 | CHAPTER VIII. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
The world in his continuall course to keepe,
That doest all things deface? ne lettest see
The beautie of his worke? Indeede in sleepe,
The slouthfull body that doth love to steepe
His lustlesse limbs, and drowne his baser mind,
Doth praise thee oft, and oft from Stygian deepe,
Calles thee his goddesse, in his errour blind,
And great dame Nature's hand-maide, chearing every kind.”
Faerie Queen.
The tranquillity of the previous night was not contradicted
by the movements of the day. Although Mabel and June went
to every loop-hole, not a sign of the presence of a living being
on the island was at first to be seen, themselves excepted.
There was a smothered fire on the spot where McNab and
his comrades had cooked, as if the smoke that curled upwards
from it was intended as a lure to the absent; and all
around the huts had been restored to former order and
arrangement. Mabel started involuntarily, when her eye at
length fell on a group of three men, dressed in the scarlet of
the 55th, seated on the grass, in lounging attitudes, as if they
chatted in listless security; and her blood curdled, as, on a
second look, she traced the bloodless faces and glassy eyes
of the dead. They were quite near the block-house; so near,
indeed, as to have been overlooked at the first eager inquiry:
and there was a mocking levity in their postures and gestures,
for their limbs were stiffening in different attitudes,
intended to resemble life, at which the soul revolted. Still,
the frightful discrepancy between their assumed and
their real characters, the arrangement had been made with
an art that would have deceived a negligent observer, at
the distance of a hundred yards. After carefully examining
the shores of the island, June pointed out to her companion
the fourth soldier, seated with his feet hanging over
the water, his back fastened to a sapling, and holding a fishing-rod
in his hand. The scalpless heads were covered with
the caps, and all appearance of blood had been carefully
washed from each countenance.
Mabel sickened at this sight, which not only did so much
violence to all her notions of propriety, but which was in itself
so revolting, and so opposed to natural feeling. She
withdrew to a seat, and hid her face in her apron for several
minutes, until a low call from June again drew her to a loop-hole.
The latter then pointed out the body of Jennie, seemingly
standing in the door of a hut, leaning forward as if to
look at the group of men, her cap fluttering in the wind, and
her hand grasping a broom. The distance was too great to
distinguish the features very accurately; but Mabel fancied
that the jaw had been depressed, as if to distort the mouth
into a sort of horrible laugh.
“June! June!” she exclaimed, “this exceeds all I have
ever heard, or imagined as possible, in the treachery and
artifices of your people.”
“Tuscarora very cunning;” said June, in a way to show
that she rather approved of, than condemned, the uses to
which the dead bodies had been applied. “Do soldier no
harm now; do Iroquois good; got the scalp, first; now
make bodies work. By and by, burn 'em.”
This speech told Mabel how far she was separated from
her friend in character; and it was several minutes before
she could again address her. But this temporary aversion
was lost on June, who set about preparing their simple breakfast,
in a way to show how insensible she was to feelings in
others, that her own habits taught her to discard. Mabel
ate sparingly, and her companion as if nothing had happened.
Then they had leisure again for their thoughts, and
for further surveys of the island. Our heroine, though devoured
with a feverish desire to be always at the loops, seldom
though compelled by her apprehensions to return again in a
few minutes, called by the rustling of leaves, or the sighing
of the wind. It was, indeed, a solemn thing, to look out
upon that deserted spot, peopled by the dead in the panoply
of the living, and thrown into the attitudes and acts of careless
merriment and rude enjoyment. The effect on our heroine
was much as if she had found herself an observer of
the revelries of demons.
Throughout the livelong day, not an Indian nor a Frenchman
was to be seen, and night closed over the frightful but
silent masquerade, with the steady and unalterable progress
with which the earth obeys her laws, indifferent to the petty
actors, and petty scenes, that are in daily bustle and daily
occurrence on her bosom. The night was far more quiet
than that which had preceded it, and Mabel slept with an
increasing confidence, for she now felt satisfied that her own
fate would not be decided until the return of her father. The
following day he was expected, however, and when our heroine
awoke, she ran eagerly to the loops in order to ascertain
the state of the weather and the aspect of the skies, as
well as the condition of the island. There lounged the fearful
group on the grass; the fisherman still hung over the water,
seemingly intent on his sport; and the distorted countenance
of Jennie glared from out the hut, in horrible contortions.
But the weather had changed. The wind blew fresh from
the southward, and though the air was bland, it was filled
with the elements of storm.
“This grows more and more difficult to bear, June,” Mabel
said, when she left the window. “I could even prefer to
see the enemy, than to look any longer on this fearful array
of the dead.”
“Hush;—here they come. June thought hear a cry, like
a warrior's shout when he take a scalp.”
“What mean you!—There is no more butchery! There
can be no more.”
“Salt-water!” exclaimed June, laughing, as she stood
peeping through a loop-hole.
“My dear uncle!—Thank God, he then lives.—Oh! June
—June, you will not let them harm him?”
“June poor squaw.—What warrior t'ink of what she say?
