THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS (continued).
Mountain's story, as it was laid before Sir William Johnson and my lord, was shorn, of course, of all the earlier particulars, and the expedition described to have proceeded uneventfully, until the Master sickened. But the latter part was very forcibly related, the speaker visibly thrilling to his recollections; and our then situation, on the fringe of the same desert, and the private interests of each, gave him an audience prepared to share in his emotions. For Mountain's intelligence not only changed the world for my Lord Durrisdeer, but materially affected the designs of Sir William Johnson.
These I find I must lay more at length before the reader. Word had reached Albany of dubious import; it had been rumoured some hostility was to be put in act; and the Indian diplomatist had, thereupon, sped into the wilderness, even at the approach of winter, to nip that mischief in the bud. Here, on the borders, he learned that he was come too late; and a difficult choice was thus presented to a man (upon the whole) not any more bold than prudent.
His standing with the painted braves may be compared to that of my Lord President Culloden among the chiefs of our own Highlanders at the 'forty-five; that is as much as to say, he was, to these men, reason's only speaking trumpet, and counsels of peace and moderation, if they were to prevail at all, must prevail singly through his influence. If, then, he should return, the province must lie open to all the abominable tragedies of Indian war - the houses blaze, the wayfarer be cut off, and the men of the woods collect their usual disgusting spoil of human scalps. On the other side, to go farther forth, to risk so small a party deeper in the desert, to carry words of peace among warlike savages already rejoicing to return to war: here was an extremity from which it was easy to perceive his mind revolted.
"I have come too late," he said more than once, and would fall into a deep consideration, his head bowed in his hands, his foot patting the ground.
At length he raised his face and looked upon us, that is to say upon my lord, Mountain, and myself, sitting close round a small fire, which had been made for privacy in one corner of the camp.
"My lord, to be quite frank with you, I find myself in two minds,"said he. "I think it very needful I should go on, but not at all proper I should any longer enjoy the pleasure of your company. We are here still upon the water side; and I think the risk to southward no great matter. Will not yourself and Mr. Mackellar take a single boat's crew and return to Albany?"My lord, I should say, had listened to Mountain's narrative, regarding him throughout with a painful intensity of gaze; and since the tale concluded, had sat as in a dream. There was something very daunting in his look; something to my eyes not rightly human; the face, lean, and dark, and aged, the mouth painful, the teeth disclosed in a perpetual rictus; the eyeball swimming clear of the lids upon a field of blood-shot white. Icould not behold him myself without a jarring irritation, such as, I believe, is too frequently the uppermost feeling on the sickness of those dear to us. Others, I could not but remark. were scarce able to support his neighbourhood - Sir William eviting to be near him, Mountain dodging his eye, and, when he met it, blenching and halting in his story. At this appeal, however, my lord appeared to recover his command upon himself.
"To Albany?" said he, with a good voice.
"Not short of it, at least," replied Sir William. "There is no safety nearer hand.""I would be very sweir (11) to return," says my lord. "I am not afraid - of Indians," he added, with a jerk.
"I wish that I could say so much," returned Sir William, smiling;"although, if any man durst say it, it should be myself. But you are to keep in view my responsibility, and that as the voyage has now become highly dangerous, and your business - if you ever had any," says he, "brought quite to a conclusion by the distressing family intelligence you have received, I should be hardly justified if I even suffered you to proceed, and run the risk of some obloquy if anything regrettable should follow."My lord turned to Mountain. "What did he pretend he died of?" he asked.
"I don't think I understand your honour," said the trader, pausing like a man very much affected, in the dressing of some cruel frost-bites.
For a moment my lord seemed at a full stop; and then, with some irritation, "I ask you what he died of. Surely that's a plain question," said he.
"Oh! I don't know," said Mountain. "Hastie even never knew. He seemed to sicken natural, and just pass away.""There it is, you see!" concluded my lord, turning to Sir William.
"Your lordship is too deep for me," replied Sir William.
"Why," says my lord, "this in a matter of succession; my son's title may be called in doubt; and the man being supposed to be dead of nobody can tell what, a great deal of suspicion would be naturally roused.""But, God damn me, the man's buried!" cried Sir William.
"I will never believe that," returned my lord, painfully trembling.
"I'll never believe it!" he cried again, and jumped to his feet.
"Did he LOOK dead?" he asked of Mountain.
"Look dead?" repeated the trader. "He looked white. Why, what would he be at? I tell you, I put the sods upon him."My lord caught Sir William by the coat with a hooked hand. "This man has the name of my brother," says he, "but it's well understood that he was never canny.""Canny?" says Sir William. "What is that?"
"He's not of this world," whispered my lord, "neither him nor the black deil that serves him. I have struck my sword throughout his vitals," he cried; "I have felt the hilt dirl (12) on his breastbone, and the hot blood spirt in my very face, time and again, time and again!" he repeated, with a gesture indescribable.
"But he was never dead for that," said he, and I sighed aloud.
"Why should I think he was dead now? No, not till I see him rotting," says he.
