Beadle's Dime Library, No. 149 — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

4 He soon noticed him in a sitting spaeure, almost at the same spot where he had m. : y The hunter could not repress a smile of satisfac- ion. ‘*Ah, ah,”’ he said to him, “there you are, then, friend Quoniam.”’ ‘*Yes, master. .Did John Davis tell you my name?” .. ‘* As you see; but what are you doing there? Why did you not escape during my absence?” *‘Quoniam, is .no goward. he yeptied, ‘to esca while another is risking his life for him. I was wait- ing ready to surrender myself if the white hunter's life had been threatened. This was said with a simplicity full of erapAeur, proving that such, really was the negro’s intention. Good!’ the hunter replied, kindly. . “I thank ou, for your intention was good; fortunately, your nterference was unneeded; but, at any rate, you acted more wisely by remaining here,” . * Whatever may happen to me, master, be assured that I shall feel ever grateful to.you.”’ ‘All the better. for, you; Quoniam, for that. will prove to me that. youare not ungrateful, which is one of the worst vices humanity is afflicted by; but be good enough not to call me master again, for it grieves me; the word implies a degrading inferior- ty, and besides, I am not your master, but merely your companion.” ‘“ What other name can.a poor slave as ‘My own, hang it... Call me Tranquil, as Quoniam, anquil is not a difficult name to re- member, I should think,” ‘Oh, not.at.all,’’ the negro said, wjth a laugh. “Good! that is settled, then; now, let us go to something else, and, in the first place, take this.’ The hunter drew a paper from his belt, which he handed to the black. ‘“What .is this?’ the latter asked with a timid prance, for his iguorance prevented his deciphering “That?” the hunter said with.a smile; “it is a precious talisman, which makes of you a man like all the rest of .us, and removes you from the animals among which you have been counted up to this day; in a word, it is a deed by which John Davis, slave dealer, from this day restores to Quoniam bis full and entire liberty, to enjoy it as he thinks proper— or, if you prefer it, it is your deed of liberation writ- ou?”’ ten by your former master, and signed. by com- petent witnesses, who will stand by you if neces- gary,” On hearing these words the n turned pale af- ter the fashion of men of his color; that is to say, his face assumed a tinge of dirty gray, his eyes were unnaturally dilated, and for a few seco he re- mained motionless, crushed, incapable of uttering a word or a@ movement, At length he burst into a loud laugh, leaped up twice or thrice with the suppleness of a wild beast, and then broke suddenly into tears. The hunter attentively watched the negro’s move- ment, feeling interested to the highest degree in what he saw, and evidencing each moment a greater symopathy with this man. ‘*Then,"’ the black at length said, ‘‘I am free— truly free?” “wee free as a man can be,"’ Tranquil replied witha smile. ‘*Now I can come, go, sleep, work, or rest, and no one can prevent me, andI need not fear the lash?” ** Quite so.” " Pinaeee to myself, myself alone? Ican act and think like other men? I am no longer a beast of borden, which is loaded and harnessed? I am as good as any other man, white, yellow, or red?” “Quite so,”’ the hunter answered, am and interested at the same time by these simple ques- tions. ‘*Oh!” the negro said, as he took his head in his hands, ‘‘I am free then—free at last!" He uttered these words. with a strange accent, which made the hunter quiver. All at once he fell on his knees, clasped his hands, and raised his eyes to Heaven. “My God!” he exclaimed, with an accent of inef- fable Sprinest, “Thou who canst do all, thou to whom men are equal, and who dost not regard their color to protect and defend them. Thou, whose goodness is unbounded like thy power; nks! thanks! my God, for having drawn me from slavery, and restored my liberty!" After giving vent to this prayer, which was the ex- pression of the feelings that boiled in his heart, the negro fell on the ground, and for some minutes re- mained mages in earnest thought.. The hunter re- spected his ence. At length the negro raised his head again. “Listen, hunter,” he said. “I have returned thanks to God for my deliverance, as was my duty; for it was He who inspired you with the thought of defending me. Now that I am beginning to grow a little calmer, and feel accustomed to