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Chapter 11

THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS.

We made a prosperous voyage up that fine river of the Hudson, the
weather grateful, the hills singularly beautified with the colours
of the autumn. At Albany we had our residence at an inn, where I
was not so blind and my lord not so cunning but what I could see he
had some design to hold me prisoner. The work he found for me to
do was not so pressing that we should transact it apart from
necessary papers in the chamber of an inn; nor was it of such
importance that I should be set upon as many as four or five
scrolls of the same document. I submitted in appearance; but I
took private measures on my own side, and had the news of the town
communicated to me daily by the politeness of our host. In this
way I received at last a piece of intelligence for which, I may
say, I had been waiting. Captain Harris (I was told) with "Mr.
Mountain, the trader," had gone by up the river in a boat. I would
have feared the landlord's eye, so strong the sense of some
complicity upon my master's part oppressed me. But I made out to
say I had some knowledge of the Captain, although none of Mr.
Mountain, and to inquire who else was of the party. My informant
knew not; Mr. Mountain had come ashore upon some needful purchases;
had gone round the town buying, drinking, and prating; and it
seemed the party went upon some likely venture, for he had spoken
much of great things he would do when he returned. No more was
known, for none of the rest had come ashore, and it seemed they
were pressed for time to reach a certain spot before the snow
should fall.

And sure enough, the next day, there fell a sprinkle even in
Albany; but it passed as it came, and was but a reminder of what
lay before us. I thought of it lightly then, knowing so little as
I did of that inclement province: the retrospect is different; and
I wonder at times if some of the horror of there events which I
must now rehearse flowed not from the foul skies and savage winds
to which we were exposed, and the agony of cold that we must
suffer.

The boat having passed by, I thought at first we should have left
the town. But no such matter. My lord continued his stay in
Albany where he had no ostensible affairs, and kept me by him, far
from my due employment, and making a pretence of occupation. It is
upon this passage I expect, and perhaps deserve, censure. I was
not so dull but what I had my own thoughts. I could not see the
Master entrust himself into the hands of Harris, and not suspect
some underhand contrivance. Harris bore a villainous reputation,
and he had been tampered with in private by my lord; Mountain, the
trader, proved, upon inquiry, to be another of the same kidney; the
errand they were all gone upon being the recovery of ill-gotten
treasures, offered in itself a very strong incentive to foul play;
and the character of the country where they journeyed promised
impunity to deeds of blood. Well: it is true I had all these
thoughts and fears, and guesses of the Master's fate. But you are
to consider I was the same man that sought to dash him from the
bulwarks of a ship in the mid-sea; the same that, a little before,
very impiously but sincerely offered God a bargain, seeking to hire
God to be my bravo. It is true again that I had a good deal melted
towards our enemy. But this I always thought of as a weakness of
the flesh and even culpable; my mind remaining steady and quite
bent against him. True, yet again, that it was one thing to assume
on my own shoulders the guilt and danger of a criminal attempt, and
another to stand by and see my lord imperil and besmirch himself.
But this was the very ground of my inaction. For (should I anyway
stir in the business) I might fail indeed to save the Master, but I
could not miss to make a byword of my lord.

Thus it was that I did nothing; and upon the same reasons, I am
still strong to justify my course. We lived meanwhile in Albany,
but though alone together in a strange place, had little traffic
beyond formal salutations. My lord had carried with him several
introductions to chief people of the town and neighbourhood; others
he had before encountered in New York: with this consequence, that
he went much abroad, and I am sorry to say was altogether too
convivial in his habits. I was often in bed, but never asleep,
when he returned; and there was scarce a night when he did not
betray the influence of liquor. By day he would still lay upon me
endless tasks, which he showed considerable ingenuity to fish up
and renew, in the manner of Penelope's web. I never refused, as I
say, for I was hired to do his bidding; but I took no pains to keep
my penetration under a bushel, and would sometimes smile in his
face.

"I think I must be the devil and you Michael Scott," I said to him
one day. "I have bridged Tweed and split the Eildons; and now you
set me to the rope of sand."

He looked at me with shining eyes, and looked away again, his jaw
chewing, but without words.

"Well, well, my lord," said I, "your will is my pleasure. I will
do this thing for the fourth time; but I would beg of you to invent
another task against to-morrow, for by my troth, I am weary of this
one."

"You do not know what you are saying," returned my lord, putting on
his hat and turning his back to me. "It is a strange thing you
should take a pleasure to annoy me. A friend - but that is a
different affair. It is a strange thing. I am a man that has had
ill-fortune all my life through. I am still surrounded by
contrivances. I am always treading in plots," he burst out. "The
whole world is banded against me."

"I would not talk wicked nonsense if I were you," said I; "but I
will tell you what I WOULD do - I would put my head in cold water,
for you had more last night than you could carry."

"Do ye think that?" said he, with a manner of interest highly
awakened. "Would that be good for me? It's a thing I never
tried."

