Mrs. William T. Savage - Adele Dubois

M >> Mrs. William T. Savage >> Adele Dubois

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

The development of the maiden is like the opening of some lovely
flower-bud. As life unfolds, the tender smile and blush of childhood
mingle with the grace of maidenly repose; the upturned, radiant eye
gathers new depths of thought and emotion; the delicate features, the
wavy, pliant form, begin to reveal their wealth of grace and beauty.

Sometimes, the overstimulated bud is forced into intense and unnatural
life and bloom. Sometimes, the development is slow and almost
imperceptible. Fed gently by the light and dews of heaven, the flower,
at length, circles forth in perfected beauty. Here, the airy grace and
playfulness of a Rosalind, or the purity and goodness of a Desdemona
is developed; there, the intense, passionate nature of a Juliet, or
the rich intellect and lofty elegance of a Portia.

But, how brief is that bright period of transition! Scarcely can the
artist catch the beautiful creation and transfer it to the canvas, ere
it has changed, or faded.

"How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!"

Adele Dubois had just reached this period of life. Her form was
ripening into a noble and statuesque symmetry; the light in her eyes
shot forth from darkening depths; a faint bloom was creeping into her
cheek; a soft smile was wreathing those lips, wrought by nature, into
a somewhat haughty curve; the frank, careless, yet imperious manner
was chastening into a calmer grace; a transforming glory shone around
her, making her one of those visions that sometimes waylay and haunt a
man's life forever.

Her physical and intellectual growth were symmetrical. Her mind was
quick, penetrative, and in constant exercise. Truthful and upright,
her soul shone through her form and features, as a clear flame, placed
within a transparent vase, brings out the adornments of flower, leaf,
and gem, with which it is enriched.

In a brown stone house, in the city of P., State of ----, there hangs
in one of the chambers a picture of Adele, representing her as she was
at this period of her life. It is full of beauty and elegance.
Sun-painting was an art unknown in the days when it was executed. But
the modern photographist could hardly have produced a picture so
exquisitely truthful as well as lovely.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DEER HUNT.

Early in the morning, John Lansdowne, having donned his hunting suit
and taken a hasty breakfast, seized his rifle and joined Micah,
already waiting for him on the lawn in front of the house.

He was equipped in a tunic-like shirt of dressed buckskin, with
leggings and moccasins of the same material, each curiously
embroidered and fringed. The suit was a present from his
mother,--procured by her from Canada. His head was surmounted by a
blue military cap and his belt adorned with powder pouch and
hunting-knife. Micah with a heavy blanket coat of a dingy, brown
color, leggings of embroidered buckskin, skull cap of gray fox skin,
and Indian moccasins; wore at his belt a butcher knife in a scabbard,
a tomahawk, otter-skin pouch, containing bullets and other necessaries
for such an expedition.

In the dim morning light they walked briskly to a little cove in the
river, where Micah's birchen canoe lay, and found it already stored
with supplies for the excursion. There were bags of provisions,
cooking utensils, a small tent, neatly folded, Micah's old Dutch
rifle, fishing tackle, and other articles of minor account.

"Ever traviled much in a canoo?" inquired Micah.

"None at all", replied John.

"Well, then I'll jest mention, yeou needn't jump into it, like a
catameount rampagin' arter fodder. Yeou step in kinder keerful and set
deown and don't move reound more'n ye ken help. It's a mighty crank
little critter, I tell ye. 'Twould be tolable unconvenient to upset
and git eour cargo turned into the stream".

"It would indeed!" said John. "I'll obey orders, Mummychog".

John entered the canoe with tact, apparently to Micah's satisfaction
and soon they were gliding down the river, now, owing to the
long-continued drought, considerably shrunk within its banks.

Just as night gave its parting salute to the advancing day, the
voyagers passed into a region densely wooded down to the water's edge.
Oaks, elms, and maples, birches of different sorts, willows and
cranberry, grew in wild luxuriance along the margin, tinged with the
rich hues of autumn. A thousand spicy odors exhaled from the
frostbitten plants and shrubs, filling the senses with an intoxicating
incense. When the rising sun shot its level rays through the trees,
the clear stream quivered with golden arrows.

John viewed the scenes through which they glided with eager eye.

Micah's countenance expressed intense satisfaction. He sat bolt
upright in the stern of the canoe, steering with his paddle, his keen
bullet eyes dancing from side to side examining every object as they
passed along. Both were silent.

