The Scalp Hunters Read Online Free PDF Page B

characteristics. He was a German.
    His occupation was also characteristic of his nationality. Before him were strewed over the table, and upon the floor, the objects of his study-plants and shrubs of various species. He was busy with these, classifying and carefully laying them out between the leaves of his portfolio. It was evident that the old man was a botanist.
    A glance to the right, and the naturalist and his labours were no longer regarded. I was looking upon the loveliest object that ever came before my eyes, and my heart bounded within me, as I strained forward in the intensity of its admiration.
    Yet it was not a woman that held my gaze captive, but a child-a girl-a maid-standing upon the threshold of womanhood, ready to cross it at the first summons of Love!
    My eyes, delighted, revelled along the graceful curves that outlined the beautiful being before me. I thought I had seen the face somewhere. I had, but a moment before, while looking upon that of the elder lady. They were the same face-using a figure of speech-the type transmitted from mother to daughter: the same high front and facial angle, the same outline of the nose, straight as a ray of light, with the delicate spiral-like curve of the nostril which meets you in the Greek medallion. Their hair, too, was alike in colour, golden; though, in that of the mother, the gold showed an enamel of silver.
    I will desist and spare details, which to you may be of little interest. In return, do me the favour to believe, that the being who impressed me then and for ever was beautiful, was lovely.
    "Ah! it wod be ver moch kindness if madame and ma'm'selle wod play la Marseillaise, la grande Marseillaise. What say mein liebe fraulein!"
    "Zoe, Zoe! take thy bandolin. Yes, doctor, we will play it for you with pleasure. You like the music. So do we. Come, Zoe!"
    The young girl, who, up to this time, had been watching intently the labours of the naturalist, glided to a remote corner of the room, and taking up an instrument resembling the guitar, returned and seated herself by her mother. The bandolin was soon placed in concert with the harp, and the strings of both vibrated to the thrilling notes of the Marseillaise.
    There was something exceedingly graceful in the performance. The instrumentation, as I thought, was perfect; and the voices of the players accompanied it in a sweet and spirited harmony. As I gazed upon the girl Zoe, her features animated by the thrilling thoughts of the anthem, her whole countenance radiant with light, she seemed some immortal being-a young goddess of liberty calling her children "to arms!"
    The botanist had desisted from his labours, and stood listening with delighted attention. At each return of the thrilling invocation, "Aux armes, citoyens!" the old man snapped his fingers, and beat the floor with his feet, marking the time of the music. He was filled with the same spirit which at that time, over all Europe, was gathering to its crisis.
    "Where am I? French faces, French music, French voices, and the conversation in French!" for the botanist addressed the females in that language, though with a strong Rhenish patois, that confirmed my first impressions of his nationality. "Where am I?"
    My eye ran around the room in search of an answer. I could recognise the furniture: the cross-legged Campeachy chairs, a rebozo, the palm-leaf petate. "Ha, Alp!"
    The dog lay stretched along the mattress near my couch, and sleeping.
    "Alp! Alp!"
    "Oh, mamma! mamma! ecoutez! the stranger calls."
    The dog sprang to his feet, and throwing his fore paws upon the bed, stretched his nose towards me with a joyous whimpering. I reached out my hand and patted him, at the same time giving utterance to some expressions of endearment.
    "Oh, mamma! mamma! he knows him. Voila."
    The lady rose hastily, and approached the bed. The German seized me by the wrist, pushing back the Saint Bernard, which was bounding to spring upward.
    "Mon Dieu! he is well. His eyes, doctor. How