The Lost Hunter. John Turvill Adams
at this hour, and upon an island in the river that our story commences.
The island itself is of an irregular shape and very small, being hardly an acre in extent, and its shore covered with pebbles and boulders of granite. Near the centre, and fronting the east, stands an unpainted wood cabin of the humblest appearance, the shape and size of which is an oblong of some thirty by fifteen feet. One rude door furnishes the only means of entrance, and light is admitted through two small windows, one on the east and the other on the west side. Straggling patches of grass, a few neglected currant-bushes behind the hut, and a tall holly-hock or two by the door are all the signs of vegetation that meet the eye.
At the door of this cabin, and at the time we are describing, stood a solitary figure. He was a gaunt, thin man, whose stature rather exceeded than fell below six feet. The object about his person which first arrested attention was a dark grizzled beard, that fell half-way down his breast, in strong contrast with a high white forehead, beneath which glowed large dreamy eyes. The hair of his head, like his beard, was long, and fell loosely over his shoulders. His dress was of the coarsest description, consisting of a cloth of a dusky grey color, the upper garment being a loose sort of surtout, falling almost to the knees, and secured round the waist by a dark woollen sash. His age it was difficult to determine. It might have been anywhere between forty-five and fifty-five years.
The attitude and appearance of the man, were that of devotion and expectancy. His body was bent forward, his hands clasped, and his eyes intently fastened on the eastern sky, along the horizon of which layers of clouds, a moment before of a leaden hue were now assuming deeper and deeper crimson tints. As the clouds flushed up into brighter colors his countenance kindled with excitement. His form seemed to dilate, his eyes to flash, his hands unclasped themselves, and he stretched out his arms, as if to welcome a long expected friend. But presently the rays of the sun began to stream over the swelling upland and light up the surface of the river, and fainter and fainter shone the clouds, until they gradually melted into the blue depth away. It was then a shade of disappointment, as it seemed, passed over the face of the man. Its rapt expression faded, he cast a look almost of reproach to heaven, and his feelings found vent in words.
"Hast Thou not said, 'Behold, I come quickly?' Why then delay the wheels of Thy chariot? O, Lord, I have waited for Thy salvation. In the night-watches, at midnight, at cock-crowing, and in the morning, have I been mindful of Thee. But chiefly at the dawn hath my soul gone forth to meet Thee, for then shall appear the sign of the Son of Man in Heaven, and they shall see him coming in the clouds of Heaven, with power and great glory. And he shall send His angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together His elect from one end of Heaven to the other."
His eyes glared wildly round, then fell and fastened on the ground, and for a few moments he remained immovable as a statue, after which, with an air of dejection, he turned as if about to enter the hut. At that moment the report of a gun from the shore close by was heard, and looking, up he saw a man fall from the sloping bank upon the beach.
If there had been any appearance of weakness or infirmity before in the Recluse, it now vanished. Nothing could exceed the promptitude and energy of his movements. To rush to the water, to throw himself into a boat, to unfasten it from the stake to which it was tied, and with a vigorous push to send it half-way across the channel, was the work of but an instant. A few dextrous and strong strokes of the paddle soon sent it grating on the pebbled shore, and with a bound he was by the side of the prostrate man. He lay with his face to the ground, with one arm stretched out, and the other cramped up beneath his body. Near him the leaves and grass were stained with drops of blood, and at a short distance a gun was lying.
The old man passed his arm around the stranger, to raise him from his recumbent position. The motion must have occasioned pain, for a low groan was heard. But it, at least, attested the presence of life, and there was consolation in even those sad sounds. With all the tenderness of a mother he raised the wounded man in his arms, and endeavored to discover the place and character of the wound, in order to staunch, if possible, the bleeding. But it was soon apparent that all such attempts would be useless, and only tend to aggravate the pain without leading to any desirable result, so long as the clothing was allowed to remain on. The better course seemed to be to remove him immediately to the hut. As gently, therefore, as possible, the old man bore him to the boat, and deposited him upon its bottom. A few strokes of the paddle sent it back again to the island, and soon the wounded stranger was lying on a rude, but welcome bed. Here the first thing to be done was to divest him of his coat and such other clothing as hid the wound. Having performed this duty, which was done by cutting off the coat and tearing the under garments, the next care of the old man was, in the best manner in his power, to apply bandages to stop the blood, which trickled from the right side and shoulder. This was done with no little skill, as by one who did not then see a gun-shot wound for the first time. The process was accompanied by an occasional groan, when the bandages pressed the wounded parts too closely, which the sufferer seemed to try to suppress, appearing, at the same time, to endeavor to express his thanks, by a smile and the soft glances of his eyes. Any attempt at exertion was instantly repressed by his kind nurse, who never failed, when it occurred, to enjoin quiet.
"Thou art weak from loss of blood, young man," he said, "but I am mistaken if there is much danger. Yet, a narrow escape hast thou had. Be thankful to that Providence, by whom the hairs of thy head are all numbered, and who permitteth not a sparrow to fall without notice to the ground, for so directing the shot that they only tore the outer flesh, without reaching a vital part. And so, hereafter, when the evils of life shall assail thee, may they penetrate no deeper than the surface, nor affect thy immortal soul."
Here the young man made a motion, as if about to speak, but he was interrupted by the other.
"Nay," said the Recluse, "thou must obey me for thy own good, and I have forbid all speech. It will start the blood, and weaken thee still more. Compose thyself, now, while I leave thee but for an instant, to discover, if I can, a boat going to Hillsdale."
We will avail ourselves of the absence of the Recluse to describe the interior of the hut and its occupant. And to begin with the latter—he was a dark-haired youth, of twenty-one or two years of age, the natural paleness of whose complexion was enhanced as well by the raven color of his hair as by the loss of blood. His features were quite regular, and surmounted by a brow rather high than broad. The eyes were the most remarkable, and commanded instant attention. They were large, black and flashing, and, in spite of the injunctions of the old man, wide open and roving round the apartment. By the manner in which he had been addressed, it was evident he was unknown.
The chamber itself was a square of about fifteen feet, or one-half of the hut, with a fire-place made of large stones and bricks, and lighted by one window, and was lathed and plastered. Its furniture consisted of the bed above mentioned, lying on a low pine frame, originally painted red, but now somewhat defaced and worn; of a couple of basket-bottomed chairs; a stone jar, to contain water; a rifle and powder-horn, supported by two nails driven into the wall; a pine table, and a set of shelves filled with books. This was the back-room, and opened into another of the same size, differing from the former in having no fire-place and being not lathed. This latter room was destitute of furniture, unless a work-bench, on which were a few tools; a chopping-block, made of the segment of the body of a large tree; a cooper's horse; a couple of oyster rakes and some fishing-rods, could be called such. In two of the corners stood bundles of hickory poles, and on the floor were scattered a quantity of withes, designed, apparently, for basket-making. These articles had, probably, some connection with the pursuits of the tenant of the hut. On the walls, on pegs, hung a number of baskets, of different sizes—some finished, and some in an unfinished condition.
The Recluse, upon leaving his guest, proceeded to the west side of the little island, and cast a searching glance in every direction, to ascertain if any one were in sight. No boat was visible, and he immediately retraced his steps.
Noiselessly he stole back to the couch of his guest, whom he found apparently asleep, though, in truth, the slumber was simulated out of deference to the anxieties of the old man. Several times he passed backwards and forwards from the chamber to the door before he had the satisfaction to find the object of his search. At length, a canoe was discovered coming up the river, containing