"I mind the days when you had no call to try, and I wish, my lord,
that they were back again," said I. "But the plain truth is, if
you continue to exceed, you will do yourself a mischief."

"I don't appear to carry drink the way I used to," said my lord.
"I get overtaken, Mackellar. But I will be more upon my guard."

"That is what I would ask of you," I replied. "You are to bear in
mind that you are Mr. Alexander's father: give the bairn a chance
to carry his name with some responsibility."

"Ay, ay," said he. "Ye're a very sensible man, Mackellar, and have
been long in my employ. But I think, if you have nothing more to
say to me I will be stepping. If you have nothing more to say?" he
added, with that burning, childish eagerness that was now so common
with the man.

"No, my lord, I have nothing more," said I, dryly enough.

"Then I think I will be stepping," says my lord, and stood and
looked at me fidgeting with his hat, which he had taken off again.
"I suppose you will have no errands? No? I am to meet Sir William
Johnson, but I will be more upon my guard." He was silent for a
time, and then, smiling: "Do you call to mind a place, Mackellar -
it's a little below Engles - where the burn runs very deep under a
wood of rowans. I mind being there when I was a lad - dear, it
comes over me like an old song! - I was after the fishing, and I
made a bonny cast. Eh, but I was happy. I wonder, Mackellar, why
I am never happy now?"

"My lord," said I, "if you would drink with more moderation you
would have the better chance. It is an old byword that the bottle
is a false consoler."

"No doubt," said he, "no doubt. Well, I think I will be going."

"Good-morning, my lord," said I.

"Good-morning, good-morning," said he, and so got himself at last
from the apartment.

I give that for a fair specimen of my lord in the morning; and I
must have described my patron very ill if the reader does not
perceive a notable falling off. To behold the man thus fallen: to
know him accepted among his companions for a poor, muddled toper,
welcome (if he were welcome at all) for the bare consideration of
his title; and to recall the virtues he had once displayed against
such odds of fortune; was not this a thing at once to rage and to
be humbled at?

In his cups, he was more expensive. I will give but the one scene,
close upon the end, which is strongly marked upon my memory to this
day, and at the time affected me almost with horror

I was in bed, lying there awake, when I heard him stumbling on the
stair and singing. My lord had no gift of music, his brother had
all the graces of the family, so that when I say singing, you are
to understand a manner of high, carolling utterance, which was
truly neither speech nor song. Something not unlike is to be heard
upon the lips of children, ere they learn shame; from those of a
man grown elderly, it had a strange effect. He opened the door
with noisy precaution; peered in, shading his candle; conceived me
to slumber; entered, set his light upon the table, and took off his
hat. I saw him very plain; a high, feverish exultation appeared to
boil in his veins, and he stood and smiled and smirked upon the
candle. Presently he lifted up his arm, snapped his fingers, and
fell to undress. As he did so, having once more forgot my
presence, he took back to his singing; and now I could hear the
words, which were those from the old song of the TWA CORBIES
endlessly repeated:


"And over his banes when they are bare
The wind sall blaw for evermair!"


I have said there was no music in the man. His strains had no
logical succession except in so far as they inclined a little to
the minor mode; but they exercised a rude potency upon the
feelings, and followed the words, and signified the feelings of the
singer with barbaric fitness. He took it first in the time and
manner of a rant; presently this ill-favoured gleefulness abated,
he began to dwell upon the notes more feelingly, and sank at last
into a degree of maudlin pathos that was to me scarce bearable. By
equal steps, the original briskness of his acts declined; and when
he was stripped to his breeches, he sat on the bedside and fell to
whimpering. I know nothing less respectable than the tears of
drunkenness, and turned my back impatiently on this poor sight.

But he had started himself (I am to suppose) on that slippery
descent of self-pity; on the which, to a man unstrung by old
sorrows and recent potations there is no arrest except exhaustion.
His tears continued to flow, and the man to sit there, three parts
naked, in the cold air of the chamber. I twitted myself
alternately with inhumanity and sentimental weakness, now half
rising in my bed to interfere, now reading myself lessons of
indifference and courting slumber, until, upon a sudden, the
QUANTUM MUTATUS AB ILLO shot into my mind; and calling to
remembrance his old wisdom, constancy, and patience, I was
overborne with a pity almost approaching the passionate, not for my
master alone but for the sons of man.

At this I leaped from my place, went over to his side and laid a
hand on his bare shoulder, which was cold as stone. He uncovered
his face and showed it me all swollen and begrutten (10) like a
child's; and at the sight my impatience partially revived.

"Think shame to yourself," said I. "This is bairnly conduct. I
might have been snivelling myself, if I had cared to swill my belly
with wine. But I went to my bed sober like a man. Come: get into
yours, and have done with this pitiable exhibition."

"Oh, Mackellar," said he, "my heart is wae!"

"Wae?" cried I. "For a good cause, I think. What words were these
you sang as you came in? Show pity to others, we then can talk of
pity to yourself. You can be the one thing or the other, but I
will be no party to half-way houses. If you're a striker, strike,
and if you're a bleater, bleat!"

