There was a time, when to have met his father's enemy thus would have
been to have called into activity all the dormant fierceness of Gerald's
nature; but since they had last parted, a new channel had been opened to
his feelings, and the deep and mysterious grief in which we have seen
him shrouded had been of so absorbing and selfish a nature, as to leave
him little consideration for sorrows not his own. The rash impetuosity
of his former character, which had often led him to act even before he
thought, and to resent an injury before it could well be said to have
been offered, had moreover given place to a self-command, the fruit of
the reflective habits and desire of concealment which had made him
latterly almost a stranger to himself.
Whatever his motives for outwardly avoiding all recognition of the
settler, certain it is that, so far from this, he sought sedulously to
conceal his own identity, by drawing the slouched hat, which formed a
portion of his new equipment, lower over his eyes. Left to do the duties
of the rude hostelry, Captain Jackson and he now quitted the hut, and
leading their jaded, smoking steeds, a few rods off to the verge of the
plain they had so recently traversed, prepared to dispose of them for
the night. Gerald had by this time become too experienced in the mode of
travelling through an American wilderness, not to understand, that he
who expects to find a companion in his horse in the morning must duly
secure him with the tether at night. Following, therefore, the example
of the Aide-de-camp, he applied himself, amid the still pelting rain, to
the not very cleanly task of binding round the fetlock joints of his
steed several yards of untanned hide strips, with which they were
severally provided for the purpose. Each gave his steed a parting slap
on the buttock with the hard bridle. Jackson exclaiming, "Go ye
luxurious beasts--ye have a whole prairie of wet grass to revel in for
the night," and then left them to make the best of their dainty food.
While returning, Grantham took occasion to observe, that he had reason
to think he knew the surly and inhospitable woodsman, by whom however he
was not desirous of being recognised, and therefore begged as a favor
that Captain Jackson would not, in the course of the night, mention his
name, or even allude to him in any way that could lead to an inference
that he was any other than he seemed, a companion and brother officer of
his own; promising, in conclusion, to give him, in the course of the
next day's journey, some little history of the man which would fully
explain his motives. With this request Jackson unhesitatingly promised
compliance, adding, good-humoredly, that he was not sorry to pledge
himself to anything that would thaw his companion's tongue into
sociability, and render himself, for the first time since their
departure, a listener. Before entering the hut Gerald further observed
in a whisper that, the better to escape recognition, he would, as much
as possible, avoid joining in any conversation which might ensue, and
therefore hoped his companion would not think him rude if he suffered
him to bear the tax. Jackson again promised to keep the attention of the
woodsman directed as much as possible to himself, observing that he
thought Gerald had already, to his cost, discovered he was one not
easily tired out by conversation, should their host be that way
inclined.
On opening the door of the cabin, they found that the woodsman--or more
properly the settler, as we shall again term him--making a virtue of
necessity, had somewhat changed its interior. A number of fine logs,
sufficient to last throughout the night had been heaped upon the hearth,
and these, crackling and fizzing, and emitting sparks in all the burly
of a hickory wood fire, gave promise of a night of comparative comfort.
Ensconced in the farther corner of the chimney, the settler had already
taken his seat, and, regardless of the entrance of the strangers, (with
his elbows resting on his knees, and his face buried in his large
palms,) kept his eyes fixed upon the fire, as if with a sullen
determination neither to speak nor suffer himself to be questioned. But
the Aide-de-camp was by no means disposed to humor him in his fancy. The
idea of passing some eight or ten consecutive hours in company with two
fellow beings, without calling into full play the bump of loquacity with
which nature had largely endowed him, was, in his view, little better
than the evil from which his perseverance had just enabled him to
escape. Making himself perfectly at home, he unbuckled the wet blanket
from his loins and spreading it, with that of Gerald, to dry upon the
rude floor before the fire, drew forward a heavy uncouth-looking table,
(which, with two or three equally unpolished chairs, formed the whole of
the furniture,) and deposited thereon the wallet or haversack in which
remained a portion of provision. He then secured the last vacant chair,
and taking up a position on the right of the table which lay between
himself and Gerald, let it fall upon the dry clay hearth, with a
violence that caused the settler to quit his attitude of abstraction for
one of anger and surprise.
"Sorry to disturb you, friend," he said, "but these chairs of yours are
so cursed heavy, there's no handling them decently; 'specially with cold
fingers."
