The amulet: A novel

by Charles Egbert Craddock

When the discipline which had prevailed at the outset was somewhat relaxed, and the men at the rowlocks, still pulling steadily down the river, were free to talk in subdued voices, the events of the day were canvassed with much spirit. The personality of various Indians was discussed, certain parties from the upper towns were recognized by soldiers who had seen more than one campaign in this region, the jeopardy of the occasion was argued, individual experiences narrated, threats that had been overheard were repeated, and it was agreed that the ensign’s little party had been in great danger during the progress of the “persuasion”—they all grinned at the word. Then one of the young giants who had performed the feat of abduction, remarked—“But I always feel safe with the ensign. Somehow he allus gits the short cuts.”

“I did too—thin; more fool, me! Begorra, I niver dhramed he was such a blasted babby!”

They giggled at the word, and when their rations were served, it was pleasant to old Mr. Morton and the officers to see such hilarity among the honest fellows. They could not divine the men were badgering the quarter-master-sergeant from time to time to know why no “sago-gruel” or “sugar-sops” had been provided for the nourishment of the “babby” they had in command, and threatening to report the deficiency to Captain Howard.

Raymond had recovered his serenity. He had snatched up the hat of the old missionary, when the mimicking Indian had tossed it on the ground, and now he tenderly helped him to adjust it. As the boat glided on into the sunset waters, enriched with the largess of the sunset sky, and the tranquil evening came on apace, and the shadows leaned far across the western bank, the subjects that allured the old man’s mind reasserted their fascination, and he talked on with placid pleasure of the Hebraic origin of the Indians, their possible identity with the “Lost Tribes,” the curious similarity of certain of their religious observances with the rites of the Mosaic dispensation, and cognate themes, while Raymond punctiliously listened, and Captain Howard dozed and nodded with no more compunction than if he were in church.

CHAPTER XI

Great were the rejoicings at Fort Prince George when the two pettiaugres pulled in with the tidings that as yet the peace of the frontier was unthreatened. The handful of troops that had garrisoned the British fort on the verge of the Cherokee country had endured their exile, the hardships of savage warfare, the peculiar dangers that menaced them, the rude conditions of their environment with a sturdy fortitude, a soldierly courage, and a long patience. But now that their return to the provinces was imminent, preparations under way for the evacuation of the post, marching orders expected by every express, they could scarcely await, day by day, the approaching event. They jealously scanned every current incident lest a reason for a postponement lurk therein; they canvassed every item of news from the Indian country for signs of uprising; they took cognizance of the personal traits of the men of influence among the Cherokees, and in the guard-room and the galleries of the barracks theorized and collogued together on their mischief-making proclivities,—all as these tended to affect the liberation from the wilderness. Some of the soldiers were pathetically pessimistic, and thought death or accident would frustrate their participation in the joyous exodus. “I’m feared something will happen,” one protested. “I’m fairly feared to cross the level parade, lest I fall down on it and break my neck.” And a forlorn wight in hospital, who had known serious wounds, and the torture of the small-pox, and the anguish of a broken limb, suffering now from a touch of malarial fever, earnestly besought the chirurgeon daily to be frank with him and let him know if his early demise would keep him here forever.

Mervyn did not share the general eager anticipation of the return of the expedition, and he deprecated greatly that Raymond should have been at the commandant’s ear before he, himself, should have the opportunity to report the destruction of the granary. That the ensign would make the most of his supposed dereliction in the matter he did not doubt. Since he had regained his composure and recouped his self-esteem by the favorable reception of his suit by Miss Howard, he had begun to realize that he had let his wounded vanity carry him too far in his antagonism toward Raymond. In the vexatious little contretemps on the occasion of the dinner of welcome, when, like an egregious coxcomb, he had seemed to expect that her next words would be a practical avowal of her preference for him, he had detected both divination and ridicule in Raymond’s eyes. But this was an untenable cause of quarrel. He had fallen, instead, upon the omissions of the guard report, and he began to be painfully aware that if Captain Howard knew that this information, on which he had based his report, had come to him merely through the gossip of his groom, he would have received the reprimand instead of Raymond. He was particularly pleasant to Jerrold, with that gracious unbending of the rich and highly placed, as if in the main values of humanity these fortuitous conditions count not at all. But Lieutenant Jerrold was well aware that as officer of the day he had fought the fire and saved the fort in the absence of the acting commander, and he had none of the fine-spun generosities of Raymond’s character to induce him to disregard either a nettling fact or an actual fault. He, too, was bland and inscrutable, and Mervyn could not for his life divine whether Captain Howard would be satisfied with the cursory report of his captain-lieutenant, or would he scan the reports of each tour of service during his absence on the expedition.

To Mervyn’s amazement, the commandant met at the gates of Fort Prince George the first intimation of the burning of the granary, and the spirit in which Captain Howard received it might indicate that he expected to live exclusively on Indian meal for the rest of his life. His quick, keen glance as entering, he paused under the archway of the gate, taking a cursory view of the whole place, fell upon a vacancy where the gable of the granary used to show from over the sheds of the stables. His eyes widened, the blood surged up into his cheek, he stepped forward two paces.

“My God!” he cried. “Where’s the granary, Mervyn?”

The face of the captain-lieutenant flushed. Jerrold and Innis were both standing by, and it was indeed hard that through no fault of his he should be put at so gross a disadvantage.