THE PIONEERS, OR THE SOURCES OF THE SUSQUEHANNA. CHAPTER I.
“Away! nor let me loiter in my song,
For we have many a mountain path to tread.”
Byron.
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As the spring gradually approached, the immense
piles of snow, that, by alternate thaws and
frosts, and repeated storms, had obtained a firmness
that threatened a tiresome durability, begun
to yield to the influence of milder breezes and
a warmer sun. The gates of Heaven, at times,
seemed to open, and a bland air diffused itself over
the earth, when animate and inanimate nature would
awaken, and, for a few hours, the gayety of spring
shone in every eye, and smiled on every field.
But the shivering blasts from the north would carry
their chill influence over the scene again, and
the dark and gloomy clouds that intercepted the
rays of the sun, were not more cold and dreary,
than the re-action which crossed the creation.
These struggles between the seasons became,
daily, more frequent, while the earth, like a victim
to contention, slowly lost the animated brilliancy
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of winter, without obtaining the decided aspect of
spring.
Several weeks were consumed in this cheerless
manner, during which the inhabitants of the country
gradually changed their pursuits from the social
and bustling movements of the time of snow,
to the laborious and domestic engagements of the
coming season. The village was no longer thronged
with visiters; the trade, that had enlivened the
shops for several months, begun to disappear; the
highways lost their shining coats of beaten snow
in impassable sloughs, and were deserted by the
gay and noisy travellers who, in sleighs, had, during
the winter, glided along their windings; and,
in short, every thing seemed indicative of a mighty
change, not only in the earth itself, but in those,
also, who derived their sources of comfort and
happiness from her bosom.
The younger members of the family in the
Mansion-house, of which Louisa Grant was now
habitually one, were by no means indifferent observers
of these fluctuating and tardy changes.
While the snow rendered the roads passable, they
had partaken largely in the amusements of the
winter, which included not only daily rides over
the mountains, and through every valley within
twenty miles of them, but divers ingenious and
varied sources of pleasure, on the bosom of their
frozen lake. There had been rides in the equipage
of Richard, when, with his four horses, he
had outstripped the winds with its speed, as it flew
over the glassy ice which invariably succeeded a
thaw. Then the exciting and dangerous “whirligig”
would be suffered to possess its moment of
notice. Cutters, drawn by a single horse, and
hand-sleds, impelled by the gentlemen, on skates,
would each in their turn be used; and, in short,
every source of relief against the tediousness of
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a winter in the mountains, was resorted to by the
family. Elizabeth was compelled to acknowledge
to her father, that the season, with the aid of his
library, was much less irksome than she had an-
ticipated.
As exercise in the open air, was in some de-
gree necessary to the habits of the family, when
the constant recurrence of frosts and thaws ren-
dered the roads, which were dangerous, at the
most favourable times, utterly impassable for
wheels, saddle-horses were used as substitutes for
their other conveyances. Mounted on small and
sure-footed beasts, the ladies would again attempt
the passages of the mountains, and penetrate into
every retired glen, where the enterprise of a set-
tler had induced him to establish himself. In
these excursions they were attended by some one
or all of the gentlemen of the family, as their dif-
ferent pursuits admitted. Young Edwards was
hourly becoming more familiarized to his situa-
tion, and not unfrequently mingled in their par-
ties, with an unconcern and gayety, that, for a
short time, would, apparently, expel all unplea-
sant recollections from his mind. Habit, and the
buoyancy of youth, seemed to be getting the as-
cendancy over the secret causes of his uneasiness;
though there were moments, when the same re-
markable expression of disgust, would cross his
intercourse with Marmaduke, that had distin-
guished their conversations in the first days of their
acquaintance.
It was at the close of the month of March, that
the Sheriff succeeded in persuading his cousin
and her young friend to accompany him in a ride
to a hill, that was said to overhang the lake, in a
manner peculiar to itself.
“Besides, cousin Bess,” continued the indefati-
gable Richard “we will stop and see the 'sugar
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bush' of Billy Kirby: he is on the east end of the
Ransom lot, making sugar for Jared Ransom.
There is not a better hand over a kettle in the
county, than that same Kirby. You remember,
'duke, that I had him his first season, in our own
camp; and it is not a wonder that he knows something
of his trade.”
“He's a good chopper, is Billy,” observed
Benjamin, who held the bridle of the horse while
the Sheriff mounted; “and he handles an axe,
much the same as a forecastle-man does his marling
spike, or a tailor his goose. They say he'll lift
a potash kettle off the arch with his own hands,
thof I can't say that I've ever seen him do it with
my own eyes; but that is the say. And I've seen
sugar of his making, which, maybe, was'nt as
white as an old top-gallantsail, but which my
friend Mistress Pretty-bones, within there, said,
had the true molasses smack to it; and you are
not the one, Squire Dickens, to be told that Mistress
Remarkable has a remarkable tooth for sweet
things in her nut-grinder.”
The loud laugh that succeeded the wit of Benjamin,
and in which he participated, with no very
harmonious sounds, himself, very fully illustrated
the congenial temper which existed between the
pair. Most of its point was, however, lost on the
rest of the party, who were either mounting their
horses, or assisting the ladies to do so, at the moment.
When all were safely in their saddles, the
whole moved through the village in great order.
They paused for a moment, before the door of
Monsieur Le Quoi, until he could bestride his
steed, and then, issuing from the little cluster of
houses, they took one of the principal of those
highways, that centered in the village.
As each night brought with it a severe frost,
which the heat of the succeeding day served to
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dissipate, the equestrians were compelled to proceed
singly, along the margin of the road, where
the turf, and firmness of the ground, gave their
horses a secure footing. Very trifling indications
of approaching vegetation were to be seen, the
surface of the earth presenting a cold, wet, and
cheerless aspect, that almost chilled the blood of
the spectator. The snow yet lay scattered over
most of those distant clearings that were visible
in different parts of the mountains; though here
and there an opening might be seen, where, as the
white covering yielded to the season, the bright
and lively green of the wheat served to enkindle
the hopes of the husbandman. Nothing could be
more marked, than the contrast between the earth
and the heavens; for, while the former presented
the dreary view that we have described, a warm
and invigorating sun was dispensing his heats,
from a sky that contained but a solitary could,
that lingered near the mountain, and through an
atmosphere that softened the colours of the sensible
horizon, until it shone like a sea of virgin
blue.
Richard led the way, on this, as on all other
occassions, that did not require the exercise of unusual
abilities; and as he moved along, he essayed
to enliven the party with the sounds of his experienced
voice.
“This is your true sugar weather, 'duke,” he
cried; “A frosty night and a sunshiny day. I
warrant me that the sap runs like a mill-tail up
the maples, this warm morning. It is a pity,
Judge, that you do not introduce a little more
science into the manufactory of sugar, among
your tenants. It might be done, sir, without
knowing as much as Dr. Franklin—it might be
done, Judge Temple.”
“The first object of my solicitude, friend
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Jones,” returned Marmaduke, “is to protect the
sources of this great mine of comfort and wealth,
from the extravagance of the people themselves.
When this important point shall be achieved, it
will be in season to turn our attention to an improvement
in the manufacture of the article. But
thou knowest, Richard, that I have already subjected
our sugar to the process of the refiner, and
that the result has produced loaves as white as the
snow on yon fields, and possessing the saccharine
quality in its utmost purity.”
“Saccharine, or turpentine, or any other 'ine,
Judge Temple, you have never made a loaf larger
than a good sized sugar-plum,” returned the Sheriff.
“Now, sir, I assert, that no experiment is
fairly tried, until it be reduced to practical purposes.
If, sir, I owned a hundred, or, for that
matter, two hundred thousand acres of land, as
you do, I would build a sugar-house in the village;
I would invite learned men to an investigation
of the subject,—and such are easily to be
found, sir; yes, sir, they are not difficult to find,—
men who unite theory with practice; and I would
select a wood of young and thrifty trees; and, instead
of making loaves of the size of a lump of
candy, dam'me, 'duke, but I'd have them as big
as a hay-cock.”
“And purchase the cargo of one of those ships
that, they say, are going to China,” cried Elizabeth;
“turn your potash-kettles into tea-cups, the
scows on the lake into saucers: bake your cake
in yonder lime-kiln, and invite the county to a
tea-party. How wonderful are the projects of
genius! Really, sir, the world is of opinion that
Judge Temple has tried the experiment fairly,
though he did not cause his loaves to be cast in
moulds of the magnitude the would suit your
magnificent conceptions.”
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“You may laugh, cousin Elizabeth—you may
laugh, madam,” retorted Richard, turning himself
so much in his saddle as to face the party,
and making extremely dignified gestures with his
whip; “but I appeal to common sense, good
sense, or, what is of more importance than either,
to the sense of taste, which is one of the five natural
senses, whether a big loaf of sugar is not likely to
contain a better illustration of a proposition, than
such a lump as one of your Dutch women puts
under her tongue when she drinks her tea. There
are two ways of doing every thing; the right way,
and the wrong way. You make sugar now, I will
admit, and you may, possibly, make loaf-sugar;
but I take the question to be, whether you make
the best possible sugar, and into the best possible
loaves.”
“Thou art very right, Richard,” observed
Marmaduke, with a gravity in his air, that proved
how much he was interested in the subject. “It
is very true that we manufacture sugar, but the
inquiry is quite useful to make, how much? and
in what manner? I hope to live to see the day,
when farms and plantations shall be devoted to this
branch of business. Little is known concerning
the properties of the tree itself, the source of all
this wealth; how much it may be improved by
cultivation, by the use of the hoe and plough.”
“Hoe and plough,” roared the Sheriff;—
would you set a man hoeing round the root of
a maple like this,”—pointing to one of those noble
trees, that occur so frequently in that part of
the country.—“Hoeing trees! are you mad,
'duke? This is next to hunting for coal! Poh!
poh! my dear cousin, hear reason, and leave the
management of the sugar-bush to me. Here is
Mr. Le Quoi, he has been in the West-Indies, and
seen sugar made often. Let him give an account
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of how it is made there, and you will hear the philosophy
of the thing.—Well, Monsieur, how is it
that you make sugar in the West-Indies; any
thing in Judge Temple's fashion?”
The gentleman to whom this query was put,
was mounted on a small horse, of no very fiery
temperament, and was riding with his stirrups so
short, as to bring his knees, while the animal rose
a small ascent in the wood-path they were now
travelling, into a somewhat hazardous vicinity to
his chin. There was no room for gesticulation or
grace in the delivery of his reply, for the mountain
was steep and slippery; and although the
Gaul had an eye of uncommon magnitude on either
side of his face, they did not seem to be half
competent to forewarn him of the impediments of
bushes, twigs, and fallen trees, that were momentarily
crossing his path. With one hand employed
in averting these dangers, and the other grasping
his bridle, to check an untoward speed that his
horse was assuming, the native of France responded
as follows—
“Sucre! dey do make eet in Martinique: mais—
mais eet is not from von tree; eet is from—ah—
ah—vat you call—Je voudrois que ces chemins
fussent au diable—vat you call—von steeck pour
le promenade.”
“Cane,” said Elizabeth, smiling at the imprecation
which the wary Frenchman supposed was
understood only by himself.
“Oui, Mam'selle, cane.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Richard, “cane is the vulgar
name for it, but the real term is saccharum officinarum:
and what we call the sugar, or hard maple,
is acer saccharinum. These are the learned
names, Monsieur, and are such as, doubtless, you
well understand.”
“Is this Greek or Latin, Mr. Edwards?”
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whispered the heiress to the youth, who was opening
a passage for herself and her companion through
the bushes—“or perhaps it is a still more learned
language, for an interpretation of which we must
look to you.”
The dark eye of the young man glanced towards
the maiden, with a keenness bordering on
ferocity; but its expression changed, in a moment,
to the smiling playfulness of her own face,
as he answered—
“I shall remember your doubts, Miss Temple,
when next I visit my old friend Mohegan, and
either his skill, or that of Leather-stocking, shall
solve them.”
“And are you, then, really ignorant of their
language?” asked Elizabeth, with an impetuosity
that spoke a lively interest in the reply.
“Not absolutely; but the deep learning of Mr.
Jones is more familiar to me, or even the polite
masquerade of Monsieur Le Quoi.”
“Do you speak French?” said the lady, with
a quickness that equalled her former interest.
“It is a common language with the Iroquois,
and through the Canadas,” he answered, with an
equivocal smile.
“Ah! but they are Mingoes, and your enemies.”
“It will be well for me, if I have no worse,”
said the youth, dashing ahead with his horse, and
thus putting an end to the evasive dialogue.
The discourse, however, was maintained with
great vigour by Richard, until they reached an
open wood on the summit of the mountain, where
the hemlocks and pines totally disappeared, and
a grove of the very trees that formed the subject
of debate, covered the earth with their tall, straight
trunks and spreading branches, in stately pride.
The underwood had been entirely removed from
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this grove, or bush, as, in conjunction with the
simple arrangements for boiling, it was called, and
a wide space of many acres was cleared, which
might be likened to the dome of a mighty temple,
to which the maples, with their stems, formed
the columns, their tops composing the capitals, and
the heavens the arch. A deep and careless incision
had been made into each tree, near its root,
into which little spouts, formed of the bark of the
alder, or of the sumach, were fastened; and a
trough, roughly dug out of the linden, or bass-wood,
was lying at the root of each tree, to catch
the sap that flowed from this extremely wasteful
and inartificial arrangement.
The party paused a moment, on gaining the
flat, to breathe their horses, and, as the scene
was entirely new to several of their number, to
view the manner of collecting the fluid. A fine,
powerful voice aroused them from their momentary
silence, as it rung under the branches of the
trees, singing the following words of that inimitable
doggrel, whose verses, if extended, would
reach from the waters of the Connecticut to the
shores of Ontario. The tune was, of course, that
familiar air, which, although it is said to have
been first applied to his nation in derision, circumstances
have since rendered so glorious, that
no American ever hears its jingling cadence,
without feeling a thrill at his heart.
“The Eastern States be full of men,
The Western full of woods, sir!
The hills be like a cattle pen,
The roads be full of goods, sir!
Then flow away, my sweety sap,
And I will make you boily;
Nor catch a woodman's hasty nap,
For fear you should get roily.
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“The maple tree's a precious one,
'Tis fuel, food, and timber;
And when your stiff day's work is done,
Its juice will make you limber.
Then flow away, &c.
“And what's a man without his glass,
His wife without her tea, sir?
But neither cup nor mug would pass,
Without this honey-bee, sir!
Then flow away,” &c.
During the execution of this sonorous ditty,
Richard kept time with his whip on the mane of
his charger, accompanying the gestures with a
corresponding movement of his head and body.
Towards the close of the song, he was overheard
humming the chorus, and at its last repetition, to
strike in at “sweety sap,” and carry a second
through, with a prodigious addition to the “effect”
of the noise, if not to that of the harmony.
“Well done us!” roared the Sheriff, on the
same key with the tune; “a very good song, Billy
Kirby, and very well sung. Where got you the
words, lad? is there more of it, and can you furnish
me with a copy?”
The sugar-boiler, who was busy in his “camp,”
at a short distance from the equestrians, turned his
head with great indifference, and surveyed the
party, as they approached, with admirable coolness.
To each individual, as he or she rode close
by him, he gave a nod that was extremely goodnatured
and affable, but which partook largely of
the virtue of equality, for not even to the ladies
did he in the least vary his mode of salutation,
by touching the apology for a hat that he wore,
or by any other motion than the one we have
mentioned.
“How goes it, how goes it, Sheriff?” said the
wood-chopper; “what's the good word to-day?”
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“Why, much as usual, Billy,” returned Richard.
“But how is this! where are your four
kettles, and your troughs, and your iron coolers?
Do you make sugar in this slovenly way! I
thought you were one of the best sugar-boilers in
the county.”
“I'm all that, Squire Jones,” said Kirby, who
continued his occupation; “I'll turn my back to
no man in the Otsego hills, for chopping and logging;
for boiling down the maple sap: for tending
brick-kiln; splitting out rails; making potash,
and parling too; or hoeing corn. Though I
keep myself, pretty much, to the first business,
seeing that the axe comes most nateral to me.”
“You be von Jack All-trade, Mister Beel,” said
Monsieur Le Quoi.
“How?” said Kirby, looking up, with a simplicity
which, coupled with his gigantic frame and
manly face, was a little ridiculous—“if you be
for trade, Mounsher, here is some as good sugar
as you'll find the season through. It's as clear
from dirt as the Garman Flats is from stumps,
and it has the raal maple flavour. Such stuff
would sell in York for candy.”
The Frenchman approached the place where
Kirby had deposited his cakes of sugar, under the
cover of a bark roof, and commenced the examination
of the article, with the eye of one who well
understood its value. Marmaduke had dismounted,
and was viewing the works and the trees very
closely, and not without frequent expressions of
dissatisfaction, at the careless manner in which the
manufacture was conducted.
“You have much experience in these things,
Kirby,” he said; “what is the course you pursue
in making your sugar? I see that you have but
two kettles.”
“Two is as good as two thousand, Judge; I'm
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none of your polite sugar-makers, that boils for
the great folks; but if the raal sweet maple is
wanted, I can answer your turn. First, I choose,
and then I tap my trees; say along about the
last of February, or in these mountains, maybe
not afore the middle of March; but any way, just
as the sap begins to cleverly run—”
“Well, in this choice,” interrupted Marmaduke,
“are you governed by any outward signs, that
prove the quality of the tree?”
“Why, there's judgment in all things,” said
Kirby, stirring the liquor in his kettles briskly.
“There's something in knowing when and how
much to stir the pot. It's a thing that must be
larnt. Rome wasn't built in a day, nor, for that
matter, Templetown 'ither, though it may be said
to be a quick-growing place. I never put my
axe into a stunty tree, or one that has'nt a good,
fresh-looking bark; for trees have disorders just
like creaters; and where's the policy of taking a
tree that's sickly, any more than you'd choose a
foundered horse to ride post, or an overheated ox
to do your logging—”
“All this is true; but what are your signs of illness?
how do you distinguish a tree that is well
from one that is diseased?”
“How does the doctor tell who has fever, and
who colds?” interrupted Richard—“by examining
the skin, and feeling the pulse, to be sure.”
“Sartain,” continued Billy; “the Squire a'nt
far out of the way. It's by the look of the thing,
sure enough.—Well, when the sap begins to get a
free run, I hang over the kettles, and set up the
bush. My first boiling I push pretty smart, till I
get the vartoo of the sap; but when it begins to
grow of a molasses nater, like this in the kettle,
one musn't drive the fires too hard, or you'll burn
the sugar; and burny sugar is always bad to the
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taste, let it be never so sweet. So you ladle out
from one kettle into the other, till it gets so, when
you put the stirring stick into it, that it will draw
into a thread; when it takes a kerful hand to
manage it. There is a way to drain it off, after
it has grained, by putting clay into the pans; but
it is'nt always practysed: some doos, and some
doosn't.—Well, Mounsher, be we likely to make
a trade?”
“I vill give you, Mister Beel, for von pound—
dix sous.”
“No; I expect cash for't; I never dicker away
my sugar. But, seeing that it's you, Mounsher,”
said Billy, with a coaxing smile, “I'll agree to
take a gallon of rum, and cloth enough for two
shirts, if you will take the molasses in the bargain.
It's raal good. I wouldn't deceive you or
any man; and to my drinking, it's about the best
molasses I ever seed come out of a sugar-bush.”
“Mr. Le Quoi has offered you ten pence,” said
young Edwards.
The manufacturer stared at the speaker, with
an air of great freedom, but made no reply.
“Oui,” said the Frenchman, “ten penny. Je
vous remercie, Monsieur; ah! mon Anglois! je
l'oublie toujours.”
The wood-chopper looked from one to the
other, with some displeasure; and evidently imbibed
the opinion that they were amusing themselves
at his expense. He seized the enormous
ladle, which was lying in one of his kettles, and
began to stir the boiling liquid with great diligence.
After a moment, passed in dipping the
ladle full, and then raising it on high, as the thick,
rich fluid fell back into the kettle, he suddenly
gave it a whirl, as if to cool what yet remained,
and offered the bowl to Mr. Le Quoi, saying—
“Taste that, Mounsher, and I guess you will
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say it is worth more than you offer. The molasses
itself would fetch twice the money.”
The complaisant Frenchman, after several timid
efforts to trust his lips in contact with the bowl of
the ladle, got a good swallow of the scalding liquid.
He clapped his hand on his breast, and
looked most piteously at the ladies, for a single
instant, and then, to use the language of Billy,
when he afterwards recounted the tale, “no drum-sticks
ever went faster on the skin of a sheep, than
the Frenchman's legs, for a round or two: and
then, such swearing and spitting, in French, you
never seen. But it's a knowing one, from the old
countries, that thinks to get his jokes smoothly
over a Yankee wood-chopper.”
The air of innocence with which Kirby resumed
the occupation of stirring the contents of his kettle,
would have completely deceived the spectators,
as to his agency in the temporary suffering
of Mr. Le Quoi, had not the reckless fellow thrust
his tongue into his cheek, and cast his eyes over
the party, with a simplicity of expression that
was too exquisite to be true to nature. Mr. Le
Quoi soon recovered his presence of mind, and
his decorum; he briefly apologized to the ladies
for one or two very intemperate expressions, that
had escaped him in a moment of extraordinary
excitement, and remounting his horse, he continued
in the back-ground during the remainder of
their visit, the wit of Kirby putting a violent termination,
at once, to all negociations on the subject
of trade. During all this time, Marmaduke
had been wandering about the grove, making his
observations on his favourite trees, and the wasteful
manner in which the wood-chopper conducted
his manufacture.
“It grieves me to witness the extravagance that
pervades this country,” said the Judge, “where
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the settlers trifle with the blessings they might enjoy,
with the prodigality of successful adventurers.
You are not exempt from the censure yourself,
Kirby, for you make dreadful wounds in
these trees, where a small incision would effect the
same object. I earnestly beg you will remember,
that they are the growth of centuries, and when
once gone, none living will see their loss remedied.”
“Why, I don't know, Judge,” returned the
man he addressed: “It seems to me, if there's a
plenty of any thing in this mountaynious country,
it's the trees. If there's any sin in chopping them,
I've a pretty heavy account to settle; for I've
chopped over the best half of a thousand acres,
with my own hands, counting both Varmount and
York states; and I hope to live to finish the
whull, before I lay up my axe. Chopping comes
quite nateral to me, and I wish no other empl'yment;
but Jared Ransom said that he thought the
sugar was likely to be scurce this season, seeing
that so many folks was coming into the settlement,
and so I concluded to take the `bush' on
sheares, for this one spring. What's the best news,
Judge, concarning ashes? do pots hold so that
a man can live by them still? I s'pose that they
will if they keep on fighting.”
“Thou reasonest with judgment, William,” returned
Marmaduke. “So long as the old world
is to be convulsed with wars, so long will the harvest
in America continue.”
“Well, it's an ill wind, Judge, that blows nobody
any good. I'm sure the country is in a
thriving way; and, though I know you calkilate
greatly on the trees, setting as much store by
them as some men would by their children, yet,
to my eyes they are a sore sight at any time, unless
I'm privileged to work my will on them; in
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which case, I can't say but they are more to my
liking. I have heern the settlers from the old
countries say, that their rich men keep great oaks
and elms, that would make a barrel of pots to the
tree, standing round their doors and humsteads,
and scattered over their farms, just to look on.
Now, I call no country much improved, that is
pretty well covered with trees. Stumps are a different
thing, for they don't shade the land; and
besides, if you dig them, they make a fence that
will turn any thing bigger than a hog, being grand
for breachy cattle.”
“Our notions on such subjects vary much, in
different countries,” said Marmaduke; but it is
not as ornaments that I value the noble trees of
this country; it is for their usefulness. We are
stripping the forests, as if a single year would replace
what we destroy. But the hour approaches,
when the laws will take notice of not only the
woods but the game they contain also.”
With this consoling reflection, Marmaduke remounted,
and the equestrians passed the sugarcamp,
on their way to the promised landscape of
Richard. The wood-chopper was left alone, in
the bosom of the forest, to pursue his labours.
Elizabeth turned her head, when they reached the
point where they were to descend the mountain,
and thought that the slow fires, that were glimmering
under his enormous kettles, his little brush
shelter, covered with pieces of hemlock bark, his
gigantic size, as he wielded his ladle with a steady
and knowing air, aided by the back-ground of
stately trees, with their spouts and troughs, formed
altogether, no unreal picture of human life in
its first stages of civilization. Perhaps whatever
the scene possessed of a romantic character was
not injured by the powerful tones of Kirby's voice,
ringing through the woods, as he again awoke his
-- 022 --
[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]
strains to another tune, which was but little more
scientific than the former. All that she understood
of the words, were—
“And when the proud forest is falling,
To my oxen cheerfully calling,
From morn until night I am bawling,
Woe, back there, and boy and gee;
Till our labour is mutually ended,
By my strength and cattle befriended,
And against the musquitoes defended,
By the bark of the walnut tree.—
“Away! then, you lads who would buy land,
Choose the oak that grows on the high land,
Or the silvery pine on the dry land,
It matters but little to me.”
-- 023 --
CHAPTER II.
“Speed! Malise, speed! such cause of haste
Thine active sinews never brac'd.”
Scott.
[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]
The roads of Otsego, if we except the principal
highways, were, at the early day of our tale,
but little better than wood-paths of unusual width.
The high trees that were growing on the very
verge of the wheel-tracks, excluded the sun's rays,
unless at meridian, and the slowness of the evaporation,
united with the rich mould of vegetable
decomposition, that covered the whole county,
to the depth of several inches, occasioned but an
indifferent foundation for the footing of travellers.
Added to these, there were the inequalities of a
natural surface, and the constant recurrence of
enormous and slippery roots, that were laid bare by
the removal of the light soil, together with stumps
of trees, to make a passage not only difficult but
dangerous. Yet the riders, among these numerous
obstructions, which were such as would terrify
an unpractised eye, gave no demonstrations
of uneasiness, as their horses toiled through the
sloughs, or trotted with uncertain paces along
their dark route. In many places, the marks on
the trees were the only indications of a road, with,
-- 024 --
[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]
perhaps, an occasional remnant of a pine, that, by
being cut close to the earth, so as to leave nothing
visible but its base of roots, spreading for twenty
feet in every direction, was apparently placed
there as a beacon, to warn the traveller that it was
the centre of the highway.
Into one of these roads the active Sheriff led
the way, first striking out of the footpath, by
which they had descended from the sugar-bush,
across a little bridge, formed of round logs laid
loosely on sleepers of pine, in which large openings
were frequent, and in one instance, of a formidable
width. The nag of Richard, when it
reached this barrier, laid its nose along the logs,
and stepped across the difficult passage with the
sagacity of a man; but the blooded filly which
Miss Temple rode disdained so humble a movement.
She made a step or two with an unusual
caution, and then, on reaching the broadest opening,
obedient to the curb and whip of her fearless
mistress, she bounded across the dangerous pass,
with the activity of a squirrel.
“Gently, gently, my child,” said Marmaduke,
who was following in the manner of Richard—
“this is not a country for equestrian feats. Much
prudence is requisite, to journey through our
rough paths with safety. Thou mayst practise
thy skill in horsemanship on the plains of New-Jersey,
with safety, but in the hills of Otsego,
they must be suspended for a time.”
“I may as well, then, relinquish my saddle at
once, dear sir,” returned his daughter; “for if it
is to be laid aside until this wild country be improved,
old age will overtake me, and put an end
to what you term my equestrian feats.”
“Say not so, my child,” returned her father;
“but if thou venturest again, as in crossing this
bridge, old age will never overtake thee, but I
-- 025 --
[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]
shall be left to mourn thee, cut off in thy pride,
my Elizabeth. If thou hadst seen this district of
country, as I did, when it lay in the sleep of nature,
and witnessed its rapid changes, as it awoke
to supply the wants of man, thou wouldst curb
thy impatience for a little time, though thou
shouldst not check thy steed.”
“I have a remembrance of hearing you speak,
sir, of your first visit to these woods, but the recollection
of it is faint, and blended with the confused
images of childhood. Wild and unsettled
as it may yet seem, it must have been a thousand
times more dreary then. Will you repeat, dear
sir, what you then thought of your enterprise, and
what you felt?”
During this speech of Elizabeth, which was
uttered with the interested fervour of affection,
young Edwards rode more closely to the side of
the Judge, and bent his dark eyes on his countenance,
with an expression that seemed to read
his thoughts.
“Thou wast then young, my child, but must
remember when I left thee and thy mother, to take
my first survey of these uninhabited mountains,”
said Marmaduke. “But thou dost not feel all the
secret motives that can urge a man to endure privations
in order to accumulate wealth. In my
case they have not been trifling, and God has
been pleased to smile on my efforts. If I have
encountered pain, famine, and disease, in accomplishing
the settlement of this rough territory, I
have not the misery of failure to add to the grievances.”
“Famine!” echoed Elizabeth; “I thought this
was the land of abundance! had you famine to
contend with?”
“Even so, my child,” said her father. “Those
who look around them now, and see the loads of
-- 026 --
[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]
produce that issue out of every wild path in these
mountains, during the season of travelling, will
hardly credit that no more than five years have
elapsed, since the tenants of these woods were compelled
to eat the scanty fruits of the forest to sustain
life, and, with their unpractised skill, to hunt
the beasts as food for their starving families.”
“Ay!” cried Richard, who happened to overhear
the last of this speech, between the notes of
the wood-chopper's song, which he was endeavouring
to breathe aloud; “that was the starving-time,
cousin Bess. I grew as lank as a weasel
that fall, and my face was as pale as one of your
fever-and-ague visages. Monsieur Le Quoi,
there, fell away like a pumpkin in drying; nor
do I think you have got fairly over it yet, Monsieur.
Benjamin, I thought, bore it with a worse
grace than any of the family, for he swore it was
harder to endure than a short allowance in the
calm latitudes. Benjamin is a sad fellow to swear,
if you starve him ever so little. I had half a mind
to quit you then, 'duke, and go into Pennsylvania
to fatten; but, damn it, thinks I, we are sisters'
children, and I will live or die with him, after
all.”
“I do not forget thy kindness,” said Marmaduke,
“nor that we are of one blood.”
“But, my dear father,” cried the wondering
Elizabeth, “was there actual suffering? where were
the beautiful and fertile vales of the Mohawk?
could they not furnish food for your wants?”
“It was a season of scarcity; the necessities of
life commanded a high price in Europe, and were
greedily sought after by the speculators. The
emigrants, from the east to the west, invariably
passed along the valley of the Mohawk, and swept
away the means of subsistence, like a swarm of
locusts. Nor were the people on the Flats in
-- 027 --
[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]
a much better condition. They were in want
themselves, but they spared the little excess
of provisions, that nature did not absolutely require,
with the justice of the German character.
There was no grinding of the poor. The word
speculator was then unknown to them. I have
seen many a stout man, bending under the load
of the bag of meal, which he was carrying from
the mills of the Mohawk, through the rugged
passes of these mountains, to feed his half-famished
children, with a heart so light, as he approached
his hut, that the thirty miles he had passed
seemed nothing. Remember, my child, it was in
our very infancy: we had neither mills, nor grain,
nor roads, nor often clearings;—we had nothing
of increase, but the mouths that were to be fed;
for, even at that inauspicious moment, the restless
spirit of emigration was not idle; nay, the general
scarcity, which extended to the east, tended to
increase the number of adventurers.”
“And how, dearest father, didst thou encounter
this dreadful evil?” said Elizabeth, unconsciously
adopting the dialect of her parent, in the
warmth of her sympathy. “Upon thee must have
fallen all the responsibility, if not the suffering.”
“It did, Elizabeth,” returned the Judge, pausing
for a single moment, as if musing on his former
feelings. “I had hundreds, at that dreadful
time, daily looking up to me for bread. The
sufferings of their families, and the gloomy prospect
before them, had paralysed the enterprise
and efforts of my settlers; hunger drove them to
the woods for food, but despair sent them, at night,
enfeebled and wan, to a sleepless pillow. It was
not a moment for inaction. I purchased cargoes
of wheat from the granaries of Pennsylvania; they
were landed at Albany, and brought up the Mohawk
in boats; from thence it was transported on
-- 028 --
[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]
pack-horses into the wilderness, and distributed
amongst my people. Seines were made, and the
lakes and rivers were dragged for fish. Something
like a miracle was wrought in our favour,
for enormous shoals of herring were discovered
to have wandered five hundred miles, through the
windings of the impetuous Susquehanna, and the
lake was alive with their numbers. These were
at length caught, and dealt out to the people,
with proper portions of salt; and from that moment,
we again began to prosper.”
“Yes,” cried Richard, “and I was the man
who served out both the fish and the salt. When
the poor devils came to receive their rations,
Benjamin, who was my deputy, was obliged to
keep them off by stretching ropes around me, for
they smelt so of garlic, from eating nothing but
the wild onion, that the fumes put me out, often,
in my measurement. You were a child then,
Bess, and knew nothing of the matter, for great
care was observed to keep both you and your
mother from suffering. That year put me back,
dreadfully, both in the breed of my hogs, and of
my turkeys.”
“No, Bess,” cried the Judge, in a more cheerful
tone, utterly disregarding the interruption of
his cousin, “he who hears of the settlement of a
country, knows but little of the actual toil and
suffering by which it is accomplished. Unimproved
and wild as this district now seems to your
eyes, what was it when I first entered the hills! I
left my party, the morning of my arrival, back
near the farms of the Cherry Valley, and, following
a deer-path, rode to the summit of the mountain,
that I have since called Mount Vision; for
the sight that there met my eyes seemed to me as
the deceptions of a dream. The fire had run over
the pinnacle, and, in a great measure, laid open
-- 029 --
[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]
the view. The leaves were fallen, and I mounted
a tree, and sat for an hour looking on the silent
wilderness. Not an opening was to be seen in
the boundless forest, except where the lake lay,
like a mirror of glass. The water was covered by
myriads of the wild-fowl that migrate with the
changes in the season; and, while in my situation
on the branch of the beech, I saw a bear, with her
cubs, descend to the shore to drink. I had met
many deer, gliding through the woods, in my journey;
but not the vestige of a man could I trace,
during my progress, nor from my elevated observatory.
No clearing, no hut, none of the winding
roads that are now to be seen, were there,
nothing but mountains rising behind mountains,
and the valley, with its surface of branches, enlivened
here and there with the faded foliage of
some tree, that parted from its leaves with more
than ordinary reluctance. Even the little Susquehanna
was then hid, by the height and density
of the forest.”
“And were you there alone?” asked Elizabeth;
“passed you the night in that solitary
state?”
“Not so, my child,” returned her father. “Atter
musing on the scene for an hour, with a mingled
feeling of pleasure and desolation, I left my
perch, and descended the mountain. My horse
was left to browse on the twigs that grew within
his reach, while I explored the shores of the lake,
and the spot where Templeton stands. A pine of
more than ordinary growth stood where my
dwelling is now placed! a wind-row had been
opened through the trees from thence to the lake,
and my view was but little impeded. Under the
branches of that tree I made my solitary dinner;
I had just finished my repast as I saw a smoke
curling from under the mountain, near the eastern
-- 030 --
[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]
bank of the lake. It was the only indication of
the vicinity of man that I had then seen. After
much toil, I made my way to the spot, and found
a rough cabin of logs, built against the foot of a
rock, and bearing the marks of a tenant, though I
found no one within it.—”
“It was the hut of Leather-stocking,” said Edwards,
quickly.
“It was; though I, at first, supposed it to be
a habitation of the Indians. But while I was
lingering around the spot, Natty made his appearance,
staggering under the load of the carcass
of a buck that he had slain. Our acquaintance
commenced at that time; before, I had never
heard that such a being tenanted the woods. He
launched his bark canoe, and set me across the
foot of the lake, to the place where I had fastened
my horse, and pointed out a spot where he might
get a scanty browsing until the morning; when I
returned and passed the night in the cabin of the
hunter.”
Miss Temple was so much struck by the deep
attention of young Edwards, during this speech,
that she forgot to resume her interrogatories;
but the youth himself continued the discourse, by
asking, with a smile lurking around his features—
“And how did the Leather-stocking discharge
the duties of a host, sir?”
“Why, simply but kindly, until late in the
evening, when he discovered my name and object,
and the cordiality of his manner very sensibly
diminished, or, I might better say, disappeared.
He considered the introduction of the settlers as
an innovation on his rights, I believe; for he expressed
much dissatisfaction at the measure,
though it was in his confused and ambiguous manner.
I hardly understood his objections myself, but
-- 031 --
[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
suppose they referred chiefly to an interruption of
the hunting.”
“Had you then purchased the estate, or were
you examining it with an intent to buy?” asked
Edwards, a little abruptly.
It had been mine for several years. It was with
a view to people the land that I visited the lake.
Natty treated me hospitably, but coldly, I thought,
after he learnt the nature of my journey. I slept
on his own bear-skin, however, and in the morning
joined my surveyors again.”
“Said he nothing of the Indian rights, sir?”
continued Edwards. “The Leather-stocking is
much given to impeach the justice of the tenure
by which the whites hold the country.”
“I remember that he spoke of them, but I did
not clearly comprehend him, and may have forgotten
what he then said; for the Indian title was
extinguished so far back as the close of the old
war; and if it had not been at all, I hold under
the patents of the Royal Governors, confirmed by
an act of our own State Legislature, and no court
in our country can affect my title.”
“Doubtless, sir, your title is both legal and
equitable,” returned the youth, coldly, reining his
horse back, and remaining silent till the subject
was changed.
It was seldom that Mr. Jones suffered any conversation
to continue, for a great length of time,
without his participation. It seems that he was
of the party that Judge Temple had designated as
his surveyors; and he embraced the opportunity
of the pause that succeeded the retreat of young
Edwards, to take up the discourse, and with it a
narration of their further proceedings, after his
own manner. As it wanted, however, the interest
that had accompanied the description of the Judge,
-- 032 --
[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]
we must decline the task of committing his sentences
to paper.
They soon reached the point where the promised
view was to be seen. It was one of those picturesque
and peculiar scenes, that belong to the
Otsego, but which required the absence of the ice,
and the softness of a summer's landscape, to be
enjoyed in all its beauty. Marmaduke had early
forewarned his daughter of the season, and of its
effect on the prospect, and after casting a cursory
glance at its capabilities, the party returned homeward,
perfectly satisfied that its beauties would
repay them for the toil of a second ride, at a more
propitious season.
“The spring is the gloomy time of the American
year,” said the Judge; and it is more peculiarly
the case in these mountains. The winter
seems to retreat to the fastnesses of the hills, as to
the citadel of its dominion, and is only expelled,
after a tedious siege, in which either party, at
times, would seem to be gaining the victory.”
“A very just and apposite figure, Judge Temple,”
observed the Sheriff; “and the garrison under
the command of Jack Frost make formidable
sorties—you understand what I mean by sorties,
Monsieur; sallies, in English—and sometimes
drive General Spring and his troops back again
into the low countries.”
“Yes, sair,” returned the Frenchman, whose
prominent eyes were watching the precarious footsteps
of the beast he rode, as it picked its dangerous
way among the roots of trees, holes, logbridges,
and sloughs, that formed the aggregate of
the highway. “Je vous entend; de low countrie,
it ees freeze up for half de year.”
The error of Mr. Le Quoi was not noticed by
the Sheriff; and the rest of the party were yielding
to the influence of the changeful season, that
-- 033 --
[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]
was already teaching the equestrians that a continuance
of its mildness was not to be expected
for any length of time. Silence and thoughtfulness
succeeded the gayety and conversation that
had prevailed during the commencement of their
ride, as clouds began to gather about the heavens,
apparently collecting from every quarter, in quick
motion, without the agency of a breath of air.
While riding over one of the cleared eminences
that occurred in their route, the watchful eye of
Judge Temple pointed out to his daughter the approach
of a tempest. Flurries of snow already
obscured the mountain that formed the northern
boundary of the lake, and the genial sensation
which had quickened the blood through their
veins, was already succeeded by the deadening
influence of an approaching north-wester.
All of the party were now busily engaged in
making the best of their way to the village, though
the badness of the roads frequently compelled
them to check the impatience of their animals,
which often carried them over places that would
not admit of any gait faster than a walk.
Richard continued in advance, and was followed
by Mr. Le Quoi; next to whom rode Elizabeth,
who seemed to have imbibed the distance
which pervaded the manner of young Edwards,
since the termination of the discourse between the
latter and her father. Marmaduke followed his
daughter, giving her frequent and tender warnings,
as to her safety, and the management of her
horse. It was, possibly, the evident dependance
that Louisa Grant placed on his assistance, which
induced the youth to continue by her side, as they
pursued their way through a dreary and dark
wood, where the rays of the sun could but rarely
penetrate, and where even the daylight was obscured
and rendered gloomy by the deep forests
-- 034 --
[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]
that surrounded them. No wind had yet reached
the spot where the equestrians were in motion,
but that dead stillness that often precedes a storm,
contributed to render their situation more irksome
than if they were already subjected to the fury of
the tempest. Suddenly the voice of young Edwards
was heard shouting, in those appalling tones
that carry alarm to the very soul, and which curdle
the blood of those that hear them—
A tree! a tree!” whip—spur for your lives! a
tree! a tree!”
“A tree! a tree!” echoed Richard, giving his
horse a blow that caused the alarmed beast to
jump nearly a rod, throwing the mud and water
into the air, like a hurricane.
“Von tree! von tree!” shouted the Frenchman,
bending his body on the neck of his charger,
shutting his eyes, and playing on the ribs of
his beast with his heels, at a rate that caused him
to be conveyed, on the crupper of the Sheriff, with
a marvellous speed.
Elizabeth checked her filly, and looked up, with
an unconscious but alarmed air, at the very cause
of their danger, while she listened to the crackling
sounds that awoke the stillness of the forest; but,
at the next instant, her bridle was seized by her
father, who cried—
“God protect my child!” and she felt herself
hurried onward, impelled by the vigour of his
nervous arm.
Each one of the party bowed to their saddlebows,
as the tearing of branches was succeeded
by a sound like the rushing of the winds, which
was followed by a thundering report, and a shock
that caused the very earth to tremble, as one of
the noblest ruins in the forest fell directly across
their path.
One glance was enough to assure Judge
-- 035 --
[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]
Temple that his daughter, and those in front of him,
were safe, and he turned his eyes, in dreadful
anxiety, to learn the fate of the others. Young
Edwards was on the opposite side of the tree,
with his form thrown back in his saddle to its utmost
distance, his left hand drawing up his bridle
with its greatest force, while the right grasped
that of Miss Grant, so as to draw the head of her
horse under its body. Both the animals stood
shaking in every joint with terror, and snorting
fearfully. The maiden herself had relinquished
her reins, and with her hands pressed on her face,
sat bending forward in her saddle, in an attitude
of despair mingled strangely with resignation.
“Are you safe?” cried the Judge, first breaking
the awful silence of the moment.
“By God's blessing,” returned the youth; “but
if there had been branches to the tree we must
have been lost—”
He was interrupted by the figure of Louisa,
slowly yielding in her saddle; and but for his
arm, she would have sunken to the earth. Terror,
however, was the only injury that the clergyman's
daughter had sustained, and, with the aid
of Elizabeth, she was soon restored to her senses.
After some little time was lost in recovering her
strength, the young lady was replaced in her saddle,
and, supported on either side by Judge Temple
and Mr. Edwards, she was enabled to follow
the party in their slow progress.
“The sudden falling of the trees,” said
Marmaduke, “are the most dangerous of our accidents
in the forest, for they are not to be foreseen,
being impelled by no winds, nor any extraneous
or visible cause, against which we can
guard.”
“The reason of their falling, Judge Temple,
is very obvious,” said the Sheriff. “The tree is
-- 036 --
[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]
old and decayed, and it is gradually weakened
by the frosts, until a line drawn from the centre
of gravity falls without its base, and then the tree
comes of a certainty; and I should like to know,
what greater compulsion there can be for any
thing, than a mathematical certainty. I studied
mathe—”
“Very true, Richard,” interrupted Marmaduke;
“thy reasoning is true, and if my memory
be not over treacherous, was furnished by myself
on a former occasion. But how is one to
guard against the danger? canst thou go through
the forests, measuring the bases, and calculating
the centres of the oaks? answer me that, friend
Jones, and I will say thou wilt do the country a
service.”
“Answer thee that, friend Temple!” returned
Richard; “a well-educated man can answer thee
any thing, sir. Do any trees fall in this manner,
but such as are decayed? Take care not to approach
the roots of any rotten trees, and you will
be safe enough.”
“That would be excluding us entirely from the
forests,” said Marmaduke. “But, happily, the
winds usually force down most of these dangerous
ruins, as their currents are admitted into the woods
by the surrounding clearings, and such a fall as
this has been is very rare.”
Louisa, by this time, had recovered so much of
her strength, as to allow the party to proceed at
a quicker pace; but long before they were safely
housed, they were overtaken by the storm; and
when they dismounted at the door of the Mansionhouse,
the black plumes in Miss Temple's hat
were drooping with the weight of a load of damp
snow, and the coats of the gentlemen were powdered
with the same material.
-- 037 --
[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]
While Edward was assisting Louisa from her
horse, the warm-hearted girl caught his hand with
fervour, and whispered—
“Now, Mr. Edwards, both father and daughter
owe their lives to you.”
A driving, north-westerly storm succeeded;
and before the sun was set, every vestige of spring
had vanished; the lake, the mountains, the village,
and the fields, being again hid under one
dazzling coat of snow.
-- 038 --
CHAPTER III.
“Men, boys, and girls,
Desert th' unpeopled village; and wild crowds
Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy driven.”
Somerville.
[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]
From this time to the close of April, the weather
continued to be a succession of great and rapid
changes. One day, the soft airs of spring
would seem to be stealing along the valley, and,
in unison with an invigorating sun, attempting,
covertly, to rouse the dormant powers of the vegetable
world; while on the next, the surly blasts
from the north would sweep across the lake, and
erase every impression left by their gentle adversaries.
The snow, however, finally disappeared,
and the green wheat fields were seen in every direction,
spotted with the dark and charred stumps
that had, the preceding season, supported some of
the proudest trees of the forest. Ploughs were in
motion, wherever those useful implements could
be used, and the smokes of the sugar-camps were
no longer seen issuing from the summits of the
woods of maple. The lake had lost all the characteristic
beauty of a field of ice, but still a dark
and gloomy covering concealed its waters, for the
absence of currents left them yet hid under a
-- 039 --
[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]
porous crust, which, saturated with the fluid, barely
retained enough of its strength to preserve the
contiguity of its parts. Large flocks of wild geese
were seen passing over the country, which hovered,
for a time, around the hidden sheet of water,
apparently searching for an opening, where they
might obtain a resting-place; and then, on finding
themselves excluded by the chill covering, would
soar away to the north, filling the air with their
discordant screams, as if venting their complaints
at the tardy operations of nature.
For a week, the dark covering of the Otsego
was left to the undisturbed possession of two eagles,
who alighted on the centre of its field, and
sat proudly eyeing the extent of their undisputed
territory. During the presence of these
monarchs of the air, the flocks of migrating birds
avoided crossing the plain of ice, by turning
into the hills, apparently seeking the protection
of the forests, while the white and bald heads
of the tenants of the lake were turned upward,
with a look of majestic contempt, as if penetrating
to the very heavens with the acuteness of their
vision. But the time had come, when even these
kings of birds were to be dispossessed. An opening
had been gradually increasing, at the lower
extremity of the lake, and around the dark spot
where the current of the river had prevented the
formation of ice, during even the coldest weather;
and the fresh southerly winds, that now
breathed freely up the valley, obtained an impression
on the waters. Mimic waves begun to curl
over the margin of the frozen field, which exhibited
an outline of crystalizations, that slowly receded
towards the north. At each step the power of the
winds and the waves increased, until, after a struggle
of a few hours, the turbulent little billows succeeded
in setting the whole field in an undulating
-- 040 --
[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
motion, when it was driven beyond the reach of
the eye, with a rapidity that was as magical as
the change produced in the scene by this expulsion
of the lingering remnant of winter. Just
as the last sheet of agitated ice was disappearing
in the distance, the eagles rose over the border of
crystals, and soared with a wide sweep far above
the clouds, while the waves tossed their little caps
of snow into the air, as if rioting in their release
from a thraldom of five months' duration.
The following morning Elizabeth was awakened
by the exhilarating sounds of the martins, who
were quarreling and chattering around the little
boxes that were suspended above her windows,
and the cries of Richard, who was calling, in tones
as animating as the signs of the season itself—
“Awake! awake! my lady fair! the gulls are
hovering over the lake already, and the heavens
are alive with the pigeons. You may look an
hour before you can find a hole, through which,
to get a peep at the sun. Awake! awake! lazy
ones! Benjamin is overhauling the ammunition,
and we only wait for our breakfasts, and away for
the mountains and pigeon-shooting.”
There was no resisting this animated appeal,
and in a few minutes Miss Temple and her friend
descended to the parlour. The doors of the hall
were thrown open, and the mild, balmy air of a
clear spring morning was ventilating the apartment,
where the vigilance of the ex-steward had
been so long maintaining an artificial heat, with
such unremitted diligence. The gentlemen were
impatiently waiting for their morning's repast,
each being equipt in the garb of a sportsman. Mr.
Jones made many visits to the southern door, and
would cry—
“See, cousin Bess! see, 'duke, the pigeon-roosts
of the south have broken up! They are
-- 041 --
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growing more thick every instant. Here is a flock
that the eye cannot see the end of. There is food
enough in it to keep the army of Xerxes for a
month, and feathers enough to make beds for the
whole county. Xerxes, Mr. Edwards, was a Grecian
king, who—no, he was a Turk, or a Persian,
who wanted to conquer Greece, just the same as
these rascals will overrun our wheat-fields, when
they come back in the fall.—Away! away! Bess;
I long to pepper them from the mountain.”
In this wish both Marmaduke and young Edwards
seemed equally to participate, for the sight
was most exhilarating to a sportsman; and the
ladies soon dismissed the party, after a hasty
breakfast.
If the heavens were alive with pigeons, the
whole village seemed equally in motion, with men,
women, and children. Every species of fire-arms,
from the French ducking-gun, with its barrel of
near six feet in length, to the common horseman's
pistol, was to be seen in the hands of the men
and boys; while bows and arrows, some made of
the simple stick of a walnut sapling, and others in
a rude imitation of the ancient cross-bows, were
carried by many of the latter.
The houses and the signs of life apparent in
the village, drove the alarmed birds from the direct
line of their flight, towards the mountains,
along the sides and near the bases of which they
were glancing in dense masses, that were equally
wonderful by the rapidity of their motion, as by
their incredible numbers.
We have already said, that across the inclined
plane which fell from the steep ascent of the
mountain to the banks of the Susquehanna, ran the
highway, on either side of which a clearing of
many acres had been made, at a very early day.
Over those clearings, and up the eastern mountain,
-- 042 --
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and along the dangerous path that was cut into
its side, the different individuals posted themselves,
as suited their inclinations; and in a few moments
the attack commenced.
Amongst the sportsmen was to be seen the tall,
gaunt form of Leather-stocking, who was walking
over the field, with his rifle hanging on his arm,
his dogs following close at his heels, now scenting
the dead or wounded birds, that were beginning
to tumble from the flocks, and then crouching
under the legs of their master, as if they participated
in his feelings at this wasteful and unsports-manlike
execution.
The reports of the fire-arms became rapid,
whole volleys rising from the plain, as flocks of
more than ordinary numbers darted over the
opening, covering the field with darkness, like an
interposing cloud; and then the light smoke of a
single piece would issue from among the leafless
bushes on the mountain, as death was hurled on
the retreat of the affrighted birds, who were rising
from a volley, for many feet into the air, in a vain
effort to escape the attacks of man. Arrows, and
missiles of every kind, were seen in the midst of
the flocks; and so numerous were the birds, and
so low did they take their flight, that even long
poles, in the hands of those on the sides of the
mountain, were used to strike them to the earth.
During all this time, Mr. Jones, who disdained
the humble and ordinary means of destruction used
by his companions, was busily occupied, aided by
Benjamin, in making arrangements for an assault
of a more than ordinarily fatal character. Among
the relics of the old military excursions, that occasionally
are discovered throughout the different
districts of the western part of New-York, there
had been found in Templeton, at its settlement, a
small swivel, which would carry a ball of a pound
-- 043 --
[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]
weight. It was thought to have been deserted by
a war-party of the whites, in one of their inroads
into the Indian settlements, when, perhaps their
convenience or their necessities induced them to
leave such an encumbrance behind them in the
woods. This miniature cannon had been released
from the rust, and being mounted on little wheels,
was now in a state for actual service. For several
years, it was the sole organ for extraordinary rejoicings
that was used in those mountains. On
the mornings of the Fourths of July, it would be
heard, with its echoes ringing among the hills,
and telling forth its sounds, for thirteen times,
with all the dignity of a two-and-thirty pounder;
and even Captain Hollister, who was the highest
authority in that part of the country on all such
occasions, affirmed that, considering its dimensions,
it was no despicable gun for a salute. It
was somewhat the worse for the service it had performed,
it is true, there being but a trifling difference
in size between the touch-hole and the muzzle.
Still, the grand conceptions of Richard had
suggested the importance of such an instrument,
in hurling death at his nimble enemies. The
swivel was dragged by a horse into a part of the
open space, that the Sheriff thought most eligible
for planting a battery of the kind, and Mr. Pump
proceeded to load it. Several handfuls of duckshot
were placed on top of the powder, and the
Major-domo soon announced that his piece was
ready for service.
The sight of such an implement collected all
the idle spectators to the spot, who, being mostly
boys, filled the air with their cries of exultation
and delight. The gun was pointed on high, and
Richard, holding a coal of fire in a pair of tongs,
patiently took his seat on a stump, awaiting the
-- 044 --
[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]
appearance of a flock that was worthy of his
notice.
So prodigious was the number of the birds,
that the scattering fire of the guns, with the hurling
of missiles, and the cries of the boys, had no
other effect than to break off small flocks from
the immense masses that continued to dart along
the valley, as if the whole creation of the feathered
tribe were pouring through that one pass. None
pretended to collect the game, which lay scattered
over the fields in such profusion as to cover the
very ground with the fluttering victims.
Leather-stocking was a silent, but uneasy spectator
of all these proceedings, but was able to keep
his sentiments to himself until he saw the introduction
of the swivel into the sports.
“This comes of settling a country!” he said—
“here have I known the pigeons to fly for forty
long years, and, till you made your clearings,
there was nobody to skear or to hurt them. I
loved to see them come into the woods, for they
were company to a body; hurting nothing; being,
as it was, as harmless as a garter-snake. But
now it gives me sore thoughts when I hear the
frighty things whizzing through the air, for I
know it's only a motion to bring out all the brats
in the village at them. Well! the Lord won't see
the waste of his creaters for nothing, and right
will be done to the pigeons, as well as others,
by-and-by.—There's Mr. Oliver, as bad as the
rest of them, firing into the flocks as if he was
shooting down nothing but the Mingo warriors.”
Among the sportsmen was Billy Kirby, who,
armed with an old musket, was loading, and
without even looking into the air, was firing and
shouting as his victims fell even on his own person.
He heard the speech of Natty, and took
upon himself to reply—
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[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]
“What's that, old Leather-stocking!” he cried,
“grumbling at the loss of a few pigeons! If you
had to sow your wheat twice, and three times, as
I have done, you wouldn't be so massyfully feeling'd
to'ards the divils.—Hurrah, boys! scatter
the feathers. This is better than shooting at a
turkey's head and neck, old fellow.”
“It's better for you, maybe, Billy Kirby,” replied
the indignant old hunter, “and all them as
don't know how to put a ball down a rifle-barrel,
or how to bring it up ag'in with a true aim; but
it's wicked to be shooting into flocks in this
wastey manner; and none do it, who know how
to knock over a single bird. If a body has a
craving for pigeon's flesh, why! it's made the same
as all other creater's, for man's eating, but not to
kill twenty and eat one. When I want such a
thing, I go into the woods till I find one to my
liking, and then I shoot him off the branches without
touching a feather of another, though there
might be a hundred on the same tree. But you
couldn't do such a thing, Billy Kirby—you
couldn't do it if you tried.”
“What's that you say, you old, dried cornstalk!
you sapless stub!” cried the wood-chopper.
“You've grown mighty boasting, sin' you
killed the turkey; but if you're for a single shot,
here goes at that bird which comes on by himself.”
The fire from the distant part of the field had
driven a single pigeon below the flock to which it
had belonged, and, frightened with the constant
reports of the muskets, it was approaching the
spot where the disputants stood, darting first from
one side, and then to the other, cutting the air
with the swiftness of lightning, and making a
noise with its wings, not unlike the rushing of a
bullet. Unfortunately for the wood-chopper,
-- 046 --
[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]
notwithstanding his vaunt, he did not see his bird
until it was too late for him to fire as it approached,
and he pulled his trigger at the unlucky moment
when it was darting immediately over his
head. The bird continued its course with incredible
velocity.
Natty lowered the rifle from his arm, when
the challenge was made, and, waiting a moment,
until the terrified victim had got in a line with
his eyes, and had dropped near the bank of the
lake, he raised it again with uncommon rapidity,
and fired. It might have been chance, or it
might have been skill, that produced the result;
it was probably a union of both; but the pigeon
whirled over in the air, and fell into the lake,
with a broken wing. At the sound of his rifle,
both his dogs started from his feet, and in a few
minutes the “slut” brought out the bird, still alive.
The wonderful exploit of Leather-stocking was
noised through the field with great rapidity, and
the sportsmen gathered in to learn the truth of the
report.
“What,” said young Edwards, have you really
killed a pigeon on the wing, Natty, with a single
ball?”
“Haven't I killed loons before now, lad, that
dive at the flash?” returned the hunter. “It's
much better to kill only such as you want, without
wasting your powder and lead, than to be
firing into God's creaters in such a wicked manner.
But I come out for a bird, and you know
the reason why I like small game, Mr. Oliver,
and now I have got one I will go home, for I
don't relish to see these wasty ways that you are
all practysing, as if the least thing wasn't made
for use, and not to destroy.
“Thou sayest well, Leather-stocking,” cried
-- 047 --
[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]
Marmaduke, “and I begin to think it time to put
an end to this work of destruction.”
“Put an ind, Judge, to your clearings. An't
the woods his work as well as the pigeons? Use,
but don't waste. Wasn't the woods made for the
beasts and birds to harbour in? and when man
wanted their flesh, their skins, or their feathers,
there's the place to seek them. But I'll go to the
hut with my own game, for I wouldn't touch one
of the harmless things that kiver the ground here,
looking up with their eyes on me, as if they only
wanted tongues to say their thoughts.”
With this sentiment in his mouth, Leatherstocking
threw his rifle over his arm, and followed
by his dogs, stepped across the clearing with
great caution, taking care not to tread on one
of the wounded birds that lay in his path. He
soon entered the bushes on the margin of the
lake, and was hid from view.
Whatever impression the morality of Natty
made on the Judge, it was utterly lost on Richard.
He availed himself of the gathering of the sportsmen,
to lay a plan for one “fell swoop” of destruction.
The musket-men were drawn up in
battle array, in a line extending on each side of
his artillery, with orders to await the signal of
firing from himself.
“Stand by, my lads,” said Benjamin, who acted
as an aid de-camp on this momentous occasion,
“stand by, my hearties, and when Squire
Dickens heaves out the signal for to begin the
firing, d'ye see, you may open upon them in a
broadside. Take care and fire low, boys, and
you'll be sure to hull the flock.”
“Fire low!” shouted Kirby—“hear the old
fool! If we fire low, we may hit the stumps, but
not ruffle a pigeon.”
“How should you know, you lubber?” cried
-- 048 --
[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]
Benjamin, with a very unbecoming heat for an
officer on the eve of battle—“how should you
know, you grampus? Havn't I sailed aboard of
the Boadishy
for five years? and wasn't it a
standing order to fire low, and to hull your enemy?
Keep silence at your guns, boys, and mind
the order that is passed.”
The loud laughs of the musketmen were silenced
by the authoritative voice of Richard, who called
to them for attention and obedience to his signals.
Some millions of pigeons were supposed to
have already passed, that morning, over the valley
of Templeton; but nothing like the flock
that was now approaching had been seen before.
It extended from mountain to mountain in one
solid blue mass, and the eye looked in vain over
the southern hills to find its termination. The
front of this living column was distinctly marked
by a line, but very slightly indented, so regular
and even was the flight. Even Marmaduke forgot
the morality of Leather-stocking as it approached,
and, in common with the rest, brought
his musket to his shoulder.
“Fire!” cried the Sheriff, clapping his coal to
the priming of the cannon. As half of Benjamin's
charge escaped through the touch-hole, the
whole volley of the musketry preceded the report
of the swivel. On receiving this united discharge
of small-arms, the front of the flock darted upward,
while, at the same instant, myriads of those
in their rear rushed with amazing rapidity into
their places, so that when the column of white
smoke gushed from the mouth of the little cannon,
an accumulated mass of objects was gliding over
its point of direction. The roar of the gun
echoed along the mountains, and died away to the
north, like distant thunder, while the whole flock
-- 049 --
[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]
of alarmed birds seemed, for a moment, thrown
into one disorderly and agitated mass. The air
was filled with their irregular flights, layer rising
over layer, far above the tops of the highest pines,
none daring to advance beyond the dangerous
pass; when, suddenly, some of the leaders of the
feathered tribe shot across the valley, taking their
flight directly over the village, and the hundreds
of thousands in their rear followed their example,
deserting the eastern side of the plain to their persecutors
and the fallen.
“Victory!” shouted Richard, “victory! we
have driven the enemy from the field.”
“Not so, Dickon,” said Marmaduke; “the
field is covered with them; and, like the Leatherstocking,
I see nothing but eyes, in every direction,
as the innocent sufferers turn their heads in
terror, to examine my movements. Full one half
of those that have fallen are yet alive: and I
think it is time to end the sport; if sport it be.”
“Sport!” cried the Sheriff; “it is princely
sport! There are some thousands of the bluecoated
boys on the ground, so that every old woman
in the village may have a pot-pie for the
asking.”
“Well, we have happily frightened the birds
from this side the valley,” said Marmaduke,
“and our carnage must of necessity end, for the
present.—Boys, I will give thee sixpence a hundred
for the pigeons' heads only; so go to work,
and bring them into the village, where I will pay
you.”
This expedient produced the desired effect, for
every urchin on the ground went industriously to
work to wring the necks of the wounded birds.
Judge Temple retired towards his dwelling with
that kind of feeling, that many a man has experienced
before him, who discovers, after the
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[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]
excitement of the moment has passed, that he has
purchased pleasure at the price of misery to others.
Horses were loaded with the dead; and, after
this first burst of sporting, the shooting of pigeons
became a business, for the remainder of the season,
more in proportion to the wants of the people.
Richard, however, boasted for many a year,
of his shot with the “cricket;” and Benjamin
gravely asserted, that he thought they killed nearly
as many pigeons on that day, as there were
Frenchmen destroyed on the memorable occasion
of Rodney's victory.
-- 051 --
CHAPTER IV.
“Help, masters, help; here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor
man's right in the law.”
Pericles of Tyre.
[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]
The advance of the season now became as rapid,
as its first approach had been tedious and
lingering. The days were uniformly mild, and
genial to vegetation, while the nights, though
cool, were no longer chilled by frosts. The
whip-poor-will was heard whistling his melancholy
notes along the margin of the lake, and the
ponds and meadows were sending forth the music
of their thousand tenants. The leaf of the native
poplar was seen quivering in the woods; the sides
of the mountains began to lose their hue of brown,
as the lively green of the different members of the
forest blended their shades with the permanent
colours of the pine and hemlock; and even the
buds of the tardy oak were swelling with the promise
of the coming summer. The gay and fluttering
blue-bird, the social robin, and the industrious
little wren, were all to be seen, enlivening
the fields with their presence and their songs;
while the soaring fish-hawk was already hovering
over the waters of the Otsego, watching, with his
native voracity, for the appearance of his prey.
-- 052 --
[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
The tenants of the lake were far-famed for both
their quantities and their quality, and the ice
had hardly disappeared, before numberless little
boats were launched from the shores, and the lines
of the fishermen were dropped into the inmost
recesses of its deepest caverns, tempting the unwary
animals with every variety of bait that the ingenuity
or the art of man had invented. But the
slow, though certain adventures with a hook and
line were ill-suited to the profusion and impatience
of the settlers. More destructive means were resorted
to; and, as the season had now arrived
when the bass-fisheries were allowed by the provisions
of the law, that Judge Temple had procured,
the Sheriff declared his intention by availing himself
of the first dark night, to enjoy the sport in
person—
“And you shall be present, cousin Bess,” he
added, when he announced this intention, “and
Miss Grant, and Mr. Edwards; and I will show
you what I call fishing—not nibble, nibble, nibble,
as 'duke does, when he goes after the salmontrout.
There he will sit, for hours, in a broiling
sun, or, perhaps, over a hole in the ice, in the
coldest days in winter, under the lee of a few
bushes, and not a fish will he catch, after all this
mortification of the flesh. No, no—give me a
good seine, that's fifty or sixty fathoms in length,
with a jolly parcel of boatmen to crack their
jokes, the while, and with Benjamin to steer, and
let us haul them in by thousands, and I shall call
that fishing.”
“Ah! Dickon,” cried Marmaduke, “thou
knowest but little of the pleasure there is in playing
with the hook and line, or thou wouldst be
more saving of the game. I have known thee to
leave fragments enough behind thee, when thou
-- 053 --
[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]
hast headed a night-party on the lake, to feed
a half-dozen famishing families.”
“I shall not dispute the matter with you, Judge
Temple,” said the Sheriff, with much dignity;
“this night will I go; and I invite the company
to attend, and then let them decide between us.”
Richard was busy, during most of the afternoon,
making his preparations for the important
occasion. Just as the light of the setting sun had
disappeared, and a new moon had begun to cause
faint shadows to be seen on the earth, the fishermen
took their departure in a boat, for a point
that was situated on the western shore of the lake,
at the distance of rather more than half a mile from
the village. The ground had become settled, and
the walking was good and dry. Marmaduke,
with his daughter, her friend, and young Edwards,
continued on the high grassy banks, at the
outlet of the placid sheet of water, watching the
dark object that was moving with great rapidity
across the lake, until it entered the shade of the
western hills, and was lost to the eye. The distance
round by land, to the point of their destination,
was a mile, and he observed—
“It is time for us to be moving; the moon will
be down ere we reach the point, and then the miraculous
hauls of Dickon will commence.”
The evening was warm, and, after the long and
dreary winter from which they had just escaped,
delightfully invigorating, both to the mind and
body. Inspirited by the scene, and their anticipated
amusement, the youthful companions of the
Judge followed his steps, as he led them along the
shores of the Otsego, and through the skirts of
the little village.
“See!” said young Edwards; “they are
building their fire already; it glimmers for a
-- 054 --
[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]
moment, and then dies again, like the light of a firefly.”
“Now it blazes like a bonfire!” cried Elizabeth;
“you can see the figures moving around
the light. Oh! I would bet my jewels against the
gold beads of Remarkable, that my impatient
cousin Dickon had an agency in raising that
bright flame;—and see; it begins to fade again,
like most of his brilliant schemes.”
“Thou hast guessed the truth, Bess,” said her
father; “he has thrown an armfull of brush on
the pile, which has burnt out as soon as lighted.
But it has enabled them to find a better fuel, for
their fire begins to blaze with a more steady flame.
It is the true fisherman's beacon now; observe
how beautifully it throws its little circle of light
on the water!”
The appearance of the fire urged the pedestrians
on, for even the ladies had become eager
to witness the draught of the seine. By the time
they reached, the bank which rose above the low
point where the fishermen had landed, the moon
had sunk behind the tops of the western pines,
and, as most of the stars were obscured by the
clouds, there was but little other light, by which
to view the scene, than that which proceeded
from the large piles of brush, branches, and
roots, that had been collected, under the superintendence
of Richard. At the suggestion of Marmaduke,
his companions paused to listen to the
conversation of those below them, and examine
the party, for a moment, before they descended to
the shore.
The whole group were seated around the fire,
on the ground, with the exception of Richard and
Benjamin; the former of whom occupied the root
of a decayed stump, that had been drawn to the
spot as part of their fuel, and the latter was
-- 055 --
[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]
standing, with his arms a-kimbo, so near to the flame,
that the smoke occasionally obscured his solemn
visage, as it waved around the pile, in obedience
to the light night-airs, that swept gently over the
surface of the water.
“Why, look you, Squire,” said the Major-domo,
“you may call a lake-fish that will weigh twenty
or thirty pounds, a serious matter; but to a man
who has hauled in a shovel-nosed shirk, d'ye see,
it's but a poor kind of fishing, after all.”
“I don't know, Benjamin,” returned the Sheriff;
“a haul of one thousand Otsego bass, without
counting pike, pickerel, perch, bull-pouts, salmontrouts,
and suckers, is no bad fishing, let me tell
you. There may be sport in sticking a shark,
but what is he good for after you have got him?
Now any one of the fish that I have named is fit to
set before a king.”
“Well, Squire,” returned Benjamin, “just listen
to the philosophy of the thing. Would it stand
to reason, that such fish should live and be catched
in this here little pond of water, where it's
hardly deep enough to drown a man, as you'll
find in the wide ocean, where, as every body knows,
that is, every body that has followed the seas,
whales and grampuses are to be seen, that are as
long as one of them pine trees on yonder mountain?”
“Softly, softly, Benjamin,” said the Sheriff,
using a soothing manner, as if he wished to save
the credit of his favourite; “why some of the
pines will measure full two hundred feet, and even
more.”
“Two hundred or two thousand, it's all the
same thing,” cried Benjamin, with an air which
manifested that he was not easily to be bullied out
of his opinion, on a subject like the present—
“Haven't I been there, and haven't I seen? I
-- 056 --
[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]
have said that you fall in with whales as long as
one of them there pines; and I'll stand to what I
have once said.”
During this dialogue, which was evidently but
the close of a much longer discussion, the huge
frame of Billy Kirby was seen extended on one
side of the fire, where he was picking his teeth
with the splinters of the chips that were near him,
and occasionally shaking his head, with the distrust
that was engendered by the marvellous qualities
of Benjamin's assertions. It seems that he
now thought it time to advance his sentiments on
the subject.
“I've a notion,” said the wood-chopper, “that
there's water in this lake to swim the biggest
whale that ever was invented; and, as to the pines,
I think I ought to know so'thing consarning them;
and I have chopped many a one that was sixty
times the length of my helve, without counting the
eyes; and I b'lieve, Benny, that if the old pine
that stands in the hollow of the Vision Mountain,
just over the village, and you may see the tree
itself by looking up, for the moon is on its top
yet;—well, now I b'lieve, that if that same tree
was planted out in the deepest part of the lake,
there would be water enough for the biggest ship
that ever was built to float over it, without touching
its upper branches, I do.”
“Did'ee ever see a ship, Master Kirby?” roared
the steward—“did'ee ever see a ship, man? or
any craft bigger than a lime-scow, or a wood-boat,
on this here small bit of fresh water?”
“Yes, I have,” said the wood-chopper, stoutly;
“I can say that I have, and tell no lie.”
“Did'ee ever see a British ship, Master Kirby?
an English line-of-battle ship, boy? Where away
did'ee ever fall in with a regular-built vessel, with
starn-post and cut-water, garboard streak and
-- 057 --
[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]
plank-shear, gangways and hatchways, and waterways,
quarter-deck and forecastle, ay, and flushdeck?—
tell me that, man, if you can; where
away did'ee ever fall in with such a hooker; a
full-rigged, regular-built, decked vessel?”
The whole company were a good deal astounded
with this overwhelming question, and even
Richard afterwards remarked, that it “was a thousand
pities that Benjamin could not read, or he
must have made a valuable officer to the British
marine. It was no wonder that they overcome
the French so easily on the water, when even the
lowest sailor so well understood the different parts
of a vessel.” But Billy Kirby was a fearless
wight, and had great jealousy of foreign dictation;
he had arisen on his feet, and turned his back to
the fire, during the voluble delivery of this interrogatory;
and when the steward ended, contrary
to all expectation, he gave the following spirited
reply:—
“Where! why on the North River, and maybe
on Champlain. There's sloops on the river, boy,
that would give a hard time on't to the stoutest
vessel King George owns. They carry masts of
ninety feet in the clear, of good, solid pine, for
I've been at the chopping of many a one in Varmount
state. I wish I was captain of one of them,
and you was in that Board-dish that you tell so
much about, and we'd soon see what good Yankee
stuff is made on, and whether a Varmounter's
hide an't as thick as an Englishman's.”
The echoes from the opposite hills, which were
more than half a mile from the fishing point, sent
back the discordant laugh that Benjamin gave
forth at this challenge; and the woods that covered
their sides, seemed, by the noise that issued
from their shades, to be full of mocking demons.
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“Let us descend to the shore,” whispered Marmaduke,
“or there will soon be ill blood between
them. Benjamin is a fearless boaster, and Kirby,
though good-natured, is a careless son of the
forest, who thinks one American more than a
match for six Englishmen. I marvel that Dickon
is silent, where there is such a trial of skill in the
superlative!”
The appearance of Judge Temple and the ladies
produced, if not a pacification, at least a cessation
of hostilities. Obedient to the directions of Mr.
Jones, the fishermen prepared to launch their boat,
which had been seen in the back-ground of the
view, with the net carefully disposed on a little
platform in its stern, ready for instant service.
Richard gave vent to his reproaches at the tardiness
of the pedestrians, when all the turbulent passions
of the party were succeeded by a calm, as
mild and as placid as that which prevailed over
the beautiful sheet of water, that they were about
to rifle of its best treasures.
The night had now become so dark as to render
objects, without the reach of the light from
their fire, not only indistinct, but, in most cases,
invisible. For a little distance the water was discernible,
glistening, as the glare from the fire
danced over its surface, touching it, here and
there, with red, quivering streaks; but at a hundred
feet from the shore, a boundary of impenetrable
gloom opposed itself to the vision. One or
two stars were shining through the openings of the
clouds, and the lights were seen in the village,
glimmering faintly, as if at an immeasurable distance.
At times, as their fire lowered, or as the
horizon cleared, the outline of the mountain, on
the other side of the lake, might be traced, by its
undulations; but its shadow was cast, wide and
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dense, on the bosom of the waters, rendering the
darkness, in that direction, trebly deep.
Benjamin Pump was invariably the cockswain
and net-caster of Richard's boat, unless the Sheriff
saw fit to preside in person; and, on the present
occasion, Billy Kirby, and a youth of about half
his strength, were assigned to the duty at the oars.
The remainder of the assistants were stationed at
the ropes, for the laborious service of hauling the
net to land. The arrangements were speedily
made, and Richard gave the signal to “shove
off.”
Elizabeth watched the motion of the batteau,
as it pulled from the shore, letting loose its rope
as it went, but it very soon disappeared in the
darkness, when her ear was her only guide to its
evolutions. There was a great affectation of stillness,
during all these manœuvres, in order, as Richard
assured them, “not to frighten the bass,
who were running into the shoal waters, and who
would approach the light, if not disturbed by the
sounds from the fishermen.”
The hoarse voice of Benjamin was alone heard,
issuing out of the gloom, as he uttered, in authoritative
tones, “pull larboard oar,” “pull starboard,”
“give way together, boys,” and such
other dictative mandates as were necessary for the
right disposition of his seine. A long time was
passed in this necessary part of the process, for
Benjamin prided himself greatly on his skill in
throwing the net, and, in fact, most of the success
of the sport depended on its being done with judgment.
At length a loud splash in the water, as he
threw away the “staff,” or “stretcher,” with a
hoarse call from the steward, of “clear,” announced
that the boat was returning to the shore;
when Richard seized a brand from the fire, and
ran to a point, as far above the centre of the
-- 060 --
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fishing ground, as the one from which the batteau had
started was below it.
“Stick her in dead for the Squire, boys,” said
the steward, “and we'll have a look at what there
is that grows in this here pond.”
In place of the falling net, were now to be heard
the quick strokes of the oars, and the noise of
the rope, running out of the boat. Presently the
batteau shot into the circle of light, and in an instant
she was pulled to shore. Several eager hands
were extended, to receive the “hauling line,” and,
both ropes being equally well manned, the fishermen
commenced hauling in, with slow and steady
drags, Richard standing in the centre, giving orders,
first to one party and then to the other, to
increase or slacken their efforts, as the occasion
required. The visiters were posted near him, and
enjoyed a fair view of the whole operation, which
was slowly advancing to an end.
Opinions, as to the result of their adventure,
were now freely hazarded by all the men, some
declaring that the net came in as light as a feather,
and others affirming that it seemed to be full of
logs. As the ropes were many hundred feet in
length, these opposing sentiments were thought
to be of little moment by the Sheriff, who would
go first to one line and then to the other, giving
each a small pull, in order to enable him to form
an opinion for himself.
“Why, Benjamin,” he cried, as he made his
first effort in this way, “you did not throw your
net clear. I can move it with my little finger.
The rope slackens in my hand.”
“Did you ever see a whale, Squire?” responded
the steward: “I say that if that there net is
foul, the devil is in the lake in the shape of a
fish, for I cast it as fair as ever rigging was rove
over the quarter-deck of a flag-ship.”
-- 061 --
[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]
But Richard discovered his mistake, when he
saw Billy Kirby before him, standing with his
feet to the water, at an angle of forty-five degrees,
inclining shorewards, and expending his gigantic
strength in sustaining himself in that posture. He
ceased his remonstrances, and proceeded to the
party at the other line.
“I see the `staff,' ” shouted Mr. Jones;—
“gather in, boys, and away with it; to shore with
her—to shore with her.”
At this cheerful sound, Elizabeth strained her
eyes, and saw the ends of the two sticks on the
seine, emerging from the darkness, while the men
closed near to each other, and formed a deep bag
of their net. The exertions of the fishermen sensibly
increased, and the voice of Richard was
heard, encouraging them to make their greatest
efforts, at the present moment.
“Now's the time, my lads,” he cried; “let us
get the ends to land, and all we have will be our
own—away with her!”
“Away with her it is,” echoed Benjamin—
“hurrah! ho-a-hoy, ho-a-hoy, ho-a!”
“In with her,” shouted Kirby, exerting himself
in a manner that left nothing for those in his rear
to do, but to gather up the slack of the rope which
he passed through his hands.
“Staff, ho!” shouted the steward.
“Staff, ho!” echoed Kirby, from the other
rope.
The men rushed to the water's edge, some
seizing the upper rope, and some the lower, or
lead-rope, and began to haul with great activity
and zeal. A deep semicircular sweep, of the little
balls that supported the seine in its perpendicular
position, was plainly visible to the spectators,
and, as it rapidly lessened in size, the
bag of the net appeared, while an occasional
-- 062 --
[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]
flutter on the water announced the uneasiness of the
prisoners it contained.
“Haul in, my lads,” shouted Richard—“I can
see the dogs kicking to get free. Haul in, and
here's a cast that will pay you for the labour.”
Fishes of various sorts now were to be seen, entangled
in the meshes of the net, as it was passed
through the hands of the labourers; and the water,
at a little distance from the shore, was alive
with the agitated movements of the alarmed victims.
Hundreds of white sides were glancing up
to the surface of the water, and glistening in the
fire-light, when frightened at the uproar and the
change, the fish would again dart to the bottom,
in fruitless efforts for freedom.
“Hurrah!” shouted Richard again; “one or
two more heavy drags, boys, and we are safe.”
“Cheerily, boys, cheerily!” cried Benjamin;
“I see a salmon-trout that is big enough for a
chowder.”
“Away with you, you varmint!” said Billy
Kirby, plucking a bull-pout from the meshes, and
casting the animal back into the lake with great
contempt. “Pull, boys, pull; here's all kinds,
and the Lord condemn me for a liar, if there an't
a thousand bass!”
Inflamed beyond the bounds of discretion at the
sight, and forgetful of the season, the wood-chopper
rushed to his middle in the water, and begun
to drive the reluctant animals before him
from their native element.
“Pull heartily, boys,” cried Marmaduke, yielding
to the excitement of the moment, and laying
his hands to the net, with no trifling addition to
the force. Edwards had preceded him, for the
sight of the immense piles of fish, that were slowly
rolling over on the gravelly beach, had
-- 063 --
[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]
impelled him also to leave the ladies, and join the
fishermen.
Great care was observed in bringing the net to
land, and, after much toil, the whole shoal of victims
were safely deposited in a hollow of the
bank, where they were left to flutter away their
brief existence, in their new and fatal element.
Even Elizabeth and Louisa were greatly excited
and highly gratified, by seeing two thousand
captives thus drawn from the bosom of the
lake, and laid as prisoners at their feet. But
when the feelings of the moment were passing
away, Marmaduke took in his hands a bass, that
might have weighed two pounds, and, after viewing
it a moment, in melancholy musing, he turned
to his daughter, and observed—
“This is a fearful expenditure of the choicest
gifts of Providence. These fish, Bess, which
thou seest lying in such piles before thee, and
which, by to-morrow evening, will be rejected
food on the meanest table in Templeton, are of
a quality and flavour that, in other countries,
would make them esteemed a luxury on the
tables of princes or epicures. The world has
no better fish than the bass of Otsego: it unites
the richness of the shad to the firmness of the
salmon.”
“But surely, dear sir,” cried Elizabeth, “they
must prove a great blessing to the country, and a
powerful friend to the poor.”
“The poor are always prodigal, my child,
where there is plenty, and seldom think of a
provision against the morrow. But if there can
be any excuse for destroying animals in this manner,
it is in taking the bass. During the winter,
you know, they are entirely protected from our
assaults by the ice, for they ever refuse the hook;
and during the hot months they are not seen.
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It is supposed they retreat to the deep and
cool waters of the lake, at that season; and it is
only in the spring and autumn, that, for a few
days, they are to be found, around the points
where they are within the reach of a seine. But,
like all the other treasures of the wilderness, they
already begin to disappear, before the wasteful
extravagance of man.”
“Disappear, 'duke! disappear!” exclaimed the
Sheriff; “if you don't call this appearing, I know
not what you will. Here are a good thousand of
the shiners, some hundreds of suckers, and a
powerful quantity of other fry. But this is always
the way with you, Marmaduke; first it's
the trees, then it's the deer, after that it's the maple
sugar, and so on to the end of the chapter.
One day you talk of canals, through a country
where there's a river or a lake every half-mile,
just because the water won't run the way you wish
it to go; and the next, you say something about
mines of coal, though any man who has good
eyes, like myself—I say with good eyes—can see
more wood than would keep the city of London
in fuel for fifty years;—wouldn't it Benjamin?”
“Why, for that, Squire,” said the steward,
“Lon'on is no small place. If it was stretched
an end, all the same as a town on one side of a
river, it would cover some such matter as this
here lake. Thof I dar'st to say, that the wood in
sight might sarve them a good turn, seeing that the
Lon'oners mainly burn coal.”
“Now we are on the subject of coal, Judge
Temple,” interrupted the Sheriff, “I have a thing
of much importance to communicate to you; but
I will defer it until to-morrow. I know that you
intend riding into the eastern part of the patent,
and I will accompany you, and conduct you to a
spot, where some of your projects may be
-- 065 --
[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]
realized. We will say no more now, sir, for there
are listeners; but a secret has this evening been
revealed to me, 'duke, that is of more consequence
to your welfare, than all your estates united.”
Marmaduke laughed at this important intelligence,
to which in a variety of shapes he was accustomed,
and the Sheriff, with an air of great
dignity, as if pitying his want of faith, proceeded
in the business more immediately before them.
As the labour of drawing the net had been very
great, he directed one party of his men to commence
throwing the fish into piles, preparatory to
the usual division, while another, under the superintendence
of Benjamin, prepared the seine
for a second haul.
-- 066 --
CHAPTER V.
“While from its margin, terrible to tell!
Three sailors with their gallant boatswain fell.”
Falconer.
[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]
While the fishermen were employed in making
the preparations for an equitable division of their
spoils, Elizabeth and her friend strolled to a short
distance from the group, along the shores of the
lake. The shades of evening had been gradually
gathering around the scene, during the draught
of the net, and, while the objects in the vicinity of
the fire were still distinct, and even vivid, the surrounding
darkness became deeper, both by the
contrast, and the advancing dominion of the night.
After reaching a point, to which even the brightest
of the occasional gleams of light from the fire
did not extend, the ladies turned, and paused a
moment, in contemplation of the busy and lively
party they had left, and of the obscurity, which,
like the gloom of oblivion, seemed to envelope
the rest of the creation.
“This is indeed a subject for the pencil!” exclaimed
Elizabeth. “Observe the countenance of
that wood-chopper, while he exults in presenting
a larger fish than common to my cousin Sheriff;
and see, Louisa, how handsome and considerate my
-- 067 --
[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]
dear father looks, by the light of that fire, where
he stands viewing the havoc of the game. He seems
really melancholy, as if he actually thought that a
day of retribution was to follow this hour of abundance
and prodigality! Would they not make a
fine picture, Louisa?”
“You know that I am ignorant of all such accomplishments,
Miss Temple.”
“Call me by my christian name,” interrupted
Elizabeth; “this is not a place, neither is this a
scene, for the observance of forms.”
“Well, then, if I may venture an opinion,” said
Louisa, timidly, “I should think it might indeed
make a picture. The selfish earnestness of that
Kirby over his fish, would contrast finely with the—
the—expression of Mr. Edward's face. I hardly
know what to call it; but it is—a—is—you
know what I would say, dear Elizabeth.”
“You do me too much credit, Miss Grant,”
said the heiress; “I am no diviner of thoughts,
or interpreter of expressions.”
There was certainly nothing harsh, or even
cold, in the manner of the speaker, but still it repressed
the conversation, for a moment, and the
maidens continued to stroll still further from their
party, retaining each other's arm, but observing a
profound silence. Elizabeth, perhaps conscious
of the improper phraseology of her last speech, or
perhaps excited by the new object that met her
wandering gaze, was the first to break the present
awkward cessation in the discourse, by exclaiming,
in all the richness of her animated and
animating voice—
“Look, Louisa! we are not alone; there are
fishermen lighting a fire on the other side of the
lake, immediately opposite to us: it must be in
front of the cabin of the Leather-stocking!”
For some cause or other, Miss Grant had kept
-- 068 --
[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]
her eyes bent in the direction of the pebbles, over
which she was walking; probably because, being
less adventurous than her companion, she was
disposed to view what could be faintly discerned,
without attempting the gloom, in a vain effort to
pierce its mysteries; or probably for some better
reason, that we leave our readers to imagine; but
thus awakened, she looked up, in the direction
pointed out by her friend, and saw, at once, the
cause of her sudden exclamation.
Through the obscurity, which prevailed most
immediately under the eastern mountain, a small
and uncertain light was plainly to be seen, though,
as it was occasionally lost to the eye, it seemed
struggling for its existence. They observed it to
move, and sensibly to lower, as if carried, down
the descent of the bank, to the shore. Here, in a
very short time, its flame gradually expanded, and
grew brighter, until it became of the size of a man's
head, when it continued to shine, a steady and glaring
ball of fire.
Such an object, lighted as it were by magic,
under the brow of the mountain, and in that retired
and unfrequented place, gave double interest
to the beauty and singularity of its appearance.
It did not at all resemble the large and unsteady
light of their own fire, being much more clear and
bright, and retaining its size and shape with perfect
uniformity.
There are moments when the best regulated
minds are, more or less, subjected to the injurious
impressions which few have escaped in infancy,
and Elizabeth smiled at her own weakness, while
she remembered the idle tales which were circulated
through the village, at the expense of the
Leather-stocking The same ideas seized her
companion, and at the same instant, for Louisa
pressed nearer to her friend, as she said, in a low
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[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]
voice, stealing a timid glance towards the bushes
and trees that overhung the bank near them—
“Did you ever hear the singular ways of this
Natty spoken of, Miss Temple? They say that,
in his youth, he was an Indian Warrior, or, what
is the same thing, a white man leagued with the
savages; and it is thought he has been concerned
in many of their inroads, in the old wars.”
“The thing is not at all improbable,” returned
Elizabeth; “but he is not alone in that particular.”
“No, surely; but is it not strange, that he is so
cautious with his hut? he never leaves it, without
fastening it in a remarkable manner; and, in several
instances, when the children, or even the
men of the village have wished to seek a shelter
there from the storms, he has been known to drive
them from his door, with rudeness and threats.
That surely is singular in this country!”
“It is certainly not being very hospitable; but
we must remember his aversion to the customs of
civilized life. You heard my father say, a few
days since, how kindly he was treated by him on
his first visit to this place.” Elizabeth paused,
and smiled, with an expression of peculiar archness,
though the darkness hid its meaning from
her companion, as she continued:—“Besides, he
certainly admits the visits of Mr. Edwards, whom
we both know to be far from a savage.”
To this speech Louisa made no reply, but continued
gazing on the object which had elicited her
remarks. In addition to the bright and circular
flame was now to be seen a fainter, though a
vivid light, of an equal diameter to the other at
the upper end, but which, after extending, downward,
for many feet, gradually tapered to a
point at its lower extremity. A dark space was
plainly visible between the two, and the new
-- 070 --
[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]
illumination was placed beneath the other, the whole
forming an appearance not unlike an inverted
note of admiration. It was soon evident that the
latter was nothing but the reflection, from the water,
of the former, and that the object, whatever it
might be, was advancing across, or rather over
the lake, for it seemed to be several feet above its
surface, in a direct line with themselves. Its motion
was amazingly rapid, the ladies having hardly
discovered that it was moving at all, before the
waving light of a flame was discerned, losing its
regular shape, while it increased in size, as it approached
them.
“It appears to be supernatural!” whispered
Louisa, beginning to retrace her steps towards
the party.
“It is beautiful!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
A brilliant, though waving flame was now
plainly visible, gracefully gliding over the lake,
and throwing its light on the water in such a
manner as to tinge it slightly; though, in the
air, so strong was the contrast, the darkness seemed
to have the distinctness of material substances,
as if the fire were embedded in a setting of ebony.
This appearance, however, gradually wore off,
and the rays from the torch struck out, and enlightened
the atmosphere in front of it, leaving
the back-ground in a darkness that was more impenetrable
than ever.
“Ho! Natty, is that you?” shouted the Sheriff—
“paddle in, old boy, and I'll give you a mess
of fish that is fit to place before the Governor.”
The light suddenly changed its direction, and a
long and slightly-built boat hove up out of the
gloom, while the red glare fell on the weather-beaten
features of the Leather-stocking, whose
tall person was seen erect in the frail vessel,
wielding, with all the grace of an experienced
-- 071 --
[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]
boatman, a long fishing spear which he held by
its centre, first dropping one end and then the
other into the water, to aid in propelling the little
canoe of bark, we will not say through, but
over the water. At the farther end of the vessel,
a form was faintly seen, guiding its motions, and
using a paddle with the ease of one who felt
there was no necessity for extraordinary exertions.
The Leather-stocking struck his spear
lightly against the short staff which upheld, on a
rude grating framed of old hoops of iron, the
knots of pine that composed the fuel; and the
light, which glared high, for an instant fell on the
swarthy features, and dark, glancing eyes of Mohegan.
The boat glided along the shore until it arrived
opposite to the fishing-ground, when it again
changed its direction, and moved on to the land,
with a motion so graceful, and yet so rapid, that
it seemed to possess the power of regulating its
progress by its own volition. The water in front
of the canoe was hardly ruffled by its passage, and
no sound betrayed the collision, when the light
fabric shot on the gravelly beach, for nearly half
its length, Natty receding a step or two from its
bow, in order to facilitate the landing.
“Approach, Mohegan,” said Marmaduke: “approach,
Leather-stocking, and load your canoe
with the bass. It would be a shame to assail the
animals with the spear, when such multitudes of
victims lie here, that will be lost as food for the
want of mouths to consume them.”
“No, no, Judge,” returned Natty, his tall figure
stalking over the narrow beach, and ascended
to the little grassy bottom where the fish were laid
in piles; “I eat of no man's wasty ways. I strike
my spear into the eels, or the trout, when I crave
the creaters, but I would'nt be helping to such a
-- 072 --
[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]
sinful kind of fishing, for the best rifle that was
ever brought out from the old countries. If they
had fur like a beaver, or you could tan their hides,
like a buck, something might be said in favour of
taking them by the thousands with your nets; but
as God made them for man's food, and for no other
disarnable reason, I call it sinful and wasty to catch
more than can be eat.”
“Your reasoning is mine,” cried Marmaduke;
“for once, old hunter, we agree in our opinions;
and I heartily wish we could make a convert of
the Sheriff. A net of half the size of this would
supply the whole village with fish, for a week, at
one haul.”
The Leather-stocking did not relish this alliance
in sentiment, and he shook his head doubtingly,
as he answered—
“No, no; we are not much of one mind, Judge,
or you'd never turn good hunting grounds into
stumpy pastures. And you fish and hunt out
of rule; but to me, the flesh is sweeter, where
the creater has some chance for its life; for
that reason, I always use a single ball, even if it
be at a bird or a squirrel; besides, it saves lead,
for, when a body knows how to shoot, one piece
of lead is enough for all, except hard-lived animals.”
The Sheriff heard these opinions with great indignation,
and when he completed the last arrangement
for the division, by carrying, with his
own hands, a trout of a large size, and placing it
on four different piles in succession, as his changeful
ideas of justice required, he gave vent to his
spleen by exclaiming—
“A very pretty confederacy, indeed! Judge
Temple, the landlord and owner of a township,
with Nathaniel Bumppo, a lawless squatter, and
professed deer-killer, in order to preserve the
-- 073 --
[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]
game in the county! But, 'duke, when I fish, I
fish, and don't play;—so, away, boys, for another
haul, and we'll send out wagons and carts, in the
morning, to bring in our prizes!”
Marmaduke appeared to understand that all
opposition to the will of the Sheriff would be useless,
and he strolled from the fire, to the place
where the canoe of the hunters lay, whither the
ladies and Oliver Edwards had already preceded
him.
Curiosity induced the females to approach this
spot, but it surely was a different motive that led
the youth thither. Elizabeth examined the light
ash timbers and thin bark covering of the canoe,
in admiration of its neat but simple execution,
and with wonder that any human being could be
so daring as to trust his life in so frail a vessel.
But the youth explained to her the buoyant properties
of the boat, and its perfect safety, when
under proper management, adding, in such
glowing terms, a description of the manner in
which the fish were struck with the spear, that
she changed suddenly, from an apprehension
of the danger of the excursion, to a desire
to participate in its pleasures. She even ventured
a proposition to that effect to her father,
laughing, at the same time, at her own wish, and
accusing herself of acting under a woman's caprice.
“Say not so, Bess,” returned the Judge; “I
would have you above the idle fears of a silly
girl. These canoes are the safest kind of boats,
to those who have skill and steady nerves. I
have crossed the broadest part of the Oneida in
one much smaller than this.”
“And I the Ontary,” interrupted the Leather-stocking;
“and that with squaws in the canoe, too.
But the Delaware women be used to the paddle,
-- 074 --
[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]
and are down good hands in a boat of this nater.
If the young woman would like to see an old man
strike a trout for his breakfast, she is welcome to
a seat and a sight. John will say the same, seeing
that he built the canoe, which was only
launched yesterday; for I'm not over curous at
such small work as brooms, and basket-making,
and other like Indian trades.”
Natty gave the heiress one of his significant
laughs, with a kind nod of his head, when he
concluded this invitation; but Mohegan, with the
native grace of an Indian, approached, and
taking her soft white hand into his own swarthy
and wrinkled palm, said—
“Come, grand-daughter of Miquon, and John
will be glad. Trust the Indian: his head is old,
though his hand is not steady. The young Eagle
will go, and see that no harm hurts his sister.”
“Well, Mr. Edwards,” cried Elizabeth, blushing
slightly, “your friend, Mohegan, you see, has
given a promise for you. Do you redeem the
pledge?”
“With my life, if necessary, Miss Temple.”
cried the youth, with fervour. “The sight is
worth some little apprehension, for of real danger
there is none. I will go with you and Miss Grant,
however, to save appearances.”
“With me!” exclaimed Louisa; “no, not with
me, Mr. Edwards, nor surely do you mean to trust
yourself in that slight canoe.”
“But I shall, for I have no apprehensions any
longer,” said Elizabeth, stepping into the boat,
and taking a seat where the Indian directed. “Mr.
Edwards, you may remain, as three do seem to
be enough for such an egg-shell.”
“It shall hold a fourth,” cried the young man,
springing to her side, with a violence that nearly
shook the weak fabric of the vessel asunder;—
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“pardon me, Miss Temple, that I do not permit
these venerable Charons to take you to the shades,
unattended by your genius.”
“Is it a good or evil spirit?” asked Elizabeth.
“Good to you.”
“And mine,” added the maiden, with an air
that strangely blended pique with satisfaction.
But the motion of the canoe gave rise to new ideas,
and fortunately afforded a good excuse to the
young man to change the discourse.
It appeared to Elizabeth, that they glided over
the water by magic, so easy and graceful was the
manner in which Mohegan guided his little bark.
A slight gesture with his spear, indicated the way
in which the Leather-stocking wished to go, and
a profound silence was preserved by the whole
party, as a precaution necessary to the success of
their fishery. The shore, at that point of the lake,
ran gradually off, and the water shoaled regularly,
differing, in this particular, altogether, from those
parts where the mountains rose, nearly in perpendicular
precipices, from the beach. There,
the largest vessels could have lain, with their yards
locked in the branches of the pines; while here,
a scanty growth of rushes lifted their tops above
the lake, gently curling the waters, as their bending
heads slowly waved with the passing breath
of the night air. It was at the shallow points,
only, that the bass could be found, or the net cast
with success.
Elizabeth saw thousands of these fish, swimming
in shoals along the shallow and warm waters
of the shore; for the flaring light of their
torch exposed all the mysteries of the lake, laying
them open to the eye, with a slight variation
in colour, as plainly as if the limpid sheet of the
Otsego was but another atmosphere. Every instant
she expected to see the impending spear of
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Leather-stocking darting into the thronging hosts
that were rushing beneath her, where it would
seem that a blow could not go amiss; and where,
as her father had already said, the prize that would
be obtained was worthy of the notice of any epicure.
But Natty had his peculiar habits; and, it
would seem, his peculiar tastes also. His tall stature,
and his erect posture, enabled him to see
much further than those who, from motives of safety,
were seated in the bottom of the canoe; and
he turned his head warily, in every direction, frequently
bending his body forward, and straining
his vision, as if desirous of penetrating the darkness
in the water, that surrounded their boundary
of light. At length his anxious scrutiny was rewarded
with success, and, waving his spear from
the shore, he said, in a cautious tone—
“Send her outside the bass, John; I see a
laker there, that has run out of the school. It's
sildom one finds such a creater in the shallow waters,
where a spear can touch it.”
Mohegan gave a wave of assent with his hand,
and in the next instant the canoe was without the
“run of the bass,” and in water of nearly twenty
feet in depth. A few additional knots were laid
on the grating, and the light from the fire made to
reach the bottom. Elizabeth then saw a fish of
unusual size, floating above the small pieces of
logs and sticks that were lying on the bottom.
The animal was only distinguishable, at that distance,
by a slight, but almost imperceptible motion
of its fins and tail. The curiosity excited
by this unusual exposure of the secrets of the lake,
seemed to be mutual between the heiress of the
land and the lord of these waters, for the “salmon-trout”
soon announced his interest by raising
his head and body, for a few degrees above a
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horizontal line, and then dropping them again into
the position of nature.
“Whist! whist!” said Natty, in a low voice, on
hearing a slight sound made by Elizabeth, in
bending over the side of the canoe, in eager curiosity;
“'tis a sceary animal, and it's a far stroke
for a spear. My handle is but fourteen foot, and
the creater lies at a good eighteen from the top of
the water; but I'll try him, for he's a ten-pounder.”
While speaking, the Leather-stocking was poising
and directing his weapon. Elizabeth saw the
bright, polished tines, as they slowly and silently
entered the water, where the refraction pointed
them many degrees from the true direction to the
fish; and she thought that the intended victim saw
them also, as he seemed to increase the play of
his tail and fins, though without moving his station.
At the next instant, the tall body of Natty
bent to the water's edge, and the handle of his
spear disappeared in the lake. The long, dark
streak of the gliding weapon, and the little bubbling
vortex, which followed its rapid flight, were
easily to be seen; but it was not until the handle
shot again high into the air, by its own re-action,
and its master, catching it in his hand, threw its
tines uppermost, that Elizabeth was acquainted
with the success of the blow. A fish of great size
was transfixed by the barbed steel, and was very
soon shaken from its impaled situation into the
bottom of the canoe.
“That will do, John,” said Natty, raising his
prize by one of his fingers, and exhibiting it before
the torch; “enough is as good as a feast; I
shall not strike another blow to-night.”
The Indian again waved his hand, and replied
with the simple and energetic monosyllable of—
“Good.”
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Elizabeth was awakened from the trance, created
by this scene, and by gazing in that unusual
manner at the bottom of the lake, by the hoarse
sounds of Benjamin's voice, and the dashing of
oars, as the heavier boat of the seine-drawers approached
the spot where the canoe lay, dragging
after its toilsome way, the folds of the net, which
was already spreading on the water.
“Haul off, haul off Master Bumppo,” cried
Benjamin; “your top-light frightens the fish,
who see the net and sheer off soundings. A fish
knows as much as a horse, or, for that matter,
more, seeing that it's brought up on the water.
Haul off, Master Bumppo, haul off, I say, and give
a wide birth to the seine.”
Mohegan guided their little canoe to a point
where the movements of the fishermen could be
observed, without interruption to the business, and
then suffered it to lie quietly on the water, looking
like an imaginary vessel floating in the air.
There appeared to be much ill-humour among
the party in the batteau, for the directions of Benjamin
were not only frequent, but issued in a
voice that partook largely of the tones of dissatisfaction.
“Pull larboard oar, will ye, Master Kirby,”
cried the old seaman; “Pull larboard, best. It
would puzzle the oldest admiral in the British
fleet to cast this here net fair, with a wake like a
corkscrew. Pull starboard, boy, pull starboard
oar, with a will.”
“Harkee, Mister Pump,” said Kirby, ceasing
to row, and speaking with some spirit; “I'm a
man that likes civil language and decent treatment;
such as is right 'twixt man and man. If
you want us to go hoy, say so, and hoy I'll go, for
the benefit of the company; but I'm not used to
being ordered about like dumb cattle.”
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“Who's dumb cattle!” echoed Benjamin,
fiercely, turning his forbidding face to the glare
of the light from the canoe, and exhibiting every
feature teeming with the expression of his disgust.
“If you want to come aft and cun the boat round,
come and be damned, and a pretty steerage you'll
make of it too. There's but another heave of the
net in the stern-sheets, and we're clear of the thing.
Give way, will ye? and shoot her ahead for a fathom
or two, and if you catch me afloat again
with such a horsemarine as yourself, why rate me
a ship's jackass, that's all.”
Probably encouraged by the prospect of a
speedy termination to his labour, the wood-chopper
resumed his oar, and, under the strong
excitement of his feelings, gave a stroke with it,
that not only cleared the boat of the net, but of
the steward, at the same instant, also. Benjamin
had stood on the little platform that held
the seine, in the stern of the boat, and the violent
whirl occasioned by the vigour of the wood-chopper's
arm, completely destroyed his balance.
The position of the lights rendered objects in
the batteau distinguishable, both from the canoe
and the shore; and the heavy fall on the water
drew all eyes to the steward, as he lay struggling,
for a moment, in sight.
A loud burst of merriment, to which the lungs
of Kirby contributed no small part, broke out
like a chorus of laughter, and rung along the
eastern mountain, in echoes, until it died away in
distant, mocking mirth, among the rocks and
woods. The body of the steward was seen slowly
to disappear, as was expected; but when the light
waves, which had been raised by his fall, begun
to sink in calmness, and the water finally closed
over his head, unbroken and still, a very different
feeling pervaded the spectators.
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“How fare you, Benjamin?” shouted Richard
from the shore.
“The dumb devil can't swim a stroke!” exclaimed
Kirby, rising, and beginning to throw
aside his clothes.
“Paddle up, Mohegan,” cried young Edwards,
“where the light will show us how he lies, and
let me dive for the body.”
“Oh! save him! for God's sake, save him!”
exclaimed Elizabeth, bowing her head on the side
of the canoe in horror.
A powerful and dexterous sweep of Mohegan's
paddle sent the canoe directly over the spot
where the steward had fallen, and a loud shout
from the Leather-stocking announced that he saw
the body.
“Then steady the boat while. I dive,” again
cried Edwards.
“Gently, lad, gently,” said Natty; “I'll spear
the creater up in half the time, and no risk to any
body.”
The form of Benjamin was lying, about half
way to the bottom, grasping with either hand the
bottoms of some broken rushes, by whose strength
it was maintained in that position. The blood of
Elizabeth curdled to her heart, as she saw the
figure of a fellow-creature thus extended under
an immense sheet of water, apparently in motion,
by the undulations of the dying waves, with its
face and hands, viewed by that light, and through
the medium of the fluid, already coloured with
livid hues like death.
At the same instant, she saw the shining tines
of Natty's spear approaching the motionless head
of the sufferer, and entwining themselves, rapidly
and dexterously, in the hairs of his queue and the
cape of his coat. The body was now raised slowly,
looking ghastly and grim, as its features turned
upward to the light, and approached the surface.
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[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]
The arrival of the nostrils of Benjamin into their
own atmosphere, was announced by a breathing
that would have done credit to a full-grown porpoise.
For a moment, Natty held the steward
suspended, with his head just above the water,
while his eyes slowly opened, and stared about
him, as if he thought that he had reached a new
and unexplored country.
As all the parties acted and spoke together,
much less time was consumed in the occurrence of
these events, than in their narration. To bring
the batteau to the end of the spear, and to raise
the form of Benjamin from its liquid element into
the boat, and for the whole party to gain the
shore, and land required but a minute. Kirby,
aided by Richard, whose anxiety induced him to
run into the water to meet his favourite assistant,
carried the motionless steward up the bank, and
seated him before the fire, where he was supported,
while the Sheriff proceeded to order the most
approved measures then in use, for the resuscitation
of the drowned.
“Run, Billy,” he cried, “to the village, and
bring up the rum-hogshead that lies before the
door, in which I am making vinegar in cold weather,
and he quick, boy, don't stay to empty the
vinegar; and stop at Mr. Le Quoi's, and buy a
paper of tobacco and half-a-dozen pipes; and ask
Remarkable for some salt, and one of her flannel
petticoats; and ask Dr. Todd to send his lancet,
and to come himself; and—ha! 'duke, what
are you about? would you strangle a man, who
is full of water, by giving him rum! Help me to
open this hand, that I may pat it.”
All this time Benjamin sat, with his muscles
fixed, his mouth shut, and his hands clenching the
rushes, which he had seized in the confusion of
the moment, and which, as he held fast, like a true
-- 082 --
[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]
seaman, had been the means of preventing his
body from rising again to the surface. His eyes,
however, were open, and stared wildly on the
group about the fire, while his lungs were playing
like a blacksmith's bellows, as if to compensate
themselves for the minute of inaction to which
they had been subjected. As he kept his lips
compressed, with a most inveterate determination,
the air was compelled to pass through his nostrils,
and he rather snorted than breathed, and in such
a manner, that nothing, but the excessive agitation
of the Sheriff, could at all justify his precipitous
orders.
The bottle, applied to the steward's lips by
Marmaduke, acted like a charm. His mouth
opened instinctively; his hands dropped the
rushes, and seized the black glass; his eyes raised
from their horizontal stare, to the heavens; and
the whole man was lost, for a moment, in a new
sensation. Unhappily for the propensity of the
steward, breath was as necessary after one of these
draughts, as after his submersion, and the time at
length arrived when he was compelled to let go
of the bottle.
“Why, Benjamin!” roared the Sheriff; “you
amaze me! for a man of your experience in
drownings to act so foolishly! just now, you were
half full of water, and now you are”—
“Full of grog,” interrupted the steward, his
features settling down, with amazing flexibility,
into their natural economy. “But, d'ye see,
Squire, I kept my hatches close, and it is but
little water that ever gets into my scuttle-butt.—
Harkee, Master Kirby! I've followed the salt
water for the better part of a man's life, and have
seen some navigation on the fresh; but this here
matter I will say in your favour, and that is, that
you're the awk'ardest green'un that ever straddled
-- 083 --
[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]
a boat's thwart. Them that likes you for a shipmate,
may sail with you, and no thanks; but
dam'me if I even walk on the lake shore in your
company. For why? you'd as lief drown a man
as one of them there fish; not to throw a christian
creature so much as a rope's end, when he was
adrift, and no life-buoy in sight!—Natty Bumppo,
give us your fist. There's them that says
you're an Indian, and a scalper, but you've sarved
me a good turn, and you may set me down for a
friend; thof it would have been more ship-shape
to lower the bight of a rope, or a running bow-line,
below me, than to seize an old seaman by his
head-lanyard; but I suppose you are used to
taking men by the hair, and seeing you did me
good instead of harm thereby, why, it's the same
thing, d'ye see.”
Marmaduke prevented any reply, and assuming
the direction of matters, with a dignity and discretion
that at once silenced all opposition from his
cousin, Benjamin was despatched to the village by
land, and the net was hauled to shore, in such a
manner that the fish, for once, escaped its meshes
with impunity.
The division of the spoils was made in the ordinary
manner, by placing one of the party with
his back to the game, who declared the owner of
each pile. Billy Kirby stretched his large frame
on the grass, by the side of the fire, as a sentinel
until morning, over the net and the fish; and the
remainder of the party embarked in the batteau,
to return to the village.
The wood-chopper was seen broiling his supper
on the coals, as they lost sight of the fire; and
when the boat approached the shore, the torch of
Mohegan's canoe was shining again under the
gloom of the eastern mountain. Its motion ceased
suddenly; a scattering of brands was exhibited
-- 084 --
[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]
in the air, and then all remained dark as the conjunction
of night, forests, and mountains, could
render the scene.
The thoughts of the heiress wandered from the
youth, who was holding a canopy of shawls over
herself and Louisa, to the hunter and the Indian
warrior; and she felt an awakening curiosity to
visit a hut, where men of such different habits and
temperament were drawn together, as if by one
common impulse.
-- 085 --
CHAPTER VI.
[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]
Cease all this parlance about hills and dales:
None listen to thy scenes of boyish frolic,
Fond dotard! with such tickled ears as thou dost;
Come! to thy tale.
Duo.
Mr. Jones arose, on the following morning,
with the sun, and, ordering his own and Marmaduke's
steeds to be saddled, he proceeded, with a
countenance that was big with some business of
unusual moment, to the apartment of the Judge.
The door was unfastened, and Richard entered,
with the freedom that characterized, not only the
intercourse between the cousins, but the ordinary
manners of the Sheriff.
“Well, 'duke, to house,” he cried, “and I will
explain to you my meaning in the allusions I
made last night. David says, in the Psalms—no,
it was Solomon, but it was all in the family—Solomon
said, there was a time for all things; and,
in my humble opinion, a fishing party is not the
moment for discussing important subjects—Ha!
why what the devil ails you, Marmaduke? an't
you well? let me feel your pulse; my grandfather,
you know”—
“Quite well in the body, Richard,” interrupted
the Judge, repulsing his cousin, who was about to
-- 086 --
[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]
assume the functions that properly belonged to
Dr. Todd: “but ill at heart. I received letters
by the post of last night, after we returned from
the point, and this among the number.”
