CHAPTER XXXIV.
Oh, how this tyrant, doubt, torments my breast!
My thoughts, like birds, who're frighten'd from their nest,
Around the place where all was hush'd before,
Flutter, and hardly nestle any more.
OTWAY.
Our story now reverts to the Indians, of whom we have for so long made little or no mention. It is in vain for us to attempt to control the course of our tale, and to compel it, as it were, to be content with the artificial banks of a canal, stealing insensibly on, with uniform smoothness, to its terminus. Whatever we may do, it will assert its liberty, and wander in its own way, foaming down rocks and rugged precipices, like a mountain stream, at one moment, at the next, stagnating into a pool, and afterwards gliding off in erratic windings, roaming like Ceres, searching through the world for her lost Proserpine. Not ours to subject the succession of events to our will, but to narrate them with such poor skill as nature and a defective education concede, trusting that a homely sincerity, if it cannot wholly supply the place of art, may palliate its want.
Peéna, the partridge, or Esther, as she was more commonly called by the whites, heard, with an exquisite delight, that the little boy; whom she had left on the steps of the house, in New York, and now discovered to be Pownal, was the son of Holden. Nothing could have happened more calculated to deepen the reverence she had long felt for the Solitary, and to convince her—though no such argument was necessary—that he was a "great medicine," or one peculiarly the favorite, and under the guardianship, of Superior Powers. She herself seemed controlled by the Manito that watched over Holden, and compelled, even unknown to herself, to guard his interests. For was it not she who had preserved the child? Was it not she who had placed him in a situation to become a great and rich man?—for such, to her simplicity, Pownal seemed to be—was it not she who had brought father and son together, and revealed each to the other? As these reflections and the like passed through her mind, a shudder of superstition thrilled her frame, and she turned her attention to the consideration of how she might best fulfill the designs of the Manito. For it will be remembered, that, although nominally a Christian, she had not wholly cast off the wild notions of her tribe, if it be, indeed, possible for an adult Indian to do so. The maxim of Horace:
"Quo semel est imbuta recens servabit odorem
Testa diu,"
is of universal application, nor has it ever greater force than when reference is had to ideas, connected with the terrors of an unseen world, and where the mind that entertains them is destitute of the advantages of education.
Esther, it may readily then be supposed, did not delay after their arrival, to go to see both Holden and his son. She could not behold again, and recognize the child she had preserved, in the young man who stood before her, without strong feeling, nor could Pownal look unmoved upon the gentle and timid woman, to whom he was so much indebted. Esther knew again the string of coral beads she had left upon the boy's neck, and ascribed it to the whispers of the Great Spirit, that she had allowed them to remain. She did not return from her visit to Pownal empty handed. In fact, she was loaded with as many presents, of such articles as suited her condition and half-civilized taste, as she and the boy, Quadaquina, who commonly accompanied her, could carry. It was the mode which naturally suggested itself to Pownal, as alike most pleasing to Peéna, and most calculated to impress her mind with a sense of his estimate of her services, especially as there was connected with the gifts a promise, that during his life her wants and wishes should all be supplied. Peéna now felt herself the happiest and richest of her tribe, and her heart glowed with devotion towards those who had been the means of investing her with wealth, and the consequence attached to it.
"Hugh!" ejaculated Ohquamehud, in amazement, as the squaw and her son threw down upon the floor of the cabin the rich red and blue cloths, and hats, and shoes, and other articles which Pownal had pressed upon them. The exclamation escaped involuntarily, but, with a natural politeness, the Indian asked no questions, but waited till it should please the squaw to furnish an explanation.
The sweet-tempered Peéna saw his desire, and turning to the boy, she said, in their native language, in which the three always conversed together:
"Speak, Quadaquina, that the eyes of thy father's brother may be opened."
The boy, in obedience to the command of his mother, and without looking at the Indian, tersely replied:
"They are the gifts of my white brother with the open hand, the son of the Longbeard."
Ohquamehud appeared offended, and he asked, in a sharp tone:
"Is Quadaquina ashamed, when he speaks to a warrior, to look him in the eyes, and did he learn his manners from the pale faces?"
The boy turned round, and gazed full at the other, and his eyes glistened, yet it was in a low, soft tone he replied:
"Quadaquina is a child, and knows not the customs of warriors, and children turn away their eyes from what they do not wish to see."
Ohquamehud's face darkened as he said:
"The arts of the Longbeard have blown a cloud between me and my kindred, so that they cannot see me, and it is time my feet were turned towards the setting sun."
"It is the fire-water that puts out the eyes of Ohquamehud, and makes him forget what he owes to the wife of Huttamoiden," exclaimed the boy, with suppressed passion.
"Peace, Quadaquina," said his mother. "Ohquamehud is not now the slave of the fire-water. Go," she added, detecting, with a mother's sagacity, the tumult in the mind of the high-spirited boy, "and return not until thou hast tamed thine anger. Wolves dwell not in the cabin of Peéna."
The boy, with downcast eyes, and obedient to his mother, left the hut.
In explanation of this scene we may say, that, unhappily, like most Indians, Ohquamehud was addicted to the use of spirituous liquors, his indulgence in the fiery gratification being limited only by his inability at all times to obtain it. Although unable to indulge his appetite in the cabin of Esther, he occasionally procured strong liquors in the huts of the other Indians, with whom the practice of taking stimulants was almost universal, and sometimes in such quantities as utterly to lose his reason. Returned on one of these occasions, he demanded rum from Esther, and, upon her refusal to give it, struck her a blow. This so exasperated the boy, Quadaquina, who was present, that, with a club, he prostrated the drunken man, which, indeed, in the condition he was in, was not difficult, and would, had he not been restrained by Peéna, have inflicted a serious injury, if not killed him. Ohquamehud never knew that he had been struck, but ascribed the violent pain in his head the next day to the fire-water, and the contusion to a fall. Peéna, while lamenting the excesses of her relative, felt little or no resentment towards him; but not so with the boy. He despised Ohquamehud for the miserable exhibitions of imbecility he made in his cups, and hated him for the violence to his mother.
"Look," said Peéna, pointing to the articles, and desirous to remove the rising discontent from the mind of the Indian, "the heart of the young Longbeard (for she had no other name for Pownal in her language) is large. All these he took out of it for Peéna."
"Accursed be the gifts of the pale faces!" exclaimed Ohquamehud. "For such rags our fathers sold our hunting-grounds, and gave permission to the strangers to build walls in the rivers so that the fish cannot swim up."
"Peéna sold nothing for these," said the squaw, mildly. "Because the young Longbeard loved Peéna he gave them all to her."
"Did not Peéna preserve his life? But she is right. The white face has an open hand, and pays more for his life than it is worth."
"The words of my husband's brother are very bitter. What has the boy whom Huttamoiden's arm saved from the flames, done, that blackness should gather over the face of Ohquamehud?"
"Quah! Does Peéna ask? She is more foolish than the bird, from which she takes her name, when it flies into a tree. Is he not the son of Onontio?"
"Peéna never saw Onontio. She has only heard of him as one, who like the red men, loves scalps. The Longbeard is a man of peace, and loves them not. The eyes of Ohquamehud are getting dim."
