The serjeant took the extended hand of his superior, with proper respect, and they finally parted; Lundie hastening into his own moveable abode, while the other left the fort, descended to the beach, and got into a boat.
Duncan of Lundie had said no more than the truth, when he spoke of the painful nature of distrust. Of all the feelings of the human mind, it is that which is the most treacherous in its workings, the most insidious in its approaches, and the least at the command of a generous temperament. While doubt exists, every thing may be suspected, the thoughts having no definite facts to set bounds to their wanderings, and distrust once admitted it is impossible to say to what extent conjecture may lead, or whither credulity may follow. That which had previously seemed innocent, assumes the hue of guilt, as soon as this uneasy tenant has taken possession of the thoughts, and nothing is said, or done, without being subjected to the colourings and disfigurations of jealousy and apprehension. If this is true, in ordinary affairs, it is doubly true, when any heavy responsibility, involving life or death, weighs on the unsettled mind of its subject, as in the case of the military commander, or the agent in the management of any grave political interest. It is not to be supposed, then, that Serjeant Dunham, after he had parted from his commanding officer, was likely to forget the injunctions he had received. He thought highly of Jasper, in general, but distrust had been insinuated between his former confidence and the obligations of duty, and, as he now felt that every thing depended on his own vigilance, by the time the boat reached the side of the Scud, he was in a proper humour to let no suspicious circumstance go unheeded, or any unusual movement in the young sailor, pass without its comment. As a matter of course, he viewed things in the light suited to his peculiar mood, and his precautions, as well as his distrust, partook of the habits, opinions and education of the man.
The Scud’s kedge was lifted, as soon as the boat with the serjeant, who was the last person expected, was seen to quit the shore, and the head of the cutter was cast to the eastward, by means of the sweeps. A few vigorous strokes of the latter, in which the soldiers aided, sent the light craft into the line of the current that flowed from the river, when she was suffered to drift into the offing again. As yet, there was no wind, the light and almost imperceptible air from the lake, that had existed previously to the setting of the sun having entirely failed.
All this time, an unusual quiet prevailed in the cutter. It appeared as if those on board of her felt that they were entering upon an uncertain enterprize, in the obscurity of night, and that their duty, the hour, and the manner of their departure lent a solemnity to their movements. Discipline also came in aid of these feelings. Most were silent, and those who said anything, spoke seldom and in low voices. In this manner, the cutter set slowly out into the lake, until she had got as far as the river-current would carry her, when she became stationary, waiting for the usual land breeze. An interval of half an hour followed, during the whole of which time, the Scud lay as motionless as a log, floating on the water. While the little changes just mentioned were occurring in the situation of the vessel, notwithstanding the general quiet that prevailed, all conversation had not been repressed, for Serjeant Dunham, having first ascertained that both his daughter and her female companion were on the quarter-deck, led the Pathfinder to the after-cabin, where, closing the door with great caution, and otherwise making certain he was beyond the reach of eaves-droppers, he commenced as follows.
“It is now many years, my friend, since you began to experience the hardships and dangers of the woods in my company.”
“It is, sarjeant, yes it is. I sometimes fear I am too old for Mabel, who was not born until you and I had fou’t the Frenchers as comrades.”
“No fear on that account, Pathfinder. I was near your age, before I prevailed on the mind of her mother, and Mabel is a steady, thoughtful girl; one that will regard character, more than any thing else. A lad like Jasper Eau douce, for instance, will have no chance with her, though he is both young and comely.”
“Does Jasper think of marrying?” inquired the guide, simply, but earnestly.
“I should hope not—at least not until he has satisfied every one of his fitness to possess a wife.”
“Jasper is a gallant boy, and one of great gifts in his way; he may claim a wife, as well as another.”
“To be frank with you, Pathfinder, I brought you here to talk about this very youngster. Major Duncan has received some information which has led him to suspect that Eau douce is false, and in the pay of the enemy; I wish to hear your opinion on the subject.”
“Anan!”
“I say the Major suspects Jasper of being a traitor—a French spy—or what is worse, of being bought to betray us. He has received a letter to this effect, and has been charging me to keep an eye on the boy’s movements, for he fears we shall meet with enemies when we least suspect it, and by his means.”
“Duncan of Lundie has told you this, Sarjeant Dunham?”
“He has, indeed, Pathfinder; and though I have been loth to believe any thing to the injury of Jasper, I have a feeling, which tells me I ought to distrust him. Do you believe in presentiments, my friend?”
“In what, Sarjeant?”
“Presentiments—a sort of secret foreknowledge of events that are about to happen. The Scotch of our regiment are great sticklers for such things, and my opinion of Jasper is changing so fast, that I begin to fear there must be some truth in their doctrines.”
“But you’ve been talking with Duncan of Lundie, consarning Jasper, and his words have raised misgivin’s.”
“Not it—not so, in the least. For, while conversing with the Major, my feelings were altogether the other way; and I endeavored to convince him, all I could, that he did the boy injustice. But there is no use in holding out against a presentiment, I find, and I fear there is something in the suspicion after all.”
“I know nothing of presentiments, Sarjeant, but I have known Jasper Eau douce since he was a boy, and I have as much faith in his honesty, as I have in my own, or that of the Sarpent, himself.”
“But the Serpent, Pathfinder, has his tricks and ambushes in war, as well as another!”
“Ay, them are his nat’ral gifts, and are such as belong to his people. Neither red skin nor pale face can deny natur’; but Chingachgook is not a man to feel a presentiment ag’in.”
“That I believe, nor should I have thought ill of Jasper, this very morning. It seems to me, Pathfinder, since I’ve taken up this presentiment, that the lad does not bustle about his deck, naturally, as he used to do, but that he is silent, and moody, and thoughtful, like a man who has a load on his conscience.”
“Jasper is never noisy, and he tells me noisy ships are generally ill worked ships. Master Cap agrees in this too. No—no—I will believe naught against Jasper, until I see it. Send for your brother, sarjeant, and let us question him in this matter, for to sleep with distrust of one’s fri’nd in the heart, is like sleeping with lead there. I have no faith in your presentiments!”
The serjeant, although he scarce knew himself, with what object, complied, and Cap was summoned to join in the consultation. As Pathfinder was more collected than his companion, and felt so strong a conviction of the good faith of the party accused, he assumed the office of spokesman.
“We have asked you to come down, Master Cap,” he commenced, “in order to inquire if you have remarked any thing out of the common way, in the movements of Eau douce, this evening.”
“His movements are common enough I dare say, for fresh water, Master Pathfinder, though we should think most of his proceedings irregular, down on the coast.”
“Yes, yes—we know you will never agree with the lad about the manner the cutter ought to be managed, but it is on another p’int we wish your opinion.”
The Pathfinder then explained to Cap the nature of the suspicions which the Serjeant entertained, and the reasons why they had been excited, so far as the latter had been communicated by Major Duncan.
&
nbsp; “The youngster talks French, does he?”
“They say he speaks it better than common,” returned the Serjeant, gravely. “Pathfinder knows this to be true.”
“I’ll not gainsay it—I’ll not gainsay it,” answered the guide: “at least they tell me such is the fact. But this would prove nothing ag’in’ a Mississagua, and least of all ag’in’ one like Jasper. I speak the Mingo dialect myself, having l’arnt it while a prisoner among the reptyles, but who will say I am their fri’nd?—Not that I am an inimy, either, according to Injin notions, though I am their inimy, I will admit, agreeable to christianity.”
“Ay, Pathfinder, but Jasper did not get his French as a prisoner; he took it in, in boyhood, when the mind is easily impressed, and gets its permanent notions; when nature has a presentiment, as it were, which way the character is likely to incline.”
“A very just remark,” added Cap, “for that is the time of life, when we all learn the catechism, and other moral improvements. The Serjeant’s observation shows that he understands human nature, and I agree with him perfectly; it is a damnable thing for a youngster, up here, on this bit of fresh water, to talk French. If it were down on the Atlantic now, where a sea-faring man has occasion sometimes to converse with a pilot, or a linguister, in that language, I should not think so much of it, though we always look with suspicion, even there, at a shipmate who knows too much of the tongue, but up here on Ontario, I hold it to be a most suspicious circumstance.”
“But Jasper must talk in French to the people on the other shore,” said Pathfinder, “or hold his tongue, as there are none but French to speak to.”
“You do’n’t mean to tell me, Pathfinder, that France lies hereaway, on the opposite coast?” cried Cap, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the Canadas; “that one side of this bit of fresh water, is York, and the other France!”
“I mean to tell you this is York, and that is Upper Canada, and that English and Dutch and Indian are spoken in the first, and French and Indian in the last. Even the Mingos have got many of the French words in their dialect, and it is no improvement, neither.”
“Very true, and what sort of people are the Mingos, my friend?” inquired the serjeant, touching the other on a shoulder, by way of enforcing a remark, the inherent truth of which sensibly increased its value in the eyes of the speaker—“No one knows them better than yourself, and I ask you what sort of a tribe are they?”
“Jasper is no Mingo, Sarjeant.”
“He speaks French, and he might as well be, in that particular. Brother Cap, can you recollect no movement of this unfortunate young man, in the way of his calling, that would seem to denote treachery?”
“Not distinctly, serjeant, though he has gone to work wrong end fore most, half his time. It is true, that one of his hands coiled a rope against the sun, and he called it querling a rope, too, when I asked him what ‘he was about,’ but I am not certain that any thing was meant by it; though I dare say the French coil half their running rigging the wrong way, and may call it ‘querling it down,’ too, for that matter. Then Jasper, himself, belayed the end of the jib halyards to a stretcher in the rigging, instead of bringing them into the mast, where they belong, at least among British sailors.”
“I dare say Jasper may have got some Canada notions, about working his craft, from being so much on the other side—” Pathfinder interposed—, “but catching an idee, or a word, is’n’t treachery and bad faith. I sometimes get an idee from the Mingos themselves, but my heart has always been with the Delawares. No—no—Jasper is true, and the King might trust him with his crown, just as he would trust his own eldest son, who, as he is to wear it one day, ought to be the last man to wish to steal it.”
“Fine talking—fine talking—” said Cap, rising to spit out of the cabin window, as is customary with men when they most feel their own great moral strength, and happen to chew tobacco—“all fine talking, Master Pathfinder, but d____d little logic. In the first place, the King’s Majesty cannot lend his crown, it being contrary to the Laws of the Realm, which require him to wear it, at all times, in order that his sacred person may be known, just as the ‘Silver Oar’ is necessary to a sheriff’s officer afloat. In the next place, it’s high treason by law, for the eldest son of His Majesty ever to covet the crown, or to have a child, except in lawful wedlock, as either would derange the succession. Thus you see, friend Pathfinder, that in order to reason truly, one must get under way, as it might be, on the right tack. Law is reason, and reason is philosophy, and philosophy is a steady drag, whence it follows that crowns are regulated by law, reason and philosophy.”
“I know little of all this, Master Cap, but nothing short of seeing and feeling will make me think Jasper Western a traitor.”
“There you are wrong again, Pathfinder, for there is a way of proving a thing much more conclusively than by either seeing or feeling, or by both together, and that is by a circumstance.”
“It may be so, in the settlements, but it is not so, here, on the lines.”
“It is so in nature, which is monarch over all. Now, according to our senses, young Eau douce is this moment on deck, and by going up there, either of us might see and feel him; but, should it afterwards appear that a fact was communicated to the French at this precise moment, which fact no one but Jasper could communicate, why we should be bound to believe that the circumstance was true, and that our eyes and fingers deceived us. Any lawyer will tell you that.”
“This is hardly right,” said Pathfinder; “nor is it possible, seein’ that it is ag’in fact.”
“It is much more than possible, my worthy guide, it is law; absolute, King’s law of the realm, and, as such to be respected and obeyed. I’d hang my own brother on such testimony; no reflections on the family, being meant, serjeant.”
“God knows how far all this applies to Jasper, though I do believe Mr. Cap is right, as to the law, Pathfinder, circumstances being much stronger than the senses, on such occasions. We must all of us be watchful, and nothing suspicious should be overlooked.”
“Now I, I recollect me,” continued Cap, again using the window. “There was a circumstance, just after we came on board this evening, that is extremely suspicious, and which may be set down at once, as a make-weight against this lad. Jasper bent on the King’s ensign with his own hands, and while he pretended to be looking at Mabel, and the soldier’s wife, giving directions about showing them below, here, and all that, he got the flag Union down!”
“That might have been accident,” returned the Serjeant, “for such a thing has happened to myself; besides the halyards lead to a pulley, and the flag would have come right, or not, according to the manner in which the lad hoisted it.”
“A pulley!” exclaimed Cap, with strong disgust—“I wish, Serjeant Dunham, I could prevail on you to use proper terms: An ensign halyard-block is no more a pulley, than your halbert is a boarding pike. It is true that by hoisting on one part, another part would go uppermost; but I look upon that affair of the ensign, now you have mentioned your suspicions, as a circumstance, and shall bear it in mind. I trust supper is not to be overlooked, however, even if we have a hold full of traitors.”
“It will be duly attended to, Brother Cap, but I shall count on you, for aid in managing the Scud, should any thing occur to induce me to arrest Jasper.”
“I’ll not fail you, serjeant, and in such an event you’ll probably learn what this cutter can really perform, for, as yet, I fancy it is pretty much matter of guess work.”
“Well, for my part,” said Pathfinder, drawing a heavy sigh—“I shall cling to the hope of Jasper’s innocence, and recommend plain dealing, by asking the lad, himself, without further delay, whether he is, or is not a traitor. I’ll put Jasper Western ag’in all the presentiments and circumstances in the Colony.”
“That will never do,” rejoined the Serjeant. “The responsibility of this affair rests with me, and I request and enjoin, that nothing be said to any one, without my k
nowledge. We will all keep watchful eyes about us, and take proper note of circumstances.”
“Ay—ay—circumstances are the things after all,” returned Cap—“One circumstance is worth fifty facts. That I know to be the law of the realm. Many a man has been hanged on circumstances.”
The conversation now ceased, and after a short delay, the whole party returned to the deck, each individual disposed to view the conduct of the suspected Jasper, in the manner most suited to his own habits and character.
Chapter XIV
“Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burned—”
—2 Henry IV, I.i.70–73.
* * *
ALL THIS TIME, matters were elsewhere passing in their usual train. Jasper, like the weather, and his vessel seemed to be waiting for the land breeze, while the soldiers accustomed to early rising had, to a man, sought their pallets, in the main hold. None remained on deck but the people of the cutter, Mr. Muir and the two females. The Quarter Master was endeavoring to render himself agreeable to Mabel, while, our heroine herself, little affected by his assiduities, which she ascribed partly to the habitual gallantry of a soldier, and partly, perhaps, to her own pretty face, was enjoying the peculiarities of a scene and situation, that, to her, were full of the charms of novelty.
The sails had been hoisted, but as yet not a breath of air was in motion, and so still and placid was the lake that not the smallest motion was perceptible in the cutter. She had drifted in the river-current to a distance a little exceeding a quarter of a mile from the land, and there she lay, beautiful in her symmetry and form, but like a fixture. Young Jasper was on the quarter-deck, near enough to hear occasionally the conversation which passed, but too diffident of his own claim, and too intent on his duties, to attempt to mingle in it. The fine blue eyes of Mabel followed his motions in curious expectation, and more than once the Quarter Master had to repeat his compliments ere she heard them, so intent was she on the little occurrences of the vessel, and, we might add, so indifferent to the eloquence of her companion. At length, even Lt. Muir became silent, and there was a deep stillness on the water. Presently an oar blade fell in a boat, beneath the fort, and the sound reached the cutter as distinctly as if it had been produced on her deck. Then came a murmur, like a sigh of the night, a fluttering of the canvass, the creaking of the boom, and the flap of the jib. These well known sounds were followed by a slight heel in the cutter, and by the bellying of all the sails.
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 24