"Beggars, I reckon, have no right to be choosers," returned the settler;
"the chairs is quite good enough for me--and no one axed you to sit on
'em."
"I'll tell you what it is, old cock," continued the Aide-de-camp, edging
his seat closer, and giving his host a smart friendly slap upon the
thigh, "this dull life of yours don't much improve your temper. Why, as
I am a true Tennessee man, bred and born, I never set eyes upon such a
crab-apple in all my life--you'd turn a whole dairy of the sweetest milk
that ever came from prairie-grass sour in less than no time. I take it
you must be crossed in love, old boy--eh?"
"Crossed in hell," returned the settler, savagely; "I reckon as how it
don't consarn you whether I look sour or sweet--what you want is a
night's lodgin', and you've got it--so don't trouble me no more."
"Very sorry, but I shall," said Jackson, secretly congratulating himself
that, now he had got the tongue of his host in motion, he had a fair
chance of keeping it so. "I must trouble you for some bread, and
whatever else your larder may afford. I'll pay you honestly for it,
friend."
"I should guess," said the settler, his stern features brightening for
the first time into a smile of irony, "as how a man who had served a
campaign agin the Ingins and another agin the British, might contrive to
do without sich a luxury as bread. You'll find no bread here, I reckon."
"What, not even a bit of corn bread? Try, my old cock, and rummage up a
crust or two, for hung beef is devilish tight work for the teeth,
without a little bread of some sort for a relish."
"If you'd ha' used your eyes, you'd ha' seen nothin' like a corn patch
for twenty mile round about this. Bread never entered this hut since I
have been here. I don't eat it."
"More's the pity," replied Jackson, with infinite drollery; "but though
you may not like it yourself, your friends may."
"I _have_ no friends--I _wish_ to have no friends!" was the sullen
reply.
"More's the pity still," pursued the Aide-de-camp. "But what do you live
on, then, old cock, if you don't eat bread?"
"Human flesh. Take that as a relish to your hung beef."
Scarcely had the strange expression escaped the settler's lips, when
Jackson, active as a deer, was at the farther end of the hut, one hand
holding the heavy chair as a shield before him, the other placed upon
the butt of one of his pistols. The former at the same moment quitted
his seat, and stretching his tall and muscular form to its utmost
height, burst into a laugh that sounded more like that of some wild
beast than a human being. The involuntary terror produced in his guest
was evidently a source of exultation to him, and he seemed gratified to
think he had at length discovered the means of making himself looked
upon with something like fear.
On entering the hut, Gerald had taken his seat at the opposite corner of
the fire, yet in such a manner as to admit of his features being shaded
by the projection of the chimney. The customs of the wilderness,
moreover, rendering it neither offensive, nor even worthy of remark,
that he should retain his hat, he had, as in the first instance, drawn
it as much over his eyes as he conceived suited to his purpose of
concealment, without exciting a suspicion of his design; and, as the
alteration in his dress was calculated to deceive into a belief of his
being an American, he had been enabled to observe the settler without
much fear of recognition in return. A great change had taken place in
the manner of Desborough. Ferocious he still was, but it was a ferocity
wholly unmixed with the cunning of his former years, that he now
exhibited. He had evidently suffered much, and there was a stamp of
thought on the heavy countenance that Gerald had never remarked there
before. There was also this anomaly in the man--that while ten years
appeared to have been added to his age, his strength was increased in
the same proportion--a change that made itself evident by the attitude
in which he stood.
"Why now I take it you must be jesting," at length exclaimed the
Aid-de-camp, doubtingly, dropping at the same time the chair upon the
floor, yet keeping it before him as though not quite safe in the
presence of this self-confessed anthropophagos; "you surely don't mean
to say you kill and pickle every unfortunate traveller that comes by
here. If so, I must apprehend you in the name of the United States
Government."
"I rather calculate not, Mister," sneered the settler. "Besides, I don't
eat the United States subjects; consequently they've no claim to
interfere."
"Who the devil do you eat, then?" asked Jackson, gathering courage with
his curiosity, and advancing a pace or two nearer the fire, "or is it
all a hum?"
The settler approached the fire, stooped a little, and applying his
shoulder to the top of the opening, thrust his right hand and arm up the
chimney.
