The Leatherstocking Tales II

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “My father has left you a responsible command, corporal,” she said, as soon as she could catch McNab, a little apart from the rest of the soldiers, “for should the island fall into the hands of the enemy, not only would we be captured, but the party that is now out, would in all probability, become their prisoners also.”

  “It needs no journey from Scotland to this place, to learn the facts needful to be o’ that way of thinking,” returned McNab, drily.

  “I do not doubt your understanding it, as well as myself, Mr. McNab, but I’m fearful that you veterans, accustomed as you are to dangers and battles, are a little apt to overlook some of the precautions that may be necessary in a situation, as peculiar as ours.”

  “They say Scotland is no conquered country, young woman, but I’m thinking there must be some mistak’ in the matter, as we her children, are so drowsy headed and apt to be o’ertaken when we least expect it.”

  “Nay, my good friend, you mistake my meaning. In the first place, I’m not thinking of Scotland at all, but of this island; and then I am far from doubting your vigilance when you think it necessary to practise it, but my great fear is that there may be danger to which your courage will make you indifferent.”

  “My courage, Mistress Dunham, is doubtless of a very poor quality, being nothing but Scottish courage; your father’s is yankee, and were he here amang us, we should see different preparations beyond a doubt. Well, times are getting wrang, when foreigners hold commissions and carry halberds in Scottish corps; and I no wonder that battles are lost, and campaigns go wrang end foremost.”

  Mabel was almost in despair, but the quiet warning of June was still too vividly impressed on her mind, to allow her to yield the matter. She changed her mode of operating, therefore, still clinging to the hope of getting the whole party within the block-house, without being compelled to betray the source whence she obtained her notices of the necessity of vigilance.

  “I dare say you are right, Corporal McNab,” she resumed, “for I’ve often heard of the heroes of your country, who have been among the first of the civilized world, if what they tell me of them is true.”

  “Have you read the history of Scotland, Mistress Dunham?” demanded the corporal, looking up at his pretty companion, for the first time, with something like a smile, on his hard, repulsive countenance.

  “I have read a little of it, corporal, but I’ve heard much more. The lady who brought me up had Scottish blood in her veins, and was fond of the subject.”

  “I’ll warrant ye, the serjeant no troubled himself to expatiate on the renown of the country, where his regiment was raised?”

  “My father has other things to think of, and the little I know, was got from the lady I have mentioned.”

  “She’ll no be forgetting to tall ye o’ Wallace?”

  “Of him, I’ve even read a good deal.”

  “And o’ Bruce—and the affair o’ Bannockburn?”

  “Of that too, as well as of Culloden Muir.”

  The last of these battles was then a recent event, it having actually been fought within the recollection of our heroine, whose notions of it, however, were so confused that she scarcely appreciated the effect her allusion might produce on her companion. She knew it had been a victory, and had often heard the guests of her patroness mention it with triumph; and she fancied their feelings would find a sympathetic chord in those of every British soldier. Unfortunately, McNab had fought throughout that luckless day, on the side of the Pretender, and a deep scar that garnished his face, had been left there, by the sabre of a German soldier, in the service of the House of Hanover. He fancied that his wound bled afresh, at Mabel’s allusion, and it is certain that the blood rushed to his face in a torrent, as if it would pour out of his skin, at the cicatrix.

  “Hoot! Hoot awa’!” he fairly shouted, “with your Cullodens and Sherrif Muirs, young woman, ye’ll no be understanding the subject, at all, and will manifast not only wisdom, but modesty, in speaking o’ your ain country and its many failings. King George has some loyal subjects in the colonies, na doubt, but ’t will be a lang time bafore he sees or knows any guid of them.”

  Mabel was surprised at the corporal’s heat, for she had not the smallest idea where the shoe pinched, but she was determined not to give up the point.

  “I’ve always heard that the Scotch had two of the great qualities of soldiers,” she said, “courage and circumspection, and I feel persuaded that Corporal McNab will sustain the national renown.”

  “Ask yer own father, Mistress Dunham; he is acquaint’ with Corporal McNab, and will no be backward to point out his demerits. We have been in battle th’gither, and he is my superior officer, and has a sort o’ official right to give the characters of his subordinates.”

  “My father thinks well of you, McNab, or he would not have left you in charge of this island, and all it contains, his own daughter included. Among other things I well know that he calculates largely on your prudence. He expects the block-house, in particular, to be strictly attended to.”

  “If he wishes to defend the honor of the 55th, behind logs, he ought to have remained in command himsal’, for to speak frankly, it goes against a Scotsman’s bluid and opinions, to be beaten out of the field, even before he is attacked. We are broad-sword men, and love to stand foot to foot with the foe. This American mode of fighting, that is getting into so much favor, will destroy the reputation of His Majesty’s army, if it no destroy its spirit.”

  “No true soldier despises caution; even Major Duncan himself, than whom there is none braver, is celebrated for his care of his men.”

  “Lundie ha’ his weaknesses, and is fast forgetting the broad-sword and open heaths, in his tree and rifle practice; but, Mistress Mabel, tak’ the word of an old soldier, who has seen his fifty-fifth year, when he tails ye, that there is no surer method to encourage your enemy, than to seem to fear him, and, that there is no danger in this Indian warfare, that the fancies and imaginations of your Americans have not augmented and enlarged upon, until they see a savage in every bush. We Scots come from a naked region, and have no need, and less relish for covers, and so, ye’ll be seeing, Mistress Dunham—”

  The corporal gave a spring into the air, fell forward on his face, and rolled over on his back; the whole passing so suddenly that Mabel had scarcely heard the sharp crack of the rifle, that sent a bullet through his body. Our heroine did not shriek; did not even tremble; for the occurrence was too sudden, too awful, and too unexpected for that exhibition of weakness. On the contrary, she stepped hastily forward, with a natural impulse to aid her companion. There was just enough of life left in McNab, to betray his entire consciousness of all that had passed. His countenance had the wild look of one who had been overtaken by death, by surprise, and Mabel, in her calmer moments, fancied that it showed the tardy repentance of a wilful and obstinate sinner.

  “Ye’ll be getting into the block-house, as fast as possible,” McNab whispered, as Mabel leaned over him to catch his dying words.

  Then came over our heroine, the full consciousness of her situation, and of the necessity of exertion. She cast a rapid glance at the body at her feet, saw that it had ceased to breathe, and fled. It was but a few minutes’ run to the blockhouse, the door of which Mabel had barely gained, when it was closed violently in her face, by Jennie, the soldier’s wife, who, in blind terror, thought only of her own safety. The reports of five or six rifles were heard, while Mabel was calling out for admittance, and the additional terror they produced, prevented the woman within from undoing quickly the very fastenings she had been so expert, in applying. After a minute’s delay, however, Mabel found the door reluctantly yielding to her constant pressure, and she forced her slender body through the opening, the instant it was large enough to allow of its passage. By this time, Mabel’s heart ceased to beat tumultuously, and she gained sufficient self-command to act collectedly. Instead of yielding to the almost convulsive efforts of her companion, to close the door, again, she held i
t open long enough to ascertain that none of her own party was in sight, or likely, on the instant, to endeavor to gain admission; then she allowed the opening to be shut. Her orders and proceedings, now, became more calm and rational. But a single bar was crossed, and Jennie was directed to stand in readiness to remove even that, at an application from a friend. She then ascended the first ladder to the room above, where by means of loop-holes, she was enabled to get as good a view of the island as the surrounding bushes would allow. Admonishing her associate below to be firm and steady, she made as careful an examination of the environs as her situation permitted.

  To her great surprise, Mabel could not, at first, see a living soul on the island, friend or enemy. Neither Frenchman, nor Indian was visible, though a small straggling white cloud that was floating before the wind, told her in which quarter, she ought to look for them. The rifles had been discharged from the direction of the island whence June had come, though whether the enemy were on that island, or had actually landed on her own, Mabel could not say. Going to the loop that commanded a view of the spot, where McNab lay, her blood curdled at perceiving all three of his soldiers lying apparently lifeless at his side. These men had rushed to a common centre, at the first alarm, and had been shot down almost simultaneously, by the invisible foe, whom the corporal had affected to despise.

