Mutual Mistakes.
It was difficult for old Shell to pacify Amy after Cora had mentioned the
name of Walter Wallace. She was determined to go on board of the Reindeer
in search of her lover if she had to swim from the island to the ship.
I have often swam farther than that through the falls of the Delaware,
she said.
At last she reluctantly consented to wait until morning, and went to
sleep in her chair. Cora retired to bed again, and the old man prepared
breakfast, which consisted of smoked ham, dried herring, pan cakes and
birch bark tea.
They had not finished eating, when Bang! went a gun on board of the
Reindeer. In an instant they were all out of the cabin.
The ship first attracted their attention. Then they saw an armed boat
rowing up the river. Bang! went the gun again, when they looked up the
river and saw the float, with people on it.
I see, said Shell. They are shooting at a black bear. Don’t you see? He
is making direct for the island. I will get my gun and stop his bearship.
Amy was herself again, and watched the bear with great interest until the
old man returned with his gun.
You stay here girls, and I will go to the beach and settle him.
Amy followed him unperceived. The old man took accurate aim, when
suddenly Amy struck up his gun, and the ball went over the bear’s head.
Girl, what do you mean! he exclaimed.
I mean to save the life of my best friend. That is no bear, it is my dog
Rolla, and the party on the float are my friends.
By this time Rolla had reached the shore and embraced Amy with a kind of
fatherly affection. The parties watched the float, and saw the people on
it get in the boat and row toward the ship.
It will be remembered that the appearance of Amy and Cora was so much
alike that it was difficult to distinguish between them. But now they
were dressed exactly alike, and a casual observer could not tell one
from the other. This will account for the mistakes and confusion about to
be related.
When they saw the boat coming toward the island, the old man suggested
that they had better walk to the lower end of the island, as the boat
could safely land at that point.
At the time of the landing, Amy was standing on the east side of the
island with Rolla by her side. Walter being ignorant of the real facts,
took her for Cora. Acting under the impulse of the moment, he sprang out
of the boat, and swiftly ran to her, and folding her in his arms, said:
Cora! Oh, Cora—you are safe—you are safe! I feared that we should not see
you again! and he passionately kissed her.
But the girl did not reciprocate, but tried to free herself from his
embrace.
You are mistaken, young man. My name is not Cora.
Walter stared into her eyes for a moment.
You say that your name is not Cora? You have lost yourself. Your reason
is dethroned. You don’t know your nephew. If you are not Cora, who are
you? releasing her.
They continued to look into each others’ eyes for a few moments, when a
gleam of satisfaction beamed in Amy’s countenance. Her bosom heaved, and
instantly she threw her arms around him, and passionately exclaimed:
I am Amy Powers—your long lost Amy. Walter! Oh, Walter!
She could say no more, and willingly remained in his arms.
Walter looked down into her sweet and agitated face a moment, and a
thousand memories flashed across his mind. In his arms lay the mature
woman. In her he saw the girl of his childhood—his long lost Amy. And
here, locked in each other’s embrace, we must leave them, and turn our
attention to other parties.
Drake jumped ashore, and saw, as he supposed, Amy, standing on the
west side of the island. He ran to her and clasped her in his arms and
smothered her with kisses, exclaiming:
Sister? dear sister! You are saved. I was afraid that you would be either
killed or drowned.
See here young man, said Cora. I guess that you are a persistent lover,
and have learned the art of hugging and kissing to perfection—not that I
have any particular fault to find—in fact, I rather like it, at least I
would if it was meant for me. But it is meant for that other girl. I am
not Amy, my name is Cora.
Oh, Amy, Drake continued. Don’t you know me? Don’t you know your brother?
Look at me Amy.
Oh, young man, I see you plain enough, and rather like your looks. But I
am not your sister. I don’t know you. I never saw you before.
Oh, Amy, this is terrible. The Indians have turned your head, deprived
you of reason, and caused you to forget your best friends. But you will
know the mark on my breast, tearing his shirt open and bringing to view
the anchor and ship.
Cora looked at his breast and the tell-tale letters on it. She saw at a
glance and understood who the young man was that so firmly held her. She
knew that he was the long lost child of Captain Davis. At the moment she
was embarrassed and faltered as to the course she should pursue. Then
suddenly throwing her arms about his neck, said:
I wish I was your sister—no, I don’t mean that. What do I want to be your
sister for? I wish—well no matter what I wish. Now, young man, sit down
by me, and I will tell you something you don’t know. First, I am not Amy.
She is over there in the arms of her old lover, Walter Wallace.
Drake sprang to his feet.
Don’t disturb them, she said, for they have not met for a great many
years and have a great deal to talk about. In the next place, my name
is Cora Powers, and I am the aunt of the girl you call Amy. In the next
place, you are Charles Davis, and was stolen many years ago from your
mother on this island near the spot where we now sit, and your father and
mother are now on board of the Reindeer.
Drake heard this announcement with amazement, scarcely believing his
eyes or ears. Then he remembered that Cahoonshee had said that he should
inquire for his father on board of the English war vessel. He was
satisfied that the girl by his side was not Amy, not from any difference
in her looks, but from her voice and actions.
Lady, said Drake, let us go and see Amy and her lover.
As soon as they appeared, Rolla bounded toward them, jumping and barking
with joy.
Amy saw Drake coming, and advanced to meet him. Their meeting was of such
an affectionate character that Walter was at a loss to understand it.
Wallace seized Cora’s hand and congratulated her on her escape from the
Indians. Amy introduced Drake to Walter, saying;
He has always been a good brother to me.
Cora drew Drake aside and said:
Mr. Davis, for now that is your name, I want to ask you one
straight-forward question.
Certainly, lady, proceed.
Did you love Amy as a sister only?
As a sister only, he replied.
In Charles Davis, Cora had found her hero—one that was bold, just and
generous, with just enough savage life in his exterior to interest a girl
of Cora’s mind. The smothering kisses and manly embraces he had bestowed
on her, although meant for another, had aroused within her a passion
different from any she had before experienced. She was the pet child of
a wealthy family, gay, giddy and trifling, and in one sense a flirt.
Accustomed to have her own way, yet noble and high minded. Her hand
had been sought by the noble of her London home, but she had repulsed
them all. Why? Because in them she did not see her hero—her ideal of a
man. In Charles Davis, although dressed in torn and tattered clothes,
although his face was sun-burned, and had the appearance of bronze,
although his home had been in the forest, and his companions savages,
yet something within her heart told her that she loved Charles Davis,
that he had aroused within her bosom a passion heretofore dormant, and,
on the impulse of the moment intended to tell him the state of her mind
and declare her love. It was for this purpose she led him aside and asked
him if he loved Amy only as a sister. But his answer being so frank,
“as a sister only,” disconcerted her. How unlike the fops she had been
accustomed to meet in London. It then flashed across her mind that Davis
was no longer the half savage, the half civilized youth of the Delaware
Valley, but the son of Captain Charles Davis, a man of influence and
power in the English Navy. She realized that to talk and act love that
was prompted by genuine affection was quite a different thing from the
every day flirtation in which there was but little sense and no heart.
She therefore concluded to await the result of the meeting that was about
to take place on board of the Reindeer.
When it was announced that a boat containing two ladies was approaching,
all hands rushed to the deck. That Cora was one of them there was no
doubt. But who could the other one be.
See, said Mrs. Davis to her husband. Cora is sitting by Walter in the bow.
Then her shadow must be reflected to the stern, said the Captain, for
that is certainly Cora. But who is the young man sitting by her side?
That is the young man you questioned. That is your and my son, Captain.
The Captain placed his arm around his wife, and said:
Is it possible that this young man is our son?
The boat comes alongside, and Walter assists Amy on deck. Immediately the
Captain and his wife advanced to meet her, supposing that it was Cora.
Walter noticed Amy’s embarrassment.
This is not Cora. She will be on board soon.
A moment later Cora came on deck, and running to the Captain, said:
I claim the reward.
What reward? the Captain asked.
The reward you offered for the production of your son. Here he is,
turning to where she supposed Drake stood.
But Drake was not there. Neither could he be seen or found on deck.
Cora was surprised, and felt hurt. She supposed he stood by her side, and
intended to have the honor of introducing him to his parents, but he was
nowhere to be found.
I saw a young man in the boat when you came along-side, said Mrs. Davis.
Yes, and it was your son. He came on deck with me, replied Cora.
The Captain was in a maze. He had at no time been convinced that
the person alluded to by Cahoonshee was his child and this sudden
disappearance raised greater doubts.
Lieutenant, said the Captain, this is very remarkable that the person
said to be my son came on board, but cannot be found.
Said to be your son? exclaimed Walter. I have heard of no such person.
I have, replied Cora, and am the only one on board that knew that fact.
How do you know? inquired the Captain.
I saw the mark on his breast that I have so often heard described. He
showed it to me on the island.
The decks were searched, but Drake could not be found, and amid the
confusion the doctor appeared.
How is your patient? asked the Captain.
Better. He is sitting up conversing with the young man who was on the
float with him when he got hurt.
That is Drake, said Cora. I will go after him, and started for the
doctor’s room.
Don’t disturb them at present. The old man realizes that his end is near,
and wishes to have a private talk with the boy.
The parties then went to the cabin, and Amy and Cora related in part
their adventures.
Amy gave Drake’s history from the time she became acquainted with him,
and was describing her mother’s funeral when Tom Jones and Jack Frost
appeared bearing Cahoonshee in their arms, followed by Drake.
Instantly all voices are hushed, and a death-like silence prevailed.
Here youth and old age clasped hands. The old man was weak and trembling,
and it was evident that he was making a superhuman effort to perform a
promise made many years ago. Drake stood by his side holding his hand,
the very picture of despair as his whole soul went out for Cahoonshee. At
that moment he would have forsaken father and mother to prolong the life
of him that had been his friend and foster-father.
Mrs. Davis made an attempt to go to the side of her child, but was
restrained by the Captain who was doubting whether he could believe his
own eyes. Whether the youth that held the aged warrior’s hand was his son.
Cahoonshee beckoned Captain Davis and wife to approach, and they advanced.
Years ago I promised to find and restore to you your child. Why I have
delayed it so long, your son will explain at some other time. My sands of
life are nearly run out, and my last act will be to present to you your
son. Examine the mark and satisfy yourselves.
Drake bared his bosom. The Captain and wife in the same breath exclaimed:
_Our child!_
Captain, said Cahoonshee, take this boy. He is one of nature’s noblemen.
It has been the pride and study of my life to leave behind me an example
of Indian training. I think I have fixed his character, moulded his mind,
and educated him in the arts and sciences far beyond what he could have
learned in the schools. Lay me down.
That night Drake stayed with his parents. I shall not attempt to describe
the interview. Suffice it to say that the Captain and wife were both
inexpressibly happy in the society of their child. The Captain was
surprised at the learning and intelligence of a boy that had been reared
in the dark forest of the Delaware.
Walter spent most of the night on deck with Amy, where he related his
adventures in searching for her—the trip to England, the finding of Lord
Wallace, and lastly, the discovery of his and her grand-father.
Amy, nestling on his bosom, exclaimed:
Oh, Walter, how happy I am. Will this always last?
Certainly my dear. Nothing shall part us now. You will go with me to
England and become queen of my house.
And leave Drake and Cahoonshee? she replied.
Walter looked into her sweet face as if to divine her thoughts.
Drake will undoubtedly remain with his father, and Cahoonshee shall be
taken care of.
By whom? she asked.
Walter saw that these words meant more than they expressed, and drawing
Amy still closer to him, said:
I suppose this old man has been a good friend of yours and you do not
like to leave him.
He has been more than a friend. He has been a father, a protector, an
instructor. What little I know, he taught me. I wish to remain with him
to the last.
Your wish shall be gratified, said Walter.
We shall not attempt to follow the parties or relate their conversation
at this, their first meeting. And if we made the attempt, we would
certainly fail, for the most vivid imagination cannot describe the
sensation of two hearts so firmly united, that had been so long
separated. They were in fact “one twain, one flesh.” Their hearts beat in
unison, and each of them could truthfully say:
“Mine is thine and thine is mine.”
And here in the pale moonlight of a coming morn, we must leave the
lovers, and turn our attention to other characters.
Cora had, in a sense, been left alone. The others held within their
embrace the object of their affection, but she was alone and lonely. The
object of her affection was sitting between his parents in the cabin,
relating the adventures of the past, and planning for the future. The
future of that man was all the world to her. With him the future would be
heaven. Without him, misery. From her room she could hear distinctly the
conversation that passed between them. At last she heard him say:
Now my dear parents, you must excuse me. Duty calls me to the side of my
foster-father.
She heard the good-night said, and the parting kiss bestowed. She knew
that Drake was going to see Cahoonshee. I will be there first, she
thought; and started through a passage way that led to the doctor’s room.
On opening the door, she found Cahoonshee quietly sleeping, and Tom and
Jack watching by his side.
My good men, she said, I have come to relieve you. Let me watch by the
side of the dying hero.
Tom and Jack departed, and Cora was left alone with the dying man. In a
few moments he opened his eyes and said:
Amy, my child, extending his hand.
This is not Amy, she said. I am Cora Powers, the daughter of Admiral
Powers.
Then, replied the old man, I must be near the Spirit Land. My eyes have
failed me. Bend down, child, and let me place my hand on your neck.
The old man drew his hand across her neck below the ear.
You are right, child. The mole is not there. You are not Amy. Where is
she? and where is Drake?
At this moment the door opened, and Drake appeared. He was embarrassed at
finding Cora there, and was at a loss what to say. But Cahoonshee knew
him.
My eyes are not mistaken now. This is my boy Drake.
Yes, father, I have come to stay with you.
Cahoonshee looked at Cora.
Who is this lady if it is not Amy? It must be her spirit.
Drake then related the incidents of the day and who Cora was, the
similarity between the two girls, and the mistakes that had been made
in taking one girl for the other, and the meeting of Amy and her lover,
Walter Wallace, on the island, and that they were together now.
Cahoonshee grew stronger, and raised up in bed.
Come here, girl, and let me look in your eyes, and read your soul.
Cora advanced to the bed. Cahoonshee took her hand and gazed into her
eyes.
You have the same form and features—the same eyes and soul of Amy. You
differ in name, and in name only, and he fell back on his pillow.
Cora and Drake withdrew a short distance.
I fear, said Cora, that your friend has but a short time to live.
I fear not, replied Drake, sobbing, and the tears running down his cheeks.
She took him by the hand to console him.
You loved this old man as a father?
Yes, more than a father. He has watched over me since the days of my
childhood. He has spent days and nights educating me. He has periled his
life to save his friends. And I came here at this time to hear his last
request. I think he wants to be buried on the Steneykill.
The old man had awakened and was watching them, and saw Cora holding
Drake’s hand.
Lady, he asked, could you hold his heart as tenderly and affectionately
as you hold his hand?
Cora blushed, and they both went to his side.
Shall I raise you up further? asked Drake.
Yes, he replied, my race is nearly run. I will soon be in the Spirit
Land. But I have a request to make before I depart. Send for Amy and the
rest to come here.
Drake went to call them and Cora and Cahoonshee were left alone.
Sit by my side he said, and tell me if your hand and heart are free. Tell
me whether holding that boy’s hand was actuated by pure sympathy, or
whether a higher and nobler attribute springing from your heart prompted
it?
Cora, true to the instincts of her nature, concealed nothing. Throwing
her arms around the old man’s neck, and kissing him, said;
Father, you read my heart. How could you tell what occupied my soul?
Before she could finish the sentence, the door opened, and in walked
Drake and the rest of the friends. Amy threw herself on the couch and
wept as if her heart would break.
Cahoonshee roused.
I have sent for you, friends, to make my last request. Before the setting
of many suns, this mortal will put on immortality. This spirit will go
to the Happy Hunting Grounds. My request is that my body be buried on the
Pine Knoll west of my cabin on the Steneykill.
It shall be done, said Drake and Walter at the same time.
Cahoonshee continued:
My books and writings I give to Charles Drake. My gun and other property
I give to Tom and his father, and to Amy my furs.
Here his voice faltered. His eyes closed and for several minutes he
seemed to be communing with the Spirits in the Spirit World. His
countenance showed that it was a struggle of mental duty that he wished
to perform before he shut his eyes for the last time.
Raise me up a little higher. Come here, boy. Something tells me that I
have another request to make. I may be wrong.
You can’t be wrong. You never did wrong. Make your request, and it shall
be obeyed. I have followed your advice through life. At death, and in the
presence of these friends, I promise to revere it.
I have something to give away. It consists of mind and matter. Have I a
right to give it? Heaven direct me.
Heaven will direct you, and what heaven directs must be right, replied
Drake. What is it, father, that you wish to give away?
It is you, my boy, it is you. Here, Cora, taking her by the hand and
extending it to Drake. Take this girl, and may heaven smile on your
union. She loves you, boy, ardently, sincerely, devotedly. She is like
Amy, not only in form and figure, but in mind and soul. My work is done.
Lay me down.