Chapter Seventy
Hounds on our Trail
O God! after us with hounds!
Either after us, or about to be, was the hypothetic form of my conjecture.
I could proceed no farther upon our path till I had become satisfied.
Leaving Aurore among the palmettoes. I ran directly forward to the fence, which was also the boundary of the woods. On reaching this, I grasped the branch of a tree, and swung myself up to such an elevation as would enable me to see over the tops of the cane. This gave me a full view of the house shining under the sun that had now risen in all his splendour.
At a glance I saw that I had guessed aright. Distant as the house was, I could plainly see men around it, many of them on horseback. Their heads were moving above the canes; and now and then the deep bay of hounds told that several dogs were loose about the enclosure. The scene was just as if a party of hunters had assembled before going out upon a deer “drive;” and but for the place, the time, and the circumstances that had already transpired, I might have taken it for such. Far different, however, was the impression it made upon me. I knew well why was that gathering around the house of Gayarre. I knew well the game they were about to pursue. I lingered but a moment upon my perch – long enough to perceive that the hunters were all mounted and ready to start.
With quick-beating pulse I retraced my steps; and soon rejoined my companion, who stood awaiting me with trembling apprehension.
I did not need to tell her the result of my reconnoissance: she read it in my looks. She, too, had heard the baying of the dogs. She was a native, and knew the customs of the land: she knew that hounds were used to hunt deer and foxes and wild-cats of the woods; but she knew also that on many plantations there were some kept for a far different purpose – sleuth-dogs, trained to the hunting of men!
Had she been of slow comprehension, I might have attempted to conceal from her what I had learnt; but she was far from that, and with quick instinct she divined all.
Our first feeling was that of utter hopelessness. There seemed no chance of our escaping. Go where we would, hounds, trained to the scent of a human track, could not fail to follow and find us. It would be of no use hiding in the swamp or the bush. The tallest sedge or the thickest underwood could not give us shelter from pursuers like these.
Our first feeling, then, was that of hopelessness – quickly followed by a half-formed resolve to go no farther, to stand our ground and be taken. We had not death to fear; though I knew that if taken I might make up my mind to some rough handling. I knew the feeling that was abroad in relation to the Abolitionists – at that time raging like a fever. I had heard of the barbarous treatment which some of these “fanatics” – as they were called – had experienced at the hands of the incensed slave-owners. I should no doubt be reckoned in the same category, or maybe, still worse, be charged as a “nigger-stealer.” In any case I had to fear chastisement, and of no light kind either.
But my dread of this was nothing when compared with the reflection that, if taken, Aurore must go back to Gayarre!
It was this thought more than any other that made my pulse beat quickly. It was this thought that determined me not to surrender until after every effort to escape should fail us.
I stood for some moments pondering on what course to pursue. All at once a thought came into my mind that saved me from despair. That thought was of Gabriel the runaway.
Do not imagine that I had forgotten him or his hiding-place all this time. Do not fancy I had not thought of him before. Often, since we had entered the woods, had he and his tree-cave arisen in my memory; and I should have gone there for concealment, but that the distance deterred me. As we intended to return to the Levee Road after sunset, I had chosen the glade for our resting-place, on account of its being nearer.
Even then, when I learnt that hounds would be after us, I had again thought of making for the Bambarra’s hiding-place; but had dismissed the idea, because it occurred to me that the hounds could follow us anywhere, and that, by taking shelter with the runaway, we should only guide his tyrants upon him.
So quick and confused had been all these reflections, that it had never occurred to me that the hounds could not trail us across water. It was only at that moment when pondering how I could throw them off the track – thinking of the snake-charmer and his pine-cones – that I remembered the water.
Sure enough, in that still lay a hope; and I could now appreciate the remarkable cunning with which the lair of the runaway had been chosen. It was just the place to seek refuge from “de dam blood-dogs.”
The moment I thought of it, I resolved to flee thither.
I would be sure to know the way. I had taken especial pains to remember it; for even on the day of my snake-adventure, some half-defined thoughts – something more like a presentiment than a plan – had passed through my mind, vaguely pointing to a contingency like the present. Later events, and particularly my design of escaping to the city at once, had driven these thoughts out of my mind. For all that, I still remembered the way by which the Bambarra had guided me, and could follow it with hurried steps – though there was neither road nor path, save the devious tracks made by cattle or the wild animals of the forest.
