There was a good deal of difference in the aspect of the country above
and below Cacouna. Below it the river bank was high; and cultivated and
fertile lands stretched back for a mile or two, till they were bordered
and shut in by the forest. Above, the bank was low. Just beyond the town
lay the swamp, which brought ague to the Parsonage and its neighbours.
On the further side of this was the steam sawmill, and a few shanties
occupied by workmen; and higher still, a road (called the Lake Shore
Road, because, after a few miles, it joined and ran along the side of
the lake) wound its way over a sandy plain, studded with clumps and
knots of scattered trees or brushwood. Rough, stubbly grass covered a
good deal of the sand, but here and there the wind had swept it up into
great piles round some obstacle that broke the level, and on these
sand-hills wild vines grew luxuriantly, covering them in many places
with thick and graceful foliage, and small purple clusters of grapes.
There were pools, too, in some places, where water-lilies had managed to
plant themselves, and where colonies of mud-turtles lived undisturbed;
and there were shady places by the sides of the pools, where the brown
pitcher-plant held its cups of clear water, and the ghost-flower
glimmered spectrally among the dead leaves of last year. But the plain
generally was hot and sunny in summer, and very dreary in winter; for
the larger trees which grew upon it were oaks, and when they were bare
of foliage, and the sand-hills and the pools had a deep covering of
snow, the wind swept icily cold over its wide space. In September the
oaks were still in leaf, and the grass green, and, though they were but
stunted in size and coarse in texture, both were pleasant to look at.
The sunshine was no longer hot, but it was serenely bright, and there
was as lovely a blue overhead as if the equinox were months away.
A light waggon came winding in and out with the turnings of the
road--now crossing a wooden bridge, now passing through the shadows of a
dozen or more oaks which grew close together. Sometimes, when the ground
was clear, the waggon went straight through one of these groups.
Sometimes it turned aside, to avoid the thick brushwood underneath. The
"waggon," which was neither more nor less than a large tray placed upon
four wheels, and having a seat for two people, was occupied by two young
men, Harry Scott and George Anderson. They were coming down from their
homes, two farms which lay close together some little distance up the
lake, and were going first to the sawmill and then to the town. But they
were in no particular hurry, and the afternoon was pleasant, so they let
their horse take his own time, and came jogging over the sand at a most
leisurely pace.
They had passed that very piece of land which had given Dr. Morton so
much trouble lately; it was natural enough, therefore, that their chat
should turn to speculations as to his success in ejecting Clarkson from
his house, and the Indians from their fisheries.
"More trouble than it's worth," said George Anderson; "there is not a
tree on the land that will pay for cutting down."
"Very likely not; but the land may not be bad; and it is a capital
situation. I only wish it were mine," answered Harry, who had his own
reasons for wishing to be a little more independent in circumstances.
"Tell you what," said George, making a knot on the end of his whip-lash,
"my belief is, that it is quite as much for pleasure as profit that the
Doctor is so busy about his land."
"Pleasure?"
"Yes. Do not you see any pleasure in it? By Jove, I asked him something
about Clarkson the other day; and if you'd seen his face, you'd believe
he enjoyed the fight."
"Well, that's not unlikely. He's a great brute, that Clarkson. I should
not mind pitching into him myself."
"I should, though," said George laughing; "the chances of his pitching
into me in return would be too strong."
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "He has a queer character certainly; but
of the two, I think I should be more afraid of disturbing the Indians,
especially if I had to ride about the country at all hours. It would not
be very difficult to waylay the Doctor; and I dare say some of them are
savage enough to do it, if they had a serious grudge against him."
"I don't believe they have pluck enough to do anything of the kind. Look
what miserable fellows those are that Dawson has at the mill now. They
look as if all the spirit had been starved out of them."
So they went on talking until they caught glimpses of the mill before
them, whenever their way lay over the open ground; and then George
Anderson touched the horse with his whip, and they began to get over the
remaining distance more quickly. They were trotting briskly round the
side of a low thicket of brambles, when suddenly a horse, which was
grazing on the further side, raised its head and looked at them. There
was nothing remarkable in that, certainly, for horses were not
unfrequently turned out there; but what was remarkable, was that this
one had a bridle on. George involuntarily tightened his reins; and the
next moment the animal, which seemed to have been disturbed by their
coming, trotted slowly across the road in front of them. It was bridled
and saddled, and the saddle was a little on one side, as if it had been
dragged round. Harry sprang from the waggon. He followed the horse, and
in a minute or two caught and led it back to where George, who had also
dismounted, was now tying his to a tree.
They both recognized the runaway. Harry said one word as he led it up,
"Doctor Morton!" and with a horror-struck face pointed to a dark wet
stain partly on the saddle, partly on the horse's neck.
