of it,” must pause deliberately, and give prolix descriptions of people
or places about whom or which the general reader cares next to nothing.
It is unjust to the impatient, but powerless, reader; but it is the
custom. We must plead guilty of this time-honored meanness, and seize the
present opportune moment to introduce the demon as he appeared at that
time.
He was a tall, powerful man, with light, active movements, worthy of a
soldier. His features were regularly formed, and apparently he had once
been a fine-looking man. Now, however, he was haggard and stooped from
long-continued privations. His eyes had a ferocious glare,--not pleasant
to beholders, but supposed to be an attribute of maniacs,--a suspicious
look, as though he dreaded some enemy were lurking near, ready to spring
upon him. In fact, his entire appearance showed that he was always on his
guard. His long and intensely black hair waved about his shoulders in
wild profusion; whilst his beard, likewise black, reached far down his
breast. His clothing, old and tattered, was in keeping with his general
appearance.
All taken together, he looked like a madman; and if Marmaduke could have
seen him, he would have been in ecstacy, thinking that at last he had
found one of Dickens’ monstrosities.
The “gentle reader” has not been kept in suspense very long, but the
narrative may now resume its course.
The demon crept stealthily out of the shadow, and, unperceived by the
boys, stole swiftly, but noiselessly, upon them. When Henry said “fire!”
Will raised his pistol with a trembling hand, and cocked it, preparatory
to firing into the air. But before he could do so, the demon sprang
upon him, and the luckless boy found himself encircled by two long and
powerful arms--an embrace anything but loving.
With a gasp of intense terror, he turned and saw by whom he was held. To
his heated imagination, the demon appeared a monster.
Henry, also, turned around and saw him. With a cry of dismay, he threw up
his arms, and struck the pistol, which still dangled in Will’s nerveless
hand.
How it happened--whether Will unconsciously pulled the trigger, or
whether the blow did it--can never be known; but with a stunning noise
the pistol discharged its contents, and then fell to the ground.
To Will’s consternation, Henry staggered; flung his arms out wildly for
support; gave a moan of pain or terror; and also fell, heavily. The
charge had struck him somewhere--but where?
At this catastrophe, Will forgot that the demon’s arms encircled him,
forgot everything but that he had shot his cousin Henry. A boy does not
swoon away, or else he would have done so; but he was horror-stricken:
the terrible word _murder_ seemed to be hissed into his ears by unseen
spirits, and he was unable to move or speak.
The demon, heaving a sigh, lifted him easily off his feet, and bore him
away. Will made no resistance, for his brain was in too confused a state
to perceive what was going on. His eyes were fixed on the prostrate form
of Henry, and the demon strode on with him, following the length of the
tree. Soon the end of the fallen tree was reached; and as the demon
turned and walked towards his cave, Will caught a last look of Henry, who
was still lying flat on the ground.
All this happened in a very short time, of course; for the demon paid no
attention to the report of the pistol, but immediately marched off with
our doughty hero.
The reader, unlike him, is aware that the pistol, though heavily loaded
with powder, instead of a leaden bullet held a ball made of tow.
Will grew calmer, but offered no resistance to his captor.
The entrance of the cave was now disclosed. Before them an almost
perpendicular cliff rose several feet towards the sky, twisting into
strange shapes to the south, and on the north jutting out irregularly
some distance westward, thus forming the angle spoken of before. Exactly
in the centre there was an opening in which a strong and heavy door was
hung. Two or three grated openings, which served for windows, were to be
seen high above the door, and several feet apart.
The _outside_ of the cave was somewhat formidable, as no doubt the demon
wished it to be. What was the _inside_ like?
Will did not care to know. Suddenly he put forth all his strength, and
struggled manfully and furiously to break away from the demon. But the
latter, without a word, folded his arms more tightly round him, and held
him fast in a grip that put an end to all the poor boy’s hopes of escape.
Advancing with the would-be knight-errant, the demon arrived at the door
of his cave; and manipulating some complicated contrivance which took the
place of a lock, the secret of which was known only to himself, the door
opened and captor and captive passed in.
So, this was the way in which Will was to gain admittance into the
stronghold! A great improvement on Henry’s little plan!