At length, Micah exclaimed, "Well, Captin', this is the pootiest way
of livin' I know on, any heow. My 'pinion is that human natur was
meant to live reound on rivers and in the woods, or vyagin' on lakes,
and sech. I never breathe jest nateral and lively, till I git eout o'
between heouse walls into the free air".

"'Tis a glorious life, Micah! I agree to it".

"Hark!" said Micah! "Got yer piece ready? Maybe you'll hev' a chance
to bring sumthin' deown. I heerd an old squaw holler jest neow".

"I'm ready", said John. "But I didn't hear any sound. What was it
like?"

"O! kinder a scoldin' seound. Cawcawee! cawcawee! Don't yer hear the
critter reelin' of it off? Ha! 'tis dyin' away, though. We shall hear
it agin, by and by".

"An old squaw", said John, as the excitement the prospect of a shot
had raised in his mind subsided. "Do you have such game as _that_, in
Miramichi? I've heard of witches flying on broomsticks through the
air, but didn't know before that squaws are in the habit of skylarking
about in that way".

"Well, ye'll know it by observation, before long", said Micah, with a
slight twitch of one eye. "Them's ducks from Canada, a goin'
south'ard, as they allers do in the fall o' the year. They keep up
that ere scoldin' seound, day and night. Cawcawee! cawcawee! kind of
an aggravatin' holler! But I like it, ruther. It allers 'minds me of a
bustin' good feller that was deown here from Canada once".

"How remind you of him?" inquired John.

"Well, he cam' deown on bissiniss, but he ran afowl o' me, and we was
eout in the woods together, consid'able. He used to set eoutside the
camp, bright, starlight nights, and sing songs, and sech. He had a
powerful, sweet v'ice, and it allers 'peared to me as ef every kind of
a livin' thing hushed up and listened, when he sung o' nights. He
could reel off most anything you can think on. There was one kind of a
mournful ditty he sung, and once in a while he brung in a
chorus,--cawcawee! cawcawee,--jest like what them ducks say, only, the
way he made it seound, was soft and meller and doleful-like. I liked
to hear him sing that, only he was so solemn arter it, and would set
and fetch up great long sythes. And once I asked him what made him so
sober and take on so, arter singin' it. He said, Micah, my good lad,
when I war a young man, I had a little French wife, that could run
like a hind and sing like a wild bird. Well, she died. The very last
thing she sung, was, that 'ere song. When I see how he felt, I never
asked him another question. He sot and sythed a spell and then got up,
took a most oncommon swig of old Jamaky and turned into his blanket".

Just as Micah ended this account, John caught sight of a large bird at
a distance directly ahead of them, and his attention became entirely
absorbed. It took flight from a partly decayed tree on the northern
bank, and commenced wheeling around, above the water. The canoe was
rapidly nearing this promising game.

Micah said not a word, but observed, in an apparently careless mood,
the movements of his young companion.

Suddenly, the bird poised himself for an instant in the air, then
closed his wings and shot downward. A whizzing sound! then a plash,
and he disappeared beneath the surface, throwing up the water into
sparkling foam-wreaths. He was absent but a moment, and then bore
upward into the air a large fish.

John's shot took him on the wing, and he dropped dead, his claws yet
grasping the fish, on the water's edge.

"Ruther harnsum than otherwise!" exclaimed Micah. "You've got your
dinner, Captin'".

And he put the canoe rapidly towards the river-bank, to pick up the
game.

They found it to be a large fish-hawk, with a good-sized salmon in its
fierce embrace. It was a noble specimen of the bird, tinted with
brown, ashy white, and blue, with eyes of deep orange color.

"Well, that are a prize", said Micah. "Them birds ain't common in
these parts, bein' as they mostly live on sea-coasts. But this un was
on his way seouth, and his journey has ended quite unexpected".

Saying which, he threw both bird and fish into the canoe, and darted
forward on the river again.

"When shall we reach the deer feeding-ground you spoke of, Micah?"

"O! not afore night", said Micah. "And then we mustn't go anyst it
till mornin'".

"I suppose you have brought down some scores of deer in your hunting
raids, Micah?"

"Why, yes,--takin' it by and large, I've handled over consid'able
many of 'em. 'Tis a critter I hate to kill, Captin', though I s'pose
it seounds soft to say so. Ef 't wan't for thinkin' they'll git picked
off, anyway, I dunno but I should let 'em alone altogether".

"Why do you dislike to kill them?"

