Alone with my thoughts, and these tainted with considerable acerbity.
More than one cause contributed to their bitterness. My pleasant
purpose thwarted--my heart aching for knowledge--for a renewal of tender
ties--distracted with doubts--wearied with protracted suspense.
In addition to these, my mind was harassed by other emotions I
experienced disgust at the part I had been playing. I had been made the
mouth-piece of chicanery and wrong; aiding conspiracy had been the first
act of my warlike career; and although it was not the act of my own
will, I felt the disagreeableness of the duty--a sheer disgust in its
performance.
Even the loveliness of the night failed to soothe me. Its effect was
contrary; a storm would have been more congenial to my spirit.
And it was a lovely night. Both the earth and the air were at peace.
Here and there the sky was fleeced with white cirrhi, but so thinly,
that the moon's disk, passing behind them, appeared to move under a
transparent gauze-work of silver, without losing one ray of her
effulgence. Her light was resplendent in the extreme; and, glancing
from the glabrous leaves of the great laurels, caused the forests to
sparkle, as though beset with a million of mirrors. To add to the
effect, fire-flies swarmed under the shadows of the trees, their bodies
lighting up the dark aisles with a mingled coruscation of red, blue and
gold--now flitting in a direct line, now curving, or waving upward and
downward, as though moving through the mazes of some intricate
_cotillon_.
In the midst of all this glittering array, lay the little tarn, shining,
too, but with the gleam of plated glass--a mirror in its framework of
fretted gild.
The atmosphere was redolent of the most agreeable perfumes. The night
was cool enough for human comfort, but not chill. Many of the flowers
refused to close their corollas--for not all of them were brides of the
sun. The moon had its share of the sweets. The sassafras and bay-trees
were in blossom, and dispensed their odours around, that, mingling with
the aroma of the aniseed and the orange, created a delicious fragrance
in the air.
There was a stillness in the atmosphere, but not silence. It is never
silent in the southern forests by night. Tree-frogs and cicadas utter
their shrillest notes after the sun has gone out of sight, and there is
a bird that makes choice melody during the moonlight hours--the famed
mimic of the American woods. One, perched upon a tall tree that grew
over the edge of the pond, appeared trying to soothe my chafed spirit
with his sweet notes.
I heard other sounds--the hum of the soldiery in the fort, mingling with
the more distant noises from the Indian camp, now and then some voice
louder than the rest, in oath, exclamation, or laughter, broke forth to
interrupt the monotonous murmur.
How long should I have to wait the return of the chiefs? It might be an
hour, or two hours, or more? I had a partial guide in the moon. They
said that Holata would depart before the shining orb went down, or not
at all. About two hours, then, would decide the point, and set me free.
I had been standing for half the day. I cared not to keep my feet any
longer; and choosing a fragment of rock near the water's edge, I sat
down upon it:
My eyes wandered over the pond. Half of its surface lay in shadow; the
other half was silvered by the moonbeams, that, penetrating the pellucid
water, rendered visible the white shells and shining pebbles at the
bottom. Along the line where the light and darkness met, were outlined
several noble palms, whose tall stems and crested crowns appeared
stretching towards the nadir of the earth--as though they belonged to
another and a brighter firmament beneath my feet. The trees, of which
these were but the illusory images, grew upon the summit of a ridge,
which, trending along the western side of the pond, intercepted the rays
of the moon.
I sat for some time gazing into this counterpart of heaven's canopy,
with my eyes mechanically tracing the great fan-like fronds.
All at once, I was startled at perceiving a new image upon the aqueous
reflector. A form, or rather the shadow of one, suddenly appeared among
the trunks of the palms. It was upright, and evidently human, though of
magnified proportions--beyond a doubt, a human figure, yet not that of a
man.
The small head, apparently uncovered, the gentle rounding of the
shoulders, the soft undulation of the waist, and the long, loose draping
which reached nearly to the ground, convinced me that the shadow was
that of a woman.
When I first observed it, it was moving among the stems of the
palm-trees; presently it stopped, and for some seconds remained in a
fixed attitude. It was then I noted the peculiarities that distinguish
the sex.
My first impulse was to turn round, and, if possible, get a sight of the
figure that cast this interesting shadow. I was myself on the western
edge of the pond, and the ridge was behind me. Facing round I could not
see the summit nor yet the palms. Rising to my feet, I still could not
see them: a large live-oak, under which I had seated myself,
intercepting my view.
I stepped hastily to one side, and then both the outline of the ridge
and the palm-trees were before my eyes; but I could see no figure,
neither of man nor woman.
I scanned the summit carefully, but no living thing was there; some
fronds of the saw-palmetta, standing along the crest, were the only
forms I could perceive.
I returned to where I had been seated; and, placing myself as before,
again looked upon the water. The palm shadows were there, just as I had
left them; but the image was gone.
There was nothing to be astonished at. I did not for a moment believe
myself under any delusion. Some one had been upon the ridge--a woman, I
supposed--and had passed down under the cover of the trees. This was
the natural explanation of what I had seen, and of course contented me.
At the same time, the silent apparition could not fail to arouse my
curiosity; and instead of remaining seated, and giving way to dreamy
reflections, I rose to my feet, and stood looking and listening with
eager expectation.
Who could the woman be? An Indian, of course. It was not probable that
a white woman should be in such a place, and at such an hour. Even the
peculiar outlines of the shadow were not those that would have been cast
by one habited in a garb of civilisation: beyond a doubt, the woman was
an Indian.
What was she doing in that solitary place, and alone?
These questions were not so easily answered; and yet there was nothing
so remarkable about her presence upon the spot. To the children of the
forest, time is not as with us. The hours of the night are as those of
the day--often the hours of action or enjoyment. She might have many a
purpose in being there. She might be on her way to the pond for water--
to take a bath; or it might be some impassioned maiden, who, under the
secret shadows of this secluded grove, was keeping assignation with her
lover.
A pang, like a poisoned arrow, passed through my heart: "_might it be
Maumee_?"
The unpleasantness which this conjecture caused me is indescribable. I
had been all day the victim of dire suspicions, arising from some
half-dozen words, casually dropped from the lips of a young officer, and
which I had chanced to overhear. They had reference to a beautiful girl
among the Indians, apparently well-known at the fort; and I noticed that
the tone of the young fellow was that of one either triumphant or
boasting. I listened attentively to every word, and watched not only
the countenance of the speaker, but those of his auditory--to make out
in which of the two categories I should place him. His vanity appeared
to have had some sacrifice made to it--at least by his own statement;
and his listeners, or most of them, agreed to concede to him the
happiness of a _bonne fortune_. There was no name given--no hint that
would enable me to connect the subject of the conversation with that of
my own thoughts; but that the girl was an Indian, and a "beauty," were
points, that my jealous heart almost accepted as sufficient for
identification.
I might easily have become satisfied. A word, a simple question, would
have procured me the knowledge I longed for; and yet I dared not say
that word. I preferred passing long hours--a whole day--upon the rack
of uncertainty and suspicion.
Thus, then, was I prepared for the painful conjectures that sprang into
my thoughts on beholding that mirrored form.
The pain was of short duration; almost instantaneous was the relief. A
shadowy figure was seen gliding around the edge of the pond; it emerged
into the open moonlight, not six paces from where I stood. I had a full
and distinct view of it. It was a woman--an Indian woman. It was _not_
Maumee.