“Tush, Mabel, the Sarjeant knows what the woods be, and what men—true, real men be, too. There is little need to tell him any thing about it. Well, now you have met your father, do you find the honest old soldier, the sort of person you expected to find?”
“He is my own dear father, and received me as a soldier and a father should receive a child. Have you known him long, Pathfinder?”
“That is as people count time. I was just twelve when the sarjeant took me on my first scouting, and that is now more than twenty years ago. We had a tramping time of it, and as it was before your day, you would have had no father, had not the rifle been one of my nat’ral gifts.”
“Explain yourself.”
“It is too simple for many words. We were ambushed, and the sarjeant got a bad hurt, and would have lost his scalp, but for a sort of inbred turn I took to the weapon. We brought him off, howsever, and a handsomer head of hair, for his time of life, is not to be found in the rigiment, than the Sarjeant carries about with him, this blessed day.”
“You saved my father’s life, Pathfinder!” exclaimed Mabel, unconsciously, though warmly, taking one of his hard sinewy hands into both her own. “God bless you for this, too, among your other good acts.”
“Nay, I did not say that much, though I believe I did save his scalp. A man might live without a scalp, and so I cannot say I saved his life. Jasper may say that much consarning you for without his eye and arm the canoe would never have passed the rift in safety, on a night like the last. The gifts of the lad are for the water, while mine are for the hunt and the trail. He is yonder in the cove, there, looking after the canoes, and keeping an eye on his beloved little craft. To my eye, there is no likelier youth, in these parts, than Jasper Western.”
For the first time since she had left her room, Mabel now turned her eyes beneath her, and got a view of what might be called the fore-ground of the remarkable picture she had been studying with so much pleasure. The Oswego threw its dark waters into the lake, between banks of some height; that on its eastern side, being bolder and projecting farther north, than that on its western. The fort was on the latter, and immediately beneath it, were a few huts of logs, which, as they could not interfere with the defence of the place, had been erected along the strand for the purpose of receiving and containing such stores, as were landed, or were intended to be embarked, in the communications between the different posts on the shores of Ontario. There were two low, curved gravelly points, that had been formed with surprising regularity by the counteracting forces of the northerly winds and the swift current, and which, inclining from the storms of the lake, formed two coves within the river. That on the western side was the most deeply indented, and as it also had the most water, it formed a sort of picturesque little port, for the post. It was along the narrow strand that lay between the low height of the fort and the water of this cove, that the rude buildings just mentioned, had been erected.
Several skiffs, batteaux and canoes were hauled upon the shore, and in the cove itself lay the little craft, from which Jasper obtained his claim to be considered a sailor. She was cutter-rigged, might have been of forty tons burthen, was so neatly constructed and painted as to have something of the air of a vessel of war, though entirely without quarters, and rigged and sparred with so scrupulous a regard to proportions and beauty, as well as fitness and judgment, as to give her an appearance that even Mabel at once distinguished to be gallant and trim. Her mould was admirable, for a wright of great skill had sent her drafts from England at the express request of the officer who had caused her to be constructed; her paint dark, warlike and neat, and the long coach-whip pennant that she wore, at once proclaimed her to be the property of the king. Her name was the Scud.
“That, then, is the vessel of Jasper!” said Mabel, who associated the master of the little craft quite naturally with the cutter itself. “Are there many others on this lake?”
“The Frenchers have three; one of which they tell me is a real ship, such as are used on the ocean, another a brig, and a third is a cutter, like the Scud, here, which they call the Squirrel, in their own tongue howsever, and which seems to have a nat’ral hatred of our own pretty boat, for Jasper seldom goes out that the Squirrel is not at his heels.”
“And is Jasper one to run from a Frenchman though he appear in the shape of a squirrel, and that, too, on the water!”