"Cry!" cries he, with a burst, "that's it - strike! that's talking!
Man, I've stood it all too long. But when they laid a hand upon
the child, when the child's threatened" - his momentary vigour
whimpering off - "my child, my Alexander!" - and he was at his
tears again.

I took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Alexander!" said I.
"Do you even think of him? Not you! Look yourself in the face
like a brave man, and you'll find you're but a self-deceiver. The
wife, the friend, the child, they're all equally forgot, and you
sunk in a mere log of selfishness."

"Mackellar," said he, with a wonderful return to his old manner and
appearance, "you may say what you will of me, but one thing I never
was - I was never selfish."

"I will open your eyes in your despite," said I. "How long have we
been here? and how often have you written to your family? I think
this is the first time you were ever separate: have you written at
all? Do they know if you are dead or living?"

I had caught him here too openly; it braced his better nature;
there was no more weeping, he thanked me very penitently, got to
bed and was soon fast asleep; and the first thing he did the next
morning was to sit down and begin a letter to my lady: a very
tender letter it was too, though it was never finished. Indeed all
communication with New York was transacted by myself; and it will
be judged I had a thankless task of it. What to tell my lady and
in what words, and how far to be false and how far cruel, was a
thing that kept me often from my slumber.

All this while, no doubt, my lord waited with growing impatiency
for news of his accomplices. Harris, it is to be thought, had
promised a high degree of expedition; the time was already overpast
when word was to be looked for; and suspense was a very evil
counsellor to a man of an impaired intelligence. My lord's mind
throughout this interval dwelled almost wholly in the Wilderness,
following that party with whose deeds he had so much concern. He
continually conjured up their camps and progresses, the fashion of
the country, the perpetration in a thousand different manners of
the same horrid fact, and that consequent spectacle of the Master's
bones lying scattered in the wind. These private, guilty
considerations I would continually observe to peep forth in the
man's talk, like rabbits from a hill. And it is the less wonder if
the scene of his meditations began to draw him bodily.


It is well known what pretext he took. Sir William Johnson had a
diplomatic errand in these parts; and my lord and I (from
curiosity, as was given out) went in his company. Sir William was
well attended and liberally supplied. Hunters brought us venison,
fish was taken for us daily in the streams, and brandy ran like
water. We proceeded by day and encamped by night in the military
style; sentinels were set and changed; every man had his named
duty; and Sir William was the spring of all. There was much in
this that might at times have entertained me; but for our
misfortune, the weather was extremely harsh, the days were in the
beginning open, but the nights frosty from the first. A painful
keen wind blew most of the time, so that we sat in the boat with
blue fingers, and at night, as we scorched our faces at the fire,
the clothes upon our back appeared to be of paper. A dreadful
solitude surrounded our steps; the land was quite dispeopled, there
was no smoke of fires, and save for a single boat of merchants on
the second day, we met no travellers. The season was indeed late,
but this desertion of the waterways impressed Sir William himself;
and I have heard him more than once express a sense of
intimidation. "I have come too late, I fear; they must have dug up
the hatchet;" he said; and the future proved how justly he had
reasoned.

I could never depict the blackness of my soul upon this journey. I
have none of those minds that are in love with the unusual: to see
the winter coming and to lie in the field so far from any house,
oppressed me like a nightmare; it seemed, indeed, a kind of awful
braving of God's power; and this thought, which I daresay only
writes me down a coward, was greatly exaggerated by my private
knowledge of the errand we were come upon. I was besides
encumbered by my duties to Sir William, whom it fell upon me to
entertain; for my lord was quite sunk into a state bordering on
PERVIGILIUM, watching the woods with a rapt eye, sleeping scarce at
all, and speaking sometimes not twenty words in a whole day. That
which he said was still coherent; but it turned almost invariably
upon the party for whom he kept his crazy lookout. He would tell
Sir William often, and always as if it were a new communication,
that he had "a brother somewhere in the woods," and beg that the
sentinels should be directed "to inquire for him." "I am anxious
for news of my brother," he would say. And sometimes, when we were
under way, he would fancy he spied a canoe far off upon the water
or a camp on the shore, and exhibit painful agitation. It was
impossible but Sir William should be struck with these
singularities; and at last he led me aside, and hinted his
uneasiness. I touched my head and shook it; quite rejoiced to
prepare a little testimony against possible disclosures.

"But in that case," cries Sir William, "is it wise to let him go at
large?"

"Those that know him best," said I, "are persuaded that he should
be humoured."

"Well, well," replied Sir William, "it is none of my affairs. But
if I had understood, you would never have been here."

