But Maria did not feel so perfectly at ease.
Rejoiced as she was at his escape from his enemies,
she greatly feared his falling again into their
hands, for she knew that under present circumstances
he could not in the Wilderness enjoy that
perfect safety she wished for him. His enemies
she believed would soon hear or suspect something
of his rescue, and would no doubt use all
their powerful endeavours to discover the place
of his concealment. She endeavoured to impress
these truths upon her lover's mind, but he, for the
first two or three days, would give toleration to no
feeling that possessed the remotest appearance of
being a drawback upon his present enjoyment.

At length his enthusiasm of delight began somewhat
to subside; or, to speak more correctly, to
become reasonable; and she succeeded in convincing
him that his only security against being
retaken by his enemies, would be close concealment,
or else flight from the Wilderness. The
latter expedient she acknowledged was, at this
season of the year, rather difficult and dangerous.
The weather was inclement, and he might perish
in a storm; or, as the mountains were covered
with snow, an attempt to cross them might lead
to his discovery, by exposing the tracks of his
footsteps to the enemy.

Removal from the vicinity of his Maria was,
indeed, at this time a disagreeable step, which
Charles was happy to have some reasonable excuse
for avoiding.

“My love,” said he, “banish me not from your
presence, and I will adopt any other means of security—
I will conceal myself in any other manner
you may prescribe.”

“You are aware,” said she, “that as soon as
the French suspect your escape, they will search
for you here. They will naturally suppose that,

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

if you be at all in the Wilderness, your countrymen
will know something of you. I wish you to
disguise deeply, remove to some distance from
us, and visit us but seldom, at least until the heat
of the pursuit after you shall abate. Tonnaleuka
will furnish you with a retreat, for he knows all
the fastnesses and lurking places of the forest. Our
family will take care to supply you with every
thing they can to render your asylum comfortable.”

“Oh, Maria! this is almost banishment,” he
replied; “it will drive me to some solitary shade
where I will be deprived of your presence.”

“But it is necessary, in your present circumstances,”
said she, “to submit to this inconvenience,
unless you wish to be again captured;
and the sooner you submit, my Charles, I will
feel the sooner at ease in regard to your safety.”

“O Maria! speak ever thus to me, and I will
do any thing you wish. But, bethink you, my
sweetest maiden, there is not, there cannot be,
much danger of my being here searched for so
very soon as you apprehend. There is not one
of my escort now living to tell the story of my
rescue. It will be many days before any suspicion
of it takes place at Le Bœuf, and many more
before that suspicion is communicated to Du
Quesne. Even then, the enemy will not be certain
whether the whole party may not have perished,
either by intense cold, or by some marauding
band of treacherous Indians. In short, my
too timid love, I do not believe that the pursuit
after me will be either very eager, or of long continuance.”

“It may turn out as you say,” replied Maria;
“but it may also turn out otherwise. This is the
danger; and to guard against misfortune upon
which we can calculate, however remote may be

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

its appearance, is surely wise and prudent. O
Charles! be prudent, for both our sakes. O! relieve
my mind, and without delay betake yourself
to disguise and concealment.”

“I shall do as you wish,” said he. “For your
sake I will dive into the thickest of the woods,
into the depths of caverns, for concealment. Only
let your mind be at ease, I will vanish from danger,
although in doing so, I shall be banished
from you. I will attend Tonnaleuka wherever he
chooses to lead me.”

“Now I am satisfied, Charles,” said she; “all
will be well. Under the prophet's care you will
be safe. He will be here this night, and shall direct
your proceedings.”

That evening Tonnaleuka, as Maria had foretold,
visited them.

“My son,” said he to Charles, “you are once
more out of the power of your enemies, and it
only now requires prudence to keep you so. My
son, I rejoice that this maiden has prevailed on you
to follow my directions. If you be ready, follow
me—but first bid that maiden farewell, for you
will not see her for many weeks.”

