“That will do—that will do, Hetty, just as well as if you sent ’em a message twice as long,” interrupted the hunter. “I’ll tell ’em all you’ve said, and all you mean, and I’ll answer for it, that they’ll be easily satisfied. Now, Judith, your turn comes next, and then this part of my ar’n’d will be tarminated, for the night.”
Judith manifested a reluctance to give her reply, that had awakened a little curiosity in the messenger. Judging from her known spirit, he had never supposed the girl would be less true to her feelings and principles than Hist, or Hetty, and yet there was a visible wavering of purpose that rendered him slightly uneasy. Even now when directly required to speak, she seemed to hesitate, nor did she open her lips, until the profound silence told her how anxiously her words were expected. Then indeed, she spoke, but it was doubtingly and with reluctance.
“Tell me first—tell us, first, Deerslayer,” she commenced, repeating the words merely to change the emphasis—“what effect will our answers have on your fate? If you are to be the sacrifice of our spirit, it would have been better had we all been more wary as to the language we use. What, then, are likely to be the consequences to yourself?”
“Lord, Judith, you might as well ask me which way the wind will blow next week, or what will be the age of the next deer that will be shot! I can only say that their faces look a little dark upon me, but it does n’t thunder every time a black cloud rises, nor does every puff of wind blow up rain. That’s a question, therefore, much more easily put than answered.”
“So is this message of the Iroquois to me,” answered Judith rising, as if she had determined on her own course for the present. “My answer shall be given, Deerslayer, after you and I have talked together alone, when the others have laid themselves down for the night.”
There was a decision in the manner of the girl, that disposed Deerslayer to comply, and this he did the more readily as the delay could produce no material consequences, one way or the other. The meeting now broke up, Hurry announcing his resolution to leave them speedily. During the hour that was suffered to intervene, in order that the darkness might deepen, before the frontier-man took his departure, the different individuals occupied themselves in their customary modes, the hunter, in particular, passing most of the time in making further enquiries into the perfection of the rifle already mentioned.
The hour of nine soon arrived, however, and then it had been determined that Hurry should commence his journey. Instead of making his adieus frankly, and in a generous spirit, the little he thought it necessary to say was uttered sullenly and in coldness. Resentment at what he considered Judith’s obstinacy, was blended with mortification at the career he had run, since reaching the lake, and, as is usual with the vulgar and narrow-minded, he was more disposed to reproach others with his failures, than to censure himself. Judith gave him her hand, but it was quite as much in gladness, as with regret, while the two Delawares were not sorry to find he was leaving them. Of the whole party, Hetty alone betrayed any real feeling. Bashfulness, and the timidity of her sex and character, kept even her aloof, so that Hurry entered the canoe, where Deerslayer was already waiting for him, before she ventured near enough to be observed. Then, indeed, the girl came into the Ark, and approached its end, just as the little bark was turning from it, with a movement so light and steady as to be almost imperceptible. An impulse of feeling now overcame her timidity, and Hetty spoke.
“Good bye, Hurry—” she called out, in her sweet voice—“good bye, dear Hurry. Take care of yourself in the woods, and do n’t stop once, ’till you reach the garrison. The leaves on the trees are scarcely plentier than the Hurons round the lake, and they’ll not treat a strong man like you, as kindly as they treat me.”
The ascendency which March had obtained over this feeble-minded, but right-thinking, and right-feeling girl, arose from a law of nature. Her senses had been captivated by his personal advantages, and her moral communications with him had never been sufficiently intimate to counteract an effect that must have been otherwise lessened, even with one whose mind was as obtuse as her own. Hetty’s instinct of right, if such a term can be applied to one who seemed taught by some kind spirit how to steer her course with unerring accuracy, between good and evil, would have revolted at Hurry’s character, on a thousand points, had there been opportunities to enlighten her, but while he conversed and trifled with her sister, at a distance from herself, his perfection of form and feature had been left to produce their influence on her simple imagination, and naturally tender feelings, without suffering by the alloy of his opinions and coarseness. It is true, she found him rough and rude; but her father was that, and most of the other men she had seen, and that which she believed to belong to all of the sex, struck her less unfavorably in Hurry’s character, than it might otherwise have done. Still, it was not absolutely love that Hetty felt for Hurry, nor do we wish so to portray it, but merely that awakening sensibility and admiration, which, under more propitious circumstances, and always supposing no untoward revelations of character on the part of the young man, had supervened to prevent it, might soon have ripened into that engrossing feeling. She felt for him an incipient tenderness, but scarcely any passion. Perhaps the nearest approach to the latter, that Hetty had manifested, was to be seen in the sensitiveness which had caused her to detect March’s predilection for her sister, for, among Judith’s many admirers, this was the only instance in which the dull mind of the girl had been quickened into an observation of the circumstances.
Hurry received so little sympathy at his departure, that the gentle tones of Hetty, as she thus called after him, sounded soothingly. He checked the canoe, and with one sweep of his powerful arm brought it back to the side of the Ark. This was more than Hetty, whose courage had risen with the departure of her hero, expected, and she now shrunk timidly back at this unexpected return.
“You’re a good gal, Hetty, and I can’t quit you without shaking hands,” said March kindly. “Judith, a’ter all, is n’t worth as much as you, though she may be a trifle better looking. As to wits, if honesty and fair dealing with a young man is a sign of sense in a young woman, you’re worth a dozen Judiths; ay, and for that matter, most young women of my acquaintance.”
“Don’t say any thing against Judith, Harry,” returned Hetty imploringly. “Father’s gone, and mother’s gone, and nobody’s left but Judith and me, and it is n’t right for sisters to speak evil, or to hear evil of each other. Father’s in the lake, and so is mother, and we should all fear God, for we do n’t know when we may be in the lake, too.”
“That sounds reasonable, child, as does most you say. Well, if we ever meet ag’in, Hetty, you’ll find a fri’nd in me, let your sister do what she may. I was no great fri’nd of your mother I’ll allow, for we did n’t think alike on most p’ints, but then your father, Old Tom, and I, fitted each other as remarkably as a buckskin garment will fit any reasonable-built man. I’ve always been unanimous of opinion that Old Floating Tom Hutter, at the bottom, was a good fellow, and will maintain that ag’in all inimies for his sake, as well as for your’n.”
“Good bye, Hurry,” said Hetty, who now wanted to hasten the young man off, as ardently as she had wished to keep him only the moment before, though she could give no clearer account of the latter than of the former feeling; “good bye, Hurry; take care of yourself in the woods; do n’t halt ’till you reach the garrison. I’ll read a chapter in the bible for you, before I go to bed, and think of you in my prayers.”
This was touching a point on which March had no sympathies, and without more words, he shook the girl cordially by the hand, and re-entered the canoe. In another minute the two adventurers were a hundred feet from the Ark, and half a dozen had not elapsed before they were completely lost to view. Hetty sighed deeply, and rejoined her sister and Hist.
For some time Deerslayer and his companion paddled ahead in silence. It had been determined to land Hurry at the precise point where he is represented, in the commencement of our tal
e, as having embarked, not only as a place little likely to be watched by the Hurons, but because he was sufficiently familiar with the signs of the woods, at that spot, to thread his way through them in the dark. Thither, then, the light craft proceeded, being urged as diligently, and as swiftly, as two vigorous and skilful canoe-men could force their little vessel through, or rather over, the water. Less than a quarter of an hour sufficed for the object, and, at the end of that time, being within the shadows of the shore, and quite near the point they sought, each ceased his efforts in order to make their parting communications out of ear shot of any straggler who might happen to be in the neighborhood.
“You will do well to persuade the officers at the garrison to lead out a party ag’in these vagabonds, as soon as you git in, Hurry,” Deerslayer commenced; “and you’ll do better if you volunteer to guide it up yourself. You know the paths, and the shape of the lake, and the natur’ of the land, and can do it better than a common, gin’ralizing scout. Strike at the Huron camp first, and follow the signs that will then show themselves. A few looks at the hut and the Ark will satisfy you, as to the state of the Delaware and the women, and, at any rate, there’ll be a fine opportunity to fall on the Mingo trail, and to make a mark on the memories of the blackguards that they’ll be apt to carry with ’em a long time. It won’t be likely to make much difference with me, since that matter will be detarmined afore to-morrow’s sun has set, but it may make a great change in Judith and Hetty’s hopes and prospects!”
“And as for yourself, Nathaniel,” Hurry enquired with more interest than he was accustomed to betray in the welfare of others—“And, as for yourself, what do you think is likely to turn up?”
“The Lord, in his wisdom, only can tell, Henry March! The clouds look black and threatening, and I keep my mind in a state to meet the worst. Vengeful feelin’s are uppermost in the hearts of the Mingos, and any little disapp’intment about the plunder, or the prisoners, or Hist, may make the torments sartain. The Lord, in his wisdom, can only detarmine my fate, or yourn!”
“This is a black business, and ought to be put a stop to in some way or other—” answered Hurry, confounding the distinctions between right and wrong, as is usual with selfish and vulgar men. “I heartily wish old Hutter and I had scalped every creatur’ in their camp, the night we first landed with that capital object! Had you not held back, Deerslayer, it might have been done, and then you would n’t have found yourself, at the last moment, in the desperate condition you mention.”
“Twould have been better had you said, you wished you had never attempted to do what it little becomes any white man’s gifts to undertake; in which case, not only might we have kept from coming to blows, but Thomas Hutter would now have been living, and the hearts of the savages would be less given to vengeance. The death of that young woman, too, was oncalled for, Henry March, and leaves a heavy load on our names if not on our consciences!”
This was so apparent, and it seemed so obvious to Hurry himself, at the moment, that he dashed his paddle into the water, and began to urge the canoe towards the shore, as if bent only on running away from his own lively remorse. His companion humoured this feverish desire for change, and, in a minute or two, the bows of the boat grated lightly on the shingle of the beach. To land, shoulder his pack and rifle, and to get ready for his march occupied Hurry but an instant, and with a growling adieu, he had already commenced his march, when a sudden twinge of feeling brought him to a dead stop, and immediately after to the other’s side.
“You cannot mean to give yourself up ag’in to them murdering savages, Deerslayer!” he said, quite as much in angry remonstrance, as with generous feeling. “Twould be the act of a madman or a fool!”
“There’s them that thinks it madness to keep their words, and there’s them that don’t, Hurry Harry. You may be one of the first, but I’m one of the last. No red skin breathing shall have it in his power to say, that a Mingo minds his word more than a man of white blood and white gifts, in any thing that consarns me. I’m out on a furlough, and if I’ve strength and reason, I’ll go in on a furlough afore noon to-morrow!”
“What’s an Injin, or a word passed, or a furlough taken from creatur’s like them, that have neither souls, nor reason!”
“If they’ve got neither souls nor reason, you and I have both, Henry March, and one is accountable for the other. This furlough is not, as you seem to think, a matter altogether atween me and the Mingos, seeing it is a solemn bargain made atween me and God. He who thinks that he can say what he pleases, in his distress, and that twill all pass for nothing, because ’tis uttered in the forest, and into red men’s ears, knows little of his situation, and hopes, and wants. The woods are but the ears of the Almighty, the air is his breath, and the light of the sun is little more than a glance of his eye. Farewell, Harry; we may not meet ag’in, but I would wish you never to treat a furlough, or any other solemn thing, that your christian God has been called on to witness, as a duty so light that it may be forgotten according to the wants of the body, or even accordin’ to the cravings of the spirit.”
March was now glad again to escape. It was quite impossible that he could enter into the sentiments that ennobled his companion, and he broke away from both with an impatience that caused him secretly to curse the folly that could induce a man to rush, as it were, on his own destruction. Deerslayer, on the contrary, manifested no such excitement. Sustained by his principles, inflexible in the purpose of acting up to them, and superior to any unmanly apprehension, he regarded all before him, as a matter of course, and no more thought of making any unworthy attempt to avoid it, than a Mussulman thinks of counteracting the decrees of Providence. He stood calmly on the shore, listening to the reckless tread with which Hurry betrayed his progress through the bushes, shook his head in dissatisfaction at the want of caution, and then stepped quietly into his canoe. Before he dropped the paddle again into the water, the young man gazed about him, at the scene presented by the star-lit night. This was the spot where he had first laid his eyes on the beautiful sheet of water on which he floated. If it was then glorious in the bright light of a summer’s noon-tide, it was now sad and melancholy under the shadows of night. The mountains rose around it like black barriers to exclude the outer world, and the gleams of pale light that rested on the broader parts of the basin, were no bad symbols of the faintness of the hopes that were so dimly visible in his own future. Sighing heavily, he pushed the canoe from the land, and took his way, back, with steady diligence towards the Ark and the castle.
Chapter XXIV
“Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame;
Thy private feasting to a public fast;
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name;
Thy sugar’d tongue to bitter worm wood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last.”
—Shakespeare, Rape of Lucrece, ll. 890–94.
* * *
JUDITH WAS WAITING the return of Deerslayer on the platform, with stifled impatience, when the latter reached the hut. Hist and Hetty were both in a deep sleep, on the bed usually occupied by the two daughters of the house, and the Delaware was stretched on the floor of the adjoining room, his rifle at his side, and a blanket over him, already dreaming of the events of the last few days. There was a lamp burning in the Ark, for the family was accustomed to indulge in this luxury on extraordinary occasions, and possessed the means, the vessel being of a form and material to render it probable it had once been an occupant of the chest.
As soon as the girl got a glimpse of the canoe, she ceased her hurried walk up and down the platform, and stood ready to receive the young man, whose return she had now been anxiously expecting for some time. She helped him to fasten the canoe, and by aiding in the other little similar employments, manifested her desire to reach a moment of liberty as soon as possible. When this was done, in answer to an inquiry of his, she informed him of the manner in which their companions had disposed of themselves. He listened attentively, for the man
ner of the girl was so earnest and impressive as to apprise him that she had something on her mind of more than common concern.
“And now, Deerslayer,” Judith continued, “you see I have lighted the lamp, and put it in the cabin of the Ark. That is never done with us, unless on great occasions, and I consider this night as the most important of my life. Will you follow me and see what I have to show you—hear what I have to say.”
The hunter was a little surprised, but, making no objections, both were soon in the scow, and in the room that contained the light. Here two stools were placed at the side of the chest, with the lamp on another, and a table near by to receive the different articles as they might be brought to view. This arrangement had its rise in the feverish impatience of the girl, which could brook no delay that it was in her power to obviate. Even all the padlocks were removed, and it only remained to raise the heavy lid, again, to expose all the treasures of this long secreted hoard.
“I see, in part, what all this means,” observed Deerslayer—“yes, I see through it, in part. But why is not Hetty present; now, Thomas Hutter is gone, she is one of the owners of these cur’osities, and ought to see them opened and handled.”
“Hetty sleeps—” answered Judith, huskily. “Happily for her, fine clothes and riches have no charms. Besides she has this night given her share of all that the chest may hold, to me, that I may do with it as I please.”
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 101