"I reckon that's no hum," he said, producing and throwing upon the table
a piece of dark, dry flesh, that resembled in appearance the upper part
of a human arm. "If you're fond of a relisn," he pursued, with a fierce
laugh, "you'll find that mighty well suited to the palate--quite as
sweet as a bit of smok'd venison."
"Why, you don't really mean to say that's part of a man?" demanded
Jackson, advancing cautiously to the table, and turning over the
shrivelled mass with the point of his dagger. "Why, I declare, its just
the color of my dried beef."
"But I do though--and what's more, of my own killin' and dryin'. Purty
naturist you must be, not to see that's off an Ingin's arm!"
"Oh, an Ingin's only, is it?" returned the Aid-de-camp, whose
apprehension began rapidly to subside, now that he had obtained the
conviction that it was not the flesh of a white man. "Well, I'm sure!
who'd have thought it? I take it, old cock, you've been in the wars as
well as myself."
"A little or so, I reckon, and I expect to be in them agin shortly--as
soon as my stock of food's out. I've only a thigh bone to pick after
this, and then I'm off. But why don't you take your seat at the fire.
There's nothin' so out of the way in the sight of a naked arm, is there?
I reckon, if you're a soger, you must have seen many a one lopped off in
the wars."
"Yes, friend," said Jackson, altering the position of the table and
placing it between the settler and himself; "a good many lopped off, as
you say, and in a devil of a stew, but not exactly eaten. However, be so
good as to return this to the chimney, and when I've eaten something
from my bag, I'll listen to what you have to say about it."
"Jist so, and go without my own supper, I suppose, to please you. But
tarnation, while you're eatin' a bit of your hung beef, I'll try a snack
of mine."
So saying, he deliberately took from the table the dried arm he had
previously flung there, and, removing a large clasp knife from a pocket
beneath his coarse hunting frock, proceeded to help himself to several
thin slices, corresponding precisely in appearance with those which the
Aid-de-camp divided in the same manner.
Jackson had managed to swallow three or four pieces of his favorite hung
beef with all the avidity of an appetite rendered keen by the absence of
every other stimulant than hunger; but no sooner did he perceive his
host fastening with a degree of fury on his unnatural food, than, sick
and full of loathing, his stomach rejected further aliment, and he was
compelled to desist. During all this time, Grantham, who, although he
had assumed the manner and attitude of a sleeping man, was a watchful
observer of all that passed, neither moved nor uttered a syllable,
except on one occasion to put away from him the food Jackson had
offered.
"Sorry to see your ride has given you so poor an appetite," said the
settler, with a look expressive of the savage delight he felt in
annoying his visitor, "I reckon that's rather unsavory stuff you've got
there, that you can't eat it without bread. I say, young man,"
addressing Grantham, "can't you find no appetite neither, that you sit
there snorin', as if you never meant to wake agin."
Gerald's head sunk lower on his chest, and his affectation of slumber
became more profound.
"Try a drop of this," said Jackson, offering his canteen, after having
drank himself, and with a view to distract attention from his companion.
"You seem to have no liquor in the house, and I take it you require
something hot as h--ll, and strong as d--n----n, after that ogre-like
repast of yours."
The settler seized the can, and raised it to his lips. It contained some
of the fiery whiskey we have already described as the common beverage in
most parts of America. This, all powerful as it was, he drained off as
though it had been water, and with the greedy avidity of one who finds
himself suddenly restored to the possession of a favorite and long
absent drink.
"Hollo, my friend!" exclaimed the angry Aid-de-camp, who had watched the
rapid disappearance of his "traveller's best companion," as he quaintly
enough termed it, down the capacious gullet of the woodman--and
snatching at the same moment the nearly emptied canteen from his hands.
"I take it, that's not handsome. As I'm a true Tennessee man, bred and
born, it aint at all hospitable to empty off a pint of raw liquor at a
spell, and have not so much as a glass of metheglin to offer in return.
What the h--ll do you suppose we're to do to-morrow for drink, during a
curst long ride through the wood, and not a house of call till nightfall
along the road?"
The ruffian drew a breath long and heavy in proportion to the draught he
had swallowed, and when his lungs had again recovered their play,
answered, blusteringly, in a voice that betokened incipient
intoxication:
"Roar me up a saplin', Mister, but you're mighty stingy of the Wabash. I
reckon as how I made you a free offer of my food, and it warn't no fault
of mine if you didn't choose to take it. It would only have been relish
for relish, after all--and that's what I call fair swap."
"Well, no matter," said Jackson, soothingly; "what's done can't be
undone, therefore I take it its no use argufying--however, my old cock,
when next you get the neck of a canteen of mine 'twixt your lips, I hope
it may do the cockles of your heart good; that's all. But let's hear how
you came by them pieces of nigger's flesh, and how it is you've taken it
into your head to turn squatter here. You seem," glancing around, "to
have no sleeping room to spare, and one may as well sit up and chat, as
have one's bones bruised to squash on the hard boards."
"It's a sad tale," said the settler gruffly and with a darkening brow,
"and brings bitter thoughts with it; but as the liquor has cheered me up
a bit, I don't much mind if I do tell you how I skivered the varmint.
Indeed," he pursued savagely, "that always gives me a pleasure to think
of, for I owed them a desperate grudge--the bloody red skins and imps of
hell. I was on my way to Detroit, to see the spot once more where my
poor boy Phil lay rootin', and one dark night (for I only ventured to
move at night), I came slick upon two Ingins as was lying fast asleep
before their fire in a deep ravine. The one nearest to me had his face
unkivered, and I knew the varmint for the tall dark Delaweer chief as
made one of the party after poor Phil and me, a sight that made me
thirst for the blood of the heathens as a child for mother's milk.
Well, how do you think I managed them. I calculate you'd never guess.
Why, I stole, as quiet as a fox until I got jist atween them, and then
holdin' a cocked pistol to each breast, I called out in a thunderin'
voice that made the woods ring agin, Kit-chimocomon, which you know, as
you've been in the wars, signifies long knife or Yankee. You'd a laugh'd
fit to split your sides I guess, to see the stupid stare of the devils,
as startin' out of their sleep, they saw a pistol within three inches of
each of 'em. 'Ugh,' says they, as if they did'nt know well whether to
take it as a joke or not. 'Yes, 'ugh' and be damn'd to you,' say's I:
you may go and 'ugh' in hell next--and with that snap went the triggers,
and into their curst carcasses went the balls. The one I killed outright
but t'other, the Delaweer chief, was by a sudden shift only slightly
wounded, and he sprung on his feet and out with his knife. But I had a
knife too, and all a disappointed father's rage to boot, so at it we
went closin' and strikin' with our knives like two fierce fiends of the
forest. It was noble sport sure_ly_. At last the Delaweer fell over the
bleedin' body of his warrior and I top of him. As he fell the knife
dropped from his hand and he could'nt reach it no how, while I still
gripped mine fast. 'Ugh,' he muttered again, as if askin' to know what I
meant to do next. 'Ugh,' and be damned to you once more, say's I--and
the pint of my long knife was soon buried in his black heart. Then, when
I see them both dead I eat my own meal at their fire, for I was
tarnation hungry, and while I was eatin' a thought came across me that
it would be good fun to make smoked meat of the varmint, so when I
tucked it in purty considerably, what with hominy and dried bear's meat,
moistened with a little Wabash I found in the Delaweer chief's canteen,
I set to and regularly quartered them. The trunks I left behind, but the
limbs I packed up in the blankets that had been used to kiver them, I
reckon; and with them slung across my shoulders, like a saddle bag
across a horse, I made tracks through the swamps and the prairies for
this here hut, which I know'd no livin' soul had been nigh for many a
long year. And now," he concluded with a low drunken laugh, "you've the
history of the dried meat. There isn't much left but when all is gone
I'm off to the wars, for I can't find no peace I reckon without my poor
boy Phil." He paused a moment, and then as if suddenly influenced by
some painful recollection, he struck his hand with startling violence
upon the table, and, while every feature of his iron countenance seemed
worked up to a pitch of intensity, added with fearful calmness, "May
God's curse light upon me if I don't have my revenge of them Granthams
yet:--yes," he continued with increased excitement of voice and manner,
while he kicked one of the blazing hickory logs in the chimney with all
the savageness of drunken rage, causing a multitude of sparks to spit
forth as from the anvil of a smith.--"jist so would I kick them both to
hell for having murdered my poor boy."
"Why, surely, Liftenant Grantham, he can't meant you?" abruptly
questioned the Aid-de-camp, drawing back his chair and resting the palms
of his hands upon his knees, while he fixed his eye keenly and
inquiringly upon Gerald.
