Kitabı oku: «The Quadroon: Adventures in the Far West», sayfa 25
Chapter Seventy Three
The Man-Hunter
The hounds had fallen into the water – one dead, the other badly wounded. The latter could not have escaped, as one of his legs had been struck by the bullet, and his efforts to swim were but the throes of desperation. In a few minutes he must have gone to the bottom; but it was not his fate to die by drowning. It was predestined that his howling should be brought to a termination in a far different manner.
The voice of the dog is music to the ear of the alligator. Of all other animals, this is the favourite prey of the great saurian; and the howl of hound or cur will attract him from any distance where it may be heard.
Naturalists have endeavoured to explain this in a different way. They say – and such is the fact – that the howling of a dog bears a resemblance to the voice of the young alligator, and that the old ones are attracted towards the spot where it is heard – the mother to protect it, and the male parent to devour it!
This is a disputed point in natural history; but there can be no dispute that the alligator eagerly preys upon the dog whenever an opportunity offers – seizing the canine victim in his terrible jaws, and carrying it off to his aqueous retreat. This he does with an air of such earnest avidity, as to leave no doubt but that he esteems the dog a favourite morsel.
I was not surprised, then, to see half-a-dozen of these gigantic reptiles emerging from amid the dark tree-trunks, and hastily swimming towards the wounded hound.
The continued howling of the latter guided them; and in a few seconds they had surrounded the spot where he struggled, and were dashing forward upon their victim.
A shoal of sharks could not have finished him more expeditiously. A blow from the tail of one silenced his howling – three or four pair of gaunt jaws closed upon him at the same time – a short scuffle ensued – then the long bony heads separated, and the huge reptiles were seen swimming off again – each with a morsel in his teeth. A few bubbles and blotches of red froth mottling the inky surface of the water, were all that remained where the hound had lately been plunging.
Almost a similar scene occurred on the opposite side of the log – for the water was but a few feet in depth, and the dead hound was visible as he lay at the bottom. Several of the reptiles approaching on that side, had seen this one at the same time, and, rushing forward, they served him precisely as his companion had been served by the others. A crumb of bread could not have disappeared sooner among a shoal of hungry minnows, than did the brace of deer-hounds down the throats of these ravenous reptiles.
Singular as was the incident, it had scarce drawn my notice. I had far other things to think of.
After firing the pistol, I remained standing upon the tree, with my eyes fixed in the direction whence came the hounds.
I gazed intently among the tree-trunks, away up the dark vistas of the forest, I watched the cane-brake, to note the slightest motion in the reeds. I listened to every sound, while I stood silent myself, and enjoined silence upon my trembling companion.
I had but little hope then. There would be more dogs, no doubt – slower hounds following in the distance – and with them the mounted man-hunters. They could not be far behind – they could not fail to come up soon – the sooner that the report of my pistol would guide them to the spot. It would be of no use making opposition to a crowd of angry men. I could do nothing else than surrender to them.
My companion entreated me to this course; abjured me not to use my weapons – for I now held the second pistol in my hand. But I had no intention of using them should the crowd of men come up; I had only taken out the pistol as a precaution against the attack of the dogs – should any more appear.
For a good while I heard no sounds from the forest, and saw no signs of our pursuers. What could be detaining them? Perhaps the crossing of the bayou; or the tract of marsh. I knew the horsemen must there leave the trail; but were they all mounted?
I began to hope that Gabriel might yet be in time. If he had not heard the signal-whistle, he must have heard the reports of my pistol? But, on second thoughts, that might only keep him back. He would not understand the firing, and might fear to come with the pirogue!
Perhaps he had heard the first signal, and was now on his way. It was not too late to entertain such a supposition. Notwithstanding what had passed, we had been yet but a short while upon the spot. If on the way, he might think the shots were fired from my double-barrelled gun – fired at some game. He might not be deterred. There was still a hope he might come in time. If so, we would be able to reach his tree-cave in safety.
There was no trace of the dogs, save a blotch or two of blood upon the rough bark of the log, and that was not visible from the shore. Unless there were other dogs to guide them to the spot, the men might not in the darkness so easily discover these marks. We might yet baffle them!
With fresh hope I turned once more towards the water, and gazed in the direction in which I expected the pirogue to come. Alas! there was no sign of it. No sound came from the lake save the wild calling of the affrighted birds.
I turned once more to the land.
I saw the cane-brake in motion. The tall culms vibrated and crackled under the heavy tread of a man, who the next moment emerging into the open ground, advanced at a slinging trot towards the water!
