We must now return to the scene in which this narrative first
commenced; but, oh! how changed was the aspect of all things from that
which the house of Mr. Prevost presented but five short months before!
The father and the daughter were there alone. The brother no longer
gleamed about the house, with his blithesome air and active energies,
and the thought of him and of his fate hung continually, like a dark
shadow, over those to whom he was so dear. They were not wholly
without comfort; they were not wholly without hope; for, from time to
time, renewed assurances came to them from many a quarter that Walter
would still be saved. But still time wore on, and he was not
delivered.
During the winter Lord H---- visited them very frequently, and it is
probable that, had no dark cloud overshadowed the hopes as well as the
happiness of all, he would have pressed for the prize of Edith's hand
without delay; but he loved not the mingling of joy and sorrow. In
that, at least, his view of the world, and life, and fate, was
deceitful. He was not yet convinced, although he had some experience,
that such a thing as unalloyed happiness, even for a few short days,
is not to be found on earth--that the only mine of gold without dross
lies beneath the grave.
In the meantime, the gathering together of British soldiers on the
Hudson and the Mohawk had, like one wave meeting another, somewhat
repelled the Indian tribes. A runner, a half-breed, or one or two
redmen together--more frequently from the nation of the Mohawks than
from any other tribe--would be seen occasionally, wandering through
the woods, or crossing the open ground near the settler's dwelling;
but they seldom approached the house, and their appearance caused no
apprehension. Relations of the greatest amity had been established
between the British authorities and the chiefs of the Five Nations,
and several of the tribes were preparing to take part in the coming
strife upon the side of England.
Three times during the winter the house of Mr. Prevost was visited by
a single Indian of the Oneida tribe. On two occasions it was a man who
presented himself, and his stay was very short. On the first occasion,
Edith was alone, when, without the sound of footsteps, he glided in
like a dark shadow. His look was friendly, though for a moment he said
nothing, and Edith, well knowing their habits, asked if he would take
food. He answered yes, in his own language; and she called some of the
servants to supply him; but before he ate, he looked up in her face,
saying: "I am bidden to tell thee that thy brother shall be safe."
"Whose words do you bear?" asked Edith; "is it the Black Eagle
speaks?"
"Nay; Otaitsa," replied the man.
This was all she could learn, for the messenger was either ignorant of
more or affected to be so; yet still it was a comfort to her. The next
who came was a woman, somewhat past the middle age, and by no means
beautiful. She stayed long, and with good-natured volubility related
all that had happened immediately after Edith's visit to the Oneida
Castle. She dwelt upon the attempt of the Blossom to deliver her lover
as she would have expatiated upon some daring feat of courage in a
warrior; and though in the end she had to tell how the maiden's bold
effort had been frustrated, she added: "Yet he shall be safe; they
shall not slay our brother."
The third time the same man returned, bearing the same assurances;
but, as hour after hour went by, and day by day, without the lad's
return, or any definite news of him, hope sickened and grew faint. By
this time it was known that the efforts of the Mohawks and the
Onondagas had been frustrated; and, moreover, it was plainly intimated
by the chiefs of those two nations that they would interfere no more.
"The Oneidas have reproved us," they said, "and we had no reply. We
must not make the children of the Stone hiss at our children; neither
must we break the bonds of our alliance for a single man."
The scouts who had been put under the order of Woodchuck were recalled
to the army early in the spring without having effected anything. All
that had been heard at the forts showed that the young prisoner had
been removed to the very farthest part of the Oneida territory, where
it was impossible for any single Englishman to penetrate without being
discovered by the Indians.
Of Woodchuck himself nothing was heard till the flowers began to
spring up, close upon the footsteps of the snow. It was believed that
he was still in the forest, but even of this no one was assured; and
all that, with any accuracy, could be divined, was that he had not
fallen into the hands of the Oneidas, inasmuch as there was every
reason to believe that, had such been the case, Walter's liberation
would have immediately followed. Thus matters had gone on in the
household of Mr. Prevost, till about a month before the period at
which I have thought best to present to the reader the three Indians
seated on the hill.
The day had been one of exceeding loveliness, and not without its
activity, too, for a party of soldiers had been thrown forward for
some object, to a spot within a mile and a half from the house, and
Lord H---- had been twice there, making Edith's heart thrill, each
time he appeared, with emotions still so new and strange as set her
dreaming for an hour after he was gone. The evening had come, bringing
with it some clouds in the western sky, and Edith, as she sat with her
father, looked out from the window, with her head resting on her hand.
As she gazed, she perceived a figure slowly crossing between the
gardener boy and old Agrippa, who were working in the gardens, and
apparently taking its course to the door of the house. At first she
did not recognize it, for it was more like an Indian than that of a
European, more like that of a bear than either. It had a human face,
however, and as it came forward an impression, at first faint, but
increasing with every step it advanced, took possession of her, that
it must be the man whose fatal act had brought so much wretchedness
upon her family. He was very much, very sadly changed; and although
the bearskins in which he was dressed hid the emaciation of his form,
the meagerness of his face was very evident as he came near.
Edith lifted her head from her hand, saying: "I think, my father, here
is Captain Brooks approaching. Poor man! he seems terribly changed!"
Mr. Prevost started up, gazed for a moment from the window, and then
hurried forth to meet him.
Edith had the happiness to see her father take the wanderer kindly by
the hand and lead him toward the door. Whatever had been Mr. Prevost's
feelings, the sight of Woodchuck's altered face was enough to soften
them entirely. The next moment they entered the room together, and
Edith extended her hand kindly to him.
"Ah, Miss Prevost, you are very good," he said; "and so is your
father, too. I have not been to see you for a long time."
"That was not right of you, Woodchuck," she said; "you should have
come to see us. We know all you have been trying to do for my brother.
If you cannot succeed it is not your fault, and we should have been
glad to see you, both for your own sake and for the sake of hearing
all your proceedings as they occurred."
"Ah, but I have been far away," he answered. "I first tried to get at
the poor boy from this side, and finding that would not do, I took a
long round and came upon them from the west; but I got nothing but
some information; and then I made up my mind. Them Ingians are as
cunning as Satan. I have circumvented them once, but they won't let a
man do it twice."
Mr. Prevost had stood listening, eager to hear anything that related
to his son. "We will more of this by and by, Brooks. Come into the
hall and have some food. You must be hungry and tired, both, I am
sure."
"No," replied Woodchuck, "I am not hungry. Tired a little I am, I
guess, though I have not walked more than forty miles. But I met a
young Ingian, two or three hours ago, who gave me some venison steaks
off his own fire. Some rest will soon set all to rights."
"Take some wine at least," said Mr. Prevost; "that will do you good;
you look quite faint."
"Faint in limb, but not in heart," replied Woodchuck, stoutly.
"However, I won't refuse the wine, for it was given to cheer the heart
of man, as the Bible says, and mine wants cheering, though it does not
want strengthening; for I'll do what I say, as I'm a living man."
They took him into the hall, and persuaded him both to eat and drink,
evidently to his benefit, for though he did not lose the sad tone in
which he spoke, his voice was stronger, and his features seemed to
grow less sharp.
"And where have you been ever since the snow has been on the ground?"
asked Edith, when he seemed a little revived. "You cannot surely have
been wandering in the woods during the terribly severe weather we had
in January."
"I hutted myself down," he said, "like an Ingian or a beaver, and
covered the lodge all over with snow. I planted it upon a ledge of
rock, with its mouth close behind an old hemlock tree, and made it
white all over, so they would have been worse than devils to find me;
for life is sweet, Miss Prevost, even in winter time, and I did not
wish to be tomahawked so long as I could help it."
"You must have had a sad, desolate time, I fear," said Mr. Prevost;
"at least till the spring came round."
"I guess it wasn't very cheerful," answered Woodchuck; "but that's the
best way to teach one's self not to care for what's coming. At least I
used to think so once, and to believe that if a man could once make
himself very miserable in this world he would not much care how soon
he went out of it; but I've changed my opinion on that matter a
little, for up there on the side of the hill, after four or five
weeks, half famished, half frozen, I did not feel a bit more inclined
to die than I did a year ago, when there were few lighter-hearted than
myself. So I thought, before I did anything of the kind, knowing that
there was no need of it just yet, I would just go and take a ramble
among the mountains in the fine weather, like Jephtha's daughter."
His words would have been enigmas to Edith, had she not somehow
misunderstood their obvious meaning; for Lord H----, not fully knowing
the character of the man, and unwilling to excite confident hope that
might ultimately be disappointed by some change of Woodchuck's
feelings, had foreborne to mention more of his purposes than the mere
fact of his intention to peril his own life to save that of Walter
Prevost. To Edith the words used by Woodchuck seemed but to imply that
he still contemplated some daring attempt to set her brother at
liberty; and in the hope, if she could learn the particulars of his
scheme, to be able to procure the co-operation of Otaitsa and others
in the Oneida Castle, she said: "You are indeed a good, kind friend,
Woodchuck, and you have, I know, already undergone great risks for
poor Walter's sake. There are others laboring for him, too, and
perhaps if we knew what you intended to do next----"
"To do next!" exclaimed the man, interrupting her. "Why, haven't I
told you? I said when I found I could not get in from the west I made
up my mind."
"To do what, my good friend?" said Mr. Prevost. "You certainly implied
you intended to do something, but what you did not state. Now, I
easily understand Edith's anxiety to know your intentions, for we have
obtained friends in the Oneida camp who might give great assistance to
your efforts if we knew what they are to be. But I should tell you, my
dear daughter here ventured across the Mohawk country to see our dear
little Otaitsa, who, like you, risked her own life to save my poor
boy--God's blessing be upon her!"
The tears rose in his eyes, and he paused for a moment; but Woodchuck
waved his hand, saying: "I know all about it. I were on the bank of
the creek, Miss Edith, when the Ingian woman paddled you back, and I
guessed how it had all been. I said to myself, when I heard more of it
two days arter, 'Her father will be mighty angry,' and so he were, I
guess."
"You are mistaken, my friend," said Mr. Prevost, laying his hand on
Edith's with a tender pressure. "I was not angry, though I was much
alarmed; but that alarm was not of long endurance, for I was detained
much longer than I expected at Sir William Johnson's, and my anxiety
was only protracted two days after my return. But still you have not
told us of your plans. If that dear girl, Otaitsa, can help us, she
will do it if it cost her life!"
Woodchuck paused a moment or two, in deep, absent thought, and over
his rough countenance the trace of many a strong emotion flitted; but
at length he said, in a low, distinct voice: "She can do nothing.
Black Eagle has the boy under his keen eye. He loves him well, Mr.
Prevost, and he will treat him kindly; but just as much as he does
love him he will make it a point to keep him safely, and to kill him,
too, if he ha'n't got another victim. That man should ha' been one of
those old Romans I have heard talk of, who killed their own sons and
daughters rather than not do what they thought right. He'd not spare
his own flesh and blood--not he; and the more he loves him the surer
he'll kill him!"
Edith wept, and Mr. Prevost covered his eyes with his hands; but
Woodchuck, who had been gazing down upon the table, and saw not the
powerful emotions his words had produced, proceeded, after a gloomy
pause: "He'll watch his daughter sharply, too, though they say he
praised her daring; and that I guess he did, for that's just the sort
of thing to strike his fancy. He'll take care she sha'n't do it again.
No! no! There's but one way with Black Eagle. I know him well, and he
knows me, and there is but one way with him."
"What's that?" asked Mr. Prevost, in a tone of deep melancholy.
"Just to do what I intend," replied Woodchuck, with a very calm
manner. "Mr. Prevost, I love my life as much as any man--a little too
much, mayhap, and I intend to keep it as long as I rightly can; for
there are always things written in that chapter of accidents that none
on us can see. But I don't intend to let your son Walter--he's a good
boy--be put to death for a thing of my doing. You don't suppose it? At
first, when the thing came fresh upon me at Albany, I felt mighty like
a fool and a coward, and I would ha' skulked away into any hole, just
to save myself from myself. But I soon took thought, and made up my
mind. Now, here you and Miss Edith have been praising and thanking me
for trying to save poor Walter's life. I didn't deserve no praise, no
thanks, either. It was my own life I was trying to save; for if I
could get him out secretly we should both be secure enough; but I've
given it up. It can't be done; and Black Eagle knows it. He knows me,
too, and he's just as sure at this blessed moment that before the day
he has appointed for Walter to die, Woodchuck will walk in and say,
'Here I am!' as he is that he's in his own lodge. Then he will have
got the right man, and all will be settled. Now, Mr. Prevost, and you,
Miss Edith, you know what I intend to do. To-morrow, when I'm a bit
rested, I shall set out again and take my ramble in the mountains like
Jephtha's daughter, as I said. Then this day month I will be here
again to bid you all good-bye. Walter will have to tell you the rest.
Don't cry so, there's a good girl. You're like to set me a-crying,
too. There's one thing more I have to ask you both, and that is: Never
speak another word to me about this matter--not even when I come back
again. I try not to think of it at all myself, and I don't much now.
If I can screw myself up like those Ingians, I shall just walk quietly
in among them as if nothing were going to happen, and say, 'Set the
boy free; here's Woodchuck himself,' and then die--not like an Indian,
but like a Christian, I trust, and one that knows he's a-doing of his
duty, anyhow. So now not a word more--and let's talk of something
else."
Woodchuck steadily and sturdily refused to pursue any further the
subject of his fixed determination, although both Mr. Prevost and
Edith, deeply touched, and, to say the truth, much agitated, would
fain have dwelt upon the topic longer. Edith felt, and Mr. Prevost
argued in his own mind, that the poor man was performing a generous
and self-devoted act, which no moral obligation forced upon him. They
felt, too, that so noble a heart was not one which ought to be
sacrificed to the vengeful spirit of the Indians; and the natural
feeling of joy and satisfaction which they experienced at the apparent
certainty of Walter's deliverance from death seemed to them almost a
crime, when it was to be purchased at so dear a price.
His obstinacy, however, conquered; the subject was changed; and as
they sat together in the little room to which he had led the way, they
continued a broken sort of conversation, while the shades of evening
gathered thick round them, upon topics connected with that which they
had quitted, though avoiding the point which was most painfully
prominent in the mind of each.
"They are a savage set," he would say, "and the devil himself has a
share in them. I have heard people talk much of their generosity, and
all that, but I guess I've not seen much of it."
Mr. Prevost was silent, for his feelings had suffered a natural change
toward the Indians; but Edith exclaimed, "We cannot say that of dear
Otaitsa, at all events, Woodchuck; for she surely has a heart full of
generosity, and everything that is noble."
"That's not raal, that's not raal," answered Woodchuck. "That comes of
the blood that's in her. For that matter, Black Eagle has some fine
things about him. He's the best of them I ever saw. We used to say,
'Whole Ingian, half devil.' I think in his case it must have been
quarter devil, and that's saying a good deal for so fierce a man as he
in battle. They say he has scalped more enemies than all his tribe put
together, specially in that war down upon the Pennsylvania side some
nineteen years ago, when some of our people foolishly took part with
the Mohagans."
Mr. Prevost started, and Woodchuck went on, saying: "He has good
things, for he always makes his people spare the women and children;
which is what them Ingians seldom think of. A scalp's a scalp to them,
whether it has got long hair on it or only a scalp-lock. But, as I was
saying, the Blossom has got all that is good in him, and all that was
good in her mother, poor thing; and that was a mighty great deal."
"I have often wished," said Mr. Prevost, "that I could hear something
of Otaitsa's history. Her mother, I believe, was a white woman, and I
have more than once tried, when I found the Black Eagle in a
communicative mood, to lead him to speak upon the subject; but the
moment it was touched upon he would wrap his blanket round him and
stalk away."
"Aye! he has never forgotten her," said Woodchuck. "He never took
another wife, you know; and well he may remember her, for she was his
better angel, and ruled him completely, which was what no one else
could. But I can tell you all about it, if you like to know, for I
heard it all from an old squaw, one time; and I saw the lady once,
too, myself, and talked to her."
"I think," said Edith, thoughtfully, "that she must have been a lady;
for when I was in their lodge, I saw, in Otaitsa's little chamber, a
great number of things of European manufacture and of high taste."
"May not those have been procured for the dear girl by our good friend
Gore?" asked Mr. Prevost. "He is a man of much taste himself."
"I think not," answered Edith. "They are evidently old, and seemed to
have belonged to one person; besides, there are a number of drawings,
all evidently done by one hand--not what anyone would purchase, and
apparently by an amateur rather than an artist."
Mr. Prevost fell into a fit of thought, and leaned his head upon his
hand, but Woodchuck replied: "Oh, they are her mother's, beyond doubt;
they are her mother's. She was quite a lady, every inch of her; you
could hear it in the tone of her voice, you could see it in her walk.
Her words, too, were those of a lady; and her hand, too, was so small
and delicate it could never have seen work. Do you know, Miss Edith,
she was wonderfully like you--more like you than Otaitsa. But I'll
tell you all about it, just as I heard it from the old squaw. At the
time I talk of--that's a good many years ago--eighteen, or nineteen,
maybe--Black Eagle was the handsomest man that had ever been seen in
the tribes, they say, and the fiercest warrior, too. He was always
ready to take part in any war, and whenever fighting was going on he
was there. Well, the Delawares had not been quite brought under at
that time by the Five Nations, and he went down with his warriors and
the Mohawks, to fight against the Mohagans; they were Delawares, too,
you know, somewhere on the Monongahela River, just at the corner of
Pennsylvania and Virginny. Our people had given some help to the
Mohagans, and they were, at that time, just laying the foundations of
a fort, which the French got hold of afterward and called Fort, du
Quesne. Well, there was an old general officer who thought he would go
up and see how the works were going on, and as things were quiet
enough just then--though it; was but a calm before a storm--he took
his daughter with him, and journeyed away pleasantly enough, through
the woods. I dare say, though, it must have been slow work, for as he
intended to stay all the summer, the old man took a world of baggage
with him; but the third or fourth night after leaving the civilized
parts they lodged in an Indian village, when, all in a minute, just as
they were going to bed, down comes Black Eagle upon them with his
warriors. There was a dreadful fight in the village, nothing but
screams, and war-whoops, and rifle shots; and the Mohagans, poor
devils, were almost put out that night; for they were taken unawares,
and they do say not a man escaped alive out of the wigwam. At the
first fire out rushes the old general from the hut, and at the same
minute a rifle ball, perhaps from a friend, perhaps from an enemy--no
one can tell--goes right through his heart. Black Eagle was collecting
scalps all this time, but when he turned round, or came back, or
however it might be, there he found the poor young lady, the officer's
daughter, crying over her father. Well, he wouldn't suffer them to
hurt her, but took her away to the Oneida country with him, and
gathered up all her goods and chattels, and her father's, and carried
that off, too; but all for her, for it seems he fell in love with her
at first sight. What made her first like him, they say, was that he
wouldn't let the savages scalp the old man, telling them that the
English were allies, and declaring that the ball that killed him did
not come from an Oneida rifle. However that may be, the poor girl had
no choice but to marry Black Eagle, though the old woman said that,
being a great chief's daughter, she made him promise never to have
another wife, and, if ever a Christian priest came there, to be
married to her according to her own fashion."
While he spoke Mr. Prevost had remained apparently buried in deep and
very gloomy thought, but he had heard every word, and his mind had
more than once wandered wide away, as was its wont, to collateral
things, not only in the present but in the past. When Woodchuck
stopped he raised his head and gazed at him for a moment in the face,
with a look of earnest and melancholy inquiry. "Did you ever hear her
name?" he asked. "Can you tell me her father's name?"
"No," replied Woodchuck. "I had the history almost all from the old
squaw, and if she had tried to give me an English name she would have
manufactured something, such as never found its way into an English
mouth. All she told me was that the father was a great chief among the
English, by which I made out that she meant a general."
"Probably it was her father's portrait I saw at the Indian Castle,"
said Edith. "In Otaitsa's room there was a picture that struck me more
than any of the others, except, indeed, the portrait of a lady. It was
that of a man in a military dress of antique cut. His hand was
stretched out, with his drawn sword in it, and he was looking round
with a commanding air, as if telling his soldiers to follow. I marked
it particularly at first, because the sun was shining on it, and
because the frame was covered with the most beautiful Indian beadwork
I ever saw. That of the lady, too, was similarly ornamented; but there
was another interested me much--a small pencil drawing of a young
man's head, so like Walter that at first I almost fancied dear Otaitsa
had been trying to make his portrait from memory."
"Would you remember the old man's face, my child, if you saw it
again?" asked Mr. Prevost, gazing earnestly at his daughter.
"I think so," said Edith, a little confused by her father's
earnestness; "I am quite sure I should."
"Wait, then, a moment," said Mr. Prevost, "and call for lights, my
child."
As he spoke he rose and quitted the room; but he was several minutes
gone, and lights were burning in the chamber when he returned. He was
burdened with several pictures of small size, which he spread out upon
the table, while Edith and Woodchuck both rose to gaze at them.
"There! there!" cried Edith, putting her finger upon one, "there is
the head of the old officer, though the attitude is different; and
there is the lady, too; but I do not see the portrait of the young
man!"
"Edith," said her father, laying his hand affectionately upon hers,
and shaking his head sadly, "he is no longer young, but he stands
beside you, my child. That is the picture of my father; that, of my
mother. Otaitsa must be your cousin. Poor Jessie! We have always
thought her dead, although her body was not found with that of her
father. Better had she been dead, probably."
"No, no, Prevost!" said Woodchuck. "Not a bit of it! Black Eagle made
her as kind a husband as ever was seen. You might have looked all
Europe and America through, and not have found as good a one. Then
think of all she did, too, in the place where she was. God sent her
there to make better people than she found. From the time she went, to
the time she died, poor thing! there was no more war and bloodshed, or
very little of it. Then she got a Christian minister amongst them--at
least, he never would have been suffered to set his foot there if she
had not been Black Eagle's wife. It is a hard thing to tell what's
really good, and what's really evil, in this world. For my part, I
think, if everything is not exactly good--which very few of us would
like to say it is--yet good comes out of it; like a flower growing out
of a dunghill; and there's no saying what good to the end of time this
lady's going there may produce. Bad enough it was for her, I dare say,
at first; but she got reconciled to it; so you mustn't say it would
have been better if she had died."
"It is strange, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, "what turns human fate will
take. That she, brought up in the midst of luxury, educated with the
utmost refinement, sought and admired by all who knew her, should
reject two of the most distinguished men in Europe to go to this wild
land and marry an Indian savage! Men talk of fate and destiny, and
there are certainly strange turns of fortune, so beyond all human
calculation and regulation that the doctrine of the fatalist seems
true."
"Do you not think, my dear father," said Edith, waking up from a
profound reverie, "that this strange discovery might be turned to some
great advantage; that Walter, perhaps, might be saved without the
necessity of our poor friend here sacrificing his own life to deliver
him?"
"That's like a dear, good girl," said Woodchuck; "but I can tell you,
it's no use."
"But," urged Edith, "Otaitsa ought to know, for Black Eagle certainly
would never slay the nephew of a wife so dear to him."
"It's no use," repeated Woodchuck, almost impatiently. "Don't you
know, Miss Edith, that Walter and the Blossom are in love with each
other, and that's worth all the blood relationship in the world.
Sometimes it does not last as long, but while it does it's twice as
strong. Then, as to Black Eagle, he'd kill his own son, if the customs
of his people required it. I guess it would only make him tomahawk
poor Walter the sooner, just to show that he would not let any human
feeling stand in the way of their devilish practice. No! no! Much
better keep it quiet. It might do harm, for aught we can tell; it can
and will do no good. Let that thing rest, my dear child. It's settled
and decreed. I am ready now, and I shall never be so ready again. Let
me take one more look at my mountains, and my lakes, and my rivers,
and my woods, and I've done with this life. Then God, in His mercy,
receive me into another. Amen. Hark! There is someone coming up at a
good gallop. That noble young lord, I dare say."
It was as Woodchuck had supposed; and the moment after, Lord
H---- entered the room with a beaming look of joy and satisfaction in
his countenance. He held a packet of considerable size in his hand,
and advanced at once to Mr. Prevost, saying: "My dear sir, I am
rejoiced to present to you this letter, not alone because it will give
you some satisfaction, but because it removes the stain of ingratitude
from the country. His Majesty's present ministers are sensible that
you have not received justice; that your long services to the country
in various ways--all that you have done, in short, to benefit and
ameliorate your race, and to advocate all that is good and noble--have
been treated with long neglect, which amounts to an offence; and they
now offer, as some atonement, a position which may lead to wealth, and
a distinction which, I trust, is but the step to more."
"What is it, George? What is it?" asked Edith, eagerly.
"It is, I am told," replied Lord H----, "in a letter which accompanies
the packet; a commission as commissary general of the army here, and
an offer of the rank of baronet."
"Thank God!" said Edith; and then, seeing a look of surprise at her
earnestness come upon her noble lover's face, a bright smile played
round her lips for a moment, and she added: "I say thank God,
George--not that I am glad my father should have such things, for I
hope and trust he will decline them both; but the very offer will heal
an old wound, by showing him that zealous exertions and the exercise
of high and noble qualities are not always to be treated with neglect,
forgetfulness, and contempt. He will be glad of it, I am sure,
whatever his decision may be."
"Now I understand you, my own love," answered Lord H----. "With regard
to the baronetcy, he shall do as he will; but I must press him
earnestly to accept the office tendered to him. To decline it might
show some resentment. By accepting it he incurs no peril, and he
serves his country; for from his knowledge of the people here, of the
very physical features of the land and its resources, and of the
habits and feelings of all classes, I believe no man could be
found, with one or two exceptions, so well fitted for the task as
himself---- Ah! my good friend Captain Brooks, how do you do? I have
much wished to see you lately, and to hear of your plans."
"I am as well as may be, my lord," replied Woodchuck, wringing in his
heavy grasp the hand which Lord H---- extended to him. "As for my
plans, they are the same as ever; you did not doubt me, I am sure."
"I did not," replied Lord H----, gravely, and looking down, he fell
into a fit of thought. At length, looking up, he added: "And yet, my
good friend, I am glad you have had time for reflection, for since we
last met I have somewhat reproached myself for at least tacit
encouragement of an act, in the approval of which so many personal
motives mingle that one may well doubt one's self. Forgive me,
Edith--forgive me, Mr. Prevost, if I ask our friend here if he has
well considered, and weighed in his own mind, calmly and reasonably,
without bias, nay, without enthusiasm, whether there be any moral
obligation on him to perform an act which I suppose he has told you he
contemplated."
"There is no forgiveness needed, my lord," said Mr. Prevost. "I would
have put the same question to him if he would have let me. Nay, more;
I would have told him, whatever I might suffer by the result, that in
my judgment there was no moral obligation. Because he did a
justifiable act these Indians commit one that is unjustifiable, upon
an innocent man. That can be no reason why he should sacrifice his
life to save the other. God forbid, that even for the love of my own
child, I should deal in such a matter unjustly. I am no Roman
father--I pretend not to be such. If my own death will satisfy them,
let them take the old tree, withered at the root, and spare the
sapling, full of strength and promise; but let me not doom--let me not
advise a noble and an honest man to sacrifice himself from a too
generous impulse."
"I do not know much of moral obligations," replied Woodchuck, gravely,
"but I guess I have thought over the thing as much as e'er one of you.
I have made up my mind, and just on one principle, and there let it
rest, in God's name! I say to myself, 'Woodchuck, it's not right, is
it, that anyone should suffer for what you ha' done?' 'No, it's not.'
'Well, is there any use talking of whether they've a right to make him
suffer for your act or not? They'll do it.' 'No, there's no use
a-talking, because they'll do it. It's only shuffling off the
consequences of what you did upon another man's shoulders. You never
did that, Woodchuck; don't do it now. Man might say, it's all fair;
God might pardon it, but your own heart would never forgive it!'"
Edith sprang forward and took both his hands, with her beautiful eyes
full of tears. "God will prevent it!" she said, earnestly. "I have
faith in Him. He will deliver in our utmost need! He provided the
Patriarch with an offering, and spared his son. He will find us a
means of escape if we but trust in Him."
"Miss Edith," replied Woodchuck, gravely, "He may or He may not,
according to His own good pleasure; but of this I am sure, that though
Christ died for our transgressions, we have no right to see anyone
else suffer for our doings. I have read my Bible a great deal up there
on the hillside lately--more than I ever did before since I was a
little boy--and I am quite certain of what I'm about. It has been a
comfort and a strength to me. It's all so clear--so very clear. Other
books one may not understand--one can't misunderstand that unless one
tries very hard. And now, pray, let's have an end on't here. My mind
is quite made up. There's no use of saying a word more."
All the rest were silent, and Edith left the room with the large tears
rolling over her cheeks.