But Gerald had no time to answer him--Scarcely had the name escaped the
lips of the incautious Jackson, when a yell of exultation from the
woodman drew him quickly to his feet, and in the next moment he felt one
hand of his enemy grappling at his throat, while the fingers of the
other were rapidly insinuating themselves into the hair that shadowed
one of his temples, with the evident intention to "gouge" him. Weak and
emaciated as he was, Gerald was soon made sensible of the disproportion
of physical strength thus suddenly brought into the struggle, and as the
savage laugh of the man, as his fingers wound themselves closer and
closer within the clustering hair, proclaimed his advantage, he felt
that his only chance of saving the threatened eye was by having recourse
to some sudden and desperate attempt to free himself from the gripe of
his opponent. Summoning all his strength into one vigorous effort, he
rushed forward upon his enemy with such force, raising himself at the
same time in a manner to throw the whole weight of his person upon him,
that the latter reeled backwards several paces without the power of
resistance, and falling over the table towards which he had been
intentionally propelled, sank with a heavy crash to the floor, still
however retaining his firm hold of his enemy, and dragging him after
him.
Half throttled, maddened with pain, and even more bitterly stung by a
sense of the humiliating position in which he found himself, the
feelings of Gerald became uncontrollable, until his anxiety to inflict a
mortal injury upon his enemy became in the end as intense as that of the
settler. In their fall the table had been overturned, and with it the
knife which Desborough had used with his horrid repast. As the light
from the blazing fire fell upon the blade, it had once caught the
unassailed eye of the officer, and was the next moment clutched in his
grasp. He raised it with a determination, inspired by the agony he
endured, at once to liberate himself and to avenge his father's murder,
but the idea that there was something assassin-like in the act as
suddenly arrested him, and ere he had time to obey a fresh impulse of
his agony, the knife was forcibly stricken from his hand. A laugh of
triumph burst from the lips of the half intoxicated Desborough, but it
was scarcely uttered before it was succeeded by a yell of pain, and the
hand that had contrived to entwine itself, with resistless force and
terrible intent, in the waving hair of the youth, fell suddenly from its
grasp, enabling its victim at length to free himself altogether and
start once more to his feet.
Little more than a minute had been passed in the enactment of this
strange scene. The collision, the overthrow, the upraising of the knife
had followed each other in such rapid succession that, until the last
desperate intention of Gerald was formed, the Aid-de-camp had not had
time to interpose himself in any way between the enraged combatants. His
first action had been to strike away the murderous knife with the heavy
butt of one of his pistols, the other to plant such a blow upon the
"gouging" hand of the settler from the same butt, as effectually to
compel him to relinquish his ferocious clutch. In both objects, as we
have seen, he fully succeeded.
But although his right hand had been utterly disabled by the blow from
Jackson's pistol, the fury of Desborough, fed as it was by the fumes of
the liquor he had swallowed, was too great to render him heedful of
aught but the gratification of his vengeance. Rolling rapidly over to
the point where the knife had fallen he secured it in his left hand, and
then, leaping nimbly to his feet, gathered himself into a spring upon
his unarmed but watchful enemy. But before the bound could be taken, the
active Aid-de-camp, covering Gerald with his body and presenting a
cocked pistol, had again thwarted him in his intention.
"I say now, old cock, you'd much better be quiet I guess, for them sort
of tantrums won't suit me. If this here Liftenant killed your son why
he'll answer for it later, but I can't let you murder my prisoner in
that flumgustious manner. I'm responsible for him to the United States
Government, therefore just drop that knife clean and slick upon the
floor, and let's have no more of this nonsense for the night."
But even the cocked pistol had not power to restrain the fierce--almost
brutal--rage of the woodman, whose growing intoxication added fuel to
the fire which the presence of his enemy had kindled in his heart.
Heedless of the determined air and threatening posture of the
Aid-de-camp, he made a bound forward, uttering a sound that resembled
the roar of a wild beast rather than the cry of a human being, and
struck over Jackson's shoulder at the chest of the officer. Gerald,
whose watchful eye marked the danger, had however time to step back and
avoid the blow. In the next moment the Aid-de-camp, overborne by the
violence of the collision, fell heavily backwards upon the rude floor,
and in the fall the pistol went off lodging the ball in the sinewy calf
of Desborough's leg. Stung with acute animal pain, the whole rage of the
latter was now diverted from Gerald to the aid-de-camp, on whom,
assuming the wound to have been intentional, he threw himself with the
fury of a tiger, grappling as he closed with him at his throat. But the
sailor, in his turn, now came to the rescue of his companion, and the
scene for some time, as the whole party struggled together upon the
floor in the broad, red glare of the wood fire, was one of fearful and
desperate character. At length, after an immense effort, and amid the
most horrid imprecations of vengeance upon them, the officers succeeded
in disarming and tying the hands of the settler behind his back, after
which, dragging him to a distant corner of the hut, they secured him
firmly to one of the open and mis-shapen logs which composed its frame.
This done, Jackson divided the little that had been left of his "Wabash"
with his charge, and then stretching himself at his length, with his
feet to the fire and his saddle for a pillow, soon fell profoundly
asleep.
Too much agitated by the scene which had just passed, Gerald, although
following the example of his companion in stretching himself before the
cheerful fire, was in no condition to enjoy repose. Indeed, whatever his
inclination, the attempt would have been vain, for so dreadful were the
denunciations of Desborough throughout the night, that sleep had no room
to enter even into his thoughts. Deep and appalling were the curses and
threats of vengeance which the enraged settler uttered upon all who bore
the name of Grantham; and with these were mingled lamentations for his
son, scarcely less revolting in their import than the curses themselves.
Nor was the turbulence of the enraged man confined to mere excitement of
language. His large and muscular form struggled in every direction to
free himself from the cords that secured him to the logs, and finding
these too firmly bound to admit of the accomplishment of his end, he
kicked his brawny feet against the floor with all the fury and
impatience of a spirit, quickened into a livelier sense of restraint by
the stimulus of intoxication. At length, exhausted by the efforts he had
made, his struggles and his imprecations became gradually less frequent
and less vigorous, until finally towards dawn they ceased altogether,
and his deep and heavy breathing announced that he slept.
Accustomed to rise with the dawn, the Aide-de-camp was not long after
its appearance in shaking off the slumber in which he had so profoundly
indulged. The first object that met his eye as he raised himself up in a
sitting posture from his rude bed, was Gerald stooping over the sleeping
Desborough, one hand resting upon his chest, the other holding the
knife already alluded to, while every feature of his face was kindled
into loathing and abhorrence of his prostrate and sleeping enemy.
Startled by the expression he read there, and with the occurrences of
the last night rushing forcibly upon his memory, the Aide-de-camp called
quickly out:
"Hold, Liftenant Grantham. Well, as I'm a true Tennessee man, bred and
born, may I be most especially d----d, if I'd a thought you'd do so foul
a deed. What! assassinate a sleeping drunken man?"
"Assassinate, Captain Jackson?" repeated Gerald, raising himself to his
full height, while a crimson flush of indignation succeeded to the
deadly paleness which had overspread his cheek.
"Yes--assassinate!" returned the Aide-de-camp, fixing his eye upon that
of his prisoner, yet without perceiving that it quailed under his
penetrating glance; "It's an ugly word, I reckon, for you to hear, as it
is for me to speak, but your quarrel last night--your fix just now--that
knife--Liftenant Grantham," and he pointed to the blade which still
remained in the hands of the accused--"surely these things speak for
themselves; and though the fellow has swallowed off all my Wabash, and
be d----d to him, still I shouldn't like to see him murdered in that
sort of way."
"I cannot blame you, Captain Jackson," said Gerald calmly, his features
resuming their pallid hue. "These appearances, I grant, might justify
the suspicion, horrible as it is, in one who had known more of me than
yourself but was assassination even a virtue, worlds would not tempt me
to assassinate that man--wretch though he be--or even to slay him in
fair and open combat."
"Then I calculate one night has made a pretty considerable change in
your feelings, Liftenant," retorted the Aide-de-camp. "You were both
ready enough to go at it last night, when I knocked the knife out of
your fist, and broke the knuckles of his gouging hand."
"I confess," said Gerald, again coloring, "that excessive pain made me
wild, and I should have been tempted to have had recourse to any means
to thwart him in his diabolical purpose. As you have said, however, the
past night has effected a change in my feelings towards the man, and
death from my hand, under any circumstances, is the last thing he has
now to apprehend." Gerald sank his head upon his chest, and sighed
bitterly.
"Well," said Jackson, "all this is queer enough; but what were you doing
standing over the man just now with that knife, if it was not to harm
him? And as for your countenance, it scowled so savage and passionate, I
was almost afraid to look at it myself."
