The Leatherstocking Tales II

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “No—no—that may be red-skin warfare, but it’s not a christian’s gifts. Let the miscreant charge, and then we’ll take it out like men; for the canoe he must not and shall not have. No—no; let him have time to load, and then God will take care of the right!”

  All this time the Indian had been so intent on his own movements, that he was even ignorant that his enemy was in the wood. His only apprehension was that the canoe would be recovered and carried away, before he might be in readiness to prevent it. He had sought the cover from habit, but was within a few feet of the fringe of bushes, and could be at the margin of the forest, in readiness to fire in a moment. The distance between him and his enemy was about fifty yards, and the trees were so arranged by nature that the line of sight was not interrupted, except by the particular tree behind which each party stood.

  His rifle was no sooner loaded, than the savage glanced around him, and advanced, incautiously as regarded the real, but stealthily as respected the fancied position of his enemy, until he was fairly exposed. Then Deerslayer stepped from behind his own cover, and hailed him.

  “This-a-way, red-skin; this-a-way, if you’re looking for me,” he called out. “I’m young in war, but not so young as to stand on an open beach to be shot down like an owl by day-light. It rests on yourself whether it’s peace, or war, atween us, for my gifts are white gifts, and I’m not one of them that thinks it valiant to slay human mortals singly, in the woods.”

  The savage was a good deal startled by this sudden discovery of the danger he run. He had a little knowledge of English, however, and caught the drift of the other’s meaning. He was also too well schooled to betray alarm, but dropping the butt of his rifle to the earth, with an air of confidence, he made a gesture of lofty courtesy. All this was done with the ease and self possession of one accustomed to consider no man his superior. In the midst of this consummate acting, however, the volcano that raged within, caused his eyes to glare, and his nostrils to dilate, like those of some wild beast, that is suddenly prevented from taking the fatal leap.

  “Two canoe,” he said, in the deep guttural tones of his race, holding up the number of fingers he mentioned, by way of preventing mistakes—“one for you—one for me.”

  “No—no—Mingo, that will never do. You own neither; and neither shall you have, as long as I can prevent it. I know it’s war atween your people and mine, but that’s no reason why human mortals should slay each other, like savage creatur’s, that meet in the woods; go your way then, and leave me to go mine. The world is large enough for us both, and when we meet fairly in battle, why the Lord will order the fate of each of us.”

  “Good!” exclaimed the Indian—“My brother, missionary—great talk; all about Manitou.”

  “Not so—not so, warrior. I’m not good enough for the Moravians, and am too good for most of the other vagabonds that preach about in the woods. No—no—I’m only a hunter as yet, though afore the peace is made, ’tis like enough there’ll be occasion to strike a blow at some of your people. Still I wish it to be done in fair fight, and not in a quarrel about the ownership of a miserable canoe.”

  “Good! My brother very young—but, he very wise. Little warrior, great talker. Chief, sometime, in council.”

  “I do’n’t know this, nor do I say it, Injin,” returned Deerslayer, colouring a little at the ill concealed sarcasm of the other’s manner. “I look forward to a life in the woods, and I only hope it may be a peaceable one. All young men must go on the war path when there’s occasion, but war is’n’t needfully massacre. I’ve seen enough of the last, this very night, to know that providence frowns on it, and I now invite you to go your own way, while I go mine; and hope that we may part fri’nds.”

  “Good! My brother has two scalp—gray hair under t’ other. Old wisdom, young tongue.”

  Here the savage advanced with confidence, his hand extended, his face smiling, and his whole bearing denoting amity and respect. Deerslayer met his offered friendship in a proper spirit, and they shook hands cordially, each endeavoring to assure the other of his sincerity and desire to be at peace.

  “All have his own,” said the Indian—“my canoe, mine; your canoe, your’n. Go look; if your’n, you keep; if mine, my keep.”

  “That’s just, red-skin, though you must be wrong in thinking the canoe your property. Howsever, seein’ is believin’, and we’ll go down to the shore, where you may look with your own eyes, for it’s likely you’ll object to trustin’ altogether to mine.”

  The Indian uttered his favorite exclamation of “good!” and then they walked, side by side, towards the shore. There was no apparent distrust in the manner of either, the Indian moving in advance, as if he wished to show his companion that he did not fear turning his back to him. As they reached the open ground, the former pointed towards Deerslayer’s boat, and said emphatically—

  “No mine—Pale face canoe—this red man’s. No want other man’s canoe—want his own.”

  “You’re wrong, red-skin, you’re altogether wrong. This canoe was left in old Hutter’s keeping, and is his’n according to all law, red or white, ’till its owner comes to claim it. Here’s the seats and the stitching of the bark to speak for themselves—no man ever know’d an Injin to turn off such work.”

  “Good—my brother little ole, big wisdom. Injin no make him. White man’s work.”

  “I’m glad you think so, for holding out to the contrary might have made ill blood atween us. Every one having a right to take possession of his own, I’ll just shove the canoe out of reach of dispute, at once, as the quickest way of settling difficulties.”

  While Deerslayer was speaking he put a foot against the end of the light boat, and giving a vigorous shove, he sent it out into the lake, a hundred feet or more, where, taking the true current, it would necessarily float past the point, and be in no further danger of coming ashore. The savage started at this ready and decided expedient, and his companion saw that he cast a hurried and fierce glance at his own canoe, or that which contained the paddles. The change of manner, however, was but momentary, and then the Iroquois resumed his air of friendliness, and a smile of satisfaction.

  “Good,” he repeated with stronger emphasis than ever. “Young head, old mind. Know how to settle quarrel. Farewell, brother. He go to house in water—muskrat house— Injin go to camp; tell chief no find canoe.”

  Deerslayer was not sorry to hear this proposal, for he felt anxious to join the females, and he took the offered hand of the Indian very willingly. The parting words were friendly, and while the red man walked calmly towards the wood, with his rifle in the hollow of his arm, without once looking back in uneasiness or distrust, the white man moved towards the remaining canoe, carrying his piece in the same pacific manner it is true, but keeping his eyes fastened on the movements of the other. This distrust, however, seemed to be altogether uncalled for, and, as if ashamed to have entertained it, the young man averted his look, and stepped carelessly up to his boat. Here he began to push the canoe from the shore, and to make his other preparations for departing. He might have been thus employed a minute, when happening to turn his face towards the land, his quick and certain eye told him at a glance, the imminent jeopardy in which his life was placed. The black, ferocious eyes of the savage were glaring on him, like those of the crouching tiger, through a small opening in the bushes, and the muzzle of his rifle seemed already to be opening in a line with his own body.

  Then, indeed, the long practice of Deerslayer as a hunter, did him good service. Accustomed to fire with the deer on the bound, and often when the precise position of the animal’s body, had in a manner to be guessed at, he used the same expedients here. To cock and poise his rifle were the acts of a single moment, and a single motion; then, aiming almost without sighting, he fired into the bushes where he knew a body ought to be, in order to sustain the appalling countenance which alone was visible. There was not time to raise the piece any higher, or to take a more deliberate aim. So rapid were his movement
s that both parties discharged their pieces at the same instant, the concussions mingling in one report. The mountains, indeed, gave back but a single echo. Deerslayer dropped his piece, and stood, with head erect, steady as one of the pines in the calm of a June morning, watching the result; while the savage gave the yell that has become historical for its appalling influence, leaped through the bushes, and came bounding across the open ground, flourishing a tomahawk. Still, Deerslayer moved not, but stood with his unloaded rifle fallen against his shoulder, while with a hunter’s habits, his hands were mechanically feeling for the powder horn and charger. When about forty feet from his enemy, the savage hurled his keen weapon, but it was with an eye so vacant, and a hand so unsteady and feeble, that the young man caught it by the handle, as it was flying past him. At that instant, the Indian staggered and fell, his whole length on the ground.

  “I know’d it—I knowed it!” exclaimed Deerslayer, who was already preparing to force a fresh bullet into his rifle—“I know’d it must come to this, as soon as I had got the range from the creatur’s eyes. A man sights suddenly, and fires quick, when his own life’s in danger; yes, I know’d it would come to this. I was about the hundredth part of a second too quick for him, or it might have been bad for me! The riptyle’s bullet has just grazed my side, but say what you will, for or ag’in ’em, a red-skin is by no means as sartain with powder and ball, as a white man. Their gifts do’n’t seem to lie that-a-way. Even Chingachgook, great as he is in other matters, is not downright deadly with the rifle.”

  By this time the piece was reloaded, and Deerslayer, after tossing the tomahawk into the canoe, advanced to his victim, and stood over him, leaning on his rifle, in melancholy attention. It was the first instance in which he had seen a man fall in battle, it was the first fellow creature against whom he had ever seriously raised his own hand. The sensations were novel; and regret, with the freshness of our better feelings, mingled with his triumph. The Indian was not dead, though shot directly through the body. He lay on his back motionless, but his eyes, now full of consciousness, watched each action of his victor, as the fallen bird regards the fowler, jealous of every movement. The man probably expected the fatal blow, which was to precede the loss of his scalp; or, perhaps he anticipated that this latter act of cruelty would precede his death. Deerslayer read his thoughts, and he found a melancholy satisfaction in relieving the apprehensions of the helpless savage.

  “No—no—red-skin,” he said. “You’ve nothing more to fear from me. I am of a christian stock, and scalping is not of my gifts—I’ll just make sartain of your rifle, and then come back and do you what sarvice I can. Though here I can’t stay much longer, as the crack of three rifles will be apt to bring more of your devils upon me.”

  The close of this was said in a sort of a soliloquy, as the young man went in quest of the fallen rifle. The piece was found where its owner had dropped it, and was immediately put into the canoe. Laying his own rifle at its side, Deerslayer then returned and stood over the Indian, again.

  “All inmity atween you and me’s at an ind, red-skin,” he said, “and you may set your heart at rest, on the score of the scalp, or any further injury. My gifts are white, as I’ve told you, and I hope my conduct will be white also.”

  Could looks have conveyed all they meant, it is probable Deerslayer’s innocent vanity on the subject of colour, would have been rebuked a little, but he comprehended the gratitude that was expressed in the eyes of the dying savage, without, in the least, detecting the bitter sarcasm that struggled with the better feeling.

  “Water—” ejaculated the thirsty and unfortunate creature—“give poor Injin water—”

  “Ay, water you shall have, if you drink the lake dry. I’ll just carry you down to it, that you may take your fill. This is the way, they tell me, with all wounded people—water is their greatest comfort and delight.”

  So saying, Deerslayer raised the Indian in his arms and carried him to the lake. Here he first helped him to take an attitude in which he could appease his burning thirst; after which he seated himself on a stone, and took the head of his wounded adversary in his own lap, and endeavored to soothe his anguish, in the best manner he could.

  “It would be sinful in me to tell you your time had’n’t come, warrior,” he commenced, “and, therefore, I’ll not say it. You’re passed the middle age, already, and considerin’ the sort of lives ye lead, your days have been pretty well filled. The principal thing now, is to look forward to what comes next. Neither red skin nor pale face, on the whole, calculates much on sleepin’ forever, but both expect to live in another world. Each has his gifts, and will be judged by ’em, and I suppose you’ve thought these matters over enough, not to stand in need of sarmons when the trial comes. You’ll find your happy hunting grounds, if you’ve been a just Injin, and if an onjust, you’ll meet your desarts in another way. I’ve my own idees about these things, but you’re too old and exper’enced to need any explanations from one as young as I.”

  “Good!” ejaculated the Indian, whose voice retained its depth, even as life ebbed away. “Young head—ole wisdom.”

  “It’s sometimes a consolation when the ind comes to know that them we’ve harmed, or tried to harm, forgive us. I suppose natur’ seeks this relief, by way of getting a pardon on ’arth, as we never can know whether He pardons, who is all in all, ’till judgment itself comes. It’s soothing to know that any pardon, at such times, and that I conclude is the secret. Now, as for myself, I overlook altogether your designs ag’in my life; first, because no harm came of ’em; next, because it’s your gifts, and natur’ and trainin’, and I ought not to have trusted you, at all; and, finally and chiefly, because I can bear no ill will to a dying man, whether heathen or christian. So put your heart at ease, so far as I’m consarned; you know best what other matters ought to trouble you, or what ought to give you satisfaction in so trying a moment.”

  It is probable that the Indian had some of the fearful glimpses of the unknown state of being, which God, in mercy, seems, at times, to afford to all the human race, but they were necessarily in conformity with his habits and prejudices. Like most of his people, and like too many of our own, he thought more of dying in a way to gain applause among those he left, than to secure a better state of existence, hereafter. While Deerslayer was speaking, his mind was a little bewildered, though he felt that the intention was good; and when he had done, a regret passed over his spirit that none of his own tribe were present to witness his stoicism, under extreme bodily suffering, and the firmness with which he met his end. With the high, innate courtesy that so often distinguishes the Indian warrior, before he becomes corrupted by too much intercourse with the worst class of the white men, he endeavored to express his thankfulness for the other’s good intentions, and to let him understand that they were appreciated.

  “Good!” he repeated, for this was an English word much used by savages—“good—young head; young heart, too. Old heart tough; no shed tear. Hear Indian when he die, and no want to lie—what he call him?”

  “Deerslayer is the name I bear now, though the Delawares have said that when I get back from this war-path, I shall bear a more manly title, provided I can ’arn one.”

  “That good name for boy—poor name for warrior. Get better quick. No fear there—” the savage had strength sufficient, under the strong excitement he felt, to raise a hand and tap the young man on his breast—“eye, sartain—finger, lightening—aim, death. Great warrior, soon—No Deerslayer—Hawkeye—Hawkeye—Hawkeye—Shake hand.”

  Deerslayer—or Hawkeye as the youth was then first named, for in after years he bore the appellation throughout all that region—Deerslayer took the hand of the savage, whose last breath was drawn in that attitude, gazing in admiration at the countenance of a stranger, who had shewn so much readiness, skill and firmness, in a scene that was equally trying and novel. When the reader remembers it is the highest gratification an Indian can receive to see his enemy betray weakness, he will be b
etter able to appreciate the conduct which had extorted so great a concession, at such a moment.

  “His spirit has fled!” said Deerslayer, in a suppressed, melancholy, voice. “Ah’s, me!—Well, to this we must all come, sooner or later; and he is happiest, let his skin be of what colour it may, who is best fitted to meet it. Here lies the body of, no doubt, a brave warrior, and the soul is already flying towards its heaven, or hell, whether that be a happy hunting ground, or a place scant of game, regions of glory according to Moravian doctrine, or flames of fire! So it happens, too, as regards other matters! Here have old Hutter and Hurry Harry got themselves into difficulty, if they have’n’t got themselves into torment and death, and all for a bounty that luck offers to me in what many would think a lawful and suitable manner. But not a farthing of such money shall cross my hand. White I was born, and white will I die; clinging to colour to the last, even though the King’s Majesty, his governors, and all his councils, both at home and in the colonies, forget from what they come, and where they hope to go, and all for a little advantage in warfare. No—no—warrior; hand of mine shall never molest your scalp, and so your soul may rest in peace on the p’int of making a decent appearance, when the body comes to join it, in your own land of spirits.”

  Deerslayer arose as soon as he had spoken. Then he placed the body of the dead man, in a sitting posture, with its back against the little rock, taking the necessary care to prevent it from falling, or in any way settling into an attitude that might be thought unseemly by the sensitive, though wild, notions of a savage. When this duty was performed, the young man stood gazing at the grim countenance of his fallen foe, in a sort of melancholy abstraction. As was his practice, however, a habit gained by living so much alone in the forest, he then began, to give utterance to his thoughts, and feelings aloud.