Our advance into this savage country had thus uneventfully
proceeded for about a week, when we encamped for a night at a place
where the river ran among considerable mountains clothed in wood.
The fires were lighted on a level space at the water's edge; and we
supped and lay down to sleep in the customary fashion. It chanced
the night fell murderously cold; the stringency of the frost seized
and bit me through my coverings so that pain kept me wakeful; and I
was afoot again before the peep of day, crouching by the fires or
trotting to and for at the stream's edge, to combat the aching of
my limbs. At last dawn began to break upon hoar woods and
mountains, the sleepers rolled in their robes, and the boisterous
river dashing among spears of ice. I stood looking about me,
swaddled in my stiff coat of a bull's fur, and the breath smoking
from my scorched nostrils, when, upon a sudden, a singular, eager
cry rang from the borders of the wood. The sentries answered it,
the sleepers sprang to their feet; one pointed, the rest followed
his direction with their eyes, and there, upon the edge of the
forest and betwixt two trees, we beheld the figure of a man
reaching forth his hands like one in ecstasy. The next moment he
ran forward, fell on his knees at the side of the camp, and burst
in tears.

This was John Mountain, the trader, escaped from the most horrid
perils; and his fist word, when he got speech, was to ask if we had
seen Secundra Dass.

"Seen what?" cries Sir William.

"No," said I, "we have seen nothing of him. Why?"

"Nothing?" says Mountain. "Then I was right after all." With that
he struck his palm upon his brow. "But what takes him back?" he
cried. "What takes the man back among dead bodies. There is some
damned mystery here."

This was a word which highly aroused our curiosity, but I shall be
more perspicacious, if I narrate these incidents in their true
order. Here follows a narrative which I have compiled out of three
sources, not very consistent in all points:

FIRST, a written statement by Mountain, in which everything
criminal is cleverly smuggled out of view;

SECOND, two conversations with Secundra Dass; and

THIRD, many conversations with Mountain himself, in which he was
pleased to be entirely plain; for the truth is he regarded me as an
accomplice.


NARRATIVE OF THE TRADER, MOUNTAIN.


The crew that went up the river under the joint command of Captain
Harris and the Master numbered in all nine persons, of whom (if I
except Secundra Dass) there was not one that had not merited the
gallows. From Harris downward the voyagers were notorious in that
colony for desperate, bloody-minded miscreants; some were reputed
pirates, the most hawkers of rum; all ranters and drinkers; all fit
associates, embarking together without remorse, upon this
treacherous and murderous design. I could not hear there was much
discipline or any set captain in the gang; but Harris and four
others, Mountain himself, two Scotchmen - Pinkerton and Hastie -
and a man of the name of Hicks, a drunken shoemaker, put their
heads together and agreed upon the course. In a material sense,
they were well enough provided; and the Master in particular
brought with him a tent where he might enjoy some privacy and
shelter.

Even this small indulgence told against him in the minds of his
companions. But indeed he was in a position so entirely false (and
even ridiculous) that all his habit of command and arts of pleasing
were here thrown away. In the eyes of all, except Secundra Dass,
he figured as a common gull and designated victim; going
unconsciously to death; yet he could not but suppose himself the
contriver and the leader of the expedition; he could scarce help
but so conduct himself and at the least hint of authority or
condescension, his deceivers would be laughing in their sleeves. I
was so used to see and to conceive him in a high, authoritative
attitude, that when I had conceived his position on this journey, I
was pained and could have blushed. How soon he may have
entertained a first surmise, we cannot know; but it was long, and
the party had advanced into the Wilderness beyond the reach of any
help, ere he was fully awakened to the truth.

It fell thus. Harris and some others had drawn apart into the
woods for consultation, when they were startled by a rustling in
the brush. They were all accustomed to the arts of Indian warfare,
and Mountain had not only lived and hunted, but fought and earned
some reputation, with the savages. He could move in the woods
without noise, and follow a trail like a hound; and upon the
emergence of this alert, he was deputed by the rest to plunge into
the thicket for intelligence. He was soon convinced there was a
man in his close neighbourhood, moving with precaution but without
art among the leaves and branches; and coming shortly to a place of
advantage, he was able to observe Secundra Dass crawling briskly
off with many backward glances. At this he knew not whether to
laugh or cry; and his accomplices, when he had returned and
reported, were in much the same dubiety. There was now no danger
of an Indian onslaught; but on the other hand, since Secundra Dass
was at the pains to spy upon them, it was highly probable he knew
English, and if he knew English it was certain the whole of their
design was in the Master's knowledge. There was one singularity in
the position. If Secundra Dass knew and concealed his knowledge of
English, Harris was a proficient in several of the tongues of
India, and as his career in that part of the world had been a great
deal worse than profligate, he had not thought proper to remark
upon the circumstance. Each side had thus a spy-hole on the
counsels of the other. The plotters, so soon as this advantage was
explained, returned to camp; Harris, hearing the Hindustani was
once more closeted with his master, crept to the side of the tent;
and the rest, sitting about the fire with their tobacco, awaited
his report with impatience. When he came at last, his face was
very black. He had overheard enough to confirm the worst of his
suspicions. Secundra Dass was a good English scholar; he had been
some days creeping and listening, the Master was now fully informed
of the conspiracy, and the pair proposed on the morrow to fall out
of line at a carrying place and plunge at a venture in the woods:
preferring the full risk of famine, savage beasts, and savage men
to their position in the midst of traitors.

