 | CHAPTER III. The deerslayer: or, The first war-path |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
Shall sorrow light, or shame. She was not made
Through years or moons the inner weight to bear,
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid
By age in earth; her days and pleasures were
Brief but delightful—such as had not stayed
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell.”
Byron.
The young men who had been sent out to reconnoitre,
on the sudden appearance of Hetty, soon returned to report
their want of success in making any discovery. One of
them had even been along the beach as far as the spot opposite
that vessel from his notice. Others had examined in different
directions, and everywhere the stillness of night was
added to the silence and solitude of the woods. It was consequently
believed that the girl had come alone, as on her
former visit, and on some similar errand. The Iroquois were
ignorant that the ark had left the castle, and there were movements
projected, if not in the course of actual execution by
this time, which also greatly added to the sense of security.
A watch was set, therefore, and all but the sentinels disposed
themselves to sleep.
Sufficient care was had to the safe keeping of the captive,
without inflicting on him any unnecessary suffering; and,
as for Hetty, she was permitted to find a place among the
Indian girls, in the best manner she could. She did not
find the friendly offices of Hist, though her character not
only bestowed impunity from pain and captivity, but it procured
for her a consideration and an attention that placed her,
on the score of comfort, quite on a level with the wild but
gentle beings around her. She was supplied with a skin,
and made her own bed on a pile of boughs a little apart
from the huts. Here she was soon in a profound sleep, like
all around her.
There were now thirteen men in the party, and three kept
watch at a time. One remained in shadow, not far from
the fire, however. His duty was to guard the captive, to
take care that the fire neither blazed up so as to illuminate
the spot, nor yet become wholly extinguished; and to keep
an eye generally on the state of the camp. Another passed
from one beach to the other, crossing the base of the point,
while the third kept moving slowly around the strand on its
outer extremity, to prevent a repetition of the surprise that
had already taken place that night. This arrangement was
far from being usual among savages, who ordinarily rely
more on the secresy of their movements, than on vigilance
of this nature; but it had been called for by the peculiarity
of the circumstances in which the Hurons were now placed.
Their position was known to their foes, and it could not
easily be changed at an hour which demanded rest. Perhaps,
too, they placed most of their confidence on the knowledge
of what they believed to be passing higher up the lake,
of the pale-faces, who were at liberty, with their solitary
Indian ally. It was also probable Rivenoak was aware,
that, in holding his captive, he had in his own hands the
most dangerous of all his enemies.
The precision with which those accustomed to watchfulness,
or lives of disturbed rest, sleep, is not the least of the
phenomena of our mysterious being. The head is no sooner
on the pillow, than consciousness is lost; and yet, at a necessary
hour, the mind appears to arouse the body, as
promptly as if it had stood sentinel the while over it. There
can be no doubt that they who are thus roused, awake by
the influence of thought over matter, though the mode in
which this influence is exercised must remain hidden from
our curiosity, until it shall be explained, should that hour
ever arrive, by the entire enlightenment of the soul, on the
subject of all human mysteries. Thus it was with Hetty
Hutter. Feeble as the immaterial portion of her existence
was thought to be, it was sufficiently active to cause her to
open her eyes at midnight. At that hour she awoke, and
leaving her bed of skin and boughs, she walked innocently
and openly to the embers of the fire, stirring the latter, as
the coolness of the night and the woods, in connection with
an exceedingly unsophisticated bed, had a little chilled her.
As the flame shot up, it lighted the swarthy countenance of
the Huron on watch, whose dark eyes glistened under its
light, like the balls of the panther that is pursued to his den
with burning brands. But Hetty felt no fear, and she approached
the spot where the Indian stood. Her movements
were so natural, and so perfectly devoid of any of the stealthiness
of cunning, or deception, that he imagined she had
merely arisen on account of the coolness of the night, a
common occurrence in a bivouac, and the one of all others,
perhaps, the least likely to excite suspicion. Hetty spoke
to him, but he understood no English. She then gazed
near a minute at the sleeping captive, and moved slowly
away, in a sad and melancholy manner.
