Wacousta (49 page)

Then came another thought. At the moment of his execution, Halloway had deposited a packet in the hands of Captain Blessington;–could these letters–could that portrait be the same? Certain it was, by whatever means obtained, his father could not have had them long in his possession; for it was improbable letters of so old a date should have occupied his attention
now
, when many years had rolled over the memory of his mother. And then, again, what was the meaning of the language used by the implacable enemy of his father, that uncouth and ferocious warrior of the Fleur de lis, not only on the occasion of the execution of Halloway, but afterwards to his brother, during his short captivity; and, subsequently, when disguised as a black, he penetrated, with the band of Ponteac, into the fort, and aimed his murderous weapon at his father’s head. What had made him the enemy of his family? and where and how had originated his father’s connection with so
extraordinary and so savage a being? Could he, in any way, be implicated with his mother? But no; there was something revolting, monstrous, in the thought: besides, had not his father stood forward the champion of her innocence?–had he not declared, with an energy carrying conviction with every word, that she was untainted by guilt? And would he have done this, had he had reason to believe in the existence of a criminal love for him who evidently was his mortal foe? Impossible.

Such were the questions and solutions that crowded on and distracted the mind of the unhappy De Haldimar, who, after all, could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion. It was evident there was a secret,–yet, whatever its nature, it was one likely to go down with his father to the grave; for, however humiliating the reflection to a haughty parent, compelled to vindicate the honour of a mother to her son, and in direct opposition to evidence that scarcely bore a shadow of misinterpretation, it was clear he had motives for consigning the circumstance to oblivion, which far outweighed any necessity he felt of adducing other proofs of her innocence than those which rested on his own simple yet impressive assertion.

In the midst of these bewildering doubts, De Haldimar heard some one approaching in his rear, whose footsteps he distinguished from the heavy pace of the sentinels. He turned, stopped, and was presently joined by Captain Blessington.

“Why, dearest Charles,” almost querulously asked the kind officer, as he passed his arm through that of his subaltern,–“why will you persist in feeding this love of solitude? What possible result can it produce, but an utter prostration of every moral and physical energy? Come, come, summon a little fortitude; all may not yet be so hopeless as you apprehend. For my own part, I feel convinced the day will dawn upon some satisfactory solution of the mystery of that packet.”

“Blessington, my dear Blessington!”–and De Haldimar spoke with mournful energy,–“you have known me from my boyhood, and, I believe, have ever loved me; seek not, therefore, to draw me from the present temper of my mind; deprive me not of an indulgence which, melancholy as it is, now constitutes the sole satisfaction I take in existence.”

“By Heaven! Charles, I will not listen to such language. You absolutely put my patience to the rack.”

“Nay, then, I will urge no more,” pursued the young officer. “To revert, therefore, to a different subject. Answer me one question with sincerity. What were the contents of the packet you received from poor Halloway previous to his execution? and in whose possession are they now?”

Pleased to find the attention of his young friend diverted for the moment from his sister, Captain Blessington quickly rejoined, he believed the packet contained letters which Halloway had stated to him were of a nature to throw some light on his family connections. He had, however, transferred it, with the seal unbroken, as desired by the unhappy man, to Colonel de Haldimar.

An exclamation of surprise burst involuntarily from the lips of the youth. “Has my father ever made any allusion to that packet since?” he asked.

“Never,” returned Captain Blessington; “and, I confess, his failing to do so has often excited my astonishment. But why do you ask?”

De Haldimar energetically pressed the arm of his captain, while a heavy sigh burst from his oppressed heart. “This very night, Blessington, on entering my father’s apartment to apprise him of what was going on here, I saw,–I can scarcely tell you what, but certainly enough to convince me, from what you have now stated, Halloway was, in some degree
or other, connected with our family. Tell me,” he anxiously pursued, “was there a portrait enclosed with the letters?”

“I cannot state with confidence, Charles,” replied his friend; “but if I might judge from the peculiar form and weight of the packet, I should be inclined to say not. Have you seen the letters, then?”

“I have seen certain letters which, I have reason to believe, are the same,” returned De Haldimar. “They were addressed to ‘Reginald;’ and Halloway, I think you have told me, was so called by his unhappy wife.”

“There can be little doubt they are the same,” said Captain Blessington; “but what were their contents, and by whom written, that you deem they prove a connection between the unhappy soldier and your family?”

De Haldimar felt the blood rise into his cheek, at this natural but unexpected demand. “I am sure, Blessington,” he replied, after a pause, “you will not think me capable of unworthy mystery towards yourself; but the contents of these letters are sacred, inasmuch as they relate only to circumstances connected with my father’s family.”

“This is singular indeed,” exclaimed Captain Blessington, in a tone that marked his utter and unqualified astonishment at what had now been disclosed to him; “but surely, Charles,” he pursued, “if the packet handed me by Halloway were the same you allude to, he would have caused the transfer to have been made before the period chosen by him for that purpose.”

“But the name,” pursued De Haldimar; “how are we to separate the identity of the packets, when we recur to that name of ‘Reginald?’”

“True,” rejoined the musing Blessington; “there is a mystery in this that baffles all my powers of penetration. Were
I in possession of the contents of the letters, I might find some clue to solve the enigma: but ____”

“You surely do not mean this as a reproach, Blessington?” fervently interrupted the youth. “More I dare not, cannot say for the secret is not my own; and feelings, which it would be dishonour to outrage, alone bind me to silence. What little I have revealed to you even now, has been uttered in confidence. I hope you have so understood it.”

“Perfectly, Charles. What you have stated, goes no further; but we have been too long absent from our guard, and I confess I have no particular fancy for remaining in this chill night-air. Let us return.”

De Haldimar made no opposition, and they both prepared to quit the rampart. As they passed the sentinel stationed at that point where the Indian had been first seen, their attention was directed by him to a fire that now suddenly rose, apparently at a great distance, and rapidly increased in volume. The singularity of this occurrence riveted the officers for a moment in silent observation; until Captain Blessington at length ventured a remark, that, judging from the direction, and the deceptive nature of the element at night, he should incline to think it was the hut of the Canadian burning.

“Which is another additional proof, were any such wanting, that every thing is lost,” mournfully urged the ever apprehensive De Haldimar. “François has been detected in rendering aid to our friends; and the Indians, in all probability, after having immolated their victim, are sacrificing his property to their rage.”

During this exchange of opinions, the officers had again moved to the opposite point of the limited walk of the younger. Scarcely had they reached it, and before Captain Blessington could find time to reply to the fears of his friend, when a loud
and distant booming like that of a cannon was heard in the direction of the fire. The alarm was given hastily by the sentinels, and sounds of preparation and arming were audible in the course of a minute or two every where throughout the fort. Startled by the report, which they had half inclined to imagine produced by the discharge of one of their own guns, the half slumbering officers had quitted the chairs in which they had passed the night in the mess-room, and were soon at the side of their more watchful companions, then anxiously listening for a repetition of the sound.

The day was just beginning to dawn, and as the atmosphere cleared gradually away, it was perceived the fire rose not from the hut of the Canadian, but at a point considerably beyond it. Unusual as it was to see a large fire of this description, its appearance became an object of minor consideration, since it might be attributed to some caprice or desire on the part of the Indians to excite apprehension in their enemies. But how was the report which had reached their ears to be accounted for? It evidently could only have been produced by the discharge of a cannon; and if so, where could the Indians have procured it? No such arm had recently been in their possession; and if it were, they were totally unacquainted with the manner of serving it.

As the day became more developed, the mystery was resolved. Every telescope in the fort had been called into requisition; and as they were now levelled in the direction of the fire, sweeping the line of horizon around, exclamations of surprise escaped the lips of several.

“The fire is at the near extremity of the wood on Hog Island,” exclaimed Lieutenant Johnstone. “I can distinctly see the forms of a multitude of savages dancing round it with hideous gestures and menacing attitudes.”

“They are dancing their infernal war dance,” said Captain Wentworth. “How I should like to be able to discharge a twenty-four pound battery loaded with grape, into the very heart of the devilish throng.”

“Do you see any prisoners?–Are any of our friends among them?” eagerly and tremblingly enquired De Haldimar of the officer who had last spoken.

Captain Wentworth made a sweep of his glass along the shores of the island; but apparently without success. He announced that he could discover nothing but a vast number of bark canoes lying dry and upturned on the beach.

“It is an unusual hour for their war dance,” observed Captain Blessington. “My experience furnishes me with no one instance in which it has not been danced previous to their retiring to rest.”

“Unless,” said Lieutenant Boyce, “they should have been thus engaged all night; in which case the singularity may be explained.”

“Look, look,” eagerly remarked Lieutenant Johnstone–“see how they are flying to their canoes, bounding and leaping like so many devils broke loose from their chains. The fire is nearly deserted already.”

“The schooner–the schooner!” shouted Captain Erskine. “By Heaven, our own gallant schooner! see how beautifully she drives past the island. It was her gun we heard, intended as a signal to prepare us for her appearance.”

A thrill of wild and indescribable emotion passed through every heart. Every eye was turned upon the point to which attention was now directed. The graceful vessel, with every stitch of canvass set, was shooting rapidly past the low bushes skirting the sands that still concealed her hull; and in a moment or two she loomed largely and proudly on the bosom of the
Détroit, the surface of which was slightly curled with a north western breeze.

“Safe, by Jupiter!” exclaimed the delighted Erskine, dropping the glass upon the rampart, and rubbing his hands together with every manifestation of joy.

“The Indians are in chase,” said Lieutenant Boyce; “upwards of fifty canoes are following in the schooner’s wake. But Danvers will soon give us an account of their Lilliputian fleet.”

“Let the troops be held in readiness for a sortie, Mr. Lawson,” said the governor, who had joined his officers just as the schooner cleared the island; “we must cover their landing, or, with this host of savages in pursuit, they will never effect it alive.”

During the whole of this brief but exciting scene, the heart of Charles de Haldimar beat audibly. A thousand hopes and fears rushed confusedly on his mind, and he was as one bewildered by, and scarcely crediting what he saw. Could Clara,–could his cousin–could his brother–could his friend be on board? He scarcely dared to ask himself these questions; still it was with a fluttering heart, in which hope, however, predominated, that he hastened to execute an order of his captain, that bore immediate reference to his duty as subaltern of the guard.

FIVE

Meanwhile the schooner dashed rapidly along, her hull occasionally hid from the view of those assembled on the ramparts by some intervening orchard or cluster of houses, but her tall spars glittering in their covering of white canvass, and marking the direction of her course. At length she came to a point in the river that offered no other interruption to the eye than what arose from the presence of almost all the inhabitants of the village, who, urged by curiosity and surprise, were to be seen crowding the intervening bank. Here the schooner was suddenly put about, and the English colours, hitherto concealed by the folds of the canvass, were at length discovered proudly floating in the breeze.

Immediately over the gateway of the fort there was an elevated platform, approached by the rampart, of which it formed a part, by some half dozen rude steps on either side; and on this platform was placed a long eighteen-pounder, that commanded the whole extent of road leading from the drawbridge to the river. Hither the officers had all repaired, while the schooner was in the act of passing the town; and now that, suddenly brought up in the wind’s eye, she rode leisurely
in the offing, every movement on her decks was plainly discernible with the telescope.

“Where the devil can Danvers have hid all his crew?” first spoke Captain Erskine; “I count but half a dozen hands altogether on deck, and these are barely sufficient to work her.”

“Lying concealed, and ready, no doubt, to give the canoes a warm reception,” observed Lieutenant Johnstone; “but where can our friends be? Surely, if there, they would show themselves to us.”