CHAPTER X.
“Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
'T is but a peevish boy:—yet he talks well—
But what care I for words?”
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A week passed in the usual routine of a garrison. Mabel
was becoming used to a situation that, at first, she had found
not only novel, but a little irksome; and the officers and men,
in their turn, gradually familiarized to the presence of a young
and blooming girl, whose attire and carriage had that air of
modest gentility about them, which she had obtained in the
family of her patroness, annoyed her less by their ill-concealed
admiration, while they gratified her by the respect
which, she was fain to think, they paid her on account of her
father; but which, in truth was more to be attributed to her
own modest, but spirited deportment, than to any deference
for the worthy serjeant.
Acquaintances made in a forest, or in any circumstances
of unusual excitement, soon attain their limits. Mabel found
one week's residence at Oswego, sufficient to determine
her, as to those with whom she might be intimate, and those
whom she ought to avoid. The sort of neutral position occupied
by her father, who was not an officer while he was
so much more than a common soldier, by keeping her aloof
from the two great classes of military life, lessened the number
of those whom she was compelled to know, and made
the duty of decision comparatively easy. Still she soon discovered
that there were a few, even among those that could
aspire to a seat at the commandant's table, who were disposed
to overlook the halbert, for the novelty of a well-turned
figure, and of a pretty, winning face; and by the end of the
first two or three days, she had admirers even among the
gentlemen. The quarter-master, in particular, a middle-aged
soldier, who had more than once tried the blessings of
matrimony already, but was now a widower, was evidently disposed
to increase his intimacy with the serjeant, though their
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duties often brought them together; and the youngsters among
his messmates did not fail to note that this man of method,
who was a Scotsman of the name of Muir, was much more
frequent in his visits to the quarters of his subordinate than
had formerly been his wont. A laugh, or a joke, in honour
of the “serjeant's daughter,” however, limited their strictures;
though “Mabel Dunham” was soon a toast that even
the ensign, or the lieutenant, did not disdain to give.
At the end of the week, Duncan of Lundie sent for Serjeant
Dunham, after evening roll-call, on business of a nature that,
it was understood, required a personal conference. The old
veteran dwelt in a moveable hut, which, being placed on
trucks, he could order to be wheeled about at pleasure,
sometimes living in one part of the area within the fort, and
sometimes in another. On the present occasion, he had
made a halt near the centre, and there he was found by his
subordinate, who was admitted to his presence without any
delay, or dancing attendance in an ante-chamber. In point
of fact, there was very little difference in the quality of the
accommodations allowed to the officers and those allowed to
the men, the former being merely granted the most room;
and Mabel and her father were lodged nearly, if not quite as
well, as the commandant of the place, himself.
“Walk in, serjeant, walk in, my good friend,” said old
Lundie, heartily, as his inferior stood in a respectful attitude
at the door of a sort of library and bed-room into which he
had been ushered;—“walk in, and take a seat on that stool.
I have sent for you, man, to discuss anything but rosters and
pay-rolls, this evening. It is now many years since we have
been comrades, and `auld lang syne' should count for something,
even between a major and his orderly, a Scot and a
Yankee. Sit ye down, man, and just put yourself at your
ease. It has been a fine day, serjeant?”
“It has indeed, Major Duncan,” returned the other, who,
though he complied so far as to take the seat, was much too
practised not to understand the degree of respect it was necessary
to maintain in his manner; “a very fine day, sir, it has
been, and we may look for more of them, at this season.”
“I hope so, with all my heart. The crops look well as
it is, man, and you'll be finding that the 55th make almost
as good farmers as soldiers. I never saw better potatoes in
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Scotland, than we are likely to have in that new patch of
ours.”
“They promise a good yield, Major Duncan, and, in that
light, a more comfertable winter than the last.”
“Life is progressive, serjeant, in its comforts, as well as
in its need of them. We grow old, and I begin to think it
time to retire and settle in life. I feel that my working days
are nearly over.”
“The king, God bless him, sir, has much good service, in
your honour, yet.”
“It may be so, Serjeant Dunham, especially if he should
happen to have a spare lieutenant-colonelcy left.”
“The 55th will be honoured the day that commission is
given to Duncan of Lundie, sir.”
