University of Virginia Library

1. THE DEERSTALKERS.

1. CHAPTER I.
THE SPORTSMAN'S DRAG.

Old Song.

In one of the south-western counties of New York,
one of those, I mean, which lie between the Hudson
and the Delaware, and along the eastern or Mohawk's
branch of the latter river, there is a great tract of wild
and thinly settled land, well watered and well wooded,
and well peopled by those tribes of fur and feather
which are so keenly sought by the true sportsman,
though, for the most part, human habitations are few
and far between.

In the heart of this wild tract, among the huge,
round-headed hills, some stone-ribbed, bare, and

crowned with circlets of primeval rock, others feathered
with luxuriant woodland from the base to the summit,
there lies a beautiful and lonely dell. The mountains,
for they indeed merit that name, fall down to it on every
side abruptly; and the stream to which it owes its existence,
winds to and fro, so deviously, and in such sudden
curves, that the eye can scarce detect the point at
which it enters or departs from that small verdant basin.

Through this soft lap of ground there sweeps an excellent,
though narrow road, dividing it into two parts
nearly equal; that up the stream, to the right hand as
you travel westward, being occupied by a sweet green
meadow, as level and luxuriant as an English lawn; that
downward, to the left, much narrower and deeper, and
filled with dense and thriving timber.

There was no house, however, on the meadow, nor,
with the exception of the winding road, any sign of
civilization in the place at all.

The green savannah lay some forty feet above the
bed of the stream, at the point where the bed crossed it,
and was fringed on every side, but the lowest, with an
even and regular belt of willows, aspens, and maples,
now clad in their most gorgeous hues, by the first frosts
of autumn. Across the lowest end of this basin there
was a long green mound, now forming the fence of the
road on that side, partially overrun with brushwood and
briars; but in the centre it had been cut or broken
down abruptly, in order to give egress to the stream,

which plunged down to its lower level by an irregular,
foaming descent, half cataract, half rapid, of nearly forty
feet in height.

It needed but one glance to discover the origin of
that smooth, natural meadow; it had been once a beaver-pond,
and that low, grassy mound, all overrun with
weeds and thick shrubbery, had been, long years ago,
the work of the industrious amphibii. The hand of
man, it is probable, had broken it, when the beavers
disappeared from their old haunts; and the small woodland
lake, drained by the outlet of its feeding stream,
had become the woodgirt savannah which we see before
us.

Immediately in front of the fall, searce ten yards distant
from it, the bridge spanned the brook; and often-times,
when the wind blew from the northward, its
planks were slippery with the driven spray. Beneath
the single arch, there was a deep black pool, wherein
the foam-wreaths of the water-fall wheeled round and
round in sullen eddies; but within ten yards the
water became somewhat shallower, leaving an awkward,
stony ford, between the bridge and a second descent,
longer and steeper than the upper fall, down
which the mountain rivulet fretted and chafed, till it
was lost both to ear and eye far in the dingle to the
left.

It was past five o'clock one lovely autumn evening,
and the sun had already sunk behind the crest of the

western hill, though long slant rays of yellow light
streamed through each gap and broken hollow of its
ridge, filling the walley with a transparent, hazy lustre,
which half revealed the scenery, half veiled it from the
dazzled eye.

The woods were in their flush of autumnal glory, for
the air was keen and hard and bracing. There had
been a sharp frost on the previous night, and the washed
road, and brimful, turbid stream, showed that it had
succeeded heavy and continuous rains. Not a leaf,
therefore, had yet fallen from the earliest of the deciduous
trees; yet not a leaf upon the hardiest, except the
evergreens alone, but had already undergone “a change
to something new and strange,” and no imagination,
unused to the effects of an autumnal frost in America,
can fancy its unrivalled beauty.

A beautiful wild-deer had come out of the wood to
drink, and was standing beside the ford, having
quenched his thirst, gazing about him lazily, and undecided
what to do.

