CHAPTER XI
A NIGHT IN THE BOAT
This was one of many nights we passed in the narrow confines of the boat during our flight northward. Yet its incidents remain in memory with peculiar distinctness of detail. I do not recall exactly how it occurred, but my duty during that first night chanced to place me at the after oar. In consequence I sat directly facing Madame de Noyan, operating the rudder bar. It was so warm, merely a delicate, fragrant breeze blowing from the south, she had felt no necessity for drawing up her hood, and the soft light of distant stars, glimmering along the bosom of the river, reflected back into her face, illumining it until I could almost note the changing expression within her dark eyes.
It was a sadder, graver face than the one I associated with her girlhood. Yet I could scarce forbear an impression that it was now a sweeter one, more womanly, faint lines beginning to mark its satin smoothness with impress of sorrow. To my thought a new, higher womanhood had found birth within, during weary days and nights of suspense and suffering. It was yet torture to me constantly beholding these two together, but, as I observed her then, I thanked the good God who had permitted me to be near her in time of trial. In patience I would serve, even though I must suffer. Tears were clinging to her long lashes, and occasionally one would glitter an instant upon her white cheek, as she leaned her face upon one hand, from which the loose sleeve fell away, revealing an arm like chiselled marble. She made no effort at concealing these evidences of emotion, doubtless believing them sufficiently hidden by the gloomy shadows. Nor did she appear to glance at me, keeping her own gaze directly ahead, where the dark, swirling waters merged into the mystery of the North.
We were none of us in talkative mood—although I heard De Noyan, behind me, humming a light French air, as though perfectly free from trouble—and I have no recollection of exchanging a word for more than an hour. We merely continued to pull sturdily against the downward rush of the stream, the deep silence of the night broken only by the dripping of uplifted blades, or the occasional far-off hooting of an owl upon the bank to our left. The pressure of the river's current was scarcely perceptible close against the shore, so we made fair progress. Yet it was hard work, neither of us being accustomed to such exercise, the heavy oars feeling awkward to the hand. The grim uncertainty of the future, coupled with our solitary surroundings, exercised a depressing influence upon the spirits of each, although differing widely in degree, according to our several natures. Undoubtedly this same sense of dreariness led De Noyan to sing, caused me such painful restlessness under that same singing, and left Eloise saddened in her lonely thoughts.
Every occurrence impressed me that night as unusual. Perchance this was because both heart and head were sadly out of tune. Yet, at best, it was a lonesome journey, and remains a grewsome memory, haunting with many a spectre, as weird as the shadows of delirium. The few stars, peeping shyly forth between scurrying black cloud masses, were so far away they merely silvered the cloud edges, leaving them as though carven from granite. The low shore, often within reach of our oar blades, appeared gloomy and inhospitable, the spectral rushes creeping far out upon the water like living things, seeming to grasp after us as the wind swept them, and we glided past in phantom silence. Beyond, like a great black wall, arose higher ground, occasionally jutting into bare bluffs outlined against the lighter sky; again diversified by gaunt dead trees, their fleshless limbs extended upward toward ghostly pillars of vapor ever floating from off the river's surface. Occasionally, jaggedly uneven, close-set trunks of forest growth would appear, spectral in solemn ugliness, a veritable hedge, impenetrable and grim.
If, with a shudder of disgust, I turned away from that lorn, dead line of shore, my eyes swept a waste of waters slipping solemnly past, while farther out, where sky and stream met and mingled in wild riot, the surging river swirled and leaped, its white-capped waves evidencing resistless volume. It was a sight to awe one, that immense mass pouring forth from the upper darkness, flashing an instant beneath the star-gleam, only to disappear, a restless, relentless flood, black, unpitying, impenetrable, mysterious, a savage monster, beyond whose outstretched claws we crept, yet who at any moment might clutch us helpless in a horrible embrace. It was a sight to stun, that brutal flood, gliding ever downward, while, far as eye could see, stretched the same drear expanse of cruel waters.
From out that mystery would suddenly emerge, rolling toward us, as if born of the shadows, some grim apparition, a wildly tossing figure, with gaunt, uplifted arms beating the air, to startle for an instant, then fade from our ken into the dimness below. Well I knew it was only driftwood, the gnarled trunk of uprooted tree made sport with by mad waves, yet more than once I shrank backward, my unstrung nerves tingling, as such shapeless, uncanny thing was hurled past like an arrow. Nor were the noises that broke the silence less fearsome. Bred to the wilderness, I little minded loneliness when in the depths of the backwoods, but this was different. I cared nothing for the honk of wild fowl overhead, nor those sounds of varied animal life borne to us from off the black land; but that strange, dull roar, caused by great logs grinding together in the swirl of the current, and the groaning of bits of undermined shore as they gave way and dropped heavily into the water, racked my nerves.
The peace I found lay in that sweet face, turned partially away, yet appearing fairer than ever beneath the protecting hood, drawn up as the night air grew chill. Whether similar sense of strangeness and timidity rested upon her, I could not determine, yet I believed her thoughts so far away that our present surroundings were no more to her than the vaguest dream. She scarcely stirred during all the hours I watched her; only once did she glance up, to smile as she met my eyes before I could withdraw them from her face. Had she read aright their message, perchance this story might never have been written; yet purer, truer love no man ever gave to woman. We must have continued thus, pulling silently, for hours before De Noyan broke the oppressive silence with impatient speech. Indeed, not the least impressive feature of the grewsome night was his continued stillness.
"Le Diable!" he exclaimed uneasily, shifting in his seat. "If the Styx be more gloomy than this accursed stream, then Jesu pity its voyagers. Never have I put in so miserable a night, to say nothing of a strained back, and a pair of sore hands. What are those black, crawling things yonder? Mon Dieu! I have seen a thousand hideous demons since we left the cane."