At the end of a week, Duncan of Lundie sent for Serjeant Dunham, after evening roll call, on business of a nature that, it was understood, required a personal conference. The old veteran dwelt in a moveable hut, which being placed on trucks, he could order to be wheeled about at pleasure, sometimes living in one part of the area within the fort, and sometimes in another.2 On the present occasion, he had made a halt near the centre, and there he was found by his subordinate, who was admitted to his presence without any delay, or dancing attendance in an ante-chamber. In point of fact, there was very little difference in the quality of the accommodations given to the officers and those allowed to the men, the former being merely granted the most room, and Mabel and her father were lodged nearly, if not quite as well, as the commandant of the place, himself.
“Walk in, serjeant, walk in, my good friend,” said old Lundie, heartily, as his inferior, stood in a respectful attitude at the door of a sort of library and bed-room into which he had been ushered; “walk in, and take a seat on that stool. I have sent for you, man, to discuss any thing but rosters and payrolls, this evening. It is now many years since we have been comrades, and ‘auld lang syne’ should count for something, even between a Major and his orderly, a Scot and a Yankee. Sit ye down, man, and just put yourself at your ease. It has been a fine day, serjeant?”
“It has indeed, Major Duncan,” returned the other, who, though he complied so far as to take the seat, was much too practised not to understand the degree of respect it was necessary to maintain in his manner; “a very fine day, sir, it has been, and we may look for more of them, at this season.”
“I hope so, with all my heart. The crops look well, as it is, man, and you’ll be finding that the 55th make almost as good farmers as soldiers. I never saw better potatoes in Scotland, than we are likely to have, in that new patch, of ours.”
“They promise a good yield, Major Duncan, and, in that light, a more comfortable winter than the last.”
“Life is progressive, serjeant, in its comforts, as well as in its need of them. We grow old, and I begin to think it time to retire and settle in life. I feel that my working days are nearly over.”
“The King, God bless him, sir, has much good service, in your honor, yet.”
“It may be so, Serjeant Dunham, especially if he should happen to have a spare Lt-Colonelcy left.”
“The 55th will be honored the day that commission is given to Duncan of Lundie, sir.”
“And Duncan of Lundie will be honored the day he receives it. But, serjeant, if you have never had a Lt-Colonelcy you have had a good wife, and that is the next thing to rank, in making a man happy.”
“I have been married, Major Duncan, but it is now a long time since I have had no drawback on the love I bear His Majesty and my duty.”
“What, man, not even the love you bear that active, little, round-limbed, rosy-cheeked daughter, that I have seen in the fort, these last few days! Out upon you, serjeant! old fellow as I am, I could almost love that little lassie, myself, and send the Lt-Colonelcy to the devil.”
“We all know where Major Duncan’s heart is, and that is in Scotland, where a beautiful lady is ready and willing to make him happy, as soon as his own sense of duty shall permit.”
“Ay, hope is ever a far off thing, serjeant,” returned the superior, a shade of melancholy passing over his hard Scottish features as he spoke; “and bonny Scotland is a far off country. Well, if we have no heather, and oat-meal in this region, we have venison for the killing it, and salmon as plenty as at Berwick upon Tweed. Is it true, serjeant, that the men complain of having been over-venisoned, and over-pigeoned of late?”
“Not for some weeks, Major Duncan, for neither deer nor birds are so plenty at this season as they have been. They begin to throw their remarks about concerning the salmon, but I trust we shall get through the summer without any serious disturbance on the score of food. The Scotch in the battalion do, indeed, talk more than is prudent of their want of oat-meal, grumbling occasionally of our wheaten bread.”
“Ah! that is human nature, serjeant, pure unadulterated Scotch human nature. A cake, man, to say the truth is an agreeable morsel, and I often see the time, when I pine for a bite, myself.”
“If the feeling gets to be troublesome, Major Duncan—in the men I mean, sir; for I would not think of saying so disrespectful a thing to your honor—but if the men ever pine seriously for their natural food, I would humbly recommend that some oat-meal be imported, or prepared in this country for them, and I think we shall hear no more of it. A very little would answer for a cure, sir.”
“You are a wag, serjeant, but hang me if I am sure you are not right. There may be sweeter things in this world, after all, than oat-meal. You have a sweet daughter, Dunham, for one.”
“The girl is like her mother, Major Duncan, and will pass inspection,” said the serjeant proudly. “Neither was brought up on any thing better than good American flour. The girl will pass inspection, sir!”
“That would she, I’ll answer for it. Well, I may as well come to the point at once, man, and bring up my reserve into the front of the battle. Here is Davy Muir, the quarter-master, disposed to make your daughter his wife, and he has just got me to open the matter to you, being fearful of compromitting his own dignity—and I may as well add, that half the youngsters in the fort toast her, and talk of her from morning till night.”
“She is much honored, sir,” returned the father, stiffly, “but I trust the gentlemen will find something more worthy of them to talk about, ere long. I hope to see her the wife of an honest man before many weeks, sir.”
“Yes, Davy is an honest man, and that is more than can be said for all in the Quarter-Master’s department, I’m thinking, serjeant,” returned Lundie, with a slight smile. “Well, then, may I tell the Cupid-stricken youth, that the matter is as good as settled?”
“I thank your honor, but Mabel is betrothed to another.”
“The devil she is! That will produce a stir in the fort, though I’m not sorry to hear it, either, for to be frank with you, serjeant, I’m no great admirer of unequal matches.”
“I think, with your honor, and have no desire to see my daughter an officer’s lady. If she can get as high as her mother was before her, it ought to satisfy any reasonable woman.”
“And may I ask, serjeant, who is the lucky man that you intend to call son-in-law?”
“The Pathfinder, your honor.”
“Pathfinder!”
“The same, Major Duncan, and in naming him to you, I give you his whole history. No one is better known on this frontier, than my honest, brave, true-hearted friend.”
“All that is true enough, but is he, after all, the sort of person to make a girl of twenty happy.”
“Why not, your honor; the man is at the head of his calling. There is no other guide, or scout, connected with the army that has half the reputation of Pathfinder, or who deserves to have it, half as well.”
“Very true, serjeant, but is the reputation of a scout, exactly the sort of renown to captivate a girl’s fancy.”
“Talking of girls’ fancies, sir, is, in my humble opinion, much like talking of a recruit’s judgment. If we were to take the notions of the awkward squad, sir, as a guide, we should never form a decent line, in battalion, Major Duncan.”
“But your daughter has nothing awkward about her, for a genteeler girl of her class, could not be found in old Albin itself. Is she of your way of thinking, in this matter, though, I suppose she must be, as you say she is betrothed.”
“We have not yet conversed on the subject, your honor, but I consider her mind as good as made up, from several little circumstances that might be named.”
“And what are these circumstances, Serjeant?” asked the Major, who began to take more interest than he had at first felt, in the subject. “I confess a little curiosity to learn something about a woman’s mind, being, as you know, a bachelor myself.”
“Why, your honor, when I spea
k of the Pathfinder to the girl, she always looks me full in the face; chimes in with everything I say in his favor, and has a frank open way with her, which says as much as if she half considered him, already, as a husband.”
“Hum—and these signs you think, Dunham, are faithful tokens of your daughter’s feelings?”
“I do, your honor, for they strike me as natural. When I find a man, sir, who looks me full in the face, while he praises an officer—for, begging your honor’s pardon, the men will sometimes pass their strictures on their betters—and when I find a man looking me in the eyes, as he praises his captain, I always set it down that the fellow is honest, and means what he says.”
“Is there not some material difference in the age of the intended bridegroom, and that of his pretty bride, serjeant?”
“You are quite right, sir; Pathfinder is well advanced towards forty, and Mabel has every prospect of happiness that a young woman can derive from the certainty of possessing an experienced husband. I was quite forty myself, your honor, when I married her mother.”
“But, will your daughter be as likely to admire a green hunting shirt, such as that our worthy guide wears, with a fox-skin cap, as the smart uniform of the 55th?”
“Perhaps not, sir, and therefore she will have the merit of self-denial, which always makes a young woman wiser and better.”
“And are you not afraid that she may be left a widow while still a young woman?—What between wild beasts, and wilder savages, Pathfinder may be said to carry his life in his hand.”
“ ‘Every bullet has its billet,’ Lundie,” for so the Major was fond of being called, in his moments of condescension, and when not engaged in military affairs, “and no man in the 55th can call himself beyond, or above, the chances of sudden death. In that particular, Mabel would gain nothing by a change. Besides, sir, if I may speak freely on such a subject, I much doubt if ever Pathfinder dies in battle, or by any of the sudden chances of the wilderness.”
“And why so, Serjeant?” asked the Major, looking at his inferior, with the sort of reverence which a Scot of his day, was more apt than at present to entertain for mysterious agencies. “He is a soldier, so far as danger is concerned, and one that is much more than usually exposed, and, being free of his person, why should he expect to escape, when others do not?”
“I do not believe, your honor, that the Pathfinder considers his own chances, better than any one’s else, but the man will never die by a bullet. I have seen him so often, handling his rifle with as much composure as if it were a shepherd’s crook, in the midst of the heaviest showers of bullets, and under so many extraordinary circumstances, that I do not think Providence means he should ever fall in that manner. And, yet, if there be a man in His Majesty’s dominions who really deserves such a death, it is Pathfinder!”
“We never know, serjeant,” returned Lundie, with a countenance that was grave with thought, “and the less we say about it, perhaps, the better. But, will your daughter—Mabel, I think, you call her—will Mabel be as willing to accept one, who, after all, is a mere hanger-on of the army, as to take one from the service itself. There is no hope of promotion for the guide, serjeant!”
“He is at the head of his corps, already, your honor. In short, Mabel has made up her mind on this subject, and as your honor has had the condescension to speak to me about Mr. Muir, I trust you will be kind enough to say that the girl is as good as billeted for life.”
“Well, well, this is your own matter, and, now,—Serjeant Dunham!”
“Your honor,” said the other rising, and giving the customary salute.
“You have been told it is my intention to send you down among the Thousand Islands, for the next month. All the old subalterns have had their tours of duty in that quarter—all that I like to trust, at least, and it has, at length, come to your turn. Lt. Muir, it is true, claims his right, but being the Quarter Master, I do not like to break up well established arrangements. Are the men drafted?”
“Every thing is ready, your honor. The draft is made, and I understood that the canoe, which got in, last night, brought a message to say that the party already below, is looking out for the relief.”
“It did, and you must sail the day after to-morrow, if not to-morrow night. It will be wise, perhaps, to sail in the dark.”
“So Jasper thinks, Major Duncan, and I know no one more to be depended on, in such an affair, than young Jasper Western.”
“Young Jasper Eau douce!” said Lundie, a slight smile gathering around his usually stern mouth. “Will that lad be of your party, Serjeant?”
“Your honor will remember that the Scud never quits port without him.”
“True, but all general rules have their exceptions. Have I not seen a seafaring person about the fort within the last few days?”
“No doubt, your honor; it is Master Cap, a brother-in-law of mine, who brought my daughter from below.”
“Why not put him in the Scud for this cruise, serjeant, and leave Jasper behind. Your brother-in-law would like the variety of a fresh water cruise, and you would enjoy more of his company.”
“I intended to ask your honor’s permission to take him along, but he must go as a volunteer. Jasper is too brave a lad to be turned out of his command without a reason, Major Duncan, and I’m afraid Brother Cap despises fresh water too much to do duty on it.”
“Quite right, serjeant, and I leave all this to your own discretion. Eau douce must retain his command, on second thoughts—You intend that Pathfinder shall also be of the party?”
“If your honor approves of it. There will be service for both the guides, the Indian as well as the white man.”
“I think you are right. Well, serjeant, I wish you good luck in the enterprise, and remember the post is to be destroyed and abandoned when your command is withdrawn. It will have done its work by that time or we shall have failed entirely, and it is too ticklish a position to be maintained unnecessarily. You can retire.”
Serjeant Dunham gave the customary salute, turned on his heels, as if they had been pivots, and had got the door nearly drawn-to after him, when he was suddenly recalled.
“I had forgotten, serjeant, the younger officers have begged for a shooting match, and to-morrow has been named for the day. All competitors will be admitted, and the prizes will be a silver mounted powder horn, a leathern flask, ditto,” reading from a piece of paper, “as I see by the professional jargon of this bill, and a silk calash, for a lady. The latter is to enable the victor to show his gallantry, by making an offering of it to her he best loves.”
“All very agreeable, your honor, at least to him that succeeds. Is the Pathfinder to be permitted to enter?”
“I do not well see how he can be excluded, if he choose to come forward. Latterly, I have observed that he takes no share in these sports, probably from a conviction of his own unequalled skill.”
“That’s it, Major Duncan; the honest fellow knows there is not a man on the frontier who can equal him, and he does not wish to spoil the pleasure of others. I think we may trust to his delicacy, in any thing, sir. Perhaps it may be as well, to let him have his own way.”
“In this instance, we must, serjeant. Whether he will be as successful in all others, remains to be seen. I wish you good evening, Dunham.”
The serjeant now withdrew, leaving Duncan of Lundie to his own thoughts. That they were not altogether disagreeable was to be inferred from the smiles which occasionally crossed a countenance that was hard and martial in its usual expression, though there were moments in which all its severe sobriety prevailed. Half an hour might have passed when a tap at the door, was answered by a direction to enter. A middle-aged man, in the dress of an officer but whose uniform wanted the usual smartness of the profession, made his appearance, and was saluted as “Mr. Muir.”
“I have come, sir, at your bidding to know my fortune,” said the Quarter Master, in a strong Scotch accent, as soon as he had taken the seat which was proffered to him. “To say the t
ruth to you, Major Duncan, this girl is making as much havoc in the garrison, as the French did before Ty; I never witnessed so general a rout, in so short a time!”
“Surely, Davy, you do’n’t mean to persuade me that your young and unsophisticated heart, is in such a flame, after one week’s ignition! Why, man, this is worse than the affair in Scotland, where it was said the heat within was so intense that it just burnt a hole through your own precious body, and left a place for all the lassies to peer in at, to see what the combustible material was worth.”
“Ye’ll have your own way, Major Duncan, and your father and mother would have theirs before ye even if the enemy were in the camp. I see nothing so extraordinar’ in young people’s following the bent of their inclinations and wishes.”
“But you’ve followed yours so often, Davy, that I should think, by this time, it had lost the edge of novelty. Including that informal affair in Scotland, when you were a lad, you’ve been married four times, already.”
“Only three, Major, as I hope to get another wife! I’ve not yet had my number; no—no—only three.”
“I’m thinking, Davy, you don’t include the first affair, I mentioned; that, in which there was no parson.”
“And why should I, Major? The courts decided that it was no marriage, and what more could a man want! The woman took advantage of a slight amorous propensity, that may be a weakness in my disposition, perhaps, and inveigled me into a contract that was found to be illegal.”
“If I remember right, Muir, there were thought to be two sides to that question, in the time of it!”
“It would be but an indifferent question, my dear Major, that had’n’t two sides to it; and I’ve know many that had three. But the poor woman’s dead, and there was no issue, so nothing came of it, after all. Then I was particularly unfortunate with my second wife—I say second, Major, out of deference to you, and on the mere supposition that the first was a marriage at all—but first, or second, I was particularly unfortunate with Jeannie Graham, who died in the first lustrum, leaving neither chick nor chiel behind her. I do think if Jeannie had survived I never should have turned my thoughts towards another wife.”
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 17