my new con- dition, be good enough to tell me what passed be- tween you and my master, that I may know the ex- tent of the debt Lowe you, and thatI may my future conduct by t. Speak, lam listening.” ** What need to tell you a story which can interest you so slightly? You are free, that ought to be sufficient for you.” ‘No, that is not sufficient; 1 am free, that is true but how have I become so? that is what I do no know, and I have the right to ask of you.” “The story, I say again, has nothing that can in- terest you P| all; still, asit may cause you to forma better opinion of the man to whom you belonged, I will not longer refuse to tell it you; so listen,” Tranquil, after this opening, told in all their de- tails the events that happened between himself and the slave-dealer; and when he had finished, added— ‘ Well, are you satisfied now?” Yes,’ the negro replied, who had listened to him with the most sustained attention, ‘1 know that, next to God, I owe everything to you,,and I will re- member it: never will you have to remind me of the debt, under whatever circumstances we May meet.” ‘You owe me nothing now that you are free; it is * Nothing appears to us so. ridiculous as that, con- ventional jargon whieh, is pieond Sa genes of negroes, a@ ob W n the pedes the story, saree moreover false; a double reason call you. The Border Rifles. ~hich urges us not to employ it here—all the worse | ocal coloring.—G, A ee a your duty to employ that liberty in the way a man of upright and honest heart should do.” se try not to prove myself unworthy of what God and you have done for me;I also thank John Davis sincerely for the good feeling that urged him to listen to your remonstrances; perhaps I may be able to requite him some day; and if the opportunity offers, I shall not neglect it.” “Good! Llike to hear you speak so, for it to me that I was not mistaken about you; an what do + intend to do?’ ** What advice do you give me?”’ : “The question you ask me is a serious one, and I hardly know how to answer it; the choice of a pro- fession is always a difficult affair, and must be re- flected upon ripely before a decision is formed; in spite of my desire to be of service to you, I should not like to give you advice which you would doubt- less follow for my sake, and which might presently cause you regret. Besides, I am a man whose] since the age of seven, has always been spent in the woods, and lam, consequently, far too unacquainted with what is called the world to venture to lead you on a path which I do not know myself.” “That reasoning seems to me peeve corréct. Still, Lcannot remain here, and must eup my mind to something or other.” ** Do one thing.’ ‘What fs it?’ “Here are a knife, gun, powder and bullets; the desert is open before you, so go and try for a few days the free life of the great solitudes; during your long hours of hunting you will have leisure to reflect on the vocation you are desirous to embrace; you will weigh in your mind the advantages you expect to derive from it, and then, when your mind fs quite made up, you can turn your back on the desert, go back to the towns, and, as you are an active, honest and intelligent man, Lam certain you succeed in whatever calling you may choose.” The negro nodded his head several times. ** Yes,” he said; “‘ in what you propose to me there is both good and bad; that is not exactly what I should wish.” ‘Explain yourself clearly, Quoniam: I can see you have something at the end of your tongue which you do not like to say.” “That is true; 1 have not been frank with you, Tranguil, and I was wrong, as I now-see clearly, In- stead of asking you hypocritically for advice, which I did not at all intend to follow, I ought to have told rou honestly my way of thinking, and that would ve, been phogstbes re, “ hing! i. ome,” the hunter s ug ane E “Well, really Ido not see why I shoul not tell he what I have on my heart. If there be a man in he world who takes an interest in me if is certainly you; and hence, the sooner I know what I have to depend on the better. The only life that suits me is that of a wood-ranger. My instincts and feelings impel me to it; all my attempts at flight, when I was a slave, tended to that object. Lamonlya r negro, whom his narrow mind and intelligence would not guide properly in towns, where man is not valued for what he is worth, but for what he appears, What use would that liberty, of which I am so proud, ap- pear to me, in a town where I should have to og ee of it to the first comer in order to procure the food and clothing I need? I should only have regained my libert render myself a slave, Hence it is in the desert alone I can profit by the kindness I owe to you, without fear of ever being impelléd by wretch- edness to actions unworthy of a man conscious of his own worth, Hence it is inthe desert I desire henceforth to live, only visiting the towns to ex- change the skins of ahimals I have killed for powder bullets, and clothing. Iam young and strong, an the God who has hitherto protected me will not de- sert_me,”’ * You are perhaps right, and I cannot blame you for wishing to follow my example, when the life I lead seems to me preferable to all others. Well, now that is all settled, my good Quoniam, we can part, and I wish you luck; haps we shall meet again, sometimes on the Indian territory.” The negro began laughing and showed two rows of teeth white as snow, but made no reply. Tranquil threw his rifle on his shoulder, gave him e} ee friendly sign of parting, and turned to go back canoe. Quoniam seized the rifle the hunter had left him, assed the knife through his girdle, to which he also astened the horns of powder and bullets, and then, ves now, after a final glance to see that he had forgotten nothing, he followed the hunter, who had y gained a considerable start on him. He caught Tranquil up at the moment he reached his canoe, and was about to thrust it into the water; at the sound of me rat the hunter turned round. **Halloh,” he said, “is that you again, Quoniam?” ** Yes,"* he answered. “What brings you here?” “Why,” the negro said, as he buried his fingers in his woolly hair, and scratched his head furiously, * vou forgot something.” , ‘What was it?” “To take me with you.” ‘* That is true,’ the hunter said, as he offered him his hand; “forgive me, brother,” ‘Then you consent?” he asked, with ill-restrained Joy. ” ‘Yes. “We shall not part again?” “Tt will depen on your will.” “Oh, then,” he exclaimed, with a joyous outburst ot laughter, “we shall be together a long time.” “Well, be it so,” the Canadian went on. “Come; two men, when they have faith in each other, are ne strong in the desert. Henceforth we shall be rothers, Quoniam leaped into the canoe, and gayly caught up the paddles, he poor slave had never been so happy; never had the air seemed to him purer, or nature more lovely—everything smiled on him, and made_holi- day for him, for that moment he was about to begin really living the life of other men, without any bitter afterthought; the was no more than a dream, He had found in his defendér what so many men seek in vain, throughout a lengthened existence—a friend, a brother, whom he could trust entirely, and from whom he would have no secrets. In a few minutes they reached the spot which the Canadian had noticed on his arrival; ae clearly indicated by the two oaks which had Dn in a croags, formed a ies of small sandy promon- tory, favorable’ to the establishment of a night bivouac; forthence not only could the river be sur- veyed a long distance up and down, but it was also easy to watch both and prevent a surprise. “We will pass the night here,”’ Tranquil said; ay us carry up the canoe,so asto shelter our re . Quoniam seized the light skiff, raised it, and plac- ing iton his muscular shoulders, it to the spot his comrade had pointed out. In the meanwhile, a considerable period had elapsed since the Canadian and the negro met so miraculously. The sun, which had been low when the hunter doubled the promontory and chased the herons, was now on the point of disappearing; night was falling rapidly, and the background of the landscape was beginning to be confused in the shades of night, which grew momentarily denser. The desert was awakening, the hoarse roar of the wild beasts was heard at intervals, mingled with the miawling of the careajous, and the sharp snap- ping bark of the prairie wolves. : , e hunter chose the driest wood he could find ‘to kindle the fire, in order that there t be no smoke, and the flame might light up the vicinity, so roach the dangerous as to reveal at once the app : neighbors whose cries they could hear, and whom thirst would not fail soon to bring toward them. The roasted birds and a few handfuls of pemmican composed the rangers’ supper; a very sober meal, See washed down with water from the river, but which they ate with good appetite, like men who knew how to appreciate the value of any food Providence places at their dis When the last mouthful was swallowed, the Cana- dian paternally shared his stock of tobacco with his new comrade, and lit his Indian pipe, in which he was scrupulously imitated by Quoniam, * Now,” said Tranquil, “it is as well you should know that an old friend of mine gave me the meet- ing at this spot about three months ago; he will arrive at daybreak to-morrow. He is an Indian chief, and, although still very young, enjoys a t reputation in his tribe. I love him as a brother and we were,I may say, brought up together, I shall be _— to see you gain his favor, for he is a wise and experienced man, for whom desert life possessés no secrets, The friendship of an Indian chief is a precious thing to a wood-ranger; remem- ber that. However, I feel certain you will be good friends at once.” .“ I will do all that is required for that. It is suf- ficient that the chief is your friend, for ne to desire that he should become mine. Up to the present, though I have wandered about the woods a long time as a runaway slave, I have never seen an inde- pendent Indian; hence it is possible that I may com- mit some awkwardness without my knowledge. But be assured that it will not happen through any fault of mine." “Tam convinced of it, s0 be easy on that head. I will warn the chief, who, 1 fancy, will be as sur- prised as yourself, for I expect you will be the first teh of your color he has ever met, But night as now quite set in; you must be fatigued by the obstinate pursuit you experienced the whole day, and the powerful emotion you endured; sleep, while I watch for both, eepecinity as I expect we shall make a ~~} st to-morrow, and you must be pre or it.” The negro understood the correctness of his friend’s remarks, the more so as be was literally ex- hausted with fatigue; he had been hunted so closely by his ex-master’s bloodhounds, that for four days he had not closed his eyes. Hence, laying arice any false shame, he stretched out his feet to the fire, and slept almost immediately. Tranquil remained seated on the canoe with his rifle between his legs, to be prepared for the slight- est alarm, and plunged into deep thought, while attentively watching the neighbor and prick- ing his ear at the slightest noise. CHAPTER IV. THE MANADA. Tre night was splendid, the dark blue sky was studded with millions of stars which shed a gentle and mysterious = The silence of the desert was traversed by thou- sands of melodious and animated whispers; gleams flashing through the shadows, ran over the like will-o’-the-wisps. On the opposite bank of the river the old moss-clad oaks s out like pbhan- toms, and waved in the breeze their long branches covered with lichens and lianas; vague sounds ran through the air, nameless cries emerged from the forest lairs, the gentle sighing of the wind in the foliage was heard, and the murmur of the water on the pebbles, and last, that inexplicable and unex- plai sound of buzzing life which comes from God. and which the majestic solitude of the American savannas renders more im ng. The hunter yielded involuntarily to all the puis- sant influences of the primitive nature that sur- rounded him. He felt strengthened and cheered by it; his being was identified with the sublime scene he surveyed; a gentle and pensive melancholy fell upon him; so far from men and their stunted civilization, he felt himself nearer to God , and his simple faith was hightened by the admiration aroused in him by these secrets of nature, which were partly unvailed in his presence. ; The soul is expanded, thought enlarged, by con- tact with this nomadie life, in which each minute that passes produces new and unexpected incidents; where at each step man sees the finger of Ged im- printed in an indelible nanner on the abrupt and grand scenery that surrounds bim. Hence this existence of danger and privation pos- sesses, for those who have once essayed it, a name- less charm and intoxication, incomprehensible joys, which cause it ever to be regretted; for it is only in the desert man feels that he lives, takes the mearure of his strength, and the secret of his power is re- “Th cute peenus thus rapidly with the h e hours us w the hunter, though slumber did not once close his eyelids. A!- ready the cold morning breeze was curling the tops of the trees and ri g the surface of the stream, whore silv waters reflected the shadows of.-its irregular ; on the horizon broad pink stripes ELNOO_ KS COU (€@)