The evening meal being concluded, and a few brief moments devoted to
conversation with her new friends, Edith was glad, when, at a hint from
her kinsman as to the early hour appointed for setting out on the morrow,
she was permitted to seek the rest of which she stood in need. Her
chamber--and, by a rare exercise of hospitality, the merit of which she
appreciated, since she was sensible it could not have been made without
sacrifice, she occupied it alone--boasted few of the luxuries, few even
of the comforts, to which she had been accustomed in her native land, and
her father's house. But misfortune had taught her spirit humility; and
the recollection of nights passed in the desert, with only a thin
mattress betwixt her and the naked earth, and a little tent-cloth and
the boughs of trees to protect her from inclement skies, caused her to
regard her present retreat with such feelings of satisfaction as she
might have indulged if in the chamber of a palace.
She was followed to the apartment by a bevy of the fair Bruces, all
solicitous to render her such assistance as they could, and all, perhaps,
equally anxious to indulge their admiration, for the second or third
time, over the slender store of finery, which Edith good-naturedly opened
to their inspection. In this way the time fled amain until Mrs. Bruce,
more considerate than her daughters, and somewhat scandalised by the loud
commendations which they passed on sundry articles of dress such as were
never before seen in Kentucky, rushed into the chamber, and drove them
manfully away.
"Poor, ignorant critturs!" said she, by way of apology, "they knows no
better: thar's the mischief of being raised in the back-woods. They'll
never l'arn to be genteel, thar's so many common persons comes out here
with their daughters. I'm sure, I do my best to l'arn 'em."
With these words she tendered her own good offices to Edith, which the
young lady declining with many thanks, she bade her good-night, and, to
Edith's great relief, left her to herself. A few moments then sufficed to
complete her preparations for slumber, which being effected, she threw
herself on her knees, to implore the further favour of the orphan's
Friend, who had conducted her so far in safety on her journey.
Whilst thus engaged, her mind absorbed in the solemn duty, she failed to
note that another visitor had softly stolen into the apartment; and
accordingly, when she rose from her devotions, and beheld a female figure
standing in the distance, though regarding her with both reverence and
timidity, she could not suppress an exclamation of alarm.
"Do not be afraid,--it is only Telie Doe," said the visitor, with a low
and trembling voice: "I thought you would want some one to--to take the
candle."
"You are very good," replied Edith, who, having scarcely before observed
the humble and retiring maid, and supposing her to be one of her host's
children, had little doubt she had stolen in to indulge her curiosity,
like the others, although at so late a moment as to authorise a little
cruelty on the part of the guest. "I am very tired and sleepy," she said,
creeping into bed, hoping that the confession would be understood and
accepted as an apology. She then, seeing that Telie did not act upon the
hint, intimated that she had no further occasion for the light, and bade
her good-night. But Telie, instead of departing, maintained her stand at
the little rude table, where, besides the candle, were several articles
of apparel that Edith had laid out in readiness for the morning, and upon
which she thought the girl's eyes were fixed.
"If you had come a little earlier," said Edith, with unfailing
good-nature, "I should have been glad to show you anything I have.
But now, indeed, it is too late, and all my packages are made up--"
"It is not _that_," interrupted the maiden hastily, but with trepidation.
"No, I did not want to trouble you. But--"
"But what?" demanded Edith, with surprise, yet with kindness, for she
observed the agitation of the speaker.
"Lady," said Telie, mustering resolution, and stepping to the bed-side,
"if you will not be angry with me, I would, I would--"
"You would ask a favour, perhaps," said Edith, encouraging her with a
smile.
"Yes, that is it," replied the girl, dropping on her knees, not so much,
however, as it appeared, from abasement of spirit, as to bring her lips
nearer to Edith's ear, that she might speak in a lower voice. "I know,
from what they say, you are a great lady, and that you once had many
people to wait upon you; and now you are in the wild woods, among
strangers, and none about you but men." Edith replied with a sigh, and
Telie, timorously grasping at the hand lying nearest her own, murmured
eagerly, "If you would but take _me_ with you, I am used to the woods,
and I would be your servant."
"_You_!" exclaimed Edith, her surprise getting the better of her sadness.
"Your mother would surely never consent to your being a servant?"
"My mother?" muttered Telie,--"I have no mother,--no relations."
"What! Mr. Bruce is not then your father?"
"No,--I have no father. Yes,--that is, I have a father; but he has,--he
has turned Indian."
These words were whispered rather than spoken, yet whispered with a tone
of grief and shame that touched Edith's feelings. Her pity was expressed
in her countenance, and Telie, reading the gentle sympathy infused into
every lovely feature, bent over the hand she had clasped, and touched it
with her lips.
"I have told you the truth," she said, mournfully: "one like me should
not be ashamed to be a servant. And so, lady, if you will take me, I will
go with you and serve you; and poor and ignorant as I am, I _can_ serve
you,--yes, ma'am," she added, eagerly, "I can serve you more and better
than you think,--indeed, indeed I can."
"Alas, poor child," said Edith, "I am one who must learn to do without
attendance and service. I have no home to give you."
"I have heard it all," said Telie; "but I can live in the woods with you,
till you have a house; and then I can work for you, and you'll never
regret taking me,--no, indeed, for I know all that's to be done by a
woman in a new land, and you don't; and, indeed, if you have none to help
you, it would kill you, it would indeed: for it is a hard, hard time in
the woods, for a woman that has been brought up tenderly."
"Alas, child," said Edith, perhaps a little pettishly, for she liked not
to dwell upon such gloomy anticipations, "why should you be discontented
with the home you have already? Surely, there are none here unkind to
you?"
"No," replied the maiden, "they are very good to me, and Mr. Bruce has
been a father to me. But then I am _not_ his child, and it is wrong of me
to live upon him, who has so many children of his own. And then my
father--all talk of my father; all the people here hate him, though he
has never done them harm, and I know,--yes, I know it well enough, though
they won't believe it,--that he keeps the Indians from hurting them; but
they hate him and curse him; and oh! I wish I was away, where I should
never hear them speak of him more. Perhaps they don't know anything about
him at the Falls, and then there will be nobody to call me the white
Indian's daughter."
"And does Mr. Bruce, or his wife, know of your desire to leave him?"
"No," said Telie, her terrors reviving; "but if you should ask them for
me, then they would agree to let me go. He told the Captain,--that's
Captain Forrester,--he would do any thing for him; and indeed he would,
for he is a good man, and he will do what he says."
"How strange, how improper, nay, how ungrateful then, if he be a good
man," said Edith, "that you should wish to leave him and his kind
family, to live among persons entirely unknown. Be content, my poor maid.
You have little save imaginary evils to affect you. You are happier here
than you can be among strangers."
Telie clasped her hands in despair: "I shall never be happy here,
nor anywhere. But take me," she added eagerly, "take me for your own
sake;--for it will be good for you to have me with you in the woods,--it
will, indeed it will."
"It cannot be," said Edith, gently. But the maiden would scarce take a
refusal. Her terrors had been dissipated by her having ventured so far on
speech, and she now pursued her object with an imploring and passionate
earnestness that both surprised and embarrassed Edith, while it increased
her sympathy for the poor bereaved pleader. She endeavoured to convince
her, if not of the utter folly of her desires, at least of the
impossibility there was on her part of granting them. She succeeded,
however, in producing conviction only on one point. Telie perceived that
her suit was not to be granted; of when, as soon as she was satisfied,
she left off entreaty, and rose to her feet with a saddened and humbled
visage, and then, taking up the candle, she left the fair stranger to her
repose.