Arrowhead bring him here.”
By this time Mabel was at a loop, and, sure enough, there
were Cap and the Quarter-Master in the hands of the Indians,
eight or ten of whom were conducting them to the foot of the
block; for, by this capture, the enemy now well knew that
there could be no man in the building. Mabel scarcely
breathed until the whole party stood ranged directly before
the door, when she was rejoiced to see that the French officer
was among them. A low conversation followed, in
which both the white leader and Arrowhead spoke earnestly
to their captives, when the Quarter-Master called out to her,
in a voice loud enough to be heard.
“Pretty Mabel!—Pretty Mabel!” he said—“look out of
one of the loop-holes, and pity our condition. We are
threatened with instant death, unless you open the door to
the conquerors. Relent then, or we 'll no be wearing our
scalps half an hour from this blessed moment!”
Mabel thought there were mockery and levity in this appeal,
and its manner rather fortified than weakened her resolution
to hold the place as long as possible.
“Speak to me, uncle,” she said, with her mouth at a loop,
“and tell me what I ought to do.”
“Thank God!—thank God!” ejaculated Cap: “the sound
of your sweet voice, Magnet, lightens my heart of a heavy
load, for I feared you had shared the fate of poor Jennie.
My breast has felt the last four-and-twenty hours as if a ton
of kentledge had been stowed in it. You ask me what you
ought to do, child, and I do not know how to advise you,
though you are my own sister's daughter! The most I can
say, just now, my poor girl, is most heartily to curse the
day you or I ever saw this bit of fresh water.”
“But, uncle, is your life in danger—do you think I ought
to open the door?”
“A round turn, and two half-hitches make a fast belay:
and I would counsel no one, who is out of the hands of these
devils, to unbar or unfasten any thing, in order to fall into
them. As to the Quarter-Master and myself, we are both
elderly men, and not of much account to mankind in general,
as honest Pathfinder would say; and it can make no great
odds to him, whether he balances the purser's books this year
I should know what to do—but up here, in this watery
wilderness, I can only say, that if I were behind that bit of a
bulwark, it would take a good deal of Indian logic to rowse
me out of it.”
“You 'll no be minding all your uncle says, pretty Mabel,”
put in Muir, “for distress is obviously fast unsettling his
faculties, and he is far from calculating all the necessities of the
emergency. We are in the hands, here, of very considerate
and gentlemanly pairsons, it must be acknowledged, and one
has little occasion to apprehend disagreeable violence. The
casualties that have occurred, are the common incidents of
war, and can no change our sentiments of the enemy, for
they are far from indicating that any injustice will be done
the prisoners. I 'm sure that neither Master Cap, nor myself,
has any cause of complaint, since we have given ourselves
up to Master Arrowhead, who reminds me of a Roman, or a
Spartan, by his virtues and moderation; but ye 'll be remembering
that usages differ, and that our scalps may be lawful
sacrifices to appease the manes of fallen foes, unless you
save them by capitulation.”
“I shall do wiser to keep within the block-house, until the
fate of the island is settled,” returned Mabel. “Our enemies
can feel no concern on account of one like me, knowing that
I can do them no harm; and I greatly prefer to remain here,
as more befitting my sex, and years.”
“If nothing but your convenience were concerned, Mabel,
we should all cheerfully acquiesce in your wishes; but these
gentlemen fancy that the work will aid their operations, and
they have a strong, desire to possess it. To be frank with
you, finding myself, and your uncle, in a very peculiar situation,
I acknowledge that, to avert consequences, I have assumed
the power that belongs to His Majesty's commission,
and entered into a verbal capitulation, by which I have engaged
to give up the block-house, and the whole island. It is
the fortune of war, and must be submitted to; so open the
door, pretty Mabel, forthwith, and confide yourself to the
care of those who know how to treat beauty and virtue in
distress. There's no courtier in Scotland more complaisant
than this chief, or who is more familiar with the laws of decorum.”
“No leave block-house,” muttered June, who stood at
Mabel's side, attentive to all that passed. “Block-house good;
got no scalp.”
Our heroine might have yielded, but for this appeal; for it
began to appear to her, that the wisest course would be to
conciliate the enemy by concessions, instead of exasperating
them by resistance. They must know that Muir and her
uncle were in their power; that there was no man in the
building; and she fancied they might proceed to batter down
the door, or to cut their way through the logs with axes, if
she obstinately refused to give them peaceable admission,
since there was no longer any reason to dread the rifle. But
the words of June induced her to hesitate; and the earnest
pressure of the hand, and entreating looks of her companion,
strengthened a resolution that was faltering.
“No prisoner yet,” whispered June—“let 'em make prisoner,
before 'ey take prisoner—talk big; June manage 'em.”
Mabel now began to parley more resolutely with Muir, for
her uncle seemed disposed to quiet his conscience by holding
his tongue; and she plainly intimated that it was not her intention
to yield the building.
“You forget the capitulation, Mistress Mabel,” said Muir;
“the honour of one of His Majesty's servants is concerned;
and the honour of His Majesty, through his servant. You
will remember the finesse and delicacy that belong to military
honour?”
