The Leatherstocking Tales II

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “Not you, Pathfinder; you would only drown both. If the canoe goes over, I must go in it.”

  “Well have it so, then; shall we smoke the pipe of agreement on the bargain.”

  Jasper laughed, nodded his head, by way of consent, and the subject was dropped, for the party had reached the canoe, so often mentioned, and fewer words had determined much graver things between the parties.

  Chapter III

  “Before these fields were shorn and tilled,

  Full to the brim our rivers flowed;

  The melody of waters filled

  The fresh and boundless wood;

  And torrents dashed, and rivulets played,

  And fountains spouted in the shade.”

  —Bryant, “An Indian at the Burial Place of His Fathers,” ll. 67–72.

  * * *

  IT IS GENERALLY KNOWN, that the waters which flow into the southern side of Ontario, are, in general, narrow, sluggish and deep. There are some exceptions to this rule, for many of the rivers have rapids, or as they are termed in the language of the region, rifts, and some have falls. Among the latter was the particular stream on which our adventurers were now journeying. The Oswego is formed by the junction of the Oneida and the Onondaga, both of which flow from lakes, and it pursues its way, through a gently undulating country, a few miles, until it reaches the margin of a sort of natural terrace, down which it tumbles some ten or fifteen feet, to another level, across which it glides, or glances, or pursues its course with the silent stealthy progress of deep water, until it throws its tribute into the broad receptacle of Ontario. The canoe, in which Cap and his party had travelled from Fort Stanwix, the last military station on the Mohawk, lay by the side of this river, and into it the whole party now entered, with the exception of the Pathfinder, who remained on the land, in order to shove the light vessel off.

  “Let her starn drift down stream, Jasper,” said the man of the woods, to the young mariner of the lake, who had dispossessed Arrowhead of his paddle, and taken his own station as steersman, “let it go down with the current. Should any of them infarnals, the Mingos, strike our trail, or follow it to this point, they will not fail to look for the signs in the mud, and if they discover that we have left the shore, with the nose of the canoe up stream, it is a nat’ral belief to think we went that-a-way.”

  This direction was followed, and giving a vigorous shove, the Pathfinder, who was in the flower of his strength and activity, made a leap, landing lightly, and without disturbing its equilibrium, in the bows of the canoe. As soon as it had reached the centre of the river, or the strength of the current, the boat was turned, and it began to glide noiselessly down the stream.

  The vessel in which Cap and his niece had embarked for their long and adventurous journey, was one of the canoes of bark, which the Indians are in the habit of constructing, and which, by their exceeding lightness and the ease with which they are propelled, are admirably adapted to a navigation, in which shoals, flood-wood, and other similar obstructions so often occur. The two men who composed its original crew had several times carried it, when emptied of its luggage, many hundred yards; and it would not have exceeded the strength of a single man to lift its weight. Still it was long, and for a canoe, wide, a want of steadiness being its principal defect, in the eyes of the uninitiated. A few hours practice, however, in a great measure remedied this evil, and both Mabel and her uncle had learned so far to humour its movements, that they now maintained their places with perfect composure. Nor did the additional weight of the three guides tax its powers, in any particular degree, the breadth of the rounded bottom allowing the necessary quantity of water to be displaced, without bringing the gunwale very sensibly nearer to the surface of the stream. Its workmanship was neat, the timbers were small and secured by thongs, and the whole fabric, though it was so slight and precarious to the eye, was probably capable of conveying double the number of persons, that it now contained.

  Cap was seated on a low thwart, in the centre of the canoe; the Big Serpent knelt near him; Arrowhead and his wife occupied places forward of both, the former having relinquished his post aft; Mabel was half-reclining on some of her own effects, behind her uncle, while the Pathfinder and Eau douce stood erect, the one in the bows, and the other in the stern, each using a paddle with a long, steady, noiseless sweep. The conversation was carried on in low tones, all of the party beginning to feel the necessity of prudence, as they drew nearer to the outskirts of the fort, and had no longer the cover of the woods.

  The Oswego just at that place was a deep, dark stream, of no great width, its still gloomy looking current winding its way, among overhanging trees, that, in particular spots, almost shut out the light of the heavens. Here and there some half fallen giant of the forest, lay nearly across its surface, rendering care necessary to avoid the limbs, and most of the distance, the lower branches and leaves of the trees of smaller growth were laved by its waters. The picture which has been so beautifully described by our own admirable poet, and which we have placed at the head of this chapter, as an epigraph, was here realized, the earth fattened by the decayed vegetation of centuries, and black with loam, the stream that filled the banks nearly to overflowing, and the “fresh and boundless wood,” being all as visible to the eye, as the pen of Bryant has elsewhere vividly presented them to the imagination. In short, the entire scene was one of a rich and benevolent nature, before it has been subjected to the uses and desires of man; luxuriant, wild, full of promise, and not without the charm of the picturesque, even in its rudest state. It will be remembered that this was in the year 175–, or long before even speculation had brought any portion of Western New-York, within the bounds of civilization, or the projects of the adventurous. At that distant day, there were two great channels of military communications, between the inhabited portions of the colony of New-York, and the frontiers that lay adjacent to the Canadas; that by Lakes Champlain and George, and that by means of the Mohawk, Wood Creek, the Oneida, and the rivers we have been describing. Along both these lines of communications military posts had been established, though there existed a blank space of a hundred miles, between the last fort at the head of the Mohawk, and the outlet of the Oswego, which embraced most of the distance that Cap and Mabel had journeyed under the protection of Arrowhead.

  “I sometimes wish for peace, again,” said the Pathfinder, “when one can range the forest, without s’arching for any other inimy than the beasts and fishes. Ah’s! me; many is the day that the Sarpent, there, and I have passed happily among the streams, living on venison, salmon and trout, without thought of a Mingo, or a scalp! I sometimes wish that them blessed days might come back, for it is not my raal gift to slay my own kind. I’m sartain the sarjeant’s daughter, don’t think me a wretch that takes pleasure in preying on human natur’?”

  At this remark, a sort of half interrogatory, Pathfinder looked behind him, and, though the most partial friend could scarcely term his sunburnt and hard features handsome, even Mabel thought his smile attractive, by its simple ingenuousness, and the uprightness that beamed in every lineament of his honest countenance.

  “I do not think my father would have sent one like those you mention, to see his daughter through the wilderness,” the young woman answered, returning the smile as frankly as it was given, and much more sweetly.

  “That he would’n’t, that he would’n’t; the sarjeant is a man of feelin’, and many is the march and the fight that we have stood shoulder to shoulder in, as he would call it, though I always keep my limbs free, when near a Frencher, or a Mingo.”

  “You are then the young friend of whom my father has spoken so often in his letters?”

  “His young friend—the sarjeant has the advantage of me by thirty years; yes, he is thirty years my senior, and as many my better.”

  “Not in the eyes of the daughter, perhaps, friend Pathfinder—” put in Cap, whose spirits began to revive, when he found the water once more flowing around him. “The thirty years that you ment
ion, are not often thought to be an advantage in the eyes of girls of nineteen.”

  Mabel coloured, and in turning aside her face, to avoid the looks of those in the bows of the canoe, she encountered the admiring gaze of the young man in the stern. As a last resource her spirited, but soft blue eyes, sought refuge in the water. Just at this moment, a dull heavy sound swept up the avenue formed by the trees, borne along by a light air that hardly produced a ripple on the water.

  “That sounds pleasantly,” said Cap, pricking up his ears like a dog that hears a distant baying; “it is the surf on the shores of your lake, I suppose?”

  “Not so—not so—” answered the Pathfinder—“it is merely this river tumbling over some rocks, half a mile below us.”

  “Is there a fall in this stream?” demanded Mabel, a still brighter flush glowing on her face.

  “The Devil! Master Pathfinder—or you, Mr. Oh! the-deuce (for so Cap began to style Jasper, by way of entering cordially into the border usages) had you not better give the canoe a sheer, and get nearer to the shore. These water-falls have generally rapids above them, and one might as well get into the Maelstrom, at once, as to run into their suction.”

  “Trust to us—trust to us, friend Cap,” answered Pathfinder; “we are but fresh-water sailors, it is true, and I cannot boast of being much even of that, but we understand rifts and rapids and cataracts, and, in going down these, we shall do our endivours, not to disgrace our edication.”

  “In going down!” exclaimed Cap—“the devil, man! you do not dream of going down a water-fall, in this egg-shell of bark!”

  “Sartain; the path lies over the falls, and it is much easier to shoot them, than to unload the canoe, and to carry that, and all it contains, around a portage of a mile, by hand.”

  Mabel turned her pallid countenance towards the young man in the stern of the canoe, for just at that moment a fresh roar of the fall, was borne to her ears, by a new current of the air, and it really sounded terrific, now that the cause was understood.

  “We thought, that by landing the females, and the two Indians,” Jasper quietly observed, “we three white men, all of whom are used to the water, might carry the canoe over in safety, for we often shoot these falls.”

  “And we counted on you, friend mariner, as a mainstay;” said Pathfinder, winking at Jasper over his shoulder, “for you are accustomed to see waves tumbling about, and without some one to steady the cargo, all the finery of the sarjeant’s daughter might be washed into the river, and be lost.”

  Cap was puzzled. The idea of going over a water-fall was perhaps more serious, in his eyes, than it would have been in those of one totally ignorant of all that pertained to boats, for he understood the power of the element, and the total feebleness of man when exposed to its fury. Still, his pride revolted at the thought of deserting the boat, while others not only courageously, but coolly, proposed to continue in it. Notwithstanding the latter feeling, and his innate as well as acquired steadiness in danger, he would probably have deserted his post, had not the images of Indians tearing scalps from the human head taken so strong hold of his fancy, as to induce him to imagine the canoe a sort of sanctuary.

  “What is to be done with Magnet,” he demanded, affection for his niece raising another qualm in his conscience. “We cannot allow Magnet to land if there are enemy’s Indians near?”

  “Nay—no Mingo will be near the portage, for that is a spot too public for their deviltries,” answered the Pathfinder, confidently. “Natur’ is natur’, and it is an Injin’s natur’ to be found where he is least expected. No fear of him, on a beaten path, for he wishes to come upon you, when unprepared to meet him, and the fiery villains make it a point to deceive you, one way or another. Sheer in, Eau douce, and we will land the sarjeant’s daughter, on the end of that log, where she can reach the shore with a dry foot.”

  The injunction was obeyed, and in a few minutes the whole party had left the canoe, with the exception of Pathfinder and the two sailors. Notwithstanding his professional pride, Cap would have gladly followed, but he did not like to exhibit so unequivocal a weakness in the presence of a fresh-water sailor.

  “I call all hands to witness,” he said, as those who had landed moved away, “that I do not look on this affair, as any thing more than canoeing in the woods. There is no seamanship in tumbling over a water-fall, which is a feat the greatest lubber can perform, as well as the oldest mariner.”

  “Nay, nay, you need’n’t despise the Oswego Falls, neither,” put in Pathfinder, “for though they may not be Niagara, nor the Genessee, nor the Cahoos, nor Glenn’s, nor them on the Canada, they are narvous enough, for a new beginner. Let the sarjeant’s daughter stand on yonder rock, and she will see the manner in which we ignorant back-woodsmen get over a difficulty that we can’t get under. Now, Eau douce, a steady hand and a true eye, for all rests on you, seeing that we can count Master Cap for no more than a passenger.”

  The canoe was leaving the shore, as he concluded, while Mabel went hurriedly and trembling to the rock that had been pointed out, talking to her companions of the danger her uncle so unnecessarily ran, while her eyes were riveted on the agile and vigorous form of Eau douce, as he stood erect in the stern of the light boat, governing its movements. As soon, however, as she reached a point where she got a view of the fall, she gave an involuntary but suppressed scream, and covered her eyes. At the next instant, the latter were again free, and the entranced girl stood, immovable as a statue, a scarcely breathing observer of all that passed. The two Indians seated themselves passively on a log, hardly looking towards the stream, while the wife of Arrowhead came near Mabel, and appeared to watch the motions of the canoe, with some such interest as a child regards the leaps of a tumbler.

  As soon as the boat was in the stream, Pathfinder sunk on his knees, continuing to use the paddle though it was slowly, and in a manner not to interfere with the efforts of his companion. The latter still stood erect, and, as he kept his eye on some object beyond the fall, it was evident that he was carefully looking for the spot proper for their passage.

  “Farther west, boy; farther west—” muttered Pathfinder; “there, where you see the water foam. Bring the top of the dead oak in a line with the stem of the blasted hemlock.”

  Eau douce made no answer, for the canoe was in the centre of the stream, with its head pointed towards the fall, and it had already begun to quicken its motion, by the increased force of the current. At that moment, Cap would cheerfully have renounced every claim to glory that could possibly be acquired by the feat, to have been safe again, on the shore. He heard the roar of the water, thundering as it might be behind a screen, but, becoming more and more distinct, louder and louder, and before him he saw its line cutting the forest below, along which the green and angry element seemed stretched and shining, as if the particles were about to lose their principle of cohesion.

  “Down with your helm—down with your helm, man!” he exclaimed, unable any longer to suppress his anxiety, as the canoe glided towards the edge of the fall.

  “Ay—ay—down it is, sure enough,” answered Pathfinder, looking behind him for a single instant, with his silent joyous laugh—“down we go, of a sartainty! Heave her starn up, boy; farther up with her starn!”

  The rest was like the passage of the viewless wind. Eau douce gave the required sweep with his paddle, the canoe glanced into the channel, and for a few seconds, it seemed to Cap, that he was tossing in a cauldron. He felt the bows of the canoe tip, saw the raging, foaming water, careering madly by his side, was sensible that the light fabric in which he floated was tossed about like an egg shell, and then, not less to his great joy than to his surprise, he discovered that it was gliding across the basin of still water, below the fall, under the steady impulse of Jasper’s paddle.

  The Pathfinder continued to laugh, but he arose from his knees, and searching for a tin pot and a horn spoon, he began deliberately to measure the water that had been taken in, in the passage.

&n
bsp; “Fourteen spoonsfull, Eau douce; fourteen fairly measured spoonsfull. I have you must acknowledge known you go down with only ten.”

  “Master Cap leaned so hard up stream,” returned Jasper seriously, “that I had difficulty in trimming the canoe.”

  “It may be so—it may be so; no doubt it was so, since you say it; but I have known you go over with only ten!”

  Cap now gave a tremendous hem, felt for his cue, as if to ascertain its safety, and then looked back, in order to examine the danger he had gone through. His impunity is easily explained. Most of the river fell perpendicularly, ten or twelve feet, but near its centre, the force of the current had so far worn away the rock, as to permit the water to shoot through a narrow passage at an angle of about forty, or forty five degrees. Down this ticklish descent the canoe had glanced, amid fragments of broken rock, whirlpools, foam, and furious tossings of the element, which an uninstructed eye would believe menaced inevitable destruction to an object so fragile. But the very lightness of the canoe had favored its descent, for, borne on the crests of the waves, and directed by a steady eye and an arm full of muscle, it had passed like a feather, from one pile of foam to another, scarcely permitting its glossy side to be wetted. There were a few rocks to be avoided, the proper direction was to be rigidly observed, and the fierce current did the rest.1

  To say that Cap was astonished, would not be expressing half his feelings. He felt awed, for the profound dread of rocks, which most seamen entertain, came in aid of his admiration of the boldness of the exploit. Still he was indisposed to express all he felt, lest it might be conceding too much in favor of fresh water and inland navigation, and no sooner had he cleared his throat, with the aforesaid hem, than he loosened his tongue, in the usual strain of superiority.

  “I do not gainsay your knowledge of the channel, Master Oh! the deuce, (for such he religiously believed to be Jasper’s soubriquet) and, after all, to know the channel, in such a place is the main point. I have had cockswains with me, who could come down that shoot too, if they only knew the channel.”