“Oh, father!” he cried, “what do you require
of me! Why separate us long? What necessity
is there—”

“My son,” said Tonnaleuka, “I have promised
to her, that if you obey my directions, I will
be responsible for your safety; and I will not endanger
my word by exposing it to risk. Your
obedience will be voluntary; but if, by following
your inclinations, you bring evil upon yourself,
then I shall be blameless. Now, my son, choose
whether you shall be ruled by me, or by your own
imprudent wishes.”

Charles looked at Maria with an expression
which asked, “shall I go?”

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

“Mr. Adderly,” said she, “this hesitation is
unbecoming, it is weak. Haste, attend the prophet,
if you regard my peace of mind, or your
own absolute security. Alas, Charles! since you
will have me to express myself so, I feel every
hour an age, till I know that you are beyond the
reach of your enemies.”

“I go, dearest of maidens! and I promise to
obey the prophet. But, O! let me ask one request.
If there be danger in my coming to thee,
surely there can be none in thy visiting me. Will
the distance not be too far to allow me sometimes
to see thee in my concealment?”

“It may happen that I will visit you,” she replied.
“But if I should not, you may assure yourself that
it will only be lest my going might excite suspicion
of your retreat. Farewell then!—be patient, and
submit to temporary inconveniences. The prophet
is your friend, and O! may God be so too!”

“Farewell!” he said; and he pressed her hand
to his burning lips, and followed Tonnaleuka out
of the apartment.

It was a beautiful moonlight frosty night. Ten
thousand fiery stars sparkled in the heavens, and
the pure cold snow glittered on the earth. The
queen of night coursed, in all her splendour, steadily
and majestically along the smooth blue starstudded
arch that overcanopied the sober and chequered
horizon of mountains and vales, clothed in
a party-coloured covering of dark trees, and silvery
shining snow that lay extended beneath. The
rivers and rivulets were all frozen as hard as iron,
and the movements of every terrestrial object
seemed to be arrested, except the shadows of
trees, and rocks, and mountains, which flitted
around as Charles and his conductor went forward,
as if to yield them way, or pay them respect as
they passed by.

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

Tonnaleuka led the way, and Charles followed
in meditative silence. They kept nearly northward,
along the right bank of Turtle Creek. The
stream soon became enclosed between high mountains,
and they crossed on the ice to its left bank,
along which they proceeded about half a mile; when
suddenly taking a path that led in an easterly direction
up a high hill, on gaining its top, they kept
along the ridge which it formed, still in an easterly
course, for half a mile further. They then struck
suddenly to the left, and descended into a deep
valley, at the bottom of which they crossed a small
run, near a place where it was almost overarched
by a huge rock, which formed the rugged juttying
face of the opposing ridge. They passed up the
bank of this stream underneath this fearful arch,
to which the solemn rays of the moon now imparted
an aspect impressively awful, for about two
hundred yards, to a place where the continuity of
the rock became interrupted by a deep ravine,
into which they turned. For a few moments they
ascended a small path, until about half way up the
left side of this ravine, when they came to a large
rock, which seemed to obstruct their farther progress.

Here the prophet spoke to Charles for the first
time since they had left Frazier's.

“Now, my son,” said he, “you will see my favourite
retreat when I wish for concealment.
There are only two individuals, besides myself,
who know it, and in these I can repose implicit
reliance. You will be the third; consequently the
confidence I have in you cannot be small; and the
security you will here enjoy from either French or
Indians, will be as great as even your Maria could
desire. Within is the lodging I am about to afford
you, till you can leave the Wilderness in safety.

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

its entrance, except by those who already know
it, can only be found by a miracle.”

So saying, Tonnaleuka caught hold of a branch
of a small pine tree, that seemed to be growing in
the angle formed by the rock and the side of the
acclivity, and pulling it downward, he separated
the upper side of the root some distance from the
earth. He let go his hold, and the tree remained
in this posture.

“Follow me!” said Tonnaleuka, as he ascended
to the gap, which this separation of the tree
from the earth had occasioned, into which he lowered
himself by a flight of ten or twelve rugged
stone steps, until he came to a kind of landing-place,
or lobby, having a smooth earthen bottom.

“Remain here a few moments, until I strike a
light,” said Tonnaleuka, and he proceeded into a
dark passage, in what direction Charles could not
tell, but of considerable length he conjectured,
from the distance at which he soon heard the
sound of his retiring footsteps, while he himself
remained awkwardly enough watching the oblique
rays of the moon, that with great effort cast down
a very feeble light to where he stood. In a short
time, however, he perceived the glancing of light
at a distance in the subterraneous passage, and
Tonnaleuka soon returned with a flaming taper.

“My son,” said he, when he approached, “draw
the rope which winds through that pulley.”

Charles did so, and the root of the tree instantly
returning to its place, closed up the aperture by
which they had entered, and the rays of the moon
were no longer visible.

The prophet now led the way through a long,
narrow, and rather damp passage, which at length
brought them into a large, dry, and airy chamber,
with a comfortable floor somewhat more elevated

[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]

than the passage. In an angle of this apartment,
to the left of its entrance, the embers of a woodfire
not quite extinguished were seen, on a convenient
hearth, which possessed a species of funnel
that carried away the smoke by an outlet, which
Charles afterwards discovered to be into another
ravine, on the opposite side of the ridge from that
on which they had entered.

The furniture was simple and scanty, comprising
no articles but such as were of prime necessity
for the comfort of one, or, at most, of two individuals.
There was indeed a bed and bedding,
not much inferior to some of those possessed by
Gilbert Frazier. A plain table, two or three
chairs, a small stool, a large chest, a cupboard, two
or three shelves, with scarcely any cooking utensils,
constituted the remainder of what Charles
Adderly now observed in this subterranean hermitage.

“Sit down, my son,” said Tonnaleuka; “you
are now in my abode. I must warm it. The
cheering flame shall blaze forth in a few minutes.”

He withdrew into the passage, but soon returned
with several billets of wood in his arm, which,
to the great comfort and exhilaration of Charles,
who had begun to feel rather discontented, chilly,
and vapourish with his situation, soon began to
crackle from the impulse of the glowing element,
and to enliven the chamber with its animating
rays.

“My son, you perhaps need refreshment,” said
the prophet. “I shall supply you—for within this
cavern there is enough for all present wants.”

“Father, I require none,” said Charles, “but
I acknowledge that I need repose, for my mind is
overpowered with sadness.”

“And what grieve you for?” asked the prophet—
“Is it because you are not now a prisoner in Le

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

Bœuf or Du Quesne? Or is it because you are not
now in Gilbert Frazier's, exposed to the risk of being
again captured and exposed to the vengeance of
your enemies? Are you sad, my son, because you
are safe? If so, you are here without restraint,
and may rush again into danger, if it will give you
pleasure.

“But, my son, you have promised to be ruled by
me, and it is the wish of her whom you love that
you should be so. Will you vex her by your imprudence,
by your breach of word? Know you
not, that your enemies are powerful and numerous
in the country; and if you should fall again
into their hands, think you, that they would treat
you with indulgence? No, my son—be wise, render
yourself content here for a few weeks. You
will want for nothing necessary to human life.
Food, drink, a bed to lie on, and books to read,
you shall have as liberally as the Wilderness can
afford. But for your own sake, and for the sake
of one still more beloved, I request you to reconcile
yourself to a temporary privation of her society,
and of the external world.

“My son, I offer you food—I wish you to partake
of it; but if you prefer retiring to rest, go,
and may the blessing of the Great Father accompany
you!”

Charles preferred retiring, and requested the
prophet to excuse his apparent dissatisfaction with
his residence, as he in reality felt both mind and
body overcast and indisposed. To-morrow, he
hoped, he should recover the serenity of his mind,
and be able to express, with cheerfulness and cordiality,
the obligations he owed him as his kind
deliverer.

“Talk not of obligations, my son,” said the
prophet. “My duties are my obligations, and for
performing them, I require no thanks. Ah! my

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

son, how miserable I should have long felt a life,
whose misfortunes have been severer than any you
have yet experienced, had it not been, that among
my red brethren I have often found the means of
doing good! But your mind is oppressed. Repose,
I hope, will relieve you. I will show you
where to seek it.”

He took up the light, and conducting Charles
a few yards into the passage through which they
had before passed, turned to the right into a small
recess, much more comfortable and clean in its
appearance than the large apartment. Here he
beheld a bed prepared for his reception, with a
small table and a chair, both exhibiting very rude
workmanship, but suitable enough for the place,
and the purposes intended by them.

The prophet having pronounced a short benediction
upon his guest, retired, and Charles was
about throwing himself into bed, when he perceived,
beneath the bedclothes, a letter addressed to
himself. He opened it, and seeing that it was
from Maria, with feelings of great emotion he read
as follows:

“Dear Charles,

“My persuading you to submit, at this time,
to a residence in a dark subterraneous cell, is a
proof how anxious I am for your safety. You
will, no doubt, feel your situation lonely and disagreeable;
but I hope the necessity for it will not
be of long continuance; and, in the meanwhile,
in order to relieve its tediousness as much as possible,
I shall send you a supply of such books as I
possess, best suited for your entertainment. You
may be also assured, that our family will let you
want for nothing in their power to afford you
comfort.

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

“Oh, Charles! how little are the men and women
of society aware of the dangers and calamities
that often visit the most remote and secluded
condition! How have their philosophers and their
poets praised, in strains of enthusaism and rapture,
the virtue, the tranquillity, and the happiness,
to be found in retirement! Ah! they appear
to forget that human passions, and, therefore,
human crimes and human miseries, are ever, in
such places, more violent and fierce, because
more unrestrained and unmodified by the salutary
customs and institutions of society!

“But, Charles, the object of my writing to you,
is to encourage you to an exertion of patience in
your present solitude, and not to magnify the evils
to which it is exposed, by making contrasts, for
which my inexperience renders me incompetent.

“But these times of calamity, I trust, will not
always last. Providence will yet moderate the
storm, and grant this Wilderness a restoration of
that calm which it once enjoyed. Till then, let
us shelter ourselves, as much as possible, from the
fury of the times, and be content with privations,
if we can only thereby secure safety. I am aware
that this advice will not be relished by your adventurous
spirit; but it is because I dread that
spirit, fearless and rash as I know it to be, leading
you into fresh dangers, that I am so solicitous for
your present confinement. If it will in any degree
enable you to support that confinement, I have
here no hesitation to repeat the assurance, which
you already have, of the unalterable nature of my
affection for you.

“Let me be assured in return, that you will
bear your present lot without repining, and you
will contribute much to my ease of mind;—and,
that heaven may protect you, and hasten over

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

these times of danger and distress, is the fervent
prayer of your

“Yes!” thought Charles, when he had finished
this letter, “I am happy. Ah! what can make
me otherwise, when I possess the affections, the
sweet, the pure, the tender, the faithful affections
of such a lovely being! Oh heaven! it would
indeed, be criminal to repine at thy dispensations,
when thou hast granted me this! This is ample
remuneration for all sufferings—this is balm for
every wound!—O thou good Providence that
hast thus granted me the first wish of my heart,
make me truly grateful for such a consolation,
such a blessing, amidst my misfortunes!—Yes, I
will assure the dear maiden that I will not repine—
I will assure her that I am happy, and that she
has made me so!”

The weight and weariness upon his spirits, of
which he had complained so much to Tonnaleuka,
were now gone; and, instead of anxiously wishing
to relieve his mind of the thoughts that crowded
upon it, he now wished to indulge them, and
to prolong, by a protracted wakefulness, the delightful
sensations which they afforded him.

If he had possessed writing materials, a glowing
reply, as warm as love and gratitude could dictate,
would soon have extended itself, in black
and white, upon the table before him. But this
pleasing spectacle he could not enjoy until the
next morning, without interrupting Tonnaleuka
either in his devotions or his repose, for he reasonably
enough supposed, that by this time the
prophet was engaged in one of these. He had,
therefore, nothing for it but to hurry into bed,
and fall asleep as fast as possible, in order to annihilate
the time that must elapse before he could
enjoy the felicity of pouring out his soul in a letter
to his beloved.

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