The Lost Hunter Part 22

They had crossed the bridge, pa.s.sed up the hill, and traversed the road along the margin of the Yaupaae, and were now just entering the lane that runs down to the house. The storm was raging with unabated fury, and the constable, with clenched teeth, and bent head, and half-shut eyes, was breasting the driving flakes, and congratulating himself with the idea that his exposure would soon be over, and he by the side of a warm stove in one of the stores, the hero of the evening, recounting the adventures of the day and comfortably taking his cheerful gla.s.s, when suddenly, without having seen a person, his cap was violently pulled over his eyes, a thick coffee-bag slipped over his head, and a hand applied to his throat to stifle any cries, should he be disposed to make them. But the poor fellow was too much frightened to emit a sound, had he been never so much inclined to scream.

"Make no noise," said a stern but disguised voice, "and you are safe.

No injury is designed. I will lead you. Follow quietly."

The man grasped his arm, and led him, as it seemed, out of the travelled path into an adjoining field, for he was directed to lift his feet at a particular spot, and in doing so, struck them against what were evidently wooden bars, such as are everywhere to be found in New England, at the entrances to the stone wall encircled lots. They were followed by Holden, and, as the constable judged, from the slight sounds he succeeded in occasionally catching, by another person.

When his captor seemed to think he was in a place where he would be unlikely to be disturbed by a casual pa.s.ser, he stopped and demanded the key to the handcuffs. Every movement of the constable must have been narrowly watched during the evening, for, as he hesitated, either confused by the unexpected capture, and forgetful of where he had placed the key, or desirous to gain time in the hope that help might arrive--whatever might have been the motive, no time was granted, the same stern voice instantly adding,

"The key is in the right pocket of your pantaloons: give it to me at once."

With a trembling hand, the constable produced the key from his pocket, and was confirmed, by what followed, in the belief that his captor must have a coadjutor, for he still kept his hold, and uttered the single word "here," as if addressing another, and handing him the key.

Presently, the handcuffs were thrown down at his feet, and he thought he could detect the sound of receding footsteps. His captor then demanded the mittimus, which he tore into small pieces, and scattered around. In this condition m.u.f.fled so that he could hardly breathe, with a desperado, or he knew not how many at his side, who, at the least attempt to make an outcry, might do him some bodily injury or perhaps murder him, the next quarter of an hour seemed a whole dismal night to the unfortunate Ba.s.set. At the expiration of that time, his guard addressed him again, and in the same carefully feigned voice:

"You are in my power, and who would know it were I to leave your corpse to stiffen on the snow? But I bear you no ill will, and have no intention to hurt you. I would not harm a hair of your head. I will not subject you even to the inconvenience of having these fetters on your wrists, though you were unfeeling enough to place them on a man, the latchet of whose shoes you are unworthy to unloose. Be thankful for the forebearance, and show that you know how to appreciate it.

Mark what I say. Remain where you are, nor venture to remove the covering for half an hour. It will keep you warm. Return then to your home, nor seek to discover either Holden or who rescued him, and be a.s.sured he was not privy to the intention to release him. Remember, remember. Eyes will be upon you. Good night!" So saying, the unknown departed and left the stupefied constable like a statue, rooted to the spot.

There he remained, not daring to stir or to remove the uncomfortable head-dress--for by what unseen dangers he was surrounded he knew not--until, as he supposed, the half hour was more than pa.s.sed. Then Ba.s.set cautiously and slowly raised his hand to his head, as if to intimate that if any one were watching and wanted him to desist, he was ready to do so, and hearing no sound, proceeded to divest himself of the hood. He looked around but could see nothing; the falling snow effectually shut out all objects from sight. He tried to move, but stiff with cold his limbs refused their office, and he nearly fell down. He took a step forward and his feet struck against the handcuffs. He stooped down and picked them up, comforting himself with the reflection, that bad as was his case, it might have been worse had they been transferred to his wrists. He strove to peer into the fallen snow, to discover, if possible, any tracks, but except his own just made none were distinguishable. The snow had already obliterated them.

Faint and weary, and frozen, and vexed and frightened, the melancholy Ba.s.set turned his face to the village, not among his cronies with bold brow and loud voice to boast of his achievements, and by the aid of John Barleycorn to screw his courage up to a fabulous pitch, but with drooping crest and dejected spirits to slink to his bachelor's bed, and dream of banditti all the night.

A sadder, if not a wiser man

"He rose the morrow morn."

Not a word spoke he the next day of his misadventure, until it having been ascertained that Holden had not been at the workhouse, inquiry was made respecting his non-appearance. The constable was then obliged to confess the truth, which his captors, as if defying discovery, had not enjoined him to conceal. Faithful to his instructions, he exculpated Holden from all blame, praising him for his submissiveness to the law, expressing his conviction that the old man knew nothing of the intentions of his captors, nor whether they were friends or foes. Notwithstanding the reluctance of the constable, the indignant Justice, in the first ebullition of his anger, made out another mittimus, which he almost forced into the other's unwilling hands, and commanded him to arrest the fugitive, wherever he might find him, by night or by day, on the Lord's Day or on any other day, were the place the Sanctuary itself.