"The eyes of Ohquamehud are two fires, which throw a light upon his path, and he sees clearly what is before him. It is only blood that can wash out from the eyes of a warrior the remembrance of his enemy, and nothing but water has cleansed Ohquamehud's. Thrice have I meet Onontio, once on the yellow Wabash: again, where the mighty Mississippi and Ohio flow into each other's bosoms, and a third time on the plains of the Upper Illinois. Look," he cried suddenly, throwing open his shirt, and exposing his breast, "the bullet of Onontio made that mark like the track of a swift canoe in the water. It talks very plain and will not let Ohquamehud forget."
"If the Longbeard be Onontio, his son has done my brother no injury."
"The gifts of the pale face have blinded the eyes, and stopped the ears of my sister, so that she can neither see nor hear the truth. Who, when he kills the old panther, lets the cubs escape?"
"There is peace between the red man and the white on the banks of the Sakimau. The long knives are as plenty as the leaves of the western forests. Ohquamehud must forget the bullet of Onontio until he finds him on the prairie, or where the streams run towards the setting sun."
"My sister is very wise," said the savage, his whole manner changing from the ferocity, which had at first characterized it, to a subdued and even quiet tone. "But," added he, as it were despondingly, "let her not fear for the safety of the Longbeard. Ohquamehud is weak and cannot contend with so great a medicine." He turned away, as if unwilling to continue the conversation, nor did Peéna manifest any disposition to renew it.
There was, however, something about the Indian, that alarmed the squaw, as she had never been before, notwithstanding the pacific language, with which he concluded. The time was drawing nigh for Ohquamehud's return to the West, and, knowing his brutal temper, she feared that under the influence of the spirituous liquors he indulged in to excess, he might attempt to signalize his departure by some act of wrong and revenge, which would bring down destruction on himself, and disastrously affect the fortunes of the tribe. He evidently cherished a bitter animosity toward Holden, whom he had recognized as a formidable enemy, and although a cool and wary savage when himself, and as capable of appreciating the consequences of an act as clearly as any one and therefore likely to be deterred from violence, there was no knowing what he might do, when stimulated by the frenzy that lurks in the seductive draught. Peéna knew the difficulty, with which an Indian foregoes revenge, and her apprehensions were the more excited by the attachment she felt for the two white men. Fears, vague and unformed had before floated through her mind, but they now assumed consistency, and she determined to take such precautions until the departure of her kinsman as should prevent harm either to himself or others. With this view, the moment she was alone with her son, she seized the opportunity to speak on the subject of her alarm. But, first she thought it necessary to reprove him for his feelings towards his uncle.
"Whose blood," she inquired, "flows in the veins of Quadaquina?"
"It is the blood of Huttamoiden," answered the boy, erecting his head, and drawing himself up proudly.
"And who gave the bold heart and strong arm to Huttamoiden?"
"It was the mighty Obbatinuua, whose name men say is still mentioned in the song on the great fresh water lakes."
"He had two sons?"
"Huttamoiden and"—He stopped as if unwilling to pronounce the name, and turned with a gesture of contempt from his mother.
Peéna supplied the omission. "Ohquamehud," she said. "He is a brave warrior, and the Shawnees are proud of his exploits."
"He is a dog!" exclaimed the boy, fiercely. "The blood of Obbatinuua has leaked out of his veins, and the fire-water taken its place."
"He is the kinsman of Quadaquina, and it does not become a child to judge harshly of any member of his tribe."
"Mother," said the boy, gravely, as if he thought it incumbent on him to justify his conduct, "listen. The hearts of Obbatinuua and of Huttamoiden both beat in my bosom. They tell me that the son should remember the glory of his father. Quadaquina is very sick when he sees Ohquamehud lying on the ground, a slave of the fire-water, with his tongue lolling out like a dog's, and he disdains to acknowledge him as of his blood."
Peéna was not disposed to blame the boy for his disgust at drunkenness. It was a feeling she had herself most sedulously cultivated by every means in her power, pointing out, as occasion offered, like the Lacedemonians, its exhibitions in its worst forms, and contrasting the wretched drunkard falling, from degradation to degradation, into a dishonored grave, with the sober and vigorous man. She had succeeded in imparting to Quadaquina her own abhorrence of the vice, and was cautious not to weaken the impression.
"Enough," said Peéna; "my son will grow up into a brave and good man; but if he despises Ohquamehud for his drunkenness, let him not forget he is his kinsman. Hearken," she added, earnestly, and drawing the boy nearer, while she lowered her voice; "does Quadaquina know that Ohquamehud hates the Longbeard?"
"Quadaquina's ears and eyes are open," said the boy.
"Ohquamehud's feet will soon chase the setting sun," continued Peéna, "but before he starts the fire-water may try to make him do some foolish thing. Quadaquina must have love enough for his kinsman to prevent the folly."
"Not because Quadaquina loves, but because Ohquamehud is his father's brother."
"It is well. Ohquamehud must do the Longbeard no harm, and Quadaquina must watch them both, and, if need be, warn the Longbeard of the danger."
The boy, proud of the trust committed to him, promised to obey his mother and be watchful, and from that time commenced a system of patient vigilance, of which a white child would scarcely be capable, but which seems to be a part of the nature of an Indian. Whenever Ohquamehud left the cabin Quadaquina sought no more to avoid him, but accompanied him whenever invited, and if not, generally followed, so as not to lose him long out of sight. There was something about the trust that agreed well with the cunning of the child. It had for him a kind of fascination, like that which induces the hunter patiently, day after day, to pursue the track of the flying game, looking forward to the moment of success, when all his toil is to be repaid.
As for Esther, she lost no time in starting off to apprise Holden and Pownal of the danger she feared. As the canoe glided along under the strokes of the paddle, which she knew how to use as well as any man, she reflected upon the proper manner of communicating her apprehensions; but the more she thought on the subject, the more difficult it appeared. She could not mention the name of her kinsman as the person whom she suspected of an evil design. That seemed to her a sort of treason, a violation of the rights of relationship and of hospitality. He might be innocent. She herself might be to blame for cherishing such suspicions. She knew not what evils the disclosure of Ohquamehud's name connected with the charge might occasion. He might be arrested and put in prison, perhaps, executed. The white people, in the opinion of the Indians, had never exercised much forbearance towards them, and regarded them as an inferior race. The liberty or life of an Indian was, probably, with them, but of little consequence. Besides, might she not be running some risk herself? But this reflection weighed but little with the affectionate creature. While such considerations occurred to the ignorant and timid woman, she was half tempted to turn back, and trust to the Manito or protecting genius, who had thus far borne the Solitary triumphantly through all perils, but her fears at last prevailed over these scruples, and she resolved to give the warning without making allusion to any person.
But Holden, a man naturally of great courage, and familiarized from his earliest years with danger, and the means of avoiding it, paid but little attention to the obscure hints of Esther. He did not even take the trouble to inquire to what direction her allusions pointed. From whom, from what, had he to apprehend danger to his life? He had voluntarily embraced poverty; there was nothing about him to tempt cupidity; he loved all the world, and would hardly, indeed, hesitate to sacrifice, if need were, his life for that of an another. What motive could there be to injure him? He was not in the boundless forest of the West, roamed by predatory savages, but in a land of law, and order, and religion. Were he, indeed, in those regions which had witnessed the fiery trials and perils of his youth, caution would be necessary; but even then, he would have relied with confidence on his own resources, controlled and directed by a shaping Providence. It was not probable that Holden thought at all of Ohquamehud, but if his mind rested for a moment on the Indian, it could not be with an emotion of fear. The western pioneers feel their superiority too greatly to be accessible to such apprehensions, and Holden had been too long a hunter of savages, to dread either their cunning or their force. Had he reflected on the subject, he would have seemed to himself to stand in pretty much the same relation to a red skin that a grown man does to a child; or, if the Indian were hostile, as the hunter does to the bears, and wolves, and catamounts, he pursues.
