University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Pathfinder was accustomed to solitude; but, when the
Scud had actually disappeared, he was almost overcome
with a sense of his loneliness. Never before had he been
conscious of his isolated condition in the world; for his feelings
had gradually been accustoming themselves to the blandishments
and wants of social life; particularly as the last
were connected with the domestic affections. Now, all had
vanished, as it might be, in one moment; and he was left
equally without companions, and without hope. Even Chingachgook
had left him, though it was but temporarily; still
his presence was missed at the precise instant which might be
termed the most critical in our hero's life.

Pathfinder stood leaning on his rifle, in the attitude described
in the last chapter, a long time after the Scud had
disappeared. The rigidity of his limbs seemed permanent;
and none but a man accustomed to put his muscles to the
severest proof, could have maintained that posture, with its
marble-like inflexibility, for so great a length of time. At
length, he moved away from the spot; the motion of the
body being preceded by a sigh that seemed to heave up from
the very depths of his bosom.

It was a peculiarity of this extraordinary being, that his
senses and his limbs, for all practical purposes, were never
at fault, let the mind be pre-occupied with other interests, as
much as it might. On the present occasion, neither of these
great auxiliaries failed him; but, though his thoughts were
exclusively occupied with Mabel, her beauty, her preference
of Jasper, her tears and her departure, he moved in a direct
line to the spot where June still remained, which was the
grave of her husband. The conversation that followed passed
in the language of the Tuscaroras, which Pathfinder spoke
fluently; but, as that tongue is understood only by the extremely

learned, we shall translate it freely into the English;
preserving, as far as possible, the tone of thought of each
interlocutor, as well as the peculiarities of manner.

June had suffered her hair to fall about her face, had taken
a seat on a stone that had been dug from the excavation
made by the grave, and was hanging over the spot that contained
the body of Arrowhead, unconscious of the presence
of any other. She believed, indeed, that all had left the
island but herself, and the tread of the guide's moccasined
foot was too noiseless, rudely to undeceive her.

Pathfinder stood gazing at the woman, for several minutes,
in mute attention. The contemplation of her grief, the recollection
of her irreparable loss, and the view of her desolation,
produced a healthful influence on his own feelings;
his reason telling him how much deeper lay the sources of
grief, in a young wife, who was suddenly and violently deprived
of her husband, than in himself.

“Dew of June,” he said, solemnly, but with an earnestness
that denoted the strength of his sympathy—“you are
not alone in your sorrow. Turn, and let your eyes look upon
a friend.”

“June has no longer any friend!” the woman answered:
“Arrowhead has gone to the happy hunting-grounds, and
there is no one left to care for June. The Tuscaroras would
chase her from their wigwams; the Iroquois are hateful in
her eyes, and she could not look at them. No!—leave June
to starve over the grave of her husband.”

“This will never do—this will never do. 'T is ag'in reason
and right. You believe in the Manitou, June?”

“He has hid his face from June, because he is angry. He
has left her alone, to die.”

“Listen to one, who has had a long acquaintance with red
natur', though he has a white birth, and white gifts. When
the Manitou of a pale-face wishes to produce good in a pale-face
heart, he strikes it with grief, for it is in our sorrows,
June, that we look with the truest eyes into ourselves, and
with the farthest-sighted eyes too, as respects right. The
Great Spirit wishes you well, and he has taken away the
chief, lest you should be led astray, by his wily tongue, and
get to be a Mingo in your disposition, as you were already
in your company.”

“Arrowhead was a great chief!” returned the woman,
proudly.

“He had his merits, he had; and he had his demerits, too.
But, June, you 're not desarted, nor will you be soon. Let
your grief out—let it out, according to natur', and when the
proper time comes, I shall have more to say to you.”

Pathfinder now went to his own canoe, and he left the
island. In the course of the day, June heard the crack of
his rifle, once or twice; and as the sun was setting, he re-appeared,
bringing her birds ready cooked, and of a delicacy
and flavour that might have tempted the appetite of an epicure.
This species of intercourse lasted a month, June obstinately
refusing to abandon the grave of her husband, all
that time, though she still accepted the friendly offerings of
her protector. Occasionally they met and conversed, Pathfinder
sounding the state of the woman's feelings; but the
interviews were short, and far from frequent. June slept in
one of the huts, and she laid down her head in security, for
she was conscious of the protection of a friend, though Pathfinder
invariably retired at night, to an adjacent island, where
he had built himself a hut.

At the end of the month, however, the season was getting
to be too far advanced to render her situation pleasant to
June. The trees had lost their leaves, and the nights were
becoming cold and wintry. It was time to depart.

At this moment, Chingachgook re-appeared. He had a
long and confidential interview on the island, with his friend.
June witnessed their movements, and she saw that her guardian
was distressed. Stealing to his side, she endeavoured
to soothe his sorrow, with a woman's gentleness, and with a
woman's instinct.

“Thank you, June — thank you”—he said—“'t is well
meant, though it 's useless. But it is time to quit this place.
To-morrow, we shall depart. You will go with us, for now
you 've got to feel reason.”

June assented in the meek manner of an Indian woman,
and she withdrew to pass the remainder of her time, near
the grave of Arrowhead. Regardless of the hour and the
season, the young widow did not pillow her head during the
whole of that autumnal night. She sat near the spot that
held the remains of her husband, and prayed, in the manner

of her people, for his success on the endless path on
which he had so lately gone, and for their reunion in the
land of the just. Humble and degraded as she would have
seemed in the eyes of the sophisticated and unreflecting, the
image of God was on her soul, and it vindicated its divine
origin by aspirations and feelings that would have surprised
those who, feigning more, feel less.

In the morning the three departed; Pathfinder earnest and
intelligent in all he did, the Great Serpent silent and imitative,
and June meek, resigned, but sorrowful. They went in
two canoes, that of the woman being abandoned. Chingachgook
led the way, and Pathfinder followed, the course
being up stream. Two days they paddled westward, and as
many nights they encamped on islands. Fortunately the
weather became mild, and when they reached the lake, it
was found smooth, and glassy as a pond. It was the Indian
summer, and the calms, and almost the blandness of June,
slept in the hazy atmosphere.

On the morning of the third day, they passed the mouth
of the Oswego, where the fort and the sleeping ensign invited
them in vain to enter. Without casting a look aside,
Chingachgook paddled past the dark waters of the river, and
Pathfinder still followed, in silent industry. The ramparts
were crowded with spectators; but Lundie, who knew the
persons of his old friends, refused to allow them to be even
hailed.

It was noon, when Chingachgook entered a little bay,
where the Scud lay at anchor, in a sort of road-stead. A
small, ancient clearing was on the shore, and near the margin
of the lake, was a log dwelling, recently and completely,
though rudely fitted up. There was an air of frontier comfort,
and of frontier abundance around the place, though it
was necessarily wild and solitary. Jasper stood on the shore;
and when Pathfinder landed, he was the first to take him by
the hand. The meeting was simple, but very cordial. No
questions were asked, it being apparent that Chingachgook
had made the necessary explanations. Pathfinder never
squeezed his friend's hand more cordially, than in this interview;
and he even laughed cordially in his face, as he told
him how happy and well he appeared.

“Where is she, Jasper—where is she?” the guide at

length whispered; for, at first, he had seemed to be afraid to
trust himself with the question.

“She is waiting for us in the house, my dear friend, where
you see that June has already hastened before us.”

“June may use a lighter step to meet Mabel, but she cannot
carry a lighter heart. And so, lad, you found the chaplain
at the garrison, and all was soon settled?”

“We were married within a week after we left you, and
Master Cap departed next day—you have forgotten to inquire
about your friend, Salt-water—”

“Not I—not I. The Sarpent has told me all that; and
then I love to hear so much of Mabel and her happiness, I
do. Did the child smile, or did she weep when the ceremony
was over?”

“She did both, my friend; but—”

“Yes, that's their natur'; tearful and cheerful. Ah's me!
they are very pleasant to us of the woods; and I do believe,
I should think all right, whatever Mabel might do. And do
you think, Jasper, that she thought of me, at all, on that joyful
occasion?”

“I know she did, Pathfinder; and she thinks of you, and
talks of you daily—almost hourly. None love you, as we
do!”

“I know few love me better than yourself, Jasper. Chingachgook
is, perhaps, now the only creatur' of whom I can
say that. Well, there's no use in putting it off any longer;
it must be done, and may as well be done at once; so, Jasper,
lead the way, and I 'll endivour to look upon her sweet
countenance, once more.”

Jasper did lead the way, and they were soon in the presence
of Mabel. The latter met her late suitor, with a bright
blush, and her limbs trembled so, she could hardly stand.
Still, her manner was affectionate and frank. During the
hour of Pathfinder's visit, for it lasted no longer, though he
ate in the dwelling of his friends, one who was expert in
tracing the workings of the human mind, might have seen a
faithful index to the feelings of Mabel, in her manner to Pathfinder
and her husband. With the latter, she still had a little
of the reserve that usually accompanies young wedlock; but
the tones of her voice were kinder, even than common; the
glance of her eye was tender, and she seldom looked at him

without the glow that tinged her cheeks, betraying the existence
of feelings that habit and time had not yet soothed
into absolute tranquillity. With Pathfinder, all was earnest,
sincere—even anxious; but the tones never trembled, the eye
never fell, and if the cheek flushed, it was with the emotions
that are connected with concern.

At length the moment came, when Pathfinder must go his
way. Chingachgook had already abandoned the canoes, and
was posted on the margin of the woods, where a path led into
the forest. Here he calmly waited to be joined by his friend.
As soon as the latter was aware of this fact, he rose in a
solemn manner, and took his leave.

“I 've sometimes thought that my own fate has been a
little hard,” he said, “but that of this woman, Mabel, has
shamed me into reason—”

“June remains, and lives with me,” eagerly interrupted
our heroine.

“So I comprehend it. If any body can bring her back
from her grief, and make her wish to live, you can do it, Mabel,
though I 've misgivings about even your success. The
poor creatur' is without a tribe, as well as without a husband,
and it 's not easy to reconcile the feelings to both losses.
Ah's me!—what have I to do with other people's miseries,
and marriages, as if I hadn't affliction enough of my own?
Don 't speak to me, Mabel—don 't speak to me,Jasper—let
me go my way, in peace and like a man. I 've seen your
happiness, and that is a great deal, and I shall be able to
bear my own sorrow, all the better for it. No—I 'll never
kiss you ag'in, Mabel; I 'll never kiss you ag'in—Here 's my
hand, Jasper—squeeze it, boy, squeeze it; no fear of its giving
way, for it 's the hand of a man—and, now Mabel do you
take it,—nay, you must not do this—” preventing Mabel
from kissing it, and bathing it in her tears—“you must not
do this—”

“Pathfinder—” asked Mabel; “when shall we see you,
again?”

“I 've thought of that too; yes, I 've thought of that, I
have. If the time should ever come when I can look upon
you altogether as a sister, Mabel, or a child—it might be
better to say a child, since you 're young enough to be my
daughter—depend on it, I 'll come back; for it would lighten

my very heart to witness your gladness. But if I cannot—
farewell—farewell—the sarjeant was wrong—yes, the sarjeant
was wrong!”

This was the last the Pathfinder ever uttered to the ears of
Jasper Western and Mabel Dunham. He turned away, as if the
words choked him; and was quickly at the side of his friend.
As soon as the latter saw him approach, he shouldered his
own burthen, and glided in among the trees, without waiting
to be spoken to. Mabel, her husband, and June, all watched
the form of the Pathfinder, in the hope of receiving a parting
gesture, or a stolen glance of the eye; but he did not look
back. Once or twice, they thought they saw his head shake,
as one trembles in bitterness of spirit; and a toss of the hand
was given, as if he knew that he was watched; but a tread
whose vigour no sorrow could enfeeble, soon bore him out of
view, and he was lost in the depths of the forest.

Neither Jasper nor his wife ever beheld the Pathfinder
again. They remained for another year on the banks of
Ontario; and then the pressing solicitations of Cap induced
them to join him in New York, where Jasper eventually
became a successful and respected merchant. Thrice Mabel
received valuable presents of furs, at intervals of years; and
her feelings told her whence they came, though no name
accompanied the gift. Later in life, still, when the mother
of several youths, she had occasion to visit the interior; and
found herself on the banks of the Mohawk, accompanied by
her sons, the eldest of whom was capable of being her protector.
On that occasion, she observed a man, in a singular
guise, watching her in the distance, with an intentness
that induced her to inquire into his pursuits and character.
She was told he was the most renowned hunter of that portion
of the State—it was after the Revolution—a being of
great purity of character, and of as marked peculiarities; and
that he was known in that region of country by the name of
the Leather-stocking. Further than this, Mrs. Western could
not ascertain; though the distant glimpse, and singular deportment
of this unknown hunter, gave her a sleepless night,
and cast a shade of melancholy over her still lovely face, that
lasted many a day.

As for June, the double loss of husband and tribe produced
the effect that Pathfinder had foreseen. She died in the cottage

of Mabel, on the shores of the lake; and Jasper conveyed
her body to the island; where he interred it by the side
of that of Arrowhead.

Lundie lived to marry his ancient love; and retired a
war-worn and battered veteran: but his name has been rendered
illustrious in our own time, by the deeds of a younger
brother, who succeeded to his territorial title, which, however,
was shortly after merged in one earned by his valour on the
ocean.