University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

It was fortunate for more than one of the bacchanalians,
who left the “Bold Dragoon” late in
the evening, that the severe cold of the season
was becoming, rapidly, less dangerous, as they
threaded the different mazes, through the snowbanks,
that led to their respective dwellings.
Thin, driving clouds began, towards morning, to
flit across the heavens, and the moon sat behind a
volume of vapour, that was impelled furiously towards
the north, carrying with it the softer atmosphere
from the distant ocean. The rising sun
was obscured by denser and increasing columns of
clouds, while the southerly wind that rushed
up the valley, brought the never failing symptoms
of a thaw.

It was quite late in the morning, before Elizabeth,
observing the faint glow which appeared on
the eastern mountain, long after the light of the
sun had struck the opposite hills, ventured from
the house, with a view to gratify her curiosity
with a glance by daylight at the surrounding objects,
before the tardy revellers of the Christmas-eve

should make their appearance at the breakfast
table. While she was drawing the folds of
her pelisse more closely around her form, to guard
against a cold that was yet great, though rapidly
yielding, in the small enclosure that opened in
the rear of the house on a little thicket of low
pines, that were springing up where trees of a
mightier growth had lately stood, she was surprised
at the voice of Mr. Jones, crying aloud—

“Merry Christmas, merry Christmas to you,
cousin Bess. Ah, ha! an early riser, I see; but
I knew I should steal a march on you. I never
was in a house yet, where I did'nt get the first
Christmas greeting on every soul in it, man, woman
and child; great and small; black, white and
yellow. But stop a minute, till I can just slip on
my coat; you are about to look at the improvements,
I see, which no one can explain so well as
I, who planned them all. It will be an hour before
'duke and the Major can sleep off Mrs. Hollister's
confounded distillations, and so I'll come
down and go with you.”

Elizabeth turned, and observed her cousin in
his night-cap, with his head out of his bed-room
window, where his zeal for pre-eminence, in defiance
of the weather, had impelled him to thrust
it. She laughed, and promising to wait for his
company, she re-entered the house, making her
appearance again, holding in her hand a packet
that was secured by several large and important
seals, just in time to meet the gentleman.

“Come, Bessy, come,” he cried, drawing one
of her arms through his own; “the snow begins
to give, but it will bear us yet. Don't you snuff
old Pennsylvania in the very air? This is a vile
climate, girl; now at sunset last evening it was
cold enough to freeze a man's zeal, and that, I can
tell you, takes a thermometer near zero for me;

then about nine or ten it began to moderate; at
twelve it was quite mild, and here all the rest
of the night I have been so hot as not to bear a
blanket on the bed.—Holla! Aggy,—merry
Christmas, Aggy—I say, do you hear me, you
black dog! there's a dollar for you; and if the
gentlemen get up before I come back, do you
come out and let me know. I would'nt have
'duke get the start of me for the worth of your
head.”

The black caught the money from the snow,
and promising a due degree of watchfulness, he
gave the dollar a whirl in the air of twenty feet,
and catching it as it fell, in the palm of his hand,
he withdrew to the kitchen, to exhibit his present,
with a heart as light as his face was happy in its
expression.

“Oh, rest easy, my dear coz,” said the young
lady; “I took a look in at my father, who is likely
to sleep an hour; and by using due vigilance
you will secure all the honours of the season.”

“Why, 'duke is your father, Elizabeth, but
'duke is a man who likes to be foremost, even in
trifles. Now, as for myself, I care for no such
things, except in the way of competition; for a
thing which is of no moment in itself, may be
made of importance in the way of competition.
So it is with your father, he loves to be first; but
I only struggle with him as a competitor, like.”

“Oh! it's all very clear, sir,” said Elizabeth;
“you would not care a fig for distinction, if there
were no one in the world but yourself; but as
there happen to be a great many others, why you
must struggle with them all—in the way of competition.”

“Exactly so; I see you are a clever girl, Bess,
and one who does credit to her masters. It was
my plan to send you to that school; for when

your father first mentioned the thing, I wrote a
private letter for advice to a judicious friend in
the city, who recommended the very school you
went to. 'Duke was a little obstinate at first, as
usual, but when he heard the truth, he was obliged
to send you.”

“Well, a truce to 'duke's foibles, sir; he is my
father; and if you knew what he has been doing
for you while we were in Albany, you would deal
more tenderly with his character.”

“For me!” cried Richard, pausing a moment
in his walk to reflect. “Oh! he got the plans of
the new Dutch meeting-house for me, I suppose;
but I care very little about it, for a man, of a certain
kind of talent, is seldom aided by any such
foreign suggestions: his own brain is the best architect.”

“No such think,” said Elizabeth, looking provokingly
knowing.

“No! let me see—perhaps he had my name
put in the bill for the new turnpike, as a director?”

“He might possibly; but it is not to such an
appointment that I allude.”

“Such an appointment!” repeated Mr. Jones,
who began to fidget with curiosity; “then it is
an appointment. If it is in the militia, I won't
take it.”

“No, no, it is not in the militia,” cried Elizabeth,
showing the packet in her hand, and then
drawing it back, with a coquettish air; “it is an
office of both honour and emolument.”

“Honour and emolument!” echoed Richard, in
painful suspense; “show me the paper, girl. Say,
is it an office where there is any thing to do?”

“You have hit it, cousin Dickon; it is the executive
office of the county; at least so said my father,
when he gave me this packet to offer you as

a Christmas box—`Surely, if any thing will please
Dickon,' he said, `it will be to fill the executive
chair of the county.' ”

“Executive chair! what nonsense!” cried the
impatient gentleman, snatching the packet from
her hand; “there is no such office in the county.
Eh! what! it is, I declare, a commission, appointing
Richard Jones, Esquire, Sheriff of the
county. Well, this is kind in 'duke, positively.
I must say 'duke has a warm heart, and never forgets
his friends. Sheriff! High Sheriff of —!
It sounds well, Bess, but it shall execute better.
'Duke is a judicious man, after all, and knows
human nature thoroughly. I'm sure I'm much
obliged to him,” continued Richard, using the
skirt of his coat, unconsciously, to wipe his eyes;
“though I would do as much for him any day, as
he shall see, if I can have an opportunity to perform
any of the duties of my office on him. It
shall be well done, cousin Bess—it shall be well
done, I say.—How this cursed south wind makes
my eyes water.”

“Now, Richard,” said the laughing maiden,
“now I think you will find something to do. I
have often heard you complain of old, that there
was nothing to do in this new country, while to
my eyes, it seemed as if every thing remained to
be done.”

“Do!” echoed Richard, who blew his nose,
raised his little form to its greatest elevation, and
looked prodigiously serious. “Every thing depends
on system, my girl. I shall sit down this
afternoon, and systematize the county. I must
have deputies, you know. I will divide the county
into districts, over which I will place my deputies;
and I will have one for the village, which
I will call my home department. Let me see—
eh! Benjamin! yes, Benjamin will make a good

deputy; he has been naturalized, and would answer
admirably, if he could only ride on horse-back.”

“Yes, Mr. Sheriff,” said his companion, “and
as he understands ropes so well, he would be very
expert, should occasion happen for his services, in
the way of Jack Ketch.”

“No,” interrupted the other, “I flatter myself
that no one could hang a man better than—that
is—ha—oh! yes, Benjamin would do extremely
well, in such an unfortunate dilemma, if he could
be persuaded to attempt it. But I should despair
of the thing. I never could induce him to hang,
or teach him to ride on horseback. I must seek
another deputy.”

“Well, sir, as you have abundant leisure for
all these important affairs, I beg that you will forget
that you are the High Sheriff, and devote
some little of your time to gallantry. Where are
the beauties and improvements which you were
to show me?”

“Where! why every where. Here I have laid
out some new streets; and when they are opened,
and the trees felled, and they are all built up,
will they not make a fine town? Well, 'duke is
a liberal-hearted fellow, with all his stubbornness.
—Yes, yes, I must have at least four deputies,
besides a jailer.”

“I see no streets in the direction of our walk,”
said Elizabeth, “unless you call the short avenues
through these pine bushes by that name.—
Surely you do not contemplate building houses,
very soon, in that forest before us, and in those
swamps.”

“We must run our streets by the compass, coz,
and disregard trees, hills, ponds, stumps, or, in
fact, any thing but posterity. Such is the will of
your father, and your father, you know—”

“Had you made Sheriff, Mr. Jones,” interrupted
the lady, with a tone which said very plainly to
the gentleman, that he was touching a forbidden
subject.

“I know it, I know it,” cried Richard; “and
if it were in my power, I'd make 'duke a king.
He is a noble-hearted fellow, and would make an
excellent king; that is, if he had a good prime
minister.—But who have we here? voices in the
bushes;—a combination about mischief, I'll wager
my commission. Let us draw near, and examine
a little into the matter.”

During this dialogue, as the parties had kept
in motion, Richard and his cousin advanced some
distance from the house, into the open space in
the rear of the village, where, as may be gathered
from the conversation, streets were planned,
and future dwellings contemplated; but where,
in truth, the only mark of improvement that was
to be seen, was a neglected clearing along the
skirt of a dark forest of mighty pines, over which
the bushes or sprouts of the same tree had sprung
up, to a height that interspersed the fields of snow
with little thickets of evergreen. The rushing of
the wind, as it whistled through the tops of these
mimic trees, prevented the footsteps of the pair
from being heard, while their branches concealed
their persons. Thus aided, the listeners drew
nigh to a spot where the young hunter, Leather-stocking,
and the Indian chief, were collected in
an earnest consultation. The former was urgent
in his manner, and seemed to think the subject of
deep importance, while Natty appeared to listen
with more than his usual attention, to what the
other was saying. Mohegan stood a little on one
side, with his head sunken on his chest, his hair
falling forward, so as to conceal most of his features,

and his whole attitude expressive of deep
dejection, if not of shame.

“Let us withdraw,” whispered Elizabeth; “we
are intruders, and can have no right to listen to
the secrets of these men.”

“No right!” returned Richard, a little impatiently,
in the same tone, and drawing her arm so
forcibly through his own as to prevent her retreat;
“you forget, cousin, that it is my duty to preserve
the peace of the county, and see the laws
executed. These wanderers frequently commit
depredations; though I do not think John would
do any thing secretly. Poor fellow! he was quite
boozy last night, and hardly seems to be over it
yet. Let us draw nigher, and hear what they
say.”

Notwithstanding the lady's reluctance, Richard,
stimulated doubtless by his nice sense of
duty, prevailed; and they were soon so near as
distinctly to hear sounds.

“The bird must be had,” said Natty, “by fair
means or foul. Heigho! I've known the time,
lad, when the wild turkeys wasn't over scarce in
the country; though you must go into the Virginy
gaps, if you want them for the feathers.
To be sure, there is a different taste to a partridge,
and a well-fattened turkey; though, to my
eating, beaver's tail and bear's hams makes the
best of food. But then every one has his own
appetite. I gave the last farthing, all to that
shilling, to the French trader, this very morning,
as I come through the town, for powder; so, as
you have nothing, we can have but one shot for
it. I know that Billy Kirby is out, and means to
have a pull of the trigger at that very turkey.
John has a true eye for a single fire, and somehow,
my hand shakes so, whenever I have to do
any thing extrawnary, that I often lose my aim.

Now when I killed the she-bear this fall, with her
cubs, though they were so mighty ravenous, I
knocked them over one at a shot, and loaded
while I dodged the trees in the bargain; but this
is a very different thing, Mr. Oliver.”