“I know enough, Mr. Muir, to understand that you have
no command in this expedition, and, therefore, can have no
right to yield the block-house; and I remember, moreover,
to have heard my dear father say, that a prisoner loses all
his authority, for the time being.”
“Rank sophistry, pretty Mabel, and treason to the king,
as well as dishonouring his commission, and discrediting his
name. You 'll no be persevering in your intentions, when
your better judgment has had leisure to reflect, and to make
conclusions, on matters and circumstances.”
“Ay,” put in Cap, “this is a circumstance, and be d—d
to it!”
“No mind what 'e uncle say,” ejaculated June, who was
occupied in a far corner of the room. “Block-house good;
got no scalp.”
“I shall remain as I am, Mr. Muir, until I get some
tidings of my father. He will return in the course of the
next ten days.”
“Ah! Mabel, this artifice will no deceive the enemy, who,
by means that would be unintelligible, did not our suspicions
rest on an unhappy young man with too much plausibility,
are familiar with all our doings and plans, and well know
that the sun will not set before the worthy serjeant and his
companions will be in their power. Aweel! Submission to
Providence is truly a Christian virtue!”
“Mr. Muir, you appear to be deceived in the strength of
this work, and to fancy it weaker than it is. Do you desire
to see what I can do in the way of defence, if so disposed?”
“I dinna' mind if I do,” answered the Quarter-Master,
who always grew Scotch as he grew interested.
“What do you think of that, then?—Look at the loop of
the upper story.”
As soon as Mabel had spoken, all eyes were turned upward,
and beheld the muzzle of a rifle cautiously thrust through a
hole—June having resorted again to a ruse that had already
proved so successful. The result did not disappoint expectation.
No sooner did the Indians catch a sight of the fatal
weapon, than they leaped aside, and, in less than a minute,
every man among them had sought a cover. The French
officer kept his eye on the barrel of the piece, in order to ascertain
that it was not pointed in his particular direction, and
he coolly took a pinch of snuff. As neither Muir nor Cap
had any thing to apprehead from the quarter in which the
others were menaced, they kept their ground.
“Be wise, my pretty Mabel, be wise,” exclaimed the
former, “and no be provoking useless contention. In the
name of all the kings of Albin, who have ye closeted with
you in that wooden tower, that seemeth so bloody-minded?
There is necromancy about this matter, and all our characters
may be involved in the explanation.”
“What do ye think of the Pathfinder, Master Muir, for a
garrison to so strong a post!” cried Mabel, resorting to an
equivocation that the circumstances rendered very excusable.
“What will your French and Indian companions think of the
aim of the Pathfinder's rifle?”
“Bear gently on the unfortunate, pretty Mabel, and do
not confound the king's servants, may Heaven bless him
be indeed in the block-house, let him speak, and we
will hold our negotiations directly with him. He knows us
as friends, and we fear no evil at his hands, and least of all
to myself; for a generous mind is apt to render rivalry in a
certain interest, a sure ground of respect and amity; since
admiration of the same woman proves a community of feeling
and tastes.”
The reliance on Pathfinder's friendship did not extend beyond
the Quarter-Master and Cap, however, for even the
French officer, who had hitherto stood his ground so well,
shrunk back at the sound of the terrible name. So unwilling
indeed did this individual, a man of iron nerves, and one
long accustomed to the dangers of the peculiar warfare in
which he was engaged, appear to be to remain exposed to
the assaults of Killdeer, whose reputation throughout all that
frontier was as well established as that of Marlborough in
Europe, that he did not disdain to seek a cover, insisting that
his two prisoners should follow him. Mabel was too glad to
be rid of her enemies to lament the departure of her friends,
though she kissed her hand to Cap, through the loop, and
called out to him in terms of affection as he moved slowly
and unwillingly away.
The enemy now seemed disposed to abandon all attempts
on the block-house, for the present; and June, who had ascended
to a trap in the roof, whence the best view was to be
obtained, reported that the whole party had assembled to eat,
on a distant and sheltered part of the island, where Muir and
Cap were quietly sharing in the good things that were going,
as if they had no concern on their minds. This information
greatly relieved Mabel, and she began to turn her thoughts
again to the means of effecting her own escape, or at least
of letting her father know of the danger that awaited him.
The serjeant was expected to return that afternoon, and she
knew that a moment gained or lost might decide his fate.
Three or four hours flew by. The island was again buried
in a profound quiet, the day was wearing away, and yet
Mabel had decided on nothing. June was in the basement
preparing their frugal meal, and Mabel herself had ascended
to the roof, which was provided with a trap that allowed her
to go out on the top of the building, whence she commanded
Still it was limited, and much obstructed by the tops of trees.
The anxious girl did not dare to trust her person in sight, knowing
well that the unrestrained passions of some savage might
induce him to send a bullet through her brain. She merely
kept her head out of the trap, therefore, whence in the course
of the afternoon, she made as many surveys of the different
channels about the island, as “Anne, sister Anne” took of
the environs of the castle of Blue Beard.