“And Duncan of Lundie will be honoured the day he
receives it. But, serjeant, if you have never had a lieutenant-colonelcy,
you have had a good wife, and that is the next
thing to rank, in making a man happy.”
“I have been married, Major Duncan; but it is now a
long time since I have had no drawback on the love I bear
his majesty and my duty.”
“What, man, not even the love you bear that active,
little, round-limbed, rosy-cheeked daughter, that I have seen
in the fort, these last few days! Out upon you, serjeant!
old fellow as I am, I could almost love that little lassie, myself,
and send the lieutenant-colonelcy to the devil.”
“We all know where Major Duncan's heart is, and that
is in Scotland, where a beautiful lady is ready and willing
to make him happy, as soon as his own sense of duty shall
permit.”
“Ay, hope is ever a far-off thing, serjeant,” returned the
superior, a shade of melancholy passing over his hard Scottish
features as he spoke; “and bonny Scotland is a far-off
country. Well, if we have no heather and oat-meal in this
region, we have venison for the killing it; and salmon as
plenty as at Berwick-upon-Tweed. Is it true, serjeant, that
the men complain of having been over-venisoned, and over-pigeoned,
of late?”
“Not for some weeks, Major Duncan, for neither deer nor
birds are so plenty at this season as they have been. They
begin to throw their remarks about concerning the salmon,
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but I trust we shall get through the summer without any
serious disturbance on the score of food. The Scotch in the
battalion do, indeed, talk more than is prudent of their want
of oat-meal, grumbling occasionally of our wheaten bread.”
“Ah! that is human nature, serjeant; pure unadulterated
Scotch human nature. A cake, man, to say the truth, is an
agreeable morsel, and I often see the time, when I pine for a
bite, myself.”
“If the feeling gets to be troublesome, Major Duncan,—
in the men I mean, sir, for I would not think of saying so
disrespectful a thing to your honour,—but if the men ever
pine seriously for their natural food, I would humbly recommend
that some oat-meal be imported, or prepared in this
country for them, and I think we shall hear no more of it.
A very little would answer for a cure, sir.”
“You are a wag, serjeant; but hang me if I am sure you
are not right. There may be sweeter things in this world,
after all, than oat-meal. You have a sweet daughter, Dunham,
for one.”
“The girl is like her mother, Major Duncan, and will
pass inspection,” said the serjeant, proudly. “Neither was
brought up on anything better than good American flour.
The girl will pass inspection, sir.”
“That would she, I 'll answer for it. Well, I may as well
come to the point at once, man, and bring up my reserve
into the front of the battle. Here is Davy Muir, the quarter-master,
is disposed to make your daughter his wife, and he
has just got me to open the matter to you, being fearful of
compromitting his own dignity—and I may as well add, that
half the youngsters in the fort toast her, and talk of her from
morning till night.”
“She is much honoured, sir,” returned the father, stiffly,
“but I trust the gentlemen will find something more worthy
of them, to talk about, ere long. I hope to see her the wife
of an honest man before many weeks, sir.”
“Yes, Davy is an honest man, and that is more than can
be said for all in the Quarter-Master's department, I 'm thinking,
serjeant,” returned Lundie, with a slight smile. “Well,
then, may I tell the Cupid-stricken youth, that the matter is
as good as settled?”
“I thank your honour, but Mabel is betrothed to another.”
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“The devil she is! That will produce a stir in the fort;
though I 'm not sorry to hear it, either, for to be frank with
you, serjeant, I 'm no great admirer of unequal matches.”
“I think with your honour, and have no desire to see my
daughter an officer's lady. If she can get as high as her
mother was before her, it ought to satisfy any reasonable
woman.”
“And may I ask, serjeant, who is the lucky man that you
intend to call son-in-law?”
“The Pathfinder, your honour.”
“Pathfinder!”
“The same, Major Duncan; and in naming him to you,
I give you his whole history. No one is better known on
this frontier, than my honest, brave, true-hearted friend.”
“All that is true enough; but is he, after all, the sort of
person to make a girl of twenty happy?”
“Why not, your honour? the man is at the head of his
calling. There is no other guide, or scout, connected with
the army, that has half the reputation of Pathfinder, or
who deserves to have it half as well.”
“Very true, serjeant; but is the reputation of a scout, exactly
the sort of renown to captivate a girl's fancy?
“Talking of girls' fancies, sir, is, in my humble opinion,
much like talking of a recruit's judgment. If we were to
take the movements of the awkward squad, sir, as a guide, we
should never form a decent line, in battalion, Major Duncan.”
“But your daughter has nothing awkward about her; for
a genteeler girl, of her class, could not be found in old Albin
itself. Is she of your way of thinking, in this matter?—
though, I suppose she must be, as you say she is betrothed.”
“We have not yet conversed on the subject, your honour;
but I consider her mind as good as made up, from several
little circumstances that might be named.”
“And what are these circumstances, serjeant?” asked the
major, who began to take more interest than he had at first
felt, in the subject. “I confess a little curiosity to know something
about a woman's mind, being, as you know, a bachelor
myself.”
“Why, your honour, when I speak of the Pathfinder to
the girl, she always looks me full in the face; chimes in with
every thing I say in his favour, and has a frank, open way
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with her, which says as much as if she half considered him,
already, as a husband.”
“Hum—and these signs you think, Dunham, are faithful
tokens of your daughter's feelings?”
“I do, your honour, for they strike me as natural. When
I find a man, sir, who looks me full in the face, while he
praises an officer—for, begging your honour's pardon, the
men will sometimes pass their strictures on their betters—and
when I find a man looking me in the eyes, as he praises his
captain, I always set it down that the fellow is honest, and
means what he says.”
“Is there not some material difference in the age of the
intended bridegroom, and that of his pretty bride, serjeant?”
“You are quite right, sir; Pathfinder is well advanced
towards forty, and Mabel has every prospect of happiness
that a young woman can derive from the certainty of possessing
an experienced husband. I was quite forty myself, your
honour, when I married her mother.”
“But, will your daughter be as likely to admire a green
hunting-shirt, such as that our worthy guide wears, with a
fox-skin cap, as the smart uniform of the 55th?”
“Perhaps not, sir; and, therefore, she will have the merit
of self-denial, which always makes a young woman wiser
and better.”
“And are you not afraid that she may be left a widow
while still a young woman? What between wild beasts, and
wilder savages, Pathfinder may be said to carry his life in
his hand.”
“ `Every bullet has its billet,' Lundie,” for so the major
was fond of being called, in his moments of condescension,
and when not engaged in military affairs, “and no man in
the 55th can call himself beyond, or above, the chances of
sudden death. In that particular, Mabel would gain nothing
by a change. Besides, sir, if I may speak freely on such a
subject, I much doubt if ever Pathfinder dies in battle, or by
any of the sudden chances of the wilderness.”
“And why so, serjeant?” asked the major, looking at his
inferior, with the sort of reverence which a Scot of his day,
was more apt than at present to entertain for mysterious
agencies. “He is a soldier, so far as danger is concerned,
and one that is much more than usually exposed, and, being
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free of his person, why should he expect to escape, when
others do not?”
“I do not believe, your honour, that the Pathfinder considers
his own chances, better than any one's else, but the man
will never die by a bullet. I have seen him so often, handling
his rifle with as much composure as if it were a shepherd's
crook, in the midst of the heaviest showers of bullets, and
under so many extraordinary circumstances, that I do not
think Providence means he should ever fall in that manner.
And yet, if there be a man in his Majesty's dominions who
really deserves such a death, it is Pathfinder!”
“We never know, serjeant,” returned Lundie, with a
countenance that was grave with thought, “and the less we
say about it, perhaps, the better. But, will your daughter—
Mabel, I think, you call her—will Mabel be as willing to accept
one, who, after all, is a mere hanger-on of the army, as to
take one from the service itself? There is no hope of promotion
for the guide, serjeant!”
“He is at the head of his corps, already, your honour.
In short, Mabel has made up her mind on this subject, and,
as your honour has had the condescension to speak to me
about Mr. Muir, I trust you will be kind enough to say that
the girl is as good as billeted for life.”
“Well, well, this is your own matter, and, now—Serjeant
Dunham!”
“Your honour,” said the other, rising, and giving the customary
salute.
