 | CHAPTER XI The deerslayer: or, The first war-path |  |
11. CHAPTER XI
She lean'd her bosom, more than stony hard;
There slept th' impartial judge, and strict restorer
Of wrong, or right, with pain or with reward;
There hung the score of all our debts, the card
Where good, and bad, and life, and death, were painted;
Was never heart of mortal so untainted,
But when the roll was read, with thousand terrors fainted.”
Giles Fletcher.
“We've done an unthoughtful thing, Sarpent—yes, Judith,
we've done an unthoughtful thing in taking life with
an object no better than vanity!” exclaimed Deerslayer,
when the Delaware held up the enormous bird, by its wings,
and exhibited the dying eyes riveted on its enemies with the
“'T was more becomin' two boys to gratify their feelin's in
this onthoughtful manner, than two warriors on a war-path,
even though it be their first. Ah's! me; well, as a punishment
I'll quit you at once, and when I find myself alone
with them bloody-minded Mingos, it's more than like I'll
have occasion to remember that life is sweet, even to the
beasts of the woods and the fowls of the air. Here, Judith;
there's Killdeer; take him back ag'in, and keep him
for some hand that's more desarving to own such a piece.”
“I know of none as deserving as your own, Deerslayer,”
answered the girl in haste; “none but yours shall keep the
rifle.”
“If it depended on skill, you might be right enough, gal,
but we should know when to use fire-arms, as well as how
to use 'em. I haven't l'arnt the first duty yet, it seems;
so keep the piece till I have. The sight of a dyin' and
distressed creatur', even though it be only a bird, brings
wholesome thoughts to a man who don't know how soon his
own time may come, and who is pretty sartain that it will
come afore the sun sets; I'd give back all my vain feelin's,
and rej'icin's in hand and eye, if that poor eagle was only
on its nest ag'in, with its young, praisin' the Lord, for
any thing that we can know about the matter, for health
and strength!”
The listeners were confounded with this proof of sudden
repentance in the hunter, and that, too, for an indulgence
so very common, that men seldom stop to weigh its consequences,
or the physical suffering it may bring on the unoffending
and helpless. The Delaware understood what was
said, though he scarce understood the feelings which had
prompted the words, and by way of disposing of the difficulty,
he drew his keen knife, and severed the head of the
sufferer from its body.
“What a thing is power!” continued the hunter, “and
what a thing it is, to have it, and not to know how to use
it! It's no wonder, Judith, that the great so often fail of
their duties, when even the little and the humble find it so
hard to do what's right, and not to do what's wrong. Then,
how one evil act brings others after it! Now, wasn't it for
this furlough of mine, which must soon take me back to the
a fortnight—though an eagle's nest is soon found by them
that understands the bird's natur',—but I'd travel a fortnight
rather than not find it, just to put the young, too, out
of their pain.”
“I'm glad to hear you say this, Deerslayer,” observed
Hetty, “and God will be more apt to remember your sorrow
for what you've done, than the wickedness itself. I
thought how wicked it was to kill harmless birds, while you
were shooting, and meant to tell you so; but, I don't know
how it happened,—I was so curious to see if you could hit
an eagle at so great a height, that I forgot altogether to
speak, till the mischief was done.”
“That's it; that's just it, my good Hetty. We can all
see our faults and mistakes when it's too late to help them!
Howsever, I'm glad you didn't speak, for I don't think a
word or two would have stopped me, just at that moment;
and so the sin stands in its nakedness, and not aggravated
by any unheeded calls to forbear. Well, well, bitter thoughts
are hard to be borne at all times, but there's times when
they're harder than at others.”
Little did Deerslayer know, while thus indulging in feelings
that were natural to the man, and so strictly in accordance
with his own unsophisticated and just principles, that,
in the course of the inscrutable Providence, which so uniformly
and yet so mysteriously covers all events with its
mantle, the very fault he was disposed so severely to censure,
was to be made the means of determining his own
earthly fate. The mode and the moment in which he was
to feel the influence of this interference, it would be premature
to relate, but both will appear in the course of the succeeding
chapters. As for the young man, he now slowly
left the ark, like one sorrowing for his misdeeds, and seated
himself in silence on the platform. By this time the sun
had ascended to some height, and its appearance, taken in
connection with his present feelings, induced him to prepare
to depart. The Delaware got the canoe ready for his friend,
as soon as apprised of his intention, while Hist busied herself
in making the few arrangements that were thought necessary
to his comfort. All this was done without ostentation,
but in a way that left Deerslayer fully acquainted with,
was ready, both returned to the side of Judith and Hetty—
neither of whom had moved from the spot where the young
hunter sat.
“The best fri'nds must often part,” the last began, when
he saw the whole party grouped around him. “Yes, fri'ndship
can't alter the ways of Providence; and let our feelin's
be as they may, we must part. I've often thought there's
moments when our words dwell longer on the mind than
common, and when advice is remembered, just because the
mouth that gives it, isn't likely to give it ag'in. No one
knows what will happen in the world; and therefore it may
be well, when fri'nds separate under a likelihood that the
parting may be long, to say a few words in kindness, as a
sort of keepsakes. If all but one will go into the ark, I'll
talk to each in turn, and what is more, I'll listen to what
you may have to say back ag'in; for it's a poor counsellor
that won't take as well as give.”
As the meaning of the speaker was understood, the two
Indians immediately withdrew as desired, leaving the sisters,
however, still standing at the young man's side. A look of
Deerslayer's induced Judith to explain.
“You can advise Hetty as you land,” she said hastily;
“I intend that she shall accompany you to the shore.”
“Is this wise, Judith? It's true that, under common sarcumstances,
a feeble mind is a great protection among red-skins;
but when their feelin's are up, and they're bent on
revenge, it's hard to say what may come to pass. Besides—”
“What were you about to say, Deerslayer?” asked Judith,
whose gentleness of voice and manner amounted nearly
to tenderness, though she struggled hard to keep her emotions
and apprehensions in subjection.
“Why, simply that there are sights and doin's that one
even as little gifted with reason and memory as Hetty, here,
might better not witness. So, Judith, you would do well to
let me land alone, and to keep your sister back.”
“Never fear for me, Deerslayer,” put in Hetty, who
comprehended enough of the discourse to know its general
drift; “I'm feeble-minded, and that, they say, is an excuse
for going anywhere; and what that won't excuse will be
wonderful, Judith, how all sorts of men, the trappers as well
as the hunters, red men as well as white, Mingos as well as
Delawares, do reverence and fear the bible!”
“I think you have not the least ground to fear any injury,
Hetty,” answered the sister, “and therefore I shall
insist on your going to the Huron camp with our friend.
Your being there can do no harm, not even to yourself, and
may do great good to Deerslayer.”
“This is not a moment, Judith, to dispute; and so have
the matter your own way,” returned the young man.
“Get yourself ready, Hetty, and go into the canoe, for I've
a few parting words to say to your sister, which can do you
no good.”
Judith and her companion continued silent until Hetty had
so far complied as to leave them alone, when Deerslayer
took up the subject as if it had been interrupted by some ordinary
occurrence, and in a very matter-of-fact way.
“Words spoken at parting, and which may be the last we
ever hear from a fri'nd, are not soon forgotten,” he repeated,
“and so, Judith, I intend to speak to you like a brother,
seein' I'm not old enough to be your father. In the first
place, I wish to caution you ag'in your inemies, of which
two may be said to ha'nt your very footsteps, and to beset
your ways. The first is oncommon good looks, which is
as dangerous a foe to some young women as a whole tribe
of Mingos could prove, and which calls for great watchfulness;
not to admire and praise; but to distrust and sarcumvent.
Yes, good looks may be sarcumvented, and fairly
outwitted, too. In order to do this, you've only to remember
that they melt like the snows; and, when once gone,
they never come back ag'in. The seasons come and go,
Judith; and if we have winter, with storms and frosts, and
spring, with chills and leafless trees, we have summer, with
its sun and glorious skies, and fall, with its fruits, and a
garment thrown over the forest that no beauty of the town
could rummage out of all the shops in America. `Arth is
in an eternal round, the goodness of God bringing back the
pleasant when we've had enough of the onpleasant. But
it's not so with good looks. They are lent for a short time
in youth, to be used and not abused; and, as I never met
bountiful as it has to you, Judith, in this partic'lar, I warn
you, as it might be with my dyin' breath, to beware of the
inimy; fri'nd or inimy, as we deal with the gift.”
It was so grateful to Judith to hear these unequivocal admissions
of her personal charms, that much would have been
forgiven to the man who made them, let him be who he
might. But, at that moment, and from a far better feeling,
it would not have been easy for Deerslayer seriously to offend
her; and she listened with a patience which, had it
been foretold only a week earlier, it would have excited her
indignation to hear.
“I understand your meaning, Deerslayer,” returned the
girl, with a meekness and humility that a little surprised her
listener, “and hope to be able to profit by it. But you have
mentioned only one of the enemies I have to fear; who, or
what, is the other?”
“The other is givin' way afore your own good sense and
judgment, I find, Judith; yes, he's not as dangerous as I
supposed. Howsever, havin' opened the subject, it will be
as well to end it honestly. The first inimy you have to be
watchful of, as I've already told you, Judith, is oncommon
good looks, and the next is an oncommon knowledge of the
sarcumstance. If the first is bad, the last doesn't, in any
way, mend the matter, so far as safety and peace of mind
are consarned.”
How much longer the young man would have gone on in
his simple and unsuspecting, but well-intentioned manner,
it might not be easy to say, had he not been interrupted by
his listener's bursting into tears, and giving way to an out-break
of feeling, which was so much the more violent
from the fact that it had been with so much difficulty suppressed.
At first her sobs were so violent and uncontrollable
that Deerslayer was a little appalled, and he was abundantly
repentant from the instant that he discovered how
much greater was the effect produced by his words than he
had anticipated. Even the austere and exacting are usually
appeased by the signs of contrition, but the nature of Deerslayer
did not require proofs of intense feeling so strong, in
order to bring him down to a level with the regrets felt by
the girl herself. He arose as if an adder had stung him,
scarcely more gentle and winning than the tones of his
voice, as he now expressed his contrition at having gone
so far.
“It was well meant, Judith,” he said, “but it was not intended
to hurt your feelin's so much. I have overdone the
advice, I see; yes, I've overdone it, and I crave your pardon
for the same. Fri'ndship's an awful thing! Sometimes
it chides us for not having done enough; and then ag'in it
speaks in strong words for havin' done too much. Howsever,
I acknowledge I've overdone the matter, and as I've
a ra'al and strong regard for you, I rej'ice to say it, inasmuch
as it proves how much better you are than my own
vanity and consaits had made you out to be.”
Judith now removed her hands from her face, her tears
had ceased, and she unveiled a countenance so winning, with
the smile which rendered it even radiant, that the young
man gazed at her, for a moment, with speechless delight.
“Say no more, Deerslayer,” she hastily interposed, “it
pains me to hear you find fault with yourself. I know my
own weakness all the better, now I see that you have discovered
it; the lesson, bitter as I have found it for a moment,
shall not be forgotten. We will not talk any longer
of these things, for I do not feel myself brave enough for
the undertaking, and I should not like the Delawares, or
Hist, or even Hetty, to notice my weakness. Farewell,
Deerslayer, may God bless and protect you as your honest
heart deserves blessing and protection, and as I must think
he will.”
Judith had so far regained the superiority that properly
belonged to her better education, high spirit, and surpassing
personal advantages, as to preserve the ascendency she had
thus accidentally obtained, and effectually prevented any return
to the subject that was as singularly interrupted as it
had been singularly introduced. The young man permitted
her to have every thing her own way, and when she pressed
his hard hand in both her own, he made no resistance,
but submitted to the homage as quietly, and with quite as
matter of course a manner, as a sovereign would have received
a similar tribute from a subject, or the mistress from
her suitor. Feeling had flushed the face and illuminated
more resplendent than when she cast a parting glance
at the youth. That glance was filled with anxiety, interest,
and gentle pity. At the next instant she darted into the hut
and was seen no more; though she spoke to Hist from a
window, to inform her that their friend expected her appearance.
“You know enough of red-skin natur', and red-skin
usages, Wah-ta!-Wah, to see the condition I am in on account
of this furlough,” commenced the hunter, in Delaware,
as soon as the patient and submissive girl of that people
had moved quietly to his side; “you will therefore best
understand how onlikely I am ever to talk with you ag'in.
I've but little to say; but that little comes from long livin'
among your people, and from havin' obsarved and noted
their usages. The life of a woman is hard at the best, but,
I must own, though I'm not opinionated in favour of my
own colour, that it is harder among the red-men than it is
among the pale-faces. This is a p'int on which Christians
may well boast, if boasting can be set down for Christianity
in any manner or form, which I rather think it cannot.
Howsever, all women have their trials. Red women have
their'n in what I should call the nat'ral way, while white
women take 'em inoculated like. Bear your burthen, Hist,
becomingly, and remember, if it be a little toilsome, how
much lighter it is than that of most Indian women. I know
the Sarpent well—what I call cordially—and he will never
be a tyrant to any thing he loves, though he will expect to
be treated himself like a Mohican chief. There will be
cloudy days in your lodge, I suppose, for they happen under
all usages, and among all people; but, by keepin' the
windows of the heart open, there will always be room for
the sunshine to enter. You come of a great stock yourself,
and so does Chingachgook. It's not very likely that either
will ever forget the sarcumstance, and do any thing to disgrace
your forefathers. Nevertheless, likin' is a tender
plant, and never thrives long when watered with tears. Let
the 'arth around your married happiness be moistened by
the dews of kindness.”
“My pale brother is very wise; Wah will keep in her
mind all that his wisdom tells her.”
“That's judicious and womanly, Hist. Care in listening,
and stout-heartedness in holding to good counsel, is a
wife's great protection. And, now, ask the Sarpent to come
and speak with me, for a moment, and carry away with
you all my best wishes and prayers. I shall think of you,
Hist, and of your intended husband, let what may come to
pass, and always wish you well, here and hereafter, whether
the last is to be according to Indian idees, or Christian doctrines.”
Hist shed no tear at parting. She was sustained by the
high resolution of one who had decided on her course; but
her dark eyes were luminous with the feelings that glowed
within, and her pretty countenance beamed with an expression
of determination that was in marked and singular contrast
to its ordinary gentleness. It was but a minute ere
the Delaware advanced to the side of his friend with the
light, noiseless tread of an Indian.
“Come, this-a-way, Sarpent, here more out of sight of
the woman,” commenced the Deerslayer, “for I've several
things to say that mustn't so much as be suspected, much
less overheard. You know too well the natur' of furloughs
and Mingos to have any doubts or misgivin's consarnin'
what is likely to happen, when I get back to the camp. On
them two p'ints, therefore, a few words will go a great way.
In the first place, chief, I wish to say a little about Hist, and
the manner in which you red men treat your wives. I suppose
it's accordin' to the gifts of your people that the women
should work, and the men hunt; but there's such a thing
as moderation in all matters. As for huntin', I see no good
reason why any limits need be set to that, but Hist comes
of too good a stock to toil like a common drudge. One of
your means and standin' need never want for corn, or potatoes,
or any thing that the fields yield; therefore, I hope
the hoe will never be put into the hands of any wife of
your'n. You know I am not quite a beggar, and all I own,
whether in ammunition, skins, arms, or calicoes, I give to
Hist, should I not come back to claim them by the end of
the season. This will set the maiden up, and will buy labour
for her, for a long time to come. I suppose I needn't tell
you to love the young woman, for that you do already, and
whomsoever the man ra'ally loves, he'll be likely enough to
words never rankle, while bitter words do. I know you're
a man, Sarpent, that is less apt to talk in his own lodge,
than to speak at the council fire; but forgetful moments
may overtake us all, and the practyce of kind doin', and
kind talkin', is a wonderful advantage in keepin' peace in
a cabin, as well as on a hunt.”
“My ears are open,” returned the Delaware, gravely;
“the words of my brother have entered so far that they
never can fall out again. They are like rings, that have no
end, and cannot drop. Let him speak on; the song of the
wren and the voice of a friend never tire.”
“I will speak a little longer, chief, but you will excuse it
for the sake of old companionship, should I now talk about
myself. If the worst comes to the worst, it's not likely
there'll be much left of me but ashes; so a grave would be
useless, and a sort of vanity. On that score I'm no way
partic'lar, though it might be well enough to take a look at
the remains of the pile, and should any bones, or pieces be
found, 't would be more decent to gather them together, and
bury them, than to let them lie for the wolves to gnaw at,
and howl over. These matters can make no great difference
in the end, but men of white blood and Christian feelin's
have rather a gift for graves.”
“It shall be done as my brother says,” returned the Indian,
gravely. “If his mind is full, let him empty it in the
bosom of a friend.”
“Thank you, Sarpent; my mind's easy enough; yes,
it's tolerable easy. Idees will come uppermost that I'm not
apt to think about in common, it's true; but by striving ag'in
some, and lettin' others come out, all will be right in the
long run. There's one thing, howsever, chief, that does
seem to me to be onreasonable, and ag'in natur', though the
missionaries say it's true; and bein' of my religion and
colour, I feel bound to believe them. They say an Indian
may torment and tortur' the body to the heart's content, and
scalp and cut, and tear, and burn, and consume all his inventions
and deviltries, until nothin' is left but ashes, and
they shall be scattered to the four winds of heaven, yet,
when the trumpet of God shall sound, all will come together
ag'in, and the man will stand forth in his flesh, the same
he was harmed!”
“The missionaries are good men; they mean well,” returned
the Delaware, courteously; “they are not great medicines.
They think all they say, Deerslayer; that is no
reason why warriors and orators should be all ears. When
Chingachgook shall see the father of Tamenund standing in
his scalp, and paint, and war-lock, then will he believe the
missionaries.”
“Seein' is believin', of a sartainty — Ah's me! and
some of us may see these things sooner than we thought. I
comprehend your meanin' about Tamenund's father, Sarpent,
and the idee's a close idee. Tamenund is now an
elderly man, say eighty, every day of it; and his father
was scalped, and tormented, and burnt, when the present
prophet was a youngster. Yes, if one could see that come
to pass, there wouldn't be much difficulty in yieldin' faith
to all that the missionaries say. Howsever, I am not ag'in
the opinion now; for you must know, Sarpent, that the
great principle of Christianity is to believe without seeing;
and a man should always act up to his religion and principles,
let them be what they may.”
“That is strange, for a wise nation,” said the Delaware,
with emphasis. “The red man looks hard, that he may
see and understand.”
“Yes, that's plauserble, and is agreeable to mortal pride;
but it's not as deep as it seems. If we could understand all
we see, Sarpent, there might be not only sense, but safety,
in refusin' to give faith to any one thing that we might find
oncomprehensible; but when there's so many things, about
which, it may be said, we know nothin' at all, why, there's
little use, and no reason, in bein' difficult touchin' any one
in partic'lar. For my part, Delaware, all my thoughts
haven't been on the game, when outlyin' in the hunts and
scoutin's of our youth. Many's the hour I've passed pleasantly
enough, too, in what is tarmed conterplation by my
people. On such occasions, the mind is actyve, though the
body seems lazy and listless. An open spot on a mountain
side, where a wide look can be had at the heavens and the
'arth, is a most judicious place for a man to get a just idee
of the power of the Manitou, and of his own littleness. At
little difficulties, in the way of comperhension, as there are
so many big ones to hide them. Believin' comes easy
enough to me, at such times; and, if the Lord made man
first, out of'arth, as they tell me it is written in the bible,
then turns him into dust, at death, I see no great difficulty
in the way to bringin' him back in the body, though ashes
be the only substance left. These things lie beyond our
understandin', though they may, and do, lie so close to our
feelin's. But of all the doctrines, Sarpent, that which disturbs
me, and disconsarts my mind the most, is the one
which teaches us to think that a pale-face goes to one heaven,
and a red-skin to another; it may separate in death,
them which lived much together, and loved each other well,
in life!”
“Do the missionaries teach their white brethren to think
it is so?” demanded the Indian, with serious earnestness.
“The Delawares believe that good men and brave warriors
will hunt together in the same pleasant woods, let them belong
to whatever tribe they may; that all the unjust Indians,
and cowards, will have to sneak in with the dogs and the
wolves, to get venison for their lodges.”
“'T is wonderful how many consaits mankind have consarnin'
happiness and misery, hereafter!” exclaimed the
hunter, borne away by the power of his own thoughts.
“Some believe in burnin's and flames, and some think punishment
is to eat with the wolves and dogs. Then, ag'in,
some fancy heaven to be only the carryin' out of their own
'arthly longin's; while others fancy it all gold and shinin'
lights! Well, I've an idee of my own, in that matter, which
is just this, Sarpent. Whenever I've done wrong, I've ginirally
found 't was owin' to some blindness of the mind,
which hid the right from view, and when sight has returned,
then has come sorrow and repentance. Now, I consait that,
after death, when the body is laid aside, or, if used at all, is
purified and without its longin's, the spirit sees all things in
their ra'al light, and never becomes blind to truth and justice.
Such bein' the case, all that has been done in life, is
beheld as plainly as the sun is seen at noon; the good brings
joy, while the evil brings sorrow. There's nothin' onreasonable
“I thought the pale-faces believed all men were wicked;
who then could ever find the white man's heaven?”
“That's ingen'ous, but it falls short of the missionary
teachin's. You'll be christianized one day, I make no
doubt, and then 'twill all come plain enough. You must
know, Sarpent, that there's been a great deed of salvation
done, that, by God's help, enables all men to find a pardon
for their wickednesses, and that is the essence of the white
man's religion. I can't stop to talk this matter over with
you any longer, for Hetty's in the canoe, and the furlough
takes me away; but the time will come I hope, when you'll
feel these things; for, after all, they must be felt, rather
than reasoned about. Ah's! me; well, Delaware, there's
my hand; you know it's that of a fri'nd, and will shake it
as such, though it never has done you one-half the good its
owner wishes it had.”
The Indian took the offered hand, and returned its pressure
warmly. Then falling back on his acquired stoicism
of manner, which so many mistake for constitutional indifference,
he drew up in reserve, and prepared to part from
his friend with dignity. Deerslayer, however, was more
natural; nor would he have at all cared about giving way to
his feelings, had not the recent conduct and language of Judith
given him some secret, though ill-defined apprehensions
of a scene. He was too humble to imagine the truth concerning
the actual feelings of that beautiful girl, while he
was too observant not to have noted the struggle she had
maintained with herself, and which had so often led her to
the very verge of discovery. That something extraordinary
was concealed in her breast, he thought obvious enough;
and, through a sentiment of manly delicacy that would have
done credit to the highest human refinement, he shrunk from
any exposure of her secret that might subsequently cause regret
to the girl, herself. He, therefore, determined to depart,
now, and that without any further manifestations of feeling
either from himself, or from others.
“God bless you! Sarpent — God bless you!” cried the
hunter, as the canoe left the side of the platform. “Your
Manitou and my God, only know when and where we shall
for any little good I may have done on 'arth, if we
shall be permitted to know each other, and to consort together,
hereafter, as we have so long done in these pleasant
woods afore us!”
Chingachgook waved his hand. Drawing the light blanket
he wore over his head, as a Roman would conceal his grief
in his robes, he slowly withdrew into the ark, in order to indulge
his sorrow and his musings, alone. Deerslayer did
not speak again, until the canoe was half-way to the shore.
Then he suddenly ceased paddling, at an interruption that
came from the mild, musical voice of Hetty.
“Why do you go back to the Hurons, Deerslayer?” demanded
the girl. “They say I am feeble-minded, and such
they never harm; but you have as much sense as Hurry
Harry; and more too, Judith thinks, though I don't see how
that can well be.”
“Ah! Hetty, afore we land, I must convarse a little with
you, child; and that too, on matters touching your own welfare,
principally. Stop paddling—or, rather, that the Mingos
needn't think we are plotting and contriving, and so treat us
accordingly, just dip your paddle lightly, and give the canoe
a little motion and no more. That's just the idee and the
movement; I see you're ready enough at an appearance,
and might be made useful in a sarcumvention, if it was lawful
now to use one—that's just the idee and the movement!
Ah's! me. Desait and a false-tongue are evil things, and
altogether onbecoming our colour, Hetty; but it is a pleasure
and a satisfaction to outdo the contrivances of a red-skin, in
the strife of lawful warfare. My path has been short, and
is like soon to have an end; but I can see that the wanderings
of a warrior aren't altogether among brambles and difficulties.
There's a bright side to a war-path, as well as to
most other things, if we'll only have the wisdom to see it,
and the ginerosity to own it.”
“And why should your war-path, as you call it, come so
near to an end, Deerslayer?”
“Because, my good girl, my furlough comes so near to
an end. They're likely to have pretty much the same tarmination,
as regards time—one following on the heels of
the other, as a matter of course.”
“I don't understand your meaning, Deerslayer,” returned
the girl, looking a little bewildered. “Mother always said
people ought to speak more plainly to me than to most other
persons, because I'm feeble-minded. Those that are feeble-minded,
don't understand as easily as those that have sense.”
“Well then, Hetty, the simple truth is this. You know
that I'm now a captyve to the Hurons, and captyves can't
do, in all things, as they please—”
“But how can you be a captive,” eagerly interrupted the
girl, “when you are out here on the lake, in father's bark
canoe, and the Indians are in the woods, with no canoe at
all? That can't be true, Deerslayer!”
“I wish with all my heart and soul, Hetty, that you was
right, and that I was wrong, instead of your bein' all wrong,
and my bein' only too near the truth. Free as I seem to
your eyes, gal, I'm bound hand and foot, in ra'ality.”
“Well it is a great misfortune not to have sense! Now,
I can't see, or understand, that you are a captive, or bound
in any manner. If you are bound, with what are your
hands and feet fastened?”
“With a furlough, gal; that's a thong that binds tighter
than any chain. One may be broken, but the other can't.
Ropes and chains allow of knives, and desait, and contrivances;
but a furlough can be neither cut, slipped, nor sarcumvented.”
“What sort of a thing is a furlough, then, if it be stronger
than hemp or iron? I never saw a furlough.”
“I hope you may never feel one, gal; the tie is altogether
in the feelin's, in these matters, and therefore is to be
felt and not seen. You can understand what it is to give a
promise, I dare to say, good little Hetty?”
“Certainly. A promise is to say you will do a thing,
and that binds you to be as good as your word. Mother
always kept her promises to me, and then she said it would
be wicked if I didn't keep my promises to her, and to
everybody else.”
“You have had a good mother, in some matters, child,
whatever she may have been in other some. That is a
promise, and, as you say, it must be kept. Now, I fell into
the hands of the Mingos last night, and they let me come
off to see my fri'nds and send messages in to my own colour,
that I shall be back, when the sun is up to-day, and take
whatever their revenge and hatred can contrive, in the way
of torments, in satisfaction for the life of a warrior that fell
by my rifle, as well as for that of the young woman shot
by Hurry, and other disapp'intments met with on and about
this lake. What is called a promise atween a mother and
darter, or even atween strangers, in the settlements is called
a furlough, when given by one soldier to another, on a war-path.
And now I suppose you understand my situation,
Hetty?”
The girl made no answer for some time, but she ceased
paddling altogether, as if the novel idea distracted her mind
too much to admit of other employment. Then she resumed
the dialogue earnestly and with solicitude.
“Do you think the Hurons will have the heart to do what
you say, Deerslayer?” she asked. “I have found them
kind and harmless.”
“That's true enough as consarns one like you, Hetty;
but it's a very different affair, when it comes to an open
inimy, and he too the owner of a pretty sartain rifle. I
don't say that they bear me special malice on account of
any expl'ites already performed, for that would be bragging,
as it might be, on the varge of the grave; but it's no vanity
to believe that they know one of their bravest and cunnin'est
chiefs fell by my hands. Such bein' the case, the tribe
would reproach them if they failed to send the spirit of a
pale-face to keep the company of the spirit of their red brother;
always supposin' that he can catch it. I look for
no marcy, Hetty, at their hands; and my principal sorrow
is, that such a calamity should befal me on my first war-path:
that it would come sooner or later, every soldier
counts on and expects.”
“The Hurons shall not harm you, Deerslayer,” cried the
girl, much excited. “'T is wicked as well as cruel; I have
the bible, here, to tell them so. Do you think I would stand
by and see you tormented?”
“I hope not, my good Hetty, I hope not; and, therefore,
when the moment comes, I expect you will move off, and
not be a witness of what you can't help, while it would
grieve you. But, I haven't stopped the paddles to talk of
plainly to you, gal, consarnin' your own matters.”
“What can you have to say to me, Deerslayer! Since
mother died, few talk to me of such things.”
“So much the worse, poor gal; yes, 't is so much the
worse, for one of your state of mind needs frequent talking
to, in order to escape the snares and desaits of this wicked
world. You haven't forgotten Hurry Harry, gal, so soon,
I calculate?”
“I!—I forget Henry March!” exclaimed Hetty, starting.
“Why should I forget him, Deerslayer, when he is our friend,
and only left us last night. Then, the large bright star that
mother loved so much to gaze at, was just over the top of
yonder tall pine on the mountain, as Hurry got into the
canoe; and when you landed him on the point, near the
east bay, it wasn't more than the length of Judith's handsomest
riband above it.”
“And how can you know how long I was gone, or how
far I went to land Hurry, seein' you were not with us, and
the distance was so great, to say nothing of the night?”
“Oh! I knew when it was, well enough,” returned Hetty,
positively. “There's more ways than one for counting
time and distance. When the mind is engaged, it is better
than any clock. Mine is feeble, I know, but it goes true
enough in all that touches poor Hurry Harry. Judith will
never marry March, Deerslayer.”
“That's the p'int, Hetty; that's the very p'int I want to
come to. I suppose you know, that it's nat'ral for young
people to have kind feelin's for one another, more especially
when one happens to be a youth and t'other a maiden. Now,
one of your years and mind, gal, that has neither father nor
mother, and who lives in a wilderness frequented by hunters
and trappers, needs be on her guard against evils she little
dreams of.”
“What harm can it be to think well of a fellow-creature,”
returned Hetty, simply, though the conscious blood was
stealing to her cheeks in spite of a spirit so pure that it
scarce knew why it prompted the blush; “the bible tells us
to love them who despitefully use us, and why shouldn't we
like them that do not?”
“Ah! Hetty, the love of the missionaries isn't the sort of
yourself to have mind enough to become a wife, and a mother?”
“That's not a proper question to ask a young woman,
Deerslayer, and I'll not answer it,” returned the girl, in a
reproving manner—much as a parent rebukes a child for
an act of indiscretion. “If you have any thing to say about
Hurry, I'll hear that—but you must not speak evil of him;
he is absent, and 't is unkind to talk evil of the absent.”
“Your mother has given you so many good lessons,
Hetty, that my fears for you are not as great as they were.
Nevertheless, a young woman without parents, in your state
of mind, and who is not without beauty, must always be in
danger in such a lawless region as this. I would say nothin'
amiss of Hurry, who, in the main, is not a bad man
for one of his callin', but you ought to know one thing,
which it may not be altogether pleasant to tell you, but
which must be said. March has a desperate likin' for your
sister Judith.”
“Well, what of that? Everybody admires Judith, she's
so handsome, and Hurry has told me, again and again, how
much he wishes to marry her. But that will never come
to pass, for Judith don't like Hurry. She likes another, and
talks about him in her sleep; though you need not ask me
who he is, for all the gold in King George's crown, and all
the jewels, too, wouldn't tempt me to tell you his name. If
sisters can't keep each other's secrets, who can?”
“Sartainly; I do not wish you to tell me, Hetty, nor
would it be any advantage to a dyin' man to know. What
the tongue says when the mind's asleep, neither head nor
heart is answerable for.”
“I wish I knew why Judith talks so much in her sleep
about officers, and honest hearts, and false tongues; but I
suppose she don't like to tell me, as I'm feeble-minded. Isn't
it odd, Deerslayer, that Judith don't like Hurry—he who is
the bravest-looking youth that ever comes upon the lake,
and is as handsome as she is herself. Father always said
they would be the comeliest couple in the country, though
mother didn't fancy March any more than Judith. There's
no telling what will happen, they say, until things actually
come to pass.”
“Ah's! me—well, poor Hetty, 'tis of no great use to
talk to them that can't understand you, and so I'll say no
more about what I did wish to speak of, though it lay heavy
on my mind. Put the paddle in motion ag'in, gal, and
we 'll push for the shore, for the sun is nearly up, and my
furlough is almost out.”
The canoe now glided ahead, holding its way towards
the point where Deerslayer well knew that his enemies expected
him, and where, he now began to be afraid, he might
not arrive in season to redeem his plighted faith. Hetty,
perceiving his impatience, without very clearly comprehending
its cause, however, seconded his efforts in a way that
soon rendered their timely return no longer a matter of
doubt. Then, and then only, did the young man suffer his
exertions to flag, and Hetty began, again, to prattle in her
simple confiding manner, though nothing farther was uttered
that it may be thought necessary to relate.
| CHAPTER XI The deerslayer: or, The first war-path | |