The girl took no pains to conceal her movements. Any
ingenious expedient of this nature, quite likely, exceeded her
powers; still her step was habitually light, and scarcely
audible. As she took the direction of the extremity of the
and where Hist had embarked, the sentinel saw her
light form gradually disappear in the gloom without uneasiness,
or changing his own position. He knew that others
were on the look-out, and he did not believe that one who
had twice come into the camp voluntarily, and had already
left it openly, would take refuge in flight. In short, the
conduct of the girl excited no more attention than that of
any person of feeble intellect would excite in civilized society,
while her person met with more consideration and
respect.
Hetty certainly had no very distinct notions of the localities,
but she found her way to the beach, which she reached
on the same side of the point as that on which the camp had
been made. By following the margin of the water, taking
a northern direction, she soon encountered the Indian, who
paced the strand as sentinel. This was a young warrior,
and when he heard her light tread coming along the gravel,
he approached swiftly, though with any thing but menace
in his manner. The darkness was so intense that it was
not easy to discover forms, within the shadows of the woods,
at the distance of twenty feet, and quite impossible to distinguish
persons until near enough to touch them. The
young Huron manifested disappointment when he found
whom he had met; for, truth to say, he was expecting his
favourite, who had promised to relieve the ennui of a midnight
watch with her presence. This man was also ignorant
of English, but he was at no loss to understand why
the girl should be up at that hour. Such things were usual
in an Indian village and camp, where sleep is as irregular
as the meals. Then poor Hetty's known imbecility, as in
most things connected with the savages, stood her friend on
this occasion. Vexed at his disappointment, and impatient
of the presence of one he thought an intruder, the young
warrior signed for the girl to move forward, holding the direction
of the beach. Hetty complied; but, as she walked
away, she spoke aloud in English, in her usual soft tones,
which the stillness of the night made audible at some little
distance.
“If you took me for a Huron girl, warrior,” she said, “I
don't wonder you are so little pleased. I am Hetty Hutter,
night, for mother always said it was wrong, and modest
young women should never do it; modest young women of
the pale-faces, I mean; for customs are different in different
parts of the world, I know. No, no; I'm Hetty Hutter, and
wouldn't meet even Hurry Harry, though he should fall
down on his knees and ask me! mother said it was wrong.”
By the time Hetty had said this, she reached the place
where the canoes had come ashore, and, owing to the curvature
of the land and the bushes, would have been completely
hid from the sight of the sentinel, had it been broad
day. But another footstep had caught the lover's ear, and
he was already nearly beyond the sound of the girl's silvery
voice. Still Hetty, bent only on her own thoughts and purposes,
continued to speak, though the gentleness of her tones
prevented the sounds from penetrating far into the woods.
On the water they were more widely diffused.
“Here I am, Judith,” she added, “and there is no one
near me. The Huron on watch has gone to meet his sweetheart,
who is an Indian girl, you know, and never had a
Christian mother to tell her how wrong it is to meet a man
at night—”
Hetty's voice was hushed by a “hist!” that came from
the water, and then she caught a dim view of the canoe,
which approached noiselessly, and soon grated on the shingle
with its bow. The moment the weight of Hetty was
felt in the light craft, the canoe withdrew, stern foremost, as
if possessed of life and volition, until it was a hundred yards
from the shore. Then it turned, and, making a wide
sweep, as much to prolong the passage as to get beyond the
sound of voices, it held its way towards the ark. For several
minutes nothing was uttered; but, believing herself to
be in a favourable position to confer with her sister, Judith,
who alone sat in the stern, managing the canoe with a skill
little short of that of a man, began a discourse, which she
had been burning to commence ever since they had quitted
the point.
“Here we are safe, Hetty,” she said, “and may talk without
the fear of being overheard. You must speak low,
however, for sounds are heard far on the water, in a still
night. I was so close to the point, some of the time, while
and I heard your shoes on the gravel of the beach, even before
you spoke.”
“I don't believe, Judith, the Hurons know I have left
them.”
“Quite likely they do not, for a lover makes a poor sentry,
unless it be to watch for his sweetheart! But tell me,
Hetty, did you see and speak with Deerslayer?”
“Oh, yes—there he was seated near the fire, with his
legs tied, though they left his arms free, to move them as he
pleased.”
“Well, what did he tell you, child? Speak quick; I am
dying to know what message he sent me.”
“What did he tell me? why, what do you think, Judith;
he told me that he couldn't read! Only think of that! a
white man, and not know how to read his bible, even! He
never could have had a mother, sister!”
“Never mind that, Hetty. All men can't read; though
mother knew so much, and taught us so much, father
knows very little about books, and he can barely read the
bible, you know.”
“Oh! I never thought fathers could read much, but mothers
ought all to read, else how can they teach their children?
Depend on it, Judith, Deerslayer could never have
had a mother, else he would know how to read.”
“Did you tell him I sent you ashore, Hetty, and how
much concern I feel for his misfortune?” asked the other,
impatiently.
“I believe I did, Judith; but you know I am feeble-minded,
and I may have forgotten. I did tell him you brought me
ashore. And he told me a great deal that I was to say to
you, which I remember well, for it made my blood run cold
to hear him. He told me to say that his friends—I suppose
you are one of them, sister—?”
“How can you torment me thus, Hetty! Certainly, I
am one of the truest friends he has on earth.”
“Torment you! yes, now I remember all about it. I am
glad you used that word, Judith, for it brings it all back to
my mind. Well, he said he might be tormented by the savages,
but he would try to bear it as becomes a Christian
white man, and that no one need be afeard—why does Deerslayer
afraid?”
“Never mind, dear Hetty, never mind that, now,” cried
the other, almost gasping for breath. “Did Deerslayer
really tell you that he thought the savages would put him
to the torture? Recollect now, well, Hetty, for this is a
most awful and serious thing.”
“Yes he did; and I remember it by your speaking about
my tormenting you. Oh! I felt very sorry for him, and
Deerslayer took all so quietly and without noise! Deerslayer
is not as handsome as Hurry Harry, Judith, but he
is more quiet.”
“He's worth a million Hurrys! yes, he's worth all the
young men who ever came upon the lake put together,” said
Judith, with an energy and positiveness that caused her sister
to wonder. “He is true.—There is no lie about Deerslayer.
You, Hetty, may not know what a merit it is in a
man to have truth, but when you get—no—I hope you will
never know it. Why should one like you be ever made to
learn the hard lesson to distrust and hate!”
Judith bowed her face, dark as it was, and unseen as she
must have been, by any eye but that of Omniscience, between
her hands, and groaned. This sudden paroxysm of
feeling, however, lasted but for a moment, and she continued
more calmly, still speaking frankly to her sister, whose
intelligence, and whose discretion in any thing that related
to herself, she did not in the least distrust. Her voice,
however, was low and husky, instead of having its former
clearness and animation.
“It is a hard thing to fear truth, Hetty,” she said; “and
yet do I more dread Deerslayer's truth, than any enemy!
One cannot tamper with such truth — so much honesty —
such obstinate uprightness! But we are not altogether unequal,
sister—Deerslayer and I? He is not altogether my
superior?”
It was not usual for Judith so far to demean herself as to
appeal to Hetty's judgment. Nor did she often address her
by the title of sister, a distinction that is commonly given
by the junior to the senior, even where there is perfect
equality in all other respects. As trifling departures from
habitual deportment oftener strike the imagination than more
wondered at them in her own simple way.
Her ambition was a little quickened, and the answer was
as much out of the usual course of things, as the question;
the poor girl attempting to refine beyond her strength.
“Superior, Judith!” she repeated with pride. “In what
can Deerslayer be your superior? Are you not mother's
child—and does he know how to read—and wasn't mother
before any woman in all this part of the world? I should
think, so far from supposing himself your superior, he would
hardly believe himself mine. You are handsome, and he is
ugly—”
“No, not ugly, Hetty,” interrupted Judith. “Only plain.
But his honest face has a look in it, that is far better than
beauty. In my eyes Deerslayer is handsomer than Hurry
Harry.”
“Judith Hutter! you frighten me. Hurry is the handsomest
mortal in the world—even handsomer than you are
yourself; because a man's good looks, you know, are always
better than a woman's good looks.”
This little innocent touch of natural taste did not please
the elder sister at the moment, and she did not scruple to betray
it.
“Hetty, you now speak foolishly, and had better say no
more, on this subject,” she answered. “Hurry is not the
handsomest mortal in the world, by many; and there are
officers in the garrisons—” Judith stammered at the words—
“there are officers in the garrisons, near us, far comelier
than he. But, why do you think me the equal of Deerslayer—speak
of that, for I do not like to hear you show so
much admiration of a man like Hurry Harry, who has
neither feelings, manners, nor conscience. You are too good
for him, and he ought to be told it, at once.”
“I! Judith, how you forget! Why I am not beautiful,
and am feeble-minded.”
“You are good, Hetty, and that is more than can be said
of Henry March. He may have a face, and a body, but he
has no heart. But enough of this, for the present. Tell me
what raises me to an equality with Deerslayer.”
“To think of you asking me this, Judith! He can't read,
and you can. He don't know how to talk, but speaks worse
his words right! Did you ever notice that?”
“Certainly, he is as coarse in speech, as in every thing
else. But, I fear you flatter me, Hetty, when you think I
can be justly called the equal of a man like Deerslayer. It
is true, I have been better taught; in one sense am more
comely; and perhaps might look higher; but then his truth
—his truth—makes a fearful difference between us! Well,
I will talk no more of this; and we will bethink us of the
means of getting him out of the hands of the Hurons. We
have father's chest in the ark, Hetty, and might try the
temptation of more elephants; though I fear such baubles
will not buy the liberty of a man like Deerslayer. I am
afraid father and Hurry will not be as willing to ransom
Deerslayer, as Deerslayer was to ransom them!”
“Why not, Judith? Hurry and Deerslayer are friends,
and friends should always help one another.”
“Alas! poor Hetty, you little know mankind! Seeming
friends are often more to be dreaded than open enemies; particularly
by females. But you'll have to land in the morning,
and try again what can be done for Deerslayer. Tortured
he shall not be, while Judith Hutter lives, and can find
means to prevent it.”
The conversation now grew desultory, and was drawn
out, until the elder sister had extracted from the younger
every fact that the feeble faculties of the latter permitted her
to retain, and to communicate. When Judith was satisfied—
though, she could never be said to be satisfied, whose feelings
seemed to be so interwoven with all that related to the
subject, as to have excited a nearly inappeasable curiosity—
but, when Judith could think of no more questions to ask,
without resorting to repetition, the canoe was paddled towards
the scow. The intense darkness of the night, and the
deep shadows which the hills and forest cast upon the water,
rendered it difficult to find the vessel, anchored, as it had
been, as close to the shore as a regard to safety rendered
prudent. Judith was expert in the management of a bark
canoe, the lightness of which demanded skill rather than
strength; and she forced her own little vessel swiftly over
the water, the moment she had ended her conference with
Hetty, and had come to the determination to return. Still
saw it, looming up in the obscurity, like a low black rock,
but on each occasion it was found to be either an optical
illusion, or some swell of the foliage on the shore. After a
search that lasted half an hour, the girls were forced to the
unwelcome conviction that the ark had departed.
Most young women would have felt the awkwardness of
their situation, in a physical sense, under the circumstances
in which the sisters were left, more than any apprehensions
of a different nature. Not so with Judith, however; and
even Hetty felt more concern about the motives that might
have influenced her father and Hurry, than any fears for
her own safety.
“It cannot be, Hetty,” said Judith, when a thorough
search had satisfied them both that no ark was to be found,
“it cannot be that the Indians have rafted, or swum off,
and surprised our friends as they slept?”
“I don't believe that Hist and Chingachgook would sleep
until they had told each other all they had to say after so
long a separation—do you, sister?”
“Perhaps not, child. There was much to keep them
awake, but one Indian may have been surprised even when
not asleep, especially as his thoughts may have been on
other things. Still we should have heard a noise; for in a
night like this, an oath of Harry Hurry's would have echoed
in the eastern hills like a clap of thunder.”
“Hurry is sinful and thoughtless about his words, Judith,”
Hetty meekly and sorrowfully answered.
“No—no; 'tis impossible the ark could be taken and I
not hear the noise. It is not an hour since I left it, and the
whole time I have been attentive to the smallest sound. And
yet, it is not easy to believe a father would willingly abandon
his children!”
“Perhaps father has thought us in our cabin asleep, Judith,
and has moved away to go home. You know we often
move the ark in the night.”
“This is true, Hetty, and it must be as you suppose. There
is a little more southern air than there was, and they have
gone up the lake—”
Judith stopped, for, as the last word was on her tongue,
the scene was suddenly lighted, though only for a single instant,
followed the roll of the echo along the eastern mountains.
Almost at the same moment a piercing female cry rose in
the air in a prolonged shriek. The awful stillness that succeeded
was, if possible, more appalling than the fierce and
sudden interruption of the deep silence of midnight. Resolute
as she was both by nature and habit, Judith scarce
breathed, while poor Hetty hid her face and trembled.
“That was a woman's cry, Hetty,” said the former solemnly,
“and it was a cry of anguish! If the ark has moved
from this spot, it can only have gone north with this air,
and the gun and shriek came from the point. Can any thing
have befallen Hist?”
“Let us go and see, Judith; she may want our assistance
—for, besides herself, there are none but men in the ark.”
It was not a moment for hesitation, and ere Judith had
ceased speaking her paddle was in the water. The distance
to the point, in a direct line, was not great, and the impulses
under which the girls worked were too exciting to allow
them to waste the precious moments in useless precautions.
They paddled incautiously for them, but the same excitement
kept others from noting their movements. Presently
a glare of light caught the eye of Judith through an opening
in the bushes, and steering by it she so directed the canoe
as to keep it visible, while she got as near the land as
was either prudent or necessary.
The scene that was now presented to the observation of
the girls was within the woods, on the side of the declivity
so often mentioned, and in plain view from the boat. Here
all in the camp were collected, some six or eight carrying
torches of fat-pine, which cast a strong but funereal light on
all beneath the arches of the forest. With her back supported
against a tree, and sustained on one side by the young
sentinel whose remissness had suffered Hetty to escape, sat
the female whose expected visit had produced his delinquincy.
By the glare of the torch that was held near her face,
it was evident that she was in the agonies of death, while
the blood that trickled from her bared bosom betrayed the
nature of the injury she had received. The pungent, peculiar
smell of gunpowder, too, was still quite perceptible in
the heavy, damp night air. There could be no question
The streak of light had appeared on the water a short distance
from the point, and either the rifle had been discharged
from a canoe hovering near the land, or it had been fired
from the ark in passing. An incautious exclamation, or
laugh, may have produced the assault, for it was barely possible
that the aim had been assisted by any other agent than
sound. As to the effect, that was soon still more apparent,
the head of the victim dropping, and the body sinking in
death. Then all the torches but one were extinguished,—a
measure of prudence; and the melancholy train that bore
the body to the camp was just to be distinguished by the
glimmering light that remained.
Judith sighed heavily and shuddered, as her paddle again
dipped, and the canoe moved cautiously around the point.
A sight had afflicted her senses, and now haunted her imagination,
that was still harder to be borne, than even the
untimely fate, and passing agony of the deceased girl. She
had seen, under the strong glare of all the torches, the erect
form of Deerslayer, standing, with commiseration, and as
she thought with shame, depicted on his countenance, near
the dying female. He betrayed neither fear nor backwardness,
himself; but it was apparent by the glances cast at
him by the warriors, that fierce passions were struggling in
their bosoms. All this seemed to be unheeded by the captive,
but it remained impressed on the memory of Judith
throughout the night.
No canoe was met hovering near the point. A stillness
and darkness, as complete as if the silence of the forest had
never been disturbed, or the sun had never shone on that
retired region, now reigned on the point, and on the gloomy
water, the slumbering woods, and even the murky sky.
No more could be done, therefore, than to seek a place of
safety; and this was only to be found in the centre of the
lake. Paddling, in silence, to that spot, the canoe was suffered
to drift northerly, while the girls sought such repose
as their situation and feelings would permit.
| CHAPTER III. The deerslayer: or, The first war-path | |