Kitabı oku: «The Trappers of Arkansas: or, The Loyal Heart», sayfa 7
CHAPTER IX.
THE PHANTOM
It was about eight o'clock in the morning, a cheering autumn sun lit up the prairie splendidly.
Birds flew hither and thither, uttering strange cries, whilst others, concealed under the thickest of the foliage, poured forth melodious concerts. Now and then a deer raised its timid head above the tall grass, and then disappeared with a bound.
Two horsemen, clothed in the costume of wood rangers, mounted upon magnificent half wild horses, were following, at a brisk trot, the left bank of the great Canadian river, whilst several bloodhounds, with glossy black skins, and eyes and chests stained with red, ran and gambolled around them.
These horsemen were Loyal Heart and his friend Belhumeur.
Contrary to his usual deportment, Loyal Heart seemed affected by the most lively joy, his countenance beamed with cheerfulness, and he looked around him with complacency. Sometimes he would stop, and looked out ahead, appearing anxiously to seek in the horizon some object he could not yet discern. Then, with an expression of vexation, he resumed his journey, to repeat a hundred paces further on the same manoeuvre.
"Ah, parbleu!" said Belhumeur, laughing, "we shall get there in good time. Be quiet, do!"
"Eh, caramba! I know that well enough; but I long to be there! For me, the only hours of happiness that God grants me, are passed with her whom we are going to see – my mother, my beloved mother! who gave up everything for me, abandoned all without regret, without hesitation. Oh, what happiness it is to have a mother! to possess one heart which understands yours, which makes a complete abnegation of self to absorb itself in you; which lives in your existence, rejoices in your joys, sorrows in your sorrows; which divides your life into two parts, reserving to itself the heaviest and leaving you the lightest and the most easy! Oh, Belhumeur, to comprehend what that divine being is, composed of devotedness and love, and called a mother, it is necessary to have been, as I was, deprived of her for long years, and then suddenly to have found her again, more loving, more adorable than ever! How slowly we get on! Every moment of delay is a kiss of my mother's which time steals from me! Shall we never get there?"
"Well! here we are at the ford."
"I don't know why, but a secret fear has suddenly fallen upon my spirits, an undefinable presentiment makes me tremble in spite of myself."
"Oh, nonsense! Send such black thoughts to the winds; in a few minutes, we shall be with your mother!"
"That is true! And yet I don't know whether I am mistaken, but it seems to me as if the country does not wear its usual aspect; this silence which reigns around us, and this solitude which environs us, do not appear to be natural. We are close to the village, we ought already to hear the barking of the dogs, the crowing of the cocks, and the thousand noises that proclaim inhabited places."
"Well," said Belhumeur, with vague uneasiness, "I must confess that everything seems strangely silent around us."
The travellers came to a spot where the river makes a sharp curve; being deeply embanked, and skirted by immense blocks of rock and thick copsewood, it did not allow any extensive view.
The village towards which the travellers were directing their course, was scarcely a gunshot from the ford where they were preparing to cross the river, but it was completely invisible, owing to the peculiar nature of the country.
At the moment the horses placed their feet in the water, they made a sudden movement backwards, and the bloodhounds uttered one of those plaintive howlings peculiar to their race, which freeze the bravest man with terror.
"What does this mean?" Loyal Heart exclaimed, turning pale as death, and casting round a terrified glance.
"Look here!" replied Belhumeur, pointing with his finger to several dead bodies which the river was carrying away, and which glided along near the surface.
"Oh!" cried Loyal Heart, "something terrible has taken place here. My mother! my mother!"
"Do not alarm yourself so," said Belhumeur; "no doubt she is in safety."
Without listening to the consolations his friend poured out, though he did not believe in them himself Loyal Heart drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, and sprang into the water.
They soon gained the opposite bank, and there all was explained.
They had before them the most awful scene that can possibly be imagined.
The village and the fort were a heap of ruins.
A black, thick, sickening smoke ascended in long wreaths towards the heavens.
In the centre of what had been the village, arose a mast against which were nailed human fragments, for which urubus were contending with loud cries.
Here and there lay bodies half devoured by wild beasts.
No living being appeared.
Nothing remained intact – everything was either broken, displaced, or overthrown. It was evident, at the first glance, that the Indians had passed there, with their sanguinary rage and their inveterate hatred of the whites. Their steps were deeply imprinted in letters of fire and blood.
"Oh!" the hunter cried shuddering, "my presentiments were a warning from Heaven; – my mother! my mother!"
Loyal Heart fell upon the ground in utter despair; he concealed his face in his hands and wept.
The grief of this high-spirited man, endowed with a courage proof against all trials, and whom no danger could surprise, was like that of the lion, it had something terrific in it.
His sobs were like roarings, they rent his breast.
Belhumeur respected the grief of his friend – indeed what consolation could he offer him? It was better to allow his tears to flow, and give the first paroxysm of despair time to calm itself; certain that his unyielding nature could not long be cast down, and that a reaction would soon come, which would permit him to act.
Still, with that instinct innate to hunters, he began to look about on all sides, in the hope of finding some indication which might afterwards serve to direct their researches.
After wandering for a long time about the ruins, he was suddenly attracted towards a large bush at a little distance from him by barkings which he thought he recognised.
He advanced towards it precipitately; a bloodhound like their own jumped up joyfully upon him, and covered him with wild caresses.
"Oh, oh!" said the hunter, "what does this mean? Who has tied poor Trim up in this fashion?"
He cut the rope which fastened the animal, and, in doing so, perceived that a piece of carefully folded paper was tied to its neck.
He seized it, and running to Loyal Heart, exclaimed:
"Brother! brother! Hope! Hope!"
The hunter knew his brother was not a man to waste vulgar consolations upon him; he raised his tear-bathed face towards him.
As soon as it was free, the dog fled away with incredible velocity, baying with the dull, short yelps of a bloodhound following the scent.
Belhumeur, who had foreseen this flight, had hastened to tie his cravat round the animal's neck.
"No one knows what it may lead to," murmured the hunter, on seeing the dog disappear.
And after this philosophical reflection he went to join his friend.
"What is the matter?" Loyal Heart asked.
"Read!" Belhumeur quietly replied.
The hunter seized the paper, which he read eagerly. It contained only these few words: —
"We are prisoners of the redskins. Courage! Nothing of any significance has happened to your mother."
"God be praised!" said Loyal Heart with great emotion, kissing the paper, which he concealed in his breast. "My mother still lives! Oh, I shall find her again!"
"Pardieu! that you will," said Belhumeur in a tone of conviction.
A complete change, as if by enchantment, had taken place in the mind of the hunter; he drew himself up to his full height, his brow became expanded and clear.
"Let us commence our researches," he said; "perhaps one of the unfortunate inhabitants has escaped death, and we may learn from him what has taken place."
"That's well," said Belhumeur joyfully; "that's the way. Let us search."
The dogs were scratching with fury among the ruins of the fort.
"Let us commence there," said Loyal Heart.
Both set to work to clear away the rubbish. They worked with an ardour incomprehensible to themselves. At the end of twenty minutes they discovered a sort of trapdoor, and heard weak and inarticulate cries arise from beneath it.
"They are here," said Belhumeur.
"God grant we may be in time to save them."
It was not till after a length of time, and with infinite trouble, that they succeeded in raising the trap, and then a horrid spectacle presented itself.
In a cellar exhaling a fetid odour, a score of individuals were literally piled up one upon another.
The hunters could not repress a movement of terror, and drew back in spite of themselves; but they immediately – returned to the edge of the cellar, to endeavour, if there were yet time, to save some of those unhappy victims.
Of all these men, one alone showed signs of life; all the rest were dead.
They dragged him out, laid him gently on a heap of dry leaves, and gave him every assistance in their power.
The dogs licked the hands and face of the wounded man.
At the end of a few minutes the man made a slight movement, opened his eyes several times, and then breathed a profound sigh.
Belhumeur introduced between his clenched teeth the mouth of a leathern bottle filled with rum, and obliged him to swallow a few drops of the liquor.
"He is very bad," said the hunter.
"He is past recovery," Loyal Heart replied, shaking his head.
Nevertheless the wounded man revived a little.
"My God," said he, in a weak and broken voice, "I am dying! I feel I am dying!"
"Hope!" said Belhumeur, kindly.
A fugitive tinge passed across the pale cheeks of the wounded man, and a sad smile curled the corners of his lips.
"Why should I live?" he murmured. "The Indians have massacred all my companions, after having horribly mutilated them. Life would be too heavy a burden for me."
"If, before you die, you wish anything to be done that is in our power to do, speak, and by the word of hunters, we will do it."
The eyes of the dying man flashed faintly.
"Your gourd," he said to Belhumeur.
The latter gave it to him, and he drank greedily. His brow was covered with a moist perspiration, and a feverish redness inflamed his countenance, which assumed a frightful expression.
"Listen," said he, in a hoarse and broken voice. "I was commander here; the Indians, aided by a wretched half-breed, who sold us to them, surprised the village."
"The name of that man?" the hunter said, eagerly.
"He is dead – I killed him!" the captain replied, with an inexpressible accent of hatred and joy. "The Indians endeavoured to gain possession of the fort; the contest was terrible. We were twelve men against four hundred savages; what could we do? Fight to the death – that was what we resolved on doing. The Indians, finding the impossibility of taking us alive, cast the colonists of the village in among us, after cutting off their hands and scalping them, and then set fire to the fort."
The wounded man, whose voice grew weaker and weaker, and whose words were becoming unintelligible, swallowed a few more drops of the liquor, and then continued his recital, which was eagerly listened to by the hunters.
"A cave, which served as a cellar, extended under the ditches of the fort. When I knew that all means of safety had escaped, and that flight was impossible, I led my unfortunate companions into this cave, hoping that God would permit us to be thus saved. A few minutes after, the fort fell down over us! No one can imagine the tortures we have suffered in this infected hole, without air or light. The cries of the wounded – and we were all so, more or less – screaming for water, and the rattle of the dying, formed a terrible concert that no pen can describe. Our sufferings, already intolerable, were further increased by the want of air; a sort of furious madness took possession of us; we fought one against another; and, in there under a mass of burnt ruins, commenced a hideous combat, which could only terminate by the death of all engaged in it. How long did it last? I cannot tell. I was already sensible that the death which had carried off all my companions was about to take possession of me, when you came to retard it for a few minutes. God be praised! I shall not die without vengeance."
After these words, pronounced in a scarcely articulate voice, there was a funereal silence among these three men – a silence interrupted only by the dull rattle in the throat of the dying man, whose agony had begun.
All at once the captain made a strong effort; he raised himself up, and fixing his bloodshot eyes upon the hunters, said, —
"The savages who attacked me belong to the nation of the Comanches; their chief is named Eagle Head; swear to avenge me like loyal hunters."
"We swear to do so," the two men cried, in a firm tone.
"Thanks," the captain murmured, and falling back he remained motionless.
He was dead.
His distorted features and his open eyes still preserved the expression of hatred and despair which had animated him to the last.
The hunters surveyed him for an instant, and then, shaking off this painful impression, they set about the duty of paying the last honours to the remains of the unfortunate victims of Indian rage.
By the last rays of the setting sun, they completed the melancholy task which they had imposed upon themselves.
After a short rest, Loyal Heart arose, and saddling his horse, said, —
"Now, brother, let us place ourselves on the trail of Eagle Head."
"Come on," the hunter replied.
The two men cast around them a long and sad farewell glance, and whistling their dogs, they boldly entered the forest, in the depths of which the Comanches had disappeared.
At this moment the moon arose amidst an ocean of vapour, and profusely scattered her melancholy beams upon the ruins of the American village, in which solitude and death were doomed to reign for ever.
CHAPTER X.
THE ENTRENCHED CAMP
We will leave the hunters following the track of the redskins, and return to the general.
A few minutes after the two men had quitted the camp of the Mexicans, the general left his tent, and whilst casting an investigating look around him, and inhaling the fresh air of the morning, he began to walk about in a preoccupied manner.
The events of the night had produced a lively impression upon the old soldier.
For the first time, perhaps, since he had undertaken this expedition, he began to see it in its true light. He asked himself if he had really the right to associate with him in this life of continual perils and ambushes, a girl of the age of his niece, whose existence up to that time had been an uninterrupted series of mild and peaceful emotions; and who probably would not be able to accustom herself to the incessant dangers and agitations of a life in the prairies, which, in a short time, would break down the energies of the strongest minds.
His perplexity was great. He adored his niece; she was his only object of love, his only consolation. For her he would, without regret or hesitation, a thousand times sacrifice all he possessed; but, on the other side, the reasons which had obliged him to undertake this perilous journey were of such importance that he trembled, and felt a cold perspiration bedew his forehead, at the thought of renouncing it.
"What is to be done?" he said to himself. "What is to be done?"
Doña Luz, who was in her turn leaving her tent, perceived her uncle, whose reflective walk still continued, and, running towards him, threw her arms affectionately round his neck.
"Good day, uncle," she said, kissing him.
"Good day, my daughter," the general replied. He was accustomed to call her so. "Eh! eh! my child, you are very gay this morning."
And he returned with interest the caresses she had lavished upon him.
"Why should I not be gay, uncle? Thanks to God? we have just escaped a great peril; everything in nature seems to smile, the birds are singing upon every branch, the sun inundates us with warm rays; we should be ungrateful towards the Creator if we remained insensible to these manifestations of His goodness."
"Then the perils of last night have left no distressing impression upon your mind, my dear child?"
"None at all, uncle, except a deep sense of gratitude for the benefits God has favoured us with."
"That is well, my daughter," the general replied joyfully, "I am happy to hear you speak thus."
"All the better, if it please you, uncle."
"Then," the general continued, following up the idea of his preoccupation, "the life we are now leading is not fatiguing to you?"
"Oh, not at all; on the contrary, I find it very agreeable, and, above all, full of incidents," she said with a smile.
"Yes," the general continued, partaking her gaiety; "but," he added, becoming serious again, "I think we are too forgetful of our liberators."
"They are gone," Doña Luz replied.
"Gone?" the general said, with great surprise.
"Full an hour ago."
"How do you know that, my child?"
"Very simply, uncle, they bade me adieu before they left us."
"That is not right," the general murmured in a tone of vexation; "a service is as binding upon those who bestow it as upon those who receive it; they should not have left us thus without bidding me farewell, without telling us whether we should ever see them again, and leaving us even unacquainted with their names."
"I know them."
"You know them, my daughter?" the general said, with astonishment.
"Yes, uncle; before they went, they told me."
"And – what are they?" the general asked, eagerly.
"The younger is named Belhumeur."
"And the elder?"
"Loyal Heart."
"Oh! I must find these two men again," the general said, with an emotion he could not account for.
"Who knows," the young girl replied, thoughtfully, "perhaps in the very first danger that threatens us they will make their appearance as our benevolent genii."
"God grant we may not owe their return among us to a similar cause."
The captain came up to pay the compliments of the morning.
"Well, captain," said the general, with a smile, "have you recovered from the effects of their alarm?"
"Perfectly, general," the young man replied, "and are quite ready to proceed, whenever you please to give the order."
"After breakfast we will strike tents; have the goodness to give the necessary orders to the lancers, and send the Babbler to me."
The captain bowed and retired.
"On your part, niece," the general continued, addressing Doña Luz, "superintend the preparations for breakfast, if you please, whilst I talk to our guide."
The young lady tripped away, and the Babbler almost immediately entered.
His air was dull, and his manner more reserved than usual.
The general took no notice of this.
"You remember," he said, "that you yesterday manifested an intention of finding a spot where we might conveniently encamp for a few days?"
"Yes, general."
"You told me you were acquainted with a situation that would perfectly suit our purpose?"
"Yes, general."
"Are you prepared to conduct us thither?"
"When you please."
"What time will it require to gain this spot?"
"Two days."
"Very well. We will set out, then, immediately after breakfast."
The Babbler bowed without reply.
"By the way," the general said, with feigned indifference, "one of your men seems to be missing."
"Yes."
"What is become of him?"
"I do not know."
"How! you do not know?" said the general, with a scrutinizing glance.
"No: as soon as he saw the fire, terror seized him, and he escaped."
"Very well!"
"He is most probably the victim of his cowardice."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The fire, most likely, has devoured him."
"Poor devil!"
A sardonic smile curled the lips of the guide.
"Have you anything more to say to me, general?"
"No; – but stop."
"I attend your orders."
"Do you know the two hunters who rendered us such timely service?"
"We all know each other in the prairie."
"What are those men?"
"Hunters and trappers."
"That is not what I ask you."
"What then?"
"I mean as to their character."
"Oh!" said the guide, with an appearance of displeasure.
"Yes, their moral character."
"I don't know anything much about them."
"What are their names?"
"Belhumeur and Loyal Heart."
"And you know nothing of their lives?"
"Nothing."
"That will do – you may retire."
The guide bowed, and with tardy steps rejoined his companions, who were preparing for departure.
"Hum!" the general murmured, as he looked after him, "I must keep a watch upon that fellow; there is something sinister in his manner."
After this aside, the general entered his tent, where the doctor, the captain, and Doña Luz were waiting breakfast for him.
