain Headley returning from an inspection of the defences. He saluted him, and was in the act of addressing him in a friendly and familiar tone, when he was checked by the sharply-uttered remark:
“So, sir, you are returned at last. It seems to me that you have been much longer absent than was necessary.”
The high spirit of the youth was chafed. “Pardon me, sir,” he answered haughtily, “if I contradict you. No one of the least feeling would have thought of removing such an invalid as Mrs. Heywood is, without using every care her condition required. Have you any orders for me, Captain Headley?” he concluded, in a more respectful manner, for he had become sensible, the moment after he had spoken, of his error in thus evincing asperity under the reproof of his superior.
“You are officer of the guard, I believe, Mr. Ronayne?”
“No, sir, Mr. Elmsley relieved me this morning.”
At that moment the last-named officer came up, on his way to the ensign's quarters, when, the same question having been put to him, and answered in the affirmative, Captain Headley desired that the moment the fishing-party came in they should be reported to him. “And now, gentlemen,” he concluded, “I expect you both to be particularly on the alert to-night. The absence of that fishing-party distresses me, and I would give much that they were back.”
“Captain Headley,” said the ensign, quickly and almost beseechingly, “let me pick out a dozen men from the company, and I pledge myself to restore the party before mid-day to-morrow. Nay, sir,” seeing strong surprise and disapproval on the countenance of the commandant, “I am ready to forfeit my commission if I fail—”
“Are you mad, Mr. Ronayne, or do you suppose that I am mad enough to entertain such a proposition, and thus weaken my force still more? Forfeit your commission if you fail! Why, sir, you would deserve to forfeit your commission, if you even succeeded in any thing so wholly at variance with military prudence. Gentlemen, recollect what I have said—I expect you to use the utmost vigilance to-night, and, Mr. Elmsley, fail not instantly to report the fishing-boat.” Thus enjoining, he passed slowly on to his quarters.
“D—n your military prudence, and d—n your pompous cold-bloodedness!” muttered the fiery ensign between his teeth—scarcely waiting until his captain was out of hearing.
“Hush,” interrupted Elmsley in a whisper. “He will hear you. Ha!” he continued after a short pause, during which they moved on towards the mess-room, “you begin to find out his amiable military qualities, do you! But tell me, Ronayne, what the deuce has put this Quixotic expedition into your head? What great interest do you take in these fishermen, that you should volunteer to break your shins in the wood, this dark night, for the purpose of seeking them, and that on the very day when your ladye faire honors these walls, if I may so dignify our stockade, with her presence for the first time. Come, come, thank Headley for his refusal. When you sit down to-morrow morning, as I intend you shall, to a luxurious breakfast of tea, coffee, fried venison, and buckwheat-cakes, you will find no reason to complain of his adherence to military prudence.”
“Elmsley,” returned his friend, seriously, “I can have no disguise from you at such a moment. You know my regard for Maria Heywood, although you cannot divine its depth, and could I but be the means of saving her father, you can well understand the joy I should feel.”
“Certainly, my dear fellow, but you know as well as myself, that there exists not the shadow of a hope of this. That scarecrow, Giles, half-witted as he is, tells too straightforward a story.”
“Elmsley,” persisted his friend, “there is every hope—every reasonable expectation that he may yet survive. Maria herself first opened my eyes to the possibility, for, until then, I had thought as you do; and deeply did her words sink in my heart, when she said, reproachfully, that, instead of sending a party to escort her, it would have been far better to dispatch them to the farm, where her father might, at that moment, be sustaining a siege—the house being strong enough to admit of a temporary defence, by even a couple of persons.”
“And what said you to that?”
“What could I say? I looked like a fool, and felt like a school-boy under the iron rod of a pedagogue—but I resolved.”
“And what did you resolve, my enterprising KNIGHT errant?”
“You have just heard my proposal to the gentleman who piques himself upon his military prudence.” returned the youth, with bitter irony.
