Leaving the little party in the dismay occasioned by their new position,
and that at a moment when they believed themselves secured from further
interruption or danger, we must now return to the Fort, where their
long-continued absence, coupled with the startling tidings conveyed by
Ephraim Giles, had created equal anxiety and apprehension.
It will be recollected that during the examination of the latter, Ensign
Ronayne had, after communicating with the commanding officer, suddenly
departed across the river, taking with him a few armed men. The
destination of this little party was the cottage occupied by Mrs.
Heywood and her daughter, who, with a woman servant, were the sole
occupants of a dwelling, simple in construction, but decorated, both
within and without, by the hand of good taste. It was a low, one-storied
building, painted white, with green window-blinds and shutters, and a
verandah of trellis work of the same color, that extended a few feet
square round the principal entrance. On either side, rose to the roof,
on parallel lines, and at equal distances, cords of strong twine, on
which already had began to interlace themselves, the various parasites
indigenous to the soil, which winter had robbed of their freshness, but
which a southern sun was now evidently vivifying and re-invigorating.
A small garden of about half-an-acre, surrounded by a similar
trellis-work, extended equally in front, and on the sides of the
house--while the graceful form given to the various beds, and the
selection of the plants and flowers, which, although still in their
dormant state, were yet recognizable--testified the refined taste of
those who had assisted at their culture. The pathway, which was recently
gravelled from the adjacent sand-hills, ran in a straight line from
the verandah, toward the little green gate, opening on the front of the
garden, took a semi-circular sweep on either side, at about one-third
of the distance from the gate. This form had been given to it for the
purpose of affording room for the creation of a mound, on the summit
of which had been placed a small summer-house, octagon in shape, and
constructed of the same description of trellis-work. The sloping sides
of the mound itself, were profusely covered with dahlias, rhododendrons,
geraniums, and other plants of the most select kind--the whole forming,
when in bloom, a circle of floral magnificence. A short and narrow path,
just large enough to admit of the passage of one person at a time, led
to the entrance of the summer-house, which, facing the gate, was also
shaded from the light and heat of the sun's rays, by closely interlacing
vines.
At the bottom of this artificial mound, and near the pathway, a small
spud, such as is used for pruning, was stuck into some earth, newly
drawn round a splendid tiger lily, and on the handle of the spud, were
loosely thrown a white silk jacket, a blue velvet cap, and a light pink
scarf--evidencing that no ordinary gardener had been that day employed
in bringing into new life the gorgeous beauties of the variegated
parterre.
“Little did I think,” mused the young officer, as, leaving his party at
the gate, and hastening towards the cottage, his eye fell upon those
articles of dress--“little did I imagine when I threw off these things
a few hours since, to obey a summons to the Fort, that on my return
to them, it would be with this heavy heart, and as the bearer of these
tidings--but I must be cautious in my disclosure. Dear girl, here she
is!”
“Why, Ronayne, what in the name of Heaven is the meaning of all this?
Are you here to take the castle by storm, with all these armed warriors?
A few hours since you were a man of peace, and now I behold in you a
most approved and valiant knight of the true American school. Sword,
cap, feather, epaulet, blue broad-cloth, and silver. Well it must be
confessed that you are not a bad imitation of a soldier, in that garb,
and it is in pity to me, I suppose, that you do not wear it oftener.
But seriously, Harry, do satisfy my curiosity, and tell me the reason of
this unusual--manner of visit!”
The question was asked playfully, but in tones replete with sweetness,
by a tall and elegantly-formed girl, who on turning the further circle
of the walk, in her approach to her favorite flower-bed, had for the
first time, beheld the young officer, and the party stationed at the
gate.
“Nay, dear Maria,” returned the youth, deeply grieved at the thought
of casting a gloom over the spirits of her who thus rallied him. “I
am sorry to say my errand is not one of mere parade--I have come to
announce that which will give you pain; and but that I am charged with
the agreeable duty of making you a prisoner, I never should have had the
courage to be the bearer of the intelligence.”
Miss Heywood turned very pale, less at the words even than at the manner
of the young officer, who it was evident, felt all the weight of the
task he had undertaken.
“Ronayne,” she said, her voice suddenly assuming a rich melancholy of
intonation, in strange contrast with her first address, “there is more
in this than you would acquaint me with. But, tell me,” and she fixed
her large dark eyes on his--“tell me all. What pain is it you fear to
occasion me, and how is it connected with my being a prisoner? Ha!” and
she grasped his arm, and betrayed deep agitation--“surely nothing in my
father's conduct--”
“No, no, Maria,” returned the youth, quickly, “far from anything of the
kind, and yet it is of your father I would speak. But have you heard
nothing since I left you. Have you seen no one?”