He was alone and afoot – there were no dogs with him – but the long rifle poised upon his shoulder, and the hunting accoutrements around his body, told me at a glance he was the owner of the deer-hounds.
His black bushy beard, his leggings, and buckskin shirt, his red neckcloth and raccoon cap – but above all, the brutal ferocity of his visage, left me in no doubt as to who this character was. The description of the runaway answered him in every particular. He could be no other than Ruffin the man-hunter!
Chapter Seventy Four
Shot for Shot
Yes, the individual who now advanced was Ruffin the man-hunter; and the dogs I had killed, were his – a brace of sleuth-hounds, well-known in the settlement as being specially trained to tracking the unfortunate blacks, that, driven by cruel treatment, had taken to the woods.
Well-known, too, was their master – a dissipated brutal fellow, half hunter, half hog-thief, who dwelt in the woods like an Indian savage, and hired himself out to such of the planters as needed the aid of him and his horrid hounds!
As I have said, I had never seen this individual, though I had heard of him often – from Scipio, from the boy Caton, and, lastly, from Gabriel. The Bambarra had described him minutely – had told me wild stories of the man’s wickedness and ferocious cruelty – how he had taken the lives of several runaways while in pursuit of them, and caused others to be torn and mangled by his savage dogs!
He was the terror and aversion of every negro quarter along the coast; and his name – appropriate to his character – oft served the sable mother as a “bogey” to frighten her squalling piccaninny into silence!
Such was Ruffin the man-hunter, as he was known among the black helots of the plantations. The “cobbing-board” and the red cowhide were not half so terrible as he. In comparison with him, such characters as “Bully Bill,” the flogging overseer, might be esteemed mild and humane.
The sight of this man at once deprived me of all farther thought of escape. I permitted my pistol arm to drop loosely by my side, and stood awaiting his advance, with the intention of surrendering ourselves up. Resistance would be vain, and could only lead to the idle spilling of blood. With this intention I remained silent, having cautioned my companion to do the same.
On first emerging from the cane-brake, the hunter did not see us. I was partially screened by the moss where I stood – Aurore entirely so. Besides, the man’s eyes were not turned in our direction. They were bent upon the ground. No doubt he had heard the reports of my pistol; but he trusted more to his tracking instincts; and, from his bent attitude. I could tell that he was trailing his own dogs – almost as one of themselves would have done!
As he neared the edge of the pond, the smell of the water reached him; and, suddenly halting, he raised his eyes and looked forward. The sight of the pond seemed to puzzle him, and his astonishment was expressed in the short sharp expression —
“Hell!”
The next moment his eyes fell upon the prostrate tree, then quickly swept along its trunk, and rested full upon me.
“Hell and scissors!” he exclaimed, “thar are ye! Whar’s my dogs?”
I stood eyeing him back, but made no reply.
“You hear, damn yer! Whar’s my dogs?”
I still remained silent.
His eyes fell upon the log. He saw the blood-spots upon the hark. He remembered the shots.
“Hell and damn!” cried he, with horrid emphasis, “you’ve kilt my dogs!” and then followed a volley of mingled oaths and threats, while the ruffian gesticulated as, if he had suddenly gone mad!
After a while he ceased from these idle demonstrations; and, planting himself firmly, he raised his rifle muzzle towards me, and cried out: —
“Come off that log, and fetch your blue-skin with you! Quick, damn yer! Come off that log! Another minnit, an’ I’ll plug ye!”
I have said that at first sight of the man I had given up all idea of resistance, and intended to surrender at once; but there was something so arrogant in the demand – so insulting in the tone with which the ruffian made it – that it fired my very flesh with indignation, and determined me to stand at bay.
Anger, at being thus hunted, new-nerved both my heart and my arm. The brute had bayed me, and I resolved to risk resistance.
Another reason for changing my determination – I now saw that he was alone. He had followed the dogs afoot, while the others on horseback had no doubt been stopped or delayed by the bayou and morass. Had the crowd come up, I must have yielded nolens volens; but the man-hunter himself – formidable antagonist though he appeared – was still but one, and to surrender tamely to a single individual, was more than my spirit – inherited from border ancestry – could brook. There was too much of the moss-trooper blood in my veins for that, and I resolved, coute que coute, to risk the encounter.
My pistol was once more firmly grasped; and looking the ruffian full into his bloodshot eyes, I shouted back —
“Fire at your peril! Miss and you are mine!”
