My deportment, at an interview so much desired and so wholly unforeseen,
was that of a maniac. The petrifying influence of surprise yielded to
the impetuosities of passion. I held him in my arms; I wept upon his
bosom; I sobbed with emotion which, had it not found passage at my eyes,
would have burst my heart-strings. Thus I, who had escaped the deaths
that had previously assailed me in so many forms, should have been
reserved to solemnize a scene like this by--_dying for joy_!
The sterner passions and habitual austerities of my companion exempted
him from pouring out this testimony of his feelings. His feelings were,
indeed, more allied to astonishment and incredulity than mine had been.
My person was not instantly recognised. He shrunk from my embrace as if
I were an apparition or impostor. He quickly disengaged himself from my
arms, and, withdrawing a few paces, gazed upon me as on one whom he had
never before seen.
These repulses were ascribed to the loss of his affection. I was not
mindful of the hideous guise in which I stood before him, and by which
he might justly be misled to imagine me a ruffian or a lunatic. My tears
flowed now on a new account, and I articulated, in a broken and faint
voice, "My master! my friend! Have you forgotten, have you ceased to
love me?"
The sound of my voice made him start and exclaim, "Am I alive? am I
awake? Speak again, I beseech you, and convince me that I am not
dreaming or delirious."
"Can you need any proof," I answered, "that it is Edgar Huntly, your
pupil, your child, that speaks to you?"
He now withdrew his eyes from me and fixed them on the floor. After a
pause he resumed, in emphatic accents:--"Well, I have lived to this age
in unbelief. To credit or trust in miraculous agency was foreign to my
nature, but now I am no longer skeptical. Call me to any bar, and exact
from me an oath that you have twice been dead and twice recalled to
life; that you move about invisibly, and change your place by the force,
not of muscles, but of thought, and I will give it.
"How came you hither? Did you penetrate the wall? Did you rise through
the floor?
"Yet surely 'tis an error. You could not be he whom twenty witnesses
affirmed to have beheld a lifeless and mangled corpse upon the ground,
whom my own eyes saw in that condition.
"In seeking the spot once more to provide you a grave, you had vanished.
Again I met you. You plunged into a rapid stream, from a height from
which it was impossible to fall and to live; yet, as if to set the
limits of nature at defiance, to sport with human penetration, you rose
upon the surface; you floated; you swam; thirty bullets were aimed at
your head, by marksmen celebrated for the exactness of their sight. I
myself was of the number, and I never missed what I desired to hit.
"My predictions were confirmed by the event. You ceased to struggle; you
sunk to rise no more; and yet, after these accumulated deaths, you light
upon this floor, so far distant from the scene of your catastrophe, over
spaces only to be passed, in so short a time as has since elapsed, by
those who have wings.
"My eyes, my ears, bear testimony to your existence now, as they
formerly convinced me of your death. What am I to think? what proofs am
I to credit?" There he stopped.
Every accent of this speech added to the confusion of my thoughts. The
allusions that my friend had made were not unintelligible. I gained a
glimpse of the complicated errors by which we had been mutually
deceived. I had fainted on the area before Deb's hut. I was found by
Sarsefield in this condition, and imagined to be dead.
The man whom I had seen upon the promontory was not an Indian. He
belonged to a numerous band of pursuers, whom my hostile and precipitate
deportment caused to suspect me for an enemy. They that fired from the
steep were friends. The interposition that screened me from so many
bullets was indeed miraculous. No wonder that my voluntary sinking, in
order to elude their shots, was mistaken for death, and that, having
accomplished the destruction of this foe, they resumed their pursuit of
others. But how was Sarsefield apprized that it was I who plunged into
the river? No subsequent event was possible to impart to him the
incredible truth.
A pause of mutual silence ensued. At length Sarsefield renewed his
expressions of amazement at this interview, and besought me to explain
why I had disappeared by night from my uncle's house, and by what series
of unheard-of events this interview was brought about. Was it indeed
Huntly whom he examined and mourned over at the threshold of Deb's hut.