But I was certain I knew it well. I should remember the signs and “blazes” to which the guide had called my attention. I should remember where it crossed the “big bayou” by the trunk of a fallen tree that served as a foot-bridge. I should remember where it ran through a strip of marsh impassable for horses, through the cane-brake, among the great knees and buttocks of the cypresses, down to the edge of the water. And that huge tree, with its prostrate trunk projecting out into the lake, and its moss-wrapped branches – that cunning harbour for the little pirogue – I should be sure to remember.
Neither had I forgotten the signal, by which I was to warn the runaway whenever I should return. It was a peculiar whistle he had instructed me to give, and also the number of times I was to utter it.
I had not waited for all these reflections. Many of them were after-thoughts, that occurred along the way. The moment I remembered the lake, I resolved upon my course; and, with a word of cheer to my companion, we again moved forward.
Chapter Seventy One
The Signal
The change in our plans made no change in the direction. We continued on in the same course. The way to the lake passed by the glade, where we had purposed going – indeed, through the middle of it lay the nearest path to the lair of the runaway.
Not far from the north-east angle of Gayarre’s plantation, was the spot where I had parted with the black on the night of my adventure with him. It was at this point the path entered the woods. The blaze upon a sweet-gum-tree, which I remembered well, showed me the direction. I was but too glad to turn off here, and leave the open woods; the more so that, just as we had reached the turning-point, the cry of the hounds came swelling upon the air, loud and prolonged. From the direction of the sound, I had no doubt but that they were already in the cane-field, and lifting our trail of the preceding night.
For a few hundred yards farther the timber was thin. The axe had been flourished there, as the numerous “stumps” testified. It was there the “firewood” was procured for the use of the plantation, and “cords” of it, already cut and piled, could be seen on both sides of our path. We passed among these with trembling haste. We feared to meet with some of the woodcutters, or the driver of a wood-wagon. Such an encounter would have been a great misfortune; as, whoever might have seen us would have guided our pursuers on the track.
Had I reasoned calmly I would not have felt uneasiness on this head. I might have known, that if the dogs succeeded in tracking us thus far, they would need no direction from either wagoner or wood-chopper. But in the hurry of the moment I did not think of this; and I felt relief when we had passed through the tract of broken woods, and were entering under the more sombre shadow of the virgin forest.
It was now a question of time – a question of whether we should be able to reach the lake, summon the Bambarra with his pirogue, and be paddled out of sight, before the dogs should trail us to the edge of the water. Should we succeed in doing so, we should then have a fair prospect of escape. No doubt the dogs would guide our pursuers to the place of our embarkation – the fallen tree – but then both dogs and men would be at fault. That gloomy lake of the woods was a rare labyrinth. Though the open water was a surface of small extent, neither it, nor the island-like motte of timber in its centre, was visible from the place of embarkation; and, besides the lake itself, the inundation covered a large tract of the forest. Even should our pursuers be certain that we had escaped by the water, they might despair of finding us in the midst of such a maze – where the atmosphere at that season of fall foliage had the hue of a dark twilight.
But they would hardly be convinced of our escape in that way. There was no trace left where the pirogue was moored – no mark upon the tree. They would scarce suspect the existence of a canoe in such an out-of-the-way spot, where the water – a mere stagnant pond – had no communication either with the river or the adjacent bayous. We were leaving no tracks – I took care of that – that could be perceived under the forest gloom; and our pursuers might possibly conclude that the dogs had been running upon the trail of a bear, a cougar, or the swamp wild-cat (Lynx rufus) – all of which animals freely take the water when pursued. With such probabilities I was cheering myself and my companion, as we kept rapidly along our course!
My greatest source of apprehension was the delay we should have to make, after giving the signal to the runaway. Would he hear it at once? Would he attend to it in due haste? Would he arrive in time? These were the points about which I felt chiefly anxious. Time was the important consideration; in that lay the conditions of our danger. Oh! that I had thought of this purpose before! – oh! that we had started earlier!
How long would it take our pursuers to come up? I could scarce trust myself to think of a reply to this question. Mounted as they were, they would travel faster than we: the dogs would guide them at a run!
One thought alone gave me hope. They would soon find our resting-place of the night; they would see where we had slept by the pawpaw-leaves and the moss; they could not fail to be certain of all that; but would they so easily trail us thence? In our search after the horses, we had tracked the woods in all directions. I had gone back to the bye-road, and some distance along it. All this would surely baffle the dogs for a while; besides, D’Hauteville, at starting, had left the pawpaw thicket by a different route from that we had taken. They might go off on his trail. Would that they might follow D’Hauteville.
All these conjectures passed rapidly through my mind as we hurried along. I even thought of making an attempt to throw the hounds off the scent. I thought of the ruse practised by the Bambarra with the spray of the loblolly pine; but, unfortunately, I could not see any of these trees on our way, and feared to lose time by going in search of one. I had doubts, too, of the efficacy of such a proceeding, though the black had solemnly assured me of it. The common red onion, he had afterwards told me would be equally effective for the like purpose! But the red onion grew not in the woods, and the pin de l’encens I could not find.
For all that I did not proceed without precautions. Youth though I was, I was an old hunter, and had some knowledge of “woodcraft,” gathered in deerstalking, and in the pursuit of other game, among my native hills. Moreover, my nine months of New-world life had not all been passed within city walls; and I had already become initiated into many of the mysteries of the great American forest.
I did not proceed, then, in mere reckless haste. Where precautions could be observed, I adopted them.
A strip of marsh had to be crossed. It was stagnant water, out of which grew flags, and the shrub called “swamp-wood” (Bois de marais). It was knee-deep, and could he waded. I knew this, for I had crossed it before. Hand in hand we waded through, and got safe to the opposite side; but on entering I took pains to choose a place, where we stepped at once from the dry ground into the water. On going out, I observed a like precaution – so that our tracks might not appear in the mud.
Perhaps I should not have taken all this trouble, had I known that, there were “hunters” among those who pursued us. I fancied the crowd I had seen were but planters, or people of the town – hurriedly brought together by Gayarre and his friends. I fancied they might not have much skill in tracking, and that my simple trick might be sufficient to mislead them.
Had I known that at their head was a man, of whom Gabriel had told me much – a man who made negro-hunting his profession, and who was the most noted “tracker” in all the country – I might have saved myself both the time and the trouble I was taking. But I knew not that this ruffian and his trained dogs were after us, and I did my utmost to throw my pursuers off.
Shortly after passing the marsh, we crossed the “big bayou” by means of its tree-bridge. Oh! that I could have destroyed that log, or hurled it from its position. I consoled myself with the idea, that though the dogs might follow us over it, it would delay the pursuers awhile, who, no doubt, were all on horseback.
We now passed through the glade, but I halted not there. We stopped not to look upon its bright flowers – we perceived not their fragrance. Once I had wished to share this lovely scene in the company of Aurore. We were now in its midst, but under what circumstances! What wild thoughts were passing through my brain, as we hurried across this flowery tract under bright sunshine, and then plunged once more into the sombre atmosphere of the woods!
The path I remembered well, and was able to pursue it without hesitancy. Now and then only did I pause – partly to listen, and partly to rest my companion, whose bosom heaved quick and high with the rude exertion. But her glance testified that her courage was firm, and her smile cheered me on.
At length we entered among the cypress-trees that bordered the lake; and, gliding around their massive trunks, soon reached the edge of the water.
We approached the fallen tree; and, climbing up, advanced along its trunk until we stood among its moss-covered branches.
I had provided myself with an instrument – a simple joint of the cane which grew plenteously around, and which with my knife I had shaped after a fashion I had been already taught by the Bambarra. With this I could produce a sound, that would be heard at a great distance off, and plainly to the remotest part of the lake.
Taking hold of the branches, I now bent down, until my face almost touched the surface of the water, and placing the reed to my lips, I gave utterance to the signal.
Chapter Seventy Two
The Sleuth-Hounds
The shrill whistle, pealing along the water, pierced the dark aisles of the forest. It aroused the wild denizens of the lake, who, startled by such an unusual sound, answered it with their various cries in a screaming concert. The screech of the crane and the Louisiana heron, the hoarse hooting of owls, and the hoarser croak of the pelican, mingled together; and, louder than all, the scream of the osprey and the voice of the bald eagle – the last falling upon the ear with sharp metallic repetitions that exactly resembled the filing of saws.
For some moments this commotion was kept up; and it occurred to me that if I had to repeat the signal then it would not have been heard. Shrill as it was, it could scarce have been distinguished in such a din!
Crouching among the branches, we remained to await the result. We made no attempts at idle converse. The moments were too perilous for aught but feelings of extreme anxiety. Now and then a word of cheer – a muttered hope – were all the communications that passed between us.
With earnest looks we watched the water – with glances of fear we regarded the land. On one side we listened for the plashing of a paddle; on the other we dreaded to hear the “howl” of a hound. Never can I forget those moments – those deeply-anxious moments. Till death I may not forget them.
