"We rustled through the leaves like wind,
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind;
By night I heard them on the track,
Their whoop came hard upon our back,
With their long gallop, which can tire
The hound's deep hate and hunter's fire."
MAZEPPA
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, when they returned to the
cottage; and as the sun had again made its appearance, and there were no
indications of unpleasant weather. Ralph proposed to Miss Barton that
they should put in execution a project which she had mentioned, of
taking a ride on horseback down the valley.
The horses were at once brought out, by the negro. They were kept for
working horses by Barton; but they had sufficient life and activity to
make an excursion in that mode pleasant and agreeable.
Sambo, who was very much attached to his mistress, took the liberty of
cautioning her to be home again by nightfall, and muttered something
about "strange Injins" and wolves. Barton smiled at the fears of the
negro; but at the same time intimated that any possible danger might be
avoided by an early return.
"As for Indians," said he, "I haven't known many around here lately, and
they are all of the friendly sort. The King's Indians, as they are
called, have not been here, as I have known, since I have resided here.
As for wolves, they are sometimes dangerous, in winter; I have heard of
them pursuing people, at that season of the year, when they are
particularly voracious; but I never heard of such an instance so early
in the season--although it is possible that it might occur. But Ruth
knows the country," continued he, "and will know how to avoid any
dangers that are incident to it."
"I shall place myself wholly under the control of Miss Barton," said
Ralph; "she shall be both guide and guard."
"I can answer for the guide," replied Ruth, "if not for the guard. But I
have often taken the short excursion I proposed for to-day; and I will
promise to bring home Captain Weston safe and sound."
They mounted their horses, and proceeded slowly down the valley, along a
narrow path or road, but of sufficient width to allow two horses to
travel abreast. They had proceeded in this manner about a mile, in a
southerly direction, with little conversation, except such as was
suggested by their ride, when after rounding a hill which ran down
nearly to the river, they came in full view of the valley, which here
widened out into broad flats, and certainly offered to their observation
a high degree of beauty and attraction.
"Beyond the hill which you see yonder," said Ruth, "the valley attains a
much greater width. The river, on one side, flows at the base of the
eastern hills; and a pleasant stream, which, to translate the Indian
appellation, means a "swiftly running creek," flows at the base of the
hills on the west. At about a mile and a half below, they unite, and
finally empty into the Susquehanna. The excursion I proposed for to-day
was only to the spot where the junction of the two streams is formed. I
have been there a few times, and I have always been charmed with the
beauty of the place."
"The whole valley is beautiful," said Ralph, "beyond any ideas I
entertained before visiting it. Such a place will soon be populated. I
do not blame Ichabod for his schemes at speculation here; for with the
impulse which the country must now receive in population and wealth, so
beautiful and advantageous a region as this, will not long be
neglected."
They passed around the hill which Ruth had mentioned, where the valley,
as she had observed, became of a much greater width, wider than Ralph
had yet seen it. It was almost entirely covered with forest; although
here and there were places which had been partially cleared by the
savages, in former days. The forest in which they were encompassed shut
out any very extensive observation of the valley itself, except when
they were upon some of the high ground; but enough could be seen to give
one a good general idea of its shape and condition. The path had become
somewhat more narrow, and they were surrounded by a wilderness of
vegetation, which was peculiarly attractive to the eyes of Ralph and his
companion.
After about half an hour's further progress, they arrived at the place
which had been mentioned by Ruth. The river, just before it reaches the
spot where it receives the waters of the creek, makes a sudden turn to
the east, for about thirty rods, and then returns to nearly the same
point, in a north and south line, at a distance of only fifteen or
twenty rods, where the junction is formed. A portion of the waters of
the river, however escape from the main channel and flow directly
towards the south, making an island two or three acres in extent.
Having arrived at this spot, Ralph and his companion dismounted from
their horses, and fastening them to some small trees nearby, they gave
themselves up to the contemplation of the fine scenery around them. The
sun was then about an hour high, and the golden sunlight flashing upon
the variegated foliage of the forest--the calmness which reigned
undisturbed around them, the solitude of the wilderness in which they
were encompassed, all conspired to give a hue to feelings which both
possessed, but which they scarcely dared to breathe to each other.
"I have often dreamed," said Ralph, "of just such a spot as this. I am
something of a recluse by nature; but after all, I have some choice as
to the place of my isolation."
"I shall expect, then," answered Ruth, smiling, "to hear of Ralph
Weston, the hermit, occasionally, from those who may pass by here. Where
do you propose to establish your hermitage?"
