Were any one inclined to doubt the wonderful harmony which pervades
all the works of God, from the very greatest to the very least, he
might find a collateral, if not a direct, proof of its existence in
the instinctive inclination of the mind of man to discern, in the
external world of Nature, figurative resemblances and illustrations of
the facts, the events, and the objects of man's moral being and
spiritual existence. Not an hour of the day--not a season of the
year--not a change in the sky, or on the prospect--not a shade falling
over the light, nor a beam penetrating the darkness--but man's
imagination seizes upon it to figure some one or other of the moral
phenomena of his nature, and at once perceives and proclaims a harmony
between material and immaterial things. The earliest flower of the
spring (the shade-loving violet) images to the mind of most men a
gentle, sweet, retiring spirit. The blushing rose, in its majesty of
bloom, displays the pomp and fragrance of mature beauty. The clouds
and the storms give us figures for the sorrows, the cares, and the
disasters of life; and the spring and the winter, the dawning and the
decline of day, shadow forth to our fancy youth and old age; while the
rising sun pictures our birth into this life of active exertion,
effort, toil, glory, and immortality; and the night, with the new dawn
beyond it, the grave, and a life to come.
It was in the old age of the year, then--not the decrepit old age, but
the season of vigorous, though declining, maturity; and in the
childhood of the day--not the infancy of dawn, where everything is
grey and obscure, but the clear, dewy childhood, where all is
freshness, and elasticity, and balm--that three travellers took their
way onward from the house of Mr. Prevost along a path which led toward
the north-east.
Two other persons watched them from the door of the house, and two
negro-men and a negro-woman gazed after them from the corner of the
building, which joined on to a low fence, encircling the stable and
poultry-yard, and running on round the well-cultivated kitchen garden.
The negro-woman shook her head, and looked sorrowful and sighed, but
said nothing; the two men talked freely of the imprudence of "master"
in suffering his son to go upon such an expedition.
Mr. Prevost and his daughter gazed in silence till the receding
figures were hidden by the trees. Then the master of the house led
Edith back, saying--
"God will protect him, my child. A parent was not given to crush the
energies of youth, but to direct them."
In the meanwhile, Lord H---- and his guide--Captain Brooks, according
to his English name, or Woodchuck in the Indian parlance--followed by
Walter Prevost, made their way rapidly, though easily, through the
wood. The two former were dressed in the somewhat anomalous attire
which I have described in first introducing the the worthy captain to
the reader; but Walter was in the ordinary costume of the people of
the province of that day, except inasmuch as he had his rifle in his
hand, and a large leathern wallet slung over his left shoulder; each
of his companions, too, had a rifle hung across the back by a broad
leathern band; and each was furnished with a hatchet at his girdle,
and a long pipe, with a curiously-carved stem, in his hand.
Although they were not pursuing any of the public provincial roads,
and they were consequently obliged to walk singly, the one following
the other, yet Woodchuck, who led the way, had no difficulty in
finding it, or in proceeding rapidly.
We are told by an old writer of those days, who, unlike many modern
writers, witnessed, with his own eyes, all he described, that the
Indian trails, or footpaths, were innumerable over that large tract of
country which the Five Nations called their "Long House," crossing and
re-crossing each other in every different direction: sometimes almost
lost where the ground was hard and dry; sometimes indenting, by the
repeated pressure of many feet, the natural soil to the depth of
thirty-six or forty inches.
It was along one of these that the travellers were passing; and
although a stump here and there, or a young tree springing up in the
midst of a trail, offered an occasional impediment, it was rarely of
such a nature as to retard the travellers in their course, or
materially add to their fatigues.
With the calm assurance and unhesitating rapidity of a practised
woodsman, Brooks led his two companions forward without doubt as to
his course. No great light had he, it is true; for though the sun was
actually above the horizon, and now and then his slanting rays found
their way through some more open space, and gilded their pathway, in
general the thick trees and underwood formed a shade, which, at that
early hour, the light could hardly penetrate; and the sober morning
was still dressed almost in the dark hues of night.
"Set your steps in mine," said Woodchuck, speaking in a whisper over
his shoulder to Lord H----, "then we shall be real Ingians. Don't you
know that when they go out on the war-path, as they call it, each man
puts down his foot just where his leader put down his before. So, come
dog, come cat, no one can tell how many went to Jack Pilbury's barn."