The sun had actually set, no intelligence had been received
from the boats, and Mabel ascended to the roof, to take a
last look, hoping that the party would arrive in the darkness;
which would at least prevent the Indians from rendering their
ambuscade as fatal as it might otherwise prove, and which
possibly might enable her to give some more intelligible signal,
by means of fire, than it would otherwise be in her power
to do. Her eye had turned carefully round the whole horizon,
and she was just on the point of drawing in her person,
when an object that struck her as new, caught her attention.
The islands lay grouped so closely, that six or eight different
channels or passages between them were in view; and in one
of the most covered, concealed in a great measure by the
bushes of the shore, lay, what a second look assured her,
was a bark canoe. It contained a human being beyond a
question. Confident that, if an enemy, her signal could do
no harm, and, if a friend, that it might do good, the eager
girl waved a little flag towards the stranger, which she had
prepared for her father, taking care that it should not be seen
from the island.
Mabel had repeated her signal eight or ten times in vain,
and she began to despair of its being noticed, when a sign
was given in return, by the wave of a paddle, and the man
so far discovered himself, as to let her see it was Chingachgook.
Here, then, at last, was a friend; one, too, who was
able, and she doubted not would be willing to aid her! From
that instant her courage and her spirits revived. The Mohican
had seen her; must have recognised her, as he knew that
she was of the party; and no doubt, as soon as it was sufficiently
dark, he would take the steps necessary to release
her. That he was aware of the presence of the enemy was
apparent by the great caution he observed, and she had every
now existed with June, for Mabel had seen too much
of her fidelity to her own people, relieved as it was by sympathy
for herself, to believe she would consent to a hostile
Indian's entering the block-house, or indeed to her leaving it,
with a view to defeat Arrowhead's plans. The half hour
that succeeded the discovery of the presence of the Great
Serpent, was the most painful of Mabel Dunham's life. She
saw the means of effecting all she wished, as it might be
within reach of her hand, and yet it eluded her grasp. She
knew June's decision and coolness, notwithstanding all her
gentleness and womanly feeling, and at last she came reluctantly
to the conclusion that there was no other way of
attaining her end, than by deceiving her tried companion and
protector. It was revolting to one as sincere and natural,
as pure of heart and as much disposed to ingenuousness as
Mabel Dunham, to practise deception on a friend like June; but
her own father's life was at stake, her companion would receive
no positive injury, and she had feelings and interests directly
touching herself, that would have removed greater scruples.
As soon as it was dark, Mabel's heart began to beat
with violence; and she adopted and changed her plan of
proceedings, at least a dozen times in the course of a
single hour. June was always the source of her greatest
embarrassment; for she did not well see, firstly, how she
was to ascertain when Cingachgook was at the door, where
she doubted not he would soon appear; and, secondly, how
she was to admit him, without giving the alarm to her watchful
companion. Time pressed, however; for the Mohican
might come and go away again, unless she was ready to receive
him. It would be too hazardous to the Delaware to
remain long on the island; and it became absolutely necessary
to determine on some course, even at the risk of choosing
one that was indiscreet. After running over various projects
in her mind, therefore, Mabel came to her companion,
and said, with as much calmness as she could assume—
“Are you not afraid, June, now your people believe Pathfinder
is in the block-house, that they will come, and try to
set it on fire?”
“No t'ink such t'ing. No burn block-house. Block-house
good: got no scalp.”
“June, we cannot know. They hid, because they believed
what I told them of Pathfinder's being with us.”
“Believe fear. Fear come quick, go quick. Fear make
run away; wit make come back. Fear make warrior fool,
as well as young girl.”
Here June laughed, as her sex is apt to laugh, when anything
particularly ludicrous crosses their youthful fancies.
“I feel uneasy, June; and wish you yourself would go
up again to the roof, and look out upon the island, to make
certain that nothing is plotting against us; you know the
signs of what your people intend to do better than I.”
“June go, Lily wish; but very well know that Indian
sleep: wait for 'e fader. Warrior eat, drink, sleep, all time,
when don't fight, and go on war-trail. Den never sleep, eat,
drink—never feel. Warrior sleep, now.”
“God send it may be so: but go up, dear June, and look
well about you. Danger may come when we least expect
it.”
June arose, and prepared to ascend to the roof; but she
paused, with her foot on the first round of the ladder. Mabel's
heart beat so violently, that she was fearful its throbs
would be heard; and she fancied that some gleamings of her
real intentions had crossed the mind of her friend. She was
right, in part; the Indian woman having actually stopped to
consider whether there was any indiscretion in what she was
about to do. At first, the suspicion that Mabel intended to escape
flashed across her mind; then she rejected it, on the ground
that the pale-face had no means of getting off the island, and
that the block-house was much the most secure place she
could find. The next thought was, that Mabel had detected
some sign of the near approach of her father. This idea,
too, lasted but an instant; for June entertained some such
opinion of her companion's ability to understand symptoms
of this sort—symptoms that had escaped her own sagacity—
as a woman of high fashion entertains of the accomplishments
of her maid. Nothing else in the same way offering,
she began slowly to mount the ladder.
