Читать книгу The King's Warrant - Alfred H. Engelbach - Страница 14

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o further incident worth notice occurred either during the remainder of the night or on the two following days. Thanks to Boulanger's experience and to the genial August weather, Isidore found none of the inconveniences he had anticipated in this impromptu journey, and slept perhaps more soundly than he had ever done before during the long halts which they made in the heat of the day. On the third day, late in the afternoon, they approached the English settlement of which Boulanger had spoken.

They had reached the top of a small ridge that looked upon the clearings, the guide being perhaps a dozen yards in advance, when, just as Isidore came up to him, the Canadian turned, and grasping his arm, exclaimed, "The Indians! the Indians! Look! the Indians have been there and destroyed the place. Alas! would that this were all. I fear we may hardly hope to find one soul alive."

A single glance at the scene before them was sufficient to satisfy Isidore that his companion's supposition was only too well founded. On the extensive clearings spread out in the valley below he could plainly see the remains of the half dozen homesteads, now either mere heaps of ruins, or at best with only some portion left standing, like blackened monuments serving to mark the spots where the bright hopes and joys of the once happy little community, nay, perhaps they themselves, lay buried for ever.

"Let us go down," said Boulanger, as soon as he recovered from the first shock, "let us go down; it is not so very long since this has happened, surely they cannot all have perished—at least we may learn something as to how this came about, and if any yet survive." They descended the hill, and scarcely had the guide begun to cross the first tract of cultivated ground when the mournful expression of his face changed to one of curiosity and surprise.

"Why, what is this?" exclaimed he, pointing to a dark object that lay at a short distance from the spot. "A dead Huron, and in his war paint! Yes—and there lies another. There has been a fight here not many hours since, and the red skins have been worsted or we should not see that sight, and yet the half dozen men belonging to the place could have been no match for them." Boulanger hurried forward, Isidore following him, and they soon came to an open spot that had served as a kind of village green, on which many articles of various kinds were strewed about. "Look here, and here!" cried he, now seizing Isidore by the arm and pointing first in one direction, then in another. Half irritated at this familiarity, half bewildered by Boulanger's words, Isidore gazed about him; but the broken musket, the extinguished camp-fire, the rudely tied up bundle of spoils, such as none but a Red Indian would prize, were to him wholly without meaning. To add to his perplexity, Boulanger, who had been scrutinising everything around them with eager curiosity, suddenly quitted his side, and vaulting over a fence, disappeared in the wood that skirted the clearing.

"Hang the fellow!" muttered Isidore. "This is a little too bad. If he expects me to follow him everywhere, he is mistaken. A pretty thing, truly, if I were to miss him and lose myself in this out-of-the-way place, I'll let him know that it is his business to attend to me instead of running about to look after dead savages, or live Englishmen either."

The guide, however, soon reappeared, saying, as he rejoined his companion, "There are red skins enough lying in the wood yonder. They must have been surprised here after a successful attack on some other place, and the people here have had little or no share in it, but have been helped by some much stronger force than they could muster. That's plain enough, at all events."

"It may be all plain enough to you," replied Isidore. "As for me, I can see there has been a fight between the white men and savages; but more than that I cannot make out, and in truth I don't see that it matters much to us, except that we are disappointed of our expected quarters for the night."

There was a look of anger not wholly unmixed with contempt on the face of the Canadian as Isidore concluded these remarks.

"Truly," said he, "I had forgotten, in my anxiety for the fate of many who were no strangers to me, that monsieur may lose his supper and his bed."

The rebuke was not thrown away. Beneath all his aristocratic pride, and the selfishness that had grown upon him, Isidore still had a heart capable of sympathy and compassion, and there was a nobleness in his nature which at once compelled him to avow his error even to so humble a companion.

"Forgive me, my friend," said he; "I have deserved your reproof. Come, let us at least see before we go further whether we can find in any of these ruined buildings something that may give us a clue to what has befallen your friends. As it is clear that the Englishmen had the best of it, perhaps we may find that the people of this place have only gone elsewhere for temporary shelter."