  Neither Cap, nor Lieutenant Muir was to be seen. With a beating heart, Mabel examined every opening through the trees, and ascended even to the upper story, or garret of the block-house, where she got a full view of the whole island, so far as its covers would allow; but with no better success. She had expected to see the body of her uncle, lying on the grass, like those of the soldiers, but it was nowhere visible. Turning towards the spot where the boat lay, Mabel saw that it was still fastened to the shore, and then she supposed that, by some accident Muir had been prevented from effecting his retreat, in that quarter. In short, the island lay in the quiet of the grave, the bodies of the soldiers rendering the scene as fearful as it was extraordinary.

  “For God’s holy sake, Mistress Mabel,” called out the woman from below, for, though her fear had got to be too ungovernable to allow her to keep silence, our heroine’s superior refinement, more than the regimental station of her father, still controlled her mode of address, “For His Holy Sake! Mistress Mabel, tell me if any of our friends are living? I think I hear groans that grow fainter and fainter, and fear that they will all be tomahawked.”

  Mabel now remembered that one of the soldiers was this woman’s husband, and she trembled at what might be the immediate effect of her sorrow, should his death become suddenly known to her. The groans, too, gave a little hope, though she feared they might come from her uncle, who lay out of view.

  “We are in his holy keeping, Jennie,” she answered. “We must trust in Providence, while we neglect none of its benevolent means of protecting ourselves. Be careful with the door; on no account open it, without my directions.”

  “Oh! Tell me, Mistress Mabel, if you can anywhere see Sandy?—If I could only lat him know that I’m in safety, the guid man would be easier in his mind, whather free or a prisoner!”

  Sandy was Jennie’s husband, and he lay dead in plain view of the loop, from which our heroine was then looking.

  “You no tall me if you’re seeing of Sandy,” the woman repeated from below, impatient at Mabel’s silence.

  “There are some of our people gathered about the body of McNab,” was the answer, for it seemed sacrilegious in her eyes to tell a direct untruth, under the awful circumstances in which she was placed.

  “Is Sandy amang them?” demanded the woman, in a voice that sounded appalling by its hoarseness and energy.

  “He may be certainly—for I see, one, two, three, four, and all in the scarlet coats of the regiment.”

  “Sandy!” called out the woman frantically—“Why d’ye no care for yoursal’, Sandy? Come hither the instant, man, and share your wife’s fortunes, in weal or woe. It’s no a moment for your silly discipline, and vainglorious notions of honor! Sandy!—Sandy!”

  Mabel heard the bar turn, and then the door creaked on its hinges. Expectation, not to say terror, held her in suspense at the loop, and she soon beheld Jennie rushing through the bushes, in the direction of the cluster of the dead. It took the woman but an instant to reach the fatal spot. So sudden and unexpected had been the blow, that she, in her terror, did not appear to comprehend its weight. Some wild and half frantic notion of a deception troubled her fancy, and she imagined that the men were trifling with her fears. She took her husband’s hand, and it was still warm, while she thought a covert smile was struggling on his lip.

  “Why will ye fool life away, Sandy?” she cried, pulling at the arm. “Ye’ll all be murdered by these accursed Indians, and you no takin’ to the block like trusty soldiers! Awa’!—awa’, and no be losing the precious moments.”

  In her desperate efforts, the woman pulled the body of her husband in a way to cause the head to turn completely over, when the small hole in the temple, caused by the entrance of a rifle bullet, and a few drops of blood trickling over the skin, revealed the meaning of her husband’s silence. As the horrid truth flashed, in its full extent, on her mind, the woman clasped her hands, gave a shriek that pierced the glades of every island near, and fell at length on the dead body of the soldier. Thrilling, heart-reaching, appalling as was that shriek, it was melody to the cry that followed it so quickly as to blend the sounds. The terrific war-whoop arose out of the covers of the island, and some twenty savages, horrible in their paint, and the other devices of Indian ingenuity, rushed forward, eager to secure the covetted scalps. Arrowhead was foremost, and it was his tomahawk that brained the insensible Jennie, and her reeking hair was hanging at his girdle, as a trophy, in less than two minutes after she had quitted the block-house. His companions were equally active, and McNab and his soldiers, no longer presented the quiet aspects of men who slumbered. They were left in their gore, unequivocally butchered corpses.

