University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

The day that followed proved to be melancholy, though
one of much activity. The soldiers, who had so lately been
employed in interring their victims, were now called on to
bury their own dead. The scene of the morning had left
a saddened feeling on all the gentlemen of the party; and
the rest felt the influence of a similar sensation, in a variety
of ways, and from many causes. Hour dragged on after
hour, until evening arrived, and then came the last melancholy
offices in honour of poor Hetty Hutter. Her body
was laid in the lake, by the side of that of the mother she
had so loved and reverenced; the surgeon, though actually
an unbeliever, so far complying with the received decencies
of life as to read the funeral service over her grave, as he had
previously done over those of the other Christian slain. It
mattered not;—that all-seeing eye which reads the heart,
could not fail to discriminate between the living and the
dead, and the gentle soul of the unfortunate girl was already
far removed beyond the errors or deceptions of any human
ritual. These simple rites, however, were not wholly
wanting in suitable accompaniments. The tears of Judith
and Hist flowed freely, and Deerslayer gazed upon the limpid
water that now flowed over one whose spirit was even
purer than its own mountain springs, with glistening eyes.
Even the Delaware turned aside to conceal his weakness,
while the common men gazed on the ceremony with wondering
eyes and chastened feelings.

The business of the day closed with this pious office. By
order of the commanding officer, all retired early to rest,
for it was intended to begin the march homeward with the

return of light. One party, indeed, bearing the wounded,
the prisoners, and the trophies, had left the castle in the
middle of the day, under the guidance of Hurry, intending
to reach the fort by shorter marches. It had been landed
on the point so often mentioned, or that described in our
opening pages; and, when the sun set, was already encamped
on the brow of the long, broken, and ridgy hills that fell
away towards the valley of the Mohawk. The departure
of this detachment had greatly simplified the duty of the
succeeding day, disencumbering its march of its baggage
and wounded, and otherwise leaving him who had issued
the order greater liberty of action.

Judith held no communications with any but Hist, after
the death of her sister, until she retired for the night. Her
sorrow had been respected, and both the females had been
left with the body, unintruded on, to the last moment. The rattling
of the drum broke the silence of that tranquil water, and
the echoes of the tattoo were heard among the mountains, so
soon after the ceremony was over, as to preclude the danger
of interruption. That star which had been the guide of Hist,
rose on a scene as silent as if the quiet of nature had never
yet been disturbed, by the labours or passions of man. One
solitary sentinel, with his relief, paced the platform throughout
the night; and morning was ushered in, as usual, by the
martial beat of the reveillé.

Military precision had now succeeded to the desultory proceedings
of border-men, and when a hasty and frugal breakfast
was taken, the party began its movement towards the
shore, with a regularity and order, that prevented noise or
confusion. Of all the officers, Warley alone remained.
Craig headed the detachment in advance, Thornton was with
the wounded, and Graham had accompanied his patients, as
a matter of course. Even the chest of Hutter, with all the
more valuable of his effects, had been borne away; leaving
nothing behind that was worth the labour of a removal. Judith
was not sorry to see that the captain respected her feelings,
and that he occupied himself entirely with the duty of
his command, leaving her to her own discretion and feelings.
It was understood by all, that the place was to be totally
abandoned; but beyond this, no explanations were asked
or given.

The soldiers embarked in the ark, with the captain at
their head. He had inquired of Judith in what way she
chose to proceed, and understanding her wish to remain with
Hist to the last moment, he neither molested her with requests,
nor offended her with advice. There was but one
safe and familiar trail to the Mohawk; and on that, at the
proper hour, he doubted not that they should meet in amity,
if not in renewed intercourse.

When all were on board, the sweeps were manned, and
the ark moved in its sluggish manner, towards the distant
point. Deerslayer and Chingachgook now lifted two of the
canoes from the water, and placed them in the castle. The
windows and door were then barred, and the house was left
by means of the trap, in the manner already described. On
quitting the palisades, Hist was seen in the remaining canoe,
where the Delaware immediately joined her, and paddled
away, leaving Judith standing alone on the platform. Owing
to this prompt proceeding, Deerslayer found himself
alone with the beautiful, and still weeping mourner. Too
simple to suspect any thing, the young man swept the light
boat round, and received its mistress in it, when he followed
the course already taken by his friend.