Every thought at the time – every incident, however minute – now rushes into my remembrance, as if it were a thing of yesterday.
I remember that once or twice, away under the trees, we perceived a ripple along the surface of the water. Our hearts were full of hope – we thought it was the canoe.
It was a fleeting joy. The waves were made by the great saurian, whose hideous body – large almost as the pirogue itself – next moment passed before our eyes, cleaving the water with fish-like velocity.
I remember entertaining the supposition that the runaway might not be in his lair! He might be off in the forest – in search of food – or on any other errand. Then the reflection followed – if such were the case, I should have found the pirogue by the tree? Still he might have other landing-places around the lake – on the other side perhaps. He had not told me whether or no, and it was probable enough. These hypothetic conjectures increased my anxiety.
But there arose another, far more dreadful, because far more probable —
The black might be asleep!
Far more probable, because night was his day, and day his night. At night he was abroad, roaming and busy – by day he was at home and slept.
Oh, Heavens! if he should be asleep, and not have heard the signal!
Such was the terrible fancy that rushed across my brain.
I felt suddenly impelled to repeat the signal – though I thought at the time, if my conjecture were correct, there was but little hope he would hear me. A negro sleeps like a torpid bear. The report of a gun or a railway-whistle alone could awake one. There was no chance for a puny pipe like mine – the more especially as the screaming concert still continued.
“Even if he should hear it, he would hardly be able to distinguish the whistle from – Merciful heavens!”
I was speaking to my companion when this exclamation interrupted me. It came from my own lips, but with involuntary utterance. It was called forth by a sound of dread import – a sound that I could hear above the shrill screaming of the birds, and hearing could interpret. It was the trumpet-like baying of a hound!
I stood bent, and listening; I heard it again. There was no mistaking that note. I had the ears of a hunter. I knew the music well.
Oh, how unlike to music then! It fell upon my ears like a cry of vengeance – like a knell of death!
I thought no longer of repeating the signal; even if heard, it would be too late. I flung the reed away, as a useless toy. I drew Aurore along the tree, passing her behind me; and raising myself erect, stood fronting the land.
Again the “gowl” broke out – its loud echoes rolling through the woods – this time so near, that every moment I expected to see the animal that had uttered it.
I had not long to wait. A hundred yards off was a cane-brake. I could perceive a motion among the tall reeds. Their tops swayed to and fro, and their hollow culms rattled against each other, as they were jerked about, and borne downward. Some living thing was pressing through their midst.
The motion reached their verge – the last canes gave way, and I now saw what I had looked for – the spotted body of a hound! With a spring the animal came forth, paused for a moment in the open ground, and then, uttering a prolonged howl, took up the scent, and galloped forward.
Close upon his heels came a second; the waving cane closed behind them, and both ran forward in the direction of the log.
As there was no longer any underwood, I had a full view of their bodies. Gloomy as the place was, I could see them with sufficient distinctness to note their kind – huge, gaunt deer-hounds, black and tan. From the manner of their approach, they had evidently been trained to their work, and that was not the hunting of deer. No ordinary hound would have run upon a human track, as they were running upon ours.
The moment I saw these dogs I made ready for a conflict. Their huge size, their broad heavy jaws, and ferocious looks, told what savage brutes they were; and I felt satisfied they would attack me as soon as they came up.
With this belief I drew forth a pistol; and, laying hold of a branch to steady me, I stood waiting their approach.
I had not miscalculated. On reaching the prostrate trunk, he scarcely made a pause; but, leaping upward, came running along the log. He had dropped the scent, and now advanced with eyes glaring, evidently meditating to spring upon me.
My position could not have been better, had I spent an hour in choosing it. From the nature of the ground, my assailant could neither dodge to the right nor the left; but was compelled to approach me in a line as straight as an arrow. I had nought to do but hold my weapon firm and properly directed. A novice with fire-arms could hardly have missed such an object.
My nerves were strung with anger – a feeling of intense indignation was burning in my breast, that rendered me as firm as steel. I was cool from very passion – at the thought of being thus hunted like a wolf!
I waited until the muzzle of the hound almost met that of the pistol, and then I fired. The dog tumbled from the log.
I saw the other close upon his heels. I aimed through the smoke, and again pulled trigger.
The good weapon did not fail me. Again the report was followed by a plunge.
The hounds were no longer upon the log. They had fallen right and left into the black water below!