by E. W. Howe
CHAPTER XX.
THE SEARCH IN THE WOODS.
From noon until twilight Annie Dorris watched the point on the othershore of the river, where her husband had promised to wave the signal ofhis return long before nightfall, but nothing did she see save thefloating debris of the flood, which looked like tired travellershurrying forward to find a night's shelter.
Great trees came floating down, with their arms outstretched as if forhelp, and occasionally these disappeared in the angry water, as humanfloaters might disappear after giving up in despair, believing it to beimpossible to reach the shore.
Boats carrying parties of men came back, one by one, to the town, as theafternoon wore away, and the ferry came in later in the evening, pantinglike a thing of life after its hard day's work; but no boat with asingle, strong rower appeared to cheer the gaze of the faithful watcher.
Everything seemed to be hurrying away from her, and from Davy's Bend,and from the gathering darkness under the trees, save the returningboats, and she thought their occupants appeared to be anxious to reachtheir own homes, and tell of some horror in the woods. Perhaps some ofthe rowers had a message to be delivered at The Locks; and when they didnot come, the fear found its way to her throbbing heart that the newswas dreadful, and that they delayed until they could muster up morecourage.
While it was yet light on the water, an ugly night-shade collected underthe trees where her husband's boat had disappeared, reaching out withlong arms to capture those in the boats, who were hurrying away fromit,--a black monster it seemed, fat with prey, watching the town withstealthy care until its people were sleeping after the day's work, andunsuspicious of attack.
As Annie Dorris watched this black shadow grow larger and larger, andbecome so bold as to approach still nearer to the town, it seemed to herthat no one within it could ever escape; and though an occasional boatdid come out, it hurried toward the town rapidly, as if in fright, andthis encouraged her to hope that her husband had been delayed in someway, and would safely return with wonderful adventures to relate. So shekept up the vigil, and saw the shadow grow blacker as the afternoonbecame night.
When it was too dark to see even the river, Annie Dorris stood lookingout into the night, hoping that her husband had returned another way,and that his footstep would soon be heard on the stair; for she couldthink of no danger that could befall him, since rowing in the flood wassafe, in spite of the strong current. Once she heard a light step on thestair, and she was sure that it was her husband coming up to surpriseher, and there was a pause of long duration on the landing; but when shethrew open the door in joyful expectation, the quiet darkness looked ather in pity. More than once the footstep on the stair was heard by theanxious and terrified wife, and more than once she hurried to the doorto look into the hall; but hope seemed to be leaving the house, and sheimagined she heard it in the lower hall, hurrying away.
Returning to the window, she saw such fearful phantoms in the darknessthat she ran, bareheaded, into the street, and up the hill to herfather's house.
"Annie!" Thompson Benton said, as she ran into his room with startingeyes and dishevelled hair. "Annie, what has happened?"
"Oh, father," she replied, bursting into tears, "my husband has notreturned from the bottoms!"
Thompson Benton had been expecting a calamity to befall Allan Dorris;for, while he had grown to honestly admire him, there was alwayssomething in his manner which indicated that he was in danger. Perhapsthis suspicious dread grew out of the keen relish with which AllanDorris enjoyed his home; as if every day were to be his last. It mayhave been the result of the general belief that he remained in the townto hide away from malicious enemies, or knowledge of the patheticsadness which always distinguished his manner; but, whatever it was,Thompson Benton put on his coat and boots, which he had just taken off,precisely as a man might do who had been summoned on a long-expectederrand. He had no explanations of the absence to offer to the weepingwife, but became grave at once, and made his preparations to go out innervous haste. So, without speaking an encouraging word to his daughter,who had sunk down on her knees beside her father's chair, he left thehouse and hurried down to the town.
With long strides he reached the river's brink, where a number of boatswere tied, and spoke to a few trusty men who were there, some of whom atonce put oars into two of the boats, while others hurried back into thetown after lanterns and torches.
While they were gone Thompson Benton walked up and down the bank,pausing frequently to look toward the woods, but he said nothing, andpaid no attention to those who looked at him curiously for anexplanation; for the absence of this grim old man from his home at nightwas important; it was particularly important now, since it was knownthat he was only waiting for the return of the men with the torches, togo over into the bottoms.
The news spread rapidly that something unusual was in the air, and whenthe two boats, rowed by four men each, pushed out into the stream, halfof the town was left on the bank to talk of their mission in lowwhispers, and hope that Allan Dorris would be found safe and well.
Among those who watched the lights in the boats as they were rowed awayand finally disappeared under the trees, was Silas Davy, who felt thathis neglect to warn Allan Dorris of the shadow which followed him sopersistently had resulted in a tragedy at last. The departure of the menat that hour to look for him, and the preparations they had made for thesearch, were dreadfully significant,--there could be no mistake of that;and Silas wandered along the shore for an hour, hoping to see the boatsreturn, and hear the men talking cheerfully on the water, indicatingthat his friend had been found. But the longer he watched the woods, thedarker they became, and the less prospect there seemed to be that thelights the men had carried would ever reappear, so he resolved to walkup to The Locks, hoping to find Dorris there, and be the first to givethe news to the town. But at the gate he met Mrs. Wedge, who anxiouslyasked him for information of the missing man; there was nothing cheerfulin her pale, anxious face, nor in the stillness which hung about theplace like a pall.
