Hardscrabble; or, the fall of Chicago: a tale of Indian warfare

by Major Richardson

CHAPTER VII.

Leaving the little party in the dismay occasioned by their new position, and that at a moment when they believed themselves secured from further interruption or danger, we must now return to the Fort, where their long-continued absence, coupled with the startling tidings conveyed by Ephraim Giles, had created equal anxiety and apprehension.

It will be recollected that during the examination of the latter, Ensign Ronayne had, after communicating with the commanding officer, suddenly departed across the river, taking with him a few armed men. The destination of this little party was the cottage occupied by Mrs. Heywood and her daughter, who, with a woman servant, were the sole occupants of a dwelling, simple in construction, but decorated, both within and without, by the hand of good taste. It was a low, one-storied building, painted white, with green window-blinds and shutters, and a verandah of trellis work of the same color, that extended a few feet square round the principal entrance. On either side, rose to the roof, on parallel lines, and at equal distances, cords of strong twine, on which already had began to interlace themselves, the various parasites indigenous to the soil, which winter had robbed of their freshness, but which a southern sun was now evidently vivifying and re-invigorating. A small garden of about half-an-acre, surrounded by a similar trellis-work, extended equally in front, and on the sides of the house—while the graceful form given to the various beds, and the selection of the plants and flowers, which, although still in their dormant state, were yet recognizable—testified the refined taste of those who had assisted at their culture. The pathway, which was recently gravelled from the adjacent sand-hills, ran in a straight line from the verandah, toward the little green gate, opening on the front of the garden, took a semi-circular sweep on either side, at about one-third of the distance from the gate. This form had been given to it for the purpose of affording room for the creation of a mound, on the summit of which had been placed a small summer-house, octagon in shape, and constructed of the same description of trellis-work. The sloping sides of the mound itself, were profusely covered with dahlias, rhododendrons, geraniums, and other plants of the most select kind—the whole forming, when in bloom, a circle of floral magnificence. A short and narrow path, just large enough to admit of the passage of one person at a time, led to the entrance of the summer-house, which, facing the gate, was also shaded from the light and heat of the sun's rays, by closely interlacing vines.

At the bottom of this artificial mound, and near the pathway, a small spud, such as is used for pruning, was stuck into some earth, newly drawn round a splendid tiger lily, and on the handle of the spud, were loosely thrown a white silk jacket, a blue velvet cap, and a light pink scarf—evidencing that no ordinary gardener had been that day employed in bringing into new life the gorgeous beauties of the variegated parterre.

“Little did I think,” mused the young officer, as, leaving his party at the gate, and hastening towards the cottage, his eye fell upon those articles of dress—“little did I imagine when I threw off these things a few hours since, to obey a summons to the Fort, that on my return to them, it would be with this heavy heart, and as the bearer of these tidings—but I must be cautious in my disclosure. Dear girl, here she is!”

“Why, Ronayne, what in the name of Heaven is the meaning of all this? Are you here to take the castle by storm, with all these armed warriors? A few hours since you were a man of peace, and now I behold in you a most approved and valiant knight of the true American school. Sword, cap, feather, epaulet, blue broad-cloth, and silver. Well it must be confessed that you are not a bad imitation of a soldier, in that garb, and it is in pity to me, I suppose, that you do not wear it oftener. But seriously, Harry, do satisfy my curiosity, and tell me the reason of this unusual—manner of visit!”

The question was asked playfully, but in tones replete with sweetness, by a tall and elegantly-formed girl, who on turning the further circle of the walk, in her approach to her favorite flower-bed, had for the first time, beheld the young officer, and the party stationed at the gate.

“Nay, dear Maria,” returned the youth, deeply grieved at the thought of casting a gloom over the spirits of her who thus rallied him. “I am sorry to say my errand is not one of mere parade—I have come to announce that which will give you pain; and but that I am charged with the agreeable duty of making you a prisoner, I never should have had the courage to be the bearer of the intelligence.”

Miss Heywood turned very pale, less at the words even than at the manner of the young officer, who it was evident, felt all the weight of the task he had undertaken.

“Ronayne,” she said, her voice suddenly assuming a rich melancholy of intonation, in strange contrast with her first address, “there is more in this than you would acquaint me with. But, tell me,” and she fixed her large dark eyes on his—“tell me all. What pain is it you fear to occasion me, and how is it connected with my being a prisoner? Ha!” and she grasped his arm, and betrayed deep agitation—“surely nothing in my father's conduct—”