“Of what use would valor be without the means of turning it to account? Jasper is a brave boy, as all on this frontier know, but he has no gun except a little howitzer, and then his crew consists only of two men besides himself and a boy. I was with him in one of his trampooses, and the youngster was risky enough, for he brought us so near the inimy that rifles began to talk, but the Frenchers carry cannon, and ports, and never show their faces outside of Frontenac, without having some twenty men, besides their Squirrel, in their cutter. No—no—this Scud was built for flying, and the Major says he will not put her in a fighting humour, by giving her men and arms lest she should take him at his word, and get her wings clipped. I know little of these things, for my gifts are not at all, in that way, but I see the reason of the thing—I see its reason, though Jasper does not.”
“Ah! here is my uncle, none the worse for his swim, coming to look at this inland sea.”
Sure enough Cap, who had announced his approach by a couple of lusty hems, now made his appearance on the bastion, where, after nodding to his niece and her companion, he made a deliberate survey of the expanse of water before him. In order to effect this at his ease, the mariner mounted on one of the old iron guns, folded his arms across his breast, and balanced his body, as if he felt the motion of a vessel. To complete the picture he had a short pipe in his mouth.
“Well, Master Cap,” asked the Pathfinder innocently, for he did not detect the expression of contempt that was gradually settling on the features of the other—“is it not a beautiful sheet, and fit to be named a sea?”
“This, then, is what you call your lake?” demanded Cap, sweeping the northern horizon with his pipe. “I say, is this, really, your lake.”
“Sartain; and if the judgment of one who has lived on the shores of many others can be taken, a very good lake it is.”
“Just as I expected! A pond in dimensions, and a scuttlebutt in taste. It is all in vain to travel inland, in the hope of seeing any thing either full-grown, or useful. I knew it would turn out just in this way.”
“What is the matter with Ontario, Master Cap? It is large, and fair to look at, and pleasant enough to drink, for those who ca’n’t get at the waters of the spring.”
“Do you call this large?” asked Cap, again sweeping the air with the pipe. “I will just ask you what there is large about it? Did’n’t Jasper himself confess that it was only some twenty leagues from shore to shore, hereaway?”
“But, uncle,” interposed Mabel, “no land is to be seen, except here on our own coast. To me it looks exactly like the ocean.”
“This bit of a pool look like the ocean! Well, Magnet, that from a girl who has had real seamen in her family is downright nonsense. What is there about it pray, that has even the outline of a sea on it?”
“Why, there is water—water—water—nothing but water, for miles on miles—far as the eye can see.”
“And is’n’t there water—water—water—nothing but water for miles on miles, in your rivers, that you have been canoeing through, too; ay, and ‘as far as the eye can see,’ in the bargain?”
“Yes, uncle, but the rivers have their banks, and there are trees along them, and they are narrow.”
“And is’n’t this a bank where we stand—do’n’t these soldiers call this the bank of the lake, and ar’n’t there trees in thousands, and ar’n’t twenty leagues narrow enough of all conscience? Who the devil ever heard of the banks of the ocean, unless it might be the banks that are under water?”
“But, uncle, we cannot see across this lake, as we can see across a river.”
“There you are out,
Magnet. Ar’n’t the Amazon, and Oronoco, and La Plata rivers, and can you see across them? Harkee, Pathfinder, I very much doubt if this stripe of water here, be even a lake; for to me it appears to be only a river. You are by no means particular about your geography, I find, up here in the woods.”
“There you are out, Master Cap. There is a river, and a noble one too, at each end of it, but this is old Ontario before you, and, though it is not my gift to live on a lake, to my judgment there are few better than this.”
“And, uncle, if we stood on the beach at Rockaway, what more should we see, than we now behold? There is a shore on one side, or banks there, and trees, too, as well as those which are here.”
“This is perverseness, Magnet, and young girls should steer clear of any thing like obstinacy. In the first place, the ocean has coasts, but no banks, except the Grand Banks, as I tell you, which are out of sight of land; and you will not pretend that this bank is out of sight of land, or even under water?”
As Mabel could not very plausibly set up this extravagant opinion, Cap pursued the subject, his countenance beginning to discover the triumph of a successful disputant.
“And then the trees bear no comparison to these trees. The coasts of the ocean have farms, and cities, and country seats, and, in some parts of the world, castles and monasteries, and light-houses—ay—ay—light-houses in particular on them; not one of all which things is to be seen here. No—no— Master Pathfinder, I never heard of an ocean that had’n’t more or less light-houses on it, whereas, hereaway, there is not even a beacon.”
“There is what is better—there’s what is better, a forest and noble trees, a fit temple of God.”
“Ay, your forest may do for a lake, but of what use would an ocean be, if the earth all around it were forest. Ships would be unnecessary, as timber might be floated in rafts, and there would be an end of trade, and what would a world be without trade. I am of that philosopher’s opinion, who says human nature was invented for the purposes of trade. Magnet, I am astonished that you should think this water even looks like sea-water! Now, I dare say, that there is’n’t such a thing as a whale, in all your lake, Master Pathfinder?”
“I never heard of one, I will confess, but I am no judge of animals that live in the water, unless it be the fishes of the rivers and the brooks.”
“Nor a grampus, nor a porpoise even; not so much as a poor devil of a shark?”
“I will not take it on myself to say there is either. My gifts are not in that way, I tell you, Master Cap.”
“Nor herring, nor albatross, nor flying-fish—” continued Cap, who kept his eye fastened on the guide, in order to see how far he might venture. “No such thing as a fish that can fly, I dare say?”
“A fish that can fly! Master Cap—Master Cap do not think, because we are mere borderers, that we have no idees of natur’, and what she has been pleased to do. I know there are squirrels that can fly—”
“A squirrel fly!—the d____l, Master Pathfinder. Do you suppose that you have got a boy on his first v’y’ge, up here among you?”
“I know nothing of your v’y’ges, Master Cap, though I suppose them to have been many; but, as for what belongs to natur’ in the woods, what I have seen I may tell, and not fear the face of man.”
“And do you wish me to understand that you have seen a squirrel fly?”
“If you wish to understand the power of God, Master Cap, you will do well to believe that, and many other things of a like natur’, for you may be quite sartain it is true.”
“And yet, Pathfinder—” said Mabel, looking so pretty and sweet even while she played with the guide’s infirmity, that he forgave her in his heart—“you, who speak so reverently of the power of the Deity, appear to doubt that a fish can fly?”
“I have not said it—I have not said it, and if Master Cap is ready to testify to the fact, unlikely as it seems, I am willing to try to think it true. I think it every man’s duty to believe in the power of God, however difficult it may be.”
“And why is’n’t my fish as likely to have wings, as your squirrel?” demanded Cap, with more logic than was his wont. “That fishes do and can fly is as true as it is reasonable—”
“Nay, that is the only difficulty in believing the story,” rejoined the guide. “It seems onreasonable to give an animal that lives in the water wings, which seemingly can be of no use to them.”
“And do you suppose that the fishes are such asses as to fly about under water, when they are once fairly fitted out with wings?”
“Nay, I know nothing of the matter, but that fish should fly in the air seems more contrary to natur’ still, than that they should fly in their own quarters; that, in which they were born and brought up, as one might say.”
“So much for contracted ideas, Magnet. The fish fly out of water, to run away from their enemies under water, and there you see not only the fact, but the reason for it.”
“Then I suppose it must be true,” said the guide, quietly. “How long are their flights?”
“Not quite as far as those of pigeons, perhaps, but far enough to make an offing. As for those squirrels of yours, we’ll say no more about them, friend Pathfinder, as I suppose they were mentioned just as a make-weight to the fish, in favor of the woods—But what is this thing, anchored here under the hill.”
“That is the cutter of Jasper, uncle,” said Mabel, hurriedly—“and a very pretty vessel, I think it is. Its name, too, is the Scud.”
“Ay, it will do well enough for a lake, perhaps, but it’s no great affair. The lad has got a standing bowsprit, and who ever saw a cutter with a standing bowsprit, before!”
“But may there not be some good reason for it, on a lake like this, uncle?”
“Sure enough—I must remember this is not the ocean, though it does look so much like it.”
“Ah! uncle, then Ontario does look like the ocean, after all!”
“In your eyes, I mean, and those of Pathfinder; not, in the least, in mine, Magnet. Now you might set me down, out yonder, in the middle of this bit of a pond, and that, too, in the darkest night that ever fell from the heavens, and in the smallest canoe, and I could tell you it was only a lake. For that matter, the Dorothy (the name of his vessel) would find it out as quick as I could myself. I do not believe that brig would make more than a couple of short stretches at the most, before she would perceive the difference between Ontario and the old Atlantic. I once took her down into one of the large South American bays, and she behaved herself as awkwardly as a booby would in a church, with the congregation in a hurry. And Jasper sails that boat? I must have a cruise with the lad, Magnet, before I quit you, just for the name of the thing. It would never do to say I got in sight of this pond, and went away without taking a trip on it.”
“Well, well, you need’n’t wait long for that,” returned Pathfinder—“for the sarjeant is about to embark with a party, to relieve a post among the Thousand Islands, and, as I heard him say, he intended that Mabel should go along, you can join company too.”
“Is this true, Magnet?”
“I believe it is,” returned the girl, a flush so imperceptible as to escape the observation of her companions, glowing on her cheeks, “though I have had so little opportunity to talk with my dear father, that I am not quite certain. Here he comes, however, and you can inquire of himself.”
Notwithstanding his humble rank, there was something in the mien and character of Serjeant Dunham that commanded respect. Of a tall imposing figure, grave and saturnine disposition, and accurate and precise in his acts and manner of thinking, even Cap, dogmatical and supercilious as he usually was with landsmen, did not presume to take the same liberties with the old soldier, as he did with his other friends. It was often remarked that Serjeant Dunham received more true respect from Duncan of Lundie, the Scotch Laird who commanded the post, than most of the subalterns, for experience and tried services were of quite as much value in the eyes of the veteran Major, as birth and money. While the
serjeant never even hoped to rise any higher, he so far respected himself and his present station, as always to act in a way to command attention, and the habit of mixing so much with inferiors, whose passions and dispositions he felt it necessary to restrain by distance and dignity, had so far coloured his whole deportment, that few were altogether free from its influence. While the captains treated him kindly, and as an old comrade, the lieutenants seldom ventured to dissent from his military opinions, and the ensigns, it was remarked, actually manifested a species of respect, that amounted to something very like deference. It is no wonder then, that the announcement of Mabel put a sudden termination to the singular dialogue we have just related, though it had been often observed that the Pathfinder was the only man, on that frontier, beneath the condition of a gentleman, who presumed to treat the Serjeant at all as an equal, or even with the cordial familiarity of a friend.
“Good morrow, Brother Cap,” said the Serjeant, giving the military salute, as he walked, in a grave, stately manner on the bastion. “My morning duty has made me seem forgetful of you and Mabel, but we have now an hour or two to spare, and to get acquainted. Do you not perceive, brother, a strong likeness in the girl, to her we have so long lost?”
“Mabel is the image of her mother, serjeant, as I have always said, with a little of your firmer figure; though, for that matter, the Caps were never wanting in spring and activity.”
Mabel cast a timid glance at the stern, rigid countenance of her father, of whom she had ever thought as the warm-hearted dwell on the affection of their absent parents, and, as she saw that the muscles of his face were working, notwithstanding the stiffness and method of his manner, her very heart yearned to throw herself on his bosom, and to weep at will. But he was so much colder in externals, so much more formal and distant than she had expected to find him, that she would not have dared to hazard the freedom, even had they been alone.
“You have taken a long and troublesome journey, brother, on my account, and we will try to make you comfortable, while you stay among us.”
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 14
