But love itself could never pant
For all that beauty sighs to grant,
With half the fervor hate bestows
Upon the last embrace of foes,
When grappling in the fight, they fold
Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold;
Friends meet to part; love laughs at faith:
True foes, once met, are joined till death!
BYRON'S _Giaour_.
Pownal, upon parting with Esther, sought his father. But the
expression of his apprehensions was so vague, he was so incapable of
giving his fears any definite shape, that he made no more impression
than the woman. The calm austerity of the Solitary's face almost
melted into a smile at the idea that any event could occur except in
the determined course of things. It was the pride of the human heart;
it was the presumption of the human intellect that dreamed of freedom
of choice or of action. If individual wills were permitted to cross
and jostle each other, the universe would be a scene of confusion.
Freedom was only in appearance. One grand, serene, supreme will
embraced the actual and the ideal in its circle, and all things were
moved by a law as certain and irresistible as that which impels worlds
in their orbits. The conviction was a part of Holden's self. He could
no more be convinced of its fallacy than of his own non-existence, and
his son left him with the full assurance that, even were he to know
that his life was menaced, he would be the last one to take any
precautionary measures for its protection. But, in truth, the fears of
Pownal were so slight, that after an allusion to them, he forbore to
dwell upon the subject, especially as the conversation took a turn as
interesting to him as it was unexpected.
"Thou art of an age, my son," said Holden, abruptly, "to take to thee
a wife, and the bounty of the good man whose name I permit thee still
to bear, hath placed thee in a condition to gratify an innocent and
natural desire. Hath thy heart moved at all in this matter?"
The question was excessively embarrassing, and the young man blushed
and hesitated as he replied, that there was yet abundant time to think
of such things.
"Think not," said the Solitary, observing his son's hesitation, "that
I desire to intrude into thy confidence, though the heart of a son
should be like a clear stream, the bottom of which may be seen by a
father's eye. I speak, because partly common fame, and partly my own
observation, connect thy name in some wise with a young lady's."
"And who is the lady," inquired Pownal, laughing, "whom my indiscreet
gallantry has so compromised?"
"Nay, if thou wilt not be frank with me, or choosest to reply in the
language of trifling, we will drop the subject."
"I will be frank. I will answer any question you may ask."
"Tell me, then, is there any relation between thee and Anne Bernard
tenderer than that of common acquaintance?"
Pownal expected the question, and was therefore prepared.
"I esteem Miss Bernard highly," he said. "I am acquainted with no
young lady who is her superior. I should consider myself fortunate to
attract her attention. But nothing, except the language of friendship,
has passed betwixt us."
"I am satisfied," said Holden, "and it is evidence of excellence in
thyself that one possessing the lovable and noble qualities of Anne
should attract thee. But though, in the limited circle of the small
town, thy presence may be acceptable in the withdrawing room of the
wealthy lawyer, thinkest thou he will be willing to give thee the hand
of his only daughter?"
"I have made no pretensions to the hand of Miss Bernard; and even if I
did, I see in it no presumption. There is no distinction of patrician
and plebeian in this country."
"There are no such names, and yet there is a distinction. Will it
please the rich and polished Judge to ally his daughter with the son
of one like me?"
"Judge Bernard is above the mean conceit of valuing himself upon
his riches. I never heard anything that sounded like arrogance or
superciliousness from him, and he has uniformly treated me with
kindness. For yourself, dear father, though for reasons of your own
you have chosen to lead hitherto this life of solitude and privation,
why continue to do so? Why not leave this miserable hut for comforts
more befitting your age and the society you are capable of adorning?"
"Forbear! In this miserable hut, as thou callest it, I found the peace
that passeth understanding, and its walls are to me more glorious than
the gildings of palaces. If thou lovest Anne Bernard, as I strongly
suspect, I say not unto thee cease to love her, but wait, hoarding thy
love in secrecy and silence, until the fullness of the time is come.
Wilt thou not promise me this, for a short time?"
"I will do nothing, father, that may be contrary to your
inclinations."
"It is enough: then let there be no change in thy conduct. If thou
have the love of Anne, keep it as a precious jewel, but for the
present be content with the knowledge thereof: if thou have it not,
seek not thereafter. I promise thee it shall be for thy good, nor will
I unreasonably try thy patience."
Here the interview ended, and Pownal departed, wondering over the
mystery his father affected, though he could not but confess to
himself there was a worldly wisdom (as he supposed it to be) in the
advice, not to be precipitate, but to watch the course of events.
Though unacquainted with the motives of his parent, he was bound to
respect his wishes, and felt a natural desire to gratify him to the
extent of his ability. He had never found him unreasonable, whatever
might be his singularities, and besides, no plan of his own was
crossed. He was obliged to admit the possibility of a failure of his
suit. To break up the pleasant relations existing betwixt the Bernard
family and himself; not to be allowed to approach Anne as before; a
cold constraint to be substituted for a confiding friendship! No, the
hazard was too great. Things should continue as they were. He and Anne
were still young: there was time enough; his father was right; the
counsels of age were wiser than those prompted by the rashness and
impetuosity of youth.
The following morning was calm and warm, when Holden stood at the door
of his cabin, on the second occasion we choose to intrude upon his
devotions. Not a cloud was to be seen, and the pearly hue which
overspreads a clear summer sky, just stealing out of the shades of
night, had not disappeared, except in the eastern quarter of the
heavens, where a faint suffusion heralded, like a distant banner, the
approach of the sun, welcomed, at first, by the low twittering of the
birds, which gradually increased in frequency and loudness, until they
swelled into bold strains, and rose melodiously into the air.
The Solitary stood, as before, with eyes fixed steadfastly upon the
kindling east. Could it be possible that an expectation, which
had been so often disappointed, should still be cherished; that no
experience, no arguments could dissipate the delusion? It would seem
so. By that subtle process, whereby minds possessed by an engrossing
idea convert facts, and language, and any circumstances, however
trifling, and which, to well-balanced intellects, would seem but
little adapted to the purpose, into proofs incontrovertible of their
opinions, had he, by dwelling upon certain texts of Scripture, which,
with a mad shrewdness, he had collated, imparted to them gigantic
proportions, and a peculiar coloring, which dominated and threw light
upon the context, but received no qualification or disparagement in
return. Without the necessity of repetition, various passages will
occur to the reader, which, taken out of connection with what precedes
and follows, may easily be made to support a theory of the kind he had
adopted.
Holden stood as before, obedient to the command to watch, and verily
do we believe, that had he, indeed, seen the Son of Man in the clouds
of heaven, the magnificent vision would have impressed him with as
much joy as solemnity. But in vain he looked, and having waited until
the yellow sunshine, like a shower of gold, fell all around him, he
retired into his hut. Not unobserved, however. The Indian, Ohquamehud,
with his rifle by his side, from his place of concealment, on the
right shore, had been watching all his motions. There had he lain in
ambush ever since the stars had deserted the sky. Patiently he lay,
with his eyes fixed on the little island. The sun mounted higher; hour
after hour passed away, and yet he moved not. The time for the noonday
meal arrived, but he heeded it not. The hut of Peéna was scarcely
more than a couple of miles distant, and he might reach it in a few
moments, but he stirred not. In the interval of his absence Onontio
might leave the island, and go, he knew not whither, and his watch for
the day would be in vain. And now the lengthening shadows were falling
towards the east. The middle of the afternoon had arrived.
It was then Ohquamehud saw Holden, or Onontio, as he called him, leave
his cabin and enter the canoe. Its bow was turned toward that bank of
the river on which the Indian was concealed, but somewhat higher up
the stream, and, impelled by a vigorous arm, the light boat skimmed
rapidly over the water. It passed so near to the Indian, that a bullet
sent from a steady aim must have brought inevitable death, and the
thought crossed the mind of the lurking spy, whether it were not
better to fire from his ambush, but the recollection of his adventure
on the island, and of his offering to the Manito of the Falls,
occurred to him, and he allowed the tempting opportunity to escape.
Holden having run the canoe upon a sandy beach that curved in between
two rocks, fastened it by a rope to a heavy stone, and pursued his
course along the shore in the direction of the village. The Indian
followed at a distance in the woods, taking care to keep his own
person concealed, but that of the pursued in sight. Ohquamehud had no
means of determining from the movements of Holden, for a considerable
time, what were his intentions, whether to enter the village or go to
the Falls, but when he reached the spot where, if his design had been
to do the latter, he would have turned to the left, to the Indian's
bitter disappointment, he advanced up the road to the right.
Ohquamehud pretty much gave up all hope of succeeding in his design
that day, but, notwithstanding, still continued his observation.
Holden did not proceed far before he entered a small house that stood
by the roadside. (This delay, as we shall presently observe, was
attended with important consequences.) The person whom the Solitary
wanted to see was, probably, not at home, but whatever may have been
the reason, he presently left the house, and retracing his steps,
struck off, to the delight of Ohquamehud, across the fields, and in a
direction towards the Yaupáae. The Indian waited until Holden was out
of sight, hidden by the woods on the opposite side of the field, when
he slowly followed, looking around, as if in search of game. Having
reached the woods, he seemed to think it necessary to use greater
precaution in his further approach, the nearer he came to his enemy.
With this view, he moved slowly, carefully avoiding stepping on any
dry sticks or fallen branches, and stopping if, by any chance, he
made the slightest noise. One would have supposed such extreme caution
unnecessary, for so loud was the incessant roar of the cataract, that
where the Indian stood the keenest hearing could not, even within a
few rods, have detected the noise made by walking. It is probable that
habit, quite as much as reflection, determined the proceeding of the
Indian.
With stealthy tread, creeping like the catamount of his native
forests, when he is about to leap upon his prey, the wily and
revengeful Indian stole along, holding his rifle in his hand, while
each sense was quickened and strained to the utmost. The wood extended
quite to the margin of the Falls, so that he was enabled to come near
without exposing his person. At length, from behind a large oak, one
of the original Sachems of the wood, he beheld his foe. Holden was
unarmed, for though, at certain times of the year, when game was in
season, he often carried a gun, it was not an uniform practice with
him. He stood, unconscious of danger, with his back to the Indian, his
arms folded, and gazing upon the water, that roared and tumbled below.
The eyes of Ohquamehud gleamed with ferocious satisfaction as he
beheld his foe in his power. Thrice he raised the rifle to his
shoulder, after carefully examining the priming, and as often let
the butt slide gently to the ground, pausing a little while each time
between, and never taking his eyes off the victim. This conduct might
be mistaken for irresolution. Far from it. The fell purpose of the
savage never burnt more intensely; his hatred was never more bitter;
and he was debating with himself whether to shoot the Solitary as he
stood, nor allow him to know his destroyer, or to rouse him to his
peril, to play with his agonies, and thus give him a foretaste of
death. Holden was at a distance of not more than fifty feet; before
him were the precipice and the Falls, behind him was the Indian; there
was no retreat. The fiendish desire agitating Ohquamehud was the same
as that which the savages feel when they torture a prisoner at the
stake, and delay the fatal stroke that is a mercy. He felt sure of his
prey, and after a short period of hesitation, determined to gratify
the diabolical passion.
He stepped softly from behind the oak, and glided onwards, until the
distance betwixt himself and Holden was reduced to thirty feet.
The back of the latter was still towards the Indian, and he seemed
absorbed in contemplations that shut his senses to the admission
of outward objects. Again Ohquamehud paused, but it was only for a
moment, and then uttered in a distinct tone the word, "Onontio."
The sound caught the ears of Holden, who instantly turned, and beheld
the threatening looks and attitude of the savage. He comprehended, at
once, the hostile purpose of Ohquamehud, and the imminence of his own
danger, but betrayed not the slightest fear. His cheek blanched not.
His eye lost none of its usual daring as he surveyed the assassin; nor
did his voice falter, as, disguising his suspicions, he exclaimed--
"Ohquamehud! he is welcome. He hath come to listen to the voice of the
Great Spirit, who speaks in the Yaupáae."
"Onontio is mistaken," said the Indian. "The eyes of Ohquamehud
are sharp. They have seen the blood of his kindred on the hands of
Onontio, and he will wash it off."
"Indian, thou hast discovered--I know not how--that I once bore the
name you have mentioned. It was given to me in the days of madness and
folly by the western tribes. But, my hands are unstained by any blood,
save what was shed in fair and open warfare."
"Ha! Onontio hath forgotten the fight in the night of storms, on the
banks of the Yellow Wabash, when the sister of Ohquamehud was slain
and his brother pierced by the knife of the accursed pale face, with
the curling-hair."
"Indian! I sought to save the maiden's life. I can show the scar I
received in her defence. As for thy brother, I know naught of him. If
he fell by me, it was in the manner in which one brave warrior meets
another."
"It is a lie! The heart of the pale-face is fainting. He is a weasel,
that tries to creep through a small hole."
"If I were armed thou wouldst not dare to speak thus," said Holden,
some of the spirit of his youthful years flashing up. "But, go; thou
art a coward to come armed against a defenceless man."
"Onontio is a fool! Who told him to leave his rifle in his lodge? He
knoweth not so much as a beast or a reptile. When the bear roameth in
the forest, doth he leave his claws in his den, or the rattlesnake,
his teeth in the hole in the rocks? Let Onontio sing his death-song,
but, softly, lest the north wind bear it to the cub, who is waiting
for the second bullet in the pouch of Ohquamehud."
A pang of inexpressible agony cut, like a knife, through the heart
of Holden. He could brave death himself, but, good God! that his son
should be murdered by the savage! The thought was too horrible. For a
moment, the courageous heart almost stopped, and, with quivering lips,
he commended the young man to the protection of Providence. But the
momentary weakness soon passed away, as the dogma of divine decrees
or fate occurred to his mind. The blood flowed freer in his veins; his
form straightened, and with a dignified gesture, he answered--
"Heathen! I have no death-song to sing. The Christian goeth not to his
Maker, boasting of his fancied merits, but, like a child, hiding its
face in its mother's bosom, and asking to be forgiven. And know that
of thyself thou art powerless. Thou canst do only what is permitted."
"It is well!" exclaimed Ohquamehud, a glow of admiration, at the
courage with which Holden met his fate, flashing--in spite of
himself--across his countenance, and which he vainly tried to
conceal. "The dog of a pale-face is tired of his life, and will thank
Ohquamehud for sending him to the spirits of his fathers."
So saying, he raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The eyes of
the Solitary had been intently fastened upon every motion of his foe,
and, the instant before the gun was discharged, he threw his arms
violently into the air. Whether the gesture disconcerted the aim of
the Indian, or intemperance had weakened his nerves, the rifle
was aimed too high and failed of its mark. But Holden's escape was
extremely narrow. The bullet grazed his scalp, perforating the cap,
and throwing it from his head. In the colloquy, he had, probably,
determined upon his line of conduct; for, immediately, upon the flash,
he started, with an activity which his appearance hardly promised,
towards his antagonist, and before the latter could club his rifle or
draw a knife, had seized him around the waist, and strove to throw him
on the ground. The Indian dropped the useless gun, and returned the
death-grapple.
"Child of the devil!" cried Holden, whose passions were now thoroughly
roused, and who fancied himself back again to the time when he fought
the red man of the West, "I will send thee, this day, to the place
appointed for thee."
Ohquamehud answered not a word, but, straining the other in an embrace
as close as his own, summoned all his powers to the deadly struggle.
The two were more equally matched than might at first be supposed.
The Indian was more active, but Holden was stronger, and towered above
him. The habits of Holden had been eminently conducive to health and
strength. There was no superfluous flesh about him, and his sinews
were like cord. But, on the other hand, the youth of the Indian was
a great advantage, promising an endurance beyond that to be expected
from one of the years of Holden.
With desperate struggles each strove to gain an advantage; but
strength on the one side, and activity on the other, foiled their
opposing exertions. The turf was torn up under their feet, and they
were whirled round, now in this direction, and now in that, until,
maddened by the contest, neither thought of his personal safety,
nor heeded the frightful abyss on the brink of which they fought. At
length, foaming and endeavoring to throttle each other, the foot of
one tripped and he stumbled over the precipice, carrying the other
down with him in his arms. The grappled foes turned over in the air,
and then fell upon the edge of a projecting shelf of a rock, some half
a dozen feet below. Ohquamehud was undermost, receiving the full force
of the fall, and breaking it for Holden, who, as they touched the
rock, threw one arm around the trunk of a small tree that grew out
of a fissure. The Indian must have been stunned, for Holden felt
his grasp relax, and, still clinging to the tree, he endeavored to
withdraw himself from the other's hold. He had partially succeeded,
when the Indian, recovering consciousness, made a movement that threw
his body over the precipice, down which he would have fallen had he
not blindly caught at the freed arm of Holden, which he clutched
with the tenacity of despair. The Indian had now recovered from the
stunning effect of the fall, and become sensible of his danger. In
rolling over the edge of the rock, his moccasined feet had come into
contact with a slight projection where his toes had caught, and by
means of which, Holden, as well as himself, was relieved in part of
the weight of his person. Using this as a support, he made repeated
and frantic attempts to spring to the level surface, but the steepness
of the rock, and the lowness at which he hung, combined with the
exhaustion occasioned by the fierce and prolonged conflict, foiled
every effort. At last, he abandoned the attempt to save himself as
hopeless, and directed all his exertions to drag his enemy down
with him to destruction. With this view, he strained, with all his
remaining strength, upon the arm he grasped, in order to force Holden
to let go his hold upon the tree. It was now a question of endurance
between them, and it is probable that both would have perished, had
not an unexpected actor appeared upon the scene.
The boy Quadaquina had been watching Ohquamehud. Like a trained
blood-hound, he had kept faithfully on the track and scarcely let the
Indian out of sight until he, came near the village. Here he was met
by a playmate, with whom, like a child as he was, he stopped to amuse
himself for a moment. This was the cause of his not arriving sooner,
the delay corresponding nearly with the time Holden was detained by
his visit. The boy now came running up, all out of breath, and gazed
around, but saw no one nor heard a sound, save the roar of the Fall.
His eyes fell upon the gun of the Indian, and the cap of the Solitary,
lying on the trampled turf, and his mind foreboded disaster. He
hastened to the margin of the beetling crag, and peering over it, saw
Ohquamehud hanging by Holden's arm, and struggling to pull him down.
Quadaquina stepped back, and from the loose stones lying round, picked
up one as large as he could lift, and going to the edge, dropped it
full upon the head of Ohquamehud. The Indian instantly let go his
hold, falling a distance of eighty feet, and grazing against the side
of the huge rock on his way, until with a splash he was swallowed up
in the foaming water that whirled him out of sight.
Quadaquina watched the body as it went gliding down the rocks, and
dashing into the torrent, until it could be seen no more, and then,
as if terrified at his own act, and without waiting to see what had
become of the man to whom he had rendered so timely a service, started
on a run for his home.
As for Holden, upon the weight being withdrawn from his arm, he slowly
gathered himself up and sat upright on the rock; nor did he know
to what he owed his deliverance. He possibly ascribed it to the
exhaustion of his foe. He felt jar'd and bruised, but no bones were
broken: his heart swelled with thankfulness, and raising his eyes to
heaven, he poured forth a thanksgiving.
"The enemy came against me," he ejaculated, "like a lion that is
greedy of his prey, and as it were a young lion lurking in secret
places. But thou didst arise, O Lord, thou didst disappoint him and
cast him down; thou didst deliver my soul from the wicked. For thou
didst gird me with strength unto the battle, thou didst enlarge my
steps under me, that my feet did not slip. He was wounded that he was
not able to rise. He fell under my feet. It was Thy doing, O Lord,
because thou hadst respect unto the supplications of thy servant.
Therefore my lips shall greatly rejoice, when I sing unto Thee, and my
soul which thou hast redeemed."
After this expression of his thanks, he clambered with some
difficulty, by the assistance of the shrubs that grew in the crevices
along the sloping platform, until he had attained to the top of the
rock whence he had fallen. He cast his eyes below, but nothing was to
be seen but the wild torrent: no sign, no trace of the Indian. Holden
shuddered as he thought of Ohquamehud, cut off in his atrocious
attempt, and breathed a prayer that his savage ignorance might
palliate his crime; then exhausted and sore, and pondering the
frightful danger he had escaped, slowly took his way towards the
village.