"But do you think there is any real danger?" asked Lord H----.
"There is always danger in a dark wood and a dark eye," answered
Woodchuck, with a laugh; "but no more danger here than in Prevost's
cottage of either the one or the other, for you or for Walter. As for
me, I am safe anywhere."
"But you are taking strange precautions where there is no danger,"
observed Lord H----, who could not banish all doubts of his wild
companion: "you speak in whispers, and advise us to follow all the
cunning devices of the Indians, in a wood which we passed through
fearlessly yesterday."
"I am just as fearless now as you war then, if you passed through this
wood," answered Brooks, in a graver tone; "but you are not a woodsman,
major, or you'd understand better. We who, five days out of the seven,
are surrounded by enemies, or but half-friends--just like a man
wrapped up in a porcupine skin--are quite sure that a man's worst
enemy and greatest traitor is in himself. So, even when a wise man is
quite safe, he puts a guard upon his lips, lest that traitor should
betray him; and as for his enemies, knowing there is always one
present with him, he takes every care that his everlasting fancy can
hit upon, lest more should come suddenly upon him. What I mean, sir,
is, that we are so _often_ in danger, that we think it best to act as
if we were _always_ in it; and, never knowing how near it may be, to
make as sure as we can that we keep it at a distance. You cannot tell
that there is not an Ingian in every bush you pass; and yet you'd
chatter as loud as if you were in my lady's drawing-room. But I,
though I know there is ne'er a one, don't speak louder than a
grasshopper's hind legs, for fear I should get into the habit of
talking loud in the forest."
"There is some truth, my friend, I believe, in what you say," returned
Lord H----; "but I hear a sound growing louder and louder as we
advance. It is the cataract, I suppose.
"Yes, just the waterfall," answered the other, in an indifferent tone.
"Down half a mile below, Master Walter will find the boat that will
take him to Albany. Then you and I can snake up by the side of the
river till we have gone as fur as we have a mind to. I shouldn't
wonder if we got a shot at somewhat on four, as we run along; a moose,
or a painter, or a look-severe, or something of that kind. Pity we
haven't got a canoe, or a batteau, or something to put our game in."
"In Heaven's name, what do you call a look-severe?" asked Lord H----.
"Why, the French folks call it a _loup-cervier_," answered Brooks. "I
guess you never saw one. But he is not as pleasant as a pretty maid in
a by-place, is he, Master Walter? He puts himself up into a tree, and
there he watches, looking fast asleep, but with the devil that is in
him moving every joint of his tail the moment he hears anything come
trotting along; and when it is just under him, down he drops upon it
plump, like a rifle-shot into a pumpkin."
The conversation then fell off into a word or two spoken now and
then, and still the voice of the waters grew louder and more loud,
till Lord H---- could hardly hear his own footfalls. The more
practised ear of Brooks, however, caught every sound; and at length he
exclaimed:--"What's alive? Why are you cocking your rifle, Walter?"
"Hush!" said the lad; "there is something stealing in there behind the
laurels. It is an Indian, I think, going on all fours. Look quietly
out there."
"More likely a _bee_ar," replied Woodchuck, in the same low tone which
the other had used--"I see, I see. It's not a _bee_ar either; but it's
not an Ingian. It's gone--no, there it is agin. Hold hard!--let him
climb. It's a painter. Here, Walter, come up in front--you shall have
him. The cur smells fresh meat. He'll climb in a minute. There he
goes. No, the crittur's on again. We shall lose him if we don't mind.
Quick, Walter! spread out there to the right. I will take the left,
and we shall drive him to the water, where he must climb. You, major,
keep right on a head--mind take the middle trail all along, and look
up at the branches, or you may have him on your head. There, he's a
bending south. Quick, Walter, quick!"
Lord H---- had as yet seen nothing of the object discovered by the
eyes of his two companions, but he had sufficient of the sportsman in
his nature to enter into all their eagerness; and, unslinging his
rifle, he followed the path, or trail, along which they had been
proceeding, while Walter Prevost darted away into the tangled bushes
on the right, and Woodchuck stole more quietly in amongst the trees on
his left. He could hear the branches rustle, and, for nearly a quarter
of a mile, could trace their course on either side of him by the
various little signs of now a waving branch, now a slight sound. Once,
and only once, he thought he saw the panther cross the trail, but it
was at a spot peculiarly dark, and he did not feel at all sure that
fancy had not deceived him.
The roar of the cataract in the mean time increased each moment; and
it was evident to the young nobleman that he and his companions on
their different courses were approaching close and more closely to
some large stream towards which it was the plan of good Captain Brooks
to force the object of their pursuit. At length, too, the light became
stronger, and the blue sky and sunshine could be seen through the tops
of the trees in front, when suddenly, on the right, he heard the
report of a rifle, and then a fierce snarling sound, with a shout from
Walter Prevost.
Knowing how dangerous the wounded panther is, the young officer,
without hesitation, darted away into the brush to aid Edith's brother;
for, by this time, it was in that light that he generally thought of
him; and the lad soon heard his approach, and guided him up by the
voice, calling--"Here, here!" There was no alarm or agitation in his
tones, which were rather those of triumph; and, a moment after, as he
caught sight of his friend's coming form, he added--"He's a splendid
beast. I must have the skin off him."
Lord H---- drew nigh, somewhat relaxing his speed when he found there
was no danger, and in another minute he was by the side of the lad who
was just quietly re-charging his rifle, while at some six or seven
yards' distance lay a large panther, of the American species, mortally
wounded, and quite powerless for evil, but not yet quite dead.
"Keep away from him--keep away!" cried Walter, as the young nobleman
approached. "They sometimes tear one terribly even at the last gasp."
"Why, he is nearly as big as a tiger," said Lord H----.
"He is a splendid fellow," answered Walter, joyfully. "One might live
a hundred years in England without finding such game."
Lord H---- smiled, and remained for a moment or two, till the young
man's rifle was re-loaded, gazing at the beast in silence.
Suddenly, however, they both heard the sound of another rifle on the
left, and Walter exclaimed--
"Woodchuck has got one too."
But the report was followed by a yell very different from the snarl or
growl of a wounded beast.
"That's no panther's cry," exclaimed Walter Prevost, his cheek turning
somewhat pale; "what can have happened?"
"It was a human utterance," said Lord H----, listening, "like that of
some one in sudden agony. I trust our friend, the Woodchuck, has not
shot himself by accident."
"It is not a white man's cry," said Walter, bending; his ear in the
direction from which had come the sounds. But all was still; and the
young man raised his voice, and shouted to their companion.
No answer was returned; and Lord H----, exclaiming, "We had better
seek him at once, he may need help," darted away towards the spot
whence his ear told him the shot had come.
"A little more to the right, my lord, a little more to the right,"
said Walter; "you will hit on a trail in a minute" Then, raising his
voice again, he shouted "Woodchuck! Woodchuck!" with evident alarm and
distress.
He was right in the supposition that they should soon find some path,
for they struck an Indian trail, crossing that on which they had been
previously proceeding, and leading in the direction in which they
wished to go. Both then hurried on with greater rapidity, Walter
running rather than walking, and Lord H---- following, with his cocked
rifle in his hand.
They had not far to go, however; for the trail soon opened upon a
small piece of grassy savanna, lying close upon the river's edge; and
in the midst of it they beheld a sight which was terrible enough in
itself, but which afforded less apprehension and grief to the mind of
Lord H---- than to that of Walter Prevost, who was better acquainted
with the Indian habits and character.
About ten yards from the mouth of the path appeared the powerful form
of Captain Brooks, with his folded arms leaning on the muzzle of his
discharged rifle. He was as motionless as a statue; his brow
contracted; his brown cheek very pale, and his eyes bent forward upon
an object lying upon the grass before him. It was the body of an
Indian weltering in his blood. The dead man's head was bare of all
covering, except the scalp-lock. He was painted with the war colours;
and in his hand, as he lay, he still grasped the tomahawk, as if it
had been raised, in the act to strike, the moment before he fell.
To the eyes of Lord H----, his tribe or nation was an undiscovered
secret; but certain small signs and marks in his garb, and even in his
features, showed Walter Prevost at once that he was not only one of
the Five Nations, but an Oneida.
The full and terrible importance of the fact will be seen by what
followed.