CHAPTER SEVENTY.
HOUNDS ON OUR TRAIL.
O God! after us with hounds!
Either after us, or about to be, was the hypothetic form of myconjecture.
I could proceed no farther upon our path till I had become satisfied.
Leaving Aurore among the palmettoes. I ran directly forward to thefence, which was also the boundary of the woods. On reaching this, Igrasped the branch of a tree, and swung myself up to such an elevationas would enable me to see over the tops of the cane. This gave me afull view of the house shining under the sun that had now risen in allhis splendour.
At a glance I saw that I had guessed aright. Distant as the house was,I could plainly see men around it, many of them on horseback. Theirheads were moving above the canes; and now and then the deep bay ofhounds told that several dogs were loose about the enclosure. The scenewas just as if a party of hunters had assembled before going out upon adeer "drive;" and but for the place, the time, and the circumstancesthat had already transpired, I might have taken it for such. Fardifferent, however, was the impression it made upon me. I knew well whywas that gathering around the house of Gayarre. I knew well the gamethey were about to pursue. I lingered but a moment upon my perch--longenough to perceive that the _hunters_ were all mounted and ready tostart.
With quick-beating pulse I retraced my steps; and soon rejoined mycompanion, who stood awaiting me with trembling apprehension.
I did not need to tell her the result of my reconnoissance: she read itin my looks. She, too, had heard the baying of the dogs. She was anative, and knew the customs of the land: she knew that hounds were usedto hunt deer and foxes and wild-cats of the woods; but she knew alsothat on many plantations there were some kept for a far differentpurpose--sleuth-dogs, _trained to the hunting of men_!
Had she been of slow comprehension, I might have attempted to concealfrom her what I had learnt; but she was far from that, and with quickinstinct she divined all.
Our first feeling was that of utter hopelessness. There seemed nochance of our escaping. Go where we would, hounds, trained to the scentof a human track, could not fail to follow and find us. It would be ofno use hiding in the swamp or the bush. The tallest sedge or thethickest underwood could not give us shelter from pursuers like these.
Our first feeling, then, was that of hopelessness--quickly followed by ahalf-formed resolve to go no farther, to stand our ground and be taken.We had not death to fear; though I knew that if taken I might make up mymind to some rough handling. I knew the feeling that was abroad inrelation to the Abolitionists--at that time raging like a fever. I hadheard of the barbarous treatment which some of these "fanatics"--as theywere called--had experienced at the hands of the incensed slave-owners.I should no doubt be reckoned in the same category, or maybe, stillworse, be charged as a "nigger-stealer." In any case I had to fearchastisement, and of no light kind either.
But my dread of this was nothing when compared with the reflection that,if taken, _Aurore must go back to Gayarre_!
It was this thought more than any other that made my pulse beat quickly.It was this thought that determined me not to surrender until afterevery effort to escape should fail us.
I stood for some moments pondering on what course to pursue. All atonce a thought came into my mind that saved me from despair. Thatthought was of Gabriel the runaway.
Do not imagine that I had forgotten him or his hiding-place all thistime. Do not fancy I had not thought of him before. Often, since wehad entered the woods, had he and his tree-cave arisen in my memory; andI should have gone there for concealment, but that the distance deterredme. As we intended to return to the Levee Road after sunset, I hadchosen the glade for our resting-place, on account of its being nearer.
Even then, when I learnt that hounds would be after us, I had againthought of making for the Bambarra's hiding-place; but had dismissed theidea, because it occurred to me that _the hounds could follow usanywhere_, and that, by taking shelter with the runaway, we should onlyguide his tyrants upon _him_.
So quick and confused had been all these reflections, that it had neveroccurred to me that the hounds _could not trail us across water_. Itwas only at that moment when pondering how I could throw them off thetrack--thinking of the snake-charmer and his pine-cones--that Iremembered the water.
Sure enough, in that still lay a hope; and I could now appreciate theremarkable cunning with which the lair of the runaway had been chosen.It was just the place to seek refuge from "de dam blood-dogs."
The moment I thought of it, I resolved to flee thither.
I would be sure to know the way. I had taken especial pains to rememberit; for even on the day of my snake-adventure, some half-definedthoughts--something more like a presentiment than a plan--had passedthrough my mind, vaguely pointing to a contingency like the present.Later events, and particularly my design of escaping to the city atonce, had driven these thoughts out of my mind. For all that, I stillremembered the way by which the Bambarra had guided me, and could followit with hurried steps--though there was neither road nor path, save thedevious tracks made by cattle or the wild animals of the forest.
But I was certain I knew it well. I should remember the signs and"blazes" to which the guide had called my attention. I should rememberwhere it crossed the "big bayou" by the trunk of a fallen tree thatserved as a foot-bridge. I should remember where it ran through a stripof marsh impassable for horses, through the cane-brake, among the greatknees and buttocks of the cypresses, down to the edge of the water. Andthat huge tree, with its prostrate trunk projecting out into the lake,and its moss-wrapped branches--that cunning harbour for the littlepirogue--I should be sure to remember.
Neither had I forgotten the signal, by which I was to warn the runawaywhenever I should return. It was a peculiar whistle he had instructedme to give, and also the number of times I was to utter it.
I had not waited for all these reflections. Many of them wereafter-thoughts, that occurred along the way. The moment I rememberedthe lake, I resolved upon my course; and, with a word of cheer to mycompanion, we again moved forward.