“You have been told it is my intention to send you down
among the Thousand Islands, for the next month. All the
old subalterns have had their tours of duty in that quarter—
all that I like to trust, at least,—and it has, at length,
come to your turn. Lieutenant Muir, it is true, claims his
right, but being Quarter-Master, I do not like to break up
well-established arrangements. Are the men drafted?”
“Every thing is ready, your honour. The draft is made,
and I understood that the canoe which got in last night,
brought a message to say that the party already below, is
looking out for the relief.”
“It did, and you must sail the day after to-morrow, if not
to-morrow night. It will be wise, perhaps, to sail in the
dark.”
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“So Jasper thinks, Major Duncan, and I know no one
more to be depended on, in such an affair, than young Jasper
Western.”
“Young Jasper Eau-douce!” said Lundie, a slight smile
gathering around his usually stern mouth. “Will that lad
be of your party, serjeant?”
“Your honour will remember that the Scud never quits
port without him.”
“True, but all general rules have their exceptions. Have
I not seen a sea-faring person about the fort within the last
few days?”
“No doubt, your honour; it is Master Cap, a brother-in-law
of mine, who brought my daughter from below.”
“Why not put him in the Scud for this cruise, serjeant,
and leave Jasper behind? Your brother-in-law would like
the variety of a fresh-water cruise, and you would enjoy more
of his company.”
“I intended to ask your honour's permission to take him
along, but he must go as a volunteer. Jasper is too brave a
lad to be turned out of his command without a reason, Major
Duncan; and I 'm afraid brother Cap despises fresh water too
much to do duty on it.”
“Quite right, serjeant, and I leave all this to your own
discretion. Eau-douce must retain his command, on second
thoughts. You intend that Pathfinder shall also be of the
party?”
“If your honour approves of it. There will be service for
both the guides, the Indian as well as the white man.”
“I think you are right. Well, serjeant, I wish you good
luck in the enterprise; and remember the post is to be destroyed
and abandoned when your command is withdrawn.
It will have done its work by that time, or we shall have failed
entirely, and it is too ticklish a position to be maintained unnecessarily.
You can retire.”
Serjeant Dunham gave the customary salute, turned on his
heels, as if they had been pivots, and had got the door nearly
drawn-to after him, when he was suddenly recalled.
“I had forgotten, serjeant, the younger officers have begged
for a shooting match, and to-morrow has been named for the
day. All competitors will be admitted, and the prizes will
be a silver-mounted powder-horn, a leathern flask ditto,”
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reading from a piece of paper, “as I see by the professional jargon
of this bill, and a silk calash for a lady. The latter is
to enable the victor to show his gallantry, by making an
offering of it to her he best loves.”
“All very agreeable, your honour, at least to him that
succeeds. Is the Pathfinder to be permitted to enter?”
“I do not well see how he can be excluded, if he choose
to come forward. Latterly, I have observed that he takes no
share in these sports, probably from a conviction of his own
unequalled skill.”
“That's it, Major Duncan; the honest fellow knows there
is not a man on the frontier who can equal him, and he does
not wish to spoil the pleasure of others. I think we may
trust to his delicacy in anything, sir. Perhaps it may be as
well to let him have his own way.”
“In this instance we must, serjeant. Whether he will be
as successful in all others, remains to be seen. I wish you
good evening, Dunham.”
The serjeant now withdrew, leaving Duncan of Lundie to
his own thoughts. That they were not altogether disagreeable,
was to be inferred from the smiles which occasionally
covered a countenance that was hard and martial in its usual
expression, though there were moments in which all its severe
sobriety prevailed. Half an hour might have passed, when
a tap at the door was answered by a direction to enter. A
middle-aged man, in the dress of an officer, but whose uniform
wanted the usual smartness of the profession, made his appearance,
and was saluted as “Mr. Muir.”
“I have come, sir, at your bidding, to know my fortune,”
said the quarter-master, in a strong Scotch accent, as soon
as he had taken the seat which was proffered to him. “To
say the truth to you, Major Duncan, this girl is making as
much havoc in the garrison, as the French did before Ty; I
never witnessed so general a rout, in so short a time!”
“Surely, Davy, you don't mean to persuade me that your
young and unsophisticated heart, is in such a flame, after one
week's ignition! Why, man, this is worse than the affair in
Scotland, where it was said the heat within was so intense
that it just burnt a hole through your own precious body,
and left a place for all the lassies to peer in at, to see what
the combustible material was worth.”
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“Ye'll have your own way, Major Duncan, and your
father and mother would have theirs before ye, even if the
enemy were in the camp. I see nothing so extraordinar' in
young people's following the bent of their inclinations and
wishes.”
“But you've followed yours so often, Davy, that I should
think, by this time, it had lost the edge of novelty. Including
that informal affair in Scotland, when you were a lad, you've
been married four times already.”
“Only three, major, as I hope to get another wife! I've
not yet had my number; no—no—only three.”
“I'm thinking, Davy, you don't include the first affair, I
mentioned; that, in which there was no parson.”
“And why should I, major? The courts decided that it
was no marriage, and what more could a man want! The
woman took advantage of a slight amorous propensity, that
may be a weakness in my disposition, perhaps, and inveigled
me into a contract that was found to be illegal.”
“If I remember right, Muir, there were thought to be two
sides to that question, in the time of it!”
“It would be but an indifferent question, my dear major,
that had n't two sides to it; and I 've known many that had
three. But the poor woman's dead, and there was no issue,
so nothing came of it, after all. Then I was particularly unfortunate
with my second wife—I say second, major, out of
deference to you, and on the mere supposition that the first
was a marriage at all—but first or second, I was particularly
unfortunate with Jeannie Graham, who died in the first lustrum,
leaving neither chick nor chiel behind her. I do think
if Jeannie had survived I never should have turned my
thoughts towards another wife.”
“But as she did not, you married twice after her death—
and are desirous of doing so a third time.”
“The truth can never justly be gainsayed, Major Duncan,
and I am always ready to avow it. I 'm thinking, Lundie,
you are melancholar', this fine evening?”
“No, Muir, not melancholy absolutely, but a little thoughtful,
I confess. I was looking back to my boyish days, when
I, the laird's son, and you the parson's, roamed about our
native hills, happy and careless boys, taking little heed to the
future; and then have followed some thoughts, that may be
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a little painful, concerning that future, as it has turned out
to be.”
“Surely, Lundie, ye do not complain of your portion of
it. You've risen to be a major, and will soon be a lieutenantcolonel,
if letters tell the truth, while I am just one step higher
than when your honoured father gave me my first commission,
and a poor deevil of a quarter-master.”
“And the four wives?”
“Three, Lundie; three only that were legal, even under
our own liberal and sanctified laws.”
“Well, then, let it be three. Ye know, Davy,” said
Major Duncan, insensibly dropping into the pronunciation
and dialect of his youth, as is much the practice with educated
Scotchmen, as they warm with a subject that comes
near the heart.—“Ye know, Davy, that my own choice has
long been made, and in how anxious and hope-wearied a
manner, I 've waited for that happy hour when I can call the
woman I 've so long loved a wife; and, here, have you,
without fortune, name, birth, or merit; I mean particular
merit—”
“Na—na—dinna say that, Lundie — the Muirs are of
gude bluid.”
“Well, then, without aught but bluid, ye 've wived four
times—”
“I tall ye, but thrice, Lundie. Ye 'll weaken auld friendship,
if ye call it four.”
“Put it at ye'r own number, Davy; and its far more than
ye'r share. Our lives have been very different on the score
of matrimony, at least; you must allow that, my old friend.”
“And which do you think has been the gainer, major,
speaking as frankly the'gither, as we did when lads.”
“Nay, I 've nothing to conceal. My days have passed in
hope deferred, while yours have passed in—”
“Not in hope realized, I give you mine honour, Major
Duncan,” interrupted the quarter-master. “Each new experiment
I have thought might prove an advantage, but disappointment
seems the lot of man!—Ah! this is a vain world
of ours, Lundie, it must be owned; and in nothing vainer
than in matrimony.”
“And yet you are ready to put your neck into the noose
for the fifth time?”
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“I desire to say, it will be but the fourth, Major Duncan,”
said the quarter-master, positively; then, instantly changing
the expression of his face to one of boyish rapture, he added—
“But this Mabel Dunham is a rara avis! Our Scotch
lassies are fair and pleasant, but it must be owned these colonials
are of surpassing comeliness.”
“You will do well to recollect your commission and blood,
Davy: I believe all four of your wives—”
“I wish, my dear Lundie, ye 'd be more accurate in your
arithmetic—three times one, make three.”
“All three, then, were what might be termed gentlewomen.”
“That 's just it, major. Three were gentlewomen, as you
say, and the connections were suitable.”
“And the fourth being the daughter of my father's gardener,
the connection was unsuitable. But have you no fear
that marrying the child of a non-commissioned officer who
is in the same corps with yourself, will have the effect to
lessen your consequence in the regiment?”
“That 's just been my weakness through life, Major Duncan;
for I 've always married without regard to consequences.
Every man has his besetting sin, and matrimony,
I fear, is mine. And, now that we have discussed what may
be called the principles of the connection, I will just ask, if
you did me the favour to speak to the serjeant on the trifling
affair?”
“I did, David; and am sorry to say for your hopes, that
I see no great chance of your succeeding.”
“Not succeeding!—An officer, and a quarter-master, in
the bargain, and not succeed with a serjeant's daughter!”
“It 's just that, Davy.”
“And why not, Lundie?—will you have the goodness to
answer just that?”
“The girl is betrothed. Hand plighted, word passed, love
pledged—no, hang me if I believe that, either; but she is
betrothed.”
“Well that 's an obstacle, it must be avowed, major,
though it counts for little, if the heart is free.”
“Quite true, and I think it probable the heart is free, in this
case; for the intended husband appears to be the choice of
the father, rather than of the daughter.”
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“And who may it be, major?” asked the quarter-master,
who viewed the whole matter with the philosophy and coolness
that are acquired by use. “I do not recollect any plausible
suitor, that is likely to stand in my way.”
“No, you are the only plausible suitor on the frontier,
Davy. The happy man is Pathfinder.”
“Pathfinder, Major Duncan?”
“No more, nor any less, David Muir. Pathfinder is the
man; but it may relieve your jealousy a little, to know that,
in my judgment at least, it is a match of the father's, rather
than of the daughter's seeking.”
“I thought as much!” exclaimed the quarter-master,
drawing a long breath, like one who felt relieved; “it 's
quite impossible, that with my experience in human nature—”
“Particularly hu-woman's nature, David!”
“Ye will have ye'r joke, Lundie, let who will suffer! But
I did not think it possible I could be deceived as to the young
woman's inclinations, which I think I may boldly pronounce
to be altogether above the condition of Pathfinder. As for
the individual himself—why, time will show.”
“Now, tell me frankly, Davy Muir,” said Lundie, stopping
short in his walk, and looking the other earnestly in the
face, with a comical expression of surprise, that rendered the
veteran's countenance ridiculously earnest—“do you really
suppose, a girl like the daughter of Serjeant Dunham, can
take a serious fancy to a man of your years, and appearance,
and experience, I might add?”
“Hout, awa', Lundie, ye dinna know the sax, and that 's
the reason ye'r unmarried in ye'r forty-fifth year. It 's a
fearfu' time ye've been a bachelor, Major!”
“And what may be your age, Lieutenant Muir, if I may
presume to ask so delicate a question?”
“Forty-seven; I 'll no deny it, Lundie; and if I get Mabel,
there 'll be just a wife for every twa lustrums! But I did'na
think Serjeant Dunham would be so humble-minded, as to
dream of giving that sweet lass of his to one like the Pathfinder!”
“There 's no dream about it, Davy; the man is as serious
as a soldier about to be flogged.”
“Well, well, major, we are auld friends,”—both ran into
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the Scotch, or avoided it, as they approached or drew away
from their younger days, in the dialogue,—“and ought to
know how to take and give a joke, off duty. It is possible
the worthy man has not understood my hints, or he never
would have thought of such a thing. The difference between
an officer's consort, and a guide's woman, is as vast as that
between the antiquity of Scotland, and the antiquity of America.
I 'm auld bluid, too, Lundie.”
“Take my word for it, Davy, your antiquity will do you
no good, in this affair; and as for your blood, it is not
older than your bones. Well, well, man, ye know the serjeant's
answer, and so you perceive that my influence, on
which you counted so much, can do nought for ye. Let us
take a glass the'gither, Davy, for auld acquaintance sake;
and then ye 'll be doing well to remember the party that
marches the morrow, and to forget Mabel Dunham as fast as
ever you can.”
“Ah! major, I have always found it easier to forget a
wife, than to forget a sweetheart! When a couple are fairly
married, all is settled but the death, as one may say, which
must finally part us all; and it seems to me awfu' irreverent
to disturb the departed; whereas, there is so much anxiety,
and hope, and felicity, in expectation like, with the lassie,
that it keeps thought alive.”
“That is just my idea of your situation, Davy, for I never
supposed you expected any more felicity with either of your
wives. Now, I 've heard of fellows who were so stupid as
to look forward to happiness with their wives, even beyond
the grave. I drink to your success, or to your speedy recovery
from this attack, lieutenant; and I admonish you to
be more cautious in future, as some of these violent cases
may yet carry you off.”
“Many thanks, dear major; and a speedy termination to
an old courtship, of which I know something. This is real
mountain-dew, Lundie, and it warms the heart like a gleam
of bonny Scotland. As for the men you 've just mentioned,
they could have had but one wife a-piece, for where there are
several, the deeds of the women, themselves, may carry
them different ways. I think a reasonable husband ought to
be satisfied with passing his allotted time with any particular
wife, in this world, and not to go about moping for things
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unattainable. I 'm infinitely obliged to you, Major Duncan,
for this and all your other acts of friendship; and if you
could but add another, I should think you had not altogether
forgotten the play-fellow of your boyhood.”
“Well, Davy, if the request be reasonable, and such as a
superior ought to grant, out with it, man.”
“If ye could only contrive a little service for me, down
among the Thousand Isles, for a fortnight, or so, I think this
matter might be settled to the satisfaction of all parties. Just
remember, Lundie, the lassie is the only marriageable white
female on this frontier!”
“There is always duty for one in your line, at a post,
however small; but this below can be done by the serjeant as
well as by the Quarter-Master General, and better too.”
“But not better than by a regimental officer. There is
great waste, in common, among the orderlies.”
“I 'll think of it, Muir,” said the major, laughing, “and
you shall have my answer in the morning. Here will be a
fine occasion, man, the morrow, to show yourself off before
the lady; you are expert with the rifle, and prizes are to be
won. Make up your mind to display your skill, and who
knows what may yet happen before the Scud sails.”
“I 'm thinking most of the young men will try their hands
in this sport, major?”
“That will they, and some of the old ones, too, if you
appear. To keep you in countenance, I 'll try a shot or two
myself, Davy; and you know I have some name that way.”
“It might, indeed, do good! The female heart, Major
Duncan, is susceptible in many different modes, and sometimes
in a way that the rules of philosophy might reject.
Some require a suitor to sit down before them, as it might
be, in a regular siege, and only capitulate when the place can
hold out no longer; others again like to be carried by storm;
while there are hussies who can only be caught by leading
them into an ambush. The former is the most creditable and
officer-like process, perhaps; but I must say, I think the last
the most pleasing.”
“An opinion formed from experience, out of all question.
And what of the storming parties?”
“They may do for younger men, Lundie,” returned the
quarter-master, rising and winking, a liberty that he often
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took with his commanding officer, on the score of a long intimacy;
“every period of life has its necessities, and at forty-seven
it's just as well to trust a little to the head. I wish
you a very good even, Major Duncan, and freedom from gout,
with a sweet and refreshing sleep.”
“The same to yourself, Mr. Muir, with many thanks. Remember
the passage of arms for the morrow.”
The Quarter-Master withdrew, leaving Lundie in his library
to reflect on what had just passed. Use had so accustomed
Major Duncan to Lieutenant Muir, and all his traits and humours,
that the conduct of the latter did not strike the former
with the same force, as it will probably the reader. In truth,
while all men act under one common law that is termed nature,
the varieties in their dispositions, modes of judging,
feelings, and selfishness, are infinite.
Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851 [1840], The pathfinder, or, The inland sea. Vol. I (Lea and Blanchard, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf068v1T].
