 | CHAPTER IX. The deerslayer: or, The first war-path |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
Thy private feasting to a public fast;
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name;
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste;
Thy violent vanities can never last.”
Rape of Lucrece.
Judith was waiting the return of Deerslayer, on the platform,
with stifled impatience, when the latter reached the
hut. Hist and Hetty were both in a deep sleep, on the
bed usually occupied by the two daughters of the house,
and the Delaware was stretched on the floor of the adjoining
room, his rifle at his side, and a blanket over him, already
dreaming of the events of the last few days. There was a
lamp burning in the ark; for the family was accustomed to
indulge in this luxury on extraordinary occasions, and possessed
the means, the vessel being of a form and material
to render it probable it had once been an occupant of the
chest.
As soon as the girl got a glimpse of the canoe, she ceased
her hurried walk up and down the platform, and stood ready
to receive the young man, whose return she had now been
anxiously expecting for some time. She helped him to fasten
the canoe, and by aiding in the other little similar employments,
liberty as soon as possible. When this was done, in answer
to an inquiry of his, she informed him of the manner
in which their companions had disposed of themselves.
He listened attentively, for the manner of the girl was so
earnest and impressive as to apprise him that she had something
on her mind of more than common concern.
“And now, Deerslayer,” Judith continued, “you see I
have lighted the lamp, and put it in the cabin of the ark.
That is never done with us, unless on great occasions, and
I consider this night as the most important of my life. Will
you follow me and see what I have to show you—hear what
I have to say?”
The hunter was a little surprised; but making no objections,
both were soon in the scow, and in the room that contained
the light. Here two stools were placed at the side of
the chest, with the lamp on another, and a table near by to
receive the different articles as they might be brought to
view. This arrangement had its rise in the feverish impatience
of the girl, which could brook no delay that it was
in her power to obviate. Even all the padlocks were removed,
and it only remained to raise the heavy lid, and
to expose the treasures of this long-secreted hoard.
“I see, in part, what all this means,” observed Deerslayer,
“yes, I see through it, in part. But why is not
Hetty present; now Thomas Hutter is gone, she is one of
the owners of these cur'osities, and ought to see them opened
and handled.”
“Hetty sleeps,” answered Judith, hastily. “Happily for
her, fine clothes and riches have no charms. Besides, she
has this night given her share of all that the chest may hold,
to me, that I may do with it as I please.”
“Is poor Hetty composs enough for that, Judith?” demanded
the just-minded young man. “It's a good rule,
and a righteous one, never to take when those that give don't
know the valie of their gifts; and such as God has visited
heavily in their wits, ought to be dealt with as carefully as
children that haven't yet come to their understandings.”
Judith was hurt at this rebuke, coming from the person it
did; but she would have felt it far more keenly, had not her
conscience fully acquitted her of any unjust intentions towards
a moment, however, to betray any of her usual mountings
of the spirit, and she smothered the passing sensation in the
desire to come to the great object she had in view.
“Hetty will not be wronged,” she mildly answered; “she
even knows not only what I am about to do, Deerslayer,
but why I do it. So take your seat, raise the lid of the
chest, and this time we will go to the bottom. I shall be disappointed
if something is not found to tell us more of the
history of Thomas Hutter and my mother.”
“Why Thomas Hutter, Judith, and not your father? The
dead ought to meet with as much reverence as the living!”
“I have long suspected that Thomas Hutter was not my
father, though I did think he might have been Hetty's; but
now we know he was the father of neither. He acknowledged
that much in his dying moments. I am old enough
to remember better things than we have seen on this lake,
though they are so faintly impressed on my memory, that
the earlier part of my life seems like a dream.”
“Dreams are but miserable guides when one has to detarmine
about realities, Judith,” returned the other, admonishingly.
“Fancy nothing, and hope nothing on their account;
though I've known chiefs that thought 'em useful.”
“I expect nothing for the future, from them, my good
friend, but cannot help remembering what has been. This
is idle, however, when half an hour of examination may tell
us all, or even more than I want to know.”
Deerslayer, who comprehended the girl's impatience, now
took his seat, and proceeded once more to raise the different
articles that the chest contained from their places. As a
matter of course, all that had been previously examined, were
found where they had been last deposited; and they excited
much less interest, or comment, than when formerly exposed
to view. Even Judith laid aside the rich brocade with an
air of indifference, for she had a far higher aim before her,
than the indulgence of vanity, and was impatient to come
at the still hidden, or rather unknown, treasures.
“All these we have seen before,” she said, “and will not
stop to open. The bundle under your hand, Deerslayer, is
a fresh one; that we will look into. God send it may contain
are!”
“Ay, if some bundles could speak, they might tell wonderful
secrets,” returned the young man, deliberately undoing
the folds of another piece of coarse canvass, in order to
come at the contents of the roll that lay on his knees;
“though this doesn't seem to be one of that family, seeing't is
neither more nor less than a sort of flag; though of what
nation, it passes my l'arnin' to say.”
“That flag must have some meaning to it,” Judith hurriedly
interposed. “Open it wider, Deerslayer, that we may
see the colours.”
“Well, I pity the ensign that has to shoulder this cloth,
and to parade it about in the field. Why 't is large enough,
Judith, to make a dozen of them colours the King's officers
set so much store by. These can be no ensign's colours,
but a gineral's!”
“A ship might carry it, Deerslayer; and ships I know do
use such things. Have you never heard any fearful stories
about Thomas Hutter's having once been concerned with the
people they call buccaneers?”
“Buck-and-near! Not I—not I—I never heard him mentioned
as good at a buck far off, or near by. Hurry Harry
did tell me something about its being supposed that he had
formerly, in some way or other, dealings with sartain sea-robbers;
but, Lord, Judith, it can't surely give you any satisfaction
to make out that ag'in your mother's own husband,
though he isn't your father.”
“Any thing will give me satisfaction that tells me who I
am, and helps to explain the dreams of childhood. My
mother's husband! Yes, he must have been that, though
why a woman like her should have chosen a man like him,
is more than mortal reason can explain. You never saw
mother, Deerslayer, and can't feel the vast, vast difference
there was between them!”
“Such things do happen, howsever;—yes, they do happen;
though why Providence lets them come to pass, is
more than I understand. I've knew the f'ercest warriors
with the gentlest wives of any in the tribe, and awful scolds
fall to the lot of Indians fit to be missionaries.”
“That was not it, Deerslayer; that was not it. Oh! if it
been his wife at all. That no daughter can wish for her
own mother! Go on, now, and let us see what the square-looking
bundle holds.”
Deerslayer complied, and he found that it contained a
small trunk of pretty workmanship, but fastened. The next
point was to find a key; but search proving ineffectual, it
was determined to force the lock. This Deerslayer soon
effected by the aid of an iron instrument, and it was found
that the interior was nearly filled with papers. Many were
letters; some fragments of manuscripts, memorandums,
accounts, and other similar documents. The hawk does not
pounce upon the chicken with a more sudden swoop, than Judith
sprang forward to seize this mine of hitherto concealed
knowledge. Her education, as the reader will have perceived,
was far superior to her situation in life, and her eye
glanced over page after page of the letters, with a readiness
that her schooling supplied, and with an avidity that found
its origin in her feelings. At first, it was evident that the
girl was gratified, and, we may add, with reason; for the
letters, written by females, in innocence and affection, were
of a character to cause her to feel proud of those with whom
she had every reason to think she was closely connected by
the ties of blood. It does not come within the scope of our
plan to give more of these epistles, however, than a general
idea of their contents, and this will best be done by describing
the effect they produced on the manner, appearance,
and feeling of her who was so eagerly perusing them.
It has been said, already, that Judith was much gratified
with the letters that first met her eye. They contained the
correspondence of an affectionate and intelligent mother to
an absent daughter, with such allusions to the answers as
served, in a great measure, to fill up the vacuum left by the
replies. They were not without admonitions and warnings,
however, and Judith felt the blood mounting to her temples,
and a cold shudder succeeding, as she read one in which
the propriety of the daughter's indulging in as much intimacy,
as had evidently been described in one of the daughter's
own letters, with an officer “who came from Europe,
and who could hardly be supposed to wish to form an honourable
connection in America,” was rather coldly commented
the fact that the signatures had been carefully cut from
every one of these letters, and wherever a name occurred
in the body of the epistles, it had been erased with so much
diligence as to render it impossible to read it. They had
all been enclosed in envelopes, according to the fashion of
the age, and not an address either was to be found. Still,
the letters themselves had been religiously preserved, and
Judith thought she could discover traces of tears remaining
on several. She now remembered to have seen the little
trunk in her mother's keeping, previously to her death, and
she supposed it had first been deposited in the chest, along
with the other forgotten, or concealed objects, when the letters
could no longer contribute to that parent's grief or happiness.
Next came another bundle, and these were filled with the
protestations of love, written with passion certainly, but also
with that deceit which men so often think it justifiable to
use to the other sex. Judith had shed tears abundantly over
the first packet, but now she felt a sentiment of indignation
and pride better sustaining her. Her hand shook, however,
and cold shivers again passed through her frame, as she
discovered a few points of strong resemblance between these
letters and some it had been her own fate to receive. Once,
indeed, she laid the packet down, bowed her head to her
knees, and seemed nearly convulsed. All this time, Deerslayer
sat a silent, but attentive observer of every thing that
passed. As Judith read a letter, she put it into his hands
to hold, until she could peruse the next; but this seemed in
no degree to enlighten her companion, as he was totally unable
to read. Nevertheless, he was not entirely at fault in
discovering the passions that were contending in the bosom
of the fair creature by his side, and, as occasional sentences
escaped her in murmurs, he was nearer the truth, in his
divinations, or conjectures, than the girl would have been
pleased at discovering.
Judith had commenced with the earliest letters, luckily for
a ready comprehension of the tale they told; for they were
carefully arranged in chronological order, and, to any one
who would take the trouble to peruse them, would have
revealed a sad history of gratified passion, coldness, and,
her impatience could not admit of delay, and she soon
got to glancing her eyes over a page, by way of coming at
the truth in the briefest manner possible. By adopting this
expedient, one to which all who are eager to arrive at results,
without encumbering themselves with details, are so
apt to resort, Judith made a rapid progress in this melancholy
revelation of her mother's failings and punishment.
She saw that the period of her own birth was distinctly referred
to, and even learned that the homely name she bore
was given her by the father of whose person she retained so
faint an impression as to resemble a dream. This name
was not obliterated from the text of the letters, but stood as
if nothing was to be gained by erasing it. Hetty's birth
was mentioned once, and in that instance the name was the
mother's; but ere this period was reached came the signs
of coldness, shadowing forth the desertion that was so soon
to follow. It was in this stage of the correspondence that
her mother had recourse to the plan of copying her own
epistles. They were but few, but were eloquent with the
feelings of blighted affection, and contrition. Judith sobbed
over them, until again and again she felt compelled to lay
them aside, from sheer physical inability to see, her eyes
being literally obscured with tears. Still she returned to
the task, with increasing interest, and finally succeeded in
reaching the end of the latest communication that had probably
ever passed between her parents.
All this occupied fully an hour; for near a hundred letters
were glanced at, and some twenty had been closely
read. The truth now shone clear upon the acute mind of
Judith, so far as her own birth and that of Hetty were concerned.
She sickened at the conviction, and, for the moment,
the rest of the world seemed to be cut off from her,
and she had now additional reasons for wishing to pass the
remainder of her life on the lake, where she had already
seen so many bright and so many sorrowing days.
There yet remained more letters to examine. Judith
found these were a correspondence between her mother and
Thomas Hovey. The originals of both parties were carefully
arranged, letter and answer, side by side; and they
told the early history of the connection between the ill-assorted
Her mother made the advances towards a marriage, to the
surprise, not to say horror, of her daughter; and she actually
found a relief when she discovered traces of what struck
her as insanity, or a morbid disposition, bordering on that
dire calamity, in the earlier letters of that ill-fated woman.
The answers of Hovey were coarse and illiterate, though
they manifested a sufficient desire to obtain the hand of a
woman of singular personal attractions, and whose great
error he was willing to overlook, for the advantage of possessing
one, every way so much his superior, and who, it
also appeared, was not altogether destitute of money. The
remainder of this part of the correspondence was brief; and
it was soon confined to a few communications on business,
in which the miserable wife hastened the absent husband
in his preparations to abandon a world which there was
sufficient reason to think was as dangerous to one of the
parties as it was disagreeable to the other. But a single expression
had escaped her mother, by which Judith could get
a clue to the motives that had induced her to marry Hovey,
or Hutter; and this she found was that feeling of resentment
which so often tempts the injured to inflict wrongs on themselves,
by way of heaping coals on the heads of those
through whom they have suffered. Judith had enough of
the spirit of that mother to comprehend this sentiment, and
for a moment did she see the exceeding folly which permitted
such revengeful feelings to get the ascendency.
There, what may be called the historical part of the papers
ceased. Among the loose fragments, however, was an
old newspaper that contained a proclamation offering a reward
for the apprehension of certain freebooters by name,
among which was that of Thomas Hovey. The attention
of the girl was drawn to the proclamation and to this particular
name, by the circumstance that black lines had been
drawn under both, in ink. Nothing else was found among
the papers that could lead to a discovery of either the name
or the place of residence of the wife of Hutter. All the
dates, signatures, and addresses, had been cut from the letters,
and wherever a word occurred in the body of the communications,
that might furnish a clue, it was scrupulously
erased. Thus Judith found all her hopes of ascertaining
back on her own resources and habits for every thing connected
with the future. Her recollection of her mother's
manners, conversation, and sufferings, filled up many a gap
in the historical facts she had now discovered; and the truth,
in its outlines, stood sufficiently distinct before her, to take
away all desire, indeed, to possess any more details. Throwing
herself back in her seat, she simply desired her companion
to finish the examination of the other articles in the
chest, as it might yet contain something of importance.
