The Leatherstocking Tales II

by James Fenimore Cooper

  Chapter XXII

  “—Spectre though I be,

  I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;

  But in reward of thy fidelity.”

  —Wordsworth, Laodamia, ll. 38–40.

  * * *

  IT WOULD be difficult to say which evinced the most satisfaction, when Mabel sprang to her feet, and appeared in the centre of the room, our heroine on finding that her visiter was the wife of Arrowhead, and not Arrowhead himself, or June, at discovering that her advice had been followed, and that the block-house contained the person she had so anxiously and almost hopelessly sought. They embraced each other, and the unsophisticated Tuscarora woman laughed in her sweet accents, as she held her friend at arm’s length, and made certain of her presence.

  “Block-house good,” said the young Indian—“got no scalp.”

  “It is indeed good, June,” Mabel answered with a shudder, veiling her eyes at the same time, as if to shut out a view of the horrors she had so lately witnessed. “Tell me, for God’s sake! if you know what has become of my dear uncle?—I have looked in all directions, without being able to see him.”

  “No here, in block-house?” June asked, with some curiosity.

  “Indeed he is not—I am quite alone in this place, Jennie, the woman, who was with me, having rushed out to join her husband, and perishing for her imprudence.”

  “June know—June see. Very bad. Arrowhead no feel for any wife—no feel for his own.”

  “Ah! June; your life, at least, is safe!”

  “Do’n’t know. Arrowhead kill me, if he knows all.”

  “God bless and protect you, June—he will bless and protect you for your humanity. Tell me what is to be done, and if my poor uncle is still living?”

  “Do’n’t know. Salt-water has boat, maybe he go on river.”

  “The boat is still on the shore, but neither my uncle, nor the Quarter Master is anywhere to be seen.”

  “No kill, or June would see. Hide away. Red man hide; no shame for pale-face.”

  “It is not the shame that I fear for them, but the opportunity. Your attack was awfully sudden, June!”

  “Tuscarora—” returned the other, smiling with exultation at the dexterity of her husband. “Arrowhead great warrior.”

  “You are too good and gentle for his sort of life, June. You cannot be happy in such scenes!”

  June’s countenance grew clouded, and Mabel fancied there was some of the savage fire of a chief in her frown as she answered.

  “Yengeese too greedy—take away all hunting grounds—chase Six Nation from morning to night; wicked king—wicked people. Pale Face very bad.”

  Mabel knew that, even in that distant day, there was much truth in this opinion, though she was too well instructed not to understand that the monarch, in this as in a thousand other cases, was blamed for acts of which he was most probably ignorant. She felt the justice of the rebuke, therefore, too much to attempt an answer, and her thoughts naturally reverted to her own situation.

  “And what am I to do, June,” she demanded. “It cannot be long before your people will assault this building.”

  “Block-house good—got no scalp.”

  “But they will soon discover that it has got no garrison, too, if they do not know it already. You, yourself, told me the number of people that were on the island, and doubtless you learned it from Arrowhead.”

  “Arrowhead know,” answered June, holding up six fingers to indicate the number of the men. “All red men know. Four lose scalp already—two got ’em, yet!”

  “Do not speak of it, June; the horrid thought curdles my blood. Your people cannot know that I am alone in the block-house, but may fancy my uncle and the Quarter Master with me, and may set fire to the building, in order to dislodge them. They tell me that fire is the great danger to such places.”

  “No burn block-house,” said June, quietly.

  “You cannot know that, my good June, and I have no means to keep them off.”

  “No burn block-house. Block-house good; got no scalp.”

  “But tell me why, June—I fear they will burn it!”

  “Block-house wet—much rain—logs green—no burn easy—Red man know it—first t’ing—then no burn it, to tell Yengeese that Iroquois been here. Fader come back, miss block-house, no land. No—no—Injin too cunning—no touch any thing.”

  “I understand you, June, and hope your prediction may be true; for as regards my dear father, should he escape—perhaps he is already dead, or captured, June!”

  “No touch fader—do’n’t know where he gone. Water got no trail—red-man can’t follow. No burn block-house— block-house good—got no scalp.”

  “Do you think it possible for me to remain here, safely, until my father returns?”

  “Do’n’t know—daughter tell best, when fader come back.”

  Mabel felt uneasy at the glance of June’s dark eye, as she uttered this, for the unpleasant surmise arose, that her companion was endeavoring to discover a fact that might be useful to her own people, while it would lead to the destruction of her parent and his party. She was about to make an evasive answer, when a heavy push at the outer door, suddenly drew all her thoughts to the immediate danger.

  “They come!” she exclaimed—“Perhaps, June, it is my uncle or the Quarter Master—I cannot keep out even Mr. Muir, at a moment like this.”

  “Why no look—plenty loop-hole—made purpose.”

  Mabel took the hint, and going to one of the downward loops, that had been cut through the logs, in the part that overhung the basement, she cautiously raised the little block that ordinarily filled the small hole, and caught a glance at what was passing at the door. The start and changing countenance told her companion that some of her own people were below.

  “Red men,” said June, lifting a finger in admonition to be prudent.

  “Four, and horrible in their paint and bloody trophies. Arrowhead is among them.”

  June had moved to a corner, where several spare rifles were deposited, and had already taken one into her hand, when the name of her husband appeared to arrest her movements. It was but for an instant, however, for she immediately went to the loop, and was about to thrust the muzzle of the piece through it, when a feeling of natural aversion, induced Mabel to seize her arm.

  “No—no—no—June,” said the latter—“not against your own husband, though my life be the penalty.”

  “No hurt Arrowhead—” returned June, with a slight shudder—“no hurt red man at all. No fire at ’em;—only scare.”

  Mabel now comprehended the intention of June, and no longer opposed it. The latter thrust the muzzle of the rifle through the loop-hole, and taking care to make noise enough to attract attention, she pulled the trigger. The piece had no sooner been discharged than Mabel reproached her friend, for the very act that was intended to serve her.

  “You declared it was not your intention to fire,” she said, “and you may have destroyed your own husband.”

  “All run away, before I fire—” returned June laughing, and going to another loop to watch the movements of her friends, laughing still heartier.—“See—get cover—every warrior. Think Salt-water and Quarter Master here. Take good care, now.”

  “Heaven be praised! And now, June, I may hope for a little time to compose my thoughts to prayer, that I may not die like Jennie, thinking only of life and the things of the world!”

  June laid aside the rifle, and came and seated herself near the box on which Mabel had sunk, under that physical reaction which accompanies joy as well as sorrow. She looked steadily in our heroine’s face, and the latter thought that her countenance had an expression of severity mingled with its concern.

  “Arrowhead great warrior—” said the Tuscarora’s wife— “All the gals of tribe, look at him much. The pale face beauty has eyes, too.”

  “June!—What do these words—that look imply—what would you say?”

  “Why you so ’fraid June shoot Arrowhead?”


  “Would it not have been horrible, to see a wife destroy her own husband! No, June; rather would I have died myself.”

  “Very sure, dat all?”

  “That was all, June, as God is my judge—and surely that was enough. No—no—there have been sufficient horrors today, without increasing them by an act like this. What other motive can you suspect?”

  “Do’n’t know. Poor Tuscarora gal, very foolish. Arrowhead great chief, and look all round him. Talk of pale face beauty in his sleep—Great chief like many wives.”

  “Can a chief possess more than one wife, June, among your people?”

  “Have as many as he can keep—Great hunter marry often. Arrowhead got only June now, but he look too much, see too much—talk too much of Pale Face gal!”

  Mabel was conscious of this fact, which had distressed her not a little, in the course of their journey; but it shocked her to hear this allusion, coming, as it did, from the mouth of the wife herself. She knew that habit and opinions made great differences in such matters, but, in addition to the pain and mortification she experienced at being the unwilling rival of a wife, she felt an apprehension that jealousy would be but an equivocal guarantee for her personal safety, in her present situation. A closer look at June, however, reassured her, for while it was easy to trace in the unpractised features of this unsophisticated being, the pain of blighted affections, no distrust could have tortured the earnest expression of her honest countenance, into that of treachery or hate.

  “You will not betray me, June,” Mabel said, pressing the other’s hand, and yielding to an impulse of generous confidence. “You will not give up one of your own sex, to the tomahawk?”

  “No tomahawk touch you. Arrowhead no let ’em. If June must have sister-wife—love to have you.”

  “No, June; my religion, my feelings, both forbid it; and, if I could be the wife of an Indian, at all, I would never take the place that is yours, in a wigwam.”

  June made no answer, but she looked gratified, and even grateful. She knew that few, perhaps no Indian girl, within the circle of Arrowhead’s acquaintance, could compare with herself, in personal attractions, and though it might suit her husband to marry a dozen wives, she knew of no one, beside Mabel, whose influence she could really dread. So keen an interest, however, had she taken in the beauty, winning manners, kindness, and feminine gentleness of our heroine, that when jealousy came to chill these feelings, it had rather lent strength to that interest, and, under its wayward influence, had actually been one of the strongest of the incentives that had induced her to risk so much, in order to save her imaginary rival from the consequences of the attack that she so well knew was about to take place. In a word, June, with a wife’s keenness of perception, had detected Arrowhead’s admiration of Mabel, and instead of feeling that harrowing jealousy, that might have rendered her rival hateful, as would have been apt to be the case with a woman unaccustomed to defer to the superior rights of the lordly sex, she had studied the looks and character of the pale face beauty, until, meeting with nothing to repel her own feelings, but every thing to encourage them, she had got to entertain an admiration and love for her, which, though certainly very different, was scarcely less strong than that of her husband. Arrowhead himself had sent her to warn Mabel of the coming danger, though he was ignorant that she had stolen upon the island, in the rear of the assailants, and was now entrenched in the citadel along with the object of their joint care. On the contrary, he supposed, as his wife had said, that Cap and Muir were in the block-house with Mabel, and that the attempt to repel him and his companions had been made by the men.

