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Wacousta

J >> John Richardson >> Wacousta




"Another Oucanasta for De Haldimar, no doubt," observed
Captain Erskine, after a moment's pause. "These grenadiers
carry every thing before them as well in love as in war."

The error of the good-natured officer was, however,
obvious to all but himself. The figure, which was now
distinctly traced in outline for that of a warrior, stood
boldly and fearlessly on the brink of the ditch, holding
up its left arm, in the hand of which dangled something
that was visible in the starlight, and pointing
energetically to this pendant object with the other.

A voice from one of the party now addressed the Indian
in two several dialects, but without eliciting a reply.
He either understood not, or would not answer the question
proposed, but continued pointing significantly to the
indistinct object which he still held forth in an elevated
position.

"The governor must be apprised of this," observed Captain
Blessington to De Haldimar, who was his subaltern of the
guard. "Hasten, Charles, to acquaint your father, and
receive his orders."

The young officer willingly obeyed the injunction of his
superior. A secret and indefinable hope rushed through
his mind, that as the Indian came not in hostility, he
might be the bearer of some communication from their
friends; and he moved rapidly towards that part of the
building occupied by his father.

The light of a lamp suspended over the piazza leading to
the governor's rooms reflecting strongly on his regimentals,
he passed unchallenged by the sentinels posted there,
and uninterruptedly gained a door that opened on a narrow
passage, at the further extremity of which was the
sitting-room usually occupied by his parent. This again
was entered from the same passage by a second door, the
upper part of which was of common glass, enabling any
one on the outside to trace with facility every object
within when the place was lighted up.

A glance was sufficient to satisfy the youth his father
was not in the room; although there was strong evidence
he had not retired for the night. In the middle of the
floor stood an oaken table, and on this lay an open
writing desk, with a candle on each side, the wicks of
which had burnt so long as to throw a partial gloom over
the surrounding wainscotting. Scattered about the table
and desk were a number of letters that had apparently
been just looked at or read; and in the midst of these
an open case of red morocco, containing a miniature.
The appearance of these letters, thus left scattered
about by one who was scrupulously exact in the arrangement
of his papers, added to the circumstance of the neglected
and burning candles, confirmed the young officer in an
impression that his father, overcome by fatigue, had
retired into his bed-room, and fallen unconsciously
asleep. Imagining, therefore, he could not, without
difficulty, succeed in making himself heard, and deeming
the urgency of the case required it, he determined to
wave the usual ceremony of knocking, and penetrate to
his father's bedroom unannounced. The glass door being
without fastening within, easily yielded to his pressure
of the latch; but as he passed by the table, a strong
and natural feeling of curiosity induced him to cast his
eye upon the miniature. To his infinite surprise, nay,
almost terror, he discovered it was that of his mother--the
identical portrait which his sister Clara had worn in
her bosom from infancy, and which he had seen clasped
round her neck on the very deck of the schooner in which
she sailed for Michilimackinac. He felt there could be
no mistake, for only one miniature of the sort had ever
been in possession of the family, and that the one just
accounted for. Almost stupified at what he saw, and
scarcely crediting the evidence of his senses, the young
officer glanced his eye hurriedly along one of the open
letters that lay around. It was in the well remembered
hand-writing of his mother, and commenced, "Dear, dearest
Reginald." After this followed expressions of endearment
no woman might address except to an affianced lover, or
the husband of her choice; and his heart sickened while
he read. Scarcely, however, had he scanned half a dozen
lines, when it occurred to him he was violating some
secret of his parents; and, discontinuing the perusal
with an effort, he prepared to acquit himself of his
mission.

On raising his eyes from the paper he was startled by
the appearance of his father, who, with a stern brow and
a quivering lip, stood a few paces from the table,
apparently too much overcome by his indignation to be
able to utter a sentence.

Charles de Haldimar felt all the awkwardness of his
position. Some explanation of his conduct, however, was
necessary; and he stammered forth the fact of the portrait
having riveted his attention, from its striking resemblance
to that in his sister's possession.

"And to what do these letters bear resemblance?" demanded
the governor, in a voice that trembled in its attempt to
be calm, while he fixed his penetrating eye on that of
his son. "THEY, it appears, were equally objects of
attraction with you."

"The letters were in the hand-writing of my mother; and
I was irresistibly led to glance at one of them," replied
the youth, with the humility of conscious wrong. "The
action was involuntary, and no sooner committed than
repented of. I am here, my father, on a mission of
importance, which must account for my presence."

"A mission of importance!" repeated the governor, with
more of sorrow than of anger in the tone in which he now
spoke. "On what mission are you here, if it be not to
intrude unwarrantably on a parent's privacy?"

The young officer's cheek flushed high, as he proudly
answered:--"I was sent by Captain Blessington, sir, to
take your orders in regard to an Indian who is now without
the fort under somewhat extraordinary circumstances, yet
evidently without intention of hostility. It is supposed
he bears some message from my brother."

The tone of candour and offended pride in which this
formal announcement of duty was made seemed to banish
all suspicion from the mind of the governor; and he
remarked, in a voice that had more of the kindness that
had latterly distinguished his address to his son, "Was
this, then, Charles, the only motive for your abrupt
intrusion at this hour? Are you sure no inducement of
private curiosity was mixed up with the discharge of your
duty, that you entered thus unannounced? You must admit,
at least, I found you employed in a manner different from
what the urgency of your mission would seem to justify."

There was lurking irony in this speech; yet the softened
accents of his father, in some measure, disarmed the
youth of the bitterness he would have flung into his
observation,--"That no man on earth, his parent excepted,
should have dared to insinuate such a doubt with impunity."

For a moment Colonel de Haldimar seemed to regard his
son with a surprised but satisfied air, as if he had not
expected the manifestation of so much spirit, in one whom
he had been accustomed greatly to undervalue.

"I believe you, Charles," he at length observed; "forgive
the justifiable doubt, and think no more of the subject.
Yet, one word," as the youth was preparing to depart;
"you have read that letter" (and he pointed to that which
had principally arrested the attention of the officer):
"what impression has it given you of your mother? Answer
me sincerely. MY name," and his faint smile wore something
of the character of triumph, "is not REGINALD, you know."

The pallid cheek of the young man flushed at this question.
His own undisguised impression was, that his mother had
cherished a guilty love for another than her husband. He
felt the almost impiety of such a belief, but he could
not resist the conviction that forced itself on his mind;
the letter in her handwriting spoke for itself; and though
the idea was full of wretchedness, he was unable to
conquer it. Whatever his own inference might be, however,
he could not endure the thought of imparting it to his
father; he, therefore, answered evasively.

"Doubtless my mother had some dear relative of the name,
and to him was this letter addressed; perhaps a brother,
or an uncle. But I never knew," he pursued, with a look
of appeal to his father, "that a second portrait of my
mother existed. This is the very counterpart of Clara's."

"It may be the same," remarked the governor, but in a
tone of indecision, that dented his faith in what he
uttered.

"Impossible, my father. I accompanied Clara, if you
recollect, as far as Lake Sinclair; and when I quitted
the deck of the schooner to return, I particularly remarked
my sister wore her mother's portrait, as usual, round
her neck."

"Well, no matter about the portrait," hurriedly rejoined
the governor; "yet, whatever your impression, Charles,"
and he spoke with a warmth that was far from habitual to
him, "dare not to sully the memory of your mother by a
doubt of her purity. An accident has given this letter
to your inspection, but breathe not its contents to a
human creature; above all, respect the being who gave
you birth. Go, tell Captain Blessington to detain the
Indian; I will join you immediately."

Strongly, yet confusedly, impressed with the singularity
of the scene altogether, and more particularly with his
father's strange admonition, the young officer quitted
the room, and hastened to rejoin his companions. On
reaching the rampart he found that the Indian, during
his long absence, had departed; yet not without depositing,
on the outer edge of the ditch, the substance to which
he had previously directed their attention. At the moment
of De Haldimar's approach, the officers were bending over
the rampart, and, with straining eyes, endeavouring to
make out what it was, but in vain; something was just
perceptible in the withered turf, but what that something
was no one could succeed in discovering.

"Whatever this be, we must possess ourselves of it," said
Captain Blessington: "it is evident, from the energetic
manner of him who left it, it is of importance. I think
I know who is the best swimmer and climber of our party."