Suddenly he raised his head, snuffed the air eagerly,
as if he caught a taint on its breezy current, tossed his
wide antlers proudly, and dashed through the flooded
ford.

He was a tall and stately beast, yet for three times
his length in the middle of the brook he was swimming,
nor was it without something of an effort that he reached
the bank on the further side, up which he bounded with

long, graceful strides, and disappeared immediately in
the thick woods beyond.

It was some minutes ere any human sense could have
discerned the approach of that, whatever it might be,
which had alarmed the stag.

But, in a little while, the clatter of quick hoofs might
have been heard on the hard-beaten road, and the rapid
roll of a well-built and easy-running carriage, forming
as it were an accompaniment to a fine, manly voice,
trolling the stanza, which I have prefixed to this chapter,
until the wild woods rang to the jocund sound.

In a minute or two the vehicle which bore the singer
came rapidly into view, over the brow of the eastern
hill, drawn by four capital horses at a slapping pace.

It was rather a singular-looking carriage, half mail-phaeton,
half dog-cart, yet nothing could have been
contrived more suitable for a sporting conveyance, combining
at once room, lightness, strength, and beauty.

In front, it was neither more nor less than a high-seated,
open phaeton, with a tall, square dash-board,
and a seat so elevated that the driver was almost in a
standing posture as he sat, having thus the greatest possible
command over his horses. Behind this was a box
body, with a slight rail along the top, and a comfortable
seat, much lower than that in front, as far aft as possible.

The whole body, which was supported upon three
long elliptic springs, and well furnished with wings of
patent leather, to ward off the mud splashed from the

wheels, was painted of a deep, rich tea-colour, picked
out with black, and ornamented only by a small crest,
surrounded with a garter, painted in relief of the same
colours.

It had three lamps, one under the foot-board, so
placed as to throw its light under the horses' feet, far
forward; the other two, one above each fore-wheel,
with powerful reflectors. No baggage was in sight,
except a small trunk of tawny leather, on the rack behind.
But there was a profusion of fine bear-skins
hanging over all the seats, and covering the legs of the
travellers in the guise of aprons, all of the richest and
most costly fur.

The four horses, which came trotting over the gentle
slope as if they had nothing behind them, were as clean
and powerful cobs as ever wore a collar. None of them
were above fifteen hands and an inch in height, with
capital forchands, high clean withers, small heads well
set on, and blood-like ears. No one could look at them
without being struck by their perfect similarity in shape,
size, symmetry, and style of action. But here the similarity
ended; for two, the offside wheeler and the nigh-hand
leader, were as black and as glittering as polished
jet; the other two were beautiful silver grays.

Such were the team, which, stepping out at the rate of
ten miles an hour, all together, at a square handsome trot
came clattering down the road, snapping at their long
bright curbs, or nibbling in play at one another, without

a fleek of foam, or a spot of sweat on their shining coats,
whirling the heavy drag along as if it were a plaything.

For the load was indeed a heavy one. The fore seat
held two persons. The driver was a tall, well-made,
athletic young man, with light hair, and a keen quick
eye, dressed in a blue box-coat with many capes, which
disguised his whole figure. But it could not disguise
the graceful ease combined with firmness of his seat,
the quick delicate strength of his fingers as he mouthed
his high-mettled cattle, or the thorough coachman-like
skill with which he handled the long English four-horse
whip, which he carried athwart his neighbour's person.
That neighbour was as different a person as can well
be imagined from his companion. He was a man of
about fifty years, not above five feet six in height, by
about four feet in breadth across the shoulders, and six
in girt about the waist, weighing at least three hundred
pounds of solid flesh, yet lithe withal, and active. His
face was excellent, sun-burned and ruddy, yet with
fine small features, a lip curling with a perpetual smile
of humour and benevolence, an eye gleaming with
mirth and kindliness, and untaught intellect. That man
had the heart of a million. You could not look at him
for half a moment and doubt it. Ay! and a soul, too,
that would do honour to a prince—though the rich
men, the would-be aristocrats of our cities, would sneer
at him, forsooth, and perhaps cut him in town after
sharing his hospitality in the country, because he is

rough and not a gentleman! A gentleman!—Heaven
save the mark! I should like to see one of them that
could vie with him in any of those points which make
the real gentleman; kind heart, and open hand; unwillingness
to hurt the feelings of the humblest; respect
for everything that is honourable, great, and noble; and
contempt for everything that is not so, however well it
may be gilded; promptness to fight for himself, or for
his friend, when aggrieved; unblemished honesty, and
undaunted courage; the strength of a lion, added to
the [1] stomach of a man.

But to return to our party. The body of the carriage
was occupied by four dogs, as perfect specimens
of the camine, as were the nags which drew the vehicle
of the equine genus. Two of these were red Irish setters,
with coats as soft as silk, deeply feathered and
curly on the sterns and about the legs, with soft large
dark eyes, and lips and noses black as jet. The others,
pointers, were very high-bred, one black as a coal,
without a speck of white, the other white as snow, with
liver-coloured ears and eye-spots, with a small dot of
tan over each eye, and a tan-shadowing round the muzzle—not
your coarse, raw-boned, bull-headed, thick-tailed,
double-nosed Spaniards, but the true thoroughbred
English pointer, with tails thin, tapering, and

whiplike; feet round as a cat's, strong loins, thin flanks,
deep chests—built both for speed and power, their coats
as sleek as satin, and the outline of their arched ribs just
showing through the skin, as if to tell the perfection of
their condition.

Two persons now made up the complement, seated in
the back part of the wagon, both smoking, the one a Manilla
cheroot, and the other a short, very dingy-looking
clay pipe. The former was a gentleman a year or two
younger and three or four inches shorter than the driver,
with a countenance singularly expressive of fun, kindness,
and good humour. The other, as was clearly shown
by the silver hat-band and the crest buttons of his gray
frock coat, was the groom, a stout, short, hard-faced,
knowing-looking Yorkshireman, broad-shouldered and
duck-legged, with his black hair clipped bowl-fashion
round his bullet-head, and that so closely, that had you
laid your hand on it suddenly, it would have pricked you
like the bristles of a shoe-brush.

There was yet, to make up the company of bipeds and
quadrupeds, another of the latter order, in the shape of a
superb Scotch deerhound, of the tallest stature, shaped
like a greyhound, but of three times the weight and size,
shaggy and wire-haired like a terrier, and of a deep
tawny brindle, with coal-black eyes and muzzle. This
splendid animal trotted along quietly under the hinder
axle of the carriage, keeping up, as it would seem without

the slightest effort, with the slapping pace of the well-bred
trotters.

That was a metry party, and though the wagon,
splashed with the mud of some half-dozen different soils,
indicated that they had travelled many a mile since day-break,
there was nothing of fatigue or wearmess to be
seen either in the bipeds or quadrupeds of the company.

The latter, as I have said, were trotting along merrily,
full of play and spirit; and it was evident, by the cleanness
and brightness of their coats, that they had been
well rubbed down and polished at their mid-day halting-place.
Their harness, too, which was of the slightest
make, compatible with strength, plain black with covered
rings and buckles, and not a particle of metal visible,
except a small crest on the blinkers, had evidently been
cleaned likewise. The road had become dryer during
the afternoon, moreover, and the cattle were not splashed
at all in the same proportion with the vehicle which they
drew.

The men were singing, jesting, and laughing all the
way, and the wild woods had rung for many a league with
their sonorous music; while ever and anon, at his master's
bidding, the Yorkshire varlet would produce a key bugle,
which hung in its leather case beside him, and wake full
many an echo with points of war, or hunting-calls, wildly
symphonious.

“Halloo! Tom,” cried he who was handling the ribbons
suddenly, as he brought his strain to an end—“you

are falling asleep, you fat devil you! come, wake up,
man, and tell us how far it is to this Dutchman's tavern,
you were telling us about.”

