Wacousta (64 page)

“Reginald Morton, with the private misfortunes of your former life we have nothing to do. It is the decision of this court, who are merely met out of form, that you suffer immediate death by hanging, as a just recompense for your double treason to your country. There,” and he pointed to the flagstaff, “will you be exhibited to the misguided people whom your wicked artifices have stirred up into hostility against us.
When they behold your fate, they will take warning from your example; and, finding we have heads and arms not to suffer offence with impunity, be more readily brought to obedience.”

“I understand your allusion,” coolly rejoined Wacousta, glancing earnestly at, and apparently measuring with his eye, the dimensions of the conspicuous scaffold on which he was to suffer. “You had ever a calculating head, De Haldimar, where any secret villainy, any thing to promote your own selfish ends, was to be gained by it; but your calculation seems now, methinks, at fault.”

Colonel de Haldimar looked at him enquiringly.

“You have
still
a son left,” pursued the prisoner with the same recklessness of manner, and in a tone denoting allusion to him who was no more, that caused an universal shudder throughout the ranks. “He is in the hands of the Ottawa Indians, and I am the friend of their great chief, inferior only in power among the tribe to himself. Think you that he will see me hanged up like a dog, and fail to avenge my disgraceful death?”

“Ha! presumptuous renegade, is this the deep game you have in view? Hope you then to stipulate for the preservation of a life every way forfeited to the offended justice of your country? Dare you to cherish the belief, that, after the horrible threats so often denounced by you, you will again be let loose upon a career of crime and blood?”

“None of your cant, De Haldimar, as I once observed to you before,” coolly retorted Wacousta, with bitter sarcasm. “Consult your own heart, and ask if its catalogue of crime be not far greater than my own: yet I ask not my life. I would but have the manner of my fate altered, and fain would die the death of the soldier I
was
before you rendered me the wretch
I
am
. Methinks the boon is not so great, if the restoration of your son be the price.”

“Do you mean, then,” eagerly returned the governor, “that if the mere mode of your death be changed, my son shall be restored?”

“I do,” was the calm reply.

“What pledge have we of the fact? What faith can we repose in the word of a fiend, whose brutal vengeance has already sacrificed the gentlest life that ever animated human clay?” Here the emotion of the governor almost choked his utterance, and considerable agitation and murmuring were manifested in the ranks.

“Gentle, said you?” replied the prisoner, musingly; “then did he resemble his mother, whom I loved, even as his brother resembles you whom I have so much reason to hate. Had I known the boy to be what you describe, I might have felt some touch of pity even while I delayed not to strike his death blow; but the false moonlight deceived me, and the detested name of De Haldimar, pronounced by the lips of my nephew’s wife–that wife whom your cold-blooded severity had widowed and driven mad–was in itself sufficient to ensure his doom.”

“Inhuman ruffian!” exclaimed the governor, with increasing indignation; “to the point. What pledge have you to offer that my son will be restored?”

“Nay, the pledge is easily given, and without much risk. You have only to defer my death until your messenger return from his interview with Ponteac. If Captain de Haldimar accompany him back, shoot me as I have requested; if he come not, then it is but to hang me after all.”

“Ha! I understand you; this is but a pretext to gain time, a device to enable your subtle brain to plan some mode of escape.”

“As you will, Colonel de Haldimar,” calmly retorted Wacousta; and again he sank into silence, with the air of one utterly indifferent to results.

“Do you mean,” resumed the colonel, “that a request from yourself to the Ottawa chief will obtain the liberation of my son?”

“Unless the Indian be false as yourself, I do.”

“And of the lady who is with him?” continued the colonel, colouring with anger.

“Of both.”

“How is the message to be conveyed?”

“Ha, sir!” returned the prisoner, drawing himself up to his full height, “now are you arrived at a point that is pertinent. My wampum belt will be the passport, and the safeguard of him you send; then for the communication. There are certain figures, as you are aware, that, traced on bark, answer the same purpose among the Indians with the European language of letters. Let my hands be cast loose,” he pursued, but in a tone in which agitation and excitement might be detected, “and if bark be brought me, and a burnt stick or coal, I will give you not only a sample of Indian ingenuity, but a specimen of my own progress in Indian acquirements.”

“What, free your hands, and thus afford you a chance of escape?” observed the governor, doubtingly.

