University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

The events of our tale carry us through the
summer; and, after making nearly the circle of
the year, we must conclude our labours in the delightful
month of October. Many important incidents
had, however, occurred in the intervening
period; a few of which it may be necessary to
recount.

The two principal were, the marriage of Oliver
and Elizabeth, and the death of Major Effingham.
They both took place early in September;
and the former preceded the latter only by a few
days. The old man passed away like the last
glimmering of a taper; and though his death cast
a melancholy over the family, grief could not follow
such an end.

One of the chief concerns of Marmaduke was to
reconcile the even conduct of a magistrate, with
the course that his feelings dictated to the criminals.
The day succeeding the discovery at the cave,
however, Natty and Benjamin re-entered the gaol
peaceably, where they continued, well fed and

comfortable, until the return of an express to
Albany, who brought the Governor's pardon to
the Leather-stocking. In the mean time, proper
means were employed to satisfy Hiram for the
assaults on his person; and on the same day, the
two comrades issued together into society again,
with their characters not at all affected by their
imprisonment.

Mr. Doolittle began to discover that neither
his architecture, nor his law, was quite suitable to
the growing wealth and intelligence of the settlement;
and, after exacting the last cent that was
attainable in his compromises, to use the language of
the country, he “pulled up stakes,” and proceeded
further west, scattering his professional science
and legal learning through the land; vestiges of
both of which are to be discovered there even to
the present hour.

Poor Jotham, whose life paid the forfeiture of
his folly, acknowledged before he died, that his
reasons for believing in a mine, were extracted
from the lips of a sybil, who, by looking in a
magic glass, was enabled to discover the hidden
treasures of the earth. Such superstition was
frequent in the new settlements; and after the first
surprise was over, the better part of the community
forgot the subject. But at the same time
that it removed from the breast of Richard a
lingering suspicion of the acts of the three hunters,
it conveyed a mortifying lesson to him, which
brought many quiet hours, in future, to his cousin
Marmaduke. It may be remembered that the
Sheriff confidently pronounced this to be no `visionary'
scheme, and that word was enough to shut
his lips, at any time within the next ten years.

Monsieur Le Quoi, who has been introduced to
our readers, because no picture of that country
would be faithful without such a Gaul, found the

island of Martinique, and his “sucre-boosh,” in possession
of the English; but Marmaduke, and his
family, were much gratified in soon hearing that
he had returned to his bureau, in Paris; where he
afterwards issued yearly bulletins of his happiness,
and of his gratitude to his friends in America.

With this brief explanation we must return to
our narrative. Let the American reader imagine
one of our mildest October mornings, when the
sun seems a ball of silvery fire, and the elasticity
of the air is felt while it is inhaled; imparting
vigour and life to the whole system. The weather,
neither too warm, nor too cold, but of that happy
temperature which stirs the blood, without bringing
the lassitude of spring.

It was on such a morning, about the middle of
the month, that Oliver entered the hall, where
Elizabeth was issuing her usual orders for the day,
and requested her to join him in a short excursion
to the lake-side. The tender melancholy
in the manner of her husband, caught the attention
of Elizabeth, who instantly abandoned
her concerns, threw a light shawl across her
shoulders, and concealing her raven hair under
her gypsey, she took his arm, and submitted herself,
without a question, to his guidance. They
crossed the bridge, and had turned from the
highway, along the margin of the lake, before a
word was exchanged. Elizabeth well knew, by the
direction they took, the object of their walk, and
respected the feelings of her companion too much
to indulge in untimely conversation. But when
they gained the open fields, and her eye roamed
over the placid lake, covered with wild fowl, already
journeying from the great northern waters,
to seek a warmer sun, but lingering to play in the
limpid sheet of the Otsego, and to the sides of the

mountain, which were gay with the thousand dies of
autumn, as if to grace their bridal, the swelling
heart of the young wife burst out in speech.

“This is not a time for silence, Oliver!” she
said, clinging more fondly to his arm; “every
thing in nature seems to speak the praises of the
Creator; why should we, who have so much to be
grateful for, be silent.”

“Speak on,” said her husband, smiling; “I
love the sounds of your voice. You must anticipate
our errand hither; I have told you my plans, how
do you like them?”