“Well! well!” responded the fat man, shaking himself;
“it's four miles arter you git across the bridge there.
We'll be there torights. Why, Aircher, what is't? 'Taint
half an hour nohow since we drinked—are you so dry
already you earn't wait a mile or two? But I can tell
you, you'll be jest disappinted if you counts on gittin'
anything to drink at Dutch Jake's.”

“Why not?” asked the young man from the back
seat; “why not? Is Dutch Jake temperance?”

“Jest about as much as you be, little Wax-skin!” answered
the fat man, laughing. “No, no! Dutch Jake
arn't temperance, nohow; but if he was we'd have a
better chance, for I never did know yet a temperance
man, but he would licker on the sly like, and they doos
always keep the first best rum, I tell you. But bless
you, Forester, Dutch Jake don't keep nothin' as a pig
could drink; leastwise I carn't, nohow.”

“A very clear proof that a pig cannot!” said the
other, laughing joyously.

“Jest see now, lad, if I don't pay you for that ere
when we git out of this here rattletrap,” replied Tom;
but suddenly changing his note, he cried out sharply—
“But what the devil's been to do hereaways? By the
etarnal! Aircher, the bridge has fotched away! One of

the joists is gone, and three of them darned sleepers.
We'll niver git acrost it.”

“That we shall not, indeed,” said Archer, pulling his
horses up. “What the dence is to be done now? It is
eighteen miles back to the tavern, where the other road
branches off. We cannot get back there to-night, that's
clear enough; besides, it's off our road. This is all your
fault, you old stupid porpoise! You swore that this was
the best road.”

“So it be,” growled the fat man. “I niver see a
prettier nice road in all my life, nor you nuther, and I
couldn't tell nothin' about the darned bridge.”

“Well! hold the ribbons, while I jump out and look
at the ford. The brook is devilish full! Sit still, all
the rest of you; don't let the dogs jump out, Tim.”

And with the words he sprang to the ground, ran down
the steep pitch, by the bridge side, and examined the ford
and the further shore with a practised and wary eye.

The deerhound followed his master to the brink, and as
he reached it feathered his long stern sharply, threw up
his head and snuffed the air greedily, and the next instant
would have plunged into the stream, had not his
master's rate checked him, before he had even wet his
fore feet in the turbid current.

The party in the wagon were too busily engaged in
thinking about the road to observe the action of the
dog; and when Archer returned, Frank Forester asked
eagerly,

“Will it do, Harry?”

“I think so,” returned Archer; “at all events we'll
try it—but it is full and strong—there's no denying it.”

“It's a darned hole, anyways!” said the fat man,
doubtfully.

“I know it is, Tom,” said Harry, “but there is no
help for it, that I see. There's one thing in our favour,
a deer has gone across it within half an hour—”

“Then we'll go clear, sure enough,” said Frank.

“That's not so sartain, nuther,” replied Tom; “a
deer harn't got no dog-cart at his heels.”

“Had we not better all of us jump out, and make it a
lighter pull?”

“Not by any means, Frank,” answered Harry.
“The weight is the only thing that will save us. If we
were empty, the stream would sweep us over the falls in
a moment.”

“What do you say, boys, shall we try it? I will not
deny that we shall have a squeak for it; but if we do
not, we must give up our trip.”

“Oh! try it, I say!” answered Forester. “One must
die some day, and some one must die every day—as well
to-day as to-morrow. I say try it, by all means.”

“I say so tew!” Tom took up the word. “But I
arn't a goin' to be killed yit awhile, now I tell you—
there arn't no stream hereaways that can begin to
dreawn me!”

“I should think not,” said Harry. “It might as we
undertake to drown a whiskey-barrel.”

“T' rocks moight be bre-aking thee, ay reckon, tho',
interposed Timothy with perfect gravity; “ay've seed
pooncheon stove in, vary quickly.”

“You never saw a feather-bed broken, did you, Timothy?”
asked Forester.

“Noa, sur!” replied Timothy, with a grin; but his
face changed as they came down the summit of the
pitch, and looked down upon the red turbid stream, and
the steep rocky cleft below it, down which the water
were raving fiercely. “Ey deary me! but there's a heavy
fresh on! ay doot we'se never win across't.”

“We shall soon know,” said Archer, gathering the
horses well in hand, and shaking loose the thong of the
four-horse whip. His face was grave, for he knew that
there was danger; but his eye was bright, and his lip
firm.

The stream was about twelve yards over. The leader
entered quietly, and for two or three steps the water
did not reach their knees. But in the middle there was
a strong current, with a heavy swirl.

“Come, come! it is nothing, after all!” shouted
Frank, joyously.

“Arn't it though?” replied Tom. And as he spoke
the leaders were weltering up to the saddle-laps, and
scarcely able to keep their footing. The next moment
they were swimming, and the wheelers plunged into

the deep hole, the wagon following them. The broad-side
of the carriage was now opposed to the full weight
of the torrent, for such indeed it almost was, just as all
the horses had relaxed their pull, and were floundering
heavily in the water. The hind wheels were swept
round, and the whole carriage began to yield sensibly,
and drive towards the rocks.

By this time the leaders were on sounder ground, and
in shallower water, and their pull dragged the wagon
deeper into the hole, but at the same time helped the
wheelers somewhat, and enabled them to touch bottom
with their fore feet, at least. At this critical moment,
Harry rose quickly to his feet, gave his reins a shake,
uttered a shout, and brought his sharp lash down in a
figure of eight, striking all the four horses nearly simultaneously,
and that so keenly that the blood sprang from
the leaders.

Together they all bounded to the lash with snort and
plunge, amid the flashing water. Everything strained
and creaked about the wagon and the harness, as if it
must have gone to pieces. Had anything broken at that
moment, they must have been swept down the fall.

But nothing failed at the pinch. The next moment
the leaders were straining up the further bank—the
wheelers had found good foot-hold on the gravel-bank.
A violent jolt followed, as the fore-wheels were dragged
over a block of stone at the water's edge, when crack—
crack—both the traces of the near-leader parted; and

almost at the same moment, with a shivering crash, the
off horse's bar broke in the eye. The leaders were
loose but for the reins; and for a moment, though happily
the wagon was stuck fast, and out of the stream's
way, all was in confusion.

Not a word had been spoken since Harry's shout, but
now all was merriment and bustle.

“Jump out, Tim! Jump out quick; to the leaders'
heads! Never mind the water.”

The hardy groom was out in a moment. He scrambled
through the water, and up the bank, as fast as his
duck legs could carry him.

He had the horses by the bits in a second, and Harry
flinging loose the leaders' reins, which were unbuckled,
they were led off and tied to a tree, in less time than it
takes to describe it.

“What's to be done now, Harry?” asked Frank.
“How the deuce is this to be righted?”

“You'll see! Sit still, that's all! Get away, lads!”
he added, touching the wheelers gently with the whip.

A steady pull released the wagon from the stones
and drew it up the bank to the spot where Tim stood
with the leaders.

“Now look alive, lads. Forester, just unhitch that
spare set of bars from the back of your seat—there
don't you see them? Get out the spare traces, Timothy
and the wrench from the harness-trunk—that's it, look
alive, for it's growing dark apace.”

And by dint of deliberate activity, and well directed
exertion, not ten minutes had elapsed before the broken
bars were removed, and the spare set substituted;
fresh traces buckled on, and the fragments of the old
onces thrown into the bottom of the wagon.

Within a quarter of an hour they were rattling away
along the road all a-taunto, and without a trace of their
recent accident, merry and noisy, through the fast-fading
twilight which waned betimes, in the deep gorges of
those woodland hills.

Horace.