Deerslayer (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (73 page)

“The Hurons shall not harm you, Deerslayer,” cried the girl, much excited. “ ’Tis wicked as well as cruel; I have the Bible here to tell them so. Do you think I would stand by and see you tormented?”

“I hope not, my good Hetty, I hope not; and therefore, when the moment comes, I expect you will move off and not be a witness of what you can’t help, while it would grieve you. But I haven’t stopped the paddles to talk of my own afflictions and difficulties, but to speak a little plainly to you, gal, consarnin’ your own matters.”

“What can you have to say to me, Deerslayer! Since mother died, few talk to me of such things.”

“So much the worse, poor gal; yes, ’tis so much the worse, for one of your state of mind needs frequent talking to in order to escape the snares and desaits of this wicked world. You haven’t forgotten Hurry Harry, gal, so soon, I calculate?”

“I!—I forget Henry March!”—exclaimed Hetty, starting. “Why should I forget him, Deerslayer, when he is our friend, and only left us last night! Then, the large bright star that mother loved so much to gaze at, was just over the top of yonder tall pine on the mountain, as Hurry got into the canoe; and when you landed him on the point, near the east bay, it wasn’t more than the length of Judith’s handsomest ribbon above it.”

“And how can you know how long I was gone, or how far I went to land Hurry, seein’ you were not with us, and the distance was so great, to say nothing of the night?”

“O! I knew when it was well enough,” returned Hetty, positively. “There’s more ways than one for counting time and distance. When the mind is engaged, it is better than any clock. Mine is feeble, I know, but it goes true enough in all that touches poor Hurry Harry. Judith will never marry March, Deerslayer.”

“That’s the p‘int, Hetty; that’s the very p’int I want to come to. I suppose you know that it’s nat‘ral for young people to have kind feelin’s for one another, more especially when one happens to be a youth and t’other a maiden. Now one of your years and mind, gal, that has neither father nor mother, and who lives in a wilderness frequented by hunters and trappers, needs to be on her guard against evils she little dreams of.”

“What harm can it be to think well of a fellow creature?” returned Hetty, simply, though the conscious blood was stealing to her cheeks in spite of a spirit so pure that it scarce knew why it prompted the blush; “the Bible tells us to love them who despitefully use us, and why shouldn’t we like them that do not?”

“Ah! Hetty, the love of the missionaries isn’t the sort of likin’ I mean. Answer me one thing, child; do you believe yourself to have mind enough to become a wife and a mother?”

“That’s not a proper question to ask a young woman, Deerslayer, and I’ll not answer it,” returned the girl, in a reproving manner—much as a parent rebukes a child for an act of indiscretion. “If you have anything to say about Hurry, I’ll hear that—but you must not speak evil of him; he is absent, and ’tis unkind to talk evil of the absent.”

“Your mother has given you so many good lessons, Hetty, that my fears for you are not as great as they were. Nevertheless, a young woman without parents, in your state of mind, and who is not without beauty, must always be in danger in such a lawless region as this. I would say nothin’ amiss of Hurry, who, in the main, is not a bad man for one of his callin’, but you ought to know one thing, which it may not be altogether pleasant to tell you, but which must be said. March has a desperate likin’ for your sister Judith.”

“Well, what of that? Everybody admires Judith, she’s so handsome, and Hurry has told me, again and again, how much he wishes to marry her. But that will never come to pass, for Judith don’t like Hurry. She likes another, and talks about him in her sleep; though you need not ask me who he is, for all the gold in King George’s crown, and all the jewels too, wouldn’t tempt me to tell you his name. If sisters can’t keep each other’s secrets, who can?”

“Sartainly; I do not wish you to tell me, Hetty, nor would it be any advantage to a dyin’ man to know. What the tongue says when the mind’s asleep, neither head nor heart is answerable for.”