“This,” cried the young man, with an accent
that sounded as if he took a bitter pleasure in his
poverty, while he held a shilling up before his
eyes—“this is all the treasure that I possess—
this and my rifle! Now, indeed, I have become
a man of the woods, and must place my sole dependence
on the fruits of the chase. Come, Natty,
let us stake the last penny for the bird; with
your aim, it cannot fail to be successful.”

“I would rather it should be John, lad; my
heart jumps into my mouth, because you set your
mind so much on't; and I'm sartain that I shall
miss the bird. Them Indians can shoot one time
as well as another; nothing ever troubles them.
I say John, here's a shilling; take my rifle, and
get a shot at the big turkey they've put up at the
stump. Mr. Oliver is over anxious for the creater,
and I'm sure to do nothing when I have over
anxiety about it.”

The Indian turned his head gloomily, and after
looking keenly for a moment, in profound silence,
at his companions, he replied—

“When John was young, eyesight was not
straighter than his bullet. The Mingo squaws
cried out at the sound of his rifle. The Mingo
warriors were made squaws. When did he ever
shoot twice! The eagle went above the clouds,
when he passed the wigwam of Chingachgook;
his feathers were plenty with the women.—
But see,” he said, raising his voice from the low,
mournful tones in which he had spoken, to a pitch
of keen excitement, and stretching forth both
hands—“they shake like a deer at the wolf's howl.

Is John old? When was a Mohican a squaw,
with seventy winters! No! the white man brings
old age with him—rum is his tomahawk!”

“Why then do you use it, old man?” exclaimed
the young hunter; “why will one so noble
by nature, aid the devices of the devil, by making
himself a beast?”

“Beast! is John a beast?” repeated the Indian,
slowly; “yes; you say no lie, child of the
Fire-eater! John is a beast. The smokes were
once few in these hills. The deer would lick the
hand of a white man, and the birds rest on his
head. They were strangers to him. My fathers
came from the shores of the salt lake. They fled
before rum. They came to their grandfather, and
they lived in peace; or when they did raise the
hatchet, it was to strike it into the brain of a
Mingo. They gathered around the council-fire,
and what they said was done. Then John was a
man. But warriors and traders with light eyes
followed them. One brought the long knife, and
one brought rum. They were more than the
pines on the mountains; and they broke up the
councils, and took the lands. The evil spirit was
in their jugs, and they let him loose.—Yes, yes—
you say no lie, Young Eagle, John is a beast.”

“Forgive me, old warrior,” cried the youth,
grasping his hand; “I should be the last to reproach
you. The curses of Heaven light on the
cupidity that has destroyed such a race. Remember,
John, that I am of your family, and it is now
my greatest pride.”

The muscles of Mohegan relaxed a little, and
he said more mildly—

“You are a Delaware, my son; your words
are not heard.—John cannot shoot.”

“I thought that lad had Indian blood in him,”
whispered Richard, “by the awkward way he

handled my horses, last night. You see, coz,
they never use harness. But the poor fellow
shall have two shots at the turkey, if he wants it,
for I'll give him another shilling myself; though,
perhaps, I had better offer to shoot for him. They
have got up their Christmas sports, I find, in the
bushes yonder, where you hear the laughter;—
though it is a queer taste this chap has for turkey;
not but what it is good eating too.”

“Hold, cousin Richard,” exclaimed Elizabeth,
clinging to his arm, “would it be delicate to offer
a shilling to that gentleman?”

“Gentleman again! do you think a half-breed,
like him, will refuse money? No, no, girl; he
will take the shilling; ay! and even rum too,
notwithstanding he moralizes so much about it.—
But I'll give the lad a chance for his turkey, for
that Billy Kirby is one of the best marksmen in
the country; that is, if we except the—the gentleman.”

“Then,” said Elizabeth, who found her strength
unequal to her will; “then, sir, I will speak.”—
She advanced, with an air of proud determination,
in front of her cousin, and entered the little
circle of bushes that surrounded the trio of hunters.
Her appearance startled the youth, who at
first made an unequivocal motion towards retiring,
but, recollecting himself, bowed, by lifting his
cap, and resumed his attitude of leaning on his
rifle. Neither Natty nor Mohegan betrayed any
emotion, though the appearance of Elizabeth was
so entirely unexpected.

“I find,” she said, “that the old Christmas
sport of shooting the turkey is yet in use among
you. I feel inclined to try my chance for a bird.
Which of you will take this money, and, after
paying my fee, give me the aid of his rifle?”

“Is this a sport for a lady!” exclaimed the

young hunter, with an emphasis that could not
well be mistaken, and with a rapidity that showed
he spoke without consulting any thing but
feeling.

“Why not, sir?” returned the maiden. “If
it be inhuman, the sin is not confined to one sex
only. But I have my humour as well as others.
I ask not your assistance, sir; but”—turning to
Natty, and dropping a dollar in his hand—“this
old veteran of the forest will not be so ungallant,
as to refuse one fire for a lady.”

Leather-stocking dropped the money into his
pouch, and throwing up the end of his rifle, he
freshened his priming; and, first laughing in his
usual manner, he threw the piece over his shoulder,
and said—

“If Billy Kirby don't get the bird before me,
and the Frenchman's powder don't hang fire this
damp morning, you'll see as fine a turkey dead,
in a few minutes, as ever was eaten in the Judge's
shanty. I have know'd the Dutch women on the
Mohawk and Scoharie count greatly on coming to
them merry-makings; and so, lad, you shouldn't
be short with the lady. Come, let us go forward,
for if we wait, the finest bird will be gone.”

“But I have a right before you, Natty, and
shall try my own luck first. You will excuse
me, Miss Temple; I have much reason to wish
that bird, and may seem ungallant, but I must
claim my privileges.”

“Claim any thing that is justly your own, sir,”
returned the lady; “we are both adventurers,
and this is my knight. I trust my fortune to his
hand and eye. Lead on, Sir Leather-stocking,
and we will follow.”

Natty, who seemed pleased with the frank address
of the young and beauteous maiden, who
had so singularly intrusted him with such a commission,

returned the bright smile with which she
had addressed him, by his own peculiar mark of
mirth, and moved across the snow, towards the
spot whence the sounds of boisterous mirth proceeded
with the long strides of a hunter. His
companions followed in silence, the youth casting
frequent and uneasy glances towards Elizabeth,
who was detained by a motion from Richard.

“I should think, Miss Temple,” he said, so
soon as the others were out of hearing, “that if
you really wished a turkey, you would not have
taken a stranger for the office, and such a one as
Leather-stocking. But I can hardly believe that
you are serious, for I have fifty at this moment
shut up in the coops, in every stage of fat, so
that you might choose any quality you pleased.
There are six that I am trying an experiment on,
by giving them brick-bats with—”

“Enough, cousin Dickon,” interrupted the lady;
“I do wish the bird, and it is because I so
wish, that I commissioned this Mr. Leather-stocking.”

“Did you ever hear of the great shot that I
made at the wolf, cousin Elizabeth, who was carrying
off your father's sheep?” said Richard,
drawing himself up into an air of displeasure.—
“He had the sheep on his back; and had the
head of the wolf been on the other side, I should
have killed him dead; as it was—”

“You killed the sheep,” again interrupted the
young lady—“I know it all, my dear coz. But
would it have been decorous, for the High Sheriff
of—to mingle in such sports as these?”

“Surely you did not think I intended actually
to fire with my own hands?” said Mr. Jones.—
“But let us follow, and see the shooting. There
is no fear of any thing unpleasant occuring to any

female, in this new country, especially to your
father's daughter, and in my presence.”

“My father's daughter fears nothing, sir,” returned
Elizabeth; more especially, when escorted
by the highest executive officer in the county.”

She took his arm, and he led her through the
mazes of the bushes, to the spot where most of
the young men of the village were collected for
the sports of shooting a Christmas match, and
whither Natty and his companions had already
preceded them.