"Well, to begin with, they're a harnsum critter. They hev sech
graceful ways with 'em, kinder grand ones tew, specially them bucks,
with their crests reared up agin the sky, lookin' so bold and free
like. And them bright little does,--sometimes they hev sech a skeerd,
tender look in their eyes,--and I've seen the tears roll out on 'em,
when they lay wounded and disabled like, jest like a human critter. It
allers makes me feel kind o' puggetty to see that".

They made a noon halt, in the shadows cast by a clump of silver
birches, and did ample justice to the provision supplied from the
pantry of the Dubois house.

At four o'clock they proceeded onward towards the deer hunt. John
listened with unwearied interest to Micah's stories of peril and
hair-breadth 'scapes, by flood, field, and forest, gathering many
valuable hints in the science of woodcraft from the practised hunter.

Just at dark, they reached a broad part of the stream, and selected
their camping-ground.

The tent was soon pitched, a fire of brushwood kindled and the salmon
broiled to a relish that an epicure could not have cavilled at. The
table, a flat rock, was also garnished with white French rolls, sliced
ham, brown bread, blocks of savory cheese, and tea, smoking hot.

The sylvan scene,--the moon shedding its light around, the low music
of the gently rippling waves, the spicy odor of the burning cedar, the
snow-white clouds and deep blue of the sky mirrored in the stream,
made it a place fit at least for rural divinities. Pan might have
looked in,--ah! he is dead,--his ghost then might have looked in upon
them from behind some old gnarled tree, with a frown of envy at this
intrusion upon his ancient domain.

On the following morning, at the first faint glimmering of light,
Micah was alert. He shook our young hero's shoulder and woke him from
a pleasant dream.

"Neow's the time, Captin'", said Micah, speaking in a cautious
undertone, "neow's the time, ef we do it at all, to nab them deer.
While your gittin' rigged and takin' a cold bite, I'll tell ye the lay
o' things. Ye see, don't ye, that pint o' land ahead on us, a juttin'
out into the stream? Well, we've got to put the canoe on the water
right away, hustle in the things, and percede just as whist and
keerful as we ken, to that pint. Jest beyend that, I expect the
animils, when day's fairly up, will come to drink. And there's where
we'll get a shot at 'em".

"But what makes you expect they'll come to drink at that particular
place, Micah?"

"You see that pooty steep hill, that slopes up jest back o' the pint
o' land, don't ye? Well, behind that hill which is steeper 'n it looks
to be, there's a largish, level piece of greound that's been burnt
over within a few years, and it's grown up to tall grass and got a
number o' clumps of young trees on it, and it's 'bout surreounded by a
lot o' master rocky hills. That's the feedin' greound. There's a deep
gorge cut right inter that hill, back 'o the pint. The gorge has a
pooty smooth rocky bed. In the spring o' the year, there's a brook
runs through there and pours inter the river jest below. But it's all
dry neow, and the deer, as a gen'al thing scramble eout of their
feedin' place into this gorge and foller it deown to the river to git
their drink. It brings 'em eout jest below the pint. We have got neow
to cross over to the pint, huggin' the bank, so the critters shan't
see us, and take a shot from there. Git yer piece ready, Captin. Ef
there's tew, or more, I'll hev the fust shot and you the second. Don't
speak, arter we git on to the pint, the leastest word".

"I understand", said John, as he examined his rifle, to see that all
was right.

"Now for it", said Micah, as having finished their arrangements, they
entered the canoe.

Silently, they paddled along, sheltered from observation by the little
wooded promontory and following as nearly as possible the crankling
river as it indented into the land. In a few minutes, they landed and
proceeded noiselessly to get a view of the bank below.

After a moment's reconnoitre, John turned his face towards Micah with
a look of blank disappointment.

But Micah looked cool and expectant. He merely pointed up the rocky
gorge and said under his breath--

"'T aint time to expect 'em yet. The wind, what there is on it, is
favorable tew,--it blows right in our faces and can't kerry any smell
of us to 'em. Neow hide yourself right away. Keep near me, Captin',
so that we ken make motions to each other".

In a few moments they had secured their ambuscade, each lying on the
ground at full length, concealed by low, scrubby trees. By a slight
turn of the head, each could command a view up the gorge for a
considerable distance.

Just as the sun began to show his broad, red disc in the east, new
light shot forth from the eyes of the hunters, as they perceived a
small herd coming down the rocky pathway. The creatures bounded along
with a wild and graceful freedom, until they reached the debouche of
the pass into the valley. There they paused,--scanned the scene with
eager eyes and snuffed the morning breeze. The wind brought no tale of
their enemies, close at hand, and they bounded on fearlessly to the
river's brink.