“Yes, and he refused you. What then?”
“True, and what then,” and he nodded his head impatiently.
“You will sleep upon it, my dear fellow, after we have had a glass of the Monongahela, and the pipe. Thus refreshed, you will think better of it in the morning.”
“We will have the Monongahela and the pipe, for truly I feel that I require something to soothe, if not absolutely to exhilarate me; but no sleep for me this night. Elmsley,” he added, more seriously, “you will pass me out of the gate?”
“Pass you out of what?” exclaimed the other, starting from the chair on which he had thrown himself only the moment before. “What do you mean, man?”
“I mean that, as officer of the guard, you alone can pass me through after dark, and this service you must render me.”
“Why! where are you going? Single-handed like Jack the Giant Killer to deliver, not a beautiful damsel from the fangs of a winged monster, but a tough old backwoodsman from the dark paws of the savage?”
“Elmsley,” again urged the ensign, “you forget that Mr. Heywood is the father of my future wife.”
“Ah! is it come to that at last. Well, I am right glad of it. But, my dear Ronayne,” taking and cordially pressing his hand, “forgive my levity. I only sought to divert you from your purpose. What I can do for you, I will do; but tell me what it is you intend.”
“Yet, Elmsley, before we enter further into the matter, do you not think that you will incur the serious displeasure of Military Prudence?”
“If he discovers that you are gone, certainly; and I cannot see how it can be otherwise; he will be in the fidgets all night, and probably ask for you; but even if not THEN, he will miss you on parade in the morning.”
“And what will be the consequence to you? Answer me candidly, I entreat.”
“Then, candidly, Ronayne, the captain likes me not well enough to pass lightly over such a breach of duty. The most peremptory orders have, since the arrival of this startling news, been given not to allow any one to leave the fort, and (since you wish me to be sincere) should I allow you to pass, it will go hard with my commission.”
“How foolish of me not to have thought of that before! How utterly stupid to ask that which I ought to have known myself; but enough, Elmsley. I abandon the scheme altogether. You shall never incur that risk for me.”
“Yet understand me,” resumed the other, “if you really think that there is a hope of its proving more than a mere wild goose chase, I will cheerfully incur that risk; but on my honor, Ronayne, I myself feel convinced that nothing you can do will avail.”
“Not another word on the subject,” answered his friend; “here is what will banish all care, at least for the present.”
His servant had just entered, and deposited on the mess-table hot and cold water, sugar, lime-juice, pipes, tobacco, and tumblers; when the two officers with Von Vottenberg who had just come in from visiting Mr. Heywood, sat down to indulge their social humors. Whilst the latter, according to custom, mixed the punch, which when made was pronounced to be his chef d'oeuvre, Elmsley amused himself with cutting up the tobacco, and filling the pipes. The ensign, taking advantage of their occupation, indulged himself in a reverie that lasted until the beverage had been declared ready.
The presence of the doctor, acting as a check upon the further allusion by the friends to the topic that had hitherto engrossed their attention, the little conversation that ensued was of a general nature, neither of them, however, cared much to contribute to it, so that the doctor found and pronounced them for that evening anything but entertaining companions. He, however, consoled himself with copious potations from the punch-bowl, and filled the room with dense clouds of smoke, that were in themselves, sufficient to produce the drowsiness that Ronayne pleaded in excuse of his taciturnity.
After his second glass, Elmsley, reminding the ensign that he expected him as well as the punch-brewer to breakfast with him in the morning at eight o'clock precisely, took his departure for the guard room, for the night.
CHAPTER VIII.
It was about seven o'clock on the morning succeeding the occurrences detailed in the preceding chapters, that Lieutenant Elmsley waited on the commanding officer, to relate that the fishing boat was at length in sight. These tidings were communicated as Captain Headley was preparing to sit down to breakfast—a refreshment, to which the fatigue of mind and body he had undergone during the night had not a little disposed him. True, however, to his character, he stayed not for the meal, but instantly arose, and taking his telescope accompanied the subaltern to the flagstaff battery, whence the best view of the river was commanded.
