Balmy spring—Joe’s curious dream—He prepares to catch a
fish—Glenn—William and Mary—Joe’s sudden and strange
appearance—La-u-na—The trembling fawn—The fishing sport—The ducking
frolic—Sneak and the panther.
It was now the first week in May. Every vestige of winter had long
since disappeared, and the verdure of a rich soil and mild temperature
was fast enrobing the earth with the freshest and most pleasing of
colours. Instead of the dreary expanse of ice that had covered the
river, its waters now murmured musically by in the early morn—its
curling eddies running along the sedgy shore, while the rising sun
slowly dissipated the floating mists; and the inspiring notes of all
the wild variety of birds, contributed to invest the scene with such
charms as the God of nature only can impart, and which may only be
fully enjoyed and justly appreciated by guileless and unsophisticated
mortals.
Glenn rambled forth, and, partaking the harmony that pervaded the
earth, air, and waters, his breast swelled with a blissful exultation
that can never be known amid the grating voices of contending men, or
experienced in crowded cities, where many confused sounds vibrate
harshly and distracting on the ear. He stood in his little garden among
the flowers that Mary had planted, and watched the humming-birds poised
among the trembling leaves, their tiny wings still unruffled by the
dew, while their slender beaks inhaled the sweet moisture of the
variegated blossoms. Long he regarded the enchanting scene, unconscious
of the flight of time, and alike regardless of the past and the future
in his all-absorbing admiration of the present, wherein he deemed he
was not far remote from that Presence to which time and eternity are
obedient—when his phantasm was abruptly and unceremoniously put to
flight by his man Joe, who rushed out of the house with a long rod in
his hand; yawning and rubbing his eyes, as if he had been startled from
his morning slumber but a moment before.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Glenn.
“It was a wapper!” said Joe.
“What was?”
“The fish.”
“Where?” asked Glenn.
“I’ll tell you. I dreamt I was sitting on a rock, down at the ferry,
with this rod in my hand, fishing for perch, when a thundering big
catfish, as long as I am, took hold. I dreamt he pulled and I
pulled—sometimes he had me in the water up to my knees, and sometimes I
got him out on dry land. But he always flounced and kicked back again.
Yet he couldn’t escape, because the hook was still in his mouth, and
when he jumped into the river I jumped to the rod, and so we had it
over and over—”
“And now have done with it,” said Glenn, interrupting him. “What are
you holding the rod now for?”
“I’m going to try to catch him,” said Joe, with unaffected simplicity.
“Merely because you had this dream!” continued Glenn, his features
relaxing into a smile.
“Yes—I believe in dreams,” said Joe. “Once, when we were living in
Philadelphia, I had one of these same dreams. It was just about the
same hour—”
“How do you know what hour it was you dreamt about the fish?” again
interrupted Glenn.
“Why—I—,” stammered Joe, “I’m sure it was about daybreak, because the
sun rose a little while after I got out.”
“That might be the case,” said Glenn, “if you were to dream about the
same thing from sun-down till sun-up. And I believe the fish was
running in your head last night before I went to bed, for you were then
snoring and jerking your arms about.”
“Well, I’ll tell you my other dream, anyhow. I dreamt I was walking
along Spruce Street wharf with my head down, when all at once my toe
struck against a red morocco pocket-wallet; I stooped down and picked
it up and put it in my pocket, and went home before I looked to see
what was in it.”
“Well, what was in it when you did look?” asked Glenn.
“There was a one thousand dollar note on the Bank of the United States,
with the president’s and cashier’s names on it, all genuine. Oh, I was
so happy! I put it in my vest-pocket and sewed it up.”
“But what have you done with it since?” asked Glenn.
“I—Hang it! it was only a dream!”[1] said Joe, unconsciously feeling
in his empty pocket.
“But what has that dream to do with the fish?” pursued Glenn.
“I’ll tell you,” said Joe. “When I got up in the morning and discovered
it was a dream, I slipped on my clothes as quickly as possible and set
off for the wharf. When I got there, I walked along slowly with my head
down till at length my toe struck against an oyster-shell. I picked it
up, and while I was looking at it, the captain of a schooner invited me
on board of his vessel to look at his cargo of oysters, just stolen
from Deep Creek, Virginia. He gave me at least six dozen to eat!”
“And this makes you have faith in such dreams?” asked Glenn, striving
in vain to repress his laughter.
“I got _something_ by the dream,” said Joe. “I had a first rate
oyster-breakfast.”
“But what has all this to do with the fish?” continued Glenn; “perhaps,
instead of the fish, you expect to catch a _frog_ this time. You will
still be an Irishman, Joe. Go and try your luck.”