Wacousta bent his steadfast gaze on him for a few moments, as if he questioned he had heard aright. Then bursting into a wild and scornful laugh,–“By Heaven!” he exclaimed, “this is, indeed, a high compliment you pay me at the expense of these fine fellows. What, Colonel de Haldimar afraid to liberate an unarmed prisoner, hemmed in by a forest of bayonets? This is good; gentlemen,” and he bent himself in sarcastic reverence to the astonished troops, “I beg to offer
you my very best congratulations on the high estimation in which you are held by your colonel.”

“Peace, sirrah!” exclaimed the governor, enraged beyond measure at the insolence of him who thus held him up to contempt before his men, “or, by Heaven, I will have your tongue cut out!–Mr. Lawson, let what this fellow requires be procured immediately.” Then addressing Lieutenant Boyce, who commanded the immediate guard over the prisoner,–“Let his hands be liberated, sir, and enjoin your men to be watchful of the movements of this supple traitor. His activity I know of old to be great, and he seems to have doubled it since he assumed that garb.”

The command was executed, and the prisoner stood, once more, free and unfettered in every muscular limb. A deep and unbroken silence ensued; and the return of the adjutant was momentarily expected. Suddenly a loud scream was heard, and the slight figure of a female, clad in white, came rushing from the piazza in which the apartment of the deceased De Haldimar was situated. It was Clara. The guard of Wacousta formed the fourth front of the square; but they were drawn up somewhat in the distance, so as to leave an open space of several feet at the angles. Through one of these the excited girl now passed into the area, with a wildness in her air and appearance that riveted every eye in painful interest upon her. She paused not until she had gained the side of the captive, at whose feet she now sank in an attitude expressive of the most profound despair.

“Tiger!–monster!” she raved, “restore my brother!–give me back the gentle life you have taken, or destroy my own! See, I am a weak defenceless girl: can you not strike?–you who have no pity for the innocent. But come,” she pursued, mournfully, regaining her feet and grasping his iron hand,–“come and see
the sweet calm face of him you have slain:–come with me, and behold the image of Clara Beverley; and, if you ever loved her as you say you did, let your soul be touched with remorse for your crime.”

The excitement and confusion produced by this unexpected interruption was great. Murmurs of compassion for the unhappy Clara, and of indignation against the prisoner, were no longer sought to be repressed by the men; while the officers, quitting their places in the ranks, grouped themselves indiscriminately in the foreground. One, more impatient than his companions, sprang forward, and forcibly drew away the delicate hand that still grasped that of the captive. It was Sir Everard Valletort.

“Clara, my beloved wife!” he exclaimed, to the astonishment of all who heard him, “pollute not your lips by further communion with such a wretch; his heart is as inaccessible to pity as the rugged rocks on which his spring-life was passed. For Heaven’s sake,–for my sake,–linger not within his reach. There is death in his very presence.”

“Your wife, sir!” haughtily observed the governor, with irrepressible astonishment and indignation in his voice; “what mean you?–Gentlemen, resume your places in the ranks.–Clara–Miss de Haldimar, I command you to retire instantly to your apartment.–We will discourse of this later, Sir Everard Valletort. I trust you have not dared to offer an indignity to my child.”

While he was yet turned to that officer, who had taken his post, as commanded, in the inner angle of the square, and with a countenance that denoted the conflicting emotions of his soul, he was suddenly startled by the confused shout and rushing forward of the whole body, both of officers and men. Before he had time to turn, a loud and well-remembered yell
burst upon his ear. The next moment, to his infinite surprise and horror, he beheld the bold warrior rapidly ascending the very staff that had been destined for his scaffold, and with Clara in his arms.

Great was the confusion that ensued. To rush forward and surround the flag-staff, was the immediate action of the troops. Many of the men raised their muskets, and in the excitement of the moment, would have fired, had they not been restrained by their officers, who pointed out the certain destruction it would entail on the unfortunate Clara. With the rapidity of thought, Wacousta had snatched up his victim, while the attention of the troops was directed to the singular conversation passing between the governor and Sir Everard Valletort, and darting through one of the open angles already alluded to, had gained the rampart before they had recovered from the stupor produced by his daring action. Stepping lightly upon the pegs, he had rapidly ascended to the utmost height of these, before any one thought of following him; and then grasping in his teeth the cord which was to have served for his execution, and holding Clara firmly against his chest, while he embraced the smooth staff with knees and feet closely compressed around it, accomplished the difficult ascent with an ease that astonished all who beheld him. Gradually, as he approached the top, the tapering pine waved to and fro; and at each moment it was expected, that, yielding to their united weight, it would snap asunder, and precipitate both Clara and himself, either upon the rampart, or into the ditch beyond.