“Any thing to report, Mr. Elmsley; but I presume not, or it scarcely would have been necessary for me to ask the question?”
“Nothing, sir, of any consequence,” replied the lieutenant after a moment's hesitation, “beyond a slight altercation that took place between a drunken Pottawattamie and the sergeant of the guard—but it was of a nature too trivial to disturb you about.”
“What was it, Mr. Elmsley?” inquired his superior, abruptly turning to him.
“The Indian who had probably been lying dead drunk during the day within the Fort, and had evidently just awakened from his sleep, was anxious to go to his encampment, but the sergeant, strictly obeying the order he had received from me, refused to open the gate, which seemed to annoy the Indian very much. At that moment I came up. I knew well of course that the order was not meant to extend rigidly to our Indian friends, the great mass of whom might be offended by the detention of one of their number, and I desired the sergeant to pass him through. Was I right, sir?”
“Perfectly, Mr. Elmsley; we must not offend those of the Indian tribes that are disposed to be friendly toward us, for no one knows how soon we may require their aid. The official advices I have received not only from Detroit but from Washington are of a nature to induce apprehension of hostilities between Great Britain and the United States; therefore, it would, as you justly observe, and just now particularly, be extremely bad policy to offend those whom it is so much our interest to conciliate. Still you ought to have reported the circumstance to me, and not acted on your own responsibility.”
Lieutenant Elmsley bit his lip, and could scarcely control a movement of impatience. “I am glad, however, sir,” he resumed after a pause, “that you find no fault with my conduct; I confess I had some little uneasiness on that score, for with you I felt that I had no right to assume the responsibility, but I knew that you had retired to your rooms, and I was unwilling to disturb you.”
“You ought to have known, Mr. Elmsley, that where duty is concerned I can never be disturbed. However, no matter. What you did was correctly done; only in future, fail not to make your report. The slightest unauthorized step might be a false one, and that, under all the circumstances, is to be avoided.”
Whatever the subaltern thought of the seeming self-sufficiency which had dictated the concluding part of the lecture of the commanding officer, he made no further observation, and both in silence pursued the remainder of their short route to the bastion.
Many of the men, dressed and accoutred for the morning parade, which usually took place at about nine o'clock, were grouped around, and anxiously watching the approach of the boat, as of something they had despaired of ever again beholding. Captain Headley drew his telescope to the proper focus, and after looking through it a few minutes—remarked—
“Thank Heaven, all is right—they are all there, although it is quite unaccountable to me how they could have been detained until this morning. And, oh! it seems they have taken a heavy draught of fish, for, although I cannot see the bottom of the boat, their feet are raised as if to prevent crushing or injuring something beneath them. But hold! there is something wrong, too. I do not see the usual number of muskets piled in the stern. How can this be, Mr. Elmsley?”
“Perhaps there is not the same number of men,” suggested the lieutenant—“some of them, for causes connected with their detention, may be coming by land.”
“Not at all. There are seven men. I think seven men compose the fishing party; do they not?”
“Six men, besides the non-commissioned officer; yes, sir.”
“I can make out Corporal Nixon, for he is steering and facing me, but for the others, I do not know them well enough to distinguish. Here, Mr. Elmsley, take the glass, and try what you can make of them.”
The lieutenant gazed through the glass a moment, and then pronounced name after name, as the men severally came under the range of the lens. “Yes, sir, as you say, there is Corporal Nixon steering—then, with, their backs to us, and pulling, are first, Collins, then Green, then Jackson, then Weston, then Cass, and then Philips. But what they have in the bottom of the boat, for I now can see that plain enough, is not fish, sir, but a human body, and a dog crouched at its side. Yes! it is indeed the Frenchman's dog—Loup Garou.”