What, then, was to be done? Some were for killing the Master on
the spot; but Harris assured them that would be a crime without
profit, since the secret of the treasure must die along with him
that buried it. Others were for desisting at once from the whole
enterprise and making for New York; but the appetising name of
treasure, and the thought of the long way they had already
travelled dissuaded the majority. I imagine they were dull fellows
for the most part. Harris, indeed, had some acquirements, Mountain
was no fool, Hastie was an educated man; but even these had
manifestly failed in life, and the rest were the dregs of colonial
rascality. The conclusion they reached, at least, was more the
offspring of greed and hope, than reason. It was to temporise, to
be wary and watch the Master, to be silent and supply no further
aliment to his suspicions, and to depend entirely (as well as I
make out) on the chance that their victim was as greedy, hopeful,
and irrational as themselves, and might, after all, betray his life
and treasure.

Twice in the course of the next day Secundra and the Master must
have appeared to themselves to have escaped; and twice they were
circumvented. The Master, save that the second time he grew a
little pale, displayed no sign of disappointment, apologised for
the stupidity with which he had fallen aside, thanked his
recapturers as for a service, and rejoined the caravan with all his
usual gallantry and cheerfulness of mien and bearing. But it is
certain he had smelled a rat; for from thenceforth he and Secundra
spoke only in each other's ear, and Harris listened and shivered by
the tent in vain. The same night it was announced they were to
leave the boats and proceed by foot, a circumstance which (as it
put an end to the confusion of the portages) greatly lessened the
chances of escape.

And now there began between the two sides a silent contest, for
life on the one hand, for riches on the other. They were now near
that quarter of the desert in which the Master himself must begin
to play the part of guide; and using this for a pretext of
persecution, Harris and his men sat with him every night about the
fire, and laboured to entrap him into some admission. If he let
slip his secret, he knew well it was the warrant for his death; on
the other hand, he durst not refuse their questions, and must
appear to help them to the best of his capacity, or he practically
published his mistrust. And yet Mountain assures me the man's brow
was never ruffled. He sat in the midst of these jackals, his life
depending by a thread, like some easy, witty householder at home by
his own fire; an answer he had for everything - as often as not, a
jesting answer; avoided threats, evaded insults; talked, laughed,
and listened with an open countenance; and, in short, conducted
himself in such a manner as must have disarmed suspicion, and went
near to stagger knowledge. Indeed, Mountain confessed to me they
would soon have disbelieved the Captain's story, and supposed their
designated victim still quite innocent of their designs; but for
the fact that he continued (however ingeniously) to give the slip
to questions, and the yet stronger confirmation of his repeated
efforts to escape. The last of these, which brought things to a
head, I am now to relate. And first I should say that by this time
the temper of Harris's companions was utterly worn out; civility
was scarce pretended; and for one very significant circumstance,
the Master and Secundra had been (on some pretext) deprived of
weapons. On their side, however, the threatened pair kept up the
parade of friendship handsomely; Secundra was all bows, the Master
all smiles; and on the last night of the truce he had even gone so
far as to sing for the diversion of the company. It was observed
that he had also eaten with unusual heartiness, and drank deep,
doubtless from design.

At least, about three in the morning, he came out of the tent into
the open air, audibly mourning and complaining, with all the manner
of a sufferer from surfeit. For some while, Secundra publicly
attended on his patron, who at last became more easy, and fell
asleep on the frosty ground behind the tent, the Indian returning
within. Some time after, the sentry was changed; had the Master
pointed out to him, where he lay in what is called a robe of
buffalo: and thenceforth kept an eye upon him (he declared)
without remission. With the first of the dawn, a draught of wind
came suddenly and blew open one side the corner of the robe; and
with the same puff, the Master's hat whirled in the air and fell
some yards away. The sentry thinking it remarkable the sleeper
should not awaken, thereupon drew near; and the next moment, with a
great shout, informed the camp their prisoner was escaped. He had
left behind his Indian, who (in the first vivacity of the surprise)
came near to pay the forfeit of his life, and was, in fact,
inhumanly mishandled; but Secundra, in the midst of threats and
cruelties, stuck to it with extraordinary loyalty, that he was
quite ignorant of his master's plans, which might indeed be true,
and of the manner of his escape, which was demonstrably false.
Nothing was therefore left to the conspirators but to rely entirely
on the skill of Mountain. The night had been frosty, the ground
quite hard; and the sun was no sooner up than a strong thaw set in.
It was Mountain's boast that few men could have followed that
trail, and still fewer (even of the native Indians) found it. The
Master had thus a long start before his pursuers had the scent, and
he must have travelled with surprising energy for a pedestrian so
unused, since it was near noon before Mountain had a view of him.
At this conjuncture the trader was alone, all his companions
following, at his own request, several hundred yards in the rear;
he knew the Master was unarmed; his heart was besides heated with
the exercise and lust of hunting; and seeing the quarry so close,
so defenceless, and seeming so fatigued, he vain-gloriously
determined to effect the capture with his single hand. A step or
two farther brought him to one margin of a little clearing; on the
other, with his arms folded and his back to a huge stone, the
Master sat. It is possible Mountain may have made a rustle, it is
certain, at least, the Master raised his head and gazed directly at
that quarter of the thicket where his hunter lay; "I could not be
sure he saw me," Mountain said; "he just looked my way like a man
with his mind made up, and all the courage ran out of me like rum
out of a bottle." And presently, when the Master looked away
again, and appeared to resume those meditations in which he had sat
immersed before the trader's coming, Mountain slunk stealthily back
and returned to seek the help of his companions.

And now began the chapter of surprises, for the scout had scarce
informed the others of his discovery, and they were yet preparing
their weapons for a rush upon the fugitive, when the man himself
appeared in their midst, walking openly and quietly, with his hands
behind his back.

"Ah, men!" says he, on his beholding them. "Here is a fortunate
encounter. Let us get back to camp."

Mountain had not mentioned his own weakness or the Master's
disconcerting gaze upon the thicket, so that (with all the rest)
his return appeared spontaneous. For all that, a hubbub arose;
oaths flew, fists were shaken, and guns pointed.

"Let us get back to camp," said the Master. "I have an explanation
to make, but it must be laid before you all. And in the meanwhile
I would put up these weapons, one of which might very easily go off
and blow away your hopes of treasure. I would not kill," says he,
smiling, "the goose with the golden eggs."

The charm of his superiority once more triumphed; and the party, in
no particular order, set off on their return. By the way, he found
occasion to get a word or two apart with Mountain.

"You are a clever fellow and a bold," says he, "but I am not so
sure that you are doing yourself justice. I would have you to
consider whether you would not do better, ay, and safer, to serve
me instead of serving so commonplace a rascal as Mr. Harris.
Consider of it," he concluded, dealing the man a gentle tap upon
the shoulder, "and don't be in haste. Dead or alive, you will find
me an ill man to quarrel with."

When they were come back to the camp, where Harris and Pinkerton
stood guard over Secundra, these two ran upon the Master like
viragoes, and were amazed out of measure when they were bidden by
their comrades to "stand back and hear what the gentleman had to
say." The Master had not flinched before their onslaught; nor, at
this proof of the ground he had gained, did he betray the least
sufficiency.

"Do not let us be in haste," says he. "Meat first and public
speaking after."

With that they made a hasty meal: and as soon as it was done, the
Master, leaning on one elbow, began his speech. He spoke long,
addressing himself to each except Harris, finding for each (with
the same exception) some particular flattery. He called them
"bold, honest blades," declared he had never seen a more jovial
company, work better done, or pains more merrily supported. "Well,
then," says he, "some one asks me, Why the devil I ran away? But
that is scarce worth answer, for I think you all know pretty well.
But you know only pretty well: that is a point I shall arrive at
presently, and be you ready to remark it when it comes. There is a
traitor here: a double traitor: I will give you his name before I
am done; and let that suffice for now. But here comes some other
gentleman and asks me, 'Why, in the devil, I came back?' Well,
before I answer that question, I have one to put to you. It was
this cur here, this Harris, that speaks Hindustani?" cries he,
rising on one knee and pointing fair at the man's face, with a
gesture indescribably menacing; and when he had been answered in
the affirmative, "Ah!" says he, "then are all my suspicions
verified, and I did rightly to come back. Now, men, hear the truth
for the first time." Thereupon he launched forth in a long story,
told with extraordinary skill, how he had all along suspected
Harris, how he had found the confirmation of his fears, and how
Harris must have misrepresented what passed between Secundra and
himself. At this point he made a bold stroke with excellent
effect. "I suppose," says he, "you think you are going shares with
Harris; I suppose you think you will see to that yourselves; you
would naturally not think so flat a rogue could cozen you. But
have a care! These half idiots have a sort of cunning, as the
skunk has its stench; and it may be news to you that Harris has
taken care of himself already. Yes, for him the treasure is all
money in the bargain. You must find it or go starve. But he has
been paid beforehand; my brother paid him to destroy me; look at
him, if you doubt - look at him, grinning and gulping, a detected
thief!" Thence, having made this happy impression, he explained
how he had escaped, and thought better of it, and at last concluded
to come back, lay the truth before the company, and take his chance
with them once more: persuaded as he was, they would instantly
depose Harris and elect some other leader. "There is the whole
truth," said he: "and with one exception, I put myself entirely in
your hands. What is the exception? There he sits," he cried,
pointing once more to Harris; "a man that has to die! Weapons and
conditions are all one to me; put me face to face with him, and if
you give me nothing but a stick, in five minutes I will show you a
sop of broken carrion, fit for dogs to roll in."

It was dark night when he made an end; they had listened in almost
perfect silence; but the firelight scarce permitted any one to
judge, from the look of his neighbours, with what result of
persuasion or conviction. Indeed, the Master had set himself in
the brightest place, and kept his face there, to be the centre of
men's eyes: doubtless on a profound calculation. Silence followed
for awhile, and presently the whole party became involved in
disputation: the Master lying on his back, with his hands knit
under his head and one knee flung across the other, like a person
unconcerned in the result. And here, I daresay, his bravado
carried him too far and prejudiced his case. At least, after a
cast or two back and forward, opinion settled finally against him.
It's possible he hoped to repeat the business of the pirate ship,
and be himself, perhaps, on hard enough conditions, elected leader;
and things went so far that way, that Mountain actually threw out
the proposition. But the rock he split upon was Hastie. This
fellow was not well liked, being sour and slow, with an ugly,
glowering disposition, but he had studied some time for the church
at Edinburgh College, before ill conduct had destroyed his
prospects, and he now remembered and applied what he had learned.
Indeed he had not proceeded very far, when the Master rolled
carelessly upon one side, which was done (in Mountain's opinion) to
conceal the beginnings of despair upon his countenance. Hastie
dismissed the most of what they had heard as nothing to the matter:
what they wanted was the treasure. All that was said of Harris
might be true, and they would have to see to that in time. But
what had that to do with the treasure? They had heard a vast of
words; but the truth was just this, that Mr. Durie was damnably
frightened and had several times run off. Here he was - whether
caught or come back was all one to Hastie: the point was to make
an end of the business. As for the talk of deposing and electing
captains, he hoped they were all free men and could attend their
own affairs. That was dust flung in their eyes, and so was the
proposal to fight Harris. "He shall fight no one in this camp, I
can tell him that," said Hastie. "We had trouble enough to get his
arms away from him, and we should look pretty fools to give them
back again. But if it's excitement the gentleman is after, I can
supply him with more than perhaps he cares about. For I have no
intention to spend the remainder of my life in these mountains;
already I have been too long; and I propose that he should
immediately tell us where that treasure is, or else immediately be
shot. And there," says he, producing his weapon, "there is the
pistol that I mean to use."

"Come, I call you a man," cries the Master, sitting up and looking
at the speaker with an air of admiration.

"I didn't ask you to call me anything," returned Hastie; "which is
it to be?"

"That's an idle question," said the Master. "Needs must when the
devil drives. The truth is we are within easy walk of the place,
and I will show it you to-morrow."

With that, as if all were quite settled, and settled exactly to his
mind, he walked off to his tent, whither Secundra had preceded him.

I cannot think of these last turns and wriggles of my old enemy
except with admiration; scarce even pity is mingled with the
sentiment, so strongly the man supported, so boldly resisted his
misfortunes. Even at that hour, when he perceived himself quite
lost, when he saw he had but effected an exchange of enemies, and
overthrown Harris to set Hastie up, no sign of weakness appeared in
his behaviour, and he withdrew to his tent, already determined (I
must suppose) upon affronting the incredible hazard of his last
expedient, with the same easy, assured, genteel expression and
demeanour as he might have left a theatre withal to join a supper
of the wits. But doubtless within, if we could see there, his soul
trembled.

Early in the night, word went about the camp that he was sick; and
the first thing the next morning he called Hastie to his side, and
inquired most anxiously if he had any skill in medicine. As a
matter of fact, this was a vanity of that fallen divinity
student's, to which he had cunningly addressed himself. Hastie
examined him; and being flattered, ignorant, and highly auspicious,
knew not in the least whether the man was sick or malingering. In
this state he went forth again to his companions; and (as the thing
which would give himself most consequence either way) announced
that the patient was in a fair way to die.

"For all that," he added with an oath, "and if he bursts by the
wayside, he must bring us this morning to the treasure."

But there were several in the camp (Mountain among the number) whom
this brutality revolted. They would have seen the Master
pistolled, or pistolled him themselves, without the smallest
sentiment of pity; but they seemed to have been touched by his
gallant fight and unequivocal defeat the night before; perhaps,
too, they were even already beginning to oppose themselves to their
new leader: at least, they now declared that (if the man was sick)
he should have a day's rest in spite of Hastie's teeth.

The next morning he was manifestly worse, and Hastie himself began
to display something of humane concern, so easily does even the
pretence of doctoring awaken sympathy. The third the Master called
Mountain and Hastie to the tent, announced himself to be dying,
gave them full particulars as to the position of the cache, and
begged them to set out incontinently on the quest, so that they
might see if he deceived them, and (if they were at first
unsuccessful) he should be able to correct their error.

But here arose a difficulty on which he doubtless counted. None of
these men would trust another, none would consent to stay behind.
On the other hand, although the Master seemed extremely low, spoke
scarce above a whisper, and lay much of the time insensible, it was
still possible it was a fraudulent sickness; and if all went
treasure-hunting, it might prove they had gone upon a wild-goose
chase, and return to find their prisoner flown. They concluded,
therefore, to hang idling round the camp, alleging sympathy to
their reason; and certainly, so mingled are our dispositions,
several were sincerely (if not very deeply) affected by the natural
peril of the man whom they callously designed to murder. In the
afternoon, Hastie was called to the bedside to pray: the which
(incredible as it must appear) he did with unction; about eight at
night, the wailing of Secundra announced that all was over; and
before ten, the Indian, with a link stuck in the ground, was
toiling at the grave. Sunrise of next day beheld the Master's
burial, all hands attending with great decency of demeanour; and
the body was laid in the earth, wrapped in a fur robe, with only
the face uncovered; which last was of a waxy whiteness, and had the
nostrils plugged according to some Oriental habit of Secundra's.
No sooner was the grave filled than the lamentations of the Indian
once more struck concern to every heart; and it appears this gang
of murderers, so far from resenting his outcries, although both
distressful and (in such a country) perilous to their own safety,
roughly but kindly endeavoured to console him.

But if human nature is even in the worst of men occasionally kind,
it is still, and before all things, greedy; and they soon turned
from the mourner to their own concerns. The cache of the treasure
being hard by, although yet unidentified, it was concluded not to
break camp; and the day passed, on the part of the voyagers, in
unavailing exploration of the woods, Secundra the while lying on
his master's grave. That night they placed no sentinel, but lay
altogether about the fire, in the customary woodman fashion, the
heads outward, like the spokes of a wheel. Morning found them in
the same disposition; only Pinkerton, who lay on Mountain's right,
between him and Hastie, had (in the hours of darkness) been
secretly butchered, and there lay, still wrapped as to his body in
his mantle, but offering above that ungodly and horrific spectacle
of the scalped head. The gang were that morning as pale as a
company of phantoms, for the pertinacity of Indian war (or to speak
more correctly, Indian murder) was well known to all. But they
laid the chief blame on their unsentinelled posture; and fired with
the neighbourhood of the treasure, determined to continue where
they were. Pinkerton was buried hard by the Master; the survivors
again passed the day in exploration, and returned in a mingled
humour of anxiety and hope, being partly certain they were now
close on the discovery of what they sought, and on the other hand
(with the return of darkness) were infected with the fear of
Indians. Mountain was the first sentry; he declares he neither
slept nor yet sat down, but kept his watch with a perpetual and
straining vigilance, and it was even with unconcern that (when he
saw by the stars his time was up) he drew near the fire to awaken
his successor. This man (it was Hicks the shoemaker) slept on the
lee side of the circle, something farther off in consequence than
those to windward, and in a place darkened by the blowing smoke.
Mountain stooped and took him by the shoulder; his hand was at once
smeared by some adhesive wetness; and (the wind at the moment
veering) the firelight shone upon the sleeper, and showed him, like
Pinkerton, dead and scalped.

It was clear they had fallen in the hands of one of those matchless
Indian bravos, that will sometimes follow a party for days, and in
spite of indefatigable travel, and unsleeping watch, continue to
keep up with their advance, and steal a scalp at every resting-
place. Upon this discovery, the treasure-seekers, already reduced
to a poor half dozen, fell into mere dismay, seized a few
necessaries, and deserting the remainder of their goods, fled
outright into the forest. Their fire they left still burning, and
their dead comrade unburied. All day they ceased not to flee,
eating by the way, from hand to mouth; and since they feared to
sleep, continued to advance at random even in the hours of
darkness. But the limit of man's endurance is soon reached; when
they rested at last it was to sleep profoundly; and when they woke,
it was to find that the enemy was still upon their heels, and death
and mutilation had once more lessened and deformed their company.

By this they had become light-headed, they had quite missed their
path in the wilderness, their stores were already running low.
With the further horrors, it is superfluous that I should swell
this narrative, already too prolonged. Suffice it to say that when
at length a night passed by innocuous, and they might breathe again
in the hope that the murderer had at last desisted from pursuit,
Mountain and Secundra were alone. The trader is firmly persuaded
their unseen enemy was some warrior of his own acquaintance, and
that he himself was spared by favour. The mercy extended to
Secundra he explains on the ground that the East Indian was thought
to be insane; partly from the fact that, through all the horrors of
the flight and while others were casting away their very food and
weapons, Secundra continued to stagger forward with a mattock on
his shoulder, and partly because, in the last days and with a great
degree of heat and fluency, he perpetually spoke with himself in
his own language. But he was sane enough when it came to English.

"You think he will be gone quite away?" he asked, upon their blest
awakening in safety.

"I pray God so, I believe so, I dare to believe so," Mountain had
replied almost with incoherence, as he described the scene to me.

And indeed he was so much distempered that until he met us, the
next morning, he could scarce be certain whether he had dreamed, or
whether it was a fact, that Secundra had thereupon turned directly
about and returned without a word upon their footprints, setting
his face for these wintry and hungry solitudes, along a path whose
every stage was mile-stoned with a mutilated corpse.

Robert Louis Stevenson

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