 | CHAPTER VII. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
But in reward of thy fidelity.”
Wordsworth.
It would be difficult to say which evinced the most satisfaction,
when Mabel sprang to her feet and appeared in the
centre of the room,—our heroine on finding that her visiter
was the wife of Arrowhead, and not Arrowhead himself, or
June, at discovering that her advice had been followed, and
that the block-house contained the person she had so anxiously
and almost hopelessly sought. They embraced each
other, and the unsophisticated Tuscarora woman laughed in
her sweet accents, as she held her friend at arm's-length, and
made certain of her presence.
“Block-house, good,” said the young Indian—“got no
scalp.”
“It is, indeed, good, June,” Mabel answered with a shudder,
veiling her eyes at the same time, as if to shut out a
view of the horrors she had so lately witnessed. “Tell me,
for God's sake! if you know what has become of my dear
uncle?—I have looked in all directions, without being able to
see him.”
“No here, in block-house?” June asked, with some
curiosity.
“Indeed he is not—I am quite alone in this place; Jennie,
the woman, who was with me, having rushed out to join her
husband, and perishing for her imprudence.”
“June know—June see; very bad, Arrowhead no feel for
any wife—no feel for his own.”
“Ah! June; your life, at least, is safe!”
“Don't know—Arrowhead kill me, if he know all.”
“God bless and protect you, June—he will bless and protect
you for this humanity. Tell me what is to be done, and
if my poor uncle is still living?”
“Don't know. Salt-water has boat; maybe he go on
river.”
“The boat is still on the shore, but neither my uncle nor
the Quarter-Master is anywhere to be seen.”
“No kill, or June would see. Hide away! Red man hide;
no shame for pale-face.”
“It is not the shame that I fear for them, but the opportunity.
Your attack was awfully sudden, June!”
“Tuscarora!” returned the other, smiling with exultation
at the dexterity of her husband. “Arrowhead great warrior!”
“You are too good and gentle for this sort of life, June;
you cannot be happy in such scenes!”
June's countenance grew clouded, and Mabel fancied there
was some of the savage fire of a chief in her frown as she
answered:
“Yengeese too greedy—take away all hunting grounds—
chase Six Nation from morning to night; wicked king—wicked
people. Pale-face very bad.”
Mabel knew that, even in that distant day, there was
much truth in this opinion, though she was too well instructed
not to understand that the monarch, in this as in a thousand
other cases, was blamed for acts of which he was most probably
ignorant. She felt the justice of the rebuke, therefore, too
much to attempt an answer, and her thoughts naturally reverted
to her own situation.
“And what am I to do, June?” she demanded. “It can
not be long before your people will assault this building.”
“Block-house good—got no scalp.”
“But they will soon discover that it has got no garrison,
too, if they do not know it already. You, yourself, told me
the number of people that were on the island, and doubtless
you learned it from Arrowhead.”
“Arrowhead know,” answered June, holding up six fingers
to indicate the number of the men. “All red men know. Four
lose scalp already—two got 'em, yet!”
“Do not speak of it, June; the horrid thought curdles my
blood. Your people cannot know that I am alone in the
block-house, but may fancy my uncle and the Quarter-Master
with me, and may set fire to the building, in order to dislodge
them. They tell me that fire is the great danger to
such places.”
“No burn block-house,” said June, quietly.
“You cannot know that, my good June, and I have no
means to keep them off.”
“No burn block-house. Block-house good; got no scalp.”
“But tell me why, June; I fear they will burn it!”
“Block-house wet—much rain—logs green—no burn easy.
Red man know it—fine t'ing—then no burn it to tell Yengeese
that Iroquois been here. Fader come back, miss
block-house, no found. No, no; Indian too much cunning;
no touch any thing.”
“I understand you, June, and hope your prediction may
be true; for as regards my dear father, should be escape—
perhaps he is already dead, or captured, June?”
