PREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEY.
“O’er the forest dark and lonely,
Death’s broad wing is brooding now,
While each day the shadow deepens
Over Charlie’s fevered brow.”
Charlie’s health, which had always been delicate, seemed much impaired
by the Kentucky air but with the return of winter, there came the
hacking cough and darting pain, and Orianna already foresaw the time
when, with a flood of bitter tears, she would lay her darling in the
grave. The meetings in the woods were given up, and if Orianna saw her
pet at all, it was in his home, where she at length became a regular
visitor, and where Marian daily taught her as Charlie had before done.
Many were the lessons learned in the sick-room where Charlie lay, fading
day by day, and many were the talks which he had with his Indian friend
concerning the God whose power she questioned. But from the time when
she was able herself to read in Charlie’s Bible, the light of truth
slowly broke over her darkened mind.
From the commencement of Charlie’s illness, he looked upon death as
sure, and his young heart went back to his playmate, Ella, with earnest
longings, which vented themselves in pleadings that some one would go
for her,—would bring her to him and let him look upon her once more ere
he died. ’Twas in vain that his mother tried to convince him of the
impossibility of such a thing. He would only answer, “I shall not know
her in heaven, unless I see her again, for I have almost forgotten how
she looked.”
* * * * *
Winter was gone, and Charlie, no longer able to sit up, lay each day in
his bed, talking of heaven and Ella, whom he now scarcely hoped to see
again. One afternoon Orianna lingered longer than usual, in low, earnest
conversation with the sufferer. Charlie listened eagerly to what she was
saying, while his eye sparkled and his fading cheek glowed as with the
infusion of new life. As she was about leaving she whispered, softly,
“Never fear, though the time be long, I will surely bring her.”
Yes, Orianna had resolved to go alone through the wilderness to
Virginia, and bring to the dying boy the little Ella. Filled with this
idea she hastened home; but list,—whose voice is it that on the
threshold of her father’s door makes her quake with fear? Ah, Orianna
knows full well that ’tis Wahlaga! He has returned to claim his bride,
and instantly visions of the pale, dying Charlie, the far off Ella, and
of one, too, whose name she scarcely dared breathe, rose before her, as
in mute agony she leaned against the door.
But her thoughts soon resolved themselves into one fixed
determination—“I will never marry him;” and then with a firm step she
entered the cabin. Wahlaga must have guessed her feelings, for he
greeted her moodily, and immediately left her with her parents. To her
father, she instantly confided her plan of going for Ella, and as she
had expected, he sternly forbade it, saying she should stay and marry
Wahlaga.
Owanno was surprised at the decided manner with which Orianna replied,
“Never, father, never. I will die in the deep river first.”
At this juncture Wahlaga entered, and the discussion grew warmer and
more earnest. Words more angry the chieftain spoke to his daughter than
ever before he had done. Suddenly his manner softened, and concerning
her going for Ella, he said, “If you marry Wahlaga, you can go;
otherwise you cannot, unless you run away.”
“And if she does that,” fiercely continued Wahlaga, “I swear by the
Great Spirit, I’ll never rest until I’ve shed the blood of every pale
face in that nest—sick whining boy and all.”
Like one benumbed by some great and sudden calamity, Orianna stood
speechless, until her father asked, “Will you go?”
Then, rousing herself, she said, “I cannot answer now; wait till
to-morrow.” Then forth from the cabin she went, and onward through the
fast deepening twilight she fled, until through an opening in the trees
she espied the light which gleamed from Charlie’s sick-room. Softly
approaching the window, she looked in and saw a sight which stopped for
a moment the tumultuous beatings of her heart, and wrung from her a
shriek of anguish. Supported by pillows lay Charlie, panting for breath,
while from his white lips issued drops of blood, which Marian gently
wiped away, while the rest of the family were doing what they could to
restore him. When Orianna’s loud cry of agony echoed through the room,
Charlie slowly unclosed his eyes, and in an instant the Indian girl was
beside him, exclaiming wildly, “Charlie, Charlie, do not die. I’ll marry
him, I’ll go for her, I’ll do anything.”
The astonished family at length succeeded in pacifying her, by telling
her that Charlie had, in a fit of coughing, ruptured a blood-vessel, but
there was no immediate danger if she would keep quiet. Quickly the great
agony of her heart was hushed, and silently she stood by the bedside;
nor did they who looked on her calm face once dream of the tornado
within, or how like daggers were the words of Charlie, who, in his
disturbed sleep, occasionally murmured, “Ella,—oh, Ella,—has Orianna
gone?—she said she would.”
Suddenly turning to Marian, Orianna, with a pressure of the hand almost
crushing, said, “Tell me what to do;” and from the little cot, Charlie
all unconsciously answered, “Go for Ella.”
“I will,” said Orianna, and ere Marian had recovered from her
astonishment, she was gone. When alone in the forest, she at first
resolved to start directly for Virginia, but the remembrance of
Wahlaga’s threat prevented her, and then again in the stilly night the
heroic girl knelt and asked of Charlie’s God what she would do.
Owanno was surprised when, at a late hour that night, Orianna returned,
and expressed her willingness to marry Wahlaga on condition that she
should first go for Ella, and that he should not follow her.
“What proof have we that you will return?” asked Wahlaga, who was
present.
Orianna’s lip curled haughtily as she answered, “Orianna has never yet
broke her word.”
“The tomahawk and death to those you love, if you fail in coming,”
continued the savage, and “Be it so,” was the reply.
Old Narretta with streaming eyes would fain have interposed a word for
her beloved child, but aught from her would have been unavailing. So on
the poor girl’s head, which drooped heavily upon her lap, she laid her
hard, withered hands, and her tears fell soothingly on the troubled
heart of one who stood in so much need of sympathy.
With the coming of daylight Orianna departed. Narretta accompanied her a
short distance, and learned from her how much more than her life she
loved the white man, and that were it not for this, not half so terrible
would be her marriage with Wahlaga.
“I would help you if I could,” said Narretta, “but I cannot, though each
night I will ask the Great Spirit to take care of you.”
So they parted, Narretta to return to her lone cabin, and Orianna to
pursue her way, she scarce knew whither. For many days they missed her
in the sick-room, where all but Charlie wondered why she tarried, and he
finally succeeded in convincing them that she had really gone for Ella,
though at what a fearful sacrifice he knew not.