Several voices unanimously pronounced the name of
"Johnstone."

"Any thing for a dash of enterprise," said that officer,
whose slight wound had been perfectly healed. "But what
do you propose that the swimmer and climber should do,
Blessington?"

"Secure yon parcel, without lowering the drawbridge."

"What! and be scalped in the act? Who knows if it be not
a trick after all, and that the rascal who placed it
there is not lying within a few feet, ready to pounce
upon me the instant I reach the bank."

"Never mind," said Erskine, laughingly, "we will revenge
your death, my boy."

"Besides, consider the nunquam non paratus, Johnstone,"
slily remarked Lieutenant Leslie.

"What, again, Leslie?" energetically responded the young
Scotsman. "Yet think not I hesitate, for I did but jest:
make fast a rope round my loins, and I think I will answer
for the result."

Colonel de Haldimar now made his appearance. Having
heard a brief statement of the facts, and approving of
the suggestion of Captain Blessington, a rope was procured,
and made fast under the shoulders of the young officer,
who had previously stripped himself of his uniform and
shoes. He then suffered himself to drop gently over the
edge of the rampart, his companions gradually lowering
the rope, until a deep and gasping aspiration, such as
is usually wrung from one coming suddenly in contact with
cold water, announced he had gained the surface of the
ditch. The rope was then slackened, to give him the
unrestrained command of his limbs; and in the next instant
he was seen clambering up the opposite elevation.

Although the officers, indulging in a forced levity, in
a great degree meant to encourage their companion, had
treated his enterprise with indifference, they were far
from being without serious anxiety for the result. They
had laughed at the idea, suggested by him, of being
scalped; whereas, in truth, they entertained the
apprehension far more powerfully than he did himself.
The artifices resorted to by the savages, to secure an
isolated victim, were so many and so various, that
suspicion could not but attach to the mysterious occurrence
they had just witnessed. Willing even as they were to
believe their present visitor, whoever he was, came not
in a spirit of enmity, they could not altogether divest
themselves of a fear that it was only a subtle artifice
to decoy one of them within the reach of their traitorous
weapons. They, therefore, watched the movements of their
companion with quickening pulses; and it was with a lively
satisfaction they saw him, at length, after a momentary
search, descend once more into the ditch, and, with a
single powerful impulsion of his limbs, urge himself back
to the foot of the rampart. Neither feet nor hands were
of much service, in enabling him to scale the smooth and
slanting logs that composed the exterior surface of the
works; but a slight jerk of the well secured rope, serving
as a signal to his friends, he was soon dragged once more
to the summit of the rampart, without other injury than
a couple of slight bruises.

"Well, what success?" eagerly asked Leslie and Captain
Erskine in the same breath, as the dripping Johnstone
buried himself in the folds of a capacious cloak procured
during his absence.

"You shall hear," was the reply; "but first, gentlemen,
allow me, if you please, to enjoy, with yourselves, the
luxury of dry clothes. I have no particular ambition to
contract an American ague fit just now; yet, unless you
take pity on me, and reserve my examination for a future
moment, there is every probability I shall not have a
tooth left by to-morrow morning."

No one could deny the justice of the remark, for the
teeth of the young man were chattering as he spoke. It
was not, therefore, until after he had changed his dress,
and swallowed a couple of glasses of Captain Erskine's
never failing spirit, that they all repaired once more
to the mess-room, when Johnstone anticipated all questions,
by the production of the mysterious packet.

After removing several wrappers of bark, each of which
was secured by a thong of deerskin, Colonel de Haldimar,
to whom the successful officer had handed his prize, at
length came to a small oval case of red morocco, precisely
similar, in size and form, to that which had so recently
attracted the notice of his son. For a moment he hesitated,
and his cheek was observed to turn pale, and his hand to
tremble; but quickly subduing his indecision, he hurriedly
unfastened the clasp, and disclosed to the astonished
view of the officers the portrait of a young and lovely
woman, habited in the Highland garb.