“I wish I knew why Judith talks so much in her sleep about of ficers, and honest hearts, and false tongues; but I suppose she don’t like to tell me, as I’m feebleminded. Isn’t it odd, Deerslayer, that Judith don’t like Hurry—he, who is the bravest-looking youth that ever comes upon the lake, and is as handsome as she is herself. Father always said they would be the comeliest couple in the country, though mother didn’t fancy March any more than Judith. There’s no telling what will happen, they say, until things actually come to pass.”

“Ah’s me!—well, poor Hetty, ‘tis of no great use to talk to them that can’t understand you, and so I’ll say no more about what I did wish to speak of, though it lay heavy on my mind. Put the paddle in motion ag’in, gal, and we’ll push for the shore, for the sun is nearly up, and my furlough is almost out.”

The canoe now glided ahead, holding its way towards the point where Deerslayer well knew that his enemies expected him, and where he now began to be afraid he might not arrive in season to redeem his plighted faith. Hetty, perceiving his impatience, without clearly comprehending its cause, however, seconded his efforts in a way that soon rendered their timely return no longer a matter of doubt. Then, and then only, did the young man suffer his exertions to flag, and Hetty began again to prattle in her simple, confiding manner, though nothing further was uttered that it may be thought necessary to relate.

“Thou hast been busy, Death, this day, and yet
But half thy work is done! The gates of hell
Are thronged, yet twice ten thousand spirits more,
Who, from their warm and healthful tenements,
Fear no divorce, must, ere the sun go down,
Enter the world of woe!”

Southey

 

ONE EXPERIENCED IN THE signs of the heavens would have seen that the sun wanted but two or three minutes of the zenith, when Deerslayer landed on the point where the Hurons were now encamped, nearly abreast of the castle.
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This spot was similar to the one already described, with the exception that the surface of the land was less broken and less crowded with trees. Owing to these two circumstances, it was all the better suited to the purpose for which it had been selected, the space beneath the branches bearing some resemblance to a densely wooded lawn. Favored by its position and its spring, it had been much resorted to by savages and hunters, and the natural grasses had succeeded their fires, leaving an appearance of sward in places, a very unusual accompaniment of the virgin forest. Nor was the margin of water fringed with bushes as on so much of its shore, but the eye penetrated the woods immediately on reaching the strand, commanding nearly the whole area of the projection.

If it was a point of honor with the Indian warrior to redeem his word, when pledged to return and meet his death at a given hour, so was it a point of characteristic pride to show no womanish impatience, but to reappear as nearly as possible at the appointed moment. It was well not to exceed the grace accorded by the generosity of the enemy, but it was better to meet it to a minute. Something of this dramatic effect mingles with most of the graver usages of the American aborigines, and no doubt, like the prevalence of a similar feeling among people more sophisticated and refined, may be referred to a principle of nature. We all love the wonderful, and when it comes attended by chivalrous self-devotion and a rigid regard to honor, it presents itself to our admiration in a shape doubly attractive. As respects Deerslayer, though he took a pride in showing his white blood, by often deviating from the usages of the redmen, he frequently dropped into their customs, and oftener into their feelings, unconsciously to himself, in consequence of having no other arbiters to appeal to, than their judgments and tastes. On the present occasion, he would have abstained from betraying a feverish haste by a too speedy return, since it would have contained a tacit admission that the time asked for was more than had been wanted; but, on the other hand, had the idea occurred to him, he would have quickened his movements a little in order to avoid the dramatic appearance of returning at the precise instant set as the utmost limit of his absence. Still, accident had interfered to defeat the last intention, for when the young man put his foot on the point, and advanced with a steady tread towards the group of chiefs that was seated in grave array on a fallen tree, the oldest of their number cast his eye upward at an opening in the trees, and pointed out to his companions the startling fact that the sun was just entering a space that was known to mark the zenith. A common, but low exclamation of surprise and admiration escaped every mouth, and the grim warriors looked at each other; some with envy and disappointment, some with astonishment, at the precise accuracy of their victim, and others with a more generous and liberal feeling. The American Indian always deemed his moral victories the noblest, prizing the groans and yielding of his victim under torture more than the trophy of his scalp; and the trophy itself more than his life. To slay, and not to bring off the proof of victory, indeed, was scarcely deemed honorable; even these rude and fierce tenants of the forest, like their more nurtured brethren of the court and the camp, having set up for themselves imaginary and arbitrary points of honor, to supplant the conclusions of the right, and the decisions of reason.

The Hurons had been divided in their opinions concerning the probability of their captive’s return. Most among them, indeed, had not expected it possible for a paleface to come back voluntarily, and meet the known penalties of an Indian torture; but a few of the seniors expected better things from one who had already shown himself so singularly cool, brave, and upright. The party had come to its decision, however, less in the expectation of finding the pledge redeemed, than in the hope of disgracing the Delawares by casting into their teeth the delinquency of one bred in their villages. They would have greatly preferred that Chingachgook should be their prisoner, and prove the traitor; but the paleface scion of the hated stock was no bad substitute for their purposes, failing in their designs against the ancient stem. With a view to render the triumph as signal as possible, in the event of the hour’s passing without the reappearance of the hunter, all the warriors and scouts of the party had been called in; and the whole band, men, women, and children, was now assembled at this single point, to be a witness of the expected scene. As the castle was in plain view, and by no means distant, it was easily watched by daylight; and it being thought that its inmates were now limited to Hurry, the Delaware, and the two girls, no apprehensions were felt of their being able to escape unseen. A large raft, having a breastwork of logs, had been prepared, and was in actual readiness to be used against either ark or castle, as occasion might require, as soon as the fate of Deerslayer was determined; the seniors of the party having come to the opinion that it was getting to be hazardous to delay their departure for Canada beyond the coming night. In short, the band awaited merely to dispose of this single affair, ere it brought matters to a crisis, and prepared to commence its retreat towards the distant waters of Ontario.

It was an imposing scene, into which Deerslayer now found himself advancing. All the older warriors were seated on the trunk of the fallen tree, waiting his approach with grave decorum. On the right stood the young men, armed, while the left was occupied by the women and children. In the center was an open space of considerable extent, always canopied by leaves, but from which the underbrush, dead wood, and other obstacles had been carefully removed. The more open area had probably been much used by former parties, for this was the place where the appearance of a sward was the most decided. The arches of the woods, even at high noon, cast their somber shadows on the spot, which the brilliant rays of the sun that struggled through the leaves contributed to mellow, and, if such an expression can be used, to illuminate. It was probably from a similar scene that the mind of man first got its idea of the effects of Gothic tracery and churchly hues;
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this temple of nature producing some such effect, so far as light and shadows were concerned, as the well-known offspring of human invention.

As was not unusual among the tribes and wandering bands of the aborigines, two chiefs shared, in nearly equal degrees, the principal and primitive authority that was wielded over these children of the forest. There were several who might claim the distinction of being chief men, but the two in question were so much superior to all the rest in influence, that when they agreed, no one disputed their mandates; and when they were divided, the band hesitated, like men who had lost their governing principle of action. It was also in conformity with practice—perhaps we might add, in conformity with nature, that one of the chiefs was indebted to his mind for his influence, whereas the other owed his distinction altogether to qualities that were physical. One was a senior, well known for eloquence in debate, wisdom in council, and prudence in measures; while his competitor, if not his rival, was a brave, distinguished in war, notorious for ferocity, and remarkable, in the way of intellect, for nothing but the cunning and expedients of the warpath. The first was Rivenoak, who has already been introduced to the reader, while the last was called Le Panthère, in the language of the Canadas; or the Panther, to resort to the vernacular of the English colonies. The appellation of the fighting chief was supposed to indicate the qualities of the warrior, agreeably to a practice of the redman’s nomenclature; ferocity, cunning, and treachery being, perhaps, the distinctive features of his character. The title had been received from the French, and was prized so much the more from that circumstance, the Indian submitting profoundly to the greater intelligence of his paleface allies, in most things of this nature. How well the sobriquet was merited, will be seen in the sequel.