“I'll do it, Judith; I'll do it,” returned the patient Deerslayer;
“but if there's many more letters to read, we shall
see the sun ag'in, afore you've got through with the reading
of them! Two good hours have you been looking at
them bits of papers!”
“They tell me of my parents, Deerslayer, and have settled
my plans for life. A girl may be excused who reads
about her own father and mother, and that too for the first
time in her life. I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“Never mind me, gal; never mind me. It matters little
whether I sleep or watch; but, though you be pleasant to
look at, and are so handsome, Judith, it is not altogether
agreeable to sit so long to behold you shedding tears. I
know that tears don't kill, and that some people are better
for shedding a few, now and then, especially women; but
I'd rather see you smile, at any time, Judith, than see you
weep.”
This gallant speech was rewarded with a sweet, though
a melancholy smile; and then the girl again desired her
companion to finish the examination of the chest. The
search necessarily continued some time, during which Judith
collected her thoughts, and regained her composure.
She took no part in the search, leaving every thing to the
young man, looking listlessly, herself, at the different articles
that came uppermost. Nothing further of much interest,
or value, however, was found. A sword or two, such
as were then worn by gentlemen, some buckles of silver,
or so richly plated as to appear silver, and a few handsome
articles of female dress, composed the principal discoveries.
It struck both Judith and the Deerslayer, notwithstanding,
that some of these things might be made useful in effecting a
in the way that was not so apparent to the former.
The conversation was first renewed in connection with this
point.
“And now, Deerslayer,” said Judith, “we may talk of
yourself, and of the means of getting you out of the hands
of the Hurons. Any part, or all of what you have seen in
the chest, will be cheerfully given by me and Hetty, to set
you at liberty.”
“Well, that's ginerous—yes, 't is downright free-hearted,
and free-handed, and ginerous. This is the way with women;
when they take up a fri'ndship, they do nothing by
halves, but are as willing to part with their property, as if
it had no valie in their eyes. Howsever, while I thank
you both, just as much as if the bargain was made, and
Rivenoak, or any of the other vagabonds, was here to accept
and close the treaty, there's two principal reasons why
it can never come to pass, which may be as well told at
once, in order no onlikely expectations may be raised in
you, or any onjustifiable hopes in me.”
“What reason can there be, if Hetty and I are willing
to part with the trifles for your sake, and the savages are
willing to receive them?”
“That's it, Judith—you've got the idees, but they're a
little out of their places, as if a hound should take the
back'ard instead of the leading scent. That the Mingos
will be willing to receive these things, or any more like 'em,
you may have to offer, is probable enough; but whether
they'll pay valie for 'em, is quite another matter. Ask
yourself, Judith, if any one should send you a message to
say that, for such or such a price, you and Hetty might
have that chist and all it holds, whether you'd think it worth
your while to waste many words on the bargain?”
“But this chest and all it holds, are already ours; there
is no reason why we should purchase what is already our
own.”
“Just so the Mingos calculate! They say the chist is
theirs already; or, as good as theirs, and they'll not thank
anybody for the key.”
“I understand you, Deerslayer; surely we are yet in possession
of the lake, and we can keep possession of it, until
certainly do, provided you will stay with us, instead of going
back and giving yourself up a prisoner, again, as you now
seem determined on.”
“That Hurry Harry should talk in this way, is nat'ral,
and according to the gifts of the man. He knows no better,
and therefore, he is little likely to feel, or to act any better;
but, Judith, I put it to your heart and conscience,—would
you, could you think of me as favourably, as I hope and
believe you now do, was I to forget my furlough and not go
back to the camp?”
“To think more favourably of you than I now do, Deerslayer,
would not be easy; but I might continue to think
as favourably—at least it seems so—I hope I could; for a
world wouldn't tempt me to let you do any thing that might
change my real opinion of you.”
“Then don't try to entice me to overlook my furlough,
gal! A furlough is a sacred thing among warriors, and men
that carry their lives in their hands, as we of the forests do;
and what a grievous disapp'intment would it be to old
Tamenund, and to Uncas, the father of the Sarpent, and to
my other fri'nds in the tribe, if I was so to disgrace myself,
on my very first war-path? This you will pairceive, moreover,
Judith, is without laying any stress on nat'ral gifts,
and a white man's duties, to say nothing of conscience. The
last is king with me, and I try never to dispute his orders.”
“I believe you are right, Deerslayer,” returned the girl,
after a little reflection, and in a saddened voice; “a man
like you, ought not to act, as the selfish and dishonest would
be apt to act; you must, indeed, go back. We will talk no
more of this, then; should I persuade you to any thing for
which you would be sorry hereafter, my own regret would
not be less than yours. You shall not have it to say, Judith—I
scarce know by what name to call myself,
now!”