Exclamations of various kinds burst from the lips of the
group of officers. Several knew it to be the portrait of
Mrs. de Haldimar; others recognised it from the striking
likeness it bore to Clara and to Charles; all knew it
had never been absent from the possession of the former
since her mother's death; and feeling satisfied as they
did that its extraordinary appearance among them, at the
present moment, was an announcement of some dreadful
disaster, their countenances wore an impress of dismay
little inferior to that of the wretched Charles, who,
agonized beyond all attempt at description, had thrown
himself into a seat in the rear of the group, and sat
like one bewildered, with his head buried in his hands.

"Gentlemen," at length observed Colonel de Haldimar, in
a voice that proved how vainly his natural emotion was
sought to be subdued by his pride, "this, I fear me, is
an unwelcome token. It comes to announce to a father the
murder of his child; to us all, the destruction of our
last remaining friends and comrades."

"God forbid!" solemnly aspirated Captain Blessington.
After a pause of a moment or two he pursued: "I know not
why, sir; but my impression is, the appearance of this
portrait, which we all recognise for that worn by Miss
de Haldimar, bears another interpretation."

Colonel de Haldimar shook his head.--"I have but too
much reason to believe," he observed, smiling in mournful
bitterness, "it has been conveyed to us not in mercy but
in revenge."

No one ventured to question why; for notwithstanding all
were aware that in the mysterious ravisher of the wife
of Halloway Colonel de Haldimar had a fierce and inexorable
private enemy, no allusion had ever been made by that
officer himself to the subject.

"Will you permit me to examine the portrait and envelopes,
Colonel?" resumed Captain Blessington: "I feel almost
confident, although I confess I have no other motive for
it than what springs from a recollection of the manner
of the Indian, that the result will bear me out in my
belief the bearer came not in hostility but in friendship."

"By my faith, I quite agree with Blessington," said
Captain Erskine; "for, in addition to the manner of the
Indian, there is another evidence in favour of his
position. Was it merely intended in the light in which
you consider it, Colonel, the case or the miniature itself
might have been returned, but certainly not the metal in
which it is set. The savages are fully aware of the value
of gold, and would not so easily let it slip through
their fingers."

"And wherefore thus carefully wrapped up?" remarked
Lieutenant Johnstone, "unless it had been intended it
should meet with no injury on the way. I certainly think
the portrait never would have been conveyed, in its
present perfect state, by an enemy."

"The fellow seemed to feel, too, that he came in the
character of one whose intentions claimed all immunity
from harm," remarked Captain Wentworth. "He surely never
would have stood so fearlessly on the brink of the ditch,
and within pistol shot, had he not been conscious of
rendering some service to those connected with us."

To these several observations of his officers, Colonel
de Haldimar listened attentively; and although he made
no reply, it was evident he felt gratified at the eagerness
with which each sought to remove the horrible impression
he had stated to have existed in his own mind. Meanwhile,
Captain Blessington had turned and examined the miniature
in fifty different ways, but without succeeding in
discovering any thing that could confirm him in his
original impression. Vexed and disappointed, he at length
flung it from him on the table, and sinking into a seat
at the side of the unfortunate Charles, pressed the hand
of the youth in significant silence.

Finding his worst fears now confirmed. Colonel de
Haldimar, for the first time, cast a glance towards his
son, whose drooping head, and sorrowing attitude, spoke
volumes to his heart. For a moment his own cheek blanched,
and his eye was seen to glisten with the first tear ever
witnessed there by those around him. Subduing his emotion,
however, he drew up his person to its lordly height, as
if that act reminded him the commander was not to be lost
in the father, and quitting the room with a heavy brow
and step, recommended to his officers the repose of which
they appeared to stand so much in need. But not one was
there who felt inclined to court the solitude of his
pillow. No sooner were the footsteps of the governor
heard dying away in the distance, when fresh lights were
ordered, and several logs of wood heaped on the slackening
fire. Around this the officers now grouped, and throwing
themselves back in their chairs, assumed the attitudes
of men seeking to indulge rather in private reflection
than in personal converse.

The grief of the wretched Charles de Haldimar, hitherto
restrained by the presence of his father, and encouraged
by the touching evidences of interest afforded him by
the ever-considerate Blessington, now burst forth audibly.
No attempt was made by the latter officer to check the
emotion of his young friend. Knowing his passionate
fondness for his sister, he was not without fear that
the sudden shock produced by the appearance of her
miniature might destroy his reason, even if it affected
not his life; and as the moment was now come when tears
might be shed without exciting invidious remark in the
only individual who was likely to make it, he sought to
promote them as much as possible. Too much occupied in
their own mournful reflections to bestow more than a
passing notice on the weakness of their friend, the group
round the fireplace scarcely seemed to have regarded his
emotion.