But the rescue had diverted public attention from the Solitary into another channel, and the community had not a stock of indignation sufficient, like the Justice, to expend on Holden as well as on his rescuers. It appeared, even to the few who were originally in favor of his arrest, that he had suffered enough, satisfied as they were, as well from his behavior they had witnessed as from the report of the constable, that he had in no respect contributed to his freedom, but was rather compelled to accept it, and therefore attaching no blame to him for the escape. The resentment of the citizens was now transferred to the daring offenders, who, with a strong hand, had interposed between the sentence and the execution of the law, and this last offence, as being of so much greater magnitude than Holden's, cast it quite into the shade. Who were they? Who would have the audacity, in the midst of a law-loving and law-abiding people, to trample on the laws and defy the State? The constable could give no information. He had not even seen a person. He had only heard a voice he never heard before. Ought not some persons to be arrested on suspicion? Who should they be? Who were obnoxious to suspicion? The friends of the Solitary were among the most respectable people in the place. Would it be safe to proceed against them? There would be some hazard in the experiment.

They would be sure to defend themselves to the uttermost, and if successful as they probably would be, would make the movers in the matter rue their officiousness.

Of such a nature were the various questions discussed around the hearths, and in the bank and shops of the little town of Hillsdale.

The excitement was a perfect G.o.d-send to stir the sluggish blood of winter. Above all it was attractive for the mystery that invested it.

But we will leave the village gossips to beat the air with their idle speculations.

CHAPTER XIX.

I could endure Chains nowhere patiently: and chains at home Where I am free by birthright, not at all.

COWPER.

Bright and beautiful broke the morning after that night of storm. The weather had cleared up towards midnight, and when the rejoicing sun surveyed the scene, his golden glances fell on a wide expanse of pure, unsullied white. A slight breeze had arisen, which, gently agitating the bent and laden boughs of the evergreens, shook off the fleecy adornment that fell like blossoms from the trees. The air was soft and almost balmy, as is not unfrequently the case even in "the dead of winter" in our variable climate, lovelier and dearer for its very variableness, like a capricious beauty, whose smile is the more prized for the pout that precedes it. It was a day to seduce the old man into the sunshine in the stoop on the south side of the house, and to bring out the girls and young men, and swift trotting horses and pungs and jingling bells in gay confusion in the streets.

In the course of the forenoon, a bright crimson sleigh, the bottom filled with clean straw, and the seats covered with bear and buffalo robes, the horse ornamented around the neck and back with strings of bells that jangled sweet music every step he took, drove up to the door of Judge Bernard. A young man stepped out, whom we recognize as Pownal. He entered the house, and in a few minutes returned with Anne Bernard, m.u.f.fled in cloak and boa, and carrying a m.u.f.f upon her arm.

Health glowed in her cheek and happiness lighted up her eyes. Pownal a.s.sisted her into the sleigh, and carefully disposing the robes about her, took his seat by her side and drove off.

They drove at first into the older part of the town, as yet undescribed by us, nor do we now intend a description, save that the road was wide, and a considerable part of the way bordered by elms and maples, glorious with beauty in summer, but now standing like mourners shivering in the wintry air, and as they pa.s.sed hailed with special looks and expressions of admiration those two fraternal elms, towering over all, like patriarchs of the vegetable world, which, once seen, none will forget.

"Huge trunks, and each particular trunk a growth Of intertwisted fibres, serpentine, Upcoiling, and inveterately convolved-- Nor uninformed with Phantasy and looks That threaten the profane."

Thence, following the street that winds around the village green, and greeted by the joyous shouts of acquaintances in pa.s.sing sleighs, and joining, now and then, in friendly races, they crossed the upper bridge of the Yaupaae, and leaving the shouts and merriment behind, struck into a more secluded road.

Whatever charms the conversation that pa.s.sed between the young people might have for them, it would not interest the reader, and we therefore pa.s.s it over. It was such as might be expected between two youthful beings, one of whom knew he was in love, and the other began to suspect, from emotions never felt before, the commencement of a partiality that was as sweet as it was strange. To two hearts thus attached, and tuned to vibrate in harmony, all nature ministers with a more gracious service. The sun is brighter, the sky bluer, the flower more fragrant, the chime of the brook has a deeper meaning, and a richer music swells the throat of the bird. Things un.o.bserved before, and as unconnected with the new emotion, indifferent, now a.s.sume importance. A look, a tone of the voice, a pressure of the hand, are events to dream about and feast upon. In the presence of the beloved object all things else are either unheeded or dwindle into comparative insignificance.

It will occasion no surprise, then, that Anne, engrossed with her own happiness, should hardly have observed the road taken by Pownal, or been conscious of how far they had driven, until some remark of his attracted her attention to the scenery. She then perceived that they were in the midst of the Indian settlement on the Severn, and to a playful question of Pownal, inquiring how she would like to leave her card with Queen Esther, she replied by expressing her delight at the proposition. Esther's cabin stood some little distance off from the main road, towards which a long and narrow winding track led, seldom travelled by any other vehicles than ox carts and sleds. Over the yet unbroken snow, Pownal directed the horse, the light pung plunging with every motion of the animal, and threatening to upset, causing merriment, however, rather than alarm to the occupants of the conveyance. In this manner, straining through the snow-drifts, they finally reached the dwelling of Esther. She herself, attracted by the sound of the bells, came to the door, and welcomed them with great cordiality.

"Mr. Pownal and I," cried the lively Anne, "are come to make a New-Year's call, Esther. I have not your presents with me, but the next time you are at our house, you shall have them."

"Miss Anne more'n all present," replied the pleased Esther. "She cold; she must come to the fire."

"No," said Anne, as she was being ushered by the squaw into the cabin, "I am not cold. Why, what a nice"--but the sentence was not concluded.

Her eyes had fallen on the stately form of Holden, who sat on a bench near to the fire.

"O, father Holden!" exclaimed the lovely girl, running up to him, throwing her arms round his neck, and kissing his forehead, "is it you? How glad I am you escaped from those abominable men. Tell me all about it. How was it? Did they do you any harm?"

At this moment, Pownal entered, and advancing, grasped the old man's hand, and congratulated him on his escape.

"My G.o.d," said Holden, in his wild way, "hath sent His angel and shut the lions' mouths that they have not hurt me. He raiseth the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the mire."

"But," urged Anne, with feminine curiosity, "we are anxious to hear how you escaped."

The Recluse did not seem to consider it necessary to make any secret--at least to those present--of the events of the past night, and, with the frankness that characterized him, spoke of them without hesitation.

After stating what we already know, he said he was led away rapidly by a man dressed in a sailor's suit, whose face he did not see, and who accompanied him until they had pa.s.sed the last house on the street.

They met no one, and, on parting, the man forced a purse into his hand, and entreated him to make his way to the cabin of Esther, where he would be safe and welcome, and there to remain until his friends should be apprised of his retreat.

"To me," concluded the Solitary, "a dungeon or a palace ought to be alike indifferent; but I will not thwart the minds of those who love me, however vain their desires. The Lord hath brought this light affliction upon me for His own good purpose, and I await the revelation of His will."

"I do not doubt we shall be able soon to release you from your confinement," said Pownal; "meanwhile, tell us what we can do to make your condition tolerable."

"I lack nothing," said Holden. "These hands have ever supplied my necessities, and I am a stranger to luxury. Nor liveth man by bread alone, but on sweet tones, and kind looks, and gracious deeds, and I am encompa.s.sed by them. I am rich above gold, and silver, and precious stones."

"If there is anything you desire, you will let me know? Command me in all things; there is nothing I am not ready to do for you," said Pownal.

"The blessing of one who is ready to depart be upon thee, for thy kind words and loving intentions; and should real trouble arise, I will call upon thee for aid. I know not now," he continued, "why I should hide like a wounded beast. I fear 'tis but for a visionary point of honor. Why should not a gentleman,"--this he said sarcastically--"occupy the workhouse as well as a boor. In the eyes of One, we are all equal. Ah, it might do this hard heart good."

"You have promised to respect the prejudices of your friends," said Pownal, "whatever you may think of their weakness."

"You shall never endure the disgrace," said Anne, with kindling cheeks. "See how Providence itself interposes to protect you!"

"Your suggestions, my children, find an echo, alas! too truly in my own heart to be rejected," said Holden, dejectedly. "I repeat, I will obey you."

The young people remained for an hour or more at the hut, conversing with the Solitary, to whom their presence appeared to give great pleasure; and, before parting, Pownal exchanged some words apart with Esther, having for their object the promotion of her guest's and her own comfort. The kind heart of the squaw needed no incentives to conceal and protect Holden, but Pownal felt he had no right to encroach upon her slender means, and such arrangements were made as would more than compensate her.

As the sleigh started from the door, Anne said to Pownal, with some tenderness in the tone of her voice:

"You need not tell me, Mr. Pownal, the name of one of the strange Paladins last night. How will Faith thank and admire you. But, O, let me beg you to be prudent, lest you fall into the power of these bad men."

It would have better suited the feelings of Pownal, had Anne uttered her own thanks more directly. His inexperience and distrust of himself did not comprehend that it was in reality the way in which the modest girl expressed the admiration that swelled her heart.