“Well, I want to know!” exclaimed Ephraim Giles, who had ascended the bastion, and now stood amid the group of men, “I take it, that if that's Loup Garou, his master can't be far off. I never knowed them to be separate.”
“Yes, sir, that is certainly a dead body,” pursued the lieutenant—“somebody killed at the farm, no doubt. Have you any orders for the direction of the party, when they land, sir?” he inquired, as he handed back the glass to the captain.
“Just desire the drum to beat to parade,” was the answer. “It wants only a few minutes of guard-mounting, and by the time the men have fallen in, and the roll is called, the boat will be here. Where is Mr. Ronayne?”
“I have not seen him this morning, sir, but believe that he is in his own rooms. He, however, knows the hour, and doubtless will be here presently.”
“When the men have fallen in, come and report to me,” said the captain, as he descended from the bastion, and proceeded to his own quarters, to eat his untasted breakfast.
The lieutenant touched his cap in assent, and then, having despatched a man with orders to the temporary drum-major, crossed over to the apartments of the ensign, anxious not only to excuse himself for not being able to receive his friend to his own breakfast, at the hour he had named, but to prepare him for the reception of the body of Mr. Heywood, which he doubted not, was that now on its way for interment at his own house.
On entering the mess-room, in which they had taken their punch, the previous evening, everything bore evidence of a late debauch. Ashes and tobacco were liberally strewed upon the table, while around the empty bowl, were, in some disorder, pipes and glasses—one of each emptied of all but the ashes and sediment—the other two only half-smoked, half-full, and standing amid a pool of wet, which had evidently been spilt by a not very steady hand. The windows were closed, so that the smoke clung to what little furniture there was in the room, and the whole scent of the place was an abominable compound of stale tobacco and strong whisky.
A loud snoring in the room on his right attracted his attention. He knew that it was Von Vottenberg's, and he entered to see what had kept him in bed until that late hour. The surgeon, only half-undressed, was fast asleep, not within, but on the outside of the bed-clothes. Somewhat disgusted at the sight, for Elmsley was comparatively abstemious, he shook him not very gently, when the doctor, opening his eyes with a start, half-rose upon his elbow. “Ha!” he exclaimed, “I know you mean to say that breakfast is waiting; I had forgotten all about it, old fellow.”
“I mean nothing of the kind,” was the reply, “but I recommend you to lose no time in dressing and turning out. The men are already on parade, and if Captain Headley, finding that you are absent, tends over here to inquire the cause, I would not give much for your future chances of swallowing whisky-punch within the walls of Chicago.”
“Eh? what! what!” spluttered the surgeon, as he jumped up, drew on his boots, dipped his face in a basin of water, and hastily completed his toilet. In less than five minutes he was on parade.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Elmsley, after giving this warning, had passed again through the mess-room, and knocked at Ronayne's door. But there was no answer.
“Hilloa, Ronayne,” he called loudly, as he turned the handle of the latch, “are YOU in bed too?”
But no Ronayne was there. He looked at the bed—like the doctor's, it had been laid upon, but no one had been within the clothes.
What was the meaning of this? After a few moments of delay, he flew back to Von Vottenberg's room, but the latter was already gone. Retracing his steps, he met Ronayne's servant entering at the mess-room door.
“Where is your master?” he inquired. “How is it that he is not in his room—has not been in bed?”
“Not been in bed?” repeated the lad, with surprise. “Why, sir, he told me last night that he was very drowsy and should lie late; and, that he mightn't be disturbed, he desired me to sleep in one of the block-houses. I was only to wake him in time for guard-mounting, and as it wants but ten minutes to that, I am just come to call him.”
“Clean out the mess-room directly—open the windows, and pat every thing in order,” said the lieutenant, fearing that Captain Headley might, on hearing of the absence of the young officer, pay his quarters a visit in search of some clue to the cause. “I see it all,” he mused, as he moved across the parade-ground. “He would not, generous fellow, get me into a scrape, by making me privy to his design, and to avoid the difficulty of the gate, has got over the pickets somewhere—yet, if so, he must have had a rope, and assistance of some kind, for he never could have crossed them without. Yet, where can he be gone, and what could he have expected to result from his mad scheme? Had he waited until now, he would have known by the arrival of the fishing-party with their sad charge, how utterly useless was all this risk.”
“Well, Mr. Elmsley,” said the captain, who now appeared at the front of his own door, fully dressed for parade, and preparing to issue forth in all the stateliness of command.
“The parade is formed, sir,” remarked the lieutenant, confusedly, “but I cannot find the officer of the guard.”
“Sir!” exclaimed Captain Headley.
“I cannot find Mr. Ronayne, sir—I have myself been over to his quarters, and looked into his bed-room, but it is clear that he has not been in bed all night.”
“What is the meaning of all this? Send Doctor Von Vottenberg here immediately.”
And lucky was it for that gentleman that the officer who now desired his attendance on the commandant had roused him from that Lethean slumber in which he had been, only a few minutes before, so luxuriously indulging.
“Doctor Von Vottenberg,” commenced the captain, as soon as that official made his appearance before him; “you are quartered with Mr. Ronayne. Have you seen any thing of him last night or this morning—no evasion, nay,” seeing that the doctor's brow began to be overclouded, “I mean no attempt to shield the young man by a suppression of the truth.”
“I certainly saw him last night, Captain Headley, but not at a very late hour. We took a glass or two of punch, and smoked a couple of pipes together, but we both went to bed early, and for my part, I know that I slept so soundly as to have heard nothing—seen nothing, until I got up this morning.”
The doctor spoke truly as to the time of their retirement to rest, for the ensign had left him early in the night, while he had found his way to his own bed, early in the morning.
“The boat is nearing the landing-place, sir,” reported the sergeant of the guard, who now came up, and more immediately addressed Lieutenant Elmsley.
This information, for the moment, banished the subject under discussion. “Let the men pile their arms,” ordered Captain Headley; “and when this is done, Mr. Elmsley, follow me to the landing-place.”
In a few minutes both officers were there. The boat was within fifty yards, when the subaltern joined his captain; and the oarsmen, evidently desirous of doing their best in the presence of the commanding officer, were polling silently and with a vigor that soon brought it to its accustomed berth.
“What body is that, Corporal Nixon?” inquired the latter, “and how is it that you are only here this morning?”
“Sir,” answered the corporal, removing one of his hands from the steer-oar, and respectfully touching his cap, “it's poor Le Noir, the Frenchman, killed by the Injins yesterday, and as for our absence, it couldn't be helped, sir; but it's a long report I have to make, and perhaps, captain, you would like to hear it more at leisure than I can tell it here.”
By this time the men had landed from the boat, leaving the Canadian to be disposed of afterwards as the commanding officer might direct. The quick eye of the latter immediately detected the slight limping of Green, whose wound had become stiff from neglect, cold, and the cramped position in which he had been sitting in the boat.
“What is the matter with this man?” he inquired of the corporal. “What makes him walk so stiffly?”
“Nothing much the matter, captain,” was the indifferent reply. “It's only a ball he got in his leg in the scrimmage last night.”
“Ha! the first gun-shot wound that has come under my treatment during the three long years I have been stationed here. Quick, my fine fellow, take yourself to the hospital, and tell the orderly to prepare my instruments for probing.”
“Scrimmage last night; what do you mean, Corporal Nixon—whom had you the scrimmage with?”
These remarks fell at the same moment from the lips of the commander and those of the surgeon, the latter rubbing his hands with delightful anticipation of the treat in store for him.
“With the Indians, captain,” replied Nixon; “the Indians that attacked Mr. Heywood's farm.”
“Captain Headley,” interrupted the lieutenant, with unusual deference of manner, for he was anxious that no further reference should be made to the subject in presence of the invalids and women, who, attracted by the news of the arrival of the boat, had gathered around, partly from curiosity, partly for the purpose of getting their expected supply of fish, “do you not think it better to examine Corporal Nixon first, and then the others in turn?”
“Very true, Mr. Elmsley, I will examine them separately in the orderly-room to see how far their statements agree; yet one question you can answer here, corporal. You say that it is the body of Le Noir, killed by the Indians. Where is Mr. Heywood, then?”
The generous Elmsley felt faint, absolutely sick at heart on hearing this question; the very object he had in view in proposing this private examination was thereby threatened with discomfiture.
“Mr. Heywood has been carried off by the Indians,” calmly replied the corporal, yet perceptibly paling as he spoke.
“Indeed! this is unfortunate. Let the men go to their barracks, and there remain until I send for them,” ordered the commandant. “You, corporal, will come to me at the orderly-room, in half an hour from this. That will be sufficient time for you to clean yourself, and take your breakfast. None of your party, I presume, have had their breakfast yet?”
“No, your honor,” answered Green, who seemed to fancy that his wound gave him the privilege of a little license in the presence of his chief, “not unless an old turkey, the grandfather of fifty broods, and as tough as shoe-leather, can be called a breakfast.”
Captain Headley looked at the speaker sternly, but took no other notice of what he, evidently, deemed a very great liberty, than to demand how he presumed to disobey the order of the surgeon. Then desiring him to proceed forthwith to the hospital and have his leg dressed, he himself withdrew after postponing the parade to one o'clock.
“And are you sure, Nixon, that Mr. Heywood has been carried off by the Indians,” asked Lieutenant Elmsley, the revulsion of whose feelings on hearing the corporal's answer to the question put by Captain Headley had been in striking contrast with what he had experienced only a moment before; “are you quite sure of this?”
The interrogatory was put, immediately after the commanding officer had retired, doubtingly, in a low tone, and apart from the rest of the men.
“I saw them carry him off myself, sir,” again deliberately said the corporal. “The whole of the party saw it too.”
“Enough, enough,” pursued the lieutenant, in a friendly tone. “I believe you, Nixon. But another question. Were you joined last night by any one of the regiment? recollect yourself.”
The corporal declaring that nothing in the shape of an American uniform had come under his notice, since he departed from the Fort the preceding evening, the officer next turned his attention to the boat.
“What are you fumbling about there, Collins?” he asked, rather sharply—“Why do you not go and join your mess?” This was said as the rest of the party were now in the act of moving off with their muskets and fishing apparatus.
“Poor fellow!” interposed the corporal, “he is not himself to-day; but I am sure, Mr. Elmsley, you will not be hard upon him, when I tell you that, but for him, there wouldn't be a man of us here of the whole party.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the lieutenant, not a little surprised at the information; “but we shall hear all about that presently; yet what is he fidgetting about at the bottom of the bow of the boat?”
“There's another body there, sir, besides Le Noir's. It's that of the poor boy at Heywood's—an Indian scalped him and left him for dead. Collins, who put a bullet into the same fellow, not an hour afterwards, found the boy by accident, while retreating from the place where we had the first scrimmage with the red devils. He was still breathing, and he took every pains to recover him, but the cold night air was too much for him, and he died in the poor fellow's arms.”
“Well, this is a strange night's adventure, or rather series of adventures,” remarked the lieutenant half aside to himself. “Then, I suppose,” he resumed, more immediately addressing the corporal, “he has brought the body of the boy to have him interred with Le Noir?”
“Just so, sir, for he mourns him as if he had been his own child,” answered Nixon, as the officer departed—“here, Loup Garou, Loup Garou,” and he whistled to the dog. “Come along, old fellow, and get some breakfast.”
But Loup Garou would not stir at the call of his new master. Sorrow was the only feast in which he seemed inclined to indulge, and he continued to crouch near the body of the Canadian as impassible and motionless as if he was no longer of earth himself.