This violent paroxysm past, De Haldimar breathed more
freely; and, after listening to several earnest observations
of Captain Blessington, who still held out the possibility
of something favourable turning up, on a re-examination
of the portrait by daylight, he was so far composed as
to be able to attend to the summons of the sergeant of
the guard, who came to say the relief were ready, and
waiting to be inspected before they were finally marched
off. Clasping the extended hand of his captain between
his own, with a pressure indicative of his deep gratitude,
De Haldimar now proceeded to the discharge of his duty;
and having caught up the portrait, which still lay on
the table, and thrust it into the breast of his uniform,
he repaired hurriedly to rejoin his guard, from which
circumstances alone had induced his unusually long absence.




CHAPTER IV.

The remainder of that night was passed by the unhappy De
Haldimar in a state of indescribable wretchedness. After
inspecting the relief, he had thrown himself on his rude
guard-bed; and, drawing his cloak over his eyes, given
full rein to the wanderings of his excited imagination.
It was in vain the faithful old Morrison, who never
suffered his master to mount a guard without finding some
one with whom to exchange his tour of duty, when he
happened not to be in orders himself, repeatedly essayed,
as he sat stirring the embers of the fire, to enter into
conversation with him. The soul of the young officer was
sick, past the endurance even of that kind voice; and,
more than once, he impetuously bade him be silent, if he
wished to continue where he was; or, if not, to join his
comrades in the next guard-room. A sigh was the only
respectful but pained answer to these sharp remonstrances;
and De Haldimar, all absorbed even as he was in his own
grief, felt it deeply; for he knew the old man loved him,
and he could not bear the idea of appearing to repay with
slight the well-intentioned efforts of one whom he had
always looked upon more as a dependant on his family than
as the mere rude soldier. Still he could not summon
courage to disclose the true nature of his grief, which
the other merely ascribed to general causes and vague
apprehensions of a yet unaccomplished evil. Morrison had
ever loved his sister with an affection in no way inferior
to that which he bore towards himself. He had also nursed
her in childhood; and his memory was ever faithful to
trace, as his tongue was to dwell on, those gentle and
amiable qualities, which, strongly marked at an earlier
period of her existence, had only undergone change,
inasmuch as they had become matured and more forcibly
developed in womanhood. Often, latterly, had the grey-haired
veteran been in the habit of alluding to her; for he saw
the subject was one that imparted a mournful satisfaction
to the youth; and, with a tact that years, more than deep
reading of the human heart, had given him, he ever made
a point of adverting to their re-union as an event
admitting not of doubt.

Hitherto the affectionate De Haldimar had loved to listen
to these sounds of comfort; for, although they carried
no conviction to his mind, impressed as he was with the
terrible curse of Ellen Halloway, and the consequent
belief that his family were devoted to some fearful doom,
still they came soothingly and unctuously to his sick
soul; and, all deceptive even as he felt them to be, he
found they created a hope which, while certain to be
dispelled by calm after-reflection, carried a momentary
solace to his afflicted spirit. But, now that he had
every evidence his adored sister was no more, and that
the illusion of hope was past for ever, to have heard
her name even mentioned by one who, ignorant of the
fearful truth the events of that night had elucidated,
was still ready to renew a strain every chord of which
had lost its power of harmony, was repugnant beyond
bearing to his heart. At one moment he resolved briefly
to acquaint the old man with the dreadful fact, but
unwillingness to give pain prevented him; and, moreover,
he felt the grief the communication would draw from the
faithful servitor of his family must be of so unchecked
a nature as to render his own sufferings even more poignant
than they were. Neither had he (independently of all
other considerations) resolution enough to forego the
existence of hope in another, even although it had passed
entirely away from himself. It was for these reasons he
had so harshly and (for him) unkindly checked, the attempt
of the old man at a conversation which he, at every
moment, felt would be made to turn on the ill-fated Clara.

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