 | CHAPTER VI. The deerslayer: or, The first war-path |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair!”
Milton.
Shortly after the disappearance of Judith, a light southerly
air arose, and Hutter set a large square-sail, that had
once been the flying top-sail of an Albany sloop, but which,
having become threadbare in catching the breezes of Tappan,
had been condemned and sold. He had a light tough
spar of tamarack that he could raise on occasion, and with
a little contrivance, his duck was spread to the wind in a
sufficiently professional manner. The effect on the ark was
such as to supersede the necessity of rowing; and, in about
two hours, the castle was seen, in the darkness, rising out
of the water, at the distance of a hundred yards. The sail
was then lowered, and by slow degrees the scow drifted up
to the building, and was secured.
No one had visited the house since Hurry and his companion
left it. The place was found in the quiet of mid-night,
a sort of type of the solitude of a wilderness. As an
enemy was known to be near, Hutter directed his daughters
to abstain from the use of lights, luxuries in which they
seldom indulged during the warm months, lest they might
prove beacons to direct their foes where they might be found.
“In open day-light, I shouldn't fear a host of savages,
behind these stout logs, and they without any cover to skulk
into,” added Hutter, when he had explained to his guests
the reasons why he forbade the use of lights; “for I've
three or four trusty weapons always loaded, and Killdeer, in
particular, is a piece that never misses. But it's a different
thing at night. A canoe might get upon us unseen in the
dark; and the savages have so many cunning ways of attacking,
that I look upon it as bad enough to deal with 'em
under a bright sun. I built this dwelling in order to have
'em at arm's length, in case we should ever get to blows
again. Some people think it's too open and exposed, but
as the surest means of making a safe berth.”
“You was once a sailor, they tell me, old Tom?” said
Hurry, in his abrupt manner, struck by one or two expressions
that the other had just used; “and some people believe
you could give us strange accounts of inimies and shipwrecks,
if you'd a mind to come out with all you know?”
“There are people in this world, Hurry,” returned the
other evasively, “who live on other men's thoughts; and
some such often find their way into the woods. What I've
been, or what I've seen in youth, is of less matter, now,
than what the savages are. It's of more account to find
out what will happen in the next twenty-four hours than to
talk over what happened twenty-four years since.”
“That's judgment, Deerslayer; yes, that's sound judgment.
Here's Judith and Hetty to take care of, to say
nothing of our own top-knots; and, for my part, I can sleep
as well in the dark, as I could under a noon-day sun. To
me it's no great matter whether there is light, or not, to see
to shut my eyes by.”
As Deerslayer seldom thought it necessary to answer his
companion's peculiar vein of humour, and Hutter was evidently
indisposed to dwell longer on the subject, its discussion
ceased with this remark. The latter had something
more on his mind, however, than recollections. His daughters
had no sooner left them, with an expressed intention of
going to bed, than he invited his two companions to follow
him again into the scow. Here the old man opened his
project, keeping back the portion that he had reserved for
execution by Hurry and himself.
“The great object for people, posted like ourselves, is to
command the water,” he commenced. “So long as there
is no other craft on the lake, a bark canoe is as good as a
man-of-war, since the castle will not be easily taken by
swimming. Now, there are but five canoes remaining in
these parts, two of which are mine, and one is Hurry's.
These three we have with us, here; one being fastened in
the canoe-dock beneath the house, and the other two being
alongside the scow. The other canoes are housed on the
shore, in hollow logs; and the savages, who are such venomous
morning, if they're serious in s'arch of bounties—”
“Now, friend Hutter,” interrupted Hurry, “the Indian
don't live that can find a canoe that is suitably wintered.
I've done something at this business before now, and Deerslayer,
here, knows that I am one that can hide a craft in
such a way that I can't find it myself.”
“Very true, Hurry,” put in the person to whom the appeal
had been made, “but you overlook the sarcumstance
that if you couldn't see the trail of the man who did the job,
I could. I'm of Master Hutter's mind, that it's far wiser to
mistrust a savage's ingenuity, than to build any great expectations
on his want of eye-sight. If these two canoes can be
got off to the castle, therefore, the sooner it's done the better.”