“Come along, Collins,” gently urged the Virginian, approaching the boat, where the former was still feeling the bosom of the dead boy in the vain hope of finding that life was not yet extinct. “It's no use thinking about it; you have done your duty as a soldier, and as a good man, but you see he is gone, and there is no help for it. By and by, we will bury them both together; but come along now. The dog will let nobody near them.”
“Dash me, corporal, if I ever felt so queer in my life!” answered Collins, in a melancholy tone, strongly in contrast with his habitual brusque gaiety; “but, as you say, it's no use. The poor lad is dead enough at last, and my only comfort now is to bury him, and sometimes look at his grave.”
The half-hour given by Captain Headley to the men to clean themselves and eat their breakfasts, afforded his subaltern ample time to take his own, which had all this time been waiting. When he readied his rooms he found that he had another ordeal to go through. Mrs. Elmsley was already at the bead of the table, and pouring out the coffee, with Miss Heywood seated on her left—the latter very pale, and having evidently passed a sleepless night. As the officer entered the room, a slight flush overspread her features, for she looked as if she expected him to be accompanied by another, but when he hastily unbuckled his sword, and placed it, with his cap, on a side-table, desiring his wife to lose no time in pouring out the coffee, as he must be off again immediately, she felt, she knew not wherefore, very sick at heart, and became even paler than before. Nor was she at all re-assured by the tone of commiseration in which, after drawing a chair to her side, and affectionately pressing her hand, he inquired after her own and her mother's health.
“Why, George,” said Mrs. Elmsley, who remarked this change in her friend, and in some degree divined the cause, “where are Mr. Ronayne and the doctor? You told me last night they were to breakfast here—and see, one, two, three, four, five cups (pointing at each with her finger), I have prepared accordingly. Indeed, I scarcely think this young lady would have made her appearance at the breakfast-table, had she not expected to meet—who was it, my dear?” and she turned an arch look upon her friend—“ah! I know now—Von Vottenberg.”
“Nay, I have no more need of disguise from your husband than from yourself, Margaret,” replied Miss Heywood, her coloring cheek in a measure contradicting her words—“it was Harry Ronayne I expected; but,” she added, with a faint smile, “do not imagine I am quite so romantic as not to be able to take my breakfast, because he is not present to share it; therefore if you please, I also will trouble you for a cup of coffee.”
“All in good time,” remarked Mrs. Elmsley. “I dare say, Ronayne is engaged in some duty which has prevented him from keeping his engagement as punctually as he could have desired. We shall certainly see him before the breakfast things are removed.”
“It seems to me,” said her husband, who was taking his meal with the appetite of any other than a hungry man, and even with a shade of vexation on his features, “that you all appear to be very much in the dark here. Why, Margaret, have you not heard what has occurred during the night, as well as this morning?”
“How should I have heard any thing, George?” replied Mrs. Elmsley. “I have seen no one since you went out this morning—who could have communicated news from without? Surely you ought to know that. Will you have more coffee?”
“No, thank you—I have no appetite for coffee or for any thing else. I almost wish I had not come. Dear Maria,” he added, impetuously, taking Miss Heywood's hand in his own; “I know you have a noble—a courageous heart, and can bear philosophically what I have to tell you.”
“I can bear much,” was the reply, accompanied by a forced smile, that was contradicted by the quivering of the compressed lip; “and if I could not, I find I must begin to learn. Yet what can you have to tell me, my dear Mr. Elmsley, more than I already divine—my poor father—” and the tears started from her eyes.
“Ha! there at least, I have comfort for you—although there has been sad work at the farm—the fishing-party have come in with the bodies of poor Le Noir and the boy Wilton, but they all say that Mr. Heywood was carried off a prisoner by the Indians.”
“Carried off a prisoner,” repeated Miss Heywood, a sudden glow animating her pale features—“oh! Elmsley, thank you for that. There is still a hope then?”
