 | CHAPTER XI. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
A working sea remaining from a storm
Where now the weary waves roll o'er the deep,
And faintly murmur ere they fall asleep.”
Dryden.
Men accustomed to a warfare like that we have been describing,
are not apt to be much under the influence of the
tender feelings, while still in the field. Notwithstanding their
habits, however, more than one heart was with Mabel in the
block, while the incidents we are about to relate were in the
course of occurrence, and even the indispensable meal was
have been had not the serjeant been so near his end.
As Pathfinder returned from the block, he was met by
Muir, who led him aside in order to hold a private discourse.
The manner of the Quarter-Master had that air of supererogatory
courtesy about it, which almost invariably denotes
artifice; for, while physiognomy and phrenology are but lame
sciences at the best, and perhaps lead to as many false as
right conclusions, we hold that there is no more infallible evidence
of insincerity of purpose, short of overt acts, than a
face that smiles when there is no occasion, and the tongue
that is out of measure smooth. Muir had much of this
manner in common, mingled with an apparent frankness,
that his Scottish intonation of voice, Scottish accent, and
Scottish modes of expression, were singularly adapted to sustain.
He owed his preferment, indeed, to a long-exercised
deference to Lundie and his family; for, while the Major himself
was much too acute to be the dupe of one so much his
inferior in real talents and attainments, most persons are
accustomed to make liberal concessions to the flatterer, even
while they distrust his truth, and are perfectly aware of his
motives. On the present occasion, the contest in skill was
between two men as completely the opposites of each other,
in all the leading essentials of character, as very well could
be. Pathfinder was as simple, as the Quarter-Master was
practised; he was as sincere as the other was false, and as
direct as the last was tortuous. Both were cool and calculating,
and both were brave, though in different modes and
degrees; Muir never exposing his person except for effect,
while the guide included fear among the rational passions, or
as a sensation to be deferred to only when good might come
of it.
“My dearest friend,” Muir commenced, “for ye 'll be
dearer to us all, by seventy and seven-fold, after your late
conduct, than ever ye were, ye 've just established yourself,
in this late transaction! It 's true, that they 'll not be making
ye a commissioned officer, for that species of prefairment is
not much in your line, nor much in your wishes, I 'm thinking;
but as a guide, and a counsellor, and a loyal subject,
and an expert marksman, yer' renown may be said to be
full. I doubt if the commander-in-chief will carry away
share, and ye ought just to sit down in content, and enjoy
yourself for the remainder of yer' days. Get married, man,
without delay, and look to your precious happiness, for ye 've
no occasion to look any longer to your glory. Take Mabel
Dunham, for Heaven's sake, to your bosom, and ye 'll have
both a bonny bride, and a bonny reputation.”
“Why, Quarter-Master, this is a new piece of advice to
come from your mouth!—They 've told me I had a rival in
you!”
“And ye had, man; and a formidable one, too, I can tell
ye! One that has never yet courted in vain, and yet one that
has courted five times. Lundie twits me with four, and I
deny the charge; but he little thinks the truth would outdo
even his arithmetic! Yes, yes; ye had a rival, Pathfinder,
but ye 've one no longer in me. Ye 've my hearty wishes
for yer' sucess with Mabel, and were the honest serjeant
likely to survive, ye might rely on my good word with him,
too, for a certainty.”
“I feel your friendship, Quarter-Master, I feel your friendship,
though I have no great need of any favour with Serjeant
Dunham, who has long been my friend. I believe we may
look upon the matter to be as sartain as most things in wartime;
for Mabel and her father consenting, the whole 55th
couldn't very well put a stop to it. Ah's me! the poor
father will scarcely live to see what his heart has so long
been set upon!”
“But he 'll have the consolation of knowing it will come to
pass, in dying. Oh! it 's a great relief, Pathfinder, for the
parting spirit to feel certain that the beloved ones left behind,
will be well provided for, after its departure. All the Mistress
Muirs have duly expressed that sentiment, with their
dying breaths.”
“All your wives, Quarter-Master, have been likely to feel
this consolation!”
“Out upon ye, man,—I 'd no thought ye such a wag!
Well, well; pleasant words make no heart-burnings between
auld fri'nds. If I cannot espouse Mabel, ye 'll no object to
my esteeming her, and speaking well of her, and of yoursal',
too, on all suitable occasions, and in all companies. But,
Pathfinder, ye 'll easily understan' that a poor deevil, who
“Quite likely—quite likely, Quarter-Master,” returned the
simple-minded guide; “I know the loss of Mabel would be
found heavy to be borne by myself. It may bear hard on
your feelings to see us married, but the death of the sarjeant
will be likely to put it off, and you 'll have time to think more
manfully of it, you will.”
