The Leatherstocking Tales II

by James Fenimore Cooper

  The day seemed a month by Mabel’s computation, and the only part of it that did not drag, were the minutes spent in prayer. She had recourse to this relief, from time to time, and at each effort she found her spirit firmer, her mind more tranquil, and her tendency to resignation more confirmed. She understood the reasoning of June, and believed it highly probable, that the block-house would be left unmolested, until the return of her father, in order to entice him into an ambuscade, and she felt much less apprehension of immediate danger in consequence; but the future offered little grounds of hope, and her thoughts had already begun to calculate the chances of her captivity. At such moments, Arrowhead and his offensive admiration, filled a prominent part in the background, for our heroine well knew that the Indians usually carried off to their villages, for the purposes of adoption, such captives as they did not slay, and that many instances had occurred, in which individuals of her sex had passed the remainder of their lives in the wigwams of their conquerors. Such thoughts as these, invariably drove her to her knees, and to her prayers.

  While the light lasted, the situation of our heroine was sufficiently alarming, but as the shades of evening gradually gathered over the island, it became fearfully appalling. By this time, the savages had wrought themselves up to the point of fury, for they had possessed themselves of all the liquor of the English, and their outcries and gesticulations were those of men truly possessed of evil spirits. All the efforts of their French leader to restrain them, were entirely fruitless, and he had wisely withdrawn to an adjacent island, where he had a sort of bivouac, that he might keep at a safe distance from friends so apt to run into excesses. Before quitting the spot, however, this officer, at great risk to his own life, succeeded in extinguishing the fire, and in securing the ordinary means to relight it. This precaution he took, lest the Indians should burn the block-house, the preservation of which was necessary to the success of his future plans. He would gladly have removed all the arms, also, but this he found impracticable, the warriors clinging to their knives and tomahawks with the tenacity of men who regarded a point of honor, as long as a faculty was left, and to carry off the rifles, and leave behind him the very weapons that were generally used on such occasions, would have been an idle expedient. The extinguishing of the fire, proved to be the most prudent measure, for no sooner was the officer’s back turned, than one of the warriors, in fact, proposed to fire the block-house. Arrowhead had also withdrawn from the group of drunkards, as soon as he found that they were losing their senses, and had taken possession of a hut, where he had thrown himself on the straw, and sought the rest that two wakeful and watchful nights rendered necessary. It followed that no one was left among the Indians to care for Mabel, if indeed any knew of her existence at all, and the proposal of the drunkard was received with yells of delight by eight or ten more, as much intoxicated and habitually as brutal as himself.

  This was the fearful moment for Mabel. The Indians, in their present condition, were reckless of any rifles that the block-house might hold, though they did retain dim recollections of its containing living beings, an additional incentive to their enterprise, and they approached its base whooping and leaping like demons. As yet they were excited, not overcome by the liquor they had drunk. The first attempt was made at the door, against which they ran in a body, but the solid structure, which was built entirely of logs, defied their efforts. The rush of a hundred men, with the same object, would have been useless. This Mabel, however, did not know, and her heart seemed to leap into her mouth, as she heard the heavy shock, at each renewed effort. At length, when she found that the door resisted these assaults as if it were of stone, neither trembling, nor yielding, and only betraying its not being a part of the wall, by rattling a little on its heavy hinges, her courage revived, and she seized the first moment of a cessation, to look down through the loop, in order, if possible, to learn the extent of her danger. A silence, for which it was not easy to account, stimulated her curiosity, for nothing is so alarming to those who are conscious of the presence of imminent danger, as to be unable to trace its approach.

  Mabel found that two or three of the Iroquois had been raking the embers, where they had found a few small coals, and with these they were endeavoring to light a fire. The interest with which they labored, the hope of destroying, and the force of habit enabled them to act intelligently and in unison, so long as their fell object was kept in view. A white man would have abandoned the attempt to light a fire in despair, with coals that came out of the ashes resembling sparks, but these children of the forests had many expedients that were unknown to civilization. By the aid of a few dry leaves, which they alone knew where to seek, a blaze was finally kindled, and then the addition of a few light sticks made sure of the advantage that had been obtained. When Mabel stooped down over the loop, the Indians were making a pile of brush against the door, and as she remained gazing at their proceedings, she saw the twigs ignite, the flame dart from branch to branch, until the whole pile was cracking and snapping under a bright blaze. The Indians now gave a yell of triumph and returned to their companions, well assured that the work of destruction was commenced. Mabel remained looking down, scarcely able to tear herself away from the spot, so intense and engrossing was the interest she felt in the progress of the fire. As the pile kindled throughout, however, the flames mounted, until they flashed so near her eyes, as to compel her to retreat. Just as she reached the opposite side of the room, to which she had retired in her alarm, a forked stream shot up through the loop-hole, the lid of which she had left open, and illuminated the rude apartment, with Mabel and her desolation. Our heroine now naturally enough supposed that her hour was come, for the door, the only means of retreat, had been blocked up by the brush and fire, with hellish ingenuity, and she addressed herself, as she believed for the last time, to her maker, in prayer. Her eyes were closed, and for more than a minute her spirit was abstracted, but the interests of the world too strongly divided her feelings, to be altogether suppressed, and when they involuntarily opened again, she perceived that the streak of flame was no longer flaring in the room, though the wood around the little aperture had kindled, and the blaze was slowly mounting under the impulsion of a current of air that sucked inward. A barrel of water stood in a corner, and Mabel, acting more by instinct than by reason, caught up a vessel, filled it, and pouring it on the wood, with a trembling hand, succeeded in extinguishing the fire, at that particular spot. The smoke prevented her from looking down again, for a couple of minutes, but when she did, her heart beat high with delight and hope, at finding that the pile of blazing brush had been overturned and scattered, and that water had been thrown on the logs of the door, which were still smoking, though no longer burning.

  “Who is there?” said Mabel, with her mouth at the loop—“What friendly hand has a merciful Providence sent to my succour?”

  A light footstep was audible below, and one of those gentle pushes at the door was heard, which just moved the massive beams on the hinges.

  “Who wishes to enter?—Is it you, dear, dear, uncle?”

  “Salt-water no here—St. Lawrence sweet water—” was the answer. “Open quick—want to come in.”

  The step of Mabel was never lighter, or her movements more quick and natural, than while she was descending the ladder and turning the bars, for all her motions were earnest and active. This time she thought only of her escape, and she opened the door with a rapidity that did not admit of caution. Her first impulse was to rush into the open air, in the blind hope of quitting the block-house, but June repulsed the attempt, and, entering, she coolly barred the door, again, before she would notice Mabel’s eager efforts to embrace her.

  “Bless you—bless you, June,” cried our heroine, most fervently—“you are sent by Providence to be my guardian angel!”

  “No hug so tight—” answered the Tuscarora woman—“Pale face women all cry, or all laugh. Let June fasten door.”

  Mabel became more rational, and in a few minutes the
two were again in the upper room, seated as before, hand in hand, all feeling of distrust, or rivalry between them, being banished on the one side by the consciousness of favors received, and on the other by the consciousness of favors conferred.

  “Now tell me, June,” Mabel commenced, as soon as she had given and received one warm embrace, “have you seen or heard aught of my poor uncle?”

  “Do’n’t know. No one see him; no one hear him; no one know any t’ing. Salt-water run into river, I t’ink, for I no find him. Quarter Master gone, too. I look, and look, and look; but no see ’em, one t’other no where.”

  “Blessed be God! They must have escaped, though the means are not known to us. I thought I saw a Frenchman on the island, June?”

  “Yes—French captain come, but he go away, too. Plenty of Injin, on island.”

  “Oh! June. June, are there no means to prevent my beloved father from falling into the hands of his enemies!”

  “Do’n’t no t’ink dat.—Warriors wait in ambush, and Yengeese must lose scalps.”

  “Surely, surely, June, you, who have done so much for the daughter, will not refuse to help the father!”

  “Do’n’t know fader—do’n’t love fader. June help her own people, help Arrowhead—husband love scalps.”

  “June, this is not yourself! I cannot, will not believe that you wish to see our men murdered!”

  June turned her dark eyes quietly on Mabel, and, for a moment, her look was stern, though it soon changed into one of melancholy compassion.

  “Lily, Yengeese gal?” she said, as one asks a question.

  “Certainly, and as a Yengeese girl, I would save my countrymen from slaughter.”

  “Very good—if can. June no Yengeese; June, Tuscarora—got Tuscarora husband—Tuscarora heart—Tuscarora feelings—all over Tuscarora. Lily would’n’t run and tell French dat her fader was coming to gain victory?”

  “Perhaps not,” returned Mabel, pressing a hand on a brain that felt bewildered,—“perhaps not; but you serve me, aid me—have saved me, June! Why have you done this, if you only feel as a Tuscarora?”

  “Do’n’t only feel as Tuscarora—feel as gal—feel as squaw. Love pretty Lily, and put it in my bosom.”

  Mabel melted into tears, and she pressed the affectionate creature to her heart. It was near a minute before she could renew the discourse, but then she succeeded in speaking more calmly and with greater coherence.

  “Let me know the worst, June;” she said—“To-night, your people are feasting; what do they intend to do tomorrow?”

  “Do’n’t know—afraid to see Arrowhead—afraid to ask questions—t’ink hide away, till Yengeese come back.”

  “Will they not attempt any thing against the block-house?—You have seen what they can threaten if they will?”

  “Too much rum. Arrowhead sleep, or no dare; French captain gone away, or no dare. All go to sleep, now.”

  “And you think I am safe for this night, at least?”

  “Too much rum—If Lily was like June, might do much for her people.”

  “I am like you, June, if a wish to serve my countryman, can make a resemblance with one as courageous as yourself.”

  “No—no—no—” muttered June, in a low voice—“no got heart, and June no let you, if had. June’s moder prisoner once, and warriors got drunk; moder tomahawked ’em all. Such the way red skin women do, when people in danger, and want scalps.”

  “You say what is true,” returned Mabel shuddering, and unconsciously dropping June’s hand—“I cannot do that. I have neither the strength, the courage, nor the will to dip my hands in blood.”

  “T’ink that too; then stay where you be—block-house good—got no scalp.”

  “You believe, then, that I am safe, here, at least, until my father and his people return?”

  “Know so. No one dare touch block-house in morning. Hark! All still, now—drink rum ’till head falls down, and sleep like log.”

  “Might I not escape?—Are there not several canoes on the island?—might I not get one, and go and give my father notice of what has happened?”

  “Know how to paddle?” demanded June, glancing her eye furtively, at her companion.

  “Not as well as yourself, perhaps, but enough to get out of sight before morning.”

  “What do then?—could’n’t paddle six—ten—eight mile!”

  “I do not know! I would do much to warn my father, and the excellent Pathfinder, and all the rest, of the danger they are in.”

  “Like Pathfinder?”

  “All like him who know him—you would like him, nay love him, if you only knew his heart!”

  “No like him, at all. Too good rifle—too good eye—too much shoot Iroquois, and June’s people. Must get his scalp, if can.”

  “And I must save it, if I can, June. In this respect, then, we are opposed to each other. I will go and find a canoe the instant they are all asleep, and quit the island.”

  “No can—June won’t let you. Call Arrowhead.”

  “June! You could not betray me—you would not give me up, after all you have done for me!”

  “Just so—” returned June, making a backward gesture with her hand, and speaking with a warmth and earnestness Mabel had never witnessed in her before. “Call Arrowhead in loud voice. One call from wife, wake a warrior up. June no let Lily help enemy—no let Injin hurt Lily.”

  “I understand you, June, and feel the nature and justice of your sentiments; and, after all, it were better that I should remain here, for I have most probably overrated my strength. But, tell me one thing; if my uncle comes, in the night, and asks to be admitted, you will let me open the door of the block house that he may enter?”

  “Sartain—He prisoner here, and June like prisoner, better than scalp. Scalp good for honor; prisoner good for feeling. But, Salt-Water hide so close, he do’n’t know where he be himself.”

  Here June laughed, in her girlish mirthful way, for to her, scenes of violence were too familiar to leave impressions sufficiently deep, to change her natural character. A long and discursive dialogue now followed, in which Mabel endeavored to obtain clearer notions of her actual situation, under a faint hope that she might possibly be enabled to turn some of the facts she thus learned, to advantage. June answered all her interrogatories simply, but with a caution which showed she fully distinguished between that which was immaterial and that which might endanger the safety, or embarrass the future operations of her friends. Our heroine was incapable of making an attempt to entrap her companion, though she plainly perceived, that, could she have been guilty of the meanness, she would have found the undertaking one of extreme difficulty. June however was not required to exercise more than a discreet discrimination about what she revealed, and the substance of the information she gave, may be summed up as follows.

  Arrowhead had long been in communication with the French, though this was the first occasion on which he had ever entirely thrown aside the mask. He no longer intended to trust himself among the English, for he had discovered traces of distrust, particularly in Pathfinder, and with Indian bravado, he now rather wished to blazon, than to conceal his treachery. He had led the party of warriors, in the attack on the island, subject however to the supervision of the Frenchman who has been mentioned, though June declined saying whether he had been the means of discovering the position of a place that had been thought to be so concealed from the eyes of the enemy, or not. On this point, she would say nothing, but she admitted that she and her husband had been watching the departure of the Scud, at the time they were overtaken and captured by the cutter. The French had obtained their information of the precise position of the station, but very recently, and Mabel felt a pang like that of some sharp instrument piercing her heart, when she thought that there was covert allusion of the Indian woman, which would convey the meaning that the intelligence had come from a pale face, in the employment of Duncan of Lundie. This was intimated, however, rather than said, and when Mabel had time
to reflect on her companion’s words, and to remember how sententious and brief her periods were, she found room to hope that she had misunderstood her, and that Jasper Western would yet come out of the affair freed from every injurious imputation.

  June did not hesitate to confess that she had been sent to the island to ascertain the precise number, and the occupations of those who had been left on it, though she also betrayed in her naïve way, that the wish to serve Mabel, had induced her principally to consent to come. In consequence of her report, and information otherwise obtained, the enemy was aware of precisely the force that could be brought against them. They also knew the number of men that had gone with Serjeant Dunham, and were acquainted with the object he had in view, though they were ignorant of the spot where he expected to meet the French boats. It would have been a pleasant sight to witness the eager desire of each of these two sincere females to ascertain all that might be of consequence to their respective friends, and yet the native delicacy, with which each refrained from pressing the other to make revelations that would have been improper, as well as the sensitive, almost intuitive feeling with which each avoided saying aught that might prove injurious to her own nation. As respects each other, there was perfect confidence; as regarded their respective people, entire fidelity. June was quite as anxious, as Mabel could be on any other point, to know where the Serjeant had gone, and when he was expected to return, but she abstained from putting the question, with a delicacy that would have done honor to the highest civilization; nor did she once frame any other inquiry in a way to lead indirectly to a betrayal of the much desired information, on that particular point; though, when Mabel of her own accord touched on any matter that might, by possibility throw light on the subject, she listened with an intentness that almost suspended respiration.