The direction to the point, led diagonally past, and at
no great distance from, the graves of the dead. As the
canoe glided by, Judith, for the first time that morning, spoke
to her companion. She said but little; merely uttering a
simple request to stop, for a minute or two, ere she left the
place.

“I may never see this spot again, Deerslayer,” she said,
“and it contains the bodies of my mother and sister! Is it
not possible, think you, that the innocence of one of these
beings, may answer, in the eyes of God, for the salvation
of both?”

“I don't understand it so, Judith; though I'm no missionary,
and am but poorly taught. Each spirit answers
for its own backslidings; though a hearty repentance will
satisfy God's laws.”

“Then must my poor, poor mother, be in heaven!—Bitterly—bitterly—has
she repented of her sins; and surely
her sufferings in this life, ought to count as something against
her sufferings in the next!”

“All this goes beyond me, Judith.—I strive to do right,
here, as the surest means of keeping all right, hereafter.
Hetty was oncommon, as all that know'd her must allow;
and her soul was as fit to consort with angels, the hour it
left its body, as that of any saint in the Bible!”

“I do believe you only do her justice! Alas!—Alas!—
that there should be so great differences between those who
were nursed at the same breast, slept in the same bed, and
dwelt under the same roof! But, no matter,—move the
canoe a little farther east, Deerslayer;—the sun so dazzles
my eyes that I cannot see the graves. This is Hetty's,
on the right of mother's?”

“Sartain—you ask'd that of us; and all are glad to do
as you wish, Judith, when you do that which is right.”

The girl gazed at him near a minute, in silent attention;
then she turned her eyes backward, at the castle.

“This lake will soon be entirely deserted,” she said,—
“and this, too, at a moment when it will be a more secure
dwelling-place than ever. What has so lately happened
will prevent the Iroquois from venturing again to visit it,
for a long time to come.”

“That it will!—yes, that may be set down as settled. I
do not mean to pass this-a-way, ag'in, so long as the war
lasts; for, to my mind, no Huron moccasin will leave its
print on the leaves of this forest, until their traditions have
forgotten to tell their young men of their disgrace and
rout.”

“And do you so delight in violence and bloodshed? I had
thought better of you, Deerslayer—believed you one, who
could find his happiness in a quiet domestic home, with an
attached and loving wife, ready to study your wishes, and
healthy and dutiful children, anxious to follow in your foot-steps,
and to become as honest and just as yourself.”

“Lord, Judith, what a tongue you're mistress of! Speech
and looks go hand in hand, like; and what one can't do,
the other is pretty sartain to perform! Such a gal, in a
month, might spoil the stoutest warrior in the Colony.”

“And am I then so mistaken?—Do you really love war,
Deerslayer, better than the hearth, and the affections?”

“I understand your meaning, gal; yes, I do understand
what you mean, I believe, though I don't think you altogether

understand me. Warrior I may now call myself, I suppose,
for I've both fou't and conquered, which is sufficient
for the name; neither will I deny that I've feelin's for the
callin', which is both manful and honourable, when carried
on accordin' to nat'ral gifts—but I've no relish for blood.
Youth is youth, howsever, and a Mingo is a Mingo. If the
young men of this region stood by, and suffered the vagabonds
to overrun the land, why, we might as well all turn
Frenchers at once, and give up country and kin. I'm no
fire-eater, Judith, or one that likes fightin' for fightin's sake;
but I can see no great difference atween givin' up territory
afore a war, out of a dread of war, and givin' it up
after a war, because we can't help it—onless it be that the
last is the most manful and honourable.”

“No woman would ever wish to see her husband, or
brother, stand by, and submit to insult and wrong, Deerslayer,
however she might mourn the necessity of his running
into the dangers of battle. But you've done enough
already, in clearing this region of the Hurons; since to
you is principally owing the credit of our late victory. Now,
listen to me patiently, and answer me with that native
honesty, which it is as pleasant to regard in one of your sex,
as it is unusual to meet with.”

Judith paused; for, now that she was on the very point of
explaining herself, native modesty asserted its power, notwithstanding
the encouragement and confidence she derived
from the great simplicity of her companion's character.
Her cheeks, which had so lately been pale, flushed, and her
eyes lighted with some of their former brilliancy. Feeling
gave expression to her countenance and softness to her
voice, rendering her who was always beautiful, trebly seductive
and winning.

“Deerslayer,” she said, after a considerable pause, “this
is not a moment for affectation, deception, or a want of frankness
of any sort. Here, over my mother's grave, and over
the grave of truth-loving, truth-telling Hetty, every thing
like unfair dealing seems to be out of place. I will, therefore,
speak to you without any reserve, and without any dread
of being misunderstood. You are not an acquaintance of a
week, but it appears to me as if I had known you for years.
So much, and so much that is important, has taken place

within that short time, that the sorrows, and dangers, and
escapes of a whole life have been crowded into a few days;
and they who have suffered and acted together in such
scenes, ought not to feel like strangers. I know that what
I am about to say might be misunderstood by most men, but
I hope for a generous construction of my course from you.
We are not here, dwelling among the arts and deceptions
of the settlements, but young people who have no occasion
to deceive each other, in any manner or form.—I hope I
make myself understood?”

“Sartain, Judith; few convarse better than yourself, and
none more agreeable, like. Your words are as pleasant as
your looks.”

“It is the manner in which you have so often praised
those looks, that gives me courage to proceed. Still, Deerslayer,
it is not easy for one of my sex and years, to forget
all her lessons of infancy, all her habits, and her natural
diffidence, and say openly what her heart feels!”

“Why not, Judith? Why shouldn't women as well as
men deal fairly and honestly by their fellow-creatur's? I
see no reason why you should not speak as plainly as myself,
when there is any thing ra'ally important to be said.”

This indomitable diffidence, which still prevented the
young man from suspecting the truth, would have completely
discouraged the girl, had not her whole soul, as well
as her whole heart, been set upon making a desperate effort
to rescue herself from a future that she dreaded with a horror
as vivid, as the distinctness with which she fancied she
foresaw it. This motive, however, raised her above all
common considerations, and she persevered even to her
own surprise, if not to her great confusion.

“I will—I must deal as plainly with you, as I would with
poor, dear Hetty, were that sweet child living!” she continued,
turning pale, instead of blushing, the high resolution
by which she was prompted reversing the effect that such a
procedure would ordinarily produce on one of her sex;
“yes, I will smother all other feelings, in the one that is
now uppermost! You love the woods and the life that we
pass, here, in the wilderness, away from the dwellings and
towns of the whites.”

“As I loved my parents, Judith, when they was living!

This very spot would be all creation to me, could this war
be fairly over, once; and the settlers kept at a distance.”

“Why quit it, then? It has no owner—at least none
who can claim a better right than mine, and that I freely
give to you. Were it a kingdom, Deerslayer, I think I
should delight to say the same. Let us then return to it,
after we have seen the priest at the fort, and never quit it
again, until God calls us away to that world where we shall
find the spirits of my poor mother and sister.”

A long, thoughtful pause succeeded; Judith having covered
her face with both her hands, after forcing herself to utter
so plain a proposal, and Deerslayer musing equally in sorrow
and surprise, on the meaning of the language he had just
heard. At length the hunter broke the silence, speaking in
a tone that was softened to gentleness by his desire not to
offend.

“You haven't thought well of this, Judith,” he said—
“no, your feelin's are awakened by all that has lately happened,
and believin' yourself to be without kindred in the
world, you are in too great haste to find some to fill the
places of them that's lost.”

“Were I living in a crowd of friends, Deerslayer, I should
still think, as I think,—say as I now say,” returned Judith,
speaking with her hands still shading her lovely face.

“Thank you, gal—thank you, from the bottom of my
heart. Howsever, I am not one to take advantage of a
weak moment, when you're forgetful of your own great advantages,
and fancy 'arth and all it holds, is in this little
canoe. No—no—Judith, 't would be onginerous in me;
what you've offered can never come to pass!”

“It all may be, and that without leaving cause of repentance
to any,” answered Judith, with an impetuosity of
feeling and manner, that at once unveiled her eyes. “We
can cause the soldiers to leave our goods on the road, till we
return, when they can easily be brought back to the house;
the lake will be no more visited by the enemy, this war at
least; all your skins may be readily sold at the garrison;
There you can buy the few necessaries we shall want, for I
wish never to see the spot, again; and Deerslayer,” added
the girl, smiling with a sweetness and nature that the young
man found it hard to resist; “as a proof how wholly I am

and wish to be yours—how completely I desire to be nothing
but your wife, the very first fire that we kindle, after our
return, shall be lighted with the brocade dress, and fed by
every article I have that you may think unfit for the woman
you wish to live with!”

“Ah's! me—you're a winning and a lovely creatur', Judith;
yes, you are all that; and no one can deny it, and
speak truth. These pictur's are pleasant to the thoughts,
but they mightn't prove so happy as you now think 'em.
Forget it all, therefore, and let us paddle after the Sarpent
and Hist, as if nothing had been said on the subject.”

Judith was deeply mortified; and, what is more, she was
profoundly grieved. Still there was a steadiness and quiet
in the manner of Deerslayer, that completely smothered her
hopes; and told her that for once, her exceeding beauty had
failed to excite the admiration and homage it was wont to
receive. Women are said seldom to forgive those who slight
their advances; but this high-spirited and impetuous girl entertained
no shadow of resentment, then or ever, against the
fair-dealing and ingenuous hunter. At the moment, the prevailing
feeling was the wish to be certain that there was no
misunderstanding. After another painful pause, therefore,
she brought the matter to an issue, by a question too direct
to admit of equivocation.

“God forbid, that we lay up regrets, in after life, through
any want of sincerity now,” she said. “I hope we understand
each other, at least. You will not accept me for a
wife, Deerslayer?”

“'T is better for both that I shouldn't take advantage of
your own forgetfulness, Judith. We can never marry.”

“You do not love me,—cannot find it in your heart, perhaps,
to esteem me, Deerslayer!”

“Every thing in the way of fri'ndship, Judith—every
thing, even to sarvices and life itself. Yes, I'd risk as much
for you, at this moment, as I would risk in behalf of Hist;
and that is sayin' as much as I can say in favour of any
darter of woman. I do not think I feel towards either—
mind, I say either, Judith—as if I wished to quit father and
mother—if father and mother was livin'; which, however,
neither is—but if both was livin', I do not feel towards any

woman as if I wish'd to quit 'em in order to cleave unto
her.”

“This is enough!” answered Judith, in a rebuked and
smothered voice; “I understand all that you mean. Marry
you cannot, without loving; and that love you do not feel
for me. Make no answer, if I am right; for I shall understand
your silence. That will be painful enough of
itself.”

Deerslayer obeyed her, and he made no reply. For
more than a minute, the girl riveted her bright eyes on him,
as if to read his soul; while he sat playing with the water,
like a corrected school-boy. Then Judith herself, dropped
the end of her paddle, and urged the canoe away from the
spot, with a movement as reluctant as the feelings which
controlled it. Deerslayer quietly aided the effort, however;
and they were soon on the trackless line taken by the Delaware.

In their way to the point, not another syllable was exchanged
between Deerslayer and his fair companion. As
Judith sat in the bow of the canoe, her back was turned towards
him, else it is probable its expression might have induced
him to venture some soothing terms of friendship and
regard. Contrary to what would have been expected, resentment
was still absent, though the colour frequently changed
from the deep flush of mortification to the paleness of disappointment.
Sorrow, deep, heart-felt sorrow, however, was
the predominant emotion, and this was betrayed in a manner
not to be mistaken.

As neither laboured hard at the paddle, the ark had already
arrived, and the soldiers had disembarked, before the
canoe of the two loiterers reached the point. Chingachgook
had preceded it, and was already some distance in the wood,
at a spot where the two trails, that to the garrison, and that
to the villages of the Delawares, separated. The soldiers,
too, had taken up their line of march; first setting the ark
adrift again, with a reckless disregard of its fate. All this,
Judith saw; but she heeded it not. The Glimmerglass had
no longer any charms for her; and when she put her foot
on the strand, she immediately proceeded on the trail of the
soldiers, without casting a single glance behind her. Even
Hist was passed unnoticed; that modest young creature

shrinking from the averted face of Judith, as if guilty herself
of some wrong doing.

“Wait you here, Sarpent,” said Deerslayer, as he followed
in the footsteps of the dejected beauty, while passing his
friend. “I will just see Judith among her party, and come
and j'ine you.”

A hundred yards had hid the couple from those in front,
as well as those in their rear, when Judith turned and spoke.

“This will do, Deerslayer,” she said, sadly. “I understand
your kindness, but shall not need it. In a few minutes,
I shall reach the soldiers. As you cannot go with
me on the journey of life, I do not wish you to go further
on this. But, stop; before we part, I would ask you a single
question. And I require of you, as you fear God, and
reverence the truth, not to deceive me in your answer. I
know you do not love another; and I can see but one reason,
why you cannot, will not love me. Tell me, then,
Deerslayer,—” The girl paused, the words she was about
to utter, seeming to choke her. Then, rallying all her resolution,
with a face that flushed and paled at every breath
she drew, she continued: “Tell me, then, Deerslayer, if
any thing light of me, that Henry March has said, may not
have influenced your feelings?”

Truth was the Deerslayer's polar-star. He ever kept it
in view; and it was nearly impossible for him to avoid uttering
it, even when prudence demanded silence. Judith
read his answer in his countenance; and with a heart nearly
broken by the consciousness of undeserving, she signed to
him an adieu, and buried herself in the woods. For some
time Deerslayer was irresolute as to his course; but, in the
end, he retraced his steps, and joined the Delaware. That
night, the three “camped” on the head waters of their own
river, and the succeeding evening they entered the village
of the tribe; Chingachgook and his betrothed, in triumph;
their companion honoured and admired, but in a sorrow that
it required months of activity to remove.

The war that then had its rise was stirring and bloody.
The Delaware chief rose among his people, until his name
was never mentioned without eulogiums; while another Uncas,
the last of his race, was added to the long line of warriors
who bore that distinguished appellation. As for the

Deerslayer, under the sobriquet of Hawkeye, he made his
fame spread far and near, until the crack of his rifle became
as terrible to the ears of the Mingos, as the thunders of the
Manitou. His services were soon required by the officers
of the crown, and he especially attached himself, in the
field, to one in particular, with whose after-life he had a
close and important connection.

Fifteen years had passed away, ere it was in the power
of the Deerslayer to revisit the Glimmerglass. A peace had
intervened, and it was on the eve of another and a still more
important war, when he and his constant friend, Chingachgook,
were hastening to the forts to join their allies. A
stripling accompanied them, for Hist already slumbered beneath
the pines of the Delawares, and the three survivors
had now become inseparable. They reached the lake just
as the sun was setting. Here all was unchanged; the river
still rushed through its bower of trees; the little rock was
wasting away, by the slow action of the waves, in the
course of centuries; the mountains stood in their native
dress, dark, rich and mysterious; while the sheet glistened
in its solitude, a beautiful gem of the forest.