In the meanwhile, Roland also was preparing for slumber; and finding, as
indeed he could not avoid seeing, that the hospitality of his host had
placed the males of the family under the necessity of taking their rest
in the open air on the porch, he insisted upon passing the night in the
same place in their company. In fact, the original habitation of the
back-woodsman seldom boasted more than two rooms in all, and these none
of the largest; and when emigrants arrived at a Station, there was little
attempt made to find shelter for any save their women and children, to
whom the men of the settlement readily gave up their own quarters, to
share those of their male visitors under the blanket-tents which were
spread before the doors. This, to men who had thus passed the nights for
several weeks in succession, was anything but hardship; and when the
weather was warm and dry, they could congratulate themselves on sleeping
in greater comfort than, their sheltered companions. Of this Forrester
was well aware, and he took an early period to communicate his resolution
of rejecting the unmanly luxury of a bed, and sleeping like a soldier,
wrapped in his cloak, with his saddle for a pillow. In this way, the
night proving unexpectedly sultry, he succeeded in enjoying more
delightful and refreshing slumbers than blessed his kinswoman in her
bed of down. The song of the katydid and the cry of the whippoorwill
came more sweetly to his ears from the adjacent woods; and the breeze
that had stirred a thousand leagues of forest in its flight, whispered
over his cheek with a more enchanting music than it made among the
chinks and crannies of the wall by Edith's bed-side. A few idle
dreams,--recollections of home, mingled with the anticipated scenes
of the future, the deep forest, the wild beast, and the lurking
Indian,--amused, without harassing, his sleeping mind; and it was not
until the first gray of dawn that he experienced any interruption. He
started up suddenly, his ears still tingling with the soft tones of an
unknown voice, which had whispered in them, "Cross the river by the Lower
Ford,--there is danger at the Upper." He stared around, but saw nothing
all was silent around him, save the deep breathing of the sleepers at his
side. "Who spoke?" he demanded in a whisper, but received no reply.
"River,--Upper and Lower Ford,--danger?--" he muttered: "now I would have
sworn some one spoke to me; and yet I must have dreamed it. Strange
things, dreams,--thoughts in freedom, loosed from the chains of
association,--temporary mad-fits, undoubtedly: marvellous impressions
they produce on the organs of sense; see, hear, smell, taste, touch, more
exquisitely _without_ the organs than _with_ them--What's the use of
organs? There's the poser--I think--I--" but here he ceased thinking
altogether, his philosophy having served the purpose such philosophy
usually does, and wrapped him a second time in the arms of Morpheus. He
opened his eyes almost immediately, as he thought; but his morning nap
had lasted half an hour; the dawn was already purple and violet in the
sky, his companions had left his side, and the hum of voices and the
sound of footsteps in and around the Station, told him that his
fellow-exiles were already preparing to resume their journey.
"A brave morrow to you, captain!" said the commander of the fortress, the
thunder of whose footsteps, as he approached the house with uncommonly
fierce strides, had perhaps broken his slumbers. A frown was on his brow,
and the grasp of his hand, in which every finger seemed doing the duty of
a boa-constrictor, spoke of a spirit up in arms, and wrestling with
passion.
"What is the matter?" asked Roland.
"Matter that consarns you and me more than any other two persons in the
etarnal world!" said Bruce, with such energy of utterance as nothing-but
rage could supply. "Thar has been a black wolf in the pin-fold,--_alias_,
as they used to say at the court-house, Captain Ralph Stackpole; and
the end of it is, war I never to tell another truth in my life, that your
blooded brown horse has absquatulated!"
"_Absquatulated!"_ echoed Forrester, amazed as much at the word as at the
fierce visage of his friend,--"what is that? Is the horse hurt?"
"Stolen away, sir, by the etarnal Old Scratch! Carried off by Roaring
Ralph Stackpole, while I, like a brute, war sound a-sleeping! And h'yar's
the knavery of the thing; sir! the unpronounceable rascality, sir!--I
loaned the brute one of my own critturs, just to be rid of him, and have
him out of harm's way; for I had a forewarning, the brute, that his mouth
war a-watering after the Dew beasts in the pinfold, and after the brown
horse in partickelar! And so I loaned him a horse, and sent him off to
Logan's. Well, sir, and what does the brute do but ride off, for a
make-believe, to set us easy; for he knew, the brute, if he war in sight
of us, we should have had guards over the cattle all night long; well,
sir, down he sot in ambush, till all were quiet; and then he stole back,
and turning my own horse among the others, as if to say, 'Thar's the
beast that I borrowed,'--it war a wonder the brute war so honest!--picked
the best of the gathering, your blooded brown horse, sir! and all the
while, I war sleeping like a brute, and leaving the guest in my own house
to be robbed by Captain Ralph Stackpole, the villian!"
"If it be possible to follow the rascal," said Roland, giving way to
wrath himself, "I must do so, and without a moment's delay. I would to
heaven I had known this earlier."
"Whar war the use," said Bruce; "whar was the use of disturbing a tired
man in his nap, and he a guest of mine too?"
"The advantage would have been," said Roland, a little testily, "that the
pursuit could have been instantly begun."
"And war it _not_?" said the colonel. "Thar war not two minutes lost
after the horse war missing, afore my son Tom and a dozen more of the
best woodsmen war mounted on the fleetest horses in the settlement, and
galloping after, right on the brute's trail."
"Thanks, my friend," said Roland, with a cordial grasp of the hand. "The
horse will be recovered?"
"Thar's no denying it," said Bruce, "if a fresh leg can outrun a weary
one; and besides, the brute war not content with the best horse, but he
must have the second best too, that's Major Smalleye's two-y'ar-old pony.
He has an eye for a horse, the etarnal skirmudgeon! but the pony will be
the death of him; for he's skeary, and will keep Ralph slow in the path.
No, sir; we'll have your brown horse before you can say Jack Robinson.
But the intolerability of the thing, sir, is that Ralph Stackpole should
steal my guest's horse, sir! But it's the end of his thieving, the brute,
or thar's no snakes! I told him Lynch war out, the brute, and I told the
boys to take car' I war not found lying; and I reckon they won't forget
me! I like the crittur, thar's no denying, for he's a screamer among the
Injuns; but thar's no standing a horse-thief! No, sir, thar's no standing
a horse-thief!"
The only consequence of this accident which was apprehended, was that the
march of the exiles must be delayed until the soldier's horse was
recovered, or Roland himself left behind until the animal was brought in;
unless, indeed, he chose to accept another freely offered him by his
gallant host, and trust to having his own charger restored on some future
occasion. He was himself unwilling that the progress of more than a
hundred human beings towards the long sighed for land of promise should
be delayed a moment on his account; and for this reason he exhorted his
nominal superior to hasten the preparations for departure, without
thinking of him. His first resolution in relation to his own course,
was to proceed with the company, leaving his horse to be sent after him,
when recovered. He was loath, however, to leave the highly-prized and
long-tried charger behind; and Colonel Bruce, taking advantage of the
feeling, and representing the openness and safety of the road, the
shortness of the day's journey (for the next Station at which the exiles
intended lodging was scarce twenty miles distant), and above all,
promising, if he remained, to escort him thither with a band of his young
men, to whom the excursion would be but an agreeable frolic, the soldier
changed his mind, and, in an evil hour, as it afterwards appeared,
consented to remain until Brown Briareus was brought in,--provided this
should happen before mid-day; at which time, if the horse did not appear,
it was agreed he should set out, trusting to his good fortune and the
friendly zeal of his host, for the future recovery and restoration of his
charger. Later than mid-day he was resolved not to remain; for however
secure the road, it was wiser to pursue it in company than alone; nor
would he have consented to remain a moment, had there appeared the least
impediment to his joining the companions of his exile before nightfall.
His measures were taken accordingly. His baggage-horses, under the charge
of the younger of the two negroes, were sent on with the band; the other,
an old and faithful slave of his father, being retained as a useful
appendage to a party containing his kinswoman, from whom he, of course,
saw no reason to be separated. To Edith herself, the delay was far from
being disagreable. It promised a gay and cheerful gallop through the
forest, instead of the dull, plodding, funeral-like march to which she
had been day after day monotonously accustomed. She assented, therefore,
to the arrangement, and, like her kinsman, beheld, in the fresh light of
sun-rise, without a sigh, without even a single foreboding of evil, the
departure of the train of emigrants, with whom she had journeyed in
safety so many long and weary leagues through the desert.
They set out in high spirits, after shaking hands with their hosts at the
gates, and saluting them with cheers, which they repeated in honour of
their young captain; and, in a few moments, the whole train had vanished,
as if swallowed up by the dark forest.