"In truth, I cannot say," replied Ralph; "but I suppose it will be when
I, like the hermits of old, have become sufficiently disgusted with the
world, to make me fly from it with hatred; I will not fix the precise
time, just now--I will leave it to circumstances. But familiarity with
Nature--converse with the solitude of the forest, is the best antidote
to the disgust which many persons conceive of society. The man cannot be
all bad, who has any relish left in him for the beauties which Nature
can unfold to him."
"You are becoming very much of a philosopher, Captain Weston. You shall
have another title added to that of hermit. You shall be a philosophical
hermit."
"Ruth! you laugh at me! But you must pardon my caprice at the idea of a
forest life; for I am not much of a woodsman, you know. But I'll venture
to say, after all, that you agree with me."
"Yes," answered Ruth, earnestly, "I do like our new mode of life. We are
nearly shut out from the world,--but we have still a thousand pleasures,
perhaps the sweeter from our solitary position. We do not merely _find_
a home, we _create_ one. We see broad meadows starting out from the
forest, and know that they are ours by the best of titles--a reclamation
from the waste of Nature. I have often asked myself whether I would be
willing to abandon our present home for the old home in the settlements,
and I never yet could answer that I would."
"To a light, vain head," answered Ralph, "such a life would be tiresome;
but it seems to me, although how long the feeling would endure, I cannot
say--yet it seems to me, that the constant idea of dependence upon a
Power beyond and over men, which must be ever present to the minds of
those who dwell in the wilderness, would give life a higher and truer
aim, than can be attained in society. But familiarity with scenes like
these, blunts the mind, perhaps, and the idea is soon lost."
"I believe the remark is true," replied Ruth. "We cannot entirely forego
society, without injury to ourselves."
"Yes, perhaps it is so," said Ralph; "we can attain no such marvellous
degree of sentiment or independence as wholly to destroy our taste for
crowds and social intercourse. I think, after all, that if I were to
become a hermit, I should like a few familiar friends to share my
hermitage."
Ruth smiled as she replied, "your hermitage, then, Captain Weston, would
be a very different affair from the 'cave, rock and desert' of an
old-fashioned recluse, who
"'Had nought to do but feed on roots,
And gaze upon the stars!'"
"Were I ever to choose the 'rock, cave and desert,'" said Ralph, "I
believe I should wish my solitary life, after all, to be terminated, as
was the Solitude of Edwin, in the ballad of Goldsmith; that is, if I
could ever hope that any Angelina would seek the solitude I sought. But
I suppose that "Angelinas" are the creatures of poetry."
"And why not Edwins, too?" inquired Ruth, with an arch smile.
"And why, since we are asking questions," asked Ralph, with a look that
brought a blush to the cheek of his companion, "may I not ask Miss
Barton----"
But the question, however important to the happiness of either, or both
of them, was interrupted by a sudden rustling of dry underbrush in their
immediate vicinity, as if trodden upon by a hasty foot. Ralph turned
suddenly round, and beheld the ill-natured countenance of Guthrie before
him. The squatter stopped short, leaning upon his rifle, and said, with
an attempt at civility, but in a gruff tone:
"You're a _stranger_ in these parts, friend, and don't know that you may
find it a little _dangerous_ traveling through this forest by night."
"Dangerous, Guthrie! how so?" inquired Ruth.
"You, who live up at the cottage, Miss Ruth, mayn't know it, but the
wolves have been prowling around here in reg'lar troops, for a few days
past; and it will be dark now, afore you can get back to the cottage. I
had a set-to with a rascally troop of them, last night."
Ralph thanked Guthrie for his caution, although he was half angry at the
interruption, at that particular moment of time, and intimated to Ruth
that perhaps they had better return. Ruth assented, the horses were
unfastened, and they proceeded at a leisurely pace towards home,
although more rapidly than they had come.
The labor and perplexity of making their way along the rough path and
among the underbrush were such as to prevent any continued conversation.
By the time they had traveled half a mile, the sun, with a broad, ruddy
glow, had sunk behind the western hills. The twilight in the midst of
the forest soon gave way to a deep shade, which rendered their path
still more difficult.
Ralph, who had at first inwardly cursed the interruption made by
Guthrie, in a conversation which had reached a point most deeply
interesting to him, now almost wished that it had occurred a little
earlier. Ruth evidently entertained the same thought, for her
countenance exhibited much anxiety.
"Guthrie's advice was reasonable, most certainly," she said, "although
it was not given in the most civil manner."
