Wyandotte - James Fenimore Cooper
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Mike's grin, as he retreated, showed that he meant to be facetious,
having all the pleasantry that attends a full stomach uppermost in his
animal nature at that precise moment. A shout rewarded this sally, and
the parties separated with mutual good humour and good feeling. In this
state of mind, the county Leitrim-man was ushered into the presence of
the ladies. A few words of preliminary explanations were sufficient to
put Mike in the proper train, when he came at once to his subject.
"The majjor is no way down-hearted," he said, "and he ordered me to
give his jewty and riverence, and obligations, to his honoured mother
and his sisters. 'Tell 'em, Mike,' says he, says the majjor, 'that I
feels for 'em, all the same as if I was their own fader; and tell 'em,'
says he, 'to keep up their spirits, and all will come right in the ind.
This is a throublesome wor-r-ld, but they that does their jewties to
God and man, and the church, will not fail, in the long run, to wor-r-k
their way t'rough purgatory even, into paradise.'"
"Surely my son--my dear Robert--never sent us such a message as this,
Michael?"
"Every syllable of it, and a quantity moor that has slipped my memory,"
answered the Irishman, who was inventing, but who fancied he was
committing a very pious fraud--"'Twould have done the Missuses heart
good to have listened to the majjor, who spoke more in the
cha_rack_ter of a praist, like, than in that of a souldier."
All three of the ladies looked a little abashed, though there was a
gleam of humour about the mouth of Maud, that showed she was not very
far from appreciating the Irishman's report at its just value. As for
Mrs. Willoughby and Beulah, less acquainted with Mike's habits, they
did not so readily penetrate his manner of substituting his own
desultory thoughts for the ideas of others.
"As I am better acquainted with Mike's language, dear mother"--
whispered Maud--"perhaps it will be well if I take him into the library
and question him a little between ourselves about what actually passed.
Depend on it, I shall get the truth."
"Do, my child, for it really pains me to hear Robert so much
misrepresented--and, as Evert must now begin to have ideas, I really do
not like that his uncle should be so placed before the dear little
fellow's mind."
Maud did not even smile at this proof of a grandmother's weakness,
though she felt and saw all its absurdity. Heart was ever so much
uppermost with the excellent matron, that it was not easy for those she
loved to regard anything but her virtues; and least of all did her
daughter presume to indulge in even a thought that was ludicrous at her
expense. Profiting by the assent, therefore, Maud quietly made a motion
for Mike to follow, and proceeded at once to the room she had named.
Not a word was exchanged between the parties until both were in the
library, when Maud carefully closed the door, her face pale as marble,
and stood looking inquiringly at her companion. The reader will
understand that, Mr. Woods and Joyce excepted, not a soul at the Hut,
out of the limits of the Willoughby connection, knew anything of our
heroine's actual relation to the captain and his family. It is true,
some of the oldest of the blacks had once some vague notions on the
subject; but _their_ recollections had become obscured by time,
and habit was truly second nature with all of the light-hearted race.
"_That_ was mighty injanious of you, Miss Maud!" Mike commenced,
giving one of his expressive grins again, and fairly winking. "It shows
how fri'nds wants no spache but their own minds. Barrin' mistakes and
crass-accidents, I'm sartain that Michael O'Hearn can make himself
understood any day by Miss Maud Willoughby, an' niver a word said."
"Your success then, Mike, will be greater at dumb-show than it always
is with your tongue," answered the young lady, the blood slowly
returning to her cheek, the accidental use of the name of Willoughby
removing the apprehension of anything immediately embarrassing; "what
have you to tell me that you suppose I have anticipated?"
"Sure, the like o' yees needn't be tould, Miss Maud, that the majjor
bad me spake to ye by yerself, and say a word that was not to be
overheerd by any one else."
"This is singular--extraordinary even--but let me know more, though the
messenger be altogether so much out of the common way!"
"I t'ought ye 'd say _that_, when ye come to know me. Is it meself
that 's a messenger? and where is there another that can carry news
widout spilling any by the way? Nick's a cr'ature, I allows; but the
majjor know'd a million times bhetter than to trust an Injin wid sich a
jewty. As for Joel, and _that_ set of vagabonds, we'll grind 'em
all in the mill, before we've done wid 'em. Let 'em look for no
favours, if they wishes no disapp'intment."
Maud sickened at the thought of having any of those sacred feelings
connected with Robert Willoughby that she had so long cherished in her
inmost heart, rudely probed by so unskilful a hand; though her last
conversation with the young soldier had told so much, even while it
left so much unsaid, that she could almost kneel and implore Mike to be
explicit. The reserve of a woman, notwithstanding, taught her how to
preserve her sex's decorum, and to maintain appearances.
"If major Willoughby desired you to communicate anything to me, in
particular," she said, with seeming composure, "I am ready to hear it."
"Divil the word did he desire, Miss Maud, for everything was in
whispers between us, but jist what I'm about to repait. And here's my
stick, that Nick tould me to kape as a reminderer; it 's far bhetter
for me than a book, as I can't read a syllable. 'And now, Mike,' says
the majjor, says he, 'conthrive to see phratty Miss Maud by
herself'----"
"_Pretty_ Miss Maud!" interrupted the young lady, involuntarily.
"Och! it's meself that says _that_, and sure there 's plenty of
r'ason for it; so we'll agree it's all right and proper--'phratty Miss
Maud by herself, letting no mortal else know what you are about.
_That_ was the majjor's."
"It is very extraordinary!--Perhaps it will be better Michael, if you
tell me nothing but what is strictly the major's. A message should be
delivered as nearly like the words that were actually sent as
possible."
"Wor-r-ds!--And it isn't wor-r-ds at all, that I have to give ye."
"If not a message in words, in what else can it be?--Not in sticks,
surely."
"In _that_"--cried Mike, exultingly--"and, I'll warrant, when the
trut' comes out, that very little bit of silver will be found as good
as forty Injin scalps."
Although Mike put a small silver snuff-box that Maud at once recognised
as Robert Willoughby's property into the young lady's hand, nothing was
more apparent than the circumstance that he was profoundly ignorant of
the true meaning of what he was doing. The box was very beautiful, and
his mother and Beulah had often laughed at the major for using an
article that was then deemed _de rigueur_ for a man of extreme
_ton_, when all his friends knew he never touched snuff. So far from
using the stimulant, indeed, he never would show how the box was
opened, a secret spring existing; and he even manifested or betrayed
shyness on the subject of suffering either of his sisters to search for
the means of doing so.
The moment Maud saw the box, her heart beat tumultuously. She had a
presentiment that her fate was about to be decided. Still, she had
sufficient self-command to make an effort to learn all her companion
had to communicate.
"Major Willoughby gave you this box," she said, her voice trembling in
spite of herself. "Did he send any message with it? Recollect yourself;
the words may be very important."
"Is it the wor-r-ds? Well, it's little of _them_ that passed
between us, barrin' that the Injins was so near by, that it was whisper
we did, and not a bit else."
"Still there _must_ have been _some_ message."
"Ye are as wise as a sarpent, Miss Maud, as Father O'Loony used to tell
us all of a Sunday! Was it wor-r-ds!--Give _that_ to Miss Maud,'
says the majjor, says he, 'and tell her she is now _misthress of my
sacret._"
"Did he say this, Michael?--For heaven's sake, be certain of what you
tell me."
"Irish Mike--Masser want you in monstrous hurry," cried the youngest of
the three black men, thrusting his glistening lace into the door,
announcing the object of the intrusion, and disappearing almost in the
same instant.
"Do not leave me, O'Hearn," said Maud, nearly gasping for breath, "do
not leave me without an assurance there is no mistake."
"Divil bur-r-n me if I 'd brought the box, or the message, or anything
like it, phretty Miss Maud, had I t'ought it would have done this har-
r-m."
"Michael O'Hearn," called the serjeant from the court, in his most
authoritative military manner, and that on a key that would not brook
denial.
Mike did not dare delay; in half a minute Maud found herself standing
alone, in the centre of the library, holding the well-known snuff-box
of Robert Willoughby in her little hand. The renowned caskets of Portia
had scarcely excited more curiosity in their way than this little
silver box of the major's had created in the mind of Maud. In addition
to his playful evasions about letting her and Beulah pry into its
mysteries, he had once said to herself, in a grave and feeling manner,
"When you get at the contents of this box, dear girl, you will learn
the great secret of my life." These words had made a deep impression at
the time--it was in his visit of the past year--but they had been
temporarily forgotten in the variety of events and stronger sensations
that had succeeded. Mike's message, accompanied by the box itself,
however, recalled them, and Maud fancied that the major, considering
himself to be in some dangerous emergency, had sent her the bauble in
order that she might learn what that secret was. Possibly he meant her
to communicate it to others. Persons in our heroine's situation feel,
more than they reason; and it is possible Maud might have come to some
other conclusion had she been at leisure, or in a state of mind to
examine all the circumstances in a more logical manner.
Now she was in possession of this long-coveted box--coveted at least so
far as a look into its contents were concerned--Maud not only found
herself ignorant of the secret by which it was opened, but she had
scruples about using the means, even had she been in possession of
them. At first she thought of carrying the thing to Beulah, and of
asking if she knew any way of getting at the spring; then she shrunk
from the exposure that might possibly attend such a step. The more she
reflected, the more she felt convinced that Robert Willoughby would not
have sent _her_ that particular box, unless it were connected with
herself, in some way more than common; and ever since the conversation
in the painting-room she had seen glimmerings of the truth, in relation
to his feelings. These glimmerings too, had aided her in better
understanding her own heart, and all her sentiments revolted at the
thought of having a witness to any explanation that might relate to the
subject. In every event she determined, after a few minutes of thought,
not to speak of the message, or the present, to a living soul.
In this condition of mind, filled with anxiety, pleasing doubts,
apprehensions, shame, and hope, all relieved, however, by the secret
consciousness of perfect innocence, and motives that angels might avow,
Maud stood, in the very spot where Mike had left her, turning the box
in her hands, when accidentally she touched the spring, and the lid
flew open. To glance at the contents was an act so natural and
involuntary as to anticipate reflection.
Nothing was visible but a piece of white paper, neatly folded, and
compressed into the box in a way to fill its interior. "Bob has
written," thought Maud--"Yet how could he do this? He was in the dark,
and had not pen or paper!" Another look rendered this conjecture still
more improbable, as it showed the gilt edge of paper of the quality
used for notes, an article equally unlikely to be found in the mill and
in his own pocket. "Yet it must be a note," passed through her mind,
"and of course it was written before he left the Hut--quite likely
before he arrived--possibly the year before, when he spoke of the box
as containing the evidence of the great secret of his life."
Maud now wished for Mike, incoherent, unintelligible, and blundering as
he was, that she might question him still further as to the precise
words of the message. "Possibly Bob did not intend me to open the-box
at all," she thought, "and meant merely that I should keep it until he
could return to claim it. It contains a great secret; and, because he
wishes to keep this secret from the Indians, it does not follow that he
intends to reveal it to me. I will shut the box again, and guard his
secret as I would one of my own."
This was no sooner _thought_ than it was _done_. A pressure
of the lid closed it, and Maud heard the snap of the spring with a
start. Scarcely was the act performed ere she repented it. "Bob would
not have sent the box without some particular object," she went on to
imagine; "and had he intended it not to be opened, he would have told
as much to O'Hearn. How easy would it have been for him to say, and for
Mike to repeat, 'tell her to keep the box till I ask for it--it
contains a secret, and I wish my captors not to learn it.' No, he has
sent the box with the design that I should examine its contents. His
very life may depend on my doing so; yes, and on my doing so this
minute!"
This last notion no sooner glanced athwart our heroine's mind, than she
began diligently to search for the hidden spring. Perhaps curiosity had
its influence on the eagerness to arrive at the secret, which she now
manifested; possibly a tenderer and still more natural feeling lay
concealed behind it all. At any rate, her pretty little fingers never
were employed more nimbly, and not a part of the exterior of the box
escaped its pressure. Still, the secret spring eluded her search. The
box had two or three bands of richly chased work on each side of the
place of opening, and amid these ornaments Maud felt certain that the
little projection she sought must lie concealed. To examine these,
then, she commenced in a regular and connected manner, resolved that
not a single raised point should be neglected. Accident, however, as
before, stood her friend; and, at a moment when she least expected it,
the lid flew back, once more exposing the paper to view.
Maud had been too seriously alarmed about re-opening the box, to
hesitate a moment now, as to examining its contents. The paper was
removed, and she began to unfold it slowly, a slight tremor passing
through her frame as she did so. For a single instant she paused to
scent the delightful and delicate perfume that seemed to render the
interior sacred; then her fingers resumed their office. At each
instant, her eyes expected to meet Robert Willoughby's well known
handwriting. But the folds of the paper opened on a blank. To Maud's
surprise, and, for a single exquisitely painful moment, she saw that a
lock of hair was all the box contained, besides the paper in which it
was enveloped. Her look became anxious, and her face pale; then the
eyes brightened, and a blush that might well be likened to the tints
with which the approach of dawn illumines the sky, suffused her cheeks,
as, holding the hair to the light, the long ringlets dropped at length,
and she recognised one of those beautiful tresses, of which so many
were falling at that very moment, in rich profusion around her awn
lovely face. To unloosen her hair from the comb, and to lay the secret
of Bob Willoughby by its side, in a way to compare the glossy shades,
was the act of only a moment; it sufficed, however, to bring a perfect
conviction of the truth. It was a memorial of herself, then, that
Robert Willoughby so prized, had so long guarded with care, and which
he called the secret of his life!
It was impossible for Maud not to understand all this. Robert
Willoughby loved her; he had taken this mode of telling his passion. He
had been on the point of doing this in words the very day before; and
now he availed himself of the only means that offered of completing the
tale. A flood of tenderness gushed to the heart of Maud, as she passed
over all this in her mind; and, from that moment, she ceased to feel
shame at the recollection of her own attachment. She might still have
shrunk a little from avowing it to her father, and mother, and Beulah;
but, as to herself the world, and the object of her affections, she now
stood perfectly vindicated in her own eyes.
That was a precious half-hour which succeeded. For the moment, all
present dangers were lost sight of, in the glow of future hopes. Maud's
imagination portrayed scenes of happiness, in which domestic duties,
Bob beloved, almost worshipped, and her father and mother happy in the
felicity of their children, were the prominent features; while Beulah
and little Evert filled the back-ground of the picture in colours of
pleasing softness. But these were illusions that could not last, for
ever, the fearful realities of her situation returning with the greater
consciousness of existence. Still, Bob might now be loved, without
wounding any of the sensitiveness of her sex's opinions; and dearly,
engrossingly, passionately was he rewarded, for the manner in which he
had thought of letting her know the true state of his heart, at a
moment when he had so much reason to think only of himself.
It was time for Maud to return to her mother and sister. The box was
carefully concealed, leaving the hair in its old envelope, and she
hurried to the nursery. On entering the room, she found that her father
had just preceded her. The captain was grave, more thoughtful than
usual, and his wife, accustomed to study his countenance for so much of
her happiness, saw at once that something lay heavy on his mind.
"Has anything out of the way happened, Hugh?" she asked, "to give you
uneasiness?"
Captain Willoughby drew a chair to the side of that of his wife, seated
himself, and took her hand before he answered. Little Evert, who sat on
her knee, was played with, for a moment, as if to defer a disagreeable
duty; not till then did he even speak.
"You know, dearest Wilhelmina," the captain finally commenced, "that
there have never been any concealments between us, on the score of
danger, even when I was a professed soldier, and might be said to carry
my life in my hand."
"You have ever found me reasonable, I trust, while feeling like a
woman, mindful of my duty as a wife?"
"I have, love; this is the reason I have always dealt with you so
frankly."
"We understand each other, Hugh. Now tell me the worst at once."
"I am not certain you will think there is any worst about it,
Wilhelmina, as Bob's liberty is the object. I intend to go out myself,
at the head of all the white men that remain, in order to deliver him
from the hands of his enemies. This will leave you, for a time--six or
seven hours perhaps--in the Hut, with only the three blacks as a guard,
and with the females. You need have no apprehension of an assault,
however, everything indicating a different intention on the part of our
enemies; on that score you may set your hearts at rest."
"All my apprehensions and prayers will be for you, my husband--for
ourselves, we care not."
"This I expected; it is to lessen these very apprehensions that I have
come to tell you my whole plan."
Captain Willoughby now related, with some minuteness, the substance of
Mike's report, and his own plan, of the last of which we have already
given an outline. Everything had been well matured in his mind, and all
promised success. The men were apprised of the service on which they
were to be employed, and every one of them had manifested the best
spirit. They were then busy in equipping themselves; in half an hour
they would be ready to march.