Just as she reached the upper floor, a lucky thought suggested
itself to our heroine; and, by expressing it in a hurried,
but natural manner, she gained a great advantage in executing
her projected scheme.
“I will go down,” she said, “and listen by the door, June;
while you are on the roof; and we will thus be on our guard,
at the same time, above and below.”
Though June thought this savoured of unnecessary caution,
well knowing no one could enter the building, unless
aided from within, nor any serious danger menace them from
the exterior, without giving sufficient warning, she attributed
the proposition to Mabel's ignorance and alarm; and, as it
was made apparently with frankness, it was received without
distrust. By these means, our heroine was enabled to descend
to the door, as her friend ascended to the roof; and
June felt no unusual inducement to watch her. The distance
between the two was now too great to admit of conversation;
and, for three or four minutes, one was occupied in
looking about her, as well as the darkness would allow, and
the other, in listening at the door, with as much intentness,
as if all her senses were absorbed in the single faculty of
hearing.
June discovered nothing from her elevated stand; the
obscurity, indeed, almost forbade the hope of such a result,
but it would not be easy to describe the sensation with which
Mabel thought she perceived a slight and guarded push
against the door. Fearful that all might not be as she wished,
and anxious to let Chingachgook know that she was near,
she began, though in tremulous and low notes, to sing. So
profound was the stillness at the moment, that the sound of
the unsteady warbling ascended to the roof, and in a minute
June began to descend. A slight tap at the door was heard
immediately after. Mabel was bewildered, for there was no
time to lose. Hope proved stronger than fear, and with unsteady
hands, she commenced unbarring the door. The moccasin
of June was heard on the floor above her, when only
a single bar was turned. The second was released as her
form reached half-way down the lower ladder.
“What you do!” exclaimed June, angrily.—“Run away—
mad—leave block-house? Block-house good.”—The hands
of both were on the last bar, and it would have been cleared
from the fastenings, but for a vigorous shove from without,
which jammed the wood. A short struggle ensued, though both
were disinclined to violence. June would probably have
prevailed, had not another and a more vigorous push from
it, when the door opened. The form of a man was seen to
enter, and both the females rushed up the ladder, as if equally
afraid of the consequences. The stranger secured the door,
and, first examining the lower room with great care, he cautiously
ascended the ladder. June, as soon as it became
dark, had closed the loops of the principal floor, and lighted
a candle. By means of this dim taper, then, the two females
stood in expectation, waiting to ascertain the person of their
visiter, whose wary ascent of the ladder was distinctly audible,
though sufficiently deliberate. It would not be easy to
say which was the most astonished on finding, when the
stranger had got through the trap, that Pathfinder stood
before them?
“God be praised!” Mabel exclaimed, for the idea that the
block-house would be impregnable with such a garrison, at
once crossed her mind. “Oh! Pathfinder, what has become
of my father?”
“The sarjeant is safe, as yet, and victorious, though it is
not in the gift of man to say what will be the ind of it. Is
not that the wife of Arrowhead, skulking in the corner,
there?”
“Speak not of her reproachfully, Pathfinder; I owe her
my life—my present security;—tell me what has happened to
my father's party, why you are here, and I will relate all the
horrible events that have passed upon this island.”
“Few words will do the last, Mabel; for one used to Indian
deviltries needs but little explanations on such a subject.
Every thing turned out as we had hoped with the expedition,
for the Sarpent was on the look-out, and he met us with all
the information heart could desire. We ambushed three
boats, druv' the Frenchers out of them, got possession and
sunk them, according to orders, in the deepest part of the
channel; and the savages of Upper Canada will fare badly
for Indian goods this winter. Both powder and ball, too,
will be scarcer among them, than keen hunters and actyve
warriors may relish. We did not lose a man, or have even
a skin barked; nor do I think the inemy suffered to speak of.
In short, Mabel, it has been just such an expedition as Lundie
likes; much harm to the foe, and little harm to ourselves.”
“Ah! Pathfinder, I fear when Major Duncan comes to
hear the whole of the sad tale, he will find reason to regret
he ever undertook the affair!”
“I know what you mean—I know what you mean; but,
by telling my story straight, you will understand it better.
As soon as the sarjeant found himself successful, he sent me
and the Sarpent off in canoes, to tell you how matters had
turned out, and he is following with the two boats; which
being so much heavier, cannot arrive before morning. I
parted from Chingachgook this forenoon, it being agreed
that he should come up one set of channels, and I another,
to see that the path was clear. I 've not seen the chief
since.”
Mabel now explained the manner in which she had discovered
the Mohican, and her expectation that he would yet
come to the block-house.
“Not he—not he!—A regular scout will never get behind
walls, or logs, so long as he can keep the open air and find
useful employment. I should not have come myself, Mabel,
but I promised the sarjeant to comfort you, and to look after
your safety. Ah's me! I reconnoitred the island with a
heavy heart this forenoon; and there was a bitter hour when
I fancied you might be among the slain.”
“By what lucky accident were you prevented from paddling
up boldly to the island, and from falling into the hands of the
enemy?”
“By such an accident, Mabel, as Providence employs to
tell the hound where to find the deer, and the deer how to
throw off the hound. No—no—these artifices and deviltries
with dead bodies, may deceive the soldiers of the 55th, and
the king's officers; but they are all lost upon men who have
passed their days in the forest. I came down the channel in
face of the pretended fisherman, and, though the riptyles
have set up the poor wretch with art, it was not ingenious
enough to take in a practysed eye. The rod was held too high,
for the 55th have learned to fish at Oswego, if they never knew
how before; and then the man was too quiet for one who got
neither prey nor bite. But we never come in upon a post
blindly; and I have lain outside a garrison a whole night,
because they had changed their sentries and their mode of
standing guard. Neither the Sarpent nor myself would be
were most probably intended for the Scotch, who are cunning
enough in some particulars, though any thing but witches
when Indian sarcumventions are in the wind.”
“Do you think my father and his men may yet be deceived?”
said Mabel, quickly.
“Not if I can prevent it, Mabel. You say the Sarpent is
on the look-out, too; so there is a double chance of our succeeding
in letting him know his danger; though it is by no
means sartain by which channel the party may come.”
“Pathfinder,” said our heroine solemnly, for the frightful
scenes she had witnessed had clothed death with unusual
horrors—“Pathfinder, you have professed love for me—a
wish to make me your wife?”
“I did ventur' to speak on that subject, Mabel, and the
sarjeant has even lately said that you are kindly disposed;
but I am not a man to persecute the thing I love.”
“Hear me, Pathfinder—I respect you—honour you—revere
you—save my father from this dreadful death, and I
can worship you. Here is my hand, as a solemn pledge for
my faith, when you come to claim it.”
“Bless you—bless you, Mabel; this is more than I desarve
—more, I fear, than I shall know how to profit by, as I
ought. It was not wanting, however, to make me sarve the
sarjeant. We are old comrades, and owe each other a life
—though I fear me, Mabel, being a father's comrade is not
always the best recommendation with the daughter!”
“You want no other recommendation than your own acts
—your courage—your fidelity—all that you do and say,
Pathfinder, my reason approves, and the heart will, nay, it
shall follow.”
“This is a happiness I little expected this night; but we
are in God's hands, and he will protect us in his own way.
These are sweet words, Mabel, but they were not wanting to
make me do all that man can do, in the present circumstances;
they will not lessen my endeavours, neither.”
“Now we understand each other, Pathfinder—” Mabel
added, hoarsely, “let us not lose one of the precious moments,
which may be of incalculable value. Can we not get
into your canoe, and go and meet my father?”
“That is not the course I advise. I don't know by which
on it, the Sarpent will be winding his way through them all.
No—no—my advice is to remain here. The logs of this
block-house are still green, and it will not be easy to set them
on fire; and I can make good the place, bating a burning,
ag'in a tribe. The Iroquois nation cannot dislodge me from
this fortress, so long as we can keep the flames off it.
The sarjeant is now 'camped on some island, and will not
come in until morning. If we hold the block, we can give
him timely warning, by firing rifles for instance; and should
he determine to attack the savages, as a man of his temper
will be very likely to do, the possession of this building will
be of great account in the affair. No—no—my judgment
says remain, if the object be to sarve the sarjeant; though
escape for our two selves will be no very difficult matter.”
“Stay,” murmured Mabel—“stay, for God's sake, Pathfinder.
Any thing—every thing, to save my father!”
“Yes, that is natur'. I am glad to hear you say this,
Mabel, for I own a wish to see the sarjeant fairly supported.
As the matter now stands, he has gained himself credit; and
could he once drive off these miscreants, and make an honourable
retreat, laying the huts and block in ashes, no doubt,
no doubt, Lundie would remember it and sarve him accordingly.
Yes, yes, Mabel, we must not only save the sarjeant's
life, but we must save his reputation.”
“No blame can rest on my father, on account of the surprise
of this island!”
“There's no telling—there's no telling; military glory is
a most unsartain thing. I 've seen the Delawares routed, when
they desarved more credit, than, at other times, when they've
carried the day. A man is wrong to set his head on success
of any sort, and worst of all, on success in war. I know
little of the settlements, or of the notions that men hold in
them; but, up hereaway, even the Indians rate a warrior's
character according to his luck. The principal thing with
a soldier, is never to be whipt; nor do I think mankind stops
long to consider how the day was won, or lost. For my
part, Mabel, I make it a rule when facing the inimy, to give
him as good as I can send, and to try to be moderate as I
can, when we get the better; as for feeling moderate, after a
defeat, little need be said on that score, as a flogging is one
about humility, in the garrisons; but if humility would make
Christians, the king's troops ought to be saints, for they've
done little, as yet, this war, but take lessons from the French,
beginning at Fort du Quesne, and ending at Ty!”
“My father could not have suspected that the position of
the island was known to the enemy,” resumed Mabel, whose
thoughts were running on the probable effect of the recent
events, on the serjeant.
“That is true; nor do I well see how the Frenchers found
it out. The spot is well chosen, and it is not an easy matter,
even for one who has travelled the road to and from it, to
find it again. There has been treachery, I fear; yes, yes,
there must have been treachery!”
“Oh! Pathfinder, can this be!”
“Nothing is easier, Mabel, for treachery comes as nat'ral
to some men, as eating. Now, when I find a man, all fair
words, I look close to his deeds; for when the heart is right,
and really intends to do good, it is generally satisfied to let
the conduct speak, instead of the tongue.”
“Jasper Western is not one of these,” said Mabel, impetuously.
“No youth can be more sincere in his manner, or
less apt to make the tongue act for the head.”
“Jasper Western!—tongue and heart are both right with
that lad, depend on it, Mabel; and the notion taken up by
Lundie, and the Quarter-Master, and the sarjeant, and your
uncle, too, is as wrong, as it would be to think that the sun
shone by night, and the stars shone by day. No—no—I 'll
answer for Eau-douce's honesty with my own scalp, or, at
need, with my own rifle.”
“Bless you—bless you, Pathfinder!” exclaimed Mabel,
extending her own hand, and pressing the iron fingers of her
companion, under a state of feeling that far surpassed her
own consciousness of its strength. “You are all that is
generous—all that is noble; God will reward you for it.”
“Ah! Mabel, I fear me, if this be true, I should not covet
such a wife as yourself, but would leave you to be sued for,
by some gentleman of the garrison, as your desarts require!”
“We will not talk of this any more to night,” Mabel answered
in a voice so smothered, as to seem nearly choked.
“We must think less of ourselves, just now, Pathfinder, and
believe Jasper innocent. Now let us talk of other things—
ought we not to release June?”
“I 've been thinking about the woman, for it will not be
safe to shut our eyes and leave hers open, on this side of the
block-house door. If we put her in the upper room and
take away the ladder, she 'll be a prisoner at least.”
“I cannot treat one thus who has saved my life. It would
be better to let her depart, for I think she is too much my
friend to do any thing to harm me.”
“You do not know the race, Mabel; you do not know the
race. It 's true she is not a full-blooded Mingo, but she consorts
with the vagabonds, and must have larned some of their
tricks. What is that?”
“It sounds like oars—some boat is passing through the
channel!”
Pathfinder closed the trap that led to the lower room, to
prevent June from escaping, extinguished the candle, and
went hastily to a loop; Mabel looking over his shoulder in
breathless curiosity. These several movements consumed a
minute or two; and by the time the eye of the scout had got
a dim view of things without, two boats had swept past, and
shot up to the shore, at a spot some fifty yards beyond the
block, where there was a regular landing. The obscurity
prevented more from being seen; and Pathfinder whispered
to Mabel, that the new comers were as likely to be foes as
friends, for he did not think her father could possibly have
arrived so soon. A number of men were now seen to quit
the boats, and then followed three hearty English cheers,
leaving no further doubts of the character of the party.
Pathfinder sprang to the trap, raised it, glided down the ladder,
and began to unbar the door, with an earnestness that
proved how critical he deemed the moment. Mabel had followed,
but she rather impeded than aided his exertions, and
but a single bar was turned when a heavy discharge of rifles
was heard. They were still standing in breathless suspense,
as the war-whoop rang in all the surrounding thickets.
The door now opened, and both Pathfinder and Mabel rushed
into the open air. All human sounds had ceased. After
listening half a minute, however, Pathfinder thought he heard
a few stifled groans near the boats; but the wind blew so
the murmurs of the passing air, that he was far from certain.
But Mabel was borne away by her feelings, and she rushed
by him, taking the way towards the boats.
“This will not do, Mabel—” said the scout, in an earnest
but low voice, seizing her by an arm,—“this will never do.
Sartain death would follow, and that without sarving any
one. We must return to the block.”
“Father!—my poor, dear, murdered father!” said the
girl wildly, though habitual caution, even at that trying moment,
induced her to speak low. “Pathfinder, if you love
me, let me go to my dear father!”
“This will not do, Mabel.—It is singular that no one
speaks; no one returns the fire from the boats—and I have
left Killdeer in the block!—But of what use would a rifle be
when no one is to be seen!”
At that moment, the quick eye of Pathfinder, which, while
he held Mabel firmly in his grasp, had never ceased to roam
over the dim scene, caught an indistinct view of five or six
dark, crouching forms, endeavouring to steal past him, doubtless
with the intention of intercepting their retreat to the
block-house. Catching up Mabel and putting her under an
arm, as if she were an infant, the sinewy frame of the
woodsman was exerted to the utmost, and he succeeded in
entering the building. The tramp of his pursuers seemed
immediately at his heels. Dropping his burthen, he turned,
closed the door, and had fastened one bar, as a rush against
the solid mass threatened to force it from the hinges. To
secure the other bars was the work of an instant.
