 | CHAPTER XIV. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
The passing smile her cheek put on;
But when she marked how mournfully
His eyes met hers, that smile was gone.”
Lalla Rookh.
The occurrences of the last few days had been too exciting,
and had made too many demands on the fortitude of
our heroine, to leave her in the helplessness of grief. She
mourned for her father, and she occasionally shuddered, as
she recalled the sudden death of Jennie, and all the horrible
scenes she had witnessed; but, on the whole, she had aroused
herself, and was no longer in the deep depression that usually
accompanies grief. Perhaps the overwhelming, almost
stupefying sorrow that crushed poor June, and left her for
nearly twenty-four hours in a state of stupor, assisted Mabel
in conquering her own feelings, for she had felt called on to
she had done, in the quiet, soothing, insinuating way, in
which her sex usually exerts its influence, on such occasions.
The morning of the third day was set for that on which
the Scud was to sail. Jasper had made all his preparations;
the different effects were embarked, and Mabel had taken
leave of June—a painful and affectionate parting. In a word,
all was ready, and every soul had left the island but the
Indian woman, Pathfinder, Jasper, and our heroine. The
former had gone into a thicket to weep, and the three last
were approaching the spot where three canoes lay; one of
which was the property of June, and the other two were in
waiting to carry the others off to the Scud. Pathfinder led
the way, but, when he drew near the shore, instead of taking
the direction to the boats, he motioned to his companions to
follow, and proceeded to a fallen tree, that lay on the margin
of the glade, and out of view of those in the cutter. Seating
himself on the trunk, he signed to Mabel to take her
place on one side of him, and to Jasper to occupy the other.
“Sit down here, Mabel; sit down there, Eau-douce,” he
commenced, as soon as he had taken his own seat; “I 've
something that lies heavy on my mind, and now is the time
to take it off, if it 's ever to be done. Sit down, Mabel, and
let me lighten my heart, if not my conscience, while I 've
the strength to do it.”
The pause that succeeded, lasted two or three minutes, and
both the young people wondered what was to come next,—
the idea that Pathfinder could have any weight on his conscience,
seeming equally improbable to each.
“Mabel,” our hero at length resumed, “we must talk
plainly to each other, afore we join your uncle in the cutter,
where the Salt-water has slept every night since the last
rally; for he says it 's the only place in which a man can be
sure of keeping the hair on his head, he does—Ah 's me!
what have I to do with these follies and sayings, now? I try
to be pleasant, and to feel light-hearted, but the power of man
can't make water run up stream. Mabel, you know that the
sarjeant, afore he left us, had settled it atween us two, that
we were to become man and wife, and that we were to live
together, and to love one another as long as the Lord was
pleased to keep us both on 'arth; yes, and afterwards, too?”
Mabel's cheeks had regained a little of their ancient bloom,
in the fresh air of the morning; but at this unlooked-for address
they blanched again, nearly to the pallid hue which
grief had imprinted there. Still she looked kindly, though
seriously, at Pathfinder, and even endeavoured to force a
smile.
“Very true, my excellent friend,”—she answered—“this
was my poor father's wish, and I feel certain that a whole
life devoted to your welfare and comforts, could scarcely repay
you for all you have done for us.”
“I fear me, Mabel, that man and wife needs be bound together
by a stronger tie than such feelings, I do. You have
done nothing for me, or nothing of any account, and yet my
very heart yearns towards you, it does; and therefore it
seems likely that these feelings come from something besides
saving scalps and guiding through woods.”
Mabel's cheek had begun to glow again; and, though she
struggled hard to smile, her voice trembled a little, as she
answered.
“Had we not better postpone this conversation, Pathfinder?”
she said; “we are not alone; and nothing is so
unpleasant to a listener, they say, as family matters in which
he feels no interest.”
“It 's because we are not alone, Mabel, or rather because
Jasper is with us, that I wish to talk of this matter. The
sarjeant believed I might make a suitable companion for
you; and, though I had misgivings about it—yes, I had
many misgivings—he finally persuaded me into the idee, and
things came round atween us, as you know. But, when you
promised your father to marry me, Mabel, and gave me your
hand, so modestly, but so prettily, there was one circumstance,
as your uncle called it, that you didn't know; and
I 've thought it right to tell you what it is, before matters are
finally settled. I 've often taken a poor deer for my dinner,
when good venison was not to be found; but it 's as nat'ral
not to take up with the worst, when the best may be had.”
“You speak in a way, Pathfinder, that is difficult to be
understood. If this conversation is really necessary, I trust
you will be more plain.”
“Well, then, Mabel, I 've been thinking it was quite
likely when you gave in to the sarjeant's wishes, that you
you?”
“Pathfinder!”—and Mabel's cheek now paled to the livid
hue of death; then it flushed to the tint of crimson; and her
whole frame shuddered. Pathfinder, however, was too intent
on his own object, to notice this agitation; and Eau-douce
had hidden his face in his hands, in time to shut out
its view.
“I 've been talking with the lad; and, on comparing his
dreams with my dreams, his feelings with my feelings, and
his wishes with my wishes, I fear we think too much alike,
concerning you, for both of us to be very happy.”
“Pathfinder—you forget—you should remember that we
are betrothed!” said Mabel, hastily, and in a voice so low,
that it required acute attention in the listeners to catch the
syllables. Indeed, the last word was not quite intelligible to
the guide, and he confessed his ignorance by the usual—
“Anan?”
“You forget that we are to be married; and such allusions
are improper, as well as painful.”
“Every thing is proper that is right, Mabel; and every
thing is right that leads to justice and fair dealing: though
it is painful enough, as you say; as I find on trial, I do.
Now, Mabel, had you known that Eau-douce thinks of you
in this way, maybe you never would have consented to be
married to one as old and as uncomely as I am.”
“Why this cruel trial, Pathfinder? To what can all this
lead? Jasper Western thinks no such thing: he says nothing—he
feels nothing.”
“Mabel!” burst from out of the young man's lips, in a way
to betray the uncontrollable nature of his emotions, though he
uttered not another syllable.
Mabel buried her face in both her hands; and the two sat
like a pair of guilty beings, suddenly detected in the commission
of some crime that involved the happiness of a common
patron. At that instant, perhaps, Jasper himself was inclined
to deny his passion, through an extreme unwillingness to
grieve his friend; while Mabel, on whom this positive announcement
of a fact that she had rather unconsciously
hoped than believed, came so unexpectedly, felt her mind
momentarily bewildered; and she scarce knew whether to
Eau-douce could utter naught that would be disingenuous, or
that would pain his friend.
“Pathfinder,” she said, “you talk wildly. Why mention
this at all?”
“Well, Mabel, if I talk wildly, I am half wild, you know;
by natur', I fear, as well as by habit.” As he said this, he
endeavoured to laugh in his usual noiseless way, but the effect
produced a strange and discordant sound; and it appeared
nearly to choke him. “Yes, I must be wild; I 'll not
attempt to deny it.”
“Dearest Pathfinder!—my best, almost my only friend!
you cannot, do not think I intended to say that!” interrupted
Mabel, almost breathless in her haste to relieve his mortification—“If
courage, truth, nobleness of soul and conduct,
unyielding principles and a hundred other excellent qualities
can render any man respectable, esteemed, or beloved, your
claims are inferior to those of no other human being.”
“What tender and bewitching voices they have, Jasper!”
resumed the guide, now laughing freely and naturally —
“Yes, natur' seems to have made them on purpose to sing
in our ears, when the music of the woods is silent! But we
must come to a right understanding, we must. I ask you
again, Mabel, if you had known that Jasper Western loves
you as well as I do, or better perhaps—though that is scarce
possible,—that in his dreams he sees your face in the water
of the lake; that he talks to you, and of you, in his sleep;
fancies all that is beautiful like Mabel Dunham, and all that
is good and virtuous; believes he never knowed happiness
until he knowed you; could kiss the ground on which you
have trod, and forgets all the joys of his calling, to think of
you and of the delight of gazing at your beauty, and in listening
to your voice, would you then have consented to marry me?”
Mabel could not have answered this question, if she
would, but, though her face was buried in her hands, the tint
of the rushing blood was visible between the openings, and
the suffusion seemed to impart itself to her very fingers.
Still nature asserted her power, for there was a single instant
when the astonished, almost terrified girl stole a glance at
Jasper, as if distrusting Pathfinder's history of his feelings,
read the truth of all he said in that furtive look, and instantly
for ever.
“Take time to think, Mabel,” the guide continued, “for it
is a solemn thing to accept one man for a husband, while the
thoughts and wishes lead to another. Jasper and I have
talked this matter over, freely and like old friends, and though
I always knowed that we viewed most things pretty much
alike, I couldn't have thought that we regarded any particular
object with the very same eyes, as it might be, until we
opened our minds to each other about you. Now, Jasper
owns that the very first time he beheld you, he thought you
the sweetest and winningestest creatur' he had ever met; that
your voice sounded like murmuring water in his ears; that
he fancied his sails were your garments, fluttering in the
wind; that your laugh haunted him in his sleep; and that,
ag'in and ag'in, has he started up affrighted, because he has
fancied some one wanted to force you out of the Scud, where
he imagined you had taken up your abode. Nay, the lad has
even acknowledged that he often weeps, at the thought that
you are likely to spend your days with another, and not with
him.”
“Jasper!”
“It 's solemn truth, Mabel, and it 's right you should know
it. Now stand up, and choose atween us. I do believe Eau-douce
loves you as well as I do myself; he has tried to persuade
me that he loves you better, but that I will not allow,
for I do not think it possible; but I will own the boy loves
you, heart and soul, and he has a good right to be heard.
The sarjeant left me your protector, and not your tyrant. I
told him that I would be a father to you, as well as a husband,
and it seems to me no feeling father would deny his
child this small privilege. Stand up, Mabel, therefore, and
speak your thoughts as freely as if I were the sarjeant himself,
seeking your good, and nothing else.”
Mabel dropped her hands, arose, and stood face to face
with her two suitors, though the flush that was on her cheeks
was feverish, the evidence of excitement, rather than of
shame.
“What would you have, Pathfinder?” she asked: “Have
I not already promised my poor father to do all you desire?”
“Then I desire this. Here I stand, a man of the forest,
my desarts, and I 'll do my endivours to do justice to both
sides. In the first place, it is allowed that so far as feelings
in your behalf are consarned, we love you just the same;
Jasper thinks his feelings must be the strongest, but this I
cannot say, in honesty, for it doesn't seem to me that it can
be true; else I would frankly and freely confess it, I would.
So in this particular, Mabel, we are here before you, on equal
tarms. As for myself, being the oldest, I 'll first say what
little can be produced in my favour, as well as ag'in it. As
a hunter, I do think there is no man near the lines that can
outdo me. If venison, or bear's meat, or even birds and fish,
should ever be scarce in our cabin, it would be more likely
to be owing to natur' and Providence, than to any fault of
mine. In short, it does seem to me, that the woman who depended
on me, would never be likely to want for food. But,
I 'm fearful ignorant! It 's true, I speak several tongues,
such as they be, while I 'm very far from being expart at my
own. Then, my years are greater than your own, Mabel;
and the circumstance that I was so long the sarjeant's comrade,
can be no great merit in your eyes. I wish, too, I was
more comely, I do; but we are all as natur' made us, and
the last thing that a man ought to lament, except on very
special occasions, is his looks. When all is remembered,
age, looks, larning and habits, Mabel, conscience tells me I
ought to confess that I 'm altogether unfit for you, if not
downright unworthy; and I would give up the hope, this
minute, I would, if I didn't feel something pulling at my
heart strings which seems hard to undo.”
“Pathfinder! — noble, generous Pathfinder!”—cried our
heroine, seizing his hand, and kissing it with a species of
holy reverence; “you do yourself injustice—you forget my
poor father and your promise—you do not know me!”
“Now, here 's Jasper,” continued the guide, without allowing
the girl's caresses to win him from his purpose; “with
him, the case is different. In the way of providing, as in
that of loving, there 's not much to choose atween us, for
the lad is frugal, industrious and careful. Then he is quite
a scholar—knows the tongue of the Frenchers—reads many
books, and some, I know, that you like to read yourself—
than I can say for myself.”
“What of all this” — interrupted Mabel, impatiently —
“why speak of it now—why speak of it, at all?”
“Then the lad has a manner of letting his thoughts be
known, that I fear I can never equal. If there 's any thing
on 'arth that would make my tongue bold and persuading,
Mabel, I do think it 's yourself; and yet, in our late conversations,
Jasper has outdone me, even on this point, in a
way to make me ashamed of myself. He has told me how
simple you were, and how true-hearted, and kind-hearted;
and how you looked down upon vanities, for though you
might be the wife of more than one officer, as he thinks, that
you cling to feeling, and would rather be true to yourself,
and natur', than a colonel's lady. He fairly made my
blood warm, he did, when he spoke of your having beauty
without seeming ever to have looked upon it, and the manner
in which you moved about like a young fa'an, so nat'ral and
graceful like, without knowing it; and the truth and justice
of your idees, and the warmth and generosity of your
heart—”
“Jasper!” interrupted Mabel, giving way to feelings that
had gathered an ungovernable force by being so long pent,
and falling into the young man's willing arms, weeping like
a child, and almost as helpless. “Jasper!—Jasper!—why
have you kept this from me?”
The answer of Eau-douce was not very intelligible, nor
was the murmured dialogue that followed, remarkable for coherency.
But the language of affection is easily understood.
The hour that succeeded, passed like a very few minutes of
ordinary life, so far as a computation of time was concerned;
and when Mabel recollected herself, and bethought
her of the existence of others, her uncle was pacing the cutter's
deck in great impatience, and wondering why Jasper
should be losing so much of a favourable wind. Her first
thought was of him, who was so likely to feel the recent betrayal
of her real emotions.
“Oh! Jasper!” she exclaimed, like one suddenly self-convicted—“the
Pathfinder!”
Eau-douce fairly trembled, not with unmanly apprehension,
but with the painful conviction of the pang he had given
of seeing his person. But Pathfinder had withdrawn,
with a tact and a delicacy, that might have done credit to
the sensibility and breeding of a courtier. For several
minutes the two lovers sate, silently waiting his return, uncertain
what propriety required of them, under circumstances
so marked, and so peculiar. At length they beheld their
friend advancing slowly towards them, with a thoughtful and
even pensive air.
“I now understand what you meant, Jasper, by speaking
without a tongue, and hearing without an ear,” he said, when
close enough to the tree to be heard. “Yes, I understand it,
now, I do, and a very pleasant sort of discourse it is, when
one can hold it with Mabel Dunham. Ah's me!—I told the
sarjeant I wasn't fit for her; that I was too old, too ignorant,
and too wild, like—but he would have it otherwise.”
Jasper and Mabel sate, resembling Milton's picture of our
first parents, when the consciousness of sin first laid its leaden
weight on their souls. Neither spoke, neither even moved;
though both, at that moment, fancied they could part with
their new-found happiness, in order to restore their friend to
his peace of mind. Jasper was pale as death; but, in Mabel,
maiden modesty had caused the blood to mantle on her cheeks,
until their bloom was heightened to a richness that was scarce
equalled in her hours of light-hearted buoyancy and joy.
As the feeling, which, in her sex, always accompanies the
security of love returned, threw its softness and tenderness
over her countenance, she was singularly beautiful. Pathfinder
gazed at her, with an intentness he did not endeavour
to conceal, and then he fairly laughed in his own way, and
with a sort of wild exultation, as men that are untutored are
wont to express their delight. This momentary indulgence,
however, was expiated by the pang that followed the sudden
consciousness that this glorious young creature was lost to
him for ever. It required a full minute for this simple-minded
being to recover from the shock of this conviction; and
then he recovered his dignity of manner, speaking with
gravity—almost with solemnity.
“I have always known, Mabel Dunham, that men have
their gifts,” he said; “but I 'd forgotten that it did not
belong to mine, to please the young, and beautiful, and
and if it was, I 've been heavily punished for it, I have. Nay,
Mabel, I know what you'd say, but it's unnecessary; I feel
it all, and that is as good as if I heard it all. I 've had a
bitter hour, Mabel—I 've had a very bitter hour, lad—”
“Hour!” echoed Mabel, as the other first used the word;
the tell-tale blood, which had begun to ebb towards her heart,
rushing again tumultuously to her very temples. “Surely
not an hour, Pathfinder!”
“Hour!” exclaimed Jasper, at the same instant—“no—
no—my worthy friend, it is not ten minutes since you left
us!”
“Well, it may be so; though to me it has seemed to be
a day. I begin to think, however, that the happy count time
by minutes, and the miserable count it by months. But we
will talk no more of this; it is all over now, and many words
about it, will make you no happier, while they will only tell
me what I 've lost; and quite likely how much I desarved to
lose her. No—no—Mabel, 'tis useless to interrupt me; I
admit it all, and your gainsaying it, though it be so well
meant, cannot change my mind. Well, Jasper, she is yours;
and though it's hard to think it, I do believe you 'll make her
happier than I could, for your gifts are better suited to do so,
though I would have strived hard to do as much, if I know
myself, I would. I ought to have known better than to believe
the sarjeant; and I ought to have put faith in what Mabel
told me at the head of the lake, for reason and judgment
might have shown me its truth; but it is so pleasant to think
what we wish, and mankind so easily over-persuade us, when
we over-persuade ourselves. But what's the use in talking
of it, as I said afore? It's true, Mabel seemed to be consenting,
though it all came from a wish to please her father, and
from being skeary about the savages—”
“Pathfinder!”
“I understand you, Mabel, and have no hard feelings, I
hav'n't. I sometimes think I should like to live in your neighbourhood,
that I might look at your happiness; but on the
whole, it's better I should quit the 55th altogether, and go
back to the 60th, which is my natyve rijement, as it might
be. It would have been better, perhaps, had I never left it,
though my sarvices were much wanted in this quarter, and
for instance, when he was in another corps. Still,
Jasper, I do not regret that I 've known you—”
“And me, Pathfinder!” impetuously interrupted Mabel—
“do you regret having known me?—could I think so, I should
never be at peace with myself!”
“You, Mabel!” returned the guide, taking the hand of our
heroine, and looking up into her countenance with guileless
simplicity, but earnest affection—“how could I be sorry that
a ray of the sun came across the gloom of a cheerless day?
that light has broken in upon darkness, though it remained
so short a time! I do not flatter myself with being able
to march quite as light-hearted, as I once used to could, or
to sleep as sound, for some time to come; but I shall always
remember how near I was to being undesarvedly happy, I
shall. So far from blaming you, Mabel, I only blame myself
for being so vain as to think it possible I could please
such a creatur'; for, sartainly, you told me how it was, when
we talked it over, on the mountain, and I ought to have believed
you, then; for I do suppose it's nat'ral that young
women should know their own minds better than their fathers.
Ah's me! It's settled now, and nothing remains but for me
to take leave of you, that you may depart; I feel that Master
Cap must be impatient, and there is danger of his coming
on shore to look for us all.”
“To take leave!” exclaimed Mabel.
“Leave!” echoed Jasper: “you do not mean to quit us,
my friend?”
“'Tis best, Mabel—'tis altogether best, Eau-douce; and
it 's wisest. I could live and die in your company, if I only
followed feeling; but, if I follow reason, I shall quit you
here. You will go back to Oswego, and become man and
wife as soon as you arrive; for all that is determined with
Master Cap, who hankers after the sea again, and who
knows what is to happen: while I shall return to the wilderness
and my Maker. Come, Mabel,” continued Pathfinder,
rising, and drawing nearer to our heroine, with grave
decorum, “kiss me. Jasper will not grudge me one kiss:
then we'll part.”
“Oh! Pathfinder,” exclaimed Mabel, falling into the arms
of the guide, and kissing his cheeks again and again, with a
while held to the bosom of Jasper—“God bless you, dearest
Pathfinder! You will come to us hereafter. We shall see
you again. When old, you will come to our dwelling, and
let me be a daughter to you?”
“Yes—that 's it”—returned the guide, almost gasping for
breath: “I 'll try to think of it in that way. You 're
more befitting to be my daughter, than to be my wife; you
are. Farewell, Jasper. Now we 'll go to the canoe; it 's
time you were on board.”
The manner in which Pathfinder led the way to the shore,
was solemn and calm. As soon as he reached the canoe,
he again took Mabel by the hands, held her at the length of
his own arms, and gazed wistfully into her face, until the
unbidden tears rolled out of the fountains of feeling, and
trickled down his rugged cheeks in streams.
“Bless me, Pathfinder;” said Mabel, kneeling reverently
at his feet. “Oh! at least bless me, before we part.”
That untutored, but noble-minded being, did as she desired;
and, aiding her to enter the canoe, seemed to tear himself
away as one snaps a strong and obstinate cord. Before
he retired, however, he took Jasper by the arm, and led him
a little aside, when he spoke as follows:—
“You 're kind of heart, and gentle by natur', Jasper; but
we are both rough and wild, in comparison with that dear
creatur'. Be careful of her, and never show the roughness
of man's natur' to her soft disposition. You 'll get to understand
her, in time; and the Lord who governs the lake and
the forest alike—who looks upon virtue with a smile, and
upon vice with a frown—keep you happy, and worthy to
be so!”
Pathfinder made a sign for his friend to depart; and he
stood leaning on his rifle, until the canoe had reached the
side of the Scud. Mabel wept as if her heart would break;
nor did her eyes once turn from the open spot in the glade,
where the form of the Pathfinder was to be seen, until the
cutter had passed a point that completely shut out the island.
When last in view, the sinewy frame of this extraordinary
man was as motionless as if it were a statue set up in that
solitary place, to commemorate the scenes of which it had so
lately been the witness.
| CHAPTER XIV. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea | |