Captain Pamphile remained as he was for some seconds without moving; no sound was heard but the quiet, regular respirations of the Indian: his breathing was so perfectly natural that the Captain began to think that, instead of pretending to be asleep, he was really so. Then, doing his best to follow the pattern he had before him, he turned over, as if actuated by one of those spasmodic movements which the wakeful brain imposes on the sleeping body, and thus, instead of keeping his face to the wall, he lay with it turned towards the Indian.

  After lying thus for a moment, he half opened his eyes; he saw that the young Sioux was still in the same position, except that his head was only supported by his left hand; the other hand was hanging by his side and thus rested close to the shaft of his tomahawk.

  Just then a slight sound was heard, and the Indian’s fingers closed round his weapon; so the Captain saw that, like himself, the young man was watching and waiting his chance to meet the common peril.

  Soon the screen was raised a little, and the two young Indians glided out one after the other, crawling silently like a couple of snakes. Behind them appeared the old woman, her body still remaining in the darkness of the inner chamber. Evidently she thought there was no need to take an active part in the coming scene, but she wanted to be ready, in case of need, to encourage the assassins with gesture and voice.

  The youths got up slowly and silently without losing sight of the Indian and Captain Pamphile. One carried a curved blade, sharp as a razor on its inner edge; -he was making straight for the Indian, when his brother made signs to him to wait till he also was armed. In fact, he went to the wall on tip-toe and took the knife. Then they exchanged a last glance of intelligence, and both sought their mother’s eyes with a questioning look.

  “They are asleep,” whispered the hag, “go on!”

  The young men obeyed, each going to the victim he had chosen. One raised his arm to strike the Indian, the other bent over Captain Pamphile with his knife raised to stab.

  Simultaneously the two assassins staggered back, each with a cry of pain on his lips; the Captain had buried his knife to the hilt in the breast of one, and the other’s skull has been split in two by the Indian’s tomahawk. Both stood on their feet for a moment, swaying about like drunken men, while the travellers instinctively drew together; then the youths fell outwards like two saplings torn up by the roots from the ground. As they fell the hag gave vent to an oath, and the Sioux to a shout of triumph; a second more, and he dashed into the inner room, taking his bowstring with him. Soon he returned dragging the old woman by her hair, and, taking her outside the hut, he bound her firmly to a young birch-tree growing about ten paces from the door. Then he re-entered-with a spring like a tiger’s, picked up the knife dropped by one of the assassins, and with its point tried if there was any life in their bodies. As neither of them gave any signs of vitality he motioned Captain Pamphile to leave the hut. The latter obeyed mechanically, and the young Sioux then took a blazing pine torch from the hearth, set fire to the four angles of the hut, came out with the firebrand in his hand, began to circle round the burning cabin in a strange dance, singing the while a song of victory.

  Notwithstanding the Captain’s familiarity with scenes of violence, his whole attention was aroused by this one. Indeed, the locality, the loneliness, the danger through which he had just passed, all gave the act of justice which was being carried out a peculiar character of wild vengeance. He had often heard, as a matter of common report, that in the district lying between the Falls of Niagara and the Atlantic seaboard, it was the recognized law that the dwellings of murderers should be burned to the ground; but he had never been present at an execution of the kind.

  Leaning against a tree, as still and rigid as if bound and strangled himself, he watched a black, dense smoke pouring out from every opening, and tongues of flame dancing like reddened lance-points along the roof; soon columns of blazing fire arose, driven before the wind, now curling aloft like serpents, now floating out like streamers. As the flames rose and fell, the young Indian, like the demon of the conflagration, circled round, dancing and singing without a pause. In a few moments, all the flames became one and formed an immense bonfire, throwing its light for half a league around, stretching on one side across the broad green plain, on the other losing itself in the vaulted depths of the forest. At last, the heat became so great that the old woman, tied ten paces from the fire, began to shriek with pain. Suddenly the roof fell in, a column of fire like the eruption of a volcano shot up,-sending a million sparks aloft; then, one by one, the walls fell in, and at each fall the light and heat of the fire diminished. The darkness conquered bit by bit the ground it had lost, and at last there remained nothing of the accursed hut but a mass of burning embers, covering the corpses of the murderers with a glowing tomb.

  Then the dance and chant of the native ceased, and, lighting from his torch a second pine branch, he handed it to the Captain.

  “Now,” said he, “where is my brother going?”

  “To Philadelphia,” answered Captain Pamphile. “Very well, let my brother follow, and I will be his guide till he reaches the border of the forest.”

  With these words, the young Sioux plunged into the depths of the wood, leaving the hag, half consumed, by the side of the smoking embers of her cabin.

  Captain Pamphile, with a last look at the scene of desolation, followed his young and courageous fellow-traveller. At the break of day they arrived at the edge of the forest and the foot of the mountains; there the Sioux stopped.

  “My brother has reached his destination,” said he; “from the top of these hills he will see Philadelphia. Now, may the Great Spirit be with my brother! “Captain Pamphile considered what recompense he could make to the native for his devotion; and as he had nothing but his watch to give, he began to take it off, but his companion stopped him.

  “My brother owes me nothing,” he said; “after a fight with the Hurons, the Young Elk was taken prisoner and transported to the neighbourhood of Lake Superior. He was already bound to the stake; the men had their knives drawn to scalp him, and the women and children were dancing and singing his death-song, when some soldiers, born, like my brother, on the other side of the great salt water, drove off the Hurons, and saved the Young Elk. I owed my life to them, and I have saved yours. When you meet these soldiers, you will tell them that I have paid my debt.”

  With these words, the young Indian turned back into the forest. Captain Pamphile followed him with the eye as long as he was in sight; then, after he was lost to view, our worthy sailor tore up a young ebony sapling to serve as a walking-stick and weapon, and started to climb the mountains.

  The Young Elk had not lied: on reaching the crest, he saw Philadelphia before him, sitting like a queen between the green waters of the Delaware and the blue waves of Ocean.

  CHAPTER XIII

  HOW CAPTAIN PAMPHILE MET TOM’S MOTHER ON THE BANKS OF THE DELAWARE, AND WHAT BEFELL IN CONSEQUENCE

  Although he estimated by eye the distance to Philadelphia from where he was at two good days’ travel, Captain Pamphile continued his journey with all his energy, only stopping from time to time to look for birds’ eggs and edible roots; as for water, he had soon come on the upper springs of the Delaware, and the stream, flowing full to its banks, relieved him from all anxiety on that score.

  He thus marched on gaily, in sight of the rest he craved after so much toil, enjoying the wonderful scenery which opened on his view, and in that happy frame of mind which the traveller feels who regrets nothing but the want of a friend to whom he can unburden the overflowing well of his thoughts. As he reached the top of a small hill, he thought he saw, half a league ahead of him, a small black object coming to meet him. He tried for a moment to make out what it was, but the distance being too great, he walked on, without troubling more about it, and the ground being very broken, he soon lost sight of it. He went on then, whistling an air which was popular at that period on the Cannebière, and twirling his stick round and round like a windmill, till the same object reappeared some hundred of yards nearer. This time the Captain himself was seen and examined by the new personage we have just introduced, much as he was observing the latter. Captain Pamphile made a kind of telescope of

  his hand, looked at him through the improvised tube, and saw that it was a negro.

  This meeting seemed the more happy, as the Captain had no wish to pass a third night similar to the two preceding ones, and hoped to get some information from him about a resting-place and bed; he stepped out, therefore, quicker than before, regretting that the undulations of the ground prevented him from keeping his new acquaintance in sight, but hoping to be able to meet and question him on the brow of a small hill which seemed about half-way between himself and the place where he last saw the figure. Captain Pamphile’s strategic calculations proved to be perfectly correct; on the top of the hill he came face to face with the person he wanted to meet. Only, the hue of the person in question had deceived the Captain’s eye. It was not a negro he confronted, but a bear.

  Captain Pamphile’s rapid glance told him at once in how great danger he stood; but we are saying nothing fresh when we state that the Captain was just the man to grasp and meet on the instant the perils of a situation like this. A cursory glance around showed him at once that there was no hope of avoiding the encounter. On the left flowed the river between high banks, too swift to be practicable to a swimmer, except at the risk of a greater danger than that confronting him on the bank; on the right hand were pointed rocks, practicable for lizards, but inaccessible to all other terrestrial animals; behind and before, a road, or rather a path, about as broad as that on which Oedipus met Laïus.

  For his part, the animal had come to a standstill about ten paces from Captain Pamphile, seeming himself to be taking stock of the situation with great care.

  Captain Pamphile had, during his life, come across many cowards carrying brave faces, and he augured from this halt that perhaps the bear was as much afraid of him as he was of the bear. He moved on to meet him, the bear did the same; Captain Pamphile began to think he had made a mistake in his conjectures, and halted. The bear continued to advance. Thus his doubts were cleared up for certain. It was obviously not the bear that was afraid. Captain Pamphile turned on his left heel, so as to leave the way clear for his adversary, and began to retreat. He had not taken three paces before he was stopped by the scarped rocks. He placed his back against them, so as to avoid being taken in rear, and awaited events.

  The development was speedy. The bear, which was of the largest kind, advanced by the path up to the point where Captain Pamphile had left it; then he turned exactly at the same angle as the able strategist with whom he had to deal, and made straight for him. The situation was indeed critical; the place was solitary; there was no help to be hoped for from any one for the Captain: his sole weapon was his stick, which was but a poor arm of defence. The bear was not two paces from him. He raised his stick.... But lo! as he did so, the bear stood up on his hind legs, and... began to dance.

  It was a trained bear, which had broken its chain and escaped from New York, where it had had the honour of performing before Mr. Jackson, the President of the United States.

  Captain Pamphile, reassured by the terpsichorean performance of his enemy, now saw that the latter was muzzled and had a piece of broken chain hanging round his neck. He at once calculated how much a man, reduced as he was to penury, could profit by such a happy adventure, and as neither his birth nor his education was such as to give rise to false aristocratic fancies, he thought the trade of a bear-leader very much more honourable than many others he had seen carried on by some of his fellow-countrymen in France and abroad. Thus, he took the end of the dancer’s rope, hit him a blow with his stick on the snout, to make him understand it was-time to finish his minuet, and then resumed his journey towards Philadelphia, leading him in a leash as if he had been a retriever.

  In the evening, as he was crossing an open prairie, he noticed that his bear stopped in front of certain plants which were unknown to him. The wandering life which he had led had taught him to study carefully the instincts of animals. He presumed that these constant halts must have an object; so the next time the animal showed a disposition to stop, Captain Pamphile halted too, and gave him time to develop his intentions. He had not long to wait for a reward; the bear scraped up the ground; then, in a few moments he uncovered a bunch of roots which looked quite appetizing. Captain Pamphile tasted them; they combined the flavour of truffles and potatoes.

  The discovery was valuable; and so he allowed his bear full time to look for more; in an hour’s time they had gathered sufficient to provide both man and beast with supper.

  After the repast, Captain Pamphile looked out for a solitary tree, and when he had satisfied himself that not even the smallest of reptiles was concealed in the foliage, he tied the bear to the trunk and used him as a short ladder for getting into the lower branches. Having climbed up, he made himself safe as he had done in the forest; only this night he was left in perfect peace, the wolves being kept at a distance by the scent of the bear.

  Next morning, Captain Pamphile awoke calm and refreshed. His first thought was for his bear, which, he found, was sleeping quietly at the foot of the tree. Captain Pamphile went down and woke him up. Then the pair amicably started on the road to Philadelphia, where they arrived about eleven o’clock at night. Captain Pamphile had marched like Jack the Giant-Killer’s ogre.

  He searched about for an inn, but he could not find a single landlord who was willing at that hour of night to find room for a bear and an Indian savage. Thus he was already beginning to think himself worse off in the capital of Pennsylvania than he had been in the forests of the St. Lawrence, when he saw a brilliantly illumined tavern, from which there flowed such a torrent of laughter, rattle of glasses, songs and oaths, that he saw there must be some ship’s company inside that had just been paid off. Forthwith hope returned to the Captain’s heart. Either he was quite ignorant of the ways of the sailor, or else within there was waiting for him wine, money, and a bed — the three things he most longed for in his present situation. Thus he was going in with confidence, when all of a sudden he stopped short, as if he had been nailed in his tracks.

  In the midst of the uproar of shouts, oaths, and general rowdiness, he seemed to recognize, in one of the drunken songs, a familiar Provençal air. He stopped dead, listening with all his ears, so improbable did it seem that he had heard aright. But soon, when the refrain was taken up in chorus, he had no doubt whatever that he had his own countrymen before him. He then advanced a little farther and stopped again; but this time the expression of his face was that of such supreme astonishment that it bordered on idiocy; not only were the men natives of Southern France, not only was the song a song of Provence, but the man who was singing it was Policar! The crew of the “Roxelane “were spending the proceeds of her voyage at Philadelphia.

  Captain Pamphile took the situation in at a glance, and made up his mind what to do; thanks to the barber and the painter commissioned by Black Snake, he was so well disguised that his most familiar friend would not have known him. He boldly opened the door and entered the room with his bear. A general shout of welcome greeted the new-comers.

  Captain Pamphile had but one cause for doubt; he had forgotten to ask his bear for a rehearsal, so that he had not the faintest notion as to what the animal could do; but the intelligent beast made out his own programme at once. The instant he got inside, he began to trot round the room to clear a ring for his performance. The sailors took their places on the forms and benches. Policar took the chair, and the performance began. There was nothing in the world which a bear could be taught that Captain Pamphile’s bear did not know; he danced the minuet like Vestris, he rode a broomstick like a wizard, he pointed out the most drunken man in the room in a way which would have shamed the learned ass. Thus, when the performance was over, there was such a unanimous shout of applause that Policar declared he would buy the bear at any price from its owner, to make it a present to the ship’s company. His proposition was received with a shout of acclamation. The offer was then renewed in a formal manner; Captain Pamphile asked ten crowns for his beast. Policar, who was in a generous mood, gave him fifteen, and, paying the money down, he became the owner of the animal on the spot. As for Captain Pamphile, he left the auditorium at the commencement of the first part of the second performance without his departure being noticed or his identity being suspected by any one of the sailors. Our readers have sufficient intelligence to understand for themselves the cause of Captain Pamphile’s disappearance. Nevertheless, that no sort of doubt may remain as to the actual facts, we will give a full and complete explanation, suited to all who from indolence or any other motive may be disinclined to hazard a conjecture.

  Captain Pamphile had lost no time. From the moment he entered the tavern, he had kept one eye on the performance of his bear, while with the other he counted the number of the sailors. All were in the tavern from the first to the last. It was thus certain that not one man was on board ship. Double-Bouche alone was absent from the assembly, and Captain Pamphile guessed from that fact-that he had been left on board the “Roxelane “for fear the ship might take it into her head to set sail on her own account for Marseilles. Following out his train of reasoning, Captain Pamphile made for the sea-front, walking down Water Street, which runs parallel to the quay.