A spacious apartment was disclosed, the floor bare, but the roof and
sides covered with planks, to prevent the earth from crumbling in. It was
very dark inside, as during the day but little light came in through the
openings mentioned, during the night, none. A fire was struggling to burn
in the middle of this dismal hole, but its feeble light only added to the
gloom. Round the walls on benches and rude tables all sorts of things
were lying; blankets, old clothes (_our_ “recluse” had more than one
suit), trays, bowls, some other kitchen utensils, even eatables, being
grouped together in confusion, with a view to convenience rather than
neatness. In fact, the demon seemed to take no pride, no interest, in the
affairs of the household. In one corner a big pile of firewood proved
that the occupant could make himself quite comfortable. In spite of all
his misery, Will distinctly heard the cackling of hens and chickens,
evidently the brood of which Henry had spoken, in another apartment.
The cave was now stifling from a horrible smoke arising from the
smouldering fire. When the demon was present he blew away the smoke by
means of a huge fan suspended from the ceiling; but it accumulated in his
absence.
Although there were several bye-rooms, each one of which served its own
purpose, this was the principal one--the one in which the demon lived.
Of course Will had no time to see what we have dimly outlined, for the
demon hurriedly crossed this room and opened a door leading into another,
much like it, excepting in its furniture. Here there were no rude benches
or tables. A comfortable and even handsome bedstead stood against the
wall, with a few sheets and quilts, and one old buffalo-robe, upon it.
There was an attempt made at covering, or carpeting, the floor; and in
one corner there was a crazy stove, or oven, clumsily built of refuse
bricks. Above this stove there was a chimney, which managed to dispose
of most of the smoke when a fire was lighted--that is, it took it into
another and larger room.
This was the bedroom, in which the demon slept as peacefully as a knight
in his moated castle.
Having thus, “by slow degrees, by fits and starts,” cooped Will up in
the Demon’s Cave, description may rest awhile and the narrative may be
resumed.
The demon laid our hero gently on the bed, and then, for the first time,
he spoke to him. “Poor boy!” he said, in a not unpleasant tone. “Perhaps
you did not wish to do me any harm, but I shall keep you here till--”
He stopped abruptly.
There was nothing threatening in this, yet Will trembled. His thoughts
were doubtless of Henry.
The demon turned and left the room, fastening the door behind him. Then
he left the cave, taking the precaution of fastening the outside door,
also.
“There was another one,” he murmured; “I must see to him.”
Swiftly he retraced his steps round the tree, and arrived at the scene
of conflict not more than five minutes after he had borne Will away. But
Henry was nowhere to be found! He had vanished, leaving nothing, not even
a drop of blood, behind him!
“Was there another?” the demon asked himself, dubiously. “What is it?
Have I dreamed, or is this some new device of the enemy?”
Seeing the pistol which Will had discharged, he picked it up and returned
to the cave, not making the slightest effort to look for the missing
knight-errant.
Will remained inactive as long as the demon was near, but as soon as he
heard him go out, he leaped off the bed and made a desperate attempt to
open the door. He put forth all his strength--but in vain: the door was
rock.
Then he groped about the room, to see if he could find some other means
of escape. Again in vain--no outlet presented itself.
“I am a prisoner!” he groaned. “And what a terrible prison! But, oh! poor
Henry! Was he dead? Have I killed him? Oh, this is too much!”
Then he recollected that his cousin had insisted that there were captives
hidden away in the cave, and in a voice that--we grieve to say it, but
truth is inexorable--quavered with fear, he shouted: “Is anyone hidden
here?--Speak! Any captives here?”
His own voice mocked him, and he started back in terror.
Evidently, no captives there.
But Will was not comforted. Hobgoblins crawled over the floor, and
ground their teeth under the bed--demons crowded round him and jabbered
ominously--human skeletons rattled their dry bones horribly, and pointed
their fingers jeeringly at him--his murdered cousin came to him, and
looked him full in the face with a sad, reproachful smile.
Will could endure it no longer. With a cry of horror and agony he flung
himself on the bed, and buried his face in the old buffalo-robe.
At that moment the Demon of the Cave returned and entered his dwelling.
This is a convenient, suitable, and orthodox place for the chapter to
close; so let it close.
_Chapter XIX._
WITHIN AND WITHOUT THE DEMON’S CAVE.
What had become of Henry?
The ball had struck him in a tender place; and not seriously hurt, but
very much frightened, he fell headlong with a groan of--fear!
While the demon was carrying off Will he lay still and made use of his
wits.