More than one officer now attempted to follow the fugitive in his adventurous course; but even Lieutenant Johnstone, the most active and experienced in climbing of the party, was unable to rise more than a few yards above the pegs that afforded a footing, and the enterprise was abandoned as an
impossibility. At length Wacousta was seen to gain the extreme summit. For a moment he turned his gaze anxiously beyond the town, in the direction of the bridge; and, after pealing forth one of his terrific yells, exclaimed, exultingly, as he turned his eye upon his enemy:–

“Well, colonel, what think you of this sample of Indian ingenuity? Did I not tell you,” he continued, in mockery, “that, if my hands were but free, I would give you a specimen of my progress in Indian acquirements?”

“If you would avoid a death even more terrible than that of hanging,” shouted the governor, in a voice of mingled rage and terror, “restore my daughter.”

“Ha! ha! ha!–excellent!” vociferated the savage. “You threaten largely, my good governor; but your threats are harmless as those of a weak besieging army before an impregnable fortress. It is for the strongest, however, to propose his terms.–If I restore this girl to life, will you pledge yourself to mine?”

“Never!” thundered Colonel de Haldimar, with unusual energy–“Men, procure axes; cut the flag-staff down, since this is the only means left of securing yon insolent traitor! Quick to your work: and mark, who first seizes him shall have promotion on the spot.”

Axes were instantly procured, and two of the men now lent themselves vigorously to the task. Wacousta seemed to watch these preparations with evident anxiety; and to all it appeared as if his courage had been paralysed by this unexpected action. No sooner, however, had the axemen reached the heart of the staff, than, holding Clara forth over the edge of the rampart, he shouted,–

“One stroke more, and she perishes!”

Instantaneously the work was discontinued. A silence of a few moments ensued. Every eye was turned upward,–every
heart beat with terror to see the delicate girl, held by a single arm, and apparently about to be precipitated from that dizzying height. Again Wacousta shouted,–

“Life for life, De Haldimar! If I yield her shall I live?”

“No terms shall be dictated to me by a rebel, in the heart of my own fort,” returned the governor. “Restore my child, and we will then consider what mercy may be extended to you.”

“Well do I know what mercy dwells in such a heart as yours,” gloomily remarked the prisoner, “but I come.”

“Surround the staff, men,” ordered the governor, in a low tone. “The instant he descends, secure him: lash him in every limb, nor suffer even his insolent tongue to be longer at liberty.”

“Boyce, for God’s sake open the gate, and place men in readiness to lower the drawbridge,” implored Sir Everard of the officer of the guard, and in a tone of deep emotion that was not meant to be overheard by the governor. “I fear the boldness of this vengeful man may lead him to some desperate means of escape.”

While the officer whom he addressed issued a command, the responsibility of which he fancied he might, under the peculiar circumstances of the moment, take upon himself, Wacousta began his descent, not as before, by adhering to the staff, but by the rope which he held in his left hand, while he still supported the apparently senseless Clara against his right chest with the other.

“Now, Colonel de Haldimar, I hope your heart is at rest,” he shouted, as he rapidly glided by the cord; “enjoy your triumph as best may suit your pleasure.”

Every eye followed his movement with interest; every heart beat lighter at the certainty of Clara being again restored, and without other injury than the terror she must have
experienced in such a scene. Each congratulated himself on the favourable termination of the terrible adventure, yet were all ready to spring upon and secure the desperate author of the wrong. Wacousta had now reached the centre of the flag-staff. Pausing for a moment, he grappled it with his strong and nervous feet, on which he apparently rested, to give a momentary relief to the muscles of his left arm. He then abruptly abandoned his hold, swinging himself out a few yards from the staff, and returning again, dashed his feet against it with a force that caused the weakened mass to vibrate to its very foundation. Impelled by his weight, and the violence of his action, the creaking pine gave way; its lofty top gradually bending over the exterior rampart until it finally snapped asunder, and fell with a loud crash across the ditch.