“No touch fader—don't know where he gone—water got
no trail—red man can't follow. No burn block-house—
block-house good—got no scalp.”
“Do you think it possible for me to remain here, safely,
until my father returns?”
“Don't know — daughter tell best, when fader come
back.”
Mabel felt uneasy at the glance of June's dark eye, as
she uttered this, for the unpleasant surmise arose that her
companion was endeavouring to discover a fact that might
be useful to her own people, while it would lead to the destruction
of her parent and his party. She was about to
make an evasive answer, when a heavy push at the outer
door, suddenly drew all her thoughts to the immediate
danger.
“They come!” she exclaimed,—“perhaps, June, it is my
uncle, or the Quarter-Master. I cannot keep out even Mr.
Muir at a moment like this.”
“Why no look—plenty loop-hole—made purpose.”
Mabel took the hint, and going to one of the downward
loops, that had been cut through the logs in the part that
overhung the basement, she cautiously raised the little block
that ordinarily filled the small hole, and caught a glance at
what was passing at the door. The start and changing
countenance told her companion that some of her own people
were below.
“Red man,” said June, lifting a finger in admonition to
be prudent.
“Four; and horrible in their paint and bloody trophies.
Arrowhead is among them.”
June had moved to a corner, where several spare rifles
had been deposited, and had already taken one into her hand,
when the name of her husband appeared to arrest her movements.
It was but for an instant, however, for she immediately
went to the loop, and was about to thrust the muzzle
of the piece through it, when a feeling of natural aversion
induced Mabel to seize her arm.
“No—no—no—June,” said the latter—“not against your
own husband, though my life be the penalty.”
“No hurt Arrowhead—” returned June, with a slight
shudder—“no hurt red man at all. No fire at 'em;—only
scare.”
Mabel now comprehended the intention of June, and no
longer opposed it. The latter thrust the muzzle of the rifle
through the loop-hole, and taking care to make noise enough
to attract attention, she pulled the trigger. The piece had no
sooner been discharged than Mabel reproached her friend, for
the very act that was intended to serve her.
“You declared it was not your intention to fire,” she said,
“and you may have destroyed your own husband.”
“All run away before I fire—” returned June laughing,
and going to another loop to watch the movements of her
friends, laughing still heartier.—“See—get cover—every
warrior. Think Salt-water and Quarter-Master here. Take
good care now.”
“Heaven be praised! And now, June, I may hope for a
little time to compose my thoughts to prayer, that I may not
die like Jennie, thinking only of life and the things of the
world!”
June laid aside the rifle, and came and seated herself near
the box on which Mabel had sunk, under that physical reaction
which accompanies joy as well as sorrow. She looked
steadily in our heroine's face, and the latter thought that her
countenance had an expression of severity mingled with its
concern.
“Arrowhead great warrior—” said the Tuscarora's wife.—
“All the girls of tribe look at him much. The pale-face
beauty has eyes too?”
“June!—what do these words—that look imply—what
would you say?”
“Why you so 'fraid June shoot Arrowhead?”
“Would it not have been horrible, to see a wife destroy
her own husband! No, June; rather would I have died
myself.”
“Very sure, dat all?”
“That was all, June, as God is my judge—and surely
that was enough. No—no—there have been sufficient horrors
to-day, without increasing them by an act like this.
What other motive can you suspect?”
“Don't know. Poor Tuscarora girl very foolish. Arrowhead
great chief, and look all round him. Talk of pale-face
beauty in his sleep.—Great chief like many wives.”
“Can a chief possess more than one wife, June, among
your people?”
“Have as many as he can keep—great hunter marry
often. Arrowhead got only June now, but he look too much,
—see too much—talk too much of pale-face girl!”