George darted round the thicket, and in a moment a cry called Harry to
the same place. A bridle path, more direct than the road, ran close
beside the thorn bushes, and there, half hidden in branches and leaves,
lay something--something that had once been human and living. Dark pools
of blood lay about it, and there were horrible gashes and wounds as if
the murderer had been unable to satisfy his rage, and had taken a
frantic pleasure in mutilating his victim.
The two young men stood and looked at each other and at the ghastly heap
before them. Silently with white faces they questioned each other what
to do? To touch what lay there seemed almost impossible, and any thought
of succour was hopeless; but something must be done. They both drew away
from the spot before they spoke. Then Harry said in a low voice, "There
are plenty of men at the mill; you might fetch some of them."
George went towards the waggon without a word; but just as he was going
to get in he turned round,
"No, Harry, you must go. Somebody must take the news on to Cacouna, and
that can't be me."
"Very well."
Harry was in the waggon instantly, and away. His first errand was
quickly done. In a very few minutes George could see, from the place
where he kept watch, that the men began to hurry out of the mill, and
come towards him in a confused throng. Some, however, stayed to bring a
kind of dray with them, and then, when these also had started, he could
see Harry Scott moving slowly off in the waggon towards the town.
The dray came lumbering over the sand, and the men gathered round the
dreadful heap under the brambles which must be lifted up and laid upon
it, yet which no one seemed ready to be the first to touch. But, at
last, it was done; the distorted limbs were smoothed and the wounds
partially covered; and some semblance of humanity came back to the dead
form as it was carried slowly away towards home. When this had been
done, there was time for another thought--the murderer?
Perhaps every one present had already in his heart convicted one person,
but even in the excitement of horror some one had sense enough to say,
"There ought to be a search made--there may be some trace."
Nor was it difficult to find a trace. At a very little distance from the
spot itself there appeared marks upon the grass as if footsteps, heavy,
and wet with dark-coloured moisture, had trodden there. They followed
the tracks, and came to a place where many low bushes growing close
together formed a kind of thicket. Almost buried in this, the figure of
a man lying upon the ground filled them for a moment with a new
consternation--but this was no lifeless body. They dragged it out--a
squalid, miserable object, with bleared eyes and red disfigured face, a
drunken, half-imbecile Indian.
He was so overcome, indeed, with the heavy sleep of intoxication that
even when they made him stand up, he seemed neither to see anything nor
to hear the questions of the men who knew him and called him by his
name. But there were answers to their questions in another shape than
that of words. The hatchet that lay beside him and the stains of blood
still wet upon his ragged clothing were conclusive evidence.
They led him away, after the little procession which had gone on with
the dray and its load, but he neither resisted, nor indeed spoke at all.
He seemed not to understand what was going on; and the men about him
were for the moment too full of horror, and of that awe which belongs to
the sight of death, to be much disposed to question him.
So they took murderer and victim both to the sawmill, and there waited,
dreading to carry their ghastly load into the town till such warning as
was possible had been given.
Meantime Harry Scott, with his mind full of his mission, drove towards
Cacouna. He saw nothing of the people he passed, or who passed him; he
saw only the sight he had just left, except when there rushed into his
recollection for a moment the wedding-day scarcely six weeks ago, and
the certainty of happiness which then seemed to wait both bride and
bridegroom. And now? "Poor Bella!" broke from his lips, and he shuddered
as he fancied, not Bella, but his cousin Magdalen crushed down in her
youth by such a blow as this. But the momentary, fanciful connection of
the two girls, did but make him the more tender of the young widow.
"Widow!" he said the word half aloud, it seemed so unnatural, so
incredible. But while he thought, he was drawing very near his
destination; for he had at once decided that the proper thing to do was
to find Mr. Bellairs, and leave him to carry the news as he might think
best to his sister-in-law. At the door of the lawyer's office,
therefore, the reluctant messenger stopped, and went in with his face
still full of the strange excitement and trouble of his mission.
A few words can tell the happiest or the saddest news life ever brings
us; all that Harry knew could be told in two sentences, and, half
announced as they were by his looks, Mr. Bellairs instantly understood
the message, and why it was brought to him. He took his hat, and before
Harry was quite sure whether he had made him understand what had really
happened, he was halfway to his own house.
An hour later, the dray, now more carefully arranged and covered,
brought its load to the door of the house which had been so lately
prepared for the bride's coming home. For convenience' sake they carried
the body into a lower room, and laid it there until its burial, while
Bella sat in her chamber above, silent and tearless, not understanding
yet what had befallen her, but through her stunned and dreary stupor
listening from habit for the footsteps which should have returned at
that hour--the footsteps which death had already silenced for ever.