 | CHAPTER IV. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
A happy rural seat of various view.”
— Milton.
Mabel was in waiting on the beach, and the canoe was
soon launched. Pathfinder carried the party out through the
surf, in the same skilful manner as he had brought it in, and,
though Mabel's colour heightened with excitement, and her
heart seemed often ready to leap out of her mouth again,
they reached the side of the Scud without having received
even a drop of spray.
Ontario is like a quick-tempered man, sudden to be angered,
and as soon appeased. The sea had already fallen, and
though the breakers bounded the shore, far as the eye could
reach, it was merely in lines of brightness, that appeared and
vanished, like the returning waves produced by a stone that
had been dropped into a pool. The cable of the Scud was
scarce seen above the water, and Jasper had already hoisted
his sails, in readiness to depart, as soon as the expected
breeze from the shore should fill the canvass.
It was just sun-set, as the cutter's mainsail flapped, and its
stem began to sever the water. The air was light and southerly,
and the head of the vessel was kept looking up along
the south shore, it being the intention to get to the eastward
again, as fast as possible. The night that succeeded was
quiet, and the rest of those who slept, deep and tranquil.
Some difficulty occurred concerning the command of the
vessel, but the matter had been finally settled by an amicable
compromise. As the distrust of Jasper was far from
being appeased, Cap retained a supervisory power, while
the young man was allowed to work the craft, subject, at all
times, to the control and interference of the old seaman.
To this Jasper consented, in preference to exposing Mabel
any longer to the dangers of their present situation; for, now
that the violence of the elements had ceased, he well knew
that the Montcalm would be in search of them. He had the
discretion, however, not to reveal his apprehensions on this
head, for it happened that the very means he deemed the best
to awaken new suspicions of his honesty, in the minds of
those who held the power to defeat his intentions. In other
words, Jasper believed that the gallant young Frenchman,
who commanded the ship of the enemy, would quit his anchorage
under the fort at Niagara, and stand up the lake, as
soon as the wind abated, in order to ascertain the fate of the
Scud; keeping mid-way between the two shores, as the best
means of commanding a broad view; and that, on his part,
it would be expedient to hug one coast or the other, not only
to avoid a meeting, but as affording a chance of passing without
detection, by blending his sails and spars with objects on
the land. He preferred the south, because it was the weather
shore, and because he thought it was that which the enemy
would the least expect him to take, though it necessarily led
near his settlements, and in front of one of the strongest posts
he held in that part of the world.
Of all this however, Cap was happily ignorant, and the
serjeant's mind was too much occupied with the details of his
military trust to enter into these niceties, which so properly
belonged to another profession. No opposition was made,
therefore, and, ere morning, Jasper had apparently dropped
quietly into all his former authority, issuing his orders freely,
and meeting with obedience without hesitation or cavil.
The appearance of day, brought all on board on deck
again, and, as is usual with adventurers on the water, the
opening horizon was curiously examined, as objects started
out of the obscurity, and the panorama brightened under the
growing light. East, west, and north, nothing was visible
but water, glittering in the rising sun; but southward, stretched
the endless belt of woods, that then held Ontario in a setting
of forest verdure. Suddenly an opening appeared ahead,
and then the massive walls of a château-looking house, with
outworks, bastions, block-houses, and palisadoes, frowned on
a head-land, that bordered the outlet of a broad stream.
Just as the fort became visible, a little cloud rose over it, and
the white ensign of France was seen fluttering from a lofty
flag-staff.
Cap gave an ejaculation as he witnessed this ungrateful
exhibition, and he cast a quick suspicious glance at his brother-in-law.
“The dirty table-cloth hung up to air, as my name is
Charles Cap!” he muttered, “and we hugging this d—d
shore, as if it were our wife and children, met on the return
from an India v'y'ge! Harkee, Jasper, are you in search
of a cargo of frogs, that you keep so near in to this New
France?”
“I hug the land, sir, in the hope of passing the enemy's
ship without being seen, for I think she must be somewhere
down here to leeward.”
“Ay, ay; this sounds well, and I hope it may turn out as
you say. I trust there is no under-tow here?”
“We are on a weather shore, now,” said Jasper, smiling;
“and, I think you will admit, Master Cap, that a strong under-tow
makes an easy cable: we owe all our lives to the under-tow
of this very lake.”
“French flummery!” growled Cap, though he did not care
to be heard by Jasper. “Give me a fair, honest, English-Yankee-American
tow, above board, and above water too, if
I must have a tow at all, and none of your sneaking drift
that is below the surface, where one can neither see nor feel.
I dare say, if the truth could be come at, that this late escape
of ours was all a contrived affair.”
“We have now a good opportunity, at least, to reconnoitre
the enemy's post at Niagara, brother, for such I take this fort
to be,” put in the serjeant. “Let us be all eyes in passing,
and remember that we are almost in face of the enemy.”
This advice of the serjeant's needed nothing to enforce it,
for the interest and novelty of passing a spot occupied by
human beings, were of themselves sufficient to attract deep
attention in that scene of a vast but deserted nature. The
wind was now fresh enough to urge the Scud through the
water with considerable velocity, and Jasper eased her helm
as she opened the river, and luffed nearly into the mouth of
that noble strait, or river, as it is termed. A dull, distant,
heavy roar came down through the opening in the banks,
swelling on the currents of the air, like the deeper notes of
some immense organ, and occasionally seeming to cause the
earth, itself, to tremble.
“That sounds like surf on some long unbroken coast!”
exclaimed Cap, as a swell, deeper than common came to his
ears.
“Ay, that is such surf as we have in this quarter of the
world,” Pathfinder answered. “There is no under-tow there,
Master Cap, but all the water that strikes the rocks stays
there, so far as going back ag'in is consarned. That is old
Niagara that you hear, or this noble stream tumbling down a
mountain!”
“No one will have the impudence to pretend that this
fine broad river falls over yonder hills?”
“It does, Master Cap, it does; and all for the want of
stairs, or a road, to come down by. This is natur', as we
have it up hereaway, though I dare say you beat us down on
the ocean. Ah's me! Mabel; a pleasant hour it would be if
we could walk on the shore some ten or fifteen miles up this
stream, and gaze on all that God has done there!”
“You have, then, seen these renowned falls, Pathfinder?”
the girl eagerly enquired.
“I have—yes, I have; and an awful sight I witnessed at
that same time. The Sarpent and I were out, scouting about
the garrison there, when he told me that the traditions of his
people gave an account of a mighty cataract in this neighbourhood,
and he asked me to vary from the line of march a
little to look at the wonder. I had heard some marvels consarning
the spot, from the soldiers of the 60th, which is my
nat'ral corps, like, and not the 55th, with which I have sojourned
so much of late, but there are so many terrible liars
in all rijiments, that I hardly believed half they had told me.
Well, we went; and though we expected to be led by our
ears, and to hear some of that awful roaring that we hear
to-day, we were disappointed, for natur' was not then speaking
in thunder, as she is this morning. Thus it is, in the
forest, Master Cap; there being moments when God seems to
be walking abroad in power, and then, again, there is a calm
over all, as if his spirit lay in quiet along the 'arth. Well,
we came suddenly upon the stream, a short distance above
the fall, and a young Delaware, who was in our company,
found a bark canoe, and he would push into the current, to
reach an island that lies in the very centre of the confusion and
strife. We told him of his folly, we did, and we reasoned with
him on the wickedness of tempting Providence by seeking danger
that led to no ind; but the youth among the Delawares are
very much the same as the youth among the soldiers, risky
the lad had his way. To me it seems, Mabel, that whenever
a thing is really grand and potent, it has a quiet majesty
about it, that is altogether unlike the frothy and flustering
manner of smaller matters, and so it was with them rapids.