It was apparently a family party, a noble buck leading the group,
followed by a doe and two young hinds. They soon had their noses in
the stream. The buck took large draughts and then raising his haughty
front, tossed his antlers, as if in defiance, in the face of the god
of day.

Micah's eye was at his rifle. A crack and a whizz in the air. The
noble creature gave one mighty bound and fell dead. The ball had
entered his broad forehead and penetrated to the brain.

At the report of the rifle, the doe, who was still drinking, gave a
bound in the air, scattering the spray from her dripping mouth,
wheeled with the rapidity of lightning, and sprang towards the gorge.
But John's instantaneous shot sped through the air and the animal fell
dead from her second bound, the ball having entered the heart. In the
midst of their triumph, John and Micah watched, with relenting eyes
the two hinds, while they took, as on the wings of the wind, their
forlorn flight up the fatal pathway.

Having slung their booty on the boughs of a wide-branching tree, and
taken some refreshment from the supplies in the canoe, Micah declared
himself good for a scramble up the hill to the feeding-ground, a
proposition John readily accepted.

Over rock, bush and brier, up hill and down, for five hours, they
pursued their way with unmitigated zeal and energy. They scaled the
hill, cut by the gorge,--approaching, cautiously, its brow,
overlooking the deer haunt. But they could perceive no trace of the
herd.

"It's abeout as I expected", said Micah, "them two little hinds we
skeered, gin the alarm to the rest on 'em and they've all skulked off
to some covit or ruther. S'pose Captin', we jest make a surkit reound
through the rest of these hills, maybe we'll light on 'em agin".

"Agreed", responded John.

They skirted the enclosure, but without a chance for another shot. As,
about noon, they were rapidly descending the gorge, on their way back
to the promontory, the scene of their morning success, Micah proposed
that they should have "a nice brile out of that fat buck at the pint,
and then put for the settlement".

"Not yet", said John. "Why, we are just getting into this glorious
life. What's your hurry, Mummychog?"

"Well, ye see", said Micah, "I can't be gone from hum, no longer
neow, any heow. Next week, I'll try it with ye agin, if ye say so".

John acceded reluctantly to the arrangement, though his disappointment
was somewhat mitigated by the prospect of another similar excursion.

The meal prepared by Micah, for their closing repast, considering the
circumstances, might have been pronounced as achieved in the highest
style of art. Under a bright sky, shadowed by soft, quivering
birch-trees, scattering broken lights all over their rustic table,
never surely was a dinner eaten with greater gusto.

Life in the forest! ended all too soon. But thy memories live.
Memories redolent of youth, health, strength, freedom, and beauty,
come through the long years, laden with dews, sunshine, and fragrance,
and scatter over the time-worn spirit refreshment and delight.

As our voyagers were paddling up stream in the afternoon, in answer to
questions put by John to Micah, respecting the Dubois family, he
remarked--

"Them Doobyce's came to the kentry, jest ten year before I did. Well,
I've heerd say, the Square came fust. He didn't set himself up for
anything great at all, but explored reound the region a spell, and was
kinder pleasant to most anybody he came across. Somehow, or 'nuther,
he had a kind of a kingly turn with him, that seemed jest as nateral
as did to breathe, and ye could see that he warn't no ways used to
sech a wildcat sort of a place as Miramichi was then".

"I wonder that he remained here", said John.

"Well, the pesky critters reound here ruther took to him, and he
bought a great lot o' land and got workmen and built a house, and
fetched his wife and baby here. So they've lived here ever since. But
they're no more like the rest o' the people in these parts, than I'm
like you, and it has allers been a mystery to me why they should stay.
But I s'pose they know their own bissiniss best. They're allers givin'
to the poor, and they try to make the settlers more decent every way,
but 'taint been o' much use".

After a long, meditative pause, Micah said, "Neow Captin', I want yeou
to answer me one question, honestly. I aint a goin' to ask any thing
sarcy. Did ye ever in yer life see a harnsumer, witchiner critter than
Miss Adele is?"

Micah fixed his keen eye triumphantly upon our hero, as if he was
aware beforehand that but one response could be made. John surprised
by the suddenness of the question, and somewhat confused, for the
moment, by a vague consciousness that his companion had found the key
to his thoughts, hesitated a little, but soon recovered sufficiently
to parry the stroke.

"You don't mean to say, Micah, that there's any person for beauty and
bewitchingness to be compared with Mrs. McNab?"

"Whew-ew", uttered Micah, while every line and feature in his
countenance expressed ineffable scorn. He gave several extra strokes
of the paddle with great energy. Suddenly, his grim features broke
into a genial smile.

