“It is’n’t enough to know the channel, friend Mariner,” said Pathfinder; “it needs narves and skill to keep the canoe straight, and to keep her clear of the rocks too. There is’n’t another boatman in all this region that can shoot the Oswego, but Eau douce, there, with any sartainty, though, now and then, one has blundered through. I can’t do it myself, unless by means of Providence, and it needs Jasper’s hand, and Jasper’s eye, to make sure of a dry passage. Fourteen spoonsfull, after all, are no great matter, though I wish it had been but ten, seeing that the Sarjeant’s daughter was a looker on!”
“And yet you conned the canoe; you told him how to head, and how to sheer.”
“Human frailty, Master Mariner; that was a little of white-skin natur’. Now, had the Sarpent, yonder, been in the boat, not a word would he have spoken, or thought would he have given to the public. An Injin knows how to hold his tongue, but we white folk fancy we are always wiser than our fellows. I’m curing myself fast of the weakness, but it needs time, to root up the tree that has been growing more than thirty years.”
“I think little of this affair, sir; nothing at all, to speak my mind freely. It’s a mere wash of spray to shooting London Bridge, which is done every day by hundreds of persons, and often by the most delicate ladies in the land. The King’s Majesty has shot the bridge, in his royal person.”
“Well I want no delicate ladies or king’s majesties, (God bless ’em), in the canoe, in going over these falls, for a boat’s breadth, either way, may make a drowning matter of it. Eau douce, we shall have to carry the sarjeant’s brother over Niagara, yet, to show him what may be done on a frontier!”
“The devil! Master Pathfinder, you must be joking, now! Surely it is not possible for a bark canoe to go over that mighty cataract!”
“You never were more mistaken, Master Cap, in your life. Nothing is easier, and many is the canoe I have seen go over it, with my own eyes, and, if we both live, I hope to satisfy you that the feat can be done. For my part, I think the largest ship that ever sailed on the ocean might be carried over, could she once get into the rapids.”
Cap did not perceive the wink which Pathfinder exchanged with Eau douce, and he remained silent some time; for, sooth to say, he had never suspected the possibility of going down Niagara, feasible as the thing must appear to every one, on a second thought, the real difficulty existing in going up it.
By this time, the party had reached the place, where Jasper had left his own canoe, concealed in the bushes, and they all re-embarked; Cap, Jasper and his niece, in one boat, and Pathfinder, Arrowhead and the wife of the latter, in the other. The Mohican had already passed down the banks of the river by land, looking cautiously and with the skill of his people for the signs of an enemy.
The cheek of Mabel did not recover all its bloom, until the canoe was again in the current, down which it floated swiftly, occasionally impelled by the paddle of Jasper. She witnessed the descent of the falls, with a degree of terror that had rendered her mute, but her fright had not been so great as to prevent admiration of the steadiness of the youth, who directed the movement, from blending with the passing terror. In truth, one much less quick and sensitive, might have had her feelings awakened by the cool and gallant air with which Eau douce had accomplished this clever exploit. He had stood firmly erect, notwithstanding the plunge, and to those who were on the shore, it was evident that by a timely application of his skill and strength, the canoe had received a sheer that alone carried it clear of a rock, over which the boiling water was leaping in jets d’eau, now leaving the brown stone visible, and now covering it with a limpid sheet, as if machinery controlled the play of the element. The tongue cannot always express what the eyes view, but Mabel saw enough, even in that moment of fear, to blend forever in her mind, the pictures presented by the plunging canoe, and the unmoved steersman. She admitted that insidious sentiment which binds woman so strongly to man, by feeling additional security in finding herself under his care, and for the first time since leaving Fort Stanwix, she was entirely at her ease in the frail bark, in which she travelled. As the other canoe kept quite near her own, however, and the Pathfinder, by floating at her side was most in view, the conversation was principally maintained with that person, Jasper seldom speaking unless addressed, and constantly exhibiting a wariness in the management of his own boat, that might have been remarked by one accustomed to his ordinary, confident, careless manner, had such an observer been present to rate what was passing.
“We know too well, a woman’s gifts, to think of carrying the sarjeant’s daughter over the falls,” said Pathfinder, looking at Mabel, while he addressed her uncle, “though I’ve been acquainted with some of her sex, in these regions, that would think but little of doing the thing.”
“Mabel is faint-hearted like her mother,” returned Cap, “and you did well, friend, to humour her weakness. You will remember the child has never been at sea.”
“No—no—it was easy to discover that, by your own fearlessness—any one might have seen how little you cared about the matter! I went over once, with a raw hand, and he jumped out of the canoe, just as it tipped, and you may judge what a time he had of it!”
“What became of the poor fellow?” asked Cap, scarce knowing how to take the other’s manner, which was so dry, while it was so simple, that a less obtuse subject than the old sailor might well have suspected its sincerity. “One who has passed the place knows how to feel for him.”
“He was a poor fellow, as you say; and a poor frontier man, too, though he came out to show his skill among us ignoranters. What became of him?—why he went down the falls, topsy turvey like, as would have happened to a court-house or a fort.”
“If it should jump out of a canoe—” interrupted Jasper, smiling, though he was evidently more disposed than his friend to let the passage of the falls be forgotten.
“The boy is right—” rejoined Pathfinder laughing in Mabel’s face, the canoes being now so near that they almost touched; “he is sartainly right. But you have not told us what you think of the leap we took?”
“It was perilous and bold,” said Mabel; “while looking at it, I could have wished it had not been attempted, though, now it is over, I can admire its boldness, and the steadiness with which it was made.”
“Now, do not think that we did this thing, to set ourselves off in female eyes. It may be pleasant to the young to win each other’s good opinions, by doing things that may seem praiseworthy and bold, but neither Eau douce, nor myself, am of that race. My natur’, though perhaps the Sarpent would be a better witness, has few turns in it, and is a straight natur’, nor would it be likely to lead me into a vanity of this sort, while out on duty. As for Jasper, he would sooner go over the Oswego falls, without a looker on, than do it before a hundred pair of eyes. I know the lad well, from use and much consorting, and I am sure he is not boastful or vainglorious.”
Mabel rewarded the scout with a smile, that served to keep the canoes together some time longer, for the sight of youth and beauty was so rare on that remote frontier, that even the rebuked and self mortified feelings of this wanderer of the forest, were sensibly touched by the blooming loveliness of the girl.
“We did it for the best,” Pathfinder continued; “’twas all for the best. Had we waited to carry the canoe across the portage, time would have been lost, and nothing is so precious as time, when you are mistrustful of Mingos.”
“But we can have little to fear, now! The canoes move swiftly, and two hours, you have said, will carry us down to the fort.”
“It shall be a cunning Iroquois who hurts a hair of your head, pretty one, for all here are bound to the sarjeant, and most I think to yourself, to see you safe from harm. Ha! Eau douce; what is that in the river, at the lower turn—yonder beneath the bushes, I mean standing on the rock?”
“’Tis the Big Serpent, Pathfinder; he is making signs to us, in a way I don’t understand.”
“’Tis the Sarpent, as sure as I’m a white man,
and he wishes us to drop in nearer to his shore. Mischief is brewin’, or one of his deliberation and steadiness would never take this trouble. Courage, all; we are men, and must meet deviltry as becomes our colour, and our callings. Ah! I never knew good come of boastin’, and here, just as I was vauntin’ of our safety comes danger to give me the lie!”
Chapter IV
“____Art, stryving to compare
With nature, did an arber greene dispred,
Framed of wanton yvie flowring fayre,
Through which the fragrant eglantine did spred—”
—Spenser, The Faerie Queene, II.v.29.1–4.
