“You must know, Mabel,” he said, “that the sarjeant and I, are old friends, and have stood, side by side, or if not actually side by side, I a little in advance as became a scout, and your father with his own men, as better suited a soldier of the King, on many a hard fou’t and bloody day. It’s the way of us skirmishers to think little of the fight, when the rifle has done cracking; and at night around our fires, or on our marches, we talk of the things we love, just as you young women convarse about your fancies and opinions when you get together to laugh over your idees. Now it was nat’ral that the sarjeant, having such a daughter as you, should love her better than any thing else, and that he should talk of her oftener than of any thing else, while I, having neither daughter, nor sister, nor mother, nor kith nor kin, nor any thing but the Delawares to love, I nat’rally chimed in, as it were, and got to love you, Mabel, afore I ever saw you—yes I did— just by talking about you so much.”
“And now you have seen me,” returned the smiling girl, whose unmoved and natural manner proved how little she was thinking of any thing more than parental or fraternal regard, “you are beginning to see the folly of forming friendships for people before you know any thing about them, except by hearsay.”
“It was’n’t friendship—it is’n’t friendship, Mabel, that I feel for you. I am the friend of the Delawares, and have been so from boyhood; but my feelings for them, or for the best of them, are not the same as them I got from the sarjeant for you; and, especially, now that I begin to know you better. I’m sometimes afear’d it is’n’t wholesome for one who is much occupied in a very manly calling, like that of a guide, or a scout, or a soldier even, to form friendships for women—young women in particular—as they seem to me to lessen the love of enterprize, and to turn the feelings away from their gifts and nat’ral occupations.”
“You, surely, do not mean, Pathfinder, that a friendship for a girl like me, would make you less bold, and more unwilling to meet the French, than you were before?”
“Not so—not so. With you in danger, for instance, I fear I might become fool hardy, but afore we became so intimate, as I may say, I loved to think of my scoutin’s, and of my marches, and outlyings, and fights, and other adventures; but now my mind cares less about them; I think more of the barracks and of evenings passed in discourse, of feelings in which there are no wranglings and bloodshed, and of young women, and of their laughs, and their cheerful soft voices, their pleasant looks, and their winning ways! I sometimes tell the sarjeant, that he and his daughter will be the spoiling of one of the best and most experienced scouts on the lines!”
“Not they, Pathfinder; they will try to make that which is already so excellent, perfect. You do not know us, if you think that either wishes to see you, in the least, changed. Remain as at present, the same honest, upright, conscientious, fearless, intelligent, trustworthy guide that you are, and neither my dear father, nor myself, can ever think of you differently from what we now do.”
It was too dark for Mabel to note the workings of the countenance of her listener, but her own sweet face was turned towards him, as she spoke with an energy equal to her frankness, in a way to show how little embarrassed were her thoughts, and how sincere were her words. Her countenance was a little flushed, it is true, but it was with earnestness and truth of feeling, though no nerve thrilled, no limb trembled, no pulsation quickened. In short her manner and appearance were those of a sincere-minded and frank girl, making such a declaration of good will and regard for one of the other sex, as she felt that his services and good qualities merited, without any of the emotion that invariably accompanies the consciousness of an inclination, which might lead to softer disclosures. The Pathfinder was too unpractised, however, to enter into distinctions of this kind, and his humble nature was encouraged by the directness and strength of the words he had just heard. Unwilling, if not unable to say any more, he walked away, and stood leaning on his rifle, and looking up at the stars, for quite ten minutes, in profound silence.
In the mean while, the interview on the bastion, to which we have already alluded, took place, between Lundie and the Serjeant.
“Have the men’s knapsacks been examined?” demanded Major Duncan, after he had cast his eye at a written report handed to him by the serjeant, but which it was too dark to read.
“All, your honor; and all are right.”
“The ammunition—arms—?”
“All in order, Major Duncan, and fit for any service.”
“You have the men named in my own draft, Dunham?”
“Without an exception, sir. Better men could not be found in the regiment.”
“You have need of the best of our men, serjeant. This experiment has now been tried three times; always under one of the ensigns, who have flattered me with success, but have as often failed. After so much preparation and expense, I do not like to abandon the project entirely, but this will be the last effort, and the result will mainly depend on you, and on the Pathfinder.”
“You may count on us both, Major Duncan. The duty you have given us, is not above our habits and experience, and I think it will be well done—I know that the Pathfinder will not be wanting.”
“On that, indeed, it will be safe to rely. He is a most extraordinary man, Dunham; one who long puzzled me, but, who, now that I understand him, commands as much of my respect as any general in His Majesty’s service.”
“I was in hopes, sir, that you would come to look at the proposed marriage with Mabel, as a thing I ought to wish, and forward.”
“As for that, serjeant, time will show,” returned Lundie, smiling; though here too, the obscurity concealed the nicer shades of expression,—“one woman is sometimes more difficult to manage than a whole regiment of men. By the way, you know that your would-be son-in-law, the Quarter Master, will be of the party, and I trust you will, at least, give him an equal chance, in the trial for your daughter’s smiles.”
