TO THE EDGE OF MARKHAM SWAMP.
'Swish-h-h' went the clumsy slug past Roland's ear. He grasped his
revolver; and the resolution of the moment was to stand at bay and
fight the churls. But the reflection not occupying the hundredth part
of a second showed him that such a course was not to be thought of.
His antagonist had fallen; but this was only _a crime of honour_. To
shoot the Queen's officers would be a vulgar felony. So he kept upon
his course, confident in the mettle of his noble horse, who with
nostrils distended, and neck thrust out, would now lay back one ear
and now another, as if to listen to the progress of the pursuers.
At last our hero reached the road, which lay along a level country
skirted on one side by pine groves, and upon the other by the
recently-harvested fields. Turning in his saddle he perceived that
while he had distanced two of his pursuers, the third, the fellow
with the blunder-buss, was gaining slightly upon him. He noticed also
that the officer was engaged as the horse galloped along in putting
another charge into his weapon. About fifteen minutes more of fierce
riding followed; and although Roland's horse showed no signs of
exhaustion, the pursuing beast, which was taller in limb and more
lithe, was remorselessly, though slowly, lessening the distance. The
road now began to sink into a valley, and thick forest grew upon
either side. Roland's pursuer was not more than fifteen paces behind,
when the fugitive heard a scuffing sound. He but too well divined
what it was; and the next moment his horse fell to the road, struck
by the slugs from the pursuer's carbine.
'It is as well,' muttered our hero, as he sprang away from the
gasping beast. The next moment he had disappeared in the dense, dark
wood. Ah! how sheltering, how kindly, seemed that sombre sanctuary,
with its dark grey tufts beneath his feet, and the thick, dusk-green
branches of the fir and pine! The gloomy background seemed to invite
him further into the heart of its shade and _silence_. No bird
whistled through the glaucous green of this silent, majestic wood;
nor was there any treacherous bramble to crackle beneath his feet.
For upon this chill, grey carpet no flood of sunshine ever came to
coax tiny sprays out of the ground; and the layers of fine needles,
or tufts of dank, sunless moss were soft and noiseless as down under
his tread. The stately trees grew far enough apart to allow him to
move with considerable speed, and after he had satisfied himself that
he was beyond the sight of his pursuers, he changed his course and
proceeded in a direction almost opposite to that by which he had come.
He believed that such a move could not fail to delude the sleuth
hounds, who would suppose that he continued his flight directly away
from the scene of his offence. In a little while he sobered his pace
down to a walk; and shortly afterwards he sat down in the sombre
solitude to ponder his situation.
Full well he knew that before the set of sun nearly every inhabitant
of the county of York would hear of the deed; and that a hue-and-cry
would be speedily raised by the officers of the law.
It is true that duelling was at this period as much in vogue in
genteel circles as it was in England; yet the victor in an affair
beyond the water, had no difficulty in slipping away from the scene
of his offence, and in passing across the Channel. Here he remained
for a decent season; and when he returned, the law in deference to
its toleration of the code of honour, shut its eyes. Friends of the
vanquished never, or hardly ever, instituted proceedings.
But in the colonies it was different. Godliness had taken a deeper
hold in the soil; the Puritans of New England, who, in their zeal,
had burned old women because they were guilty of sorcery, had much to
say in correcting morals, and removing evil. The duel they considered
one of the most odious sins of society; and no doubt it seemed all
the more odious to them because it was the sin of an exclusive class
who put an estimate upon honour that passed the understanding of men
who believed it to be their duty to offer the left cheek after the
right had been smitten.
It is only just, however, to say that this was a precept more
honoured in the breach than the observance. The long-lipped, witch-burner
would draw blood with his knuckles; but he drew the line at the
sword. The state of public feeling upon duelling Roland very well
knew; and as he thought of Aster, with her sunny hair and glorious,
yearning eyes, and the exile that lay before him, a numb feeling of
despair began to gather about his heart. He was able to persuade
himself that she would look upon the unfortunate affair as necessary
for the assertion of his honour; but how could he hope for any
further happiness, a criminal in the law's eye, and an exile from the
country of Aster?
Why, however, he asked himself, was Aster the central figure in the
picture of desolation that he was painting? He had never given her
more than a passing thought before; had never thought of her save as
a frank, generous, sunny-hearted girl. Now he began to recall words
that she had spoken of which he had never before taken heed. The
rippling laugh, half like the notes of a silver bell, and half like
the trilling of a bob-o-link's song, came back like music now into
his desolate soul, making him all the more disconsolate that he was
never again to hear it. But had she not looked wistfully into his
eyes when he took her hand in the garden to say good-bye? Was such a
thought not comforting now? Ah no. Too truly has our poet sung it:
"Comfort! comfort scorned of devils, this is truth the poet
sings;--That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things."
Would he, Roland began to ask himself, have been hurried into the
hasty words, the passionate feeling, which were really the origin of
all this woe, but for his regard for her? No; he saw it all plainly
now. He had courted this quarrel; he obtained what he sought, and now
did he hold in his hands the bitter fruit.
'But he might have had his will; she is a lone girl; and her
unnatural father was no less eager that the marriage should be than
the baseborn himself. Let it be!' Then a startled gleam came into his
face.
'Ah, the sleuth-hounds are everywhere around,' he cried, as faint
and confused shouts came from the road and the country side. 'But I
am safe here, at least for a time;' and he looked gratefully at the
grand sheltering solitude about him. No footprint desecrated this
sanctuary of nature.
He had taken nothing to eat since the evening before; and pangs of
hunger began to gnaw him. He walked a short way toward a large, grey
rock near which he heard a gurgling sound; and as he advanced he saw
that a little stream of water gushed from beneath the base. He drank
copiously of the pure, cold spring, and bathed his temples; but in
carrying the water to his forehead he noticed that one of his hands
was crusted with blood. Then for the first time had the thought of
his wound recurred to him.
Stripping himself of his coat, waistcoat and shirt, he perceived
that he had lost an immense quantity of blood. Tearing a piece off
his linen shirt he proceeded to moisten the coagulated blood to
ascertain the nature of his hurt. He soon found that the ball had hit
him obliquely upon the breast, glanced, and gone round, making a
serious flesh wound. Probing with his finger he located the ball
which had lodged in the muscles under his left arm. Taking his knife
he inserted the hook with which it was luckily supplied, and, after
much pain, and rending of the flesh and muscles, extracted the
bullet. The bleeding soon became less copious; and from this he took
much heart, for he was assured that no artery was severed. Having
washed the wound he proceeded to make some lint, which he applied as
skilfully as a surgeon could have done, after which he went to a fir
tree and therefrom obtained a quantity of balsam.
His long experience as a hunter had taught him how to manage wounds;
and he now prepared a number of narrow strips of linen. Upon each of
these he spread a quantity of the fir balsam; and then put the strip
across the wound. About a dozen similar pieces were laid across, and
these held the wound together; after which he placed a couple of
larger slips along the wound at right angles to the shorter pieces.
He then dressed and seated himself upon a tree-bole, and once more
became buried in his gloomy reflections.
It was not of his love that next he thought, but of his wretched
predicament. He was aware that in his own territory he was exposed to
constant danger of detection, yet he plainly saw that escape to the
United States was impossible in his present apparel. The hue-and-cry
would describe him accurately; the law would put a price upon his
head; and what the cupidity of ordinary mankind is he well knew. He
had a half dozen sovereigns and a bank-note in his pocket-book; but
were he to attempt to purchase rougher clothes attention would at once
be attracted to him. As the afternoon wore on hunger continued to
torment him with increasing keenness. Knowing that upon the elevated
ground he would be likely to find a hard-wood grove, he set out, and,
after an hour's tramp, was rewarded by finding himself in a grove of
beeches. He gathered nigh unto a pint of nuts which gave him some
relief; and, as he passed outward again to the pine region, he found a
rowan tree loaded with crimson fruit. He ate several bunches of the
bitter berries, and, having sated his appetite, filled his pockets.
Then, seeking a dense part of the wood, he lay down to rest. He had
resolved that when night came he would set out for Markham, and,
trusting that there were several farm houses near that settlement
whose inmates had not heard of the duel, he determined to obtain food.
What he would do afterwards, fate alone should determine. Laying his
head upon a mossy hummock, comfortable as a pillow of eider down,
despite the anguish of his heart, and the stinging of his wound, he
was soon asleep, and dreaming of days when their was neither peril nor
sorrow.
When he awoke he could perceive through the forest a slight tinge of
crimson in the west; and he knew that the day was done. At first he
could not collect his wits to remember how he had come hither, but a
sharp pain in his breast brought back the truth in its naked
hideousness. Why should he ever have awakened? Was he not happy in
that sweet, sweet state wherein the present had no place, and the
happy past was lived again? For while he slept he once again met
Aster. Tears were in her glorious eyes, and with trembling lips she
told him that she thought he would never come. And, taking him to the
bank of the little stream that brawled down the rough slope of her
father's common, she made him vow that he would never again leave her
pining. And taking her head upon his shoulder he looked into her
beautiful eyes, and he read in their tender, glimmering depths the
secret that she loved him. Ah, how happy was her lot? He kissed the
upturned mouth and held her to his heart. They pledged themselves to
one another for ever and ever. Then the angel who watched over his
sleeping flew away, and he was awake.
A sound came to his ears, Alas! it was not the music of his beloved
Aster's voice--_but the baying of bloodhounds_.
'Merciful God' what chance have I with bloodhounds in this wood?'
Roland exclaimed as he arose. Then he set out, as fast as he could,
in the same direction which he had pursued during the morning. He was
well aware that the hounds were brought into the wood at the point
where he had entered it; and that they were now far upon his track.
Reflecting upon his hunting experience he concluded that the cries
which he could now hear, whenever he paused, were little more than
half a mile behind him.
A man fleeing through such a wood as this has little need for speed
with only human pursuers upon his track. But with a pack of
bloodhounds holding the trail, and that keep well in advance of their
followers, it was far otherwise. It was only necessary to follow the
baying pack; and pursuit could thus be maintained at a pace fully as
swift as the flight.
But Roland was weak from the loss of blood, and from hunger which
the scant supply of beech-nuts, and the bitter rowanberries, only in
small measure allayed; so it was very plain that his capture was only
a question of time. But the labyrinth of forest-aisles now began to
grow dimmer, and a throb of hope came into his heart as he thought of
the coming darkness. Yet in this wilderness the dogs would know their
game; and there was no escape by clambering a tree! Meanwhile he
redoubled his exertions, now slightly altering his course. When it
was fairly dark he emerged from the wood upon the road by which he
had made his flight in the morning.
'Thank God. Here the dogs, among so many other scents, must miss
mine.' He perceived to his great joy that there was not a star in the
heavens; nor was there to be seen any of the dusky yellow in the
south-east which marks the rising of the harvest moon.
The wind was blowing from the south-west, and the fugitive's eyes
could see that large masses of dark cloud were rolling before the
wind, and gathering to leeward like a mighty army, which halts its
forces to prepare for battle. A heavy storm was brewing, and there
would be no light from the moon. Providence indeed had been kind to
Roland, giving in the morning the shelter of His forest's sanctuary,
and now the kindly shadow of His clouds.
He had lost the sound of the pursuers, and concluded that they must
have either returned for the night, or sped the opposite way. He had
not gone far, when he was startled by the sharp whinny of a horse.
His first impulse was to avoid the beast; but upon consideration he
resolved to reconnoitre. Approaching cautiously he found that the
cause of his alarm was one horse only, tied to a tree which grew by
the roadside. His sight having become accustomed to the darkness he
was soon able to assure himself that no human being was nigh.
Proceeding then to the animal, which he found saddled--it belonged no
doubt to one of the pursuers who had left it there while in the woods
with the hounds--he tightened the girths, mounted and rode away. This
was indeed a godsend! He had not proceeded far when he saw a horseman
approaching, The stranger stopped and pulled rein.
'Hullo, Oswald; that you? I thought you should never come.' Judge
the consternation to discover in the voice of the speaker that of
Aster's father, the man who was the cause of all the woe and
mischief. When his emotion passed he could have smitten the misguided
man to the earth. Disguising his voice thoroughly, for he was an
accomplished mimic, he replied:
'This is not Mr. Oswald. I am from York. Rode by the Yonge street
road. I bear a special dispatch from the Government to the magistrate
at Markham respecting steps to be taken for the apprehension. Good-bye,
sir. I am in haste.' Before the other could reply Roland was trotting
away briskly. After an hour's sharp riding he slackened his pace and
allowed his horse to walk along the road.
The land dipped here slightly and the fugitive judged that he must
be in the neighbourhood of River Rouge, and not far from Markham.
The forest seemed to grow thicker, and as far as he could judge
through the dark, it appeared draggled and intermixed with larch and
cedar. It was a lonesome spot; and Roland marvelled to himself if
this could be the swamp that concealed so many mysteries, and filled
all the country-side with alarm. While he was thus musing a figure
sprang out of the bush and seized his bridle; at the same moment the
shining barrel of a pistol gleamed in his eyes.
'Surrender, fugitive duellist!' a powerful voice shouted.
'Dismount.' Roland did so; but move which way he would the weapon
still glittered in his face. As we have seen Roland had resolved that
there should be no more spilling of blood, else his courage and
dexterity might have enabled him to cope even with this daring
captor. He was astonished to see but one person present, and looked
around him for the others. But as his searching gaze could reveal
nothing but the sturdy figure at his side, and the gloom-wrapped
trees at the roadside, he began to reproach himself bitterly for not
having been more alert. It was bitter to think that after all the
excitement, strain and strategy of the morning, it should fall to his
lot to be trapped in this way in the darkness of the night.
He began to wonder that his companion gave no whistle or other call
for help, but remained silently standing upon the road, one hand upon
the horse's bridle, the other holding the menacing pistol. At last
the captor spoke.
'Know you who I am?'
'A Queen's officer.'
'Ha, ha, ha!' And the man's strong, cruel voice resounded far
through the solitudes of the wood.
'No! I am not a Queen's officer; but I am captain of the sturdy men
who have made yonder bush a terror to the Province of Upper Canada. I
have heard about the duel and the fall of Ham. You have rid the world
of at least one worthless cur, and this is why I waited for your
coming, to offer you, for the present, the security of our dense bush
and treacherous bogs.'
Roland hesitated. The fellow seemed to speak the truth; therefore
what had he to fear with respect to his personal safety. He had some
money and a watch; this the highwayman could have had now for the
asking. Yet these men bore the reputes of atrocious criminals to whom
every sort of lawlessness was familiar. However, he need not
compromise himself by taking part in their enterprises. The main
thing was the chief of the band had offered him an asylum; and as a
last resort, if the place became intolerable he could flee from it.
'Yes; I will accept your offer.'
'Good. I take your word. Walk at my side, keeping close; for the
path is narrow.' So saying the two moved onward, the robber leading
Roland's horse.