He reflected logically as follows: “Whatever Will loaded my pistols with,
it certainly wasn’t a genuine bullet! So it would be useless for me to
fire this pistol at the demon--useless--wicked--and against the laws!”
Gentle reader, mark that; read it carefully two or three times; muse on
it; and remember that you yourself were once a boy--or, if not, your
father was.
“Oh, how my side smarts! There’ll be a blister, surely!” Henry groaned.
“Well, the best way to help Will will be to lie here perfectly still till
the demon gets entirely out of sight, and then hop up and scramble away.
Where shall I go? To the road? I must look for help somewhere, or Will
may be killed! It won’t do to yell for help here, for no one except the
demon could hear me. Yes, I must keep still a little while!”
As soon as the demon was well out of sight, Henry arose. But he found
himself more bruised than he had thought.
“Now, to save Will--and myself,” he muttered. “What a capital idea,”
he chuckled, as a happy thought struck him. “They think I’m dead, very
likely, and so the demon won’t be on the watch for me! Of course; and if
I can’t get help, I’ll swoop down on him and do the rescuing myself.”
As fast as he could he went back to the path, thinking to climb the hill
and hurry to the road. A lingering fear that the demon might return and
look for him lent speed to his feet, and he walked with long swift steps.
In his generous heart he resolved to liberate Will at all hazards; and if
he could devise no other means of doing so, he would return and “beard
the lion in his den.”
When he reached the foot of the hill he chanced to look back, and saw
a man standing by the tree. It was the demon, looking for him. To his
intense relief, the man turned and went slowly back towards the cave.
“I am safe now,” he thought. “He won’t come to look for me again. But
does he think I am dead, or carried off? Well, at any rate he will see me
before long!”
Eagerly he turned to climb the hill, thinking meanwhile:--“Poor Will! No
telling what that cruel demon may do with him! Oh, dear! we are both in a
very bad scrape! O my pistols!--I must hurry!”
What with scrambling up hills and rushing down them, Henry’s limbs were
already becoming stiff, and he found it hard work to climb. He succeeded,
after making great and desperate struggles, in getting nearly to the top
of the hill; when he took a false step, slipped, was thrown off his feet,
and--in spite of all his efforts to save himself--slid headlong down to
the very bottom. An avalanche of stones and dirt thundered down in his
train.
A little mound of earth brought him to a standstill, and a cry of pain
escaped his lips.
In spite of the pain he suffered, his first words were characteristic of
him. “Well,” he said, grimly, “I’ve blotted out the demons path up that
hill! His nice little path is now in ruins in this valley!”
But, with a groan of agony, he ejaculated: “Oh! my foot is broken all to
pieces! Oh! O--o--h!”
For a little time it was difficult for him to keep from screaming with
the pain.
As soon as he felt a little better, he took off his boot and stocking,
and carefully examined the injured foot, muttering meanwhile between his
groans: “Oh, I hope the demon didn’t hear that noise! How the stones
rattled and thundered! If he heard, he will come rushing out to attack
me, and I am not able to help myself a bit! Oh, what a catastrophe this
is!”
Poor Henry! That time-honored accident, which, in romance, befalls all
heroes of the chase, had befallen him. “He had sprained his ankle!”
Only, in this instance, no lovely huntress was to find him, and have
him tenderly conveyed to her dwelling. No sporting companions were with
him, hastily to construct a litter, and smuggle him into the castle
of some incarcerated maiden, whom, making light of his suffering, he
would release from her “turret prison;” and then, drawing the wicked
jailer--her scheming, hunch-backed uncle--out of his concealment, he
would fall upon him, and slay him, without mercy.
No; no love-marriage was fated to result from that adventure; Henry was
to lie there all alone; and suffer.
It was sad, but our hero bore it patiently and philosophically. He
believed that he should not be molested by the demon, and that was some
consolation. But Will? Alas! All hope of rescuing him, so far as Henry
was concerned, was at an end. That grieved him more than anything else.
Slowly the time wore away. As the demon did not come out again, Henry
thought that the noise made by the falling stones had not been heard in
the cave. He was full of anxious and remorseful thoughts for himself as
well as for his cousin; and, much as he revolved the affair in his mind,
he could hit upon no feasible plan of deliverance.
“If I had only told our folk where we were going,” he reflected, “they
would hunt for us when they find us missing. But now they will be uneasy,
and not know where on earth we are! No; they won’t have the slightest
clue to track us! Oh, dear! What is going to become of us? How is this
spree to end? What about my ankle? What on earth! Well, now are we to
stay here all night? Will in the cave, and I here? ‘So near, and yet so
far!’ My stars! I’ve read that in stories, but I never guessed what it
meant! ‘So near, and yet so far!’ The man that wrote those words knew
more than I ever shall, anyway! Oh! What will the demon do to poor Will?”
Henry could reason logically, and now, as well as his aching ankle would
permit, he reviewed the whole scheme of visiting the Demon’s Cave. In the
light he now had it seemed very foolish, whichever way he looked at it.
“It was a humbug,” he acknowledged to himself; “but after all it is just
what all heroes do, and I don’t see why we should not have managed it
better.”
His sprained ankle pained him intensely; he began to feel the effects
of his involuntary ride down hill; the place where the “bullet” struck
him smarted and itched in a manner to make him writhe. In a word, he was
miserable in both body and mind.
He reverted to the scene of conflict! “What could have been wrong with
that pistol?” he asked himself angrily. “_Something_ struck me--but
_what_? Certainly, not a bullet. My father says that a big dose of
powder will drive almost anything hard and solid into the flesh. Now,
this struck me, and hurt me; but it didn’t punch a hole through my
vest. Well, if I could only unload this other pistol, I should know to
a certainty.--What became of the pistol Will fired? If he carried it
off with him, he may suddenly scare the demon out of his wits!--Now,
I wonder whether Will loaded my pistols wrong on purpose!--Well,
this _is_ rum old sport, sitting here like a dying gladiator, and
not able to turn over for fear of howling with pain! No; I can’t
budge from this spot!--Botheration! I won’t take Will to see any more
curiosities!--Surely, the demon won’t hurt him!”
Thus the boy continued, speaking disjointed sentences just as the spirit
moved him.
As no help came to him, he, the irrepressible, began to despond. It
seemed to him that Death only would come to his release. Suddenly, he
thought of the glass ink bottle hidden behind “Robinson Crusoe” in his
drawer. He dwelt on it for the space of three minutes, and then, between
a sigh and a groan, he said: “I wish I knew whether _she_ would care if I
should die here--alone, and in pain! Would _she_ be sorry, or would she
go to school as light-hearted as ever, and let some other boy sharpen her
pencil? I wonder whether she would borrow Johnny Jones’ history! Oh! how
I despise that boy! I wish I could see him leave the country! I wish now
that I had given her my history out and out; _that_ would keep my memory
green in her eyes.”
Now, as Henry seldom or never soared higher than comparison,--to make
our meaning clearer, as he was not in the habit of apostrophizing
his treasured glass ink-bottle as an animated being of the feminine
gender,--we must conclude that the veil is lifted from a romance in his
life.
Do not laugh at him, reader; his woes were actual. In fact, we venture
to assert that every member of the sterner sex, from the age of sixteen
or seventeen till he is happily married, if he has any _feeling_, any
_heart_, any _soul_, suffers more or less acutely from jealousy of a
rival, real or imaginary.
After a time the moon came out, and dimly lighted up the valley. Henry
was not afraid of goblins; and in sheer desperation he resolved to wait
doggedly till something should happen.
Notwithstanding all his woes, he began to feel hungry. Then he
recollected that he had set out with a knapsack of sandwiches slung over
his shoulder.
“It will amuse me, and turn my wandering thoughts into a different
channel,” he muttered, as he felt for the knapsack.
Alas! In sliding down hill his knapsack had been torn into ribbons, so
that the carefully prepared sandwiches were strewn along the hillside.
His thoughts were “turned into a different channel;” but he was not very
much “amused.”
In this way, the time passed with Henry. He could not, or would not, make
an effort to move from the heap of earth which had arrested his downward
course.
Having thus disposed of him, how did it fare with Will?
When the demon re-entered the cave, he, according to his custom, fastened
the door. Next he kindled a good fire on the smouldering coals of the old
one; and then, having stepped up to the room where Will was a prisoner,
he unlocked and opened the door and told him to come out. Will did so
with alacrity.
The demon said no more, but pointed out a seat, and quietly prepared to
get supper. He took a fat bird out of his pouch, and roasted it carefully
over the fire. Then he fixed part of a chicken, a delicious fish, and
sundry other eatables, each on a separate stick, where the fire would
cook them. To Will’s astonishment, he suddenly appeared with a few slices
of bread, which he put on a toaster and toasted while the other things
were being cooked. Now, who ever read about a hermit that toasted bread?
By the way, the demon, like the writer in inditing these few chapters,
had several “irons in the fire” at once.
When everything was ready, he set a table with the food thus prepared,
and took a pan of skim-milk from a crazy cupboard built in the wall.
“Sit down and eat,” he said to Will; “I’ll speak with you afterwards.”
Will was in no humor to care about eating, and as it was yet early in
the evening he was not hungry; but not liking to refuse the strange
man’s hospitality, he sat down to the table and “ate like an emigrant,”
as Henry would have phrased it. He afterwards told his friends that the
“victuals were very good.”
After supper the demon cleared off the table and put everything in the
room in far better order than it was when the hero was taken into it.
Up to this time scarcely a word had been spoken between them. Will was
filled with dread that he had killed, or at least severely hurt, his
cousin. He, of course, did not know that Henry was in full possession
of his senses as he lay on the ground, nor that he was doing this only
to disarm the demon. The wildest fears flashed through his brain; his
sufferings were more intense than Stephen’s had been on the island. He
blamed himself; he blamed Henry; he blamed the pistols; he blamed the
demon. Yet he felt himself utterly unable to escape. And he was troubled
on his own account. What did the demon intend to do with him? Why did
he detain him there? These questions perplexed the boy; and not knowing
what else to do, he tried hard to think it all a dream. But no; it could
not be a dream, for in a dream there is never any smoke to make one
sneeze. Then Henry’s wild tales about the demon’s cannibalism and cruelty
recurred to him. Certainly, the demon’s look was forbidding--almost
ferocious; but Will did not think him capable of torturing any one. He
had too much good sense to think that the man would do him any harm; but
still he feared him, and felt ill at ease in his presence.
He had had no particular desire to come on this wild-goose-chase, because
he wished to keep out of mischief during his stay at his aunt’s. He was
not so mercurial, whimsical, and romantic, as his cousin, and he had
consented to go as much to please him as for any other reason.
“I think I shall have to get pa to shut me up, if I ever find my way
back home,” he mused, in his despair. “No matter what I do, something
always comes to grief. I thought surely it would be safe to fly a little
balloon, when Henry had always done it. But no; it must come down, and
set a building on fire! How is it that everything goes wrong with me?
Am I a blockhead, or a fool? Oh dear! I get into worse scrapes every
time; but _this_ is the worst yet--_this_ beats them all! If Henry and I
survive this, I suppose we shall stumble into something that will finish
us entirely! Now, I knew it was wrong to start with loaded pistols, and I
didn’t want to do it. Then, _why_ did I? I deserve all this misery for my
foolishness. But poor Henry! It seems to me now that he _must_ be alive.
Oh! If I could only know!”
Then he began to wonder how it was that the demon had come upon them so
suddenly. “He was there all at once,” Will said to himself, as he glanced
furtively at the “recluse.” “Did he come from the cave, or the valley,
or the bank, or a hollow in the tree, or the clouds? All I know is, he
wasn’t anywhere near, till suddenly he had me in his arms! And Henry was
as much surprised to see him as I was! Well, the man must be a wizard--or
else a witch, or a humbug! If I could only get away!”
It has been shown that Henry reflected that no one would know where to
look for them. The same appalling thought occurred to Will. But, like an
inspiration, it came to him that the teamster who had given them a ride
eyed them narrowly as they went up the valley.
“Now, if that teamster will only do us as good a turn as the sailor did
when we paddled away in the punt,” he said to himself, “we may be saved
yet!”
Boy-like, the hero pinned his faith on the teamster, and felt
considerably happier. In fact, five minutes more, and he had settled it
in his own mind that, sooner or later, they would be saved through him.
Some writers, with fiendish ingenuity, seem to set themselves
deliberately to work to unstring the nerves of their weak-headed readers,
so that they shall plunge headlong into unfortunate speculations, and be
ruined.
But the writer of this history is actuated by no such motives. He,
good soul, uses no guile with his readers, wishes to deprive no one of
needful sleep, and would shrink with horror from tampering with any one’s
business or intellect.