* * *
THE OSWEGO, below the falls, is a more rapid, unequal stream, than it is above them. There are places where the river flows in the quiet stillness of deep water, but many shoals and rapids occur, and, at that distant day, when every thing was in its natural state, some of the passes were not altogether without hazard. Very little exertion was required on the part of those who managed the canoes, except in those places where the swiftness of the current, and the presence of the rocks required care, when, indeed, not only vigilance, but great coolness, readiness and strength of arm became necessary, in order to avoid the dangers. Of all this the Mohican was aware, and he had judiciously selected a spot, where the river flowed tranquilly, to intercept the canoes, in order to make his communication without hazard to those he wished to speak.
The Pathfinder had no sooner recognised the form of his red friend, than, with a strong sweep of his paddle he threw the head of his own canoe towards the shore, motioning for Jasper to follow. In a minute, both boats were silently drifting down the stream, within reach of the bushes that overhung the water, all observing a profound silence; some from alarm, and others from habitual caution. As the travellers drew nearer the Indian, he made a sign for them to stop, and then he and Pathfinder had a short but earnest conference, in the language of the Delawares.
“The chief is not apt to see enemies in a dead log,” observed the white man, to his red associate; “why does he tell us to stop?”
“Mingos are in the woods.”
“That, we have believed these two days; does the chief know it?”
The Mohican quietly held up the head of a pipe, formed of stone.
“It lay on a fresh trail that led towards the garrison”—for so it was the usage of that frontier to term a military work whether it was occupied or not.
“That may be the bowl of a pipe belonging to a soldier. Many use the red skin pipes.”
“See,” said the Big Serpent, again holding the thing he had found up to the view of his friend.
The bowl of the pipe was of soap stone, and it had been carved with great care, and with a very respectable degree of skill. In its centre was a small Latin cross, made with an accuracy that permitted no doubt of its meaning.
“That does foretell deviltry and wickedness,” said the Pathfinder, who had all the provincial horror of the holy symbol in question, that then pervaded the country, and which became so incorporated with its prejudices, by confounding men with things, as to have left its traces strong enough on the moral feeling of the community to be discovered even at the present hour; “no Injin who had not been parvarted by the cunning priests of the Canadas would dream of carving a thing like that on his pipe! I’ll warrant ye, the knave prays to the image every time he wishes to sarcumvent the innocent, and work his fearful wickednesses. It looks fresh, too, Chingachgook?”
“The tobacco was burning when I found it.”
“That is close work, chief—where was the trail?”
The Mohican pointed to a spot not a hundred yards distant from that where they stood.
The matter now began to look very serious, and the two principal guides conferred apart for several minutes, when both ascended the bank, approached the indicated spot, and examined the trail with the utmost care. After this investigation had lasted a quarter of an hour, the white man returned alone, his red friend having disappeared in the forest.
The ordinary expression of the countenance of the Pathfinder was that of simplicity, integrity and sincerity, blended in an air of self reliance, that usually gave great confidence to those who found themselves under his care, but now a look of concern cast a shade over his honest face, that struck the whole party.
“What cheer, Master Pathfinder?” demanded Cap, permitting a voice that was usually deep, loud and confident to sink into the cautious tones that better suited the dangers of the wilderness; “has the enemy got between us and our port?”
“Anan?”
“Have any of these painted scaramouches anchored off the harbor towards which we are running, with the hope of cutting us off in entering?”
“It may be all as you say, friend Cap, but I am none the wiser for your words, and in ticklish times the plainer a man makes his English, the easier he is understood. I know nothing of ports and anchors, but there is a direful Mingo trail, within a hundred yards of this very spot, and as fresh as venison without salt. If one of the fiery devils has passed, so have a dozen; and what is worse, they have gone down towards the garrison, and not a soul crosses the clearing around it, that some of their piercing eyes will not discover, when sartain bullets will follow.”
“Cannot this said fort, deliver a broadside, and clear every thing within the sweep of its hawse?”
“Nay, the forts this-a-way, are not like forts in the settlements, and two, or three light cannon are all they have down at the mouth of the river; and then broadsides fired at a dozen outlying Mingos, lying behind logs and in a forest, would be powder spent in vain. We have but one course, and that is a very nice one. We are judgematically placed here, both canoes being hid by the high bank and the bushes, from all eyes except them of any lurker directly opposite. Here, then, we may stay, without much present fear; but how to get the blood thirsty devils up the stream again?—Ha—I have it—I have it—If it does no good, it can do no harm. Do you see the wide-top chestnut, here, Jasper, at the last turn in the river? On our own side of the stream, I mean.”
“That near the fallen pine?”
“The very same. Take the flint and tinder box, creep along the bank and light a fire at that spot. Maybe the smoke will draw them above us. In the mean while, we will drop the canoes carefully down beyond the point below, and find another shelter. Bushes are plenty, and covers are easily to be had, in this region, as witness the many ambushments.”
“I will do it, Pathfinder,” said Jasper springing to the shore. “In ten minutes the fire shall be lighted.”
“And, Eau douce; use plenty of damp wood, this time,” half whispered the other, laughing heartily, in his own peculiar manner. “When smoke is wanted, water helps to thicken it.”
The young man, who too well understood his duty to delay unnecessarily, was soon off, making his way rapidly towards the desired point. A slight attempt of Mabel to object to the risk was disregarded, and the party immediately prepared to change its position, as it could be seen from the place where Jasper intended to light his fire. The movement did not require haste, and it was made leisurely and with care. The canoes were got clear of the bushes, then suffered to drop down with the stream, until they reached the spot, where the chestnut, at the foot of which Jasper was to light the fire, was almost shut out from view, when they stopped, and every eye was turned in the direction of the adventurer.
“There goes the smoke!” exclaimed the Pathfinder, as a current of air whirled a little column of the vapor from the land, allowing it to rise spirally above the bed of the river. “A good flint, a small bit of steel, and plenty of dry leaves make a quick fire! I hope Eau douce will have the wit to bethink him of the damp wood, now, when it may sarve us all a good turn.”
“Too much smoke—too much cunning,” said Arrowhead, sententiously.
“That is gospel truth, Tuscarora, if the Mingos did’n’t know that they are near soldiers; but soldiers commonly think more of their dinners, at a halt, than of their wi
sdom and danger. No—no—let the boy pile on his logs, and smother them well too; it will all be laid to the stupidity of some Scotch, or Irish blunderer, who is thinking more of his oatmeal, or his potatoes, than of Injin sarcumventions, or Injin rifles.”
“And, yet, I should think, from all we have heard in the towns, that the soldiers on this frontier are used to the artifices of their enemies,” said Mabel, “and have got to be almost as wily as the red men, themselves.”
“Not they—not they. Exper’ence makes them but little wiser, and they wheel, and platoon, and battalion it about, here, in the forest, just as they did in their parks, at home, of which they are all so fond of talking. One red skin has more cunning in his natur’, than a whole rigiment from the other side of the water—that is what I call cunning of the woods. But there is smoke enough, of all conscience, and we had better drop into another cover. The lad has thrown the river on his fire, and there is danger that the Mingos will believe a whole rigiment is out.”
While speaking the Pathfinder permitted his canoe to drift away from the bush by which it had been retained, and in a couple of minutes the bend in the river concealed the smoke and the tree. Fortunately, a small indentation in the shore presented itself, within a few yards of the point they had just passed, and the two canoes glided into it, under the impulsion of the paddles.
A better spot could not have been found for the purpose of the travellers, than the one they now occupied. The bushes were thick, and they overhung the water, forming a complete canopy of leaves. There was a small gravelly strand, at the bottom of the little bay, where most of the party landed to be more at their ease, and the only position from which they could possibly be seen, was a point on the river directly opposite. There was little danger, however, of discovery from that quarter, as the thicket there was even denser than common, and the land beyond it, was so wet and marshy, as to render it difficult to be trodden.
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 6
