Matilda Montgomerie Or The Prophecy Fulfilled Part 21

In pa.s.sing through the gate of the fort, on his way into the town, his attention was arrested by several groups of persons, consisting of soldiers, Indians, and inhabitants, who, notwithstanding the inclemency of the hour, were gathered on the high bank in front of the _demi-lune_ battery, eagerly bending their gaze upon the river. Half curious to know what could have attracted them in such weather from shelter, Henry advanced and mingled in the crowd, which gave way at his approach.

Although the fury of the tempest had spent itself, there was still wind enough to render it a matter of necessary precaution that the bystander should secure a firm footing on the bank, while the water, violently agitated and covered with foam, resembled rather a pigmy sea than an inland river--so unusual and so vast were its waves. The current, moreover, increased in strength by the sudden swelling of the waters, dashed furiously down, giving its direction to the leaping billows that rode impatiently upon its surface; and at the point of intersection by the island of Bois Blanc, formed so violent an eddy within twenty feet of the land, as to produce the effect of a whirlpool, while again, between the island and the Canadian sh.o.r.e, the current, always rapid and of great force, flew boiling down its channel, and with a violence almost quadrupled.

Amid this uproar of the usually placid river, there was but one bark found bold enough to venture upon her angered bosom, and this, although but an epitome of those that have subdued the world of waters, and chained them in subservience to the will of man, now danced gallantly, almost terrifically, from billow to billow, and, with the feathery lightness of her peculiar cla.s.s, seemed borne onward, less by the leaping waves themselves than by the white and driving spray that fringed their summits. This bark--a canoe evidently of the smallest description--had been watched in its progress, from afar, by the groups a.s.sembled on the bank, who had gathered at each other's call, to witness and marvel at the gallant daring of those who had committed it to the boiling element. Two persons composed her crew--the one seated in the stern, and carefully guiding the bark so as to enable her to breast the threatening waves, which, in quick succession, rose as if to accomplish her overthrow--the other standing at her bows, the outline of his upper figure designed against the snow-white sail, and, with his arms folded across his chest, apparently gazing without fear on the danger which surrounded him. It was evident, from their manner of conducting the bark, that the adventurers were not Indians, and yet there was nothing to indicate to what cla.s.s of the white family they belonged. Both were closely wrapped in short, dark-colored pea coats, and their heads were surmounted with glazed hats--a species of costume that more than anything else proved their familiarity with the element whose brawling they appeared to brave with an indifference bordering on madness.

Such was the position of the parties at the moment when Henry Grantham gained the bank. Hitherto the canoe, in the broad reach that divided the island from the American mainland, had had merely the turbulence of the short heavy waves, and a comparatively modified current, to contend against. Overwhelming even as these difficulties would have proved to men less gifted with the power of opposing and vanquishing them, they were but light in comparison with what was to be overcome. The canoe was now fast gaining the head of the island, and pursuing a direct course for the whirlpool already described. The only means of avoiding this was by closely hugging the sh.o.r.e between which and the violent eddy without, the water, broken in its impetuosity by the covering headland, presented a more even and less agitated surface. This headland once doubled, the safety of the adventurers was ensured, since, although the tremendous current which swept through the inner channel must have borne them considerably downwards, still the canoe would have accomplished the transit below the town in perfect safety. The fact of this opportunity being neglected, led at once to the inference that the adventurers were total strangers, and distinct voices were now raised by those on the bank, to warn them of their danger--but whether it was that they heard not, or understood not, the warning was unnoticed. Once indeed it seemed as if he who so ably conducted the course of the bark, had comprehended and would have followed, the suggestion so earnestly given, for his tiny sail was seen to flutter for the first time in the wind, as with the intention to alter his course. But an impatient gesture from his companion in the bow, who was seen to turn suddenly round and utter something, (which was however inaudible to those on sh.o.r.e,) again brought the head of the fragile vessel to her original course, and onward she went, leaping and bounding, apparently with the design to clear the whirlpool at a higher point of the river.

