 | CHAPTER VI. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
But as yet we have not discovered
from anything which has been said or
done, the name, or even anything certain,
with regard to the Yankee. It is,
in fact, altogether a matter of guessing
that he is even a Yankee; and I cannot
positively say that this important item of
information was as yet in the possession
of Charles himself. One would suppose
that such a circumstance would, of itself,
naturally, and necessarily, prove rather
embarrassing, and stand somewhat in the
way of their close, familiar conference
and confidence; and we in pity for the
excited curiosity of the reader will endeavor
to enlighten him on this interesting
point, and declare the name which
our supposed Yankee friend bore, and
and famous birth.
His name was simply Jonathan Leslie,
a pretty good Yankee cognomen certainly,
and not very new in Yankee line.
He was born in a small town in the upper
part of the State of Vermont, and
was the son of respectable and christian
parents. The parson of the town had
laid his hand upon his infant head many
a year ago and christened him Jonathan;
and Jonathan he had been called ever
since, and probably, unless something
very singular should occur, will ever
continue to be called. His parents were
both living, and had a large family of
children growing up about them, who
were perfectly contented to remain on
the old farm where they were born and
schooled. But Jonathan, the oldest, took
a more extensive view of men and things,
and came to the conclusion that he, individually
and particularly, could do better,
and faster, somewhere else. The fact
was, he had become tired of sticking
close at home, and wished to see the
world; and, as he said when about quitting
home, “the old nest is overstocked,
and a little thinning out will make it more
comfortable on all sides.” But it was
not so easy a thing at last, as Mr. Jonathan
had affirmed it to be, to leave home,
parents and friends behind him, and go
out to carve for himself amongst strangers;
and besides, was'nt he accounted
by all who knew him, and that was all
the village at least, the cleverest fellow in
the town? and was he not, moreover, a
great favorite with the most blooming,
the most rosy cheeked, the plumpest,
liveliest, most fascinating young gal in
those parts; she the sole daughter and
heir to one of the most fore-handed farmers
in the place? And I can assure you
that beauty is not mean and niggard in
her gifts to her favorite sex in that land.
Their sparkling eyes outshine the stars
in brightness. The rose that blooms
upon their cheeks is fresher, fairer far
than aught that opes its shining leaves
to catch the sunbeams on Arabia's fair
gardens; and whiter, purer, warmer far,
than Parian marble that grows to human
likenesses and ideal forms most moving
to the eye, beneath the artist's genius
gifted hand, are the clear, snowy skins
of the fair girls of the North.
But all could not alter or change the
resolution which held the mind of Jonathan
firm to his avowed purpose: and
with his scanty stock of worldly gear
that he could call his own, packed snugly
away in a bundle, and hung over his back
on the stout walking stick which he carried,
that should serve by turns as staff,
or weapon, as the case might require,
he bid good bye to his parents and
friends, and early upon a fine June morning
he quitted his home. He had not
definitely fixed upon the place which
should be illumined by the light of his
sunshine. The course he was to take
was West; how far he would go, and
when he should stop, were matters that
he would attend to when he thought
proper; but he rather guessed he had
better go over to Ohio or Michigan first,
perhaps he would there find a good spot
to hold him, if he should meet first rate
employment. He was going to seek his
fortune in the world, and guessed he'd
follow his own judgment about this, as
well as about everything else; he had'nt
been to school for nothing.
As he left his father's house he took
a path which led him not far from the
dwelling of that sweet, blooming girl,
we mentioned a little while ago, not
that we pretend to say he had any expectation
of seeing her on this path at
that time in the morning, for it was very
early, and it was so late the evening before
when he left her, and he then bid
her farewell; but he had so often gone
that way before, and it was so natural for
him to take it, that he almost unconsciously
found himself treading its dewy
course; and if he wanted an excuse, was
there not a good one on hand, to wit: did
this not lead him straight on his desired
and chosen route. Be this as it may,
Jonathan took this path, and after looking
back for the last time upon the old home-stead
where he had been born, and where
all the happy days of his innocent, careless
youth had been spent, with a swelling
heart and saddened mind to keep him
company, for he loved his home for all
that he was leaving it, perhaps never to
return: but he did'nt believe that he
sad reflections and lonely visions kept
rising o'er his mind. He walked perhaps
a quarter of an hour in this manner,
absorbed in his own reflections, and
giving no heed to anything around him,
forgetting himself completely, when the
sound of a light footstep coming after
him, and the remembered tones of a
sweet voice meeting his ear, aroused
him from his revery.
“Jonathan,” said the dear voice, “are
you going so far away without ever bidding
me a last farewell.”
Turning quickly around in the direction
of the sound, the lovely Nancy, the
farmer's fair daughter, stood before him.
His heart beat quicker as he looked into
her face and saw the tear drops gathering
in her eye, and he scarcely knew how to
act on what to say, so confused was he
at her sudden appearance. But quickly
recovering himself he advanced towards
her and seizing her hand in his own—
“Nancy,” said he, “I am indeed glad,
very glad, that I can see you once again
before I go. This is very kind of you,
and I give you my warmest thanks for
thus meeting me.”
But Nancy, who from being acknowledged
the reigning belle of the place, had
acquired so much of the coquette as a
girl of her excellent disposition and careful
education could gain, had recovered
from the feelings which pained her and
led her in such sad tones to address our
friend as he passed by the grassy knoll
where she had been seated for more than
half an hour, waiting his approach, while
the time seemed slowly to pass, making
it to her the longest half hour of her life,
constantly grieving herself with fear and
doubts, lest she had come too late and he
had already passed, and she should not
again see him. She was sadly pained,
as I have said, when her lover passed by
without noticing her, and hurrying after
him she overtook and arrested his steps
in the manner which we have just related.
But not thinking that perhaps he would
guess the truth that she really had risen
and come out to that spot where they
were accustomed in past days to sit and
sport the time away, for no other reason
than again to see him, and feeling
ashamed that she had thus exposed her
feelings, she took an air of indifference
and pleasantry to deceive him; and in a
tone of studied raillery she replied:
“Do you really believe me capable of
doing so foolish an action as you have
affirmed you do, Mr. Leslie?”
Jonathan, whose feelings were kindled
into tenderness from the scene he had
just gone through in parting with his parents
and friends, and had replied to her
salutation in his kindest tones, the more
as he saw her reproachful and sorrowful
look as she spoke, was both surprised
and angry at the indifferent, cold manner,
which she used, and at the jesting,
frivolous question she put to him; all ill
suited his feelings at such a moment, and
as he loved, it grieved him to the heart
as the conviction seized him that she
loved him not, but came to sport with
his dearest feelings. He looked steadily
into her face for a moment with a searching
gaze, to see if he could read her real
feelings. There she stood, as beautiful
as a fresh blown rose, or as the first
beam of morning light; but in her face
he saw only an expression of levity, a
smile of pleasure breaking over her fair
features as if her merriment were hard
to conceal and sought expression. The
tears had fled from her eyes' sorrowful
look—you could not have supposed that
so short time it had clouded her careless
brow. As he saw at a glance what we
have written, he instantly resolved to
hasten away from her presence without
delay, or allowing her to perceive
how much her manner had wounded
him. To this end he called up all the
energy he possessed, and using the utmost
politeness he was master of, he
drew himself up to his full height, and
bowing to her at the same time said in
his blandest tone, in which was mingled
much of sarcasm,—
“I ask your pardon, Miss Haywood,
for supposing anything so foolish as what
I just uttered; I see that I was wrong —
that I made a great mistake. I spoke
hastily; my thoughts were engaged in
pondering upon the past, and I was
thinking of the kind and dear friends I
leave at my home, and from whom I am
now departing for a long, long time, not
must excuse me therefore if I said something
which appeared foolish to you, and
as I am in haste to prosecute my journey,
allow me to wish you a gay good
bye:” and bowing at the same time politely
to her, he was on the point of turning
from her, when Nancy seeing that
she had hurt his feelings, and that he
really was about to leave her in anger,
bursting into tears threw herself into his
arms, saying at the same time,—
“You'll break my heart, dear Jonathan,
if you part from me so,” and then
in a voice choked with sobs, she added,
“forgive me dearest Jonathan, I am sorry
that I duspleased you,—I meant only to
jest with you. Oh! you will not leave
me in anger, and despise me as a heartless
creature. Oh! if you only knew
how I suffered after you left me last
night, as I thought that this morning you
were going to leave us all, and I knew
not when I shold see you again, I could
not close my eyes to sleep, but could only
weep as I thought that it was all true,
that with the light of this morning you
would depart. I feared I might not
wake in time to see you once more. I
have long been waiting, expecting you,
and when at last you did come, and
passed by the spot where I was sitting,
awaiting you, and then you did not notice
me, I was ready to burst into tears, but
when I overtook you, and you spoke to
me so kindly, all my grief fled in an instant,
and I was tempted to punish you
for your neglect of me, by answering in
the manner I did, and uttering what I did
not feel, and now, dear Jonathan, that I
have told you all my heart, you surely
will forgive me, and before you leave me,
for I fear it will be a long, long time before
we see each other again.”
She spoke these last words in a sad
tone, her voice quivering with the deep
emotions which filled her heart, and
while she uttered them she raised her
head from his breast, where she had hid
it when she sprang forward to detain
him, and turned her beautiful blue eyes,
beaming tnederly with the soft light of
love, whilst yet the tear drops hung upon
the silken fringes that shaded like dew
drops on the rose her face. More beau
tiful did they seem to him who gazed
enraptured upon her from the tender
expression which her sorrow imparted
to them. And do you doubt for as
instant what Jonathan said or did; what
could he do? The loveliest girl he ever
beheld clinging to him and passionately
sighing forth her deep, deep grief at his
departure. The sudden feeling of anger
which a moment before had occupied his
mind, fled as flies the dark shadows of
night before the sun's bright rays, or as
the lighting's flash that darts from sky
to earth; and startled love, that stood at
the door of his heart, at a bound regained
its home and possessed his whole soul,
and folding his arms more closely around
her, he strained her to his bosom in a
warm embrace of devoted, ardent love,
and stooping over her tenderly, he kissed
away the tears that hung like pearl drops
from her long eye lashes.
“Oh! I am a wretch indeed, to grieve
you thus cruelly, dearest girl. I can
never forgive myself that I have caused
such pain, and made those soft eyes swim
in tears. Forgive you? 'Tis I who need
forgiveness at your hands; and can you,
will you pardon me, dearest Nancy. It
will lift a mighty load from my heart, and
I promise never to grieve you thus again.
Indeed, dear girl, I knew not what I said;
I was buried in sorrow at leaving home,
and all the friends of my youth, and
most did I sorrow that I must separate
from you, and it was in the fond hope
that I might meet you at our loved spot
along this path, if only to catch a glimpse
of you and say one parting word, that I
have come this way; but my heart, alive
to all that concerns its dearest treasure.
was pained at your reply. I though
you spoke coldly to me, and that you
were ready to sport with my feelings
and it was this that caused me to speak
as I did. I wished to hurry away from
you, that you might not see what grief
your words caused me, what a pang they
inflicted. But I implore your pardon, I
ought indeed to have known you better
dearest girl; and you do indeed grieve
at my departure? and will not forget me
when I am absent, my Nancy?”—
And again he kissed passionately those
rosy lips that now hung upon his words,
heart. It was a moment of inexpressiable
happiness, and sweet love to them.
Pure, deep, devoted affection, reigned in
their hearts; and if Jonathan forgot for
a time that he was leaving home and his
loved friends, while he yielded himself
up wholly to his fond love and gazed
tenderly upon the fair girl that still clung
to him as if she feared she might lose
him, should she loose her hold of him,
and as if she could not bear to part from
him; none can blame him, or say that he
erred. 'Tis true they had never exchanged
their mutual vows, or plighted
their formal troth: but long had they
loved each other; and nothwithstanding
the occasional flirtations of Nancy with
other young men of the village—often
entered into on her part, simply for a
love of mixchief, or to pique her lover:
or from the pleasure she received from
the fresh proofs they afforded her that
he was really attached to her; but from
all such tests, and by all her vexatious
trials, his love had lost nothing of its ardor
of depth.
It was from a high and honorable motive
which cannot often be found at this
day in any circle or grade in society, and
when found even then not appreciated by
the many, that he shrunk from uniting
with his uncertain fortune the fate of that
dear girl whom he loved above all else in
the wide wordl. He would not, he indeed
could not, suffer himself to persuade
her to leave her happy home, where she
was surrounded with every comfort, every
luxury, she could desire; where her doating
parents aticipated her every want,
and eagerly sought for her all that might
contribute to her happiness. No, said
he often to himself, when his love urged
him to secure this priceless treasure by
her vows, I will wait patiently if I can,
impatiently if I must, until I can offer
her a home where she shall miss none
of the comforts of her father's house.—
It would be indeed but a base requital of
all her priceless love, to take her from
such a home, simply to gratify myself,
while I have naught to offer her in exchange
but the love of a devoted heart,
and the prospects of a strong arm. No.
no; in a few years, by hard, constant,
honest toil, if I should be successful,
I shall gain a competece, and more
than a bare sufficiency, I shall accumulate
wealth, which will enable me to welcome
her to a home of my own, and how sweet
thus to share with her my treasures
sought for her, and see her not only
simply contented in her home, but happy,
more happy than ever before. Well
will it repay me, even for the great sacrifice
it demands.
Such was the motive, and such were
the feelings which ruled the conduct of
this young man. A plain, simple, unpretending
farmer's son, who had never
hardly ventured out of sight of his native
village. It was a noble, lofty, generous
principle, and no good man what will
admire the conduct of that young man, in
all the ardor and freshness of youth, with
feelings as warm as ever kindled in the
bosom of opening manhood; thus acting
from a noble sentiment, restraining and
subduing his most powerful passion.—
Often did this sentiment rise in his mind
and check the words that rose to his lips,
prompted by the deep feelings of his
heart. And when alone with the object
of his love he wandered along the sequestered
and shady walsk of their native
village, and opportunities than which none
better could be desired, almost innumerable,
and presented themselves to him
and tempted him to forget himself—
had the fair girl that hung upon his arm
felt his manly form tremble, and heard
his voice sink into low and tender tones,
falter, as the avowal of his love was ready
to burst from his lips; and she diving
with true woman's tact the causes that
changed him thus in his bearing, and
rendered him more tender and delicate
in his attentions, and catching from him
through the cords of sympathy that bound
them together, the same feelings which
filled his mind, she would often become
suddenly silent, while the color
came and went in her cheek like the
flickering shads of the sun when flying
clouds are chased across his path.
And often at such times did she listen
almost breathlessly, to catch from his lips
the words which should assure her of
that love which she knew he felt for her;
and as often was she disappointed, not
And then sad doubt and unhappy suspicions
would arise to perplex and disturb
her peace of mind. In vain she sought to
solve the mystery. She could not imagine
what there could be so powerful, so
constant, yet so mysterious and unsearchable,
that even at the very moment when
she knew he ws struggling to declare
his passion, held him mute and trembling
in its cruel grasp. As far as external
and apparent circumstances went, nothing
could be more propitious or encouraging
to his suit. Her parents, who
exercised a most watchful vigilance for
her happiness, scrutinized all who approached
her, with great exactness, regarded
him with more favor than any
other young man of their acquaintance;
and she believed they would gladly have
welcomed him into their family, by the
dearest of all ties. Then, too, his own
parents and the other members of his
father's family, she well knew would
have sanctioned and congratulated him
on such a choice. What then, is it, she
often asked herself, that keeps him silent
as it were, in spite of himself.
And now he was leaving her with this
mystery, all unexplained; a source of
pain and perplexity to her—a cankerworm
at her heart. And as often as these
doubts and fears oppressed her, with heavy
grief would she ask herself, did he
really love her, and had she not deceived
herself? But always the same answer
came back to her, assuring her of his
love; she did not—she could not doubt
it. He acts, his words, all showed she
was truly the chosen object of his affections.
Why then did he not secure her
happiness as well as his own, by confiding
in her?
He was now about leaving her for a
long period, and was going a long distance
from home. This had revived all her
doubts; and she feared lest abasence, the
bitterest bane of lovers, should weaken
his love, or even cause him to forget her.
She feared too, lest some other one more
fortunate than herself should gain his
heart, and steal away his affection for
her, and hear him breathe those vows
of eternal constancy and unchanging love,
which she would have given worlds, had
she possessed them, to have heard his
lips declare to her. How would such at
avowal comfort and support her during
his long absence, and render more sufferable
her long separation from him whe
alone possessed her heart? How would
it scatter and dispel those cruel doubts
and bitter suspicions, that had often caused
her when alone to weep? It was
with such thoughts as these in her mind,
that she, that morning met her lover; and
as we have seen, had given way to her
over-burdened heart, in such a manner as
Jonathan had never before witnessed in
her. It was such an exhibition of love
and tenderness on her part for him, that
his heart could not withstand, softened
as he already was by the scene he had
just passed through. He could check no
longer the burning words which sprung
to his lips; the deep strong feelings of
his soul were called foth in all their overwhelming
power, and his long cherished
passion, like the pent up fire of a volcano
that burns in the mountain's bosom,
found vent through his lips. And now
pressing her close to his heart, and folding
his arms around her loved form, he
poured forth in earnest, passionate tones
and burning words, the story of his love;
he said he knew how unworthy he was
of her love; she was the idol of his soul—the sweet realization of his ideal adored.
But, said he, if years of toil, if labors,
however great and difficult, could render
him worthy of her dear love, how gladly
would he accomplish them, and how inexpressibly
dear would her fond assurance
render him.
“Dearest girl,” said he, “life with you
is perfect bliss and unbounded happiness;
without you, at the thought is despair and
madness; all my future happiness—all
my hopes hang suspended upon your
answer: say, will you dearest, be mine?”
Trembling and pale she listened to
those dear words, that sealed her happiness;
so deep—so profound wa sthe joy
that filled her, she scarce heeded anything
save the sound of his loved voice; it
breathless silence she listened while he
spoke, as if entranced at the sound. And
when he ceased and looked into her face
for an answer to his hopes, he caught
one glance of her eye—a look into which
it to his, that told him far better and
more surely than words could have done,
that his love was returned—that her heart
was all his own, while at the same time,
he felt a thrill of joy run through his
frame, from the gentle pressure of the
soft hand he held within his own, and
which he had taken while breathing forth
his love for her, and bending over her till
his face touched her cheek, he strained
her to his heart, while their lips met in a
long sweet kiss of love. Oh, who can
tell the bliss, the ecstacy of such a kiss—
a first fond kiss of love? it seemed as if
their hearts had leaped to their lips, and
joining in that warm, that sweet embrace
would never more part. Oh, there is
something so deep, so touching, so indescribably
blissful and enrapturing in the
first kiss of devoted, true hearted lovers,
when the sweet assurance of returned
love breaks upon them, and the deep
passions which has struggled for this blessed
light, leaps rejoicing into the burning,
dazzling rays, that we feel as if heaven
itself could give no greater blessedness,
no dearer boon.
Such a blissful time our lovers now
enjoyed, absorbed, delighted, entranced
in their perfect felicity. Once, and once
only in life, can it be tasted, by mortals;
'tis too mighty, too overwhelming, too
repturous for us weak mortals, and in its
oft-repeated joyance, we should breathe
away our life. And will the reader deem
it strange when we say that Jonathan, stoic
as he was, and schooled as his feelings
had been by repeated severe trials, and
resisted almost resistless temptation, forgot
at this moment his stoicism—forgot
all else, save the perfect felicity and soul
absorbing joy of his happy avowed lover.
For a short time he held her closely
to his beating heart, while tenderest emotions,
and fondest feelings took possession
of his whole soul; and now gently
encircling her slender waist with his supporting
arm, he led her to the grassy
mound, where oft in days past, they had
sat and nursed by sweet discourse, the
love that had grown so large, and taken so
deep root in their hearts, and placing her
on this soft rustic seat, he drew close by
her side, fondly holding her in his arms,
while she confidingly rested her head upon
his breast.
We will not attempt to relate the conversation
which they carried on, and
which so absorbed them, that they took
no heed of the flight of long, tireless time.
Indeed we could not invest it with even
a shadow of the charm it possessed for
them; love's tête à tête's are eminently
private, and although of the most
interest to the parties themselves, are
yet often times, dull and unmeaning to all
others; they operate by feelings and
sympathy, and never carry double. Suffice
to say, they sat for more than an hour,
perfectly happy, and unconscious of all
without themselves. How short an hour
it seemed to them. During the time
Jonathan had told her of his struggle to
keep to himself the avowal that he had
just mad,e and his motive for keeping
silence, and how difficult it had been for
him to do so, and how often it had almost
escaped him, in spite of his best efforts
to the contrary; and although she did
chide him gently for thus smothering his
feelings and distressing her, yet how
sweet the pleasure that filled her heart, as
she listened to him; all the cruel doubts
and saddening fears that had so often, and
so bitterly oppressed her, were thus forever
dispelled. How eagerly she drank
in his words, and how fondly she smiled
upon him; she could have sat thus listening
to his dear voice forever.
But now they were awakened from
their extatic bliss and profound pleasure,
by the noise and voices of the busy
farmers, who came forth into the fresh,
green fields with the light of the rising
sun, to begin their daily task. Our fond
couple had again and again repeated their
vows of constancy and unchanging love,
and how they must part. What a chill
of sadness the thought brought to their
hearts. It now seemed as if it was the
first real grief they had ever known.—
And must she indeed lose him in this
first happy hour of confiding love! The
tears came again to her eyes, as drawing
her to his heart, he imprinted a kiss
upon her lips, and murmured his last
farewell. She could not speak or move;
grief was too busy at her heart; she sobbed
aloud, clining around him with her
face in his bosom. All the dangers he
must encounter as he went forth, alone
into the world, came rapidly before her
mind; the sad, lonely hours that she
must pass alone while he was far away,
pressed upon her mind, and overwhelmed
her with mingled feelings of fear and
grief, tenderness and love. But she was
indeed a noble girl; and seeing at once
the necessity there was for her to summon
up all her resolution and courage,
she strove to master the feelings which
swelled within her; and making him
promise to write to her often—every day
if he could—and tell her everything that
happened to him; promising voluntarily
on her part, to answer all his correspondence;
she endeavored to impress upon
his mind the fact that this would be
her only pleasure, and she should so love
to read his letters and write to him—he
must not forget it. And now indeed you
must go, said she, we cannot longer remain
here unobserved. Oh, how it pains
me to part from you! and the tears started
afresh to her sorrowful eyes. She
pressed her lips to his once more; then
pressing her hand, he murmured, God
bless you, dearest girl: and with bursting
hearts they parted.
Such were some of the facts connected
with the biography of our hero's companion;
and now more than two years
had elapsed since he left his home and
parted from his Nancy. And had he
forgotten her? you perhaps ask. No,
we answer, never; not for an hour, for a
moment even, had his faithful heart
ceased to adore her. It was his greatest
delight, his dearest pleasure, to think of
her; and manfully, nobly had he struggled
on, to secure the means which
should enable him to return, and make
her his own happy wife. His promises
of writing to her, had they been kept?
Yes, we answer to his credit, they had
been more fully, more punctually, more
promptly remembered and fulfilled, than
are such promises, often, even by those
whose opportunities and facilities,
all attending circumstances should warrant
with the greatest certainty the accomplishment
of their engagements of
this nature: and much benefit had he de
rived from such a course. True to he
word, and in answer to the promptings
of her doating heart, she had answered
all his letters promptly, and often had
she done more; and thus had she kept
alive and vigorous her influence over him,
while at the same time it restrained and
checked his lower and debasing desires.
The last letter had been written but a few
days before the meeting which took
place between himself and our hero,
and in it he informed her that he was
just about leaving for St. Louis; and that
his design was to go from that city still
farther west, for the purpose of trading
with the Indians for furs.
How far his plans had been facilitated
by Charles, without his knowledge, however,
we have already seen. During his
absence from home, he had been engaged
in a variety of employments, and
had visited many places in the west.
He had, moreover, been remarkably
successful in accumulting property, and
was now able to do business in the manner
he proposed, from his own funds.—
We think we have now said sufficient
concerning him, to satisfy the curiosity
of the reader; but we have chiefly made
this digression for the reason, that hereafter,
his fortunes and interests were to
become so completely identified and
blended with those of our hero; and we
will now, most patient and weary peruser,
resume the thread of our discourse.
We left our young friends after their
conference, highly satisfied with each
other; and also fully agreed as to the
plan they would pursue. And now they
lost no time in entering upon their preparation
for their long campaign. They
expected not to return, for several months
at least; and all that was necessary for
their outfit in this long journey in the
wilderness, was to be procured here, as
there is no place beyond this on their
route, where they oculd so well accommodate
themselves, even if they should
be able to obtain what was necessary for
them, at all. Charles knew very little
what would be necessary for them to
take with them; and therefore yielded
very readily to the advice and suggestions
of Jonatah, who seemed to be perfectly
at home and familiar with the business.
supply of powder and shot, bullets and
caps for their guns; they also provided
themselves with fishing tackle, intending to
follow this sport, of which they were both
very fond, whenever occasion offered.—
Then there was their blankets, and bedding,
their cooking utensils, &c., &c., all
of which Jonathan looked after, and acquitted
himself with great credit. Their
supply of clothing was a separate and
individual matter; though upon this point
Jonathan took the liberty to give his
opinion and counsel, which Charles willingly
followed, and had great reason
thereafter to be thankful for. Charles
was surprised at the skill and celerity
with which all these arrangements were
made and carreid into effect; without
bustle or delay, Jonathan went forward,
and in less than half the time he had
allotted to this duty, and which he really
and fully expected it would occupy him,
they were all accomplished, everything
packed, and ready to be sent on. Beside
all these, there was the stock of
fancy goods Jonathan had to supply for
himself, and which he was to exchange
with the Indians for their furs. With
equal dispatch and celerity these were
attended to, and in less than a week from
the data of their acquaintance, they were
ready to leave. During this time as a matter
of course, the young men had been
much together, and their mutual regard
for each other, had much increased.—
They had laid the basis for a strong and
lasting friendship. Jonathan was no
more amazed at the noble and elevated
sentiments which fell from our friend
Charles' lips in their conversation, and
by the learning he displayed, and the
strong arguments with which he supported
his opinions and principles of action,
as well as his belief upon all subjects
which were presented to him, than
he was attached and attracted towards
him for his generosity and kindness,
which he every day had occasion to notice.
And Chrales, on his part, could
but admire the ready address and skill
which his companion displayed on all
occaisons; the sound, pracical, common
sense which he used on all subjects, and
the bold, manly course he pursued. His
views, too, were expressed, when in
conversation with Charles, in a clear and
distinct form, and oftentimes with an elegance
of style and eloquence of manner,
that surprised as much as it delighted
him, and caused him to look upon him
as altogether a different person from what
he had supposed him to be at first. New
traits of character every day appeared to
the observing minds of these young men
in each other, which served to cement
closer and strengthen the ties of friendship
and intimacy which had so suddenly
arisen between them, and which now
bound them to each other. During the
time they had spent together, they had
each related some of the facts pertaining
to theri past lives, and given some account
of their families. In this way
they came to the discovery of a fact interesting
to both; but of this we will
speak in the following chapter.
| CHAPTER VI. The trapper's bride, or, Spirit of adventure | |