"Peéna," said Holden, "I thank thee. It is not in human nature to be ungrateful for affection, whatever be the color of the skin that covers the heart which offers it. But dismiss thy fears, and think of them as unsubstantial as the morning mist. And know that at all times doubt and fear are in vain. Thou canst not make one hair white and another black. It is appointed unto all men once to die, but of the times and seasons, though fixed by the Master of Life with infallible wisdom, and by a decree that may not be gainsaid, no man knoweth. The arrow shot by the hand of Jehovah must reach its mark, though thou seest not its track in the clouds."
Somewhat more effect attended Esther's visit to Pownal, not that, indeed, she felt the same apprehensions for him as for his father, or was able to inspire him with fears on his own account. Living in the village, and with habits so different from those of Holden, he was vastly less exposed to a danger of the kind she apprehended. The bullet or the knife of the savage would not be likely to reach him in the streets of Hillsdale. For it is no part of the tactics of an American Indian to expose his own life. On the contrary, he is considered a fool who does so unnecessarily. Stratagem is prized above force, and he is the greatest warrior who, while inflicting an injury, takes care not to expose himself to harm. Esther knew all this, and for these reasons, perhaps, if with Holden she was vague, with his son she was oracular. Consequently, Pownal only laughed at her, when she spoke of himself, as well, indeed, he might, but when she referred to his father, the case was altered. Not that any clear, well-defined danger presented itself, but as in low, monotonous tones the squaw proceeded, darkly hinting at what she would not explain, an oppression fell upon his spirits as strange as it was painful. We can liken it to nothing with more propriety than to that dim sense of terror and discomfort which is sometimes observed in the inferior animals at the approach of an eclipse or the bursting of a hurricane. Yielding to the mysterious monitor, and prompt in action as he was rapid in judgment, Pownal proceeded instantly to seek his father.
CHAPTER XXXV.
And with him thousand phantoms joined
Who prompt to deeds accursed the mind,
And those the fiends who, near allied,
O'er Nature's wounds and wrecks preside;
While Vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts his right arm, exposed and bare.
COLLINS.
Ohquamehud, with all his burning passion for revenge, dared not undertake anything against his enemy, in opposition to the commands of the Manito. After the signal interposition, as he conceived it to be, in favor of Holden at the cabin of the latter, he thought it not prudent to renew the attempt at the same place. The terror of that moment was too deeply impressed to allow him to hazard its repetition. But the power of that Manito might not extend elsewhere, and there were other Manitos who, perhaps, were more powerful, and might be more propitious. He would endeavor to conciliate one of them, and so arrive at the accomplishment of his wishes.
It has been observed that the falls of the Yaupáae were a favorite place of resort for the Solitary. Especially at this season of the year (for it was now the delicious month of June, the loveliest of the twelve) did he love to haunt its neighborhood. There was something in the wild scenery, in the dash and tumult of the water, and in its ceaseless shout, that harmonized well with his feelings in their various moods. His was a grand soul, and felt itself allied to the grandeur of nature. As the air, driven through the pipes of a mighty organ, issues out in solemn concords and divine harmonies, of power to lift the spirit on wings of cherubim and seraphim above "the mists of this dim spot which men call earth" and recall its contemplations to its heavenly origin, so these sights and sounds, playing through the soul of the Solitary, chased away whatever would clog its upward flight, soothing while they elevated, and bridging over the chasm that separates the lower from the upper spheres. This habit of Holden was well known to the Indian, for he had often seen the Solitary musing on a rock that overhung the falls. The retirement of the place, likewise, was favorable to the purpose of an assassin. It was seldom in those days, except tempted by its romance, that a person visited the spot. There were other reasons, also, that had an influence over the superstitious mind of the Indian, in determining his choice.
A child of nature, cradled in her wild bosom and reared in her arms, he, too, felt her awful charms. He could not listen to the voice of the majestic torrent, or gaze upon the grey rocks without a reverent admiration. And in proportion to this feeling was his awe of the Manito who presided over the scene. How prodigious must be His power! The irresistible sweep of the cataract resembled his strength; its roar, his voice; and the hoary rocks were indicative of his age. Could he obtain the favor of so mighty a Being—could he induce him to aid his design, it could be easy of execution. He would make the trial. He would approach him with offerings, and acquaint him with his wishes. The Genius of the Fall ought not to love the white man. The pale faces never offered him gifts, while the red men, long before the arrival of the fatal stranger and since, had covered the shores with presents. He would not be disregardful or turn a deaf ear to one of his children who sought a just revenge.
Animated by these considerations and such hopes, Ohquamehud left the hut of Esther on the afternoon of the following day, to propitiate the Manito of the Falls. His way led through the wood, along the margin of the Severn for a few miles and then crossed the high-road and some open fields and another belt of woods, before he reached the Yaupáae. Arrived at his destination, he looked with a solemn air around as if half expecting to see the Genius of the place. But he beheld nothing, save the wild features of nature, and the moss-grown roof of the old mill, almost hid by the intervening trees: he heard no sound except the uninterrupted roaring of the torrent. In the hot rays of that June sun, not even the birds emitted a note, waiting under their leafy shelters in the darkest recesses of the woods, until the pleasant coolness of approaching evening should tempt them out and reawaken their songs. The Indian, seeing that no one was in sight, commenced collecting brush and sticks of dry wood that lay about, which he heaped up into a pile upon a rock close to the water's edge. After he had gathered together a quantity that appeared to him sufficient, he selected from the stones lying around, a couple of flints which seemed fittest for his purpose, and by striking them violently together, soon succeeded in producing a shower of sparks, which falling on the thoroughly dried and combustible matter, instantly set it on fire, and shot a tongue of flame into the air. Reverently then inclining his body towards the cataract, as in an attitude of supplication, Ohquamehud addressed the Manito, and explained his wishes. He spoke with dignity, as one who, though standing in the presence of a superior, was not unmindful of his own worth. The sounds at first were those of lamentation, so low as scarcely to be audible, and plaintive and sweet as the sighs of the wind through the curled conch shell. "Oh Manito," he said, "where are thy children, once as plenty as the forest leaves? Ask of the month of flowers for the snows that 'Hpoon scatters from his hand, or of the Yaupáae for the streams he pours into the great Salt Lake. The sick-skinned stranger, with hair like the curls of the vine, came from the rising sun. He was weak as a little child: he shivered with the cold: he was perishing with hunger. The red man was strong: he wrapped himself in bear skins and was warm; he built his wigwam of bark, and defied the storm, and meat was plenty in his pot. He pitied the dying stranger; he brought him on his back out of the snow, and laid him by the fire; he chafed his limbs and clothed him in furs; he presented venison with his own hands, and the daughters of the tribes offered honey and cakes of maize, and wept for compassion. And the pale face saw that our land was better than his own, and he envied us, and sent messengers to his people to come and strip us of our heritage. Then they came as the flights of pigeons in the spring, innumerable: in multitudes as the shad and salmon, when they ascend the thawed rivers. They poisoned the air with their breaths, and the Indians died helpless in the pestilence. They made war upon us, and drove us from our cornfields; they killed our old men, and sent away our young men and maidens into slavery. O, Manito, thus hath the accursed pale faces requited our kindness.
"Wast thou displeased with the red men O, Manito? Had the children of the Forest offended thee, that thou didst deliver them into the hand of their enemies? See, what thine inconsiderate anger hath done. Thou hast destroyed us, and injured thyself. Where are the offerings that once covered these rocks, the bears' meat and the venison, the wampum, the feathers of the eagle, and sweet-smelling tobacco? Who now honoreth the Manito of the loud voiced Yaupáae? I listen, but I hear no answer."
Thus far the voice of Ohquamehud was low and melancholy, as the wail of a broken heart, and his face sad, as of one lamenting for a friend, but now it changed to a loftier expression, and the words were hissed out with a guttural roughness, without being spoken much louder.
"O, Manito!" he continued, "I alone am left to offer thee the sacrifice of the fragrant tobacco. Behold! I will fill thy pipe many times if thou wilt assist me. Onontio hath done me much mischief. He hath burned the villages of my people, and slain our warriors. Why shouldst thou favor him? Is he not a dog which thou wilt kick away from the door of thy lodge? He cometh, sometimes, and sitteth upon the highest rock, to look down upon thy dwelling-place. It is to nourish the pride of his heart. It is to exult that, as far as his eye can see, it beholds no wigwam, nor one bringing thee gifts. Help Manito! Think upon thine own wrongs,—remember the sufferings of the red man, and give me the scalp of Onontio. Accept my offering."
Having thus spoken, and conciliated by every means that occurred to his untutored mind, the good-will of the tutelary Spirit of the Falls, recounting the generosity of the Indians, and the ingratitude of the whites, remonstrating with the Manito for his supposed anger, and pointing out its folly, trying to stimulate his indignation on account of the neglect of himself, and, to tempt his love of presents by promises, Ohquamehud threw a quantity of tobacco in the leaf, which the Indians were accustomed to raise themselves around their cabins, into the flames. But an incident took place, which, for a time, dashed his hopes to the ground, and covered him with mortification and confusion.
The day, as we have already intimated, was unusually hot, even for the month of June. As the hours advanced, a sultry and slumbrous silence filled the air, which quivered with the heat. Clouds began to collect in the northwest, and to roll up higher and higher towards the zenith, in immense waves, which darkened momently, until half the heavens seemed covered with a pall. The lightning began to play more frequently over the surging blackness, and the mutterings of the thunder became every instant louder. Ohquamehud was not altogether unaware of the approaching storm, but, engaged in the solemn rite, the appearances of the clouds had not attracted as much of his attention as otherwise they would have done. At the instant he threw the tobacco into the fire, the blackness of the clouds was intensest, and a grim silence, as if nature were waiting in anxious expectation of some grand event, brooded over the earth interrupted only by the shout of the cataract; then, a thunderbolt blazed almost in the eyes of the Indian, followed, instantly, by a crash, as if the solid rocks were splintered into fragments, and by a torrent of rain, pouring, not in drops, but, in one continuous flood. For a few moments, the rain continued falling violently, then gradually slackened and ceased. The lightning glittered less frequently; the threatenings of the thunder became less distinct, and the clouds rolled up their dark standards and dispersed, disappearing in the depths of the unfathomable sky.
The Indian, meanwhile, remained immovable, staring at the fire in which the rain hissed as it fell. Thus, like a statue, he stood, until the storm had rolled away; then, recovering from his stupefaction, he turned, despondingly, from the heap of ashes. His offering, then, had been rejected. The Manito either could not or would not assist him. Onontio bore a charmed life. He was a great medicine, beyond the power of his vengeance. Ohquamehud, with a frown upon his brow, dark as the folds of the departing clouds, strode several steps from the rock, when, turning, as if struck by a sudden thought, he commenced searching in the ashes. The surface, of course, was soaked; but, as he penetrated deeper, they were drier, and at the bottom he found unextinguished coals. He carefully searched round, to discover if any portion of the tobacco was unconsumed, but could find none. The offering had not, then, been rejected. The Manito had accepted it. It was not he who sent the storm. Perhaps, some other Manito, who, however, was unable to defeat the sacrifice. The countenance of Ohquamehud brightened, and he began again to collect the brush and scattered sticks. From hollows, in the butts of old trees, and recesses under projecting cliffs, he succeeded in finding enough dry fuel to start the fire anew, and soon it shot up a bright bold flame as before. "O, Manito!" he softly said, "thou art not angry—receive my gift." Again, he threw tobacco into the fire, and, this time, no portent interposed. The greedy flame seized upon the dry leaves, which crackled in the heat, and bore them on its shining billows high into the air. The fire continued burning till all was consumed, and the heap sent up only a spiral of indistinct smoke.
The importunity of Ohquamehud had wrung from the Genius the consent which he solicited. The gratified Indian stretched out his hand, and again spoke—
"O, Manito, thanks! The heart of Ohquamehud is strong. When he journeys towards the setting sun, his feet shall bound like those of a deer, for the scalp of Onontio will hang at his girdle."
He glided into the woods and disappeared, ignorant that any one had been a witness of his actions. But, Quadaquina, from an evergreen thicket, had watched all his motions. As the form of Ohquamehud became dimmer in the distance, the boy could not repress his exultation at the success of his ambush, but gave it vent in a whistle, imitating the notes of the whipperwill. It caught the ear of the Indian, and he turned, and as he did so, the boy threw himself on the ground. The sun had hardly set. It was too early for the bird to be heard, which never commences his melancholy chant until the shades of evening are spread over the dewy earth. The eyes of Ohquamehud sent sharp glances in the direction whence the whistle came, but he could discern nothing. He listened for awhile, but the sounds were not repeated, and wondering what they could mean—for he relied too implicitly on his senses to suppose his imagination had deceived him—he resumed his course homeward. Presently, Quadaquina slowly rose, and, perceiving no one in sight, followed in the same direction.
The boy, at first, walked deliberately along; but, after, as he supposed, a considerable interval was interposed between him and the Indian, he quickened his steps, in order to more at about the same rate as the other. He had cleared the clumps of trees next to the Falls, and crossed the open fields, and advanced some little distance into the belt of continuous woods along the river, when, suddenly, Ohquamehud, starting from behind the trunk of a large tree, stood before him. Quadaquina's heart beat quicker, but no outward sign betrayed emotion.
"What does a child like Quadaquina, mean by wandering so far in the dark away from its mother?" demanded Ohquamehud.
"Quadaquina is no longer a child," answered the boy, "to need his mother. He runs about, like a squirrel, in the woods, whenever he please."
"Quah! He is more like a bird, and it is to take lessons from the whipperwill, that he comes into the woods."
"Ohquamehud talks like a crow that knows not what he says."
"When next," said the Indian, with a laugh, "Quadaquina tries to be a bird, let him remember that the bashful whipperwill likes not the sun to hear his song."
The boy fancying that he had been discovered, and that any further attempt at concealment was vain, answered boldly,
"It is no concern of Ohquamehud, whether Quadaquina is a bird, or a squirel, or a fish. He will fly in the air, or swim in the water, or run in the woods without asking permission from any one."
"And Ohquamehud is not a rabbit to be tracked by a little dog wherever he goes. Ahque! (beware). He will strike the little dog if he presses too close upon his heels." So saying, and as if to give emphasis to his words, the Indian lightly touched the shoulders of the boy, with a small stick which he held in his hand.
It was like lightning falling in a powder-magazine, so suddenly blazed up the anger of Quadaquina, when he felt the touch of the rod. He jumped back as though bitten by a snake, and snatching up a stone, hurled it with all his strength at Ohquamehud. It was well that the Indian leaped behind a tree near which he stood, else the missile, with such true aim and vindictive force was it sent, might have proved fatal. As soon as the stone was thrown, the Indian stepped up to the boy, who stood trembling with passion, but observing no intention on the part of the latter to renew his violence, he passed close by him, with a contemptuous laugh, and pursued his way, Quadaquina following, though at some distance, in his steps. The boy came into the hut of Peéna within a short time after the entrance of the Indian, nor could the most jealous eye have detected in either a trace of what had happened. Ohquamehud moved with a grave dignity to the seat he usually occupied, and his pipe presently sent grateful volumes of smoke through the cabin. He noticed, however, that when Quadaquina came in, his mother made no inquiry into the cause which had detained him beyond the hour of the evening meal, and this confirmed the suspicions that were floating in his mind. They were indeed vague, and he fancied that if for any reason he had been watched by Quadaquina, the lesson he had just given would intimidate the boy, and satisfy him there would be danger in dogging the steps of one so vigilant as himself, and who had avowed his intention to punish the offender, if he were caught again.
Quadaquina, when they were by themselves, related to his mother what he had witnessed at the Falls, but made no allusion to the quarrel betwixt Ohquamehud and himself, nor of the threats of the former. He could give no account of the address to the Manito, the distance having been too great to allow him to hear the words. His story caused no alarm to Peéna, inasmuch as acquainted with the superstitions of the Indians, she ascribed the sacrifice to a desire to propitiate the Manito, in order to secure a fortunate journey to the western tribe.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
But love itself could never pant
For all that beauty sighs to grant,
With half the fervor hate bestows
Upon the last embrace of foes,
When grappling in the fight, they fold
Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold;
Friends meet to part; love laughs at faith:
True foes, once met, are joined till death!
BYRON'S Giaour.
Pownal, upon parting with Esther, sought his father. But the expression of his apprehensions was so vague, he was so incapable of giving his fears any definite shape, that he made no more impression than the woman. The calm austerity of the Solitary's face almost melted into a smile at the idea that any event could occur except in the determined course of things. It was the pride of the human heart; it was the presumption of the human intellect that dreamed of freedom of choice or of action. If individual wills were permitted to cross and jostle each other, the universe would be a scene of confusion. Freedom was only in appearance. One grand, serene, supreme will embraced the actual and the ideal in its circle, and all things were moved by a law as certain and irresistible as that which impels worlds in their orbits. The conviction was a part of Holden's self. He could no more be convinced of its fallacy than of his own non-existence, and his son left him with the full assurance that, even were he to know that his life was menaced, he would be the last one to take any precautionary measures for its protection. But, in truth, the fears of Pownal were so slight, that after an allusion to them, he forbore to dwell upon the subject, especially as the conversation took a turn as interesting to him as it was unexpected.
"Thou art of an age, my son," said Holden, abruptly, "to take to thee a wife, and the bounty of the good man whose name I permit thee still to bear, hath placed thee in a condition to gratify an innocent and natural desire. Hath thy heart moved at all in this matter?"
The question was excessively embarrassing, and the young man blushed and hesitated as he replied, that there was yet abundant time to think of such things.
"Think not," said the Solitary, observing his son's hesitation, "that I desire to intrude into thy confidence, though the heart of a son should be like a clear stream, the bottom of which may be seen by a father's eye. I speak, because partly common fame, and partly my own observation, connect thy name in some wise with a young lady's."
"And who is the lady," inquired Pownal, laughing, "whom my indiscreet gallantry has so compromised?"
"Nay, if thou wilt not be frank with me, or choosest to reply in the language of trifling, we will drop the subject."
"I will be frank. I will answer any question you may ask."
"Tell me, then, is there any relation between thee and Anne Bernard tenderer than that of common acquaintance?"
Pownal expected the question, and was therefore prepared.
"I esteem Miss Bernard highly," he said. "I am acquainted with no young lady who is her superior. I should consider myself fortunate to attract her attention. But nothing, except the language of friendship, has passed betwixt us."
"I am satisfied," said Holden, "and it is evidence of excellence in thyself that one possessing the lovable and noble qualities of Anne should attract thee. But though, in the limited circle of the small town, thy presence may be acceptable in the withdrawing room of the wealthy lawyer, thinkest thou he will be willing to give thee the hand of his only daughter?"
"I have made no pretensions to the hand of Miss Bernard; and even if I did, I see in it no presumption. There is no distinction of patrician and plebeian in this country."
"There are no such names, and yet there is a distinction. Will it please the rich and polished Judge to ally his daughter with the son of one like me?"
"Judge Bernard is above the mean conceit of valuing himself upon his riches. I never heard anything that sounded like arrogance or superciliousness from him, and he has uniformly treated me with kindness. For yourself, dear father, though for reasons of your own you have chosen to lead hitherto this life of solitude and privation, why continue to do so? Why not leave this miserable hut for comforts more befitting your age and the society you are capable of adorning?"
"Forbear! In this miserable hut, as thou callest it, I found the peace that passeth understanding, and its walls are to me more glorious than the gildings of palaces. If thou lovest Anne Bernard, as I strongly suspect, I say not unto thee cease to love her, but wait, hoarding thy love in secrecy and silence, until the fullness of the time is come. Wilt thou not promise me this, for a short time?"
"I will do nothing, father, that may be contrary to your inclinations."
"It is enough: then let there be no change in thy conduct. If thou have the love of Anne, keep it as a precious jewel, but for the present be content with the knowledge thereof: if thou have it not, seek not thereafter. I promise thee it shall be for thy good, nor will I unreasonably try thy patience."
Here the interview ended, and Pownal departed, wondering over the mystery his father affected, though he could not but confess to himself there was a worldly wisdom (as he supposed it to be) in the advice, not to be precipitate, but to watch the course of events. Though unacquainted with the motives of his parent, he was bound to respect his wishes, and felt a natural desire to gratify him to the extent of his ability. He had never found him unreasonable, whatever might be his singularities, and besides, no plan of his own was crossed. He was obliged to admit the possibility of a failure of his suit. To break up the pleasant relations existing betwixt the Bernard family and himself; not to be allowed to approach Anne as before; a cold constraint to be substituted for a confiding friendship! No, the hazard was too great. Things should continue as they were. He and Anne were still young: there was time enough; his father was right; the counsels of age were wiser than those prompted by the rashness and impetuosity of youth.
The following morning was calm and warm, when Holden stood at the door of his cabin, on the second occasion we choose to intrude upon his devotions. Not a cloud was to be seen, and the pearly hue which overspreads a clear summer sky, just stealing out of the shades of night, had not disappeared, except in the eastern quarter of the heavens, where a faint suffusion heralded, like a distant banner, the approach of the sun, welcomed, at first, by the low twittering of the birds, which gradually increased in frequency and loudness, until they swelled into bold strains, and rose melodiously into the air.
The Solitary stood, as before, with eyes fixed steadfastly upon the kindling east. Could it be possible that an expectation, which had been so often disappointed, should still be cherished; that no experience, no arguments could dissipate the delusion? It would seem so. By that subtle process, whereby minds possessed by an engrossing idea convert facts, and language, and any circumstances, however trifling, and which, to well-balanced intellects, would seem but little adapted to the purpose, into proofs incontrovertible of their opinions, had he, by dwelling upon certain texts of Scripture, which, with a mad shrewdness, he had collated, imparted to them gigantic proportions, and a peculiar coloring, which dominated and threw light upon the context, but received no qualification or disparagement in return. Without the necessity of repetition, various passages will occur to the reader, which, taken out of connection with what precedes and follows, may easily be made to support a theory of the kind he had adopted.
Holden stood as before, obedient to the command to watch, and verily do we believe, that had he, indeed, seen the Son of Man in the clouds of heaven, the magnificent vision would have impressed him with as much joy as solemnity. But in vain he looked, and having waited until the yellow sunshine, like a shower of gold, fell all around him, he retired into his hut. Not unobserved, however. The Indian, Ohquamehud, with his rifle by his side, from his place of concealment, on the right shore, had been watching all his motions. There had he lain in ambush ever since the stars had deserted the sky. Patiently he lay, with his eyes fixed on the little island. The sun mounted higher; hour after hour passed away, and yet he moved not. The time for the noonday meal arrived, but he heeded it not. The hut of Peéna was scarcely more than a couple of miles distant, and he might reach it in a few moments, but he stirred not. In the interval of his absence Onontio might leave the island, and go, he knew not whither, and his watch for the day would be in vain. And now the lengthening shadows were falling towards the east. The middle of the afternoon had arrived.
It was then Ohquamehud saw Holden, or Onontio, as he called him, leave his cabin and enter the canoe. Its bow was turned toward that bank of the river on which the Indian was concealed, but somewhat higher up the stream, and, impelled by a vigorous arm, the light boat skimmed rapidly over the water. It passed so near to the Indian, that a bullet sent from a steady aim must have brought inevitable death, and the thought crossed the mind of the lurking spy, whether it were not better to fire from his ambush, but the recollection of his adventure on the island, and of his offering to the Manito of the Falls, occurred to him, and he allowed the tempting opportunity to escape.
Holden having run the canoe upon a sandy beach that curved in between two rocks, fastened it by a rope to a heavy stone, and pursued his course along the shore in the direction of the village. The Indian followed at a distance in the woods, taking care to keep his own person concealed, but that of the pursued in sight. Ohquamehud had no means of determining from the movements of Holden, for a considerable time, what were his intentions, whether to enter the village or go to the Falls, but when he reached the spot where, if his design had been to do the latter, he would have turned to the left, to the Indian's bitter disappointment, he advanced up the road to the right. Ohquamehud pretty much gave up all hope of succeeding in his design that day, but, notwithstanding, still continued his observation. Holden did not proceed far before he entered a small house that stood by the roadside. (This delay, as we shall presently observe, was attended with important consequences.) The person whom the Solitary wanted to see was, probably, not at home, but whatever may have been the reason, he presently left the house, and retracing his steps, struck off, to the delight of Ohquamehud, across the fields, and in a direction towards the Yaupáae. The Indian waited until Holden was out of sight, hidden by the woods on the opposite side of the field, when he slowly followed, looking around, as if in search of game. Having reached the woods, he seemed to think it necessary to use greater precaution in his further approach, the nearer he came to his enemy. With this view, he moved slowly, carefully avoiding stepping on any dry sticks or fallen branches, and stopping if, by any chance, he made the slightest noise. One would have supposed such extreme caution unnecessary, for so loud was the incessant roar of the cataract, that where the Indian stood the keenest hearing could not, even within a few rods, have detected the noise made by walking. It is probable that habit, quite as much as reflection, determined the proceeding of the Indian.
With stealthy tread, creeping like the catamount of his native forests, when he is about to leap upon his prey, the wily and revengeful Indian stole along, holding his rifle in his hand, while each sense was quickened and strained to the utmost. The wood extended quite to the margin of the Falls, so that he was enabled to come near without exposing his person. At length, from behind a large oak, one of the original Sachems of the wood, he beheld his foe. Holden was unarmed, for though, at certain times of the year, when game was in season, he often carried a gun, it was not an uniform practice with him. He stood, unconscious of danger, with his back to the Indian, his arms folded, and gazing upon the water, that roared and tumbled below. The eyes of Ohquamehud gleamed with ferocious satisfaction as he beheld his foe in his power. Thrice he raised the rifle to his shoulder, after carefully examining the priming, and as often let the butt slide gently to the ground, pausing a little while each time between, and never taking his eyes off the victim. This conduct might be mistaken for irresolution. Far from it. The fell purpose of the savage never burnt more intensely; his hatred was never more bitter; and he was debating with himself whether to shoot the Solitary as he stood, nor allow him to know his destroyer, or to rouse him to his peril, to play with his agonies, and thus give him a foretaste of death. Holden was at a distance of not more than fifty feet; before him were the precipice and the Falls, behind him was the Indian; there was no retreat. The fiendish desire agitating Ohquamehud was the same as that which the savages feel when they torture a prisoner at the stake, and delay the fatal stroke that is a mercy. He felt sure of his prey, and after a short period of hesitation, determined to gratify the diabolical passion.
He stepped softly from behind the oak, and glided onwards, until the distance betwixt himself and Holden was reduced to thirty feet. The back of the latter was still towards the Indian, and he seemed absorbed in contemplations that shut his senses to the admission of outward objects. Again Ohquamehud paused, but it was only for a moment, and then uttered in a distinct tone the word, "Onontio."
The sound caught the ears of Holden, who instantly turned, and beheld the threatening looks and attitude of the savage. He comprehended, at once, the hostile purpose of Ohquamehud, and the imminence of his own danger, but betrayed not the slightest fear. His cheek blanched not. His eye lost none of its usual daring as he surveyed the assassin; nor did his voice falter, as, disguising his suspicions, he exclaimed—
"Ohquamehud! he is welcome. He hath come to listen to the voice of the
Great Spirit, who speaks in the Yaupáae."
"Onontio is mistaken," said the Indian. "The eyes of Ohquamehud are sharp. They have seen the blood of his kindred on the hands of Onontio, and he will wash it off."
"Indian, thou hast discovered—I know not how—that I once bore the name you have mentioned. It was given to me in the days of madness and folly by the western tribes. But, my hands are unstained by any blood, save what was shed in fair and open warfare."
"Ha! Onontio hath forgotten the fight in the night of storms, on the banks of the Yellow Wabash, when the sister of Ohquamehud was slain and his brother pierced by the knife of the accursed pale face, with the curling-hair."
"Indian! I sought to save the maiden's life. I can show the scar I received in her defence. As for thy brother, I know naught of him. If he fell by me, it was in the manner in which one brave warrior meets another."
"It is a lie! The heart of the pale-face is fainting. He is a weasel, that tries to creep through a small hole."
"If I were armed thou wouldst not dare to speak thus," said Holden, some of the spirit of his youthful years flashing up. "But, go; thou art a coward to come armed against a defenceless man."
"Onontio is a fool! Who told him to leave his rifle in his lodge? He knoweth not so much as a beast or a reptile. When the bear roameth in the forest, doth he leave his claws in his den, or the rattlesnake, his teeth in the hole in the rocks? Let Onontio sing his death-song, but, softly, lest the north wind bear it to the cub, who is waiting for the second bullet in the pouch of Ohquamehud."
A pang of inexpressible agony cut, like a knife, through the heart of Holden. He could brave death himself, but, good God! that his son should be murdered by the savage! The thought was too horrible. For a moment, the courageous heart almost stopped, and, with quivering lips, he commended the young man to the protection of Providence. But the momentary weakness soon passed away, as the dogma of divine decrees or fate occurred to his mind. The blood flowed freer in his veins; his form straightened, and with a dignified gesture, he answered—
"Heathen! I have no death-song to sing. The Christian goeth not to his Maker, boasting of his fancied merits, but, like a child, hiding its face in its mother's bosom, and asking to be forgiven. And know that of thyself thou art powerless. Thou canst do only what is permitted."
"It is well!" exclaimed Ohquamehud, a glow of admiration, at the courage with which Holden met his fate, flashing—in spite of himself—across his countenance, and which he vainly tried to conceal. "The dog of a pale-face is tired of his life, and will thank Ohquamehud for sending him to the spirits of his fathers."
So saying, he raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The eyes of the Solitary had been intently fastened upon every motion of his foe, and, the instant before the gun was discharged, he threw his arms violently into the air. Whether the gesture disconcerted the aim of the Indian, or intemperance had weakened his nerves, the rifle was aimed too high and failed of its mark. But Holden's escape was extremely narrow. The bullet grazed his scalp, perforating the cap, and throwing it from his head. In the colloquy, he had, probably, determined upon his line of conduct; for, immediately, upon the flash, he started, with an activity which his appearance hardly promised, towards his antagonist, and before the latter could club his rifle or draw a knife, had seized him around the waist, and strove to throw him on the ground. The Indian dropped the useless gun, and returned the death-grapple.
"Child of the devil!" cried Holden, whose passions were now thoroughly roused, and who fancied himself back again to the time when he fought the red man of the West, "I will send thee, this day, to the place appointed for thee."
Ohquamehud answered not a word, but, straining the other in an embrace as close as his own, summoned all his powers to the deadly struggle.
The two were more equally matched than might at first be supposed. The Indian was more active, but Holden was stronger, and towered above him. The habits of Holden had been eminently conducive to health and strength. There was no superfluous flesh about him, and his sinews were like cord. But, on the other hand, the youth of the Indian was a great advantage, promising an endurance beyond that to be expected from one of the years of Holden.
With desperate struggles each strove to gain an advantage; but strength on the one side, and activity on the other, foiled their opposing exertions. The turf was torn up under their feet, and they were whirled round, now in this direction, and now in that, until, maddened by the contest, neither thought of his personal safety, nor heeded the frightful abyss on the brink of which they fought. At length, foaming and endeavoring to throttle each other, the foot of one tripped and he stumbled over the precipice, carrying the other down with him in his arms. The grappled foes turned over in the air, and then fell upon the edge of a projecting shelf of a rock, some half a dozen feet below. Ohquamehud was undermost, receiving the full force of the fall, and breaking it for Holden, who, as they touched the rock, threw one arm around the trunk of a small tree that grew out of a fissure. The Indian must have been stunned, for Holden felt his grasp relax, and, still clinging to the tree, he endeavored to withdraw himself from the other's hold. He had partially succeeded, when the Indian, recovering consciousness, made a movement that threw his body over the precipice, down which he would have fallen had he not blindly caught at the freed arm of Holden, which he clutched with the tenacity of despair. The Indian had now recovered from the stunning effect of the fall, and become sensible of his danger. In rolling over the edge of the rock, his moccasined feet had come into contact with a slight projection where his toes had caught, and by means of which, Holden, as well as himself, was relieved in part of the weight of his person. Using this as a support, he made repeated and frantic attempts to spring to the level surface, but the steepness of the rock, and the lowness at which he hung, combined with the exhaustion occasioned by the fierce and prolonged conflict, foiled every effort. At last, he abandoned the attempt to save himself as hopeless, and directed all his exertions to drag his enemy down with him to destruction. With this view, he strained, with all his remaining strength, upon the arm he grasped, in order to force Holden to let go his hold upon the tree. It was now a question of endurance between them, and it is probable that both would have perished, had not an unexpected actor appeared upon the scene.
The boy Quadaquina had been watching Ohquamehud. Like a trained blood-hound, he had kept faithfully on the track and scarcely let the Indian out of sight until he, came near the village. Here he was met by a playmate, with whom, like a child as he was, he stopped to amuse himself for a moment. This was the cause of his not arriving sooner, the delay corresponding nearly with the time Holden was detained by his visit. The boy now came running up, all out of breath, and gazed around, but saw no one nor heard a sound, save the roar of the Fall. His eyes fell upon the gun of the Indian, and the cap of the Solitary, lying on the trampled turf, and his mind foreboded disaster. He hastened to the margin of the beetling crag, and peering over it, saw Ohquamehud hanging by Holden's arm, and struggling to pull him down. Quadaquina stepped back, and from the loose stones lying round, picked up one as large as he could lift, and going to the edge, dropped it full upon the head of Ohquamehud. The Indian instantly let go his hold, falling a distance of eighty feet, and grazing against the side of the huge rock on his way, until with a splash he was swallowed up in the foaming water that whirled him out of sight.
Quadaquina watched the body as it went gliding down the rocks, and dashing into the torrent, until it could be seen no more, and then, as if terrified at his own act, and without waiting to see what had become of the man to whom he had rendered so timely a service, started on a run for his home.
As for Holden, upon the weight being withdrawn from his arm, he slowly gathered himself up and sat upright on the rock; nor did he know to what he owed his deliverance. He possibly ascribed it to the exhaustion of his foe. He felt jar'd and bruised, but no bones were broken: his heart swelled with thankfulness, and raising his eyes to heaven, he poured forth a thanksgiving.
"The enemy came against me," he ejaculated, "like a lion that is greedy of his prey, and as it were a young lion lurking in secret places. But thou didst arise, O Lord, thou didst disappoint him and cast him down; thou didst deliver my soul from the wicked. For thou didst gird me with strength unto the battle, thou didst enlarge my steps under me, that my feet did not slip. He was wounded that he was not able to rise. He fell under my feet. It was Thy doing, O Lord, because thou hadst respect unto the supplications of thy servant. Therefore my lips shall greatly rejoice, when I sing unto Thee, and my soul which thou hast redeemed."
After this expression of his thanks, he clambered with some difficulty, by the assistance of the shrubs that grew in the crevices along the sloping platform, until he had attained to the top of the rock whence he had fallen. He cast his eyes below, but nothing was to be seen but the wild torrent: no sign, no trace of the Indian. Holden shuddered as he thought of Ohquamehud, cut off in his atrocious attempt, and breathed a prayer that his savage ignorance might palliate his crime; then exhausted and sore, and pondering the frightful danger he had escaped, slowly took his way towards the village.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
But is there yet no other way besides
Those painful passages, how we may come
To death, and mix with our connatural dust?
"There is," said Michael, "if thou will observe
The rule of not too much, by temperance taught."
MILTON'S PARADISE LOST.
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants,
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,
Till all be made immortal.
COMUS.
The shades of evening were falling as Holden entered the village. He proceeded straight to the house of Mr. Armstrong, whom he had seen twice or thrice already since his return from New York, though we have made no mention of the visits.