Nothing short of a miracle could now possibly enable the adventurers to escape being drawn into the boiling vortex; and, during the moments that succeeded, every heart beat high with fearful expectation as to the result. At length the canoe came with a sudden plunge into the very centre of the current, which all the skill of the steersman was insufficient to enable him to clear. Her bow yawed, her little sail fluttered--and away she flew, broadside foremost, down the stream, with as little power of resistance as a feather or a straw. Scarcely had the eye time to follow her in this peculiar descent, when she was in the very heart of the raging eddy. For a moment she reeled like a top, then rolled two or three times over, and finally disappeared altogether.

Various expressions of horror broke from the several groups of whites and Indians, all of whom had antic.i.p.ated the catastrophe without the power of actively interposing. Beyond the advice that was given, not a word was uttered, but every eye continued fixed on the whirlpool, as though momentarily expecting to see something issue from its bosom.

After the lapse of a minute, a dark object suddenly presented itself some twenty yards below, between the island and town. It was the canoe which, bottom upwards and deprived of its little mast and sail, had again risen to the surface, and was floating rapidly down with the current. Presently afterwards two heads were seen nearly at the point where the canoe had again emerged. They were the unfortunate adventurers, one of whom appeared to be supporting his companion with one arm, whilst with the other he dashed away the waters that bore them impetuously along. The hats of both had fallen off, and as he who exerted himself so strenuously, rose once or twice in the vigor of his efforts above the element with which he contended, he seemed to present the grisly, woolly hair, and the sable countenance of an aged negro. A vague surmise of the truth now flashed upon the mind of the excited officer; but when, presently afterwards, he saw the powerful form once more raised, and in a voice that made itself distinctly heard above the howling of the wind, exclaim, "Help a dare!" there was no longer a doubt, and he rushed towards the dock-yard, to gain which the exertions of the negro were now directed.

On reaching it, he found both Gerald and his faithful attendant just touching the sh.o.r.e. Aroused by the cry for help which Sambo had pealed forth, several of the workmen had quitted the shelter of the block-houses in which they were lodged, and hastened to the rescue of him whom they immediately afterwards saw struggling furiously to free himself and companion from the violent current. Stepping to the extremity on some loose timber which lay secured to the sh.o.r.e, yet floating in the river--they threw out poles, one of which Sambo seized like an enraged mastiff in his teeth, and still supporting the body, and repelling the water with his disengaged arm, in this manner succeeded in gaining the land. The crews of the little fleet, which lay armed a hundred yards lower down, had also witnessed the rapid descent of two apparently drowning men, and ropes had everywhere been thrown out from the vessels. As for lowering a boat, it was out of the question; for no boat could have resisted the violence of the current, even for some hours after the storm had wholly ceased.

It may be easily conceived with what mingled emotions the generous Henry, whose anxiety had been so long excited in regard to his brother's fate, now beheld that brother suddenly restored to him. Filled with an affection that was rendered the more intense by the very fact of the danger from which he had just seen him rescued, he, regardless of those around and in defiance of his wet and dripping clothes, sprang eagerly to his embrace, but Gerald received him with a cold--almost averted air.

Suffering, rather than sharing, this mark of fraternal love, he turned the instant afterward to his servant, and, in a tone of querulousness said, "Sambo, give me wine."

Inexpressibly shocked, and not knowing what to think of this conduct, Henry bent his glance upon the negro. The old man shook his head mournfully, and even with the dripping spray that continued to fall from his woolly locks upon his cheeks, tears might be seen to mingle. A dreadful misgiving came over the mind of the youth, and he felt his very hair rise thrillingly, as he for a moment admitted the horrible possibility, that the shock produced by his recent accident had affected his brother's intellect. Sambo replied to his master's demand, by saying "there was no wine--the canoe and its contents had been utterly lost."

All this pa.s.sed during the first few moments of their landing. The necessity for an immediate change of apparel was obvious, and Gerald and his servant were led into the nearest block house, where each of the honest fellows occupying it was eager in producing whatever his rude wardrobe afforded. The brothers then made the best of their way, followed by the negro, to their own abode in the town.

The evening being damp and chilly, a fire was kindled in the apartment in which Gerald dined--the same in which both had witnessed the dying moments of their mother, and Henry those of their father. It had been chosen by the former, in the height of her malady, for its cheerfulness, and she had continued in it until the hour of her decease; while Major Grantham had selected it for his chamber of death for the very reason that it had been that of his regretted wife. Henry, having already dined, sat at the opposite extremity of the table watching his brother, whose features he had so longed to behold once more; yet not without a deep and bitter feeling of grief, that those features should have undergone so complete a change in their expression towards himself.

Gerald had thrown off the temporary and ill-fitting vestments exchanged for his own wet clothing, and now that he appeared once more in his customary garb, an extraordinary alteration was perceptible in his whole appearance. Instead of the blooming cheek, and rounded and elegant form, for which he had always been remarkable, he now offered to the eye of his anxious brother, an emaciated figure, and a countenance pale even to wanness--while evidence of much care and inward suffering might be traced in the stern contraction of his. .h.i.therto open brow. There was also a dryness in his speech that startled and perplexed even more than the change in his person. The latter might be the effect of imprisonment, and its anxiety and privation, coupled with the exhaustion arising from his recent accident; but how was the first to be accounted for, and wherefore was he, after so long a separation, and under such circ.u.mstances, thus incommunicative and unaffectionate? All these reflections occurred to the mind of the sensitive Henry, as he sat watching, and occasionally addressing a remark to, his taciturn brother, until he became fairly bewildered in his efforts to find a clue to his conduct. The horrible dread which had first suggested itself of the partial overthrow of intellect, had pa.s.sed away, but to this had succeeded a discovery attended by quite as much concern, although creating less positive alarm. He had seen, with inexpressible pain, that Gerald ate but little, seeming rather to loathe his food, while on the other hand he had recourse more frequently to wine, drinking off b.u.mpers with greedy avidity, until, yielding at length to the excess of his potations, he fell fast asleep in the arm-chair he had drawn to the fire, overcome by the mingled influence of wine, fatigue and drowsiness.

Bitter were the feelings of Henry Grantham, as thus he gazed upon his sleeping brother. Fain would he have persuaded himself that the effect he now witnessed was an isolated instance, and occurring only under the peculiar circ.u.mstances of the moment. It was impossible to recal the manner in which he had demanded "wine" from their faithful old servant and friend, and not feel satisfied that the tone proclaimed him one who had been in the frequent habit of repeating that demand, as the prepared yet painful manner of the black, indicated a sense of having been too frequently called upon to administer to it. Alas, thought the heart-stricken Henry, can it really be, that he whom I have cherished in my heart of hearts with more than brother's love, has thus fallen? Has Gerald, formerly as remarkable for sobriety as for every honorable principle, acquired even during the months I have so wretchedly mourned his absence, the fearful propensities of the drunkard? The bare idea overpowered him, and with difficulty restraining his tears, he rose from his seat, and paced the room for some time in a state of indescribable agitation. Then again he stopped, and when he looked in the sleeping face of his unconscious brother, he was more than ever struck by the strange change which had been wrought in his appearance. Finding that Gerald still slept profoundly, he took the resolution of instantly questioning Sambo as to all that had befallen them during their absence, and ascertaining, if possible, to what circ.u.mstance the mystery which perplexed him was attributable. Opening and reclosing the door with caution, he hastened to the room which, owing to his years and long and faithful services, had been set apart for the accommodation of the old man when on sh.o.r.e. Here he found Sambo, who had dispatched his substantial meal, busily occupied in drying his master's wet dress before a large blazing wood fire--and laying out, with the same view, certain papers, the contents of a pocket-book which had been completely saturated with water. A ray of satisfaction lighted the dark but intelligent face of the negro, which the instant before had worn an expression of suffering, as the young officer, pressing his hand with warmth, thanked him deeply and fervently for the n.o.ble, almost superhuman, exertions, he had made that day to preserve his brother's life.

"Oh, Ma.s.sa Henry!" was all the poor creature could say in reply, as he returned the pressure with an emphasis that spoke his profound attachment to both. Then leaning his white head upon his hand against the chimney, and bursting into tears--"berry much change, he poor broder Geral, he not a same at all."

Here was a sad opening indeed to the subject. The heart of the youth sank within him, yet feeling the necessity of knowing all connected with his brother's unhappiness, he succeeded in drawing the old man into conversation, and finally into a narration of all their adventures, as far at least as he had personal knowledge, from the moment of their leaving Detroit in the preceding autumn.

When, after the expiration of an hour, he returned to the drawing-room, Gerald was awake, and so far restored by his sound sleep as to be, not only more communicative, but more cordial towards his brother. He even reverted to past scenes, and spoke of the mutual events of their youth, with a cheerfulness bordering on levity; but this pained Henry the more, for he saw in it but the fruit of a forced excitement--as melancholy in adoption as pernicious in effect--and his own heart repugned all partic.i.p.ation in so unnatural a gaiety, although he enforced himself to share it to the outward eye. Fatigue at length compelled Gerald to court the quiet of his pillow, and, overcome as his senses were with wine, he slept profoundly until morning.

CHAPTER XXI.

When they met at breakfast, Henry was more than ever struck and afflicted by the alteration in his brother's person and manner. All traces of the last night's excitement had disappeared with the cause, and pale, haggard and embarra.s.sed, he seemed but the shadow of his former self, while the melancholy of his countenance had in it something wild and even fierce. As at their first meeting, his language was dry and reserved, and he seemed rather impatient of conversation, as though it interfered with the indulgence of some secret and all absorbing reflection, while, to Henry's affectionate questioning of his adventures since they first parted, he replied in the vague unsatisfactory manner of one who seeks to shun the subject altogether. At another moment, this apparent prostration of the physical man might have been ascribed to his long immersion of the preceding day, and the efforts that were necessary to rescue him from a watery grave; but, from the account Sambo had given him, Henry had but too much reason to fear that the disease of body and mind which had so completely encompa.s.sed his unfortunate brother, not only had its being in a different cause, but might be dated from an earlier period. Although burning with desire to share that confidence which it grieved him to the soul to find thus unkindly withheld, he made no effort to remove the cloak of reserve in which his brother had invested himself. That day they both dined at the garrison mess, and Henry saw with additional pain, that the warm felicitations of his brother officers on his return, were received by Gerald with the same reserve and indifference which had characterized his meeting with him, while he evinced the same disinclination to enter upon the solicited history of his captivity, as well as the causes which led to his bold venture, and consequent narrow escape, of the preceding day. Finding him thus incommunicative, and not comprehending the change in his manner, they rallied him; and, as the bottle circulated, he seemed more and more disposed to meet their raillery with a cheerfulness and good humor that brought even the color into his sunken cheeks; but when, finally, some of them proceeded to ask him, in their taunting manner, what he had done with his old flame and fascinating prisoner, Miss Montgomerie, a deadly paleness overspread his countenance, and he lost in the moment all power of disguising his feelings. His emotion was too sudden and too palpable, not to be observed by those who had unwillingly called it forth, and they at once, with considerate tact, changed the conversation. Hereupon Gerald again made an effort to rally, but no one returned to the subject. Piqued at this conduct, he had more frequent recourse to the bottle, and laughed and talked in a manner that proved him to be laboring under the influence of extraordinary excitement. When he took leave of his brother to retire to rest, he was silent, peevish, dissatisfied--almost angry.

Henry pa.s.sed a night of extreme disquiet. It was evident from what had occurred at the mess-table in relation to the beautiful American, that to her was to be ascribed the wretchedness to which Gerald had become a victim, and he resolved on the following morning to waive all false delicacy, and throwing himself upon his affection, to solicit his confidence, and offer whatever counsel he conceived would best tend to promote his peace of mind.

At breakfast the conversation turned on the intended movement, which was to take place within three days, and on this subject Gerald evinced a vivacity that warmed into eagerness. He had risen early that morning, with a view to obtain the permission of the commodore to make one of the detachment of sailors who were to accompany the expedition, and, having succeeded in obtaining the command of one of the two gun-boats which were destined to ascend the Miami, and form part of the battering force, seemed highly pleased. This apparent return to himself might have led his brother into the belief that his feelings had undergone a reaction, had he not, unfortunately, but too much reason to know that the momentary gaiety was the result of the very melancholy which consumed him. However, it gave him a more favorable opportunity to open the subject next his heart, and, as a preparatory step, he dexterously contrived to turn the conversation into the channel most suited to his purpose.

The only ill effect arising from Gerald's recent immersion was a sense of pain in that part of his arm which had been bitten by the rattlesnake, on the day of the pic-nic to Hog Island, and it chanced that this morning especially it had a good deal annoyed him, evincing some slight predisposition to inflammation. To subdue this, Henry applied with his own hand a liniment which had been recommended, and took occasion, when he had finished, to remark on the devotedness and fearlessness Miss Montgomerie had manifested in coming so opportunely to his rescue--in all probability, thereby preserving his life.

At the sound of this name Gerald started, and evinced the same impatience of the subject he had manifested on the preceding day. Henry keenly remarked his emotion, and Gerald was sensible that he did.

Both sat for some minutes gazing at each other in expressive silence, the one as if waiting to hear, the other as if conscious that he was expected to afford, some explanation of the cause of so marked an emotion. At length Gerald said and in a tone of deep and touching despondency, "Henry, I fear you find me very unamiable and much altered, but indeed I am very unhappy."

Here was touched the first chord of their sympathies. Henry's, already on the _elan_, flew to meet this demonstration of returning confidence, and he replied in a voice broken by the overflowing of his full heart.

"Oh, my beloved brother, changed must you indeed be, when even the admission that you are unhappy inspires me with a thankfulness such as I now feel. Gerald, I entreat, I implore you, by the love we have borne each other from infancy, to disguise nothing from me. Tell me what it is that weighs so heavily at your heart. Repose implicit confidence in me your brother, and let me a.s.sist and advise you in your extremity, as my poor ability will permit. Tell me, Gerald, wherefore are you thus altered--what dreadful disappointment has thus turned the milk of your nature into gall?"

Gerald gazed at him a moment intently. He was much affected, and a sudden and unbidden tear stole down his pallid cheek. "If _you_ have found the milk of my nature turned into gall, then indeed am I even more wretched than I thought myself. But, Henry, you ask me what I cannot yield--my confidence--and, even were it not so, the yielding would advantage neither. I am unhappy, as I have said, but the cause of that unhappiness must ever remain buried here," and he pointed to his breast.

This was said kindly, yet determinedly.

"Enough, Gerald," and his brother spoke in terms of deep reproach, "since you persist in withholding your confidence, I will no longer urge it; but you cannot wonder that I, who love but you alone on earth, should sorrow as one without hope, at beholding you subject to a grief so overwhelming as to have driven you to seek refuge from it in an unhallowed grave."

"I do not understand you--what mean you?" quickly interrupted Gerald, raising his head from the hand which supported it at the breakfast-table while he colored faintly.

"You cannot well be ignorant of my meaning," pursued Henry in the same tone, "if you but recur to the circ.u.mstances attending your arrival here."

"I am still in the dark," continued Gerald, with some degree of impatience.

"Because you know not that I am acquainted with all that took place on the melancholy occasion. Gerald," he pursued, "forgive the apparent harshness of what I am about to observe--but was it generous--was it kind in you to incur the risk you did, when you must have known that your death would have entailed upon me an eternal grief? Was it worthy of yourself, moreover, to make the devoted follower of your fortunes, a sharer in the danger you so eagerly and wantonly courted?"

"Nay, my good brother," and Gerald made an attempt at levity, "you are indeed an unsparing monitor; but suppose I should offer in reply, that a spirit of enterprize was upon me on the occasion to which you allude, and that, fired by a desire to astonish you all with a bold feat, I had resolved to do what no other had done before me, yet without apprehending the serious consequences which ensued--or even a.s.suming the danger to have been so great."

"All this, Gerald, you might, yet would not say; because, in saying it, you would have to charge yourself with a gross insincerity; and although you do not deem me worthy to share your confidence, I still have pleasure in knowing that my affection will not be repaid with deceit--however plausible the motives for its adoption may appear--by the subst.i.tution, in short, of that which is not for that which is."

"A gross insincerity?" repeated Gerald, again slightly coloring.

"Yes, my brother--I say it not in anger, nor in reproach--but a gross insincerity it would certainly be. Alas, Gerald, your motives are but too well known to me. The danger you incurred was incurred wilfully, wantonly, and with a view to your own destruction."

Gerald started. The color had again fled from his sunken cheek, and he was ashy pale. "And _how_ knew you this?" he asked with a trembling voice.

"Even, Gerald, as I know that you have been driven to seek in wine that upbearing against the secret grief which consumes you, which should be found alone in the fort.i.tude of a strong mind and the consciousness of an untainted honor. Oh, Gerald, had these been your supporters, you never would have steeped your reason so far in forgetfulness, as to have dared what you did on that eventful day. Good Heaven! how little did I ever expect to see the brother of my love degenerated so far as to border on the character of the drunkard and the suicide."

The quick but sunken eyes of the sailor flashed fire; and he pressed his lips, and clenched his teeth together, as one strongly attempting to restrain his indignation. It was but the momentary flashing of the chafed and bruised spirit.

"You probe me deeply, Henry," he said, calmly and in a voice of much melancholy. "These are severe expressions for a brother to use; but you are right--I did seek oblivion of my wretchedness in that whirlpool, as the only means of destroying the worm that feeds incessantly upon my heart; but Providence has willed it otherwise--and, morever, I had not taken the danger of my faithful servant into the account. Had Sambo not saved me, I must have perished; for I made not the slightest effort to preserve myself. However, it matters but little, the mere manner of one's death," he pursued, with increased despondency. "It is easy for you, Henry, whose mind is at peace with itself and the world, to preach fort.i.tude and resignation; but, felt you the burning flame which scorches my vitals, you would acknowledge the wide difference between theory and practice."

Henry rose deeply agitated; he went to the door and secured the bolt; then returning, knelt at his brother's feet. Gerald had one hand covering his eyes, from which, however, the tears forced themselves through his closed fingers. The other was seized and warmly pressed in his brother's grasp.

"Gerald," he said, in the most emphatic manner, "by the love you ever bore to our sainted parents, in whose chamber of death I now appeal to your better feelings--by the friendship that has united our hearts from youth to manhood--by all and every tie of affection, let me implore you once more to confide this dreadful grief to me, that I may share it with you, and counsel you for your good. Oh, my brother, on my bended knees do I solicit your confidence. Believe me, no mean curiosity prompts my prayer. I would soothe, console, a.s.sist you--aye, even to the very sacrifice of life."

The feelings of the sailor were evidently touched, yet he uttered not a word. His hand still covered his face, and the tears seemed to flow even faster than before.

"Gerald," pursued his brother, with bitterness; "I see, with pain, that I have not your confidence, and I desist--yet answer me one question.

From the faithful Sambo, as you must perceive, I have learnt all connected with your absence, and from him I have gained that, during your captivity, you were much with Miss Montgomerie (he p.r.o.nounced the name with an involuntary shuddering); all I ask, therefore, is, whether your wretchedness proceeds from the rejection of your suit, or from any levity or inconstancy you may have found in her?"

Gerald raised his head from his supporting hand, and turned upon his brother a look in which mortified pride predominated over an infinitude of conflicting emotions.

"Rejected, Henry, _my_ suit rejected--oh, no! In supposing my grief to originate with her, you are correct; but imagine not it is because my suit is rejected--certainly not."

"Then," exclaimed Henry, with generous emphasis, while he pressed the thin hand which he held more closely between his own, "Why not marry her?"

Gerald started.

"Yes, marry her," continued Henry; "marry her and be at peace. Oh!