“St. Patrick forbid that I should be any thing else but an Irishman! I
should like to know if an Irishman ain’t as good as anybody else,
particularly when he’s born in America, as I was? But the dream in
Philadelphia _did_ have something to do with a fish. Didn’t I catch a
fish? Isn’t an oyster a fish? And it had something to do with _this_
fish, too. I’ve been bothering my head ever since I got up about what
kind of _bait_ to catch him with, and I’m sure I never would have
thought of the right kind if you hadn’t mentioned that _frog_ just now.
I recollect they say that’s the very best thing in the world to bait
with for a catfish. I’ll go straight to the brook and hunt up a frog!”
Saying this, Joe set out to execute his purpose, while Glenn proceeded
to Roughgrove’s house to see how William progressed in his studies.
The intelligent youth, under the guidance of Roughgrove, Glenn, and his
unwearying and affectionate sister, was now rapidly making amends for
the long neglect of his education while abiding with the unlettered
Indians. He had already gone through the English grammar, and was
entering the higher branches of study. The great poets of his own
country, and the most approved novelists were his companions during the
hours of relaxation; for when the illimitable fields of intellect were
opened to his vision, he would scarce for a moment consent to withdraw
his admiring gaze. Thus, when it was necessary for a season to cease
his toil in the path of learning, he delighted to recline in some cool
shade with a pleasing book in his hand, and regale his senses with the
flowers and refreshing streams of imaginative authors. And thus sweetly
glided his days. Could such halcyon moments last, it were worse than
madness to seek the wealth and honours of this world! In that secluded
retreat, though far from the land of his nativity, with no community
but the companionship of his three or four friends and the joyous
myriads of birds—no palaces but the eternal hills of nature, and no
pageantry but the rays of the rising and setting sun streaming in
prismatic dies upon them, the smiling youth was far happier than he
would have been in the princely halls of his fathers, where the
sycophant only bent the knee to receive a load of gold, and the friend
that might protect him on the throne would be the first to stab him on
the highway.
A spreading elm stood near the door of Roughgrove’s house, and beneath
its clustering boughs William and Mary were seated on a rude bench,
entirely screened from the glaring light of the sun. A few paces
distant the brook glided in low murmurs between the green flags and
water violets over its pebbly bed. The morning dew yet rested on the
grass in the shade. The soft sigh of the fresh breeze, as it passed
through the motionless branches of the towering elm, could scarce be
heard, but yet sufficed ever and anon to lift aside the glossy ringlets
that hung pendent to the maiden’s shoulders. The paroquet and the
thrush, the bluebird and goldfinch, fluttered among the thick foliage
and trilled their melodies in sweetest cadence. Both the brother and
sister wore a happy smile. Happy, because the innocence of angels dwelt
in the bosom of the one, and the memory of his guileless and blissful
days of childhood possessed the other. Occasionally they read some
passages in a book that lay open on Mary’s lap, describing the last
days of Charles I., and then the bright smile would be dimmed for a
moment by a shade of sadness.
“Oh! poor man!” exclaimed Mary, when William read of the axe of the
executioner descending on the neck of the prostrate monarch.
“It is far better to dwell in peace in such a quiet and lonely place as
this, than to be where so many cruel men abide,” said William,
pondering.
“Ah me! I did not think that Christian men could be so cruel,” said
Mary, a bright tear dropping from her long eyelash.
“But the book says he was a tyrant and deserved to die,” continued the
youth, his lips compressed with firmness.
“He’s coming!” exclaimed Mary, suddenly, and the pitying thought of the
unfortunate Charles vanished from her mind. But as she steadily gazed
up the path a crimson flush suffused her smooth brow and cheek, and she
rose gracefully, and with a smile of delight, welcomed Glenn to the
cool and refreshing shade of the majestic elm.
“You have come too late. William has already said his lesson, and I’m
sure he knew it perfectly,” said Mary, half-reproachfully and
half-playfully.
“Mary don’t know, Mr. Glenn; because I am now further advanced than she
is,” said William.
“But what kept you away so long this beautiful morning?” continued the
innocent girl. “Don’t you see the dew is almost dried away in the sun,
and the morning-glories are nearly all closed?”
“I was lingering in the garden among the delicate flowers you gave me
Mary; and the green and golden humming-birds charmed me so that I could
not tear myself away,” replied our hero, as he sat down between the
brother and sister.
“I shall go with brother William on the cliff and get some wild roses
and hare-bells, and then all your humming-birds will leave you and stay
here with me,” said Mary, smiling archly.
“But you will be the prettiest bird among them, and flower too, to my
eyes,” said Glenn, gazing at the clear and brilliant though laughing
eyes of the pleased girl.