“If respect for his rank, sir, did not cause me to do this, your honor’s wish would be sufficient.”
“I thank you, serjeant—we have served much together, and ought to value each other, in our several stations—Understand me, however; I ask no more for Davy Muir than ‘a clear field and no favor.’ In love, as in war, each man must gain his own victories. Are you certain that the rations have been properly calculated?”
“I’ll answer for it, Major Duncan; but, if they were not, we cannot suffer with two such hunters as Pathfinder and the Serpent, in company.”
“That will never do, Dunham,” interrupted Lundie, sharply, “and it comes of your American birth, and American training! No thorough soldier ever relies on any thing but his commissary for supplies, and I beg no part of my regiment may be the first to set an example to the contrary.”
“You have only to command, Major Duncan, to be obeyed; and, yet, if I might presume, sir—”
“Speak freely, serjeant; you are talking with a friend.”
“I was merely about to say, that I find even the Scotch soldiers, like venison and birds, quite as well as pork, when they are difficult to be had.”
“That may be very true, but likes and dislikes have nothing to do with system. An army can rely on nothing but its commissaries. The irregularity of the provincials has played the devil with the King’s service, too often, to be winked at any longer.”
“Gen. Braddock, your honor, might have been advised by Col. Washington—”
“Out upon your Washington!—You’re all provincials together, man, and uphold each other, as if you were of a sworn confederacy.”
“I believe His Majesty has no more loyal subjects than the Americans, your honor.”
“In that, Dunham, I’m thinking you’re right, and I have been a little too warm, perhaps. I do not consider you a provincial, however, serjeant, for, though born in America, a better soldier never shouldered a musket.”
“And Col. Washington, your honor—”
“Well, and Col. Washington may be a useful subject too. H
e is the American prodigy, and I suppose I may as well give him all the credit you ask. You have no doubt of the skill of this Jasper Eau douce?”
“The boy has been tried, sir, and found equal to all that can be required of him.”
“He has a French name, and has passed much of his boyhood in the French colonies—has he French blood, in his veins, serjeant?”
“Not a drop, your honor. Jasper’s father was an old comrade of my own, and his mother came of an honest and loyal family, in this very province.”
“How came he then so much among the French, and whence his name?—He speaks the language of the Canadas, too, I find!”
“That is easily explained, Major Duncan. The boy was left under the care of one of our mariners in the old war, and he took to the water, like a duck. Your honor knows that we have no ports on Ontario, that can be named as such, and he naturally passed most of his time on the other side of the lake, where the French have had a few vessels, these fifty years. He learned to speak their language, as a matter of course, and got his name from the Indians and Canadians, who are fond of calling men by their qualities as it might be.”
“A French master, is but a poor instructor for a British sailor, notwithstanding!”
“I beg your pardon, sir; Jasper Eau douce was brought up under a real English seaman; one that had sailed under the King’s Pennant, and may be called a thorough bred: that is to say, a subject born in the colonies, but none the worse at his trade, I hope, Major Duncan, for that.”
“Perhaps not, serjeant; perhaps not; nor any better. This Jasper behaved well, too, when I gave him the command of the Scud; no lad could have conducted himself more loyally, or better.”
“Or more bravely, Major Duncan. I am sorry to see, sir, that you have doubts as to the fidelity of Jasper.”
“It is the duty of the soldier, who is entrusted with the care of a distant and important post like this, Dunham, never to relax in his vigilance. We have two of the most artful enemies, that the world has ever produced, in their several ways, to contend with; the Indians and the French; and nothing should be overlooked that can lead to injury.”
“I hope your honor considers me fit to be intrusted with any particular reason that may exist for doubting Jasper, since you have seen fit to intrust me with this command.”
“It is not that I doubt you, Dunham, that I hesitate to reveal all I may happen to know, but from a strong reluctance to circulate an evil report concerning one of whom I have hitherto thought well. You must think well of the Pathfinder, or you would not wish to give him your daughter?”
“For the Pathfinder’s honesty I will answer with my life, sir—” returned the serjeant firmly, and not without a dignity of manner that struck his superior. “Such a man does’n’t know how to be false.”
“I believe you are right, Dunham, and yet this last information has unsettled all my old opinions. I have received an anonymous communication, serjeant, advising me to be on my guard against Jasper Western, or Jasper Eau douce, as he is called; who it alleges has been bought by the enemy, and giving me reason to expect that further and more precise information will soon be sent.”
“Letters without signatures to them, sir, are scarcely to be regarded in war.”
“Or in peace, Dunham. No one can entertain a lower opinion of the writer of an anonymous letter, in ordinary matters, than myself. The very act denotes cowardice, meanness, and baseness, and it usually is a token of falsehood, as well as of other vices. But, in matters of war, it is not exactly the same thing. Besides, several suspicious circumstances have been pointed out to me—”
“Such as is fit for an orderly to know, your honor?”
