Wacousta (47 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Several voices unanimously pronounced the name of “Johnstone.”

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

“Secure yon parcel, without lowering the drawbridge.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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