The Sheriff took the letter, but without turning
his eyes on the writing, for he was examining the
appearance of the other with astonishment. From
the face of his cousin, the gaze of Richard wandered
to the table, which was covered with letters,
packets, and newspapers; then to the apartment,
and all that it contained. On the bed there was
the impression that had been made by a human
form, but the coverings were unmoved, and every
thing indicated that the occupant of the room had
passed a sleepless night. The candles were burnt
to the sockets, and had evidently extinguished
themselves in their own fragments. Marmaduke
had drawn his curtains, and opened both the shutters
and the sashes, to admit the balmy air of a
spring morning; but his pale cheek, his quivering
lip, and his sunken eye, presented, altogether,
so very different an appearance from the usual
calm, manly, and cheerful aspect of the Judge,
that the Sheriff grew each moment more and more
bewildered with his astonishment. At length Richard
found time to cast his eyes on the direction
of the letter, which he still held unopened, crumbling
it in his hand.
“What! a ship letter!” he exclaimed; “and
from England! ha! 'duke, here must be news of
importance indeed!”
“Read it,” said Marmaduke, waving his hand
for silence, and pacing the floor in excessive agitation.
Richard, who commonly thought aloud, was
unable to read a letter, without suffering part of
its contents to escape him in audible sounds. So
much of the epistle as was divulged in that
-- 087 --
[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]
manner, we shall lay before the reader, accompanied
by the passing remarks of the Sheriff:—
“ `London, February 12th, 1793.' What a
devil of a passage she had! but the wind has been
northwest, for six weeks, until within the last
fortnight. `Sir, your favours, of August 10th,
September 23d, and of December 1st, were received
in due season, and the first answered by
return of packet. Since the receipt of the last, I'—
Here a long passage was rendered indistinct,
by a most significant kind of humming noise,
made by the Sheriff. `I grieve to say, that'—
hum, hum, bad enough, to be sure—`but trust
that a merciful Providence has seen fit'—hum,
hum, hum; seems to be a good, pious sort of a
man, 'duke; belongs to the established church, I
dare say; hum, hum—`vessel sailed from Falmouth
on or about the 1st September of last
year, and'—hum, hum, hum. `If any thing should
transpire, on this afflicting subject, shall not fail'
hum, hum; really a good-hearted man, for a lawyer—
`but can communicate nothing further at
present'—Hum, hum. `The national convention'—
hum, hum—`unfortunate Louis'—hum, hum—
`example of your Washington'—a very sensible
man, I declare, and none of your crazy democrats
Hum, hum—`our gallant navy'—hum,
hum—`under our most excellent monarch'—ay,
a good man enough, that King George, but bad
advisers; hum, hum—`I beg to conclude with
assurances of my perfect respect,'—hum, hum—
`Andrew Holt.'—Andrew Holt—a very sensible,
feeling man, this Mr Andrew Holt—but the
writer of evil tidings. What will you do next,
cousin Marmaduke?”
“What can I do, Richard, but trust to time,
and the will of Heaven? Here is another letter,
from Connecticut, but it only repeats the
-- 088 --
[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]
substance of the last. There is but one consoling reflection
to be gathered from the English news,
which is, that my last letter was received by him
before the ship sailed.”
“This is bad enough indeed! 'duke, bad
enough indeed! and away go all my plans of
putting the wings to the house, to the devil. I had
made my arrangements for a ride, to introduce
you to something of a very important nature.
You know how much you think of mines”—
“Talk not of mines,” interrupted the Judge;
“there is a sacred duty to be performed, and that
without delay. I must devote this day to writing;
and thou must be my assistant, Richard; it will
not do to employ Oliver in a matter of such secrecy
and interest.”
“No, no, 'duke,” cried the Sheriff, squeezing
his hand, “I am your man, just now; we are sisters'
children, and blood, after all, is the best cement
to make friendship stick together. Well,
well, there is no hurry about the silver mine, just
now; another time will do as well. We shall
want Dirky Van, I suppose?”
Marmaduke assented to this indirect question,
and the Sheriff relinquished all his intentions, on
the subject of his ride, and, repairing to the breakfast
parlour, he despatched a messenger to require
the immediate presence of Dirck Van der School.
The village of Templeton, at that time, supported
but two lawyers, one of whom was introduced
to our readers in the bar-room of the
“Bold Dragoon,” and the other was the gentleman
of whom Richard spoke, by the friendly, but
familiar appellation of Dirck or Dirky Van. Great
good nature, a very tolerable share of skill in his
profession, and, considering the circumstances, no
contemptible degree of honesty, were the principal
ingredients to be found in the character of
-- 089 --
[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]
this man; who was known to the settlers as Squire
Van der School, and sometimes by the flattering,
though anomalous title of “the Dutch,” or “honest
lawyer.” We would not wish to mislead our
readers in their conceptions of any of our characters,
and we therefore feel it necessary to add,
that the adjective, in the preceding agnomen of
Mr. Van der School, was used in direct reference
to its substantive. Our orthodox friends need not
be told that all merit in this world is comparative;
and, once for all, we desire to say, that
where any thing which involves qualities or character
is asserted, we must be understood to mean,
“under the circumstances.”
During the remainder of the day, the Judge was
closeted with his cousin and his lawyer; and no
one else was admitted to his apartment, excepting
his daughter. The deep distress, that so evidently
afflicted Marmaduke, was, in some measure, communicated
to Elizabeth also; for a look of dejection
shaded her intelligent features, and the buoyancy
of her animated spirits was sensibly softened.
Once, on that day, young Edwards, who was a
wondering and observant spectator of the sudden
alteration produced in the heads of the family,
detected a tear stealing over the cheek of the
heiress, and suffusing her bright eyes, with a softness
that did not always belong to their proud and
laughing expression.
“Have any evil tidings been received, Miss
Temple?” he inquired, with an interest and voice
that caused Louisa Grant to raise her head from
her needle-work, with a quickness, at which she
instantly blushed herself. “I would offer my services
to your father, if, as I suspect, he needs an
agent in some distant place, and I thought it would
give you relief.”
“We have certainly heard bad news,” returned
-- 090 --
[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]
Elizabeth, “and it may be necessary that my
father should leave his home, for a short period;
unless I can persuade him to trust my cousin Richard
with the business, whose absence from the
county, just at this time, too, might be inexpedient.”
The youth paused a moment, and the blood
gathered slowly to his temples, as he continued—
“If it be of a nature that I could execute”—
“It is such as can only be confided to one we
know—one of ourselves.”
“Surely, you know me, Miss Temple!” he
added, with a warmth that he seldom exhibited,
but which did sometimes escape him, in the moments
of their frank communications—“Have I
lived five months under your roof, and yet a
stranger!”
Elizabeth was engaged with her needle, also;
and she bent her head to one side, affecting to arrange
her muslin; but her hand shook, her colour
heightened, and her eyes lost their moisture in an
expression of ungovernable interest, as she said—
“how much do we know of you, Mr. Edwards?”
“How much!” echoed the youth, gazing from
the speaker to the mild countenance of Louisa,
that was also illuminated with awakened curiosity;
“how much! have I been so long an inmate with
you, and not known?”
The head of Elizabeth slowly turned from its
affected position, and the look of confusion that
had blended so strongly with an expression of interest,
changed to a smile of archness, as she answered—
“We know you, sir, indeed: you are called Mr.
Oliver Edwards. I understand that you have
informed my friend, Miss Grant, that you are a
native”—
-- 091 --
[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]
“Elizabeth!” exclaimed Louisa, blushing to
her eyes, and trembling like an aspen; “you misunderstood
me, dear Miss Temple; I—I—it was
only conjecture. Besides, if Mr. Edwards is related
to the natives, why should we reproach him!
in what are we better? at least I, who am the child
of a poor and unsettled clergyman?”
Elizabeth shook her head, doubtingly, and even
laughed, but made no reply, until, observing the
melancholy which pervaded the countenance of
her companion, who was thinking of the poverty
and labours of her father, she continued—
“Nay, Louisa, your humility carries you too
far. The daughter of a minister of the church
can have no superiors. Neither I nor Mr. Edwards
is quite your equal, unless,” she added,
again smiling, “he is in secret a king.”
“A faithful servant of the King of kings, Miss
Temple, is inferior to none on earth,” said Louisa;
“but his honours are his own; I am only the
child of a poor and friendless man, and can claim
no other distinction. Why, then, should I feel
myself elevated above Mr. Edwards, because—
because—perhaps, he is only very, very distantly
related to John Mohegan?”
Glances of a very comprehensive meaning were
exchanged between the heiress and the young
man, as Louisa betrayed, while vindicating his
lineage, the reluctance with which she admitted
his alliance to the old warrior; but not even a
smile at the simplicity of their companion was
indulged by either.
“On reflection, I must acknowledge that my
situation here is somewhat equivocal,” said Edwards,
“though I may be said to have purchased
it with my blood.”
“The blood, too, of one of the native lords of
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the soil!” cried Elizabeth, whose melancholy had
vanished in the excitement of their dialogue.
“Do I bear the marks of my lineage so very
plainly impressed on my appearance?” asked the
youth, with a little pique in his manner. “I am
dark, but not very red—not more so than common?”
“Rather more so, just now,” said the heiress.
“I am sure, Miss Temple,” cried Louisa, “you
cannot have taken much notice of Mr. Edwards.
His eyes are not so black as Mohegan's, or even
your own, nor is his hair!”
“Very possibly, then, I can lay claim to the
same descent. It would be a great relief to my mind
to think so, for I own that I grieve when I see old
Mohegan walking about these lands, like the ghost
of one of their ancient possessors, and feel how
small is my right to possess them.”
“Do you!” cried the youth, with a vehemence
that startled the ladies.
“I do, indeed,” returned Elizabeth, after suffering
a moment to pass in her surprise; “but
what can I do? what can my father do? Should
we offer the old man a home and a maintenance,
his habits would compel him to refuse us. Neither,
were we so silly as to wish such a thing,
could we convert these clearings and farms, again,
into hunting-grounds, as the Leather-stocking
would wish to see them.”
“You speak the truth, Miss Temple,” said Edwards.
“What can you do, indeed! But there
is one thing that I am certain you can and will do,
when you become the mistress of these beautiful
valleys—use your wealth with indulgence to the
poor and charity to the needy;—indeed, you can
do no more.”
“And that will be doing a good deal,” said
Louisa, smiling in her turn. “But there will,
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doubtless, be one to take the direction of such
things from her hands.”
“I am not about to disclaim matrimony,” cried
the heiress, “like a silly girl, who dreams of nothing
else from morning till night; but I am a
nun, here, without the vow of celibacy. Where
should I find a husband, in these forests?”
“There is none, Miss Temple,” said Edwards,
quickly, “there is none who has a right to aspire
to you, and I know that you will assert the dignity
of your sex, and wait to be sought by your
equal; or die, as you live, loved, respected, and
admired, by all who know you.”
The young man seemed to think that he had
said all that was required by gallantry, for he
arose, and taking his hat, hurried from the apartment.
Perhaps Louisa thought that he had said
more than was necessary, for she sighed, with an
aspiration so low that it was scarcely audible to
herself, and bent her head over her work again.
And it is possible that Miss Temple wished to
hear more, for her eyes continued fixed, for a minute,
on the door through which the youth had
passed, then glanced quickly towards her companion,
when the long silence that succeeded manifested
how much zest may be given to the conversation
of two maidens under eighteen, by the
presence of a youth of three and twenty.
The first person encountered by Mr. Edwards,
as he rather rushed than walked from the house,
was the little, square-built lawyer, with a large
bundle of papers under his arm, a pair of green
spectacles on his nose, with glasses at the sides, as
if to multiply his power of detecting frauds, by
additional organs of vision.
Mr. Van der School was a well-educated man,
but of a slow comprehension, who had imbibed a
wariness in his speeches and actions, from having
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suffered by his collisions with his more mercurial
and apt brethren who had laid the foundations of
their practice in the eastern courts, and who had
sucked in shrewdness with their mother's milk.
The caution of this gentleman was exhibited in
his actions, by the utmost method and punctuality,
tinctured with a good deal of timidity; and in his
speeches, by a parenthetical style, that frequently
left to his auditors a most delightful research after
his meaning.
“A good morning to you, Mr. Van der School,”
said Edwards; “it seems to be a busy day with
us at the Mansion-house.”
“Good morning, Mr. Edwards, (if that is your
name, (for, being a stranger, we have no other evidence
of the fact than your own testimony.) as I
understand you have given it to Judge Temple,)
good morning, sir. It is, apparently, a busy day,
(but a man of your discretion need not be told,
(having, boubtless, discovered it of your own accord,)
that appearances are often deceitful,) up at
the Mansion-house.”
“Have you papers of consequence, that will
require copying? can I be of assistance to you in
any way?”
“There are papers (as, doubtless, you see (for
your eyes are young) by the outsides) that require
copying.”
“Well, then I will accompany you to your office,
and receive such as are most needed, and by
night I shall have them done, if there be much
haste.”
“I shall be always glad to see you, sir, at my
office, (as in duty bound, (not that it is obligatory
to receive any man within your dwelling, (unless
so inclined,) which is a castle,) according to the
forms of politeness,) or at any other place; but
the papers are most strictly confidential, (and, as
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such, cannot be read by any one,) unless so directed,)
by Judge Temple's solemn injunctions,)
and are invisible to all eyes; excepting those
whose duties (I mean assumed duties) require it of
them.”
“Well, sir, as I perceive that I can be of no
service, I wish you another good morning; but
beg you will remember that I am quite idle, just
now, and I wish you would intimate as much to
Judge Temple, and make him a tender of my services,
in any part of the world; unless—unless—
it be far from Templeton.”
“I will make the communication, sir, in your
name, (with your own qualifications,) as your
agent. Good morning, sir.—But stay proceedings,
Mr. Edwards, (so called,) for a moment.
Do you wish me to state the offer of travelling, as
a final contract, (for which consideration has been
received, at former dates, (by sums advanced,)
which would be binding,) or as a tender of services,
for which compensation is to be paid (according
to future agreement between the parties) on performance
of the conditions?”
“Any way—any way,” said Edwards—“he
seems in distress, and I would assist him.”
“The motive is good, sir, (according to appearances,
(which are often deceitful,) on first impressions,)
and does you honour. I will mention
your wish, young gentleman, (as you now seem,)
and will not fail to communicate the answer, by
five o'clock, P. M. of this present day, (God willing,)
if you give me an opportunity so to do.”
The ambiguous nature of the situation and
character of Mr. Edwards, had rendered him an
object of peculiar suspicion to the lawyer, and the
youth was consequently too much accustomed to
similar equivocal and guarded speeches, to feel
any unusual disgust at the present dialogue. He
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saw, at once, that it was the intention of the practitioner
to conceal the nature of his business, even
from the private secretary of Judge Temple; and
he knew too well the difficulty of comprehending
the meaning of Mr. Van der School, when the
gentleman most wished to be luminous in his discourse,
not to abandon all thoughts of a discovery,
when he perceived that the attorney was endeavouring
to avoid any thing like an approach
to a cross examination. They parted at the gate,
the lawyer walking, with an important and hurried
air, towards his office, keeping his right hand
firmly clenched on the bundle of papers that his
left arm pressed to his side with a kind of convulsive
motion.
It must have been obvious to all our readers,
that the youth entertained an unusual and deeply-seated
prejudice against the character of the
Judge; but, owing to some counteracting cause,
his sensations were now those of powerful interest
in the state of his patron's present feelings, and in
the cause of his secret uneasiness.
He remained gazing after the lawyer, until the
door closed on both the bearer and the mysterious
packet, when he returned slowly to the dwelling,
and endeavoured to forget his curiosity, in the
usual avocations of his office.
When the Judge made his re-appearance in the
circles of his family, his cheerfulness was tempered
by a shade of melancholy, that lingered for
many days around his manly brow; but the magical
progression of the season aroused him from
his temporary apathy, and his smiles returned with
the animated looks of summer.
The heats of the days, and the frequent occurrence
of balmy showers, had completed, in an
incredibly short period, the growth of plants,
which the lingering spring had so long
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retarded in the germ; and the woods presented every
shade of green that the American forests know.
The stumps in the cleared fields were already hid
beneath the tops of the stalks of rich wheat that
were waving with every breath of the summer air,
shining, and changing their hues, like velvet.
During the continuance of his cousin's dejection,
Mr. Jones forbore, with much consideration,
to press on his attention a business that each
hour was drawing nearer to the heart of the Sheriff,
and which, if any opinion could be formed by
his frequent private conferences with the man, who
was introduced in these pages, by the name of
Jotham, at the bar-room of the Bold Dragoon,
was becoming also of great importance.
At length the Sheriff ventured to allude again
to the subject, and one evening, in the beginning
of July, Marmaduke made him a promise of
devoting the following day to the desired excursion.
-- 098 --
CHAPTER VII.
“Speak on, my dearest father!
Thy words are like the breezes of the west.”
Milman.
[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]
It was a mild and soft morning, when Marmaduke
and Richard mounted their horses, to proceed
on the expedition that had so long been uppermost
in the thoughts of the latter; and Elizabeth
and Louisa appeared at the same instant in
the hall, attired for an excursion on foot.
The head of Miss Grant was covered by a neat
little hat of green silk, and her modest eyes peered
from under its shade, with the soft languor that
characterized her whole appearance; but Miss
Temple trod her father's wide apartments with
the step of their mistress, holding in her hand,
dangling by one of its ribands, the gipsy that was
to conceal the glossy locks that curled around
her polished forehead, in rich profusion.
“What, are you for a walk, Bess!” cried the
Judge, suspending his movements for a moment,
to smile, with a father's fondness, at the display
of womanly grace and beauty that his child presented.
“Remember the heats of July, my
daughter; nor venture further than thou canst retrace
before the meridian. Where is thy parasol,
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girl? thou wilt lose the polish of thy brow, under
this sun and southern breeze, unless thou guard it
with unusual care.”
“I shall then do more honour to my connexions.”
returned the smiling daughter. “Cousin
Richard has a bloom that any lady might envy.
At present, the resemblance between us is so trifling,
that no stranger would know us to be `sisters'
children.”'
“Grand-children, you mean, cousin Bess,” said
the Sheriff. “But on, Judge Temple; time and
tide wait for no man; and if you take my counsel,
sir, in twelve months from this day, you may
make an umbrella for your daughter of her camel's-hair
shawl, and have its frame of solid silver.
I ask nothing for myself, 'duke; you have
been a good friend to me already; besides, all
that I have will go to Bess, there, one of these
melancholy days, so it's as long as it's short, whether
I or you leave it. But we have a day's ride
before us, sir; so move forward, or dismount, and
say you won't go, at once.”
“Patience, patience, Dickon,” returned the
Judge, checking his horse, and turning again to
his daughter. “If thou art for the mountains,
love, stray not too deep into the forest, I entreat
thee; for, though it is done often with impunity,
there is sometimes danger.”
“Not at this season, I believe, sir,” said Elizabeth;
“for, I will confess, it is the intention of
Louisa and myself to stroll among the hills.”
“Less at this season than in the winter, dear;
but still there may be danger in venturing too far.
But though thou art resolute, Elizabeth, thou art
too much like thy mother not to be prudent.”
The eyes of the parent turned reluctantly from
the brilliant beauty of his child, and the Judge
and Sheriff rode slowly through the gateway,
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and disappeared among the buildings of the village.
During this short dialogue, young Edwards
had stood, an attentive listener, holding in his
hand a fishing-rod, the day and the season having
tempted him also to desert the house, for the
pleasure of exercise in the air. As the equestrians
turned through the gate, he approached the young
maidens, who were already moving on to the gravelled
walk that led to the street, and was about
to address them, as Louisa paused, and said
quickly—
“Here is Mr. Edwards, would speak to us,
Elizabeth.”
The other stopped also, and turned to the
youth, politely, but with a slight coldness in her
air, that sensibly checked the freedom with which
the gentleman had approached them.
“Your father is not pleased that you should
walk unattended in the hills, Miss Temple. If I
might offer myself as a protector”—
“Does my father select Mr. Oliver Edwards
as the organ of his displeasure?” interrupted the
lady.
“Good Heaven! you misunderstood my meaning,”
cried the youth; “I should have said uneasy,
for not pleased. I am his servant, madam,
and in consequence yours. I repeat that, with
your consent, I will change my rod for a fowling-piece,
and keep nigh you on the mountain.”
“I thank you, Mr. Edwards,” returned Elizabeth;
suffering one of her fascinating smiles to
chase the trifling frown from her features; “but
where there is no danger, no protection is required.
We are not yet, sir, reduced to wandering among
these free hills accompanied by a body-guard. If
such an one is necessary, there he is, however.—
Here, Brave,—Brave—my noble Brave!”
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The huge mastiff that has been already mentioned,
appeared from his kennel, gaping and stretching
himself, with a pampered laziness; but as his
mistress again called—“Come, dear Brave; once
have you served your master well; let us see how
you can do your duty by his daughter”—the dog
wagged his tail, as if he understood her language,
walked with a stately gait to her side, where he
seated himself, and looked up at her face, with an
intelligence but little inferior to that which beamed
in her own lovely countenance.
She resumed her walk, but again paused, after
a few steps, and added, in tones of conciliation—
“You can be serving us equally, and, I presume,
more agreeably to yourself, Mr. Edwards,
by bringing us a string of your favourite perch,
for the dinner-table.”
When they again begun to walk, Miss Temple
did not look back, to see how the youth bore this
repulse; but the head of Louisa was turned several
times, before they reached the gate, on that
considerate errand.
“I am afraid, Elizabeth,” she said, “that we
have mortified Oliver. He is still standing where
we left him, leaning on his rod. Perhaps he
thinks us proud.”
“He thinks justly,” exclaimed Miss Temple, as
if awaking from a deep musing; “he thinks justly,
then. We are too proud to admit of such particular
attentions from a young man in an equivocal
situation. What! make him the companion
of our most private walks! It is pride, Louisa,
but it is the pride of a woman.”
It was several minutes before Oliver aroused
himself from the abstracted position in which he
was standing when Louisa last saw him; but when
he did, he muttered something, rapidly and incoherently,
and throwing his rod over his shoulder,
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he strode down the walk, through the gate, and
along one of the streets of the village, until he
reached the lake-shore, with the air of an emperor.
At this spot boats were kept, for the use of
Judge Temple and his family. The young man
threw himself into a light skiff, and seizing the
oars, he sent it across the lake, towards the hut of
Leather-stocking, with a pair of vigorous arms.
By the time he had rowed a quarter of a mile,
his reflections were less bitter; and when he saw
the bushes that lined the shore in front of Natty's
habitation gliding by him, as if they possessed the
motion which proceeded from his own efforts, he
was quite cooled in mind, though somewhat heated
in body. It is quite possible, that the very
same reason which guided the conduct of Miss
Temple, suggested itself to a man of the breeding
and education of the youth; and it is very certain,
that if such were the case, Elizabeth rose instead
of falling in the estimation of Mr. Edwards.
The oars were now raised from the water, and
the boat shot close into the land, where it lay
gently agitated by waves of its own creating,
while the young man, first casting a cautious and
searching glance around him in every direction,
put a small whistle to his mouth, and blew a long,
shrill note, that rung far among the echoing rocks
behind the hut. At this alarm, the hounds of
Natty rushed out of their bark kennel, and commenced
their long, piteous howls, leaping about as
if half frantic, though restrained by the leashes of
buck-skin, by which they were fastened.
“Quiet, Hector, quiet,” said Oliver, again applying
his whistle to his mouth, and drawing out
notes still more shrill than before. No reply was
made, the dogs having returned to their kennel at
the sounds of his voice.
Edwards pulled the bows of the boat on to the
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shore, and landing, ascended the beach and approached
the door of the cabin. The fastenings
were soon undone, and he entered, closing the
door after him, when all was as silent, in that retired
spot, as if the foot of man had never trod
the wilderness. The sounds of the hammers, that
were in incessant motion in the village, were faintly
heard across the water; but the dogs had
crouched into their lairs, well satisfied that none
but the privileged had approached the forbidden
ground.
A quarter of an hour elapsed before the youth
re-appeared, when he fastened the door again and
spoke kindly to the hounds. The dogs came out
at the well-known tones, and the slut jumped upon
his person, whining and barking, as if entreating
Oliver to release her from her prison. But
Old Hector raised his nose to the light current
of air, and opened a long howl, that might have
been heard for a mile.
“Ha! what do you scent, my old veteran of
the woods?” cried Edwards. “If a beast, it is a
bold one; and if a man, an impudent.”
He sprung through the top of a pine, that had
fallen near the side of the hut, and ascended a
small hillock, that sheltered the cabin to the south,
where he caught a glimpse of the formal figure of
Hiram Doolittle, as it vanished with an unusual
rapidity for the architect, amid the trees and
bushes.
“What can that fellow be wanting here?” muttered
Oliver. “He has no business in this quarter,
unless it be his curiosity, which is an endemic
in these woods. But against that I will effectually
guard, though the dogs should take a liking to
his ugly visage, and let him pass.” The youth
returned to the door, while giving vent to this soliloquy,
and completed the fastenings, by placing
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a small chain through a staple, and securing it
there by a padlock. “He is a pettifogger, and
surely must know that there is such a thing as
feloniously breaking into a man's house.”
Apparently well satisfied with this arrangement,
the youth again spoke to the hounds; and, descending
to the shore, he launched his boat, and
taking up his oars, pulled off into the lake.
There were several places in the Otsego that
were celebrated as fishing-ground for the perch.
One was nearly opposite to the cabin, and another,
still more famous, was near a point, at the
distance of a mile and a half above it, under the
brow of the mountain, and on the same side of the
lake with the hut. Oliver Edwards pulled his little
skiff over the first, and sat, for a minute, undecided
whether to continue there, with his eyes
on the door of the cabin, or to change his ground,
with a view to get superior game. While gazing
about him, he saw the light-coloured bark canoe
of his old companions, riding on the water, at the
point we have mentioned, and containing two
figures, that he at once knew to be Mohegan and
the Leather-stocking. This decided the matter,
and the youth pulled his little boat, in a very few
minutes, to the place where his friends were fishing,
and fastened it to the light vessel of the
Indian.
The old men received Oliver with welcoming
nods of their heads, but neither drew his line from
the water, nor, in the least, varied his occupation.
When Edwards had secured his own boat, he
baited his hook and threw it into the lake, without
speaking.
“Did you stop at the wigwam, lad, as you rowed
by?” asked Natty.
“Yes, and I found all safe; but that carpenter
and justice of the peace, Mr. or, as they call
him, Squire Doolittle, was prowling through the
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woods, nigh by. But I made sure of the door,
before I left the hut, and I think he is too great a
coward to approach the hounds.”
“There's little to be said in favour of that
man,” said Natty, while he drew in a perch and
baited his hook. “He craves dreadfully to come
into the cabin, and has as good as asked me as
much to my face; but I put him off with unsartain
answers, so that he is no wiser than Solomon.
This comes of having so many laws that such a
man may be called on to intarpret them.”
“I fear he is more knave than fool,” cried Edwards;
“I see that he makes a tool of that simple
man, the Sheriff, and I dread that his impertinent
curiosity may yet give us much trouble.”
“If he harbours too much about the cabin, lad,
I'll shoot the creater,” said the Leather-stocking,
quite coolly.
“No, no, Natty, you must remember the law,”
said Edwards, “or we shall have you in trouble;
and that, old man, would be an evil day, and sore
tidings to us all.”
“Would it, boy!” exclaimed the hunter, raising
his eyes with a look of friendly interest towards
the youth. “You have the true blood in your
veins, Mr. Oliver, and I'll support it, to the face
of Judge Temple, or in any court in the country.
How is it, John? do I speak the true word? is
the lad staunch, and of the right blood?”
“He is a Delaware,” said Mohegan, “and my
brother. The Young Eagle is brave, and he will
be a chief. No harm can come.”
“Well, well,” cried the youth, impatiently;
“say no more about it, my good friends; if I am
not all that your partiality would make me, I am
yours through life—in prosperity as in poverty.
But now we will talk of other matters.”
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The old hunters yielded to his wish, which
seemed to be their law. For a short time a profound
silence prevailed, during which each man
was very busy with his hook and line; but Edwards,
probably feeling that it remained with him
to renew the discourse, soon observed, with the
air of one who knew not what he said—
“How beautifully tranquil and glassy the lake
is. Saw you it ever more calm and even than at
this moment, Natty?”
“I have known the Otsego water for five-and-forty
year,” said Leather-stocking, “and I will
say that for it, which is, that a cleaner spring or
a better fishing is not to be found in the land.
Yes, yes—I had the place to myself once; and a
cheerful time I had of it. The game was as plenty
as heart could wish, and there was none to
meddle with the ground, unless there might have
been a hunting party of the Delawares crossing
the hills, or, maybe, a rifling scout of them thieves,
the Iroquois. There was one or two Frenchmen
that squatted in the flats, further west, and
married squaws; and some of the Scotch-Irishers,
from the Cherry Valley, would come on to the
lake, and borrow my canoe, to take a mess of
parch, or drop a line for a salmon-trout; but, in
the main, it was a cheerful place, and I had but
little to disturb me in it. John would come, and
John knows.”
Mohegan turned his dark face, at this appeal,
and, moving his hand forward with a graceful
motion of assent, he spoke, using the Delaware
language—
“The land was owned by my people: we gave
it to my brother, in council—to the Fire-Eater;
and what the Delawares give, lasts as long as the
waters run. Hawk-eye smoked at that council,
for we loved him.”
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“No, no, John,” said Natty, “I was no chief,
seeing that I know'd nothing of scholarship,
and had a white skin. But it was a comfortable
hunting-ground then, lad, and would
have been so to this day, but for the money of
Marmaduke Temple, and, maybe, the twisty ways
of the law.”
“It must have been a sight of melancholy
pleasure, indeed,” said Edwards, while his eye
roved along the shores and over the hills, where
the clearings, groaning with the golden corn,
were cheering the forests with the signs of life,
“to have roamed over these mountains, and along
this sheet of beautiful water, without a living soul
to speak to, or to thwart your humour.”
“Haven't I said it was cheerful!” said Leather-stocking.
“Yes, yes—when the trees begun
to be kivered with the leaves, and the ice was out
of the lake, it was a second paradise. I have
travelled the woods for fifty-three year, and have
made them my home for more than forty, and I
can say that I have met but one place that was
more to my liking; and that was only to eyesight,
and not for hunting or fishing.”
“And where was that?” asked Edwards.
“Where! why up on the Cattskills. I used often
to go up into the mountains after wolves'
skins, and bears; once they bought me to get
them a stuffed painter; and so I often went.
There's a place in them hills that I used to climb
to when I wanted to see the carryings on of the
world, that would well pay any man for a barked
shin or a torn moccasin. You know the Cattskills,
lad, for you must have seen them on your
left, as you followed the river up from York, looking
as blue as a piece of clear sky, and holding
the clouds on their tops, as the smoke curls over
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the head of an Indian chief at a council fire.
Well, there's the High-peak and the Round-top,
which lay back, like a father and mother among
their children, seeing they are far above all the
other hills. But the place I mean is next to the
river, where one of the ridges juts out a little from
the rest, and where the rocks fall for the best part
of a thousand feet, so much up and down, that a
man standing on their edges is fool enough to
think he can jump from top to bottom.”
“What see you when you get there?” asked
Edwards.
“Creation!” said Natty, dropping the end of
his rod into the water, and sweeping one hand
around him in a circle—“all creation, lad. I
was on that hill when Vaughan burnt 'Sopus,
in the last war, and I seen the vessels come out of
the highlands as plain as I can see that lime-scow
rowing into the Susquehanna, though one was
twenty times further from me than the other.
The river was in sight for seventy miles, under my
feet, looking like a curled shaving, though it was
eight long miles to its banks. I saw the hills in
the Hampshire grants, the high lands of the river,
and all that God had done or man could do, as
far as eye could reach—you know that the Indians
named me for my sight, lad—and from the
flat on the top of that mountain, I have often found
the place where Albany stands; and as for 'Sopus!
the day the royal troops burnt the town, the
smoke seemed so nigh, that I thought I could hear
the screeches of the women.”
“It must have been worth the toil, to meet
with such a glorious view!”
“If being the best part of a mile in the air, and
having men's farms and housen at your feet, with
rivers looking like ribands, and mountains bigger
than the `Vision,' seeming to be haystacks of green
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grass under you, gives any satisfaction to a man,
I can recommend the spot. When I first come
into the woods to live, I used to have weak spells,
and I felt lonesome; and then I would go into the
Cattskills and spend a few days on that hill, to
look at the ways of man; but it's now many a
year since I felt any such longings, and I'm getting
too old for them rugged rocks. But there's
a place, a short two miles back of that very hill,
that in late times I relished better than the mountain;
for it was more kivered with the trees, and
more nateral.”
“And where was that?” inquired Edwards,
whose curiosity was strongly excited by the simple
description of the hunter.
“Why, there's a fall in the hills, where the water
of two little ponds that lie near each other
breaks out of their bounds, and runs over the rocks
into the valley. The stream is, maybe, such a
one as would turn a mill, if so useless a thing was
wanted in the wilderness. But the hand that
made that `Leap' never made a mill! There the
water comes crooking and winding among the
rocks, first so slow that a trout could swim in it,
and then starting and running just like any creater
that wanted to make a far spring, till it gets to
where the mountain divides, like the cleft hoof of
a deer, leaving a deep hollow for the brook to
tumble into. The first pitch is nigh two hundred
feet, and the water looks like flakes of driven
snow, afore it touches the bottom; and there
the stream gathers itself together again for a new
start, and maybe flutters over fifty feet of flatrock,
before it falls for another hundred, when
it jumps about from shelf to shelf, first turning
this-away and then turning that-away, striving
to get out of the hollow, till it finally comes to the
plain.”
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“I have never heard of this spot before!” exclaimed
Edwards; “it is not mentioned in the
books.”
“I never read a book in my life,” said Leather-stocking;
“and how should a man who has lived
in towns and schools know any thing about the
wonders of the woods! No, no, lad; there has
that little stream of water been playing among
them hills, since He made the world, and not a
dozen white men have ever laid eyes on it. The
rock sweeps like mason-work, in a half-round,
on both sides of the fall, and shelves over the bottom
for fifty feet; so that when I've been sitting
at the foot of the first pitch, and my hounds have
run into the caverns behind the sheet of water,
they've looked no bigger than so many rabbits.
To my judgment, lad, it's the best piece of work
that I've met with in the woods; and none know
how often the hand of God is seen in a wilderness,
but them that rove it for a man's life.”
“What becomes of the water? in which direction
does it run? Is it a tributary of the Delaware?”
“Anan!” said Natty.
“Does the water run into the Delaware?”
“No, no, it's a drop for the old Hudson; and
a merry time it has till it gets down off the mountain.
I've sat on the shelving rock many a long
hour, boy, and watched the bubbles as they shot
by me, and thought how long it would be before
that very water, which seemed made for the wilderness,
would be under the bottom of a vessel,
and tossing in the salt sea. It is a spot to make a
man solemnize. You can see right down into the
valley that lies to the east of the High-Peak,
where, in the fall of the year, thousands of acres
of woods are before your eyes, in the deep hollow,
and along the side of the mountain, painted like ten
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thousand rainbows, by no hand of man, though
without the ordering of God's providence.”
“Why, you are eloquent, Leather-stocking!”
exclaimed the youth.
“Anan!” repeated Natty.
“The recollection of the sight has warmed your
blood, old man. How many years is it since you
saw the place?”
The hunter made no reply; but, bending his
ear near to the water, he sat for a minute, holding
his breath, and listening attentively, as if to some
distant sound. At length he raised his head, and
said—
“If I hadn't fastened the hounds with my own
hands, with a fresh leash of green buck-skin, I'd
take a Bible oath that I heard old Hector ringing
his cry on the mountain.”
“It is impossible,” said Edwards, “It is not
an hour since I saw him in his kennel.”
By this time the attention of Mohegan was attracted
to the sounds; but, notwithstanding the
youth was both silent and attentive, he could
hear nothing but the lowing of some cattle from
the western hills. He looked at the old men, Natty
sitting with his hand to his ear, like a trumpet,
and Mohegan bending forward, with his arm
raised to a level with his face, holding the fore
finger elevated as a signal for attention, and
laughed aloud at what he deemed to be their imaginary
sounds.
“Laugh if you will, boy,” said Leather-stocking,
“the hounds be out, and are hunting a
deer. No man can deceive me in such a matter.
I wouldn't have had the thing happen for a beaver's
skin. Not that I care for the law! but the
venison is lean now, and the dumb things run
the flesh off their bones for no good. Now do you
hear the hounds?”
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Edwards started, as a full cry broke on his ear,
changing from the distant sounds that were caused
by some intervening hill, to the confused echoes
that rung among the rocks that the dogs were
passing, and then directly to a deep and hollow
baying that pealed under the forest on the lake
shore. These variations in the tones of the hounds
passed with amazing rapidity, and while his eyes
were glancing along the margin of the water, a
tearing of the branches of the alder and dog-wood
caught his attention, at a spot near them, and, at
the next moment a noble buck sprung on the
shore, and buried himself in the lake. A fullmouthed
cry, directly from the lungs of the hounds,
followed, when Hector and the slut shot through
the opening in the bushes, and darted into the
lake also, bearing their breasts most gallantly to
the water.
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CHAPTER VIII.
“Oft in the full-descending flood he tries
To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides.”
Thomson.
[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]
“I know'd it—I know'd it!” cried Natty, when
both deer and hounds were in full view;— “the
buck has gone by them with the wind, and it has
been too much for the poor rogues; but I must
break them of these tricks, or they'll give me a
deal of trouble. He-ere, he-ere—shore with you,
rascals—shore with you—will ye?—Oh! off with
you, old Hector, or I'll hatchel your hide with my
ramrod when I get ye.”
The dog's knew their master's voice, and after
swimming in a circle, as if reluctant to give over
the chase, and yet afraid to persevere, they finally
obeyed, and returned to the land, where they filled
the air with their howlings and cries.
In the mean time, the deer, urged by his fears,
had swam over half the distance between the shore
and the boats, before his terror permitted him to
see the new danger. But at the sounds of Natty's
voice he turned short in his course, and for a
few moments, seemed about to rush back again, and
brave the dogs. His retreat in this direction was,
however, effectually cut off, and, turning a second
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time, he urged his course obliquely for the centre
of the lake, with an intention of landing on the
western shore. As the buck swam by the fishermen,
raising his nose high into the air, curling
the water before his slim neck like the beak of
a galley, throwing his legs forward, and gliding
along with incredible velocity, the Leather-stocking
began to sit very uneasy in his canoe.
“'Tis a noble creater!” he exclaimed; “what
a pair of horns! a man might hang up all his
garments on the branches. Lets me see—July is
the last month, and the flesh must be getting
good.” While he was talking, Natty had instinctively
employed himself in fastening the inner
end of the bark rope, that served him for a cable,
to a paddle, and, rising suddenly on his legs, he
cast this buoy away from him, and cried— “Strike
out, John! let her go. The creater's a fool to
tempt a man in this way.”
Mohegan threw the fastening of the youth's boat
off the canoe, and, with one stroke of his paddle
sent the light bark over the water like a meteor.
“Hold!” exclaimed Edwards. “Remember
the law, my old friends. You are in plain sight
of the village, and I know that Judge Temple is
determined to prosecute all, indiscriminately, who
kill the deer out of season.”
But the remonstrance came too late; the canoe
was already far from the skiff, and the two
hunters too much engaged in their pursuit to listen
to his voice.
The buck was now within fifty yards of his
pursuers, cutting the water most gallantly, and
snorting at each breath with his terror and his
exertions, while the canoe seemed to dance over
the waves, as it rose and fell with the undulations
made by its own motion. Leather-stocking raised
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his rifle and freshened the priming, but stood in
suspense whether to slay his victim or not.
“Shall I, John, or no?” he said. “It seems
but a poor advantage to take of the dumb thing,
too. I won't; it has taken to the water on its
own nater, which is the reason that God has given
to a deer, and I'll give it the lake play; so, John,
lay out your arm, and mind the turn of the buck;
it's easy to catch them, but they'll turn like a
snake.”
The Indian laughed at the conceit of his friend,
but continued to send the canoe forward with a
velocity that proceeded much more from his skill
than his strength. Both of the old men now
used the language of the Delawares when they
spoke.
“Hooh!” exclaimed Mohegan; “the deer
turns his head. Hawk-eye, lift your spear.”
Natty never moved abroad without taking with
him every implement that might, by possibility,
be of service in his pursuits. From his rifle he
never parted; and, although intending to fish
with the line, the canoe was invariably furnished
with all of its utensils, even to its grate. This
precaution grew out of the habits of the hunter,
who was often led, by his necessities or his
sports, far beyond the limits of his original destination.
A few years earlier than the date of our
tale, the Leather-stocking had left his hut on the
shores of the Otsego, with his rifle and his hounds,
for a few days' hunting in the hills; but before he
returned, he had seen the waters of the Ontario.
One, two, or even three hundred miles, had once
been nothing to his sinews, which were now a little
stiffened by age. The hunter did as Mohegan advised,
and prepared to strike a blow with the barbed
weapon into the neck of the buck.
“Lay her more to the left, John,” he cried,
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“lay her more to the left; another stroke of the
paddle, and I have him.”
While speaking, he raised the spear, and darted
it from him like an arrow. At that instant the
buck turned. The long pole glanced by him, the
iron striking against his horn, and buried itself,
harmlessly, in the lake.
“Back water,” cried Natty, as the canoe glided
over the place where the spear had fallen, “hold
water, John.”
The pole soon re-appeared, shooting upward
from the lake, and as the hunter seized it in his
hand, the Indian whirled the light canoe round,
where it lay, and renewed the chase. But this
evolution gave the buck a great advantage; and
it also allowed time for Edwards to approach the
scene of action.
“Hold your hand, Natty,” cried the youth,
“hold your hand; remember it is out of season.”
This remonstrance was made as the batteau arrived
close to where the deer was struggling with
the water, his back now rising to the surface, now
sinking beneath it, as the waves curled from his
neck, the animal sustaining itself nobly against the
odds.
“Hurrah!” shouted Edwards, inflamed beyond
prudence at the sight; “mind him as he doubles—
mind him as he doubles; sheer more to the
right, Mohegan, more to the right, and I'll have
him by the horns; I'll throw the rope over his
antlers.”
The dark eye of the old warrior was dancing
in his head, with a wild animation, as bright and
natural as the rays that shot from the glancing
organs of the terrified deer himself, and the sluggish
repose in which his aged frame had been
resting in the canoe, was now changed to all the
rapid inflections of a practised agility. The
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canoe whirled, with each cunning evolution of the
chase, like a bubble floating in a whirlpool; and
when the direction of the pursuit admitted, for a
short distance, of a straight course, the little bark
skimmed the lake with a velocity that urged the
deer to seek its safety in some new and unexpected
turn. It was the frequency of these circuitous
movements, that, by confining the action
to so small a compass, enabled the youth to keep
near his companions. More than twenty times
both the pursued and the pursuers glided by him,
just without the reach of his oars, until he thought
the best way to view the sport was to remain stationary,
and, by watching a favorable opportunity,
assist as much as he could in taking their intended
victim.
He was not required to wait long, for no sooner
had he adopted this resolution, and risen in the
boat, than he saw the deer coming bravely towards
him, with an apparent intention of pushing
for a point of land at some distance from the
hounds, who were still barking and howling on the
shore. Edwards caught the painter of his skiff,
and, making a noose, cast it from him with all his
force, and luckily succeeded in drawing its knot
close around one of the antlers of the buck.
For one instant, the skiff was drawn through the
water, but in the next, the canoe glided before it,
and Natty, bending low, passed his knife across
the throat of the animal, whose blood followed
the wound, dying the waters for many feet. The
short time that was passed in the last struggles of
the animal, was spent by the hunters in bringing
their boats together, and securing them in that
position, when Leather-stocking drew the deer
from the water, and laid its lifeless form in the
bottom of the canoe. He placed his hands on
the ribs, and on different parts of the body of his
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prize, and then, raising his head, he laughed in
his peculiar manner, saying—
“So much for Marmaduke Temple's law!
This warms a body's blood, old John; I haven't
killed a buck in the lake afore this, sin' this many
a year. I call that good venison, lad; and I know
them that will relish the creater's steaks, for all
the betterments in the land.”
The Indian had long been drooping with his
years, and perhaps under the calamities of his race,
but this invigorating and exciting sport had caused
a gleam of sunshine to cross his swarthy face
that had long been absent from his features. It
was evident that the old man enjoyed the chase
more as a memorial of his youthful sports and
deeds, than with any expectation of profiting by
the success. He felt the deer, however, lightly,
his hand already trembling with the re-action
of his unusual exertions, and smiled with a nod
of approbation, as he said, in the emphatic and
sententious manner of his people—
“Good.”
“I am afraid, Natty,” said Edwards, when the
heat of the moment had passed, and his blood began
to cool, “that we have all been equally transgressors
of the law. But keep your own counsel,
and there are none here to betray us. Yet, how
came those dogs at large? I left them securely
fastened, I know, for I felt the thongs, and examined
the knots, when I was at the hut.”
“It has been too much for the poor things,”
said Natty, “to have such a buck take the wind
of them. See, lad, the pieces of the buck-skin are
hanging from their necks yet. Let us paddle up,
John, and I will call them in, and look a little into
the matter.”
When the old hunter landed, and examined the
thongs that were yet fast to the hounds, his
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countenance sensibly changed, and he shook his head
doubtingly.
“Here has been a knife at work,” he said—
“this skin was never torn, nor is this the mark of
a hound's tooth. No, no—Hector is not in fault,
as I feared.”
“Has the leather been cut?” cried Edwards.
“No, no—I didn't say it had been cut, lad; but
this is a mark that was never made by a jump or
a bite.”
“Could that rascally carpenter have dared!”
exclaimed the impetuous youth.
“Ay! he durst to do any thing, where there
is no danger,” said Natty; “he is a curious body,
and loves to be helping other people on with their
concarns. But he had best not harbour so much
near the wigwam!”
In the mean time, Mohegan had been examining,
with an Indian's sagacity, the place where
the leather thong had been separated. After scrutinizing
it closely, he said, in Delaware—
“It was cut with a knife—a sharp blade and
a long handle—and the man was afraid of the
dogs.”
“How is this, Mohegan?” exclaimed Edwards;
“You saw it not! how can you know these
facts?”
“Listen, son,” said the warrior. “The knife
was sharp, for the cut is smooth;—the handle was
long, for a man's arm would not reach from this
gash to that cut that did not go through the skin;—
he was a coward, or he would have cut the
thongs around the necks of the hounds.”
“On my life,” cried Natty, “John is on the
scent! It was that carpenter; and he had got
on the rock back of the kennel, and let the dogs
loose by fastening his knife to a stick. It would
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be an easy matter to do it, when a man is so
minded.”
“And why should he do so?” asked Edwards;
“who has done him wrong, that he should trouble
two old men like you?”
“It's a hard matter, lad, to know men's ways, I
find, since the settlers have brought in their new
fashions. But is there nothing to be found out
in this place? and maybe he is troubled with his
longings after other people's business, as he often
is.”
“Your suspicions are just,” cried the youth,
“Give me the canoe: I am young and strong,
and will get down there yet, perhaps, in time to
interrupt his plans. Heaven forbid, that we
should be at the mercy of such a man!”
His proposal was instantly accepted, the deer
being placed in the skiff in order to lighten the
canoe, and in less than five minutes the little vessel
of bark was gliding over the glassy lake, and
was soon hid by the points of land, as it shot close
along the shore.
Mohegan followed slowly with the skiff, while
Natty called his hounds to him, bad them keep
close, and, shouldering his rifle, he ascended the
mountain, with an intention of going to the hut
by land.
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CHAPTER IX.
“Ask me not what the maiden feels,
Left in that dreadful hour alone;
Perchance, her reason stoops, or reels;
Perchance, a courage not her own,
Braces her mind to desperate tone.”
Scott.
[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]
While the chase was occurring on the lake,
Miss Temple and her companion pursued their walk
with the activity of youth. Male attendants, on
such excursions, were thought to be altogether unnecessary,
for none were ever known, there, to offer
an insult to a female who respected the dignity
of her own sex. After the embarrassment,
that had been created by their parting discourse
with Edwards, had dissipated itself, the girls maintained
a conversation that was as innocent and
cheerful as themselves.
The path they had taken led them but a short
distance above the hut of Leather-stocking, and
there was a point in the road which commanded
a birds-eye view of the sequestered spot.
From a feeling, that might have been natural, but
must have been powerful, neither of the maidens,
in their frequent and confidential dialogues, had
ever trusted herself to utter one syllable concerning
the equivocal situation in which the young man, who
was now so intimately associated with them, had been
found. If Judge Temple had deemed it prudent
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to make any inquiries on the subject, he had also
thought it proper to keep the answers to himself;
though it was so common an occurrence to find
the well-educated youth of the eastern states, in
every stage of their career to wealth, that the simple
circumstance of his intelligence, connected
with his poverty, would not, at that day, and in
that country, have excited any very powerful curiosity.
With his breeding it might have been
different; but the youth himself had so effectually
guarded against any surprise on this subject, by
his cold, and even in some cases, rude deportment,
that when his manners seemed to soften by
time, the Judge, if he thought about it at all,
would have been most likely to imagine that the
improvement was the result of his late association.
But women are always more alive to such subjects
than men; and what the abstraction of the
father had overlooked, the observation of the
daughter had easily detected. In the thousand
little courtesies of polished life, she had early discovered
that Edwards was not wanting, though
his gentleness was so often crossed by marks of
what she conceived to be fierce and uncontrollable
passions. It may, perhaps, be unnecessary to
tell the reader that Louisa Grant never reasoned
so much after the fashions of the world. The
gentle girl, however, had her own thoughts on the
subject, and, like others, she drew her own conclusions.
“I would give all my other secrets, Louisa,”
exclaimed Miss Temple, laughing, and shaking
back her dark locks, with a look of childish simplicity
that her intelligent face seldom expressed,
“to be mistress of all that those rude logs have
heard and witnessed.”
They were both looking at the secluded hut,
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at the instant, and Miss Grant raised her mild
eyes, as she answered—
“I am sure they would tell nothing to the disadvantage
of Mr. Edwards.”
“Perhaps not; but they might tell who he is.”
“Why, dear Miss Temple, we know all that already,”
returned the other; “I have heard it all
very rationally explained by your cousin”—
“The executive chief!” interrupted Elizabeth—
“yes, yes, he can explain any thing. His ingenuity
will one day discover the philosopher's stone.
But what did he say?”
“Say!” echoed Louisa, with a look of surprise;
“why every thing that seemed to me to be satisfactory;
and I have believed it to be true. He
said that Natty Bumppo had lived most of his life
in the woods, and among the Indians, by which
means he had formed an acquaintance with old
John, the Delaware chief.”
“Indeed! that was quite a matter of fact tale
for cousin Dickon. What came next?”
“I believe he accounted for their close intimacy,
by some story about the Leather-stocking saving
the life of John in a battle.”
“Nothing more likely,” said Elizabeth, a little
impatiently; “but what is all this to the purpose?”
“Nay, Elizabeth, you must bear with my ignorance,
and I will repeat all that I remember to
have overheard; for the dialogue was between my
father and the Sheriff, so lately as the last time they
met. He then added, that the kings of England
used to keep gentlemen as agents among the different
tribes of Indians, and sometimes officers in
the army, who frequently passed half their lives on
the edge of the wilderness.”
“Told with a wonderful historical accuracy!
And did he end there?”
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“Oh! no—then he said that these agents seldom
married; and—and—they must have been
wicked men, Elizabeth! but then he said—that—
that”—
“Never mind,” said Miss Temple, blushing and
smiling, though so slightly that both were unheeded
by her companion—“skip all that.”
“Well, then he said that they often took great
pride in the education of their children, whom
they frequently sent to England, and even to the
colleges; and this is the way that he accounts for
the liberal manner in which Mr. Edwards has
been taught; for he acknowledges that he knows
almost as much as himself, or your father—or even
mine.”
“Quite a climax in learning!” cried the heiress—
“commencing with the last, I suppose. And
so he made Mohegan the grand uncle or grandfather
of Oliver Edwards.”
“You have heard him yourself, then?” said
Louisa.
“Often; but not on this subject. Mr. Richard
Jones, you know, dear, has a theory for every
thing; but has he one which will explain the reason
why that hut is the only habitation within fifty
miles of us, whose door is not open to every person
that may choose to lift its latch?”
“I have never heard him say any thing on this
subject,” returned the clergyman's daughter; “but
I suppose that, as they are poor, they very naturally
are anxious to keep the little that they honestly
own It is sometimes dangerous to be rich,
Miss Temple; but you cannot know how hard it
is to be very, very poor.”
“Nor you neither, I trust, Louisa; at least I
should hope, that in this land of abundance, no
minister of the church could be left to absolute
suffering.”
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“There cannot be actual misery,” returned the
other, in a low and humble tone, “where there is
a dependence on our Maker; but there may be
such suffering as will cause the heart to ache.”
“But not you—not you,” said the impetuous
Elizabeth—“not you, dear girl; you have never
known the misery that is connected with poverty.”
“Ah! Miss Temple, you little understand the
troubles of this life, I believe. My father has
spent many years as a missionary, in the new
countries, where his people were poor, and frequently
we have been without bread; unable to
buy, and ashamed to beg, because we would not
disgrace his sacred calling. But how often have I
seen him leave his home, where the sick and the
hungry felt, when he left them, that they had lost
their only earthly friend, to ride on a duty which
could not be neglected for domestic evils. Oh!
how hard it must be, to preach consolation to
others, when your own heart is bursting with anguish!”
“But it is all over now!” exclaimed Elizabeth,
“your father's income must now be equal to his
wants—it must be—it shall be”—
“It is,” replied Louisa, dropping her head on
her bosom to conceal the tears which flowed in
spite of her gentle Christianity, “for there are
none left to be supplied but me.”
The turn the conversation had taken drove
from the minds of the young maidens all other
thoughts but those of holy charity, and Elizabeth
folded her friend in her arms, who gave vent
to her momentary grief in audible sobs. When
this burst of emotion had subsided, Louisa raised
her mild countenance, and they continued their
walk in silence.
By this time they had gained the summit of the
mountain, where they left the highway, and
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pursued their course, under the shade of the stately
trees that crowned the eminence. The day was
becoming warm, and the girls plunged more
deeply into the forest, as they found its invigorating
coolness agreeably contrasted to the excessive
heat they had experienced in their ascent. The
conversation, as if by mutual consent, was entirely
changed to the little incidents and scenes of
their walk, and every tall pine, and every shrub
or flower, called forth some simple expression of
admiration.
In this manner they proceeded along the margin
of the precipice, catching occasional glimpses
of the placid Otsego, or pausing to listen to the
rattling of wheels and the sounds of hammers, that
rose from the valley, to mingle the signs of men
with the scenes of nature, when Elizabeth suddenly
started, and exclaimed—
“Listen! there are the cries of a child on this
mountain! is there a clearing near us? or can
some little one have strayed from its parents?”
“Such things frequently happen,” returned
Louisa. “Let us follow the sounds; it may be
a wanderer starving on the hill.”
Urged by this consideration, the females pursued
the low, mournful sounds, that proceeded
from the forest, with quick and impatient steps.
More than once, the ardent Elizabeth was on the
point of announcing that she saw the sufferer,
when Louisa caught her by the arm, and pointing
behind them, cried—
“Look at the dog!”
Brave had been their companion, from the
time the voice of his young mistress lured him
from his kennel, to the present moment. His
advanced age had long before deprived him of his
activity; and when his companions stopped to
view the scenery, or to add to their bouquets,
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the mastiff would lay his huge frame on the
ground, and await their movements, with his eyes
closed, and a listlessness in his air that ill accorded
with the character of a protector. But when,
aroused by this cry from Louisa, Miss Temple
turned, she saw the dog with his eyes keenly set
on some distant object, his head bent near the
ground, and his hair actually rising on his body,
either through fright or anger. It was most probably
the latter, for he was growling in a low
key, and occasionally showing his teeth, in a manner
that would have terrified his mistress, had she
not so well known his good qualities.
“Brave!” she said, “be quiet, Brave! what
do you see, fellow!”
At the sounds of her voice, the rage of the mastiff,
instead of being at all diminished, was very
sensibly increased. He stalked in front of the
ladies, and seated himself at the feet of his mistress,
growling louder than before. and occasionally
giving vent to his ire by a short, surly barking.
“What does he see?” said Elizabeth, “there
must be some animal in sight.”
Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss
Temple turned her head, and beheld Louisa,
standing with her face whitened to the colour of
death, and her finger pointing upward, with a sort
of flickering, convulsed motion. The quick eye
of Elizabeth glanced in the direction indicated by
her friend, where she saw the fierce front and
glaring eyes of a female panther, fixed on them in
horrid malignity, and threatening instant destruction.
“Let us fly!” exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping
the arm of Louisa, whose form yielded like melting
snow, and sunk lifeless to the earth.
There was not a single feeling in the
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temperament of Elizabeth Temple, that could prompt her
to desert a companion in such an extremity; and
she fell on her knees, by the side of the inanimate
Louisa, tearing from the person of her friend,
with an instinctive readiness, such parts of her
dress as might obstruct her respiration, and encouraging
their only safeguard, the dog, at the
same time, by the sounds of her voice.
“Courage, Brave!” she cried, her own tones
beginning to tremble, “courage, courage, good
Brave.”
A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been
unseen, now appeared, dropping from the branches
of a sapling that grew under the shade of the
beech which held its dam. This ignorant, but vitious
creature, approached the dog, imitating the
actions and sounds of its parent, but exhibiting a
strange mixture of the playfulness of a kitten with
the ferocity of its race. Standing on its hind legs,
it would rend the bark of a tree with its fore paws,
and play all the antics of a cat, for a moment; and
then, by lashing itself with its tail, growling, and
scratching the earth, it would attempt the manifestations
of anger that rendered its parent so
terrific.
All this time Brave stood firm and undaunted,
his short tail erect, his body drawn backward on
its haunches, and his eyes following the movements
of both dam and cub. At every gambol played
by the latter, it approached nigher to the dog,
the growling of the three becoming more horrid
at each moment, until the younger beast overleaping
its intended bound, fell directly before the
mastiff. There was a moment of fearful cries and
struggles, but they ended almost as soon as commenced,
by the cub appearing in the air, hurled
from the jaws of Brave, with a violence that sent
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it against a tree so forcibly, as to render it completely
senseless.
Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her
blood was warming with the triumph of the dog,
when she saw the form of the old panther in the
air, springing twenty feet from the branch of the
beech to the back of the mastiff. No words of
ours can describe the fury of the conflict that
followed. It was a confused struggle on the
dried leaves, accompanied by loud and terrific
cries Miss Temple continued on her knees,
bending over the form of Louisa, her eyes fixed
on the animals, with an interest so horrid, and yet
so intense, that she almost forgot her own stake in
the result. So rapid and vigorous were the bounds
of the inhabitant of the forest, that its active
frame seemed constantly in the air, while the dog
nobly faced his foe, at each successive leap.
When the panther lighted on the shoulders of the
mastiff, which was its constant aim, old Brave,
though torn with her talons, and stained with his
own blood, that already flowed from a dozen
wounds, would shake off his furious foe, like a
feather, and rearing on his hind legs, rush to the
fray again, with his jaws distended, and a dauntless
eye. But age, and his pampered life, greatly
disqualified the noble mastiff for such a struggle.
In every thing but courage, he was only the vestige
of what he had once been. A higher bound
than ever, raised the wary and furious beast far
beyond the reach of the dog, who was making a
desperate but fruitless dash at her, from which she
alighted in a favourable position, on the back of
her aged foe. For a single moment, only, could
the panther remain there, the great strength of the
dog returning with a convulsive effort. But Elizabeth
saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the side
of his enemy, that the collar of brass around his
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neck, which had been glittering throughout the
fray, was of the colour of blood, and directly, that
his frame was sinking to the earth, where it soon
lay prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts
of the wild-cat to extricate herself from the
jaws of the dog, followed, but they were fruitless,
until the mastiff turned on his back, his lips collapsed,
and his teeth loosened; when the short
convulsions and stillness that succeeded, announced
the death of poor Brave.
Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the
beast. There is said to be something in the front
of the image of the Maker, that daunts the hearts
of the inferior beings of his creation; and it
would seem that some such power, in the present
instance, suspended the threatened blow. The eyes
of the monster and the kneeling maiden met, for an
instant, when the former stooped to examine her
fallen foe; next to scent her luckless cub. From
the latter examination it turned, however, with
its eyes apparently emitting flashes of fire, its tail
lashing its sides furiously, and its claws projecting
for inches from its broad feet.
Miss Temple did not, or could not move. Her
hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, but
her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy;
her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of marble,
and her lips were slightly separated with horror.
The moment seemed now to have arrived
for the fatal termination, and the beautiful figure
of Elizabeth was bowing meekly to the stroke,
when a rustling of leaves from behind seemed
rather to mock the organs, than to meet her ears.
“Hist! hist!” said a low voice—“stoop lower,
gal; your bunnet hides the creater's head.”
It was rather the yielding of nature than a compliance
with this unexpected order, that caused
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the head of our heroine to sink on her bosom;
when she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing
of the bullet, and the enraged cries of the
beast, who was rolling over on the earth, biting
its own flesh, and tearing the twigs and branches
within its reach. At the next instant the form of
the Leather stocking rushed by her, and he called
aloud—
“Come in, Hector, come in, you old fool; 'tis
a hard-lived animal, and may jump ag'in.”
Natty maintained his position in front of the
maidens, most fearlessly, notwithstanding the violent
bounds and threatening aspect of the wounded
panther, which gave several indications of returning
strength and ferocity, until his rifle was
again loaded, when he stepped up to the enraged
animal, and, placing the muzzle close to its head,
every spark of life was extinguished by the discharge.
The death of her terrible enemy appeared to
Elizabeth like a resurrection from her own grave.
There was an elasticity in the mind of our heroine,
that rose to meet the pressure of instant
danger, and the more direct to the senses her apprehensions
came, the more her nature had struggled
to overcome them. But still she was woman.
Had she been left to herself, in her late extremity,
she would probably have used her faculties to the
utmost, and with discretion, in protecting her person,
but encumbered with her inanimate friend,
retreat was a thing not to be attempted.—
Notwithstanding the fearful aspect of her foe, the
eye of Elizabeth had never shrunk from its gaze,
and long after the event, her thoughts would recur
to her passing sensations, and the sweetness of her
midnight sleep would be disturbed, as her active
fancy conjured in dreams, the most trifling
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movements of savage fury, that the beast had exhibited
in its moment of power.
We shall leave the reader to imagine the restoration
of Louisa's senses, and the expressions of
gratitude which fell from the young women. The
former was effected by a little water, that was
brought from one of the thousand springs of those
mountains, in the cap of the Leather-stocking; and
the latter were uttered with all the warmth that
might be expected from the character of Elizabeth.
Natty received her vehement protestations
of gratitude, with a simple expression of good
will, and with indulgence for her present excitement,
but with a carelessness that showed how little
he thought of the service he had rendered.
“Well, well,” he said, “be it so, gal; let
it be so, if you wish it—we'll talk the thing
over another time; but I'm sore afeard you'll find
Mr. Oliver a better companion than an old hunter,
like me. Come, come—let us get into the road,
for you've had tirror enough to make you wish
yourself in your father's house ag'in.”
This was uttered as they were proceeding, at a
pace that was adapted to the weakness of Louisa,
towards the highway; on reaching which the ladies
separated from their guide, declaring themselves
equal to the remainder of their walk
without his assistance, and feeling encouraged
by the sight of the village, which lay beneath
their feet, like a picture, with its limpid lake
in front, the winding stream along its margin, and
its hundred chimneys of whitened bricks.
The reader need not be told the nature of the
emotions, which two youthful, ingenuous, and
well-educated girls would experience, at their
escape from a death so horrid as the one which
had impended over them, while they pursued
their way in silence along the track on the
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side of the mountain; nor how deep were their
mental thanks to that Power which had given
them their existence, and which had not deserted
them in their extremity; neither how often they
pressed each other's arms, as the assurance of their
present safety came, like a healing balm, athwart
their troubled spirits, when their thoughts were
recurring to the recent moments of horror.
Leather-stocking remained on the hill, gazing
after their retiring figures, until they were hid by
a bend in the road, when he whistled in his dogs,
and, shouldering his rifle, he returned into the
forest.
“Well, it was a skeary thing to the young creaters,”
said Natty, while he retrod the path towards
the slain. “It might frighten an older woman,
to see a she-painter so near her, with a dead
eub by its side. I wonder if I had aimed at the
varmint's eye, if I shouldn't have touched the life
sooner than in the forehead? but they are hard-lived
animals, and it was a good shot, consid'ring
that I could see nothing but the head and peak of
its tail. Hah! who goes there?”
“How goes it, Natty?” said Mr. Doolittle,
stepping out of the bushes, with a motion that was
a good deal accelerated by the sight of the rifle,
that was already lowered in his direction. “What!
shooting this warm day! mind, old man, the law
don't get hold on you.”
“The law, Squire! I have shook hands with
the law these forty year,” returned Natty; “for
what has a man who lives in the wilderness to do
with the ways of the law?”
“Not much, maybe,” said Hiram; “but you
sometimes trade in ven'son. I s'pose you know,
Leather-stocking, that there is an act passed to
lay a fine of five pounds currency, or twelve dollars
and fifty cents, by decimals, on every man
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who kills a deer betwixt January and August.
The Judge had a great hand in getting the law
through.”
“I can believe it,” returned the old hunter; “I
can believe that, or any thing, of a man who carries
on as he does in the country.”
“Yes, the law is quite positive, and the Judge
is bent on putting it in force—five pounds penalty.
I thought I heerd your hounds out on the scent of
so'thing this morning: I didn't know but they
might get you in difficulty.”
“They know their manners too well,” said
Natty, carelessly. “And how much goes to the
state's evidence, Squire?”
“How much!” repeated Hiram, quailing under
the honest, but sharp look of the hunter—“the informer
gets half, I—I b'lieve;—yes, I guess it's
half. But there's blood on your sleeve, man;—
you haven't been shooting any thing this morning?”
“I have, though,” said the hunter, nodding his
head significantly to the other, “and a good shot
I made of it.”
“He-e-m!” ejaculated the magistrate; “and
where is the game? I s'pose it's of a good nater,
for your dogs won't hunt any thing that isn't
choish.”
“They'll hunt any thing I tell them to, Squire,”
cried Natty, favouring the other with his laugh.
“They'll hunt you, if I say so. He-e-e-re,
he-e-e-re, Hector—he-e-e-re, slut—come this
a-way, pups—come this a-way—come hither.”
“Oh! I've always heern a good character of
the dogs,” returned Mr. Doolittle, quickening his
pace by raising each leg in rapid succession, as
the hounds scented around his person. “And
where is the game, Leather-stocking?”
During this dialogue, the speakers had been
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walking at a very fast gait, and Natty swung the
end of his rifle round, pointing through the bushes,
and replied—
“There lays one. How do you like such
meat?”
“This!” exclaimed Hiram, “why this is Judge
Temple's dog Brave. Take kear, Leather-stocking,
and don't make an inimy of the Judge. I
hope you haven't harmed the animal?”
“Look for yourself, Mr. Doolittle,” said Natty,
drawing his knife from his girdle, and wiping it,
in a knowing manner, once or twice across his garment
of buck-skin; “does his throat look as if I
had cut it with this knife?”
“It is dreadfully tore! it's an awful wownd—
no knife never did this deed. Who could have
done it?”
“That painter behind you, Squire—look, there's
two of them.”
“Painters!” echoed Hiram, whirling on his
heel, with an agility that would have done credit
to a dancing master; “where's a painter?”
“Be easy, man,” said Natty; “there's two of
the vinimous things; but the dog finished one, and
I have fastened the other's jaws for her; so you
needn't look so skeared, Squire; they won't hurt
you.”
“And where's the deer?” cried Hiram, staring
about him with a bewildered air.
“Anan! deer!” repeated Natty.
“Sartain, an't there ven'son here, or didn't you
kill a buck?”
“What! when the law forbids the thing, Squire!”
said the old hunter. “I hope there's no law ag'in
killing the painters.”
“No; there's a bounty on the scalps—but—
will your dogs hunt painters, Natty?”
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“Any thing;—didn't I tell you they'd hunt a
man? He-e-re, he-e-re, pups”—
“Oh! Yes, yes, I remember. Well, they are
strange dogs, I must say—I am quite in a wonderment.”
Natty had seated himself on the ground, and
having laid the grim head of his late ferocious enemy
in his lap, was drawing his knife with a practised
hand, around the ears, which he tore from
the head of the beast in such a manner as to preserve
their connexion, when he answered—
“What at, Squire? did you never see a painter's
scalp afore? Come, you be a magistrate,
I wish you'd make me out an order for the
bounty.”
“The bounty!” repeated Hiram, holding the
ears on the end of his finger, for a moment, as if
uncertain how to proceed. “Well, let us go
down to your hut, where you can take the oath,
and I will write out the order. I s'pose you have
a bible? all the law wants is the four evangelists
and the Lord's prayer.”
“I rather guess not,” said Natty, a little coldly;
“not such a bible as the law needs.”
“Oh! there's but one sort of bible, at least
that's good in law,” returned the magistrate; “and
yourn will do as well as another's. Come, the
carcasses are worth nothing, man; let us go down
and take the oath.”
“Softly, softly, Squire,” said the hunter, lifting
his trophies very deliberately from the ground,
and shouldering his rifle; “why do you want an
oath at all, for a thing that your own eyes has
seen? won't you believe yourself, that another
man must swear to a fact that you know to be
true? You seen me scalp the creaters, and if I must
swear to it, it shall be before Judge Temple, who
needs an oath.”
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“But we have no pen or paper here, Leather-stocking;
we must go to the hut for them, or how
can I write the order?”
Natty turned his simple features on the cunning
magistrate with another of his laughs, as he
said—
“And what should I be doing with such scholars
tools? I want no pens or paper, not knowing
the use of 'ither; and so I keep none. No, no,
I'll bring the scalps into the village, Squire, and
you can make out the order on one of your lawbooks,
and it will be all the better for it. The
deuce take this leather on the neck of the dog, it
will strangle the old fool. Can you lend me a
knife, Squire?”
Hiram, who seemed particularly anxious to be
on good terms with his companion, unhesitatingly
complied. Natty cut the thong from the neck of
the hound, and, as he returned the knife to its owner,
carelessly remarked—
“'Tis a good bit of steel, and has cut such leather
as this very same before now, I dare to say.”
“Do you mean to charge me with letting your
hounds loose!” exclaimed Hiram, with a consciousness
that disarmed his caution.
“Loose!” repeated the hunter—“I let them
loose myself. I always let them loose before I
leave the hut.”
The ungovernable amazement with which Mr.
Doolittle listened to this falsehood, would have
betrayed his agency in the liberation of the dogs,
had Natty wanted any further confirmation; and
the coolness and management of the old man now
disappeared in open indignation.
“Look you here, Mr. Doolittle,” he said, striking
the breech of his rifle violently on the ground;
“what there is in the wigwam of a poor man like
me, that one like you can crave, I don't know; but
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this I tell you to your face, that you never shall
put a foot under the roof of my cabin with my
consent, and that if you harbour round the spot
as you have done lately, you may meet with treatment
that you won't over and above relish.”
“And let me tell you, Mr. Bumppo,” said Hiram,
retreating, however, with a quick step, “that
I know you've broke the law, and that I'm a magistrate,
and will make you feel it too, before you
are a day older.”
“That for you and your law too,” cried Natty,
snapping his fingers at the justice of the peace—
“away with you, you varmint, before the divil
tempts me to give you your desarts. Take kear,
if I ever catch your prowling face in the woods
ag'in, that I don't shoot it for an owl.”
There is something at all times commanding in
honest indignation, and Hiram did not stay to
provoke the wrath of the old hunter to extremities.
When the intruder was out of sight, Natty
proceeded to the hut, where he found all quiet's as
the grave. He fastened his dogs, and tapping at
the door, which was opened by Edwards, asked—
“Is all safe, lad?”
“Every thing,” returned the youth. “Some
one attempted the lock, but it was too strong for
him.”
“I know the creater,” said Natty, but he'll not
trust himself within reach of my rifle ag'in very
soon, for I'll—What more was uttered by the
Leather-stocking, in his vexation, was rendered
inaudible by the closing of the door of the cabin.
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CHAPTER X.
“It is noised he bath a mass of treasure.”
Timon of Athens.
[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]
When Marmaduke Temple and his cousin rode
through the gate of the former, the heart of the
father had been too recently touched with the
best feeling of our nature, to leave inclination for
immediate discourse. There was an importance
in the air of Richard, which would not have admitted
of the ordinary informal conversation of
the Sheriff, without violating all the rules of consistency;
and the equestrians pursued their way
with great diligence, for more than a mile, in profound
silence. At length the soft expression of
parental care, blended with affection, was slowly
chased from the handsome features of the Judge,
and was gradually supplanted by the cast of humour
and benevolence that was usually seated on
his brow.
“Well, Dickon,” he said, “since I have yielded
myself, so far, implicitly to your guidance, I
think the moment has arrived, when I am entitled
to further confidence. Why and wherefore are
we journeying together in this solemn gait?”
The Sheriff gave a loud hem, that rung far in
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the forest, which they had now entered, and keeping
his eyes fixed on objects before, him, like a
man who is looking deep into futurity, he replied
as follows:—
“There has always been one point of difference
between us, Judge Temple, I may say, since our
nativity; not that I would insinuate that you are
at all answerable for the acts of nature; for a man
is no more to be condemned for the misfortunes of
his birth, than he is to be commended for the natural
advantages he may possess; but on one
point we may be said to have differed from our
births, and they, you know, occurred within two
days of each other.”
“I really marvel, Richard, what this one point
can be; for, to my eyes, we seem to differ so materially,
and so often”—
“Mere consequences, sir,” interrupted the Sheriff,
“all our minor differences proceed from one
cause, and that is, our opinions of the universal
attainments of genius.”
“In what, Dickon!” exclaimed the Judge.
“I speak plain English, I believe, Judge Temple;
at least I ought; for my father, who taught
me, could speak”—
“Greek and Latin,” interrupted Marmaduke—
“I well know the qualifications of your family in
tongues, Dickon. But proceed to the point; why
are we travelling over this mountain to-day?”
“To do justice to any subject, sir, the narrator
must be suffered to proceed in his own way,” continued
the Sheriff. “You are of opinion, Judge
Temple, that a man is to be qualified by nature
and education to do only one thing well, whereas
I know that genius will supply the place of learning,
and that a certain sort of man can do any
thing and every thing.”
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“Like yourself, I suppose,” said Marmaduke,
smiling.
“I scorn personalities, sir,” returned the Sheriff;
“I say nothing of myself; but there are
three men on your patent, of the kind that I
should term talented by nature for her general
purposes, though acting under the influence of
different situations.”
“We are better off, then, than I had supposed,”
said Marmaduke. “Who are they?”
“Why, sir, one is Hiram Doolittle; he is a
carpenter by trade, as you know, and I need only
point to the village to exhibit his merits. Then
he is a magistrate, and might shame many a man,
in his distribution of justice, who has had better
opportunities than himself.”
“Well, he is one,” said Marmaduke, with the
air of a man that was determined not to dispute
the point.
“Yes, sir, and Jotham Riddel is another.”
“Who!” exclaimed the Judge.
“Jotham Riddel.”
“What, that dissatisfied, shiftless, lazy, speculating
fellow! he who changes his county every
three years, his farm every six months, and his
occupation every season! an agriculturist yesterday,
a shoemaker to-day, and a schoolmaster tomorrow!
that epitome of all the unsteady and
profitless propensities of the settlers, without one
of their good qualities to counterbalance the evil!
Nay, Richard, this is too bad for even—but who
is the third?”
“As the third is not used to hearing such comments
on his character, Judge Temple, I shall not
name him,” said the indignant Sheriff.
“The amount of all this, then, Dickon, is, that
the trio, of which you are one, and the principal,
have made some important discovery.”
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“I have not said that I am one, Judge Temple.
As I told you before, I say nothing of myself.
But a discovery has been made, and you are deeply
interested in it.”
“Proceed—I am all ears.”
“No, no, 'duke, you are bad enough, I own,
but not so bad as that either; your ears are not
quite full grown.”
The Sheriff laughed heartily at his own wit,
and put himself in good humour thereby, when
he gratified his patient cousin with the following
explanation:—
“You know, 'duke, that there is a man living
on your estate that goes by the name of Natty
Bumppo. Here has this man lived, by what I can
learn, for more than forty years—by himself,
until lately; and now with strange companions.”
“Part very true, and all very probable,” said
the Judge.
“All true, sir; all true. Well, within these last
few months have appeared as his companions,
an old Indian chief, the last, or one of the last of
his tribe that is to be found in this part of the
country, and a young man, who is said to be the
son of some Indian agent, by a squaw.”
“Who says that!” cried Marmaduke, with an
interest that he had not manifested before.
“Who! why common sense—common report.
But listen till you know all. This youth has very
pretty talents—yes, what I call very pretty talents—
and has been well educated, has seen very
tolerable company, and knows how to behave
himself, when he has a mind to. Now, Judge
Temple, can you tell me what has brought three
such men as Indian John, Natty Bumppo, and
Oliver Edwards, together?”
Marmaduke turned his countenance, in evident
surprise, to his cousin, and replied quickly—
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“Thou hast unexpectedly hit on a subject,
Richard, that has often occupied my mind. But
knowest thou any thing of this mystery, or are
they only the crude conjectures of”—
“Crude nothing, 'duke, crude nothing; but
facts, stubborn facts. You know there are mines
in these mountains; I have often heard you say
that you believed in their existence”—
“Reasoning from analogy, Richard, but not
with any certainty of the fact”
“You have heard them mentioned, and have
seen specimens of the ore, sir; you will not deny
that! and, reasoning from analogy, as you say, if
there be mines in South America, ought there
not to be mines in North America too?”
“Nay, nay, I deny nothing, my cousin. I
certainly have heard many rumours of the existence
of mines, in these hills; and I do believe
that I have seen specimens of the precious metals
that have been found here. It would occasion
me no surprise to learn that tin and silver, or,
what I consider of more consequence, good
coal,”—
“Damn your coal, sir,” cried the Sheriff; “who
wants to find coal, in these forests? No, no, silver,
'duke; silver is the one thing needful, and silver
is to be found. But listen: you are not to be
told that the natives have long known the use of
gold and silver; now who so likely to be acquainted
where they are to be found, as the ancient inhabitants
of a country? I have the best reasons
for believing that both Mohegan and the Leather-stocking
have been privy to the existence of a
mine, in this very mountain, for many years”
The Sheriff had now touched his cousin in a
sensitive spot, and Marmaduke lent a more attentive
ear to the speaker, who, after waiting a
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moment, to see the effect of this extraordinary developement,
proceeded—
“Yes, sir, I have my reasons, and at a proper
time you shall know them.”
“No time is so good as the present,” exclaimed
Marmaduke.
“Well, well, be attentive,” continued Richard,
looking cautiously about him, to make certain
that no eavesdropper was hid in the forest, though
they were in constant motion. “I have seen
Mohegan and the Leather-Stocking, with my own
eyes—and my eyes are as good as any body's
eyes—I have seen them, I say, both going up the
mountain and coming down it, with spades and
picks; and others have seen them carrying things
into their hut, in a secret and mysterious manner,
after dark. Do you know what they could be?”
The Judge did not reply, but his brow had contracted,
with a thoughtfulness that he always wore
when much interested, and his eyes rested on his
cousin in expectation of hearing more. Richard
continued—
“It was ore. Now, sir, I ask if you can tell
me who this Mr. Oliver Edwards is, that has made
a part of your household since last Christmas?”
Marmaduke again raised his eyes, but continued
silent, shaking his head in the negative.
“That he is a half-breed we know, for Mohegan
does not scruple to call him, openly, his kinsman;
that he is well educated we know. But as
to his business here—do you remember that
about a month before this young man made his
appearance among us, Natty was absent from
home several days? You do; for you inquired
for him, as you wanted some venison to take to
your friends, when you went for Bess. Well, he
was not to be found. Old John was left in the
hut alone; and when Natty did appear, although
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he came on in the night, he was seen drawing one
of those jumpers that they carry their grain to
mill in, and to take out something, with great care,
that he had covered up under his bear-skins. Now
let me ask you, Judge Temple, what motive could
induce a man like the Leather-stocking to make
a sled, and toil with a load over these mountains,
if he had nothing but his rifle or his ammunition to
carry?”
“They frequently make these jumpers to convey
their game home, and you say he had been absent
many days.”
“How did he kill it? His rifle was in the village
to be mended. No, no—that he was gone to
some unusual place is certain; that he brought
back some secret utensils is also certain; and
since then he has not allowed a soul to approach
his hut.”
“He was never fond of intruders”—
“I know it,” interrupted Richard; “but did he
drive them from his cabin morosely? Within a
fortnight of his return, this Mr. Edwards appears.
They spent whole days in the mountains, pretending
to be shooting, but in reality exploring; the
frosts prevented their digging at that time, and he
availed himself of a lucky accident to get into good
quarters. But even now, he is quite half of his
time in that hut—many hours in each night. They
are smelting, 'duke, they are smelting, and as they
grow rich you grow poor.”
“How much of this is thine own, Richard, and
how much comes from others? I would sift the
wheat from the chaff.”
“Part is my own, for I saw the jumper, though
it was broken up and burnt in a day or two. I
have told you that I saw the old man with his
spades and picks. Hiram met Natty, as he was
crossing the mountain, the night of his arrival
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with the sled, and very good-naturedly offered—
Hiram is good-natured—to carry up part of his
load, for the old man had a heavy pull up the
back of the mountain, but he wouldn't listen to
the thing, and repulsed the offer in such a manner
that the Squire said he had half a mind to
swear the peace against him. Since the snow
has been off, more especially after the frosts got
out of the ground, we have kept a watchful eye on
the gentlemen, in which we have found Jotham
very useful.”
Marmaduke did not much like the associates of
Richard in this business; still he knew them to
be cunning and ready in expedients; and as there
was certainly something mysterious, not only in
the connexion between the old hunters and Edwards,
but in what his cousin had just related,
he began to revolve the subject in his own mind
with more care. On reflection, he remembered
various circumstances that tended to corroborate
these suspicions, and, as the whole business favoured
one of his infirmities, he yielded the more
readily to their impression. The mind of Judge
Temple, at all times comprehensive, had received
from his peculiar occupations, a bias to look far
into futurity, in speculations on the improvements
that posterity were to make in his lands. To his
eye, where others saw nothing but a wilderness,
towns, manufactories, bridges, canals, mines, and
all the other resources of an old country, were constantly
presenting themselves, though his good sense
suppressed, in some degree, the exhibition of these
expectations.
As the Sheriff allowed his cousin full time to
reflect on what he had heard, the probability of
some pecuniary adventure being the connecting
link in the chain that brought Oliver Edwards into
the cabin of Leather-stocking, appeared to him
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each moment to be stronger. But Marmaduke was
too much in the habit of examining both sides
of a subject, not to perceive the objections, and
reasoned with himself aloud:—
“It cannot be so, or the youth would not be
driven so near the verge of poverty.”
“What so likely to make a man dig for money,
as being poor?” cried the sheriff.
“Besides, there is an elevation of character about
Oliver, that proceeds from education, which would
forbid so clandestine a proceeding.”
“Could an ignorant fellow smelt?” continued
Richard.
“Then Bess hints that he was reduced to his
last shilling, when we took him into our dwelling.”
“He had been buying tools. And would he spend
his last sixpence for a shot at a turkey, had he not
known where to get more.”
“Can I have possibly been so long a dupe! His
manner has been rude to me, at times; but I attributed
it to his conceiving himself injured, and to his
mistaking the forms of the world.”
“Haven't you been a dupe all your life, 'duke?
and an't what you call ignorance of forms deep
cunning, to conceal his real character?”
“If he were bent on deception, he would have
concealed his knowledge, and passed with us for an
inferior man.”
“He cannot. I could no more pass for a fool,
myself, than I could fly. Knowledge is not to be
concealed, like a candle under a bushel.”
“Richard,” said the Judge, turning to his cousin,
“there are many reasons against the truth of
thy conjectures; but thou hast awakened suspicions
which must be satisfied. But why are we traveling
here?”
“Jotham, who has been much in the mountain
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latterly, being kept there by me and Hiram, has
made a discovery, which he will not explain, he
says, for he is bound by an oath; but the amount
is, that he knows where the ore lies, and he has this
day begun to dig. I would not consent to the thing,
'duke, without your knowledge, for the land is
yours;—and now you know the reason of our
ride. Don't you call this a countermine for their
mine, ha!”
“And where is the desirable spot?” asked the
Judge, with an air half comical, half serious.
“Close by; and when we have visited that, I
will show you one of the places that we have
found within a week, where our gentlemen hunters
have been amusing themselves for six months
past.”
The gentlemen continued to discuss the matter,
while their horses picked their way under the
branches of trees, and over the uneven ground of
the mountain. They soon arrived at the end of
their journey, where, in truth, they found Jotham
already buried to his neck in a hole that he had
been digging.
Marmaduke questioned the miner very closely,
as to his reasons for believing in the existence of
the precious metals near that particular spot; but
the fellow maintained an obstinate mystery in his
answers. He asserted that he had the best of reasons
for what he did, and inquired of the Judge
what portion of the profits would fall to his own
share, in the event of success, with an earnestness
that proved his faith. After spending an hour near
the place, examining the stones, and searching for
the usual indications of the proximity of ore, the
Judge remounted, and suffered his cousin to lead the
way to the place where the mysterious trio had been
making their excavation.
The spot chosen by Jotham was on the back
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of the mountain that overhung the hut of Leather-stocking,
and the place selected by Natty and
his companions was on the other side of the same
hill, but above the road, and, of course, in an opposite
direction to the route taken by the ladies in their
walk.
“We shall be safe in approaching the place
now,” said Richard, while they dismounted and
fastened their horses; “for I took a look with the
glass, and saw John and Leather-stocking in their
canoe fishing, before we left home, and Oliver is in
the same pursuit, but these may be nothing but
shams, to blind our eyes, so we will be expeditious,
for it would not be pleasant to be caught here by
them.”
“Not on my own land!” said Marmaduke,
sternly. “If it be as you suspect, I will know their
reasons for making this excavation.”
“Mum,” said Richard, laying his finger on his
lip, and leading the way down a very difficult descent
to a sort of a natural cavern, which was formed
in the face of the rock, and not unlike a
fire-place in shape. In front of this place lay a
pile of earth, which had evidently been taken
from the recess, and part of which was yet
fresh. An examination of the exterior of the
cavern, left the Judge in doubt whether it was
one of nature's frolics that had thrown it into that
shape, or whether it had been wrought by the
hands of man, at some earlier period. But there
could be no doubt that the whole of the interior
was of recent formation, and the marks of the
pick were still visible, where the soft, lead-coloured
rock had opposed itself to the progress of the miners.
The whole formed an excavation of about twenty
feet in width, and nearly twice that distance in
depth. The height was much greater than was
required for the ordinary purposes of experiment;
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but this was evidently the effect of chance, as the
roof of the cavern was a natural stratum of rock,
that projected many feet beyond the base of the pile.
Immediately in front of the recess, or cave, was a
little terrace, partly formed by nature, and partly
by the earth that had been carelessly thrown aside
by the labourers. The mountain fell off precipitately
in front of the terrace, and the approach by its
sides, under the ridge of the rocks, was difficult, and
a little dangerous. The whole was wild, rude, and
apparently incomplete; for, while looking among
the bushes, the Sheriff found the very implements
that had been used in the work.
When the Sheriff thought that his cousin had
examined the spot sufficiently, he cried—
“Well, Judge Temple, are you satisfied?”
“Perfectly that there is something mysterious,
and to me perplexing in this business. It is a secret
spot, and cunningly devised, Richard; yet I see
no symptoms of ore.”
“Do you expect, sir, to find gold and silver
lying like pebbles on the surface of the earth?—
dollars and dimes ready coined to your hands! No,
no—the treasure must be sought after to be won.
But let them mine; I shall countermine.”
The Judge took an accurate survey of the place,
and noted in his memorandum-book such marks
as were necessary to find it again, in the event of
Richard's absence; when the cousins returned to
their horses.
On reaching the highway they separated, the
Sheriff to summon twenty-four “good men and
true,” to attend as the inquest of the county, on the
succeeding Monday, when Marmaduke held his
stated court of “common pleas and general sessions
of the peace,” and the Judge to return, musing
deeply on what he had seen and heard in the course
of the morning.
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When the horse of the latter reached the spot
where the highway fell towards the valley, the eye
of Marmaduke rested, it is true, on the same scene
that had, ten minutes before, been so soothing to
the feelings of his daughter and her friend, as they
emerged from the forest; but it rested in vacancy.
He threw the reins to his sure-footed beast, and suffered
the animal to travel at its own gait, while he
soliloquized as follows:—
“There may be more in this than I at first supposed.
I have suffered my feelings to blind my reason,
in admitting an unknown youth in this manner
to my dwelling;—yet this is not the land of suspicion.
I will have the Leather-stocking before
me, and, by a few direct questions, extract the
truth from the simple old man.”—
At that instant the Judge caught a glimpse of the
figures of Elizabeth and Louisa, who were slowly
descending the mountain, but a short distance before
him. He put spurs to his horse, and riding up
to them, dismounted, and drove his steed along
the narrow path. While the agitated parent was
listening to the vivid description that his daughter
gave of her recent danger, and her unexpected escape,
all thoughts of mines, vested rights, and examinations,
were absorbed in his emotions; and
when the image of Natty again crossed his recollection,
it was not as a lawless and depredating
squatter, but as the preserver of his child.
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CHAPTER XI.
“The court awards it, and the law doth give it.”
Merchant of Venice.
[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]
Remarkable Pettibone, who had forgotten the
wound received by her pride, in the contemplation
of the ease and comforts of her situation, and who
still retained her station in the family of Judge
Temple, was despatched to the humble dwelling
which Richard styled “the Rectory,” in attendance
on Louisa, who was soon consigned to the arms of
her father.
In the mean time, Marmaduke and his daughter
were closeted for more than an hour, nor shall we
invade the sanctuary of parental love, by relating
the conversation for that period. At its expiration,
when the curtain rises on the reader, the Judge is
seen walking up and down the apartment, with a
tender melancholy in his air, softening the manly
expression of his features, and his child reclining
on a settee, with a flushed cheek, and her dark
eyes seeming to float in crystals.
“It was a timely rescue! it was, indeed, a timely
rescue, my child!” cried the Judge. “Then thou
didst not desert thy friend, my noble Bess?”
“I believe I may as well take the credit of
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fortitude,” said Elizabeth, “though I much doubt if
flight would have availed me any thing, had I even
courage to execute such an intention. But I thought
not of the expedient.”
“Of what didst thou think, love? where did thy
thoughts dwell most, at that fearful moment?”
“The beast! the beast!” cried Elizabeth, veiling
her face with her fair hand; “Oh! I saw nothing,
I thought of nothing, but the beast. I tried to think
of better things, but the horror was too glaring, the
danger too much before my eyes.”
“Well, well, thou art safe, and we will converse
no more on the unpleasant subject. I did not think
such an animal yet remained in our forests; but
they will stray far from their haunts when pressed
by hunger, and”—
A loud knocking at the door of the apartment
interrupted what he was about to utter, and he bid
the applicant enter. The door was opened by
Benjamin, who came in with a discontented air, as
if he felt that he had a communication to make that
would be out of season.
“Here is Squire Doolittle below, sir,” commenced
the Major-domo. “He has been standing
off and on in the door-yard, maybe for the
matter of a glass; and he has sum'mat on his
mind that he wants to heave up, d'ye see; but I
tells him, says I, man, would you be coming
aboard with your complaints, said I, when the
Judge has gotten his own child, as it were, out of
the jaws of a lion? But damn the bit of manners
has the fellow any more than if he was one of
them Guineas, down in the kitchen there; and so
as he was shearing alongside, every stretch he
made towards the house, I could do no better than
to let your honour know that the chap was in the
offing.
“He must have business of importance,” said
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Marmaduke; “something in relation to his office,
most probably, as the court sits so shortly.”
“Ay, ay, you have it, sir,” cried Benjamin, “it's
sum'mat about a complaint that he has to make of
the old Leather-stocking, who, to my judgment, is
the better man of the two. It's a very good sort
of a man is this Master Bumppo, and he has a way
with a spear, all the same as if he was brought up
at the bow oar of the captain's barge, or was born
with a boat-hook in his hand.”
“Against the Leather-stocking!” cried Elizabeth,
rising from her reclining posture.
“Rest easy, my child,” said the Judge, smiling,
“it is some trifle, I pledge you; I believe I am
already acquainted with its import. Trust me,
Bess, your champion shall be safe in my care.—
Show Mr. Doolittle in, Benjamin.”
Miss Temple appeared satisfied with this assurance,
but fastened her dark eyes on the person of
the architect, who profited by the permission, and
instantly made his appearance.
All the impatience of Hiram seemed to vanish
the instant he entered the apartment. After saluting
the Judge and his daughter, he took the
chair to which Marmaduke pointed, and sat for a
minute, composing his straight black hair, with a
gravity in his demeanour that was intended to
do honour to his official station. At length he
said—
“It's likely, from what I hear, that Miss Temple
had a pretty narrow chance with the painters,
on the mountain.”
Marmaduke made a gentle inclination of his
head, by way of assent, but continued silent.
“I s'pose the law gives a bounty on the scalps,”
continued Hiram, “in which case the Leather-stocking
will make a good job on't.”
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“It shall be my care, sir, to see that he is rewarded,”
returned the Judge.
“Yes, yes, I rather guess that nobody hereabouts
doubts the Judge's generosity. Doos he
know whether the Sheriff has fairly made up his
mind to have a reading-desk or a deacon's pew
under the pulpit?”
“I have not heard my cousin speak on that
subject lately,” replied Marmaduke.
“I think it's likely that we will have a pretty
dull court on't, from what I can gather. I hear
that Jotham Riddel and the man who bought his
betterments have agreen to leave their difference
to men, and I don't think there'll be more than two
civil cases in the calendar.”
“I am glad of it,” said the Judge; “nothing
gives me more pain, than to see my settlers wasting
their time and substance in the unprofitable
struggles of the law, I hope it may prove true,
sir.”
“I rather guess 'twill be left out to men,” added
Hiram, with an air equally balanced between doubt
and assurance, but which Judge Temple understood
to mean certainty; “I some think that I am
appointed a referee in the case myself; Jotham as
much as told me that he should take me. The defendant,
I guess, means to take Captain Hollister,
and we two have partly agreen on Squire Jones for
the third man.”
“Are there any criminals to be tried?” asked
Marmaduke.
“There's the counterfeiters,” returned the magistrate;
“as they were caught in the fact, I think
it likely that they'll be indicted, in which case, it's
probable they will be tried.”
“Certainly, sir; I had forgotten these men.
There are no more I hope.”
“Why, there is a threaten to come forrard
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with an assault, that happened at the last independence
day; but I'm not sartain that the law'll
take hold on't. There was plaguey hard words
passed, but whether they struck or not I haven't
heern. There's some folks talk of a deer or two
being killed out of season, over on the west side of
the patent, by some of the squatters on the `Fractions.
' ”
“Let a complaint be made, by all means,” cried
the Judge; “I am determined to see the law executed,
to the letter, on all such depredators.”
“Why, yes, I thought the Judge was of that
mind; I come, partly, on such a business myself.”
“You!” exclaimed Marmaduke, comprehending,
in an instant, how completely he had been
caught by the other's cunning; “and what have
you to say, Sir?”
“I some think that Natty Bumppo has the carcass
of a deer in his hut at this moment, and a
considerable part of my business was to get a
sarch warrant to examine.”
“You think, sir! do you know that the law
exacts an oath, before I can issue such a precept.
The habitation of a citizen is not to be idly invaded
on light suspicion.”
“I rather think I can swear to it myself,” returned
the immoveable Hiram; “and Jotham is in
the street, and as good as ready to come in and
make oath to the same thing.”
“Then issue the warrant thyself; thou art a
magistrate, Mr. Doolittle; why trouble me with
the matter?”
“Why, seeing it's the first complaint under the
law, and knowing the Judge set his heart on the
thing, I thought it best that the authority to sarch
should come from himself. Besides, as I'm much
in the woods, among the timber, I don't altogether
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like making an enemy of the Leather-stocking.
Now the Judge has a weight in the county that
puts him above all fear.”
Miss Temple turned her beautiful face to the
callous architect, with a scornful smile, as she
said—
“And what has any honest person to dread
from so kind a man as poor Bumppo?”
“Why, it's as easy, Miss, to pull a rifle-trigger
on a magistrate as on a painter. But if the Judge
don't conclude to issoo the warrant, I must go
home and make it out myself.”
“I have not refused your application, Sir,” said
Marmaduke, perceiving, at once, that his reputation
for impartiality was at stake; “go into my
office, Mr. Doolittle, where I will join you, and
sign the warrant.”
Judge Temple stopped the remonstrances which
Elizabeth was about to utter, after Hiram had
withdrawn, by laying his hand playfully on her
mouth, and saying—
“It is more terrific in sound than frightful in
reality, my child. I suppose that the Leather-stocking
has shot a deer, for the season is nearly
over, and you say that he was hunting with his
dogs, when he came so timely to your assistance.
But it will be only to examine his cabin, and find
the animal, when you can pay the penalty out of
your own pocket, Bess. Nothing short of the
twelve dollars and a half will satisfy this harpy, I
perceive; and surely my reputation as a Judge is
worth that trifle.”
Elizabeth was a good deal pacified with this assurance,
and suffered her father to leave her, to
fulfil his promise to Hiram.
When Marmaduke left his office, after executing
his disagreeable duty, he met Oliver Edwards,
walking up the gravelled walk in front of the
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Mansion-house, with great strides, and with a face agitated
by some powerful passion. On seeing Judge
Temple, the youth turned aside, and with a warmth
in his manner that was not often exhibited to Marmaduke,
he cried—
“I congratulate you, sir; from the bottom of
my soul I congratulate you, Judge Temple. Oh!
it would have been too horrid to have recollected
for a moment! I have just left the hut, where, after
showing me his scalps, old Natty told me of the
escape of the ladies, as a thing to be mentioned
last. Indeed, indeed, sir. no words of mine can
express half of what I have felt”—the youth paused
a moment, as if suddenly recollecting that he was
overstepping prescribed limits, and concluded with
a good deal of embarrassment—“what I have felt,
at this danger to Miss—Grant, and—and your
daughter, sir.”
But the heart of Marmaduke was too much
softened by his recent emotions, to admit of his
cavilling at trifles, and, without regarding the confusion
of the other, he replied—
“I thank thee, thank thee, Oliver; as thou sayest,
it is almost too horrid to be remembered. But
come, let us hasten to Bess, for Louisa has already
gone to the Rectory.”
The young man sprung forward, and, throwing
open a door, barely permitted the Judge to precede
him, when he was in the presence of Elizabeth in
a moment.
The cold distance that often crossed the demeanour
of the heiress, in her intercourse with
Edwards, was now entirely banished, and two
hours were passed by the party, in the free, unembarrassed,
and confiding manner of old and esteemed
friends. Judge Temple had forgotten the
suspicions engendered during his morning's ride,
and the youth and maiden conversed, laughed, and
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were sad by turns, as if directed by a common impulse.
At length Edwards, after repeating his intention
to do so for the third time, left the Mansion-house,
to go to the Rectory on a similar errand of
friendship.
During this short period, a scene was passing
at the hut, that completely frustrated the benevolent
intentions of Judge Temple in favour of the
Leather-stocking, and at once destroyed the short-lived
harmony between the youth and Marmaduke.
When Hiram Doolittle had obtained his search-warrant,
his first business was to procure a proper
officer to see it executed. The Sheriff was
absent, summoning, in person, the grand inquest
for the county; the deputy, who resided in the
village, was riding on the same errand, in a different
part of the settlement; and the regular constable
of the township had been selected for his
station from motives of charity, being lame of one
leg, and an invalid. Hiram intended to accompany
the officer as a spectator, but felt no very
strong desire to bear the brunt of the battle. It
was, however, Saturday, and the sun was already
turning the shadows of the pines towards the
east; on the morrow the conscientious magistrate
could not engage in such an expedition at the
peril of his soul; and long before Monday, the
venison, and all vestiges of the death of the deer,
might be secreted or destroyed. Happily, the
lounging form of Billy Kirby met his eye, and
Hiram, at all times fruitful in similar expedients,
saw his way clear at once. Jotham, who was associated
in the whole business, and who had left
the mountain in consequence of a summons from
his coadjutor, but who failed, equally with Hiram,
in the unfortunate particular of nerve, was directed
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[figure description] Page 160.[end figure description]
to summon the wood-chopper to the dwelling of
the magistrate.
When Billy appeared, he was very kindly invited
to take the chair in which he had already
seated himself, and was treated, in all respects, as
if he were an equal.
“Judge Temple has set his heart on putting the
deer law in force,” said Hiram, after the preliminary
civilities were over, “and a complaint has
been laid before him that a deer has been killed.
He has issooed a sarch-warrant, and sent for me to
get somebody to execute it.”
Kirby, who had no idea of being excluded from
the deliberative part of any affair in which he was
engaged, drew up his bushy head in a reflecting
attitude, and, after musing a moment, replied by
asking a few questions.
“The Sheriff is gone out of the way?”
“Not to be found.”
“And his deputy too?”
“Both gone on the skirts of the patent.”
“But I seen the constable hobbling about town
an hour ago.”
“Yes, yes,” said Hiram, with a coaxing smile
and knowing nod, “but this business wants a man—
not a cripple.”
“Why,” said Billy, laughing, “will the chap
make fight?”
“He's a little quarrelsome at times, and thinks
he's the best man in the county at rough-and-tumble.”
“I heerd him brag once,” said Jotham, “that
there wasn't a man 'twixt the Mohawk Flats and
the Pennsylvany line, that was his match at a
close hug.”
“Did you!” exclaimed Kirby, raising his huge
frame in his seat, like a lion stretching in his lair;
“I rather guess he never felt a Varmounter's
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[figure description] Page 161.[end figure description]
to knuckles on his back-bone. But who is the
chap?”
“Why,” said Jotham, “It's”—
“It's ag'in law to tell,” interrupted Hiram,
“unless you'll qualify to sarve. You'd be the very
man to take him, Bill: and I'll make out a spicial
deputation in a minute, when you will get
the fees.”
“What's the fees?” said Kirby, laying his large
hand on the leaves of a statute-book, that Hiram
had opened in order to give dignity to his office,
which he turned over, in his rough manner, as if
he were reflecting on a subject, about which he
had, in truth, already decided; “will they pay a
man for a broken head?”
“They'll be something handsome,” said Hiram.
“Damn the fees,” said Billy, again laughing—
“doos the fellow think he's the best wrestler in the
county, though? what's his inches?”
“He's taller than you be,” said Jotham, “and
one of the biggest”—
Talkers, he was about to add, but the impatience
of Kirby interrupted him. The wood-chopper
had nothing fierce, or even brutal in his appearance;
the character of his expression was that
of good-natured vanity. It was evident he prided
himself on the powers of the physical man, like
all who have nothing better to boast of; and,
stretching out his broad hand, with the palm
downward, he said, keeping his eyes fastened on
his own bones and sinews—
“Come, give us a touch of the book. I'll
swear, and you'll see that I'm a man to keep my
oath.”
Hiram did not give the wood-chopper time to
change his mind, but the oath was administered
without any unnecessary delay. So soon
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as this preliminary was completed, the three worthies
left the house, and proceeded by the nearest
road towards the hut. They had reached the
bank of the lake, and were diverging from the
route of the highway, before Kirby recollected
that he was now entitled to the privileges of the
initiated, and repeated his question, as to the name
of the offender.
“Which way, which way, Squire?” exclaimed
the hardy wood-chopper; “I thought it was to
sarch a house that you wanted me, not the woods.
There is nobody lives on this side of the lake, for
six miles, unless you count the Leather-stocking
and old John for settlers. Come, tell me the
chap's name, and I warrant me that I lead you to
his clearing by a straighter path than this, for I
know every sapling that grows within two miles of
Templetown.”
“This is the way,” said Hiram, pointing forward,
and quickening his step, as if apprehensive
that Kirby would desert, “and Bumppo is the
man.”
Kirby stopped short, and looked from one of
his companions to the other in astonishment. He
then burst into a loud laugh, and cried—
“Who! Leather-stocking! he may brag of
his aim and his rifle, for he has the best of both,
as I will own myself, for sin' he shot the pigeon
I knock under to him; but for a wrestle! why, I
would take the divil between my finger and
thumb, and tie him in a bow-knot around my
neck for a Barcelony. Why, Jotham, you could
take him down yourself, as you'd take down a
two-years' pine with an axe. The man is seventy,
and was never any thing particular for
strength.”
“He's a deceiving man,” said Hiram, “like
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all the hunters; he is stronger than he seems;—
besides, he has his rifle.”
“That for his rifle!” cried Billy; “he'd no
more hurt me with his rifle than he'd fly. He is
a harmless creater, and I must say that I think he
has as good a right to kill deer as any man on
the patent. It's his main support, and this is a
free country, where a man is privileged to follow
any calling he likes.”
“According to that doctrine,” said Jotham,
“any body may shoot a deer.”
“This is the man's calling, I tell you,” returned
Kirby, “and the law was never made for such
as him.”
“The law was made for all,” observed Hiram,
who began to think that the danger was likely to
fall to his own share, notwithstanding his management;
“and the law is particular in noticing
parjury.”
“See here, Squire Doolittle,” said the reckless
wood-chopper, “I don't kear the valie of a beetlering
for you and your parjury too. But as I have
come so far, I'll go down and have a talk with the
old man, and maybe we'll fry a steak of the deer
together.”
“Well, if you can get in peaceably, so much the
better,” said the magistrate. “To my notion, strife
is very unpopular; I prefar, at all times, clever
conduct to an ugly temper.”
As the whole party moved at a great pace, they
soon reached the hut, where Hiram thought it
prudent to halt on the outside of the top of the
fallen pine, which formed a chevaux-de-frize, to
defend the approach to the fortress, on the side
next to the village. The delay was but little
relished by Kirby, who clapped his hands to his
mouth, and gave a loud halloo, that brought the
dogs out of their kennel, and, almost at the same
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instant, the scantily-covered head of Natty also
from the door.
“Lie down, you old fool,” cried the hunter;
“do you think there's more painters about you.”
“Ha! Leather-stocking, I've an arrand with
you,” cried Kirby; “here's the good people of
the state have been writing you a small letter, and
they've hired me to ride post.”
“What would you have with me, Billy Kirby?”
said Natty, stepping across his threshold,
and raising his hand over his eyes to screen them
from the rays of the setting sun, while he took a
survey of his visiter. “I've no land to clear; and
Heaven knows I would set out six trees afore I
would cut down one. Down, Hector, I say, into
your kennel with ye.”
“Would you, old boy!” roared Billy; “then
so much the better for me. But I must do my
arrand. Here's a letter for you, Leather-stocking.
If you can read it it's all well, and if you
can't, here's Squire Doolittle at hand, to let you
know what it means. It seems you mistook
the twentieth of July for the first of August, that's
all.”
By this time Natty had discovered the lank
person of Hiram, drawn up under the cover of a
high stump; and all that was complacent in his
manner instantly gave way to marked distrust
and dissatisfaction. He placed his head within
the door of his hut, and said a few words in an
under tone, when he again appeared, and continued—
“I've nothing for ye; so away, afore the evil
one tempts me to do you harm. I owe you no
spite, Billy Kirby, and what for should you trouble
an old man, who has done you no harm?”
Kirby advanced through the top of the pine, to
within a few feet of the hunter, where he seated
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himself on the end of a log with great composure,
and began to examine the nose of Hector, with
whom he was familiar, from their frequently meeting
in the woods, where he sometimes fed the dog
from his own basket of provisions.
“You've outshot me, and I'm not ashamed to
say it,” said the wood chopper, “but I don't owe
you a grudge for that, Natty; though it seems, that
you've shot once too often, for the story goes that
you've killed a buck.”
“I've fired but twice to-day, and both times at
the painters,” returned the Leather-stocking; “see!
here's the scalps! I was just going in with them to
the Judge's to ask the bounty.”
While Natty was speaking, he tossed the ears to
Kirby, who continued playing with them, with a
careless air, holding them to the dogs, and laughing
at their movements when they scented the unusual
game.
But Hiram, emboldened by the advance of the
deputed constable, now ventured to approach also,
and took up the discourse with the air of authority
that became his commission. His first measure
was to read the warrant aloud, taking care to give
due emphasis to the most material parts, and concluding
with the name of the Judge in very audible
and distinct tones.
“Did Marmaduke Temple put his name to that
bit of paper!” said Natty, shaking his head;—
“well, well, that man loves the new ways, and his
betterments, and his lands, afore his own flesh
and blood. But I won't mistrust the gal: she
has an eye like a full-grown buck! poor thing,
she didn't choose her father, and can't help it. I
know but little of the law, Mr. Doolittle; what
is to be done, now you've read your commission?”
“Oh! it's nothing but form, Natty,” said
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Hiram, endeavouring to assume a friendly aspect.
“Let's go in and talk the thing over in reason. I
dare to say that the money can be easily found,
though I conclude, from what passed, that Judge
Temple will pay it himself.”
The old hunter had kept a keen eye on the
movements of his three visiters, from the beginning,
and had maintained his position, just without
the threshold of his cabin, with a determined
manner, that showed he was not to be easily driven
from his post. When Hiram drew nigher, as
if expecting that his proposition would be accepted,
Natty lifted his hand and motioned for him to
retreat.
“Haven't I told you, more than once, not to
tempt me,” he said. “I trouble no man; why
can't the law leave me to myself? Go back—go
back, and tell your Judge that he may keep his
bounty; but I won't have his wasty ways brought
into my hut.”
This offer, however, instead of appeasing the
curiosity of Hiram, seemed to inflame it the more;
while Kirby cried—
“Well, that's fair, Squire; he forgives the
county his demand, and the county should forgive
him the fine; it's what I call an even trade,
and should be concluded on the spot. I like
quick dealings, and what's fair 'twixt man and
man.”
“I demand entrance into this house,” said Hiram,
summoning all the dignity he could muster
to his assistance, “in the name of the people, and
by vartoo of this warrant, and of my office, and
with this peace-officer.”
“Stand back, stand back, Squire, and dont
tempt me,” said the Leather-stocking, motioning
for him to retire, with great earnestness.
“Stop us at your peril,” continued Hiram—
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“Billy! Jotham! close up—I want your testimony.”
Hiram had mistaken the mild but determined
air of Natty for submission, and had already put
his foot on the threshold to enter, when he was
seized unexpectedly by his shoulders, and hurled
over the little bank towards the lake, to the distance
of twenty feet. The suddenness of the
movement, and the unexpected display of strength
on the part of Natty, created a momentary astonishment
in his invaders, that silenced all noises;
but at the next instant Billy Kirby gave vent to his
mirth in loud peals of laughter that he seemed
to heave up from his very soul.
“Well done, old stub!” he shouted; “the Squire
know'd you better than I did. Come, come, here's
a green spot; take it out like men, while Jotham
and I see fair play.”
“William Kirby, I order you to do your duty,”
cried Hiram, from under the bank; “seize
that man; I order you to seize him in the name of
the people.”
But the Leather-stocking now assumed a more
threatening attitude; his rifle was in his hand,
and its muzzle was directed towards the wood-chopper.
“Stand off, I bid ye,” said Natty; “you know
my aim, Billy Kirby; I don't crave your blood,
but mine and yourn both shall turn this green grass
red, afore you put your foot into the hut.”
While the affair appeared trifling, the wood-chopper
seemed disposed to take sides with the
weaker party; but when the fire arms were introduced,
his manner very sensibly changed. He
raised his large frame from the log, and, facing the
hunter with an open front, he replied—
“I didn't come here as your enemy,
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Leather-stocking; but I don't vallie the hollow piece of
iron in your hand so much as a broken axehelve;—
so, Squire, say the word, and keep
within the law, and we'll soon see who's the best
man of the two.”
But no magistrate was to be seen! The instant
the rifle was produced Hiram and Jotham vanished;
and when the wood-chopper bent his eyes
about him in surprise at receiving no answer, he
discovered their retreating figures, moving towards
the village, at a rate that sufficiently indicated
that they had not only calculated the velocity
of a rifle-bullet, but also its probable range.
“You've skeared the creaters off,” said Kirby,
with great contempt expressed on his broad features;
“but you are not a-going to skear me; so,
Mr. Bumppo, down with your gun, or there'll soon
be trouble 'twixt us.”
Natty dropped his rifle, and replied—
“I wish you no harm, Billy Kirby; but I leave
it to yourself, whether an old man's hut is to be run
down by such varmint as them. I won't deny the
buck to you, Billy, and you may take the skin in,
if you please, and show it as a tistimony. The
bounty will pay the fine, and that ought to satisfy
any man.”
“'Twill, old boy, 'twill,” cried Kirby, every
shade of displeasure vanishing from his open brow
at the peace-offering; “throw out the hide, and that
shall satisfy the law.”
Natty entered his hut, and soon re-appeared,
bringing with him the desired testimonial, and
the wood-chopper departed, as thoroughly reconciled
to the hunter as if nothing had happened.
As he paced along the margin of the
lake, he would burst into frequent fits of laughter,
while he recollected the summerset of Hiram;
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and, on the whole, he thought the affair a very
capital Joke.
Long before Billy reached the village, however,
the news of his danger, of Natty's disrespect
to the law, and of Hiram's discomfiture, were in
circulation. A good deal was said about sending
for the Sheriff; some hints were given about calling
out the posse comitatus to avenge the insulted
laws; and many of the citizens were collected, deliberating
how to proceed. The arrival of Billy
with the skin, by removing all grounds for a search,
changed the complexion of things materially.
Nothing now remained but to collect the fine, and
assert the dignity of the people; all of which, it
was unanimously agreed, could be done as well
on the succeeding Monday as on a Saturday night,
a time kept sacred by a large portion of the settlers.
Accordingly, all further proceedings were
suspended for six-and-thirty hours.
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CHAPTER XII.
“And dar'st thou, then,
To beard the Hon in his den,
The Douglass in his hall?”
Marmion.
[figure description] Page 170.[end figure description]
The commotion was just subsiding, and the inhabitants
of the village had begun to disperse
from the little groups they had formed, each retiring
to his own home, and closing his door after
him, with the grave air of a man who consulted
public feeling in his exterior deportment, when
Oliver Edwards, on his return from the dwelling
of Mr. Grant, encountered the young lawyer, who
is known to the reader as Mr. Lippet. There
was very little similarity in the manners or opinions
of the two; but as they both belonged to the
more intelligent class of a very small community,
they were, of course, known to each other; and,
as their meeting was at a point where silence would
have been rudeness, the following conversation
was the result of their interview:
“A fine evening, Mr. Edwards,” commenced
the lawyer, whose disinclination to the dialogue
was, to say the least, very doubtful; “we want rain
sadly;—that's the worst of this climate of ours,
it's either a drought or a deluge. It's likely
you've been used to a more equal temperatoore?”
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“I am a native of this state,” returned Edwards,
coldly.
“Well, I've often heerd that point disputed;
but it's so easy to get a man naturalized, that it's
of little consequence where he was born. I wonder
what course the Judge means to take in this
business of Natty Bumppo?”
“Of Natty Bumppo!” echoed Edwards; “to
what do you allude, sir?”
“Haven't you heerd!” exclaimed the other,
with a look of surprise, so naturally assumed as
completely to deceive the other; “why, it may
turn out an ugly business. It seems that the old
man has been out in the hills, and has shot a buck,
this morning, and that, you know, is a criminal
matter in the eyes of Judge Temple.”
“Oh! he has, has he!” said Edwards, averting
his face to conceal the colour that collected in
his sun-burnt cheek. “Well, if that be all, he
must even pay the fine.”
“It's five pounds, currency,” said the lawyer;
“could Natty muster so much money at once?”
“Could he!” cried the youth. “I am not rich,
Mr. Lippet; far from it—I am poor; and I have
been hoarding my salary for a purpose that lies
near my heart; but before that old man should
lie one hour in a gaol, I would spend the last cent
to prevent it. Besides he has killed two panthers,
and the bounty will discharge the fine many times
over.”
“Yes, yes,” said the lawyer, rubbing his hands
together with an expression of pleasure that had
no artifice about it; “we shall make it out; I see
plainly, we shall make it out.”
“Make what out, sir? I must beg an explanation.”
“Why, killing the buck is but a small matter,
compared to what took place this afternoon,”
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continued Mr. Lippet, with a confidential and friendly
air, that insensibly won upon the youth, as little
as he liked the man. “It seems, that a complaint
was made of the fact, and the suspicion that
there was venison in the hut was sworn to, all
which is provided for in the statoote, when Judge
Temple granted a search-warrant”—
“A search-warrant!” echoed Edwards, in a
voice of horror, and with a face that should have
been again averted, to conceal its paleness; “and
how much did they discover? What did they
see?”
“They saw old Bumppo's rifle; and that is a
sight which will quiet most men's curiosity in the
woods.”
“Did they! did they!” shouted Edwards,
bursting into a convulsive laugh; “so the old
hero beat them back—he beat them back! did
he?”
The lawyer fastened his eyes in astonishment
on the youth; but, as his wonder gave way to the
thoughts that were commonly uppermost in his
mind, he replied—
“It's no laughing matter, let me tell you, sir;
the forty dollars of bounty, and your six months
of salary, will be much reduced before you get
the matter fairly settled. Assaulting a magistrate
in the execootion of his duty, and menacing a
constable with fire-arms, at the same time, is a
pretty serious affair, and is punishable with both
fine and imprisonment.”
“Imprisonment!” repeated Oliver; “imprison
the Leather-stocking! no, no, sir; it would bring
the old man to his grave. They shall never imprison
the Leather-stocking.”
“Well, Mr. Edwards,” said Lippet, dropping
all reserve from his manner, “you are called a
curious man; but if you can tell me how a jury
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is to be prevented from finding a verdict of guilty,
if this case comes fairly before them, and the proof
is clear, I shall acknowledge that you know more
law than I do, who have had a license in my
pocket for three years.”
By this time the reason of Edwards was getting
the ascendency of his feelings; and, as he
begun to see the real difficulties in the case, he
listened more readily to the conversation of the
lawyer. The ungovernable emotion that escaped
the youth, in the first moment of his surprise, entirely
passed away, and, although it was still evident
that he continued to be much agitated by
what he had heard, he succeeded in yielding a
forced attention to the advice which the other uttered.
Notwithstanding the confused state of his mind,
Oliver soon discovered that most of the expedients
of the lawyer were grounded in cunning, and
plans that required a time to execute them in, that
neither suited his disposition nor his emergencies.
After, however, giving Mr. Lippet to understand
that he retained him, in the event of a trial, an assurance
that at once satisfied the lawyer, they
parted, one taking his course, with a deliberate
tread, in the direction of the little building that
had a wooden sign over its door, with “Chester
Lippet, Attorney at Law,” painted on it; and
the other, pacing over the ground, with enormous
strides, towards the Mansion-house. We
shall take leave of the attorney for the present,
and direct the attention of the reader to his client.
When Edwards entered the hall, whose enormous
doors were opened to the passage of the air
of a mild evening, he found Benjamin engaged in
some of his domestic avocations, and, in a hurried
voice, inquired where Judge Temple was to be
found.
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“Why, the Judge has just stept into his office,
with that master-carpenter, Mister Doolittle; but
Miss Lizzy is in that there parlour. I say, Master
Oliver, we'd like to have had a bad job of that
panther, or painter's work—some calls it one, and
some calls it t'other—but I know little of the beast,
seeing that it's not of British growth. I said as
much as that it was in the hills, the last winter;
for I heard it moaning on the lake-shore, one
evening in the fall, when I was pulling down from
the fishing point in the skiff. Had the animal
come into the open water, where a man could see
where and how to work his vessel, I would have
engaged the thing myself; but looking aloft
among the trees, is all the same to me as standing
on the deck of one ship and looking at another
vessel's tops. I never can tell one rope from
another”—
“Well, well,” interrupted Edwards; “I must
see Miss Temple.”
“And you shall see her, sir,” said the steward;
“she's in this here room. Oh! Lord, Master
Edwards, what a loss she'd have been to the
Judge! Dam'me if I know where he would have
gotten such another daughter; that is, full-grown,
d'ye see. I say, sir, this Master Bumppo is a
worthy man, and seems to have a handy way with
him, with fire arms and boat-hooks. I'm his
friend, Master Oliver, and he and you may both
set me down as the same.”
“We may want your friendship, my worthy
fellow,” cried Edwards, squeezing his hand convulsively—
“we may want your friendship, in
which case, you shall know it.”
Without waiting to hear the earnest reply that
Benjamin meditated, the youth extricated himself
from the vigorous grasp of the steward, and entered
the parlour.
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Elizabeth was alone, and still reclining on the
sofa, where we last left her. A hand, which exceeded
all that the ingenuity of art could model,
in shape and colour, veiled her eyes; and the
maiden was sitting in an abstracted posture, as if
communing deeply with herself. Struck by the
attitude and loveliness of the form that met his
eye, the young man checked his impatience, and
approached her with respect and caution.
“Miss Temple—Miss Temple,” he said, “I
hope I do not intrude; but I am anxious to see
you, if it be only for a moment.”
Elizabeth raised her face, and exhibited her
dark eyes swimming in moisture; but a flush crossed
her cheeks, that resembled the tints which the
setting sun throws over the neighbouring clouds.
“Is it you, Edwards?” she said, with a
sweetness in her voice, and a softness in her air,
that she often used to her father, but which, from
its novelty to himself, thrilled on every nerve of
the youth; “how left you our poor Louise?”
“She is with her father, happy and grateful,”
said Oliver. “I never witnessed more feeling
than she manifested, when I ventured to express
my pleasure at her escape. I know not how it
was, Miss Temple, but when I first heard of your
horrid situation, my feelings were too powerful
for utterance; and I did not properly find my
tongue, until the walk to Mr. Grant's had given
me time to collect myself. I believe—I do believe,
I acquitted myself better there, for Miss Grant
even wept at my silly speeches.”
For a moment Elizabeth did not reply, but
again veiled her eyes with her hand. The feeling
that caused the action, however, soon passed away,
and, raising her face again to his gaze, she continued,
with a smile—
“Your friend, the Leather-stocking, has now
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become my friend, Edwards; I have been thinking
how I can best serve him; perhaps you, who
know his habits and his wants so well, can tell
me”—
“I can,” cried the youth, with an impetuosity
that startled the maiden—“I can, and may Heaven
reward you for the wish. Natty has been so
imprudent as to forget the law, and has this day
killed a deer. Nay, I believe I must share in
the crime and the penalty, for I was an accomplice
throughout. A complaint has been
made to your father, and he has granted a
search”—
“I know it all,” interrupted Elizabeth, beckoning
with her hand for silence; “I know it—I
know it all. The forms of the law must be complied
with, however; the search must be made,
the deer found, and the penalty paid. But I must
retort your own question. Have you lived so long
in our family, not to know us? Look at me, Oliver
Edwards. Do I appear like the girl who would
permit the man that has just saved her life to linger
in a gaol, for so small a sum as this fine? No,
no, sir; my father is a Judge, but he is a man and
a Christian. It is all understood, and no harm
shall follow.”
“What a load of apprehension do your declaratians
remove!” exclaimed Edwards. “He shall
not be disturbed again! your father will protect
him! I have your assurance, Miss Temple, that
he will, and I must believe it.”
“You may have his own, Mr. Edwards,” returned
Elizabeth, “for here he comes to make it.”
But the appearance of Marmaduke, who entered
the apartment, contradicted the flattering anticipations
of his daughter. His brow was contracted
with a look of care, and his manner was
disturbed. Neither Elizabeth nor the youth
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spoke; but the Judge was allowed to pace once or
twice across the room without interruption, when
he cried—
“Our plans are defeated, girl; the obstinacy of
the Leather-stocking has brought down the indignation
of the law on his devoted head, and it is
out of my power to avert it.”
“How? in what manner?” cried Elizabeth;
“the fine is nothing; surely”—
“I did not—I could not anticipate that an old,
a friendless man, like him, would dare to oppose
the officers of justice,” interrupted the Judge; “I
supposed that he would submit to the search, when
the fine could have been paid, and the law would
have been appeased; but now he will have to
meet its rigour.”
“And what must the punishment be, sir?” asked
Edwards, in an agitated voice.
Marmaduke turned quickly to the spot where
the youth had withdrawn, and exclaimed—
“You here! I did not observe you. I know
not what it will be, sir; it is not usual for a Judge
to decide, until he has heard the testimony, and
the jury have convicted. Of one thing, however,
you may be assured, Mr. Edwards; it shall be
whatever the law demands, notwithstanding any
momentary weakness I may have exhibited, because
the luckless man has been of such eminent
service to my daughter.”
“No one, I believe, doubts the sense of justice
which Judge Temple entertains!” returned Edwards,
bitterly. “But let us converse calmly,
sir. Will not the years, the habits, nay the ignorance
of my old friend, avail him any thing against
such a charge?”
“Ought they? I may ask,” returned Marmaduke.
“They may extenuate, but can they acquit?
Would any society be tolerable, young
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man, where the ministers of justice are to be opposed
by men armed with rifles? Is it for this that
I have tamed the wilderness?”
“Had you tamed the beasts that so lately threatened
the life of Miss Temple, sir, your arguments
would apply better.”
“Edwards!” exclaimed Elizabeth—
“Peace, my child,” interrupted her father;—
“the youth is unjust; but I have not given him
cause. I overlook thy remark, Oliver, for I know
thee to be the friend of Natty, and thy zeal in his
behalf has overcome thy discretion.”
“Yes, he is my friend,” cried Edwards, “and
I glory in the title. He is simple, unlettered, even
ignorant; prejudiced, perhaps, though I feel that
his opinion of the world is too true: but he has a
heart, Judge Temple, that would atone for a thousand
faults; he knows his friends, and never deserts
them, even if it be his dog.”
“This is a good character, Mr. Edwards,” returned
Marmaduke, mildly; “but I have never
been so fortunate as to secure his esteem, for to
me he has been uniformly repulsive; yet I have
endured it, as an old man's whim. However,
when he appears before me, as his judge, he shall
find that his former conduct shall not aggravate,
any more than his recent services shall extenuate
his crime.”
“Crime!” echoed Edwards; “is it a crime to
drive a prying miscreant from his door? Crime!
Oh! no, sir; if there be a criminal involved in
this affair, it is not he.”
“And who may it be, sir?” asked Judge Temple,
facing the agitated youth, with his fine, manly
features settled to their usual composure.
This appeal was more than the young man
could bear. Hitherto he had been deeply
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agitated by his emotions; but now the volcano burst
its boundaries.
“Who! and this to me!” he cried; “ask your
own conscience, Judge Temple. Walk to that
door, sir, and look out upon the valley, that placid
lake, and those dusky mountains, and say to
your own heart, if heart you have, whence came
these riches, this vale, those hills, and why am I
their owner? I should think, sir, that the appearance
of Mohegan and the Leather-stocking,
stalking through the country, impoverished and
forlorn, would wither your sight.”
Marmaduke heard this burst of passion, at first,
with deep amazement; but when the youth had
ended, he beckoned to his impatient daughter for
silence, and replied—
“Oliver Edwards, thou forgettest in whose
presence thou standest. I have heard, young
man, that thou claimest descent from the native
owners of the soil; but surely thy education has
been given thee to no effect, if it has not taught
thee the validity of the claims that have transferred
the title to the whites. These lands are mine
by the very grants of thy ancestry, if thou art so
descended; and I appeal to Heaven, for a testimony
of the uses I have put them to. After
this language, we must separate. I have too long
sheltered thee in my dwelling; but the time has
arrived when thou must quit it. Come to my office,
and I will discharge the debt I owe thee.
Neither shall thy present intemperate language
mar thy future fortunes, if thou wilt hearken to
the advice of one who is by many years thy
senior.”
The ungovernable feeling that caused the violence
of the youth had passed away, and he stood
gazing after the retiring figure of Marmaduke,
with a vacancy in his eye, that denoted the
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absence of his mind. At length he recollected himself,
and, turning his head slowly around the
apartment, he beheld Elizabeth, still seated on the
sofa, but with her head dropped on her bosom, and
her face again concealed by her hands.
“Miss Temple,” he said—all violence had left
his manner—“Miss Temple—I have forgotten
myself—forgotten you. You have heard what
your father has decreed, and this night I leave
here. With you I would part in amity.”
Elizabeth slowly raised her face, across which
a momentary expression of sadness stole; but as
she left her seat, her dark eyes lighted with their
usual fire, her cheek flushed to burning, and her
whole air seemed to belong to another nature.
“I forgive you, Edwards, and my father will
forgive you,” she said, when she reached the
door. “You do not know us, but the time may
come, when your opinions shall change”—
“Of you! never!” interrupted the youth;
“I”—
“I would speak, sir, and not listen. There is
something in this affair that I do not yet comprehend;
but tell the Leather-stocking he has friends
as well as judges in us. Do not let the old man
experience unnecessary uneasiness, at this rupture.
It is impossible that you could increase his
claims here; neither shall they be diminished by
any thing you have said. Mr. Edwards, I wish
you happiness, and warmer friends.”
The youth would have spoken, but she vanished
from the door so rapidly, that when he reached
the hall her light form was nowhere to be seen.
He paused a moment, in a stupor, and then, rushing
from the house, instead of following Marmaduke
to his “office,” he took his way directly for
the cabin of the hunters.
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CHAPTER XIII.
“Who measured earth, described the starry spheres,
And traced the long records of lunar years.”
Pope.
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Richard did not return from the exercise of
his official duties, until late in the evening of the
following day. It had been one portion of his
business to superintend the arrest of part of a
gang of counterfeiters, that had, even at that early
period, buried themselves in the woods, to manufacture
their base coin, which they afterwards circulated
from one end of the Union to the other.
The expedition had been completely successful,
and about midnight the Sheriff entered the village,
at the head of a posse of deputies and constables,
in the centre of whom rode, pinioned, four
of the malefactors. At the gate of the Mansionhouse
they separated, Mr. Jones directing his assistants
to proceed with their charge to the county
gaol, while he pursued his own way up the gravelled
walk, with that kind of self-satisfaction that
a man of his organization would feel, who had,
really, for once, done a very clever thing.
“Holla! Aggy!” shouted the Sheriff, when he
reached the door; “where are you, you black dog?
will you keep me here in the dark all night?—
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Holla! Aggy! Brave! Brave! hoy, hoy—where
have you got to, Brave? Off his watch! Every
body is asleep but myself! poor I must keep my
eyes open, that others may sleep in safety. Brave!
Brave! Well, I will say this for the dog, lazy as
he's grown, that it is the first time I ever knew him
let any one come to the door after dark, without
having a smell to know whether it was an honest
man or not. He could tell by his nose, almost as
well as I could myself by looking at them. Holla!
you Agamemnon! where are you? Oh! here
comes the dog at last.”
By this time the Sheriff had dismounted, and
observed a form, which he supposed to be that of
Brave, slowly creeping out of the kennel; when,
to his astonishment, it reared itself on two legs
instead of four, and he was able to distinguish, by
the star-light, the curly head and dark visage of
the negro.
“Ha! what the devil are you doing there, you
black rascal?” he cried; “is it not hot enough
for your Guinea blood in the house, this warm
night, but you must drive out the poor dog and
sleep in his straw!”
By this time the boy was quite awake, and, with
a blubbering whine, he attempted to reply to his
master.
“Oh! masser Richard! masser Richard! such
a ting! such a ting! I nebber tink a could
'appen! nebber tink he die! Oh, Lor-a-gor! a'nt
bury—keep 'em till masser Richard get back—
got a grabe dug”—
Here the feelings of the negro completely got
the mastery, and instead of making any intelligible
explanation of the causes of his grief, he
blubbered aloud.
“Eh! what! buried! grave! dead!” exclaimed
Richard, with a tremour in his voice; “nothing
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serious? Nothing has happened to Benjamin, I
hope? I know he has been bilious; but I gave
him”—
“Oh! worser 'an a dat! worser 'an a dat!”
sobbed the negro. “Oh! de Lor! Miss 'Lizzy
an a Miss Grant—walk—mountain—poor Bravy!—
kill a lady—painter—Oh! Lor, Lor!—Natty
Bumppo—tear he troat all open—come a see,
masser Richard—such a booful copse—here he
be—here he be.”
As all this was perfectly inexplicable to the
Sheriff, he was very glad to wait patiently until
the black brought a lantern from the kitchen, when
he followed Aggy to the kennel, where he beheld
poor Brave, indeed, lying in his blood, stiff and
cold, but decently covered with the great-coat of
the negro. He was on the point of demanding an
explanation; but the grief of the black, who had
fallen asleep on his voluntary watch, having burst
out afresh on his waking, utterly disqualified the
lad from giving one. Luckily, at this moment the
principal door of the house opened, and the coarse
features of Benjamin were thrust over the threshold,
with a candle elevated above them, shedding
its dim rays around in such a manner as to exhibit
the lights and shadows of his countenance.
Richard threw his bridle to the black, and bidding
him look to the horse, he entered the hall.
“What is the meaning of the dead dog?” he
cried. “Where is Miss Temple?”
Benjamin made one of his square gestures, with
the thumb of his left hand pointing over his right
shoulder, as he answered—
“Turned in.”
“Judge Temple—where is he?”
“In his birth.”
“But explain; why is Brave dead? and what
is the cause of Aggy's grief?”
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“Why, it's all down, Squire,” said Benjamin,
pointing to a slate that lay on the table, by the
side of a mug of toddy, a short pipe, in which the
tobacco was yet burning, and a Prayer-book.
Among the other pursuits of Richard, it was a
passion to keep a register of all passing events;
and his diary, which was written in the manner of
a journal, or log-book, embraced not only such
circumstances as affected himself, but observations
on the weather, and all the occurrences of the family,
and frequently of the village. Since his
appointment to the office of Sheriff, and his consequent
absences from home, he had employed
Benjamin to make memoranda, on a slate, of whatever
might be thought worth remembering, which,
on his return, were regularly transferred to the
journal, with proper notations of the time, manner,
and other little particulars. There was, to
be sure, one material objection to the clerkship of
Benjamin, which the ingenuity of no one but Richard
could have overcome. The steward read
nothing but his Prayer-book, and that only in
particular parts, and by the aid of a good deal of
spelling, and some misnomers; but he could not
form a single letter with a pen. This would have
been an insuperable bar to journalizing, with most
men; but Richard invented a kind of hieroglyphical
character, which was intended to note all the
ordinary occurrences of a day, such as how the
wind blew, whether the sun shone, or whether it
rained, the hours, &c.; and for the extraordinary,
after giving certain elementary lectures on the
subject, the Sheriff was obliged to trust to the ingenuity
of the Major-domo. The reader will at
once perceive, that it was to this chronicle that
Benjamin pointed, instead of directly answering
the Sheriff's interrogatory.
When Mr. Jones had drunk a glass of the
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toddy, he brought forth, from its secret place, his proper
journal, and, seating himself by the table, he
prepared to transfer the contents of the slate to the
paper, at the same time that he appeased his curiosity.
Benjamin laid one hand on the back of the
Sheriff's chair, in a familiar manner, while he kept
the other at liberty, to make use of a fore-finger,
that was bent like some of his own characters, as
an index to point out his meaning.
The first thing referred to by the Sheriff was the
diagram of a compass, that was cut in one corner
of the slate for permanent use. The cardinal
points were plainly marked on it, and all the usual
divisions were indicated in such a manner, that no
man who had ever steered a ship could mistake
them.
“Oh!” said the Sheriff, settling himself down
comfortably in his chair—“you'd the wind south-east,
I see, all last night; I thought it would have
blown up rain.”
“Devil the drop, sir,” said Benjamin; “I believe
that the scuttle-butt up aloft is emptied, for
there hasn't so much water fell in the county, for
the last three weeks, as would float Indian John's
canoe, and that draws just one inch nothing,
light.”
“Well, but didn't the wind change here this
morning? there was a change where I was.”
“To be sure it did, Squire; and haven't I logged
it as a shift of wind.”
“I don't see where, Benjamin; I”—
“Don't see!” interrupted the steward, a little
crustily; “an't there a mark ag'in east-and-by-nothe-half-nothe,
with sum'mat like a rising sun
at the end of it, to show 'twas in the morning
watch?”
“Yes, yes, that is very legible; but where is the
change noted?”
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“Where! why doesn't it see this here tea-kettle,
with a mark run from the spout straight, or
mayhap a little crooked or so, into west-and-by-southe-half-southe?
now I calls this a shift of
wind, Squire. Well, do you see this here boar's
head that you made for me, alongside of the compass”—
“Ay, ay—Boreas—I see. Why, you've drawn
lines from its mouth, extending from one of your
marks to the other.”
“It's no fault of mine, Squire Dickens; 'tis
your d—d climate. The wind has been at all
them there marks this very day; and that's all round
the compass, except a little matter of an Irishman's
hurricane at meridium, which you'll find marked
right up and down. Now I've known a sow-wester
blow for three weeks, in the Channel, with a
clean drizzle in which you might wash your face
and hands, without the trouble of hauling in water
from alongside.”
“Very well, Benjamin,” said the Sheriff, writing
in his journal; “I believe I have caught the
idea. Oh! here's a cloud over the rising sun;—
so you had it hazy in the morning?”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Benjamin.
“Ah! it's Sunday, and here are the marks for
the length of the sermon—one, two, three, four—
What! did Mr. Grant preach forty minutes!”
“Ay, sum'mat like it; it was a good half-hour
by my own glass, and then there was the time lost
in turning it, and some little allowance for leeway
in not being over smart about it.”
“But, Benjamin, this is as long as a Presbyterian
sermon; you never could have been ten minutes
in turning the glass!”
“Why, d'ye see, Squire, the parson was very
solemn, and I just closed my eyes in order to
think the better with myself, just the same as you'd
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put in the dead-lights to make all snug, and when
I opened them ag'in I found the congregation were
getting under weigh for home, so I calculated
the ten minutes would cover the lee-way after the
glass was out. It was only some such matter as
a cat's nap.”
“Oh, ho! master Benjamin, you were asleep,
were you! but I'll set down no such slander
against an orthodox divine.” Richard wrote
twenty-nine minutes in his journal, and continued—
“Why, what's this you've got opposite ten
o'clock, A. M.? a full moon! had you a moon
visible by day! I have heard of such portents before
now, but—eh! what's this alongside of it?
an hour-glass?”
“That!” said Benjamin, looking coolly over
the Sheriff's shoulder, and rolling the tobacco
about in his mouth with a jocular air; “why
that's a small matter of my own. It's no moon,
Squire, but only Betty Hollister's face; for, d'ye
see, sir, hearing all the same as if she had got up
a new cargo of Jamaiky from the river, I called in
as I was going to the church this morning—ten,
A. M. was it? just the time—and tried a glass;
and so I logged it, to put me in mind of calling
to pay her like an honest man.”
“That was it, was it?” said the Sheriff, with
some displeasure at this innovation on his memoranda;
“and could you not make a better glass
than this? it looks like a death's head and an
hour-glass.”
“Why, as I liked the stuff, Squire,” returned
the steward, “I turned in, homeward bound, and
took t'other glass, which I set down at the bottom of
the first, and that gives the thing the shape it has.
But as I was there ag'in to-night, and paid for
the three at once, your honour may as well run
the sponge over the whole business.”
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“I will buy you a slate for your own affairs,
Benjamin,” said the Sheriff; “for I don't like to
have the journal marked over in this manner.”
“You needn't—you needn't, Squire; for, seeing
that I was likely to trade often with the woman
while this barrel lasted, I've opened a fair account
with Betty, and she keeps the marks on the
back of her bar door, and I keeps the tally on
this here bit of a stick.”
As Benjamin concluded he produced a piece of
wood, on which five very honest, large notches
were apparent. The Sheriff cast his eyes on this
new leger, for a moment, and continued—
“What have we here! Saturday, two P. M.—
why here's a whole family piece! two wine-glasses
up-side-down!”
“That's two women; the one this a-way is
Miss 'Lizzy, and t'other is the parson's young'un.”
“Cousin Bess and Miss Grant!” exclaimed the
Sheriff, in amazement; “why, what have they to
do with my journal?”
“They'd enough to do to get out of the jaws
of that there painter, or panther,” said the immoveable
steward. “This here thingum'y, Squire,
that maybe looks sum'mat like a rat, is the beast,
d'ye see; and this here t'other thing, keel uppermost,
is poor old Brave, who died nobly, all the
same as an admiral fighting for his king and country;
and that there”—
“Scarecrow,” interrupted Richard.
“Ay, mayhap it do look a little wild or so,”
continued the steward; “but to my judgment,
Squire, it's the best imager I've made, seeing it's
most like the man himself;—well, that's Natty
Bumppo, who shot this here painter, that killed
that there dog, who would have eaten or done
worse to them here young ladies.”
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“And what the devil does all this mean?” cried
Richard, impatiently.
“Mean!” echoed Benjamin; “it's as true as
the Boadishey's log-book”—
He was interrupted by the Sheriff, who put a
few direct questions to him, that obtained more
intelligible answers, by which means he became
possessed of a tolerably correct idea of the truth.
When the wonder, and, we must do Richard the
justice to say, the feelings also, that were created
by this narrative, had in some degree subsided,
the Sheriff turned his eyes again on his journal,
where more inexplicable hieroglyphics met his
view.
“What have we here!” he cried; “two men
boxing! has there been a breach of the peace?
ah! that's the way, the moment my back is turned”—
“That's the Judge and young Master Edwards,”
interrupted the steward, very cavalierly.
“How! 'duke fighting with Oliver! what the
devil has got into you all? more things have happened
within the last thirty-six hours, than in the
preceding six months.”
“Yes, it's so indeed, Squire,” returned the
steward; “I've known a smart chase, and a fight
at the tail of it, where less has been logged than
I've got on that there slate. Howsomnever, they
didn't come to facers, only passed a little jaw fore
and aft.”
“Explain! explain!” cried Richard—“it was
about the mines, ha!—ay, ay, I see it, I see it;
here is a man with a pick on his shoulder. So
you heard it all, Benjamin?”
“Why yes, it was about their minds, I believe,
Squire,” returned the steward; “and by what I
can learn, they spoke them pretty plainly to one
another. Indeed, I may say that I overheard a
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small matter of it myself, seeing that the windows
was open, and I hard by. But this here is no
pick, but an anchor on a man's shoulder; and
here's the other fluke down his back, maybe a little
too close, which signifies that the lad has got
under way and left his moorings.”
“Has Edwards left the house?” demanded Richard,
peremptorily.
“He has,” said the steward.
Richard pursued this advantage, and, after a
long and close examination, he succeeded in getting
out of Benjamin all that he knew, not only
concerning the misunderstanding, but of the attempt
to search the hut, and Hiram's discomfiture.
The Sheriff was no sooner possessed of
these facts, which Benjamin related with all possible
tenderness to the Leather-stocking, than,
snatching up his hat, and bidding the astonished
steward to secure the doors and go to his bed, he
left the house.
For at least five minutes after Richard disappeared,
Benjamin stood with his arms a-kimbo,
and his eyes fastened on the door; when, having
collected his astonished faculties, he prepared to
execute the orders he had received.
It has been already said, that the “court of
common pleas and general sessions of the peace,”
or, as it is commonly called, the “county court,”
over which Judge Temple presided, held one of
its stated sessions on the following morning. The
attendants of Richard were officers who had come
to the village as much to discharge their usual
duties at this court, as to escort the prisoners; and
the Sheriff knew their habits too well, not to feel
confident he should find most, if not all of them,
in the public room of the gaol, discussing
the qualities of the keeper's liquors. Accordingly
he held his way, through the silent streets
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of the village, directly to the small and insecure
building, that contained all the unfortunate debtors,
and some of the criminals of the county, and
where justice was administered to such unwary
applicants as were so silly as to throw away two
dollars, in order to obtain one from their neighbours.
The arrival of four malefactors in the
custody of a dozen officers, was an event, at that
day, in Templeton; and when the Sheriff reached
the gaol, he found every indication that his subordinates
intended to make a night of it.
The nod of the Sheriff brought two of his deputies
to the door, who in their turn drew off six or
seven of the constables. With this force Richard
led the way through the village, towards the bank
of the lake, undisturbed by any noise, except the
barking of one or two curs, who were alarmed by
the measured tread of the party, and by the low
murmurs that run through their own numbers, as
a few cautious questions and answers were exchanged,
relative to the object of their expedition.
When they had crossed the little bridge of hewn
logs that was thrown over the Susquehanna,
they left the highway, and struck into that field
which had been the scene of the victory over the
pigeons. From this they followed their leader
into the low bushes of pines and chestnuts which
had sprung up along the shores of the lake, where
the plough had not succeeded the fall of the trees,
and soon entered the deep forest itself. Here
Richard paused, and collected his troop around
him.
“I have required your assistance, my friends,”
he said, in a low voice, “in order to arrest Nathaniel
Bumppo, commonly called the Leather-stocking.
He has assaulted a magistrate, and
resisted the execution of a search-warrant, by
threatening the life of a constable with his rifle.
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In short, my friends, he has set an example of rebellion
to the laws, and has become a kind of outlaw.
He is suspected of other misdemeanours
and offences against private rights; and I have
this night taken on myself, by the virtue of my
office of sheriff, to arrest the said Bumppo,
and bring him to the county gaol, that he may be
present and forthcoming to answer to these heavy
charges before the court to-morrow morning. In
executing this duty, my friends and fellow citizens,
you are to use courage and discretion. Courage,
that you may not be daunted by any lawless
attempts that this man may make, with his rifle
and his dogs, to oppose you; and discretion,
which here means caution and prudence, that he
may not escape from this sudden attack—and—for
other good reasons that I need not mention. You
will form yourselves in a complete circle around
his hut, and at the word `advance,' called aloud
by me, you will rush forward, and, without giving
the criminal time for deliberation, enter his dwelling
by force and make him your prisoner. Spread
yourselves for this purpose, while I shall descend
to the shore with a deputy, to take charge of that
point; and all communications must be made directly
to me, under the bank in front of the hut,
where I shall station myself, and remain in order
to receive them.”
This speech, which Richard had been studying
during his walk, had the effect that all
similar performances produce, of bringing the
dangers of the expedition immediately before
the eyes of his forces. The men divided, some
plunging deeper into the forest, in order to
gain their stations without giving an alarm, and
others continuing to advance, at a gait that
would allow the whole party to get in order;
but all devising the best plans to repulse the
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attack of a dog, or escape a rifle-bullet. It was
a moment of dread expectation and interest.
When the Sheriff thought time enough had
elapsed for the different divisions of his force
to arrive at their stations, he raised his voice in
the silence of the forest, and shouted the watchword.
The sounds played among the arched
branches of the trees in hollow cadences; but when
the last sinking tone was lost on the ear, in place
of the expected howls of the dogs, no other
noises were returned but the crackling of torn
branches and dried sticks, as they yielded before
the advancing steps of the officers. Even this
soon ceased, as if by a common consent, when,
the curiosity and impatience of the Sheriff getting
the complete ascendency over his discretion, he
rushed up the bank, and in a moment stood on the
little piece of cleared ground in front of the spot
where Natty had so long lived. To his utter
amazement, in place of the hut, he saw only its
smouldering ruins!
The party gradually drew together about the
heap of ashes and ends of smoking logs, while a
dim flame in the centre of the ruin, which still
found fuel to feed its lingering life, threw its pale
light, flickering with the passing currents of the air,
around the circle, now showing a face with eyes
fixed in astonishment, and then glancing to another
countenance, leaving the former shaded in the
obscurity of night. Not a voice was raised in inquiry,
nor an exclamation made in astonishment.
The transition from excitement to disappointment
was too powerful in its effects for speech, and even
Richard lost the use of an organ that was seldom
known to fail him.
The whole group were yet in the fulness of
their surprise, when a tall form stalked from the
gloom into the circle, treading down the hot ashes
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and dying embers with callous feet, and, standing
over the light, lifted his cap, and exposed the bare
head and weather-beaten features of the Leather-stocking.
For a moment he gazed at the dusky
figures who surrounded him, more in sorrow than
in anger, before he spoke.
“What would ye have with an old and helpless
man?” he said. “You've driven God's creaters
from the wilderness, where his providence had
put them for his own pleasure, and you've brought
in the troubles and divilties of the law, where no
man was ever known to disturb another. You
have driven me, that have lived forty long years
of my appointed time in this very spot, from my
home and the shelter of my head, least you should
put your wicked feet and wasty ways in my cabin.
You've driven me to burn these logs, under
which I've eaten and drunk, the first of Heaven's
gifts, and the other of the pure springs, for the
half of a hundred years, and to mourn the ashes
under my feet, as a man would weep and mourn
for the children of his body. You've rankled the
heart of an old man, that has never harmed you
or your'n, with bitter feelings towards his kind, at
a time when his thoughts should be on a better
world; and you've driven him to wish that the
beasts of the forest, who never feast on the blood
of their own families, was his kindred and race;
and now, when he has come to see the last brand
of his hut, before it is melted into ashes, you follow
him up, at midnight, like hungry hounds on
the track of a worn-out and dying deer! What
more would ye have? for I am here—one to many.
I come to mourn, not to fight; and, if it is
God's pleasure, work your will on me.”
When the old man ended, he stood, with the
light glimmering around his thinly-covered head,
looking earnestly at the group, which receded
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from the pile, with an instinctive and involuntary
movement, without the reach of the quivering
rays, leaving a free passage for his retreat into the
bushes, where pursuit, in the dark, would have
been fruitless. Natty seemed not to regard this
advantage, but stood facing each individual in the
circle, in succession, as if to see who would be
the first to arrest him. After a pause of a few
moments, Richard begun to rally his confused
faculties, and advancing, apologized for his duty,
and made him his prisoner. The party now collected,
and, preceded by the Sheriff, with Natty
in their centre, they took their way towards the
village.
During the walk, divers questions were put to
the prisoner concerning his reasons for burning
the hut, and whither Mohegan had retreated, but
to all of them he observed a profound silence, until,
fatigued with their previous duties, and the
lateness of the hour, the Sheriff and his followers
reached the village, and dispersed to their several
places of rest, after turning the key of a gaol on
the aged and apparently friendless Leather-stocking.
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CHAPTER XIV.
“Fetch here the stocks, ho!
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,
We'll teach you.”
Lear.
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The long days and early sun of July allowed
time for a gathering of the interested, before the
little bell of the academy announced that the appointed
hour had arrived for administering right
to the wronged, and punishment to the guilty.
Ever since the dawn of day, the highways and
wood-paths that, issuing from the forests, and
winding along the sides of the mountains, centered
in Templeton, had been thronged with equestrians
and footmen, bound to the haven of justice.
There was to be seen a well-clad yeoman, mounted
on a sleek, switch-tailed steed, ambling along
the highway, with his red face elevated in a manner
that said, “I have paid for my land, and fear
no man,” while his bosom was swelling with the
conscious pride of being one of the grand inquest
for the county. At his side rode a companion,
his equal in independence of feeling, perhaps, but
his inferior in thrift, as in property and consideration.
This was a professed dealer in lawsuits—
a man whose name appeared in every calendar;
whose substance, gained in the multifarious
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expedients of a settler's changeable habits, was
wasted in feeding the harpies of the courts. He
was endeavouring to impress the mind of the grand
juror with the merits of a cause that was now at
issue. Along with these two was a pedestrian,
who, having thrown a rifle frock over his shirt,
and placed his best wool hat above his sunburnt
visage, had issued from his retreat in the woods
by a footpath, and was striving to keep company
with the others, at an unequal gait, on his way to
hear and to decide the disputes of his neighbours
as a petit juror.
By ten o'clock the streets of the village were
filled with groups of men with busy faces, some
talking of their private concerns, some listening
to a popular expounder of political creeds, and
others gaping in at the open stores, admiring the
finery, or examining sithes, axes, and such other
manufactures as attracted their curiosity or excited
their admiration. A few women were to be
observed in the crowd, mostly carrying infants in
their arms, and followed, at a lounging, listless
gait, by their rustic lords and masters. There
was one young couple, in whom the warmth of
connubial love was yet new, walking among the
moving throng, both dressed in their back-wood
finery, at a respectful distance from each other,
while the swain directed the timid steps of his
bride by the unbending motions of an extended
arm, to which she was appended by grasping his
thumb.
At the first-stroke of the bell, Richard issued
from the front door of the “Bold Dragoon,” flourishing
in his hand a sheathed sword, that he was
fond of saying his ancestors had carried in one
of Cromwell's victories, and crying, in an authoritative
tone, to “clear the way for the court.”
The order was obeyed promptly, though not
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servilely; the members of the crowd nodding familiarly
to the members of the procession, as it passed.
A party of constables with their staves followed
the Sheriff, preceding Marmaduke, and four
plain, grave-looking yeomen, who were his associates
on the bench. There was nothing to distinguish
these subordinate judges from the better
part of the spectators, except gravity, which they
affected a little more than common, and that one
of their number was attired in an old-fashioned
military coat, with skirts that reached no lower
than the middle of his thighs, and bearing two little
silver epaulettes, not half so big as a modern
pair of shoulder knots. This gentleman was a
colonel of the militia, in attendance on a courtmartial,
who found leisure to steal a moment from
his military, to attend to his civil jurisdiction.
But this incongruity was nothing; it excited neither
notice nor comment. Three or four clean-shaved
lawyers followed, as meekly as if they
were lambs going to the slaughter, one or two of
whom had contrived to obtain an air of scholastic
gravity, by wearing spectacles. The rear was
brought up by another posse of constables, and
the mob followed the whole into the room where
the court held its sittings.
The edifice was composed of a basement of
squared logs, perforated here and there with
small grated windows, through which a few
wistful faces were gazing at the crowd without,
among which were the guilty, downcast countenances
of the counterfeiters, and the simple but
honest features of the Leather-stocking. The
dungeons were to be distinguished, externally,
from the debtor's apartments, only by the size of
the apertures, the thickness of the grates, and by
the heads of spikes that were driven into the
logs as a protection against the illegal use of
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edgetools. The upper story was of frame-work, regularly
covered with boards, and contained one
room decently fitted up for the purposes of justice.
A bench run along one of its sides, and was
raised on a narrow platform to the height of a
man above the floor, and was protected in front
by a light railing. In the centre was a seat, furnished
with rude arms, that was always filled by
the presiding judge In front, on a level with
the floor of the room, was a large table covered
with green baize, and surrounded by benches;
and at either of its ends were placed rows of seats,
rising one over the other, for jury boxes. Each
of these several divisions was surrounded by a
railing. The remainder of the room was an open
space appropriated to the spectators.
When the judges were seated, the lawyers had
taken possession of the table, and the noise of
moving feet had ceased in the area, the proclamations
were made in the usual form, the jurors were
sworn, the charge was given, and the court proceeded
to hear the business before them.
We shall not detain the reader with a description
of the captious discussions that occupied the
court for the first two hours. Judge Temple had
impressed on the jury, in his charge, the necessity
for despatch on their part, recommending to their
notice, from motives of humanity, the prisoners in
the gaol, as the first objects of their attention.
Accordingly, after the period we have mentioned
had elapsed, the cry of the officer to “clear the
way for the grand jury,” announced the entrance
of that body. The usual forms were observed,
when the foreman handed up to the bench two
bills, on both of which the Judge observed, at the
first glance of his eye, the name of Nathaniel
Bumppo. It was a leisure moment with the court;
some low whispering passed between the bench
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and the Sheriff, who gave a signal to his officers,
and in a very few minutes the silence that prevailed
there was interrupted by a general movement
in the outer crowd; when presently the Leather-stocking
made his appearance, ushered into the
criminal's bar under the custody of two constables.
The hum ceased, the people closed into the
open space again, and the silence soon became
so deep that the hard breathing of the prisoner
was audible.
Natty was dressed in his buck-skin garments,
without his coat, in place of which he wore only
a shirt of coarse linen-check, fastened at his throat
by the sinew of a deer, leaving his red neck and
weather-beaten face exposed and bare. It was
the first time that he had ever crossed the threshold
of a court of justice, and curiosity seemed
to be strongly blended with his personal feelings.
He raised his eyes to the bench, thence to the
jury-boxes, the bar, and the crowd without, meeting
every where looks that were fastened on himself.
After surveying his own person, as if in
search of the cause of this unusual attraction,
he once more turned his face around the assemblage,
and then opened his mouth in one of his
silent and remarkable laughs.
“Prisoner, remove your cap,” said Judge
Temple.
The order was either unheard or unheeded.
“Nathaniel Bumppo, be uncovered,” repeated
the Judge.
Natty started at the sound of his name, and
raising his face earnestly towards the bench, he
said—
“Anan!”
Mr. Lippet arose from his seat at the table,
and whispered in the ear of the prisoner, when
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Natty gave him a nod of assent, and took the
deer-skin covering from his head.
“Mr. District Attorney,” said the Judge, “the
prisoner is ready; we wait for the indictment.”
The duties of the public prosecutor were discharged
by Dirck Van der School, who adjusted
his spectacles, cast a cautious look around him at
his brethren of the bar, which he ended by throwing
his head aside so as to catch one glance over
the glasses, when he proceeded to read the bill
aloud. It was the usual charge for an assault and
battery on the person of Hiram Doolittle, and
was couched in the ancient language of such instruments,
especial care having been taken by
the scribe, not to omit the name of a single offensive
weapon known to the law. When he had
done, Mr. Van der School removed his spectacles,
which he closed and placed in his pocket,
seemingly for the pleasure of again opening and
replacing them on his nose. After this evolution
was repeated once or twice, he handed the
bill over to Mr. Lippet, with a cavalier air, that
said as much as “pick a hole in that if you can.”
Natty listened to the charge against him with
great attention, leaning forward towards the reader
with an earnestness that denoted his interest;
and when it was ended he raised his tall body to
the utmost, and drew a long sigh. All eyes were
turned to the prisoner, whose voice was vainly
expected to break the stillness of the room.
“You have heard the presentment that the
grand jury have made, Nathaniel Bumppo,” said
the Judge; “what do you plead to the charge?”
The old man dropped his head for a moment in
a reflecting attitude, and then raising it, he laughed
again, before he answered—
“That I handled the man a little rough or so,
is not to be denied; but that there was occasion
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to make use of all them things that the gentleman
has spoken of, is downright untrue. I am not
much of a wrestler, seeing that I'm getting old;
but I was out among the Scotch-Irishers—lets me
see—it must have been as long ago as the first
year of the old war”—
“Mr. Lippet, if you are retained for the prisoner,”
interrupted Judge Temple, “instruct your
client how to plead; if not, the court shall assign
him counsel.”
Aroused from studying the indictment by this
appeal, the attorney got up, and, after a short dialogue
with the hunter in a low voice, he informed
the court that they were ready to proceed.
“Do you plead guilty or not guilty?” said the
Judge.
“I may say not guilty with a clean conscience,”
returned Natty; “for there's no guilt in doing
what's right; and I'd rather died on the spot, than
had him put foot in the hut at that moment.”
Richard started at this declaration, and bent
his eyes significantly on Hiram, who returned the
look with a slight movement of his eye-brows
alone.
“Proceed to open the cause, Mr. District Attorney,”
continued the Judge. “Mr. Clerk, enter
the plea of not guilty.”
After a short opening address from Mr. Van
der School, Hiram was summoned to the bar to
give his testimony. It was delivered to the letter,
perhaps, but with all that moral colouring which
can be conveyed under such expressions as,
“thinking no harm,” “feeling it my bounden duty
as a magistrate,” and “seeing that the constable
was back'ard in the business.” When he had
done, and the District Attorney declined putting
any further interrogatories, Mr. Lippet arose,
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with an air of keen investigation, and asked the
following questions:—
“Are you a constable of this country, sir?”
“No, sir,” said Hiram, “I'm only a justice-peace.”
“I ask you, Mr. Doolittle, in the face of this
court, putting it to your conscience and your
knowledge of the law, whether you had any right
to enter that man's dwelling?”
“Hem!” said Hiram, undergoing a violent
struggle between his desire for vengeance and his
love for legal fame; “I do suppose—that in—
that is—strict law—that supposing—maybe I
hadn't a real—lawful right;—but as the case was—
and Billy was so back'ard—I might come for'ard
in the business.”
“I ask you, again, sir,” continued the lawyer,
following up his success, “whether this old, this
friendless old man, did or did not repeatedly forbid
your entrance?”
“Why, I must say,” said Hiram, “that he was
considerable cross-grained; not what I call clever,
seeing that it was only one neighbour wanting to
go into the house of another.”
“Oh! then you own it was only meant for a
neighbourly visit on your part, and without the
sanction of law. Remember, gentlemen, the words
of the witness, `one neighbour wanting to enter
the house of another.' Now, sir, I ask you if Nathaniel
Bumppo did not again and again order
you not to enter?”
“There was some words passed between us,”
said Hiram, “but I read the warrant to him
aloud.”
“I repeat my question; did he tell you not to
enter his habitation?”
“There was a good deal passed betwixt us—
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but I've the warrant in my pocket; maybe the
court would wish to see it?”
“Witness,” said Judge Temple, “answer the
question directly; did or did not the prisoner forbid
your entering his hut?”
“Why, I some think”—
“Answer without equivocation,” continued the
Judge, sternly.
“He did.”
“And did you attempt to enter, after this order?”
“I did; but the warrant was in my hand.”
“Proceed, Mr. Lippet, with your examination.”
But the attorney saw that the impression was in
favour of his client, and, waving his hand with a
supercilious manner, as if unwilling to insult the
understanding of the jury with any further defence,
he replied—
“No, sir; I leave it for your honour to charge;
I rest my case here.”
“Mr. District Attorney,” said the Judge, “have
you any thing to say?”
Mr. Van der School removed his spectacles,
folded them, and replacing them once more on his
nose, eyed the other bill which he held in his hand,
and then said, looking at the bar over the top of
his glasses—
“I shall rest the prosecution here, if the court
please.”
Judge Temple arose and began the charge.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” he said, “you have
heard the testimony, and I shall detain you but a
moment. If an officer meet with resistance in
the execution of a process, he has an undoubted
right to call any citizen to his assistance; and the
acts of such assistant come within the protection
of the law. I shall leave you to judge, gentlemen,
from the testimony, how far the witness in
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[figure description] Page 205.[end figure description]
this prosecution can be so considered, feeling less
reluctance to submit the case thus informally to
your decision, because there is yet another indictment
to be tried, which involves heavier charges
against the unfortunate prisoner.”
The tone of Marmaduke was mild and insinuating,
and as his sentiments were given with such
apparent impartiality, they did not fail of carrying
their due weight to the jury. The grave-looking
yeomen, who composed this tribunal, laid their
heads together for a few minutes, without leaving
their box, when the foreman arose, and after the
forms of the court were duly observed, he pronounced
the prisoner to be—
“Not guilty.”
“You are acquitted of this charge, Nathaniel
Bumppo,” said the Judge.
“Anan!” said Natty.
“You are found not guilty of striking and assaulting
Mr. Doolittle.”
“No, no, I'll not deny but that I took him a little
roughly by the shoulders,” said Natty, looking
about him with great simplicity, “and that I”—
“You are acquitted,” interrupted the Judge;
“and there is nothing further to be done or said
in the matter.”
A look of joy lighted up the features of the old
man, who now comprehended the case, and, placing
his cap eagerly on his head again, he threw
up the bar of his little prison, and said feelingly—
“I must say this for you, Judge Temple, that
the law has not been as hard on me as I dreaded.
I hope God will bless you for the kind things
you've done to me this day.”
But the staff of the constable was opposed to his
egress, and Mr. Lippet whispered a few words in
his ear, when the aged hunter sunk back into his
place, and removing his cap, stroked down the
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remnants of his gray and sandy locks, with an air
of mortification mingled with submission.
“Mr. District Attorney,” said Judge Temple,
affecting to busy himself with his minutes, “proceed
with the second indictment.”
Mr. Van der School took great care that no
part of the presentment, which he now read, should
be lost on his auditors. It accused the prisoner
of resisting the execution of a search-warrant
by force of arms, and particularized, in the
vague language of the law, among a variety of
other weapons, the use of the rifle. This was indeed
a more serious charge than an ordinary assault
and battery, and a corresponding degree of
interest was manifested by the spectators in its
result. The prisoner was duly arraigned, and his
plea again demanded. Mr. Lippet had anticipated
the answers of Natty, and in a whisper advised
him how to plead. But the feelings of the old
hunter were awakened by some of the expressions
of the indictment, and, forgetful of his caution, he
exclaimed—
“'Tis a wicked untruth; I carve no man's
blood. Them thieves, the Iroquois, won't say it
to my face, that I ever thirsted after man's blood.
I have fought as a soldier that feared his Maker
and his officer, but I never pulled a trigger on any
but a warrior that was up and awake. No man
can say that I ever struck even a Mingo in his
blanket. I b'lieve there's some who thinks there's
no God in a wilderness!”
“Attend to your plea, Bumppo,” said the Judge;
“you hear that you are accused of using your rifle
against an officer of justice; are you guilty or
not guilty?”
By this time the irritated feelings of Natty had
found a vent; and he rested on the bar for a moment,
in a musing posture, when he lifted his face,
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with his silent laugh, and pointing to where the
wood-chopper stood, he said—
“Would Billy Kirby be standing there, d'ye
think, if I had used the rifle?”
“Then you deny it,” said Mr. Lippet; “you
plead not guilty?”
“Sartain,” said Natty; “Billy knows that I
never fired at all. Billy, do you remember the
turkey last winter? ah! me! that was better than
common firing; but I can't shoot as I used to
could.”
“Enter the plea of not guilty,” said Judge
Temple, strongly affected by the simplicity of the
prisoner.
Hiram was again sworn, and his testimony
given on the second charge. He had discovered
his former error, and proceeded more cautiously
than before. He related very distinctly, and, for
the man, with amazing terseness, the suspicion
against the hunter, the complaint, the issuing of
the warrant, and the swearing in of Kirby; all of
which, he affirmed, were done in due form of law.
He then added the manner in which the constable
had been received; and stated distinctly that Natty
had pointed the rifle at Kirby, and threatened
his life, if he attempted to execute his duty. All
this was confirmed by Jotham, who was observed
to adhere closely to the story of the magistrate.
Mr. Lippet conducted an artful cross examination
of these two witnesses, but, after consuming much
time, was compelled to relinquish the attempt to
obtain any advantage, in despair.
At length the District Attorney called the wood-chopper
to the bar. Billy gave an extremely confused
account of the affair, although he evidently
aimed at the truth, until Mr. Van der School addressed
him, by asking some direct questions:—
“It appears, from examining the papers, that
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you demanded admission into the hut legally; so
you were put in bodily fear by his rifle and
threats?”
“I didn't mind them that, man,” said Billy,
snapping his fingers; “I should be a poor stick,
to mind such a one as old Leather-stocking.”
“But I understood you to say, (referring to your
previous words, (as delivered here in court,) in
the commencement of your testimony,) that you
thought he meant to shoot you?”
“To be sure I did; and so would you too,
Squire, if you had seen the chap dropping a muzzle
that never misses, and cocking an eye that has
a nateral squint by long practice. I thought there
would be a dust on't, and my back was up at once;
but Leather-stocking gi'n up the skin, and so the
matter ended.”
“Ah! Billy,” said Natty, shaking his head,
“'twas a lucky thought in me to throw out the
hide, or there might have been blood split; and
I'm sure, if it had been your'n, I should have
mourn'd it sorely the little while I have to stay.”
“Well, Leather-stocking,” returned Billy, facing
the prisoner, with a freedom and familiarity
that utterly disregarded the presence of the court,
“as you are on the subject, it may be that you've
no”—
“Go on with your examination, Mr. District
Attorney.”
That gentleman eyed the familiarity between
his witness and the prisoner with manifest disgust,
and indicated to the court that he was done.
“Then you didn't feel frightened, Mr. Kirby?”
said the counsel for the prisoner.
“Me! no,” said Billy, casting his eyes over his
own huge frame with evident self-satisfaction;
“I'm not to be skeared so easy.”
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“You look like a hardy man; where were you
born, sir?”
“Varmount state; 'tis a mountaynious place,
but there's a stiff soil, and it's pretty much wooded
with beech and maple.”
“I have always heerd so,” said Mr. Lippet,
soothingly. “You have been used to the rifle
yourself, in that country?”
“I pull the second best trigger in this county.
I knock under to Natty Bumppo there, sin' he shot
the pigeon.”
Leather-stocking raised his head, and laughed
again, when he thrust out a wrinkled hand, and
said—
“You're young yet, Billy, and haven't seen the
matches that I have; but here's my hand; I bear
no malice to you, I don't.”
Mr. Lippet allowed this conciliatory offering to
be accepted, and judiciously paused, while the
spirit of peace was exercising her influence over
the two; but the Judge interposed his authority,
by saying—
“This is an improper place for such dialogues.
Proceed with your examination of this witness,
Mr. Lippet, or I shall order the next.”
The attorney started, as if he were unconscious
of any impropriety, and continued—
“So you settled the matter with Natty amicably
on the spot, did you?”
“He gi'n me the skin, and I didn't want to
quarrel with an old man; for my part, I see no
such mighty matter in shooting a buck?”
“And you parted friends? and you would never
have thought of bringing the business up before
a court, hadn't you been subpœnaed?”
“I don't think I should; he gi'n the skin, and
I didn't feel a hard thought, though Squire Doolittle
got some affronted.”
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“I have done, sir,” said Mr. Lippet, probably
relying on the charge of the Judge, as he again
seated himself, with the air of a man who felt that
his success was certain.
When Mr. Van der School arose to address the
jury, he commenced by saying—
“Gentlemen of the jury, I should have interrupted
the leading questions put by the prisoner's
counsel, (by leading questions I mean telling him
what to say,) did I not feel confident that the law
of the land was superior to any advantages (I
mean legal advantages) which he might obtain by
his art. The counsel for the prisoner, gentlemen,
has endeavoured to persuade you, in opposition
to your own good sense, to believe that pointing
a rifle at a constable (elected or deputed) is a very
innocent affair; and that society (I mean the
commonwealth, gentlemen,) shall not be endangered
thereby. But let me claim your attention,
while we look over the particulars of this heinous
offence.” Here Mr. Van der School favoured
the jury with an abridgment of the testimony, recounted
in such a manner as utterly to confuse
the faculties of his worthy listeners. After this
exhibition he closed as follows:—“And now, gentlemen,
having thus made plain to your senses
the crime of which this unfortunate man has been
guilty, (unfortunate both on account of his ignorance
and his guilt,) I shall leave you to your
own consciences; not in the least doubting that
you will see the importance (notwithstanding the
prisoner's counsel (doubtless relying on your former
verdict) wishes to appear so confident of success)
of punishing the offender, and asserting the
dignity of the laws.”
It was now the duty of the Judge to deliver his
charge. It consisted of a short, comprehensive
summary of the testimony, laying bare the artifice
of the prisoner's counsel, and placing the
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facts in so obvious a light that they could not well
be misunderstood. “Living, as we do, gentlemen,”
he concluded, “on the skirts of society,
it becomes doubly necessary to protect the ministers
of the law. If you believe the witnesses,
in their construction of the acts of the prisoner, it
is your duty to convict him; but if you believe
that the old man, who this day appears before
you, meant not to harm the constable, but was
acting more under the influence of habit than by
the instigations of malice, it will be your duty to
judge him, but to do it with lenity.”
As before, the jury did not leave their box,
but, after a consultation of some little time, their
foreman arose, and pronounced the prisoner—
“Guilty.”
There was but little surprise manifested in the
court room at this verdict, as the testimony, the
greater part of which we have omitted, was too
clear and direct to be passed over. The judges
seemed to have anticipated this sentiment, for a
consultation was passing among them also, during
the deliberation of the jury, and the preparatory
movements of the “bench” announced the coming
sentence.
“Nathaniel Bumppo,” commenced the Judge,
making the customary pause.
The old hunter, who had been musing again,
with his head on the bar, raised himself, and cried,
with a prompt, military tone—
“Here.”
The Judge waved his hand for silence, and
proceeded—
“In forming their sentence, the court have
been governed as much by the consideration of
your ignorance of the laws, as by a strict sense of
the importance of punishing such outrages as this
of which you have been found guilty. They have,
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therefore, passed over the obvious punishment of
whipping on the bare back, in mercy to your
years; but as the dignity of the law requires an
open exhibition of the consequences of your crime,
it is ordered, that you be conveyed from this
room to the public stocks, where you are to be
confined for one hour; that you pay a fine to the
state of one hundred dollars; and that you be imprisoned
in the goal of this county for one calender
month; and furthermore, that your imprisonment
do not cease until the said fine shall be paid.
I feel it my duty, Nathaniel Bumppo,”—
“And where should I get the money!” interrupted
the Leather-stocking, eagerly; “where
should I get the money! you'll take away the
bounty on the painters, because I cut the throat
of a deer; and how is an old man to find so much
gold or silver in the woods? No, no, Judge;
think better of it, and don't talk of shutting me up
in a gaol for the little time I have to stay.”
“If you have any thing to urge against the passing
of the sentence, the court will yet hear you,”
said the Judge, mildly.
“I have enough to say ag'in it,” cried Natty,
grasping the bar, on which his fingers were working
with a convulsed motion. “Where am I to get
the money? Let me out into the woods and
hills, where I've been used to breathe the clear
air, and though I'm three score and ten, if you've
left game enough in the country, I'll travel night
and day but I'll make you up the sum afore the
season is over. Yes, yes—you see the reason of
the thing, and the wickedness of shutting up an
old man, that has spent his days, as one may say,
where he could always look into the windows of
heaven.”
“I must be governed by the law”—
“Talk not to me of law, Marmaduke Temple,”
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interrupted the hunter. “Did the beast of the forest
mind your laws, when it was thirsty and hungering
for the blood of your own child! She
was kneeling to her God for a greater favour than
I ask, and he heard her; and if you now say no
to my prayers, do you think he will be deaf?”
“My private feelings must not enter into”—
“Hear me, Marmaduke Temple,” interrupted
the old man, with a melancholy tone of voice,
“and hear reason. I've travelled these mountains
when you was no judge, but an infant in your
mother's arms; and I feel as if I had a right and
a privilege to travel them ag'in afore I die. Have
you forgot the time that you come on to the
lake-shore, when there wasn't even a gaol to lodge
in; and didn't I give you my own bear-skin to
sleep on, and the fat of a noble buck to satisfy the
cravings of your hunger? Yes, yes—you thought
it no sin then to kill a deer! And this I did,
though I had no reason to love you, for you had
never done any thing but harm to them that loved
and sheltered me. And now will you shut me
up in your dungeons to pay me for my kindness?
A hundred dollars! where should I get the money?
No, no—there's them that says hard things
of you, Marmaduke Temple, but you an't so bad
as to wish to see an old man die in a prison, because
he stood up for the right. Come, friend,
let me pass; it's long sin' I've been used to such
crowds, and I crave to be in the woods ag'in.
Don't fear me, Judge—I bid you not to fear me;
for if there's beaver enough left on the streams,
or the buckskins will sell for a shilling a-piece,
you shall have the last penny of the fine. Where
are ye, pups! come away, dogs! come away! we
have a grievous toil to do for our years, but it
shall be done—yes, yes, I've promised it, and it
shall be done!”
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It is unnecessary to say that the movement of
the Leather-stocking was again intercepted by
the constable; but before he had time to speak,
a bustling in the crowd, and a loud hem, drew all
eyes to another part of the room.
Benjamin had succeeded in edging his way
through the people, and was now seen balancing
his short body, with one foot in a window and the
other on the railing of the jury-box. To the
amazement of the whole court, the steward was
evidently preparing to speak. After a good deal
of difficulty, he succeeded in drawing from his
pocket a small bag, and then found utterance.
“If-so-be,” he said, “that your honour is
agreeable to trust the poor fellow out on another
cruise among the beasts, here's a small matter that
will help to bring down the risk, seeing that there's
just thirty-five of your Spaniards in it; and I
wish, from the bottom of my heart, that they was
raal British guineas, for the sake of the old boy.
But 'tis as it is; and if Squire Dickens will just
be so good as to overhaul this small bit of an
account, and take enough from the bag to settle
the same, he's welcome to hold on upon the rest,
till such time as the Leather-stocking can grapple
with them said beaver, or, for that matter, for ever,
and no thanks asked.”
As Benjamin concluded, he thrust out the wooden
register of his arrears to the “Bold Dragoon”
with one hand, while he offered his bag of dollars
with the other. Astonishment at this singular
interruption produced a profound stillness in the
room, which was only interrupted by the Sheriff,
who struck his sword on the table, and cried—
“Silence!”
“There must be an end to this,” said the Judge,
struggling to overcome his feelings. “
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Constable, lead the prisoner to the stocks. Mr. Clerk,
what stands next on the calendar?”
Natty seemed to yield to his destiny, for he sunk
his head on his chest, and followed the officer from
the court-room in silence. The crowd moved back
for the passage of the prisoner, and when his tall
form was seen descending from the outer door, a
rush of the people to the scene of his disgrace
followed.
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CHAPTER XV.
“Ha! hu! look! he wears cruel garters!”
Lear.
[figure description] Page 216.[end figure description]
The punishments of the common law were still
known, at the time of our tale, to the people of
New-York; and the whipping-post, with its companion,
the stocks, were not yet supplanted by the
more modern but doubtful expedients of the public
prisons. Immediately in front of the gaol,
those relics of the elder times were situated, as a
lesson of precautionary justice to the evil-doers of
the settlement.
Natty followed the constables to this spot, bowing
his head with submission to a power that he
was unable to oppose, and surrounded by the
crowd, that formed a circle about his person, exhibiting
in their countenances a strong curiosity.
A constable raised the upper part of the stocks,
and pointed with his finger to the holes where the
old man was to place his feet. Without making
the least objection to the punishment, the Leather-stocking
quietly seated himself on the ground,
and suffered his limbs to be laid in the openings,
without even a murmur; though he cast one
glance about him, as if in quest of that sympathy
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that human nature always seems to require under
suffering. If he met no direct manifestations of
pity, neither did he see any savage exultation expressed,
nor hear a single reproachful epithet. The
character of the mob, if it could be called by such
a name, was that of attentive subordination.
The constable was in the act of lowering the
upper plank, when Benjamin, who had pressed
close to the side of the prisoner, said, in his hoarse
tones, as if seeking for some cause to create a
quarrel—
“Where away, master constable, is the use to
be found of clapping a man in them here bilboes?
it neither stops his grog nor hurts his back; what
for is it that you do the thing?”
“'Tis the sentence of the court, Mr. Penguillum,
and there's law for it, I s'pose.”
“Ay, ay, I know that there's law for the thing;
but where away do you find the use, I say? it
does no harm, and it only keeps a man by the heels
for the small matter of two glasses.”
“Is it no harm, Benny Pump,” said Natty,
raising his eyes with a piteous look to the face of
the steward—“is it no harm to show off a man in
his seventy-first year, like a tamed bear, for the
settlers to look on! Is it no harm to put an old
soldier, that has sarved through the war of 'fifty-six,
and seen the inimy in the 'seventy-six business,
into a place like this, where the boys can
point at him and say, I have known the time when
he was a spictacle for the country! Is it no harm
to bring down the pride of an honest man to be
the equal of the beasts of the forest!”
Benjamin stared about him fiercely, and, could
he have found a single face that expressed contumely,
he would have been prompt to quarrel with
its owner; but meeting every where with looks of
sobriety, and occasionally of commiseration, he
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very deliberately seated himself by the side of the
hunter, and placing his legs in the two vacant
holes of the stocks, he said—
“Now lower away, master constable, lower
away, I tell ye! If-so-be there's such a thing
hereabouts as a man that wants to see a bear, let
him look and be d—d, and he shall find two of
them, and mayhap one of the same that can bite
as well as growl.”
“But I've no orders to put you in the stocks,
Mr. Pump,” cried the constable; “you must get
up, and let me do my duty.”
“You've my orders, and what do you need
better, to meddle with my own feet? so lower
away, will ye, and let me see the man that chooses
to open his mouth with a grin on it.”
“There can't be any harm in locking up a
creater that will enter the pound,” said the constable,
laughing, and closing the stocks on them
both.
It was fortunate that this act was executed with
decision, for the whole of the spectators, when
they saw Benjamin assume the position he took,
felt an inclination for merriment, which few
thought it worth their efforts to suppress. The
steward struggled violently for his liberty again,
with an evident intention of making battle on
those who stood nearest to him; but the key was
already turned, and all his efforts were made in
vain.
“Hark ye, master constable,” he cried, “just
clear away your bilboes for the small matter of a
log-glass, will ye, and let me show some of them
there chaps who it is that they are so merry
about.”
“No, no, you would go in, and you can't come
out,” returned the officer, “until the time has
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expired that the Judge directed for the keeping of
the prisoner.”
Benjamin, finding that his threats and his struggles
were useless, had good sense enough to learn
patience from the resigned manner of his companion,
and soon settled himself down by the side
of Natty, with a contemptuousness expressed in
his hard features, that showed he had subsituted
disgust for rage. When the violence of the steward's
feelings had in some measure subsided, he
turned to his fellow sufferer, and, with a motive
that might have vindicated a worse effusion, he attempted
the charitable office of consolation.
“Taking it by and large, Master Bump-ho, 'tis
but a small matter, after all,” he said. “Now
I've known very good sort of men, aboard of the
Boadishey, laid by the heels, for nothing, mayhap,
but forgetting that they'd drunk their allowance
already, when a glass of grog has come in
their way. This is nothing more than riding
with two anchors ahead, waiting for a turn in the
tide, or a shift of wind, d'ye see, with a soft bottom
and plenty of room for the sweep of your
hawse. Now I've seen many a man, for over-shooting
his reckoning, as I told ye, moored head
and starn, where he couldn't so much as heave his
broadside round, and mayhap a stopper clapt on
his tongue too, in the shape of a pump-bolt lashed
athwart-ship his jaws, all the same as an out-rigger
along side of a taffrel-rail.”
The hunter appeared to appreciate the kind intentions
of the other, though he could not understand
his eloquence; and raising his humbled
countenance, he attempted a smile in vain, as he
said—
“Anan!”
“'Tis nothing, I say, but a small matter of a
squall, that will soon blow over,” continued
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Benjamin. “To you that has such a length of keel,
it must be all the same as nothing; thof, seeing
that I'm a little short in my lower timbers, they've
triced my heels up aloft in such a way as to give
me a bit of a slue. But what cares I, Master
Bump-ho, if the ship strains a little at her anchor;
it's only for a dog-watch, and dam'me but she'll
sail with you then on that cruise after them said
beaver. I'm not much used to small arms, seeing
that I was stationed at the ammunition-boxes, being
sum'mat too low-rigged to see over the hammock-cloths;
but I can carry the game d'ye see,
and mayhap make out to lend a hand with the
traps; and if-so-be you're any way so handy with
them as ye be with your boat-hook, 'twill be but
a short cruise after all. I've squared the yards
with Squire Dickens this morning, and I shall send
him word that he needn't bear my name on
the books again till such time as the cruise is
over.”
“You're used to dwell with men, Benny,” said
Leather-stocking, mournfully, “and the ways of
the woods would be hard on you, if”—
“Not a bit—not a bit,” cried the steward;
“I'm none of your fair-weather chaps, Master
Bump-ho, as sails only in smooth water. When
I find a friend I sticks by him, d'ye see. Now,
there's no better man a-going than Squire Dickens,
and I love him about the same as I loves
Mistress Hollister's new keg of Jamaiky.” The
steward paused, and turning his uncouth visage
on the hunter, he survey'd him with a roguish
leer of his eye, and gradually suffered the muscles
of his hard features to relax, until his face was illuminated
by the display of his white teeth, when
he dropped his voice, and added—“I say, Master
Leather-stocking, 'tis fresher and livelier than
any Hollands you'll get in Garnsey. But we'll
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send a hand over and ask the woman for a taste,
for I'm so jammed in these here bilboes, that I
begin to want sum'mat to lighten my upper-works.”
Natty sighed, and gazed about him on the
crowd, that already begun to disperse, and which
had now diminished greatly, as its members scattered
in their various pursuits. He looked wistfully
at Benjamin, but did not reply; a deeply-seated
anxiety seeming to absorb every other sensation,
and to throw a melancholy gloom over his
wrinkled features, which were working with the
movements of his mind.
The steward was about to act on the old principle,
that silence gives consent, when Hiram Doolittle,
attended by Jotham, stalked out of the crowd,
across the open space, and approached the stocks.
The magistrate passed by the end where Benjamin
was seated, and posted himself, at a safe
distance from the steward, in front of the Leather-stocking.
Hiram stood, for a moment, cowering
before the keen looks that Natty fastened on him,
and suffering under an embarrassment that was
quite new; when, having in some degree recovered
himself, he looked at the heavens, and then
at the smoky atmosphere, as if it were only an ordinary
meeting with a friend, and said, in his formal,
hesitating way—
“Quite a scurcity of rain lately; I some think
we shall have a long drought on't.”
Benjamin was occupied in untying his bag of
dollars, and did not observe the approach of the
magistrate, while Natty turned his face, in which
every muscle was working, away from him in disgust,
without answering. Rather encouraged than
daunted by this exhibition of dislike, Hiram, after
a short pause, continued—
“The clouds look as if they'd no water in
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them, and the earth is dreadfully parched. To my
judgment, there'll be short crops this season, if
the rain doosn't fall quite speedily.”
The air with which Mr. Doolittle delivered this
prophetical opinion was peculiar to his species. It
was a jesuitical, cold, unfeeling, and selfish manner,
that seemed to say, “I have kept within the
law,” to the man he had so cruelly injured. It
quite overcame the restraint that the old hunter
had been labouring to impose on himself, and he
burst out in a warm glow of indignation.
“Why should the rain fall from the clouds,”
he cried, “when you force the tears from the eyes
of the old, the sick, and the poor! Away with ye—
away with ye! you may be formed in the image
of the Maker, but Satan dwells in your heart.
Away with ye, I say! I am mournful, and the sight
of ye brings bitter thoughts.”
Benjamin ceased thumbing his money, and
raised his head, at the instant that Hiram, who
was thrown off his guard by the invectives of the
hunter, unluckily trusted his person within reach
of the steward, who grasped one of his legs, with
a hand that had the grip of a vice, and whirled
the magistrate from his feet, before he had either
time to collect his senses, or exercise the strength
he did really possess. Benjamin wanted neither
proportions nor manhood in his head, shoulders,
and arms, though all the rest of his frame appeared
to be originally intended for a very different
sort of a man. He exerted his physical powers,
on the present occasion, with much discretion,
and as their positions were a great disadvantage
to his antagonist, without at all discomposing the
steward, the struggle resulted, very soon, in Benjamin
getting the magistrate fixed in a posture
somewhat similar to his own, and manfully placed
face to face.
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“You're a ship's cousin, I tell ye, Master Doo-but-little,”
roared the steward—“some such matter
as a ship's cousin, sir. I know you, I do, with
your fair-weather speeches to Squire Dickens, to
his face, and then you go and sarve out your grumbling
to all the old women in the town, do ye.
An't it enough for any christian, let him harbour
never so much malice, to get an honest old fellow
laid by the heels in this fashion, without carrying
sail so hard on the poor dog, as if you would run
him down as he lay at his anchors? But I've
logged many a hard thing against your name,
master, and now the time's come to foot up the
day's work, d'ye see; so square yourself, you lubber,
square yourself, and we'll soon know who's the
better man.”
“Jotham!” cried the frightened magistrate—
“Jotham! call in the constables. Mr. Penguillum,
I command the peace—I order you to keep
the peace.”
“There's been more peace than love atwixt us,
master,” cried the steward, making some very equivocal
demonstrations towards hostility; “so mind
yourself! square yourself, I say! do you smell
this here bit of a sledge-hammer?”
“Lay hands on me if you dare!” exclaimed
Hiram, as well as he could under the grasp which
the steward held on his throttle—“lay hands on
me if you dare!”
“If ye call this laying, master, you are welcome
to the eggs,” roared the steward.
It becomes our disagreeable duty to record
here, that the acts of Benjamin now became perfectly
unequivocal; for he darted his sledge-hammer
violently on the anvil of Mr. Doolittle's countenance,
and the place became, in an instant, a scene of
tumult and confusion. The crowd rushed in a
dense circle around the spot, while some run to
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the court-room to give the alarm, and one or two
of the more juvenile part of the multitude had a
desperate trial of speed, to see who should be the
happy man to communicate the critical situation
of the magistrate to his wife.
Benjamin worked with great industry and a
good deal of skill, at his occupation, using
one hand to raise up his antagonist, while he
knocked him over with the other; for he would
have been disgraced in his own estimation, had
he struck a blow on a fallen adversary. By this
considerate arrangement he found means, however,
to hammer the visage of Hiram out of all
shape, by the time that Richard succeeded in forcing
his way through the throng to the point of
combat. The Sheriff afterwards declared that,
independent of his mortification, as preserver of
the peace of the county, at this interruption to its
harmony, he was never so grieved in his life, as
when he saw this breach of unity between his favourites.
Hiram had in some degree become necessary
to his vanity, and Benjamin, strange as it
may appear, he really loved. This attachment
was exhibited in the first words that he uttered.
“Squire Doolittle! Squire Doolittle! I am
ashamed to see a man of your character and office
forget himself so much as to disturb the peace, insult
the court, and beat poor Benjamin in this
manner!”
At the sound of Mr. Jones' voice the steward
ceased his employment, and Hiram had an opportunity
of raising his discomfited visage towards
the mediator. Emboldened by the sight of the
Sheriff, Mr. Doolittle again had recourse to his
lungs.
“I'll have the law on you for this,” he cried,
desperately; “I'll have the law on you for this.
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I call on you, Mr. Sheriff, to seize this man, and
I demand that you take his body into custody.”
By this time Richard was master of the true
state of the case, and, turning to the steward, he
cried—
“Benjamin, how came you in the stocks! I always
thought you were as mild and docile as a
lamb. It was for your docility that I most esteemed
you. Benjamin! Benjamin! you have not
only disgraced yourself, but your friends, by
this shameless conduct. Bless me! bless me! Mr.
Doolittle, he seems to have knocked your face
all of one side.”
Hiram by this time had got on his feet again,
and without the reach of the steward, when he
broke forth in violent appeals for vengeance. The
offence was too apparent to be passed over, and
the Sheriff, mindful of the impartiality exhibited
by his cousin in the recent trial of the Leather-stocking,
came to the painful conclusion that it
was necessary to commit his major-domo to
prison. As the time of Natty's punishment was
expired, and Benjamin found that they were to
be confined, for that night at least, in the same
apartment, he made no very strong objections to
the measure, nor spoke of bail, though, as the
Sheriff preceded the party of constables that conducted
them to the gaol, he uttered the following
remonstrance:—
“As to being birthed with Master Bump-ho for
a night or so, it's but little I think of it, Squire
Dickens, seeing that I calls him an honest man,
and one as has a handy way with boat-hooks and
rifles; but as for owning that a man desarves any
thing worse than a double allowance, for knocking
that carpenter's face a-one-side, as you call
it, I'll maintain it's ag'in reason and christianity.
If there's a blood-sucker in this 'ere
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country, it's that very chap. Ay! I know him! and
if he hasn't got all the same as dead-wood in his
head-works, he knows sum'mat of me. Where's
the mighty harm, Squire, that you take it so much
to heart! It's all the same as any other battle,
d'ye see, sir, being fair broadside to broadside,
only that it was fout at anchor, which was what
we did in Port Praya roads, when Suff'ring
came in among us; and a suff'ring time he had
of it, before he got out again.”
Richard thought it unworthy of him to make any
reply to this speech; but when his prisoners were
safely lodged in an outer dungeon, ordering the
bolts to be drawn and the key turned, he withdrew.
Benjamin held frequent and friendly dialogues
with different people, through the iron gratings,
during the afternoon; but his companion paced
their narrow limits, in his moccasins, with quick,
impatient treads, his face hanging on his breast
in dejection, or when lifted, at moments, to the
idlers at the window, lighted, perhaps, for an instant,
with the childish aspect of aged forgetfulness,
which would vanish directly in an expression
of deep and obvious anxiety.
At the close of the day Edwards was seen at
the window, in close and earnest dialogue with his
friend; and after he departed it was thought that
he had communicated words of comfort to the
hunter, who threw himself on his pallet, and was
soon in a deep sleep. The curious spectators had
exhausted the conversation of the steward, who
had drunk good fellowship with half of his acquaintance,
and as Natty was no longer in motion,
by eight o'clock, Billy Kirby, who was the last
lounger at the window, retired into the “Templetown
Coffee-House,” when Natty rose and
hung a blanket before the opening, and the prisoners
apparently retired for the night.
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CHAPTER XVI.
“And to avoid the foe's pursuit,
With spurring put their cattle to't;
And till all four were out of wind,
And danger too, ne'er look'd behind.”
Hudibras.
[figure description] Page 227.[end figure description]
As the shades of evening approached, the jurors,
witnesses, and other attendants on the court,
begun to disperse, and before nine o'clock the
village was quiet, and its streets nearly deserted.
At that hour, Judge Temple and his daughter,
followed at a short distance by Louisa Grant,
walked slowly down the avenue, under the slight
shadows of the young poplars, holding the following
discourse:—
“You can best sooth his wounded spirit, my
child,” said Marmaduke; “but it will be dangerous
to touch on the nature of his offence; the
sanctity of the laws must be respected.”
“Surely, sir,” cried the impatient Elizabeth,
“those laws that condemn a man like the Leather-stocking
to so severe a punishment, for an offence
that even I must think very venial, cannot be perfect
in themselves.”
“Thou talkest of what thou dost not understand,
Elizabeth,” returned her father. “Society
cannot exist without wholesome restraints. Those
restraints cannot be inflicted, without security and
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respect to the persons of those who administer
them; and it would sound ill indeed, to report
that a judge had extended favour to a convicted
criminal, because he had saved the life of his
child.”
“I see—I see the difficulty of your situation,
dear sir,” cried the daughter; “but in appreciating
the offence of poor Natty, I cannot separate
the minister of the law from the man.”
“There thou talkest as a woman, child; it is
not for an assault on Hiram Doolittle, but for
threatening the life of a constable, who was in the
performance of”—
“It is immaterial whether it be one or the
other,” interrupted Miss Temple, with a logic that
contained more feeling than reason; “I know
Natty to be innocent, and thinking so, I must
think all wrong who oppress him.”
“His judge among the number! thy father,
Elizabeth?”
“Nay, nay—nay, do not put such questions to
me; give me my commission, father, and let me
proceed to execute it.”
The Judge paused a moment, smiling fondly on
his child, and then dropped his hand affectionately
on her shoulder, as he answered—
“Thou hast reason, Bess, and much of it too,
but thy heart lies too near thy head. But listen:
in this pocket-book are two hundred dollars. Go
to the prison—there are none in this place to harm
thee—give this note to the gaoler, and when thou
seest Bumppo, say what thou wilt to the poor old
man; give scope to the feelings of thy warm
heart; but try to remember, Elizabeth, that the
laws alone remove us from the condition of the
savages; that he has been criminal, and that his
judge was thy father.”
Miss Temple made no reply, but she pressed
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the hand that held the pocket-book to her bosom,
and taking her friend by the arm, they issued together
from the enclosure into the principal street
of the village.
As they pursued their walk in silence, under
the row of houses, where the deeper gloom of
the evening effectually concealed their persons,
no sound reached them, excepting the slow
tread of a yoke of oxen, with the rattling of a
cart, that were moving along the street in the
same direction with themselves. The figure of
the teamster was just discernible by the dim light,
lounging by their side, with a listless air, as if
equally fatigued with his beasts, by the toil of
the day. At the corner, where the gaol stood,
the progress of the ladies was impeded, for a moment,
by the oxen, who were turned up to the
side of the building, and given a lock of hay, which
they had carried on their necks, as a reward for
their patient labour. The whole of this was so
natural, and so common, that Elizabeth saw nothing
to induce a second glance at the team, until
she heard the teamster speaking to his cattle in a
low voice—
“Mind yourself, Brindle; will you sir! will
you!”
The language itself was unusual to oxen, with
which all who dwell in a new country are familiar;
but there was something in the voice also,
that startled Miss Temple. On turning the corner,
she necessarily approached near to the man, and
her searching look was enabled to detect the person
of Oliver Edwards, concealed under the
coarse garb of a teamster. Their eyes met at
the same instant, and, notwithstanding the gloom,
and the enveloping cloak of Elizabeth, the recognition
was mutual.
“Miss Temple!” “Mr. Edwards!” were
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[figure description] Page 230.[end figure description]
exclaimed simultaneously, though a feeling that
seemed common to them both rendered their tones
nearly inaudible.
“Is it possible,” exclaimed Edwards, after the
moment of doubt had passed; “do I see you so
nigh the gaol! but you are going to the Rectory,
I beg pardon—Miss Grant, I believe; I did not
recognise you at first.”
The sigh which Louisa uttered, was so faint
that it was only heard by Elizabeth, who replied,
quickly—
“We are going not only to the gaol, Mr. Edwards,
but into it. We wish to show the Leather-stocking
that we do not forget his services,
and that, at the same time we must be just, we are
also grateful. I suppose you are on a similar errand;
but let me beg that you will give us leave
to precede you ten minutes. Good night, sir;
I—I—am quite sorry, Mr. Edwards, to see you
reduced to such labour; I am sure my father
would”—
“I shall wait your pleasure, madam,” interrupted
the youth, coldly. “May I beg that you
will not mention my being here?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Elizabeth, returning his
bow by a slight inclination of her head, and urging
the tardy Louisa forward. As they entered the
gaoler's house, however, Miss Grant found leisure
to whisper—
“Would it not be well to offer part of your money
to Oliver? half of it will pay the fine of
Bumppo; and he is so unused to hardships! I am
sure my father will subscribe much of his little
pittance, to place him in a station that is more
worthy of him.”
The involuntary smile that passed over the features
of Elizabeth was transient as a gleam of
flitting light, and was blended with an expression
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of deep and heartfelt pity. She did not reply,
however, and the appearance of the gaoler soon
recalled the thoughts of both to the immediate
object of their visit.
The rescue of the ladies, and their consequent
interest in his prisoner, together with the informal
manners that prevailed in the country, all united
to prevent any surprise, on the part of the gaoler,
at their request for admission to Bumppo. The
note of Judge Temple, however, would have silenced
all objections, if he had felt them, and he
led the way without hesitation to the apartment
that held the prisoners. The instant the key was
put into the lock, the hoarse voice of Benjamin
was heard, demanding—
“Yo! hoy! who comes there?”
“Some visiters that you'll be glad to see,” returned
the gaoler. “What have you done to the
lock, that it won't turn?”
“Handsomely, handsomely, master,” cried the
steward; “I've just drove a nail into a birth
alongside of this here bolt, as a stopper, d'ye see,
so that master Doo-but-little can't be running in
and breezing up another fight atwixt us, for, to
my account, there'll be but a ban-yan with me
soon, seeing that they'll mulct me of my Spaniards,
all the same as if I'd overflogged the lubber.
Throw your ship into the wind and lay by for a
small matter, will ye? and I'll soon clear a passage.”
The sounds of hammering gave an assurance
that the steward was in earnest, and in a short
time the lock yielded, when the door was opened.
Benjamin had evidently been anticipating the
seizure of his money, for he had made frequent
demands on the favourite cask at the “Bold Dragoon,”
during the afternoon and evening, and
was now in that state which by marine imagery is
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called “half-seas-over.” It was no easy thing to
destroy the balance of the old tar by the effects of
liquor, for, as he expressed it himself, “he was
too low-rigged not to carry sail in all weathers;”
but he was precisely in that condition which is so
expressively termed “muddy.” When he perceived
who the visiters were, he retreated to the
side of the room where his pallet lay, and, regardless
of the presence of his young mistress, seated
himself on it with an air of great sobriety, placing
his back firmly against the wall.
“If you undertake to spoil my locks in this
manner, Mr. Pump,” said the gaoler, “I shall put
a stopper, as you call it, on your legs, and tie you
down to your bed.”
“What for should ye, Master?” grumbled
Benjamin; “I've rode out one squall to-day, anchored
by the heels, and I wants no more of them.
Where's the harm of doing all the same as yourself?
Leave that there door free outboard, and
you'll find no locking inboard, I'll promise ye.”
“I must shut up for the night at nine,” said the
gaoler, “and it's now forty-two minutes past
eight.” He placed the little candle he carried on
a rough pine table, and withdrew.
“Leather-stocking!” said Elizabeth, when the
key of the door was turned on them again, “my
good friend Leather-stocking! I have come on a
message of gratitude to you. Had you submitted
to the search, worthy old man, the death of the
deer would have been a trifle, and all would have
been well”—
“Submit to the sarch!” interrupted Natty,
raising his face from resting on his knees, without
rising from the corner where he had seated himself;
“d'ye think, gal, I would let such a varmint
into my hut? No, no—I wouldn't have opened
the door to your own sweet countenance then. But
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they are wilcome to sarch among the coals and
ashes now; they'll find only some such heap as is
to be seen at every pot-ashery in the mountains.”
The old man dropped his face again on one
hand, and seemed to be lost in a melancholy
musing.
“The hut can be rebuilt, and made better than
before,” returned Miss Temple; “and it shall be
my office to see it done, when your imprisonment
is ended.”
“Can ye raise the dead, child!” said Natty, in
a sorrowful voice; “can ye go into the place
where you've laid your fathers, and mothers, and
children, and gather together their ashes, and
make the same men and women of them as
afore! You do not know what 'tis to lay your
head for more than forty years under the cover of
the same logs, and to look on the same things for
the better part of a man's life. You are young
yet, child, but you are one of the most precious
of God's creaters. I had a hope for ye that it
might come to pass, but it's all over now; this
put to that, will drive the thing quite out of his
mind for ever.”
Miss Temple must have understood the meaning
of the old man better than the other listeners;
for, while Louisa stood innocently by her side,
commiserating the griefs of the hunter, the
heiress bent her head aside, so as to conceal her
features, from the dim light, by her dark tresses.
The action and the feeling that caused it lasted
but a moment, when she faced the party, and continued—
“Other logs, and better, though, can be had, and
shall be found for you, my old defender. Your
confinement will soon be over, and before that
time arrives I shall have a house prepared for you,
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where you may spend the close of your harmless
life in ease and plenty.”
“Ease and plenty! house!” repeated Natty
slowly. “You mean well, gal, you mean well,
and I quite mourn that it cannot be; but he has
seen me a sight and a laughing-stock for”—
“Damn your stocks” said Benjamin, flourishing
his bottle with one hand, from which he had
been taking hasty and repeated draughts, while
he made gestures of disdain with the other; “who
cares for his bilboes? there's a leg that's been
stuck up an end like a gib-boom for an hour,
d'ye see, and what's it the worse for't, ha! canst
tell me, what's it the worser, ha?”
“I believe you forget, Mr. Pump, in whose
presence you sit with so much composure,” said
Elizabeth.
“Forget you, Miss 'Lizzy,” returned the steward;
“if I do dam'me; you're not to be forgot,
like Goody Pretty-bones, up at the big house
there. I say old sharp-shooter, she may have
pretty bones, but I can't say so much for her
flesh d'ye see, for she looks sum'mat like an
otomy with another man's jacket on. Now, for
the skin of her face, it's all the same as a new top-sail
with a taught bolt-rope, being snug at the
leaches, but all in a bight about the inner cloths.”
“Peace—I command you to be silent, sir,” said
Elizabeth.
“Ay, ay, ma'am,” returned the steward. “You
didn't say I shouldn't drink, though.”
“We will not speak of what is to become of
others,” said Miss Temple, turning again to the
hunter—“but of your own fortunes, Natty. It
shall be my care to see that you pass the rest of
your days in ease and plenty.”
“Ease and plenty!” again repeated the Leather-stocking;
“what ease can there be to an old
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man, who must walk a mile across the open
fields, before he can find a shade to hide him
from a scorching sun! or what plenty is there
where you may hunt a day and not start a buck,
or see any thing bigger than a mink, or maybe a
stray fox! Ah! I shall have a hard time after
them very beavers, for this fine. I must go low
toward the Pennsylvany line in sarch of the creaters,
maybe a hundred mile, for they are not to be got
here-away. No, no—your betterments and clearings
have druv the knowing things out of the
country; and instead of beaver-dams, which is
the nater of the animal, and according to Providence,
you turn back the waters over the low
grounds with your mill-dams, as if 'twas in man
to stay the drops from going where He wills them
to go. Benny, unless you stop your hand from
going so often to your mouth, you won't be ready
to start when the time comes.”
“Hark'ee, Master Bump-ho,” said the steward;
“don't you fear for Ben. When the watch is
called, set me on my legs, and give me the bearings
and distance of where you want to steer, and
I'll carry sail with the best of you, I will.”
“The time has come now,” said the hunter, listening;
“I hear the horns of the oxen rubbing
ag'in the side of the gaol.”
“Well, say the word, and then heave ahead,
shipmate,” said Benjamin.
“You won't betray us, gal?” said Natty, looking
up simply into the face of Elizabeth—“you
won't betray an old man, who craves to breathe
the clear air of heaven? I mean no harm, and if
the law says that I must pay the hundred dollars,
I'll take the season through, but it shall be forthcoming;
and this good man will help me.”
“You catch them,” said Benjamin, with a
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sweeping gesture of his arm, “and if they get away
again, call me a slink, that's all.”
“But what mean you!” cried the wondering
Elizabeth. “Here you must stay for thirty days;
but I have the money for your fine in this purse.
Take it; pay it in the morning, and summon patience
for your month. I will come often to see
you, with my friend; we will make up your clothes
with our own hands; indeed, indeed, you shall be
comfortable.”
“Would ye, children?” said Natty, advancing
across the floor with an air of kindness, and taking
the hand of Elizabeth; “would ye be so kearful
of an old man, and just for shooting the beast which
cost him nothing? Such things doesn't run in
the blood, I believe, for you seem not to forget a
favour. Your little fingers couldn't do much
on a buck-skin, nor be you used to such a thread
as sinews. But if he hasn't got past hearing, he
shall hear it and know it, that he may see, like me,
there is some who know how to remember a
kindness.”
“Tell him nothing,” cried Elizabeth, earnestly;
“if you love me, if you regard my feelings,
tell him nothing. It is of yourself only I would
talk, and for yourself only I act. I grieve, Leather-stocking,
that the law requires that you should
be detained here so long; but, after all, it will be
only a short month, and”—
“A month!” exclaimed Natty, opening his
mouth with his usual laugh; “not a day, nor a
night, nor an hour, gal. Judge Temple may
sintence, but he can't keep, without a better dungeon
than this. I was taken once by the French,
and they put sixty-two of us in a block-house,
nigh hand to old Frontinac; but 'twas easy to cut
through a pine log to them that was used to timber.”
The hunter paused, and looked
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cautiously around the room, when, laughing again, he
shoved the steward gently from his post, and removing
the bed-clothes, discovered a hole recently
cut in the logs with a mallet and chisel. “It's only
a kick, and the outside piece is off, and then”—
“Off! ay, off!” cried Benjamin, rousing from
his stupor; “well, here's off. Ay! ay! you
catch 'em, and I'll hold on to them said beaverhats.”
“I fear this lad will trouble me much,” said
Natty; “'twill be a hard pull for the mountain,
should they take the scent soon, and he is not in a
state of mind to run.”
“Run!” echoed the steward; “no, sheer
alongside, and let's have a fight of it.”
“Peace!” ordered Elizabeth.
“Ay, ay, ma'am.”
“You will not leave us surely, Leather-stocking,”
continued Miss Temple; “I beseech you,
reflect that you will be driven to the woods entirely,
and that you are fast getting old. Be patient
for a little time, when you can go abroad openly,
and with honour.”
“Is there beaver to be catched here, gal?”
“If not, here is money to discharge the fine, and
in a month you are free. See, here it is in gold.”
“Gold!” said Natty, with a kind of childish
curiosity; “it's long sin' I've seen a gold piece.
We used to get the broad joes, in the old war, as
plenty as the bears be now. I remember there
was a man in Dieskau's army, that was killed,
who had a dozen of the shining things sewed up
in his shirt. I didn't handle them myself, but I
seen them cut out, with my own eyes; they was
bigger and brighter than them be.”
“These are English guineas, and are yours,”
said Elizabeth; “an earnest of what shall be
done for you.”
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“Me! why should you give me this treasure?”
said Natty, looking earnestly at the maiden.
“Why! have you not saved my life? did you
not rescue me from the jaws of the beast?” exclaimed
Elizabeth, veiling her eyes, as if to hide
some hideous object from her view.
The hunter took the money, and continued
turning it in his hand for some time, piece by
piece, talking aloud during the operation.
“There's a rifle, they say, out on the Cherry
Valley, that will carry a hundred rods and kill.
I've seen good guns in my day, but none quite
equal to that. A hundred rods with any sartainty
is great shooting! Well, well—I'm old, and
the gun I have will answer my time. Here, child,
take back your gold. But the hour has come;
I hear him talking to the cattle, and I must be
going. You won't tell of us, gal—you won't tell
of us, will ye?”
“Tell of you!” echoed Elizabeth,—“But take
the money, old man; take the money, even if you
go into the mountains.”
“No, no,” said Natty, shaking his head kindly;
“I wouldn't rob you so for twenty rifles. But
there's one thing you can do for me, if ye will,
that no other is at hand to do.”
“Name it—name it.”
“Why, it's only to buy a canister of powder;—
'twill cost two silver dollars. Benny Pump has
the money ready, but we daren't come into the
town to get it. Nobody has it but the Frenchman.
'Tis of the best, and just suits a rifle. Will
you get it for me, gal?—say, will you get it for
me?”
“Will I! I will bring it to you, Leather-stocking,
though I toil a day in quest of you through the
woods. But where shall I find you, and how?”
“Where!” said Natty, musing a moment—
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“to-morrow, on the Vision; on the very top of
the Vision I'll meet you, child, just as the sun
gets over our heads. See that it's the fine grain;
you'll know it by the gloss, and the price.”
“I will do it,” said Elizabeth, firmly.
Natty now seated himself, and placing his feet
in the hole, with a slight effort he opened a passage
through into the street. The ladies heard
the rustling of hay, and well understood the reason
why Edwards was in the capacity of a teamster.
“Come, Benny,” said the hunter; “'twill be
no darker to-night, for the moon will rise in an
hour.”
“Stay!” exclaimed Elizabeth; “it should not
be said that you escaped in the presence of the
daughter of Judge Temple. Return, Leather-stocking,
and let us retire, before you execute your
plan.”
Natty was about to reply, when the approaching
footsteps of the gaoler announced the necessity
of his immediate return. He had barely time to
regain his feet, and to conceal the hole with the
bed-clothes, across which Benjamin very opportunely
fell, before the key was turned, and the
door of the apartment opened.
“Isn't Miss Temple ready to go?” said the
civil gaoler—“it's the usooal hour for locking
up.”
“I follow you, sir,” returned Elizabeth, “Good
hight, Leather-stocking.”
“It's a fine grain, gal, and I think 'twill carry
lead further than common. I am getting old, and
can't follow up the game with the step that I used
to could.”
Miss Temple waved her hand for silence, and
preceded Louisa and the keeper from the
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apartment. The man turned the key once, and observed
that he would return and secure his prisoners,
when he had lighted the ladies to the street.
Accordingly, they parted at the door of the building,
when the gaoler retired to his dungeons, and
the ladies walked, with throbbing hearts, towards
the corner.
“Now the Leather-stocking refuses the money,”
whispered Louisa, “it can all be given to
Mr. Edwards, and that added to”—
“Listen!” said Elizabeth; “I hear the rustling
of the hay; they are escaping at this moment.
Oh! they will be detected instantly!”
By this time they were at the corner, where Edwards
and Natty were in the act of drawing the
almost helpless body of Benjamin through the
aperture. The oxen had started back from their
hay, and were standing with their heads down the
street, leaving room for the party to act in.
“Throw the hay into the cart,” said Edwards,
“or they will suspect how it has been done. Quick,
that they may not see it.”
Natty had just returned from executing this
order, when the light of the keeper's candle shone
through the hole, and instantly his voice was
heard in the gaol, exclaiming for his prisoners.
“What is to be done now?” said Edwards—
“this drunken fellow will cause our detection, and
we have not a moment to spare.”
“Who's drunk, ye lubber!” muttered the steward.
“A break-gaol! a break-gaol!” shouted five
or six voices from within.
“We must leave him,” said Edwards.
“'Twould'nt be kind, lad,” returned Natty;
“he took half the disgrace of the stocks on himself
to-day, and the creater has feeling.”
At this moment two or three men were heard
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[figure description] Page 241.[end figure description]
issuing from the door of the “Bold Dragoon,” and
among them the voice of Billy Kirby.
“There's no moon yet,” cried the wood-chopper;
“but it's a clear, moonshiny night. Come,
who's for home? Hark! what a rumpus they're
kicking up in the gaol—here's go and see what
it's about.”
“We shall be lost,” said Edwards, “if we don't
drop this man.”
At that instant Elizabeth moved close to him,
and said rapidly, in a low voice—
“Lay him in the cart, and start the oxen; no
one will look there.”
“By heaven, there's a woman's quickness in
the thought,” said the youth.
The proposition was no sooner made than executed.
The steward was seated on the hay, and
bid to hold his peace, and apply the goad that
was placed in his hand, while the oxen were urged
on. So soon as this arrangement was completed,
Edwards and the hunter stole along the houses
for a short distance, when they disappeared
through an opening that led into the rear of the
buildings. The oxen were in brisk motion, and
presently the cries of pursuit were heard in the
street. The ladies quickened their pace, with a
wish to escape the crowd of constables and idlers
that were approaching, some execrating, and some
laughing at the exploit of the prisoners. In the
confusion, the voice of Kirby was plainly distinguishable
above all the others, shouting and
swearing that he would have the fugitives, threatening
to bring back Natty in one pocket and Benjamin
in the other.
“Spread yourselves, men,” he cried, as he passed
the ladies, with his heavy feet sounding along
the street like the tread of a dozen; “spread
yourselves; to the mountains; they'll be in the
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mountain in a quarter of an hour, and then look
out for a long rifle.”
His cries were echoed from twenty mouths, for
not only the gaol but the taverns had sent forth
their numbers, some earnest in the pursuit, and
others joining it as in sport.
As Elizabeth turned in at her father's gate, she
saw the wood-chopper stop at the cart, when she
gave Benjamin up for lost. While they were hurrying
up the walk, two figures, stealing cautiously
but quickly under the shades of the trees, met the
eyes of the ladies, and in a moment Edwards and
the hunter crossed their path.
“Miss Temple, I may never see you again,”
exclaimed the youth; “let me thank you for all
your kindness; you do not, cannot know my motives.”
“Fly! fly!” cried Elizabeth—“the village is
alarmed. Do not be found conversing with me
at such a moment, and in these grounds.”
“Nay, I must speak, though detection were
certain.”
“Your retreat to the bridge is already cut off;
before you can gain the wood your pursuers will
be there.—If”—
“If what?” cried the youth. “Your advice
has saved me once already; I will follow it to
death.”
“The street is now silent and vacant,” said
Elizabeth, after a pause; “cross it, and you will
find my father's boat in the lake. It would be
easy for you to land from it where you pleased in
the hills.”
“But Judge Temple might complain of the trespass.”
“His daughter shall be accountable, sir.”
The youth uttered something in a low voice,
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that was heard only by Elizabeth, and turned to
execute what she had suggested. As they were
separating, Natty approached the heiress, and
said—
“You'll remember the canister of powder,
children. Them beavers must be had, and I and
the pups be getting old; we want the best of ammunition.”
“Come, Natty,” said Edwards, impatiently.
“Coming, lad, coming. God bless you, young
ones, both of ye, for ye mean well and kindly to
the old man.”
The ladies paused until they lost sight of the
retreating figures, when they immediately entered
the Mansion-house.
While this scene was passing in the walk, Kirby
had overtaken the cart, which was his own, and
had been driven by Edwards without asking the
owner, from the place where the patient oxen
usually stood at evening, waiting the pleasure of
their master.
“Woa—come hither, Golden,” he cried; “why
how come you off the end of the bridge, where I
left you, dummies?”
“Heave ahead,” muttered Benjamin, giving a
random blow with his lash, that alighted on the
shoulder of the other.
“Who the devil be you?” cried Billy, turning
round in surprise, but unable to distinguish, in the
dark, the hard visage that was just peering over
the cart-rails.
“Who be I! why I'm helmsman aboard of
this here craft, d'ye see, and a straight wake I'm
making of it. Ay! ay! I've got the bridge right
ahead, and the bilboes dead-aft; I calls that good
steerage, boy. Heave ahead.”
“Lay your lash in the right spot, Mr. Benny
Pump,” said the wood-chopper, “or I'll put you
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in the palm of my hand, and box your ears.—
Where be you going with my team?”
“Team!”
“Ay, my cart and oxen.”
“Why, you must know, Master Kirby, that the
Leather-stocking and I—that's Benny Pump—
you knows Ben?—well, Benny and I—no, me and
Benny—dam'me if I know how 'tis; but some of
us are bound after a cargo of beaver-skins, d'ye
see, and so we've pressed the cart to ship them
'ome in. I say, Master Kirby, what a lubberly
oar you pull—you handle an oar, boy, pretty
much as a cow would a musket, or a lady would
a marling-spike.”
Billy had discovered the state of the steward's
mind, and he walked for some time alongside of the
cart, musing with himself, when he took the goad
from Benjamin, (who fell back on the hay, and
was soon asleep,) and drove his cattle down the
street, over the bridge, and up the mountain, towards
a clearing in which he was to work the next
day, without any other interruption than a few
hasty questions from parties of the constables.
Elizabeth stood for an hour at the window of
her room, and saw the torches of the pursuers
gliding along the side of the mountain, and heard
their shouts and alarms; but, at the end of that
time, the last party returned, wearied and disappointed,
and the village became again still as
when she issued from the gate, on her mission to
the gaol.
-- 245 --
CHAPTER XVII.
“`And I could weep'—th' Oneida chief
His descant wildly thus begun—
`But that I may not stain with grief
The death-song of my father's son.' ”
Gertrude of Wyomihg.
[figure description] Page 245.[end figure description]
It was yet early on the following morning,
when Elizabeth and Louisa met by appointment,
and proceeded to the store of Monsieur Le Quoi,
in order to redeem the pledge that the former had
given to the Leather-stocking. The people were
again assembling for the business of the day, but
the hour was too soon for a crowd, and the ladies
found the place in possession only of its polite owner,
Billy Kirby, one female customer, and the boy
who did the duty of helper or clerk.
Monsieur Le Quoi was perusing a packet of
letters, with manifest delight, while the wood-chopper,
with one hand thrust into his bosom,
and the other in the folds of his jacket, holding an
axe under his right arm, stood sympathizing in
the Frenchman's pleasure with a good-natured interest.
The freedom of manners that prevailed
in the new settlements, commonly levelled all difference
in rank, and with it, frequently, all considerations
of education and intelligence. At the
time the ladies entered the store they were unseen
by the owner, who was saying to Kirby—
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[figure description] Page 246.[end figure description]
“Ah! ha! Monsieur Beel, dis lettair mak-a me
de most happi of mans. Ah! ma chere France!
I vill see you aga'n.”
“I rejoice, Monsieur, at any thing that contributes
to your happiness,” cried Elizabeth, “but
must hope we are not going to lose you entirely.”
“Ah! Ma'mselle Templ'! vat honneur I feel
to me; mais I 'ave lettair, dat mak-a mon cœur
sautez de joie. Ah! Ma'mselle Templ', if you 'ave
père, 'ave mère, 'ave leetl'—Jean-tone, vy you
dont 'and de ladi a pins, eh!—if you 'ave amis
beeg and leetl' you voud be glad to go back.
Attendez vous, Ma'mselle, si vous plais; je vous
lirai. `A Monsieur Monsieur Le Quoi, de Mersereau
à Templetone, Noo Yorck, les Etats Unis
d'Amérique. Très cher ami,—Je suis ravis”—
“I apprehend that my French is not equal to
your letter, Monsieur,” said Elizabeth, glancing
her eye expressively at her companion; “will
you favour us with its substance in English?”
“Oh! pardonnez moi—I 'ave been so long from
Paris dat I do forget de—a—a—a—pronunsashong.
You vill 'ave consideration pour moi,
and vill excusez my read in France,” returned the
polite Gaul, bowing with deep humility, as if lamenting
his ignorance of his own language;
“mais I shall tell you en bon Anglois. I 'ave
offeece à Paris, in Bureau, dans le temps du bon
Louis; I fly; run avay to sav-a my 'ead. I
'ave in Martinique von leetl' plantation pour sucre—
ah! ha!—vat you call in dis countray—ah!
ha!—Monsieur Beel, vat you call de place vere
you vork-a? eh?”
“Clearing,” said the wood-chopper, with a
kind nod.
“No, no, clear—vere you burn-a my troat,
eh!”
Billy hitched up his shoulder, and turned his
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eyes askance at the ladies, with a broad grin on
his face, as he answered—
“I guess 'tis a sugar-bush that the Mounsheer
means;—but you mus'nt take that to heart, man;
'tis the law of the woods.”
“Ah! coquin, I pardonne you,” returned the
Frenchman, placing his hand involuntarily on his
throat—“diable! de law should be altair. Mais,
I 'ave sucre-boosh in Martinique: I fly dere
too;—I come ici;—votre père help-a me;—I
grow reech—yais! I grow reech; mais I 'ave
not France!—L'Assemblée Nationale pass von
edict”—
“What's that?” interrupted Billy, who was
endeavouring, with much interest, to comprehend
the story.
“Eh! vat dat! vy vat you call, ven de Assemblee
d' Alban' mak-a de law?”
“That's an act of the Legyslatoore,” said Kirby,
with the readiness of an American on such a
subject.
“Vell! dis vas act of Legyslatoore, to restorer
my land; my charactair; my sucre-boosh; and
ma countray. Ah! Ma'mselle Templ', je suis enchant
é! mais I 'ave grief to leav-a you; Oh!
yais! I 'ave grief ver mooch.”
The amount of all this was, that Mr. Le Quoi,
who had fled from his own country more through
terror than because he was offensive to the ruling
powers in France, had succeeded at length in getting
an assurance that his return to the West Indies
would be unnoticed; and the Frenchman,
who had sunk into the character of a country
shop-keeper, with so much grace, was about to
emerge again from his obscurity into his proper
level in society.
We need not repeat the civil things that passed
between the parties on this occasion, nor recount
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the endless repetitions of sorrow that the delighted
Frenchman expressed, at being compelled to quit
the society of Miss Temple. Elizabeth took an
opportunity, during this expenditure of polite expressions,
to purchase the powder privately of the
boy, who bore the generic appellation of Jonathan.
Before they parted, however, Mr. Le
Quoi, who seemed to think that he had not said
enough, solicited the honour of a private interview
with the heiress, with a gravity in his air
that announced the importance of the subject.
After conceding the favour, and appointing a
more favourable time for the meeting, Elizabeth
succeeded in getting out of the store, into which
the countrymen now began to enter, as usual,
where they met with the same attention and biens
éance as formerly.
Elizabeth and Louisa pursued their walk as far
as the bridge in profound silence, but when they
reached that place, the latter stopped, and appeared
anxious to utter something that her feelings
suppressed.
“Are you ill, Louisa?” exclaimed Miss Temple;
“had we not better return, and seek another
opportunity to meet the old man?”
“Not ill, but terrified. Oh! I never, never
can go on that hill again with you only. I am
not equal to it, indeed I am not.”
This was an unexpected declaration to Elizabeth,
who, although she experienced no idle
apprehensions of a danger that no longer existed,
felt most sensitively all the delicacies of maiden
modesty. She stood for some time, deeply reflecting
within herself, the colour gradually gathering
over her features at her own thoughts;
but, as if sensible that it was a time for action instead
of reflection, she struggled to shake off her
hesitation, and replied firmly—
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“Well, then it must be done by me, and alone.
There is no other than yourself to be trusted,
or poor old Leather-stocking will be discovered.
Wait for me in the edge of these woods, that at
least I may not be seen strolling in the hills by
myself just now. One would not wish to create
remarks, Louisa—if—if—. You will wait for me,
dear girl?”
“A year, in sight of the village, Miss Temple,”
returned the agitated Louisa, “but do not, do not
ask me to go on that hill.”
Elizabeth found that her companion was really
unable to proceed, and they completed their arrangement
by posting Louisa out of the observation
of the people who occasionally passed, but
nigh to the road, and in plain view of the whole
valley. Miss Temple then proceeded alone. She
ascended the road which has been so often mentioned
in our narrative, with an elastic and firm
step, fearful that the delay in the store of Mr. Le
Quoi, and the time necessary for reaching the
summit, would prevent her being punctual to the
appointment. Whenever she passed an opening
in the bushes, she would pause for breath, or perhaps,
drawn from her pursuits by the picture at
her feet, would linger a moment to gaze at the
beauties of the valley. The long drought had,
however, changed its coat of verdure to a hue of
brown, and, though the same localities were
there, the view wanted the lively and cheering
aspect of early summer. Even the heavens seemed
to share in the dried appearance of the earth,
for the sun was concealed by a haziness in the atmosphere,
which looked like a thin smoke without
a particle of moisture, if such a thing were
possible. The blue sky was scarcely to be seen,
though now and then there was a faint lighting
up in spots, through which masses of rolling
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vapour could be discerned gathering around the horizon,
as if nature were struggling to collect her
floods for the relief of man. The very atmosphere
that Elizabeth inhaled was hot and dry, and by the
time she reached the point where the course led
her from the highway, she experienced a sensation
like suffocation. But, disregarding her feelings,
the heiress hastened to execute her mission,
dwelling in her thoughts on nothing but the disappointment,
and even the helplessness, the hunter
would experience, without her aid.
On the summit of the mountain which Judge
Temple had named the “Vision,” a little spot
had been cleared, in order that a better view might
be obtained of the village and the valley. It was
at this point that Elizabeth understood the hunter
she was to meet him; and thither she urged her
way, as expeditiously as the difficulty of the
ascent and the impediments of a forest in a state
of nature would admit. Numberless were the
fragments of rocks, trunks of fallen trees, and
branches, that she had to conted against; but
every difficulty vanished before her resolution,
and, by her own watch, she stood on the desired
spot several minutes before the appointed
hour.
After resting a moment on the end of a log,
Miss Temple cast a scrutinizing glance about her
in quest of her old friend, but he was evidently
not in the clearing; when she arose and walked
around its skirts, examining every place where
she thought it probable Natty might deem it prudent
to conceal himself. Her search was fruitless;
and, after exhausting not only herself, but
her thoughts, in efforts to discover or imagine his
situation, she ventured to trust her voice in that
solitary place.
“Natty! Leather-stocking! old man!” she
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called aloud, in every direction; but no answer
was given, excepting the reverberations of her
own clear tones, as they were echoed in the parched
forest.
While calling, Elizabeth gradually approached
the brow of the mountain, where a faint cry, like
the noise produced by striking the hand against
the mouth at the same time that the breath is
strongly exhaled, was heard, answering to her
own voice. Not doubting in the least that it
was the Leather-stocking lying in wait for her,
and who gave that signal to indicate the place
where he was to be found, Elizabeth descended
for near a hundred feet, until she gained a little natural
terrace, thinly scattered with trees, that grew
in the fissures of the rocks, which were covered by a
scanty soil. She had advanced to the edge of this
platform, and was gazing over the perpendicular
precipice that formed its face, when a rustling
among the dry leaves near her drew her eyes in
another direction. Miss Temple certainly was
startled by the object that she then saw, but a moment
restored her self-possession, and she advanced
firmly, and with some interest in her manner,
to the spot.
On the trunk of a fallen oak Mohegan was seated,
with his tawny visage turned towards her,
and his glaring eyes fixed on her face with an expression
of wildness and fire that would have terrified
a less resolute female. His blanket had fallen
from his shoulders, and was lying in folds around
him, leaving his breast, arms, and most of his
body bare. The medallion of Washington reposed
on his chest, a badge of distinction that
Elizabeth well knew he only produced on great
and solemn occasions. But the whole appearance
of the aged chief was more studied than common,
and was in some particulars terrific. The
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long black hair was plaited on his head, falling
either way so as to expose his high forehead and
piercing eyes, without their usual shading. In the
enormous incisions of his ears were entwined ornaments
of silver, beads, and porcupine's quills,
mingled in a rude taste, and after the Indian
fashions. A large drop, composed of similar materials,
was suspended from the cartilage of his
nose, and, falling below his lips, rested on his
chin. Streaks of red paint crossed his wrinkled
brow, and were traced down either cheek, with
such variations in the lines as caprice or custom
suggested. His body was also coloured in the
same manner; the whole exhibiting an Indian
warrior prepared for some event of more than
usual moment.
“John! how fare you, worthy John?” said
Elizabeth, as she approached him; “you have
long been a stranger in the village. You promised
me a willow basket, and I have had a shirt
of calico in readiness for you this month past.”
The Indian looked steadily at her for some
time without answering, and then shaking his
head, he replied, in his low, guttural tones—
“John's hand can make baskets no more—he
wants no shirt.”
“But if he should, he will know where to come
for it,” returned Miss Temple. “Indeed, old
John, I feel as if you had a natural right to order
what you will from us.”
“Daughter,” said the Indian, “listen:—Six
times ten hot summers have passed, since John
was young; tall like a pine; straight like the bullet
of Hawk-eye; strong as the buffalo; spry as the
cat of the mountain. He was strong, and a warrior
like the Young Eagle. If his tribe wanted to
track the Maquas for many suns, the eye of Chingachgook
found the print of their moccasins. If
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the people feasted and were glad as they counted
the scalps of their enemies, it was on his pole they
hung. If the squaws cried because there was no
meat for their children, he was the first in the
chase. His bullet was swifter than the deer.—
Daughter, then Chingachgook struck his tomahawk
into the trees; it was to tell the lazy ones
where to find him and the Mingoes—but he made
no baskets.”
“Those times have gone by, old warrior,” returned
Elizabeth; “since then, your people have
disappeared, and in place of chasing your enemies,
you have learned to fear God and to live at
peace.”
“Stand here, daughter, where you can see the
great spring, the wigwams of your father, and
the land on the crooked-river. John was yet
young, when his tribe gave away the country, in
council, from where the blue mountain stands
above the water, to where the Susquehannah is
hid by the trees. All this, and all that grew in it,
and all that walked over it, and all that fed there,
they gave to the Fire-eater—for they loved him.
He was strong, and they were women, and he
helped them. No Delaware would kill a deer
that run in his woods, nor stop a bird that flew
over his land; for it was his. Has John lived in
peace! Daughter, since John was young, he has
seen the white man from Frontinac come down
on his white brothers at Albany, and fight. Did
they fear God! He has seen his English and his
American Fathers burying their tomahawks in
each others' brains, for this very land. Did they
fear God, and live in peace! He has seen the
land pass away from the Fire-eater, and his children,
and the child of his child, and a new chief
set over the country. Did they live in peace who
did this! did they fear God!”
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“Such is the custom of the whites, John. Do
not the Delawares fight, and trade their lands for
powder, and blankets, and merchandise?”
The Indian turned his dark eyes on the heiress,
and kept them there, with a scrutiny that alarmed
her a little, as he replied, in a louder and more
animated voice—
“Where are the blankets and merchandise
that bought the right of the Fire-eater! are they
with him in his wigwam? Did they say to him,
brother, sell us your land, and take this gold, this
silver, these blankets, these rifles, or even this
rum, for it? No; they tore it from him, as a
scalp is torn from an enemy; and they that did
it looked not behind them, to see whether he lived
or died. Do such men live in peace, and fear the
Great Spirit?”
“But you hardly understand the circumstances,”
said Elizabeth, more embarrassed than she
would own, even to herself. “If you knew our
laws and customs better, you would judge differently
of our acts. Do not believe evil of my father,
old Mohegan, for he is just and good.”
“The brother of Miquon is good, and he will
do right. I have said it to Hawk-eye—I have
said it to the Young Eagle, that the brother of
Miquon would do justice.”
“Whom call you the Young Eagle?” said Elizabeth,
averting her face from the gaze of the Indian
as she asked the question; “whence comes
he, and what are his rights?”
“Has my daughter lived so long with him,
to ask this question?” returned the Indian,
warily. “Old age freezes up the blood, as the
frosts cover the great spring in winter; but youth
keeps the streams of the blood open, like a sun in
the time of blossoms. The Young Eagle has
eyes; had he no tongue?”
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The loveliness to which the old warrior alluded
was in no degree diminished by his allegorical
speech; for the blushes of the maiden who
listened, covered her burning cheeks, till her dark
eyes seemed to glow with their reflection; but, after
struggling a moment with her shame, she
laughed, as if unwilling to understand him seriously,
and replied in a tone of pleasantry—
“Not to make me the mistress of his secret.
He is too much of a Delaware, to tell his secret
thoughts to a woman.”
“Daughter, the Great Spirit made your father
with a white skin, and he made mine with a red;
but he coloured both their hearts with blood.
When young, it is swift and warm; but when old,
it is still and cold. Is there difference below the
skin? No. Once John had a woman. She was
the mother of so many sons”—he raised his hand
with three fingers elevated—“and she had daughters
that would have made the young Delawares
happy. She was kind, daughter, and what I said
she did. You have different fashions; but do
you think John did not love the wife of his youth—
the mother of his children!”
“And what has become of your family, John,
your wife and your children?” asked Elizabeth,
touched by the melancholy of the Indian's manner.
“Where is the ice that covered the great spring?
It is melted, and gone with the waters. John
has lived till all his people have left him for the
land of spirits; but his time has come, and he is
ready.”
Mohegan dropped his head in his blanket, and
sat in silence. Miss Temple knew not what to
say. She wished to draw the thoughts of the old
warrior from his gloomy recollections, but there
was a dignity in his sorrow, and in his fortitude,
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that repressed her efforts to speak again, for some
time. After a long pause, however, she renewed
the discourse, by asking—
“Where is the Leather-stocking, John? this
canister of powder I have brought at his request;
but he is nowhere to be seen. Will you take
charge of it, and see it delivered?”
The Indian raised his head slowly, and looked
earnestly at the gift of the heiress, which she put
in his hand.
“This is the great enemy of my nation. Without
this, when could the white men drive the Delawares!
Daughter, the Great Spirit gave your
fathers to know how to make guns and powder,
that they might sweep the Indians from the land.
There will soon be no red-skin in the country.
When John has gone, the last will leave these
hills, and all his family will be dead.” The aged
warrior stretched his body forward, leaning his
elbow on his knee, and appeared to be taking a
parting look at the objects of the vale, which were
still visible through the misty atmosphere; though
the air seemed to thicken at each moment around
Miss Temple, who became conscious of an increased
difficulty of respiration. The eye of
Mohegan changed gradually, from its sorrowful
expression to a look of wildness, that might be
supposed to border on the inspiration of a prophet,
as he continued—“But he will go to the
country where his fathers have met. The game
shall be plenty as the fish in the lakes. No woman
shall cry for meat. No Mingo can ever
come. The chase shall be for children, and all
just red-men shall live together as brothers.”
“John! this is not the heaven of a Christian!”
cried Miss Temple; “you deal now in the superstition
of your forefathers.”
“Fathers! sons!” said Mohegan with firmness
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—“all gone—all gone! I have no son but the
Young Eagle, and he has the blood of a white
man.”
“Tell me, John,” said Elizabeth, willing to
draw his thoughts to other subjects, and at the
same time yielding to her own secret interest in
the youth; “who is this Mr. Edwards? why are
you so fond of him, and whence does he come?”
The Indian started at the question, which evidently
recalled his recollection to the earth, and,
taking her hand, he drew Miss Temple to a seat
beside him, and pointed to the country beneath
them, before he answered.
“See, daughter,” he said, directing her looks
towards the north; “as far as your young eyes
can see, was the land of his”—
But immense volumes of smoke at that moment
rolled over their heads, and whirling in
the eddies formed by the mountains, interposed a
barrier to their sight, while he was speaking.
Startled by the circumstance, Miss Temple sprung
on her feet, and turning her eyes toward the summit
of the mountain, she beheld it covered by a
similar canopy, while a roaring sound was heard
in the forest above her, like the rushing of furious
winds.
“What means it, John!” she exclaimed; “we
are enveloped in smoke, and I feel a heat like the
glow of a furnace.”
Before the Indian could reply, a voice was
heard, crying in the woods, with a painful
anxiety—
“John! where are you, old Mohegan! the
woods are on fire, and you have but a few minutes
for escape.”
The chief put his hand before his mouth, and
making it play on his lips, produced the kind
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of noise that had attracted Elizabeth to the
place, when a quick and hurried step was heard
dashing through the dried underbrush and bushes,
and presently Edwards rushed to his side, with
horror painted in every feature.
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CHAPTER XVIII.
“Love rules the court, the camp, the grove.”
Lay of the Last Minstrel.
[figure description] Page 259.[end figure description]
“It would have been sad indeed, to lose you
in such a manner, my old friend,” said Oliver,
catching his breath for utterance. “Up and
away! even now we may be too late; the flames
are circling round the point of the rock below,
and unless we can pass there, our only chance
must be over the precipice. Away! away! shake
off your apathy, John, for now is the time of
need.”
Mohegan pointed towards Elizabeth, who, forgetting
her danger, had shrunk back to a projection
of the rock, so soon as she recognised the
sounds of Edwards' voice, and said, with something
like awakened animation—
“Save her—leave John to die.”
“Her! whom mean you?” cried the youth,
turning quickly to the place the other indicated;—
but when he saw the figure of Elizabeth, bending
towards him in an attitude that powerfully
spoke her terror, blended with her reluctance to
meet him in such a place, the shock for a moment
deprived him of speech.
“Miss Temple!” he cried, when he found
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words; “you here! is such a death reserved for
you!”
“No, no, no—no death, I hope, for any of us,
Mr. Edwards,” she replied, endeavouring to speak
calmly, and rallying her thoughts for the emergency.
“There is smoke, but still no fire to
harm us. Let us endeavour to retire.”
“Take my arm,” said Edwards; “there must
be an opening in some direction for your retreat.
Are you equal to the effort?”
“Certainly. You surely magnify the danger,
Mr. Edwards. Lead me out the way you came.”
“I will—I will,” cried the youth, with a kind
of hysterical utterance. “No, no—there is no
danger—I have alarmed you unnecessarily.”
“But shall we leave the Indian—can we leave
him here, as he says, to die?”
An expression of painful emotion crossed the
face of the young man, who stopped, and cast a
longing look at Mohegan; but, dragging his
companion after him, even against her will, he
pursued his way, with enormous strides, towards
the pass by which he had just entered the circle of
flame.
“Do not regard him,” he said, in those horrid
tones that denote a desperate calmness; “he is
used to the woods, and such scenes; he will escape
up the mountain—over the rock—or he can
remain where he is in safety.”
“You thought not so this moment, Edwards!
Do not leave him there to meet with such a
death,” cried Elizabeth, fixing a look on the
countenance of her conductor, that seemed to distrust
his sanity.
“An Indian burn! who ever heard of an Indian
dying by fire! an Indian cannot burn; the
idea is ridiculous. Hasten, hasten, Miss Temple,
or the smoke may incommode you.”
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“Edwards! your look, your eye, terrifies me!
tell me the danger; is it greater than it seems?
I am equal to any trial.”
“If we reach the point of yon rock before that
sheet of fire, we are safe, Miss Temple!” exclaimed
the young man, in a voice that burst without
the bounds of his forced composure. “Fly! the
struggle is for your life!”
The place of the interview between Miss Temple
and the Indian has been already described as
one of those platforms of rock which form a sort of
terrace in the mountains of that country, and the
face of it, we have said, was both high and perpendicular.
Its shape was nearly a natural arc,
the ends of which blended with the mountain, at
points where its sides were less abrupt in their descent.
It was round one of these terminations of
the sweep of the rock that Edwards had ascended,
and it was towards the same place that he
urged Elizabeth to a desperate exertion of her
speed.
Immense clouds of white smoke had been pouring
over the summit of the mountain, and had
concealed the approach and ravages of the element;
but a crackling sound drew the eyes of
Miss Temple, as she flew over the ground, supported
by the young man, towards the outline of
smoke, where she already perceived the waving
flames shooting forward from the vapour, now
flaring high in the air, and then bending to the
earth, seeming to light into combustion every
stick and shrub on which they breathed. The
sight aroused them both to redoubled efforts; but,
unfortunately, there was a collection of the tops of
trees, old and dried, which lay directly across
their course; and, at the very moment when both
had thought their safety insured, an eddying of
the warm currents of the air swept a forked tongue
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of flame across the pile, which lighted at
the touch; and when they reached the spot, the
flying pair were opposed by the surly roaring of
a body of fire, as if a furnace were glowing in
their path. They recoiled from the heat, and
stood on a point of the rock, gazing in a sort of
stupor at the flames, which were spreading rapidly
down the mountain, whose side soon became a
sheet of living fire. It was dangerous for one
clad in the light and airy dress of Elizabeth to
approach even to the vicinity of the raging element;
and those flowing robes, that gave such
softness and grace to her form, seemed now to be
formed for the instruments of her destruction.
The villagers were accustomed to resort to that
hill in quest of timber and fuel; in procuring
which, it was their usage to take only the bodies
of the trees, leaving the tops and branches to decay
under the operations of the weather. Much
of the hill was, consequently, covered with such
light fuel for the flames, which, having been
scorching under the sun for the last two months,
ignited with a touch. Indeed, in some cases,
there did not appear to be any contact between
the fire and these piles, but the flame seemed to
dart from heap to heap, as the fabulous fire of the
temple is represented to relumine its neglected
lamp.
There was beauty as well as terror in the
sight, and Elizabeth and the youth stood viewing
the progress of the desolation, with a strange
mixture of horror and interest. Edwards, however,
shortly roused himself to new exertions, and,
drawing his companion after him, they skirted the
edge of the smoke, the young man penetrating
frequently into its dense volumes in search of a
passage, but in every instance without success.
In this manner they proceeded in a semicircle
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around the upper part of the terrace, until, arriving
at the verge of the precipice, opposite to the
point where Edwards had ascended, the horrid
conviction burst on both at the same instant, that
they were completely encircled by the fire. So
long as a single pass up or down the mountain
was unexplored, hope had invigorated them with
her secret influence; but when retreat seemed to
be absolutely impracticable, the horror of their
situation broke upon Elizabeth as powerfully as if
she had hitherto considered the danger nothing.
“This mountain is doomed to be fatal to me!”
she whispered, rather than uttered aloud; “we
shall find our graves on it!”
“Say not so, Miss Temple; there is yet hope,”
returned the youth, in the same tone, while the
vacant, horrid expression of his eye, contradicted
his words; “let us return to the point of the rock;
there is, there must be, some place about it where we
can descend.”
“Lead me there,” exclaimed Elizabeth; “let
us leave no effort untried.” She did not wait for
his compliance, but turning, retraced her steps
to the brow of the precipice, murmuring to herself,
in suppressed hysterical sobs, “My father—
my poor, my distracted father!”
Edwards was by her side in an instant, and
with aching eyes he examined into every fissure in
the crags, in quest of some opening that might offer
the facilities of flight. But the smooth, even
surface of the rocks afforded hardly a resting
place for a foot, much less those continued projections
which would have been necessary for a
descent of nearly a hundred feet. Edwards was
not slow in feeling the conviction that this hope
was also futile, and, with a kind of feverish despair,
that still urged him to action, he turned to
some new expedient.
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“There is nothing left, Miss Temple,” he said,
in a hollow accent, “but to endeavour to lower
you from this place to the rock beneath. If
Natty were here, or even that Indian could be
roused, their ingenuity and long practice would
easily devise methods by which to do it; but I
am a child, at this moment, in every thing but
daring. Where shall I find means? This dress
of mine is so light, and there is so little of it—then
the blanket of Mohegan. We must try—we must
try—any thing is better than to see you a victim
to such a death!”
“And what shall become of you!” said Elizabeth.
“Indeed, indeed, neither you nor John
must be the sacrifice to my safety.”
He heard her not, for he was already by the
side of Mohegan, who yielded his blanket without
a question, retaining his seat with Indian dignity
and composure, though his own situation was
even more critical than that of the others. The
blanket was cut into shreds, and the fragments
fastened together; the loose linen jacket of the
youth, and the light muslin shawl of Elizabeth,
were attached to them, and the whole thrown
over the rocks, with the rapidity of lightning;
but the united pieces did not reach half way to
the bottom.
“It will not do—it will not do!” cried Elizabeth;
“for me there is no hope! The fire comes
slowly, but certainly. See! it destroys the very
earth before it!”
Had the flames spread on that rock with half
the quickness with which they leaped from bush
to tree, in other parts of the mountain, our
painful task would have soon ended; for they
would have swept off the victims, who were
suffering doubly under the anticipations of
their approaching fate. But the peculiarity of
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their situation afforded Elizabeth and her companion
the respite, of which they availed themselves
to make the efforts we have recorded.
The thin covering of earth over the rock on
which they stood, supported but a scanty and faded
herbage, and most of the trees that had found
root in the fissures had already died, during the
intense heats of preceding summers. Those
which still retained the appearance of life, bore a
few dry and withered leaves, that were drained of
their nourishment; while the others were merely
the wrecks of pines, oaks, and maples. No better
materials to feed the fire could be found, had
there been a communication with the flames; but
the ground was destitute of the leaves and boughs
that led the destructive element like a torrent
over the remainder of the hill. As auxiliary to
this scarcity of fuel, there was one of the large
springs which abound in that country, gushing out
of the side of the ascent above, which, after creeping
sluggishly along the level land, saturating the
mossy covering of the rock with moisture, swept
round the base of the little cone that formed the
pinnacle of the mountain, and, entering the canopy
of smoke near one of the terminations of the
terrace, found its way to the lake, not by dashing
from rock to rock, but by the secret channels of the
earth. It would rise to the surface, here and there,
in the wet seasons, when it exhibited a mimic torrent,
overflowing the ground for some distance;
but in the droughts of summer, it was to be traced
only by the bogs and moss that announced
the proximity of water. When the fire reached
this barrier, it was compelled to pause, until
a concentration of its heat could overcome the
moisture, like an army impatiently waiting the
operations of a battering train, to open its way to
death and desolation.
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That fatal moment seemed now to have arrived;
for the hissing streams of the spring appeared to be
nearly exhausted, and the moss of the rocks was
already curling under the intense heat that was
thrown across the little spot of wet ground, while
the fragments of bark that yet clung to the dead
trees, began to separate from their trunks, and fall
to the ground in crumbling masses. The air
seemed quivering with rays of heat which might be
seen playing along the parched stems of the trees.
The excited imagination of Elizabeth, as she stood
on the verge of the precipice, and gazed about her,
viewing the approach of their powerful enemy,
fancied every tree and herb near her on the point
of ignition. There were moments when dark
clouds of smoke would sweep along the little
terrace, and as the eye lost its power, the other
senses contributed to give effect to the fearful horror
of the scene. At such moments, the roaring of
the flames, the crackling of the furious element, with
the tearing of falling branches, and, occasionally,
the thundering echoes of some prostrated tree,
united to alarm the victims. Of the three, however,
the youth appeared much the most agitated.
Elizabeth, having relinquished entirely the idea
of escape, was fast obtaining that resigned composure,
with which the most delicate of her sex
are known to meet unavoidable evils; while Mohegan,
who was much nearer to the danger,
maintained his seat with the invincible resignation
of an Indian warrior. Once or twice the eye of
the aged chief, which was ordinarily fixed in the
direction of the distant hills, turned towards the
young pair, who seemed doomed to so early a
death, with a slight indication of pity crossing
his composed features, but it would immediately
revert again to its former gaze, as if already
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looking into the womb of futurity. Much of the
time he was chanting a kind of low dirge, in the
Delaware tongue, using the deep and remarkably
guttural tones of his people.
“At such a moment, Mr. Edwards, all earthly
distinctions end,” whispered Elizabeth; “persuade
John to move nearer to us—let us die together.”
“I cannot—he will not stir,” returned the
youth, in the same horridly still tones. “He
considers this as the happiest moment of his life.
He is past seventy; and has been decaying rapidly
for some time; he received some injury in chasing
that unlucky deer, too, on the lake. Oh! Miss
Temple, that was an unlucky chase indeed! it
has led, I fear, to this awful scene.”
The smile that beamed on the lovely features of
Elizabeth was celestial, as she answered, in a
soft, soothing voice, “Why name such a trifle
now—at this moment the heart is dead to all
earthly emotions!”
“If any thing could reconcile a man, in the
vigour and pride of manhood, to this death,”
cried the youth with fervour, “it would be to
meet it in such company!”
“Talk not so, Edwards, talk not so,” interrupted
Miss Temple, “I am unworthy of it; and it is
unjust to yourself. We must die; yes—yes—we
must die—it is the will of God, and let us endeavour
to submit like his own children.”
“Die!” the youth rather shrieked than exclaimed,
“No—no—there must be hope yet—you must
not, shall not die.”
“In what way can we escape?” asked Elizabeth,
pointing, with a look of heavenly composure, towards
the fire. “Observe! the flame is crossing
the barrier of wet ground—it comes slowly,
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Edwards, but surely.—Ah! see! the tree! the tree
is already lighted!”
Her words were too true. The heat of the
conflagration had, at length, overcome the resistance
of the spring, and the fire was slowly stealing
along the half-dried moss; while a dead pine
kindled with the touch of a forked flame, that,
for a moment, wreathed around the stem of
the tree, as it whirled, in one of its evolutions,
under the influence of the air. The effect was instantaneous
and magical. The flames danced along
the parched trunk of the pine, like lightning quivering
on a chain, and immediately a column of
living fire was raging on the terrace. It soon
spread from tree to tree, and the scene was evidently
drawing to a close. The log on which
Mohegan was seated lighted at its farther end,
and the Indian appeared to be surrounded by
the fire. Still he was unmoved. As his body
was unprotected, his sufferings must have been
great, but his fortitude was superior to all.
His voice could yet be heard, raising its tones,
even in the midst of these horrors. Elizabeth
turned her head from the sight, and faced the
valley. Furious eddies of wind were created by
the heat, and just at the moment, the canopy of
fiery smoke that overhung the valley, was cleared
away, leaving a distinct view of the peaceful
village beneath them.
“My father!—My father!” shrieked Elizabeth.
“Oh! this—this surely might have been spared
me—but I submit.”
The distance was not too great, for the figure
of Judge Temple to be seen, standing in his
own grounds, and, apparently, contemplating, in
perfect unconsciousness of the danger of his child,
the mountain in flames. This sight was still
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more painful than the approaching danger; and
Elizabeth again faced the hill.
“My intemperate warmth has done this?” cried
Edwards, in the accents of despair. “If I had
possessed but a moiety of your heavenly resignation,
Miss Temple, all might yet have been
well.”
“Name it not—name it not,” she said. “It is
now of no avail. We must die, Edwards, we
must die—let us do so as Christians. But—no—
you may yet escape, perhaps. Your dress is not
so fatal as mine. Fly! leave me. An opening
may yet be found for you, possibly—certainly it
is worth the effort. Fly! leave me—but stay!
You will see my father; my poor! my bereaved
father! Say to him, then, Edwards, say to him,
all that can appease his anguish. Tell him
that I died happy and collected; that I have gone
to my beloved mother; that the hours of this life
are as nothing when balanced in the scales of
eternity. Say how we shall meet again. And
say,” she continued, dropping her voice, that had
risen with her feelings, as if conscious of her
worldly weaknesses, “how dear, how very dear,
was my love for him. That it was near, too near,
to my love for God.”
The youth listened to her touching accents, but
moved not. In a moment he found utterance and
replied:
“And is it me that you bid to leave you! me,
to leave you on the edge of the grave! Oh!
Miss Temple, how little have you known me,” he
cried, dropping on his knees at her feet, and gathering
her flowing robe in his arms, as if to
shield her from the flames. “I have been driven
to the woods in despair; but your society has
tamed the lion within me. If I have wasted my
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time in degradation, 'twas you that charmed me
to it. If I have forgotten my name and family,
your form supplied the place of memory. If I have
forgotten my wrongs, 'twas you that taught me
charity. No—no—dearest Elizabeth, I may die
with you, but I can never leave you!”
Elizabeth moved not, nor answered. It was
plain that her thoughts had been of heaven. The
recollection of her father, and her regrets at their
separation, had been mellowed by a holy sentiment,
that lifted her above the level of earthly
things, and she was fast losing the weakness of
her sex, in the near view of eternity. But as
the maiden, standing in her extremity, listened to
these words, she became once more woman.
The blood gathered slowly, again, in those
cheeks, that had, in anticipation of the tyrant's
triumph, assumed the livid appearance of death,
until they glowed with the loveliness of her beauty.
She struggled with herself against these feelings,
and smiled, as she thought she was shaking off
the last lingering feeling of her nature, when the
world, and all its seductions, rushed again to her
heart, with the sounds of a human voice, crying
in piercing tones—
“Gal! where be ye, gal! gladden the heart
of an old man, if ye yet belong to 'arth!”
“List!” said Elizabeth, “'tis the Leather-stocking;
he seeks me!”
“'Tis Natty!” shouted Edwards, springing on
his feet, “and we may yet be saved!”
A wide and circling flame glared on their eyes
for a moment, even above the fire of the woods,
and a loud report followed, that was succeeded
by a comparative stillness.
“'Tis the canister! 'tis the powder.” cried
the same voice, evidently approaching them.
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“'Tis the canister, and the precious child is
lost!”
At the next instant Natty rushed through the
steams of the spring, and appeared on the terrace,
without his deer skin cap, his hair burnt to his
head, his shirt of country check, black, and filled
with holes, and his red features of a deeper colour
than ever, by the heat he had encountered.
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CHAPTER XIX.
“Even from the land of shadows, now,
My father's awful ghost appears.”
Gertrude of Wyoming.
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For an hour after Louisa Grant was left by
Miss Temple, in the situation already mentioned,
she continued in feverish anxiety, awaiting the
return of her friend. But, as the time passed by
without the re-appearance of Elizabeth, the terrors
of Louisa gradually increased, until her alarmed
fancy had conjured every species of danger that appertained
to the woods, excepting the one that
really existed. The heavens had become obscured,
by degrees, and vast volumes of smoke were pouring
over the valley; but the thoughts of Louisa
were still recurring to beasts, without dreaming of
the real cause for apprehension. She was stationed
in the edge of the low pines and chestnuts
that succeed the first or large growth of the forest,
and directly above the angle where the highway
turned from the straight course to the village
and ascended the mountain, laterally. Consequently
she commanded a view not only of the valley,
but of the road beneath her. The few travellers
that passed, she observed, were engaged in earnest
conversation, and frequently raised their eyes
to the hill, and at length she saw the people leaving
the court-house, and gazing upward also. While
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under the influence of the alarm excited by such
unusual movements, reluctant to go, and yet fearful
to remain, Louisa was startled by the low,
cracking, but cautious treads, of some one approaching
through the bushes. She was on the
eve of flight, when Natty emerged from the cover,
and stood at her side. The old man laughed
as he shook her kindly by a hand that was passive
with fear, and said—
“I am glad to meet you here, child, for the
back of the mountain is a-fire, and it would be
dangerous to go up it now, till it has been burnt
over once, and the dead wood is gone. There's
a foolish man, the comrad of that varmint,
who has given me all this trouble, digging for
ore, on the east side. I told him that the kearless
fellows who thought to catch a practys'd hunter
in the woods after dark, had thrown the lighted
pine knots in the brush, and that 'twould kindle
like tow, and warned him to leave the hill.
But he was set upon his business, and nothing
short of Providence could move him. If he isn't
burnt and buried in a grave of his own digging,
he's made of salamanders. Why, what ails the
child! you look as skeary as if you see'd more
painters! I wish there was some to be found,
they'd count up faster than the beaver. But,
where's the good child of a bad father? did she
forget her promise to the old man?”
“The hill! the hill!” shrieked Louisa; “she
seeks you on the hill, with the powder!”
Natty recoiled for several feet, at this unexpected
intelligence, and exclaimed—
“The Lord of Heaven have mercy on her!
She's on the Vision, and that's a sheet of fire ag'in
this. Child, if ye love the dear one, and hope
to find a friend when you need it most, to the village,
and give the alarm. The men be us'd to
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fighting fire, and there may be a chance left. Fly!
I bid ye fly! nor stop even for breath.”
The Leather-stocking had no sooner uttered
this injunction, than he disappeared in the bushes,
and when last seen by Louisa, was rushing up the
mountain with the activity of youth, and with a
speed that none but those who were accustomed to
the toil could attain.
“Have I found ye!” the old man exclaimed,
when he burst out of the smoke; “God be praised,
that I've found ye; but follow, there is no time
left for talking.”
“My dress!” said Elizabeth; “it would be fatal
to trust myself nearer to the flames in it.”
“I bethought me of your flimsy things,” cried
Natty, throwing loose the folds of a covering of
buckskin that he carried on his arm, and wrapping
her form in it, in such a manner as to envelope
her whole person; “now follow, for it's a matter
of life and death to us all.”
“But John! what will become of John,” cried
Edwards; “can we leave the old warrior here to
perish?”
The eyes of Natty followed the direction of Edwards'
finger, when he beheld the Indian, still
seated as before, with the very earth under his feet
consuming with fire. Without delay, the hunter
approached the spot, and cried in Delaware—
“Up and away, Chingachgook! will ye stay
here to burn, like a tortured Mingo, at the stake!
The Moravians have teached ye better, I hope.
The Lord preserve me if the powder hasn't flashed
a-tween his legs, and the skin of his back is roasting.
Will ye come, I say? will ye follow?”
“Why should Mohegan go?” returned the Indian,
gloomily. “He has seen the days of an
eagle, and his eye grows dim. He looks on the
valley; he looks on the water; he looks in the
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hunting-grounds—but he sees no Delawares.
Every one has a white skin. My fathers say, from
the far-off land, come. My women, my young
warriors, my tribe, say, come. The Great Spirit
says, come. No—let Mohegan die.”
“But you forget your friend,” cried Edwards.
“'Tis useless to talk to an Indian with the
death-fit on him, lad,” interrupted Natty, who
seized the strips of the blanket, and with wonderful
dexterity strapped the passive chieftain to his
own back; when he turned, and with a strength
that seemed to bid defiance, not only to his years,
but to his load, he led the way to the point
whence he had issued. Even as they crossed the
little terrace of rock, one of the dead trees, that
had been tottering for several minutes, fell on the
spot where they had stood, and filled the air with
its cinders.
Such an event quickened the steps of the party,
who followed the Leather-stocking with the urgency
required by the occasion.
“Tread on the soft ground,” he cried, when
they were in a gloom where sight availed them
but little, “and keep in the white smoke; keep the
skin close on her lad; she's a precious one, I tell
you, sich another will be hard to be found.”
Obedient to the hunter's directions, they followed
his steps and advice implicitly, and although
the narrow passage along the winding of the spring
led amid burning logs and falling branches, yet
they happily achieved it in safety. No one but
a man long accustomed to the woods could have
traced his route through a smoke, in which respiration
was difficult, and sight nearly useless;
but the experience of Natty conducted them to an
opening through the rocks, where, with a little difficulty,
they soon descended to another terrace, and
emerged at once into a tolerably clear atmosphere.
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The feelings of Edwards and Elizabeth, at reaching
this spot, may be imagined, though not easily
described. No one seemed to exult more
than their guide, who turned, with Mohegan still
lashed to his back, and laughing in his own manner,
said—
“I know'd 'twas the Frenchman's powder, gal;
it went so altogether like; your coarse grain will
squib for a minute. The Iroquois had none of the
best powder when I went ag'in the Canada tribes,
under Sir William. Did I ever tell you the story,
lad, consarning the skrimmage with”—
“For God's sake, tell me nothing now, Natty,
until we are entirely safe. Where shall we go
next?”
“Why, on the platform of rock over the cave,
to be sure; you will be safe enough there, or
we'll go into it, if you be so minded.”
The young man started, and appeared agitated
with a strong emotion, but looking around him
with an anxious eye, said quickly—
“Shall we be safe on the rock? cannot the fire
reach us there, too?”
“Can't the boy see?” said Natty, with the
coolness of one who was accustomed to the kind
of danger he had just encountered. “Had ye
staid in the place above ten minutes longer, you
would both have been in ashes, but here you may
stay for ever, and no fire can touch you, until they
burn the rocks as well as the woods.”
With this assurance, which was obviously true,
they proceeded to the spot, and Natty deposited
his load, placing the Indian on the ground with
his back against a fragment of the rocks. Elizabeth
sunk on the ground, and buried her face in
her hands, while her heart was swelling with a variety
of conflicting emotions.
“Let me urge you to take a restorative, Miss
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Temple,” said Edwards respectfully; “your
frame will sink else.”
“Leave, leave me,” she said, raising her beaming
eyes for a moment to his; “I feel too much
for words! I am grateful, Oliver, for this miraculous
escape; and next to my God to you.”
Edwards withdrew to the edge of the rock, and
shouted—“Benjamin! where are you, Benjamin?”
A hoarse voice replied, as if from the bowels of
the earth, “Here, away, master; stow'd in this
here bit of a hole, which is all the same as hot as the
cook's coppers. I'm tired of my birth d'ye see, and
if-so-be that Leather-stocking has got much overhauling
to do before he sails after them said beaver,
I'll go into dock again, and ride out my
quarantine 'till I can get prottick from the law,
and so hold on upon the rest of my 'spaniolas.”
“Bring up a glass of water from the spring,”
continued Edwards, “and throw a little wine in
it; hasten, I entreat you.”
“I knows but little of your small drink, master
Oliver,” returned the steward, his voice issuing
out of the cave into the open air, “and the Jamaiky
held out no longer than to take a parting
kiss with Billy Kirby, when he anchored me
alongside the highway last night, where you run
me down in the chase. But here's sum'mat of a
red colour that may suit a weak stomach, mayhap.
That master Kirby is no first rate in a boat, but
he'll tack a cart among the stumps, all the same
as a Lon'on pilot will back and fill through the
colliers in the Pool.”
As the steward ascended while talking, by the
time he had ended his speech, he appeared on the
rock, with the desired restoratives, exhibiting the
worn out and bloated features of a man who had
run deep in a debauch, and that lately.
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Elizabeth took from the hand of Edwards the
liquor which he offered, and then motioned to be
left again to herself.
The youth turned at her bidding, and observed
Natty kindly assiduous around the person of Mohegan.
When their eyes met, the hunter said
sorrowfully—
“His time has come, lad; I see it in his eye;—
when an Indian fixes his eye, he means to go
but to one place; and what the wilful creaters
put their minds on, they're sure to do.”
A quick tread diverted the reply of the youth,
and in a few moments, to the amazement of the
whole party, Mr. Grant was seen clinging to the
side of the mountain, and striving to reach the
place where they stood. Oliver sprang to his
assistance, and by their united efforts, the worthy
divine was soon placed safely among them.
“How came you added to our number?” cried
Edwards; “Is the hill alive with people, at a
time like this?”
The hasty, but pious thanksgivings of the clergyman
were soon ejaculated; and when he succeeded
in collecting his bewildered senses, he replied—
“I heard that my child was seen coming to the
mountain; and when the fire broke over its summit,
my uneasiness drew me up the road, where
I found Louisa, in terror for Miss Temple. It
was to seek her that I came into this dangerous
place; and I think but for God's mercy, through
the dogs of Natty, I should have perished in the
flames myself.”
“Ay! follow the hounds, and if there's an
opening they'll scent it out,” said Natty; “their
noses be given to them the same as man's reason.”
“I did so, and they led me to this place; but,
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praise be to God, that I see you all safe and
well.”
“No, no,” returned the hunter; “safe we be,
but as for well, John can't be called in a good
way, unless you'll say that for a man that's taking
his last look at the 'arth.”
“He speaks the truth!” said the divine, with
the holy awe with which he ever approached the
dying;—“I have been by too many death-beds,
not to see that the hand of the tyrant is laid on this
old warrior. Oh! how consoling it is, to know that
he has not rejected the offered mercy, in the hour
of his strength and of worldly temptations! The
offspring of a race of heathens, he has in truth been
`as a brand plucked from the burning.' ”
“No, no,” returned Natty, who alone stood
with him by the side of the dying warrior, “it's
no burning that ails him, though his Indian feelings
made him scorn to move, unless it be the
burning of man's wicked thoughts for near fourscore
years; but it's nater giving out in a chase that's
run too long.—Down with ye, Hector! down, I
say!—Flesh isn't iron, that a man can live for
ever, and see his kith and kin driven to a far
country, and he left to mourn, with none to keep
him company.”
“John,” said the divine, tenderly, “do you
hear me? do you wish the prayers appointed by
the church, at this trying moment?”
The Indian turned his ghastly face to the speaker,
and fastened his dark eyes on him, steadily,
but vacantly. No sign of recognition was made;
and in a moment he moved his head again slowly
towards the vale, and begun to sing, using his
own language, in those low, guttural tones, that
have been so often mentioned, his notes rising
with his theme, till they swelled to fulness, if not
to harmony:—
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“I will come! I will come! to the land of the
just I will come! No Delaware fears his end; no
Mohican shrinks from death; for the Great Spirit
calls, and he goes. My father I have honoured;
I have cherished my mother; to my tribe
I've been faithful and true. The Maquas I have
slain!—I have slain the Maquas! and the Great
Spirit calls to his son. I will come! I will come!
to the land of the just I will come!”
“What says he, Leather-stocking?” inquired
the priest, with tender interest; “sings he the Redeemer's
praise?”
“No, no—'tis his own praise that he speaks
now,” said Natty, turning in a melancholy manner
from the sight of his dying friend; “and a
good right he has to say it all, for I know every
word of it to be true.”
“May Heaven avert such self-righteousness
from his heart!” exclaimed the divine. “Humility
and penitence are the seals of christianity; and
without feeling them deeply seated in the soul,
all hope is delusive, and leads to vain expectations.
Praise himself! when his whole soul and
body should unite to praise his Maker! John!
you have enjoyed the blessing of a gospel ministry,
and have been called from out a multitude
of sinners and pagans, and, I trust, for a wise and
gracious purpose. Do you now feel what it is to
be justified by your Saviour's death, and reject
all weak and idle dependence on good works,
that spring from man's pride and vain-glory?”
The Indian did not regard his interrogator, but
he raised his head again, and said, in a low,
distinct voice—
“Who can say that the Maquas know the back
of Mohegan! What enemy that trusted in him did
not see the morning? What Mingo that he chased
ever sung the song of triumph? Did Mohegan ever
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lie? No; for the truth lived in him, and none else
could come out of him. In his youth, he was a
warrior, and his moccasins left the stain of blood. In
his age, he was wise; and his words at the council
fire did not blow away with the winds.”
“Ah! he has abandoned that vain relic of paganism,
his songs,” cried the good divine;—
“what says he now? is he sensible of his lost state?”
“Lord! man,” said Natty, “he knows his ind
is at hand as well as you or I, but, so far from
thinking it a loss to him, he believes it to be a
great gain. He is now old and stiff, and you've
made the game so scearce and shy, that better shots
than him find it hard to get a livelihood. Now
he thinks he shall travel where it will always
be good hunting; where no wicked or unjust Indians
can go; and where he shall meet all his
tribe together ag'in. There's not much loss in
that, to a man whose hands be hardly fit for basket-making.
Loss! if there be any loss, 'twill
be to me. I'm sure, after he's gone, there will be
but little left for me to do but to follow.”
“His example and end, which, I humbly trust,
shall yet be made glorious,” returned Mr. Grant,
“should lead your mind to dwell on the things of
another life. But I feel it to be my duty to smooth
the way for the parting spirit. This is the moment,
John, when the reflection that you did not
reject the mediation of the Redeemer, will bring
balm to your soul. Trust not to any act of former
days, but lay the burthen of your sins at his
feet, and you have his own blessed assurance that
he will not desert you.”
“Though all you say be true, and you have
scripter gospels for it, too,” said Natty, “you
will make nothing of the Indian. He hasn't
seen a Moravian priest sin' the war; and it's hard
to keep them from going back to their native
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ways. I should think 'twould be as well to let
the old man pass in peace. He's happy now; I
know it by his eye; and that's more than I would
say for the chief, sin' the time the Delawares broke
up from the head-waters of their river, and went
west. Ahs! me! 'tis a grievous long time that,
and many dark days have we both seen together,
sin' it.”
“Hawk-eye!” said Mohegan, rousing with the
last glimmering of life. “Hawk-eye! listen to
the words of your brother.”
“Yes, John,” said the hunter, in English,
strongly affected by the appeal, and drawing to
his side; “we have been brothers; and more so
than it means in the Indian tongue. What would
ye have with me, Chingachgook?”
“Hawk-eye! my fathers call me to the happy
hunting-grounds. The path is clear, and the
eyes of Mohegan grow young. I look—but I
see no white-skins; there are none to be seen but
just and brave Indians. Farewell, Hawk-eye—
you shall go with the Fire-eater and the Young
Eagle, to the white man's heaven; but I go after
my fathers. Let the bow, and tomakawk, and
pipe, and the wampum, of Mohegan, be laid
in his grave; for when he starts 'twill be in the
night, like a warrior on a war-party, and he cannot
stop to seek them.”
“What says he, Nathaniel?” cried Mr. Grant,
earnestly, and with obvious anxiety; “does he
recall the promises of the mediation? and trust
his salvation to the Rock of ages?”
Although the faith of the hunter was by no
means clear, yet the fruits of early instruction had
not entirely fallen in the wilderness. He believed
in one God, and in one heaven; and when
the strong feeling excited by the leave-taking of
his old companion, which was exhibited by the
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powerful working of every muscle in his weather
beaten face, suffered him to speak, he replied—
“No—no—he trusts only to the Great Spirit
of the savages, and to his own good deeds. He
thinks, like all his people, that he is to be young
ag'in, and to hunt, and be happy to the ind of
etarnity. It's pretty much the same with all colours,
parson. I could never bring myself to
think that I shall meet with these hounds, or my
piece, in another world; though the thoughts of
leaving them for ever, sometimes brings hard feelings
over me, and makes me cling to life with a
greater craving than beseems three-score-and-ten.”
“The Lord in his mercy, avert such a death
from one who has been sealed with the sign of
the cross!” cried the minister, in holy fervour.
“John—”
He paused; for the scene, and the elements;
seemed to conspire to oppress the powers of humanity.
During the period occupied by the
events which we have related, the dark clouds in
the horizon had continued to increase in numbers
and magnitude; and the awful stillness that now
pervaded the air, announced a crisis in the state
of the atmosphere. The flames, which yet continued
to rage along the sides of the mountain,
no longer whirled in the uncertain currents of
their own eddies, but blazed high and steadily
towards the heavens. There was even a
quietude in the ravages of the destructive element,
as if it foresaw that a hand, greater than
even its own desolating power, was about to stay
its progress. The piles of smoke which lay above
the valley began to rise, and were dispelling rapidly;
and streaks of vivid lightning were dancing
through the masses of clouds that impended
over the western hills. While Mr. Grant
was speaking, a flash, which sent its quivering
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light through the gloom, laying bare the whole
opposite horizon, was followed by a loud crash
of thunder, that rolled away among the hills,
seeming to shake the foundations of the earth to
their centre. Mohegan raised himself, as if in
obedience to a signal for his departure, and
stretched forth his wasted arm towards the west.
His dark face lighted with a look of joy; which,
with all other expression, gradually disappeared;
the muscles stiffening as they retreated to a state
of rest; a slight convulsion played, for a single
instant, about his lips; and his arm slowly dropped,
rigid and motionless, by his side; leaving
the frame of the dead warrior reposing against the
rock, with its glassy eyes open, and fixed on the
distant hills, as if the deserted shell were tracing
the flight of the spirit to its new abode.
All this Mr. Grant witnessed, in silent awe;
but when the last echoes of the thunder died
away, he clasped his hands together, with pious
energy, and repeated, in the full rich tones of assured
faith—
“O Lord! how unsearchable are thy judgments:
aud thy ways past finding out! `I know
that my Redeemer liveth, aud that he shall stand
at the latter day upon the earth: And though after
my skin, worms destroy this body, yet
in my flesh shall I see God; whom I shall see for
myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.
' ”
As the divine closed this burst of devotion, he
bowed his head meekly to his bosom, and looked
all the dependence and humility that the inspired
language expressed.
When Mr. Grant retired from the body, the hunter
approached, and taking the rigid hand of his
friend, looked him wistfully in the face for some
time without speaking; when he gave vent to his
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feelings by saying, in the mournful voice of one
who felt deeply—
“Red skin, or white, it's all over now! He's
to be judged by a righteous Judge, and by no
laws that's made to suit times, and new ways.
Well, there's only one more death, and the world
will be left to me and the hounds. Ahs! me! a
man must wait the time of God's pleasure, but I
begin to weary of my life. There is scearcely a tree
standing that I know, and it's hard to find a face
that I was acquainted with in my younger days.”
Large drops of rain began now to fall, and
diffuse themselves over the dry rock, while the approach
of the thunder shower was rapid and certain.
The body of the Indian was hastily removed
into the cave beneath, followed by the
whining hounds, who missed, and moaned for, the
look of intelligence that had always met their salutations
to the chief.
Edwards made some hasty and confused excuse
for not taking Elizabeth into the same place,
which was now completely closed in front with
logs and bark, saying something that she hardly
understood about its darkness, and the unpleasantness
of being with the dead body. Miss Temple,
however, found a sufficient shelter against the
torrent of rain that fell, under the projection of a
rock which overhung them. But long before the
shower was over, the sounds of voices were heard
below them, crying aloud for Elizabeth, and men
soon appeared, beating the dying embers of the
bushes, as they worked their way cautiously
among the unextinguished brands.
At the first short cessation in the rain, Oliver
conducted the heiress to the road, where he left
her. Before parting, however, he found time to
say, in a fervent manner, that his companion was
now at no loss to interpret—
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“The moment of concealment is over, Miss
Temple. By this time to-marrow, I shall remove
a veil that perhaps it has been weakness to keep
around me and my affairs so long. But I have
had romantic and foolish wishes and weaknesses;
and who has not, that is young and torn by conflicting
passions! God bless you! I hear your
father's voice; he is coming up the road, and I
would not, just now, subject myself to detention.
Thank Heaven, you are safe again, and that alone
removes the weight of a world from my spirit!”
He waited for no answer, but sprung into the
woods. Elizabeth, notwithstanding she heard
the piercing cries of her father as he called upon
her name, paused until he was concealed among
the smoking trees, when she turned, and in a moment
rushed into the arms of her half-distracted
parent.
A carriage had been provided, to remove her
body, living or dead as Heaven had directed her fate,
into which Miss Temple hastily entered; when
the cry was passed along the hill, that the lost one
was found, and the people returned to the village,
wet and dirty, but elated with the thought that
the daughter of their landlord had escaped from so
horrid and untimely an end.
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CHAPTER XX.
“Selictar! unsheath then our chief's scimetar;
Tambourgi! thy 'larum gives promise of war;
Yo mountains! that see us descend to the shore,
Shall view us victors, or view us no more.”
Byron.
[figure description] Page 287.[end figure description]
The heavy showers that prevailed during
the remainder of the day, completely stopped the
progress of the flames; though glimmering fires
were observed during the night, on different parts
of the hill, wherever there was a collection of fuel
to feed the element. The next day the woods,
for many miles, were black and smoking, and
were stript of every vestige of brush and dead
wood; but the pines and hemlocks still reared
their heads proudly along the hills, and even the
smaller trees of the forest retained a feeble appearance
of life and vegetation.
The many tongues of rumour were busy in exaggerating
the miraculous escape of Elizabeth,
and a report was generally credited, that Mohegan
had actually perished in the flames. This
belief became confirmed, and was indeed rendered
probable, when the direful intelligence reached
the village, that Jotham Riddel, the miner, was
found in his hole, nearly dead with suffocation,
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and burnt to such a degree that no hopes were
entertained of his life.
The public attention became much alive to the
events of the last few days, and just at this crisis,
the convicted counterfeiters took the hint from
Natty, and, on the night succeeding the fire,
found means to cut through their log prison also,
and to escape unpunished. When this news begun
to circulate through the village, blended with
the fate of Jotham, and the exaggerated and tortured
reports of the events on the hill, the popular
opinion was freely expressed, as to the propriety
of seizing such of the fugitives as remained within
reach. Men talked of the cave, as a secret receptacle
of guilt; and, as the rumour of ores
and metals found its way into the confused medley
of conjectures, counterfeiting, and every thing
else that was wicked and dangerous to the peace
of society, suggested themselves to the busy fancies
of the populace.
While the public mind was in this feverish state,
it was hinted that the wood had been set on fire
by Edwards and the Leather-stocking, and that,
consequently, they alone were responsible for the
damages. This opinion soon gained ground, being
most circulated by those who, by their own
heedlessness, had caused the evil; and there was
one irresistible burst of the common sentiment,
that an attempt should be made to punish the offenders.
Richard was by no means deaf to this appeal,
and by noon he set about in earnest, to see
the laws executed.
Several stout young men were selected, and taken
apart, with an appearance of secrecy, where
they received some important charge from the
Sheriff, immediately under the eyes, but far removed
from the ears, of all in the village.
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Possessed with a knowledge of their duty, these
youths hurried into the hills, with a bustling manner,
as if the fate of the world depended on their
diligence, and, at the same time, with an air of
mystery, as great as if they were engaged on secret
matters of the state.
At twelve precisely, a drum beat the “long roll”
before the “Bold Dragoon,” and Richard appeared,
accompanied by Captain Hollister, who
was clad in his vestments as commander of the
“Templeton Light-Infantry,” when the former
demanded of the latter the aid of the posse comitatus,
in enforcing the laws of the country. We
have not room to record the speeches of the two
gentlemen on this occasion, but they are preserved
in the columns of the little blue newspaper, which
is yet to be found on file, and are said to be highly
creditable to the legal formula of one of the
parties, and to the military precision of the other.
Every thing had been previously arranged, and
as the red-coated drummer continued to roll out
his clattering notes, some five-and-twenty privates
appeared in the ranks, and arranged themselves
in order of battle.
As this corps was composed of volunteers, and
was commanded by a man who had passed the
first five-and-thirty years of his life in camps and
garrisons, it was the nonpareil of military science
in that country, and was confidently pronounced,
by the judicious part of the Templeton community,
to be equal in skill and appearance to any
troops in the known world; in physical endowments
they were, certainly, much superior! To
this assertion there were but three dissenting
voices, and one dissenting opinion. The opinion
belonged to Marmaduke, who, however, saw no
necessity for its promulgation. Of the voices,
one, and that a pretty loud one, came from the
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spouse of the commander himself, who frequently
reproached her husband for condescending to
lead such an irregular band of warriors, after he
had filled the honourable station of sergeant-major
to a dashing corps of Virginian cavalry
through much of the recent war.
Another of these sceptical sentiments was invariably
expressed by Mr. Pump, whenever the company
paraded, generally in some such terms as
these, which were uttered with that sort of meekness
that a native of the island of our forefathers
is apt to assume, when he condescends to praise
the customs or characters of her truant progeny—
“It's mayhap that they knows sum'mat about
loading and firing, d'ye see; but as for working
ship! why a corporal's guard of the Boadishey's
marines would back and fill on their quarters in
such a manner as to surround and captivate them
all in half a glass.” As there was no one to deny
this assertion, the marines of the Boadicea
were held in a corresponding degree of estimation.
The third unbeliever was Monsieur Le Quoi, who
merely whispered to the sheriff, that the corps was
one of the finest he had ever seen, second only to
the Mousquetaires of Le Bon Louis! However, as
Mrs. Hollister thought there was something like
actual service in the present appearances, and was,
in consequence, too busily engaged with certain
preparations of her own, to make her comments;
as Benjamin was absent, and Monsieur Le
Quoi too happy to find fault with any thing, the
corps escaped criticism and comparison altogether
on this momentous day, when they certainly had
greater need of self-confidence, than on any other
previous occasion. Marmaduke was said to be
again closeted with Mr. Van der School, and
no interruption was offered to the movements of
the troops. At two o'clock precisely the corps
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shouldered arms, beginning on the right wing,
next to the veteran, and carrying the motion
through to the left with great regularity. When each
musket was quietly fixed in its proper situation,
the order was given to wheel to the left, and
march. As this was bringing raw troops, at once,
to face their enemy, it is not to be supposed that
the manœuvre was executed with their usual accuracy,
but as the music struck up the inspiring air
of Yankee-doodle, and Richard, accompanied by
Mr. Doolittle, preceded the troops boldly down
the street, Captain Hollister led on, with his head
elevated to forty-five degrees, with a little, low
cocked hat, perched on its crown, carrying a tremendous
dragoon sabre at a poise, and trailing
at his heels a huge steel scabbard, that had war
in its very clattering. There was a good deal of
difficulty in getting all the platoons (there were
six) to look the same way; but, by the time they
reached the defile of the bridge, the troops were
in excellent order. In this manner they marched
up the hill to the summit of the mountain, no
other alteration taking place in the disposition of
the forces, excepting that a mutual complaint was
made by the sheriff and the magistrate, of a failure
in wind, which gradually brought these gentlemen
to the rear. It will be unnecessary to detail
the minute movements that succeeded. We
shall briefly say, that the scouts came in and reported,
that, so far from retreating, as had been
anticipated, the fugitives had evidently gained a
knowledge of the attack, and were fortifying for
a desperate resistance. This intelligence certainly
made a material change, not only in the plans of
the leaders, but in the countenances of the soldiery
also. The men looked at one another with serious
faces, and Hiram and Richard begun to consult
together, apart. At this juncture, they were
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joined by Billy Kirby, who came along the highway,
with his axe under his arm, as much in advance
of his team as Captain Hollister had been
of his troops in the ascent. The wood-chopper
was amazed at the military array, but the sheriff
eagerly availed himself of this powerful reinforcement,
and commanded his assistance in putting the
laws in force. Billy held Mr. Jones in too much
deference to object; and it was finally arranged
that he should be the bearer of a summons to the
garrison to surrender, before they proceeded to
extremities. The troops now divided, one party
being led by the captain, over the Vision, and
were brought in on the left of the cave, while the
remainder advanced upon its right, under the orders
of the lieutenant. Mr. Jones and Dr. Todd,
for the surgeon was in attendance also, appeared
on the platform of rock, immediately over the
heads of the garrison, though out of their sight.
Hiram thought this approaching too near, and
he therefore accompanied Kirby along the side of
the hill, to within a safe distance of the fortifications,
where he took shelter behind a tree. Most
of the men discovered a wonderful accuracy of
eye in bringing some object in range between
them and their enemy, and the only two of the besiegers,
who were left in plain sight of the besieged,
were Captain Hollister on one side, and the wood-chopper
on the other. The veteran stood up
boldly to the front, supporting his heavy sword, in
one undeviating position, with his eye fixed firmly
on his enemy, while the huge form of Billy was
placed in that kind of quiet repose, with either hand
thrust into his bosom, bearing his axe under his
right arm, which permitted him, like his own oxen,
to rest standing. So far, not a word had been exchanged
between the belligerents. The besieged
had drawn together a pile of black logs and
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branches of trees, which they had formed into
a chevaux-de-frize, making a little circular
abbatis, in front of the entrance to the cave.
As the ground was steep and slippery in every direction
around the place, and Benjamin appeared
behind the works on one side, and Natty on the
other, the arrangement was by no means contemptible,
especially as the front was sufficiently
guarded by the difficulty of the approach. By
this time, Kirby had received his orders, and he
advanced coolly along the mountain, picking his
way with the same indifference as if he were pursuing
his ordinary business. When he was within
a hundred feet of the works, the long and much
dreaded rifle of the Leather-stocking was seen
issuing from the parapet, and his voice cried
aloud—
“Keep off! Billy Kirby, keep off! I wish ye
no harm; but if a man of ye all comes a step nigher,
there'll be blood spilt a-twixt us. God forgive
the one that draws it first; but so it must be.”
“Come, old chap,” said Billy, good-naturedly,
“don't be crabbed, but hear what a man has got
to say. I've no concarn in the business, only to
see right 'twixt man and man; and I don't kear
the valie of a beetle-ring which gets the better;
but there's Squire Doolittle, out yonder behind
the beech sapling, he has invited me to come in
and ask you to give up to the law—that's all.”
“I see the varmint! I see his clothes!” cried the
indignant Natty; “and if he'll only show so
much flesh as will bury a rifle bullet, thirty to the
pound, I'll make him feel me. Go away, Billy,
I bid ye; you know my aim, and I bear you no
malice.”
“You over calkilate your aim, Natty,” said
the other, as he stepped behind a pine that stood
near him, “if you think to shoot a man through
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a tree with a three foot butt. I can lay this tree-top
right across you, in ten minutes, by any
man's watch, and in less time, too; so be civil—I
want no more than what's right.”
There was a simple seriousness in the countenance
of Natty, that showed he was much in
earnest; but it was, also, evident that he was reluctant
to shed human blood. He answered the
vaunt of the wood-chopper, by saying—
“I know you drop a tree where you will, Billy
Kirby; but if you show a hand, or an arm, in
doing it, there'll be bones to be set, and blood to
stanch, I tell you. If it's only to get into the
cave that ye want, wait till a two hour's sun, and
you may enter it in welcome; but come in now
you shall not. There's one dead body, already, lying
on the cold rocks, and there's another in
which the life can hardly be said to stay. If you
will come in, there'll be dead without as well as
within.”
The wood-chopper stept out fearlessly from his
cover, and cried—
“That's fair; and what's fair, is right. He
wants you to stop till it's two hours to sun-down;
and I see reason in the thing. A man can give
up when he's wrong, if you don't crowd him too
hard; but you crowd a man, and he gets to be
like a stubborn ox—the more you beat, the worse
he kicks.”
The sturdy notions of independence maintained
by Billy, neither suited the emergency, nor the
impatience of Mr. Jones, who was burning with a
desire to examine the hidden mysteries of the
cave. He, therefore, interrupted this amicable
dialogue with his own voice.
“I command you, Nathaniel Bumppo, by my
authority, to surrender your person to the law,”
he cried. “And I command you, gentlemen, to
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aid me in performing my duty. Benjamin Penguillan,
I arrest you, and order you to follow me
to the gaol of the county, by virtue of this warrant.”
“I'd follow ye, Squire Dickens,” said Benjamin,
removing the pipe from his mouth, (for during
the whole scene the ex-major domo had been
very composedly smoking,) “Ay! I'd sail in
your wake, sir, to the end of the world, if-so-be
that there was such a place, which there isn't, seeing
that it's round. Now, mayhap, Master Hollister,
having lived all your life on shore, you is'nt acquainted
that the world, d'ye-see—”
“Surrender!” interrupted the veteran, in a
voice that startled his hearers, and which actually
caused his own forces to recoil several paces;
“Surrender, Benjamin Penguillum, or expect no
quarter.”
“Damn your quarter,” said Benjamin, rising
from the log on which he was seated, and taking
a squint along the barrel of the swivel, which had
been brought on the hill, during the night, and
now formed the means of defence on his side of
the works. “Look you, Master, or Captain,
thof I questions if ye know the name of a rope,
except the one that's to hang ye, there's no need
of singing out, just as if ye was hailing a deaf
man on a top-gallant-yard. Mayhap you think
you've got my true name in your sheep-skin; but
what British sailor finds it worth while to sail in
these seas, without a sham on his stern, in case of
need, d'ye-see. If you call me Penguillan, you
calls me by the name of the man on whose land,
d'ye-see, I hove into daylight; and he was a gentleman;
and that's more than my worst enemy
will say of any of the family of Benjamin
Stubbs.”
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“Send the warrant round to me, and I'll put in
an alias,” cried Hiram, from behind his cover.
“Put in a jackass, and you'll put in yourself,
Mister Doo-but-little,” shouted Benjamin, who
kept squinting along his little iron tube, with great
steadiness.
“I give you but one moment to yield in,” cried
Richard. “Benjamin! Benjamin! This is not
the gratitude I expected from you.”
“I tell you, Richard Jones,” said Natty, who
dreaded the sheriff's influence over his comrade;
“though the canister the gal brought, be lost,
there's powder enough in the cave to lift the
rock you stand on. I'll take off my roof, if you
don't hold your peace.”
“I think it beneath the dignity of my office to
parley further with the prisoners,” the sheriff observed
to his companion, while they both retired
with a precipitancy that Captain Hollister mistook
for the signal to advance.
“Charge baggonet!” shouted the veteran;
“march!”
Although this signal was certainly expected, it
took the assailed a little by surprise, and the veteran
approached the works, crying, “courage,
my brave lads! give them no quarter unless they
surrender,” and struck a furious blow upwards
with his sabre that would have divided the steward
in moieties, by subjecting him to the process of
decapitation, but for the fortunate interference of
the muzzle of the swivel. As it was, the gun was
dismounted at the critical moment that Benjamin
was applying his pipe to the priming, and in consequence,
some five or six dozen of rifle bullets
were projected into the air, in, nearly, a perpendicular
line. Philosophy teaches us that the atmosphere
will not retain lead; and two pounds of the
metal moulded into bullets, of thirty to the pound,
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after describing an ellipsis in their journey, returned
to the earth, rattling among the branches
of the trees directly over the heads of the troops
stationed in the rear of their captain. Much of
the success of an attack made by irregular
soldiers, depends on which way they are first got
in motion. In the present instance, it was retrograde,
and in less than a minute after the loud
bellowing report of the swivel among the rocks
and caverns, the whole weight of the attack,
from the left, rested on the prowess of the single
arm of the veteran. Benjamin received a severe
contusion from the recoil of his gun, which produced
a short stupor, during which period the exsteward
was prostrate on the ground. Capt.
Hollister availed himself of this circumstance to
scramble over the breast-work and obtain a footing
in the bastion—for such was the nature of the
fortress, as connected with the cave. The moment
the veteran found himself within the works
of his enemy, he rushed to the edge of the fortification,
and waving his sabre over his head, shouted—
“Victory! come on, my brave boys, the work's
our own!”
All this was perfectly military, and was such
an example as a gallant officer was in some measure
bound to exhibit to his men; but the outcry
was the unlucky cause of turning the tide of success.
Natty, who had been keeping a vigilant
eye on the wood-chopper, and the enemy immediately
before him, wheeled at this alarm, and was
appalled at beholding his comrade on the ground,
and the veteran standing on his own bulwark,
giving forth the cry of victory! The muzzle of
the long rifle was turned instantly towards the
captain. There was a moment when the life of
the old soldier was in great jeopardy; but the
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object to shoot at was both too large and too near
for the Leather-stocking, who, instead of pulling
his trigger, applied the gun to the rear of his enemy,
and by a powerful shove, sent him outside
of the works with much greater rapidity than he
had entered them. The spot on which Capt. Hollister
alighted was directly in front, where, as his
feet touched the ground, so steep and slippery was
the side of the mountain, it seemed to recede from
under them. His motion was wonderfully swift,
and so irregular, as utterly to confuse the faculties
of the old soldier. During its continuance,
he supposed himself to be mounted and charging
through the ranks of his enemy. At every tree
he made a blow, of course, as at a foot-soldier;
and just as he was making the cut “St. George” at
a half-burnt sapling, he landed in the highway,
and, to his utter amazement, at the feet of his own
spouse. When Mrs. Hollister, who was toiling
up the hill, followed by at least twenty curious
boys, leaning with one hand on the staff with
which she ordinarily walked, and bearing in the
other an empty bag, witnessed this exploit of her
husband, indignation immediately got the better
not only of her religion, but of her philosophy.
“Why, Sargeant! is it flying ye are?” she
cried—“That I should live to see a husband of
mine turn his back to the inimy! and sich a one!
Here have I been telling the b'ys as we come
along, all about the saige of Yorrektown, and how
ye was hurted; and how ye'd be acting the same
ag'in the day; and I mate ye retrating jist as the
first gun is fired. Och! I may trow away the
bag! for if there's plunder 'twill not be the wife
of sich as yeerself that will be privileged to be
getting the same. They do say too, there's a
power of goold and silver in the place—the Lord
forgive me for setting my heart on sich worreldly
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things; but what falls in the battle, there's Scripter
for believing it the just property of the victor.”
“Retreating!” exclaimed the amazed veteran;
“where's my horse? he has been shot under
me—I—”
“Is the man mad!” interrupted his wife—
“divil the horse do ye own, sargeant, and yee're
nothing but a shabby captain of malaishy. Och!
if the ra'al captain was here, 'tis the other way
ye'd be riding, dear, or you would not follow
your lader!”
While this worthy couple were thus discussing
events, the battle began to rage more violently
than ever, above them. When the Leather-stocking
saw his enemy fairly under head-way,
as Benjamin would express it, he gave his attention
again to the right wing of the assailants. It
would have been easy for Kirby, with his powerful
frame, to have seized the moment to scale the
bastion, and with his great strength, to have
sent both its defenders in pursuit of the veteran;
but hostility appeared to be the passion that the
wood-chopper indulged the least in, at that moment,
for, in a voice that was heard even by the
retreating left wing, he shouted,
“Hurrah! well done, captain! keep it up!
how he handles his bush hook! he makes nothing
of a sapling!” and such other encouraging exclamations
to the flying veteran, until, overcome by his
mirth, the good-natured fellow seated himself on
the ground, kicking the earth with delight, and
giving vent to peal after peal of laughter.
Natty stood all this time in a menacing attitude,
with his rifle pointed over his breast-work,
watching with a quick and cautious eye the least
movement of the assailants. The outcry unfortunately
tempted the ungovernable curiosity of Hiram
to take a peep from behind his cover, at the state
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of the battle. Though this evolution was performed
with great caution, in protecting his
front, he left, like many a better commander, his
rear exposed to the attacks of his enemy. Mr.
Doolittle belonged physically to a class of his countrymen,
to whom nature has denied, in their
formation, the use of curved lines. Every thing
about him was either straight or angular. But
his tailor was a woman who worked like a regimental
contractor, by a set of rules that gave the
same configuration to the whole human species.
Consequently, when Mr. Doolittle leaned forward
in the manner described, a loose drapery appeared
behind the tree, at which the rifle of Natty was
pointed with the quickness of lightning. A less
experienced man would have aimed at the flowing
robe, which hung like a festoon half way to the
earth; but the Leather-stocking knew both the
man and his female tailor better, and when the
smart report of the rifle was heard, Kirby, who
watched the whole manœuvre in breathless expectation,
saw the bark fly from the beech, and
the cloth, at some distance above the loose folds,
wave at the same instant. No battery was ever
unmasked with more promptitude than Hiram
advanced, from behind the tree, at this summons.
He made two or three steps, with great precision,
to the front, and, placing one hand on the
afflicted part, stretched forth the other, with a
menacing air, towards Natty, and cried aloud—
“Gawl darn ye! this shan't be settled so easy;
I'll follow it up from the `common pleas' to the
`court of errors.' ”
Such a shocking imprecation, from the mouth
of so orderly a man as Squire Doolittle, with the
fearless manner in which he exposed himself, together
with, perhaps, the knowledge that Natty's
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rifle was unloaded, encouraged the troops in the
rear, who gave a loud shout, and fired a volley
into the tree-tops, after the contents of the swivel.
Animated by their own noise, the men now rushed
on in earnest, and Billy Kirby, who thought
the joke, good as it was, had gone far enough,
was in the act of scaling the works, when Judge
Temple appeared on the opposite side, exclaiming—
“Silence and peace! why do I see murder and
bloodshed attempted! is not the law sufficient to
protect itself, that armed bands must be gathered,
as in rebellion and war, to see justice performed!”
“'Tis the posse comitatus,” shouted the Sheriff,
from a distant rock, “who”—
“Say rather a posse of demons. I command
the peace.”—
“Hold! shed not blood!” cried a voice from
the top of the Vision—“Hold! for the sake of
Heaven, fire no more! all shall be yielded! you
shall enter the cave!”
Amazement produced the desired effect. Natty,
who had reloaded his piece, quietly seated
himself on the logs, and rested his head on his
hand, while the “Light Infantry” ceased their
military movements, and waited the issue in mute
suspense.
In less than a minute Edwards came rushing
down the hill, followed by Major Hartmann with
a velocity that was surprising for his years. They
reached the terrace in an instant, from which the
youth led the way, by the hollow in the rock, to
the mouth of the cave, into which they both entered;
leaving all without silent and gazing after
them with astonishment.
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CHAPTER XXI.
“I am dumb.”
Were you the Doctor, and I knew you not!”
Shakspeare.
[figure description] Page 302.[end figure description]
During the five or six minutes that elapsed before
the youth and Major re-appeared, Judge
Temple and the Sheriff, together with most of the
volunteers, ascended to the terrace, where the latter
begun to express their conjectures of the result,
and to recount their individual services in the
conflict. But the sight of the peace-makers, ascending
the ravine, shut every mouth.
On a rude chair, covered with undressed deer-skins,
they supported a human being, whom they
seated carefully and respectfully in the midst of
the assembly. His head was covered by long,
smooth locks, of the colour of snow. His dress,
which was studiously neat and clean, was composed
of such fabrics as none but the wealthiest
classes wear, but was threadbare and patched;
and on his feet were placed a pair of moccasins,
ornamented in the best manner of Indian ingenuity.
The outlines of his face were grave
and dignified, though his vacant eye, which opened
and turned slowly to the faces of those around
him in unmeaning looks, too surely announced
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that the period had arrived, when age brings the
mental imbecility of childhood.
Natty had followed the supporters of this unexpected
object to the top of the cave, and took his
station at a little distance behind him, leaning on
his rifle, in the midst of his pursuers, with a fearlessness
which showed that heavier interests than
those which affected himself were to be decided.
Major Hartmann placed himself beside the aged
man, uncovered, with his whole soul beaming
through those eyes which so commonly danced with
frolic and humour. Edwards rested with one hand
familiarly, but affectionately, on the chair, though
his heart was swelling with emotions that denied
him utterance.
All eyes were gazing intently; but each tongue
continued mute. At length the decrepid stranger,
turning his vacant looks from face to face,
made a feeble attempt to rise, while a faint smile
crossed his wasted face, like an habitual effort at
courtesy, as he said, in a hollow, tremulous voice—
“Be pleased to be seated, gentlemen. The
council will open immediately. Each one who
loves a good and virtuous king, will wish to see
these colonies continue loyal. Be seated—I pray
you, be seated, gentlemen. The troops shall halt
for the night.”
“This is the wandering of insanity!” said Marmaduke;
“who will explain this scene?”
“No, sir,” said Edwards, firmly, “'tis only the
decay of nature; who is answerable for its pitiful
condition, remains to be shown.”
“Will the gentlemen dine with us, my son?”
said the old stranger, turning to a voice that he
both knew and loved. “Order a repast suitable
for his Majesty's officers. You know we have the
best of game always at our command.”
“Who is this man?” asked Marmaduke, in a
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hurried voice, in which the dawnings of conjecture
united with interest to put the question.
“This man!” returned Edwards, calmly, his
voice, however, gradually rising as he proceeded;
“this man, sir, whom you behold hid in caverns,
and deprived of every thing that can make life
desirable, was once the companion and counsellor
of those who ruled your country. This man,
whom you see, helpless and feeble, was once a
warrior, so brave and fearless, that even the intrepid
natives gave him the name of the Fire-eater.
This man, whom you now see destitute of
even the ordinary comfort of a cabin in which to
shelter his head, was once the owner of great
riches; and, Judge Temple, he was the rightful
proprietor of this very soil on which we stand.
This man was the father of”—
“This, then,” cried Marmaduke, with powerful
emotion, “this, then, is the lost Major Effingham!”
“Emphatically so,” said the youth, fixing a
piercing eye on the other.
“And you! and you!” continued the Judge,
articulating with difficulty.
“I am his grandson.”
A minute passed in profound silence. All eyes
were fixed on the speakers, and even the old German
appeared to wait the issue in deep anxiety.
But the moment of agitation soon passed. Marmaduke
raised his head from his bosom, where it
had sunk, not in shame, but in devout mental
thanksgivings, and, as large tears fell over his
fine, manly face, he grasped the hand of the youth
warmly, and said—
“Oliver, I forgive all thy harshness—all thy
suspicions. I now see it all. I forgive thee every
thing, but suffering this aged man to dwell in
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such a place, when not only my habitation, but
my fortune, were at his and thy command.”
“He's true as ter steel!” shouted Major Hartmann;
“titn't I tell't you, lat, dat Marmatuke
Temple vast a frient dat woult never fail in ter
dime as of neet!”
“It is true, Judge Temple, that my opinions of
your conduct have been staggered by what this
worthy gentleman has told me. When I found it
impossible to convey my grandfather back whence
the enduring love of this old man brought him,
without detection and exposure, I went to the Mohawk
in quest of one of his former comrades, in
whose justice I had dependence. He is your
friend, Judge Temple, but if what he says
be true, both my father and myself may have
judged you harshly.”
“You name your father!” said Marmaduke,
tenderly—“Was he, indeed, lost in the packet?”
“He was. He had left me, after several years
of fruitless application and comparative poverty,
in Nova-Scotia, to obtain the compensation for
his losses, which the British commissioners had at
length awarded. After spending a year in England,
he was returning to Halifax, on his way to a
government, to which he had been appointed, in
the West-Indies, intending to go to the place
where my grandfather had sojourned during and
since the war, and take him with us.”
“But, thou!” said Marmaduke, with powerful
interest; “I had thought that thou hadst perished
with him.”
A flush passed over the cheeks of the young
man, who gazed about him at the wondering faces
of the volunteers, and continued silent. Marmaduke
turned to the veteran captain, who just
then rejoined his command, and said—
“March thy soldiers back again, and dismiss
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them; the zeal of the sheriff has much mistaken
his duty. Dr. Todd, I will thank you to attend
to the injury which Hiram Doolittle has received
in this untoward affair. Richard, you will oblige
me by sending up the carriage to the top of the
hill. Benjamin, return to your duty in my family.”
Unwelcome as these orders were to most of the
auditors, the suspicion that they had somewhat
exceeded the wholesome restraints of the law, and
the habitual respect with which all the commands
of the Judge were received, induced a prompt
compliance.
When they were gone, and the rock was left to
the parties most interested in an explanation, Marmaduke,
pointing to the aged Major Effingham,
said to his grandson—
“Had we not better remove thy parent from
this open place, until my carriage can arrive?”
“Pardon me, sir, the air does him good, and
he has taken it whenever there was no dread of a
discovery. I know not how to act, Judge Temple;
ought I, can I, suffer Major Effingham to
become an inmate of your family?”
“Thou shalt be thyself the judge,” said Marmaduke.
“Thy father was my early friend. He
intrusted his fortune to my care. When we separated,
he had such confidence in me, that he wished
no security, no evidence of the trust, even had
there been time or convenience for exacting it.—
This thou hast heard?”
“Most truly, sir,” said Edwards, or rather Effingham,
as we must now call him, with a bitter
smile.
“We divided in politics. If the cause of this
country was successful, the trust was sacred with
me, for none knew of thy father's interest. If
the crown still held its sway, it would be easy
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to restore the property of so loyal a subject as
Col. Effingham.—Is not this plain?”
“The premises are good, sir,” continued the
youth, with the same incredulous look as before.
“Listen—listen, poy,” said the German. “Dere
is not a hair as of ter rogue in ter het of ter
Tchooge.”
“We all know the issue of the struggle,” continued
Marmaduke, disregarding both; “Thy
grandfather was left in Connecticut, regularly
supplied by thy father with the means of such a
subsistence as suited his wants. This I well knew,
though I never had intercourse with him, even in
our happiest days. Thy father retired with the
troops to prosecute his claims on England. At
all events, his losses must be great, for his real estates
were sold, and I became the lawful purchaser.
It was not unnatural to wish that he might
have no bar to his just recovery?”
“There was none, but the difficulty of providing
for so many claimants.”
“But there would have been one, and an insuperable
one, had I announced to the world that I
held these estates, multiplied, by the times and my
industry, a hundred fold in value, only as his trustee.
Thou knowest that I supplied him with considerable
sums, immediately after the war.”
“You did, until”—
“My letters were returned unopened. Thy father
had much of thy own spirit, Oliver; he was
sometimes hasty and rash.” The Judge continued,
in a self-condemning manner—“Perhaps
my fault lies the other way; I may possibly
look too far ahead, and calculate too deeply.
It certainly was a severe trial to allow the
man, whom I most loved, to think ill of me for
seven years, in order that he might honestly
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[figure description] Page 308.[end figure description]
apply for his just remunerations. But had he
opened my last letters, thou wouldst have learnt
the whole truth. Those I sent him to England,
by what my agent writes me, he did read. He
died, Oliver, knowing all. He died my friend,
and I thought thou hadst died with him.”
“Our poverty would not permit us to pay for
two passages,” said the youth, with the extraordinary
emotion with which he ever alluded to the
degraded state of his family; “I was left in the
Province to wait for his return, and when the sad
news of his loss reached me, I was nearly pennyless.”
“And what didst thou, boy?” asked Marmaduke,
in a faltering voice.
“I took my passage here in search of my
grandfather; for I well knew that his resources
were gone, with the half-pay of my father. On
reaching his abode, I learnt that he had left it
in secret; though the reluctant hireling, who deserted
him in his poverty, owned to my urgent
entreaties, that he believed he had been carried
away by an old man, who had once been his
servant. I knew at once it was Natty, for my
father often”—
“Was Natty a servant to thy grandfather?” exclaimed
the Judge.
“Of that too were you ignorant!” said the
youth, in evident surprise.
“How should I know it? I never met the Major,
nor was the name of Bumppo ever mentioned
to me. I knew him only as a man of the
woods, and one who lived by hunting. Such men
are too common to excite surprise.”
“He was reared in the family of my grandfather;
served him for many years during their campaigns
at the west, where he became attached to
the woods; and he was left here as a kind of
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locum tenens on the lands that old Mohegan (whose
life my grandfather once saved) induced the Delawares
to grant to him, when they admitted him
as an honorary member of their tribe.”
“This, then, is thy Indian blood?”
“I have no other,” said Edwards, smiling;—
“Major Effingham was adopted as the son of
Mohegan, who at that time was the greatest man
in his nation; and my father, who visited those
people when a boy, received the name of the Eagle
from them, on account of the shape of his face,
as I understand. They have extended his title
to me. I have no other Indian blood; though I
have seen the hour, Judge Temple, when I could
wish that such had been my lineage and education.”
“Proceed with thy tale,” said Marmaduke.
“I have but little more to say, sir. I followed
to the lake where I had so often been told that
Natty dwelt, and found him maintaining his old
master in secret; for even he could not bear to
exhibit to the world, in his poverty and dotage, a
man whom a whole people once looked up to with
respect.”
“And what did you?”
“What did I! I spent my last money in purchasing
a rifle, clad myself in a coarse garb, and
learned to be a hunter by the side of Leather-stocking.
You know the rest, Judge Temple.”
“Ant vere vast olt Fritz Hartmann!” said the
German, reproachfully; “didst never hear a name
as of olt Fritz Hartmann from ter mout of ter fader,
lat?”
“I may have been mistaken, gentlemen,” returned
the youth; “but I had pride, and could not
submit to such an exposure as this day even has
reluctantly brought to light. I had plans that
might have been visionary; but, should my parent
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survive till autumn, I purposed taking him with
me to the city, where we have distant relatives,
who must have learnt to forget the Tory by this
time. He decays rapidly,” he continued, mournfully,
“and must soon lie by the side of old Mohegan.”
The air being pure, and the day fine, the party
continued conversing on the rock, until the
wheels of Judge Temple's carriage were heard
clattering up the side of the mountain, during
which time the conversation was maintained with
deep interest, each moment clearing up some
doubtful action, and lessening the antipathy of
the youth to Marmaduke. He no longer objected
to the removal of his grandfather, who displayed
a childish pleasure when he found himself
seated once more in a carriage. When placed in
the ample hall of the Mansion-house, the eyes of
the aged veteran turned slowly to the objects in
the apartment, and a look like the dawn of intellect
would, for moments, flit across his features,
when he invariably offered some useless courtesies
to those near him, wandering, painfully, in his subjects.
The exercise and the change soon produced
an exhaustion, that caused them to remove
him to his bed, where he lay for hours, evidently
sensible of the change in his comforts, and exhibiting
that mortifying picture of human nature,
which too plainly shows that the propensities of
the animal continue, even after the nobler part of
the creature appears to have vanished.
Until his parent was placed comfortably in
bed, with Natty seated at his side, Effingham did
not quit him. He then obeyed a summons
to the library of the Judge, where he found the
latter, with Major Hartmann, waiting for him.
“Read this paper, Oliver,” said Marmaduke to
him, as he entered, “and thou wilt find that, so
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[figure description] Page 311.[end figure description]
far from intending thy family wrong during life,
it has been my care to provide that justice should
be done at even a later day.”
The youth took the paper, which his first glance
told him was the will of the Judge. Hurried
and agitated as he was, he discovered that the
date corresponded with the time of the unusual
depression of Marmaduke. As he proceeded, his
eyes began to moisten, and the hand which held
the instrument shook violently.
The will commenced with the usual forms, spun
out by the ingenuity of Mr. Van der School; but
after this subject was fairly exhausted, the pen of
Marmaduke became plainly visible. In clear, distinct,
manly, and even eloquent language, he recounted
his obligations to Colonel Effingham, the
nature of their connexion, and the circumstances in
which they separated. He then proceeded to relate
the motives for his long silence, mentioning,
however, large sums that he had forwarded to his
friend, which had been returned, with the letters
unopened. After this, he spoke of his search for
the grandfather, who had unaccountably disappeared,
and his fears that the direct heir of the
trust was buried in the ocean with his father.
After, in short, recounting in a clear narrative,
the events which our readers must now be able
to connect, he proceeded to make a fair and exact
statement of the sums left in his care by Col.
Effingham. A devise of his whole estate to certain
responsible trustees followed; to hold the
same for the benefit, in equal moieties, of his
daughter, on one part, and of Oliver Effingham,
formerly a major in the army of Great Britain,
and of his son Edward Effingham, and of his son
Edward Oliver Effingham, or to the survivor of
them, and the descendants of such survivor, for ever,
on the other part. The trust was to endure until
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[figure description] Page 312.[end figure description]
1810, when, if no person appeared, or could be found,
after sufficient notice, to claim the moiety so devised,
then a certain sum, calculating the principal
and interest of his debt to Col. Effingham,
was to be paid to the heirs at law of the Effingham
family, and the bulk of his estate was to be
conveyed in fee to his daughter, or her heirs.
The tears fell from the eyes of the young man,
as he read this undeniable testimony of the good
faith of Marmaduke, and his bewildered gaze was
still fastened on the paper, when a sweet voice,
that thrilled on every nerve, spoke, near him,
saying,
“Do you yet doubt us, Oliver?”
“I have never doubted you!” cried the youth,
recovering his recollection and his voice, as he
sprung to seize the hand of Elizabeth; “no, not
one moment has my faith in you wavered.”
“And my father—”
“God bless him!”
“I thank thee, my son,” said the Judge, exchanging
a warm pressure of the hand with the
youth; “but we have both erred; thou hast been
too hasty, and I have been too slow. One half
of my estates shall be thine as soon as they can be
conveyed to thee; and if what my suspicions
tell me, be true, I suppose the other must follow
speedily.” He took the hand which he held, and
united it with that of his daughter, and motioned
towards the door to the Major.
“I telt you vat, gal!” said the old German,
good humouredly; “if I vast, ast I vast, ven I servit
mit his grantfader on ter lakes, ter lazy tog shouln't
vin ter prize as for nottin.”
“Come, come, old Fritz,” cried the Judge;
“you are seventy, not seventeen; Richard waits
for you with a bowl of egg-nog, in the hall.”
“Richart! ter duyvel!” exclaimed the other,
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[figure description] Page 313.[end figure description]
hastening out of the room; “he makes ter nog
ast for ter horse. I vilt show ter sheriff mit my
own hants! Ter duyvel! I pelieve he sweetens
mit ter yankee melasses!”
Marmaduke smiled and nodded affectionately
at the young couple, and closed the door after
them. If any of our readers expect that we are
going to open it again, for their gratification, they
will soon find themselves in a mistake.
The tête-à-tête continued for a very unreasonable
time; how long we shall not say; but it was
ended by six o'clock in the evening, for at that
hour Monsieur Le Quoi made his appearance,
agreeably to the appointment of the preceding
day, and claimed the ear of Miss Temple. He
was admitted; when he made an offer of his hand,
with much suavity, together with his “amis beeg
and leet', his père, his mère, and his sucre-boosh.”
Elizabeth might, possibly, have previously entered
into some embarrassing and binding engagements
with Oliver, for she declined the tender of all, in
terms as polite, though perhaps a little more decided,
than those in which they were made.
The Frenchman soon joined the German and
the Sheriff in the hall, who compelled him to
take a seat with them at the table, where, by the
aid of punch, wine, and egg-nog, they soon extracted
from the complaisant Mr. Le Quoi the
nature of his visit. It was evident that he had
made the offer, as a duty which a well-bred man
owed to a lady in such a retired place, before he
left the country, and that his feelings were but
very little, if at all, interested in the matter. After
a few potations, the waggish pair persuaded
the exhilarated Frenchman that there was an inexcusable
partiality in offering to one lady, and not extending
a similar courtesy to another. Consequently,
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about nine, Monsieur Le Quoi sallied forth to the
Rectory, on a similar mission to Miss Grant, which
proved as successful as his first effort in love.
When he returned to the Mansion-house, at ten,
Richard and the Major were still seated at the
table. They attempted to persuade the Gaul
that he should next try Remarkable Pettibone.
But, though he was stimulated by mental excitement
and wine, two hours of abstruse logic were
thrown away on this subject; for he declined their
advice, with a pertinacity truly astonishing in so
polite a man.
When Benjamin lighted Monsieur Le Quoi
from the door, he said, at parting—
“If-so-be, Mounsheer, you'd run alongside Mistress
Pretty-bones, as the Squire Dickens was bidding
ye, 'tis my notion you'd have been grappled;
in which case, d'ye see, you mought have
been troubled in swinging clear again in a handsome
manner; for thof Miss 'Lizzy and the parson's
young'un be tidy little vessels, that shoot by
a body on a wind, Mistress Remarkable is sum'mat
of a galliot fashion; when you once takes 'em in
tow, they doesn't like to be cast off again.”
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CHAPTER XXII.
“Yes, sweep ye on!—We will not leave,
For them who triumph, those who grieve.
With that armada gay
Be laughter loud, and jocund shout—
—But with that skiff
Abides the minstrel tale.”
Lord of the Isles.
[figure description] Page 315.[end figure description]
The events of our tale carry us through the
summer; and, after making nearly the circle of
the year, we must conclude our labours in the delightful
month of October. Many important incidents
had, however, occurred in the intervening
period; a few of which it may be necessary to
recount.
The two principal were, the marriage of Oliver
and Elizabeth, and the death of Major Effingham.
They both took place early in September;
and the former preceded the latter only by a few
days. The old man passed away like the last
glimmering of a taper; and though his death cast
a melancholy over the family, grief could not follow
such an end.
One of the chief concerns of Marmaduke was to
reconcile the even conduct of a magistrate, with
the course that his feelings dictated to the criminals.
The day succeeding the discovery at the cave,
however, Natty and Benjamin re-entered the gaol
peaceably, where they continued, well fed and
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comfortable, until the return of an express to
Albany, who brought the Governor's pardon to
the Leather-stocking. In the mean time, proper
means were employed to satisfy Hiram for the
assaults on his person; and on the same day, the
two comrades issued together into society again,
with their characters not at all affected by their
imprisonment.
Mr. Doolittle began to discover that neither
his architecture, nor his law, was quite suitable to
the growing wealth and intelligence of the settlement;
and, after exacting the last cent that was
attainable in his compromises, to use the language of
the country, he “pulled up stakes,” and proceeded
further west, scattering his professional science
and legal learning through the land; vestiges of
both of which are to be discovered there even to
the present hour.
Poor Jotham, whose life paid the forfeiture of
his folly, acknowledged before he died, that his
reasons for believing in a mine, were extracted
from the lips of a sybil, who, by looking in a
magic glass, was enabled to discover the hidden
treasures of the earth. Such superstition was
frequent in the new settlements; and after the first
surprise was over, the better part of the community
forgot the subject. But at the same time
that it removed from the breast of Richard a
lingering suspicion of the acts of the three hunters,
it conveyed a mortifying lesson to him, which
brought many quiet hours, in future, to his cousin
Marmaduke. It may be remembered that the
Sheriff confidently pronounced this to be no `visionary'
scheme, and that word was enough to shut
his lips, at any time within the next ten years.
Monsieur Le Quoi, who has been introduced to
our readers, because no picture of that country
would be faithful without such a Gaul, found the
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island of Martinique, and his “sucre-boosh,” in possession
of the English; but Marmaduke, and his
family, were much gratified in soon hearing that
he had returned to his bureau, in Paris; where he
afterwards issued yearly bulletins of his happiness,
and of his gratitude to his friends in America.
With this brief explanation we must return to
our narrative. Let the American reader imagine
one of our mildest October mornings, when the
sun seems a ball of silvery fire, and the elasticity
of the air is felt while it is inhaled; imparting
vigour and life to the whole system. The weather,
neither too warm, nor too cold, but of that happy
temperature which stirs the blood, without bringing
the lassitude of spring.
It was on such a morning, about the middle of
the month, that Oliver entered the hall, where
Elizabeth was issuing her usual orders for the day,
and requested her to join him in a short excursion
to the lake-side. The tender melancholy
in the manner of her husband, caught the attention
of Elizabeth, who instantly abandoned
her concerns, threw a light shawl across her
shoulders, and concealing her raven hair under
her gypsey, she took his arm, and submitted herself,
without a question, to his guidance. They
crossed the bridge, and had turned from the
highway, along the margin of the lake, before a
word was exchanged. Elizabeth well knew, by the
direction they took, the object of their walk, and
respected the feelings of her companion too much
to indulge in untimely conversation. But when
they gained the open fields, and her eye roamed
over the placid lake, covered with wild fowl, already
journeying from the great northern waters,
to seek a warmer sun, but lingering to play in the
limpid sheet of the Otsego, and to the sides of the
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mountain, which were gay with the thousand dies of
autumn, as if to grace their bridal, the swelling
heart of the young wife burst out in speech.
“This is not a time for silence, Oliver!” she
said, clinging more fondly to his arm; “every
thing in nature seems to speak the praises of the
Creator; why should we, who have so much to be
grateful for, be silent.”
“Speak on,” said her husband, smiling; “I
love the sounds of your voice. You must anticipate
our errand hither; I have told you my plans, how
do you like them?”
“I must first see them,” returned his wife.
“But I have had my plans, too; it is time I should
begin to divulge them.”
“You! It is something for the comfort of my
old friend Natty, I know.”
“Certainly of Natty; but we have other friends
besides the Leather-stocking, to serve. Do you
forget Louisa, and her father?”
“No, surely; have I not given one of the best
farms in the county to the good divine. As
for Louisa, I should wish you to keep her always
near us.”
“You do,” said Elizabeth, slightly compressing
her lips; “but poor Louise may have other views
for herself; she may wish to follow my example,
and marry.”
“I don't think it,” said Effingham, musing a moment;
“I really don't know any one hereabouts
good enough for her.”
“Perhaps not here; but there are other places
besides Templeton, and other churches besides
`New St. Paul's.' ”
“Churches, Elizabeth! you would not wish to
lose Mr. Grant, surely! though simple, he is an
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excellent man. I shall never find another who
has half the veneration for my orthodoxy. You
would humble me from a saint to a very common
sinner.”
“It must be done, sir,” returned the lady, with
a half-concealed smile, “though it degrades you
from an angel to a man.”
“But you forget the farm.”
“He can lease it, as others do. Besides, would
you have a clergyman toil in the fields!”
“Where can he go? you forget Louisa.”
“No, I do not forget Louisa,” said Elizabeth,
again compressing her beautiful lips. “You
know, Effingham, that my father has told you
that I ruled him, and that I should rule you. I
am now about to exert my power.”
“Any thing, any thing, dear Elizabeth, but
not at the expense of us all; not at the expense
of your friend.”
“How do you know, sir, that it will be so much
at the expense of my friend?” said the lady, fixing
her eyes with a searching look on his countenance,
where they met only the unsuspecting expression
of manly regret.
“How do I know it! why, it is natural that
she should regret us.”
“It is our duty to struggle with our natural
feelings,” returned the lady; “and there is but
little cause to fear that such a spirit as Louisa's
will not effect it.”
“But what is your plan?”
“Listen, and you shall know. My father has
procured a call for Mr. Grant to one of the towns
on the Hudson, where he can live more at his ease
than in journeying through these woods; where
he can spend the evening of his life in comfort
and quiet; and where his daughter may meet
with such society, and form such a connexion, as
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may be proper for one of her years and character.”
“Why, Bess! you amaze me! I did not think
you had been such a manager!”
“Oh! I manage more deeply than you imagine,
sir,” said the wife, archly smiling, again;
“but it is my will, and it is your duty to submit,—
for a time at least.”
Effingham laughed; but as they approached
the end of their walk, the subject was changed by
common consent.
The place at which they arrived was the little
spot of level ground where the cabin of the Leather-stocking
had so long stood. Elizabeth found
it entirely cleared of rubbish, and beautifully laid
down in turf, by the removal of sods, which, in
common with the surrounding country, had grown
gay, under the influence of profuse showers,
as if a second spring had passed over the land.
This little place was surrounded by a circle of mason-work,
and they entered by a small gate, near
which, to the surprise of both, the rifle of Natty
was leaning against the wall. Hector and the
slut reposed on the grass by its side, as if conscious
that, however altered, they were lying on
ground, and were surrounded by objects, with which
they were familiar. The hunter himself was
stretched on the earth, before a head-stone of
white marble, pushing aside with his fingers the
long grass that had already sprung up from the
luxuriant soil around its base, apparently to lay
bare the inscription that was there engraven. By
the side of this stone, which was a simple slab at
the head of a grave, stood a rich monument,
decorated with an urn, and ornamented tastefully
with the chisel.
Oliver and Elizabeth approached the graves,
with a light tread, unheard by the old hunter,
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whose sunburnt face was working with his feelings,
and whose eyes twinkled as if something impeded
their vision. After some little time, Natty
raised himself slowly from the ground, and said
aloud—
“Well, well—I'm bold to say it's all right!
There's something that I suppose is reading; but
I can't make any thing of it; though the pipe,
and the tomahawk, and the moccasins, be pretty
well—pretty well, for a man that, I dares to
say, never seed 'ither of the things. Ah's me!
there they lie, side by side, happy enough! Who
will there be to put me in the 'arth, when my time
comes!”
“When that unfortunate hour arrives, Natty,
friends shall not be wanting to perform the last offices
for you,” said Oliver, a little touched at the
hunter's soliloquy.
The old man turned, without manifesting any
surprise, for he had got the Indian habits in this
particular, and running his hand under the bottom
of his nose, seemed to wipe away his sorrow with
the action.
“You've come out to see the graves, children,
have ye?” he said; “well, well, they're wholesome
sights to young as well as old.”
“I hope they are fitted to your liking,” said
Effingham; “no one has a better right than
yourself to be consulted in the matter.”
“Why, seeing that I an't used to fine graves,”
returned the old man, “it is but little matter consarning
my taste. Ye laid the Major's head to
the west, and Mohegan's to the east, did ye, lad?”
“At your request it was done.”
“It's so best,” said the hunter; “they thought
they had to journey different ways, children;
though there is One greater than all, who'll bring
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the just together ag'in at his own time, and
who'll whiten the skin of a black-moor, and place
him on a footing with princes.”
“There is but little reason to doubt that,” said
Elizabeth, whose decided tones were changed to a
soft, melancholy voice; “I trust we shall all meet
again, and be happy together.”
“Shall we, child! shall we!” exclaimed the
hunter, with unusual fervour; “there's comfort in
that thought too. But before I go, I should like
to know what 'tis you tell these people, that be
flocking into the country like pigeons in the
spring, of the old Delaware, and of the bravest
white man that ever trod the hills.”
Effingham and Elizabeth were surprised at
the manner of the Leather-stocking, which was
unusually impressive and solemn; but attributing
it to the scene, the young man turned to the monument,
and read aloud—
“Sacred to the memory of Oliver Effingham,
Esquire, formerly a Major in his B. Majesty's
60th Foot; a soldier of tried valour; a subject
of chivalric loyalty; and a man of honesty. To
these virtues, he added the graces of a christian.
The morning of his life was spent in honour,
wealth, and power; but its evening was obscured
by poverty, neglect, and disease, which were alleviated
only by the tender care of his old, faithful,
and upright friend and attendant, Nathaniel
Bumppo. His descendants rear this stone to the
virtues of the master, and to the enduring gratitude
of the servant.”
The Leather-stocking started at the sound of
his own name, and a smile of joy illumined his
wrinkled features, as he said—
“And did ye say it, lad? have you then got the
old man's name cut in the stone, by the side of his
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master's? God bless ye, children! 'twas a kind
thought, and kindness goes to the heart as life
shortens.”
Elizabeth turned her back to the speakers, but
the pure cambric, that, contrasted to her dark
eyes, attested the feelings of the youthful bride.
Effingham made a fruitless effort to speak before
he succeeded in saying—
“It is there cut in plain marble; but it should
have been written in letters of gold!”
“Show me the name, boy,” said Natty, with
simple eagerness; “let me see my own name
placed in such honour. 'Tis a gin'rous gift to
a man who leaves none of his name and family
behind him in a country, where he has tarried
so long.”
Effingham guided his finger to the spot, and
Natty followed the windings of the letters to the
end, with deep interest, when he raised himself
from the tomb, and said—
“I suppose it's all right, and it's kindly thought,
and kindly done! But what have ye put over the
Red-skin?”
“You shall hear”—
“This stone is raised to the memory of an Indian
Chief, of the Delaware tribe, who was known
by the several names of John Mohegan; Mohican”—
“Mo-hee-can, lad; they call theirselves! 'heecan.”
“Mohican; and Chingagook”—
“ 'Gach, boy;—'gach-gook; Chingachgook;
which, intarpreted, means Big-sarpent. The
name should be set down right, for an Indian's
name has always some meaning in it.”
“I will see it altered,” said Edwards. “He was
the last of his people who continued to inhabit
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this country; and it may be said of him, emphatically,
that his faults were those of an Indian, and
his virtues those of a man.”
“You never said truer word, Mr. Oliver; ah's
me! if you had know'd him as I did, in his prime,
in that very battle, where, the old gentleman who
sleeps by his side, sav'd his life, when them
thieves, the Iriquois, had him at the stake, you'd
have said all that, and more too. I cut the thongs
with this very hand, and gave him my own tomahawk
and knife, seeing that the rifle was always
my fav'rite weepon. He did lay about him like
a man! I met him as I was coming home from
the trail, with eleven Mingo scalps on his pole.
You needn't shudder, Madam Effingham, for they
was all from shav'd heads and warriors. When I
look about me, at these hills, where I used-to
could count, sometimes twenty smokes, curling
over the tree-tops, from the Delaware camps, it
raises mournful thoughts, to think, that not a Red-skin
is left of them all; unless it may be a drunken
vagabond from the Oneida's, or them Yankee
Indians, who, they say, be moving up from the
sea-shore; and who belong to none of God's creaters,
to my seeming; being, as it were, neither
fish nor flesh; neither white-man, nor savage.—
Well! well! the time has come at last, and I
must go”—
“Go!” echoed Edwards, “whither do you go?”
The Leather-stocking, who had imbibed, unconsciously,
many of the Indian qualities, though
he always thought of himself, as of a civilized
being, compared with even the Delawares, averted
his face to conceal the workings of his muscles,
as he stooped to lift a large pack from behind the
tomb, which he placed deliberately on his shoulders.
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“Go!” exclaimed Elizabeth, approaching him,
with a hurried step; “you should not venture so
far in the woods alone, at your time of life, Natty;
indeed, it is imprudent. He is bent, Effingham,
on some distant hunting.”
“What Mrs. Effingham tells you, is true, Leather-stocking,”
said Edwards; “there can be no
necessity for your submitting to such hardships now!
So throw aside your pack, and confine your hunt
to the mountains near us, if you will go.”
“Hardship! 'tis a pleasure, children, and the
greatest that is left me on this side the grave.”
“No, no; you shall not go to such a distance,”
cried Elizabeth, smiling, and laying her white
hand on his deer-skin pack; “I am right! I feel
his camp-kettle and a canister of powder! he
must not be suffered to wander so far from us, Oliver;
remember how suddenly Mohegan dropp'd
away.”
“I know'd the parting would come hard, children;
I know'd it would!” said Natty, “and so I
got aside to look at the graves by myself, and
thought if I left ye the keep-sake which the Major
gave me, when we first parted in the woods,
ye wouldn't take it unkind, but would know, that
let the old man's body go where it might, his feelings
staid behind him.”
“This means something more than common!”
exclaimed the youth; “where is it, Natty, that you
purpose going?”
The hunter drew nigh him with a confident reasoning
air, as if what he had to say would silence
all objections, and replied—
“Why, lad, they tell me, that on the Big-lakes,
there's the best of hunting, and a great range,
without a white man on it, unless it may be one
like myself. I'm weary of living in clearings,
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and where the hammer is sounding in my ears
from sun-rise to sun-down. And though I'm much
bound to ye both, children; I wouldn't say
it if it wasn't true; I crave to go into the woods
ag'in, I do.”
“Woods!” echoed Elizabeth, trembling with
her feelings; “do you not call these endless forests
woods?”
“Ah! child, these be nothing to a man that's
used to the wilderness. I have took but little
comfort sin' your father come on with his settlers;
but I wouldn't go far, while the life was in the
body that lies under the sod there. But now he's
gone, and Chingachgook is gone; and you be
both young and happy. Yes! the big-house has
rung with merriment this month past! And now,
I thought, was the time, to try to get a little comfort,
in the close of my days. Woods! indeed! I
doesn't call these woods, Madam Effingham,
where I lose myself, every day of my life, in the
clearings.”
“If there be any thing wanting to your comfort,”
cried Oliver, “name it Leather-stocking;
and if it be attainable, it is your's.”
“You mean all for the best; lad; I know it;
and so does Madam, too; but your ways isn't my
ways. 'Tis like the dead there, who thought,
when the breath was in them, that one went east
and one went west, to find their heavens; but
they'll meet at last; and so shall we, children.—
Yes, ind as you've begun, and we shall meet
in the land of the just, at last.”
“This is so new! so unexpected!” said Elizabeth,
in almost breathless excitement; “I had
thought you meant to live with us, and die with
us, Natty.”
“Words are of no avail!” exclaimed her husband;
“the habits of forty years are not to be
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dispossessed by the ties of a day. I know you
too well to urge you further, Natty; unless you
will let me build you a hut, on one of the distant
hills, where we can sometimes see you, and know
that you are comfortable.”
“Don't fear the Leather-stocking, children; God
will see that his days be provided for, and his ind
happy. I know you mean all for the best, but
our ways doesn't agree. I love the woods, and
ve relish the face of man; I eat when hungry
and drink when a-dry, and ye keep stated hours
an rules; nay, nay, you even over-feed the dogs,
lad from pure kindness; and hounds should be
gaunty to run well. The meanest of God's creaters
be made for some use, and I'm form'd for the
wilderness; and, if ye love me, let me go where
my soul craves to be ag'in!”
The appeal was decisive; not another word of
entreaty, for him to remain, was then uttered; but
Elizabeth bent her head to her bosom and wept,
while her husband dashed away the tears from his
eyes, and, with hands that almost refused to perform
their office, he produced his pocket-book,
and extended a parcel of bank-notes to the hunter.
“Take these,” he said, “at least, take these;
secure them about your person, and, in the hour
of need, they will do you good service.”
The old man took the notes, and examined
them with a curious eye, when he said—
“This, then, is some of the new-fashioned money
that they've been making at Albany, out of
paper! It can't be worth much to they that hasn't
larning! No, no, lad—take back the stuff; it
will do me no sarvice. I took kear to get all the
Frenchman's powder, afore he broke up, and they
say lead grows where I'm going. It isn't even
fit for wads, seeing that I use none but leather!—
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Madam Effingham, let an old man kiss your
hand, and wish God's choicest blessings on you
and your'n.”
“Once more let me beseech you, stay!” cried
Elizabeth. “Do not, Leather-stocking, leave me
to grieve for the man who has twice rescued me
from death, and who has served those I love so
faithfully. For my sake, if not for your own,
stay. I shall see you, in those frightful dreams
that still haunt my nights, dying in poverty and
age, by the side of those terrific beasts you slew.
There will be no evil that sickness, want, and solitude
can inflict, that my fancy will not conjure
as your fate. Stay with us, old man; if not for
your own sake, at least for ours.”
“Such thoughts and bitter dreams, Madam Effingham,”
returned the hunter, solemnly, “will
never haunt an innocent parson long. They'll
pass away with God's pleasure. And if the cat-a-mounts
be yet brought to your eyes in sleep,
'tis not for my sake, but to show you the power
of him that led me there to save you. Trust in
God, Madam, and your honourable husband, and
the thoughts for an old man like me can never be
long nor bitter. I pray that the Lord will keep
you in mind—the Lord that lives in clearings as
well as in the wilderness—and bless you, and all
that belong to you, from this time, till the great
day when the whites shall meet the red-skins in
judgment, and justice shall be the law, and not
power.”
Elizabeth raised her head, and offered her colourless
cheek to his salute, when he lifted his
cap, and touched it respectfully. His hand was
grasped with convulsive fervour by the youth,
who continued silent. The hunter prepared
himself for his journey, drawing his belt tighter,
and wasting his moments in the little reluctant
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movements of a sorrowful departure. Once or
twice he essayed to speak, but a rising in his
throat prevented it. At length he shouldered his
rifle, and cried, with a clear huntsman's call, that
echoed through the woods—
“He-e-e-re, he-e-e-re, pups—away, dogs,
away;—ye'll be foot-sore afore ye see the ind of
the journey!”
The hounds leaped from the earth at his cry,
and, scenting around the graves and the silent
pair, as if conscious of their own destination, they
followed humbly at the heels of their master. A
short pause succeeded, during which even the
youth concealed his face on his grandfather's
tomb. When the pride of manhood, however,
suppressed the feelings of nature, he turned to renew
his entreaties, but saw that the cemetery was
occupied only by himself and his wife.
“He is gone!” cried Effingham.
Elizabeth raised her face, and saw the old hunter
standing, looking back for a moment, on the
verge of the wood. As he caught their glances,
he drew his hard hand hastily across his eyes
again, waved it on high for an adieu, and, uttering
a forced cry to his dogs, who were crouching
at his feet, he entered the forest.
This was the last that they ever saw of the
Leather-stocking, whose rapid movements preceded
the pursuit which Judge Temple both ordered
and conducted. He had gone far towards
the setting sun,—the foremost in that band of
Pioneers, who are opening the way for the march
of our nation across the continent.
FINIS.
Back matter
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Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851 [1823], The pioneers, volume 2 (Charles Wiley, New York) [word count] [eaf054v2].