The canoe was no sooner fairly in them, than down it went,
as it might be, as one sails through the air on the 'arth, and
no skill of the young Delaware could resist the stream. And
yet he struggled manfully for life, using the paddle to the
last, like the deer that is swimming to cast the hounds. At
first, he shot across the current so swiftly, that we thought
he would prevail, but he had miscalculated his distance, and
when the truth really struck him, he turned the head up
stream, and struggled in a way that was fearful to look at.
I could have pitied him even had he been a Mingo! For a
few moments his efforts were so frantic, that he actually prevailed
over the power of the cataract; but natur' has its
limits, and one faltering stroke of the paddle set him back,
and then he lost ground, foot by foot, inch by inch, until he
got near the spot where the river looked even and green, and
as if it were made of millions of threads of water, all bent
over some huge rock, when he shot backwards like an arrow
and disappeared, the bow of the canoe tipping just enough to
let us see what had become of him. I met a Mohawk, some
years later, who had witnessed the whole affair, from the bed
of the stream below, and he told me that the Delaware continued
to paddle, in the air, until he was lost in the mists
of the falls!”
“And what became of the poor wretch?” demanded Mabel,
who had been strongly interested by the natural eloquence of
the speaker.
“He went to the happy hunting-grounds of his people, no
doubt; for though he was risky and vain, he was also just
and brave. Yes, he died foolishly, but the Manitou of the
red-skins has compassion on his creatur's, as well as the God
of a Christian!”
A gun, at this moment, was discharged from a block-house
near the fort, and the shot, one of light weight, came whistling
over the cutter's mast, an admonition to approach no
nearer. Jasper was at the helm, and he kept away, smiling
at the same time, as if he felt no anger at the rudeness of
outward set soon carried her far enough to leeward to avoid
the danger of a repetition of the shot, and then she quietly
continued her course along the land. As soon as the river
was fairly opened, Jasper ascertained that the Montcalm was
not at anchor in it; and a man sent aloft came down with
the report that the horizon showed no sail. The hope was
now strong, that the artifice of Jasper had succeeded, and
that the French commander had missed them by keeping the
middle of the lake, as he steered towards its head.
All that day the wind hung to the southward, and the
cutter continued her course about a league from the land,
running six or eight knots the hour, in perfectly smooth
water. Although the scene had one feature of monotony,
the outline of unbroken forest, it was not without its interest
and pleasures. Various head-lands presented themselves,
and the cutter, in running from one to another,
stretched across bays so deep, as almost to deserve the
names of gulfs, but nowhere did the eye meet with the evidences
of civilization. Rivers occasionally poured their tribute
into the great reservoir of the lake, but their banks could
be traced inland for miles, by the same outlines of trees; and
even large bays, that lay embosomed in woods, communicating
with Ontario, only by narrow outlets, appeared and
disappeared, without bringing with them a single trace of a
human habitation.
Of all on board, the Pathfinder viewed the scene with the
most unmingled delight. His eyes feasted on the endless
line of forest, and, more than once that day, notwithstanding
he found it so grateful to be near Mabel, listening to her
pleasant voice, and echoing, in feelings at least, her joyous
laugh, did his soul pine to be wandering beneath the high
arches of the maples, oaks, and lindens, where his habits had
induced him to fancy lasting and true joys were only to be
found. Cap viewed the prospect differently. More than
once, he expressed his disgust at there being no light-houses,
church-towers, beacons, or roadsteads with their shipping.
Such another coast, he protested, the world did not contain;
and, taking the serjeant aside, he gravely assured him that
the region could never come to any thing, as the havens were
neglected, the rivers had a deserted and useless look, and
spoke ill of its properties.
But the humours of the different individuals in her, did not
stay the speed of the Scud. When the sun was setting, she
was already a hundred miles on her route towards Oswego,
into which river Serjeant Dunham now thought it his duty to
go, in order to receive any communications that Major Duncan
might please to make. With a view to effect this purpose,
Jasper continued to hug the shore all night, and though
the wind began to fail him towards morning, it lasted long
enough to carry the cutter up to a point that was known to
be but a league or two from the fort. Here the breeze came
out light at the northward, and the cutter hauled a little from
the land in order to obtain a safe offing should it come on to
blow, or should the weather again get to be easterly.
When the day dawned, the cutter had the mouth of the
Oswego well under her lee, distant about two miles, and just
as the morning gun from the fort was fired, Jasper gave the
order to ease off the sheets, and to bear up for his port.
At that moment a cry from the forecastle drew all eyes
towards the point on the eastern side of the outlet, and there,
just without the range of shot from the light guns of the
works, with her canvass reduced to barely enough to keep
her stationary, lay the Montcalm, evidently in waiting for
their appearance. To pass her was impossible, for, by filling
her sails, the French ship could have intercepted them in
a few minutes; and the circumstances called for a prompt
decision. After a short consultation, the serjeant again
changed his plan, determining to make the best of his way
towards the station for which he had been originally destined,
trusting to the speed of the Scud to throw the enemy so far
astern, as to leave no clue to her movements.
The cutter, accordingly, hauled upon a wind, with the
least possible delay, with every thing set that would draw.
Guns were fired from the fort, ensigns shown, and the ramparts
were again crowded. But sympathy was all the aid
that Lundie could lend to his party, and the Montcalm, also
firing four or five guns of defiance, and throwing abroad
several of the banners of France, was soon in chase, under
a cloud of canvass.
For several hours the two vessels were pressing through
apparently with a view to keep the port under their
lee, the one to enter it, if possible, and the other to intercept
it in the attempt.
At meridian, the French ship was hull down, dead to leeward,
the disparity of sailing on a wind being very great,
and some islands were near by, behind which Jasper said it
would be possible for the cutter to conceal her future movements.
Although Cap and the serjeant, and particularly
Lieutenant Muir, to judge by his language, still felt a good
deal of distrust of the young man, and Frontenac was not
distant, this advice was followed, for time pressed, and the
Quarter-Master discreetly observed that Jasper could not well
betray them, without running openly into the enemy's harbour,
a step they could at any time prevent, since the only
cruiser of force the French possessed, at the moment, was
under their lee, and not in a situation to do them any immediate
injury.
Left to himself, Jasper Western soon proved how much
was really in him. He weathered upon the islands, passed
them, and, on coming out to the eastward, kept broad away,
with nothing in sight, in his wake, or to leeward. By sun-set,
again, the cutter was up with the first of the islands that
lie in the outlet of the lake, and ere it was dark she was running
through the narrow channels, on her way to the long-sought
station. At nine o'clock, however, Cap insisted that
they should anchor, for the maze of islands became so complicated
and obscure, that he feared, at every opening, the
party would find themselves under the guns of a French fort.
Jasper consented cheerfully, it being a part of his standing
instructions to approach the station, under such circumstances
as would prevent the men from obtaining any very accurate
notions of its position, lest a deserter might betray the little
garrison to the enemy.
