Meanwhile the preparations for the departure of the expedition for the
Miami were rapidly completing. To the majority of the regular force of
the two garrisons were added several companies of militia, and a
considerable body of Indians, under Tecumseh--the two former portions of
the force being destined to advance by water, the latter by land. The
spring had been unusually early, and the whole of April remarkably warm;
on some occasions sultry to oppressiveness--as for instance on the
morning of the tempest. They were now in the first days of the last week
of that month, and everywhere, quick and luxuriant vegetation had
succeeded to the stubborn barrenness and monotony of winter. Not a
vestige of that dense mass of ice which, three months previously, had
borne them over lake and river, was now to be seen. The sun danced
joyously and sportively on the golden wave, and where recently towered
the rugged surface of the tiny iceberg, the still, calm, unbroken level
of the mirroring lake was only visible. On the beach, just below the
town, and on a line with the little fleet, that lay at anchor between
the island and the main, were drawn up numerous batteaux, ready for the
reception of the troops, while on the decks of two gun-boats, that were
moored a few yards without them, were to be seen the battering train and
entrenching tools intended to accompany the expedition. Opposite to each
batteau was kindled a fire, around which were grouped the _voyageurs_
composing the crew, some dividing their salt pork or salt fish upon
their bread, with a greasy clasped knife, and quenching the thirst
excited by this with occasional libations from tin cans, containing a
mixture of water and the poisonous distillation of the country,
miscalled whiskey. In other directions, those who had dined sat puffing
the smoke from their dingy pipes, while again, they who had sufficiently
luxuriated on the weed, might be seen sleeping, after the manner of the
Indians, with their heads resting on the first rude pillow that offered
itself, and their feet close upon the embers of the fire on which they
had prepared their meal. The indolence of inactivity was more or less
upon all, but it was the indolence consequent on previous exertion, and
a want of further employment. The whole scene was characteristic of the
peculiar manners of the French Canadian boatmen.
Since the morning of the long and partial explanation between the
brothers, no further allusion had been made to the forbidden subject.
Henry saw, with unfeigned satisfaction, that Gerald not only abstained
from the false excitement to which he had hitherto had recourse, but
that he apparently sought to rally against his dejection. It is true
that whenever he chanced to surprise him alone, he observed him pale,
thoughtful, and full of care, but, as he invariably endeavored to hide
the feeling at his approach, he argued favorably even from the effort.
Early on the day previous to that of the sailing of the expedition,
Gerald asked leave for a visit of a few hours to Detroit, urging a
desire to see the family of his uncle, who still remained quartered at
that post, and whom he had not met since his return from captivity. This
had been readily granted by the Commodore, in whom the change in the
health and spirits of his young favorite had excited both surprise and
concern, and who, anxious for his restoration, was ready to promote
whatever might conduce to his comfort. He had even gone so far as to
hint the propriety of his relinquishing his intention of accompanying
the expedition, (which was likely to be attended with much privation and
exposure to those engaged in it), and suffering another officer to be
substituted to his command, while he remained at home to recruit his
health. But Gerald heard the well meant proposal with ill disguised
impatience, and he replied with a burning cheek, that if his absence for
a day could not be allowed without inconvenience to the service, he was
ready to submit; but, as far as regarded his making one of the
expedition, nothing short of a positive command should compel him to
remain behind. Finding him thus obstinate, the Commodore good humoredly
called him a silly, wilful, fellow, and bade him have his own way;
however he felt confident that, if he accompanied the Miami expedition
in his then state of health, he never would return from it.
Gerald submitted it was probable enough he should not, but, although he
deeply felt the kindness of his Commander's motive in wishing him to
remain, he was not the less determined, since the matter was left to his
own choice, to go where his duty led him. Then, promising to be back
long before the hour fixed for sailing the ensuing day, he warmly
pressed the cordially extended hand, and soon afterwards, accompanied by
Sambo, whose skill as a rider was in no way inferior to his dexterity as
a steersman, mounted a favorite horse, and was soon far on his road to
Detroit.