The sight of my uplifted pistol caused him to quail; and I have no doubt that had opportunity offered, he would have withdrawn from the contest. He had expected no such a reception.
But he had gone too far to recede. His rifle was already at his shoulder, and the next moment I saw the flash, and heard the sharp crack. The “thud” of his bullet, too, fell upon my ear, as it struck into the branch against which I was leaning. Good marksman as he was reputed, the sheen of my pistols had spoiled his aim, and he had missed me!
I did not miss him. He fell to the shot with a demoniac howl; and as the smoke thinned off, I could see him writhing and scrambling in the black mud!
I hesitated whether to give him the second barrel – for I was angry and desired his life – but at this moment noises reached me from behind. I heard the plunging paddle, with the sounds of a manly voice; and turning, I beheld the Bambarra.
The latter had shot the pirogue among the tree-tops close to where we stood, and with voice and gesture now urged us to get aboard.
“Quick, mass’. Quick, ’Rore gal! jump into de dugout! Jump in! Truss Ole Gabe! – he stand by young mass’ to de deff!”
Almost mechanically I yielded to the solicitations of the runaway – though I now saw but little chance of our ultimate escape – and, having assisted Aurore into the pirogue, I followed and took my seat beside her.
The strong arm of the negro soon impelled us far out from the shore; and in five minutes after we were crossing the open lake toward the cypress clump in its midst.
Chapter Seventy Five
Love in the Hour of Peril
We glided into the shadow of the tree, and passed under its trailing parasites. The pirogue touched its trunk. Mechanically I climbed along the sloping buttress – mechanically assisted Aurore.
We stood within the hollow chamber – the lurking-place of the runaway – and for the present were safe from pursuit. But there was no joy in our hearts. We knew it was but a respite, without any hope of ultimate concealment.
The encounter with Ruffin had ruined all our prospects. Whether the hunter were yet dead or alive, his presence would guide the pursuit. The way we had got off would easily be conjectured, and our hiding-place could not long remain undiscovered.
What had passed would be likely to aggravate our pursuers, and strengthen their determination to capture us. Before Ruffin came up, there was yet a chance of safety. Most of those engaged in the pursuit would regard it as the mere ordinary affair of a chase after a runaway negro – a sport of which they might get tired whenever they should lose the track. Considering for whom the hunt was got up – a man so unpopular as Gayarre, – none would have any great interest in the result, excepting himself and his ruffian aids. Had we left no traces where we embarked in the pirogue, the gloomy labyrinth of forest-covered water might have discouraged our pursuers – most of whom would have given up at the doubtful prospect, and returned to their homes. We might have been left undisturbed until nightfall, and it was my design to have then recrossed the lake, landed at some new point, and, under the guidance of the Bambarra, get back to the Levee Road, where we were to meet D’Hauteville with the horses. Thence, as originally agreed upon, to the city.
All this programme, I had hastily conceived; and previous to the appearance of Ruffin, there was every probability I should succeed in carrying it out.
Even after I had shot the dogs, I did not wholly despair. There were still many chances of success that occurred to me. The pursuers, thought I, detained by the bayou, might have lost the dogs, and would not follow their track so easily. Some time would be wasted at all events. Even should they form a correct guess as to the fate of the hounds, neither men afoot nor on horseback could penetrate to our hiding-place. They would need boats or canoes. More time would be consumed in bringing these from the river, and perhaps night would be down before this could be effected. On night and D’Hauteville I still had confidence.
That was previous to the conflict with the man-hunter.
After that affair, circumstances had undergone a change. Alive or dead, Ruffin would guide the pursuit to where we were. If still living – and now that my angry feeling had passed away I hoped he was – he would at once direct the pursuers upon us.
I believed he was not dead – only wounded. His behaviour, after receiving the shot, had not been like that of a man mortally wounded. I believed, and hoped, that he still lived: – not that I felt at all remorseful at what had happened, but from mere prudential considerations. If dead, his body by the prostrate tree would soon be discovered, and would tell the tale to those who came up. We should be captured all the same, and might expect the more terrible consequences.
The rencontre with this ruffian had been altogether unfortunate. It had changed the face of affairs. Blood had been spilt in defence of a runaway. The news would return rapidly to the town. It would spread through the plantations with lightning-speed. The whole community would be fired and roused – the number of our pursuers quadrupled. I should be hunted as a double outlaw, and with the hostile energy of vengeance!
I knew all this, and no longer speculated upon the probabilities of deliverance. There was not the remotest prospect of our being able to get away.
