On the right of the farm-house called Hardscrabble, as it faced
the water, there was a kitchen garden, the fence of which was quite
five feet high, and scattered about within this were standing, now
almost shrivelled up from age, many clusters of peas and beans
pending lazily and languidly from their poles. To force his way
across this fence, and then diagonally through the garden in order
to gain the opposite corner and cross into the road beyond, was
now the sole object of the young officer; but before putting it in
practice, he called out in a loud and distinct voice to Von Voltenberg
to know what had become of his wife, and whether she too was a
prisoner. But there was no answer. The Doctor had evidently been
enjoined not to reply, for, immediately after he had put his
question, Ronayne saw an Indian hold up his tomahawk menacingly to
the prisoner, and heard him utter some words as if to enjoin silence.
Seemingly desirous, however, at all risk to satisfy his friend,
Von Voltenberg suddenly raised his hand, and seemed to point
significantly over his shoulder in an oblique direction to the
rear. This convinced Ronayne that he had been correct in his
conjecture, for the direction was the road he intended taking.
Gathering himself up in his saddle, he slowly walked his horse
about twenty paces towards the edge of the forest. This was done
both for the purpose of preventing any suspicion of an attempt at
flight, and of giving sufficient run for his leap. Then suddenly
wheeling round, he put the animal to his speed, and, amid the loud
shouts of the Indians, who rushed forward from every point to
overtake him, accomplished the desperate leap, the tips of his
horse's hoofs just grazing as he passed. Encumbered with their arms
as they were, it took each Indian, however active, at least a second
to clear the fence, and this gave the young officer considerable
advantage of distance; but what surprised him was that not a shot
was fired. It seemed as though his pursuers thought it beneath
their dignity to fire at a single fleeing man, whom they were
certain of taking, and matter of rivalry with all to be the first
to reach and secure. Onward they pressed now without uttering a
sound; but the rattling of their war ornaments, with the crackling
of the decayed vegetation beneath their feet, told Ronayne that
they were too near for him to hope for escape, unless his horse
should clear the opposite corner of the field, and of this he almost
despaired, jaded as the animal was by previous exertion through
the heavy ground he was now traversing. Fortunately he found that
there was a perceptible declivity as he approached the water, and
not merely that, but that one of the rails of the zigzag fence had
been detached. Desperate as his position was, this gave him renewed
confidence, and he even ventured to turn and examine the number
and position of his enemies. They were some twenty in number,
all painted perfectly black, and dispersed at long intervals
throughout the field. In front of all was a very young warrior,
who seemed the most emulous of the party to secure the honor of
the capture, for the leaps he took were prodigious, and it was
evident that nothing but the clearing of the fence could save the
closely-pursued officer from capture. Again his horse took the
leap, and this time easily enough; and even while in the very act,
he thought, he fancied, he heard a voice behind him softly pronounce
his name. In the confusion of his mind, however, he could not judge
distinctly of anything. It might have been the sighing of the wind
among the dried leaves and tendrils that floated from the bean-poles
at his side, and he regarded it not. His mind was too much intent
on, too much absorbed on weightier matters to heed the occurrence.
The air from the water revived, reinvigorated both himself and his
horse. Again at full speed, he dashed on along its margin until
suddenly, after having gone over nearly a mile of ground, the
conviction arose to him that he must have been wrong in his
comprehension of Von Voltenberg's sign, and that the beloved of
his soul--she for the uncertainty of whose fate his heart suffered
an anguish the most horrible, was not before him, but a prisoner
with her companion. That thought, growing rapidly into assurance,
was sufficient to destroy all energy. He checked his horse, and
brought him to a full stand. As a soldier, whose services belonged
to his country, he felt that he had no right to throw himself into
a position that would render those services useless, but at least
he would take no unnecessary trouble to avoid it. He turned to
listen to the sounds of his pursuers, now fully resolved to make
no further attempt at escape. He heard nothing but the rustling of
the leaves and the gurgling of the water over the shallow and pebbly
portions of its bed. He retraced his way at a walk. That was his
direct course to the fort, and he was determined leisurely to pursue
it, taking the chapter of accidents as it might be opened to him.
Soon he came to the point where he had first leaped the garden
fence. He looked within. There was not an Indian to be seen. That
they were lurking somewhere around him, he felt perfectly assured,
and at each moment he expected to see them start up and seize his
horse by the bridle. But although he now rode slowly, carelessly,
his eye was everywhere. The pathway he followed led along a strip
some twenty feet in width, between the garden fence and the river,
to the bottom of the clearing or lawn that ran to the edge of the
latter. Keenly he glanced towards the skirt of the forest on his
left where he had first beheld the savages with their prisoner,
but not a sign of one of them was to be seen. All this was certainly
most extraordinary and unaccountable, but Ronayne knew the character
of Indian stratagem too well not to feel assured that the very next
moment succeeding that of this serpent-like quietude, might be
replete with excitement, and he was prepared for its occurrence.
He dreaded to advance. He almost feared that he should not be seen.
Every step forward in safety increased the distance which separated
him from the idol of his soul, and the purest air of heaven had no
sweetness for him that was not breathed with her. His head drooped
upon his breast--he could hear the beating of his own heart. He
prayed inwardly, secretly, fervently to God to restore to him his
wife as by a miracle, and save him from the madness of despair.
When he again raised his head, he was startled but not surprised
to see his further progress interrupted by a dozen Indians,
springing up as it were from the very bowels of the earth, and
standing in the same careless and unexcited attitude in which he
had beheld them at the outset. Mechanically wheeling his horse to
escape by the lane, he beheld a similar display. He was evidently
hemmed in. His further advance or retreat was completely intercepted.
Truly has it been said, we are the creatures of circumstance. A
moment before, and while there was no enemy visible, Ronayne had
felt the utmost indifference in regard to a fate the bitterness of
which would, at least, have been sweetened by the fact of his being
near to solace and sustain his wife. He could not believe that it
was the purpose of the warriors to do them bodily harm; for, had
that been their intention, they would, without doubt, have fired
at him, when they found themselves foiled in their recent pursuit;
and such was the devotedness of love of the man, that forgetting
under the circumstances the sterner duty of the officer, he would
have preferred the tent and bonds of the savage _for ever_ with
her to the comforts and freedom of his own home, when the presence
of the loved and familiar being in whom alone he lived should no
longer give life and interest to the latter. But now a sudden change
in his plans was resolved upon, for the same glance which had fallen
on the warriors in his front, had enabled him to see, in the
distance, that Von Voltenberg, profiting probably by the carelessness
of those left in charge, was moving stealthily and alone between
the cornfield and the building, behind which he soon disappeared.
The quickening sound of hoofs immediately succeeding attested that
he was in full flight, and then a rapid association of ideas brought
to the strongly imaginative mind of the young officer the conviction
that his wife had escaped too, for he felt assured that Von Voltenberg
would not abandon her. What the object was in endeavoring to secure
himself he could not tell. The Indians had evidently some more than
ordinary motive in his capture, or wherefore their great anxiety
to take him unhurt, and their seeming indifference in regard to
the other prisoners, who had been left almost unguarded. There
might be two reasons for this. Firstly, they might be on their
war-path, and therefore might not find it either convenient or
desirable to incumber themselves, on a march, with a woman; and,
secondly, having discovered the Doctor to be a "medicine man"--a
fact of which he would not have failed to apprise them--they might
not feel themselves permitted by the Great Spirit to detain him,
and therefore, without absolutely releasing, gave him the opportunity
for escape.
Of course, all these reflections were the result of but a momentary
action of the brain. Ronayne, with much warmth and impetuosity of
character, was of quick and sound apprehension, and at once saw
the advantages or disadvantages of an extreme position. To advance
or retire, as has already been remarked, was impossible, for both
in front and rear stood the warriors leaning carelessly on their
guns, as if they expected at each moment that he would come up and
surrender himself. But, whatever his previous musings, half nursed
into the determination, such was now far from being the intention
of the Virginian. Certain that he would be fired at, his main object
was to prevent their closing with him so far as to impede his
action. In order to prevent nearer advance upon him, therefore, he
pulled his pocket handkerchief from the bosom of his hunting-shirt,
and waved it over his head in token of submission. Guttural sounds
of approbation broke from the warriors, amid which he thought
he could hear the voice of his wife earnestly calling upon his
name, in the distance. He looked, but saw nothing. The idea that
she had been suffered to make her escape grew stronger. He felt
assured, for the sounds of horses' hoofs had ceased, that she was
lingering for him to join her; that she had seen him wave the
handkerchief, and that, tearing he was about to deliver himself
into the hands of his enemies, she had uttered that cry to indicate
her position. Apparently in the certainty of their prisoner, the
Indians both above and below had thrown themselves at the side of
the lane under the fence, some even commencing to fill and smoke
their pipe tomahawks. This again was the moment of action. To leap
the fence at this time was out of all question, but the river was
unusually deep immediately on his right. Rapidly he wheeled his
horse, and, bearing him up with a strong arm, as he reached the
bank, while he forced the rowels of his spurs into his flanks,
caused him to bound over nearly one third of the narrow stream.
Almost before the Indians had time to recover from their surprise
and dash in after him, he was nearly across. As he ascended the
opposite bank, and gained the road above, another cry from the same
voice rang upon his ears. He looked and beheld at one of the windows
of the farm--house a form evidently that of a woman, the outline
and dress of which he could not, however, distinguish, reclining
negligently, almost motionless, on the bosom of the youngest warrior,
who had evinced such earnestness in his desire to capture him.
Alternately, as Ronayne continued his course to the fort, along
that bank of the Chicago, the youth pealed forth the peculiar
war-whoop of his tribe, and waved, seemingly, the very pocket
handkerchief which the unhappy officer had a few moments before
thrown down as an earnest of his submission. Was this meant as a
reproach or a threat? He could not tell; but certainly he felt that
he deserved the former in their eyes, who had shown him so much
mercy. In less than ten minutes he had passed over the intermediate
ground, his ear achingly on the stretch to catch the sounds of
horses' hoofs on the opposite' bank--that bank which, not two hours
previously, he had traversed with a bright hope, if not with a
heart wholly free from anxiety--but in vain. Furiously, wildly,
he rode into the fort. He was haggard, pale, and dripping from the
immersion he had so recently undergone. His first inquiry at the
gate, on entering, was if Mrs. Ronayne had returned. Being answered
in the negative, life itself seemed to be annihilated; and, overcome
by the overwhelming agony he had endured for the last two hours,
he gave a frightful shriek of despair, and, on gaining the centre
of the parade, fell fainting from his horse to the ground, as we
have already seen at the close of our opening chapter.