Boulanger was appeased in a moment; his was one of those rare dispositions with which a little kindness outweighs more than a like amount of harshness and injustice.

"Enough! enough! monsieur," said he. "That is a good old French proverb which says, 'A fault avowed is half pardoned,' though I think that 'wholly pardoned' would be better still. Let us do as you propose; afterwards we will continue our journey for a short league, so as to get away from this miserable scene, and then we will encamp for the night."

Keeping purposely away from that part of the settlement which had been the scene of the terrible tragedy, they crossed two or three of the clearings without coming upon anything worthy of notice, except that the buildings, and in many places the growing crops, had been wantonly destroyed. At length they reached the homestead which had belonged to Pritchard, Boulanger's relative. It was about half a mile from the spot where they had first come upon the settlement, and, perhaps owing to its somewhat remote position, had escaped better than the others, one-half of the house being almost uninjured. With a deep sigh Boulanger pushed open the door, but immediately started back as a man, who had been sitting there with his face buried in his hands, rose up hastily and surveyed the intruders with surprise evidently not unmingled with fear. He was soon reassured on perceiving that one of his unexpected visitors was Boulanger, who on his part was not slow to recognise his brother-in-law.

They soon learned from him that things had come to pass pretty much as Boulanger had surmised. A formidable body of Indians, numbering full a hundred warriors, had about a week previously crossed the St. Lawrence and made an incursion into the New England territory. Fortunately the settlers at Little Creek had been warned of their danger by a half-witted Indian orphan girl, on whom Pritchard had taken compassion some time before, and who had become domesticated amongst them. They fled in haste, leaving everything behind them, and the Indians having other objects in view did not turn aside to follow them; but after ravaging the place hurried on to attack a yet larger settlement, further from the border, whose inhabitants had thought themselves far removed from any such inroad. The onslaught was as successful as it was sudden. The men were for the most part absent; the settlement was sacked, the women and children were either killed or carried off as prisoners, after which the Indians turned back, and having again reached Little Creek encamped there and gave themselves up for the day to celebrate their victory with their usual savage rites, and to indulge their greedy thirst for the fatal fire-water of their enemies. But the New Englanders had not been idly weeping over their misfortunes. Hastily collecting every man who could bear a musket, they followed up their retiring foes and came upon them in the midst of their drunken carouse. Burning with the desire of revenge, and infuriated by their recent bereavement of all they held most dear, they fell upon the almost unresisting Indians and massacred them to the last man. Then they in their turn retreated to rebuild their ruined homesteads and mourn over the dead. Some stragglers of the party had told all this to the fugitives from Little Creek, and Pritchard had ventured back to the place to make sure and report to the rest whether the coast was really clear for them to come back again. Such was the border warfare of those days.

The travellers now abandoned their intention of going further that night, as Pritchard urgently pressed them not to leave him there alone, and Isidore indeed was hardly in a condition to continue the journey. The house had not been plundered, so Pritchard was able to offer them what they needed in the way both of rest and refreshment. When their frugal meal was over it was arranged that each of them should keep watch in turn. There was indeed no likelihood that any one would come near the spot, or that they would be molested in any way, nevertheless there was something in the awful solitude of the place that seemed to create a feeling of insecurity. The first watch fell to Pritchard's lot, and Boulanger took the second. Isidore thought he had only just dozed off when the guide awoke him, and told him that it was his turn.

"Why, it is still daylight," said he, rubbing his eyes, "unless indeed—— You do not mean to say it is morning?" he added, half vexed, as the thought arose in his mind that the Canadian had compassionately allowed him to sleep on beyond this time.

"Monsieur is less used to the forest than we are," replied Boulanger, good-humouredly. "I had one spell of sleep to begin with, and another hour's rest will set me up for a week to come." So saying he stopped all further discussion by stretching himself on the floor, and apparently dropping off at once.