Mabel now ascended to the first floor, while Pathfinder
remained as a sentinel below. Our heroine was in that state
in which the body exerts itself, apparently without the control
of the mind. She re-lighted the candle mechanically, as her
companion had desired, and returned with it below, where he
was waiting her re-appearance. No sooner was Pathfinder
in possession of the light than he examined the place carefully,
to make certain no one was concealed in the fortress,
ascending to each floor in succession, after assuring himself
that he left no enemy in his rear. The result was the conviction
that the block-house now contained no one but Mabel
and himself, June having escaped. When perfectly convinced
in the principal apartment, setting down the light and examining
the priming of Killdeer before he seated himself.
“Our worst fears are realized!” said Mabel, to whom the
hurry and excitement of the last five minutes appeared to
contain the emotions of a life. “My beloved father, and all
his party, are slain or captured!”
“We don't know that—morning will tell us all. I do not
think the affair as settled as that, or we should hear the
vagabond Mingos yelling out their triumph around the block-house.
Of one thing, we may be sartain; if the inimy has
really got the better, he will not be long in calling upon us
to surrender. The squaw will let him into the secret of our
situation, and, as they well know the place cannot be fired
by day-light, so long as Killdeer continues to desarve his
reputation, you may depend on it, that they will not be backward
in making their attempt, while darkness helps them.”
“Surely, I hear a groan!”
“'T is fancy, Mabel,—when the mind gets to be skeary,
especially a woman's mind, she often concaits things that
have no reality. I 've known them that imagined there was
truth in dreams—”
“Nay, I am not deceived—there is surely one below, and
in pain!”
Pathfinder was compelled to own that the quick senses of
Mabel had not deceived her. He cautioned her, however, to
repress her feelings; and reminded her that the savages
were in the practice of resorting to every artifice, to attain
their ends, and that nothing was more likely than that the
groans were feigned with a view to lure them from the block-house,
or, at least, to induce them to open the door.
“No—no—no”—said Mabel, hurriedly,—“there is no
artifice in those sounds, and they come from anguish of body,
if not of spirit. They are fearfully natural.”
“Well, we shall soon know whether a friend is there, or
not. Hide the light again, Mabel, and I will speak the person
from a loop.”
Not a little precaution was necessary, according to Pathfinder's
judgment and experience, in performing even this
simple act, for he had known the careless slain by their want
of proper attention to, what might have seemed to the ignorant,
mouth to the loop itself, but so near it that he could be heard
without raising his voice, and the same precaution was observed
as regards his ear.
“Who is below?” Pathfinder demanded, when his arrangements
were made to his mind. “Is any one in suffering?
If a friend, speak boldly, and depend on our aid.”
“Pathfinder!” answered a voice that both Mabel and the
person addressed at once knew to be the serjeant's—“Pathfinder,
in the name of God, tell me what has become of my
daughter?”
“Father, I am here!—unhurt—safe—and oh! that I could
think the same of you!”
The ejaculation of thanksgiving that followed was distinctly
audible to the two, but it was clearly mingled with a
groan of pain.
“My worst forebodings are realized!” said Mabel, with a sort
of desperate calmness. “Pathfinder, my father must be brought
within the block, though we hazard every thing to do it.”
“This is natur', and it is the law of God. But, Mabel,
be calm, and endivour to be cool. All that can be effected
for the sarjeant by human invention, shall be done. I only
ask you to be cool.”
“I am—I am—Pathfinder. Never in my life was I more
calm, more collected, than at this moment. But remember
how perilous may be every instant; for Heaven's sake, what
we do, let us do without delay.”
Pathfinder was struck with the firmness of Mabel's tones,
and perhaps he was a little deceived by the forced tranquillity
and self-possession she had assumed. At all events, he did
not deem any farther explanations necessary, but descended
forthwith, and began to unbar the door. This delicate process
was conducted with the usual caution, but as he warily
permitted the mass of timber to swing back on the hinges, he
felt a pressure against it, that had nearly induced him to close
it again. But catching a glimpse of the cause through the
crack, the door was permitted to swing back, when the body
of Serjeant Dunham, which was propped against it, fell partly
within the block. To draw in the legs and secure the fastenings,
occupied the Pathfinder but a moment. Then there
existed no obstacle to their giving their undivided care to the
wounded man.
Mabel, in this trying scene, conducted herself with the
sort of unnatural energy that her sex, when aroused, is apt
to manifest. She got the light, administered water to the
parched lips of her father, and assisted Pathfinder in forming
a bed of straw for his body, and a pillow of clothes for his
head. All this was done earnestly, and almost without speaking;
nor did Mabel shed a tear, until she heard the blessings
of her father murmured on her head, for this tenderness and
care. All this time, Mabel had merely conjectured the condition
of her parent. Pathfinder, however, had shown
greater attention to the physical danger of the serjeant. He
had ascertained that a rifle-ball had passed through the body
of the wounded man; and he was sufficiently familiar with
injuries of this nature, to be certain that the chances of his
surviving the hurt were very trifling, if any.
| CHAPTER VIII. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea | |