WHAT TOOK PLACE AT MOOSHANNE DURING THE STAY OF ETHELSTON IN
GUADALOUPE.—DEPARTURE OF REGINALD FOR THE FAR–WEST.
While the events related in the last two chapters occurred at
Guadaloupe, Reginald was busily employed at Mooshanne in completing
the preparations for his projected visit to the Delawares, in the
Far–west; he had (by putting in practice the instructions given him by
War–Eagle respecting Nekimi) at length succeeded in gaining that noble
animal’s affection; he neighed at Reginald’s approach, knew and obeyed
his voice, fed from his hand, and received and returned his caresses,
as he had before done those of his Indian master. It was when mounted
on Nekimi that our hero found his spirit most exulting and buoyant;
he gave him the rein on the broadest of the neighbouring prairies,
and loved to feel the springy fleetness and untiring muscles of this
child of the western desert. Sometimes, after a gallop of many miles,
he would leap from the saddle, to look with pride and pleasure on the
spirited eye, the full veins, the expanded nostril of his favourite;
at other times he would ride him slowly through the most tangled and
difficult ground, admiring the instinctive and unerring sagacity with
which he picked his way.
Among Reginald’s other accomplishments, he had learnt in Germany to
play not unskilfully on the horn; and constantly carrying his bugle
across his shoulders, Nekimi grew so accustomed to the sound, that
he would come to it from any distance within hearing of its call. It
appeared to Reginald so probable that the bugle might render him good
service on his summer excursion, that he not only practised his horse
to it, but he prevailed on Baptiste to learn his various signals,
and even to reply on another horn to some of the simplest of them.
The honest guide’s first attempts to sound the bugle were ludicrous
in the extreme; but he good–humouredly persevered, until Reginald
and he could, from a considerable distance, exchange many useful
signals agreed upon between them, and of course intelligible to none
but themselves. Among these were the following: “Beware!”—“Come to
me,”—“Be still,”—“Bring my horse,” and one or two others for hunting
purposes, such as “A bear!”—“Buffalo!” To these they added a reply,
which was always to signify “I understand.” But if the party called was
prevented from obeying, this signal was to be varied accordingly.
At the same time Reginald did not omit to learn from the guide a number
of Delaware words and phrases, in order that when he arrived among his
new friends he might not be altogether excluded from communication with
such of them as should not understand English; in these preparations,
and occasional hunts in company with Baptiste, his time would have
glided on agreeably enough, had he not observed with anxiety the
settled melancholy that was gradually creeping over his sister Lucy.
It was in vain that he strove to comfort her by reminding her of the
thousand trifling accidents that might have detained Ethelston in
the West Indies, and have prevented his letters from reaching home.
She smiled upon him kindly for his well–meant endeavours, and not
only abstained from all complaint, but tried to take her part in
conversation; yet he saw plainly that her cheerfulness was forced, and
that secret sorrow was at her heart. She employed herself assiduously
in tending her mother, whose health had of late become exceedingly
precarious, and who was almost always confined to her apartments. Lucy
worked by her side, conversed with her, read to her, and did all in her
power to hide from her the grief that possessed her own bosom. Reginald
marked the struggle, which strengthened, if possible, the love that he
had always felt for his exemplary and affectionate sister.
One day he was sitting with her in the boudoir, which commanded, as we
have before observed, a view of the approach to the house, where they
saw a horseman coming at full speed. As he drew near, he seemed to be a
middle–aged man, wearing a broad–brimmed hat, a coarse over–coat, and
loose trowsers; his knees were high up on the saddle, and he rode in so
careless and reckless a manner, that it was marvellous how the uncouth
rider could remain on his horse in a gallop. Reginald threw open the
window; and as the strange–looking figure caught a sight of him, the
steed was urged yet faster, and the broad–brimmed hat was waved in
token of recognition.
“Now Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Reginald aloud: “’tis Gregson the
mate!” He turned towards his sister: the blood had fled from her cheeks
and lip, her hands were clasped together, and she whispered, in a voice
scarcely articulate, “Heaven be merciful!”
“Nay, Lucy,” said her sanguine brother, “why this grief? are you not
glad that The Pride is returned?”
“Oh, Reginald!” said Lucy, looking on him reproachfully through the
tears which now streamed from her eyes. “Think you that if _he_ had
been alive and well, he would have allowed another to come here before
him! Go and speak to the man—I cannot see him—you will return and
tell me all.”
Reginald felt the reproof, and, kissing her affectionately, hastened
from the room.
Who shall attempt to lift the veil from Lucy’s heart during the
suspense of the succeeding minutes? It is fortunate for human nature,
that at such a moment the mind is too confused to be conscious of
its own sufferings: the mingled emotions of hope and fear, the
half–breathed prayer, the irresistible desire to learn, contending with
the dread of more assured misery,—all these unite in producing that
agony of suspense which it is impossible to describe in words, and
of which the mind of the sufferer can scarcely realise afterwards a
distinct impression.
After a short absence, Reginald returned, and said to his sister,
“Lucy, Ethelston is not here, but he is alive and safe.”
She hid her face in her brother’s breast, and found relief in a flood
of grateful tears. As soon as Lucy had recovered her composure, her
brother informed her of Ethelston’s captivity, and of the serious,
though not dangerous, wounds that he had received; but he mingled with
the narration such warm praises of his friend’s heroic defence of the
brig, and so many sanguine assurances of his speedy release and return,
that her fears and her anxiety were for a time absorbed in the glow of
pride with which she listened to the praises of her lover’s conduct,
and in the anticipation of soon having his adventures from his own
lips. The faithful mate received a kind welcome from the Colonel, and
though the latter had sustained a severe loss in the brig, he viewed it
as a misfortune for which no one could be blamed; and directed all his
anxiety and his inquiries to the condition of Ethelston, whom he loved
as his own son.
“Depend on’t, Colonel,” said Gregson, “he’ll come to no harm where is
he; for L’Estrange is a fine old fellow, and Master Ethelston saved his
son’s neck from my cutlass. I was cuttin’ at him in downright airnest,
for my dander was up; and you know, Colonel, a man a’nt particular nice
in a deck scurry like that!”
“And what made him so anxious to save the youngster?” inquired the
Colonel.
“Why I s’pose he thought the day was our own, and the lieutenant too
smart a lad to be roughly handled for naught; but the young mad–cap put
a pistol–ball into his arm by way of thanks.”
“Well, and did Ethelston still protect him?”
“Ay, sir, all the same. I’ve served with a number of captains o’ one
sort or other, smugglers, and slave cruisers, and old Burt, that the
Cuba pirates used to call Gunpowder Jack, but I will say I never saw a
better man than Ethelston step a deck, whether it’s ‘up stick and make
sail,’ or a heavy gale on a lee–shore, or a game at long bowls, or a
hammer–away fight at yard–arm to yard–arm, it’s all one to our skipper,
he’s just as cool, and seems as well pleased, as when it’s a free
breeze, a clear sea, and Black Cupid has piped to dinner.”
“He is a gallant young fellow,” said the Colonel, brushing a little
moisture from the corner of his eye; “and we will immediately take
all possible measures for his liberation, both by applying, through
Congress, for his exchange, and by communicating with the French agents
at New Orleans.”
The conversation was protracted for some time; and after its
termination, the mate having satisfied himself that the Mooshanne
cider had lost none of its flavour, and that Monsieur Perrot’s flask
contained genuine cognac, returned in high spirits to Marietta.
The preparations for Reginald’s expedition now went briskly forward, as
the business which the Colonel wished him to transact with the trading
companies on the Mississippi did not admit of delay. A large canoe
was fitted out at Marietta, capable of containing sixteen or eighteen
persons, and possessing sufficient stowage for the provisions and goods
required: the charge of it was given to an experienced voyageur, who
had more than once accompanied Baptiste in his excursions to the Upper
Mississippi and the Great Lakes; he was a steady determined man, on
whose fidelity reliance might be placed, and well calculated, from
the firmness of his character, to keep in order the rough and sturdy
fellows who formed his crew. Born and bred in that wild border region
which now forms the State of Michigan, the woods, rapids, and lakes had
been familiar to him from his childhood; unlike most of his tribe, he
was singularly grave and taciturn; he always wore a bearskin cap, and,
whether in his bateau, his canoe, or his log–hut, his bed was of the
same material, so that he was known only by the name of “Bearskin;” his
paternal appellation, whatever it might have been originally, having
become altogether obsolete and unknown. His crew consisted of four
stout fellows, who, like most of the Indian borderers, were as skilful
in the use of the paddle on the river as in that of the rifle on the
land. Among them was the gigantic form of Mike Smith, before mentioned
in this narrative; all these were engaged by the Colonel, at a liberal
salary, for six months, which was to be proportionately increased if
they were detained in his service for a longer period. It was also
settled that Monsieur Gustave Perrot should take his passage in the
canoe; and to his care were entrusted the Indian presents, clothes,
and other articles, which were his master’s own property. Reginald had
resolved to cross the territory on horseback, accompanied by Baptiste,
and he therefore meant to carry with him only such arms, and other
articles, as were likely to be required on the journey.
The orders given to Bearskin were, to make the best of his way to St.
Louis, and having delivered the letters with which he was entrusted,
there to await Reginald’s arrival. The cargo of the canoe consisted
chiefly (with the exception of a full supply of arms and provisions)
of powder, cutlery, clothes of various colours, paints, mirrors, and a
great variety of beads. Her equipment was soon completed, and she left
Marietta amid the cheers of the crowd assembled on the wooden pier in
front of David Muir’s store, the latter observing to our old friend
the mate, who stood at his elbow, “I’m thinking, Maister Gregson, they
chaps will hae eneugh o’ the red–skin deevils, an’ fur–huntin’ amongst
a wheen wild trappers and daft neer–do–weels ayont the Mississippi!
Weel a weel, ye maun just step ben and tak’ a stoup o’ cognac to the
success o’ Bearskin and his crew.”
Although there was much in the merchant’s harangue that was like
Greek or Hebrew to the mate, the closing invitation being adapted as
well to his comprehension as to his inclination, he expressed a brief
but cheerful acquiescence, and the worthy couple entered the house
together. As soon as they were seated in the parlour, Jessie placed
on the table some excellent corn–cakes and cheese, together with the
before–mentioned cognac, and busied herself with even more than her
wonted alacrity, to offer these good things to the father of the youth
towards whom she entertained, as we have said, a secret but very
decided partiality. She carried her hospitality so far as to bring a
bottle of old madeira from David’s favourite corner in the cellar,
which she decanted with great dexterity, and placed before the mate.
The jolly tar complimented the merchant, after his own blunt fashion,
both on the excellence of his liquor, and the attractions of his
daughter, saying, in reference to the latter, “I can tell you, Master
Muir, that I hold Jessie to be as handsome and as handy a lass as any
in the territory. If I were twenty years younger, I should be very apt
to clap on all sail, and try to make a prize of her!”
At this moment his son entered from the store, under the pretext of
speaking to David about the sale of some goods, but with the object
of being for a few minutes near to Jessie. He had never spoken to her
of love, being afraid that his suit would certainly be rejected by
her parents, who, from their reputed wealth, would doubtless expect
to marry their daughter to one of the principal personages in the
commonwealth of Marietta. As he entered, his eyes encountered those of
Jessie, who was still blushing from the effect of the compliment paid
to her by his father.
“Harry, my boy,” shouted the mate, “you are just come in time; I have
filled a glass of David’s prime 84, and you must give me a toast! Now,
my lad, speak up; heave a–head!”
“Father, I am ashamed of you!” replied the youth, colouring. “How can
you ask for another toast when Miss Jessie’s standing at your elbow?”
“The boy’s right,” said the sailor, “and he shall drink it, too; shan’t
he, David?”
“I’m thinking ye’ll no need to ask him twice. Jessie, hand the lad a
glass!”
At her father’s bidding she brought another glass from the cupboard;
and in giving it to young Gregson, one or other of them was so
awkward, that, instead of it, he took her hand in his; and although he
relinquished it immediately, there was a pressure, unconscious perhaps,
but so distinctly perceptible to Jessie, that she blushed still deeper,
and felt almost relieved by hearing her name called from the store in
the loudest key of her mother’s shrill voice, while it was repeated
yet more loudly by the honest mate, who gave the toast as she left the
room, “Here’s Jessie Muir,—a long life, and a happy one, to her!”
Henry Gregson drank the madeira, but he scarcely knew whether it was
sweet or sour, for his blood still danced with the touch of Jessie’s
hand; and setting down the glass, he returned abruptly to the store,
whether in the hope of stealing another look at her, or to enjoy his
own reflections on the last few minutes, the reader may determine for
himself.
The mate and the merchant continued their sitting until the bottle of
madeira was empty, and the flask of cognac was considerably diminished:
and although their conversation was doubtless highly interesting, and
worthy of being listened to with the greatest attention, yet, as it did
not bear immediately upon the events of our narrative, we will leave it
unrecorded amongst the many other valuable treasures of a similar kind
which are suffered day by day to sink into oblivion.
M. Perrot being now fairly under way, and having taken with him all
the articles required by Reginald for his Indian expedition, our hero
resolved no longer to delay his own departure, being about to encounter
a very tedious land journey before he could reach St. Louis, and being
also desirous of performing it by easy marches, in order that Nekimi
might arrive at the Osage hunting–camp fresh, and ready for any of
those emergencies in which success might depend upon his strength
and swiftness. Baptiste was now quite in his element; and an early
day being fixed for their departure, he packed the few clothes and
provisions which they were likely to require on the journey, in two
capacious leather bags, which were to be slung across the rough hardy
nag which had accompanied him on more than one distant expedition, and
he was soon able to announce to Reginald that he was ready to start at
an hour’s notice.
The parting of our hero from his family was somewhat trying to his
firmness; for poor Lucy, whose nerves were much affected by her own
sorrows, could not control her grief. Aunt Mary also shed tears,
whilst, mingled with her repeated blessings, and excellent counsel, she
gave him several infallible recipes for the cure of cuts, bruises, and
the bite of rattlesnakes. The Colonel squeezed his hand with concealed
emotion, and bid him remember those whom he left behind, and not incur
any foolish risk in the pursuit of amusement, or in the excitement
of Indian adventure. But it was in parting with his mother that his
feelings underwent the severest trial, for her health had long been
gradually declining; and although she evinced the resigned composure
which marked her gentle uncomplaining character, there was a deep
solemnity in her farewell benediction, arising from a presentiment
that they might not meet again on this side of the grave. It required
all the beauty of the scenery through which he passed, and all the
constitutional buoyancy of his spirits, to enable Reginald to shake off
the sadness which crept over him, when he caught from a rising ground
the last glimpse of Mooshanne; but the fresh elasticity of youth ere
long prevailed, and he ran his fingers through the glossy mane that
hung over Nekimi’s arching crest, anticipating with pleasure the wild
adventures by flood and field that they would share together.
Reginald wore the deer–skin hunting–suit that we have before described:
his rifle he had sent with the canoe, the bugle was slung across
his shoulders, a brace of horse–pistols were in the holsters, and a
hunting–knife hanging at his girdle completed his equipment. The sturdy
guide was more heavily armed; for besides his long rifle, which he
never quitted, a knife hung on one side of his belt, and at the other
was slung the huge axe which had procured him the name by which he was
known among some of the tribes; but in spite of these accoutrements,
and of the saddle–bags before mentioned, his hardy nag paced along with
an enduring vigour that would hardly have been expected from one of so
coarse and unpromising an exterior; sometimes their way lay through
the vast prairies which were still found in the states of Indiana and
Illinois; at others among dense woods and rich valleys, through which
flowed the various tributaries that swell Ohio’s mighty stream, the
guide losing no opportunity of explaining to Reginald as they went all
the signs and secret indications of Indian or border wood–craft that
occurred. They met with abundance of deer, and at night they made
their fire; and, having finished their venison supper, camped under the
shelter of some ancient oak or sycamore. Thus Reginald’s hardy frame
became on this preliminary journey more inured to the exposure that he
would have to undergo among the Osages and Delawares of the Far–west:
they fell in now and then with straggling bands of hunters and of
friendly Indians, but with no adventures worthy of record; and thus,
after a steady march of twenty days, they reached the banks of the
Mississippi, and crossed in the ferry to St. Louis.