Isidore rose and went out; then, seating himself on a great stump that stood near the door, he gazed out upon the still and desolate landscape, which was just distinguishable in the first grey light of morning. He had become absorbed in a reverie on the events that had brought him into so strange a locality when he felt his arm lightly touched, and, looking round, beheld, to his great astonishment, a young Indian girl standing by his side. His first impulse was to start up and give the alarm to his companions; then came a feeling of shame at such an idea as he scanned the girl's face, from which one might have supposed her to be twelve or thirteen years old at most, although, judging from her stature and figure, she was probably some years older. There was, however, a strangely forlorn expression on her features that went to Isidore's heart as he looked at her. Perhaps she noticed the impression she had made upon him, for she again laid her hand upon his arm, saying, timidly, "The pale faces are very wise. Can the young warrior tell Amoahmeh where they are?"

This was much too mysterious for Isidore; in fact, it suggested to him at once all sorts of Indian wiles and stratagems. What if there was a whole tribe of red men in the next cover! Without more ado he called to Boulanger and Pritchard, who instantly came rushing out of the building rifle in hand.

"Hola! what have we here?" exclaimed Boulanger, looking round as if the Indian girl had suggested to him the same possibility of an Indian attack as had occurred to Isidore.

"Oh, 'tis only Amoahmeh," said Pritchard, quietly, as he recognised the cause of their alarm. "It is all right; she is the half-witted Indian girl—if she has any wits at all—of whom I was telling you. I fancy some of the red skins with whom her tribe were at war butchered all her family in bygone days, and she is always bothering one to tell her where they are—I suppose she means her kith and kin. I always tell her that it is of no use asking what has become of a lot of heathens like them."

"But," said Isidore, rather interested in the poor girl, "how was it she escaped when all her friends were killed?"

"Well," replied Pritchard; "perhaps she became crazy then, and was spared on that account. The red skins are queer folk, and never harm crazy people. For that matter, they might teach a lesson to some that call themselves Christians. They seem to think idiots something supernatural, and call them 'Great Medicine.'"

"Yes, that's true enough," said Boulanger; "I suppose the child has had wit enough to keep out of the way of those New Englanders, and has been hiding about in the woods during all this business. Well, if that is all, we may as well turn in again. Monsieur need have no fears," added he, addressing Isidore; "the best way is to take no notice of her. At all events, if she does skulk about, she is more likely to warn us of any danger than to bring it upon us." With these words the guide, followed by Pritchard, again entered the house, leaving Isidore alone with Amoahmeh.

During this little interlude the girl had eagerly watched each speaker in turn, apparently trying to follow what was said. It was but too evident, however, that all was a blank to her except an occasional word, at which her face would once and again lighten up with intelligence. Isidore could not help being touched by her desolate condition, and when Pritchard and the guide had left them, he turned towards her to bestow on her a few kindly words, but Amoahmeh had timidly retreated to a little distance and had seated herself at the foot of a tree, apparently absorbed in conning over what had passed.

Let us be as tender-hearted and compassionate as we may, a pain in our little finger must still come home to us more than another's loss of a limb, at least, if there is no special link between us. Isidore's pity for the half-witted girl was presently lost sight of in what had first been only the inconvenience, but had latterly become the positive suffering inflicted on him by those unfortunate boots of his. Pride alone had restrained him from hinting at this to Boulanger during the latter part of the day's march; but he now began to have some misgivings as to whether he might not become wholly incapacitated from proceeding further unless he put his pride in his pocket and adopted the suggestions of his guide. Here was, however, a chance of temporary relief at least, as he was likely to be unmolested for a couple of hours, so he proceeded at once to divest himself of the said boots, a business that was not effected without much pain and exertion, and an unmistakable aggravation of the mischief. He was just debating with himself on the advisability of bathing his swollen ankles in a tempting stream that rippled along only a few yards off, when he was surprised to find Amoahmeh—who had been watching his proceedings with an interest of which he was wholly unconscious—kneeling before him, evidently intent on applying to the inflamed and aching joints a quantity of large green leaves which she had just gathered for the purpose.

