CHAPTER II.

“Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola!”

—Shakespeare

While one of the lovely beings we have so cursorily presented to the reader was

thus lost in thought, the other quickly recovered from the alarm which induced

the exclamation, and, laughing at her own weakness, she inquired of the youth

who rode by her side:

“Are such specters frequent in the woods, Heyward, or is this sight an

especial entertainment ordered on our behalf? If the latter, gratitude must

close our mouths; but if the former, both Cora and I shall have need to draw

largely on that stock of hereditary courage which we boast, even before we are

made to encounter the redoubtable Montcalm.”

“Yon Indian is a ‘runner’ of the army; and, after the fashion

of his people, he may be accounted a hero,” returned the officer.

“He has volunteered to guide us to the lake, by a path but little known,

sooner than if we followed the tardy movements of the column; and, by

consequence, more agreeably.”

“I like him not,” said the lady, shuddering, partly in assumed, yet

more in real terror. “You know him, Duncan, or you would not trust

yourself so freely to his keeping?”

“Say, rather, Alice, that I would not trust you. I do know him, or he

would not have my confidence, and least of all at this moment. He is said to be

a Canadian too; and yet he served with our friends the Mohawks, who, as you

know, are one of the six allied nations. He was brought among us, as I have

heard, by some strange accident in which your father was interested, and in

which the savage was rigidly dealt by; but I forget the idle tale, it is

enough, that he is now our friend.”

“If he has been my father’s enemy, I like him still less!”

exclaimed the now really anxious girl. “Will you not speak to him, Major

Heyward, that I may hear his tones? Foolish though it may be, you have often

heard me avow my faith in the tones of the human voice!”

“It would be in vain; and answered, most probably, by an ejaculation.

Though he may understand it, he affects, like most of his people, to be

ignorant of the English; and least of all will he condescend to speak it, now

that the war demands the utmost exercise of his dignity. But he stops; the

private path by which we are to journey is, doubtless, at hand.”

The conjecture of Major Heyward was true. When they reached the spot where the

Indian stood, pointing into the thicket that fringed the military road; a

narrow and blind path, which might, with some little inconvenience, receive one

person at a time, became visible.

“Here, then, lies our way,” said the young man, in a low voice.

“Manifest no distrust, or you may invite the danger you appear to

apprehend.”

“Cora, what think you?” asked the reluctant fair one. “If we

journey with the troops, though we may find their presence irksome, shall we

not feel better assurance of our safety?”

“Being little accustomed to the practices of the savages, Alice, you

mistake the place of real danger,” said Heyward. “If enemies have

reached the portage at all, a thing by no means probable, as our scouts are

abroad, they will surely be found skirting the column, where scalps abound the

most. The route of the detachment is known, while ours, having been determined

within the hour, must still be secret.”

“Should we distrust the man because his manners are not our manners, and

that his skin is dark?” coldly asked Cora.

Alice hesitated no longer; but giving her Narrangansett[1]

a smart cut of the whip, she was the first to dash aside the slight branches of

the bushes, and to follow the runner along the dark and tangled pathway. The

young man regarded the last speaker in open admiration, and even permitted her

fairer, though certainly not more beautiful companion, to proceed unattended,

while he sedulously opened the way himself for the passage of her who has been

called Cora. It would seem that the domestics had been previously instructed;

for, instead of penetrating the thicket, they followed the route of the column;

a measure which Heyward stated had been dictated by the sagacity of their

guide, in order to diminish the marks of their trail, if, haply, the Canadian

savages should be lurking so far in advance of their army. For many minutes the

intricacy of the route admitted of no further dialogue; after which they

emerged from the broad border of underbrush which grew along the line of the

highway, and entered under the high but dark arches of the forest. Here their

progress was less interrupted; and the instant the guide perceived that the

females could command their steeds, he moved on, at a pace between a trot and a

walk, and at a rate which kept the sure-footed and peculiar animals they rode

at a fast yet easy amble. The youth had turned to speak to the dark-eyed Cora,

when the distant sound of horses hoofs, clattering over the roots of the broken

way in his rear, caused him to check his charger; and, as his companions drew

their reins at the same instant, the whole party came to a halt, in order to

obtain an explanation of the unlooked-for interruption.

[1]

In the state of Rhode Island there is a bay called Narragansett, so named

after a powerful tribe of Indians, which formerly dwelt on its banks. Accident,

or one of those unaccountable freaks which nature sometimes plays in the animal

world, gave rise to a breed of horses which were once well known in America,

and distinguished by their habit of pacing. Horses of this race were, and are

still, in much request as saddle horses, on account of their hardiness and the

ease of their movements. As they were also sure of foot, the Narragansetts were

greatly sought for by females who were obliged to travel over the roots and

holes in the “new countries.”

In a few moments a colt was seen gliding, like a fallow deer, among the

straight trunks of the pines; and, in another instant, the person of the

ungainly man, described in the preceding chapter, came into view, with as much

rapidity as he could excite his meager beast to endure without coming to an

open rupture. Until now this personage had escaped the observation of the

travelers. If he possessed the power to arrest any wandering eye when

exhibiting the glories of his altitude on foot, his equestrian graces were

still more likely to attract attention.

Notwithstanding a constant application of his one armed heel to the flanks of

the mare, the most confirmed gait that he could establish was a Canterbury

gallop with the hind legs, in which those more forward assisted for doubtful

moments, though generally content to maintain a loping trot. Perhaps the

rapidity of the changes from one of these paces to the other created an optical

illusion, which might thus magnify the powers of the beast; for it is certain

that Heyward, who possessed a true eye for the merits of a horse, was unable,

with his utmost ingenuity, to decide by what sort of movement his pursuer

worked his sinuous way on his footsteps with such persevering hardihood.

The industry and movements of the rider were not less remarkable than those of

the ridden. At each change in the evolutions of the latter, the former raised

his tall person in the stirrups; producing, in this manner, by the undue

elongation of his legs, such sudden growths and diminishings of the stature, as

baffled every conjecture that might be made as to his dimensions. If to this be

added the fact that, in consequence of the ex parte application of the spur,

one side of the mare appeared to journey faster than the other; and that the

aggrieved flank was resolutely indicated by unremitted flourishes of a bushy

tail, we finish the picture of both horse and man.

The frown which had gathered around the handsome, open, and manly brow of

Heyward, gradually relaxed, and his lips curled into a slight smile, as he

regarded the stranger. Alice made no very powerful effort to control her

merriment; and even the dark, thoughtful eye of Cora lighted with a humor that

it would seem, the habit, rather than the nature, of its mistress repressed.

“Seek you any here?” demanded Heyward, when the other had arrived

sufficiently nigh to abate his speed; “I trust you are no messenger of

evil tidings?”

“Even so,” replied the stranger, making diligent use of his

triangular castor, to produce a circulation in the close air of the woods, and

leaving his hearers in doubt to which of the young man’s questions he

responded; when, however, he had cooled his face, and recovered his breath, he

continued, “I hear you are riding to William Henry; as I am journeying

thitherward myself, I concluded good company would seem consistent to the

wishes of both parties.”

“You appear to possess the privilege of a casting vote,” returned

Heyward; “we are three, while you have consulted no one but

yourself.”

“Even so. The first point to be obtained is to know one’s own mind.

Once sure of that, and where women are concerned it is not easy, the next is,

to act up to the decision. I have endeavored to do both, and here I am.”

“If you journey to the lake, you have mistaken your route,” said

Heyward, haughtily; “the highway thither is at least half a mile behind

you.”

“Even so,” returned the stranger, nothing daunted by this cold

reception; “I have tarried at ‘Edward’ a week, and I should

be dumb not to have inquired the road I was to journey; and if dumb there would

be an end to my calling.” After simpering in a small way, like one whose

modesty prohibited a more open expression of his admiration of a witticism that

was perfectly unintelligible to his hearers, he continued, “It is not

prudent for any one of my profession to be too familiar with those he has to

instruct; for which reason I follow not the line of the army; besides which, I

conclude that a gentleman of your character has the best judgment in matters of

wayfaring; I have, therefore, decided to join company, in order that the ride

may be made agreeable, and partake of social communion.”

“A most arbitrary, if not a hasty decision!” exclaimed Heyward,

undecided whether to give vent to his growing anger, or to laugh in the

other’s face. “But you speak of instruction, and of a profession;

are you an adjunct to the provincial corps, as a master of the noble science of

defense and offense; or, perhaps, you are one who draws lines and angles, under

the pretense of expounding the mathematics?”

The stranger regarded his interrogator a moment in wonder; and then, losing

every mark of self-satisfaction in an expression of solemn humility, he

answered:

“Of offense, I hope there is none, to either party: of defense, I make

none—by God’s good mercy, having committed no palpable sin since

last entreating his pardoning grace. I understand not your allusions about

lines and angles; and I leave expounding to those who have been called and set

apart for that holy office. I lay claim to no higher gift than a small insight

into the glorious art of petitioning and thanksgiving, as practiced in

psalmody.”

“The man is, most manifestly, a disciple of Apollo,” cried the

amused Alice, “and I take him under my own especial protection. Nay,

throw aside that frown, Heyward, and in pity to my longing ears, suffer him to

journey in our train. Besides,” she added, in a low and hurried voice,

casting a glance at the distant Cora, who slowly followed the footsteps of

their silent, but sullen guide, “it may be a friend added to our

strength, in time of need.”

“Think you, Alice, that I would trust those I love by this secret path,

did I imagine such need could happen?”

“Nay, nay, I think not of it now; but this strange man amuses me; and if

he ‘hath music in his soul’, let us not churlishly reject his

company.” She pointed persuasively along the path with her riding whip,

while their eyes met in a look which the young man lingered a moment to

prolong; then, yielding to her gentle influence, he clapped his spurs into his

charger, and in a few bounds was again at the side of Cora.

“I am glad to encounter thee, friend,” continued the maiden, waving

her hand to the stranger to proceed, as she urged her Narragansett to renew its

amble. “Partial relatives have almost persuaded me that I am not entirely

worthless in a duet myself; and we may enliven our wayfaring by indulging in

our favorite pursuit. It might be of signal advantage to one, ignorant as I, to

hear the opinions and experience of a master in the art.”

“It is refreshing both to the spirits and to the body to indulge in

psalmody, in befitting seasons,” returned the master of song,

unhesitatingly complying with her intimation to follow; “and nothing

would relieve the mind more than such a consoling communion. But four parts are

altogether necessary to the perfection of melody. You have all the

manifestations of a soft and rich treble; I can, by especial aid, carry a full

tenor to the highest letter; but we lack counter and bass! Yon officer of the

king, who hesitated to admit me to his company, might fill the latter, if one

may judge from the intonations of his voice in common dialogue.”

“Judge not too rashly from hasty and deceptive appearances,” said

the lady, smiling; “though Major Heyward can assume such deep notes on

occasion, believe me, his natural tones are better fitted for a mellow tenor

than the bass you heard.”

“Is he, then, much practiced in the art of psalmody?” demanded her

simple companion.

Alice felt disposed to laugh, though she succeeded in suppressing her

merriment, ere she answered:

“I apprehend that he is rather addicted to profane song. The chances of a

soldier’s life are but little fitted for the encouragement of more sober

inclinations.”

“Man’s voice is given to him, like his other talents, to be used,

and not to be abused. None can say they have ever known me to neglect my gifts!

I am thankful that, though my boyhood may be said to have been set apart, like

the youth of the royal David, for the purposes of music, no syllable of rude

verse has ever profaned my lips.”

“You have, then, limited your efforts to sacred song?”

“Even so. As the psalms of David exceed all other language, so does the

psalmody that has been fitted to them by the divines and sages of the land,

surpass all vain poetry. Happily, I may say that I utter nothing but the

thoughts and the wishes of the King of Israel himself; for though the times may

call for some slight changes, yet does this version which we use in the

colonies of New England so much exceed all other versions, that, by its

richness, its exactness, and its spiritual simplicity, it approacheth, as near

as may be, to the great work of the inspired writer. I never abide in any

place, sleeping or waking, without an example of this gifted work. ’Tis

the six-and-twentieth edition, promulgated at Boston, Anno Domini 1744; and is

entitled, ‘The Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs of the Old and New

Testaments; faithfully translated into English Metre, for the Use, Edification,

and Comfort of the Saints, in Public and Private, especially in New

England’.”

During this eulogium on the rare production of his native poets, the stranger

had drawn the book from his pocket, and fitting a pair of iron-rimmed

spectacles to his nose, opened the volume with a care and veneration suited to

its sacred purposes. Then, without circumlocution or apology, first pronounced

the word “Standish,” and placing the unknown engine, already

described, to his mouth, from which he drew a high, shrill sound, that was

followed by an octave below, from his own voice, he commenced singing the

following words, in full, sweet, and melodious tones, that set the music, the

poetry, and even the uneasy motion of his ill-trained beast at defiance:

“How good it is, O see,

And how it pleaseth well,

Together e’en in unity,

For brethren so to dwell.

It’s like the choice ointment,

From the head to the beard did go;

Down Aaron’s head, that downward went

His garment’s skirts unto.”

The delivery of these skillful rhymes was accompanied, on the part of the

stranger, by a regular rise and fall of his right hand, which terminated at the

descent, by suffering the fingers to dwell a moment on the leaves of the little

volume; and on the ascent, by such a flourish of the member as none but the

initiated may ever hope to imitate. It would seem long practice had rendered

this manual accompaniment necessary; for it did not cease until the preposition

which the poet had selected for the close of his verse had been duly delivered

like a word of two syllables.

Such an innovation on the silence and retirement of the forest could not fail

to enlist the ears of those who journeyed at so short a distance in advance.

The Indian muttered a few words in broken English to Heyward, who, in his turn,

spoke to the stranger; at once interrupting, and, for the time, closing his

musical efforts.

“Though we are not in danger, common prudence would teach us to journey

through this wilderness in as quiet a manner as possible. You will then, pardon

me, Alice, should I diminish your enjoyments, by requesting this gentleman to

postpone his chant until a safer opportunity.”

“You will diminish them, indeed,” returned the arch girl;

“for never did I hear a more unworthy conjunction of execution and

language than that to which I have been listening; and I was far gone in a

learned inquiry into the causes of such an unfitness between sound and sense,

when you broke the charm of my musings by that bass of yours, Duncan!”

“I know not what you call my bass,” said Heyward, piqued at her

remark, “but I know that your safety, and that of Cora, is far dearer to

me than could be any orchestra of Handel’s music.” He paused and

turned his head quickly toward a thicket, and then bent his eyes suspiciously

on their guide, who continued his steady pace, in undisturbed gravity. The

young man smiled to himself, for he believed he had mistaken some shining berry

of the woods for the glistening eyeballs of a prowling savage, and he rode

forward, continuing the conversation which had been interrupted by the passing

thought.

Major Heyward was mistaken only in suffering his youthful and generous pride to

suppress his active watchfulness. The cavalcade had not long passed, before the

branches of the bushes that formed the thicket were cautiously moved asunder,

and a human visage, as fiercely wild as savage art and unbridled passions could

make it, peered out on the retiring footsteps of the travelers. A gleam of

exultation shot across the darkly-painted lineaments of the inhabitant of the

forest, as he traced the route of his intended victims, who rode unconsciously

onward, the light and graceful forms of the females waving among the trees, in

the curvatures of their path, followed at each bend by the manly figure of

Heyward, until, finally, the shapeless person of the singing master was

concealed behind the numberless trunks of trees, that rose, in dark lines, in

the intermediate space.