I drew my betrothed near me. I folded her in my arms, and pressed her to my heart. Till death she would be mine! She swore it in that shadowy spot – in that dread and darksome hour. Till death she would be mine!
Her love inspired me with courage; and with courage I awaited the result.
Another hour passed.
Despite our fearful anticipations, that hour was pleasantly spent. Strange it is to say so, but it was in reality one of the happiest hours I can remember. It was the first time I had been enabled to hold free converse with Aurore since the day of our betrothal. We were now alone – for the faithful black stood sentinel below by the hawser of his pirogue.
The reaction, consequent upon my late jealousy, had kindled my love to a renewed and fiercer life – for such is the law of nature. In the very ardour of my affection, I almost forgot our desperate situation.
Over and over again we vowed eternal troth – over and over plighted our mutual faith, in fond, burning words – the eloquence of our heartfelt passion. Oh! it was a happy hour!
Alas! it came to an end. It ended with a painful regret, but not with surprise. I was not surprised to hear horns sounding through the woods, and signal shouts answering each other in different directions. I was not surprised when voices came pealing across the water – loud oaths and ejaculations – mingled with the plashing of paddles and the plunging of oars; and, when the negro announced that several boats filled with armed men were in the open water and approaching the tree, it did not take me by surprise. I had foreseen all this.
I descended to the base of the cypress, and, stooping down, looked out under the hanging moss. I could see the surface of the lake. I could see the men in their canoes and skiffs, rowing and gesticulating.
When near the middle of the open water, they lay upon their oars, and held a short consultation. After a moment they separated, and rowed in circles around, evidently with the design of encompassing the tree.
In a few minutes they had executed this manoeuvre, and now closed in, until their vessels floated among the drooping branches of the cypress. A shout of triumph told that they had discovered our retreat; and I now saw their faces peering through the curtain of straggling tillandsia.
They could see the pirogue, and both the negro and myself standing by the bow.
“Surrender!” shouted a voice in a loud, firm tone. “If you resist, your lives be on your own heads!”
Notwithstanding this summons, the boats did not advance any nearer. They knew that I carried pistols, and that I knew how to handle them – the proofs, were fresh. They approached, therefore, with caution – thinking I might still use my weapons.
They had no need to be apprehensive. I had not the slightest intention of doing so. Resistance against twenty men – for there were that number in the boats, twenty men well armed – would have been a piece of desperate folly. I never thought of such a thing; though, if I had, I believe the Bambarra would have stood by me to the death. The brave fellow, steeled to a supernatural courage by the prospect of his punishment, had even proposed fight! But his courage was madness; and I entreated him not to resist – as they would certainly have slain him on the spot.
I meant no resistance, but I hesitated a moment in making answer.
“We’re all armed,” continued the speaker, who seemed to have some authority over the others. “It is useless for you to resist – you had better give up!”
“Damn them!” cried another and a rougher voice; “don’t waste talk on them. Let’s fire the tree, and smoke ’em out; that moss ’ll burn, I reckon!”
I recognised the voice that uttered this inhuman suggestion. It came from Bully Bill.
“I have no intention of making resistance,” I called out in reply to the first speaker. “I am ready to go with you. I have committed no crime. For what I have done I am ready to answer to the laws.”
“You shall answer to us,” replied one who had not before spoken; “we are the laws here.”
There was an ambiguity in this speech that I liked not; but there was no further parley. The skiffs and canoes had suddenly closed in around the tree. A dozen muzzles of pistols and rifles were pointed at me, and a dozen voices commanded the negro and myself to get into one of the boats.
From the fierce, determined glances of these rough men, I saw it was death or obedience.
I turned to bid adieu to Aurore, who had rushed out of the tree-cave, and stood near me weeping.
As I faced round, several men sprang upon the buttress; and, seizing me from behind, held me in their united grasp. Then drawing my arms across my back, tied them fast with a rope.
I could just speak one parting word with Aurore, who, no longer in tears, stood regarding my captors with a look of scornful indignation. As they led me unresistingly into the boat, her high spirit gave way to words, and she cried out in a voice of scorn —
“Cowards! cowards! Not one of you dare meet him in a fair field – no, not one of you!”
The lofty spirit of my betrothed echoed mine, and gave me proof of her love. I was pleased with it, and could have applauded; but my mortified captors gave me no time to reply; for the next moment the pirogue in which I had been placed shot out through the branches, and floated on the open water of the lake.