"It was somewhat later than I thought," answered Ralph, "but we shall
reach home in an hour more, at least. But who is this Guthrie? I believe
I saw him at your father's on the night of my arrival."
"Nothing is known of him, with certainty," replied Ruth. "He has a
shanty somewhere below here, where he lives alone, subsisting upon such
game as he finds, and upon the trade he drives at the settlements. He is
supposed to have been a Tory, and to have been leagued with the Indians
of this region; although we merely suspect it--we do not know it."
"He has an ill-favored countenance. He wears one of those peculiar
faces, that we always distrust. Is he often at your father's?"
"Not very frequently; we entertained the same distrust of him you have
expressed, on first seeing him, and that feeling has rather increased
than diminished, with only a very short acquaintance."
"He has certainly rendered us a favor on this occasion," said Ralph, who
found their progress was momently becoming more difficult, as the
darkness increased.
It was just at this instant, that a long howl was heard at some distance
behind them, but apparently from the westward. In the stillness and
darkness which encompassed them, it had a melancholy and threatening
sound, which was far from agreeable. Scarcely a moment had elapsed ere
the howl which they had heard was answered from the opposite direction;
and almost simultaneously it seemed to be echoed by a hundred discordant
throats.
"The wolves!" exclaimed Ralph and Ruth, together. "But," said Ralph,
"perhaps they have not scented us, and we may have nothing to fear from
them."
"Heaven grant that it may be so," earnestly replied Ruth; but as if at
once to end their hopes, the cries were again heard, sharper and wilder.
Just at this moment the moon arose, and began to throw a misty and
uncertain light through the forest. Ralph seized the horse upon which
Ruth was mounted by the bits, and the animals were at once urged to the
greatest speed which the difficulties of their path would allow. The
horses themselves felt the alarm, and readily yielded to the impulse of
their riders.
The cries seemed now to be nearly half a mile behind them; and Ralph
hoped, at the least, to be able to arrive so near the house of Mr.
Barton, that assistance could be immediately afforded. But in spite of
all their exertions, the path was so intricate, owing to the thick
underbrush and the overhanging branches of trees, together with the
rough and uneven surface of the ground, that the utmost care was
necessary to prevent the falling of the horses, on the one hand, and to
guard against being thrown from them by the branches which were
constantly projecting before them, on the other.
On they rode, with as much rapidity as the utmost limit of safety would
allow. They well knew that their only hope of safety depended upon their
being able to keep mounted and in flight; for were any accident to
happen to their horses, they would be left, in the midst of the
wilderness, at the mercy of the ferocious beasts that were on their
track. But their pursuers gained upon them; the howls which but a few
moments since seemed fully half a mile behind, were now evidently within
a much less distance. The woods appeared to be alive with their enemies.
The discordant cries filled every avenue of sound. Faster, faster ran
the horses--but still nearer approached the sound of the cowardly
pack--cowardly when few in numbers, but savage in multitude.
The moonlight lay in scattered patches in the forest, but every shadow
seemed occupied by an enemy. The pursuers had now approached so near,
that Ralph could hear the crackling of the dry underbrush and branches,
over and through which they ran, amidst the noise of their cries.
Looking behind him, he saw the leaders of the pack leaping upon their
track, and in the moonlight saw, with terrible distinctness, their
glaring eyes and protruded tongues. The horses strained every muscle,
quivering with affright, but the wolves were approaching--were almost
upon them! Snatching, with a hurried hand, a shawl from the shoulders of
Ruth, he threw it behind them. For a moment the chase ceased; and with
wild, ferocious cries, the pack gathered around the object which had
been so opportunely offered to them. At that instant, when the last hope
had nearly vanished, the eyes of the travelers encountered in the path
before them the form of an Indian, who, with outstretched arms,
requested them to stop. In a moment they approached him, when with a
rapid utterance, he exclaimed:
"Me friend; me Tuscarora--come!" and suddenly seizing the horses by the
bits, he led them three or four rods from the path, where they saw
before them, in the midst of the forest, a small log hut; although in an
extremely ruinous condition, it afforded the protection which, but a
few minutes before, seemed utterly withheld from them.
Again were heard the cries of the wolves, and the noise of their
approach! Ralph leaped from his horse, and at once lifted Ruth from the
saddle, who, until that moment, had preserved her courage and fortitude,
but now fell fainting into his arms. He bore her instantly into the hut,
where the Tuscarora rapidly brought in the horses after them; and the
door was closed, just as the ferocious pack came rushing into the open
space before the hut.