Silas was compelled to acknowledge that there was so little hope in thetown that he had come there for encouragement. He then told her in awhisper of the departure of the men in the boats, and of their carryinglanterns and torches, but Mrs. Wedge did not give him the encouragementhe expected, for she put her hands to her face, and Silas was certainthat she was crying. When she had recovered her composure, she motionedthe little man to follow her, and they walked together up the broadwalk, and up the stone steps until they entered the door. There were nolights in the house, and the great mass of stone seemed to be a part ofthe darkness from the woods. When they were on the inside, Mrs. Wedgecarefully closed the door, and said to him softly,--
"Listen!"
A timid step on the stair, going up and coming down in unceasingmonotony. Occasionally it stopped on going up, as if it were of no useto look again; on coming down, as if fearing some corner had beenoverlooked in the search, but it soon went on again, up and down thestair, into the room which was sacred to the empty cradle, and out of itagain,--the step on the stair which always gave warning of trouble. Onceit came so near them that Silas half expected, as he stood trembling inthe darkness, that the ghost of poor Helen would lay hands on him, andinquire in pitiful tones for the little girl who seemed to be lost inthe house. But it passed by, and wearily ascended the stairs, only tocome wearily down again after a short absence in the room where thelight and the life had gone out.
Mrs. Wedge led Silas back to the gate, and, after crying softly toherself awhile, said to him in a voice so agitated that he couldscarcely understand her,--
"It has not been heard before since they were married. I had hoped thatpoor Helen had found rest at last, but her footstep on the stair thisnight means--I won't say the word! It might be carried by some evilspirit to his wife. The poor girl is at her father's, and I am afraid tolook at her. O Annie, Annie!"
* * * * *
Meanwhile the boats
pursued their journey into the woods; a man in thebow of each with a torch to direct the rowers. The underbrush wassubmerged, and they made fair progress toward the line of hills oppositethe town, though they drifted about a good deal, for sometimes they werein doubt as to their bearings, as there was nothing to guide them.Occasionally they stopped to listen, hoping that Dorris had disabled hisboat, and was safe in some of the trees, but, hearing nothing, theyhallooed themselves, each one taking his turn until they were allhoarse. But the rippling water laughed with joy because their voicessounded dead in the forest lake, and seemed afraid to venture out intothe damp, noisome darkness.
Finding a place where the current was not so strong, they pulled to apoint which they believed to be above the town, calling "Halloo!Halloo!" at every boat's length; but the devilish gurgle in the watercontinued, and their voices came back to them, like hounds ordered toenter a dangerous lair. Occasionally a waterfowl resting for the nightwas disturbed, and went crashing through the branches of the trees, butno other sound came to them, and as the hours wore away they looked ateach other in grave apprehension.
A few times, in the middle of clearings, they came upon deserted houses,with vagrant water pouring in at the windows, only to creep out at otherwindows after making a search in the rooms for lives to destroy. Butmost of the people had escaped to the hills with their farm animals,leaving their household effects to be covered with the reptiles whichhad been frightened out of the thickets and tall grass, and which clungto whatever offered them safety. Under the trees they frequently founddrifts composed of household furniture, bridges, fences, out-houses,logs, stumps, and what not, and the desolation which reigned supreme inthat dark, damp place was relieved but little by the glare of thetorches, which made the men look like pale-faced spirits rowing about inan eternal effort to escape.
If the men wearied in the search, a look at the earnest, gray-haired oldman in the largest boat, who was always straining his eyes in attemptingto penetrate the darkness, revived them, and they floated on, pulling tothe right or to the left, as Thompson Benton directed, and crying,"Halloo! Halloo!" in tones which sounded plaintive, and sad, andhopeless. Always an earnest man, Thompson Benton had never before beenas earnest as he was this night, and he had called "Halloo! Halloo!" sofrequently that when he spoke it was either in a hoarse voice, or in asoft whisper.
At the lower point of the bend in the hills which gave the town itsname, a sluggish lake was found, the main current striking diagonallyacross the river to shorten the distance in its hurry to do mischiefbelow, and the boats found their way into this. While floating aroundnot far from the base of the hills, those who were in the smaller boatsuddenly came upon a gravestone, the top of which was only a foot out ofwater.
"We are floating over Hedgepath graveyard," the man who was in frontcarrying the torch said to the others. The stone which had attracted hisattention seemed to be taller than the others, for it was the only oneappearing above the surface; the water covered everything except thisrounded piece of stone, which alone remained to mark the resting-placeof the dead, providing the dead had not been seized with the universaldesire for floating off, and gone away to visit graveyards in the lowercountry.
