When I recovered, I was alone; they had carried him
off. I rose, and following the traces of his blood, arrived fortunately
at the shore just as they were embarking. God permitted me to see him
again, supported by one of the savages, and even to hear his feeble
voice cry, 'Console yourself, Fritz, I am not dead; I am only wounded in
the shoulder; it is not your fault; go, my kind brother, as quick as
possible to papa, and you will both'--the canoe sailed away so swiftly,
that I heard no more; but I understood the rest--'_you will both come
and rescue me_.' But will there be time? Will they dress his wound? Oh!
father, what have I done! Can you forgive me?"
Overwhelmed with grief, I could only hold out my hand to my poor boy,
and assure him I could not possibly blame him for this distressing
accident.
Ernest, though greatly afflicted, endeavoured to console his brother; he
told him a wound in the shoulder was not dangerous, and the savages
certainly intended to dress his wound, or they would have left him to
die. Fritz, somewhat comforted, begged me to allow him to bathe, to
divest himself of the colouring, which was now become odious to him, as
being that of these ruthless barbarians. I was reluctant to consent; I
thought it might still be useful, in gaining access to the savages; but
he was certain they would recognize him in that disguise as the bearer
of _the thunder_, and would distrust him.
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