“I have heard nothing--seen not a soul from without,” she answered, as
he tenderly pressed the hand he had taken--“But, Ronayne,” she pursued,
with melancholy gravity--“a sudden light dawns upon me--my heart
tells me that some misfortune or other has happened, or is about to
happen--you say you would speak about my father. You are the bearer of
ill-news in regard to him. Yes, I know it is so; tell me, Harry,” and
she looked imploringly up to him, “am I not right?--my father has been
attacked by Indians, and he has fallen. Oh! you do not deny it!”
“Nay, dearest Maria, I know nothing of the kind, although I will not
conceal from you that there is danger--you have guessed correctly as to
the Indians having been at the farm, but little certain is known as to
the result of their visit. That half idiot Ephraim Giles, has come in
with some wild story, but I daresay he exaggerates.”
Miss Heywood shook her head doubtingly. “You deceive me, Ronayne--with
the best intention, but still you deceive me. If you really think the
rumor be exaggerated, why your own restlessness and seriousness of
manner? Harry, this is no time for concealment, for I feel that I can
better bear the truth NOW than LATER. Do not hesitate then to tell me
all you know.”
“True, my love, this is no time for concealment since such be the state
of your feelings. I was unwilling to admit my own apprehension on the
subject, fearing that you might be ill-prepared for the disclosure; but
after what you have just urged, the blow can never fall less heavily
than now. You must know, then, that a party of hostile Indians have,
there is too much reason to fear, used violence toward the inmates of
the farm-house, but to what extent we have no means of knowing; though
such is the alarm created by their presence that Headley, who you know
is the very soul of caution, has ordered every white in the neighborhood
of the Fort, to be removed for safety within its walls.”
“Would that instead of THAT,” remarked Miss Heywood, with solemnity,
“he had despatched those soldiers, whom I see there fully armed, to the
rescue of my poor father. Perhaps he might be saved yet--the house is
strong, and might be defended for some time, even by a couple of men.”
“And me at their head. Is it not so, Maria?” inquired the youth.
“Yes, and you at their head, dear Ronayne,” repeated Miss Heywood; “to
no one sooner would I be indebted for my father's safety, as no one
would, I am sure, more cheerfully attempt his deliverance.”
The young American mused a moment, and then rejoined, despondingly;
“Were these men at my disposal, Maria, how gladly would I hasten to
encounter every difficulty, the removal of which would spare your gentle
bosom those pangs; but you know Headley would never permit it. His
prudence is a mania, and even were he to yield his consent--let me not
sustain you with delusive hopes--I fear it would be too late.”
“God's will be done,” she ejaculated, as the large tears fell trickling
down her pallid cheeks, “but what will become of my poor and now nearly
death-stricken-mother, when she hears of this?”
“The blow is indeed a fearful one, but act, I pray you, with courage.
Consider, too, your own safety. No one knows the force of the Indians,
or how soon they may be here. Go in, dearest, prepare what you may more
immediately require for a few days, and my men will carry your trunks
down to the scow which is waiting to receive you.”
“And if I should consent to go, Ronayne, you know my poor mother cannot
rise from her bed. What do you propose to do with her? To remove her,
and let her know WHY she is removed, would soon finish the work her
debilitating disease has begun.”
“I have made every necessary provision,” answered the young officer,
glad to find that her thoughts could be diverted from the immediate
source of her sorrow. “Elmsley's wife, to whom I spoke a few hurried
words on leaving, is even now preparing for your temporary reception,
and I have thought of an excuse to be given to your mother. You must for
once in your life use deceit, and say that Van Vottenberg desires her
presence in the fort, because his duties have become so severe that he
can no longer absent himself to bestow upon her that professional care
she so much requires. Nay, look not so incredulous. I am aware that the
pretext is a meagre one, but I cannot at present think of a better; and
in her enfeebled state she will not dwell upon the strangeness of the
plea. Go on then, I entreat you, and desire Catherine to collect what
you will want, while my men carry to the scow such articles of furniture
as will be most useful to you in your new quarters. Quick, dear Maria,
I implore you, there has already been too much time lost, and I expect
every moment an order from Headley to return immediately.”
Sensible of a pressing emergency. Miss Heywood, with a beating heart,
regained the cottage, in which so many blissful hours had been passed
within the last two years, undisturbed by a care for the future, while
the young officer joining his men, left one to take care of the arms of
the party, and with the remainder hastened to the house making as little
noise as possible, in order not to disturb the invalid. Having chosen
such articles of furniture as he knew Mrs. Elmsley was most deficient
in, and among these a couch and a couple of easy-chairs (which latter
indeed were the work of his own hands), they were conveyed to the scow
in two trips, and then followed three or four trunks into which had been
thrown, without regard to order, such wearing apparel, and necessaries
of the toilet as the short period allowed for preparation had permitted
the agitated girl to put together. The most delicate part of the burden,
however, yet remained to be removed, and that was the invalid herself.
Desiring his men to remain without, the youth, whose long and close
intimacy with the family rendered such a step by no means objectionable,
entered the apartment of Mrs. Heywood, who had already been prepared
by her daughter for the removal, and with the assistance of Catherine
raised the bed on which she lay, and transferred it to a litter brought
for the occasion. This they carefully bore through the suite of small
and intervening rooms to the front, where two of the men relieved them,
Catherine walking at the side, and unnecessarily enjoining caution at
every step.
“This is, indeed, an unexpected change, Ronayne,” said Miss Heywood,
sadly, “but this morning, and I was so happy, and now! These poor
flowers, too (for after having fastened the windows and doors of the
house, they were now directing their course towards the mound), that
parterre which cost us so much labor, yes, such sweet labor, must all be
left to be destroyed by the hand of some ruthless savage. Yet, what do I
say,” she pursued, in a tone of deep sorrow, “I lament the flowers; yes,
Ronayne, because they have thriven under your care, and yet, I forget
that my father perhaps no longer lives; that my beloved mother's death
may be the early consequence of this removal. Yet think me not selfish.
Think me not ungrateful. Come what may, you will yet be left to me. No,
Harry,” and she looked up to him tearfully, “I shall never be utterly
destitute, while you remain.”
“Bless you, thrice bless you for these sweet avowals of your
confidence,” exclaimed the youth, suddenly dropping her arm, and
straining her passionately to his heart. “Yes, Maria, I shall yet remain
to love, to cherish, to make you forget every other tie in that of
husband--to blend every relationship in that of one.”
“Nay, Ronayne,” she quickly returned, while the color mounted vividly to
her cheek, under the earnest ardor of his gaze, “I would not now unsay
what I have said, and yet I did not intend that my words should exactly
bear that interpretation--nor is this a moment--”
“But still you will be my wife--tell me, Maria?” and he looked
imploringly into her own not averted eyes. “You will be the wife, as you
have long been the friend and companion of your Ronayne--answer me. Will
you not?”
Her head sank upon his shoulder, and the heaving of her bosom, as she
gently returned his embrace, alone conveyed the assurance he desired.
She was deeply affected. She knew the ardent, generous nature of her
lover, and she felt that every word that had just fallen from his lips,
tended only to unravel the true emotions of his heart: but soothing as
was his impassioned language, she deemed it almost criminal, at such a
moment, to listen to it.
“Nay, dearest Harry,” she said, gently disengaging herself from his
embrace, “we will be seen. They may wonder at our delay, and send
somebody back from the scow. Let us proceed.”
“You are right,” replied the young officer, again passing her arm
through his own, while they continued their route, “excess of happiness
must not cause me to commit an imprudence so great, as that of suffering
another to divine the extent. Yet one word more, dear Maria! and ah!
think how much depends upon your answer. WHEN shall I call you mine?”
“Oh! speak not now of that, Ronayne--consider the position of my
father--my mother's health.”
“It is for that very reason that I do ask it,” returned the youth.
“Should Heaven deprive you of the one, as it in some degree threatens
you with the loss of the other, what shall so well console you as the
tenderness of him who is blessed with your love?”
“Hush, Harry,” and she fondly pressed his arm--“they will hear you.”
They had now approached the scow, into which the men, having previously
deposited the furniture and trunks, were preparing to embark the litter
upon which Mrs. Heywood lay extended, with an expression of resignation
and repose upon her calm features, that touched the hearts of even
these rude men. Her daughter, half-reproaching herself for not
having personally attended to her transport, and only consoled by the
recollection of the endearing explanation with her lover, which had
chanced to result from her absence, now tenderly inquired how she had
borne it, and was deeply gratified to find that the change of air, and
gentle exercise to which she had been subjected, had somewhat restored
her. Here was one source of care partly removed, and she felt, if
possible, increased affection for the youth to whose considerate
attention was owing this favorable change in the condition of a parent,
whom she had ever fondly loved.
It was near sunset when Ronayne, who, with the robust Catherine, had
carefully lifted the invalid into the centre of the scow, reached the
landing-place below the Fort. Here were collected several of the women
of the company, and among them Mrs. Elmsley, who had come down to meet
and welcome those for whose reception she had made every provision the
hurried notice she had received would permit. The young officer had been
the first to step on shore, and after he had whispered something in
her ear, she for a moment communicated with the group of women--then
advanced to meet Miss Heywood, whom her lover was now handing from the
scow. She embraced her with a tenderness so unusually affectionate, that
a vague consciousness of the true cause flashed across the mind of the
anxious girl, recalling back all that inward grief of soul, which the
deep emotion of an engrossing love had for a time absorbed.
In less than half-an-hour the fugitives were installed in the council
hall, and in another small apartment, dividing it from the rooms
occupied by the Elmsleys. The ensign, having seen that all was arranged
in a suitable manner in the former, went out to the parade-ground,
leaving the ladies in charge of their amiable hostess, and of the women
she had summoned to assist in bearing the latter into the Fort.
On his way to his rooms, he met Captain Headley returning from an
inspection of the defences. He saluted him, and was in the act of
addressing him in a friendly and familiar tone, when he was checked by
the sharply-uttered remark:
“So, sir, you are returned at last. It seems to me that you have been
much longer absent than was necessary.”
The high spirit of the youth was chafed. “Pardon me, sir,” he answered
haughtily, “if I contradict you. No one of the least feeling would have
thought of removing such an invalid as Mrs. Heywood is, without using
every care her condition required. Have you any orders for me, Captain
Headley?” he concluded, in a more respectful manner, for he had become
sensible, the moment after he had spoken, of his error in thus evincing
asperity under the reproof of his superior.
“You are officer of the guard, I believe, Mr. Ronayne?”
“No, sir, Mr. Elmsley relieved me this morning.”
At that moment the last-named officer came up, on his way to the
ensign's quarters, when, the same question having been put to him, and
answered in the affirmative, Captain Headley desired that the moment
the fishing-party came in they should be reported to him. “And now,
gentlemen,” he concluded, “I expect you both to be particularly on the
alert to-night. The absence of that fishing-party distresses me, and I
would give much that they were back.”
“Captain Headley,” said the ensign, quickly and almost beseechingly,
“let me pick out a dozen men from the company, and I pledge myself to
restore the party before mid-day to-morrow. Nay, sir,” seeing strong
surprise and disapproval on the countenance of the commandant, “I am
ready to forfeit my commission if I fail--”
“Are you mad, Mr. Ronayne, or do you suppose that I am mad enough to
entertain such a proposition, and thus weaken my force still more?
Forfeit your commission if you fail! Why, sir, you would deserve to
forfeit your commission, if you even succeeded in any thing so wholly
at variance with military prudence. Gentlemen, recollect what I have
said--I expect you to use the utmost vigilance to-night, and, Mr.
Elmsley, fail not instantly to report the fishing-boat.” Thus enjoining,
he passed slowly on to his quarters.
“D--n your military prudence, and d--n your pompous cold-bloodedness!”
muttered the fiery ensign between his teeth--scarcely waiting until his
captain was out of hearing.
“Hush,” interrupted Elmsley in a whisper. “He will hear you. Ha!” he
continued after a short pause, during which they moved on towards the
mess-room, “you begin to find out his amiable military qualities,
do you! But tell me, Ronayne, what the deuce has put this Quixotic
expedition into your head? What great interest do you take in these
fishermen, that you should volunteer to break your shins in the wood,
this dark night, for the purpose of seeking them, and that on the very
day when your ladye faire honors these walls, if I may so dignify
our stockade, with her presence for the first time. Come, come, thank
Headley for his refusal. When you sit down to-morrow morning, as
I intend you shall, to a luxurious breakfast of tea, coffee, fried
venison, and buckwheat-cakes, you will find no reason to complain of his
adherence to military prudence.”
“Elmsley,” returned his friend, seriously, “I can have no disguise from
you at such a moment. You know my regard for Maria Heywood, although
you cannot divine its depth, and could I but be the means of saving her
father, you can well understand the joy I should feel.”
“Certainly, my dear fellow, but you know as well as myself, that
there exists not the shadow of a hope of this. That scarecrow, Giles,
half-witted as he is, tells too straightforward a story.”