“There is indeed a hope; but, dearest Miss Heywood, why must I heal with one hand and wound with the other. If I give comparative good news of your father, there is another who ought to be here, and whose absence at this moment is to me at once a pain and a mystery.”
“You mean Harry Ronayne?” she said, hesitatingly, but without manifesting surprise.
“Where the foolish fellow has gone,” he continued, “I do not know, but he has disappeared from the Fort, nor has he left the slightest clue by which he may be traced.”
“Does Captain Headley know this?” she inquired, recollecting, that part of the conversation that had passed between them the preceding day, in reference to the succor that might have been afforded at the farm.
“He does. I made the report of Ronayne's absence to him personally, and the doctor was summoned to state if he had seen any thing of him. He, however, was as ignorant as a man, who had been drunk during the night, and was not yet quite sober in the morning, could well be. The captain was as much surprised as displeased, but further inquiry was delayed on the sergeant of the guard coming up and announcing the near approach of the boat containing the fishing-party.”
“Tell me, dear Mr. Elmsley,” said Miss Heywood, after a few moments of seeming reflection; “what is your own opinion of the matter? How do you account—or have you at all endeavored to account for Ronayne's absence?”
“I can easily understand the cause,” he replied, “but confound me if I can attempt to divine the means he took to accomplish his object.”
He then proceeded to relate the circumstances of his proposal to Captain Headley—the abrupt refusal he had met with—his subsequent application to himself to pass him out of the gate, and the final abandonment of his request when he found that his acquiescence would seriously compromise him, as officer of the guard.
“Noble Harry!” thought Miss Heywood—“your confusion, your vexation of yesterday, arose from not being able to follow your own generous impulses: but now I fully understand the resolve you secretly made—and all for my sake. Do not think me very romantic,” she said aloud to Mr. Elmsley, “but really, Margaret, I cannot despair that all will yet, and speedily, be well. The only fear I entertain is that the strict Captain Headley may rebuke him in terms that will call up all the fire of his nature, and induce a retort that may prove a source of serious misunderstanding—unless, indeed, the greatness of the service rendered, plead his justification.”
“Now that we are on the subject, dear Miss Heywood,” remarked Elmsley, “let me once for all disabuse you of an impression which I fear you entertain—or is it so? Do you think that Ronayne has had an opportunity of joining the party at the farm?”
“Certainly, I do,” she answered, gravely, “or why should he have gone forth? Pray do not rob me of what little comfort, in expectation, I have left.”
“That he went forth madly and single-handed for the purpose, I can believe—nay, I am sure of it; but I grieve to add that he has not been seen there.”
“This, indeed, is strange,” she returned in faltering tones, and with ill-disguised emotion, for, hitherto she had been sustained by the belief that he was merely lingering behind the party, in order to satisfy himself of facts, the detail of which could not fail to be satisfactory to her ear. “How know you this?”
“I questioned Corporal Nixon, who commanded the party, and who apprised me of Mr. Heywood's having been carried off by the Indians, for I was deeply anxious, as you may presume, to know what had become of my friend—and this far less even for my own sake than for yours.”
“And his answer was?” and there was deep melancholy in the question.
“That no American uniform had come under his notice during his absence from the Fort, save those of the party he commanded. These, as far as I can recollect, were his precise words.”
“Mr. Elmsley,” said a sentry, who now appeared at the door of the breakfast-parlor, “Captain Headley waits for you in the orderly room.”
“Is Corporal Nixon there?” asked the lieutenant.
“He is, sir.”
“Good, Dixon, I shall be there immediately.”
“God bless you,” he continued, to Miss Heywood, when the man had departed. “We shall, perhaps, elicit from him, something that will throw light upon the obscure part of this matter. Margaret, do not leave the dear girl alone, but cheer up her spirits, and make her hope for the best.”
So saying, he shook her hand affectionately, pushed back his chair from the table, and resuming his cap and sword, left the friends together, promising to return as soon as the examination of the man should be concluded.