The Lost Hunter Read online

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  We talk of love and pleasure--but 'tis all A tale of falsehood. Life's made up of gloom: The fairest scenes are clad in ruin's pall, The loveliest pathway leads but to the tomb.

  PERCIVAL.

  After the event just recorded, it may well be supposed that allfurther legal proceedings against the Recluse were abandoned. Theyhad been commenced only to gratify the wounded pride of Davenport, andsince the preservation of the life of his son by Holden, the communitywould have cried shame on him had the matter been pursued further. Butno such public sentiment was needed in order to induce Davenport togive the justice and Basset a hint to do nothing more. He was reallygrateful, though feeling no compunction for his conduct, easilypersuading himself that it had been prompted by a love of justice, anda desire to protect the interests of religion.

  Holden could, therefore, without fear of the consequences, resumeopenly his usual visits to the village. Of late they had been morethan usually frequent at the house of Mr. Armstrong, by whom he seemedalmost as much attracted as by Faith. With the former the conversationusually turned upon points of theology that every day appeared toassume with Armstrong deeper importance, with the latter on theeffects produced by the teachings of Holden among the Indians. Forsince his exile at the Patmos of the Indian village, a new subject hadengaged the attention of the Solitary, to which with characteristicenergy he had devoted the powers of his soul--the conversion ofthe poor wretches who had kindly harbored and protected him. Tohis sanguine expectations, expressed in the impassioned language ofScripture he loved to use, the enthusiastic girl would listen,with the warmest interest. Accustomed to assign every event to anoverruling Providence, she thought she now saw clearly the hand of asuperior Power in the occurrences which had compelled Holden, inthe first instance, to take up his temporary residence among them.Temporary residence, we say, because the Solitary had since returnedto his hut, which was at the distance of only two or three miles fromthe cabins of his former protectors. Solitude he found was necessaryin order to enable him the better to perform his new duties, and thedistance was too slight to interpose any serious obstacle, or eveninconvenience.

  Such was the state of things, when some weeks after the freshet, Mr.Armstrong acquainted his daughter, at the breakfast-table, with hisintention to visit Holden that day.

  "It is a long time," he said (four days had elapsed), "since we haveseen him, and there are things upon my mind I would gladly speakabout."

  A few months before, such a declaration from her father would havesuprised Faith, but now she regarded it as quite natural. The intimacybetween the family and the Recluse had become such, and the commandingcharacter of the latter had acquired so great an influence overboth its members, that neither of them saw anything strange in thedeference paid him. She, therefore, acquiesced with some common-placeremark in the proposal, begging to be remembered to the old man.

  Accordingly, after breakfast, Mr. Armstrong walked down to the wharf,thinking it probable he might find some boat going down the river, bywhich he might be left at the island, intending, should he notfind the Solitary there, to go to the Indian settlement. Nor was hedisappointed. He found a fisherman making preparations to cast offhis boat, who cheerfully consented to convey him to the place ofdestination. Mr. Armstrong jumped into the boat, and, the windfavoring, they rapidly scudded down the stream.

  The fisherman, a fine, frank fellow, of some thirty years of age, towhom Mr. Armstrong was well known, at least, by reputation,although the recognition was not mutual, endeavored to engage himin conversation, but without effect. Although answering politely anyquestions, he made no remarks in return, and the conversation soonlanguished for want of material to support it. Poor Josiah Sill,finding his social qualities not appreciated, soon himself relapsedinto silence, wondering what could induce his companion to seekHolden, and connecting his reserve in some mysterious way with thevisit. Finding the silence not altogether agreeable, Josiah finallyburst out with "Yankee Doodle," which he amused himself with whistlingtogether with some other favorite tunes, until they reached theisland. As they approached they caught a glimpse of Holden enteringthe house, and Josiah landed his passenger, promising to call for himon his return in the afternoon, though Armstrong expressed a doubtwhether he should remain so long.

  "If you ain't here, there won't be no harm done," said thegood-natured fellow, "and it won't take a minute to stop."

  Mr. Armstrong having thanked him and wished him success, advanced tothe cabin.

  He found Holden in the outer room, engaged in his usual employment,when at home, of weaving baskets. A large quantity of preparedsaplings, split very thin, lay scattered around him, while bundles ofwalnut poles, the crude material of his manufacture, were piled upin the corners ready for use. With a quick and dexterous hand theSolitary wove in the ribbon-like pieces, showing great familiaritywith the work. Without desisting from his labor, he expressed pleasureat the visit of his friend, and requested him to be seated.

  "I am honored," he said, "this day. To what shall I ascribe the noticeof the wealthy Mr. Armstrong?"

  There was a slight tone of irony in the words. It probably wasobserved by Mr. Armstrong, for, with some feeling, he replied:

  "Speak to me not so coldly. And yet," he added, dejectedly, "Ideserve that all the world should reject me. Neither the happy nor themiserable feel sympathy for me."

  The wayward humor of Holden was evidently softened by the sadness ofthe sweet, low voice.

  "Each heart," he said, "knoweth best its own bitterness, and I repentme of my rudeness. But when I saw thee here I could not but rememberthat I had dwelt long years in this dwelling, and"--he hesitated, andArmstrong finished the sentence:

  "And you would say this is the first time I have darkened your door.Well may it be called darkness where my unhappy shadow falls. Butforgive me: it is only lately that I learned to know you."

  "Thou errest, James Armstrong," returned Holden, "if thou thinkestthou knowest me, or will ever know me. Yet, after all," he added ina gentler manner, "thou art right. Yes, know me as a fellow sinner,journeying with thee to eternity."

  "As my friend," replied Armstrong; "as the guide whose deeperexperience in heavenly things shall teach me the way to heaven, unlessby some inscrutable decree I am excluded."

  "How has my heart been open, how has it longed for years to meetthine! How gladly would I have poured out my grief into thy bosom asinto that of a brother!" cried Holden, his voice choked with emotion.

  The countenance of Mr. Armstrong betrayed astonishment. "How is this?"he said. "I never knew it. You have always been to me as a commonacquaintance."

  A shade fell on the face of Holden. He misunderstood the meaningof the other. He supposed the phrase applicable to the feelings ofArmstrong towards himself, and not as descriptive of his own conductto Armstrong. "For the sake of the little Faith," he said coldly, "whois now a lovely woman, have I highly regarded thee."

  "It is even so," said Armstrong, in a melancholy tone. "There are noneleft to love me for my own sake. Yet why should I quarrel with my owndaughter? Let me rather be grateful that she has been the means ofattracting one being towards me. How can I show my friendship? How canI make you my friend?"

  "I _am_ thy friend," cried Holden, grasping his hand with anotherrevulsion of feeling. "Put me to any proof. I will not fail."

  "If money could avail with a man like you," continued Armstrong, "itshould not be wanting. If ease or luxury could tempt--but you havetrampled them under foot, and what are they to one whose conversationis in heaven?"

  Holden, while he was speaking, had risen from his seat and strodetwice or thrice across the room. When Armstrong had finished speakinghe again approached him.

  "It is not for naught," he exclaimed, "that the Lord hath conductedthee this day unto me. Speak what he shall put into thy mouth to say."

  "I would have your confidence," said Armstrong. "As the sick beast orthe hurt bird knows by an infallible instinct what
herb or plant willbest promote its cure, so it seems to me does Providence direct me toyou. Repulse me not, but be my kind physician."

  "How can the physician prescribe, if he knoweth not the complaint."

  "You shall know if you have patience to listen. But I must go backyears to make myself intelligible."

  "Speak, my brother," said Holden, gently, "not a word shall fall invain."

  "Then listen," said Armstrong, "and learn what sorrows the outwardshows of prosperity may gild."

  Holden resumed his seat, and Armstrong began his relation.

  "My parents," he said, "had but two children, myself and my brother,who was younger by two years. The tenderest affection existed betweenus, and we were never separated until I went to college, where, aftera couple of years, I was joined by him, and where we remained togetheruntil the close of my collegiate course. I then returned home, inorder to take my place in the mercantile business, in which ourfather was engaged. My brother George was destined for one of theprofessions. During the last year of his stay at college, his lettersto me were full of the praises of a young lady whose acquaintance hehad made, and in vacations he was never weary of talking of her beautyand amiable qualities. I was present when he took his degree, and ata party, given during my stay, in the town, he introduced me toher. Alas! that introduction was the cause of the happiness and thewretchedness of my life. It found me a wife, and lost me a brother. Icannot describe the impression which the first sight of Frances madeupon me. Nor did she seem averse to my attentions. I offered myself,and was accepted."

  "And didst thou nothing to alienate her affections from thy brother?"inquired Holden, in a hoarse voice.

  "She never regarded him with more than a passing liking," returnedArmstrong, "nor do I believe she had an idea of the fervor ofhis affection. God be my witness, I never spoke a word in hisdisparagement. We were married, and shortly after George began toexhibit indications of insanity. By the advice of physicians he wastaken to an asylum for the insane, where it was hoped, under propertreatment, his reason might be restored. May God pardon me, who am thecause of the horrid tragedy, but, by some negligence of his keeper,he was permitted to escape--his body was found, after some days, ina neighboring pond." Here Armstrong paused and covered his face withboth hands.