  “June sorry, the ‘Lily,’ ” for so the Indian, in her poetical language had named our heroine, “June sorry, the Lily no marry Arrowhead. His wigwam big, and a great chief must get wives enough to fill it.”

  “I thank you, June, for this preference, which is not according to the notions of us white women,” returned Mabel, smiling in spite of the fearful situation in which she was placed; “but I may not, probably never shall marry at all.”

  “Must have good husband—” said June; “marry Eau douce, if do’n’t like Arrowhead.”

  “June!—this is not a fit subject for a girl who scarce knows if she is to live another hour, or not. I would obtain some signs of my dear uncle’s being alive and safe, if possible.”

  “June go see.”

  “Can you?—will you?—would it be safe for you to be seen on the island—Is your presence known to the warriors, and would they be pleased to find a woman on the war-path, with them?”

  All this Mabel asked in rapid connection, fearing that the answer might not be as she wished. She had thought it extraordinary that June should be of the party, and, improbable as it seemed, she had fancied that the woman had covertly followed the Iroquois in her own canoe, and had got in their advance merely to give her the notice which had probably saved her life. But in all this she was mistaken, as June, in her imperfect manner, now found means to let her know.

  Arrowhead, though a chief, was in disgrace with his own people, and was acting with the Iroquois, temporarily, though with a perfect understanding. He had a wigwam it is true, but was seldom in it; feigning friendship for the English, he had passed the summer ostensibly in their service, while he was in truth acting for the French, and his wife journeyed with him in his many migrations, most of the distances being passed over in canoes. In a word her presence was no secret, her husband seldom moving without her. Enough of this to embolden Mabel to wish that her friend might go out, to ascertain the fate of her uncle, did June succeed in letting the other know, and it was soon settled between them, that the Indian woman should quit the block house with that object, the moment a favorable opportunity offered.

  They first examined the island, as thoroughly as their position would allow, from the different loops, and found that its conquerors were preparing for a feast, having seized upon the provisions of the English, and rifled the huts. Most of the stores were in the block-house, but enough were found outside to reward the Indians for an attack attended by so little risk. A party had already removed the dead bodies, and Mabel saw that their arms were collected in a pile, near the spot chosen for the banquet. June suggested that, by some signs she understood, the dead themselves were carried into a thicket, and either buried, or concealed from view. None of the more prominent objects on the island, however, were disturbed, it being the desire of the conquerors to lure the party of the Serjeant into an ambush, on its return. June made her companion observe a man in a tree, a look-out, as she said, to give timely notice of the approach of any boat, although the departure of the expedition being so recent, nothing but some unexpected event would be likely to bring it back so soon. There did not appear to be any design to attack the block-house immediately, but every indication, as understood by June, rather showed that it was the intention of the Indians to keep it besieged until the return of the Serjeant’s party, lest the signs of an assault should give a warning to eyes as practised as those of Pathfinder. The boat, however, had been secured, and was removed to the spot where the canoes of the Indians were hid in the bushes.

  June now announced her intention of joining her friends, the moment being particularly favorable for her to quit the block-house. Mabel felt some distrust as they descended the ladder, but, at the next instant, she was ashamed of the feeling as unjust to her companion, and unworthy of herself, and by the time they both stood on the ground, her confidence was restored. The process of unbarring the door was conducted with the utmost caution, and when the last bar was ready to be turned, June took her station near the spot where the opening must necessarily be. The bar was just turned free of the brackets, the door was opened merely wide enough to allow her body to pass, and June glided through the space. Mabel closed the door again, with a convulsive movement, and as the bar turned into its place, her heart beat audibly. She then felt secure, and the two other bars were turned down in a more deliberate manner. When all were fast again,
she ascended to the first floor, where, alone, she could get a glimpse of what was going on without.

  Long and painfully melancholy hours passed, during which Mabel had no intelligence from June. She heard the yells of the savages, for liquor had carried them beyond the bounds of precaution, occasionally caught glimpses of their mad orgies through the loops, and at all times was conscious of their fearful presence, by sounds and sights that would have chilled the blood of one who had not so lately witnessed scenes so much more terrible. Towards the middle of the day, she fancied she saw a white man on the island, though his dress and wild appearance at first made her take him for a newly arrived savage. A view of his face, although it was swarthy naturally, and much darkened by exposure, left no doubt that her conjecture was true, and she felt as if there was now one of a species more like her own present, and one to whom she might appeal for succor, in the last emergency. Mabel little knew, alas! how small was the influence exercised by the whites over their savage allies, when the latter had begun to taste of blood, or how slight, indeed, was the disposition to divert them from their cruelties.