"Well, Captin'", he said, "ef yeou choose to play 'possum that way,
ye ken. But ye needn't expect _me_ to believe in them tricks, cos I'm
an old 'un".

John laughed and replied, "Mummychog, Miss Adele Dubois is a perfect
beauty. I can't deny it".

"And a parfeck angel tew", said Micah.

"I don't doubt it", said John, energetically. "When shall we reach the
settlement, Micah?"

"Abeout three hours arter moonrise".

And just at that time our voyagers touched the spot they had started
from the day before, and unloaded their cargo. They were received at
the Dubois house with the compliments due to successful hunters.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PERSECUTION.

On the following afternoon, Mr. Norton preached to a larger and far
more attentive audience than usual. The solemn warnings he had uttered
and the fearful presentiments of coming evil he had expressed on the
last occasion of assembling at the Grove, had been communicated from
mouth to mouth. Curiosity, and perhaps some more elevated motive, had
drawn a numerous crowd of people together to hear him.

He spoke to them plainly of their sinful conduct, particularizing the
vices of intemperance, profanity, gambling, and Sabbath-breaking, to
which many of them were addicted. He earnestly besought them to turn
from these evil ways and accept pardon for their past transgressions
and mercy through Christ. He showed them the consequences of their
refusal to listen to the teachings and counsels of the book of God,
and, at last, depicted to them, with great vividness, the awful
glories and terrors of the day of final account,

"When the Judge shall come in splendor,
Strict to mark and just to render".

As his mind dilated with the awful grandeur of the theme, his thoughts
kindled to a white heat, and he flung off words that seemed to scorch
and burn even the callous souls of those time-hardened transgressors.
He poured upon their ears, in tones of trumpet power and fulness,
echoed from the hills around, the stern threatenings of injured
justice; he besought them, in low, sweet, thrilling accents, to yield
themselves heart and life to the Great Judge, who will preside in the
day of impartial accounts, and thus avert his wrath and be happy
forever.

At the close, he threw himself for a few moments upon the rustic bench
appropriated to him, covered his face with his hands and seemed in
silent prayer. The people involuntarily bent their heads in sympathy
and remained motionless. Then, he rose and gave them the evening
benediction.

Mr. Somers, his nephew, and Adele had been sitting under the shade of
an odorous balm poplar, on the skirt of the crowd, at first watching
its movements, and then drawn away from these observations, by the
impressive discourse of Mr. Norton.

"What a clear, melodious voice he has!" said John in an undertone to
Adele, as the missionary finished the opening service.

"Wait, until you hear its trumpet tones, Mr. Lansdowne. Those will
come, by and by. They are magnificent. Please listen". And Adele
placed a finger upon her lips, in token of silence.

John listened, at first, in obedience to her request, but he soon
became enchained by the speaker.

After the discourse was concluded, the trio remained sitting as if
spellbound, quite unobservant of the crowd, slowly dispersing around
them.

"What would that man have been, Ned", at length exclaimed John, "had
he received the culture which such munificent gifts demand? Why, he
would have been the orator of our nation".

"Ay, John", replied Mr. Somers, "but it is the solemn truth of his
theme that gives him half his power".

"It is as if I had heard the _Dies irae_ chanted", said Adele.

As they walked on towards the house in silence, they encountered a
company of persons, of which Mr. Dubois and the missionary were the
centre. These two were conversing quite composedly, but the
surrounding groups seemed to be under some excitement.

At the dispersion of the gathering at the Grove, as Mr. Norton was on
his way to the quiet of his own room, Mr. Dubois had presented to him
the bearer of a dispatch from Fredericton. The messenger said he had
been instructed to announce that the Provincial Court was in session
in that city, and that a complaint had been lodged with the grand jury
against Mr. Norton, and he was requested to meet the charge
immediately.

Mr. Norton was surprised, but said very calmly--

"Can you inform me, sir, what the charge is!"

"It is a charge for having preached in the Province of Brunswick,
without a license".

"Can you tell me by whom the charge was brought?"

"By the reverend Francis Dinsmoor, a clergyman of the Established
Church, of the parish of ----".

"Yes, sir. I understand. He is your neighbor on the other side of the
river, Mr. Dubois. Well, sir", continued Mr. Norton, "I suppose you
have just arrived and stand in need of refreshment. I will confer with
you, by and by".

The messenger retraced his steps towards the house.

In the mean time, a few rough-looking men had overheard the
conversation, taken in its import, and now came about Mr. Dubois and
Mr. Norton, making inquiries.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13