He found Armstrong thinner and paler than ever. The constitutional melancholy with which he was afflicted appeared to have deepened, and there was something now in the tones of his voice so sad and tender, that they moved Holden to an extraordinary degree. Other friends of Armstrong were affected by them, but, with the exception of Faith, there was no one who seemed to lay these signs of unhappiness so much to heart as the Solitary. This, perhaps, may account, in a measure, for the increased frequency of his visits.
A smile like sunshine stealing from behind a wintry cloud over the pure snow, welcomed Holden. As he took the offered hand of Armstrong, he found it extenuated and cold, and pressed it with more than ordinary feeling, before he took a seat by his side. The first inquiry of the Recluse was, as usual, after Faith.
"She is out," answered her father, "but I expect her soon."
"The sight of Faith is to me as the beauty and fragrance of days long gone," said Holden. "Unsinning Eve was not more lovely."
"She was early dedicated to her God, and is, indeed, a meet offering for his altar," said Armstrong.
"Blessed are they," exclaimed Holden, "whose feet have never strayed from the straight and narrow way. Where they tread spring up immortal flowers, and they breathe the air of Paradise."
"And, alas!" said Armstrong, "how short is usually their stay. How soon they depart for the celestial regions, to which they belong, leaving breaking hearts behind!"
"Woe to the earth-born selfishness, that riseth up in opposition! It is not agreeable to the law of God, nor can be. Down with the rebellion of ignorance and unbelief."
"But is no allowance to be made for human weakness? May we not weep over the calamities of life?"
"Aye, weep, if the tears wash out a sin, but not because the divine will is different from thine own. What callest thou calamity? There is no calamity, but sin."
"It is hard," sighed Armstrong, "to reach that height of abnegation and faith to which you would have me aspire."
"Hard, but attainable, for without faith it is impossible to please Him. There are examples set before us for imitation of what the trusting spirit can achieve. By faith Abraham offered up Isaac when he was tried, having confidence that God could raise him up even from the dead. By faith—but why should I recount the deeds of those grand souls, of whom the world was not worthy, who, through faith, subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, even from Enoch, who tasted not the bitterness of death, and Elijah, mounting on a fiery chariot, in a whirlwind, to heaven, down to these latter days, when, as said the apostle, 'faith should wax weak, and almost perish from the earth?'"
Armstrong looked at Holden, with an expression like fear.
"Who is equal to these things?" said he.
"I knew a man once," said the Enthusiast, thinking of the peril he had just escaped, and darkly shadowing forth its circumstances, "whom a ravening lion sought to destroy, and the heart of the man sunk within him, for, in view of the beast, he forgot that the Lord God omnipotent reigneth, but an angel whispered it in his ear, and strengthened him, and he defied the lion, and smote him, and killed the lion. Thus doth the Lord continue to perform his marvellous works, for he is faithful and true, and his mercy endureth for ever to them that love him."
Of course, Armstrong could have no correct idea of what Holden alluded to, nor did he inquire. It was to him only another instance, added by his enthusiastic friend, to the long catalogue of those in the sacred record, for whom faith had triumphed over danger, and wrought deliverance.
"It is, indeed," he said, "a mighty means to bring down the divine blessing."
"As is the law of gravitation to the worlds," said Holden, looking out upon the clear sky, filled with stars, "which is the constant force flowing from the living centre of all things, and retaining them in harmonious movement in their orbits; so is faith to the human soul. When it is present all is peace, and harmony, and joy; when it is absent, a wild chaos, whirling in darkness and confusion, over which the Spirit hath never brooded like a dove."
At this moment the door opened, and Miss Armstrong, attended by William Bernard, entered the room. She advanced towards Holden, and gave him her hand, which he took into both of his, and looking fondly at her, said:
"Dear child, thy mother's image, the room is brighter for thy presence."
"There, William," said Faith, smiling, "a lady seldom receives so delicate a compliment."
"Mr. Holden," said Bernard, "belongs to the old school of politeness, of which Sir Charles Grandison is the model. Modern degeneracy might strive in vain to compete with it."
There was a slight, a very slight, an almost imperceptible tone of irony about the words, which did not escape the sensitive ear of Holden. He turned towards Bernard, and fastened his large eyes upon him, in silence, awhile, before he said:
"The secret of politeness is to be found in warmth and goodness of heart. Flame blazes not up from ice." The words, the tone, the look, conveyed his estimate of the character of the young man, and was not without influence on one, at least, of his auditors. "But," continued he, "thy presence, Faith, is truly, to me, as light. Deemest thou me capable of unmeaning compliments?"
"No," answered Faith, suspecting the little feeling of resentment, and desirous to soothe it, "I do not. Forgive my absurd observation."
"And I hope," said Bernard, in his most engaging manner, "that Mr. Holden is not offended at my classing him among those who for delicacy and refinement were never surpassed."
"I like not," said Holden, "to be made a subject of conversation. We will find a fitter topic."
"You spoke of Faith's resemblance to her mother," said Mr. Armstrong, "whose quick sensibility had also detected the jarring string; how did you discover it?"
"You forget," answered Holden, "that in conversation with me you have spoken of her."
"But not described her appearance."
"The resemblance of a child to a parent, may be oftentimes deduced from qualities of the mind, and traits of character. The outer garment is fitted to the interior man. The exterior and transient is the product of the interior and permanent. But I mean not that it was thus I discovered the likeness; and if for a moment I misled thee, let me correct my error and thy mistake. You will consider these as the speculations of a visionary."
"I do not consider them without foundation," said Armstrong, who, in the turn given to the conversation, seemed to have forgotten his question.
"It is a speculation which, followed out, might lead to many interesting conclusions," said Bernard. "Mr. Holden would greatly oblige us with his ideas."
"Do," said Faith, who delighted in the Solitary's flights. "Explain, dear Mr. Holden, your theory."
Holden looked at Mr. Armstrong, who bowed.
"The first man, Adam," said Holden, "was created perfect, perfect in body as in mind. The dignity and beauty of his person corresponded to the grandeur and purity of his soul, of which it was the outward expression. All graces and harmonies, and perfections of creation centered in him, for he was the image of his Maker. He was incapable of disease, because disease is disharmony and the fruit of sin, which as yet existed not. And he was obedient unto the voice of the Lord, nor did he transgress His laws in anything. His meat was the herb of the field and the fruit of the tree, and his drink the running brook. He had no permission to eat of flesh. But in an evil hour he fell; a leprosy overspread his body and his soul; the divine purity could not approach as before; and to his closed spiritual eyes, the holy Presence once visible, became shrouded in clouds and thick darkness. And as the spirit of man waxed more corrupt and he withdrew himself further from his heavenly source, so did his outward appearance, by a necessary law, whereby the outer and superficial conformeth itself, to the inner and hidden, become deformed and hideous. Hence is man now but a shadow, a skeleton of original beauty. The primeval perfection and present degeneracy of man, are the tradition of centuries."
Holden paused; and Faith said, gently, "There is a way to regain the happiness we have lost."
"There is a way," said Holden, "through Him, the second Adam, the Lord from heaven. But mark: like him, must man be obedient. A faith without works is fruitless and naught. How many imagine they have faith, and have it not! Will they give their bodies to be burned? Will they sacrifice the dearest thing they have, if it is His will? Nay, but faith hath almost perished from the earth."