Mabel was conscious of this fact, which had distressed her
not a little, in the course of their journey; but it shocked her
to hear this allusion, coming, as it did, from the mouth of
the wife herself. She knew that habit and opinions made
great differences in such matters, but, in addition to the pain
and mortification she experienced at being the unwilling rival
of a wife, she felt an apprehension that jealousy would be but
an equivocal guarantee for her personal safety, in her present
situation. A closer look at June, however, reassured her;
for while it was easy to trace in the unpractised features of
this unsophisticated being, the pain of blighted affections, no
distrust could have tortured the earnest expression of her honest
countenance into that of treachery or hate.
“You will not betray me, June,” Mabel said, pressing the
other's hand, and yielding to an impulse of generous confidence.
“You will not give up one of your own sex to the
tomahawk?”
“No tomahawk touch you. Arrowhead no let 'em. If
June must have sister-wife, love to have you.”
“No, June; my religion, my feelings, both forbid it; and,
if I could be the wife of an Indian at all, I would never take
the place that is yours, in a wigwam.”
June made no answer, but she looked gratified, and even
grateful. She knew that few, perhaps no Indian girl, within
the circle of Arrowhead's acquaintance, could compare with
herself in personal attractions; and though it might suit her
husband to marry a dozen wives, she knew of no one, beside
Mabel, whose influence she could really dread. So keen an
interest, however, had she taken in the beauty, winning manners,
kindness, and feminine gentleness of our heroine, that
when jealousy came to chill these feelings, it had rather lent
strength to that interest, and, under its wayward influence,
had actually been one of the strongest of the incentives that
had induced her to risk so much, in order to save her imaginary
rival from the consequences of the attack that she so
well knew was about to take place. In a word, June, with
a wife's keenness of perception, had detected Arrowhead's
admiration of Mabel, and instead of feeling that harrowing
jealousy that might have rendered her rival hateful, as would
have been apt to be the case with a woman unaccustomed to
defer to the superior rights of the lordly sex, she had studied
the looks and character of the pale-face beauty, until, meeting
with nothing to repel her own feelings, but everything to
encourage them, she had got to entertain an admiration and
love for her, which, though certainly very different, was
scarcely less strong than that of her husband's. Arrowhead
himself had sent her to warn Mabel of the coming danger,
though he was ignorant that she had stolen upon the
island, in the rear of the assailants, and was now entrenched
in the citadel along with the object of their joint care. On
the contrary, he supposed, as his wife had said, that Cap and
Muir were in the block-house with Mabel, and that the
attempt to repel him and his companions had been made by
the men.
“June sorry, `the Lily,”' for so the Indian, in her poetical
language, had named our heroine—“June sorry, the
Lily no marry Arrowhead. His wigwam big, and a great
chief must get wives enough to fill it.”
“I thank you, June, for this preference, which is not according
to the notions of us white women,” returned Mabel,
smiling in spite of the fearful situation in which she was
placed; “but I may not, probably never shall, marry at all.”
“Must have good husband,” said June—“marry Eau-douce,
if do'nt like Arrowhead.”
“June! this is not a fit subject for a girl who scarce knows
if she is to live another hour, or not. I would obtain some
signs of my dear uncle's being alive, and safe, if possible.”
“June go see.”
“Can you?—will you?—would it be safe for you to be
seen on the island—is your presence known to the warriors,
and would they be pleased to find a woman on the war-path
with them?”
All this, Mabel asked in rapid connection, fearing that the
answer might not be as she wished. She had thought it extraordinary
that June should be of the party, and, improbable
as it seemed, she had fancied that the woman had covertly
followed the Iroquois in her own canoe, and had got in their
advance, merely to give her the notice which had, probably,
saved her life. But in all this she was mistaken, as June, in
her imperfect manner, now found means to let her know.
Arrowhead, though a chief, was in disgrace with his own
people, and was acting with the Iroquois, temporarily, though
with a perfect understanding. He had a wigwam, it is true,
but was seldom in it; feigning friendship for the English, he
had passed the summer ostensibly in their service, while he
was, in truth, acting for the French, and his wife journeyed
with him in his many migrations, most of the distances being
passed over in canoes. In a word, her presence was no
secret, her husband seldom moving without her. Enough of
this to embolden Mabel to wish that her friend might go out,
to ascertain the fate of her uncle, did June succeed in letting
the other know; and it was soon settled between them, that
the Indian woman should quit the block-house with that object,
the moment a favourable opportunity offered.