Half an hour later, at most, the tent was folded up again, the packages were placed upon the mules, and the caravan was pursuing its journey under the direction of the Babbler, who rode about twenty paces in advance of the troop.
The aspect of the prairie was much changed since the preceding evening.
The black, burnt earth, was covered in places with heaps of smoking ashes; here and there charred trees, still standing, displayed their saddening skeletons; the fire still roared at a distance, and clouds of coppery smoke obscured the horizon.
The horses advanced with precaution over this uneven ground, where they constantly stumbled over the bones of animals that had fallen victims to the terrible embraces of the flames.
A melancholy sadness, much increased by the sight of the prospect unfolded before them, had taken possession of the travellers; they journeyed on, close to each other, without speaking, buried in their own reflections.
The road the caravan was pursuing wound along a narrow ravine, the dried bed of some torrent, deeply enclosed between two hills.
The ground trodden by the horses was composed of round pebbles, which slipped from under their hoofs, and augmented the difficulties of the march, which was rendered still more toilsome by the burning rays of the sun, that fell directly down upon the travellers, leaving no chance of escaping them, for the country over which they were travelling had completely assumed the appearance of one of those vast deserts which are met with in the interior of Africa.
The day passed away thus, and excepting the fatigue which oppressed them, the monotony of the journey was not broken by any incident.
In the evening they encamped in a plain absolutely bare, but in the horizon they could perceive an appearance of verdure, which afforded them great consolation; – they were about, at last, to enter a zone spared by the conflagration.
The next morning, two hours before sunrise, the Babbler gave orders to prepare for departure.
The day proved more fatiguing than the last; the travellers were literally worn out when they encamped.
The Babbler had not deceived the general. The site was admirably chosen to repel an attack of the Indians. We need not describe it; the reader is already acquainted with it. It was the spot on which we met with the hunters, when they appeared on the scene for the first time.
The general, after casting around him the infallible glance of the experienced soldier, could not help manifesting his satisfaction.
"Bravo!" he said to the guide; "if we have had almost insurmountable difficulties to encounter in getting here, we could at least, if things should so fall out, sustain a siege on this spot."
The guide made no reply; he bowed with an equivocal smile, and retired.
"It is surprising," the general murmured to himself, "that although that man's conduct may be in appearance loyal, and however impossible it may be to approach him with the least thing, – in spite of all that, I cannot divest myself of the presentiment that he is deceiving us, and that he is contriving some diabolical project against us."
The general was an old soldier of considerable experience, who would never leave anything to chance, that deus ex machinâ, which in a second destroys the best contrived plans.
Notwithstanding the fatigue of his people, he would not lose a moment; aided by the captain, he had an enormous number of trees cut down, to form a solid intrenchment, protected by chevaux de frise. Behind this intrenchment the lancers dug a wide ditch, of which they threw out the earth on the side of the camp; and then, behind this second intrenchment, the baggage was piled up, to make a third and last enclosure.
The tent was pitched in the centre of the camp, the sentinels were posted, and everyone else went to seek that repose of which they stood so much in need.
The general, who intended sojourning on this spot for some time, wished, as far as it could be possible, to assure the safety of his companions, and, thanks to his minute precautions, he believed he had succeeded.
For two days the travellers had been marching along execrable roads, almost without sleep, only stopping to snatch a morsel of food; as we have said, they were quite worn out with fatigue. Notwithstanding, then, their desire to keep awake, the sentinels could not resist the sleep which overpowered them and they were not long in sinking into as complete a forgetfulness as their companions.
Towards midnight, at the moment when everyone in the camp was plunged in sleep, a man rose softly, and creeping along in the shade, with the quickness of a reptile, but with extreme precaution, he glided out of the barricades and intrenchments.
He then went down upon the ground, and by degrees, in a manner almost insensibly, directed his course, upon his hands and knees, through the high grass towards a forest which covered the first ascent of the hill, and extended some way into the prairie. When he had gone a certain distance, and was safe from discovery, he rose up.
A moonbeam, passing between two clouds, threw a light upon his countenance.
That man was the Babbler.
He looked round anxiously, listened attentively, and then with incredible perfection imitated the cry of the prairie dog.
Almost instantly the same cry was repeated, and a man rose up, within at most ten paces of the Babbler.
This man was the guide who, three days before, had escaped from the camp on the first appearance of the conflagration.