“If that were the case, why did you linger so long in the garden?”
asked the maid, with some seriousness.
“I should not have done so, Mary, but for Joe, who, you know, will
always be heard when he has any thing to say; and this morning he had a
ludicrous dream to tell me.”
“I like Joe a great deal—he makes me laugh every time I see him. And
you must tell me what he said, and how he looked and acted, that I may
know whether you did right to stay away so long,” said the thoughtless
and happy girl, eager to listen to the accents of the one whose
approach had illumined her features with the mystical fires of the
heart.
Glenn faithfully repeated every word and gesture of his dialogue with
Joe, and the unsophisticated girl’s joyous laugh rang merrily up the
echoing vale in sweet accompaniment with the carols of the feathered
songsters.
When the narration ended, they both turned with surprise to William,
who, instead of partaking their hilarity as usual, sat perfectly
motionless in deep thought, regarding with apparent intensity the
straggling spears of grass that grew at his feet. The book he had taken
up, which had dropped from Mary’s lap when she hastily rose at the
approach of Glenn, now fell unobserved by him from his relaxed hand.
His face became unusually pale. His limbs seemed to be strangely
agitated, and the pulsations of his heart were audible.
“What’s the matter, dear brother?” cried Mary, in alarm.
“La-u-na—LA-U-NA!” he exclaimed, and, sinking softly down on his knees,
applied his ear close to the ground in a listening attitude.
“Dear brother William! _do_ tell Mary what ails you! What is La-u-na!”
said the startled and distressed girl, with affectionate concern.
“_La-u-na_—THE TREMBLING FAWN!” cried William, pantingly.
“Listen” said Glenn, checking Mary when she was about to repeat her
inquiry. A plaintive flute-like sound was heard at intervals, floating
on the balmy and almost motionless air down the green-fringed vale. At
times it resembled the mournful plaint of the lonely dove, and then
died away like the last notes of the expiring swan.
Before many minutes elapsed another sound of quite a different
character saluted their ears. This was a rustling among the bushes,
heard indistinctly at first, while the object was far up the valley,
but as it approached with fearful rapidity, the rushing noise became
tremendous, and a few moments after, when the trembling sumachs parted
in view, they beheld Joe! He dashed through the briers interspersed
among the undergrowth, and plunged through the winding brook that
occasionally crossed his path, as if all surrounding obstacles and
obstructions were contemptible in comparison with the danger behind!
Leaping over intervening rocks, and flying through dense clusters of
young trees that ever and anon threatened to impede his progress, he at
length reached the spot where the little group still remained seated.
Without hat or coat, and panting so violently that he was unable to
explain distinctly the cause of his alarm, poor Joe threw himself down
on the earth in the most distressed and pitiable condition.
“What have you seen? What is the cause of this affright?” asked Glenn.
“I—oh—they—coming!” cried Joe, incoherently.
“What is coming?” continued Glenn.
“I—Indians!” exclaimed he, springing up and rushing into the house.
“They are friendly Indians, then,” said Mary; “because the hostile ones
never come upon us at this season of the year.”
“So I have been told,” said Glenn; “but even the sight of a friendly
Indian would scare Joe.”
“It is La-u-na!” said William, still attentively listening.
“What is _La-u-na_?” interrogated Mary, again.
“The _Trembling Fawn_!” repeated William, with emphasis, in a
mysterious and abstracted manner. Presently he stood up and intently
regarded the dim path over-shadowed by the luxuriant foliage that Joe
had so recently traversed, and an animated smile played upon his lips,
and dark, clear eyes sparkled with a thrill of ecstasy.
A slight female form, emerged from the dark green thicket, and glided
more like a spirit of the air than a human being towards the wondering
group. Her light steps produced no sound. In each hand she held a rich
bouquet of fresh wild flowers, and leaves and blossoms were
fantastically, though tastefully, arranged in her hair and on her
breast. A broad, shining gold band decked her temples, but many of her
raven ringlets had escaped from their confinement, and floated out on
the wind as she sped towards her beloved.
“La-u-na! La-u-na!” cried William, darting forward frantically and
catching the girl in his arms. He pressed her closely and fondly to his
heart, and she hid her face on his breast. Thus they clung together
several minutes in silence, when they were interrupted by Roughgrove,
whose attention had been attracted by the sudden affright of Joe.
“William, my dear boy,” said the grieved old man, “you must not have
any thing to do with the Indians—you promised us that you would not—”
“Leave us!” said the youth, sternly, and stamping impatiently.
“Do, father!” cried Mary, who looked on in tears, a few paces apart;
“brother won’t leave us again—I’m sure he won’t—will you, William?”
“No, I will not!” exclaimed the youth. The Indian girl comprehended the
meaning of his words, and, tearing, away from his embrace, stood with
folded arms at his side, with her penetrating and reproachful eyes
fixed full upon him, while her lips quivered and her breast heaved in
agitation. All now regarded her in silence and admiration. Her form was
a perfect model of beauty. Her complexion was but a shade darker than
that of the maidens of Spain. Her brows were most admirably arched, and
her long silken lashes would have been envied by an Italian beauty. Her
forehead and cheeks were smooth, and all her features as regular as
those of a Venus. The mould of her face was strictly Grecian, and on
her delicate lips rested a half-formed expression of sad regret and
firm resolution. Her vestments were rich, and highly ornamented with
pearls and diamonds. She wore a light snowy mantle made of swan skins,
on which a portion of the fleecy down remained. Beneath, the dress was
composed of skins of the finest finish, descending midway between her
knees and ankles, where it was met by the tops of the buckskin
moccasins, that confined her small and delicately-formed feet. Her
arms, which were mostly concealed under her mantle, were bare from the
elbows down, and adorned at the wrists with silver bands.
“Why, hang it all! Was there nothing running after me but this squaw?”
asked Joe, who had ventured forth again unobserved, and now stood
beside Glenn and Mary.
“Silence!” said Glenn.
“Oh, don’t call _her_ a squaw, Joe—she’s more like an angel than a
squaw,” said Mary, gazing tenderly at the lovers, while tears were yet
standing in her eyes.
“I won’t do so again,” said Joe, “because she’s the prettiest wild
thing I ever saw; and if Mr. William don’t marry her, I will.”
“Keep silent, Joe, or else leave us,” again interposed Glenn.
“I’ll go catch my fish. I had just found a frog, and was in the act of
catching it, when I saw the sq—the—_her_—and I thought then that I
would just run home and let you know she was coming before I took it.
But I remember where it was, and I’ll have it now in less than no
time.” Saying this, Joe set off up the valley again, though not very
well pleased with himself for betraying so much alarm when there was so
little danger.
“La-u-na, I am no Indian,” said William, at length, in the language of
her tribe, and much affected by her searching stare.
“But you were once the young chief that led our warriors to battle, and
caught La-u-na’s heart. I heard you were a pale-face after you were
taken away from us; and I thought if you would not fly back to La-u-na,
like the pigeon that escapes from the talons of the eagle and returns
to its mate, then I would lose you—forget you—hate you. I tried, but I
could not do it. When the white moon ran up to the top of the sky, and
shone down through the tall trees in my face, I would ever meet you in
the land of dreams, with the bright smile you used to have when you
were wont to put your arm around me and draw me so gently to your
breast. I was happy in those dreams. But they would not stay. The
night-hawk flew low and touched my eyes with his wings as he flapped
by, and I awoke. Then my breast was cold and my cheeks were wet. The
katydids gathered in the sweet rose-bushes about me and sung
mournfully. La-u-na was unhappy. La-u-na must see her Young Eagle, or
go to the land of spirits. She called her wild steed to her side, and,
plucking these flowers to test his fleetness, sprang upon him and flew
hither. He is now grazing in the prairie at the head of the valley; and
here are the blossoms, still alive, fresh and sweet.” The trembling and
tearful girl then gently and sadly strewed the flowers over the grass
at her feet.
“Sweet La-u-na!” cried William, snatching up the blossoms and pressing
them to his lips, “forgive the young chief; he will still love you and
never leave you again.”
“No—no—no!” said the girl, shaking her head in despair; “the pale face
youth will not creep through the silent and shady forest with La-u-na
any more. He will gather no more ripe grapes for the Trembling Fawn. He
will not bathe again in the clear waters with La-u-na. He will give her
no more rings of roses to put on her breast. The Trembling Fawn is
wounded. She must find a cool shade and lie down. The dove will perch
over her and wail. She will sing a low song. She will close her eyes
and die.”
Oh, no! cried William, placing his arms around her tenderly.
“Oh, no!” cried William, placing his arms around her tenderly; “La-u-na
must not die; or, if she does, she shall not die alone. Why will not
La-u-na dwell with me, among my friends?” The girl started, and
exhibited signs of mingled delight and doubt.
“Oh, no!” cried William, placing his arms around her tenderly, “La-u-na
must not die, or if she does, she shall not die alone. Why will not
La-u-na dwell with me among my friends?” The girl started and exhibited
signs of mingled delight and doubt, and then replied—
“The pale maiden would hate La-u-na, and the gray-head would drive her
away.”
“No, La-u-na,” said William; “they would all love you, and we would be
so happy! Say you will stay with me here, and you shall be my wife, and
I will have no other love. My sister is sweet and mild as La-u-na, and
my father will always be kind.”