  "The body was recognized as thy brother's?" inquired Holden.

  "It had been in the water too long to be perfectly recognized, butthe height, and age, and color of the hair, and what there was left tomake it distinguishable, were sufficient to identify it as George's."

  "There is no certainty then. Thy brother may be yet alive."

  "There can be no doubt of his death. Thirty years have elapsed,and were he in existence he must have been heard of. Twelve yearsafterwards my Frances died, leaving me two children, a son and infantdaughter. God saw fit, in his providence, to take my boy, but left meFaith, to lay my grey hairs in the grave. It will not be long beforeshe will do me that service."

  Mr. Armstrong ceased speaking, and silence succeeded, which was atlast broken by the Solitary. He bent his brows with a keen, searchingglance upon his guest, and said:

  "Thou wert false to thy brother."

  "Yes, and his blood cries against me. Whither shall I turn to hide myguilt?"

  "Thou dost repent, then, of thy treachery?" inquired Holden, whoseemed determined to probe the wound to the bottom.

  "Alas! restore to me the morning of life; place me in the samecircumstances, and I should fall again. I should be irresistiblyattracted by a heart that seemed made for mine."

  "In _her_ arms thou didst forget the brother, whom thy cruelty haddoomed to the maniac's cell and chain?" said Holden.

  "Never! his image is graven on my heart. I have never ceased to thinkof him."

  "Thou wouldst know him should he stand before thee?"

  "Know him! aye, amidst ten thousand. No years could make such changesas to hide him from me. But he is in his grave, while his murdererlives."

  "Thou didst find compensation for lamentation over the dead, in thecaresses of the living?"

  "True, too true. While Frances lived, she was my heaven. It wasnecessary that this idol should be torn from me. My son, too. Oh,James, my son! my son!"

  Holden, during the conversation, had been unable to keep his seat, butwith the restlessness of his nature had been walking across the room,stopping occasionally before Armstrong. The last expression of feelingevidently affected him. The rapidity of his steps diminished; hismotions became less abrupt; and presently he laid his hand upon theshoulder of Mr. Armstrong.

  "Thy tale," he said, "is one of sorrow and suffering. Thou didstviolate thy duty, and art punished. No wrong shall escape the avenger.As it is written, 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.'But it is also written, 'He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger,and of great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil.' Thou art afterall but an instrument in the hand of One mighty to do. Even out ofcrime He works out the purposes of his will. Thou knowest not fromwhat sin and sorrow an early death may be the refuge. Commit thyselfto the hands of the Lord, nor grieve as one without hope. Thy brotherliveth, and thou shalt yet behold him."

  "I know he lives, and at the Judgment shall I behold him," saidArmstrong, shuddering, "to upbraid me with his murder."

  "Not to upbraid, but to forgive, and to imprint upon thy brow the sealof reconciliation, as I now, by this token, vow to thee an everlastinglove." So saying, Holden bent down, and his lips touched the foreheadof Armstrong.

  We do not know that we ought to be surprised at anything in theconduct of this extraordinary man. The principles by which heregulated himself, if he had any that were fixed and determinate, andwas not impelled to his actions by the impulse of the moment, were sodifferent from those of other men, that it is difficult to reduce themto the same standard, or, indeed, to assign them to any standard. Beit as it may, so accustomed was Mr. Armstrong to his ways, that sosingular a thing did not impress him as strange. He only looked upwith eyes dimmed with tears, and, in broken accents, thanked theSolitary.