“And why not?—why not, gal? Children take the names
of their parents, nat'rally, and by a sort of gift, like; and
why shouldn't you and Hetty do, as others have done afore
ye? Hutter was the old man's name, and Hutter should be
the name of his darters;—at least until you are given away
in lawful and holy wedlock.”
“I am Judith, and Judith only,” returned the girl, positively;
“until the law gives me a right to another name.
Never will I use that of Thomas Hutter again; nor, with
my consent, shall Hetty! Hutter was not his own name, I
find; but had he a thousand rights to it, it would give none
to me. He was not my father, thank heaven; though I
may have no reason to be proud of him that was!”
“This is strange,” said Deerslayer, looking steadily at
the excited girl, anxious to know more, but unwilling to
inquire into matters that did not properly concern him;
“yes, this is very strange and oncommon! Thomas Hutter
wasn't Thomas Hutter, and his darters weren't his darters!
Who, then, could Thomas Hutter be, and who are his darters?”
“Did you never hear any thing whispered against the
former life of this person, Deerslayer?” demanded Judith.
“Passing, as I did, for his child, such reports reached even
me.”
“I'll not deny it, Judith; no, I'll not deny it. Sartain
things have been said, as I've told you; but I'm not very
credible as to reports. Young as I am, I've lived long
enough to l'arn there's two sorts of characters in the
world. Them that is 'arned by deeds, and them that is
'arned by tongues; and so I prefer to see and judge for myself,
instead of letting every jaw that chooses to wag become
my judge. Hurry Harry spoke pretty plainly of the
whole family, as we journeyed this-a-way; and he did hint
something consarning Thomas Hutter's having been a free-liver
on the water, in his younger days. By free-liver, I
mean that he made free to live on other men's goods.”
“He told you he was a pirate—there is no need of mincing
matters between friends. Read that, Deerslayer, and
you will see that he told you no more than the truth.
This Thomas Hovey was the Thomas Hutter you knew, as
is seen by these letters.”
As Judith spoke, with a flushed cheek and eyes dazzling
with the brilliancy of excitement, she held the newspaper
towards her companion, pointing to the proclamation
of a Colonial governor, already mentioned.
“Bless you, Judith!” answered the other, laughing; “you
might as well ask me to print that—or, for that matter, to
the only book I read, or care about reading, is the one
which God has opened afore all his creatur's, in the noble
forests, broad lakes, rolling rivers, blue skies, and the winds,
and tempests, and sunshine, and other glorious marvels of
the land! This book I can read, and I find it full of wisdom
and knowledge.”
“I crave your pardon, Deerslayer,” said Judith, earnestly,
more abashed than was her wont, in finding that she had,
inadvertently, made an appeal that might wound her companion's
pride. “I had forgotten your manner of life, and
least of all did I wish to hurt your feelings.”
“Hurt my feelin's!—why should it hurt my feelin's to
ask me to read, when I can't read? I'm a hunter—and I
may now begin to say a warrior, and no missionary; and,
therefore, books and papers are of no account with such as I.
No, no, Judith,” and here the young man laughed cordially;
“not even for wads, seeing that your true deerkiller always
uses the hide of a fa'an, if he's got one, or some other bit of
leather suitably prepared. There's some that do say, all
that stands in print is true; in which case, I'll own an unl'arned
man must be somewhat of a loser; nevertheless, it
can't be truer than that which God has printed with his own
hand, in the sky, and the woods, and the rivers, and the
springs.”
“Well, then, Hutter, or Hovey, was a pirate; and being
no father of mine, I cannot wish to call him one. His name
shall no longer be my name.”
“If you dislike the name of that man, there's the name
of your mother, Judith. Her name may serve you just as
good a turn.”
“I do not know it. I've looked through those papers,
Deerslayer, in the hope of finding some hint by which I
might discover who my mother was; but there is no more
trace of the past, in that respect, than the bird leaves in the
air by its flight.”
“That's both oncommon, and onreasonable. Parents
are bound to give their offspring a name, even though they
give 'em nothing else. Now, I come of a humble stock,
though we have white gifts and a white natur'; but we are
not so poorly off, as to have no name. Bumppo we are
glowing on his cheek, “that the time has been when the
Bumppos had more standing and note among mankind than
they have just now.”
“They never deserved them more, Deerslayer, and the
name is a good one; either Hetty, or myself, would a thousand
times rather be called Hetty Bumppo, or Judith Bumppo,
than to be called Hetty or Judith Hutter.”
“That's a moral impossible,” returned the hunter, good-humouredly,
“unless one of you should so far demean
herself as to marry me.”
Judith could not refrain from smiling, when she found
how simply and naturally the conversation had come round
to the very point at which she had aimed to bring it. Although
far from unfeminine or forward, in either her feelings
or her habits, the girl was goaded by a sense of wrongs
not altogether merited, incited by the helplessness of a future
that seemed to contain no resting-place, and still more influenced
by feelings that were as novel to her, as they
proved to be active and engrossing. The opening was too
good, therefore, to be neglected, though she came to the subject
with much of the indirectness and, perhaps, justifiable,
address of a woman.
“I do not think Hetty will ever marry, Deerslayer,” she
said; “if your name is to be borne by either of us, it must
be borne by me.”
“There's been handsome women, too, they tell me,
among the Bumppos, Judith, afore now; and should you
take up with the name, oncommon as you be, in this particular,
them that knows the family won't be altogether surprised.”
“This is not talking as becomes either of us, Deerslayer;
for whatever is said on such a subject, between man and
woman, should be said seriously, and in sincerity of heart.
Forgetting the shame that ought to keep girls silent, until
spoken to, in most cases, I will deal with you as frankly as
I know one of your generous nature will most like to be
dealt by. Can you—do you think, Deerslayer, that you
could be happy with such a wife as a woman like myself
would make?”
“A woman like you, Judith! But where's the sense in
handsome enough to be a captain's lady, and fine enough,
and, so far as I know, edication enough, would be little apt
to think of becoming my wife. I suppose young gals that
feel themselves to be smart, and know themselves to be
handsome, find a sartain satisfaction in passing their jokes
ag'in them that's neither, like a poor Delaware hunter.”
This was said good-naturedly, but not without a betrayal
of feeling which showed that something like mortified sensibility
was blended with the reply. Nothing could have
occurred more likely to awaken all Judith's generous regrets,
or to aid her in her purpose, by adding the stimulant
of a disinterested desire to atone, to her other impulses, and
clothing all under a guise so winning and natural, as greatly
to lessen the unpleasant feature of a forwardness unbecoming
the sex.
“You do me injustice if you suppose I have any such
thought, or wish,” she answered, earnestly. “Never was
I more serious in my life, or more willing to abide by any
agreement that we may make to-night. I have had many
suitors, Deerslayer—nay, scarce, an unmarried trapper or
hunter has been in at the lake these four years, who has
not offered to take me away with him, and I fear some that
were married, too—”
“Ay, I'll warrant that!” interrupted the other—“I'll
warrant all that! Take 'em as a body, Judith, 'arth don't
hold a set of men more given to theirselves, and less given
to God and the law.”
“Not one of them would I—could I listen to; happily for
myself, perhaps, has it been that such was the case. There
have been well-looking youths among them, too, as you
may have seen in your acquaintance, Henry March.”
“Yes, Harry is sightly to the eye, though, to my idees,
less so to the judgment. I thought, at first, you meant to
have him, Judith, I did; but, afore he went, it was easy
enough to verify that the same lodge wouldn't be big enough
for you both.”
“You have done me justice in that at least, Deerslayer.
Hurry is a man I could never marry, though he were ten
times more comely to the eye, and a hundred times more
stout of heart, than he really is.”
“Why not, Judith—why not? I own I'm cur'ous to
know why a youth like Hurry shouldn't find favour with a
maiden like you?”
“Then you shall know, Deerslayer,” returned the girl,
gladly availing herself of the opportunity of extolling the
qualities which had so strongly interested her in her listener;
hoping by these means covertly to approach the subject
nearest her heart. “In the first place, looks in a man are
of no importance with a woman, provided he is manly, and
not disfigured, or deformed.”
“There I can't altogether agree with you,” returned the
other, thoughtfully, for he had a very humble opinion of his
own personal appearance; “I have noticed that the comeliest
warriors commonly get the best-looking maidens of the tribe
for wives; and the Sarpent, yonder, who is sometimes wonderful
in his paint, is a gineral favourite with all the Delaware
young women, though he takes to Hist, himself, as if
she was the only beauty on 'arth!”
“It may be so with Indians, but it is different with white
girls. So long as a young man has a straight and manly
frame, that promises to make him able to protect a woman,
and to keep want from the door, it is all they ask of the
figure. Giants like Hurry may do for grenadiers, but are
of little account as lovers. Then as to the face, an honest
look, one that answers for the heart within, is of more value
than any shape or colour, or eyes, or teeth, or trifles like
them. The last may do for girls, but who thinks of them
at all, in a hunter, or a warrior, or a husband! If there
are women so silly, Judith's not among them.”
“Well, this is wonderful! I always thought that handsome
liked handsome, as riches love riches!”
“It may be so with you men, Deerslayer, but it is not
always so with us women. We like stout-hearted men, but
we wish to see them modest; sure on a hunt, or the warpath,
ready to die for the right, and unwilling to yield to
the wrong. Above all, we wish for honesty—tongues that
are not used to say what the mind does not mean, and hearts
that feel a little for others, as well as for themselves. A
true-hearted girl could die for such a husband! while the
boaster, and the double-tongued suitor, gets to be as hateful
to the sight, as he is to the mind.”
Judith spoke bitterly, and with her usual force, but her
listener was too much struck with the novelty of the sensations
he experienced to advert to her manner. There was
something so soothing to the humility of a man of his temperament,
to hear qualities that he could not but know he
possessed himself, thus highly extolled by the loveliest female
he had ever beheld, that, for the moment, his faculties
seemed suspended in a natural and excusable pride. Then
it was that the idea of the possibility of such a creature as
Judith becoming his companion for life, first crossed his
mind. The image was so pleasant, and so novel, that he
continued completely absorbed by it, for more than a minute,
totally regardless of the beautiful reality that was seated before
him, watching the expression of his upright and truth
telling countenance with a keenness that gave her a very
fair, if not an absolutely accurate clue to his thoughts.
Never before had so pleasing a vision floated before the
mind's-eye of the young hunter; but, accustomed most to
practical things, and little addicted to submitting to the
power of his imagination, even while possessed of so much
true poetical feeling in connection with natural objects in
particular, he soon recovered his reason, and smiled at his
own weakness, as the fancied picture faded from his mental
sight, and left him the simple, untaught, but highly moral
being he was, seated in the ark of Thomas Hutter, at midnight,
with the lovely countenance of its late owner's reputed
daughter, beaming on him with anxious scrutiny, by the
light of the solitary lamp.
“You're wonderful handsome, and enticing, and pleasing
to look on, Judith!” he exclaimed, in his simplicity, as
fact resumed its ascendency over fancy. “Wonderful! I
don't remember ever to have seen so beautiful a gal, even
among the Delawares; and I'm not astonished that Hurry
Harry went away soured as well as disapp'inted!”
“Would you have had me, Deerslayer, become the wife
of such a man as Henry March?”
“There's that which is in his favour, and there's that
which is ag'in him. To my taste, Hurry wouldn't make the
best of husbands, but I fear that the tastes of most young
women, hereaway, wouldn't be so hard upon him.”
“No—no—Judith without a name, would never consent
that.”
“Judith Bumppo wouldn't sound as well, gal; and there's
many names that would fall short of March, in pleasing the
ear.”
“Ah! Deerslayer, the pleasantness of the sound, in such
cases, does not come through the ear, but through the heart.
Every thing is agreeable when the heart is satisfied. Were
Natty Bumppo, Henry March, and Henry March, Natty
Bumppo, I might think the name of March better than it is;
or were he, you, I should fancy the name of Bumppo horrible!”
“That's just it—yes, that's the reason of the matter.
Now, I'm nat'rally avarse to sarpents, and I hate even the
word, which, the missionaries tell me, comes from human
natur', on account of a sartain sarpent at the creation of
the 'arth, that outwitted the first woman; yet, ever since
Chingachgook has 'arned the title he bears, why the sound
is as pleasant to my ears as the whistle of the whip-poor-will
of a calm evening,—it is. The feelin's make all the
difference in the world, Judith, in the natur' of sounds; ay,
even in that of looks, too.”
“This is so true, Deerslayer, that I am surprised you
should think it remarkable a girl, who may have some
comeliness herself, should not think it necessary that her
husband should have the same advantage, or what you fancy
an advantage. To me, looks in a man are nothing, provided
his countenance be as honest as his heart.”
“Yes, honesty is a great advantage, in the long-run; and
they that are the most apt to forget it, in the beginning, are
the most apt to I'arn it in the end. Nevertheless, there's
more, Judith, that look to present profit than to the benefit
that is to come after a time. One they think a sartainty,
and the other an onsartainty. I'm glad, howsever, that
you look at the thing in its true light, and not in the way
in which so many is apt to deceive themselves.”
“I do thus look at it, Deerslayer,” returned the girl with
emphasis, still shrinking with a woman's sensitiveness from
a direct offer of her hand, “and can say, from the bottom
of my heart, that I would rather trust my happiness to a
man whose truth and feelings may be depended on, than to
gold, and houses and lands—yes, though he were even seated
on a throne!”
“These are brave words, Judith; they're downright
brave words; but do you think that the feelin's would keep
'em company, did the ch'ice actually lie afore you? If a gay
gallant in a scarlet coat stood on one side, with his head
smelling like a deer's foot, his face smooth and blooming as
your own, his hands as white and soft as if God hadn't bestowed
'em that man might live by the sweat of his brow,
and his step as lofty as dancing-teachers and a light heart
could make it; and on the other side stood one that has
passed his days in the open air 'till his forehead is as red as
his cheek; had cut his way through swamps and bushes
till his hand was as rugged as the oaks he slept under; had
trodden on the scent of game 'till his step was as stealthy
as the catamount's, and had no other pleasant odour about
him than such as natur' gives in the free air and the forest
—now, if both these men stood here, as suitors for your
feelin's, which do you think would win your favour?”
Judith's fine face flushed; for the picture that her companion
had so simply drawn of a gay officer of the garrisons
had once been particularly grateful to her imagination, though
experience and disappointment had not only chilled all her
affections, but given them a backward current, and the passing
image had a momentary influence on her feelings; but
the mounting colour was succeeded by a paleness, so deadly
as to make her appear ghastly.
“As God is my judge,” the girl solemnly answered, “did
both these men stand before me, as I may say one of them
does, my choice, if I know my own heart, would be the latter.
I have no wish for a husband who is any way better
than myself.”
“This is pleasant to listen to, and might lead a young
man, in time, to forget his own onworthiness, Judith!
However, you hardly think all that you say. A man like
me is too rude and ignorant for one that has had such a
mother to teach her; vanity is nat'ral, I do believe; but
vanity like that would surpass reason!”
“Then you do not know of what a woman's heart is capable!
Rude you are not, Deerslayer; nor can one be
closely as you have done. When the affections are concerned,
all things appear in their pleasantest colours, and
trifles are overlooked, or are forgotten. When the heart
feels a sunshine, nothing is gloomy, even dull-looking objects
seeming gay and bright; and so it would be between
you and the woman who should love you, even though your
wife might happen, in some matters, to possess what the
world calls the advantage over you.”
“Judith, you come of people altogether above mine, in the
world; and onequal matches, like onequal fri'ndships, can't
often tarminate kindly. I speak of this matter altogether as
a fanciful thing, since it's not very likely that you, at least,
would be able to treat it as a matter that can ever come to
pass.”
Judith fastened her deep blue eyes on the open, frank
countenance of her companion, as if she would read his
soul. Nothing there betrayed any covert meaning, and she
was obliged to admit to herself that he regarded the conversation
as argumentative, rather than positive, and that he
was still without any active suspicion that her feelings were
seriously involved in the issue. At first she felt offended;
then she saw the injustice of making the self-abasement and
modesty of the hunter a charge against him; and this novel
difficulty gave a piquancy to the state of affairs that rather
increased her interest in the young man. At that critical
instant, a change of plan flashed on her mind, and, with a
readiness of invention that is peculiar to the quick-witted
and ingenious, she adopted a scheme by which she hoped
effectually to bind him to her person. This scheme partook
equally of her fertility of invention, and of the decision and
boldness of her character. That the conversation might not
terminate too abruptly, however, or any suspicion of her design
exist, she answered the last remark of Deerslayer as
earnestly and as truly as if her original intention remained
unaltered.
“I, certainly, have no reason to boast of parentage, after
what I have seen this night,” said the girl, in a saddened
voice. “I had a mother, it is true; but of her name, even,
I am ignorant: and as for my father, it is better, perhaps,
of him!”
“Judith,” said Deerslayer, taking her hand kindly, and
with a manly sincerity that went directly to the girl's heart,
“'tis better to say no more to-night. Sleep on what you've
seen and felt; in the morning, things that now look gloomy
may look more cheerful. Above all, never do any thing in
bitterness, or because you feel as if you'd like to take revenge
on yourself for other people's backslidings. All that
has been said or done atween us, this night, is your secret,
and shall never be talked of by me, even with the Sarpent;
and you may be sartain if he can't get it out of me, no man
can. If your parents have been faulty, let the darter be less
so; remember that you're young, and the youthful may always
hope for better times; that you're more quick-witted
than usual, and such ginerally get the better of difficulties;
and that as for beauty, you're oncommon; this is an advantage
with all. It is time to get a little rest, for to-morrow is
like to prove a trying day to some of us.”
Deerslayer arose as he spoke, and Judith had no choice
but to comply. The chest was closed and secured, and they
parted in silence; she to take her place by the side of Hist
and Hetty, and he to seek a blanket on the floor of the
cabin he was in. It was not five minutes ere the young man
was in a deep sleep; but the girl continued awake for a long
time. She scarce knew whether to lament, or to rejoice, at
having failed in making herself understood. On the one
hand, were her womanly sensibilities spared; on the other,
was the disappointment of defeated, or at least of delayed
expectations, and the uncertainty of a future that looked so
dark. Then came the new resolution, and the bold project
for the morrow; and when drowsiness finally shut her eyes,
they closed on a scene of success and happiness, that was
pictured by the fancy, under the influence of a sanguine
temperament and a happy invention.
| CHAPTER IX. The deerslayer: or, The first war-path | |