 | CHAPTER VI. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
The cheese is put into the press,
The pans and bowls clean scalded all,
Rear'd up against the milk-house wall.”
Cotton.
It seemed strange to Mabel Dunham, as she passed along
on her way to find her female companion, that others should
be so composed, while she, herself, felt as if the responsibilities
of life and death rested on her shoulders. It is true,
that distrust of June's motives mingled with her forebodings;
but when she came to recall the affectionate and natural manner
of the young Indian girl, and all the evidences of good
faith and sincerity that she had seen in her conduct, during
the familiar intercourse of their journey, she rejected the idea,
with the unwillingness of a generous disposition, to believe
ill of others. She saw, however, that she could not put
her companions properly on their guard, without letting them
into the secret of her conference with June, and she found
to which she was unaccustomed, more especially in a matter
of so much moment.
The soldier's wife was told to transport the necessaries into
the block-house, and admonished not to be far from it, at any
time, during the day. Mabel did not explain her reasons.
She merely stated that she had detected some signs in
walking about the island, that induced her to apprehend that
the enemy had more knowledge of its position, than had
been previously believed, and that they two, at least, would
do well to be in readiness to seek a refuge at the shortest notice.
It was not difficult to arouse the apprehension of this
person, who, though a stout-hearted Scotch woman, was
ready enough to listen to any thing that confirmed her dread
of Indian cruelties. As soon as Mabel believed that her companion
was sufficiently frightened to make her wary, she
threw out some hints, touching the inexpediency of letting
the soldiers know the extent of their own fears. This was
done with a view to prevent discussions and inquiries that
might embarrass our heroine; she determining to render her
uncle, the corporal, and his men, more cautious, by adopting
a different course. Unfortunately, the British army could
not have furnished a worse person, for the particular duty
that he was now required to discharge, than Corporal McNab,
the individual who had been left in command during the absence
of Serjeant Dunham. On the one hand he was resolute,
prompt, familiar with all the details of a soldier's life,
and used to war; on the other, he was supercilious as regards
the provincials, opinionated on every subject connected with
the narrow limits of his professional practice, much disposed
to fancy the British empire the centre of all that is excellent
in the world, and Scotland, the focus of, at least, all
moral excellence in that empire. In short, he was an epitome,
though on a scale suited to his rank, of those very
qualities, which were so peculiar to the servants of the crown,
that were sent into the colonies, as these servants estimated
themselves in comparison with the natives of the country; or,
in other words, he considered the American as an animal inferior
to the parent stock, and viewed all his notions of military
service, in particular, as undigested and absurd. Braddock,
himself, was not less disposed to take advice from a
on more than one occasion, to demur to the directions and
orders of two or three commissioned officers of the corps,
who happened to be born in America, simply for that reason;
taking care, at the same time, with true Scottish wariness, to
protect himself from the pains and penalties of positive disobedience.
A more impracticable subject, therefore, could
not well have offered for the purpose of Mabel, and yet she
felt obliged to lose no time in putting her plan in execution.
“My father has left you a responsible command, corporal,”
she said, as soon as she could catch McNab, a little apart
from the rest of the soldiers; “for should the island fall into
the hands of the enemy, not only would we be captured,
but the party that is now out, would in all probability become
their prisoners also.”
“It needs no journey from Scotland to this place, to know
the facts needful to be o' that way of thinking,” returned
McNab, drily.
“I do not doubt your understanding it, as well as myself,
Mr. McNab; but I'm fearful that you veterans, accustomed
as you are to dangers and battles, are a little apt to overlook
some of the precautions that may be necessary in a situation
as peculiar as ours.”
“They say Scotland is no conquered country, young woman,
but I 'm thinking there must be some mistak' in the
matter, as we, her children, are so drowsy-headed, and apt
to be o'crtaken when we least expect it.”
