Chapter Forty Six. A Silent Declaration
It was the voice of Haj-Ewa, chanting one of her favourite melodies. Far sweeter the tones of another voice pronouncing my own name:
“George Randolph!”
“Maümee!”
“Ho, ho! you both remember? – still remember? Hinklas! The island – that fair island – fair to you, but dark in the memory of Haj-Ewa. Hulwak! I’ll think of’t no more – no, no, no!
“It was once mine – it is now yours, mico! yours, haintclitz! Pretty creatures! enjoy it alone; you wish not the mad queen for a companion? Ha, ha! Cooree, cooree! I go; fear not the rustling wind, fear not the whispering trees; none can approach while Haj-Ewa watches. She will be your guardian. Chitta mico, too. Ho, chitta mico!
“Now for the love, the sweet young love.”
And again renewing her chant, the strange woman glided from the spot, leaving me alone with Maümee.
The moment was not without embarrassment to me – perhaps to both of us. No profession had ever passed between us, no assurance, not a word of love. Although I loved Maümee with all my heart’s strength, although I now felt certain that she loved me, there had been no mutual declaration of our passion. The situation was a peculiar one, and the tongue felt restraint.
But words would have been superfluous in that hour. There was an electricity passing between us – our souls were en rapport, our hearts in happy communion, and each understood the thoughts of the other. Not all the words in the world could have given me surer satisfaction that the heart of Maümee was mine.
It was scarcely possible that she could misconceive. With but slight variation, my thoughts were hers. In all likelihood, Haj-Ewa had carried to her ears my earnest declaration. Her look was joyful – assured. She did not doubt me.
I extended my arms, opening them widely. Nature prompted me, or perhaps passion – all the same. The silent signal was instantly understood, and the moment after, the head of my beloved was nestling upon my bosom.
Not a word was spoken. A low fond cry alone escaped her lips as she fell upon my breast, and twined her arms in rapturous compression around me.
For some moments we exchanged not speech; our hearts alone held converse.
Soon the embarrassment vanished, as a light cloud before the summer sun: not a trace of shyness remained; and we conversed in the confidence of mutual love.
I am spared the writing of our love-speeches. You have yourself heard or uttered them. If too common-place to be repeated, so also are they too sacred. I forbear to detail them.
We had other thoughts to occupy us. After a while, the transport of our mutual joys, though still sweet, assumed a more sober tinge; and, half-forgetting the present, we talked of the past and the future.
I questioned Maümee much. Without guile, she gave me the history of that long interval of absence. She confessed, or rather declared – for there was no coquettish hesitation in her manner – that she had loved me from the first – even from that hour when I first saw and loved her: through the long silent years, by night as by day, had the one thought held possession of her bosom. In her simplicity, she wondered I had not known of it!
I reminded her that her love had never been declared. It was true, she said; but she had never dreamt of concealing it. She thought I might have perceived it. Her instincts were keener: she had been conscious of mine!
So declared she, with a freedom that put me off my guard.
If not stronger, her passion was nobler than my own.
She had never doubted me during the years of separation. Only of late; but the cause of this doubt was explained: the pseudo-lover had poured poison into her ears. Hence the errand of Haj-Ewa.
Alas! my story was not so guileless. Only part of the truth could I reveal; and my conscience smote me as I passed over many an episode that would have given pain.
But the past was past, and could not be re-enacted. A more righteous future was opening before me; and silently in my heart did I register vows of atonement. Never more should I have cause to reproach myself – never would my love – never could it wander away from the beautiful being I held in my embrace.
Proudly my bosom swelled as I listened to the ingenuous confession of her love, but sadly when other themes became the subject of our converse. The story of family trials, of wrongs endured, of insults put upon them – and more especially by their white neighbours, the Ringgolds – caused my blood to boil afresh.
The tale corresponded generally with what I had already learned; but there were other circumstances unknown to public rumour. He, too – the wretched hypocrite – had made love to her. He had of late desisted from his importunities, through fear of her brother, and dared no longer come near.
The other, Scott, had made his approaches under the guise of friendship. He had learned, what was known to many, the position of affairs with regard to the Indian widow’s plantation. From his relationship in high quarters, he possessed influence, and had promised to exert it in obtaining restitution. It was a mere pretence – a promise made without any intention of being kept; but, backed by fair words, it had deceived the generous, trusting heart of Osceola. Hence the admission of this heartless cur into the confidence of a family intimacy.
For months had the correspondence existed, though the opportunities were but occasional. During all this time had the soi-disant seducer been pressing his suit – though not very boldly, since he too dreaded the frown of that terrible brother – neither successfully: he had not succeeded.
Ringgold well knew this when he affirmed the contrary. His declaration had but one design – to sting me. For such purpose, it could not have been made in better time.
There was one thing I longed to know. Surely Maümee, with her keen quick perception, from the girlish confidence that had existed between them – surely she could inform me. I longed to know the relations that had existed between my sister and her brother.
Much as I desired the information, I refrained from asking it.
And yet we talked of both – of Virginia especially, for Maümee remembered my sister with affection, and made many inquiries in relation to her. Virginia was more beautiful than ever, she had heard, and accomplished beyond all others. She wondered if my sister would remember those walks and girlish amusements – those happy hours upon the island.
“Perhaps,” thought I, “too well.”
It was a theme that gave me pain.
The future claimed our attention; the past was now bright as heaven, but there were clouds in the sky of the future.
We talked of that nearest and darkest – the imprisonment of Osceola. How long would it last? What could be done to render it as brief as possible?
I promised to do everything in my power; and I purposed as I promised. It was my firm resolve to leave no stone unturned to effect the liberation of the captive chief. If right should not prevail, I was determined to try stratagem. Even with the sacrifice of my commission – even though personal disgrace should await me – the risk of life itself – I resolved he should be free.
I needed not to add to my declaration the emphasis of an oath; I was believed without that. A flood of gratitude was beaming from those liquid orbs; and the silent pressure of love-burning lips was sweeter thanks than words could have uttered.
It was time for parting; the moon told the hour of midnight.
On the crest of the hill, like a bronze statue outlined against the pale sky, stood the mad queen. A signal brought her to our side; and after another embrace, one more fervid pressure of sweet lips, Maümee and I parted.
Her strange but faithful guardian led her away by some secret path, and I was left alone.
I could scarcely take myself away from that consecrated ground; and I remained for some minutes longer, giving full play to triumphant and rapturous reflections.
The declining moon again warned me; and, crossing the crest of the hill, I hastened back to the Fort.