They first examined the island, as thoroughly as their position
would allow, from the different loops, and found that
its conquerors were preparing for a feast, having seized upon
the provisions of the English, and rifled the huts. Most of
the stores were in the block-house, but enough were found
outside, to reward the Indians for an attack that had been
attended by so little risk. A party had already removed the
dead bodies, and Mabel saw that their arms were collected
in a pile, near the spot chosen for the banquet. June suggested
themselves, were carried into a thicket, and either buried, or
concealed from view. None of the more prominent objects
on the island, however, were disturbed, it being the desire of
the conquerors to lure the party of the serjeant into an ambush,
on its return. June made her companion observe a
man in a tree, a look-out, as she said, to give timely notice
of the approach of any boat, although the departure of the
expedition being so recent, nothing but some unexpected event
would be likely to bring it back so soon. There did not appear
to be any intention to attack the block-house immediately;
but every indication, as understood by June, rather
showed that it was the intention of the Indians to keep it besieged
until the return of the serjeant's party, lest the signs
of an assault should give a warning to eyes as practised as
those of Pathfinder. The boat, however, had been secured,
and was removed to the spot where the canoes of the Indians
were hid in the bushes.
June now announced her intention to join her friends, the
moment being particularly favourable for her to quit the
block-house. Mabel felt some distrust as they descended the
ladder; but, at the next instant, she was ashamed of the
feeling, as unjust to her companion, and unworthy of herself:
and, by the time they both stood on the ground, her
confidence was restored. The process of unbarring the door
was conducted with the utmost caution; and when the last
bar was ready to be turned, June took her station near the
spot where the opening must necessarily be. The bar was
just turned free of the brackets—the door was opened merely
wide enough to allow her body to pass, and June glided
through the space. Mabel closed the door again, with a convulsive
movement; and, as the bar turned into its place, her
heart beat audibly. She then felt secure; and the two other
bars were turned down in a more deliberate manner. When
all was fast again, she ascended to the first floor, where, alone,
she could get a glimpse of what was going on without.
Long, and painfully melancholy hours passed, during
which Mabel had no intelligence from June. She heard the
yells of the savages; for liquor had carried them beyond the
bounds of precaution: occasionally caught glimpses of their
mad orgies through the loops, and, at all times, was conscious
would have chilled the blood of one who had not so lately
witnessed scenes so much more terrible. Toward the middle
of the day, she fancied she saw a white man on the island,
though his dress and wild appearance at first made her take
him for a newly arrived savage. A view of his face, although
it was swarthy naturally, and much darkened by
exposure, left no doubt that her conjecture was true; and
she felt as if there was now one of a species more like her
own present, and one to whom she might appeal for succour
in the last emergency. Mabel little knew, alas! how small
was the influence exercised by the whites over their savage
allies, when the latter had begun to taste of blood; or how
slight, indeed, was the disposition to divert them from their
cruelties.
The day seemed a month, by Mabel's computation; and
the only part of it that did not drag were the minutes spent
in prayer. She had recourse to this relief from time to time;
and at each effort, she found her spirit firmer, her mind more
tranquil, and her tendency to resignation more confirmed.
She understood the reasoning of June; and believed it highly
probable that the block-house would be left unmolested
until the return of her father, in order to entice him into an
ambuscade; and she felt much less apprehension of immediate
danger, in consequence: but the future offered little
ground of hope; and her thoughts had already begun to calculate
the chances of her captivity. At such moments,
Arrowhead, and his offensive admiration, filled a prominent
place in the back-ground; for our heroine well knew that
the Indians usually carried off to their villages, for the purposes
of adoption, such captives as they did not slay; and
that many instances had occurred, in which individuals of
her sex had passed the remainder of their lives in the wigwams
of their conquerors. Such thoughts as these invariably
drove her to her knees, and to her prayers.
While the light lasted, the situation of our heroine was
sufficiently alarming, but as the shades of evening gradually
gathered over the island, it became fearfully appalling. By
this time, the savages had wrought themselves up to the
point of fury, for they had possessed themselves of all the
liquor of the English, and their outcries and gesticulations
efforts of their French leader to restrain them, were entirely
fruitless, and he had wisely withdrawn to an adjacent island,
where he had a sort of bivouac, that he might keep at a safe
distance from friends so apt to run into excesses. Before quitting
the spot, however, this officer, at great risk to his own
life, had succeeded in extinguishing the fire, and in securing
the ordinary means to relight it. This precaution he took,
lest the Indians should burn the block-house, the preservation
of which was necessary to the success of his future plans.
He would gladly have removed all the arms, also, but this
he found impracticable, the warriors clinging to their knives
and tomahawks with the tenacity of men who regarded a
point of honour, as long as a faculty was left; and to carry
off the rifles, and leave behind him the very weapons that
were generally used on such occasions, would have been an
idle expedient. The extinguishing of the fire, proved to be
the most prudent measure, for no sooner was the officer's
back turned, than one of the warriors, in fact, proposed to
fire the block-house. Arrowhead had also withdrawn from
the group of drunkards, as soon as he found that they were
losing their senses, and had taken possession of a hut, where
he had thrown himself on the straw, and sought the rest that
two wakeful and watchful nights had rendered necessary. It
followed that no one was left among the Indians to care for
Mabel, if indeed any knew of her existence at all; and the
proposal of the drunkard was received with yells of delight
by eight or ten more, as much intoxicated and habitually as
brutal as himself.
This was the fearful moment for Mabel. The Indians, in
their present condition, were reckless of any rifles that the
block-house might hold, though they did retain dim recollections
of its containing living beings, an additional incentive to
their enterprise, and they approached its base whooping
and leaping like demons. As yet they were excited, not
overcome by the liquor they had drunk. The first attempt
was made at the door, against which they ran in a body; but
the solid structure, which was built entirely of logs, defied
their efforts. The rush of a hundred men, with the same
object, would have been useless. This Mabel, however, did
not know, and her heart seemed to leap into her mouth, as
length, when she found that the door resisted these assaults,
as if it were of stone, neither trembling, nor yielding, and
only betraying its not being a part of the wall, by rattling a
little on its heavy hinges, her courage revived, and she seized
the first moment of a cessation, to look down through the
loop, in order, if possible, to learn the extent of her danger.
A silence, for which it was not easy to account, stimulated
her curiosity, for nothing is so alarming to those who are
conscious of the presence of imminent danger, as to be unable
to trace its approach.
Mabel found that two or three of the Iroquois had been
raking the embers, where they had found a few small coals,
and with these they were endeavouring to light a fire. The
interest with which they laboured, the hope of destroying,
and the force of habit enabled them to act intelligently and
in unison, so long as their fell object was kept in view. A
white man would have abandoned the attempt to light a fire
in despair, with coals that came out of the ashes resembling
sparks, but these children of the forests had many expedients
that were unknown to civilization. By the aid of a few dry
leaves, which they alone knew where to seek, a blaze was
finally kindled, and then the addition of a few light sticks
made sure of the advantage that had been obtained. When
Mabel stooped down over the loop, the Indians were making
a pile of brush against the door, and as she remained gazing
at their proceedings, she saw the twigs ignite, the flame dart
from branch to branch, until the whole pile was cracking and
snapping under a bright blaze. The Indians now gave a
yell of triumph and returned to their companions, well assured
that the work of destruction was commenced. Mabel remained
looking down, scarcely able to tear herself away
from the spot, so intense and engrossing was the interest she
felt in the progress of the fire. As the pile kindled throughout,
however, the flames mounted, until they flashed so near
her eyes, as to compel her to retreat. Just as she reached
the opposite side of the room, to which she had retired in her
alarm, a forked stream shot up through the loop-hole, the lid
of which she had left open, and illuminated the rude apartment,
with Mabel and her desolation. Our heroine now
naturally enough supposed that her hour was come, for the
brush and fire, with hellish ingenuity, and she addressed herself,
as she believed for the last time, to her Maker in prayer.
Her eyes were closed, and for more than a minute her spirit
was abstracted; but the interests of the world too strongly
divided her feelings, to be altogether suppressed; and when
they involuntarily opened again, she perceived that the streak
of flame was no longer flaring in the room, though the wood
around the little aperture had kindled, and the blaze was
slowly mounting under the impulsion of a current of air that
sucked inward. A barrel of water stood in a corner, and
Mabel, acting more by instinct than by reason, caught up a
vessel, filled it, and pouring it on the wood with a trembling
hand, succeeded in extinguishing the fire, at that particular
spot. The smoke prevented her from looking down again,
for a couple of minutes; but when she did, her heart beat
high with delight and hope, at finding that the pile of blazing
brush had been overturned and scattered, and that water had
been thrown on the logs of the door, which were still smoking,
though no longer burning.
“Who is there?” said Mabel, with her mouth at the loop.
“What friendly hand has a merciful Providence sent to my
succour?”
A light footstep was audible below, and one of those gentle
pushes at the door was heard, which just moved the massive
beams on the hinges.
“Who wishes to enter?—Is it you, dear, dear uncle?”
“Salt-water no here. St. Lawrence sweet water,” was
the answer. “Open quick—want to come in.”
The step of Mabel was never lighter, or her movements
more quick and natural, than while she was descending the
ladder and turning the bars, for all her motions were earnest
and active. This time she thought only of her escape, and
she opened the door with a rapidity that did not admit of caution.
Her first impulse was to rush into the open air, in the
blind hope of quitting the block-house, but June repulsed
the attempt, and, entering, she coolly barred the door again,
before she would notice Mabel's eager efforts to embrace her.
“Bless you—bless you, June,” cried our heroine most fervently—“you
are sent by Providence to be my guardian
angel!”
“No hug so tight—” answered the Tuscarora woman.—
“Pale-face woman all cry, or all laugh. Let June fasten
door.”
Mabel became more rational, and in a few minutes the two
were again in the upper room, seated as before, hand in hand,
all feeling of distrust or rivalry between them, being banished
on the one side by the consciousness of favours received,
and on the other by the consciousness of favours conferred.
“Now tell me, June,” Mabel commenced, as soon as she
had given and received one warm embrace, “have you seen
or heard aught of my poor uncle?”
“Don't know. No one see him; no one hear him; no
one know any t'ing. Salt-water run into river, I t'ink, for
I no find him. Quarter-Master gone too. I look, and look,
and look; but no see 'em, one, t'other, no where.”
“Blessed be God! They must have escaped, though the
means are not known to us. I thought I saw a Frenchman
on the island, June?”
“Yes—French captain come, but he go away, too. Plenty
of Indian on island.”
“Oh! June, June, are there no means to prevent my beloved
father from falling into the hands of his enemies?”
“Don't know; t'ink dat warriors wait in ambush, and
Yengeese must lose scalp.”
“Surely, surely, June, you, who have done so much for
the daughter, will not refuse to help the father!”
“Don't know fader—don't love fader. June help her
own people, help Arrowhead—husband love scalp.”
“June, this is not yourself! I cannot, will not believe, that
you wish to see our men murdered!”
June turned her dark eyes quietly on Mabel, and, for a
moment, her look was stern, though it was soon changed into
one of melancholy compassion.
“Lily, Yengeese girl?” she said, as one asks a question.
“Certainly, and as a Yengeese girl, I would save my
countrymen from slaughter.”
“Very good—if can. June no Yengeese; June Tuscarora
— got Tuscarora husband — Tuscarora heart — Tuscarora
feeling—all over Tuscarora. Lily wouldn't run and tell
French that her fader was coming to gain victory?”
“Perhaps not,” returned Mabel, pressing a hand on a
aid me—have saved me, June! Why have you done this, if
you only feel as a Tuscarora?”
“Don't only feel as Tuscarora—feel as girl—feel as
squaw. Love pretty Lily, and put it in my bosom.”
Mabel melted into tears, and she pressed the affectionate
creature to her heart. It was near a minute before she could
renew the discourse, but then she succeeded in speaking more
calmly and with greater coherence.
“Let me know the worst, June;” she said. “To-night,
your people are feasting; what do they intend to do to-morrow?”
“Don't know—afraid to see Arrowhead—afraid to ask
question—t'ink hide away, till Yengeese come back.”
“Will they not attempt any thing against the block-house?
You have seen what they can threaten if they will?”
“Too much rum. Arrowhead sleep, or no dare; French
captain gone away, or no dare. All go to sleep, now.”
“And you think I am safe for this night, at least?”
“Too much rum. If Lily like June, might do much for
her people.”
“I am like you, June, if a wish to serve my countrymen
can make a resemblance with one as courageous as yourself.”
“No—no—no”—muttered June, in a low voice; “no got
heart, and June no let you, if had. June's moder prisoner
once, and warriors got drunk; moder tomahawked 'em all.
Such the way red-skin women do, when people in danger
and want scalp.”
“You say what is true,” returned Mabel, shuddering, and
unconsciously dropping June's hand. “I cannot do that.
I have neither the strength, the courage, nor the will to dip
my hands in blood.”
“T'ink that too; then stay where you be—block-house
good—got no scalp.”
“You believe, then, that I am safe here, at least until my
father and his people return?”
“Know so. No dare touch block-house in morning.
Hark! all still now—drink rum till head fall down, and
sleep like log.”
“Might I not escape? Are there not several canoes on
notice of what has happened?”
“Know how to paddle?” demanded June, glancing her eye
furtively at her companion.
“Not so well as yourself, perhaps; but enough to get out
of sight before morning.”
“What do then?—couldn't paddle six—ten—eight mile!”
“I do not know; I would do much to warn my father,
and the excellent Pathfinder, and all the rest, of the danger
they are in.”
“Like Pathfinder?”
“All like him who know him—you would like him, nay,
love him, if you only knew his heart!”
“No like him, at all. Too good rifle—too good eye—
too much shoot Iroquois, and June's people. Must get his
scalp if can.”
“And I must save it, if I can, June. In this respect, then,
we are opposed to each other. I will go and find a canoe
the instant they are all asleep, and quit the island.”
“No can—June won't let you. Call Arrowhead.”
“June! you would not betray me—you could not give
me up, after all you have done for me?”
“Just so,” returned June, making a backward gesture with
her hand, and speaking with a warmth and earnestness
Mabel had never witnessed in her before. “Call Arrowhead
in loud voice. One call from wife, wake a warrior up.
June no let Lily help enemy—no let Indian hurt Lily.”
“I understand you, June, and feel the nature and justice
of your sentiments; and, after all, it were better that I should
remain here, for I have most probably overrated my strength.
But, tell me one thing: if my uncle comes in the night, and
asks to be admitted, you will let me open the door of the
block-house that he may enter.”
“Sartain—he prisoner here, and June like prisoner, better
than scalp; scalp good for honour, prisoner good for feeling.
But, Salt-water hide so close, he don't know where he be,
himself.”