The Scud was brought-to in a small retired bay, where it
would have been difficult to find her by day-light, and where
she was perfectly concealed at night, when all but a solitary
sentinel on deck sought their rest. Cap had been so harassed
during the previous eight-and-forty hours, that his slumbers
were long and deep, nor did he awake from his first
nap, until the day was just beginning to dawn. His eyes
him, that the cutter was under way. Springing up, he found
the Scud threading the islands again, with no one on deck
but Jasper and the pilot, unless the sentinel be excepted, who
had not in the least interfered with movements that he had
every reason to believe were as regular as they were necessary.
“How 's this, Master Western!” demanded Cap, with sufficient
fierceness for the occasion—“are you running us into
Frontenac, at last, and we all asleep below, like so many
mariners waiting for the `sentry go.”'
“This is according to orders, Master Cap, Major Duncan
having commanded me never to approach the station, unless
at a moment when the people were below; for he does not
wish there should be more pilots in these waters, than the
king has need of.”
“Whe-e-e-w! a pretty job I should have made of running
down among these bushes and rocks with no one on deck!
Why a regular York branch could make nothing of such a
channel.”
“I always thought, sir,” said Jasper smiling, “you would
have done better, had you left the cutter in my hands, until
she had safely reached her place of destination.”
“We should have done it, Jasper, we should have done it,
had it not been for a circumstance—these circumstances are
serious matters, and no prudent man will overlook them.”
“Well, sir, I hope there is now an end of them. We
shall arrive in less than an hour, if the wind hold, and then
you 'll be safe from any circumstances that I can contrive.”
“Humph!”
Cap was obliged to acquiesce, and as every thing around
him had the appearance of Jasper's being sincere, there was
not much difficulty in making up his mind to submit. It
would not have been easy, indeed, for a person the most sensitive
on the subject of circumstances, to fancy that the Scud
was anywhere in the vicinity of a port as long established,
and as well known on the frontiers, as Frontenac. The
islands might not have been literally a thousand in number,
but they were so numerous and small as to baffle calculation,
though occasionally one of larger size than common was
passed. Jasper had quitted what might have been termed
stiff breeze, and a favourable current, through passes that
were sometimes so narrow that there appeared to be barely
room sufficient for the Scud's spars to clear the trees, while
at other moments he shot across little bays, and buried the
cutter again, amid rocks, forests and bushes. The water
was so transparent, that there was no occasion for the lead,
and being of very equal depth, little risk was actually run,
though Cap, with his maritime habits, was in a constant
fever lest they should strike.
“I give it up!—I give it up, Pathfinder!”—the old seaman
at length exclaimed, when the little vessel emerged in
safety from the twentieth of these narrow inlets, through
which she had been so boldly carried—“this is defying the
very nature of seamanship, and sending all its laws and
rules to the d—l!”
“Nay, nay, Salt-water, 't is the parfection of the art.
You perceive that Jasper never falters, but, like a hound
with a true nose, he runs with his head high, as if he had a
strong scent. My life on it, the lad brings us out right in
the ind, as he would have done in the beginning had we
given him leave.”
“No pilot, no lead, no beacons, buoys or light-houses,
no—”
“Trail!” interrupted Pathfinder, “for that, to me, is the
most mysterious part of the business. Water leaves no
trail, as every one knows, and yet here is Jasper moving
ahead as boldly as if he had before his eyes, the prints of
moccasins on leaves, as plainly as we can see the sun in the
heaven.”
“D—e, if I believe there is even any compass!”
“Stand by, to haul down the jib,” called out Jasper, who
merely smiled at the remarks of his companion. “Haul
down—starboard your helm—starboard hard—so—meet her
—gently there with the helm—touch her lightly—now jump
ashore with the fast, lad—no, heave—there are some of our
people ready to take it.”
All this passed so quickly as barely to allow the spectators
time to note the different evolutions, ere the Scud had been
thrown into the wind until her mainsail shivered, next cast a
little by the use of the rudder only, and then she set bodily
secured by good fasts run to the shore. In a word,
the station was reached, and the men of the 55th were greeted
by their expecting comrades, with the satisfaction that a
relief usually brings.
Mabel sprang upon the shore with a delight which she did
not care to express, and her father led his men after her,
with an alacrity which proved how wearied he had become
of the cutter. The station, as the place was familiarly termed
by the soldiers of the 55th, was indeed a spot to raise expectations
of enjoyment, among those who had been cooped up
so long in a vessel of the dimensions of the Scud. None of
the islands were high, though all lay at a sufficient elevation
above the water, to render them perfectly healthy and secure.
Each had more or less of wood, and the greater number, at
that distant day, were clothed with the virgin forest. The
one selected by the troops for their purpose was small, containing
about twenty acres of land, and by some of the accidents
of the wilderness it had been partly stripped of its trees,
probably centuries before the period of which we are writing,
and a little grassy glade covered nearly half its surface. It
was the opinion of the officer who had made the selection of
this spot for a military post, that a sparkling spring near by,
had early caught the attention of the Indians, and that they
had long frequented this particular place, in their hunts, or
when fishing for salmon, a circumstance that had kept down
the second growth, and given time for the natural grasses to
take root, and to gain dominion over the soil. Let the cause
be what it might, the effect was to render this island far more
beautiful than most of those around it, and to lend it an air
of civilization that was then wanting in so much of that vast
region of country.
The shores of Station Island were completely fringed with
bushes, and great care had been taken to preserve them, as
they answered as a screen to conceal the persons and things
collected within their circle. Favoured by this shelter, as
well as by that of several thickets of trees, and different
copses, some six or eight low huts had been erected to be used
as quarters for the officer and his men, to contain stores, and
to serve the purposes of kitchen, hospital, &c. These huts
were built of logs, in the usual manner, had been roofed by
attract attention, and as they had now been inhabited some
months, were as comfortable as dwellings of that description
usually ever get to be.
At the eastern extremity of the island, however, was a
small densely wooded peninsula, with a thicket of under-brush
so closely matted, as nearly to prevent the possibility of seeing
across it, so long as the leaves remained on the branches.
Near the narrow neck that connected this acre with the rest
of the island, a small block-house had been erected, with
some attention to its means of resistance. The logs were
bullet-proof, squared and jointed with a care to leave no defenceless
points; the windows were loop-holes; the door massive
and small, and the roof, like the rest of the structure
was framed of hewn timber, covered properly with bark to
exclude the rain. The lower apartment, as usual, contained
stores and provisions; here indeed the party kept all their supplies;
the second story was intended for a dwelling, as well
as for the citadel, and a low garret was subdivided into two
or three rooms, and could hold the pallets of some ten or fifteen
persons. All the arrangements were exceedingly simple
and cheap, but they were sufficient to protect the soldiers
against the effects of a surprise. As the whole building was
considerably less than forty feet high, its summit was concealed
by the tops of the trees, except from the eyes of those
who had reached the interior of the island. On that side the
view was open from the upper loops, though bushes even
there, more or less, concealed the base of the wooden tower.
The object being purely defence, care had been taken to
place the block-house so near an opening in the lime-stone
rock, that formed the base of the island, as to admit of a
bucket's being dropped into the water, in order to obtain that
great essential, in the event of a siege. In order to facilitate
this operation, and to enfilade the base of the building, the
upper stories projected several feet beyond the lower, in the
manner usual to block-houses, and pieces of wood filled the
apertures cut in the log flooring, which were intended as loops
and traps. The communications between the different stories
were by means of ladders. If we add, that these block-houses
were intended as citadels, for garrisons or settlements
to retreat to, in the cases of attacks, the general reader will
our wish to explain.
But the situation of the island, itself, formed its principal
merit as a military position. Lying in the midst of twenty
others, it was not an easy matter to find it, since boats might
pass quite near, and, by the glimpses caught through the openings,
this particular island would be taken for a part of some
other. Indeed, the channels between the islands, that lay
around the one we have been describing, were so narrow
that it was even difficult to say which portions of the land
were connected, or which separated, even as one stood in
their centre, with the express desire of ascertaining the truth.
The little bay, in particular, that Jasper used as a harbour, was
so embowered with bushes, and shut in with islands, that, the
sails of the cutter being lowered, her own people, on one
occasion, had searched for hours, before they could find the
Scud, in their return from a short excursion among the adjacent
channels, in quest of fish. In short, the place was admirably
adapted to its present objects, and its natural advantages
had been as ingeniously improved as economy and the
limited means of a frontier post would very well allow.
The hour that succeeded the arrival of the Scud was one
of hurried excitement. The party in possession had done
nothing worthy of being mentioned, and wearied with their
seclusion, they were all eager to return to Oswego. The
serjeant and the officer he came to relieve, had no sooner
gone through the little ceremonies of transferring the command,
than the latter hurried on board the Scud, with his
whole party; and Jasper, who would gladly have passed
the day on the island, was required to get under way, forthwith,
the wind promising a quick passage up the river, and
across the lake. Before separating, however, Lieutenant
Muir, Cap, and the serjeant had a private conference with the
ensign, who had been relieved, in which the latter was made
acquainted with the suspicions that existed against the fidelity
of the young sailor. Promising due caution, the officer embarked,
and in less than three hours from the time when she
had arrived, the cutter was again in motion.
Mabel had taken possession of a hut, and with female
readiness and skill, she made all the simple little domestic
arrangements, of which the circumstances would admit, not
labour, a mess table was prepared in a hut set apart for that
purpose, where all the heads of the detachment were to eat,
the soldier's wife performing the necessary labour. The hut
of the serjeant, which was the best on the island, being thus
freed from any of the vulgar offices of a household, admitted
of such a display of womanly taste, that for the first time
since her arrival on the frontier, the girl felt proud of her
home. As soon as these important duties were discharged,
she strolled out on the island, taking a path that led through
the pretty glade, and which conducted to the only point that
was not covered with bushes. Here she stood gazing at the
limpid water, which lay with scarcely a ruffle on it, at her
feet, musing on the novel situation in which she was placed,
and permitting a pleasing and deep excitement to steal over
her feelings, as she remembered the scenes through which
she had so lately passed, and conjectured those which still
lay veiled in the future.
“You 're a beautiful fixture, in a beautiful spot, Mistress
Mabel,” said David Muir, suddenly appearing at her elbow,
“and I 'll no engage you 're not just the handsomest of the
two.”
“I will not say, Mr. Muir, that compliments on my person
are altogether unwelcome, for I should not gain credit for
speaking the truth, perhaps,” answered Mabel with spirit,
“but I will say that if you would condescend to address to
me some remarks of a different nature, I may be led to believe
you think I have sufficient faculties to understand them.”
“Hoot! your mind, beautiful Mabel, is polished just like
the barrel of a soldier's musket, and your conversation is
only too discreet and wise for a poor d—l, who has been
chewing birch, up here these four years, on the lines, instead
of receiving it in an application that has the virtue of imparting
knowledge. But you are no sorry, I take it, young
lady, that you 've got your pretty foot on terra firma, once
more.”
“I thought so, two hours since, Mr. Muir, but the Scud
looks so beautiful, as she sails through these vistas of trees,
that I almost regret I am no longer one of her passengers.”
As Mabel ceased speaking, she waved her handkerchief in
return to a salutation from Jasper, who kept his eyes fastened
round a point, and were nearly lost behind its green fringe
of leaves.
“There they go, and I 'll no say `joy go with them,' but
may they have the luck to return safely, for without them
we shall be in danger of passing the winter on this island;
unless, indeed, we have the alternative of the castle at
Quebec. Yon Jasper Eau-douce is a vagrant sort of a lad, and
they have reports of him in the garrison, that it pains my very
heart to hear. Your worthy father, and almost-as-worthy
uncle, have none of the best opinion of him.”
“I am sorry to hear it, Mr. Muir; I doubt not that time
will remove all their distrust.”
“If time would only remove mine, pretty Mabel,” rejoined
the Quarter-Master, in a wheedling tone, “I should feel
no envy of the commander-in-chief. I think if I were in a
condition to retire, the serjeant would just step into my
shoes.”
“If my dear father is worthy to step into your shoes, Mr.
Muir,” returned the girl, with malicious pleasure, “I 'm
sure that the qualification is mutual, and that you are every
way worthy to step into his.”
“The deuce is in the child! you would not reduce me to
the rank of a non-commissioned officer, Mabel!”
“No indeed, sir, I was not thinking of the army at all, as
you spoke of retiring. My thoughts were more egotistical,
and I was thinking how much you reminded me of my
dear father, by your experience, wisdom, and suitableness to
take his place, as the head of a family.”
“As its bridegroom, pretty Mabel, but not as its parent,
or natural chief. I see how it is with you, loving your
repartee, and brilliant with wit! Well, I like spirit in a
young woman, so it be not the spirit of a scold. This Pathfinder
is an extraordinair, Mabel, if truth may be said of the
man.”
“Truth should be said of him, or nothing. Pathfinder is
my friend—my very particular friend, Mr. Muir, and no evil
can be said of him, in my presence, that I shall not deny.”
“I shall say nothing evil of him, I can assure you, Mabel;
but, at the same time, I doubt if much good can be said in
his favour.”
“He is at least expert with the rifle,” returned Mabel,
smiling. “That you cannot deny.”
“Let him have all the credit of his exploits in that way,
if you please; but he is as illiterate as a Mohawk.”
“He may not understand Latin, but his knowledge of
Iroquois is greater than that of most men, and it is the more
useful language of the two, in this part of the world.”
“If Lundie, himself, were to call on me for an opinion
which I admired most, your person or your wit, beautiful
and caustic Mabel, I should be at a loss to answer. My
admiration is so nearly divided between them, that I often
fancy this is the one that bears off the palm, and then the
other! Ah! The late Mrs. Muir was a paragon, in that way,
also!”
“The latest Mrs. Muir, did you say, sir?” asked Mabel,
looking up innocently at her companion.
“Hoot—hoot!—That is some of Pathfinder's scandal.
Now, I dare say, that the fellow has been trying to persuade
you, Mabel, that I have had more than one wife, already.”
“In that case, his time would have been thrown away,
sir, as every body knows that you have been so unfortunate
as to have had four.”
“Only three, as sure as my name is David Muir. The
fourth is pure scandal—or, rather, pretty Mabel, she is yet
in petto, as they say at Rome; and that means, in matters of
love, in the heart, my dear.”
“Well, I 'm glad, I 'm not that fourth person, in petto, or
in any thing else, as I should not like to be a scandal!”
“No fear of that, charming Mabel; for were you the
fourth, all the others would be forgotten, and your wonderful
beauty and merit would, at once, elevate you to be the first.
No fear of your being the fourth in any thing.”
“There is consolation in that assurance, Mr. Muir,” said
Mabel laughing, “whatever there may be in your other
assurance, for I confess I should prefer being even a fourthrate
beauty, to being a fourth wife.”
So saying, she tripped away, leaving the Quarter-Master
to meditate on his success. Mabel had been induced to use
her female means of defence thus freely, partly because her
suitor had of late been so pointed, as to stand in need of a
pretty strong repulse, and partly on account of his innuendoes
quick of intellect, she was not naturally pert; but, on the
present occasion, she thought circumstances called for more
than usual decision. When she left her companion, therefore,
she believed she was now finally released from attentions
that she thought as ill bestowed as they were certainly
disagreeable. Not so, however, with David Muir; accustomed
to rebuffs, and familiar with the virtue of perseverance,
he saw no reason to despair, though the half menacing, half
self-satisfied manner in which he shook his head towards
the retreating girl, might have betrayed designs as sinister as
they were determined. While he was thus occupied, the
Pathfinder approached, and got within a few feet of him,
unseen.
“'T will never do, Quarter-Master, 't will never do!” commenced
the latter, laughing in his noiseless way; “she is
young and actyve, and none but a quick foot can overtake
her. They tell me you are her suitor, if you're not her follower.”
“And I hear the same of yourself, man, though the presumption
would be so great, that I scarce can think it true.”
“I fear you're right, I do; yes, I fear you're right!—
when I consider myself—what I am—how little I know, and
how rude my life has been, I altogether distrust my claim,
even to think a moment, of one so tutored, and gay, and
light of heart, and delicate—”
“You forget handsome,” coarsely interrupted Muir.
“And handsome, too, I fear,” returned the meek and self-abased
guide; “I might have said handsome, at once, among
her other qualities, for the young fa'an, just as it learns to
bound, is not more pleasant to the eye of the hunter, than
Mabel is lovely in mine. I do indeed fear that all the
thoughts I have harboured about her, are vain and presumptuous.”
“If you think this, my friend, of your own accord, and
natural modesty, as it might be, my duty to you as an old
fellow-campaigner compels me to say—”
“Quarter-Master,” interrupted the other, regarding his
companion keenly, “you and I have lived together much
behind the ramparts of forts, but very little in the open
woods, or in front of the enemy.”
“Garrison or tent, it all passes for part of the same campaign,
you know, Pathfinder; and then my duty keeps me
much within sight of the store-houses, greatly contrary to
my inclinations, as ye may well suppose, having yourself
the ardour of battle in your temperament. But had ye heard
what Mabel has just been saying of you, ye'd no think another
minute of making yourself agreeable to the saucy and
uncompromising hussy.”
Pathfinder looked earnestly at the lieutenant, for it was
impossible he should not feel an interest in what might be
Mabel's opinion, but he had too much of the innate and true
feeling of a gentleman, to ask to hear what another had said
of him. Muir, however, was not to be foiled by this self-denial
and self-respect; for, believing he had a man of great
truth and simplicity to deal with, he determined to practise
on his credulity, as one means of getting rid of his rivalry.
He, therefore, pursued the subject, as soon as he perceived
that his companion's self-denial was stronger than his
curiosity.
“You ought to know her opinion, Pathfinder,” he continued;
“and I think every man ought to hear what his
friends and acquaintances say of him; and so, by way of
proving my own regard for your character and feelings, I 'll
just tell you, in as few words as possible. You know that
Mabel has a wicked malicious way with them eyes of her
own, when she has a mind to be hard upon one's feelings.”
“To me her eyes, Lieutenant Muir, have always seemed
winning and soft—though I will acknowledge that they sometimes
laugh—yes, I have known them to laugh; and that
right heartily, and with downright good will.”
“Well, it was just that, then; her eyes were laughing
with all their might, as it were, and in the midst of all her
fun, she broke out with an exclamation to this effect—I hope
't will no hurt your sensibility, Pathfinder?”
“I will not say, Quarter-Master, I will not say—Mabel's
opinion of me is of more account than that of most others.”
“Then I'll no tell ye, but just keep discretion on the subject;
and why should a man be telling another what his
friends say of him, especially when they happen to say that
which may not be pleasant to hear. I'll not add another
word to this present communication.”
“I cannot make you speak, Quarter-Master, if you are
not so minded, and perhaps it is better for me not to know
Mabel's opinion, as you seem to think it is not in my favour.
Ah's me—if we could be what we wish to be, instead of being
only what we are, there would be a great difference in
our characters, and knowledge, and appearance. One may
be rude, and coarse, and ignorant, and yet happy, if he
does not know it; but it is hard to see our own failings, in
the strongest light, just as we wish to hear the least about
them.”
“That's just the rationale, as the French say, of the matter;
and so I was telling Mabel, when she ran away and left
me. You noticed the manner in which she skipped off, as
you approached?”
“It was very observable,” answered Pathfinder, drawing
a long breath, and clenching the barrel of his rifle, as if the
fingers would bury themselves in the iron.
“It was more than observable—it was flagrant—that's
just the word, and the dictionary wouldn't supply a better,
after an hour's search. Well, you must know, Pathfinder,
for I cannot reasonably deny you the gratification of hearing
this—so you must know, the minx bounded off in that manner,
in preference to hearing what I had to say in your justification.”
“And what could you find to say in my behalf, Quarter-Master?”
“Why, d'ye understand, my friend, I was ruled by circumstances,
and no ventured indiscreetly into generalities, but
was preparing to meet particulars, as it might be, with particulars.
If you were thought wild, half-savage, or of a
frontier formation, I could tell her, ye know, that it came of
the frontier, wild, and half-savage life ye 'd led; and all her
objections must cease at once, or there would be a sort of a
misunderstanding with Providence.”
“And did you tell her this, Quarter-Master?”
“I 'll no swear to the exact words, but the idea was prevalent
in my mind, ye 'll understand. The girl was impatient,
and would not hear the half I had to say; but away
she skipped, as ye saw with your own eyes, Pathfinder, as
if her opinion were fully made up, and she cared to listen no
conclusion.”
“I fear it has, indeed, Quarter-Master, and her father,
after all, is mistaken. Yes, yes; the sarjeant has fallen into
a grievous error.”
“Well, man, why need ye lament, and undo all the grand
reputation ye 've been so many weary years making? Shoulder
the rifle that ye use so well, and off into the woods with
ye, for there 's not the female breathing that is worth a heavy
heart for a minute, as I know from experience. Tak' the
word of one who knows the sax, and has had two wives,
that women, after all, are very much the sort of creatures
we do not imagine them to be. Now, if you would really
mortify Mabel, here is as glorious an occasion, as any rejected
lover could desire.”
“The last wish I have, lieutenant, would be to mortify
Mabel.”
“Well, ye 'll come to that in the end, notwithstanding;
for it 's human nature to desire to give unpleasant feelings to
them, that give unpleasant feelings to us. But a better occasion
never offered to make your friends love you, than is to
be had at this very moment, and that is the certain means
of causing one's enemies to envy us.”
“Quarter-Master, Mabel is not my inemy; and if she
was, the last thing I could desire, would be to give her an
uneasy moment.”
“Ye say so, Pathfinder—ye say so, and I dare say, ye
think so; but reason and nature are both against you, as
ye 'll find in the end. Ye 've heard the saying of `love me,
love my dog:” well, now, that means, read backwards,
`do n't love me, do n't love my dog.' Now, listen to what
is in your power to do. You know we occupy an exceedingly
precarious and uncertain position here, almost in the
jaws of the lion, as it were?”
“Do you mean the Frenchers, by the lion, and this island
as his jaws, lieutenant?”
“Metaphorically only, my friend, for the French are no
lions, and this island is not a jaw—unless, indeed, it may
prove to be, what I greatly fear may come true, the jaw-bone
of an ass!”
Here the Quarter-Master indulged in a sneering laugh,
friend Lundie's sagacity in selecting that particular spot for
his operations.
“The post is as well chosen, as any I ever put foot in,”
said Pathfinder, looking around him, as one surveys a picture.
“I 'll no deny it—I 'll no deny it. Lundie is a great soldier,
in a small way; and his father was a great laird, with
the same qualification. I was born on the estate, and have
followed the Major so long, that I 've got to reverence all he
says and does. That 's just my weakness ye 'll know, Pathfinder.
Well, this post may be the post of an ass, or of a
Solomon, as men fancy; but its most critically placed, as is
apparent by all Lundie's precautions and injunctions. There
are savages out, scouting through these thousand islands, and
over the forest, searching for this very spot, as is known to
Lundie himself, on certain information; and the greatest service
you can render the 55th, is to discover their trails, and
lead them off, on a false scent. Unhappily, Serjeant Dunham
has taken up the notion, that the danger is to be apprehended
from up-stream, because Frontenac lies above us; whereas,
all experience tells us, that Indians come on the side that is
most contrary to reason, and, consequently, are to be expected
from below. Take your canoe, therefore, and go down
stream, among the islands, that we may have notice if any
danger approaches from that quarter. If ye should look a
few miles on the main, especially on the York side, the information
you 'd bring in would be all the more accurate,
and, consequently, the more valuable.
“The Big Sarpent is on the look-out, in that quarter, and
as he knows the station well, no doubt he will give us timely
notice, should any wish to sarcumvent us, in that direction.”
“He is but an Indian, after all, Pathfinder, and this is an
affair that calls for the knowledge of a white man. Lundie
will be eternally grateful to the man that shall help this little
enterprise to come off with flying colours. To tell you the
truth, my friend, he is conscious it should never have been
attempted; but he has too much of the old laird's obstinacy
about him, to own an error, though it be as manifest as the
morning star.”
The Quarter-Master then continued to reason with his
delay, using such arguments as first suggested themselves,
sometimes contradicting himself, and not unfrequently urging
at one moment a motive that at the next was directly opposed
by another. The Pathfinder, simple as he was, detected
these flaws in the lieutenant's philosophy, though he was far
from suspecting that they proceeded from a desire to clear
the coast of Mabel's suitor. He met bad reasons by good
ones, resisted every inducement that was not legitimate, by
his intimate acquaintance with his peculiar duties, and was
blind, as usual, to the influence of every incentive that could
not stand the test of integrity. He did not exactly suspect
the secret objects of Muir, but he was far from being blind to
his sophistry. The result was that the two parted, after a
long dialogue, unconvinced and distrustful of each other's
motives, though the distrust of the guide, like all that was
connected with the man, partook of his own upright, disinterested
and ingenuous nature.
A conference that took place, soon after, between Serjeant
Dunham and the lieutenant, led to more consequences. When
it was ended, secret orders were issued to the men, the block-house
was taken possession of, the huts were occupied, and
one accustomed to the movements of soldiers, might have
detected that an expedition was in the wind. In fact, just as
the sun was setting, the serjeant, who had been much occupied
at what was called the harbour, came into his own
hut, followed by Pathfinder and Cap, and as he took his seat
at the neat table that Mabel had prepared for him, he opened
the budget of his intelligence.
“You are likely to be of some use, here, my child;” the
old soldier commenced, “as this tidy and well-ordered supper
can testify; and, I trust, when the proper moment arrives,
you will show yourself to be the descendant of those who
know how to face their enemies.”
“You do not expect me, dear father, to play Joan of Arc,
and to lead the men to battle?”
“Play whom, child—did you ever hear of the person Mabel
mentions, Pathfinder?”
“Not I, sarjeant; but what of that? I am ignorant and unedicated,
and it is too great a pleasure to me to listen to her
voice, and take in her words, to be particular about persons.”
“I know her,” said Cap, decidedly; “she sailed a privateer
out of Morlaix, in the last war; and good cruises she made
of them.”
Mabel blushed at having inadvertently made an allusion
that went beyond her father's reading, to say nothing of her
uncle's dogmatism; and, perhaps, a little at the Pathfinder's
simple, ingenuous earnestness; but she did not forbear
the less to smile.
“Why, father, I am not expected to fall in with the men,
and to help defend the island?”
“And, yet, women have often done such things, in this
quarter of the world, girl, as our friend, the Pathfinder, here,
will tell you. But, lest you should be surprised at not seeing
us, when you awake in the morning, it is proper that I
now tell you we intend to march in the course of this very
night.”
“We, father—and leave me and Jennie on this island
alone!”
“No, my daughter, not quite as unmilitary as that. We
shall leave Lieutenant Muir, brother Cap, Corporal McNab,
and three men, to compose the garrison during our absence.
Jennie will remain with you in this hut, and brother Cap
will occupy my place.”
“And Mr. Muir?” said Mabel, half unconscious of what
she uttered, though she foresaw a great deal of unpleasant
persecution in the arrangement.
“Why, he can make love to you, if you like it, girl; for
he is an amorous youth, and having already disposed of four
wives, is impatient to show how much he honours their memories,
by taking a fifth.”
“The Quarter-Master tells me,” said Pathfinder, innocently,
“that when a man's feelings have been harrowed by so
many losses, there is no wiser way to soothe them, than by
ploughing up the soil anew, in such a manner as to leave no
traces of what have gone over it before.”
“Ay, that is just the difference between ploughing and
harrowing,” returned the serjeant with a grim smile. “But
let him tell Mabel his mind, and there will be an end of his
suit. I very well know that my daughter will never be the
wife of Lieutenant Muir.”
This was said in a way that was tantamount to declaring
person in question. Mabel had coloured, trembled, half
laughed, and looked uneasy; but, rallying her spirit, she said
in a voice so cheerful as completely to conceal her agitation—
“But, father, we might better wait until Mr. Muir manifests
a wish that your daughter would have him—or rather
a wish to have your daughter, lest we get the fable of sour
grapes thrown into our faces.”
“And what is that fable, Mabel,” eagerly demanded Pathfinder,
who was any thing but learned in the ordinary lore of
white men—“tell it to us, in your own pretty way; I dare
say the sarjeant never heard it.”
Mabel repeated the well-known fable, and as her suitor
had desired, in her own pretty way, which was a way to
keep his eyes riveted on her face, and the whole of his honest
countenance covered with a smile.
“That was like a fox!” cried Pathfinder, when she had
ceased, “ay, and like a Mingo, too, cunning and cruel; that
is the way with both the riptyles. As to grapes, they are
sour enough in this part of the country, even to them that
can get at them, though I dare say there are seasons, and
times, and places, where they are sourer to them that can't.
I should judge, now, my scalp is very sour in Mingo eyes.”
“The sour grapes will be the other way, child, and it is
Mr. Muir who will make the complaint. You would never
marry that man, Mabel?”
“Not she,” put in Cap; “a fellow who is only half a
soldier, after all! The story of them there grapes is quite a
circumstance.”
“I think little of marrying any one, dear father, and dear
uncle, and would rather talk about it less, if you please.
But, did I think of marrying at all, I do believe a man whose
affections have already been tried by three or four wives
would scarcely be my choice.”
The serjeant nodded at the guide, as much as to say, you
see how the land lies; and then he had sufficient consideration
for his daughter's feelings to change the subject.
“Neither you, nor Mabel, brother Cap,” he resumed, “can
have any legal authority with the little garrison I leave behind,
on the island; but you may counsel and influence.
officer, and I have endeavoured to impress him with a sense
of his dignity, lest he might give way too much to the superior
rank of Lieutenant Muir, who, being a volunteer, can
have no right to interfere with the duty. I wish you to sustain
the corporal, brother Cap, for should the Quarter-Master
once break through the regulations of the expedition, he may
pretend to command me, as well as McNab.”
“More particularly, should Mabel really cut him adrift,
while you are absent. Of course, serjeant, you 'll leave
every thing that is afloat, under my care? The most d—le
confusion has grown out of misunderstandings between commanders-in-chief,
ashore and afloat.”
“In one sense, brother, though, in a general way, the corporal
is commander-in-chief. History does indeed tell us
that a division of command leads to difficulties, and I shall
avoid that danger. The corporal must command, but you
can counsel freely, particularly in all matters relating to the
boats, of which I shall leave one behind, to secure your retreat
should there be occasion. I know the corporal well;
he is a brave man, and a good soldier; and one that may be
relied on, if the Santa Cruz can be kept from him. But then
he is a Scotchman, and will be liable to the Quarter-Master's
influence, against which I desire both you and Mabel to be
on your guard.”
“But why leave us behind, dear father? I have come
thus far to be a comfort to you, and why not go farther?”
“You are a good girl, Mabel, and very like the Dunhams!
But you must halt here. We shall leave the island to-morrow,
before the day dawns, in order not to be seen by any
prying eyes, coming from our cover, and we shall take the
two largest boats, leaving you the other, and one bark canoe.
We are about to go into the channel used by the French,
where we shall lie in wait, perhaps a week, to intercept their
supply-boats that are about to pass up, on their way to
Frontenac, loaded, in particular, with a heavy amount of
Indian goods.”
“Have you looked well to your papers, brother?” Cap
anxiously demanded. “Of course, you know a capture on
the high seas is piracy, unless your boat is regularily commissioned,
either as a public, or a private armed cruiser.”
“I have the honour to hold the colonel's appointment as
Serjeant-Major of the 55th,” returned the other, drawing
himself up with dignity, “and that will be sufficient even for
the French King. If not, I have Major Duncan's written
orders.”
“No papers them, for a warlike cruiser.”
“They must suffice, brother, as I have no other. It is of
vast importance to His Majesty's interests, in this part of the
world, that the boats in question should be captured and carried
into Oswego. They contain the blankets, trinkets, rifles,
ammunition,—in short, all the stores with which the French
bribe their accursed savage allies to commit their unholy
acts, setting at naught our holy religion and its precepts, the
laws of humanity, and all that is sacred and dear among
men. By cutting off these supplies, we shall derange their
plans, and gain time on them; for the articles cannot be sent
across the ocean again, this autumn.”
“But, father, does not his Majesty employ Indians, also?”
asked Mabel, with some curiosity.
“Certainly, girl, and he has a right to employ them—God
bless him! It 's a very different thing, whether an Englishman
or a Frenchman employs a savage, as every body can
understand.”
“That is plain enough, brother Dunham; but I do not
see my way so clear, in the matter of the ship's papers.”
“An English colonel's appointment ought to satisfy any
Frenchman of my authority; and what is more, brother, it
shall.”
“But I do not see the difference, father, between an Englishman's
and a Frenchman's employing savages in war?”
“All the odds in the world, child, though you may not be
able to see it. In the first place, an Englishman is naturally
humane and considerate, while a Frenchman is naturally
ferocious and timid.”
“And you may add, brother, that he will dance from
morning till night, if you 'll let him.”
“Very true,” gravely returned the serjeant.
“But, father, I cannot see that all this alters the case. If
it be wrong in a Frenchman to hire savages to fight his enemies,
it would seem to be equally wrong in an Englishman.
You will admit this, Pathfinder?”
“It 's reasonable—it 's reasonable, and I have never been
one of them that has raised a cry ag'in the Frenchers for
doing the very thing we do ourselves. Still, it is worse to
consort with a Mingo, than to consort with a Delaware. If
any of that just tribe were left, I should think it no sin to
send them out ag'in the foe.”
“And yet they scalp, and slay young and old—women
and children!”
“They have their gifts, Mabel, and are not to be blamed for
following them. Natur' is natur', though the different tribes
have different ways of showing it. For my part, I am white,
and endeavour to maintain white feelings.”
“This is all unintelligible to me,” answered Mabel. “What
is right in King George, it would seem, ought to be right in
King Louis.”
“The King of France's real name is Caput,” observed
Cap, with his mouth full of venison. “I once carried a great
scholar, as a passenger, and he told me that these Lewises
thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth, were all humbugs, and
that the men's real name was Caput; which is French for
`head;' meaning that they ought to be put at the foot of the
ladder, until ready to go up to be hanged.”
“Well, this does look like being given to scalping, as a
nat'ral gift,” Pathfinder remarked, with the air of surprise
with which one receives a novel idea, “and I shall have less
compunction than ever in sarving ag'in the miscreants,
though I can't say I ever yet felt any worth naming.”
As all parties, Mabel excepted, seemed satisfied with the
course the discussion had taken, no one appeared to think it
necessary to pursue the subject. The trio of men, indeed, in
this particular, so much resembled the great mass of their
fellow-creatures, who usually judge of character equally
without knowledge and without justice, that we might not
have thought it necessary to record the discourse, had it not
some bearing in its facts on the incidents of the legend, and
in its opinions on the motives of the characters.
Supper was no sooner ended, than the serjeant dismissed
his guests, and then held a long and confidential dialogue
with his daughter. He was little addicted to giving way to
the gentler emotions, but the novelty of his present situation
awakened feelings that he was unused to experience. The
supervision of a superior, thinks little of the risks he runs;
but the moment he feels the responsibility of command, all
the hazards of his undertaking begin to associate themselves
in his mind, with the chances of success or failure. While
he dwells less on his own personal danger, perhaps, than
when that is the principal consideration, he has more lively
general perceptions of all the risks, and submits more to the
influence of the feelings which doubt creates. Such was now
the case with Serjeant Dunham, who, instead of looking forward
to victory as certain, according to his usual habits,
began to feel the possibility that he might be parting with
his child for ever.
Never before had Mabel struck him as so beautiful, as she
appeared that night. Possibly she never had displayed so
many engaging qualities to her father; for concern on his
account had begun to be active in her breast, and then her
sympathies met with unusual encouragement, through those
which had been stirred up in the sterner bosom of the veteran.
She had never been entirely at her ease with her
parent, the great superiority of her education creating a sort
of chasm, which had been widened by the military severity
of manner he had acquired, by dealing so long and intimately
with beings who could only be kept in subjection by an
unremitted discipline. On the present occasion, however, or
after they were left alone, the conversation between the father
and daughter became more confidential than usual, until Mabel
rejoiced to find that it was gradually becoming endearing;
a state of feeling that the warm-hearted girl had silently
pined for in vain, ever since her arrival.
“Then, mother was about my height?” Mabel said, as she
held one of her father's hands in both her own, looking up
into his face with humid eyes. “I had thought her taller.”
“That is the way with most children, who get a habit of
thinking of their parents with respect, until they fancy them
larger and more commanding than they actually are. Your
mother, Mabel, was as near your height, as one woman could
be to another.”
“And her eyes, father?”
“Her eyes were like thine, child, too—blue and soft, and
inviting like; though hardly so laughing.”
“Mine will never laugh again, dearest father, if you do
not take care of yourself in this expedition.”
“Thank you, Mabel—hem—thank you, child; but I must
do my duty. I wish I had seen you comfortably married
before we left Oswego!—my mind would be casier.”
“Married!—to whom, father?”
“You know the man I wish you to love. You may meet
with many gayer, and many dressed in finer clothes; but with
none with so true a heart, and just a mind.”
“None, father?”
“I know of none; in these particulars, Pathfinder has few
equals, at least.”
“But I need not marry at all. You are single, and I can
remain to take care of you.”
“God bless you, Mabel!—I know you would, and I do
not say that the feeling is not right, for I suppose it is; and
yet I believe there is another, that is more so.”
“What can be more right than to honour one's parents?”
“It is just as right to honour one's husband, my dear child.”
“But I have no husband, father.”
“Then take one, as soon as possible, that you may have
a husband to honour. I cannot live for ever, Mabel, but must
drop off in the course of nature, ere long, if I am not carried
off in the course of war. You are young, and may yet live
long; and it is proper that you should have a male protector,
who can see you safe through life, and take care of you in
age, as you now wish to take care of me.”
“And do you think, father—” said Mabel, playing with
his sinewy fingers, with her own little hands, and looking
down at them, as if they were subjects of intense interest,
though her lips curled in a slight smile, as the words came
from them—“and do you think, father, that Pathfinder is
just the man to do this?—Is he not, within ten or twelve
years, as old as yourself?”
“What of that?—His life has been one of moderation and
exercise, and years are less to be counted, girl, than constitution.
Do you know another more likely to be your protector?”
Mabel did not; at least another who had expressed a desire
to that effect, whatever might have been her hopes and
her wishes.
“Nay, father, we are not talking of another, but of the
Pathfinder,” she answered evasively. “If he were younger,
I think it would be more natural for me to think of him for
a husband.”
“'T is all in the constitution, I tell you, child: Pathfinder
is a younger man than half our subalterns.”
“He is certainly younger than one, sir—Lieutenant Muir.”
Mabel's laugh was joyous and light-hearted, as if just then
she felt no care.
“That he is—young enough to be his grandson—he is
younger in years too. God forbid, Mabel! that you should
ever become an officer's lady, at least until you are an officer's
daughter.”
“There will be little fear of that, father, if I marry Pathfinder!”
returned the girl, looking up archly in the serjeant's
face again.
“Not by the King's commission, perhaps, though the man
is even now the friend and companion of generals. I think
I could die happy, Mabel, if you were his wife.”
“Father!”
“'T is a sad thing to go into battle, with the weight of an
unprotected daughter laid upon the heart.”
“I would give the world to lighten yours of its load, my
dear sir!”
“It might be done—” said the serjeant, looking fondly at
his child, “though I could not wish to put a burthen on
yours, in order to do so.”
The voice was deep and tremulous, and never before had
Mabel witnessed such a show of affection in her parent. The
habitual sternness of the man, lent an interest to his emotions,
that they might otherwise have wanted, and the daughter's
heart yearned to relieve the father's mind.
“Father, speak plainly,” she cried, almost convulsively.
“Nay, Mabel, it might not be right—your wishes and
mine may be very different.”
“I have no wishes—know nothing of what you mean—
would you speak of my future marriage?”
“If I could see you promised to Pathfinder—know that
you were pledged to become his wife, let my own fate be
what it might, I think I could die happy. But I will ask
no pledge of you, my child—I will not force you to do
bed.”
Had Serjeant Dunham exacted of Mabel the pledge that
he really so much desired, he would have encountered a
resistance that he might have found difficult to overcome; but,
by letting nature have its course, he enlisted a powerful ally
on his side, and the warm-hearted, generous-minded Mabel
was ready to concede to her affections, much more than she
would ever have yielded to menace. At that touching moment
she thought only of her parent, who was about to quit
her, perhaps for ever; and all of that ardent love for him,
which had possibly been as much fed by the imagination as
by any thing else, but which had received a little check by
the restrained intercourse of the last fortnight, now returned
with a force that was increased by pure and intense feeling.
Her father seemed all in all to her, and to render him
happy, there was no proper sacrifice that she was not ready
to make. One painful, rapid, almost wild gleam of thought
shot across the brain of the girl, and her resolution wavered;
but endeavouring to trace the foundation of the pleasing hope
on which it was based, she found nothing positive to support
it. Trained like a woman, to subdue her most ardent feelings,
her thoughts reverted to her father, and to the blessings
that awaited the child who yielded to a parent's wishes.
“Father,” she said quietly, almost with a holy calm—
“God blesses the dutiful daughter!”
“He will, Mabel; we have the good book for that.”
“I will marry whomever you desire.”
“Nay—nay, Mabel—you may have a choice of your
own”—
“I have no choice—that is—none have asked me to have
a choice, but Pathfinder and Mr. Muir; and between them,
neither of us would hesitate. No, father; I will marry
whomever you may choose.”
“Thou knowest my choice, beloved child; none other can
make thee as happy, as the noble-hearted guide.”
“Well then, if he wish it—if he ask me again—for, father,
you would not have me offer myself, or that any one should
do that office for me”—and the blood stole across the pallid
cheeks of Mabel, as she spoke, for high and generous resolutions
had driven back the stream of life to her heart,—“no
knowing all that a true girl ought to tell the man she marries,
and he then wishes to make me his wife, I will be his.”
“Bless you, my Mabel—God in heaven bless you, and
reward you as a pious daughter deserves to be rewarded.”
“Yes, father—put your mind at peace—go on this expedition
with a light heart, and trust in God. For me, you
will have, now, no care. In the spring—I must have a little
time, father—but, in the spring, I will marry Pathfinder, if
that noble-hearted hunter shall then desire it.”
“Mabel, he loves you as I loved your mother. I have
seen him weep like a child, when speaking of his feelings
towards you.”
“Yes, I believe it—I 've seen enough to satisfy me, that
he thinks better of me than I deserve; and certainly the man
is not living for whom I have more respect, than for Pathfinder;
not even for you, dear father.”
“That is as it should be, child, and the union will be
blessed. May I not tell Pathfinder this?”
“I would rather you would not, father. Let it come of
itself—come naturally—the man should seek the woman,
and not the woman the man—” The smile that illuminated
Mabel's handsome face, was angelic, as even her parent
thought, though one better practised in detecting the passing
emotions, as they betray themselves in the countenance, might
have traced something wild and unnatural in it—“No—
no—we must let things take their course; father, you have
my solemn promise.”
“That will do—that will do, Mabel; now kiss me—God
bless and protect you, girl—you are a good daughter.”
Mabel threw herself into her father's arms,—it was the first
time in her life,—and sobbed on his bosom like an infant.
The stern soldier's heart was melted, and the tears of the
two mingled: but Serjeant Dunham soon started, as if
ashamed of himself, and gently forcing his daughter from
him, he bade her good night, and sought his pallet. Mabel
went sobbing to the rude corner that had been prepared for
her reception, and in a few minutes the hut was undisturbed
by any sound, save the heavy breathing of the veteran.
| CHAPTER IV. The pathfinder, or, The inland sea | |