“Late come, late served, Mabel,” said her uncle, between two mouthfuls of broiled salmon, for though the cookery might be very unsophisticated on that remote frontier, the viands were generally delicious; “late come, late served: it is a good rule, and keeps laggards up to their work.”
“I am no laggard, uncle, for I have been stirring near an hour, and exploring our island.”
“It’s little you’ll make o’ that, Mistress Mabel,” put in Muir, “that’s little, by nature. Lundie, or it might be better to style him Major Duncan in this presence—” this was said in consideration of the corporal and the common men, though they were taking their meal a little apart—“it might be better to style him Major Duncan in this presence, has not added an empire to His Majesty’s dominions, in getting possession of this island, which is likely to equal that of the celebrated Sancho, in revenues and profits—Sancho of whom, doubtless, Master Cap, you’ll often have been reading in your leisure hours, more especially in calms, and moments of inactivity.”
“I know the spot you mean, Quarter Master; Sancho’s Island—coral rock, of new formation, and as bad a land fall, in a dark night and blowing weather, as a sinner could wish to keep clear of. It’s a famous place for cocoa nuts and bitter water, that Sancho’s Island!”
“It’s no very famous for dinners,” returned Muir, repressing the smile that was struggling to his lips, out of respect to Mabel, “nor do I think there’ll be much to choose between its revenue, and that of this spot. In my judgment, Master Cap, this is a very unmilitary position, and I look to some calamity’s befalling it, sooner or later.”
“It is to be hoped not until our turn of duty is over,” observed Mabel. “I have no wish to study the French language.”
“We might think ourselves happy, did it not prove to be the Iroquois. I have reasoned with Major Duncan on the occupation of this position, but ‘a wilfu’ man maun ha’ his way.’ My first object, in accompanying this party, was to endeavour to make myself acceptable and useful to your beautiful niece, Master Cap; and the second was to take such an account of the stores that belong to my particular department, as shall leave no question open to controversy, concerning the manner of expenditure, when they shall have disappeared by means of the enemy.”
“Do you look upon matters as so serious?” demanded Cap, actually suspending his mastication of a bit of venison, for he passed alternately, like a modern élégant, from fish to flesh and back again, in the interest he took in the answer. “Is the danger pressing?”
“I’ll no say just that; and I’ll no say, just the contrary. There is always danger in war, and there is more of it, at the advanced posts, than at the main encampment. It ought, therefore, to occasion no surprise were we to be visited by the French, at any moment.”
“And what the devil, is to be done, in that case?—Six men and two women would make but a poor job, in defending such a place as this, should the enemy invade us, as no doubt Frenchmen like, they would take very good care, to come strong handed.”
“That we may depend on. Some very formidable force, at the very lowest. A military disposition might be made, in defence of the island, out of all question, and according to the art of war, though we would probably fail in the force necessary to carry out the design, in any very creditable manner. In the first place, a detachment should be sent off, to the shore, with orders to annoy the enemy in landing. A strong party ought instantly to be thrown into the block-house, as the citadel, for on that all the different detachments would naturally fall back for support, as the French advanced, and an entrenched camp might be laid out around the strong-hold, as it would be very unmilitary, indeed, to let the foe get near enough to the foot of the walls to mine them. Chevaux de frise would keep the cavalry in check, and as for the artillery, redoubts should be thrown up, under cover of yon woods. Strong skirmishing parties, moreover, would be exceedingly serviceable in retarding the march of the enemy, and these different huts, if properly picketted and ditched, could be converted into very eligible positions for that object.”
“Whe-e-e-w! Quarter Master. And who the d____l, is to find all the men to carry out such a plan?”
“The King, out of all question, Master Cap. It is his quarrel, and it’s just he should bear the burthen o’ it.”
“And we are only six! This is fine talking, with a vengeance. You could be sent down to the shore, to oppose the landing, Mabel might skirmish with her tongue at least, the soldier’s wife might act chevaux de frise, to entangle the cavalry, the corporal should command the entrenched camp, his three men could occupy the five huts, and I would take the blockhouse. Whe-e-e-w, you describe well, Lieutenant, and should have been a limner, instead of a soldier!”
“Na—I’ve been very literal and upright in my exposition of matters. That there is no greater force here, to carry out the plan, is a fault of His Majesty’s ministers, and none of mine.”
“But, should an enemy really appear,” asked Mabel, with more interest than she might have shown, had she not remembered the guest in the hut; “what course ought we to pursue?”
“My advice would be to attempt to achieve that, Pretty Mabel, which rendered Xenophon so justly celebrated.”
“I think you mean a retreat, though I half guess at your allusion.”
“You’ve imagined my meaning from the possession of a strong native sense, young lady. I am aware that your worthy father has pointed out to the corporal, certain modes and methods by which he fancies this island could be held, in case the French should discover its position; but the excellent serjeant, though your father, and as good a man in his duties as ever wielded a ’spontoon, is not the great Lord Stair, or even the Duke of Marlborough. I’ll no deny the serjeant’s merits, in his particular sphere, though I cannot exaggerate qualities, however excellent, into those of men who may be in some trifling degree his superiors. Serjeant Dunham has taken counsel of his heart, instead of his head, in resolving to issue such orders; but, if the post fall, the blame will lie on him that ordered it to be occupied, and not on him whose duty it was to defend it. Whatever may be the determination of the latter, should the French and their allies land, a good commander never neglects the precautions necessary to effect a retreat, and I would advise Master Cap, who is the admiral of our navy, to have a boat in readiness to evacuate the island, if need comes to need. The largest boat that we have left, carries a very ample sail, and by hauling it round, here, and mooring it under those bushes, there will be a convenient place for a hurried embarkation, and then you’ll perceive, Pretty Mabel, that it is scarce fifty yards before we shall be in a channel between two other islands, and hid from the sight of those who may happen to be on this.”
“All that you say, is very true, Mr. Muir; but may not the French come from that quarter themselves? If it is so good for a retreat, it is equally good for an advance.”
“They’ll no have the sense to do so discreet a thing,” returned Muir, looking furtively and a little uneasily, around him, “they’ll no have sufficient discretion. Your French are a head-over-heels nation, and usually come forward in a random way; so, we may look for them, if they come at all, on the other side of the island—”
The discourse now became exceedingly desultory, touching principally, however, on the probabilities of an invasion, and the best means of meeting it.
To most of this, Mabel paid but little attention, though she felt some surprise that Lt. Muir, an officer whose character for courage stood well, should openly recommend an abandonment of what appeared to her to be doubly a duty, her father’s character being connected with the defence of the island. Her mind, however, was so much occupied with her guest, that siezing the first favorable moment she left the table, and was soon in her own hut again. Carefully fastening the door, and seeing that the simple curtain was drawn before the single little window, Mabel next led the Dew of June, or June, as she was familiarly termed by those who spoke to her in English, into the outer room, making signs of affection and c
onfidence.
“I am glad to see you, June,” said Mabel, with one of her sweetest smiles, and in her own winning voice, “very glad to see you—but what has brought you, hither, and how did you discover the island?”
“Talk slow,” said June, returning smile for smile, and pressing the little hand she held, with one of her own that was scarcely larger, though it had been hardened by labor—“more slow—too quick.”
Mabel repeated her questions, endeavoring to repress the impetuosity of her feelings, and she succeeded in speaking so distinctly as to be understood.
“June friend—” returned the Indian woman.
“I believe you, June; from my soul, I believe you. What has this to do with your visit?”
“Friend come to see friend,” answered June, again smiling openly in the other’s face.
“There is some other reason, June; else would you never run this risk, and alone. You are alone, June?”
“June wid you—no one else. June come alone—paddle canoe.”
“I hope so—I think so—nay, I know so. You would not be treacherous with me, June?”
“What treacherous?”
“You would not betray me—would not give me to the French—to the Iroquois—to Arrowhead—” June shook her head earnestly, “—you would not sell my scalp.”
Here, June passed her arm fondly around the slender waist of Mabel, and pressed her to her heart, with a tenderness and affection, that brought tears into the eyes of our heroine. It was done, in the fond caressing manner of a woman, and it was scarcely possible that it should not obtain credit for sincerity, with a young and ingenuous person of the same sex. Mabel returned the pressure, and then held the other off, at the length of her arm, looked her steadily in the face, and continued her inquiries.
“If June has something to tell her friend, let her speak plainly,” she said. “My ears are open.”
“June ’fraid Arrowhead kill her.”
“But Arrowhead will never know it—” Mabel’s blood mounted to her temples, as she said this; for she felt that she was urging a wife to be treacherous to her husband—“That is, Mabel will not tell him.”
“He bury tomahawk in June’s head.”
“That must never be, dear June; I would rather you should say no more, than run this risk.”
“Block house good place to sleep—good place to stay.”
“Do you mean that I may save my life by keeping in the block-house, June? Surely, surely, Arrowhead will not hurt you for telling me that—He cannot wish me any great harm, for I never injured him.”
“Arrowhead wish no harm to handsome Pale face,” returned June, averting her face, and, though she always spoke in the soft, gentle, voice of an Indian girl, permitting its notes to fall so low, as to cause them to sound melancholy and timid—“Arrowhead love pale face girls.”
Mabel blushed, she knew not why, and for a moment, her questions were repressed by a feeling of inherent delicacy. But it was necessary to know more, for her apprehensions had been keenly awakened, and she resumed her inquiries.
“Arrowhead can have no reason to love, or to hate me,” she said. “Is he near you?”
“Husband always near wife, here,” said June, laying her hand on her heart.
“Excellent creature!—But, tell me, June, ought I to keep in the block-house to-day—this morning—now?”
“Block-house very good—good for squaw. Block-house got no scalp.”
“I fear I understand you only too well, June—Do you wish to see my father?”
“No here; gone away.”
“You cannot know that, June; you see the island is full of his soldiers.”
“No full; gone away—” here June held up four of her fingers—“so many red coat.”
“And Pathfinder; would you not like to see the Pathfinder?—he can talk to you in the Iroquois tongue.”
“Tongue gone wid him—” said June laughing—“keep tongue in his mout’.”
There was something so sweet and contagious in the infantile laugh of an Indian girl, that Mabel could not refrain from joining in it, much as her fears were aroused by all that had passed.
“You appear to know, or to think you know all about us, June. But, if Pathfinder be gone, Eau douce can speak French, too. You know Eau douce; shall I run and bring him to talk with you?”
“Eau douce gone, too, all but heart; that there.” As June said this, she laughed again, looked in different directions, as if unwilling to confuse the other, and laid her hand on Mabel’s bosom.
Our heroine had often heard of the wonderful sagacity of the Indians, and of the surprising manner in which they noted all things, while they appeared to regard none, but she was scarce prepared for the direction the discourse had so singularly taken. Willing to change it, and, at the same time, truly anxious to learn how great the danger that impended over them might really be, she rose from the camp-stool, on which she had been seated, and, by assuming an attitude of less affectionate confidence, she hoped to hear more of that she really desired to learn, and to avoid allusions to that which she found so embarrassing.
“You know how much, or how little you ought to tell me, June,” she said, “and I hope you love me well enough to give me the information I ought to hear. My dear uncle, too, is on the island, and you are, or ought to be, his friend, as well as mine, and both of us will remember your conduct, when we get back to Oswego.”
“Maybe never get back; who know?” This was said doubtingly, or as one lays down an uncertain proposition, and not with a taunt, or a desire to alarm.
“No one knows what will happen, but God. Our lives are in his hands. Still, I think, you are to be his instrument in saving us.”
This passed June’s comprehension, and she only looked her ignorance, for it was evident she wished to be of use.
“Block-house very good,” she repeated as soon as her countenance ceased to express uncertainty, laying strong emphasis on the two last words.
“Well, I understand this, June, and will sleep in it tonight. Of course, I am to tell my uncle, what you have said.”
The Dew of June started, and she discovered a very manifest uneasiness, at the interrogatory.
“No—no—no—no—” she answered with a volubility and vehemence that was imitated from the French of the Canadas—“no good to tell Salt-water. He much talk, and long tongue. Think woods all water; understand not’ing. Tell Arrowhead, and June die.”
“You do my dear uncle injustice, for he would be as little likely to betray you, as any one.”
“No understand. Salt-water got tongue, but no eye, no ear, no nose—not’ing but tongue, tongue, tongue.”
Although Mabel did not exactly coincide in this opinion, she saw that Cap had not the confidence of the young Indian woman, and that it was idle to expect she would consent to his being admitted to their interview.
“You appear to think you know our situation pretty well, June,” Mabel continued, “have you been on the island before this visit?”
“Just come.”
“How then do you know that what you say is true; my father, the Pathfinder and Eau douce may all be here within sound of my voice, if I choose to call them.”
“All gone,” said June positively, smiling good-humouredly at the same time.
“Nay, this is more than you can say certainly, not having been over the island to examine it.”
“Got good eyes; see boat with men go away—see ship with Eau douce.”
“Then you have been some time watching us—I think, however, you have not counted them that remain.”
June laughed, held up her four fingers again, and then pointed to her two thumbs—passing a finger over the first, she repeated the words “red-coat,” and touching the last, she added—“Salt-water,” “Quarter Master.” All this was being very accurate, and Mabel began to entertain serious doubts of the propriety of her permitting her visiter to depart without her becoming more explicit. Still it was so repugnant to
her feelings to abuse the confidence this gentle and affectionate creature had evidently reposed in her, that Mabel had no sooner admitted the thought of summoning her uncle, than she rejected it, as unworthy of herself, and unjust to her friend. To aid this good resolution, too, there was the certainty that June would reveal nothing, but take refuge in a stubborn silence, if any attempt was made to coerce her.
“You think, then, June,” Mabel continued, as soon as these thoughts had passed through her mind, “that I had better live in the block-house?”
“Good place for squaw. Block-house got no scalp. Logs t’ick.”
“You speak confidently, June, as if you had been in it, and had measured its walls.”
June laughed, and she looked knowing, though she said nothing.
“Does any one but yourself know how to find this island—have any of the Iroquois seen it?”
June looked sad, and she cast her eyes warily about her, as if distrusting a listener.
“Tuscarora everywhere—Oswego, here, Frontenac, Mohawk—everywhere. If he see June, kill her.”
“But we thought that no one knew of this island, and that we had no reason to fear our enemies while on it.”
“Much eye, Iroquois.”
“Eyes will not always do, June—This spot is hid from ordinary sight, and few of even our own people know how to find it.”
“One man can tell—Some Yengeese talk French.”
Mabel felt a chill at her heart. All the suspicions against Jasper, which she had hitherto disdained entertaining crowded in a body on her thoughts, and the sensation that they brought was so sickening, that for an instant, she imagined she was about to faint. Arousing herself, and remembering her promise to her father, she arose and walked up and down the hut, for a minute, fancying that Jasper’s delinquencies were naught to her, though her inmost heart yearned with the desire to think him innocent.
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 38