“Will you be of the party that's to do it?” demanded
Hutter, in a way to show that the proposal both surprised
and pleased him.
“Sartain. I'm ready to enlist in any enterprise that's
not ag'in a white man's lawful gifts. Natur' orders us to
defend our lives, and the lives of others, too, when there's
occasion and opportunity. I'll follow you, Floating Tom,
into the Mingo camp, on such an ar'r'n'd, and will strive to
do my duty, should we come to blows; though, never
having been tried in battle, I don't like to promise more than
I may be able to perform. We all know our wishes, but
none know their might, till put to the proof.”
“That's modest and suitable, lad,” exclaimed Hurry.
“You've never yet heard the crack of an angry rifle; and,
let me tell you, 't is as different from the persuasion of one
of your venison speeches, as the laugh of Judith Hutter, in
her best humour, is from the scolding of a Dutch house-keeper
on the Mohawk. I don't expect you'll prove much
of a warrior, Deerslayer, though your equal with the bucks
and the does, don't exist in all these parts. As for the ra'al
sarvice, however, you'll turn out rather rearward, according
to my consait.”
“We'll see, Hurry, we'll see,” returned the other meekly;
so far as human eye could discover, not at all disturbed
by these expressed doubts concerning his conduct on a point
on which men are sensitive, precisely in the degree that
they feel the consciousness of demerit; “having never been
and then there'll be sartainty, instead of bragging. I've
heard of them that was valiant, afore the fight, who did little
in it; and of them that waited to know their own tempers,
and found that they weren't as bad as some expected,
when put to the proof.”
“At any rate, we know you can use a paddle, young
man,” said Hutter, “and that's all we shall ask of you, tonight.
Let us waste no more time, but get into the canoe,
and do, in place of talking.”
As Hutter led the way, in the execution of his project, the
boat was soon ready, with Hurry and Deerslayer at the
paddles. Before the old man embarked, himself, however,
he held a conference of several minutes with Judith, entering
the house for that purpose; then, returning, he took his
place in the canoe, which left the side of the ark at the next
instant.
Had there been a temple reared to God, in that solitary
wilderness, its clock would have told the hour of midnight
as the party set forth on their expedition. The darkness
had increased, though the night was still clear, and the light
of the stars sufficed for all the purposes of the adventurers.
Hutter alone knew the places where the two canoes were hid,
and he directed the course, while his two athletic companions
raised and dipped their paddles with proper caution,
lest the sounds should be carried to the ears of their enemies,
across that sheet of placid water, in the stillness of
deep night. But the bark was too light to require any extraordinary
efforts, and skill supplying the place of strength,
in about half an hour they were approaching the shore, at
a point near a league from the castle.
“Lay on your paddles, men,” said Hutter, in a low voice,
“and let us look about us for a moment. We must now
be all eyes and ears, for these vermin have noses like blood-hounds.”
The shores of the lake were examined closely, in order to
discover any glimmering of light that might have been left
in a camp; and the men strained their eyes, in the obscurity,
to see if some thread of smoke was not still stealing along
the mountain-side, as it arose from the dying embers of a
fire. Nothing unusual could be traced; and as the position
savages had been met, it was thought safe to land. The
paddles were plied again, and the bows of the canoe ground
upon the gravelly beach with a gentle motion, and a sound
barely audible. Hutter and Hurry immediately landed, the
former carrying his own and his friend's rifle, leaving Deerslayer
in charge of the canoe. The hollow log lay a little
distance up the side of the mountain, and the old man
led the way towards it, using so much caution as to stop at
every third or fourth step, to listen if any tread betrayed the
presence of a foe. The same death-like stillness, however,
reigned on the midnight scene, and the desired place was
reached without an occurrence to induce alarm.
