"I will wait your pleasure," observed Oliver, smiling at the other's hesitation.
"It is useless," said Durand, "for me to feign a gaiety I do not feel. I feel more like weeping than laughing. The mere idea of this long, perhaps eternal, separation makes my heart bleed. I think that the hand now in mine I shall never shake again."
"Don't be downhearted. Perhaps we may meet sooner than either of us expect," retorted Oliver.
"I hope you may be a true prophet. Still I cannot help shuddering at the thought of your starting off amidst people whose language you do not even know."
"There you are mistaken," responded Oliver; "as well as French, I speak English, Spanish, and Dutch, with about five Indian dialects, which I picked up at different times."
"It is a wonder," mused the other, "that, placed as you have been, you should have had the time."
"Before I became a cabin boy I could read and write a little. After a time I spent every moment of leisure in study."
"I remember," sighed Durand, "I never met you without you were reading. What will you do for books now?"
"What book is more interesting than that in which God has written on the plains, on the mountains, on the minutest blade of grass?" replied Oliver with enthusiasm. "Believe me, my friend, the sacred book of Nature has pages too interesting to ever weary us; from them you always find consolation, hope, encouragement. But," he added with a smile, "I have two books with me which, in my opinion, epitomise all great human thoughts, make man better, and even restore his courage, when bowed down by the heavy weight of misfortune. I have these books by heart, and yet I read them over again."
And he laid on the table two books bound in black morocco.
"What!" cried the amazed captain, "'The Imitation of Jesus Christ' and 'Montaigne'!"
"Yes. 'The Imitation of Jesus Christ' and 'Montaigne,' the most complete and sincere books ever written, for they tell the story of doubt and belief. They tell the rival story of all the philosophers who have existed since the creation of the world. With these two books and the magnificent spectacle of Nature around me have I not a whole library?"
"I cannot make you out. You overwhelm me," said the captain; "but I have not the courage to contradict you. You are too much for me. Go forth, seek the unknown, for alone that will comprehend you. You are one of those whom adversity purifies and renders great; you will often feel inclined to fall by the way in the gigantic combat you are about to undertake against the world. But fail is not a word in your dictionary. Even death, when it comes, will not conquer you."
"All the more that death is but a transformation, a purification of brutal matter by Divine agency. But," he remarked with a smile, "I think we are talking about very serious matters very foreign to our subject. Let us return to business, for the hour of our departure is rapidly approaching."
At this moment the tramp of horses was heard, and the captain again ran to the window.
"Hilloa!" cried the young man; "Another of your mysterious walks! Do explain yourself."
"All right," he replied, reseating himself, "there is no reason for circumlocution between friends. The truth must be told. I had hoped to lend you money, and I know that had you have required it, you would have borrowed it."
"Certainly, without hesitation, my friend."
"Of course, as I find you are very much better off than myself, I withdraw the proposition; but I had already provided your outfit."
"What can you mean? Provided my outfit!"
"Yes! I mean to say that there is not a single thing required for your journey that is not ready. Look!"
And both rising, the captain opened the parcels which had been left on a side table.
"Look here," said the captain; "this is a real Kentucky rifle, the only gun fit for a hunter; I have tried it. This is a ball pouch, with mould and everything necessary to make others when needed; this is your powder horn, which is full, while here are two small canisters to replenish with; this is a 'necessary,' as we sailors call it, containing spoon, fork, cup, knife, and other trifles; this is a leather belt; this is a game bag, with gaiters, riding boots, a cloak, and four rugs."
"My dear friend," said Oliver, deeply moved, "you have been ruining yourself."
"Get out of that and wait a little longer. As you seriously wish to adopt savage life, at all events you must be rigged out accordingly," he added, laughing. "This is a hunting knife, which you put in your belt; these pistols are to be placed in the holsters; that sword is perhaps one of the best cavalry swords I have ever seen. What, more! Oh, yes. This portmanteau, which is neither too large nor too small, in which you will find shirts and other necessaries. Then some pipes, tobacco, flint and steel, and a dozen boxes of preserves, in case you may someday be short of provisions. I think, on my honour, that is all. No, I had forgotten: paper, pens, ink, and pencils. And now my watch as a last remembrance."
"This I must refuse. Your watch is too useful to yourself."
"My friend, every time you look at it you will think of me," said the captain.
And the two Frenchmen embraced.
"I accept," replied Oliver, with deep emotion.
"Now I know," continued the captain, "you are really my friend; and now let me see you dressed up as a true traveller, while I put the other things back into their parcels."
"But before I don my new prairie costume, I have something else to buy," cried Oliver.
"What!" cried the captain, "I thought surely I had forgotten nothing."
"Do you think, my dear friend, that I am going to carry all this on my back. I don't want to look like a comic Robinson Crusoe, and, besides, it is more than I could do. I must have a horse."
The captain burst out laughing.
"Look out of window, my dear friend," he said, "and then you shall decide whether or not I forgot anything."
Oliver approached the window, and saw two magnificent horses admirably caparisoned.
"What do you think of those animals?" asked the captain.
"They are both splendid; above all, the black one a true horse of the prairies a mustang."
"You seem to know all about it."
"I have seen them often enough," replied the young man; "the owner of this one should be proud."
"It is yours," said Durand.
"What do you mean?"
"I bought it for you," was the simple reply.
"Pierre! Pierre! I repeat, you are ruined."
"Hush; I may as well add that under the saddles I have placed double pockets, which contain many things I have forgotten."
"But there are two horses," he cried.
"One for you and one for myself. At all events, I must see you fairly on your way."
Oliver made no reply, but turned away to dress in order to hide his emotion. When he was in full costume his friend burst out laughing, and told him he looked like a Calabrian bandit.
"And now which way do we go?" asked the captain.
"Straight forward," replied Oliver.
"Yes," cried the captain, "just so, as you are going round the world."
In two hours, after a hearty and warm shake of the hand, they parted. They were too deeply moved to speak.
CHAPTER II.
SAMUEL DICKSON GIVES ADVICE TO HIS BROTHER
On the same day on which the Patriot anchored in the Bay of Massachusetts an interesting event took place between seven and eight in the morning in a pretty village named Northampton, at no great distance from Boston.
Everybody was excited. A crowd of men, women, and children pressed around a number of waggons, each drawn by six horses. They stood in front of a brick house, the only inn of the village. Four magnificent saddle horses, with very handsome harness, were held by a young intelligent-looking Negro, who at the same time smoked a short pipe.
The crowd was very excited, but very decorous and quiet as a New England crowd always is waiting simply for an explanation.
Suddenly the sharp trot of a horse was heard at the entrance of the street. This served to create a new sensation in the crowd.
"Samuel Dickson!" cried the people; "At last he has come. Now he will make them listen to reason."
The new arrival was a man of middle age, with a pleasant countenance, delicate and intelligent features, clothed in the dress of a rich farmer, and in those parts was looked up to as a most important individual.
He made his way carefully through the crowd, bowing on either hand, and rather puzzled at the ovation he was receiving.
"Ah! Ah! That is you, massa," said a Negro, with a chuckle, as he approached the inn door.
"Sandy, is that you? Then I suppose the others are inside," he remarked, as he dismounted and handed him the bridle.
"Yes, Massa Samuel, dem all dere."
"I am glad of it," he replied, "for I have come a long way to see them. Look after my horse, he is rather fresh."
Then, bowing once more to the crowd, Samuel Dickson entered the inn, closing the door behind him.
In a large and comfortable room six persons, two women and four men, were seated at one of those copious breakfasts which are never seen to such perfection as in America. Upon benches round the room sat about twenty persons in a humbler station in life, amongst others two coloured young women, who were eating from bowls and plates placed on their knees.
Those at the table were the members of the family father, mother, daughter, and three sons. Those around were the servants.
Joshua Dickson, the head of the family, was in reality a man of fifty-five, not, however, looking more than forty. He was a man of rude manners, but frank, honest expression. He was six feet high, as powerful as Hercules, a true type of those hardy pioneers who opened up the forests of the New World, drove back the Indians, and founded stations in the desert, which in time became rich and flourishing towns.
His sons were named Harry, Sam, and Jack, aged respectively thirty, twenty-eight, and twenty-six. They were all three as tall as their father, and about as Herculean true Americans, with no thought of the past, only looking to the future.
Susan Dickson, the mother of this trio of giants, was a woman of about fifty small, elegant, but extremely active, with delicate features and a pre-possessing physiognomy. She looked much younger than she really was thanks to her really admirable complexion and the singular brightness of her eyes. She must have been rarely beautiful in her youth.
Diana, the child of her old age, as she loved to call her, was scarcely sixteen, was the idol of the family, the guardian angel of the fireside; her father and brothers actually worshipped her. It was something wonderful to see their rude natures bending like reeds before the slightest wish of this delicate child, and obeying her most fantastic orders without a murmur.
Diana was a charming brunette, with blue and dreamy eyes, slight and flexible form; she was pale; a look of profound melancholy was to be remarked on her countenance, giving to her physiognomy that angelic expression rarely found except in the Madonnas of Titien. This sadness, which all the family saw with sorrow, had only been in existence a few days. When questioned on the subject, even by her mother, she had no answer to give.
"It is nothing at all," she said, "only a slight feeling of sickness, which will soon pass away."
Hearing this, all had ceased to question her, though all felt uneasy, and slightly annoyed at her reticence. Still, as she was the spoiled child of the family, no one had the heart to blame her or pester her with questions. They had seduced her to govern them unquestioned that it appeared hard now to want to curb her will.
The entrance of the stranger into the hall where the emigrants were breakfasting like persons who knew the value of time, caused no small stir; they ceased eating, and, glancing at one another, whispered amongst themselves. The stranger, leaning on his riding whip, looked at them with an odd kind of smile.
The chief of the family, though himself somewhat surprised, was the first to recover himself. He rose, held out his hand, and spoke in what he intended should be a jovial tone. The attempt was a failure.
"My good brother," he said, "this is indeed a surprise. I really did not expect to see you; but sit down beside my wife and have some breakfast."
"Thank you; I am not hungry."
"Then excuse me if I finish my meal," continued the emigrant.
"Brother," presently said Samuel, "for a man of your age you are acting in an extraordinary manner."
"I don't think so," replied the other.
"Let me ask you where are you going?"
"Northward, to the great lakes."
"What is the meaning of this?"
"My friend, I am told there is good land to be had but for the taking."
"May I ask who put this silly idea in your head?"
"No one. It is a splendid country, with splendid forests, water in abundance, a delicious climate, though rather cold, and land for nothing."
"Have you seen this beautiful country?"
"No; but I know all about it."
"Do you?" sneered the other; "Well, beware of the creeks."
"Never you fear. Wherever there is water there are bridges."
"Of course; and now may I ask, what have you done with your magnificent southern property?" the other asked.
"I have sold it, slaves and all, keeping only such as were willing to follow me. I brought away all that could travel my wife, my sons, my daughter, my furniture, my horses, all I wanted."
"May I without offence ask you this question: Were you not very well where you were? Did you not find the land excellent?"
"I was well off, and the land was excellent."
"Were you unable to sell your produce?"
"I had an admirable market," was the answer.
"Then," cried Samuel, angrily, "what in the devil's name do you mean by giving it up and going to a land where you will find nothing but wild beasts, brutal savages, and a hard and rigorous climate?"
The bold adventurer, driven into his last intrenchment, made no reply, only scratching his head in search of a reply. His wife here interfered.
"What is the use," she said, smiling, "asking for reasons which do not exist? Joshua is going for the love of change nothing more. All our lives, as you well know, we have been roaming hither and thither. As soon as we are once comfortably settled anywhere, then we begin to think it time to be off."
"Yes! Yes! I know my brother's vagabond habits. But when he is in one of his mad fits, why do you not interfere?" he cried, impetuously.
"Brother, you don't know what it is to be married to a wanderer," she said.
"Good!" cried Joshua, laughing.
"But if you don't find this beautiful country?" asked Samuel.
"I will embark on one of the rivers."
"And where will you land?"
"I have not the slightest idea. But there, do not be uneasy, I shall find a place."
"Then," said Samuel, gazing at him with perfect amazement in his looks, "you are determined?"
"I am determined."
"Then, as we shall never meet again, come and spend a few days at my house," urged Samuel.
"I am very sorry to decline, but I cannot go back. If I were to waste a day, it would be a serious loss of time and money. I must reach my new settlement in time for the sowing."
Samuel Dickson, putting his hands behind his back, walked across the room with great strides, backwards and forwards, watching his niece curiously under his eyes.
He several times struck the ground with his riding whip, muttering to himself all the time. Diana sat with her hands crossed on her knees, the teardrops falling from her eyes.