“Certainly, one in whom I confide as much, as in yourself, Dunham. It is said for instance, that your daughter and her party were permitted to escape the Iroquois, when they came in, merely to gain Jasper credit with me. I am told that the gentry at Frontenac will care more for the capture of the Scud, with Serjeant Dunham and a party of men, together with the defeat of our favorite plan, than for the capture of a girl, and the scalp of her uncle.”
“I understand the hint, sir, but I do not give it credit. Jasper can hardly be true, and Pathfinder false; and, as for the last, I would as soon distrust your honor, as distrust him!”
“It would seem so, serjeant; it would indeed seem so. But Jasper is not the Pathfinder after all, and I will own, Dunham, I should put more faith in the lad, if he did’n’t speak French!”
“It’s no recommendation in my eyes, I assure your honor, but the boy learned it by compulsion, as it were, and ought not to be condemned too hastily, for the circumstance, by your honor’s leave. If he does speak French, it’s because he can’t well help it.”
“It’s a d____d lingo, and never did any one good—at least no British subject; for I suppose the French themselves must talk together, in some language or other. I should have much more faith in this Jasper, did he know nothing of their language. This letter has made me uneasy, and were there another, to whom I could trust the cutter, I would devise some means to detain him here. I have spoken to you already of a brother-in-law, who goes with you, serjeant, and who is a sailor?”
“A real sea-faring man, your honor, and somewhat prejudiced against fresh-water. I doubt if he could be induced to risk his character on a lake, and I’m certain he never could find the station.”
“The last is probably true, and, then, the man cannot know enough of this treacherous lake to be fit for the employment! You will have to be doubly vigilant, Dunham. I give you full powers, and should you detect this Jasper in any treachery, make him a sacrifice at once to offended justice.”
“Being in the service of the crown, your honor, he is amenable to martial law—”
“Very true—then iron him, from his head to his heels, and send him up here, in his own cutter. That brother-in-law of yours must be able to find the way back, after he has once travelled the road.”
“I make no doubt, Major Duncan, we shall be able to do all that will be necessary, should Jasper turn out as you seem to anticipate; though, I think I would risk my life on his truth.”
“I like your confidence; it speaks well for the fellow, but that infernal letter!—There is such an air of truth about it—nay there is so much truth in it, touching other matters—”
“I think your honor said it wanted the name at the bottom; a great omission for an honest man to make.”
“Quite right, Dunham, and no one but a rascal, and a cowardly rascal in the bargain, would write an anonymous letter, on private affairs. It is different, however, in war. Despatches are feigned, and artifice is generally allowed to be justifiable.”
“Military, manly artifices, sir, if you will; such as ambushes, surprises, feints, false attacks, and even spies; but I never heard of a true soldier who could wish to undermine the character of an honest young man, by such means as these!”
“I have met with many strange events, and some stranger people, in the course of my experience. But fare you well, serjeant; I must detain you no longer. You are now on your guard, and I recommend to you, untiring vigilance. I think Muir means shortly to retire, and should you fully succeed in this enterprize, my influence will not be wanting, in endeavoring to put you in the vacancy, to which you have many claims.”
“I humbly thank your honor,” coolly returned the serjeant who had been encouraged in this manner, any time for the preceding twenty years, “and hope I shall never disgrace my station, whatever it may be. I am what nature, and Providence have made me, and I hope I’m satisfied.”
“You have not forgotten the howitzer?”
“Jasper took it on board this morning, sir.”
“Be wary, and do not trust that man unnecessarily. Make a confidant of Pathfinder at once; he may be of service in detecting any villainy that may be stirring. His simple honesty will favor his observation, by concealing it. He must be true.”
“For him, sir, my own head shall answer, or even my rank i
n the regiment. I have seen him too often tried to doubt him.”
“Of all wretched sensations, Dunham, distrust, where one is compelled to confide, is the most painful. You have bethought you of the spare flints?”
“A serjeant is a safe commander, for all such details, your honor.”
“Well then, give me your hand, Dunham. God bless you, and may you be successful. Muir means to retire—by the way, let the man have an equal chance with your daughter, for it may facilitate future operations, about the promotion. One would retire more cheerfully, with such a companion as Mabel, than in cheerless widowerhood, and with nothing but oneself to love, and such a self, too, as Davy’s!”
“I hope, sir, my child will make a prudent choice, and I think her mind is already pretty much made up in favor of Pathfinder. Still she shall have fair play, though disobedience is the next crime to mutiny.”
“Have all the ammunition carefully examined and dried, as soon as you arrive; the damp of the lake may affect it. And now, once more farewell, serjeant. Beware of that Jasper, and consult with Muir, in any difficulty. I shall expect you to return triumphant, this day month.”
“God bless, your honor—if any thing should happen to me, I trust to you, Major Duncan, to care for an old soldier’s character.”
“Rely on me, Dunham; you will rely on a friend. Be vigilant; remember you will be in the very jaws of the lion—pshaw of no lion, neither; but of treacherous tigers—in their very jaws and beyond support. Have the flints counted, and examined in the morning—and—farewell, Dunham, farewell.”
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 23