There are probably few amongst us who have not, at one time or another, experienced that ineffably exquisite sensation caused by the sudden cessation of intense and wearing pain. For a minute or two Isidore could, only look down complacently on his ministering angel, giving forth more than one deep and long drawn sigh of relief; then naturally enough pity for her once more awoke within him, and he exclaimed, "Poor child! now this is very thoughtful of you. Really one must admit that there are some things in which even a mere savage has the advantage of us. Yes," he added thoughtfully, "I wish I could do something to lighten your troubles and hardships."

The girl looked up in his face. His words had fallen dead, but the tone in which they were spoken reached her heart.

"You can tell me where they are," she said softly, but very earnestly.

"Where they are," repeated Isidore. "Ah, well. Do you mean your father or your kindred?"

"Tsawanhonhi is in the happy hunting grounds—Amoahmeh knows that," answered the girl, quietly yet firmly. "Yes, and Wacontah is with him—I know that too. But—but the little ones, Tanondah and Tsarahes, my brothers—where are they? Oh! who will tell me where they are?"

Isidore was silent. "I suppose," thought he, "these must be the little ones that she has loved and lost; Pritchard said something of her friends having been all killed."

He looked at her sorrowfully, for the eager, inquiring face troubled him, he scarce knew why.

"The pale faces know what the Great Spirit says about all things. Will the young brave hide this from poor Amoahmeh?" said she with a yet more wistful look.

"Now what is this fellow Pritchard," said Isidore to himself, "or what am I, ay, or what is even Monseigneur the Archbishop for that matter, that we should take upon ourselves to say what a loving Father in His wisdom may choose to do with these red skins after they leave this world?"

"My good girl," he blurted out, after a short pause, "the Great Spirit has taken your little brothers, and keeps them safe enough in a place that He has made on purpose for them. The Great Spirit is a good Spirit, and you may be quite sure that He would not hurt your little brothers. You have found trouble and sorrow enough already in this world to enable you to believe that the poor little fellows may be all the better for being taken out of it."

"Ah, yes!" replied Amoahmeh, looking gratefully up in the young soldier's face, "I was sure the pale face knew where they were. But," she added earnestly, "can he tell me whether I shall see them again?"

"See them again!" rejoined Isidore, apparently somewhat puzzled for the moment. "Ah, well, I don't know why you should not. I think," he muttered, "I may go as far as that, though she is but a heathen. At all events it will be some comfort to the poor thing."

It did comfort her indeed. Perhaps she only understood it very partially, but the one absorbing uncertainty that had troubled her was cleared away. She took Isidore's hand and kissed it; no tears fell upon it—perhaps it would have been well with her could she have wept. Then she arose, and before he could call to her, she had disappeared.

With a pleasant sense of relief from bodily suffering, and with a mind not particularly pre-occupied by any anxiety, Isidore passed the remainder of his watch in recollections now of the courtly assemblages at Versailles, now of the voyage out to New France, now of the assault at Oswego, as the current of his ideas was swept hither and thither by some casual link of association, and he was only aroused from his meditations by the appearance of the guide, who came to warn him that breakfast was ready within, and that they would have to start in a quarter of an hour so as to make good way daring the cool of the morning.

As Boulanger said this his eyes lighted on the green bandages that still enveloped Isidore's ankles. The facts were of course soon told, and Boulanger was loud in his praises of the girl's thoughtfulness, though he did not disguise his fears that the resumption of the boots and a day's march in them would be a serious matter. At this juncture Amoahmeh once more made her appearance, bringing with her a pair of Indian moccasins, with leggings to match, on the manufacture of which out of materials found in one of the deserted dwellings she had been busily employed since her interview with the young soldier. Great was Boulanger's delight, while Isidore on donning the new made, and by no means unornamental moccasins, declared that nothing could be more comfortable, and that he felt able to accomplish any journey that the guide might think fit to lay out for the day. He would have expressed his thanks to the girl, and indeed he would have made her a handsome present, and bestowed on her a kind word at parting, but she was nowhere to be seen. The morning meal did not occupy much time, and after taking leave of Pritchard, Isidore and the guide set out on their day's march.