In this manner, the body of friends and foes united reached the margin of the eastern channel, where, as in the case of the western, the river was too deep to be waded. Here a short pause succeeded, it being necessary to determine the manner in which the canoe was to be carried across. One of the four who had just reached the boat, was a chief, and the habitual deference which the American Indian pays to merit, experience and station, kept the others silent, until this individual had spoken.
The halt greatly added to the danger of discovering the presence of Jasper, in particular, who however had the precaution to throw the cap he wore, into the bottom of the canoe. Being without his jacket and shirt, the outline of his figure, in the obscurity, would now be less likely to attract observation. His position, too, at the stern of the canoe, a little favored his concealment, the Iroquois naturally keeping their looks directed the other way. Not so, with Chingachgook. This warrior was literally in the midst of his most deadly foes, and he could scarcely stir without touching one of them. Yet he was apparently unmoved, though he kept all his senses on the alert, in readiness to escape, or to strike a blow, at the proper moment. By carefully abstaining from looking towards those behind him, he lessened the chances of discovery, and waited with the indomitable patience of an Indian for the instant when he should be required to act.
“Let all my young men, but two, one at each end of the canoe, cross and get their arms,” said the Iroquois chief—, “let the two push over the boat.”
The Indians quietly obeyed, leaving Jasper at the stern, and the Iroquois who had found the canoe, at the bows of the light craft, Chingachgook burying himself so deep in the river, as to be passed by the others without detection. The splashing in the water, the tossing arms and the calls of one to another, soon announced that the four who had last joined the party, were already swimming. As soon as this fact was certain, the Delaware rose, resumed his former station, and began to think the moment for action was come.
One less habitually under self-restraint, than this warrior, would probably have now aimed his meditated blow, but Chingachgook knew there were more Iroquois behind him on the rift, and he was a warrior much too trained and experienced to risk any thing unnecessarily. He suffered the Indian at the bow of the canoe to push off into the deep water, and then all three were swimming in the direction of the eastern shore. Instead, however, of helping the canoe across the swift current, no sooner did the Delaware and Jasper find themselves within the influence of its greatest force, than both began to swim in a way to check their further progress across the stream. Nor was this done suddenly, or in the incautious manner in which a civilized man would have been apt to attempt the artifice, but warily, and so gradually that the Iroquois at the bow, fancied at first he was merely struggling against the strength of the current. Of course, while acted on by these opposing efforts, the canoe drifted down stream, and in about a minute it was floating in still deeper water at the foot of the rift. Here, however, the Iroquois was not slow in finding that something unusual retarded their advance, and looking back he first learned that he was resisted by the efforts of his companions.
That second nature, which grows up through habit, instantly told the young Iroquois that he was alone with enemies. Dashing the water aside, he sprang at the throat of Chingachgook, and the two Indians relinquishing their hold of the canoe, seized each other, like tigers. In the midst of the darkness of that gloomy night, and floating in an element so dangerous to man, when engaged in deadly strife, they appeared to forget every thing but their fell animosity, and their mutual desire to conquer.
Jasper had now complete command of the canoe, which flew off, like a feather impelled by the breath, under the violent reaction of the struggles of the two combatants. The first impulse of the youth was to swim to the aid of the Delaware, but the importance of securing the boat presented itself with ten fold force, while he listened to the heavy breathings of the warriors as they throttled each other, and he proceeded as fast as possible towards the western shore. This he soon reached, and, after a short search, he succeeded in discovering the remainder of the party, and in procuring his clothes. A few words sufficed to explain the situation in which he had left the Delaware, and the manner in which the canoe had been obtained.
When those who had been left behind had heard the explanations of Jasper, a profound stillness reigned among them, each listening intently, in the vain hope of catching some clue to the result of the fearful struggle that had just taken place, if it were not still going on in the water. Nothing was audible, beyond the steady roar of the rushing river, it being a part of the policy of their enemies on the opposite shore, to observe the most death-like stillness.
“Take this paddle, Jasper,” said Pathfinder, calmly, though the listeners thought his voice sounded more melancholy than usual; “and follow with your own canoe. It is unsafe for us to remain here longer.”
“But the Serpent?”
“The Great Sarpent is in the hands of his own Deity, and will live, or die, according to the intentions of Providence. We can do him no good, and may risk too much by remaining here, in idleness, like women talking over their distresses. This darkness is very precious—”
A loud, long, piercing yell arose from the other shore, and cut short the words of the guide.
“What is the meaning of that uproar, Master Pathfinder?—” demanded Cap. “It sounds more like the outcries of devils, than any thing that can come from the throats of christians and men.”
“Christians they are not, and do not pretend to be, and do not wish to be, and in calling them devils, you have scarcely misnamed them. That yell is one of rejoicing, and it is, as conquerors they have given it. The body of the Sarpent, no doubt, dead or alive, is in their power!”
“And we!—” exclaimed Jasper, who felt a pang of generous regret, as the idea that he might have averted the calamity presented itself to his mind, had he not deserted his comrade.
“We can do the chief no good, lad, and must quit this spot as fast as possible.”
“Without one attempt to rescue him!—Without even knowing whether he be dead or living.”
“Jasper is right—” said Mabel, who could speak, though her voice sounded husky and smothered. “I have no fears, uncle, and will stay here until we know what has become of our friend.”
“This seems reasonable, Pathfinder,” put in Cap. “Your true seaman cannot well desert a messmate, and I am glad to find that notions so correct exist among these fresh-water people.”
“Tut—tut—” returned the impatient guide, forcing the canoe into the stream as he spoke, “ye know nothing, and ye fear nothing. If ye value your lives, think of reaching the garrison, and leave the Delaware in the hands of Providence. Ah’s! me. The deer that goes too often to the lick meets the hunter at last!”
Chapter VII
“And is this—Yarrow?—this the stream
Of which my fancy cherished,
So faithfully a waking dream?
An image that hath perished?
O that some minstrel’s harp were near,
To utter notes of gladness,
And chase this silence from the air,
That fills my heart with sadness.”
—Wordsworth, “Yarrow Visited,” ll. 1–8.
* * *
THE SCENE was not without its sublimity, and the ardent, generous-minded Mabel felt her blood thrill in her veins, and her cheeks flush, as the canoe shot into the strength of the stream to quit the spot. The darkness of the night had lessened, by the dispersion of the clouds, but the overhanging woods rendered the shores so obscure, that the boats floated down the current in a belt of gloom that effectually secured them from detection. Still, there was necessarily a strong feeling of insecurity in all on board them, and even Jasper, who by this time began to tremble in behalf of the girl, at every unusual sound that arose from the forest, kept casting uneasy glances around him, as he drifted on, in company. The paddle was used lightly, and only wit
h exceeding care, for the slightest sound in the breathing stillness of that hour and place, might apprise the watchful ears of the Iroquois of their position.
All these accessaries added to the impressive grandeur of her situation, and contributed to render the moment much the most exciting that had ever occurred in the brief existence of Mabel Dunham. Spirited, accustomed to self-reliance, and sustained by the pride of considering herself a soldier’s daughter, she could hardly be said to be under the influence of fear, yet her heart often beat quicker than common, her fine blue eye lighted with an exhibition of resolution that was wasted in the darkness, and her quickened feelings came in aid of the real sublimity that belonged to the scene, and to the incidents of the night.
“Mabel!” said the suppressed voice of Jasper, as the two canoes floated so near each other that the hand of the young man held them together, “you have no dread. You trust freely to our care, and willingness to protect you?”
“I am a soldier’s daughter, as you know, Jasper Western, and ought to be ashamed to confess fear.”
“Rely on me—on us all. Your uncle, Pathfinder, the Delaware, were the poor fellow here, I myself, will risk every thing rather than harm should reach you.”
“I believe you, Jasper,” returned the girl, her hand unconsciously playing in the water. “I know that my uncle loves me, and will never think of himself until he has first thought of me; and I believe you are all my father’s friends and would willingly assist his child. But I am not so feeble and weak-minded as you may think, for though only a girl from the towns, and like most of that class, a little disposed to see danger where there is none, I promise you, Jasper, no foolish fears of mine shall stand in the way of your doing your duty.”
“The Sarjeant’s daughter is right, and she is worthy of being honest Thomas Dunham’s child,” put in the Pathfinder. “Ah’s! me! pretty one, many is the time that your father and I, have scouted and marched together on the flanks and rear of the inimy, in nights darker than this, and that too, when we did not know, but the next moment would lead us into a bloody ambushment. I was at his side, when he got the wound in his shoulder, and the honest fellow will tell you, when you meet, the manner in which we contrived to cross the river that lay in our rear, in order to save his scalp.”
“He has told me,” said Mabel, with more energy perhaps than her situation rendered prudent. “I have his letters, in which he has mentioned all that, and, I thank you from the bottom of my heart, for the service. God will remember it, Pathfinder, and there is no gratitude that you can ask of the daughter, which she will not cheerfully pay for her father’s life.”
“Ay, that is the way, with all you gentle and pure hearted creatur’s! I have seen some of you afore, and have heard of others! The Sarjeant, himself, has talked to me of his own young days; and of your mother; and of the manner in which he courted her, and of all the crossings and disapp’intments, until he succeeded at last.”
“My mother did not live long to repay him for what he did to win her,” said Mabel with a trembling lip.
“So he tells me. The honest Sarjeant has kept nothing back, for being so many years my senior, he has looked on me, in our many scoutings together, as a sort of son.”
“Perhaps, Pathfinder,” observed Jasper, with a huskiness in his voice that defeated the attempt at pleasantry, “he would be glad to have you for one, in reality.”
“And if he did, Eau douce, where would be the sin of it? He knows what I am on a trail, or a scout, and he has seen me often, face to face, with the Frenchers. I have sometimes thought, lad, that we all ought to seek for wives, for the man that lives altogether in the woods, and in company with his inimies, or his prey, gets to lose some of the feelin’ of kind, in the ind.”
“From the specimens I have seen,” observed Mabel, “I should say that they who live much in the forest, forget to learn many of the deceits and vices of the towns.”
“It is not easy, Mabel, to dwell always in the presence of God, and not feel the power of his goodness. I have attended church-sarvice in the garrisons, and tried hard, as becomes a true soldier, to join in the prayers; for though no enlisted sarvant of the King, I fight his battles and sarve his cause, and so I have endivoured to worship garrison-fashion, but never could raise within me, the solemn feelings and true affection, that I feel when alone with God, in the forest. There I seem to stand face to face, with my master; all around me is fresh and beautiful, as it came from his hand, and there is no nicety, or doctrine, to chill the feelin’s. No—no—the woods are the true temple a’ter all, for there the thoughts are free to mount higher even than the clouds.”
“You speak the truth, Master Pathfinder,” said Cap, “and a truth that all who live much in solitude know. What, for instance, is the reason that sea-faring men, in general, are so religious and conscientious in all they do, but the fact that they are so often alone with Providence, and have so little to do with the wickedness of the land. Many, and many is the time, that I have stood my watch, under the equator perhaps, or in the Southern Ocean, when the nights are lighted up with the fires of heaven, and that is the time, I can tell you, my hearties, to bring a man to his bearings, in the way of his sins. I have rattled down mine, again and again, under such circumstances, until the shrouds and lanyards of conscience have fairly creaked with the strain. I agree with you, Master Pathfinder, therefore, in saying if you want a truly religious man, go to sea, or go into the woods.”
“Uncle, I thought seamen had little credit, generally, for their respect for religion.”
“All d____d slander, girl. Ask your sea-faring man what his real, private opinion is of your landsmen, parsons and all, and you will hear the other side of the question. I know no class of men, who have been so belied as sea-faring men, in this particular, and it is all because they do not stay at home to defend themselves, and pay the clergy. They have’n’t as much doctrine, perhaps, as some ashore, but as for all the essentials of christianity, the seaman beats the landsman, hand over hand.”
“I will not answer for all this, Master Cap,” returned Pathfinder, “but, I dare say, some of it may be true. I want no thunder and lightening to remind me of my God, nor am I as apt to bethink me most of all his goodness, in trouble and tribulations, as on a calm, solemn, quiet day, in the forest, when his voice is heard in the creaking of a dead branch, or in the song of a bird, as much in my ears at least, as it is ever heard in uproar and gales. How is it with you, Eau douce; you face the tempests as well as Master Cap, and ought to know something of the feelin’s of storms?”
“I fear that I am too young, and too inexperienced to be able to say much on such a subject,” modestly answered Jasper.
“But you have your feelings!” said Mabel quickly. “You cannot—no one can live among such scenes without feeling how much they ought to trust in God!”
“I shall not belie my training so much as to say I do not sometimes think of these things, but I fear it is not as often, or as much, as I ought.”
“Fresh water!” resumed Cap pithily; “you are not to expect too much of the young man, Mabel. I think they call you, sometimes, by a name which would insinuate all this. Eau-de-vie, is it not?”
“Eau douce,” quietly replied Jasper, who from sailing on the lake had acquired a knowledge of French, as well as of several of the Indian dialects. “It is a name the Iroquois have given me to distinguish me, from some of my companions who once sailed upon the sea, and are fond of filling the ears of the natives, with stories of their great salt-water lakes.”
“And why should’n’t they! I dare say they do the savages no harm. They may not civilize them, but they will not make them greater barbarians than they are. Ay—ay—Oh! the deuce, that must mean the white brandy, which is no great matter after all, and may well enough be called the deuce, for deuced stuff it is!”
“The signification of Eau douce is sweet-water, or water that can be drunk, and it is the manner in which the French express fresh-water,” rejoined J
asper, a little nettled at the distinctions made by Cap; although the latter was the uncle of Mabel.
“And how the devil do they make water out of Oh! the deuce, when it means brandy in Eau-de-vie? This may be the French used, hereaway, but it is not that they use in Burdux, and other French ports; besides, among seamen Eau always means brandy, and Eau-de-vie, brandy of a high proof. I think nothing of your ignorance, young man, for it is natural to your situation, and cannot be helped. If you will return with me, and make a v’y’ge or two, on the Atlantic, it will serve you a good turn the remainder of your days, and, Mabel there, and all the other young women, near the coast, will think all the better of you, should you live to be as old as one of the trees in this forest.”
“Nay, nay,” interrupted the single hearted and generous guide, “Jasper wants not for friends, in this region, I can assure you; and though seeing the world, according to his habits, may do him good, as well as another, we shall think none the worse of him, if he never quits us. Eau douce, or Eau-de-vie, he is a brave, true-hearted youth, and I always sleep as sound, when he is on the watch as if I was up and stirring myself; ay, and for that matter, sounder too. The Sarjeant’s daughter, here, does’n’t believe it necessary for the lad to go to sea, in order to make a man of him, or one, who is worthy to be respected and esteemed.”
Mabel made no reply to this appeal, and she even looked towards the eastern shore, although the darkness rendered the natural movement unnecessary to conceal her face. But, Jasper felt that there was a necessity for his saying something, the pride of youth and manhood revolting at the idea of his being in a condition not to command the respect of his fellows, or the smiles of his equals of the other sex. Still he was unwilling to utter aught that might be considered harsh, to the uncle of Mabel, and his self command was, perhaps, more creditable than his modesty and spirit.
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 11