“Elmsley,” persisted his friend, “there is every hope--every reasonable
expectation that he may yet survive. Maria herself first opened my eyes
to the possibility, for, until then, I had thought as you do; and deeply
did her words sink in my heart, when she said, reproachfully, that,
instead of sending a party to escort her, it would have been far better
to dispatch them to the farm, where her father might, at that moment,
be sustaining a siege--the house being strong enough to admit of a
temporary defence, by even a couple of persons.”
“And what said you to that?”
“What could I say? I looked like a fool, and felt like a school-boy
under the iron rod of a pedagogue--but I resolved.”
“And what did you resolve, my enterprising KNIGHT errant?”
“You have just heard my proposal to the gentleman who piques himself
upon his military prudence.” returned the youth, with bitter irony.
“Yes, and he refused you. What then?”
“True, and what then,” and he nodded his head impatiently.
“You will sleep upon it, my dear fellow, after we have had a glass of
the Monongahela, and the pipe. Thus refreshed, you will think better of
it in the morning.”
“We will have the Monongahela and the pipe, for truly I feel that I
require something to soothe, if not absolutely to exhilarate me; but no
sleep for me this night. Elmsley,” he added, more seriously, “you will
pass me out of the gate?”
“Pass you out of what?” exclaimed the other, starting from the chair on
which he had thrown himself only the moment before. “What do you mean,
man?”
“I mean that, as officer of the guard, you alone can pass me through
after dark, and this service you must render me.”
“Why! where are you going? Single-handed like Jack the Giant Killer to
deliver, not a beautiful damsel from the fangs of a winged monster, but
a tough old backwoodsman from the dark paws of the savage?”
“Elmsley,” again urged the ensign, “you forget that Mr. Heywood is the
father of my future wife.”
“Ah! is it come to that at last. Well, I am right glad of it. But,
my dear Ronayne,” taking and cordially pressing his hand, “forgive my
levity. I only sought to divert you from your purpose. What I can do for
you, I will do; but tell me what it is you intend.”
“Yet, Elmsley, before we enter further into the matter, do you not think
that you will incur the serious displeasure of Military Prudence?”
“If he discovers that you are gone, certainly; and I cannot see how it
can be otherwise; he will be in the fidgets all night, and probably
ask for you; but even if not THEN, he will miss you on parade in the
morning.”
“And what will be the consequence to you? Answer me candidly, I
entreat.”
“Then, candidly, Ronayne, the captain likes me not well enough to pass
lightly over such a breach of duty. The most peremptory orders have,
since the arrival of this startling news, been given not to allow any
one to leave the fort, and (since you wish me to be sincere) should I
allow you to pass, it will go hard with my commission.”
“How foolish of me not to have thought of that before! How utterly
stupid to ask that which I ought to have known myself; but enough,
Elmsley. I abandon the scheme altogether. You shall never incur that
risk for me.”
“Yet understand me,” resumed the other, “if you really think that there
is a hope of its proving more than a mere wild goose chase, I will
cheerfully incur that risk; but on my honor, Ronayne, I myself feel
convinced that nothing you can do will avail.”
“Not another word on the subject,” answered his friend; “here is what
will banish all care, at least for the present.”
His servant had just entered, and deposited on the mess-table hot and
cold water, sugar, lime-juice, pipes, tobacco, and tumblers; when the
two officers with Von Vottenberg who had just come in from visiting Mr.
Heywood, sat down to indulge their social humors. Whilst the latter,
according to custom, mixed the punch, which when made was pronounced
to be his chef d'oeuvre, Elmsley amused himself with cutting up the
tobacco, and filling the pipes. The ensign, taking advantage of their
occupation, indulged himself in a reverie that lasted until the beverage
had been declared ready.
The presence of the doctor, acting as a check upon the further allusion
by the friends to the topic that had hitherto engrossed their attention,
the little conversation that ensued was of a general nature, neither of
them, however, cared much to contribute to it, so that the doctor
found and pronounced them for that evening anything but entertaining
companions. He, however, consoled himself with copious potations from
the punch-bowl, and filled the room with dense clouds of smoke, that
were in themselves, sufficient to produce the drowsiness that Ronayne
pleaded in excuse of his taciturnity.
After his second glass, Elmsley, reminding the ensign that he expected
him as well as the punch-brewer to breakfast with him in the morning at
eight o'clock precisely, took his departure for the guard room, for the
night.