Towards midnight of that day, two men were observed by the American
tanner to enter by the gate that led into the grounds of the cottage,
and, after lingering for a few moments, near the graves to which
tradition had attached so much of the marvellous, to disappear round the
angle of the building into the court behind. Curiosity induced him to
follow and watch their movements, and, although he could not refrain
from turning his head at least a dozen times, as if expecting at each
moment to encounter some dread inhabitant of the tomb, he at length
contrived to place himself in the very position in which Gerald had
formerly been a witness of the attempt at assassination. From the same
window now flashed a strong light upon the court below, and by this the
features of the officer and his servant were distinctly revealed to the
astonished tanner, who, ignorant of their return, and scarcely knowing
whether he gazed upon the living or the dead, would have fled, had he
not, as he afterwards confessed, been rooted by fear, and a species of
fascination, to the spot. The appearance and actions of the parties
indeed seemed to justify, not only the delusion, but the alarm of the
worthy citizen. Both Gerald and Sambo were disguised in large dark
cloaks, and as the light fell upon the thin person and pale, attenuated,
sunken countenance of the former, he could scarcely persuade himself
this was the living man, who a few months before, rich in beauty and in
health, had questioned him of the very spot in which he now, under such
strange circumstances, beheld him. Nor was the appearance of the negro
more assuring. Filled with the terror that ever inspired him on
approaching this scene of past horrors, his usually dark cheek wore the
dingy paleness characteristic of death in one of his color, while every
muscle, stiff, set, contracted by superstitious fear, seemed to have
lost all power of relaxation. The solemnity moreover of the manner of
both, was in strict keeping with their personal appearance, so that it
can scarcely be wondered that in a mind not the strongest nor the most
free from a belief in the supernatural, a due quantum of awe and alarm
should have been instilled. Fear, however, had not wholly subdued
curiosity, and even while trembling to such a degree that he could
scarcely keep his teeth from chattering, the tanner followed with eager
eye the movements of those he knew not whether to look upon as ghosts or
living beings. The room was exactly in the state in which we last
described it, with this difference merely, that the table, on which the
lamp and books had been placed now lay overturned, as if in the course
of some violent scuffle, and its contents distributed over the floor.
The bed still remained, in the same corner, unmade, and its covering
tossed. It was evident no one had entered the apartment since the night
of the attempted assassination.
The first act of Gerald, who bore the light, followed closely by Sambo,
was to motion the latter to raise the fallen table. When this was done
he placed his lamp upon it, and sinking upon the foot of the bed, and
covering his eyes with his hands, seemed utterly absorbed in bitter
recollections. The negro, meanwhile, an apparent stranger to the scene,
cast his eyes around him with the shrinking caution of one who finds
himself in a position of danger, and fears to encounter some terrific
sight, then, as if the effort was beyond his power, he drew the collar
of his cloak over his face, and shuffling to get as near as possible to
the bed as though in the act he came more immediately under the
protection of him who sat upon it, awaited, in an attitude of
statue-like immobility, the awakening of his master from his reverie.
Gerald at length withdrew his hands from his pallid face, on which the
glare of the lamp rested forcibly, and, with a wild look and low, but
imperative voice, bade the old negro seat himself beside him still lower
on the bed.
"Sambo," he inquired abruptly--"how old were you when the Indian
massacre took place near this spot. You were then, I think I have heard
it stated, the servant of Sir Everard Valletort?"
The old negro looked aghast. It was long since direct allusion had been
made to his unfortunate master or the events of that period. Questioned
in such a spot, and at such an hour, he could not repress the feeling of
terror conjured up by the allusion. Scarcely daring to exceed a whisper,
he answered.
