The lost hunter: A tale of early times

by John Turvill Adams

"It is as I supposed," he said. "He must have a run of fever, and what the result may be, no mortal man can divine. Let us hope for the best, while prepared for the worst."

Faith, from the moment she was permitted, was assiduous by the bed-side of her father. The delusion with respect to Holden, which had taken possession of him, whom, while continuing to recognize as his brother, George, he would not believe was alive, fancying it was his spirit, extended itself after a time to his daughter, whom also he believed to be dead. So far as could be gathered from the disjointed utterances that escaped him, he supposed that his own spirit was trying to escape from the body, and that the spirits of his brother and daughter had been sent to comfort and assist him.

Thus tossing and tumbling on a heated bed, which the delicious breath of June, streaming through the open windows, could not cool for him, passed nine long wretched days, during which the confinement of both Holden and Faith was almost incessant, for whenever either moved from the bed or made a motion as if to leave the room, Armstrong would intreat them, in the most touching tones and pathetic language, which neither the brother's nor daughter's heart could withstand, not to leave him, for he was just then ready, only one more struggle was necessary, and he should be free. And besides carrying into his insanity a habit, of which we have spoken, he would insist on holding their hands. The touch of their heavenly bodies, he said, sent a sensation of roses and lilies through his earthly body; they refined him and attracted him upward, and he was sure he had sometimes risen a little way into the air. "O!" he would exclaim, "I never knew before, how much flowers resemble spirits. They smile and laugh alike, and their voices are very similar."

On the tenth day the fever abated, and Armstrong gradually fell into a long, deep sleep. So long, so profound was the slumber that the attendants about his bed feared that it might be one from which there was no awaking. But the orders of the doctor, who, at the crisis was present the whole time, were peremptory that the patient should not be disturbed, but Nature allowed, in her own way, to work out her beneficent purposes. Armstrong then slept many, many hours, in that still and darkened room, while attentive ears were listening to the deeper drawn breath, and anxious eyes watching the slightest change of countenance.

At last he awoke, and the first word he spoke, so low, that even in the hushed chamber it was scarcely audible, was, "Faith." A smile of wonderful sweetness illuminated his face, as he tried to extend his hand, white as the snowy coverlet on which it rested, toward her, but so weak was he, that only a motion of the fingers could be perceived. Faith, through the tears which fell upon the hand she covered with kisses, could mark the light of returned intelligence, and her heart swelled with an almost overpowering emotion.

"O, doctor," she said, turning to Elmer, "say he is safe."

"I hope so," answered Elmer, "but control yourself. I forbid all agitation."

The life of Armstrong, for some days longer, vibrated in the balance. So excessive was the weakness consequent upon the tremendous excitement through which he had passed, that sometimes it appeared hardly possible that nature could sufficiently rally, to bring the delicate machinery again into healthy action. But stealing slowly along, insensibly, the gracious work went on, until one day the anxious daughter had the happiness to hear from the lips of the doctor that her father was out of danger.

It seems a strange thing, but so it is, that the events of the dreadful day, when, as if by a heavenly interposition, his hand had been arrested when raised to take away the life of his daughter, and also of the time when he lay insane upon his bed, were blotted completely from the memory of Armstrong. The scratches of a school-boy on a slate were never more perfectly erased by a wet sponge. All his conduct proves this. When he beheld his brother after the return of reason, he addressed him as Mr. Holden, and never, in conversation with any one, did he make allusion to his aberration of mind. Nor during the short period while he remained on earth, did he know of his conduct on the banks of the Wootúppocut. The secret was confined to the bosoms of a few, and it was mutually agreed that it was wisest it should be concealed.

It was not until the health of Armstrong seemed completely restored that his brother, in the presence of his son and of Faith, disclosed his relationship. He had made it known before to his son, to whom, as well as to his father, we must, for the brief period our acquaintance with them continues, give their true name of Armstrong. It may well be conceived, that young Armstrong had no objections to recognize in the lovely Faith a cousin, nor was she unwilling to find a relative in the amiable and intelligent young man.