The dark eyes of the girl assumed an unwonted lustre, and she turned
imploringly to Mary, Glenn, and Roughgrove.
“Oh!” cried William, in his native tongue, addressing his white
friends; “let La-u-na dwell with us! She is as innocent as the lily by
the brook, and as noble as a queen. Father,” he continued, stepping
forward and taking Roughgrove’s hand, “you won’t refuse my request! And
you, sister Mary, I know you will love her as dearly as you do me. And
you, my friend,” said he, turning to Glenn, “will soon hear her speak
our own language, and she will cull many beautiful flowers for you that
the white man never yet beheld. Grant this,” added the youth, after
pausing a few moments, while his friends hung their heads in silence,
“and I will remain with you always; but if you refuse, I must fly to
the forest again.”
“Stay! Oh, brother, you shall not go!” cried Mary, and rushing forward,
she threw her arms round his neck. The Indian girl kissed her pale
brow, and smiled joyfully, when the youth told her that Mary was his
dear sister.
“He loves her, and her affection for him is imperishable!” said Glenn.
“And why may they not be happy together, if they dwell with us?” asked
Roughgrove, pondering.
“There is no reason why they should not be. Let us tell them to remain
and be happy,” said Glenn.
When fully informed that she might abide with them and still love her
Young Eagle, La-u-na was almost frantic with ecstasy. She looked
gratefully and fondly on her new friends, and pressed their hands in
turn. She seemed to be more especially fond of Mary, and repeatedly
wound her smooth and soft arms affectionately about her waist and neck.
William led his Indian bride to the seat under the spreading green
tree, and signified a desire to commune with her alone. When seated
together on the rude bench, the maiden’s hand clasped in William’s,
Mary fondly kissed them both and withdrew in company with Roughgrove
and Glenn. Roughgrove prostrated himself in prayer when within the
house. Mary ran up to the top of the beetling cliff to cull flowers,
and Glenn directed his steps down the valley towards the river, whither
Joe had preceded him with the frog he had succeeded in capturing.
Glenn was met about midway by Joe, who was returning slowly, with
peculiar marks of agitation on his face. He had neither frog, rod, nor
fish in his hand.
“I thought you were fishing,” remarked Glenn.
“So I am,” replied Joe; “and I’ve had the greatest luck you ever heard
of.”
“Well, tell me your success.”
“I had a bite,” continued he, “in less than three minutes after I threw
in my hook. It was a wapper! When he took hold I let him play about
awhile with a slack line, to be certain and get it well fixed in his
mouth. But when I went to draw up, the monster made a splash or two,
and then whizzed out into the middle of the river!”
“Where was the hook?” asked Glenn.
“In his mouth, to be sure,” replied Joe.
“And the line?”
“Fast to the rod.”
“And the rod?”
“Fast to the line!” said Joe, “and following the fish at the rate of
ten knots, while I stood on the bank staring in utter astonishment.”
“Then, where was your great success?” demanded Glenn.
“It was a noble _bite_,” said Joe.
“But you were the _bitten_ one,” remarked Glenn, scanning Joe’s visage,
which began to assume a disconsolate cast.
“If I’d only been thinking about such a wapper, and had been on my
guard,” said Joe, “splash me if he should ever have got my rod away in
that manner—I’d have taken a ducking first!”
“Have you no more lines?” asked Glenn.
“No,” replied Joe, “none but your’s.”
“You are welcome to it—but be quick, and I will look on while you have
your revenge.”
Joe sprang nimbly up the hill, and in a few minutes returned with fresh
tackle and another frog that he found on his way. They then repaired to
the margin of the river; but before Joe ventured to cast out his line
again he made the end of the rod fast to his wrist by means of a strong
cord he had provided for that purpose. But now his precaution seemed to
have been unnecessary, for many minutes elapsed without any symptoms of
success.
Glenn grew impatient and retired a few paces to the base of the cliff,
where he reclined in an easy posture on some huge rocks that had
tumbled down from a great height, and lay half-imbedded in the earth.
Here he long remained with his eyes fixed abstractedly on the curling
water, and meditated on the occurrence he had recently witnessed. While
his thoughts were dwelling on the singular affection and constancy of
the Indian girl, and the probable future happiness of her young lord,
his reflections more than once turned upon his _own_ condition. The
simple pleasantries that had so often occurred between Mary and himself
never failed to produce many unconscious smiles on his lips, and being
reciprocated and repeated day after day with increased delight, it was
no wonder that he found himself heaving tender sighs as he occasionally
pictured her happy features in his mind’s eye. He now endeavoured to
bestow some grave consideration on the tender subject, and to think
seriously about the proper mode of conducting himself in future, when
he heard the innocent maiden’s clear and inspiring voice ringing down
the valley and sinking in soft murmuring echoes on the gliding stream.
Soon his quick ear caught the words, which he recognised to be a short
ballad of his own composing, that had been written at Mary’s request.
He then listened in silence, without moving from his recumbent
position.
THE CRUEL MAIDEN.
I.
She heard his prayer and sweetly smiled,
Then frown’d, and laughing fled away;
But the poor youth, e’en thus beguiled,
Still would pray.
II.
He’d won her heart, but still she fled,
And laugh’d and mock’d from dell and peak
While his sad heart, that inward bled,
Was fit to break!
III.
Where the bright waters lead adown
The moss-green rocks and flags among,
He paused—and on his brow a frown
Darkly hung!
IV.
A shriek came down the peaceful vale,
Full soon the maid was at his side,
Her ringlets flowing, and cheeks all pale,
A _willing_ bride!
Glenn long remained motionless after the sounds died away, as if
endeavouring to retain the soothing effect of the ringing notes that
had so sweetly reverberated along the jutting peaks of the towering
cliff!
“I’ve got a bite!” exclaimed Joe, bending over the verge of the bank
and stretching his arms as far as possible over the water, while his
line moved about in various directions, indicating truly that a fish
had taken the hook.
“Hold fast to the rod this time, Joe,” remarked Glenn, who became
interested in the scene.
“Won’t I? Its tied fast to my wrist.”
“Is it not time to pull him up?” asked Glenn, seeing that the fish, so
far from being conscious of peril, inclined towards the shore with the
line in quest of more food.
“Here goes!” said Joe, jerking the rod up violently with both hands. No
sooner did the fish feel the piercing hook in his mouth than he rose to
the surface, and splashing the water several feet round in every
direction, darted quickly downwards, in spite of the strenuous efforts
of Joe to the contrary.
Nevertheless, Joe entertained no fears about the result; and the fish,
as if apprized of the impossibility of capturing the rod, ran along
parallel with the shore, gradually approaching the brink of the water,
and seemingly with the intention to surrender himself at the feet of
the piscator. But this was not his purpose. When Joe made another
strong pull, in the endeavour to strand him in the shallow water, the
fish again threw up the spray (some of which reached his adversary’s
face,) and, turning his head outwards, ran directly away from the
shore.
“Pull him back, Joe!” said Glenn.
“I am trying with all my might,” replied Joe, “but he’s so plaguy
strong he won’t come, hang him!”
“He’ll get away if you don’t mind!” continued Glenn, evincing much
animation in his tones and gestures.
“I’ll be drenched if he does!” said Joe, with his arm, to which the rod
was lashed, stretched out, while he endeavoured to plant his feet
firmly in the sand.
“He’ll have you in the water—cut the rod loose from your wrist!” cried
Glenn, as Joe’s foothold gave way and he was truly drawn into the
water.
“Oh, good gracious! I’ve got no knife! Give me your hand!” cried Joe,
vainly striving to untie the cord. “Help me! Oh, St. Peter!” he
continued, imploringly, as the fish drew him on in the water, in quick
but reluctant strides. “Oh! I’m gone!” he cried, when the water was
midway to his chin, and the fish pulling him along with increasing
rapidity.
“You are a good swimmer, Joe—be not alarmed, and you will not be hurt,”
said Glenn, half inclined to laugh at his man’s indescribable
contortions and grimaces, and apprehending no serious result.
“Ugh!” cried Joe, the water now up to his chin, and the next moment,
when in the act of making a hasty and piteous entreaty, his head
quickly dipped under the turbid surface and disappeared entirely. Glenn
now became alarmed; but, when in the act of divesting himself of his
clothing for the purpose of plunging in to his rescue, Joe rose again
some forty paces out in the current, and by the exertion of the arm
that was free he was enabled to keep his head above the water. The
current was very strong, and the fish, in endeavouring; to run up the
stream with his prize in tow, made but little headway, and a very few
minutes sufficed to prove that it was altogether unequal to the
attempt. After having progressed about six rods, Joe’s head became
quite stationary like a buoy, or a cork at anchor, and then, by
degrees, was carried downward by the strong flow as the fish at length
became quite exhausted.
“Now for it, Joe—swim towards the shore with him!” cried Glenn.
“He’s almost got my shoulder out of place!” replied Joe, blowing a
large quantity of water out of his mouth.
“I see his fin above the water,” said Glenn; “struggle manfully, Joe,
and you will capture him yet!”
“I’ll die but I’ll have him now—after such a ducking as this!” said
Joe, approaching the shore with the almost inanimate fish, that was no
longer able to contend against his superior strength. When he drew near
enough to touch the bottom, he turned his head and beheld his prize
floating close behind, and obedient to his will.
It required the strength of both Glenn and Joe to drag the immense
catfish (for such it proved to be) from its native element. It was
about the length and weight of Joe, and had a mouth of sufficient
dimensions to have swallowed a man’s head. It was given to the
ferrymen, who had witnessed the immersion, and were attracted thither
to render assistance.
“I suppose you have now had enough of the fish?” remarked Glenn, as
they retraced their steps homeward.
“I’ll acknowledge that I’m satisfied for the present; but I was
resolved to have satisfaction!” replied Joe.
“Yes, but you have had it with a vengeance; and I doubt not that your
apparent contentment is but cold comfort,” continued Glenn.
“I’m not a bit cold—I shan’t change my clothes, and I’m ready for any
other sport you like,” said Joe.
“If you really suffer no inconvenience from the wet—and this fine warm
day inclines me to believe you—we will take our guns and walk out to
the small lakes on the borders of the prairie.”
“Splash it”—began Joe.
“No—_duck_ it,” interrupted Glenn.
“Well, I should like to know exactly what you mean—whether you are in
earnest about going to the ponds, or whether you are joking me for
getting _ducked_—as there’s nothing in them now to shoot but _ducks_,
and it may have popped into your head just because I had the
_ducking_,” said Joe.
“I am in earnest,” said Glenn; “I do not wish to annoy William, or to
meet Roughgrove and Mary until their domestic arrangements are all
completed.”
“That’s strange,” said Joe.
“What’s strange?” asked Glenn, quickly.
“Why, your not wanting to meet Miss Mary. I say it is most mysteriously
strange,” replied Joe.
“Say nothing more about it, and think less,” said Glenn, striding in
advance, while a smile played upon his lip.
“But I can’t help dreaming about it—and my dreams all come true,” said
Joe.
“What have you been dreaming—but never mind—bring out the guns,” said
Glenn, pausing at the gate of the inclosure, and not venturing to hear
Joe recite the dream about himself and Mary.
When possessed of the necessary implements, they set out towards the
groves that bordered the prairie, among which were several lakes of
clear water, not more than fifty or sixty paces in diameter, where the
various wild fowl, as well as the otter and the muskrat, usually
abounded. Our hero had previously anticipated some sport of this
nature, and constructed blinds on the verge of the lakes, and cut paths
through the clustering bushes to reach them stealthily. The lake they
now approached was bounded on one side by the green meadow-like
prairie, and fringed on the other by hazel thickets, with an occasional
towering elm that had survived the autumnal fires.
The morning breeze had subsided, and a delightful calm prevailed. A
thousand wild flowers, comprising every hue, filled the air with
delicious fragrance, while no sound was heard but the melody of happy
birds.
“I think I see a duck!” whispered Joe, as they moved slowly along the
path in a stooping posture.
“Where?” asked Glenn, as they crept softly to the blind and cast their
eyes over the clear unruffled water.
“I thought I saw one on the muskrat house; but he must have gone to the
other side,” responded Joe, now looking in vain for it, and closely
scanning the little hillocks that had been thrown up in the lake by the
muskrats.
“You must have been mistaken,” said Glenn; “suppose we go to the other
lakes.”
“No, I wasn’t mistaken—I’d swear to it—be quiet and keep a bright
look-out, and we’ll see him again in a minute or two,” replied Joe, who
stood in an attitude of readiness to fire at an instant’s warning.
“What is that?” asked Glenn, just then actually observing a small brown
object moving behind the hillock.
“Wait till I see a little more of it,” said Joe, with his finger on the
trigger.
“Don’t fire, Joe! its a man’s _cap_!” exclaimed Glenn, detecting under
the dark brim the large staring eyes of a human being, apparently
evincing a sense of imminent peril; and the next moment the muzzle of a
gun pointing above their heads came in view.
“Dod rot it, look up that tree!”
The smile that began to play on our hero’s features on recognizing the
voice of Sneak was quickly dispelled and succeeded by horror when he
cast his eyes upward and beheld an enormous panther, stooping, and on
the eve of springing upon him!
“Oh!” exclaimed Joe, letting his gun fall, and falling down himself,
bereft alike of the power of escape and the ability to resist.
“Be quiet!” said Glenn, endeavouring to raise his gun, which had become
entangled in the bushes; but before he could execute his purpose Sneak
fired, and the ferocious animal came tumbling down through the branches
and fell at his feet.
“Ugh! Goodness!” exclaimed Joe, his hat striken down over his eyes by
the descending panther, and, leaping over the frail barrier of bushes
into the water, he plunged forward and executed a series of diving
evolutions, as if still endeavouring to elude the clutches of the
carnivorous beast, which he imagined was after him.
[Illustration: He plunged forward.]
He plunged forward, and executed a series of diving evolutions.
“Dod—come out of the pond! Its dead—didn’t you hear _me_ shoot?” said
Sneak, who had by this time paddled a little canoe in which he had been
seated to the shore. But Joe continued his exercises, his crushed hat
not only depriving him of sight, but rendering him deaf to the laughter
that burst from Glenn and Sneak. Sneak ran round to the opposite side
of the lake to a point that Joe was approaching, (though all
unconscious of his destination,) and remained there till the poor
fellow pushed his half-submerged head against the grass, when he seized
him furiously and bore him a few paces from the water, in spite of his
cries and struggles.
“_I_ ain’t the painter!” said Sneak, at length weary of the illusion,
and dragging Joe’s hat from his head.
“Ha! hang it! ha!” cried Joe, staring at Sneak and Glenn in
bewilderment. “Where is it?” he cried, when in some degree recovered
from his great perturbation.
“Didn’t you hear _me_ shoot? Of course its dead!” replied Sneak.
“Which do you prefer, Joe, _ducking_ or _fishing_?” asked Glenn.
“I never saw a feller _duck_ his head so,” said Sneak.
“Ha! ha! ha! you thought I was frightened, and trying to get away from
the panther! But you were _much_ mistaken. I was chasing a muskrat—I
got wet in the river, and was determined to see—”
“You couldn’t see your own nose!” interrupted Sneak.
“If I couldn’t see, I suppose I could hear him run!” replied Joe.
“You couldn’t ’ave heard thunder!” said Sneak.
“Did you ever try it?” asked Joe.
“No,” replied Sneak.
“Then you don’t know,” replied Joe; “and now I’m ready to kill a duck,”
he continued, looking up at a number of water-fowl sailing round and
awaiting their departure to dip into the water.
“I will leave you here, Joe. When you hear me fire at the other lake,
you may expect the ducks that escape me to visit you,” observed Glenn,
and immediately after disappeared in the bushes.
“And I’ll take the painter’s hide off,” said Sneak, going with Joe to
the blind, where he quietly commenced his labour, that Joe’s sport
might not be interrupted.
Several flocks of geese and ducks yet flew round above, and gradually
drew nearer to the earth, but still fearful of danger and cautiously
reconnoitering the premises.
“Suppose I pink one of them on the wing?” said Joe, looking up.
“I don’t believe you _kin_,” said Sneak, as he tugged at the panther’s
hide.
“Wait till they come round the next time, and I’ll show you—so look
out,” said Joe.
“I’ll not look—there’s no occasion for my seeing—_I’m_ not after a
muskrat,” responded Sneak, stripping the skin from the animal, and
laughing at his own remark. When the ducks came round again, Joe fired,
and sure enough one of them fell—descending in a curve which brought it
directly on Sneak’s cap, knocking it over his eyes.
“Dod rot it! hands off, or I’ll walk into you!” exclaimed Sneak, rising
up in a hostile attitude.
“Good! that’s tit for tat,” cried Joe, laughing, as he loaded his gun.
“You didn’t do it a purpose,” said Sneak, “nor I won’t jump into the
water nother.”
“Yes I did!” continued Joe, much pleased at the occurrence.
“You didn’t do any sich thing—or we’d have to fight; but nobody could
do sich a thing only by accident. You’d better load your gun, and be
ready by the time the next comes,” added Sneak, again tearing asunder
the panther’s skin.
“I thought I _had_ loaded,” said Joe, forgetting he had performed that
operation, and depositing another charge in his old musket.
Presently Glenn’s gun was heard, and in a few minutes an immense flock
of geese and ducks, mingled together, flew over the bushes and covered
the face of the lake. Joe very deliberately fired in the midst of them,
and the rebound of his gun throwing him against Sneak, who was still in
a stooping posture, they both fell to the ground.
“I did that on purpose, I’ll take my oath—I knew you had put in two
loads,” said Sneak, rising up.
“Yes, but I ain’t hurt—falling over you saved me, or else I’d a
thrashed you or got a thrashing,” replied Joe, his good humour
recovered on beholding some fifteen or twenty dead and wounded ducks
and geese on the surface of the water. By the time he had collected his
birds, by means of Sneak’s canoe, Glenn, who had met with the like
success, emerged from the bushes on the opposite verge of the lake,
bearing with him his game. Being well satisfied with the sport, he and
Joe retraced their steps homeward.