  All this passed in much less time, than has been required to relate it, and all this did Mabel witness. She had stood riveted to the spot, gazing on the whole horrible scene, as if enchained by some charm, nor did the idea of self, or of her own danger, once obtrude itself on her thoughts. But, no sooner did she perceive the place where the men had fallen, covered with savages, exulting in the success of their surprise, than it occurred to her, that Jennie had left the block-house door unbarred. Her heart beat violently, for that defence alone stood between her and immediate death, and she sprang towards the ladder, with the intention of descending to make sure of it. Her foot had not yet reached the floor of the second story, however, when she heard the door grating on its hinges, and she gave herself up for lost. Sinking on her knees, the terrified but courageous girl endeavored to prepare herself for death, and to raise her thoughts to God. The instinct of life, however, was too strong for prayer, and while her lips moved, the jealous senses watched every sound beneath. When her ears heard the bars, which went on pivots secured to the centre of the door, turning into their fastenings, not one as she herself had directed with a view to admit her uncle should he apply, but all three, she started again to her feet, all spiritual contemplations vanishing in her actual temporal condition, and it seemed as if all her faculties were absorbed in the sense of hearing.

  The thoughts are active, in a moment so fearful. At first Mabel fancied that her uncle had entered the block-house, and she was about to descend the ladder and throw herself into his arms; then the idea that it might be an Indian, who had barred the door to shut out intruders, while he plundered at leisure, arrested the movement. The profound stillness below, was unlike the bold, restless movements of Cap, and it seemed to savor more of the artifices of an enemy. If a friend, at all, it could only be her uncle, or the Quarter Master, for the horrible conviction now presented itself to our heroine, that to these two and herself were the whole party suddenly reduced, if, indeed, the two first survived. This considera
tion held Mabel in check, and for quite two minutes more, a breathless silence reigned in the building. During this time, the girl stood at the foot of the upper ladder, the trap which led to the lower opening on the opposite side of the floor. The eyes of Mabel were riveted on this spot, for she now began to expect to see, at each instant, the horrible sight of a savage face at the hole. This apprehension soon became so intense, that she looked about her, for a place of concealment. The procrastination of the catastrophe she now fully expected, though it were only for a moment, afforded a relief. The room contained several barrels, and behind two of these, Mabel crouched, placing her eyes at an opening by which she could still watch the trap. She made another effort to pray, but the moment was too horrible for that relief. She thought, too, that she heard a low rustling, as if one was ascending the lower ladder, with an effort at caution so great, as to betray itself by its own excess. Then followed a creaking, that she was certain came from one of the steps of the ladder, which had made the same noise, under her own light weight as she ascended. This was one of those instants, into which are compressed the sensations of years of ordinary existence. Life, death, eternity and extreme bodily pain, were all standing out in bold relief, from the plane of every-day occurrences, and she might have been taken, at that moment, for a beautiful, pallid, representation of herself, equally without motion and without vitality. But, while such was the outward appearance of the form, never had there been a time, in her brief career, when Mabel heard more acutely, saw more clearly, or felt more vividly. As yet nothing was visible at the trap, but her ears, rendered exquisitely sensitive by intense feeling, distinctly acquainted her that some one was within a few inches of the opening in the floor. Next followed the evidence of her eyes, which beheld the dark hair of an Indian rising so slowly through the passage that the movement of the head might be likened to that of the minute hand of a clock. Then came the dark skin and wild features, until the whole of the swarthy face had risen above the floor. The human countenance seldom appears to advantage when partially concealed, and Mabel imagined many additional horrors, as she first saw the black, roving eyes, and the expression of wildness, as the savage countenance was revealed, as it might be inch by inch. But, when the entire head was raised above the floor, a second and better look assured our heroine that she saw the gentle, anxious and even handsome, face of June.