The following morning, the youth discovered one of the canoes
drifted on the shore, in a state of decay. A little labour
put it in a state for service, and they all embarked, with a
desire to examine the place. All the points were passed,
and Chingachgook pointed out to his son, the spot where the
Hurons had first encamped, and the point whence he had
succeeded in stealing his bride. Here they even landed;
but all traces of the former visit had disappeared. Next
they proceeded to the scene of the battle, and there they
found a few of the signs that linger around such localities.
Wild beasts had disinterred many of the bodies, and human
bones were bleaching in the rains of summer. Uncas regarded
all with reverence and pity, though traditions were
already rousing his young mind to the ambition and sternness
of a warrior.

From the point, the canoe took its way toward the shoal,
where the remains of the castle were still visible, a picturesque
ruin. The storms of winter had long since unroofed
the house, and decay had eaten into the logs. All the fastenings
were untouched, but the seasons rioted in the place,

as if in mockery at the attempt to exclude them. The palisades
were rotting, as were the piles; and it was evident that a
few more recurrences of winter, a few more gales and tempests,
would sweep all into the lake, and blot the building
from the face of that magnificent solitude. The graves
could not be found. Either the elements had obliterated
their traces, or time had caused those who looked for them
to forget their position.

The ark was discovered, stranded on the eastern shore,
where it had long before been driven, with the prevalent
northwest winds. It lay on the sandy extremity of a long
low point, that is situated about two miles from the outlet,
and which is itself fast disappearing before the action of the
elements. The scow was filled with water, the cabin unroofed,
and the logs were decaying. Some of its coarser
furniture still remained, and the heart of Deerslayer beat
quick, as he found a ribbon of Judith's, fluttering from a log.
It recalled all her beauty, and, we may add, all her failings.
Although the girl had never touched his heart, the Hawkeye,
for so we ought now to call him, still retained a kind
and sincere interest in her welfare. He tore away the ribbon,
and knotted it to the stock of Killdeer, which had been
the gift of the girl herself.

A few miles farther up the lake, another of the canoes
was discovered; and, on the point where the party finally
landed, were found those which had been left there upon the
shore. That in which the present navigation was made,
and the one discovered on the eastern shore, had dropped
through the decayed floor of the castle, drifted past the falling
palisades, and had been thrown as waifs upon the beach.

From all these signs, it was probable the lake had not
been visited since the occurrence of the final scene of our
tale. Accident, or tradition, had rendered it again a spot
sacred to nature; the frequent wars, and the feeble population
of the colonies, still confining the settlements within narrow
boundaries. Chingachgook and his friend left the spot
with melancholy feelings. It had been the region of their First
War-Path, and it carried back the minds of both to scenes of
tenderness, as well as to hours of triumph. They held their
way towards the Mohawk in silence, however, to rush into
new adventures, as stirring and as remarkable as those

which had attended their opening career, on this lovely lake
At a later day, they returned to the place, where the Indian
found a grave.

Time and circumstances have drawn an impenetrable
mystery around all else connected with the Hutters. They
lived, erred, died, and are forgotten. None connected have
felt sufficient interest in the disgraced and disgracing, to
withdraw the veil; and a century is about to erase even the
recollection of their names. The history of crime is ever
revolting, and it is fortunate that few love to dwell on its
incidents. The sins of the family have long since been
arraigned at the judgment-seat of God, or are registered for
the terrible settlement of the last great day.

The same fate attended Judith. When Hawkeye reached
the garrison on the Mohawk, he inquired anxiously after
that lovely but misguided creature. None knew her—
even her person was no longer remembered. Other officers
had, again and again, succeeded the Warleys and
Craigs and Grahams; though an old sergeant of the garrison,
who had lately come from England, was enabled to
tell our hero, that Sir Robert Warley lived on his paternal
estates, and that there was a lady of rare beauty in the
lodge, who had great influence over him, though she did
not bear his name. Whether this was Judith, relapsed into
her early failing, or some other victim of the soldier's,
Hawkeye never knew, nor would it be pleasant or profitable
to inquire. We live in a world of transgressions and selfishness,
and no pictures that represent us otherwise can be
true; though, happily for human nature, gleamings of that
pure Spirit in whose likeness man has been fashioned, are
to be seen relieving its deformities, and mitigating, if not
excusing, its crimes.