It was about seven o'clock on the morning succeeding the occurrences
detailed in the preceding chapters, that Lieutenant Elmsley waited on
the commanding officer, to relate that the fishing boat was at length in
sight. These tidings were communicated as Captain Headley was preparing
to sit down to breakfast--a refreshment, to which the fatigue of mind
and body he had undergone during the night had not a little disposed
him. True, however, to his character, he stayed not for the meal, but
instantly arose, and taking his telescope accompanied the subaltern to
the flagstaff battery, whence the best view of the river was commanded.
“Any thing to report, Mr. Elmsley; but I presume not, or it scarcely
would have been necessary for me to ask the question?”
“Nothing, sir, of any consequence,” replied the lieutenant after a
moment's hesitation, “beyond a slight altercation that took place
between a drunken Pottawattamie and the sergeant of the guard--but it
was of a nature too trivial to disturb you about.”
“What was it, Mr. Elmsley?” inquired his superior, abruptly turning to
him.
“The Indian who had probably been lying dead drunk during the day within
the Fort, and had evidently just awakened from his sleep, was anxious
to go to his encampment, but the sergeant, strictly obeying the order
he had received from me, refused to open the gate, which seemed to annoy
the Indian very much. At that moment I came up. I knew well of course
that the order was not meant to extend rigidly to our Indian friends,
the great mass of whom might be offended by the detention of one of
their number, and I desired the sergeant to pass him through. Was I
right, sir?”
“Perfectly, Mr. Elmsley; we must not offend those of the Indian tribes
that are disposed to be friendly toward us, for no one knows how soon
we may require their aid. The official advices I have received not only
from Detroit but from Washington are of a nature to induce apprehension
of hostilities between Great Britain and the United States; therefore,
it would, as you justly observe, and just now particularly, be
extremely bad policy to offend those whom it is so much our interest to
conciliate. Still you ought to have reported the circumstance to me, and
not acted on your own responsibility.”
Lieutenant Elmsley bit his lip, and could scarcely control a movement of
impatience. “I am glad, however, sir,” he resumed after a pause,
“that you find no fault with my conduct; I confess I had some little
uneasiness on that score, for with you I felt that I had no right to
assume the responsibility, but I knew that you had retired to your
rooms, and I was unwilling to disturb you.”
“You ought to have known, Mr. Elmsley, that where duty is concerned I
can never be disturbed. However, no matter. What you did was correctly
done; only in future, fail not to make your report. The slightest
unauthorized step might be a false one, and that, under all the
circumstances, is to be avoided.”
Whatever the subaltern thought of the seeming self-sufficiency which had
dictated the concluding part of the lecture of the commanding officer,
he made no further observation, and both in silence pursued the
remainder of their short route to the bastion.
Many of the men, dressed and accoutred for the morning parade, which
usually took place at about nine o'clock, were grouped around, and
anxiously watching the approach of the boat, as of something they had
despaired of ever again beholding. Captain Headley drew his telescope to
the proper focus, and after looking through it a few minutes--remarked--
“Thank Heaven, all is right--they are all there, although it is quite
unaccountable to me how they could have been detained until this
morning. And, oh! it seems they have taken a heavy draught of fish, for,
although I cannot see the bottom of the boat, their feet are raised as
if to prevent crushing or injuring something beneath them. But hold!
there is something wrong, too. I do not see the usual number of muskets
piled in the stern. How can this be, Mr. Elmsley?”
“Perhaps there is not the same number of men,” suggested the
lieutenant--“some of them, for causes connected with their detention,
may be coming by land.”
“Not at all. There are seven men. I think seven men compose the fishing
party; do they not?”
“Six men, besides the non-commissioned officer; yes, sir.”
“I can make out Corporal Nixon, for he is steering and facing me, but
for the others, I do not know them well enough to distinguish. Here, Mr.
Elmsley, take the glass, and try what you can make of them.”
The lieutenant gazed through the glass a moment, and then pronounced
name after name, as the men severally came under the range of the lens.
“Yes, sir, as you say, there is Corporal Nixon steering--then, with,
their backs to us, and pulling, are first, Collins, then Green, then
Jackson, then Weston, then Cass, and then Philips. But what they have
in the bottom of the boat, for I now can see that plain enough, is not
fish, sir, but a human body, and a dog crouched at its side. Yes! it is
indeed the Frenchman's dog--Loup Garou.”
“Well, I want to know!” exclaimed Ephraim Giles, who had ascended the
bastion, and now stood amid the group of men, “I take it, that if that's
Loup Garou, his master can't be far off. I never knowed them to be
separate.”
“Yes, sir, that is certainly a dead body,” pursued the
lieutenant--“somebody killed at the farm, no doubt. Have you any orders
for the direction of the party, when they land, sir?” he inquired, as he
handed back the glass to the captain.
“Just desire the drum to beat to parade,” was the answer. “It wants only
a few minutes of guard-mounting, and by the time the men have fallen in,
and the roll is called, the boat will be here. Where is Mr. Ronayne?”
“I have not seen him this morning, sir, but believe that he is in his
own rooms. He, however, knows the hour, and doubtless will be here
presently.”
“When the men have fallen in, come and report to me,” said the captain,
as he descended from the bastion, and proceeded to his own quarters, to
eat his untasted breakfast.
The lieutenant touched his cap in assent, and then, having despatched
a man with orders to the temporary drum-major, crossed over to the
apartments of the ensign, anxious not only to excuse himself for not
being able to receive his friend to his own breakfast, at the hour
he had named, but to prepare him for the reception of the body of Mr.
Heywood, which he doubted not, was that now on its way for interment at
his own house.
On entering the mess-room, in which they had taken their punch, the
previous evening, everything bore evidence of a late debauch. Ashes and
tobacco were liberally strewed upon the table, while around the empty
bowl, were, in some disorder, pipes and glasses--one of each emptied
of all but the ashes and sediment--the other two only half-smoked,
half-full, and standing amid a pool of wet, which had evidently been
spilt by a not very steady hand. The windows were closed, so that the
smoke clung to what little furniture there was in the room, and the
whole scent of the place was an abominable compound of stale tobacco and
strong whisky.
A loud snoring in the room on his right attracted his attention. He knew
that it was Von Vottenberg's, and he entered to see what had kept him
in bed until that late hour. The surgeon, only half-undressed, was fast
asleep, not within, but on the outside of the bed-clothes. Somewhat
disgusted at the sight, for Elmsley was comparatively abstemious, he
shook him not very gently, when the doctor, opening his eyes with a
start, half-rose upon his elbow. “Ha!” he exclaimed, “I know you mean
to say that breakfast is waiting; I had forgotten all about it, old
fellow.”
“I mean nothing of the kind,” was the reply, “but I recommend you to
lose no time in dressing and turning out. The men are already on parade,
and if Captain Headley, finding that you are absent, tends over here
to inquire the cause, I would not give much for your future chances of
swallowing whisky-punch within the walls of Chicago.”
“Eh? what! what!” spluttered the surgeon, as he jumped up, drew on his
boots, dipped his face in a basin of water, and hastily completed his
toilet. In less than five minutes he was on parade.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Elmsley, after giving this warning, had passed
again through the mess-room, and knocked at Ronayne's door. But there
was no answer.
“Hilloa, Ronayne,” he called loudly, as he turned the handle of the
latch, “are YOU in bed too?”
But no Ronayne was there. He looked at the bed--like the doctor's, it
had been laid upon, but no one had been within the clothes.
What was the meaning of this? After a few moments of delay, he flew back
to Von Vottenberg's room, but the latter was already gone. Retracing his
steps, he met Ronayne's servant entering at the mess-room door.
“Where is your master?” he inquired. “How is it that he is not in his
room--has not been in bed?”
“Not been in bed?” repeated the lad, with surprise. “Why, sir, he told
me last night that he was very drowsy and should lie late; and, that
he mightn't be disturbed, he desired me to sleep in one of the
block-houses. I was only to wake him in time for guard-mounting, and as
it wants but ten minutes to that, I am just come to call him.”
“Clean out the mess-room directly--open the windows, and pat every thing
in order,” said the lieutenant, fearing that Captain Headley might, on
hearing of the absence of the young officer, pay his quarters a visit in
search of some clue to the cause. “I see it all,” he mused, as he moved
across the parade-ground. “He would not, generous fellow, get me into a
scrape, by making me privy to his design, and to avoid the difficulty of
the gate, has got over the pickets somewhere--yet, if so, he must have
had a rope, and assistance of some kind, for he never could have crossed
them without. Yet, where can he be gone, and what could he have expected
to result from his mad scheme? Had he waited until now, he would have
known by the arrival of the fishing-party with their sad charge, how
utterly useless was all this risk.”
“Well, Mr. Elmsley,” said the captain, who now appeared at the front of
his own door, fully dressed for parade, and preparing to issue forth in
all the stateliness of command.
“The parade is formed, sir,” remarked the lieutenant, confusedly, “but I
cannot find the officer of the guard.”
“Sir!” exclaimed Captain Headley.
“I cannot find Mr. Ronayne, sir--I have myself been over to his
quarters, and looked into his bed-room, but it is clear that he has not
been in bed all night.”
“What is the meaning of all this? Send Doctor Von Vottenberg here
immediately.”
And lucky was it for that gentleman that the officer who now desired his
attendance on the commandant had roused him from that Lethean slumber in
which he had been, only a few minutes before, so luxuriously indulging.
“Doctor Von Vottenberg,” commenced the captain, as soon as that official
made his appearance before him; “you are quartered with Mr. Ronayne.
Have you seen any thing of him last night or this morning--no evasion,
nay,” seeing that the doctor's brow began to be overclouded, “I mean no
attempt to shield the young man by a suppression of the truth.”
“I certainly saw him last night, Captain Headley, but not at a very
late hour. We took a glass or two of punch, and smoked a couple of pipes
together, but we both went to bed early, and for my part, I know that I
slept so soundly as to have heard nothing--seen nothing, until I got up
this morning.”
The doctor spoke truly as to the time of their retirement to rest, for
the ensign had left him early in the night, while he had found his way
to his own bed, early in the morning.
“The boat is nearing the landing-place, sir,” reported the sergeant of
the guard, who now came up, and more immediately addressed Lieutenant
Elmsley.
This information, for the moment, banished the subject under discussion.
“Let the men pile their arms,” ordered Captain Headley; “and when this
is done, Mr. Elmsley, follow me to the landing-place.”
In a few minutes both officers were there. The boat was within fifty
yards, when the subaltern joined his captain; and the oarsmen, evidently
desirous of doing their best in the presence of the commanding officer,
were polling silently and with a vigor that soon brought it to its
accustomed berth.
“What body is that, Corporal Nixon?” inquired the latter, “and how is it
that you are only here this morning?”
“Sir,” answered the corporal, removing one of his hands from the
steer-oar, and respectfully touching his cap, “it's poor Le Noir, the
Frenchman, killed by the Injins yesterday, and as for our absence, it
couldn't be helped, sir; but it's a long report I have to make, and
perhaps, captain, you would like to hear it more at leisure than I can
tell it here.”
By this time the men had landed from the boat, leaving the Canadian to
be disposed of afterwards as the commanding officer might direct. The
quick eye of the latter immediately detected the slight limping of
Green, whose wound had become stiff from neglect, cold, and the cramped
position in which he had been sitting in the boat.
“What is the matter with this man?” he inquired of the corporal. “What
makes him walk so stiffly?”
“Nothing much the matter, captain,” was the indifferent reply. “It's
only a ball he got in his leg in the scrimmage last night.”
“Ha! the first gun-shot wound that has come under my treatment during
the three long years I have been stationed here. Quick, my fine fellow,
take yourself to the hospital, and tell the orderly to prepare my
instruments for probing.”
“Scrimmage last night; what do you mean, Corporal Nixon--whom had you
the scrimmage with?”
These remarks fell at the same moment from the lips of the commander
and those of the surgeon, the latter rubbing his hands with delightful
anticipation of the treat in store for him.
“With the Indians, captain,” replied Nixon; “the Indians that attacked
Mr. Heywood's farm.”
“Captain Headley,” interrupted the lieutenant, with unusual deference of
manner, for he was anxious that no further reference should be made to
the subject in presence of the invalids and women, who, attracted by
the news of the arrival of the boat, had gathered around, partly from
curiosity, partly for the purpose of getting their expected supply of
fish, “do you not think it better to examine Corporal Nixon first, and
then the others in turn?”
“Very true, Mr. Elmsley, I will examine them separately in the
orderly-room to see how far their statements agree; yet one question
you can answer here, corporal. You say that it is the body of Le Noir,
killed by the Indians. Where is Mr. Heywood, then?”
The generous Elmsley felt faint, absolutely sick at heart on hearing
this question; the very object he had in view in proposing this private
examination was thereby threatened with discomfiture.
“Mr. Heywood has been carried off by the Indians,” calmly replied the
corporal, yet perceptibly paling as he spoke.
“Indeed! this is unfortunate. Let the men go to their barracks, and
there remain until I send for them,” ordered the commandant. “You,
corporal, will come to me at the orderly-room, in half an hour from
this. That will be sufficient time for you to clean yourself, and take
your breakfast. None of your party, I presume, have had their breakfast
yet?”
“No, your honor,” answered Green, who seemed to fancy that his wound
gave him the privilege of a little license in the presence of his chief,
“not unless an old turkey, the grandfather of fifty broods, and as tough
as shoe-leather, can be called a breakfast.”
Captain Headley looked at the speaker sternly, but took no other notice
of what he, evidently, deemed a very great liberty, than to demand how
he presumed to disobey the order of the surgeon. Then desiring him to
proceed forthwith to the hospital and have his leg dressed, he himself
withdrew after postponing the parade to one o'clock.
“And are you sure, Nixon, that Mr. Heywood has been carried off by the
Indians,” asked Lieutenant Elmsley, the revulsion of whose feelings on
hearing the corporal's answer to the question put by Captain Headley
had been in striking contrast with what he had experienced only a moment
before; “are you quite sure of this?”
The interrogatory was put, immediately after the commanding officer had
retired, doubtingly, in a low tone, and apart from the rest of the men.
“I saw them carry him off myself, sir,” again deliberately said the
corporal. “The whole of the party saw it too.”
“Enough, enough,” pursued the lieutenant, in a friendly tone. “I believe
you, Nixon. But another question. Were you joined last night by any one
of the regiment? recollect yourself.”
The corporal declaring that nothing in the shape of an American uniform
had come under his notice, since he departed from the Fort the preceding
evening, the officer next turned his attention to the boat.
“What are you fumbling about there, Collins?” he asked, rather
sharply--“Why do you not go and join your mess?” This was said as the
rest of the party were now in the act of moving off with their muskets
and fishing apparatus.
“Poor fellow!” interposed the corporal, “he is not himself to-day; but
I am sure, Mr. Elmsley, you will not be hard upon him, when I tell
you that, but for him, there wouldn't be a man of us here of the whole
party.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the lieutenant, not a little surprised at the
information; “but we shall hear all about that presently; yet what is he
fidgetting about at the bottom of the bow of the boat?”
“There's another body there, sir, besides Le Noir's. It's that of the
poor boy at Heywood's--an Indian scalped him and left him for dead.
Collins, who put a bullet into the same fellow, not an hour afterwards,
found the boy by accident, while retreating from the place where we had
the first scrimmage with the red devils. He was still breathing, and he
took every pains to recover him, but the cold night air was too much for
him, and he died in the poor fellow's arms.”
“Well, this is a strange night's adventure, or rather series of
adventures,” remarked the lieutenant half aside to himself. “Then, I
suppose,” he resumed, more immediately addressing the corporal, “he has
brought the body of the boy to have him interred with Le Noir?”
“Just so, sir, for he mourns him as if he had been his own child,”
answered Nixon, as the officer departed--“here, Loup Garou, Loup Garou,”
and he whistled to the dog. “Come along, old fellow, and get some
breakfast.”
But Loup Garou would not stir at the call of his new master. Sorrow was
the only feast in which he seemed inclined to indulge, and he continued
to crouch near the body of the Canadian as impassible and motionless as
if he was no longer of earth himself.
“Come along, Collins,” gently urged the Virginian, approaching the boat,
where the former was still feeling the bosom of the dead boy in the vain
hope of finding that life was not yet extinct. “It's no use thinking
about it; you have done your duty as a soldier, and as a good man, but
you see he is gone, and there is no help for it. By and by, we will bury
them both together; but come along now. The dog will let nobody near
them.”
“Dash me, corporal, if I ever felt so queer in my life!” answered
Collins, in a melancholy tone, strongly in contrast with his habitual
brusque gaiety; “but, as you say, it's no use. The poor lad is dead
enough at last, and my only comfort now is to bury him, and sometimes
look at his grave.”
The half-hour given by Captain Headley to the men to clean themselves
and eat their breakfasts, afforded his subaltern ample time to take his
own, which had all this time been waiting. When he readied his rooms he
found that he had another ordeal to go through. Mrs. Elmsley was already
at the bead of the table, and pouring out the coffee, with Miss Heywood
seated on her left--the latter very pale, and having evidently passed
a sleepless night. As the officer entered the room, a slight flush
overspread her features, for she looked as if she expected him to be
accompanied by another, but when he hastily unbuckled his sword, and
placed it, with his cap, on a side-table, desiring his wife to lose no
time in pouring out the coffee, as he must be off again immediately, she
felt, she knew not wherefore, very sick at heart, and became even paler
than before. Nor was she at all re-assured by the tone of commiseration
in which, after drawing a chair to her side, and affectionately pressing
her hand, he inquired after her own and her mother's health.
“Why, George,” said Mrs. Elmsley, who remarked this change in her
friend, and in some degree divined the cause, “where are Mr. Ronayne and
the doctor? You told me last night they were to breakfast here--and see,
one, two, three, four, five cups (pointing at each with her finger),
I have prepared accordingly. Indeed, I scarcely think this young lady
would have made her appearance at the breakfast-table, had she not
expected to meet--who was it, my dear?” and she turned an arch look upon
her friend--“ah! I know now--Von Vottenberg.”
“Nay, I have no more need of disguise from your husband than from
yourself, Margaret,” replied Miss Heywood, her coloring cheek in a
measure contradicting her words--“it was Harry Ronayne I expected; but,”
she added, with a faint smile, “do not imagine I am quite so romantic as
not to be able to take my breakfast, because he is not present to
share it; therefore if you please, I also will trouble you for a cup of
coffee.”
“All in good time,” remarked Mrs. Elmsley. “I dare say, Ronayne is
engaged in some duty which has prevented him from keeping his engagement
as punctually as he could have desired. We shall certainly see him
before the breakfast things are removed.”
“It seems to me,” said her husband, who was taking his meal with the
appetite of any other than a hungry man, and even with a shade of
vexation on his features, “that you all appear to be very much in the
dark here. Why, Margaret, have you not heard what has occurred during
the night, as well as this morning?”
“How should I have heard any thing, George?” replied Mrs. Elmsley.
“I have seen no one since you went out this morning--who could have
communicated news from without? Surely you ought to know that. Will you
have more coffee?”
“No, thank you--I have no appetite for coffee or for any thing else. I
almost wish I had not come. Dear Maria,” he added, impetuously, taking
Miss Heywood's hand in his own; “I know you have a noble--a courageous
heart, and can bear philosophically what I have to tell you.”
“I can bear much,” was the reply, accompanied by a forced smile, that
was contradicted by the quivering of the compressed lip; “and if I could
not, I find I must begin to learn. Yet what can you have to tell me, my
dear Mr. Elmsley, more than I already divine--my poor father--” and the
tears started from her eyes.
“Ha! there at least, I have comfort for you--although there has been sad
work at the farm--the fishing-party have come in with the bodies of
poor Le Noir and the boy Wilton, but they all say that Mr. Heywood was
carried off a prisoner by the Indians.”
“Carried off a prisoner,” repeated Miss Heywood, a sudden glow animating
her pale features--“oh! Elmsley, thank you for that. There is still a
hope then?”
“There is indeed a hope; but, dearest Miss Heywood, why must I heal with
one hand and wound with the other. If I give comparative good news of
your father, there is another who ought to be here, and whose absence at
this moment is to me at once a pain and a mystery.”
“You mean Harry Ronayne?” she said, hesitatingly, but without
manifesting surprise.
“Where the foolish fellow has gone,” he continued, “I do not know, but
he has disappeared from the Fort, nor has he left the slightest clue by
which he may be traced.”
“Does Captain Headley know this?” she inquired, recollecting, that part
of the conversation that had passed between them the preceding day, in
reference to the succor that might have been afforded at the farm.
“He does. I made the report of Ronayne's absence to him personally, and
the doctor was summoned to state if he had seen any thing of him. He,
however, was as ignorant as a man, who had been drunk during the night,
and was not yet quite sober in the morning, could well be. The captain
was as much surprised as displeased, but further inquiry was delayed on
the sergeant of the guard coming up and announcing the near approach of
the boat containing the fishing-party.”
“Tell me, dear Mr. Elmsley,” said Miss Heywood, after a few moments of
seeming reflection; “what is your own opinion of the matter? How do
you account--or have you at all endeavored to account for Ronayne's
absence?”
“I can easily understand the cause,” he replied, “but confound me if I
can attempt to divine the means he took to accomplish his object.”
He then proceeded to relate the circumstances of his proposal to Captain
Headley--the abrupt refusal he had met with--his subsequent application
to himself to pass him out of the gate, and the final abandonment of his
request when he found that his acquiescence would seriously compromise
him, as officer of the guard.
“Noble Harry!” thought Miss Heywood--“your confusion, your vexation
of yesterday, arose from not being able to follow your own generous
impulses: but now I fully understand the resolve you secretly made--and
all for my sake. Do not think me very romantic,” she said aloud to Mr.
Elmsley, “but really, Margaret, I cannot despair that all will yet, and
speedily, be well. The only fear I entertain is that the strict Captain
Headley may rebuke him in terms that will call up all the fire of
his nature, and induce a retort that may prove a source of serious
misunderstanding--unless, indeed, the greatness of the service rendered,
plead his justification.”
“Now that we are on the subject, dear Miss Heywood,” remarked Elmsley,
“let me once for all disabuse you of an impression which I fear you
entertain--or is it so? Do you think that Ronayne has had an opportunity
of joining the party at the farm?”
“Certainly, I do,” she answered, gravely, “or why should he have gone
forth? Pray do not rob me of what little comfort, in expectation, I have
left.”
“That he went forth madly and single-handed for the purpose, I can
believe--nay, I am sure of it; but I grieve to add that he has not been
seen there.”
“This, indeed, is strange,” she returned in faltering tones, and with
ill-disguised emotion, for, hitherto she had been sustained by the
belief that he was merely lingering behind the party, in order to
satisfy himself of facts, the detail of which could not fail to be
satisfactory to her ear. “How know you this?”
“I questioned Corporal Nixon, who commanded the party, and who apprised
me of Mr. Heywood's having been carried off by the Indians, for I
was deeply anxious, as you may presume, to know what had become of my
friend--and this far less even for my own sake than for yours.”
“And his answer was?” and there was deep melancholy in the question.
“That no American uniform had come under his notice during his absence
from the Fort, save those of the party he commanded. These, as far as I
can recollect, were his precise words.”
“Mr. Elmsley,” said a sentry, who now appeared at the door of the
breakfast-parlor, “Captain Headley waits for you in the orderly room.”
“Is Corporal Nixon there?” asked the lieutenant.
“He is, sir.”
“Good, Dixon, I shall be there immediately.”
“God bless you,” he continued, to Miss Heywood, when the man had
departed. “We shall, perhaps, elicit from him, something that will throw
light upon the obscure part of this matter. Margaret, do not leave the
dear girl alone, but cheer up her spirits, and make her hope for the
best.”
So saying, he shook her hand affectionately, pushed back his chair from
the table, and resuming his cap and sword, left the friends together,
promising to return as soon as the examination of the man should be
concluded.