The Leatherstocking Tales II

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “Nay put it in your hunting shirt; it will become it well. Remember, Pathfinder, that it is a token of friendship between us, and a sign that I can never forget you or your services.”

  Mabel then smiled an adieu, and bounding up the bank, she was soon lost to view behind the mounds of the fort.

  Chapter XII

  “Lo! dusky masses steal in dubious sight,

  Along the leaguer’d wall, and bristling bank

  Of the arm’d river; while with straggling light,

  The stars peep through the vapour, dim and dank.”

  —Byron, Don Juan, VII.LXXXVI.683–86.

  * * *

  A FEW HOURS LATER, Mabel Dunham was on the bastion that overlooked the river and the lake, seemingly in deep thought. The evening was calm and soft, and the question had arisen whether the party for the Thousand Islands would be able to get out that night, or not, on account of the total absence of wind. The stores, arms and ammunition were already shipped, and even Mabel’s effects were on board, but the small draft of men that was to go was still ashore, there being no apparent prospect of the cutter’s getting under way. Jasper had warped the Scud out of the cove, and so far up the stream as to enable him to pass through the outlet of the river whenever he chose, but there he still lay, riding at single anchor. The drafted men were lounging about the shore of the cove, undecided whether or not to pull off.

  The sports of the morning had left a quiet in the garrison that was in harmony with the whole of the beautiful scene, and Mabel felt its influence on her feelings, though probably too little accustomed to speculate on such sensations, to be aware of the cause. Every thing near appeared lovely and soothing, while the solemn grandeur of the silent forest and placid expanse of the lake, lent a sublimity that other scenes might have wanted. For the first time, Mabel felt the hold that the towns and civilization had gained on her habits sensibly weakened, and the warm-hearted girl began to think that a life passed amid objects such as these around her, might be happy. How far the experience of the last ten days came in aid of that calm and holy even-tide, and contributed towards producing that young conviction, may be suspected, rather than affirmed, in this early portion of our legend.

  “A charming sunset, Mabel,” said the hearty voice of her uncle, so close to the ear of our heroine as to cause her to start—“a charming sunset, girl, for a fresh water concern, though we should think but little of it at sea.”

  “And is not nature the same, on shore, or at sea; on a lake like this, or on the ocean? Does not the sun shine on all alike, dear uncle, and can we not feel gratitude for the blessings of Providence as strongly on this remote frontier, as in our own Manhattan?”

  “The girl has fallen in with some of her mother’s books!— Though I should think the serjeant would scarcely make a second march with such trumpery among his baggage. Is not nature the same, indeed!—Now, Mabel, do you imagine that the nature of a soldier is the same as that of a sea-faring man?—You’ve relations in both callings, and ought to be able to answer.”

  “But, uncle, I mean human nature—”

  “So do I, girl; the human nature of a seaman, and the human nature of one of these fellows of the 55th, not even excepting your own father. Here have they had a shooting match—target firing I should call it—this day, and what a different thing has it been from a target firing afloat. There we should have sprung our broadside, sported with round shot, at an object half a mile off, at the very nearest, and the potatoes, if there happened to be any on board, as quite likely would not have been the case, would have been left in the cook’s coppers. It may be an honorable calling, that of a soldier, Mabel, but an experienced hand sees many follies and weaknesses in one of these forts. As for that bit of a lake, you know my opinion of it, already, and I wish to disparage nothing. No real sea-farer disparages any thing; but d____e, if I regard this here Ontario, as they call it, as more than so much water in a ship’s scuttle-butt. Now, look you here, Mabel, if you wish to understand the difference between the ocean and a lake, I can make you comprehend it, with a single look. This is what one may call a calm, seeing that there is no wind, though, to own the truth, I do not think the calms are as calm as them we get outside—”

  “Uncle, there is not a breath of air! I do not think it possible for the leaves to be more immoveably still than those of the entire forest are, at this very moment.”

