“Then you, Mabel,” returned the youth, his eyes flashing fire, “do not look upon me, as the traitor that your father seems to believe me to be?”
“My dear father is a soldier, and is obliged to act as one. My father’s daughter is not, and will think of you, as she ought to think of a man who has done so much to serve her already.”
“Mabel—I’m not used to talking with one like you—or, saying all I think and feel with any. I never had a sister, and my mother died when I was a child, so that I know little what your sex most likes to hear—”
Mabel would have given the world to know what lay behind the teeming word, at which Jasper hesitated, but the indefinable and controlling sense of womanly diffidence, made her suppress her womanly curiosity. She waited in silence for him to explain his own meaning.
“I wish to say, Mabel,” the young man continued, after a pause which he found sufficiently embarrassing—“that I am unused to the ways and opinions of one like you, and that you must imagine all I would add.”
Mabel had imagination enough to fancy any thing, but there are ideas and feelings that her sex prefer to have expressed, before they yield them all their own sympathies, and she had a vague consciousness that these of Jasper’s might properly be enumerated in the class. With a readiness that belonged to her sex, therefore, she preferred changing the discourse to permitting it to proceed any further, in a manner so awkward, and so unsatisfactory.
“Tell me one thing, Jasper, and I shall be content,” she said, speaking now with a firmness that denoted confidence not only in herself, but in her companion—“you do not deserve this cruel suspicion which rests upon you?”
“I do not, Mabel,” answered Jasper, looking into her full blue eyes, with an openness and simplicity that might have shaken strong distrust. “As I hope for mercy, hereafter, I do not.”
“I knew it—I could have sworn it—” returned the girl, warmly. “And yet my father means well—but do not let this matter disturb you, Jasper.”
“There is so much more to apprehend from another quarter, just now, that I scarce think of it.”
“Jasper!”
“I do not wish to alarm you, Mabel, but if your uncle could be persuaded to change his notions about handling the Scud—and, yet, he is so much older, and more experienced than I am, that he ought, perhaps, to place more reliance on his own judgment than on mine.”
“Do you think the cutter is in any danger?” demanded Mabel, as quick as thought.
“I fear so—at least she would have been thought in great danger, by us of the lake; perhaps an old seaman of the ocean may have means of his own, to take care of her.”
“Jasper, all agree in giving you credit for skill in managing the Scud!—You know the lake, you know the cutter—you must be the best judge of our real situation!”
“My concern for you, Mabel, may make me more cowardly than common; but, to be frank, I see but one method of keeping the cutter from being wrecked in the course of the next two or three hours, and that your uncle refuses to take. After all, this may be my ignorance, for, as he says, Ontario is merely fresh water.”
“You cannot believe this will make any difference. Think of my dear father, Jasper!—Think of yourself, of all the lives that depend on a timely word from you to save them!”
“I think of you, Mabel, and that is more, much more, than all the rest put together—” returned the young man, with a strength of expression and an earnestness of look, that uttered infinitely more than the words themselves.
Mabel’s heart beat quick, and a gleam of grateful satisfaction shot across her blushing features, but the alarm was too vivid and too serious to admit of much relief from happier thoughts. She did not attempt to repress a look of gratitude, and then she returned to the feeling that was naturally uppermost.
“My uncle’s obstinacy must not be permitted to occasion this disaster. Go once more on deck, Jasper, and ask my father to come into the cabin.”
While the young man was complying with this request, Mabel sat listening to the howling of the storm, and the dashing of the water against the cutter, in a dread to which she had hitherto been a stranger. Constitutionally an excellent sailor, as the term is used among passengers, she had not, hitherto, bethought her of any danger, and had passed her time since the commencement of the gale, in such womanly employments, as her situation allowed; but now alarm was seriously awakened, she did not fail to perceive, that never before had she been on the water in such a tempest. The minute or two that elapsed ere the serjeant came appeared an hour, and she scarcely breathed before she saw him and Jasper descending the ladder in company. Quick as language could express her meaning, she acquainted her father with Jasper’s opinion of their situation, and intreated him, if he loved her, or had any regard for his own life, or for those of his men, to interpose with her uncle, and to induce him to yield the control of the cutter, again, to its proper commander.
“Jasper is true, father,” she added earnestly, “and if false, he could have no motive in wrecking us in this distant part of the lake, at the risk of all our lives, his own included. I will pledge my own life, for his truth.”
“Ay, this is well enough, for a young woman who is frightened,” answered the more phlegmatick parent; “but it might not be so prudent, or excusable in one in command of an expedition. Jasper may think the chance of drowning in getting ashore, fully repaid by the chance of escaping as soon as he reaches the land.”
“Serjeant Dunham!”
“Father!”
These exclamations were made simultaneously, but they were uttered in tones expressive of different feelings. In Jasper surprise was the emotion uppermost; in Mabel, reproach. The old soldier, however, was too much accustomed to deal frankly with subordinates, to heed either, and, after a moment’s thought, he continued, as if neither had spoken.
“Nor is Brother Cap a man likely to submit to be taught his duty, on board a vessel.”
“But, father, when all our lives are in the utmost jeopardy!”
“So much the worse. The fair weather commander is no great matter; it is when things go wrong, that the best officer shows himself in his true colours. Charley Cap will not be likely to quit the helm because the ship is in danger. Besides, Jasper Eau douce, he says your proposal, in itself, has a suspicious air about it, and sounds more like treachery than reason.”
“He may think so, but let him send for the pilot, and hear his opinion. It is well known, I have not seen the man since yesterday evening.”
“This does sound reasonably, and the experiment shall be tried. Follow me on deck, then, that all may be honest and above board.”
Jasper obeyed, and so keen was the interest of Mabel, that she, too, ventured as far as the companion way, where her garments were sufficiently protected against the violence of the wind and her person from the spray. Here maiden modesty induced her to remain, though an absorbed witness of what was passing.
The pilot soon appeared, and there was no mistaking the look of concern that he cast around at the scene, as soon as he was in the open air. Some rumours of the situation of the Scud had found their way below, it is true, but, in this instance rumour had lessened, instead of magnifying the dangers. He was allowed a few minutes to look about him, and then the question was put as to the course that he thought it prudent to follow.
“I see no means of saving the cutter but to anchor,” he answered simply, and without hesitation.
“What, out here, in the lake?” enquired Cap, as he had previously done of Jasper.
“No—but closer in; just at the outer line of the breakers.”
The effect of this communication, was to leave no doubt in the mind of Cap, that there was a secret arrangement between her commander and the pilot, to cast away the Scud; most probably with the hope of effecting their escape. He consequently treated the opinion of the latter with the indifference he had manifested towards that of the former.
“I tell you, Brother Dunham,” he
said, in answer to the remonstrances of the serjeant against his turning a deaf ear to this double representation, “that no seaman would give such an opinion honestly. To anchor on a lee shore, in a gale of wind, would be an act of madness that I could never excuse to the underwriters, under any circumstances, as long as a rag can be set, but to anchor close to breakers would be insanity.”
“His Majesty underwrites the Scud, Brother, and I am responsible for the lives of my command. These men are better acquainted with Lake Ontario than we can possibly be, and I do think their telling the same tale, entities them to some credit.”
“Uncle!” said Mabel, earnestly, but a gesture from Jasper induced the girl to restrain her feelings.
“We are drifting down upon the breakers so rapidly,” said the young man, “that little need be said on the subject. Half an hour must settle the matter, one way or the other, but I warn Master Cap that the surest footed man among us, will not be able to keep his feet an instant on the deck of this low craft, should she fairly get within them. Indeed, I make little doubt that we shall fill and founder before the second line of rollers is passed!”
“And how would anchoring help the matter?” demanded Cap furiously, as if he felt that Jasper was responsible for the effects of the gale, as well as for the opinion he had just given.
“It would at least do no harm,” Eau douce mildly replied. “By bringing the cutter head to sea we should lessen her drift, and even if we dragged through the breakers, it would be with the least possible danger. I hope, Master Cap, you will allow the pilot and myself to prepare for anchoring, since the precaution may do good, and can do no harm.”
“Overhaul your ranges if you will, and get your anchors clear, with all my heart. We are now in a situation that cannot be much affected by any thing of that sort. Serjeant a word with you, aft here, if you please.”
Cap led his brother-in-law out of ear-shot, and then, with more of human feeling in his voice and manner than he was apt to exhibit, he opened his heart on the subject of their real situation.
“This is a melancholy affair for poor Mabel,” he said, blowing his nose, and speaking with a slight tremor—“You and I, Serjeant, are old fellows, and used to being near death, if not to actually dying. Our trades fit us for such scenes, but poor Mabel, she is an affectionate and kind-hearted girl, and I had hoped to see her comfortably settled and a mother, before my time came. Well, well; we must take the bad with the good, in every v’y’ge, and the only serious objection that an old seafaring man can with propriety make to such an event, is that it should happen on this bit of d____d fresh water.”
Serjeant Dunham was a brave man, and had shown his spirit in scenes that looked much more appalling than this. But, on all such occasions, he had been able to act his part against his foes, while here he was pressed upon by an enemy whom he had no means of resisting. For himself, he cared far less, than for his daughter; feeling some of that self-reliance which seldom deserts a man of firmness, who is in vigorous health, and who has been accustomed to personal exertions, in moments of jeopardy. But, as respects Mabel, he saw no means of escape, and with a father’s fondness he at once determined that, if either was doomed to perish, he and his daughter must perish together.
“Do you think this must come to pass?” he asked of Cap firmly, but with strong feeling.
“Twenty minutes will carry us into the breakers, and, look for yourself, serjeant, what chance will even the stoutest man among us have in that cauldron to leeward!”
The prospect was, indeed, little calculated to encourage hope. By this time the Scud was within a mile of the shore, on which the gale was blowing at right angles, with a violence that forbade the idea of showing any additional canvass, with a view to claw off. The small portion of the mainsail that was actually set, and which merely served to keep the head of the Scud so near the wind as to prevent the waves from breaking over her, quivered under the gusts, as if, at each moment, the stout threads which held the complicated fabric together, were about to be torn asunder. The drizzle had ceased, but the air, for a hundred feet above the surface of the lake, was filled with dazzling spray, which had an appearance not unlike that of a brilliant mist, while above all, the sun was shining gloriously, in a cloudless sky. Jasper had noted the omen, and had foretold that it announced a speedy termination to the gale, though the next hour, or two, must decide their fate. Between the cutter and the shore, the view was still more wild and appalling. The breakers extended near half a mile; while the water within their line was white with foam, the air above them was so far filled with vapor and spray, as to render the land beyond hazy and indistinct. Still it could be seen that the latter was high, not a usual thing for the shores of Ontario, and that it was covered with the verdant mantle of the interminable forest.
While the serjeant and Cap were gazing at this scene, in silence, Jasper and his people were actively engaged on the forecastle. No sooner had the young man received permission to resume his old employment, than appealing to some of the soldiers for aid, he mustered five or six assistants, and set about in earnest, the performance of a duty that had been too long delayed. On these narrow waters, anchors are never stowed in board, or cables that are intended for service unbent, and Jasper was saved much of the labor that would have been necessary in a vessel at sea. The two bowers were soon ready to be let go, ranges of the cables were overhauled, and then the party paused to look about them. No change for the better had occurred, but the cutter was falling slowly in, and each instant rendered it more certain that she could not gain an inch to windward.
One long earnest survey of the lake ended, Jasper gave new orders in a manner to prove how much he thought that the time pressed. Two kedges were got on deck, and hawsers were bent to them. The inner ends of the hawsers were bent, in their turns, to the crowns of the anchors, and every thing was got ready to throw them overboard, at the proper moment. These preparations completed, Jasper’s manner changed from the excitement of exertion, to a look of calm but settled concern. He quitted the forecastle, where the seas were dashing inboard, at every plunge of the vessel, the duty just mentioned having been executed with the bodies of the crew frequently buried in the water, and walked to a drier part of the deck, aft. Here he was met by the Pathfinder, who was standing near Mabel and the Quarter Master. Most of those on board, with the exception of the individuals who have already been particularly mentioned, were below, some seeking relief from physical suffering on their pallets, and others tardily bethinking them of their sins. For the first time, most probably since her keel had dipped into the limpid waters of Ontario, the voice of prayer was heard on board the Scud.
“Jasper,” commenced his friend, the guide, “I have been of no use this morning, for my gifts are of little account, as you know, in a vessel like this; but should it please God to let the sarjeant’s daughter reach the shore alive, my acquaintance with the forest, may still carry her through in safety to the garrison.”
“’Tis a fearful distance thither, Pathfinder!” Mabel rejoined, the party being so near together that all which was said by one, was overheard by the others. “I am afraid none of us could live to reach the fort.”
“It would be a risky path, Mabel, and a crooked one; though some of your sex have undergone even more than that, in this wilderness. But, Jasper, either you or I, or both of us must man this bark canoe; Mabel’s only chance will lie in getting through the breakers in that.”
“I would willingly man any thing to save Mabel,” answered Jasper, with a melancholy smile, “but no human hand, Pathfinder, could carry that canoe through yonder breakers, in a gale like this. I have hopes from anchoring, after all, for once before, have we saved the Scud in an extremity nearly as great as this.”
“If we are to anchor, Jasper,” the serjeant enquired, “why not do it at once? Every foot we lose in drifting now, would come into the distance we shall probably drag, when the anchors are let go.”
Jasper drew nearer to the Serjeant, and took
his hand, pressing it earnestly, and in a way, to denote strong, almost uncontrollable feelings.
“Serjeant Dunham,” he said solemnly, “you are a good man, though you have treated me harshly in this business. You love your daughter.”
“That you cannot doubt, Eau douce,” returned the serjeant huskily.
“Will you give her—give us all, the only chance for life, that is left.”
“What would you have me do, boy; what would you have me do? I have acted according to my judgment hitherto— what would you have me do?”
“Support me against Master Cap, for five minutes, and all that man can now do, towards saving the Scud, shall be done.”
The serjeant hesitated, for he was too much of a disciplinarian to fly in the face of regular orders. He disliked the appearance of vacillation too, and then he had a profound respect for his kinsman’s seamanship. While he was deliberating Cap came from the post he had some time occupied, which was at the side of the man at the helm, and drew near the group.
“Master Eau-deuce,” he said, as soon as near enough to be heard, “I have come to enquire if you know any spot near-by, where this cutter can be beached? The moment has arrived when we are driven to this hard alternative.”
That instant of indecision on the part of Cap, secured the triumph of Jasper. Looking at the Serjeant, the young man received a nod that assured him of all he asked, and he lost not one of those moments that were getting to be so very precious.
“Shall I take the helm,” he inquired of Cap, “and see if we can reach a creek that lies to leeward?”
“Do so—do so—” said the other, hemming to clear his throat, for he felt oppressed by a responsibility that weighed all the heavier on his shoulders, on account of his ignorance. “Do so, Oh-the-deuce, since, to be frank with you, I can see nothing better to be done. We must beach, or swamp.”
Jasper required no more; springing aft, he soon had the tiller in his own hands. The pilot was prepared for what was to follow, and, at a sign from his young commander, the rag of sail that had so long been set was taken in. At that moment, Jasper, watching his time, put the helm up, the head of a staysail was loosened forward, and the light cutter, as if conscious she was now under the control of familiar hands, fell off, and was soon in the trough of the sea. This perilous instant was passed in safety, and, at the next moment, the little vessel appeared flying down toward the breakers, at a rate that threatened instant destruction. The distance had got to be so short, that five or six minutes sufficed for all that Jasper wished, and he put the helm down again, when the bows of the Scud came up to the wind, notwithstanding the turbulence of the waters, as gracefully as the duck varies its line of direction on the glassy pond. A sign from Jasper set all in motion on the forecastle, and a kedge was thrown from each bow. The fearful nature of the drift was now apparent even to Mabel’s eyes, for the two hawsers ran out like tow-lines. As soon as they straightened to a slight strain, both anchors were let go, and cable was given to each, nearly to the better ends. It was not a difficult task to snub so light a craft, with ground tackle of a quality better than common, and in less than ten minutes from the moment when Jasper went to the helm, the Scud was riding, head to sea, with the two cables stretched ahead in lines that resembled bars of iron.
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 30