“I must first see them,” returned his wife.
“But I have had my plans, too; it is time I should
begin to divulge them.”

“You! It is something for the comfort of my
old friend Natty, I know.”

“Certainly of Natty; but we have other friends
besides the Leather-stocking, to serve. Do you
forget Louisa, and her father?”

“No, surely; have I not given one of the best
farms in the county to the good divine. As
for Louisa, I should wish you to keep her always
near us.”

“You do,” said Elizabeth, slightly compressing
her lips; “but poor Louise may have other views
for herself; she may wish to follow my example,
and marry.”

“I don't think it,” said Effingham, musing a moment;
“I really don't know any one hereabouts
good enough for her.”

“Perhaps not here; but there are other places
besides Templeton, and other churches besides
`New St. Paul's.' ”

“Churches, Elizabeth! you would not wish to
lose Mr. Grant, surely! though simple, he is an

excellent man. I shall never find another who
has half the veneration for my orthodoxy. You
would humble me from a saint to a very common
sinner.”

“It must be done, sir,” returned the lady, with
a half-concealed smile, “though it degrades you
from an angel to a man.”

“But you forget the farm.”

“He can lease it, as others do. Besides, would
you have a clergyman toil in the fields!”

“Where can he go? you forget Louisa.”

“No, I do not forget Louisa,” said Elizabeth,
again compressing her beautiful lips. “You
know, Effingham, that my father has told you
that I ruled him, and that I should rule you. I
am now about to exert my power.”

“Any thing, any thing, dear Elizabeth, but
not at the expense of us all; not at the expense
of your friend.”

“How do you know, sir, that it will be so much
at the expense of my friend?” said the lady, fixing
her eyes with a searching look on his countenance,
where they met only the unsuspecting expression
of manly regret.

“How do I know it! why, it is natural that
she should regret us.”

“It is our duty to struggle with our natural
feelings,” returned the lady; “and there is but
little cause to fear that such a spirit as Louisa's
will not effect it.”

“But what is your plan?”

“Listen, and you shall know. My father has
procured a call for Mr. Grant to one of the towns
on the Hudson, where he can live more at his ease
than in journeying through these woods; where
he can spend the evening of his life in comfort
and quiet; and where his daughter may meet
with such society, and form such a connexion, as

may be proper for one of her years and character.”

“Why, Bess! you amaze me! I did not think
you had been such a manager!”

“Oh! I manage more deeply than you imagine,
sir,” said the wife, archly smiling, again;
“but it is my will, and it is your duty to submit,
—for a time at least.”

Effingham laughed; but as they approached
the end of their walk, the subject was changed by
common consent.

The place at which they arrived was the little
spot of level ground where the cabin of the Leather-stocking
had so long stood. Elizabeth found
it entirely cleared of rubbish, and beautifully laid
down in turf, by the removal of sods, which, in
common with the surrounding country, had grown
gay, under the influence of profuse showers,
as if a second spring had passed over the land.
This little place was surrounded by a circle of mason-work,
and they entered by a small gate, near
which, to the surprise of both, the rifle of Natty
was leaning against the wall. Hector and the
slut reposed on the grass by its side, as if conscious
that, however altered, they were lying on
ground, and were surrounded by objects, with which
they were familiar. The hunter himself was
stretched on the earth, before a head-stone of
white marble, pushing aside with his fingers the
long grass that had already sprung up from the
luxuriant soil around its base, apparently to lay
bare the inscription that was there engraven. By
the side of this stone, which was a simple slab at
the head of a grave, stood a rich monument,
decorated with an urn, and ornamented tastefully
with the chisel.

Oliver and Elizabeth approached the graves,
with a light tread, unheard by the old hunter,

whose sunburnt face was working with his feelings,
and whose eyes twinkled as if something impeded
their vision. After some little time, Natty
raised himself slowly from the ground, and said
aloud—

“Well, well—I'm bold to say it's all right!
There's something that I suppose is reading; but
I can't make any thing of it; though the pipe,
and the tomahawk, and the moccasins, be pretty
well—pretty well, for a man that, I dares to
say, never seed 'ither of the things. Ah's me!
there they lie, side by side, happy enough! Who
will there be to put me in the 'arth, when my time
comes!”

“When that unfortunate hour arrives, Natty,
friends shall not be wanting to perform the last offices
for you,” said Oliver, a little touched at the
hunter's soliloquy.

The old man turned, without manifesting any
surprise, for he had got the Indian habits in this
particular, and running his hand under the bottom
of his nose, seemed to wipe away his sorrow with
the action.

“You've come out to see the graves, children,
have ye?” he said; “well, well, they're wholesome
sights to young as well as old.”

“I hope they are fitted to your liking,” said
Effingham; “no one has a better right than
yourself to be consulted in the matter.”

“Why, seeing that I an't used to fine graves,”
returned the old man, “it is but little matter consarning
my taste. Ye laid the Major's head to
the west, and Mohegan's to the east, did ye, lad?”

“At your request it was done.”

“It's so best,” said the hunter; “they thought
they had to journey different ways, children;
though there is One greater than all, who'll bring

the just together ag'in at his own time, and
who'll whiten the skin of a black-moor, and place
him on a footing with princes.”

“There is but little reason to doubt that,” said
Elizabeth, whose decided tones were changed to a
soft, melancholy voice; “I trust we shall all meet
again, and be happy together.”

“Shall we, child! shall we!” exclaimed the
hunter, with unusual fervour; “there's comfort in
that thought too. But before I go, I should like
to know what 'tis you tell these people, that be
flocking into the country like pigeons in the
spring, of the old Delaware, and of the bravest
white man that ever trod the hills.”

Effingham and Elizabeth were surprised at
the manner of the Leather-stocking, which was
unusually impressive and solemn; but attributing
it to the scene, the young man turned to the monument,
and read aloud—

“Sacred to the memory of Oliver Effingham,
Esquire, formerly a Major in his B. Majesty's
60th Foot; a soldier of tried valour; a subject
of chivalric loyalty; and a man of honesty. To
these virtues, he added the graces of a christian.
The morning of his life was spent in honour,
wealth, and power; but its evening was obscured
by poverty, neglect, and disease, which were alleviated
only by the tender care of his old, faithful,
and upright friend and attendant, Nathaniel
Bumppo. His descendants rear this stone to the
virtues of the master, and to the enduring gratitude
of the servant.”

The Leather-stocking started at the sound of
his own name, and a smile of joy illumined his
wrinkled features, as he said—

“And did ye say it, lad? have you then got the
old man's name cut in the stone, by the side of his

master's? God bless ye, children! 'twas a kind
thought, and kindness goes to the heart as life
shortens.”

Elizabeth turned her back to the speakers, but
the pure cambric, that, contrasted to her dark
eyes, attested the feelings of the youthful bride.
Effingham made a fruitless effort to speak before
he succeeded in saying—

“It is there cut in plain marble; but it should
have been written in letters of gold!”

“Show me the name, boy,” said Natty, with
simple eagerness; “let me see my own name
placed in such honour. 'Tis a gin'rous gift to
a man who leaves none of his name and family
behind him in a country, where he has tarried
so long.”

Effingham guided his finger to the spot, and
Natty followed the windings of the letters to the
end, with deep interest, when he raised himself
from the tomb, and said—

“I suppose it's all right, and it's kindly thought,
and kindly done! But what have ye put over the
Red-skin?”

“You shall hear”—

“This stone is raised to the memory of an Indian
Chief, of the Delaware tribe, who was known
by the several names of John Mohegan; Mohican”—

“Mo-hee-can, lad; they call theirselves! 'hee-can.”

“Mohican; and Chingagook”—

“ 'Gach, boy;—'gach-gook; Chingachgook;
which, intarpreted, means Big-sarpent. The
name should be set down right, for an Indian's
name has always some meaning in it.”

“I will see it altered,” said Edwards. “He was
the last of his people who continued to inhabit

this country; and it may be said of him, emphatically,
that his faults were those of an Indian, and
his virtues those of a man.”

“You never said truer word, Mr. Oliver; ah's
me! if you had know'd him as I did, in his prime,
in that very battle, where, the old gentleman who
sleeps by his side, sav'd his life, when them
thieves, the Iriquois, had him at the stake, you'd
have said all that, and more too. I cut the thongs
with this very hand, and gave him my own tomahawk
and knife, seeing that the rifle was always
my fav'rite weepon. He did lay about him like
a man! I met him as I was coming home from
the trail, with eleven Mingo scalps on his pole.
You needn't shudder, Madam Effingham, for they
was all from shav'd heads and warriors. When I
look about me, at these hills, where I used-to
could count, sometimes twenty smokes, curling
over the tree-tops, from the Delaware camps, it
raises mournful thoughts, to think, that not a Red-skin
is left of them all; unless it may be a drunken
vagabond from the Oneida's, or them Yankee
Indians, who, they say, be moving up from the
sea-shore; and who belong to none of God's creaters,
to my seeming; being, as it were, neither
fish nor flesh; neither white-man, nor savage.—
Well! well! the time has come at last, and I
must go”—

“Go!” echoed Edwards, “whither do you go?”

The Leather-stocking, who had imbibed, unconsciously,
many of the Indian qualities, though
he always thought of himself, as of a civilized
being, compared with even the Delawares, averted
his face to conceal the workings of his muscles,
as he stooped to lift a large pack from behind the
tomb, which he placed deliberately on his shoulders.

“Go!” exclaimed Elizabeth, approaching him,
with a hurried step; “you should not venture so
far in the woods alone, at your time of life, Natty;
indeed, it is imprudent. He is bent, Effingham,
on some distant hunting.”

“What Mrs. Effingham tells you, is true, Leather-stocking,”
said Edwards; “there can be no
necessity for your submitting to such hardships now!
So throw aside your pack, and confine your hunt
to the mountains near us, if you will go.”

“Hardship! 'tis a pleasure, children, and the
greatest that is left me on this side the grave.”

“No, no; you shall not go to such a distance,”
cried Elizabeth, smiling, and laying her white
hand on his deer-skin pack; “I am right! I feel
his camp-kettle and a canister of powder! he
must not be suffered to wander so far from us, Oliver;
remember how suddenly Mohegan dropp'd
away.”

“I know'd the parting would come hard, children;
I know'd it would!” said Natty, “and so I
got aside to look at the graves by myself, and
thought if I left ye the keep-sake which the Major
gave me, when we first parted in the woods,
ye wouldn't take it unkind, but would know, that
let the old man's body go where it might, his feelings
staid behind him.”

“This means something more than common!”
exclaimed the youth; “where is it, Natty, that you
purpose going?”

The hunter drew nigh him with a confident reasoning
air, as if what he had to say would silence
all objections, and replied—

“Why, lad, they tell me, that on the Big-lakes,
there's the best of hunting, and a great range,
without a white man on it, unless it may be one
like myself. I'm weary of living in clearings,

and where the hammer is sounding in my ears
from sun-rise to sun-down. And though I'm much
bound to ye both, children; I wouldn't say
it if it wasn't true; I crave to go into the woods
ag'in, I do.”

“Woods!” echoed Elizabeth, trembling with
her feelings; “do you not call these endless forests
woods?”

“Ah! child, these be nothing to a man that's
used to the wilderness. I have took but little
comfort sin' your father come on with his settlers;
but I wouldn't go far, while the life was in the
body that lies under the sod there. But now he's
gone, and Chingachgook is gone; and you be
both young and happy. Yes! the big-house has
rung with merriment this month past! And now,
I thought, was the time, to try to get a little comfort,
in the close of my days. Woods! indeed! I
doesn't call these woods, Madam Effingham,
where I lose myself, every day of my life, in the
clearings.”

“If there be any thing wanting to your comfort,”
cried Oliver, “name it Leather-stocking;
and if it be attainable, it is your's.”

“You mean all for the best; lad; I know it;
and so does Madam, too; but your ways isn't my
ways. 'Tis like the dead there, who thought,
when the breath was in them, that one went east
and one went west, to find their heavens; but
they'll meet at last; and so shall we, children.—
Yes, ind as you've begun, and we shall meet
in the land of the just, at last.”

“This is so new! so unexpected!” said Elizabeth,
in almost breathless excitement; “I had
thought you meant to live with us, and die with
us, Natty.”

“Words are of no avail!” exclaimed her husband;
“the habits of forty years are not to be

dispossessed by the ties of a day. I know you
too well to urge you further, Natty; unless you
will let me build you a hut, on one of the distant
hills, where we can sometimes see you, and know
that you are comfortable.”