  “Leaves! what are leaves, child; there are no leaves at sea. If you wish to know whether it is a dead calm, or not, try a mould candle—your dips flaring too much—and then you may be certain whether there is, or is not, any wind. If you were in a latitude where the air was so still that you found a difficulty in stirring it to draw it in, in breathing, you might fancy it a calm. People are often on a short allowance of air, in the calm latitudes. Here, again, look at that water!—It is like milk in a pan, with no more motion than there is in a full hogshead before the bung is started. Now, on the ocean the water is never still, let the air be as quiet as it may.”

  “The water of the ocean never still, uncle Cap!—Not even in a calm!”

  “Bless your heart, no, child. The ocean breathes like a living being, and its bosom is always heaving, as the poetizers call it, though there be no more air than is to be found in a syphon. No man ever saw the ocean still, like this lake, but it heaves and sets, as if it had lungs.”

  “And this lake is not absolutely still, for you perceive there is a little ripple on the shore, and you may even hear the surf, plunging, at moments, against the rocks.”

  “All d____d poetry! One may call a bubble a ripple, if he will, and washing decks a surf, but Lake Ontario is no more the Atlantic, than a Powles Hook periagua is a first rate. That Jasper, notwithstanding, is a fine lad, and wants instruction only to make a man of him!”

  “Do you think him ignorant, uncle,” answered Mabel, prettily adjusting her hair, in order to do which she was obliged, or fancied she was obliged, to turn away her face—“To me, Jasper Eau douce appears to know more than most of the young men of his class. He has read but little, for books are not plenty in this part of the world, but he has thought much; at least, so it seems to me, for one so young.”

  “He is ignorant, he is ignorant, as all must be who navigate an inland water, like this. He can make a flat knot and a timber hitch, it is true, but he has no more notion of crowning a cable, now, or of a carrick bend, than you have of catting an anchor. No—no—Mabel; we both owe something to Jasper and the Pathfinder, and I have been thinking how I can best serve them, for I hold ingratitude to be the vice of a hog. Some people say it is the vice of a king; but I say it is the failing of a hog, for treat the animal to your own dinner, and he would eat you for the dessert.”

  “Very true, dear uncle, and we ought indeed, to do all we can to express our proper sense of the services of both these brave men.”

  “Spoken like your mother’s daughter, girl, and in a way to do credit to the Cap family. Now, I’ve hit upon a traverse, that will just suit all parties, and as soon as we get back from this little expedition down the lake, among them there thousand islands, and I am ready to return, it is my intention to propose it.”

  “Dearest uncle! this is so considerate in you, and will be so just! May I ask what your intentions are?”

  “I see no reason for keeping them a secret from you, Mabel, though nothing need be said to your father about them, for the serjeant has his prejudices, and might throw difficulties in the way. Neither Jasper, nor his friend, Pathfinder, can ever make any thing hereabouts, and I propose to take both with me, down to the coast, and get them fairly afloat. Jasper would find his sea legs in a fortnight, and a twelvemonth’s v’y’ge would make him a man. Although Pathfinder might take more time, or never get to be rated able, yet one could make something of him, too, particularly as a look-out, for he has unusually good eyes.”

  “Uncle, do you think either would consent to this!” said Mabel smiling.

  “Do I suppose them simpletons! Wha
t rational being would neglect his own advancement. Let Jasper alone to push his way, and the lad may yet die the master of some square rigged craft.”

  “And would he be any the happier for it, dear uncle? How much better is it to be the master of a square rigged craft, than to be master of a round rigged craft?”

  “Pooh—Pooh, Magnet, you do’n’t know what you are talking about; you are just fit to read lectures about ships before some hysterical society. Leave these things to me, and they’ll be properly managed. Ah! here is the Pathfinder himself, and I may just as well drop him a hint of my benevolent intentions, as regards himself. Hope is a great encourager of our exertions.”

  Cap nodded his head, and then ceased to speak, while the hunter approached, not with his usual frank and easy manner, but in a way to show that he was slightly embarrassed, if not distrustful of his reception.

  “Uncle and niece make a family party,” said Pathfinder, when near the two—“and a stranger may not prove a welcome companion?”

  “You are no stranger, Master Pathfinder,” returned Cap, “and no one can be more welcome than yourself. We were talking of you, but a moment ago, and when friends speak of an absent man, he can guess what they have said.”

  “I ask no secrets—I ask no secrets. Every man has his inimies, and I have mine, though I count neither you, Master Cap, nor pretty Mabel, here, among the number. As for the Mingos, I will say nothing, though they have no just cause to hate me.”

  “That I’ll answer for, Pathfinder, for, you strike my fancy as being well disposed and upright. There is a method, however, of getting away from the enmity of even these Mingos, and if you choose to take it, no one will more willingly point it out, than myself, without a charge for my advice either.”

  “I wish no inimies, Saltwater,” for so the Pathfinder had begun to call Cap, having insensibly to himself adopted the term by translating the name given him by the Indians, in and about the fort, “I wish no inimies. I’m as ready to bury the hatchet with the Mingos as with the French, though you know that it depends on one greater than either of us, so to turn the heart, as to leave a man without inimies.”

  “By lifting your anchor, and accompanying me down to the coast, friend Pathfinder, when we get back from this short cruise on which we are bound, you will find yourself beyond the sound of the war-whoop, and safe enough from any Indian bullet.”

  “And what should I do on the salt-water? Hunt in your towns!—Follow the trails of people going and coming from market, and ambush dogs and poultry. You are no friend to my happiness, Master Cap, if you would lead me out of the shade of the woods, to put me in the sun of the clearing!”

  “I did not propose to leave you in the settlements, Pathfinder, but to carry you out to sea, where only a man can be said to breathe freely. Mabel will tell you that such was my intention, before a word was said on the subject.”

  “And what does Mabel think would come of such a change? She knows that a man has his gifts, and that it is as useless to pretend to others, as to withstand them that come from Providence. I am a hunter, and a scout, or a guide, Saltwater, and it is not in me to fly so much in the face of Heaven, as to try to become any thing else. Am I right Mabel, or are you so much a woman as to wish to see a natur’ altered?”

  “I would wish to see no change in you, Pathfinder,” Mabel answered with a cordial sincerity and frankness that went directly to the hunter’s heart; “and much as my uncle admires the sea, and great as is all the good that he thinks may come of it, I could not wish to see the best and noblest hunter of the woods transformed into an admiral. Remain what you are, my brave friend, and you need fear nothing, short of the anger of God.”

  “Do you hear this, Saltwater?—Do you hear what the Sarjeant’s daughter is saying, and she is much too upright and fair-minded, and pretty, not to think what she says. So long as she is satisfied with me as I am, I shall not fly in the face of the gifts of Providence, by striving to become any thing else. I may seem useless, here, in a garrison, but when we get down among the Thousand Islands, there may be an opportunity to prove that a sure rifle is sometimes a God-send.”

  “You are then to be of our party?” said Mabel, smiling so frankly and so sweetly on the guide, that he would have followed her to the end of the earth. “I shall be the only female, with the exception of one soldier’s wife, and shall feel none the less secure, Pathfinder, because you will be among our protectors.”

  “The sarjeant would do that, Mabel; the sarjeant would do that, though you were not of his kin. No one will overlook you. I should think your uncle, here, would like an expedition of this sort, where we shall go with sails, and have a look at our inland sea?”

  “Your inland sea is no great matter, Master Pathfinder, and I expect nothing from it. I confess, however, I should like to know the object of the cruise, for one does not wish to be idle, and my brother-in-law, the serjeant, is as close-mouthed as a free mason. Do you know, Mabel, what all this means?”

  “Not in the least, uncle. I dare not ask my father any questions about his duty, for he thinks it is not a woman’s business, and all I can say is that we are to sail as soon as the wind will permit, and that we are to be absent a month.”

  “Perhaps, Master Pathfinder can give me a useful hint, for a v’y’ge without an object is never pleasant to an old sailor.”

  “There is no great secret, Saltwater, consarning our post and object, though it is forbidden to talk much about either in the garrison. I am no soldier, howsever, and can use my tongue as I please, though as little given as another to idle conversation I hope; still, as we sail so soon, and you are both to be of the party, you may as well be told where you are to be carried. You know that there are such things as the Thousand Islands, I suppose, Master Cap?”

  “Ay, what are so called, hereaway, though I take it for granted that they are not real islands, such as we fall in with on the ocean, and that the Thousand means some such matter as two or three, like the killed and wounded of a great battle.”

  “My eyes are good, and yet have I often been foiled in trying to count them very islands.”

  “Ay—ay—I’ve known people who could’n’t count beyond a certain number. Your real land birds never know their own roosts, even, in a land fall at sea. They are what I call ‘all things to all men.’ How many times have I seen the beach, and houses and churches, when the passengers have not been able to see any thing but water. I have no idea that a man can get fairly out of sight of land, on fresh water. The thing appears to me to be irrational and impossible.”

  “You don’t know the lakes, Master Cap, or you would not say that. Before we get to the Thousand Islands, you will have other notions of what natur’ has done in this wilderness.”

  “I have my doubts whether you have such a thing as a real island in all this region. To my notion, fresh water can’t make a bony fidy island; not what I call an island.”

  “We’ll show you hundreds of them—not exactly a thousand, perhaps, but so many that eye cannot see them all, or tongue count them.”

  “And what sort of things may they be?”

  “Land with water entirely around them.”

  “Ay, but what sort of land, and what sort of water? I’ll engage, when the truth comes to be known, they’ll turn out to be nothing but peninsulas, or promontories, or continents, though these are matters, I dare say, of which you know little or nothing. But islands, or no islands, what is the object of the cruise, Master Pathfinder?”

  “Why as you are the sarjeant’s brother, and pretty Mabel here, is his da’hter, and we are all to be of the party, there can be no harm in giving you some idea of what we are going to do. Being so old a sailor, Master Cap, you’ve heard, no doubt, of such a port as Frontenac?”

  “Who has’n’t? I will not say I’ve ever been inside the harbor, but I’ve frequently been off the place.”

  “Then you are about to go upon ground with which you are acquainted, though how you could ever have got there, from
the ocean, I do not understand. These great lakes, you must know, make a chain, the water passing out of one into the other, until it reaches Erie, which is a sheet off here to the westward, as large as Ontario itself. Well, out of Erie the water comes, until it reaches a low mountain like, over the edge of which it passes—”

  “I should like to know how the devil it can do that?”

  “Why easy enough, Master Cap,” returned Pathfinder laughing, “seeing that it has only to fall down hill. Had I said the water went up the mountain, there would have been natur’ ag’in it; but we hold it no great matter for water to run down hill—that is fresh water.”

  “Ay ay—but you speak of the water of a lake’s coming down the side of a mountain; it’s in the teeth of reason, if reason has any teeth.”

  “Well—well—we will not dispute the point, but what I’ve seen, I’ve seen: as for reason’s having any teeth, I’ll say nothing, but conscience has, and sharp ones too. After getting into Ontario, all the water of all the lakes passes down into the sea, by a river, and in the narrow part of the sheet where it is neither river nor lake, lie the islands spoken of. Now, Frontenac is a post of the Frenchers above these same islands, and as they hold the garrisons below, their stores and ammunition are sent up the river to Frontenac, to be forwarded along the shores of this and the other lakes, in order to enable the inimy to play his deviltries among the savages, and to take christian scalps.”

  “And will our presence prevent these horrible acts?” demanded Mabel with interest.

  “It may, or it may not, as Providence wills. Lundie, as they call him, he who commands this garrison, sent a party down to take a station among the islands, to cut off some of the French boats, and this expedition of ours will be the second relief. As yet they’ve not done much, though two batteaux loaded with Indian goods have been taken; but a runner came in, last week, and brought such tidings that the Major is about to make a last effort to sarcumvent the knaves, Jasper knows the way, and we shall be in good hands, for the Sarjeant is prudent, and of the first quality at an ambushment— yes, he is both prudent, and alert.”