“As each of us seems to have made up his mind, Quarter Master, more words are useless. If the riptyles near you, are disposed to set about their hellish job, let them begin at once. They can burn wood and I’ll burn powder. If I were an Injin at the stake, I suppose I could brag as well as the rest of them, but my gifts and natur’ being both white, my turn is rather for doing, than talking. You’ve said quite enough, considering you carry the King’s commission, and should we all be consumed, none of us will bear you any malice.”
“Pathfinder, ye’ll no be exposing Mabel, pretty Mabel Dunham, to sic’ a calamity!”
“Mabel Dunham is by the side of her wounded father, and God will care for the safety of a pious child. Not a hair of her head shall fall, while my arm and sight remain true, and though you may trust the Mingos, Master Muir, I put no faith in them. You’ve a knavish Tuscarora in your company there, who has art and malice enough to spoil the character of any tribe with which he consorts, though he found the Mingos ready ruined to his hands, I fear. But, enough said; let each party go to the use of his means and gifts.”
Throughout this dialogue Pathfinder kept his body covered, lest a treacherous shot should be aimed at the loop, and he now directed Cap to ascend to the roof in order to be in readiness to meet the first assault. Although the latter used sufficient diligence, he found no less than ten blazing arrows sticking to the bark, while the air was filled with the yells and whoops of the enemy. A rapid discharge of rifles followed, and the bullets came pattering against the logs, in a way to show that the struggle had, indeed, seriously commenced.
These were sounds, however, that appalled neither Pathfinder, nor Cap, while Mabel was too much absorbed with her affliction to feel alarm. She had good sense enough, too, to understand the nature of the defences, and fully to appreciate their importance. As for her father, the familiar noises revived him, and it pained his child, at such a moment, to see that his glassy eye began to kindle, and that the blood returned to a cheek it had deserted, as he listened to the uproar. It was now Mabel first perceived that his reason began slightly to wander.
“Order up the light companies,” he muttered—“and let the grenadiers charge!—Do they dare to attack us in our fort! Why does not the artillery open on them?”
At that instant the heavy report of a gun burst on the night, and the crash of rending wood was heard, as a heavy shot tore the logs in the room above, and the whole block shook with the force of a shell that lodged in the work. The Pathfinder narrowly escaped the passage of this formidable missile as it entered, but when it exploded, Mabel could not repress a shriek, for she supposed all over her head, whether animate, or inanimate, destroyed. To increase her horror, her father shouted in a frantic voice to—“Charge!”
“Mabel—” said Pathfinder, with his head at the trap, “this is true Mingo work, more noise than injury. The vagabonds have got the howitzer we took from the French, and have discharged it ag’in the block, but, fortunately, they have fired off the only shell we had, and there is an ind of its use for the present. There is some confusion among the stores, up in this loft, but no one is hurt. Your uncle is still on the roof, and as for myself, I’ve run the gauntlet of too many rifles, to be skeary about such a thing as a howitzer, and that in Injin hands.”
Mabel murmured her thanks, and tried to give all her attention to her father, whose efforts to rise were only counter-acted by his debility. During the few fearful minutes that succeeded, she was so much occupied with her care of the invalid, that she scarce heeded the clamour that reigned around her. Indeed, the uproar was so great, that had not her thoughts been otherwise employed, confusion of faculties, rather than alarm, would probably have been the consequence.
Cap preserved his coolness admirably. He had a profound and increasing respect for the prowess of the savages, and even for the majesty of fresh water, it is true; but his apprehensions of the former proceeded more from his dread of being scalped and tortured, than from any unmanly fear of death, and as he was now on the deck of a house, if not the deck of a ship, and knew that there was little danger of boarders, he moved about with a fearlessness, and a real exposure of his person, that Pathfinder, had he been aware of the fact, would have been the first to condemn. Instead of keeping his body covered, agreeably to the usages of Indian warfare, he was seen on every part of the roof, dashing the water right and left, with the apparent steadiness and unconcern, he would have manifested had he been a sail trimmer, exercising his art, in a battle afloat. His appearance was one of the causes of the extraordinary clamor among the assailants, who, unused to seeing their enemies so reckless, opened upon him with their tongues, like the pack that has the fox in view. Still, he appeared to possess a charmed life, for, though the bullets whistled around him on every side, and his clothes were several times torn, nothing cut his skin. When the shell passed through the logs below, the old sailor dropped his bucket, waved his hat, and gave three cheers, in which heroic act he was employed as the dangerous missile exploded. This characteristic feat probably saved his life, for, from that instant, the Indians ceased to fire at him, and even to shoot their flaming arrows at the block, having taken up the notion, simultaneously and by common consent, that the “salt water” was mad; and it was a singular effect of their magnanimity never to lift a hand against those whom they imagined devoid of reason.
The conduct of Pathfinder was very different. Every thing he did was regulated by the most exact calculation, the result of long experience and habitual thoughtfulness. His person was kept carefully out of a line with the loops, and the spot that he selected for his look out, was one that was quite removed from danger. This celebrated guide had often been known to lead forlorn hopes, he had once stood at the stake, suffering under the cruelties and taunts of savage ingenuity and savage ferocity, without quailing, and legends of his exploits, coolness and daring, were to be heard all along that extensive frontier, or, wherever men dwelt and men contended, but, on this occasion, one who did not know his history and character might have thought his exceeding care and studied attention to self preservation, proceeded from an unworthy motive. But such a judge would not have understood his subject. The Pathfinder bethought him of Mabel, and of what might possibly be the consequences to that poor girl, should any casualty befall himself, but the recollection rather quickened his intellect, than changed his customary prudence. He was in fact, one of those who was so unaccustomed to fear, that he never bethought him of the constructions others might put upon his conduct, but, while, in moments of danger, he acted with the wisdom of the serpent, it was also with the simplicity of a child.
For the first ten minutes of the assault, Pathfinder never raised the breech of his rifle from the floor, except when he changed his own position; for he well knew that the bullets of the enemy were thrown away upon the massive logs of the work, and, as he had been at the capture of the howitzer, he felt certain that the savages had no other shell than the one found in it, when the piece was taken. There existed no reason, therefore, to dread the fire of the assailants, except as a casual bullet might find a passage through a loop-hole. One or two of these accidents did occur, but the balls entered at an angle that deprived them of all chance of doing any injury, so long as the Indians kept near the block; and, if discharged from a distance, there was scarcely the probability of one in a hundred’s striking the apertures. But, when Pathfinder heard the sound of moccasined feet, and the rustling of brush at the foot of the building he knew that the attempt to build a fire against the logs, was about to be renewed. He now summoned Cap from the roof, where indeed, all the danger had ceased, and directed him to stand in readiness with his water, at a hole immediately over the spot assailed.
One less trained than our hero would have been in a hurry to repel this dangerous attempt also, and might have resorted to his means prematurely. Not so with Pathfinder. His aim was not only to extinguish the fire, about which he felt little apprehension, but to give the enemy a lesson that would render him wary d
uring the remainder of the night. In order to effect the latter purpose, it became necessary to wait until the light of the intended conflagration should direct his aim, when he well knew that a very slight effort of his skill would suffice. The Iroquois were permitted to collect their heap of dried brush, to pile it against the block, to light it, and to return to their covers, without molestation. All that Pathfinder would suffer Cap to do, was to roll a barrel filled with water, to the hole immediately over the spot, in readiness to be used at the proper instant. That moment, however, did not arrive in his judgment, until the blaze illuminated the surrounding bushes, and there had been time for his quick and practised eye to detect the forms of three or four lurking savages, who were watching the progress of the flames, with the cool indifference of men accustomed to look on human misery with apathy. Then, indeed, he spoke.
“Are you ready, Friend Cap?” he asked. “The heat begins to strike through the crevices, and, although these green logs, are not of the fiery natur’ of an ill-tempered man, they may be kindled into a blaze, if one provokes them too much. Are you ready with the barrel?—See that it has the right cut, and that none of the water is wasted.”
“All ready—” answered Cap, in the manner in which a seaman replies to such a demand.
“Then wait for the word. Never be over impatient, in a critical time, nor fool-risky in a battle. Wait for the word.”
While the Pathfinder was giving these directions, he was also making his own preparations, for he saw it was time to act. Killdeer was deliberately raised, pointed, and discharged. The whole process occupied about half a minute, and, as the rifle was drawn in, the eye of the marksman was applied to the hole.
“There is one riptyle the less—” Pathfinder muttered to himself—“I’ve seen that vagabond afore, and know him to be a marciless devil. Well, well; the man acted according to his gifts, and he has been rewarded according to his gifts. One more of the knaves, and that will sarve the turn for to-night. When day-light appears, we may have hotter work.”
All this time, another rifle was getting ready, and as Pathfinder ceased, a second savage fell. This, indeed, sufficed, for indisposed to wait for a third visitation from the same hand, the whole band which had been crouching in the bushes around the block, ignorant of who was, and who was not exposed to view, leaped from their covers, and fled to different places for safety.
“Now, pour away, Master Cap,” said Pathfinder—“I’ve made my mark on the blackguards, and we shall have no more fires lighted to-night.”
“Scaldings!” cried Cap, upsetting the barrel, with a care that at once, and completely extinguished the flames.
This ended the singular conflict, and the remainder of the night passed in peace. Pathfinder and Cap watched alternately, though neither can be said to have slept. Sleep, indeed, scarcely seemed necessary to them, for both were accustomed to protracted watchings, and there were seasons and times, when the former appeared to be literally insensible to the demands of hunger and thirst, and callous to the effects of fatigue.
Mabel watched by her father’s pallet, and began to feel how much our happiness in this world depends even on things that are imaginary. Hitherto she had virtually lived without a father, the connection with her remaining parent being ideal rather than positive; but, now that she was about to lose him, she thought, for the moment, that the world would be a void after his death, and that she could never be acquainted with happiness again.
Chapter XXV
“There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily, and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods—”
—Wordsworth, “Resolution and Independence,” ll. 1–4.
* * *
AS THE LIGHT returned, Pathfinder and Cap ascended again to the roof, with a view once more to reconnoitre the state of things on the island. This part of the block house had a low battlement around it, which afforded a considerable protection to those who stood in its centre; the intention having been to enable marksmen to lie behind it, and to fire over its top. By making proper use, therefore, of these slight defences—slight as to height, though abundantly ample as far as they went—the two look-outs commanded a pretty good view of the island, its covers excepted, and of most of the channels that led to the spot.
The gale was still blowing very fresh at south, and there were places in the river where its surface looked green and angry, though the wind had hardly sweep enough to raise the water into foam. The shape of the little island was generally oval, and its greatest length was from east to west. By keeping in the channels that washed it, in consequence of their several courses, and of the direction of the gale, it would have been possible for a vessel to range past the island, on either of its principal sides, and always keep the wind very nearly abeam. These were the facts first noted by Cap, and explained to his companion, for the hopes of both now rested on the chances of relief sent from Oswego. At this instant, while they stood gazing anxiously about them, Cap cried out in his lusty, hearty, manner—
“Sail ho!”
Pathfinder turned quickly, in the direction of his companion’s face, and there, sure enough, was just visible the object of the old sailor’s exclamation. The elevation, enabled the two to overlook the low land of several of the adjacent islands, and the canvass of a vessel was seen through the bushes that fringed the shore of one that lay to the southward and westward. The stranger was under what seamen call low sail, but so great was the power of the wind that her white outlines were seen flying past the openings of the verdure, with the velocity of a fast travelling horse, resembling a cloud driving in the heavens.
“That cannot be Jasper,” said Pathfinder in disappointment, for he did not recognise the cutter of his friend in the swift-passing object. “No—no—the lad is behind the hour, and that is some craft that the Frenchers have sent to aid their friends, the accursed Mingos.”
“This time you are out in your reckoning, friend Pathfinder, if you never were before—” returned Cap, in a manner that had lost none of its dogmatism by the critical circumstances in which they were placed. “Fresh water or salt, that is the head of the Scud’s mainsail, for it is cut with a smaller goar than common, and then you can see that the gaff has been fished—quite neatly done, I admit, but fished.”
“I can see none of this, I confess,” answered Pathfinder, to whom even the terms of his companion were Greek.
“No!—Well, I own that surprises me; for I thought your eyes could see any thing! Now, to me nothing is plainer than that goar and that fish, and I must say, my honest friend, that, in your place, I should apprehend that my sight was beginning to fail.”
“If Jasper is truly coming, I shall apprehend but little. We can make good the block against the whole Mingo nation, for the next eight, or ten hours, and with Eau douce to cover the retreat, I shall despair of nothing. God send that the lad may not run along side of the bank, and fall into an ambushment, as befel the sarjeant!”
“Ay; there’s the danger. There ought to have been signals concerted, and an anchorage ground buoyed out, and even a quarantine station, or a Lazaretto would have been useful could we have made these Minks-ho! respect the laws. If the lad fetches up, as you say, any where in the neighborhood of this island, we may look upon the cutter as lost. And, after all, Master Pathfinder; ought we not to set down this same Jasper as a secret ally of the French, rather than as a friend of our own?—I know the Serjeant views the matter in that light, and I must say this whole affair looks like treason!”
“We shall soon know, we shall soon know, Master Cap, for there, indeed, comes the cutter, clear of the other island, and five minutes must settle the matter. It would be no more than fair, howsever, if we could give the boy some sign in the way of warning. It is not right that he should fall into the trap, without a notice that it has been laid.”
Anxiety and suspense, notwithstanding, preve
nted either from attempting to make any signal. It was not easy, truly, to see how it could be done, for the Scud came foaming through the channel, on the weather side of the island, at a rate that scarce admitted of the necessary time. Nor was any one visible on her deck, to make signs to; even her helm seemed deserted, though her course was as steady as her progress was rapid.
Cap stood in silent admiration of a spectacle so unusual. But as the Scud drew nearer, his practised eye detected the helm in play, by means of tiller ropes, though the person who steered was concealed. As the cutter had weather-boards of some little height, the mystery was explained, no doubt remaining that her people lay behind the latter, in order to be protected from the rifles of the enemy. As this fact showed that no force, beyond that of the small crew, could be on board, Pathfinder received his companion’s explanation with an ominous shake of the head.
“This proves that the Sarpent has not reached Oswego,” he said, “and that we are not to expect succor from the garrison. I hope Lundie has not taken it into his head to displace the lad, for Jasper Western would be a host of himself, in such a strait. We three, Master Cap, ought to make a manful warfare—you, as a seaman, to keep up the intercourse with the cutter, Jasper as a laker, who knows all that is necessary to be done on the water, and I with gifts that are as good as any among the Mingos, let me be what I may, in other particulars. I say, we ought to make a manful fight, in Mabel’s behalf.”
“That we ought—and that we will—” answered Cap, heartily, for he began to have more confidence in the security of his scalp, now that he saw the sun again; “I set down the arrival of the Scud as one circumstance, and the chances of Oh! the deuce’s honesty as another. This Jasper is a young man of prudence, you find, for he keeps a good offing, and seems determined to know how matters stand on the island, before he ventures to bring up.”
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 47