“Nay, my good friend, you mistake my meaning. In
the first place, I 'm not thinking of Scotland at all, but of this
island; and then I am far from doubting your vigilance when
you think it necessary to practise it; but my great fear is
that there may be danger to which your courage will make
you indifferent.”
“My courage, Mistress Dunham, is doubtless of a very
poor quality, being nothing but Scottish courage; your father's
is Yankee, and were he here amang us, we should see
different preparations beyond a doubt. Well, times are getting
wrang, when foreigners hold commissions and carry
halberds in Scottish corps; and I no wonder that battles
are lost, and campaigns go wrang end foremost.”
Mabel was almost in despair, but the quiet warning of
her to yield the matter. She changed her mode of operating,
therefore, still clinging to the hope of getting the whole party
within the block-house, without being compelled to betray
the source whence she obtained her notices of the necessity
of vigilance.
“I dare say you are right, Corporal McNab,” she observed,
“for I 've often heard of the heroes of your country, who
have been among the first of the civilized world, if what they
tell me of them is true.”
“Have you read the history of Scotland, Mistress Dunham?”
demanded the corporal, looking up at his pretty companion,
for the first time, with something like a smile on his hard,
repulsive countenance.
“I have read a little of it, corporal, but I 've heard much
more. The lady who brought me up had Scottish blood in
her veins, and was fond of the subject.”
“I 'll warrant ye, the serjeant no troubled himself to expatiate
on the renown of the country where his regiment was
raised?”
“My father has other things to think of, and the little
I know, was got from the lady I have mentioned.”
“She 'll no be forgetting to tall ye o' Wallace?”
“Of him, I 've even read a good deal.”
“And o' Bruce—and the affair o' Bannock-burn?”
“Of that too, as well as of Culloden-muir.”
The last of these battles was then a recent event, it having
actually been fought within the recollection of our heroine,
whose notions of it, however, were so confused that she
scarcely appreciated the effect her allusion might produce on
her companion. She knew it had been a victory, and had
often heard the guests of her patroness mention it with triumph;
and she fancied their feelings would find a sympathetic
chord in those of every British soldier. Unfortunately,
McNab had fought throughout that luckless day, on the side
of the Pretender; and a deep scar, that garnished his face,
had been left there, by the sabre of a German soldier, in the
service of the House of Hanover. He fancied that his wound
bled afresh, at Mabel's allusion; and it is certain that the
blood rushed to his face in a torrent, as if it would pour out
of his skin at the cicatrix.
“Hoot! hoot awa'!” he fairly shouted, “with your Culloden
and Sherrif-muirs, young woman; ye 'll no be understanding
the subject at all, and will manifest not only
wisdom, but modesty, in speaking o' your ain country and
its many failings. King George has some loyal subjects in
the colonies, na doubt; but 't will be a lang time bafore he
sees or hears any guid of them.”
Mabel was surprised at the corporal's heat, for she had not
the smallest idea where the shoe pinched; but she was determined
not to give up the point.
“I 've always heard that the Scotch had two of the good
qualities of soldiers,” she said, “courage and circumspection;
and I feel persuaded that Corporal McNab will sustain
the national renown.”
“Ask ye'r own father, Mistress Dunham: he is acquaint'
with Corporal McNab, and will no be backward to point out
his demerits. We have been in battle the'gither, and he is
my superior officer, and has a sort o' official right to give the
characters of his subordinates.”
“My father thinks well of you, McNab, or he would not
have left you in charge of this island and all it contains, his
own daughter included. Among other things, I well know
that he calculates largely on your prudence. He expects the
block-house, in particular, to be strictly attended to.”
“If he wishes to defend the honour of the 55th behind
logs, he ought to have remained in command himsal'; for,
to speak frankly, it goes against a Scotsman's bluid and
opinions, to be beaten out of the field even before he is attacked.
We are broad-sword men, and love to stand foot to
foot with the foe. This American mode of fighting, that is
getting into so much favour, will destroy the reputation of
His Majesty's army, if it no destroy its spirit.”
“No true soldier despises caution. Even Major Duncan,
himself, than whom there is none braver, is celebrated for his
care of his men.”
“Lundie has his weakness, and is fast forgetting the broad-sword
and open heaths, in his tree and rifle practice. But,
Mistress Dunham, tak' the word of an old soldier, who has
seen his fifty-fifth year, when he talls ye, that there is no
surer method to encourage your enemy, than to seem to fear
him; and that there is no danger in this Indian warfare, that
and enlarged upon, until they see a savage in every
bush. We Scots come from a naked region, and have no
need, and less relish, for covers, and so ye 'll be seeing, Mistress
Dunham”—
The corporal gave a spring into the air, fell forward on
his face, and rolled over on his back—the whole passing so
suddenly, that Mabel had scarcely heard the sharp crack of
the rifle that had sent a bullet through his body. Our heroine
did not shriek—did not even tremble; for the occurrence
was too sudden, too awful, and too unexpected for that
exhibition of weakness: on the contrary, she stepped hastily
forward, with a natural impulse to aid her companion. There
was just enough of life left in McNab to betray his entire
consciousness of all that had passed. His countenance had
the wild look of one who had been overtaken by death, by
surprise; and Mabel, in her cooler moments, fancied that
it showed the tardy repentance of a wilful and obstinate
sinner.
“Ye 'll be getting into the block-house, as fast as possible;”
McNab whispered, as Mabel leaned over him, to catch
his dying words.
Then came over our heroine the full consciousness of her
situation, and of the necessity of exertion. She cast a rapid
glance at the body at her feet, saw that it had ceased to
breathe, and fled. It was but a few minutes' run to the block-house,
the door of which Mabel had barely gained, when it
was closed violently in her face, by Jennie, the soldier's
wife, who, in blind terror, thought only of her own safety.
The reports of five or six rifles were heard while Mabel was
calling out for admittance; and the additional terror they produced,
prevented the woman within from undoing quickly
the very fastenings she had been so expert in applying. After
a minute's delay, however, Mabel found the door reluctantly.
yielding to her constant pressure, and she forced her slender
body through the opening, the instant it was large enough to
allow of its passage. By this time, Mabel's heart ceased to
beat tumultuously, and she gained sufficient self-command
to act collectedly. Instead of yielding to the almost convulsive
efforts of her companion to close the door again, she
held it open long enough to ascertain that none of her own
gain admission; then she allowed the opening to be shut.
Her orders and proceedings now became more calm and
rational. But a single bar was crossed, and Jennie was directed
to stand in readiness to remove even that, at any application
from a friend. She then ascended the ladder to the
room above, where, by means of a loop-hole, she was enabled
to get as good a view of the island as the surrounding
bushes would allow. Admonishing her associate below to
be firm and steady, she made as careful an examination of
the environs as her situation permitted.
To her great surprise, Mabel could not, at first, see a living
soul on the island, friend or enemy. Neither Frenchman
nor Indian was visible, though a small straggling white
cloud that was floating before the wind, told her in which
quarter she ought to look for them. The rifles had been discharged
from the direction of the island whence June had
come, though whether the enemy were on that island, or had
actually landed on her own, Mabel could not say. Going to
the loop that commanded a view of the spot where McNab
lay, her blood curdled at perceiving all three of his soldiers
lying apparently lifeless at his side. These men had rushed
to a common centre, at the first alarm, and had been shot
down almost simultaneously by the invisible foe, whom the
corporal had affected to despise.
Neither Cap nor Lieutenant Muir was to be seen. With
a beating heart, Mabel examined every opening through the
trees, and ascended even to the upper story, or garret of the
block-house, where she got a full view of the whole island,
so far as its covers would allow; but with no better success.
She had expected to see the body of her uncle lying on the
grass, like those of the soldiers, but it was nowhere visible.
Turning towards the spot where the boat lay, Mabel saw that
it was still fastened to the shore; and then she supposed that,
by some accident, Muir had been prevented from effecting his
retreat in that quarter. In short, the island lay in the quiet
of the grave, the bodies of the soldiers rendering the scene
as fearful as it was extraordinary.
“For God's holy sake, Mistress Mabel,” called out the woman
from below, for, though her fear had got to be too ungovernable
to allow her to keep silence, our heroine's superior
still controlled her mode of address; “for His holy sake!
Mistress Mabel, tell me if any of our friends are living? I
think I hear groans that grow fainter and fainter, and fear
that they will all be tomahawked!”
Mabel now remembered that one of the soldiers was this
woman's husband, and she trembled at what might be the
immediate effect of her sorrow, should his death become suddenly
known to her. The groans, too, gave a little hope,
though she feared they might come from her uncle, who lay
out of view.
“We are in his holy keeping, Jennie,” she answered.
“We must trust in Providence, while we neglect none of its
benevolent means of protecting ourselves. Be careful with
the door; on no account open it, without my directions.”
“Oh! tell me, Mistress Mabel, if you can anywhere see
Sandy?—If I could only let him know that I 'm in safety,
the guid man would be easier in his mind, whether free or a
prisoner!”
Sandy was Jennie's husband, and he lay dead in plain
view of the loop, from which our heroine was then looking.
“You no tell me if you 're seeing of Sandy,” the woman
repeated from below, impatient at Mabel's silence.
“There are some of our people gathered about the body
of McNab,” was the answer, for it seemed sacrilegious in
her eyes to tell a direct untruth, under the awful circumstances
in which she was placed.
“Is Sandy amang them?” demanded the woman, in a
voice that sounded appalling by its hoarseness and energy.
“He may be certainly—for I see, one, two, three, four,
and all in the scarlet coats of the regiment.”
“Sandy!” called out the woman frantically—“why d'ye
no care for yoursal', Sandy? Come hither the instant, man,
and share your wife's fortunes, in weal or woe. It 's no a
moment for your silly discipline, and vainglorious notions of
honour! Sandy!—Sandy!”
Mabel heard the bar turn, and then the door creaked on
its hinges. Expectation, not to say terror, held her in suspense
at the loop, and she soon beheld Jennie rushing through
the bushes, in the direction of the cluster of dead. It took
the woman but an instant to reach the fatal spot. So sudden
did not appear to comprehend its weight. Some wild and
half-frantic notion of a deception troubled her fancy, and she
imagined that the men were trifling with her fears. She took
her husband's hand, and it was still warm, while she thought
a covert smile was struggling on his lip.
“Why will ye fool life away, Sandy?” she cried, pulling
at the arm. “Ye 'll all be murdered by these accursed
Indians, and you no takin' to the block like trusty soldiers!
Awa'!—awa', and no be losing the precious moments.”
In her desperate efforts, the woman pulled the body of her
husband in a way to cause the head to turn completely over,
when the small hole in the temple, caused by the entrance
of a rifle bullet, and a few drops of blood trickling over the
skin, revealed the meaning of her husband's silence. As the
horrid truth flashed, in its full extent, on her mind, the woman
clasped her hands, gave a shriek that pierced the glades
of every island near, and fell at length on the dead body of
the soldier. Thrilling, heart-reaching, appalling as was that
shriek, it was melody to the cry that followed it so quickly
as to blend the sounds. The terrific war-whoop arose out
of the covers of the island, and some twenty savages, horrible
in their paint, and the other devices of Indian ingenuity,
rushed forward, eager to secure the coveted scalps.
Arrowhead was foremost, and it was his tomahawk that
brained the insensible Jennie, and her reeking hair was hanging
at his girdle as a trophy, in less than two minutes after
she had quitted the block-house. His companions were
equally active, and McNab and his soldiers no longer presented
the quiet aspect of men who slumbered. They were
left in their gore, unequivocally butchered corpses.
All this passed in much less time than has been required
to relate it, and all this did Mabel witness. She had stood
riveted to the spot, gazing on the whole horrible scene, as if
enchained by some charm, nor did the idea of self, or of her
own danger, once obtrude itself on her thoughts. But no
sooner did she perceive the place where the men had fallen,
covered with savages, exulting in the success of their surprise,
than it occurred to her, that Jennie had left the block-house
door unbarred. Her heart beat violently, for that defence
alone stood between her and immediate death, and she
to make sure of it. Her foot had not yet reached the floor
of the second story, however, when she heard the door grating
on its hinges, and she gave herself up for lost. Sinking
on her knees, the terrified but courageous girl, endeavoured
to prepare herself for death, and to raise her thoughts to God.
The instinct of life, however, was too strong for prayer, and
while her lips moved, the jealous senses watched every sound
beneath. When her ears heard the bars, which went on
pivots, secured to the centre of the door, turning into their
fastenings, not one, as she, herself, had directed, with a view
to admit her uncle, should he apply, but all three, she started
again to her feet, all spiritual contemplations vanishing in her
actual temporal condition, and it seemed as if all her faculties
were absorbed in the sense of hearing.
The thoughts are active, in a moment so fearful. At first
Mabel fancied that her uncle had entered the block-house,
and she was about to descend the ladder and throw herself
into his arms; then the idea that it might be an Indian, who
had barred the door to shut out intruders, while he plundered
at leisure, arrested the movement. The profound stillness
below, was unlike the bold, restless movements of Cap, and
it seemed to savour more of the artifices of an enemy; if a
friend, at all, it could only be her uncle, or the Quarter-Master;
for the horrible conviction now presented itself to
our heroine, that to these two, and herself, were the whole
party suddenly reduced, if, indeed, the two latter survived.
This consideration held Mabel in check, and for quite two
minutes more, a breathless silence reigned in the building.
During this time, the girl stood at the foot of the upper ladder,
the trap which led to the lower opening on the opposite
side of the floor; the eyes of Mabel were riveted on this
spot, for she now began to expect to see, at each instant, the
horrible sight of a savage face at the hole. This apprehension
soon became so intense, that she looked about her for a
place of concealment. The procrastination of the catastrophe
she now fully expected, though it were only for a moment,
afforded a relief. The room contained several barrels, and
behind two of these, Mabel crouched, placing her eyes at an
opening by which she could still watch the trap. She made
another effort to pray, but the moment was too horrible for
as if one were ascending the lower ladder, with an effort at
caution, so great, as to betray itself by its own excess; then
followed a creaking, that she was certain came from one of
the steps of the ladder, which had made the same noise, under
her own light weight, as she ascended. This was one of
those instants, into which are compressed the sensations of
years of ordinary existence.—Life, death, eternity, and extreme
bodily pain, were all standing out in bold relief, from
the plane of every-day occurrences; and she might have
been taken, at that moment, for a beautiful, pallid representation
of herself, equally without motion, and without vitality.
But, while such was the outward appearance of the form,
never had there been a time, in her brief career, when
Mabel heard more acutely, saw more clearly, or felt more
vividly. As yet, nothing was visible at the trap; but her ears,
rendered exquisitely sensitive by intense feeling, distinctly
acquainted her that some one was within a few inches of the
opening in the floor: next followed the evidence of her eyes,
which beheld the dark hair of an Indian rising so slowly
through the passage, that the movements of the head might
be likened to that of the minute-hand of a clock; then came
the dark skin and wild features, until the whole of the
swarthy face had risen above the floor. The human countenance
seldom appears to advantage, when partially concealed,
and Mabel imagined many additional horrors, as she first
saw the black, roving eyes, and the expression of wildness,
as the savage countenance was revealed, as it might be, inch
by inch; but, when the entire head was raised above the
floor, a second and a better look, assured our heroine that
she saw the gentle, anxious, and even handsome, face of
June.
| CHAPTER VI. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea | |