The Leatherstocking Tales II

by James Fenimore Cooper

  Of females who were officially recognised as belonging to the class of ladies, there were but three in the fort, all of whom were officers’ wives; staid matronly women, with the simplicity of the habits of middle life, singularly mixed in their deportment, with their notions of professional superiority, the rights and duties of caste, and the etiquette of rank. The other women were the wives of non-commissioned officers and privates, Mabel being strictly, as had been stated by the Quarter Master, the only real candidate for matrimony among her sex. There were a dozen other girls it is true, but they were still classed among the children, none of them being yet of an age to elevate them into objects of legitimate admiration.

  Some little preparation had been made for the proper reception of the females, who were placed on a low staging of planks, near the immediate bank of the lake. In their vicinity the prizes were suspended from a post. Great care was taken to reserve the front seat of the stage, for the three ladies and their children, while Mabel, and those who belonged to the non-commissioned officers of the regiment, occupied the second. The wives and daughters of the privates, were huddled together in the rear, some standing and some sitting as they could find room. Mabel, who had already been admitted to the society of the officers’ wives, on the footing of a humble companion, was a good deal noticed by the ladies in front, who had a proper appreciation of modest self-respect and gentle refinement, though they were all fully aware of the value of rank, more particularly in a garrison.

  As soon as this important portion of the spectators had got into their places, Lundie gave orders for the trial of skill to proceed, in the manner that had been prescribed in his previous orders. Some eight or ten of the best marksmen of the garrison now took possession of the stand, and began to fire in succession. Among them were officers and men, indiscriminately placed, nor were the casual visiters in the fort excluded from the competition. As might have been expected, of men, whose amusements and comfortable subsistence equally depended on skill in the use of their weapons, it was soon found that they were all sufficiently expert to hit the bull’s eye, or the white spot in the centre of the target. Others, who succeeded them, it is true were less sure, their bullets striking in the different circles that surrounded the centre of the target, without touching it.

  According to the rules of the day, none could proceed to the second trial who had failed in the first, and the adjutant of the place, who acted as master of the ceremonies or marshal of the day, called upon the successful adventurers by name, to get ready for the next effort, while he gave notice that those who failed to present themselves for the shot at the bull’s eye, would necessarily be excluded from all the higher trials. Just at this moment, Lundie, the Quarter Master, and Jasper Eau douce appeared in the group at the stand, while the Pathfinder walked leisurely on the ground, without his beloved rifle, for him a measure so unusual as to be understood by all present, as a proof that he did not consider himself a competitor for the honors of the day. All made way as he approached the stand, for Major Duncan, who, in a good-humoured way took his station, levelled his rifle carelessly and fired. The bullet missed the required mark by several inches.

  “Major Duncan is excluded from the other trials!” proclaimed the adjutant, in a voice so strong and confident, that all the elder officers and the serjeants, well understood that this failure was preconcerted, while all the younger gentlemen and the privates felt new encouragement to proceed, on account of the evident impartiality with which the laws of the sports were administered, nothing being so attractive to the unsophisticated as the appearance of rigorous justice; and nothing so rare as its actual administration.

  “Now, Master Eau douce, comes your turn,” said Muir, “and if you do no beat the Major, I shall say that your hand is better skilled with the oar, than with the rifle.”

  Jasper’s handsome face flushed, he stepped upon the stand, cast a hasty glance at Mabel, whose pretty form he ascertained was bending eagerly forward, as if to note the result, dropped the barrel of his rifle, with but little apparent care into the palm of his left hand, raised the muzzle for a single instant with exceeding steadiness, and fired. The bullet passed directly through the centre of the bull’s eye, much the best shot of the morning, since the others had merely touched the paint.

  “Wall performed, Master Jasper,” said Muir, as soon as the result was declared; “and a shot that might have done credit to an older head and a more experienced eye. I’m thinking, notwithstanding, there was some of a youngster’s luck in it, for ye were no partic’lar in the aim ye took. Ye may be quick, Eau douce, in the movement, but ye’r not philosophic, nor scientifick in ye’r management of the weepon. Now, Serjeant Dunham, I’ll thank you to request the ladies to give a closer attention than common, for I’m about to make that use of the rifle which may be called the intellectual. Jasper’s would have killed, I allow, but then there would not have been half the satisfaction in receiving such a shot, as in receiving one that is discharged scientifically.”

  All this time, the Quarter Master was preparing himself for the scientifick trial, but he delayed his aim until he saw that the eye of Mabel, in common with those of her companions, was fastened on him in curiosity. As the others left him room, out of respect to his rank, no one stood near the competitor but his commanding officer, to whom he now said, in his familiar manner—

  “Ye see, Lundie, that something is to be gained by exciting a female’s curiosity. It’s an active sentiment, is curiosity, and properly improved may lead to gentler inclinations in the end.”

  “Very true, Davy, but ye keep us all waiting while ye make your preparations, and here is Pathfinder drawing near to catch a lesson, from your greater experience.”

  “Wall, Pathfinder, and so you have come to get an idea, too, concerning the philosophy of shooting! I do not wish to hide my light under a bushel, and ye’r welcome to all ye’ll learn. Do ye no mean to try a shot, yersel’, man?”

  “Why should I, Quarter Master—why should I? I want none of the prizes, and as for honor, I have had enough of that, if it’s any honor to shoot better than yourself. I’m not a woman to wear a calash.”

  “Very true, but ye might find a woman that is precious in your eyes to wear it for ye as—”

  “Come, Davy—” interrupted the Major—“your shot, or a retreat. The adjutant is getting to be impatient.”

  “The quarter-master’s department, and the adjutant’s department, are seldom compilable, Lundie, but I’m ready—stand a little aside, Pathfinder, and give the ladies an opportunity—”

  Lt. Muir now took his attitude with a great deal of studied elegance, raised his rifle slowly, lowered it, raised it again, repeated the manœuvres, and fired.

  “Missed the target altogether!” shouted the man whose duty it was to mark the bullets, and who had little relish for the Quarter Master’s tedious science—“Missed the target!”

  “It cannot be,” cried Muir, his face flushing equally with indignation and shame; “it cannot be, adjutant, for I never did so awkward a thing in my life. I appeal to the ladies for a juster judgment.”

  “The ladies shut their eyes when you fired,” exclaimed the regimental wag—“Your preparations alarmed them.”

  “I will na believe such a calumny of the leddies, nor sic’ a reproach on my own skill,” returned the Quarter Master, growing more and more Scotch, as he warmed with his feelings; “it’s a conspiracy to rob a meritorious man of his dues.”

  “It’s a dead miss, Muir,” said the laughing Lundie, “and ye’ll just sit down quietly with the disgrace.”

  “No—no—Major,” Pathfinder at length observed—“the Quarter Master is a good shot, for a slow one, and a measured distance, though nothing extr’ornary, for raal sarvice. He has covered Jasper’s bullet, as will be seen, if any one will take the trouble to examine the target.”

  The respect for Pathfinder’s skill, and for his quickness and accuracy of sight, was so profound and general, that the instant he made this
declaration, the spectators began to distrust their own opinions, and a dozen rushed to the target, in order to ascertain the fact. There, sure enough, it was found that the Quarter Master’s bullet had gone through the hole made by Jasper’s, and that, too, so accurately as to require a minute examination to be certain of the circumstance; which, however, was soon clearly established by discovering one bullet over the other, in the stump against which the target was placed.

  “I told ye, ladies, ye were about to witness the influence of science on gunnery,” said the Quarter Master, advancing towards the staging occupied by the females. “Major Duncan derides the idea of mathematics entering into target shooting, but I tell him, philosophy colours, and enlarges, and improves, and dilates, and explains every thing that belongs to human life, whather it be a shooting match or a sermon. In a word philosophy is philosophy, and that is saying all that the subject requires.”

  “I trust you exclude love from the catalogue,” observed the wife of a captain, who knew the history of the Quarter Master’s marriages, and who had a woman’s malice against the monopolizer of her sex—“it seems that philosophy has little in common with love.”

  “You would’n’t say that, madam, if your heart had experienced many trials. It’s the man, or the woman that has had many occasions to improve the affections, that can best speak of such matters, and, believe me, of all love, philosophical is the most lasting, as it is the most rational.”

  “You would then recommend experience as an improvement on the passion?”

  “Your quick mind has conceived the idea at a glance. The happiest marriages are those in which youth, and beauty, and confidence, on one side, rely on the sagacity, moderation and prudence of years—middle age, I mean, madam, for I’ll no deny that there is such a thing as a husband’s being too old for a wife. Here is Serjeant Dunham’s charming daughter, now, to approve of such sentiments, I’m certain, her character for discretion being already well established in the garrison, short as has been her residence among us.”

  “Serjeant Dunham’s daughter, is scarcely a fitting interlocutor in a discourse between you and me, Lt. Muir,” rejoined the captain’s lady, with a careful respect for her own dignity, “and yonder is the Pathfinder about to take his chance, by way of changing the subject.”

  “I protest. Major Duncan, I protest—” cried Muir, hurrying back towards the stand, with both arms elevated by way of enforcing his words—“I protest in the strongest terms, gentlemen, against Pathfinder’s being admitted into these sports with Killdeer, which is a piece, to say nothing of long habit, that is altogether out of proportion, for a trial of skill against government rifles.”

  “Killdeer is taking its rest, Quarter Master,” returned Pathfinder, calmly, “and no one here thinks of disturbing it. I did not think, myself, of pulling a trigger to day, but Sarjeant Dunham has been persuading me that I shall not do proper honor to his handsome daughter, who came in under my care, if I am backward on such an occasion. I’m using Jasper’s rifle, Quarter Master, as you may see, and that is no better than your own.”

  Lt. Muir was now obliged to acquiesce, and every eye turned towards the Pathfinder, as he took the required station. The air and attitude of this celebrated guide and hunter were extremely fine, as he raised his tall form, and levelled the piece, showing perfect self-command, and a thorough knowledge of the power of the human frame, as well as of the weapon. Pathfinder was not what is usually termed a handsome man, though his appearance excited so much confidence and commanded respect. Tall, and even muscular, his frame might have been esteemed nearly perfect, were it not for the total absence of every thing like flesh. Whip-cord was scarcely more rigid than his arms and legs, or, at need, more pliable; but the outlines of his person were rather too angular for the proportions that the eye most approves. Still, his motions being natural were graceful, and being calm and regulated, they gave him an air of dignity that associated well with the idea that was so prevalent, of his services and peculiar merits. His honest, open features were burnt to a bright red, that comported well with the notion of exposure and hardships, while his sinewy hands denoted force and a species of use that was removed from the stiffening and deforming effects of labor. Although no one perceived any of those gentler, or more insinuating qualities, which are apt to win upon a woman’s affections, as he poised his rifle, not a female eye was fastened on him, without a silent approbation of the freedom of his movements, and the manliness of his air. Thought was scarcely quicker than his aim, and, as the smoke floated above his head, the breech of the rifle was seen on the ground, the hand of the Pathfinder was leaning on the barrel, and his honest countenance was illuminated by his usual silent, hearty laugh.

  “If one dared to hint at such a thing,” cried Major Duncan, “I should say that the Pathfinder had also missed the target!”

  “No—no—Major,” returned the guide, confidently. “That would be a risky declaration. I did’n’t load the piece, and can’t say what was in it; but if it was lead, you will find the bullet driving down those of the Quarter Master’s and Jasper’s; else is not my name, Pathfinder.”

  A shout from the target announced the truth of this assertion.

  “That’s not all—that’s not all, boys,” called out the guide, who was now slowly advancing towards the stage occupied by the females—“if you find the target touched at all, I’ll own to a miss. The Quarter Master cut the wood, but you’ll find no wood cut, by that last messenger.”

  “Very true, Pathfinder, very true,” answered Muir, who was lingering near Mabel, though ashamed to address her particularly, in the presence of the officers’ wives. “The Quarter Master did cut the wood, and by that means he opened a passage for your bullet, which went through the hole he had made.”

  “Well, Quarter Master, there goes the nail, and we’ll see who can drive it closest, you or I; for, though I did not think of showing what a rifle can do to day, now my hand is in, I’ll turn my back to no man that carries King George’s commission. Chingachgook is outlying, or he might force me into some of the niceties of the art, but as for you, Quarter Master, if the nail don’t stop you, the potatoe will.”

  “You’re over boastful this morning, Pathfinder, but you’ll find you’ve no green boy, fresh from the settlements and the towns, to deal with, I will assure ye!”

  “I know that well, Quarter Master; I know that well, and shall not deny your experience. You’ve lived many years on the frontiers, and I’ve heard of you, in the colonies, and among the Injins, too, quite a human life ago.”

  “Na—na—” interrupted Muir, in his broadest Scotch, “this is injustice, man. I’ve no lived so very long, neither.”

  “I’ll do you justice, lieutenant, even if you get the best in the potatoe trial. I say you’ve passed a good human life, for a soldier, in places where the rifle is daily used, and I know you are a creditable and ingenious marksman; but then you are not a true rifle shooter. As for boasting, I hope I’m not a vain talker about my own exploits, but a man’s gifts are his gifts, and it’s flying in the face of Providence to deny them. The sarjeant’s daughter, here, shall judge atween us, if you have the stomach to submit to so pretty a judge.”

  The Pathfinder had named Mabel as the arbiter, because he admired her, and because, in his eyes, rank had little or no value, but Lt. Muir shrunk at such a reference in the presence of the wives of officers. He would gladly keep himself constantly before the eyes and the imagination of the object of his wishes, but he was still too much under the influence of old prejudices, and perhaps too wary, to appear openly as her suitor, unless he saw something very like a certainty of success. On the discretion of Major Duncan he had a full reliance; and he apprehended no betrayal from that quarter; but he was quite aware, should it ever get abroad that he had been refused by the child of a non-commissioned officer, he would find great difficulty in making his approaches to any other woman of a condition to which he might reasonably aspire. Notwithstanding these doubts and misgiving
s, Mabel looked so prettily, blushed so charmingly, smiled so sweetly, and altogether presented so winning a picture of youth, spirit, modesty and beauty, that he found it exceedingly tempting to be kept so prominently before her imagination, and to be able to address her freely.

  “You shall have it your own way, Pathfinder,” he answered as soon as his doubts had settled down into determination—“Let the Serjeant’s daughter—his charming daughter, I should have termed her—be the umpire then, and to her we will both dedicate the prize, that one or the other must certainly win. Pathfinder must be humored, ladies, as you perceive, else, no doubt, we should have had the honor to submit ourselves to one of your charming society.”

  A call for the competitors, now drew the Quarter Master and his adversary away, and in a few moments the second trial of skill commenced. A common wrought nail was driven lightly into the target, its head having been first touched with paint, and the marksman was required to hit it, or he lost his chances in the succeeding trials. No one was permitted to enter, on this occasion, who had already failed in the essay against the bull’s eye.

  There might have been half a dozen aspirants for the honors of this trial, one or two who had barely succeeded in touching the spot of paint, in the previous strife, preferring to rest their reputations there, feeling certain that they could not succeed, in the greater effort that was now exacted of them. The three first adventurers failed, all coming quite near the mark, but neither touching it. The fourth person who presented himself was the Quarter Master, who, after going through his usual attitudes, so far succeeded as to carry away a small portion of the head of the nail, planting his bullet by the side of its point. This was not considered an extraordinary shot, though it brought the adventurer within the category.