“Don't fear the Leather-stocking, children; God
will see that his days be provided for, and his ind
happy. I know you mean all for the best, but
our ways doesn't agree. I love the woods, and
ve relish the face of man; I eat when hungry
and drink when a-dry, and ye keep stated hours
an rules; nay, nay, you even over-feed the dogs,
lad from pure kindness; and hounds should be
gaunty to run well. The meanest of God's creaters
be made for some use, and I'm form'd for the
wilderness; and, if ye love me, let me go where
my soul craves to be ag'in!”

The appeal was decisive; not another word of
entreaty, for him to remain, was then uttered; but
Elizabeth bent her head to her bosom and wept,
while her husband dashed away the tears from his
eyes, and, with hands that almost refused to perform
their office, he produced his pocket-book,
and extended a parcel of bank-notes to the hunter.

“Take these,” he said, “at least, take these;
secure them about your person, and, in the hour
of need, they will do you good service.”

The old man took the notes, and examined
them with a curious eye, when he said—

“This, then, is some of the new-fashioned money
that they've been making at Albany, out of
paper! It can't be worth much to they that hasn't
larning! No, no, lad—take back the stuff; it
will do me no sarvice. I took kear to get all the
Frenchman's powder, afore he broke up, and they
say lead grows where I'm going. It isn't even
fit for wads, seeing that I use none but leather!—

Madam Effingham, let an old man kiss your
hand, and wish God's choicest blessings on you
and your'n.”

“Once more let me beseech you, stay!” cried
Elizabeth. “Do not, Leather-stocking, leave me
to grieve for the man who has twice rescued me
from death, and who has served those I love so
faithfully. For my sake, if not for your own,
stay. I shall see you, in those frightful dreams
that still haunt my nights, dying in poverty and
age, by the side of those terrific beasts you slew.
There will be no evil that sickness, want, and solitude
can inflict, that my fancy will not conjure
as your fate. Stay with us, old man; if not for
your own sake, at least for ours.”

“Such thoughts and bitter dreams, Madam Effingham,”
returned the hunter, solemnly, “will
never haunt an innocent parson long. They'll
pass away with God's pleasure. And if the cat-a-mounts
be yet brought to your eyes in sleep,
'tis not for my sake, but to show you the power
of him that led me there to save you. Trust in
God, Madam, and your honourable husband, and
the thoughts for an old man like me can never be
long nor bitter. I pray that the Lord will keep
you in mind—the Lord that lives in clearings as
well as in the wilderness—and bless you, and all
that belong to you, from this time, till the great
day when the whites shall meet the red-skins in
judgment, and justice shall be the law, and not
power.”

Elizabeth raised her head, and offered her colourless
cheek to his salute, when he lifted his
cap, and touched it respectfully. His hand was
grasped with convulsive fervour by the youth,
who continued silent. The hunter prepared
himself for his journey, drawing his belt tighter,
and wasting his moments in the little reluctant

movements of a sorrowful departure. Once or
twice he essayed to speak, but a rising in his
throat prevented it. At length he shouldered his
rifle, and cried, with a clear huntsman's call, that
echoed through the woods—

“He-e-e-re, he-e-e-re, pups—away, dogs,
away;—ye'll be foot-sore afore ye see the ind of
the journey!”

The hounds leaped from the earth at his cry,
and, scenting around the graves and the silent
pair, as if conscious of their own destination, they
followed humbly at the heels of their master. A
short pause succeeded, during which even the
youth concealed his face on his grandfather's
tomb. When the pride of manhood, however,
suppressed the feelings of nature, he turned to renew
his entreaties, but saw that the cemetery was
occupied only by himself and his wife.

“He is gone!” cried Effingham.

Elizabeth raised her face, and saw the old hunter
standing, looking back for a moment, on the
verge of the wood. As he caught their glances,
he drew his hard hand hastily across his eyes
again, waved it on high for an adieu, and, uttering
a forced cry to his dogs, who were crouching
at his feet, he entered the forest.

This was the last that they ever saw of the
Leather-stocking, whose rapid movements preceded
the pursuit which Judge Temple both ordered
and conducted. He had gone far towards
the setting sun,—the foremost in that band of
Pioneers, who are opening the way for the march
of our nation across the continent.