"My motive for the action I must beg you to excuse my entering upon,"
replied Gerald. "Of this, however, be assured, Captain Jackson, that I
had no intention to injure yon sleeping villain. On the word of an
officer and a gentleman, and by the kindness you have shown me on all
occasions since our journey commenced, do I solemnly assure you this is
the fact."
"And on the word of an officer, and a true Tennessee man, bred and born
I am bound to believe you," returned the American, much affected. "A man
that could fight so wickedly in the field would never find heart, I
reckon, to stick an enemy in the dark. No, Liftenant Grantham, you were
not born to be an assassin. And now let's be starting--the day has
already broke."
"And yet," returned Gerald, with a smile of bitter melancholy, as they
hurried towards the spot where they had left their horses, "if any man
ever had reason to act so as to merit the imputation of being such, I
have. In that savage woodsman, Captain Jackson, you have beheld the
murderer--the self-acknowledged murderer of my father."
"God bless my soul!" cried Jackson dropping the saddle which he carried
and standing still with very amazement. "A pretty fix I've got into, to
be sure. Here's one man accuses another of murdering his son, and
t'other, by way of quits accuses him, in his turn, of murdering his
father. Why, which am I to believe?"
"Which you please, Captain Jackson," said the sailor coolly, yet
painedly; and he moved forward in pursuit of his horse.
"Nay, Liftenant Grantham," said the Aid-de-camp, who had again resumed
his burden, and was speedily at the side of his companion, "don't be
offended. I've no doubt the thing's as you say; but you must make
allowance for my ideas, never too much of the brightest, being
conglomerated, after a fashion, by what I have seen and heard, since we
let loose our horses last night upon this prairie."
"I am not offended, only hurt," replied Gerald, shaking the hand that
was cordially tendered to him, "hurt, that you should doubt my word, or
attach anything to the assertion of that man beyond the mere ravings of
a savage and diseased spirit. Justice to myself demands that I should
explain everything in detail."
"Now, that's what I call all right and proper," returned the
Aide-de-camp, "and should be done, both for your sake and mine; but we
will leave it till we get once more upon the road and in sight of a
tavern, for it's dry work talking and listening without even so much as
a gum tickler of the Wabash to moisten one's clay."
They found their horses not far from the spot where they had been left
on the preceding night, and these being speedily untethered and saddled,
the travellers again pursued their route towards the capital of the
state in which they found themselves. As they passed the hut which had
been the scene of so much excitement to both, the voice of Desborough,
whom they had left fast asleep, was heard venting curses and
imprecations upon them both, for having left him there to starve, bound
and incapable of aiding himself. Wretch as the settler was, Gerald could
not reconcile to himself the thought of his being left to perish thus
miserably, and he entreated the Aid-de-camp to enter and divide the
cords. But Jackson declared this to be impolitic, urging as a powerful
reason for declining, the probability of his having fire-arms in the
hut, with which (if released) he might follow and overtake them in their
route, and sacrifice one or the other to his vengeance--an object which
it would be easy to accomplish without his ever being detected. However,
that the villain might have sustenance until some chance traveller
should come later to his assistance, or he could manage to get rid of
his bonds himself, he consented to place within his reach all the dried
meat that had been left of his Indian foes, together with a pail of
water--the latter by way of punishment for having swilled away at his
Wabash in the ungracious manner he had.
While Jackson was busied in this office of questionable charity, the
rage and disappointment of the settler surpassed what it had hitherto
been. Each vein of his dark brow rose distinctly and swelling from its
surface, and he kicked and stamped with a fury that proclaimed the
bitter tempest raging in his soul. When the Aide-de-camp had again
mounted, his shrieks and execrations became piercing, and for many
minutes after they had entered into the heart of the forest in which the
hut was situated, the shrill sounds continued to ring upon their ears in
accents so fearful, that each felt a sensible relief when they were
heard no more.
On the evening of the third day after this event, Jackson and our hero,
between whom a long explanation on the subject of the settler had taken
place, alighted at the door of the principal inn in Frankfort, the
capital of Kentucky, which was their ultimate destination. To mine host
Gerald was introduced by his escort with the formality usual on such
occasions in America, and with the earnest recommendation to that most
respectable personage, that, as his own friend, as well as that of
Captain Forrester, every indulgence should be shown to the prisoner that
was not inconsistent with his position.