  The rest of the time spent by Armstrong on the island, was passed inconversation of very much the same description. It would seem from hisself-reproaches and confessions, that during the lives of his wife andson, the melancholy death of his brother had made no great impressionupon him. Happy in a woman he adored, and who returned his affection;with a blooming family around him; immersed in thoughts of business;and in the enjoyment of a large fortune, there seemed nothing wantingto complete his felicity. He remembered, too, that there had been aninstance of insanity in his family, some years before the birth ofhimself, which had terminated fatally, the cause of which could notbe traced, and felt disposed, therefore, with the natural tendency toself-exculpation of the happy, to find the reason for the tragical endof his brother in hereditary infirmity, rather than attach any seriousblame to himself for securing the affections of a lady, whom hewas assured had never loved another. But when after a few years ofunclouded bliss, first his wife, and then his son, was taken away, allthings assumed an altered aspect. He found himself the last male ofhis family, his name about to become extinct and forgotten, with onlyone other being in the world in whose veins ran his blood, and forwhose life his paternal solicitude almost daily trembled. His mindbrooded day by day more and more over his misfortunes, which graduallybegan to wear the form of judgments, the object and result of whichmust be to erase his hated name from the earth. As Faith grew up, hisanxieties on her account diminished, but that only left him thewider scope to dwell upon wild imaginations and make himself more thesubject of his thoughts. Of a grave and reflective cast of mind, hehad even from his early years respected the duties of religion, andnow he turned to it for consolation. But the very sources whence heshould have derived comfort and peace were fountains of disquiet. Hisdiseased mind seemed incapable of appropriating to itself the gentlepromises of pardon and acceptance, but trembled at the denunciationsof punishment. The universal Father came not to him with open arms,as to w
elcome a returned prodigal, but frowned with the severity ofa Judge about to pronounce sentence. Whithersoever the unhappy manturned, he saw no ray of light to gild the darkness, and he himselfsometimes feared lest reason should desert her throne. But his friendsfelt no apprehensions of the kind. In their presence, though grave,he was always reasonable and on his guard--for he shrunk with thesensitiveness of a delicate mind from exposing its wounds--nor withthe exception of the minister, and now Holden, was there one whosuspected his condition, and they probably did not realize it fully.These remarks may serve to abate, if not to remove entirely thereader's surprise, that one with the education, and in the position ofArmstrong, should have sought counsel from Holden. But it may be, thatthe condition of mind to which Armstrong was approaching--similar insome respects to that of the Solitary--established a sort of relationor elective affinity between them, operating like the influence of themagnet, to attract one to the other. We have seen how fond Holdenwas of visiting the house of Mr. Armstrong. Could it be that thismysterious influence, all unconsciously to himself, led his stepsthither, and that afar off he dimly espied the talisman that shouldestablish a full community between them? Or was not this communityalready established? How else account for the visit of Armstrong, thestrange conversation, the confessions, concluded by an act, tender,and perhaps graceful, but only such as was to be expected from aderanged man?

  Josiah Sill, true to his promise, arrived while the two men were stilltalking, heedless of the passage of time. Mr. Armstrong stepped onboard, and the boat resumed her course. The wind was drawing down theriver, remaining nearly in the same point from which it had blown inthe morning, and they were obliged in consequence to pursue a zig-zagcourse, tackling from one shore to the other. It blew fresh, and thelittle vessel, gunwale down, with the water sometimes pouring over thelee side, flew like a bird. They had run two-thirds of the distance,nor was the sun yet set, when the wind, which, till then, had blownpretty steadily, began to intermit and come in flaws or puffs, nowdriving the small craft with great rapidity, and now urging her gentlyon. At an instant, when she was about to tack, having hardly head-waysufficient to prevent missing stays, a sudden and violent puff, from agorge in the hills, struck the sail. Had it come at any other moment,the catastrophe that followed could not have happened; but the boatlying almost motionless, received all the force of the wind, andinstantly upset. Mr. Armstrong, unable to swim, and encumbered by hisclothes, sank, but was caught by the strong arm of Sill, and pulledupon the keel. In a state of great discomfort, though of safety, thereboth remained for some time, waiting for assistance. None arriving,Sill, at last, became impatient, and as he was an excellent swimmer,proposed to throw off the heavier part of his clothing, and swim toland to hasten succor. As Mr. Armstrong made no objection, and thedanger appeared less than what was likely to proceed from a longcontinuance on the boat, exposed in their wet clothes to the wind, theshore being but a few rods distant, Sill, after divesting himself of apart of his clothes, plunged into the water, and with vigorous strokesswam towards the land. He had proceeded but a short way when, eitherin consequence of becoming benumbed by the coldness of the water afterbeing chilled by exposure to the wind, or from being seized by cramp,or from what other cause, the unfortunate man suddenly turninghis face towards Armstrong, and uttering a cry of alarm, sank anddisappeared from sight. Once more only was anything seen of him, whenbrought near the surface, perhaps, by an eddy in the stream, a handemerged, and for an instant the fingers quivered in the air.

  With a sort of desperate horror Armstrong gazed upon the appallingspectacle. The expression of anguish on the face of the drowningfisherman, as his distended eyes met his own, froze his blood, andleft a memory behind to last to his dying day. Fascinated, hiseyes dwelt on the spot where the fisherman sunk, and for a moment aterrible temptation was whispered into his ear quietly, to drop intothe river, and accompany the spirit of the drowned man. But it lastedonly a moment, and the instinct of life resumed its power.

  It was not long ere his condition was discovered from the shore, whenchilled and shivering he was taken off by a boat that put out tohis rescue. On arriving at his home, Faith, excessively alarmed,immediately dispatched the faithful Felix for the doctor.