To all this Mrs. Willoughby listened like a soldier's wife, accustomed
to the risks of a frontier warfare, though she felt like a woman.
Beulah pressed little Evert to her heart, while her pallid countenance
was turned to her father with a look that seemed to devour every
syllable. As for Maud, a strange mixture of dread and wild delight were
blended in her bosom. To have Bob liberated, and restored to them, was
approaching perfect happiness, though it surpassed her powers not to
dread misfortunes. Nevertheless, the captain was so clear in his
explanations, so calm in his manner, and of a judgment so approved,
that his auditors felt far less concern than might naturally have been
expected.
Chapter XXIV.
"March--march--march!
Making sounds as they tread,
Ho-ho! how they step,
Going down to the dead."
Coxe.
The time Maud consumed in her meditations over the box and its
contents, had been employed by the captain in preparations for his
enterprise. Joyce, young Blodget, Jamie and Mike, led by their
commander in person, were to compose the whole force on the occasion;
and every man had been busy in getting his arms, ammunition and
provisions ready, for the last half-hour. When captain Willoughby,
therefore, had taken leave of his family, he found the party in a
condition to move.
The first great desideratum was to quit the Hut unseen. Joel and his
followers were still at work, in distant fields; but they all carefully
avoided that side of the Knoll which would have brought them within
reach of the musket, and this left all behind the cliff unobserved,
unless Indians were in the woods in that direction. As Mike had so
recently passed in by that route, however, the probability was the
whole party still remained in the neighbourhood of the mills, where all
accounts agreed in saying they mainly kept. It was the intention of the
captain, therefore, to sally by the rivulet and the rear of the house,
and to gain the woods under cover of the bushes on the banks of the
former, as had already been done by so many since the inroad.
The great difficulty was to quit the house, and reach the bed of the
stream, unseen. This step, however, was a good deal facilitated by
means of Joel's sally-port, the overseer having taken, himself, all the
precautions against detection of which the case well admitted.
Nevertheless, there was the distance between the palisades and the base
of the rocks, some forty or fifty yards, which was entirely uncovered,
and had to be passed under the notice of any wandering eyes that might
happen to be turned in that quarter. After much reflection, the captain
and serjeant came to the conclusion to adopt the following mode of
proceeding.
Blodget passed the hole, by himself, unarmed, rolling down the
declivity until he reached the stream. Here a thicket concealed him
sufficiently, the bushes extending along the base of the rocks,
following the curvature of the rivulet. Once within these bushes, there
was little danger of detection. As soon as it was ascertained that the
young man was beneath the most eastern of the outer windows of the
northern wing, the only one of the entire range that had bushes
directly under it, all the rifles were lowered down to him, two at a
time, care being had that no one should appear at the window during the
operation. This was easily effected, jerks of the rope sufficing for
the necessary signals to haul in the line. The ammunition succeeded;
and in this manner, all the materials of offence and defence were soon
collected on the margin of the stream.
The next step was to send the men out, one by one, imitating the
precautions taken by Blodget. Each individual had his own provisions,
and most of the men carried some sort of arms, such as a pistol, or a
knife, about his person. In half an hour the four men were armed, and
waited for the leader, concealed by the bushes on the border of the
brook. It only remained for captain Willoughby to give some
instructions to those he left in the Hut, and to follow.
Pliny the elder, in virtue of his years, and some experience in Indian
warfare, succeeded to the command of the garrison, in the absence of
its chief. Had there remained a male white at the Knoll, this trust
never could have devolved on him, it being thought contrary to the laws
of nature for a negro to command one of the other colour; but such was
not the fact, and Pliny the elder succeeded pretty much as a matter of
course. Notwithstanding, he was to obey not only his particular
_old_ mistress, but both his _young_ mistresses, who exercised
an authority over him that was not to be disputed, without doing
violence to all the received notions of the day. To him, then, the
captain issued his final orders, bidding him be vigilant, and above all
to keep the gates closed.
As soon as this was done, the husband and father went to his wife and
children to take a last embrace. Anxious not to excite too strong
apprehensions by his manner, this was done affectionately--solemnly,
perhaps--but with a manner so guarded as to effect his object.