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 every where a 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 bateau 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 humouredly 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 admitted 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 at past horrors,
his usually dark cheek wore the dingy paleness
characteristic of death in one of his colour, 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 be placed his lamp upon
it, and sinking upon the foot of the bed, and covering
his eyes with his hands, seemed for some moments 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 e fort--oh berry bad times
dat, Massa Geral. Poor Frank Hallabay e shot fust, because
e let he grand fadder out ob e 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 grand father'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
unnatural and horrible manner. Was not this the case?"
"Oh yes, Massa Geral, berry bad tongue Ellen, affir 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 of 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 towards 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 from his mind 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 Haldimar, for Michilimackinac 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 those 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 day break, 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 of 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. Shocked
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 harbour--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 any thing 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.