“I 'll bear up against it — yes, I 'll bear up against it,
though my heart-strings crack; and ye might help me, man,
by giving me something to do. Ye 'll understand that this
expedition has been of a very peculiar nature, for here am I,
bearing the king's commission, just a volunteer, as it might
be; while a mere orderly has had the command. I 've submitted
for various reasons, though my blood has boiled to be
in authority, while ye war' battling for the honour of the
country, and his Majesty's rights—”
“Quarter-Master,” interrupted the guide, “you fell so
early into the enemy's hands, that your conscience ought to
be easily satisfied on that score; so take my advice, and say
nothing about it.”
“That 's just my opinion, Pathfinder; we 'll all say nothing
about it. Serjeant Dunham is hors-de-combat—”
“Anan!” said the guide.
“Why the serjeant can command no longer, and it will
hardly do to leave a corporal at the head of a victorious
party, like this; for flowers that will bloom in a garden will
die on a heath; and I was just thinking I would claim the
authority that belongs to one who holds a lieutenant's commission.
As for the men, they 'll no dare to raise any objaction,
and as for yoursal', my dear friend, now that ye 've
so much honour, and Mabel, and the consciousness of having
done yer' duty, which is more precious than all, I expect
to find an ally rather than one to oppose the plan.”
“As for commanding the soldiers of the 55th, lieutenant,
it is your right, I suppose, and no one here will be likely to
gainsay it; though you 've been a prisoner of war, and there
are men who might stand out ag'in giving up their authority
to a prisoner released by their own deeds. Still no one here
will be likely to say any thing hostile to your wishes.”
“That 's just it, Pathfinder; and when I come to draw up
of the block, together with the general operations, including
the capitulation, ye 'll no find any omission of your claims
and merits.”
“Tut, for my claims and merits, Quarter-Master! Lundie
knows what I am in the forest, and what I am in the fort;
and the general knows better than he. No fear of me; tell
your own story, only taking care to do justice by Mabel's
father, who, in one sense, is the commanding officer at this
very moment.”
Muir expressed his entire satisfaction with this arrangement,
as well as his determination to do justice by all, when
the two went to the group that was assembled round the fire.
Here the Quarter-Master began, for the first time since leaving
Oswego, to assume some of the authority that might properly
be supposed to belong to his rank. Taking the remaining
corporal aside, he distinctly told that functionary
that he must in future be regarded as one holding the king's
commission, and directed him to acquaint his subordinates
with the new state of things. This change in the dynasty
was effected without any of the usual symptoms of a revolution;
for as all well understood the lieutenant's legal claims
to command, no one felt disposed to dispute his orders. For
reasons best known to themselves, Lundie and the Quarter-Master
had, originally, made a different disposition, and now,
for reasons of his own, the latter had seen fit to change it.
This was reasoning enough for soldiers, though the hurt
received by Serjeant Dunham would have sufficiently explained
the circumstance, had an explanation been required.
All this time Captain Sanglier was looking after his own
breakfast, with the resignation of a philosopher, the coolness
of a veteran, the ingenuity and science of a Frenchman, and
the voracity of an ostrich. This person had now been in the
colony some thirty years, having left France in some such
situation in his own army, as Muir filled in the 55th.
An iron constitution, perfect obduracy of feeling, a certain
address well suited to manage savages, and an indomitable
courage, had early pointed him out to the commander-in-chief,
as a suitable agent to be employed in directing the
military operations of his Indian allies. In this capacity,
then, he had risen to the titular rank of captain, and, with
opinions of his associates, with a facility and an adaptation
of self, that are thought, in this part of the world, to be peculiar
to his countrymen. He had often led parties of the
Iroquois in their predatory expeditions; and his conduct on
such occasions exhibited the contradictory results of both
alleviating the misery produced by this species of warfare,
and of augmenting it, by the broader views and greater resources
of civilization. In other words, he planned enterprises
that, in their importance and consequences, much exceeded
the usual policy of the Indians, and then stepped in
to lessen some of the evils of his own creating. In short,
he was an adventurer whom circumstances had thrown into
a situation, where the callous qualities of men of his class
might readily show themselves, for good or for evil; and he
was not of a character to baffle fortune by any ill-timed
squeamishness on the score of early impressions, or to trifle
with her liberality, by unnecessarily provoking her frowns
through wanton cruelty. Still, as his name was unavoidably
connected with many of the excesses committed by his parties,
he was generally considered, in the American Provinces, a
wretch who delighted in bloodshed, and who found his greatest
happiness in tormenting the helpless and the innocent;
and the name of Sanglier, which was a soubriquet of his
own adopting, or of Flint Heart, as he was usually termed
on the borders, had got to be as terrible to the women and
children of that part of the country, as those of Butler and
Brandt became at a later day.
The meeting between Pathfinder and Sanglier bore some
resemblance to that celebrated interview between Wellington
and Blucher, which has been so often and graphically told.
It took place at the fire; and the parties stood earnestly
regarding each other for more than a minute without speaking.
Each felt that in the other, he saw a formidable foe;
and each felt, while he ought to treat the other with the
manly liberality due to a warrior, that there was little in
common between them, in the way of character, as well as
of interests. One served for money and preferment; the
other, because his life had been cast in the wilderness, and
the land of his birth needed his arm and experience. The
desire of rising above his present situation, never disturbed
thought, as ambition usually betrays itself, until he
became acquainted with Mabel. Since then, indeed, distrust
of himself, reverence for her, and the wish to place her in a
situation above that which he then filled, had caused him some
uneasy moments; but the directness and simplicity of his
character had early afforded the required relief; and he soon
came to feel, that the woman who would not hesitate to accept
him for her husband, would not scruple to share his fortunes,
however humble. He respected Sanglier as a brave
warrior; and he had far too much of that liberality which is
the result of practical knowledge, to believe half of what he
had heard to his prejudice; for the most bigoted and illiberal
on every subject, are usually those who know nothing about
it; but he could not approve of his selfishness, cold-blooded
calculations, and, least of all, of the manner in which he forgot
his “white gifts,” to adopt those that were purely “red.”
On the other hand, Pathfinder was a riddle to Captain Sanglier.
The latter could not comprehend the other's motives;
he had often heard of his disinterestedness, justice, and truth;
and, in several instances, they had led him into grave errors,
on that principle by which a frank and open-mouthed diplomatist
is said to keep his secrets better than one that is close-mouthed
and wily.
Ater the two heroes had gazed at each other, in the manner
mentioned, Monsieur Sanglier touched his cap; for the
rudeness of a border life had not entirely destroyed the courtesy
of manner he had acquired in youth, nor extinguished
that appearance of bonhommie which seems inbred in a
Frenchman.
“Monsieur le Pathfinder,” he said with a very decided accent,
though with a friendly smile, “un militaire honour
le courage, et la loyauté. You speak Iroquois?”
“Ay, I understand the language of the riptyles, and can
get along with it, if there's occasion,” returned the literal
and truth-telling guide; “but it's neither a tongue nor a tribe
to my taste. Wherever you find the Mingo blood, in my
opinion, Master Flinty-heart, you find a knave. Well, I 've
seen you often, though it was in battle; and I must say, it
was always in the van. You must know most of our bullets
by sight?”
“Nevvair, sair, your own; une balle from your honourable
hand, be sairtaine deat'. You kill my best warrior on
some island.”
“That may be—that may be—though I dare say, if the
truth was known, they would turn out to be great rascals.
No offence to you, Master Flinty-heart, but you keep desperate
evil company.”
“Yes, sair,” returned the Frenchman, who, bent on saying
that which was courteous, himself, and comprehending with
difficulty, was disposed to think he received a compliment—
“you too good. But, un brave always comme çà. What that
mean—ha!—what that jeune homme do?”
The hand and eye of Captain Sanglier directed the look
of Pathfinder to the opposite side of the fire, where Jasper,
just at that moment, had been rudely seized by two of the
soldiers, who were binding his arms, under the direction of
Muir.
“What does that mean, indeed?” cried the guide, steping
forward, and shoving the two subordinates away with a
power of muscle that would not be denied. “Who has the
heart to do this to Jasper Eau-douce; and who has the boldness
to do it before my eyes?”
“It is by my orders, Pathfinder,” answered the Quarter-Master;
“and I command it on my own responsibility.
Ye 'll no tak' on yourself to dispute the legality of orders
given by one who bears the king's commission to the king's
soldiers?”
“I 'd dispute the king's words, if they came from the
king's own mouth, did he say that Jasper desarves this.
Has not the lad just saved all our scalps?—taken us from
defeat, and given us victory? No, no, Lieutenant; if this
is the first use that you make of your authority, I, for one,
will not respect it.”
“This savours a little of insubordination,” answered Muir;
“but we can bear much from Pathfinder. It is true this
Jasper has seemed to serve us in this affair; but we ought
not to overlook past transactions. Did not Major Duncan
himself denounce him to Serjeant Dunham, before we left
the post? Have we not seen sufficient with our own eyes,
to make sure of having been betrayed? And is it not natural,
and almost necessary, to believe that this young man
yourself a great statesman, or a great captain, if you put too
much faith in appearances. Lord bless me!—Lord bless
me! if I do not believe, could the truth be come at, as
you often say yourself, Pathfinder, that hypocrisy is a more
common vice than even envy; and that 's the bane o' human
nature.”
Captain Sanglier shrugged his shoulders; then he looked
earnestly from Jasper towards the Quarter-Master, and from
the Quarter-Master towards Jasper.
“I care not for your envy, or your hypocrisy, or even for
your human natur',” returned Pathfinder. “Jasper Eau-douce
is my friend; Jasper Eau-douce is a brave lad, and
an honest lad, and a loyal lad; and no man of the 55th
shall lay hands on him, short of Lundie's own orders, while
I 'm in the way to prevent it. You may have authority
over your soldiers, but you have none over Jasper, or me,
Master Muir.”
“Bon,” ejaculated Sanglier; the sound partaking equally
of the energies of the throat, and of the nose.
“Will ye no hearken to reason, Pathfinder? Ye 'll no be
forgetting our suspicions and judgments; and here is another
circumstance to augment and aggravate them all. Ye can
see this little bit of bunting; well, where should it be found,
but by Mabel Dunham, on the branch of a tree, on this very
island, just an hour or so before the attack of the enemy;
and if ye 'll be at the trouble to look at the fly of the Scud's
ensign, ye 'll just say that the cloth has been cut from out it.
Circumstantial evidence was never stronger.”
“Ma foi, c'est un peu fort, ceci;” growled Sanglier, between
his teeth.
“Talk to me of no ensigns, and signals, when I know the
heart;” continued the Pathfinder. “Jasper has the gift of
honesty; and it is too rare a gift to be trifled with, like a
Mingo's conscience. No, no; off hands, or we shall see
which can make the stoutest battle—you, and your men of
the 55th, or the Sarpent, here, and Killdeer, with Jasper and
his crew. You overrate your force, Lieutenant Muir, as
much as you underrate Eau-douce's truth.”
“Très bon!”
“Well, if I must speak plainly, Pathfinder, I e'en must.
have both informed me that this unfortunate boy is the
traitor. After such testimony, you can no longer oppose my
right to correct him, as well as the necessity of the act.”
“Scélérat,” muttered the Frenchman.
“Captain Sanglier is a brave soldier, and will not gainsay
the conduct of an honest sailor,” put in Jasper. “Is there
any traitor here, Captain Flinty-heart?”
“Ay,” added Muir, “let him speak out then, since ye
wish it, unhappy youth; that the truth may be known. I
only hope that ye may escape the last punishment when a
court will be sitting on your misdeeds. How is it, Captain;
do ye, or do ye not see a traitor amang us?”
“Oui—yes, sair—bien sûr.”
“Too much lie”—said Arrowhead, in a voice of thunder,
striking the breast of Muir, with the back of his own hand,
in a sort of ungovernable gesture. “Where my warriors?
—where Yengeese scalp?—Too much lie.”
Muir wanted not for personal courage, nor for a certain
sense of personal honour. The violence which had been
intended only for a gesture, he mistook for a blow; for conscience
was suddenly aroused within him; and he stepped
back a pace, extending a hand towards a gun. His face was
livid with rage; and his countenance expressed the fell intention
of his heart. But Arrowhead was too quick for him.
With a wild glance of the eye, the Tuscarora looked about
him; then thrust a hand beneath his own girdle, drew forth
a concealed knife, and, in the twinkling of an eye, buried it
in the body of the Quarter-Master to the handle. As the latter
fell at his feet, gazing into his face with the vacant stare
of one surprised by death, Sanglier took a pinch of snuff,
and said, in a calm voice:—
“Voilà l'affaire finie—mais”—shrugging his shoulders,
“ce n'est qu'un scélérat de moins.”
The act was too sudden to be prevented, and when Arrowhead,
uttering a yell, bounded into the bushes, the white men
were too confounded to follow. Chingachgook, however,
was more collected; and the bushes had scarcely closed on
the passing body of the Tuscarora, than they were again
opened by that of the Delaware in full pursuit.
Jasper Western spoke French fluently, and the words and
manner of Sanglier struck him.
“Speak, Monsieur,” he said, in English, “am I the
traitor?”
“Le voilá”—answered the cool Frenchman,—“dat is our
espion—our agent—our friend—ma foi—c'etait un grand
scélérat—voici.”
While speaking, Sanglier bent over the dead body, and
thrust a hand into a pocket of the Quarter-Master, out of
which he drew a purse. Emptying the contents on the ground,
several double-Louis rolled towards the soldiers, who were
not slow in picking them up. Casting the purse from him,
in contempt, the soldier of fortune turned towards the soup
he had been preparing with so much care, and finding it to
his liking, he began to break his fast, with an air of indifference
that the most stoical Indian warrior might have envied.
| CHAPTER XI. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea | |