“I hope so, my friend—I’ve tried to do my duty.”
“Ay—ay—” put in Cap; “intention is half the battle, and though you would have done better had you hove-to in the offing, and sent a craft in to feel how the land lay, things might have turned out differently, no one, here, doubts that you meant all for the best, and, no one anywhere else, I should think, from what I’ve seen of this world, and read of t’other.”
“I did—yes—I meant all for the best.”
“Father!—Oh! my beloved father!”
“Magnet is taken aback by this blow, Master Pathfinder, and can say, or do, but little to carry her father over the shoals, so we must try all the harder to serve him a friendly turn ourselves.”
“Did you speak, Mabel?” Dunham asked, turning his eyes in the direction of his daughter, for he was already too feeble to turn his body.
“Yes, Father; rely on nothing you have done yourself for mercy and salvation; trust altogether in the blessed mediation of the son of God!”
“The chaplain has told us something like this, brother—the dear child may be right.”
“Ay—ay—that’s doctrine, out of doubt. He will be our judge, and keeps the log-book of our acts, and will foot them all up, at the last day, and then say who has done well, and who has done ill. I do believe Mabel is right, but then you need not be concerned, as no doubt the account has been fairly kept.”
“Uncle!—Dearest Father!—This is a vain illusion—Oh! Place all your trust in the mediation of our holy redeemer! Have you not often felt your own insufficiency to effect your own wishes in the commonest things, and how can you imagine yourself, by your own acts, equal to raising a frail and sinful nature sufficiently to be received into the presence of perfect purity? There is no hope for any, but in the mediation of Christ!”
“This is what the Moravians used to tell us,” said Pathfinder to Cap, in a low voice; “Mabel is right.”
“Right enough, friend Pathfinder, in the distances, but wrong in the course. I’m afraid the child will get the serjeant adrift, at the very moment when we had him in the best of the water, and in the plainest part of the channel.”
“Leave it to Mabel—leave it to Mabel. She knows better than any of us, and can do no harm.”
“I have heard this before—” Dunham at length replied—“Ah! Mabel; it is strange for the parent to lean on the child, at a moment like this!”
“Put your trust in God, father—lean on his holy and compassionate son. Pray, dearest, dearest, father—pray for his omnipotent support.”
“I am not used to prayer—brother—Pathfinder—Jasper—can you help me to words?”
Cap scarce knew what prayer meant, and he had no answer to give. Pathfinder prayed often, daily if not hourly—but it was mentally, in his own simple modes of thinking, and without the aid of words at all. In this strait, therefore, he was as useless as the mariner, and had no reply to make. As for Jasper Eau douce, though he would gladly have endeavored to move a mountain, to relieve Mabel, this was asking assistance it exceeded his power to give, and he shrunk back with the shame, that is only too apt to overcome the young and vigorous, when called on to perform an act that tacitly confesses their real weakness and dependence on a superior power.
“Father—” said Mabel, wiping her eyes, and endeavoring to compose features that were pallid, and actually quivering with emotion—“I will pray with you—for you—for myself, for us all. The petition of the feeblest and humblest is never unheeded.”
There was something sublime, as well as much that was supremely touching in this act of filial piety. The quiet, but earnest manner in which this young creature prepared herself to perform this duty, the self-abandonment with which she forgot her sex’s timidity and sex’s shame, in order to sustain her parent at that trying moment, the loftiness of purpose with which she directed all her powers to the immense object before her, with a woman’s devotion, and a woman’s superiority to trifles, when her affections make the appeals, and the holy calm into which her grief was compressed, rendered her, for the moment, an object of something very like awe and veneration to her companions.
Mabel had been religiously and reasonably educated; equally without exaggeration and without self-sufficiency. Her reliance on God, was cheerful and full of hope, while it was of the humblest and most dependant nature. She had been accustomed from childhood, to address herself to the Deity, in prayer;—taking example from the divine mandate of Christ himself, who commanded his followers to abstain from ‘vain repetitions’ and who has left behind him a petition that is unequalled for sublimity and sententiousness, as if expressly to rebuke the disposition of man to set up his own loose and random thoughts as the most acceptable sacrifice. The sect in which she had been reared, has furnished to its followers some of the most beautiful compositions of the language, as a suitable vehicle for its adoration and solicitations. Accustomed to this mode of public and even private prayer, the mind of our heroine had naturally fallen into its train of lofty thought, her taste had become improved by its study, and her language elevated and enriched by its phrases. In short, Mabel, in this respect, was an instance of the influence of familiarity with propriety of thought, fitness of language, and decorum of manner, on the habits and expressions of even those who might be supposed not to be always so susceptible of receiving high impressions of this nature. When she kneeled at the bedside of her father, the very reverence of her attitude and manner, prepared the spectators for what was to come, and as her affectionate heart prompted her tongue, and memory came in aid of both, the petition and praises that she offered up, were of a character that might have worthily led the spirits of any. Although the words were not slavishly borrowed, the expressions partook of the simple dignity of the liturgy to which she had been accustomed, and were probably as worthy of the being to whom they were addressed as they could well be made by human powers. They produced their full impression on the hearers, for it is worthy of remark that, notwithstanding the pernicious effects of a false taste when long submitted to, real sublimity and beauty are so closely allied to nature, that they generally find an echo in every heart.
But when our heroine came to touch upon the situation of the dying man, she became the most truly persuasive, for then she was the most truly zealous and natural. The beauty of the language was preserved, but it was sustained by the simple power of love, and her words were warmed by a holy zeal that approached to the grandeur of true eloquence. We might record some of her expressions, but doubt the propriety of subjecting such sacred themes to a too familiar analysis, and refrain.
The effect of this singular but solemn scene, was different on the different individuals present. Dunham himself, was soon lost in the subject of the prayer, and he felt some such relief as one who finds himself staggering on the edge of a precipice, under a burthen difficult to be borne, might be supposed to experience, when he unexpectedly feels the weight removed, in order to be placed on the shoulders of another, better able to sustain it. Cap was surprised, as well as awed, though the effects on his mind were not very deep, or very lasting. He wondered a little at his own sensations, and had his doubts whether they were as manly and heroic as they ought to be, but he was far too sensible of the influence of truth, humility, religious submission and human dependency, to think of interposing with any of his crude objections. Jasper knelt opposite to Mabel, covered his face, and followed her words, with an earnest wish to aid her prayer with his own, though it may be questioned if his thoughts did not dwell quite as much on the soft, gentle accents of the petitioner, as on the subject of her petitions.
The effect on Pathfinder was striking and visible; visible because he stood erect, also opposite to Mabel, and the workings of his countenance, as usual, betrayed the workings of the spirit within. He leaned on his rifle, and, at moments, the sinewy fingers grasped the barrel, with a force that seemed to compress the weapon, while, once or twice, as Mabel’s language rose, in intimate association with her thoughts,
he lifted his eyes to the floor above him, as if he expected to find some visible evidence of the presence of the dread being, to whom the words were addressed. Then again, his feelings reverted to the fair creature who was thus pouring out her spirit in fervent but calm petitions in behalf of a dying parent; for Mabel’s cheek was no longer pallid, but was flushed with a holy enthusiasm, while her blue eyes were upturned in the light, in a way to resemble a picture by Guido. At these moments, all the honest and manly attachment of Pathfinder, glowed in his ingenuous features, and his gaze at our heroine was such as the fondest parent might fasten on the child of his love.
Serjeant Dunham laid his hand feebly, on the head of Mabel, as she ceased praying, and buried her face in his blanket.
“Bless you—my beloved child—bless you—” he rather whispered than uttered aloud—“this is truly consolation—Would that I, too, could pray!”
“Father, you know the Lord’s prayer—you taught it to me yourself, while I was yet an infant.”
The serjeant’s face gleamed with a smile, for he did remember to have discharged that portion at least, of the paternal duty, and the consciousness of it gave him inconceivable gratification at that solemn moment. He was then silent for several minutes, and all present believed that he was communing with God.
“Mabel—my child—” he at length uttered, in a voice that seemed to be reviving—“Mabel—I’m quitting you—” The spirit, at its great and final passage, appears ever to consider the body as nothing—“I’m quitting you, my child—where is your hand?”
“Here, dearest Father—here are both—oh! take both.”
“Pathfinder—” added the serjeant, feeling on the opposite side of the bed, where Jasper still knelt, getting one of the hands of the young man, by mistake—“Take it—I leave you as her father—as you and she may please—bless you—bless you, both—”
At that awful instant no one would rudely apprise the serjeant of his mistake, and he died a minute or two later, holding Jasper’s and Mabel’s hands covered by both his own. Our heroine was ignorant of the fact, until an exclamation of Cap’s announced the death of her father, when raising her face, she saw the eyes of Jasper riveted on her own, and felt the warm pressure of his hand. But a single feeling was predominant, at that instant, and Mabel withdrew to weep, scarcely conscious of what had occurred. The Pathfinder took the arm of Eau douce, and left the block.
The two friends walked in silence past the fire, along the glade, and nearly reached the opposite shore of the island, in profound silence. Here they stopped, and Pathfinder spoke.
“’Tis all over, Jasper,” he said; “’tis all over. Ah’s, me! Poor Sarjeant Dunham has finished his march, and that, too, by the hand of a venomous Mingo. Well, we never know what is to happen, and his luck may be your’n, or mine, tomorrow, or next day!”
“And, Mabel?—What is to become of Mabel, Pathfinder?”
“You heard the sarjeant’s dying words—he left his child in my care, Jasper, and it is a most solemn trust, it is; yes, it is a most solemn trust!”
“It’s a trust, Pathfinder, of which any man would be glad to relieve you—” returned the youth with a bitter smile.
“I’ve often thought it has fallen into wrong hands. I’m not consaited, Jasper; I’m not consaited, I do think I’m not; but if Mabel Dunham is willing to overlook all my imperfections and ignorances like, I should be wrong to gainsay it, on account of any sartainty I may have myself about my own want of merit.”
“No one will blame you, Pathfinder, for marrying Mabel Dunham, any more than they will blame you for wearing a precious jewel in your bosom, that a friend had fairly given you.”
“Do you think they’ll blame Mabel, lad?—I’ve had my misgivings about that, too; for all persons may not be as disposed to look at me with the same eyes as you, and the sarjeant’s daughter—” Jasper Eau douce started, as a man flinches at sudden bodily pain, but he otherwise maintained his self-command—“and mankind is envious and ill-natured, more particularly in and about the garrisons. I sometimes wish, Jasper, that Mabel could have taken a fancy to you, I do; and that you had taken a fancy to her, for, it often seems to me that one like you, after all, might make her happier, than I ever can!”
“We will not talk about this, Pathfinder—” interrupted Jasper hoarsely, and impatiently—“You will be Mabel’s husband, and it is not right to speak of any one else, in that character. As for me, I shall take Master Cap’s advice, and try and make a man of myself, by seeing what is to be done on the salt-water.”
“You, Jasper Western!—You quit the lakes, the forests, and the lines, and this, too, for the towns and wasty ways of the settlements, and a little difference in the taste of the water. Have’n’t we the salt licks, if salt is necessary to you, and ought n’t man to be satisfied with what contents the other creatur’s of God. I counted on you, Jasper; I counted on you, I did—and thought, now, that Mabel and I intend to dwell in a cabin of our own, that some day you might be tempted to choose a companion too, and come and settle in our neighborhood. There is a beautiful spot, about fifty miles west of the garrison, that I had chosen in my mind, for my own place of abode, and there is an excellent harbor, about ten leagues this side of it, where you could run in and out, with the cutter, at any leisure minute, and I’d even fancied you and your wife in possession of the one place, and Mabel and I in possession of t’other. We should be just a healthy hunt apart, and if the Lord does intend any of his creatur’s to be happy on ’arth, none could be happier than we four!”
“You forget, my friend,” answered Jasper, taking the guide’s hand, and forcing a friendly smile—“that I have no fourth person to love and cherish; and I much doubt if I ever shall love any other, as I love you and Mabel.”
“Thank’ee, boy; I thank you, with all my heart—but what you call love for Mabel, is only friendship like, and a very different thing from what I feel. Now, instead of sleeping, as sound as natur’ at midnight, as I used to could, I dream nightly of Mabel Dunham. The young does sport before me, and when I raise Killdeer, in order to take a little venison, the animals look back, and it seems as if they all had Mabel’s sweet countenance, laughing in my face, and looking as if they said, ‘shoot me, if you dare!’ Then I hear her soft voices calling out among the birds as they sing; and no later than the last nap I took, I bethought me, in fancy, of going over the Niagara, holding Mabel in my arms, rather than part from her. The bitterest moments I’ve ever known, were them in which the devil, or some Mingo conjurer, perhaps, has just put into my head to fancy in dreams that Mabel is lost to me, by some unaccountable calamity; either by changefulness, or by violence.”
“Oh! Pathfinder, if you think this so bitter in a dream, what must it be to one who feels it in reality, and knows it all to be true—true—true. So true, as to leave no hope; to leave nothing but despair!”
These words burst from Jasper, as a fluid pours from the vessel that has been suddenly broken. They were uttered involuntarily, almost unconsciously, but with a truth and feeling that carried with them the instant conviction of their deep sincerity. Pathfinder started, gazed at his friend for quite a minute, like one bewildered, and then it was, that, in despite of all his simplicity, the truth gleamed upon him. All know how corroborating proofs crowd upon the mind, as soon as it catches a direct clue to any hitherto unsuspected fact; how rapidly the thoughts flow, and premises tend to their just conclusions, under such circumstances. Our hero was so confiding by nature, so just, and so much disposed to imagine that all his friends wished him the same happiness as he wished them, that, until this unfortunate moment, a suspicion of Jasper’s attachment for Mabel had never been awakened in his bosom. He was, however, now too experienced in the emotions that characterize the passion, and the burst of feeling in his companion, was too violent and too natural, to leave any further doubt on the subject. The feeling that first followed this change of opinion was one of deep humility and exquisite pain. He bethought him of Jasper’s yo
uth, his higher claims to personal appearance, and all the general probabilities that such a suitor would be more agreeable to Mabel, than he could possibly be, himself. Then the noble rectitude of mind, for which the man was so distinguished, asserted its power. It was sustained by his rebuked manner of thinking of himself, and all that habitual deference for the rights and feelings of others, which appeared to be inbred in his very nature. Taking the arm of Jasper, he led him to a log, where he compelled the young man to seat himself, by a sort of irresistible exercise of his iron muscles, and where he placed himself at his side.
The instant his feelings had found vent, Eau douce was both alarmed at, and ashamed of their violence. He would have given all he possessed on earth, could the last three minutes be recalled, but he was too frank by disposition, and too much accustomed to deal ingenuously by his friend, to think a moment, of attempting further concealment, or of any evasion of the explanation that he knew was about to be demanded. Even while he trembled in anticipation of what was about to follow, he never contemplated equivocation.
“Jasper,” Pathfinder commenced, in a tone so solemn as to thrill on every nerve in his listener’s body, “this has surprised me! You have kinder feelings towards Mabel, than I had thought, and, unless my own mistaken vanity and consait have cruelly deceived me, I pity you, boy, from my soul, I do! Yes, I think, I know how to pity any one, who has set his heart on a creatur’ like Mabel, unless he sees a prospect of her regarding him, as he regards her. This matter must be cleared up, Eau douce, as the Delawares say, until there shall not be a cloud atween us.”
“What clearing up can it want, Pathfinder? I love Mabel Dunham, and Mabel Dunham does not love me—She prefers you for a husband, and the wisest thing I can do, is to go off at once, to the salt-water and, to try to forget you both.”
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 52