Whom he had sought in every thicket and cave in the ample circuit of
Norwalk and Chetasco? Whom he had seen perish in the current of the
Delaware?
Instead of noticing his questions, my soul was harrowed with anxiety
respecting the fate of my uncle and sisters. Sarsefield could
communicate the tidings which would decide on my future lot and set my
portion in happiness or misery. Yet I had not breath to speak my
inquiries. Hope tottered, and I felt as if a single word would be
sufficient for its utter subversion. At length I articulated the name of
my uncle.
The single word sufficiently imparted my fears, and these fears needed
no verbal confirmation. At that dear name my companion's features were
overspread by sorrow.
"Your uncle," said he, "is dead."
"Dead? Merciful Heaven! And my sisters too! Both?"
"Your sisters are alive and well."
"Nay," resumed I, in faltering accents, "jest not with my feelings. Be
not cruel in your pity. Tell me the truth."
"I have said the truth. They are well, at Mr. Inglefield's."
My wishes were eager to assent to the truth of these tidings. The better
part of me was, then, safe: but how did they escape the fate that
overtook my uncle? How did they evade the destroying hatchet and the
midnight conflagration? These doubts were imparted in a tumultuous and
obscure manner to my friend. He no sooner fully comprehended them, than
he looked at me with some inquietude and surprise.
"Huntly," said he, "are you mad? What has filled you with these hideous
prepossessions? Much havoc has indeed been committed in Chetasco and the
wilderness, and a log hut has been burnt, by design or by accident, in
Solesbury; but that is all. Your house has not been assailed by either
firebrand or tomahawk. Every thing is safe and in its ancient order. The
master indeed is gone, but the old man fell a victim to his own temerity
and hardihood. It is thirty years since he retired with three wounds
from the field of Braddock; but time in no degree abated his adventurous
and military spirit. On the first alarm, he summoned his neighbours, and
led them in pursuit of the invaders. Alas! he was the first to attack
them, and the only one who fell in the contest."
These words were uttered in a manner that left me no room to doubt of
their truth. My uncle had already been lamented, and the discovery of
the nature of his death, so contrary to my forebodings, and of the
safety of my girls, made the state of my mind partake more of exultation
and joy than of grief or regret.
But how was I deceived? Had not my fusil been found in the hands of an
enemy? Whence could he have plundered it but from my own chamber? It
hung against the wall of a closet, from which no stranger could have
taken it except by violence. My perplexities and doubts were not at an
end, but those which constituted my chief torment were removed. I
listened to my friend's entreaties to tell him the cause of my
elopement, and the incidents that terminated in the present interview.
I began with relating my return to consciousness in the bottom of the
pit; my efforts to free myself from this abhorred prison; the acts of
horror to which I was impelled by famine, and their excruciating
consequences; my gaining the outlet of the cavern, the desperate
expedient by which I removed the impediment to my escape, and the
deliverance of the captive girl; the contest I maintained before Deb's
hut; my subsequent wanderings; the banquet which hospitality afforded
me; my journey to the river-bank; my meditations on the means of
reaching the road; my motives for hazarding my life by plunging into the
stream; and my subsequent perils and fears till I reached the threshold
of this habitation.
"Thus," continued I, "I have complied with your request. I have told all
that I myself know. What were the incidents between my sinking to rest
at my uncle's and my awaking in the chambers of the hill; by what means
and by whose contrivance, preternatural or human, this transition was
effected, I am unable to explain; I cannot even guess.
"What has eluded my sagacity may not be beyond the reach of another.
Your own reflections on my tale, or some facts that have fallen under
your notice, may enable you to furnish a solution. But, meanwhile, how
am I to account for your appearance on this spot? This meeting was
unexpected and abrupt to you, but it has not been less so to me. Of all
mankind, Sarsefield was the furthest from my thoughts when I saw these
tokens of a traveller and a stranger.
"You were imperfectly acquainted with my wanderings. You saw me on the
ground before Deb's hut. You saw me plunge into the river. You
endeavoured to destroy me while swimming; and you knew, before my
narrative was heard, that Huntly was the object of your enmity. What was
the motive of your search in the desert, and how were you apprized of my
condition? These things are not less wonderful that any of those which I
have already related."
During my tale the features of Sarsefield betokened the deepest
attention. His eye strayed not a moment from my face. All my perils and
forebodings were fresh in my remembrance: they had scarcely gone by;
their skirts, so to speak, were still visible. No wonder that my
eloquence was vivid and pathetic; that I portrayed the past as if it
were the present scene; and that not my tongue only, but every muscle
and limb, spoke.
When I had finished my relation, Sarsefield sank into thoughtfulness.
From this, after a time, he recovered, and said, "Your tale, Huntly, is
true; yet, did I not see you before me, were I not acquainted with the
artlessness and rectitude of your character, and, above all, had not my
own experience, during the last three days, confirmed every incident, I
should question its truth. You have amply gratified my curiosity, and
deserve that your own should be gratified as fully. Listen to me.
"Much has happened since we parted, which shall not be now mentioned. I
promised to inform you of my welfare by letter, and did not fail to
write; but whether my letters were received, or any were written by you
in return, or if written were ever transmitted, I cannot tell: none were
ever received.
"Some days since, I arrived, in company with a lady who is my wife, in
America. You have never been forgotten by me. I knew your situation to
be little in agreement with your wishes, and one of the benefits which
fortune has lately conferred upon me is the power of snatching you from
a life of labour and obscurity, whose goods, scanty as they are, were
transient and precarious, and affording you the suitable leisure and
means of intellectual gratification and improvement.
"Your silence made me entertain some doubts concerning your welfare, and
even your existence. To solve these doubts, I hastened to Solesbury.
Some delays upon the road hindered me from accomplishing my journey by
daylight. It was night before I entered the Norwalk path; but my ancient
rambles with you made me familiar with it, and I was not afraid of being
obstructed or bewildered.
"Just as I gained the southern outlet, I spied a passenger on foot,
coming towards me with a quick pace. The incident was of no moment; and
yet the time of night, the seeming expedition of the walker,
recollection of the mazes and obstacles which he was going to encounter,
and a vague conjecture that perhaps he was unacquainted with the
difficulties that awaited him, made me eye him with attention as he
passed.
"He came near, and I thought I recognised a friend in this traveller.
The form, the gesture, the stature, bore a powerful resemblance to those
of Edgar Huntly. This resemblance was so strong, that I stopped, and,
after he had gone by, called him by your name. That no notice was taken
of my call proved that the person was mistaken; but, even though it were
another, that he should not even hesitate or turn at a summons which he
could not but perceive to be addressed, though erroneously, to him, was
the source of some surprise. I did not repeat my call, but proceeded on
my way.
"All had retired to repose in your uncle's dwelling. I did not scruple
to rouse them, and was received with affectionate and joyous greetings.
That you allowed your uncle to rise before you was a new topic of
reflection. To my inquiries concerning you, answers were made that
accorded with my wishes. I was told that you were in good health and
were then in bed. That you had not heard and risen at my knocking was
mentioned with surprise; but your uncle accounted for your indolence by
saying that during the last week you had fatigued yourself by rambling,
night and day, in search of some maniac or visionary who was supposed to
have retreated into Norwalk.
"I insisted upon awakening you myself. I anticipated the effect of this
sudden and unlooked-for meeting with some emotions of pride as well as
of pleasure. To find, in opening your eyes, your old preceptor standing
by your bedside and gazing in your face, would place you, I conceived,
in an affecting situation.
"Your chamber-door was open, but your bed was empty. Your uncle and
sisters were made acquainted with this circumstance. Their surprise gave
way to conjectures that your restless and romantic spirit had tempted
you from your repose, that you had rambled abroad on some fantastic
errand, and would probably return before the dawn. I willingly
acquiesced in this opinion, and, my feelings being too thoroughly
aroused to allow me to sleep, I took possession of your chamber and
patiently awaited your return.
"The morning returned, but Huntly made not his appearance. Your uncle
became somewhat uneasy at this unseasonable absence. Much speculation
and inquiry as to the possible reasons of your flight was made. In my
survey of your chamber, I noted that only part of your clothing remained
beside your bed. Coat, hat, stockings and shoes lay upon the spot where
they had probably been thrown when you had disrobed yourself; but the
pantaloons, which, according to Mr. Huntly's report, completed your
dress, were nowhere to be found. That you should go forth on so cold a
night so slenderly apparelled, was almost incredible. Your reason or
your senses had deserted you, before so rash an action could be
meditated.
"I now remembered the person I had met in Norwalk. His resemblance to
your figure, his garb, which wanted hat, coat, stockings and shoes, and
your absence from your bed at that hour, were remarkable coincidences:
but why did you disregard my call? Your name, uttered by a voice that
could not be unknown, was surely sufficient to arrest your steps.
"Each hour added to the impatience of your friends. To their
recollections and conjectures I listened with a view to extract from
them some solution of this mystery. At length a story was alluded to of
some one who, on the preceding night, had been heard walking in the long
room: to this was added the tale of your anxieties and wonders
occasioned by the loss of certain manuscripts.
"While ruminating upon these incidents, and endeavouring to extract from
this intelligence a clue explanatory of your present situation, a single
word, casually dropped by your uncle, instantly illuminated my darkness
and dispelled my doubts.--'After all,' said the old man, 'ten to one but
Edgar himself was the man whom we heard walking, but the lad was asleep,
and knew not what he was about.'
"'Surely,' said I, 'this inference is just. His manuscripts could not be
removed by any hands but his own, since the rest of mankind were
unacquainted not only with the place of their concealment, but with
their existence. None but a man insane or asleep would wander forth so
slightly dressed, and none but a sleeper would have disregarded my
calls.' This conclusion was generally adopted; but it gave birth in my
mind to infinite inquietudes. You had roved into Norwalk, a scene of
inequalities, of prominences and pits, among which, thus destitute of
the guidance of your senses, you could scarcely fail to be destroyed,
or, at least, irretrievably bewildered. I painted to myself the dangers
to which you were subjected. Your careless feet would bear you into some
whirlpool or to the edge of some precipice; some internal revolution or
outward shock would recall you to consciousness at some perilous moment.
Surprise and fear would disable you from taking seasonable or suitable
precautions, and your destruction be made sure.
"The lapse of every new hour, without bringing tidings of your state,
enhanced these fears. At length the propriety of searching for you
occurred; Mr. Huntly and I determined to set out upon this pursuit, as
well as to commission others. A plan was laid by which every accessible
part of Norwalk, the wilderness beyond the flats of Solesbury, and the
valley of Chetasco, should be traversed and explored.
"Scarcely had we equipped ourselves for this expedition, when a
messenger arrived, who brought the disastrous news of Indians being seen
within these precincts, and on the last night a farmer was shot in his
fields, a dwelling in Chetasco was burnt to the ground, and its
inhabitants murdered or made captives. Rumour and inquiry had been busy,
and a plausible conjecture had been formed as to the course and number
of the enemies. They were said to be divided into bands, and to amount
in the whole to thirty or forty warriors. This messenger had come to
warn us of danger which might impend, and to summon us to join in the
pursuit and extirpation of these detestable foes.
"Your uncle, whose alacrity and vigour age had not abated, eagerly
engaged in this scheme. I was not averse to contribute my efforts to an
end like this. The road which we had previously designed to take, in
search of my fugitive pupil, was the same by which we must trace or
intercept the retreat of the savages. Thus two purposes, equally
momentous, would be answered by the same means.
"Mr. Huntly armed himself with your fusil; Inglefield supplied me with a
gun. During our absence the dwelling was closed and locked, and your
sisters placed under the protection of Inglefield, whose age and pacific
sentiments unfitted him for arduous and sanguinary enterprises. A troop
of rustics was collected, half of whom remained to traverse Solesbury,
and the other, whom Mr. Huntly and I accompanied, hastened to Chetasco."