CHAPTER XV.
WHAT TOOK PLACE AT MOOSHANNE DURING THE STAY OF ETHELSTON IN GUADALOUPE.—DEPARTURE OF REGINALD FOR THE FAR–WEST.
While the events related in the last two chapters occurred at Guadaloupe, Reginald was busily employed at Mooshanne in completing the preparations for his projected visit to the Delawares, in the Far–west; he had (by putting in practice the instructions given him by War–Eagle respecting Nekimi) at length succeeded in gaining that noble animal’s affection; he neighed at Reginald’s approach, knew and obeyed his voice, fed from his hand, and received and returned his caresses, as he had before done those of his Indian master. It was when mounted on Nekimi that our hero found his spirit most exulting and buoyant; he gave him the rein on the broadest of the neighbouring prairies, and loved to feel the springy fleetness and untiring muscles of this child of the western desert. Sometimes, after a gallop of many miles, he would leap from the saddle, to look with pride and pleasure on the spirited eye, the full veins, the expanded nostril of his favourite; at other times he would ride him slowly through the most tangled and difficult ground, admiring the instinctive and unerring sagacity with which he picked his way.
Among Reginald’s other accomplishments, he had learnt in Germany to play not unskilfully on the horn; and constantly carrying his bugle across his shoulders, Nekimi grew so accustomed to the sound, that he would come to it from any distance within hearing of its call. It appeared to Reginald so probable that the bugle might render him good service on his summer excursion, that he not only practised his horse to it, but he prevailed on Baptiste to learn his various signals, and even to reply on another horn to some of the simplest of them. The honest guide’s first attempts to sound the bugle were ludicrous in the extreme; but he good–humouredly persevered, until Reginald and he could, from a considerable distance, exchange many useful signals agreed upon between them, and of course intelligible to none but themselves. Among these were the following: “Beware!”—“Come to me,”—“Be still,”—“Bring my horse,” and one or two others for hunting purposes, such as “A bear!”—“Buffalo!” To these they added a reply, which was always to signify “I understand.” But if the party called was prevented from obeying, this signal was to be varied accordingly.
At the same time Reginald did not omit to learn from the guide a number of Delaware words and phrases, in order that when he arrived among his new friends he might not be altogether excluded from communication with such of them as should not understand English; in these preparations, and occasional hunts in company with Baptiste, his time would have glided on agreeably enough, had he not observed with anxiety the settled melancholy that was gradually creeping over his sister Lucy. It was in vain that he strove to comfort her by reminding her of the thousand trifling accidents that might have detained Ethelston in the West Indies, and have prevented his letters from reaching home. She smiled upon him kindly for his well–meant endeavours, and not only abstained from all complaint, but tried to take her part in conversation; yet he saw plainly that her cheerfulness was forced, and that secret sorrow was at her heart. She employed herself assiduously in tending her mother, whose health had of late become exceedingly precarious, and who was almost always confined to her apartments. Lucy worked by her side, conversed with her, read to her, and did all in her power to hide from her the grief that possessed her own bosom. Reginald marked the struggle, which strengthened, if possible, the love that he had always felt for his exemplary and affectionate sister.
One day he was sitting with her in the boudoir, which commanded, as we have before observed, a view of the approach to the house, where they saw a horseman coming at full speed. As he drew near, he seemed to be a middle–aged man, wearing a broad–brimmed hat, a coarse over–coat, and loose trowsers; his knees were high up on the saddle, and he rode in so careless and reckless a manner, that it was marvellous how the uncouth rider could remain on his horse in a gallop. Reginald threw open the window; and as the strange–looking figure caught a sight of him, the steed was urged yet faster, and the broad–brimmed hat was waved in token of recognition.
“Now Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Reginald aloud: “’tis Gregson the mate!” He turned towards his sister: the blood had fled from her cheeks and lip, her hands were clasped together, and she whispered, in a voice scarcely articulate, “Heaven be merciful!”