"Oh Massa Geral, for Hebben's sake no talkee dat. It berry long time
ago, and break poor nigger heart to tink ob it----"
"But I insist on knowing," returned Gerald loudly and peremptorily;
"were you old enough to recollect the curse that poor heart-broken
woman, Ellen Halloway, uttered on all our race, and if so what was it?"
"No, Massa Geral, I no sabby dat. Sambo den only piccaninny, and Sir
Ebbered make him top in he fort--oh berry bad times dat, Massa Geral.
Poor Frank Hallabay he shot fust, because he let he grandfadder out ob
he fort, and den ebery ting go bad--berry bad indeed."
"But the curse of Ellen Halloway, Sambo, you must have heard of it
surely--even if you were not present at the utterance. Did she not," he
continued, finding that the other replied not: "Did she not pray that
the blood of my great grandfather's children might be spilt on the very
spot that had been moistened with that of her ill-fated husband--and,
that if any of the race should survive, it might be only with a view to
their perishing in some horrible manner. Was not this the case?"
"Oh yes, Massa Geral, berry bad tongue Ellen, affer he lose he
husband--but, poor ting, he half mad and no sabby what he say. He time
to start for he gun-boat, Massa Geral."
The part Sambo had sustained in this short dialogue was a forced one. He
had answered almost mechanically, and not altogether without
embarrassment, the few queries that were put to him. Nay, so far was he
governed by surrounding local influences, that the anguish he would,
under other circumstances, have experienced, at this raking up of
recollections he so sedulously avoided, was lost in terror, produced by
his near and midnight propinquity to the fatal theatre of death. His
only idea now was to leave the spot as quickly as he could.
Gerald had again covered his face with his hands, and appeared to be
laboring under strong agitation of mind. At length he started abruptly
up, and seizing the light, held it forward, stooping over the bed, as if
gazing fixedly on some object within.
"No," he said with vehemence, "it shall never be. That part of the
malediction, at least, shall _not_ be accomplished. For once shall the
curse of the innocent be unheeded."
The strange action and words of the excited officer, by no means
contributed to allay the nervousness of the brave but superstitious
negro. He had approached as near as he could to Gerald, without actually
touching him, but when he remarked his abrupt movement, and heard the
sudden outburst feeling which accompanied it, he half fancied he was
apostrophizing some spirit visible only to himself, and shocked and
terrified at this idea, he turned away his head.
Sambo's alarm was not to terminate here. Scarcely had he bent his glance
upon the window when he beheld two glaring eyes, magnified by his fear
into thrice their natural size, fixed intently on that part of the room
in which they stood. He attempted to cry out, but the sound was stifled
in his throat, and he sank upon his knees, holding up his hands in an
attitude of prayer--his teeth chattering, and his eyes fascinated by
those which had produced in him this paroxysm of terror. Presently he
thought he saw a mouth open, and a row of large and ragged teeth display
themselves in a grin of derision. With a desperate effort he broke the
spell that seemed to enchain every faculty, and called piteously and
imploringly on the name of Gerald. The officer, who had continued gazing
on the untenanted bed in deep abstraction, and seeming forgetfulness of
all surrounding objects, turned hastily round, and was much concerned to
observe the terrified expression of the old man's countenance. Following
the direction of his fixed gaze, he looked toward the window for a
solution of the cause. At that moment a noise was heard without, as of a
falling body. Gerald sprang towards the window, and hastily lifting it,
thrust the lamp through; but nothing was visible, neither was there
sound of footsteps to be heard.
Before daybreak on the following morning, the poor old negro, whom no
living danger could daunt, had given but too alarming evidence that his
reason was utterly alienated. His ravings were wild and fearful, and
nothing could remove the impression that the face he had beheld was that
of the once terrible Wacousta--the same face which had presented itself,
under such extraordinary circumstances, at the window of the Canadian's
hut, on the night of the departure of his master, Sir Everard Valletort,
and Captain De Haldimer, for Michillimackinac in 1763. Nay, so rooted
was this belief, that, with the fervor of that zeal which had governed
his whole life and conduct towards each succeeding generation of the
family, he prayed and obtained, during a momentary gleam of reason, the
promise of the much shocked Gerald, that he would never again set foot
within the precincts of these fatal grounds.
Inexpressibly grieved as Gerald was at this sad and unexpected
termination to his adventure, he had no time to linger near his
unfortunate servant. The expedition was to set out in a few hours, and
he had too completely bent his mind upon accompanying it to incur the
slightest chance of a disappointment. Leaving the faithful and
unfortunate creature to the care of his uncle's family, by every member
of whom he was scarcely less loved than by himself, he took the ferry to
the opposite shore within an hour after daybreak, and made such speed
that, when Henry came down to breakfast he found, to his surprise, his
brother already there.
During his ride, Gerald had had leisure to reflect on the events of the
preceding night, and bitterly did he regret having yielded to a
curiosity which had cost the unfortunate Sambo so much. He judged
correctly that they had been followed in their nocturnal excursion, and
that it was the face of some prying visitant which Sambo's superstitious
dread had transformed into a hideous vision of the past. He recalled the
insuperable aversion the old man had ever entertained to approach or
even make mention of the spot, and greatly did he blame himself for
having persisted in offering a violence to his nature, the extent of
which had been made so fearfully obvious. It brought no consolation to
him to reflect that the spot itself contained nought that should have
produced so alarming an effect on a mind properly constituted. He felt
that, knowing his weakness as he did, he ought not to have trifled with
it, and could not deny to himself, that in enforcing his attendance,
with a view to obtain information on several points connected with the
past, he had been indirectly the destroyer of his reason. There had been
a season when the unhappy sailor would have felt a sorrow even deeper
than he did, but Gerald was indeed an altered being--too much rapt in
himself to give heed to others.
The painful nature of his reflections, added to the fatigue he had
undergone, had given to his countenance a more than usually haggard
expression. Henry remarked it and inquired the cause, when his brother,
in a few brief sentences, explained all that had occurred during his
absence. Full of affection as he was for the old man, and utterly
unprepared for such a communication, Henry could not avoid expressing
deep vexation that his brother, aware as he was of the peculiar weakness
of their aged friend, should have been inconsiderate enough to have
drawn him thither. Gerald felt the reproof to be just, and for that very
reason grew piqued under it. Pained as he was at the condition of Sambo,
Henry was even more distressed at witnessing the apparent apathy of his
brother for the fate of one who had not merely saved his life on a
recent occasion, but had evinced a devotedness--a love for him--in every
circumstance of life, which seldom had had their parallel in the annals
of human servitude. It was in vain that he endeavored to follow the
example of Gerald, who, having seated himself at the breakfast table,
was silently appeasing an appetite such as he had not exhibited since
his return. Incapable of swallowing his food, Henry paced up and down
the room, violently agitated and sick at heart. It seemed to him as if
Sambo had been a sort of connecting link between themselves and the
departed parents; and now that he was suddenly and fearfully afflicted,
he thought he could see in the vista of futurity a long train of evils
that threw their shadows before, and portended the consummation of some
unknown, unseen affliction, having its origin in the incomprehensible
alienation of his brother's heart from the things of his early love.
While he was yet indulging in these painful thoughts, the firing of a
gun from the harbor--the signal for the embarkation of the
troops--brought both Gerald and himself to a sense of other
considerations. The latter was the first to quit the house. "Henry," he
said, with much emotion, "God bless you. It is possible that, as our
service lies in different lines, we shall see but little of each other
during this expedition. Of one thing, however, be assured--that although
I am an unhappy man, I am anything but dead to feeling.--Henry," he
continued pressing his hand with warmth, "think not unkindly hereafter
of your poor brother Gerald." A long embrace, in which each, although in
silence, seemed to blend heart with heart, ensued, and both greatly
relieved, as they always were after this generous expansion of their
feelings, separated forthwith whither their respective duties summoned
them.