He caught hold of the stone to steady the boat, and, throwing his lightupon the other side of it, read:--
"Sacred to the memory of--"
The name in whose honor the slab had been raised was below the water,and the man put his hand down into it to read, as a blind man readsraised letters.
"The first letter is A," he said, rubbing the face of the stone with hisfingers, "like the alphabet; and the next is L."
The fellow continued rubbing the face of the stone with the tips of hisfingers, while his lips moved as he tried letter after letter, and gavethem up.
"Hello! Another L!" he said in surprise, at last, drawing up his handhurriedly on making the discovery, and shaking it violently to throw offthe water, but there remained on his wrist a sickening scum, which hehurriedly transferred to the side of the boat.
"I'll read no further," he said, with a frightened look. "I'm afraid itwill turn out to be Allan, with a space and a big 'D' following it."
The torch-bearer still held on to the stone while the rowers rested, butthe other boat, in which Thompson Benton sat, was busy a short distancebeyond them; from one clump of debris to another, as if he only hopednow to find the lifeless body of the one he sought.
"Strange people are buried here," the torch-bearer said, speaking softlyto his panting companions, while they rested from their hard work."Suicides, and those who have died violent deaths; Hedgepath is devotedto them. I've heard it said that this is a rough neighborhood, but thebest of their dead are put away further up the hill. If the flood hasnot drowned out the ghosts, we will see one to-night."
The suggestion of ghosts was not a pleasant one to the rowers,particularly to those who were farthest from the torch, for they lookedtimidly about as though they were likely to be approached from behind byspirits riding on headstones.
"There is a road running along the edge of Hedgepath, leading from theferry into the hills," the torch-bearer said, who was the bravest of thelot, because he was directly under the light, "and those who havetravelled it at night say that the inhabitants of this place sit onstumps beside the road and want to argue with the passers-by. One fellowwho was hanged,--_he_ has a great deal to say about the perjuredwitnesses; and another who was accused of poisoning himself,--he says hefound it in his coffee, though he does not tell who put it there; and somany others have horrible stories to tell that travellers usually hurryby this place as fast as they can."
It was not a cheerful subject, but his companions listened with closeattention, occasionally casting glances behind them.
"The unknown people who are found floating in the river; _they_ areburied here, and those who travel the Hedgepath road at night say theseoffer them letters, and ask that they be posted. I have forgotten who itwas, but somebody told me that he received one of these letters in hisown hand, and mailed it, and that soon after one of the bodies was takenup by friends from a distance, and carried away."
The grim joker was interrupted by a hail from the other boat, and themen dipped their oars into the water, and pulled toward it.
Thompson Benton and those who were with him were looking with eager eyesat a boat which was floating a short distance beyond them, within therays of their torch, and which was rising and falling with the ripples,with both oars hanging helplessly out in the water. The men were waitingin fear for their companions to come up to keep them company beforeapproaching it, and when the two boats were side by side, they were heldtogether, and the outside oars of each were used to row toward thedeserted craft, as a party of men who discover a suspicious object in astrange locality might move toward it together.
As they drew nearer, the form of a prostrate man was seen seen--
Dismiss thy husband into the shadows from whence he came, O pretty wife,for he is murdered.
In the bottom of the boat, lying easily on his back, the rowers foundAllan Dorris, dead; his eyes closed as if in disturbed sleep, and hisface upturned to the heavens. His right hand was gripped on the side ofthe boat, as if his last wish had been to pull himself into a sittingposture, and look toward the town where his faithful wife was watchingfor his return. The flash of the torches made the face look ghastly andwhite, and there was a stain of blood on his lips. Those who looked uponthe face saw in it an expression of regret to die, which remained withthem as long as they lived; they spoke of it tenderly to their children,who grew up and gave their own children descriptions of Allan Dorris'spitiful face as he lay dead in his boat on the night when the waters ofthe great flood began to recede. It is said that the face of a sorrowingman looks peaceful in death; it may be equally true that death stampsunmistakable regret on the face of its victim who is not ready.
O, pitiless Death, you might have spared this man, who was justbeginning, and taken one of the mourning thousands who watch for yo
uthrough the night, and are sad because of your long delay. This mandesired so much to live that his white face seems to say now: "I cannotdie; I dread it--Oh, how terrible it would be to die now!" And his eyesare wet with tears; a touching monument of his dread of thee!
The rough men reverently uncovered their heads as Thompson Benton lookedat the dead man in stupefaction, but when he had recovered, he liftedthe body gently up, and made a hasty examination. Laying it down again,he looked at the men, and said in a tone which indicated that he hadlong expected it,--
"Shot in the back."
Lashing their boats together, the rowers gulled back to town withoutspeaking a word; that containing the body of Allan Dorris towing behind,the pathetic face looking up to heaven, as if asking forgiveness. Thestars came out as the rowers pursued their journey back to the town, andthe storm was over.
Peace to the pathetic dust! In the town on the hill, where the twinklinglights mingle with the stars, waits a weeping woman who knew AllanDorris well; let her opinion of the dead prevail, and not that of thegossiping winds which have been whispering into the ears of the people.