FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH
I think it must be in the blood of all of New England birth to love the
sea. They may never have seen it, nor even heard its wild, stern music;
yet the fascination of great waters is part of their heritage. The
thought of that vast inland ocean, of the magnitude and sublimity of
which I had only the vaguest conception, haunted me all that afternoon;
and I scarcely removed my eyes from those oddly constructed mounds of
drifted sand, striving vainly to gain, through some depression between
them, a fleeting glimpse of the restless waters that had helped to
shape them into such fantastic forms.
As the sun sank, angry red in our faces, presaging a storm, the course
of the little stream we had been following drew in closer toward these
grotesque piles, and the trail we followed became narrower, with the
sluggish current pressing upon one side and that odd bank of gleaming
sand upon the other. In a little open space, where quite a carpet of
coarse yellowish grass had found lodgment, beneath the protecting
shadow of a knot of cottonwoods, we finally made camp, and proceeded
to prepare our evening meal. Determined to strike north through those
guarding sand-dunes, and reach the shore of the lake if possible before
final darkness fell, I hastily crowded my pockets with food, and looked
eagerly around for some congenial companion. Captain Wells, whom I
should have preferred to be with me, was deep in conference with one
of the Miami chiefs, and not to be disturbed; Jordan had seemingly
been detailed to the command of the night-guard; so, as a last resort,
I turned aside and sought De Croix. I found him seated cross-legged
on a blanket beneath one of the cottonwoods, a silver-backed mirror
propped against a tree-butt in his front, while the obsequious darkey
was deliberately combing out his long hair and fashioning it anew. The
Frenchman glanced up at me with a welcoming smile of rare good-humor.
"Ah, sober-face! and have you at last mustered courage to break away
from the commander of this most notable company?" he cried mockingly.
"'Tis passing strange he does not chain you to his saddle! By Saint
Guise! 'twould indeed be the only way in which so dull a cavalier would
ever hold me loyal to his whims. Friend Wayland, I scarce thought you
would ever thus honor me again; and yet, 'tis true, I have had an
ambition within my heart ever since we first met. 'Tis to cause you
to fling aside those rough habiliments of the wilderness, and attire
yourself in garments more becoming civilized man. Would that I might
induce you, even now, to permit Sam to rearrange those heavy blond
locks _à la Pompadour_. Bless me! but it would make a new man of you."
"Such is not at all my desire, Monsieur," I answered, civilly. "I came
now merely to learn if you would walk with me through these dunes of
sand before the daylight fades."
He looked out, idly enough, across that dreary expanse of desolation,
and shrugged his shoulders.
"Use the other powder, Sam, the lighter colored," he murmured
languidly, as if the sight had wearied him; "and mind you drop not so
much as a pinch upon the waistcoat."
Then he lifted his eyes inquiringly to mine.
"For what?" he asked.
"To look forth upon the Great Lake. Captain Wells tells me 'tis but a
brief and safe walk from here to the shore-line."
"The lake?--water?" and the expression upon his face made me smile.
"_Mon Dieu_, man! have you become crazed by the hard march? What have I
ever said in our brief intercourse that could cause you to conceive I
care greatly for that? If it were only wine, now!"
[Illustration: "The obsequious darkey was deliberately combing out his
long hair."]
"You have no desire to go with me, then?"
"Lay out the red tie, Sam; no, the one with the white spots in it, and
the small curling-iron. No, Monsieur; what you ask is impossible. I
travel to the west for higher purpose than to gaze upon a heaving waste
of water. _Sacre!_ did I not have a full hundred days of such pleasure
when first I left France? My poor stomach has not fairly settled yet
from its fierce churning. Know ye not, Master Wayland, that we hope to
be at this Fort Dearborn upon the morrow, and 'tis there I meet again
the fair Toinette? Saints! but I must look my best at such a time, not
worn and haggard from tramping through the sand. She was ever a most
critical maid in such matters, and has not likely changed. 'Tis curled
too high upon the right brow, you black imp! and, as I live, there is
one hair you have missed entirely."
Realizing the uselessness of waiting longer, I turned my back upon
his vanity, and strode off alone. It is not my nature to swerve from
a purpose merely because others differ in desires; and I was now
determined to carry out my plan. I took one of the narrow depressions
between two mounds of sand and plunged resolutely forward, endeavoring
to shape my course as directly northward as the peculiarities of the
path would admit. To my mind, there was little to fear from the
hostile Indians, as every sign proved them to be hastening westward
in advance of us; while I was too long accustomed to adventure to be
easily confused, even in the midst of that lonely desolation.
I soon found the walking difficult; for I sank to the ankles with each
step, while the soft sliding sand rolled beneath me so as to yield no
solid foothold. The irregularity of the mounds continually blocked my
passage, and caused me to deviate in direction, so that I grew somewhat
bewildered, the entire surface bearing such uniformity of outline as
to afford little guide. Yet I held to my original course fairly well,
for I could pilot somewhat by the dim north star; and it was not long
before my alert ears caught the pounding of surf along the shore-line.
Much encouraged, I pressed forward with greater rapidity, ignoring the
lanes between the dunes, and clambering over the mounds themselves in
my eagerness to reach the lake before the complete closing down of
night.
At last I topped a particularly high ridge that felt solid to the feet;
and as I did so the wind came, hard and biting, against my face. There,
just below me, not fifty feet away, were rolling the great waves,
white-capped and roaring, pounding like vast sledges upon the anvil
of the sand. My entire being thrilled at the majestic sight, and for
the moment I forgot everything as I gazed away across those restless,
heaving waters, seemingly without limit, stretching forth into the
dim northward as far as the eye could reach, until water and sky
imperceptibly met and blended. Each advancing wave, racing toward the
beach, was a white-lipped messenger of mystery; and the vast tumultuous
sea, rolling in toward me out of that dark unknown, with its deep voice
of thunder and high-bursting spray, breathed the sublimest lessons of
the Infinite to my soul. It awed, impressed, silenced with the sense of
its solemn power. No dream of ocean grandeur had ever approached the
reality now outspread before me, as this vast inland sea tossed and
quivered to the lashing of the storm-wind that swept its surface into
fury.
To the left and right of where I stood motionless, curved the
shore-line, a seemingly endless succession of white shining sand-hills,
with the sloping shingle up which the huge breakers tossed and rolled
in continuous thunder and foam, rising, breaking, receding, chasing
each other in gigantic play. How savagely strong it all looked!
what uncontrollable majesty lived in every line of the scene! The
very suggestion of tremendous power in it was, to my imagination,
immeasurably increased by its unutterable loneliness, its seemingly
total absence of life; for not a fin rose above the surface, not a wing
brushed the air overhead. The sun, sinking slowly behind the rim of
sand, shot one golden-red ray far out into that tumbling waste, forming
a slender bridge of ever-changing light that seemed to rest suspended
upon the breaking crests of the waves it spanned. Then, gradually,
stealthily, silently, the denser curtain of the twilight drew closer
and closer, and my vista narrowed, as the shadows swept toward me like
black-robed ghosts.
I turned about reluctantly, to retrace my steps while the dim light yet
lingered. Some unseen angel of mercy it must have been that bade me
pause, and led me gently down the steep bank to the water's edge, where
the sharp spray lashed my cheeks. If this be not the cause, then I know
not why I went; or why, once being there, I should have turned to the
right, and rounded the edge of the little bay. Yet all of this I did;
and God knows that many a time since I have thanked Him for it upon my
knees.
I saw first the thing bobbing up and down behind a bare wave-washed
rock that lifted a hoary crown close beside the water's edge. A branch
from off some tree, I thought, until I had taken a half-dozen curious
steps nearer, and felt my heart bound as I knew it to be a boat. My
first thought, of course, was of hostile Indians; and I swept the
sand-hills anxiously for any other sign of human presence. The world
about me was soundless except for the ceaseless roaring of the waves,
and there was not even a leaf within my sight to flutter. I crept
forward cautiously, seeing no footprints on the smooth sand, until my
searching eyes rested upon a white hand, dangling, as if lifeless,
over the boat's gunwale. Forgetting everything else in the excitement
of this discovery, I sprang hastily forward and peered within the boat.
It was an awkward and rudely-formed water-craft, with neither mast nor
oars, yet of fair size, broad-beamed and seaworthy. In the forward part
lay the body of a woman; curled up and resting upon the boat's bottom,
the head buried upon the broad seat so that no face was visible, with
one hand hidden beneath, the other outstretched above the rail. So
huddled was her posture that I could distinguish few details in the
fading light; yet I noted that she wore a white upper garment, and that
her thick hair flowed in a dense black mass about her shoulders.
For a moment I stood there helpless, believing I gazed upon death. She
either moved slightly, or the waves rocked the boat so as to somewhat
disturb her posture. That semblance of life sent my blood leaping once
more within my veins, and I leaned over and touched her cautiously.
"Oh, go away! Please go away!" she cried, not loudly, but with a stress
of utterance that caused me to start back half in terror. "I am not
afraid of you, but either take my soul or go away and leave me."
"For whom do you mistake me?" I asked, my hand closing now over hers.
"For another devil come out of the black night to torture me afresh!"
she answered, never once moving even to my touch. "Ah, what legions
there must be to send forth so many after the soul of one poor girl!
'Tis not that I shrink from the end. Death! why, have I not died a
hundred deaths already? Yet do I trust the Christ and Mother Mary. But
why does the angel of their mercy hold back from me so long?"
Was she crazed, driven mad by some extremity of suffering at which
I could only guess? That oarless boat, beached amid the desolation
of sand and the waste of water, alone told a story to make the heart
sick. I hesitated, not knowing what I had best say. She lifted her head
slowly, and gazed at me. I caught one glimpse of a pale young face
framed in masses of black dishevelled hair, and saw large dark eyes
that seemed to glow with a strange fire.
"You,--you cannot be a devil also," she said, stammeringly. "You do not
look like those others,--are you a man?"
I bowed in silence, astounded by her words and appearance.
"Yet you are not of the garrison,--not of Dearborn. I have never seen
your face before. Yet you are surely a man, and white. Holy Mother! can
it indeed be that you have come to save me?"
"I am here to serve you by every means in my power," I answered
soberly, for the wildness of her speech almost frightened me. "God, I
truly think, must have led me to you."
Her wonderful eyes, questioning, anxious, doubtful, never once left my
face.
"Who are you? How came you here?"
"I am named John Wayland," I replied, striving to speak as simply as
might be, so that she would comprehend, "and form one of a small party
travelling overland from the east toward the Fort. We are encamped
yonder at the edge of the sand. I left the camp an hour ago, and
wandered hither that I might look out upon the waters of the Great
Lake; and here, through the strange providence of God, I have found
you."
She glanced apprehensively backward over her shoulder across the
darkened waters, and her slight form shook.
"Oh, please, take me away from it!" she cried, a note of undisguised
terror in her voice, and her hands held out toward me in a pitiful
gesture of appeal. "Oh, that horrible, cruel water! I have loved it
in the past, but now I hate it; how horribly it has tortured me! Take
me away, I beg,--anywhere, so that I can neither see nor hear it any
more. It has neither heart nor soul." And she hid her face behind the
streaming hair.
"You will trust me, then?" I asked, for I had little knowledge of
women. "You will go with me?"
She flung the clinging locks back from her eyes, with an odd, imperious
gesture which I thought most becoming, holding them in place with one
hand, while extending the other frankly toward me.
"Go with you? Yes," she replied, unhesitatingly. "I have known many men
such as you are, men of the border, and have always felt free to trust
them; they are far more true to helpless womanhood than many a perfumed
cavalier. You have a face that speaks of honor and manliness. Yes, I
will go with you gladly."
I was deeply impressed by her sudden calmness, her rapid repression of
that strange wildness of demeanor that had at first so marked her words
and manner. As I partially lifted her from the boat to the sand, she
staggered heavily, and would have fallen had I not instantly caught her
to me. For a single moment her dark eyes looked up confidingly into
mine, as she rested panting against my shoulder, and I could feel her
slender form tremble within my arms.
"You are ill--faint?" I questioned anxiously.
She drew back from me with all gentleness, and did not venture again to
attempt standing entirely without support.
"I am ashamed so to exhibit my weakness," she murmured. "I fear I am
greatly in need of food. What day is this?"
"The twelfth of August."
"And it was the night of the tenth when I drifted out of the mouth of
the river. Ever since then I have been drifting, the sport of the winds
and waves."
"Sit you down here, then," I commanded, now fully awakened to her
immediate need. "The sand is yet warm from the sun, and I have food
with me in my pockets."