“Seize upon Oolenoe. Suffer him not to escape you.”
At that moment, the keen, quick glance of the lieutenant beheld the rapid bounds of the savage, as he made for the cover of the neighboring thicket. His orders were instantly given. A dozen bodies instantly sprang forward in pursuit—a dozen matchlocks were lifted in deadly aim, but the lithe savage doubling like a hare, bounding forward, now squat, and seeming to fly along the surface of the ground like a lapwing, stealthy in every movement as a cat, as swift and agile,—succeeded in gaining the woods, though the carbines rang with their volley, and, throwing down their weapons, a score of the light-limbed Frenchmen started in the chase. A wild warwhoop followed the discharge of the pieces, declaring equally the defiance and disdain of the savage. The pursuit was idle, as a few seconds enabled him to find shelter in a morass, which the inexperienced Europeans knew not how to penetrate. Alphonse D’Erlach recalled his men from pursuit, fearing lest they might fall into an ambush, in which, wasting their ammunition against invisible enemies, they would only incur the risk of total destruction. He prepared to confront the stranger, whose first appearance had been productive of such a startling occurrence. Le Genré, meanwhile, had paused in his progress. He no longer rushed forward like a maniac; but satisfied with having given the impulse to the pursuit of Oolenoe, and apparently conscious of how much was startling in his appearance, he now stood beside a pine which overhung the path, one hand resting against the mighty shaft, as if from fatigue, while from the other his couteau de chasse now drooped, its sharp extremity pointing to the ground.
His appearance thus indicated a pacific disposition; but remembering his ancient treacheries only, and suspicious of his relations with Oolenoe, D’Erlach approached him with caution, as if to the encounter with an enemy. As he drew nigh, followed by his band, Le Genré addressed them with mournful accents.
“Is there no faith for me hereafter, mes amis? Am I forever cut off from the communion with my comrades? Shall there be no fellowship between us, D’Erlach? Shall we not forget the past—shall I not be forgiven for my crime, even when I repent it in bitterness and bloody tears. Behold, my brother—I proffer you the last assurance.”
These words were accompanied by a sign, that of the mystic brotherhood—the ancient masons—which none but a few of the party beheld or comprehended. The weapon of Alphonse D’Erlach was dropped instantly, and his hand extended. He, too, belonged to the ancient order, and the security which was guaranteed by the exhibition of its token, on the part of the offender, served, when all other pleas would have failed, to secure him sympathy and protection.
“I have sinned, Alphonse—I know it—beyond forgiveness—sinned like a madman; but I have borne the penalty. Seldom has human sinner suffered from mental penalty, as I from mine. Behold me! look I longer human? I have taken up my covert with the wild beasts of the desert, and they fly from my presence as from a savage more fearful than any they know. In my own desperation I have had no fears. I have herded with beast and reptile, and longed for their hostility. I have lived through all, though I craved not to live, and the food which would have choked or poisoned the man not an outcast from communion with his fellows, has kept me strong, with a cruel vitality that has increased by suffering. The crude berries of the wood, the indigestible roots of the earth, I have devoured with a hideous craving; and, in the griefs and privations of my body, my mind has been purged of its impurities. I have seen my sin in its true colors—my folly, my vicious passions, the wretch that I was—the miserable outlaw and destitute that I am! That I repent of the crimes that I have done and sought to do, is the good fruit of this bitter on which I have rather preyed than fed. I wrote to Laudonniere of my sorrow and repentance, but he refused to hear me. Bourdet I sought, that he might take me once more to France; but he too dreaded communion with me; and when I rushed into his boat, he only bore me to the opposite shore of the river, and set me down to the exploration of new forests, and the endurance of new tortures. I blame them not, that they would not believe me—that they refused faith in one who had violated all faith before—that, equally due to his God and to his sovereign. Oh! brother, do not you drive me from you also!”
And the miserable outlaw clasped his hands passionately together in entreaty, with a face wild with woe and despair, and would have fallen prostrate in humiliation before his comrades, if the arm of Alphonse D’Erlach had not sustained him.
“But what of this savage, Oolenoe!” demanded the lieutenant, when the first burst of grief had subsided from the lips of Le Genré.
“Ah! you know that I have been the prisoner to this savage, and to the very comrades of my sin. For this I have pursued you hither. While you march onward to snares such as the savages of Potanou have provided for you by means of this Oolenoe, treachery is busy and successful at La Caroline.”