“This is it,” whispered Hutter, laying a foot on the trunk
of a fallen linden; “hand me the paddles first, and draw
the boat out with care, for the wretches may have left it
for a bait, after all.”
“Keep my rifle handy, butt towards me, old fellow,” answered
March. “If they attack me loaded, I shall want to
unload the piece at 'em, at least. And feel if the pan is full.”
“All's right,” muttered the other; “move slow, when
you get your load, and let me lead the way.”
The canoe was drawn out of the log with the utmost care,
raised by Hurry to his shoulder, and the two began to return
to the shore, moving but a step at a time, lest they should
tumble down the steep declivity. The distance was not
great, but the descent was extremely difficult; and, towards
the end of their little journey, Deerslayer was obliged to
land and meet them, in order to aid in lifting the canoe
through the bushes. With his assistance, the task was successfully
accomplished, and the light craft soon floated by
the side of the other canoe. This was no sooner done, than
all three turned anxiously toward the forest and the mountain,
expecting an enemy to break out of the one, or to come
rushing down the other. Still the silence was unbroken,
and they all embarked with the caution that had been used
in coming ashore.
Hutter now steered broad off towards the centre of the
lake. Having got a sufficient distance from the shore, he
cast his prize loose, knowing that it would drift slowly up the
lake, before the light southerly air, and intending to find
held his way down the lake, steering towards the very point
where Hurry had made his fruitless attempt on the life of
the deer. As the distance from this point to the outlet was
less than a mile, it was like entering an enemy's country;
and redoubled caution became necessary. They reached
the extremity of the point, however, and landed in safety on
the little gravelly beach already mentioned. Unlike the last
place at which they had gone ashore, here was no acclivity
to ascend, the mountains looming up in the darkness quite
a quarter of a mile further west, leaving a margin of level
ground between them and the strand. The point itself,
though long, and covered with tall trees, was nearly flat,
and, for some distance, only a few yards in width. Hutter
and Hurry landed, as before, leaving their companion in
charge of the boat.
In this instance, the dead tree that contained the canoe
of which they had come in quest, lay about half-way between
the extremity of the narrow slip of land, and the
place where it joined the main shore; and, knowing that
there was water so near him on his left, the old man led the
way along the eastern side of the belt, with some confidence,
walking boldly, though still with caution. He had landed
at the point expressly to get a glimpse into the bay, and to
make certain that the coast was clear; otherwise he would
have come ashore directly abreast of the hollow tree. There
was no difficulty in finding the latter, from which the canoe
was drawn, as before, and, instead of carrying it down to
the place where Deerslayer lay, it was launched at the
nearest favourable spot. As soon as it was in the water,
Hurry entered it, and paddled round to the point, whither
Hutter also proceeded, following the beach. As the three
men had now in their possession all the boats on the lake,
their confidence was greatly increased, and there was no
longer the same feverish desire to quit the shore, or the
same necessity for extreme caution. Their position on the
extremity of the long, narrow bit of land, added to the feeling
of security, as it permitted an enemy to approach in only
one direction, that in their front, and under circumstances
that would render discovery, with their habitual vigilance,
grouped in consultation on the gravelly point.
“We've fairly tree'd the scamps,” said Hurry, chuckling
at their success; “if they wish to visit the castle, let
'em wade or swim! Old Tom, that idee of your'n, in
burrowing out in the lake, was high proof, and carries a fine
bead. There be men who would think the land safer than
the water; but, after all, reason shows it isn't; the beaver,
and rats, and other l'arned creatur's, taking to the last, when
hard pressed. I call our position, now, entrenched, and set
the Canadas at defiance.”
“Let us paddle along this south shore,” said Hutter,
“and see if there's no sign of an encampment—but, first,
let me have a better look into the bay, for no one has been
far enough round the inner shore of the point, to make sure
of that quarter, yet.”
As Hutter ceased speaking, all three moved in the direction
he had named. Scarce had they fairly opened the
bottom of the bay, when a general start proved that their
eyes had lighted on a common object at the same instant.
It was no more than a dying brand, giving out its flickering
and failing light; but at that hour, and in that place, it was
at once as conspicuous as “a good deed in a naughty
world.” There was not a shadow of doubt that this fire
had been kindled at an encampment of the Indians. The
situation, sheltered from observation on all sides but one,
and even on that, except for a very short distance, proved
that more care had been taken to conceal the spot, than
would be used for ordinary purposes, and Hutter, who knew
that a spring was near at hand, as well as one of the best
fishing-stations on the lake, immediately inferred that this
encampment contained the women and children of the party.
“That's not a warrior's encampment,” he growled to
Hurry; “and there's bounty enough sleeping round that
fire to make a heavy division of head-money. Send the lad
to the canoes, for there'll come no good of him, in such an
onset, and let us take the matter in hand, at once, like men.”
“There's judgment in your notion, old Tom, and I like
it to the back-bone. Deerslayer, do you get into the canoe,
lad, and paddle off into the lake, with the spare one, and set
it adrift, as we did with the other; after which, you can float
keeping outside the point, howsever, and outside the rushes,
too. You can hear us when we want you; and, if there's
any delay, I'll call like a loon—yes, that'll do it—the
call of a loon shall be the signal. If you hear rifles, and
feel like soldiering, why, you may close in, and see if you
can make the same hand with the savages that you do with
the deer.”
“If my wishes could be followed, this matter would not
be undertaken, Hurry—”
“Quite true—nobody denies it, boy; but your wishes
can't be followed; and that inds the matter. So just canoe
yourself off into the middle of the lake, and by the time you
get back, there'll be movements in that camp!”
The young man set about complying with great reluctance
and a heavy heart. He knew the prejudices of the frontier-men
too well, however, to attempt a remonstrance. The
latter, indeed, under the circumstances, might prove dangerous,
as it would certainly prove useless. He paddled the
canoe, therefore, silently, and with the former caution, to a
spot near the centre of the placid sheet of water, and set the
boat just recovered adrift, to float towards the castle, before
the light southerly air. This expedient had been adopted,
in both cases, under the certainty that the drift could not
carry the light barks more than a league or two, before the
return of light, when they might easily be overtaken. In
order to prevent any wandering savage from using them, by
swimming off and getting possession, a possible, but scarcely
a probable event, all the paddles were retained.
No sooner had he set the recovered canoe adrift, than
Deerslayer turned the bows of his own towards the point
on the shore that had been indicated by Hurry. So light
was the movement of the little craft, and so steady the sweep
of its master's arm, that ten minutes had not elapsed ere it
was again approaching the land, having, in that brief time,
passed over fully half a mile of distance. As soon as Deerslayer's
eye caught a glimpse of the rushes, of which there
were many growing in the water a hundred feet from the
shore, he arrested the motion of the canoe, and anchored his
boat by holding fast to the delicate, but tenacious stem of
one of the drooping plants. Here he remained, awaiting
the result of the hazardous enterprise.
It would be difficult to convey to the minds of those who
have never witnessed it, the sublimity that characterizes the
silence of a solitude as deep as that which now reigned over
the Glimmerglass. In the present instance, this sublimity was
increased by the gloom of night, which threw its shadowy
and fantastic forms around the lake, the forest, and the hills.
It is not easy, indeed, to conceive of any place more favourable
to heighten these natural impressions, than that Deerslayer
now occupied. The size of the lake brought all
within the reach of human senses, while it displayed so
much of the imposing scene at a single view, giving up,
as it might be, at a glance, a sufficiency to produce the
deepest impressions. As has been said, this was the first
lake Deerslayer had ever seen. Hitherto, his experience
had been limited to the courses of rivers and smaller streams,
and never before had he seen so much of that wilderness
which he so well loved, spread before his gaze. Accustomed
to the forest, however, his mind was capable of portraying
all its hidden mysteries, as he looked upon its leafy
surface. This was also the first time he had been on a trail
where human lives depended on the issue. His ears had
often drunk in the traditions of frontier warfare, but he had
never yet been confronted with an enemy.
The reader will readily understand, therefore, how intense
must have been the expectation of the young man, as he sat
in his solitary canoe, endeavouring to catch the smallest
sound that might denote the course of things on shore. His
training had been perfect, so far as theory could go, and his
self-possession, notwithstanding the high excitement, that
was the fruit of novelty, would have done credit to a veteran.
The visible evidences of the existence of the camp, or
of the fire, could not be detected from the spot where the
canoe lay, and he was compelled to depend on the sense of
hearing alone. He did not feel impatient, for the lessons he
had heard taught him the virtue of patience, and, most of all,
inculcated the necessity of wariness, in conducting any covert
assault on the Indians. Once he thought he heard the
cracking of a dried twig, but expectation was so intense it
might mislead him. In this manner minute after minute
was extended to quite an hour. Deerslayer knew not whether
to rejoice in, or to mourn over this cautious delay, for,
if it augured security to his associates, it foretold destruction
to the feeble and innocent.
It might have been an hour and a half after his companions
and he had parted, when Deerslayer was aroused by
a sound that filled him equally with concern and surprise.
The quavering call of a loon arose from the opposite side of
the lake, evidently at no great distance from its outlet.
There was no mistaking the note of this bird, which is so
familiar to all who know the sounds of the American lakes.
Shrill, tremulous, loud, and sufficiently prolonged, it seems
the very cry of warning. It is often raised, also, at night—
an exception to the habits of most of the other feathered inmates
of the wilderness; a circumstance which had induced
Hurry to select it as his own signal. There had been sufficient
time, certainly, for the two adventurers to make their
way by land, from the point where they had been left to that
whence the call had come, but it was not probable that they
would adopt such a course. Had the camp been deserted,
they would have summoned Deerslayer to the shore, and, did
it prove to be peopled, there could be no sufficient motive for
circling it, in order to re-embark at so great a distance.
Should he obey the signal, and be drawn away from the
landing, the lives of those who depended on him might be
the forfeit—and, should he neglect the call, on the supposition
that it had been really made, the consequences might
be equally disastrous, though from a different cause. In
this indecision he waited, trusting that the call, whether
feigned or natural, would be speedily renewed. Nor was he
mistaken. A very few minutes elapsed before the same
shrill, warning cry was repeated, and from the same part
of the lake. This time, being on the alert, his senses were
not deceived. Although he had often heard admirable imitations
of this bird, and was no mean adept, himself, in raising
its notes, he felt satisfied that Hurry, to whose efforts in
that way he had attended, could never so completely and
closely follow nature. He determined, therefore, to disregard
that cry, and to wait for one less perfect, and nearer
at hand.
Deerslayer had hardly come to this determination, wher
the profound stillness of night and solitude was broken by a
cry so startling, as to drive all recollection of the more melancholy
call of the loon, from the listener's mind. It was
a shriek of agony, that came either from one of the female
sex, or from a boy so young as not yet to have attained a
manly voice. This appeal could not be mistaken. Heartrending
terror—if not writhing agony—was in the sounds,
and the anguish that had awakened them was as sudden as
it was fearful. The young man released his hold of the
rush, and dashed his paddle into the water; to do, he knew
not what—to steer, he knew not whither. A very few moments,
however, removed his indecision. The breaking of
branches, the cracking of dried sticks, and the fall of feet,
were all distinctly audible; the sounds appearing to approach
the water, though in a direction that led diagonally
towards the shore, and a little farther north than the spot
that Deerslayer had been ordered to keep near. Following
this clue, the young man urged the canoe ahead, paying but
little attention to the manner in which he might betray its
presence. He had reached a part of the shore, where its
immediate bank was tolerably high and quite steep. Men
were evidently threshing through the bushes and trees on
the summit of this bank, following the line of the shore, as
if those who fled sought a favourable place for descending.
Just at this instant, five or six rifles flashed, and the opposite
hills gave back, as usual, the sharp reports in prolonged,
rolling echoes. One or two shrieks, like those which
escape the bravest when suddenly overcome by unexpected
anguish and alarm, followed; and then the threshing among
the bushes was renewed, in a way to show that man was
grappling with man.
“Slippery devil!” shouted Hurry, with the fury of disappointment—“his
skin's greased! I shan't grapple!—Take
that for your cunning!”
The words were followed by the fall of some heavy object
among the smaller trees that fringed the bank, appearing
to Deerslayer as if his gigantic associate had hurled an
enemy from him, in this unceremonious manner. Again
the flight and pursuit were renewed, and then the young
man saw a human form break down the hill, and rush several
was just near enough to the spot to allow this movement,
which was accompanied by no little noise, to be seen; and
feeling that there he must take in his companions, if anywhere,
Deerslayer urged the canoe forward, to the rescue.
His paddle had not been raised twice, when the voice of
Hurry was heard filling the air with imprecations, and he
rolled on the narrow beach, literally loaded down with enemies.
While prostrate, and almost smothered with his foes,
the athletic frontier-man gave his loon-call, in a manner
that would have excited laughter under circumstances less
terrific. The figure in the water seemed suddenly to repent
his own flight, and rushed to the shore to aid his companion,
but was met and immediately overpowered by half a dozen
fresh pursuers, who, just then, came leaping down the bank.
“Let up, you painted riptyles—let up!” cried Hurry, too
hard pressed to be particular about the terms he used; “isn't
it enough that I'm withed like a saw-log, that ye must
choke, too?”
This speech satisfied Deerslayer that his friends were prisoners,
and that to land would be to share their fate. He
was already within a hundred feet of the shore, when a few
timely strokes of the paddle not only arrested his advance,
but forced him off to six or eight times that distance from his
enemies. Luckily for him, all of the Indians had dropped
their rifles in the pursuit, or this retreat might not have been
effected with impunity; though no one had noted the canoe
in the first confusion of the mêlée.
“Keep off the land, lad,” called out Hutter; “the girls
depend only on you, now: you will want all your caution
to escape these savages. Keep off, and God prosper you,
as you aid my children!”
There was little sympathy, in general, between Hutter and
the young man, but the bodily and mental anguish with
which this appeal was made, served at the moment to conceal
from the latter the former's faults. He saw only the
father in his sufferings, and resolved at once to give a pledge
of fidelity to his interests, and to be faithful to his word.
“Put your heart at ease, Master Hutter,” he called out;
“the gals shall be looked to, as well as the castle. The
inimy has got the shore, 't is no use to deny, but he hasn't
one can say what will come of it; but, if good-will can sarve
you and your'n, depend on that much. My exper'ence is
small, but my will is good.”
“Ay—ay, Deerslayer,” returned Hurry, in his stentorian
voice, which was losing some of its heartiness, notwithstanding—“Ay,
ay, Deerslayer, you mean well enough, but what
can you do? You're no great matter in the best of times,
and such a person is not likely to turn out a miracle in the
worst. If there's one savage on this lake shore, there's
forty, and that's an army you ar'n't the man to overcome.
The best way, in my judgment, will be to make a
straight course to the castle; get the gals into the canoe,
with a few eatables; then strike off for the corner of the lake
where we came in, and take the best trial for the Mohawk.
These devils won't know where to look for you for some
hours, and if they did, and went off hot in the pursuit, they
must turn either the foot, or the head of the lake, to get at
you. That's my judgment in the matter; and if old Tom,
here, wishes to make his last will and testament in a manner
favourable to his darters, he'll say the same.”
“'T will never do, young man,” rejoined Hutter. “The
enemy has scouts out at this moment, looking for canoes,
and you'll be seen and taken. Trust to the castle; and,
above all things, keep clear of the land. Hold out a week,
and parties from the garrisons will drive the savages off.”
“'T won't be four-and-twenty hours, old fellow, afore
these foxes will be rafting off, to storm your castle,” interrupted
Hurry, with more of the heat of argument than might
be expected from a man who was bound and a captive, and
about whom nothing could be called free but his opinions
and his tongue. “Your advice has a stout sound, but it
will have a fatal tarmination. If you or I was in the house,
we might hold out a few days, but remember that this lad
has never seen an inimy afore to-night, and is what you
yourself called settlement-conscienced; though, for my part,
I think the consciences in the settlements pretty much the
same as they are out here in the woods. These savages
are making signs, Deerslayer, for me to encourage you to
come ashore with the canoe; but that I'll never do, as it's
ag'in reason and natur'. As for old Tom and myself, whether
fire, or carry us to Canada, is more than any one knows,
but the devil that advises them how to act. I've such
a big and bushy head, that it's quite likely they'll indivor
to get two scalps off it, for the bounty is a tempting thing,
or old Tom and I wouldn't be in this scrape. Ay—there
they go with their signs ag'in, but if I advise you to land,
may they eat me as well as roast me. No, no, Deerslayer
—do you keep off where you are, and after day-light, on
no account come within two hundred yards—”
This injunction of Hurry's was stopped by a hand being
rudely slapped against his mouth, the certain sign that some
one in the party sufficiently understood English to have at
length detected the drift of his discourse. Immediately after,
the whole group entered the forest, Hutter and Hurry apparently
making no resistance to the movement. Just as the
sounds of the cracking bushes were ceasing, however, the
voice of the father was again heard.
“As you're true to my children, God prosper you, young
man!” were the words that reached Deerslayer's ears; after
which he found himself left to follow the dictates of his own
discretion.
Several minutes elapsed, in death-like stillness, when the
party on the shore had disappeared in the woods. Owing
to the distance, rather more than two hundred yards, and
the obscurity, Deerslayer had been able barely to distinguish
the group, and to see it retiring; but even this dim connection
with human forms, gave an animation to the scene that
was strongly in contrast to the absolute solitude that remained.
Although the young man leaned forward to listen,
holding his breath and condensing every faculty in the single
sense of hearing, not another sound reached his ears to
denote the vicinity of human beings. It seemed as if a
silence that had never been broken, reigned on the spot
again; and, for an instant, even that piercing shriek which
had so lately broken the stillness of the forest, or the execrations
of March, would have been a relief to the feeling
of desertion to which it gave rise.
This paralysis of mind and body, however, could not last
long in one constituted mentally and physically like Deerslayer.
Dropping his paddle into the water, he turned the
thinks intently, towards the centre of the lake. When he
believed himself to have reached a point in a line with that
where he had set the last canoe adrift, he changed his direction
northward, keeping the light air as nearly on his back
as possible. After paddling a quarter of a mile in this direction,
a dark object became visible on the lake, a little to
the right; and turning on one side for the purpose, he had
soon secured his lost prize to his own boat. Deerslayer
now examined the heavens, the course of the air, and the
position of the two canoes. Finding nothing in either to
induce a change of plan, he lay down and prepared to catch
a few hours' sleep, that the morrow might find him equal to
its exigencies.
Although the hardy and the tired sleep profoundly, even
in scenes of danger, it was some time before Deerslayer lost
his recollection. His mind dwelt on what had passed, and
his half-conscious faculties kept figuring the events of the
night, in a sort of waking dream. Suddenly he was up and
alert, for he fancied he heard the preconcerted signal of
Hurry, summoning him to the shore. But all was still
as the grave, again. The canoes were slowly drifting
northward, the thoughtful stars were glimmering in their
mild glory over his head, and the forest-bound sheet of
water lay embedded between its mountains, as calm and
melancholy as if never troubled by the winds, or brightened
by a noon-day sun. Once more the loon raised his tremulous
cry, near the foot of the lake, and the mystery of the
alarm was explained. Deerslayer adjusted his hard pillow,
stretched his form in the bottom of the canoe, and slept.
| CHAPTER VI. The deerslayer: or, The first war-path | |