Here June laughed, in her girlish mirthful way, for to her,
scenes of violence were too familiar to leave impressions sufficiently
deep to change her natural character. A long and
discursive dialogue now followed, in which Mabel endeavoured
hope that she might possibly be enabled to turn some of the
facts she thus learned, to advantage. June answered all her
interrogatories, simply, but with a caution which showed she
fully distinguished between that which was immaterial, and
that which might endanger the safety, or embarrass the future
operations of her friends. Our heroine was incapable of
making an attempt to entrap her companion, though she
plainly perceived, that, could she have been guilty of the
meanness, she would have found the undertaking one of extreme
difficulty. June, however, was not required to exercise
more than a discreet discrimination about what she revealed;
and the substance of the information she gave, may be summed
up as follows.
Arrowhead had long been in communication with the
French, though this was the first occasion on which he had
ever, entirely, thrown aside the mask. He no longer intended
to trust himself among the English, for he had discovered
traces of distrust, particularly in Pathfinder; and with
Indian bravado, he now rather wished to blazon than to
conceal his treachery. He had led the party of warriors, in
the attack on the island, subject, however, to the supervision
of the Frenchman who has been mentioned, though June
declined saying whether he had been the means of discovering
the position of a place, that had been thought to be so
concealed from the eyes of the enemy, or not. On this point,
she would say nothing; but she admitted that she and her
husband had been watching the departure of the Scud, at the
time they were overtaken, and captured by the cutter. The
French had obtained their information of the precise position
of the station, but very recently; and Mabel felt a pang, like
that of some sharp instrument, piercing her heart, when she
thought that there were covert allusions of the Indian woman,
which would convey the meaning that the intelligence had
come from a pale-face, in the employment of Duncan of
Lundie. This was intimated, however, rather than said; and
when Mabel had time to reflect on her companion's words,
and to remember how sententious and brief her periods were,
she found room to hope that she had misunderstood her, and
that Jasper Western would yet come out of the affair, freed
from every injurious imputation.
June did not hesitate to confess that she had been sent to
the island, to ascertain the precise number, and the occupations
of those who had been left on it, though she also betrayed,
in her naïve way, that the wish to serve Mabel, had
induced her, principally, to consent to come. In consequence
of her report, and information otherwise obtained, the enemy
was aware of precisely the force that could be brought against
them; they also knew the number of men that had gone with
Serjeant Dunham, and were acquainted with the object he had
in view, though they were ignorant of the spot where he expected
to meet the French boats. It would have been a
pleasant sight to witness the eager desire of each of these two
sincere females, to ascertain all that might be of consequence
to their respective friends; and yet the native delicacy, with
which each refrained from pressing the other to make revelations
that would have been improper, as well as the sensitive,
almost intuitive, feeling, with which each avoided saying
aught that might prove injurious to her own nation: as respects
each other, there was perfect confidence; as regarded
their respective people, entire fidelity. June was quite as
anxious, as Mabel could be on any other point, to know
where the serjeant had gone, and when he was expected to
return; but she abstained from putting the question, with a
delicacy that would have done honour to the highest civilization;
nor did she once frame any other inquiry, in a way to
lead, indirectly, to a betrayal of the much-desired information,
on that particular point; though, when Mabel, of her
own accord, touched on any matter that might, by possibility,
throw a light on the subject, she listened with an intentness
that almost suspended respiration.
In this manner, the hours passed away unheeded; for
both were too much interested to think of rest. Nature asserted
her rights, however, towards morning; and Mabel
was persuaded to lie down on one of the straw beds provided
for the soldiers, where she soon fell into a deep sleep. June
lay near her; and a quiet reigned on the whole island, as
profound as if the dominion of the forest had never been invaded
by man.
When Mabel awoke, the light of the sun was streaming in
through the loop-holes; and she found that the day was considerably
advanced. June still lay near her, sleeping as
the superior civilization of our own times repudiates the
simile—but on a French mattress; and as profoundly as if
she had never experienced concern. The movements of
Mabel, notwithstanding, soon awakened one so accustomed
to vigilance; and then the two took a survey of what was
passing around them, by means of the friendly apertures.
| CHAPTER VII. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea | |