Deerslayer (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “Where go?” said a soft female voice, speaking hurriedly, and in concern. “Indian—redman—savage—wicked warrior—thataway.”

  This unexpected salutation alarmed the girl no more than the presence of the fierce inhabitants of the woods. It took her a little by surprise, it is true, but she was in a measure prepared for some such meeting; and the creature who stopped her was a little likely to excite terror as any who ever appeared in the guise of an Indian. It was a girl not much older than herself, whose smile was as sunny as Judith’s in her brightest moments, whose voice was melody itself, and whose accents and manner had all the rebuked gentleness that characterizes the sex among a people who habitually treat their women as the attendants and servitors of the warriors. Beauty among the women of the aboriginal Americans, before they have become exposed to the hardships of wives and mothers, is by no means uncommon. In this particular, the original owners of the country were not unlike their more civilized successors, nature appearing to have bestowed that delicacy of mien and outline that form so great a charm in the youthful female, but of which they are so early deprived; and that too as much by the habits of domestic life as from any other cause.

  The girl who had so suddenly arrested the steps of Hetty was dressed in a calico mantle, that effectually protected all the upper part of her person, while a short petticoat of blue cloth edged with gold lace, that fell no lower than her knees, leggings of the same, and moccasins of deerskin, completed her attire. Her hair fell in long dark braids down her shoulders and back, and was parted above a low smooth forehead, in a way to soften the expression of eyes that were full of archness and natural feeling. Her face was oval, with delicate features; the teeth were even and white, while the mouth expressed a melancholy tenderness, as if it wore this peculiar meaning in intuitive perception of the fate of a being who was doomed from birth to endure a woman’s sufferings, relieved by a woman’s affections. Her voice, as has been already intimated, was soft as the sighing of the night air, a characteristic of the females of her race, but which was so conspicuous in herself as to have procured for her the name of Wah-ta-Wah; which rendered into English, means Hist-oh-Hist.

  In a word, this was the betrothed of Chingachgook; who, having succeeded in lulling their suspicions, was permitted to wander around the encampment of her captors. This indulgence was in accordance with the general policy of the redmen, who well knew, moreover, that her trail could have been followed, in the event of flight. It will also be remembered that the Iroquois, or Hurons, as it would be better to call them, were entirely ignorant of the proximity of her lover; a fact, indeed, that she did not know herself

  It is not easy to say which manifested the most self-possession at this unexpected meeting; the paleface or the red girl. But though a little surprised, Wah-ta-Wah was the most willing to speak, and far the readier in foreseeing consequences, as well as in devising means to avert them. Her father, during her childhood, had been much employed as a warrior by the authorities of the colony; and dwelling for several years near the forts, she had caught a knowledge of the English tongue, which she spoke in the usual abbreviated manner of an Indian, but fluently, and without any of the ordinary reluctance of her people.

  “Where go?” repeated Wah-ta-Wah, returning the smile of Hetty, in her own gentle, winning manner; “wicked warrior thataway—good warrior far off.”

  “What’s your name?” asked Hetty, with the simplicity of a child.

  “Wah-ta-Wah. I no Mingo—good Delaware—Yengeese friend. Mingo cruel, and love scalp for blood—Delaware love him for honor. Come here, where no eyes.”

  Wah-ta-Wah now led her companion towards the lake, descending the bank so as to place its overhanging trees and bushes between them and any probable observers; nor did she stop until they were both seated, side by side, on a fallen log, one end of which actually lay buried in the water.

  “Why you come for?” the young Indian eagerly inquired: “where you come from?”

  Hetty told her tale in her own simple and truth-loving manner. She explained the situation of her father, and stated her desire to serve him, and, if possible, to procure his release.

  “Why your father come to Mingo camp in night?” asked the Indian girl, with a directness, which, if not borrowed from the other, partook largely of its sincerity. “He know it wartime, and he no boy—he no want beard—no want to be told Iroquois carry tomahawk, and knife, and rifle. Why he come night time, seize me by hair, and try to scalp Delaware girl?”

  “You!” said Hetty, almost sickening with horror; “did he seize you—did he try to scalp you?”

  “Why no? Delaware scalp sell for much as Mingo scalp. Governor no tell difference. Wicked t’ing for paleface to scalp. No his gifts, as the good Deerslayer alway tell me.”

  “And do you know the Deerslayer?” said Hetty, coloring with delight and surprise, forgetting her regrets at the moment, in the influence of this new feeling. “I know him too. He is now in the ark, with Judith, and a Delaware who is called the Big Serpent. A bold and handsome warrior is this Serpent, too!”

  Spite of the rich deep color that nature had bestowed on the Indian beauty, the tell-tale blood deepened on her cheeks, until the blush gave new animation and intelligence to her jet-black eyes. Raising a finger in an attitude of warning, she dropped her voice, already so soft and sweet, nearly to a whisper, as she continued the discourse.

  “Chingachgook! ” returned the Delaware girl, sighing out the harsh name, in sounds so softly guttural as to cause it to reach the ear in melody. “His father, Uncas—great chief of the Mahicanni—next to old Tamenund! More as warrior, not so much gray hair, and less at council-fire. You know Serpent?”

  “He joined us last evening, and was in the ark with me for two or three hours before I left it. I’m afraid, Hist”—Hetty could not pronounce the Indian name of her new friend, but having heard Deerslayer give her this familiar appellation, she used it without any of the ceremony of civilized life—“I’m afraid, Hist, he has come after scalps as well as my poor father and Hurry Harry!”

  “Why he shouldn’t, ha? Chingachgook red warrior, very red—scalp make his honor—be sure he take him.”

  “Then,” said Hetty, earnestly, “he will be as wicked as any other. God will not pardon in a redman what he will not pardon in a white man.

  “No true,” returned the Delaware girl, with a warmth that nearly amounted to passion; “no true, I tell you! The Manitou smile and please when he see young warrior come back from the warpath, with two, ten, hundred scalp on a pole! Chingachgook father take scalp, grandfather take scalp—all old chief take scalp; and Chingachgook take as many scalp as he can carry, himself!”

  “Then, Hist, his sleep of nights must be terrible to think of! No one can be cruel and hope to be forgiven.”

  “No cruel—plenty forgiven,” returned Wah-ta-Wah, stamping her little foot on the stony strand, and shaking her head in a way to show how completely feminine feeling, in one of its aspects, had got the better of feminine feeling in another. “I tell you, Serpent brave; he go home this time with four, yes, two scalp.”

  “And is that his errand here? Did he really come all this distance, across mountains and valleys, rivers and lakes, to torment his fellow creatures, and do so wicked a thing?”

  This question at once appeased the growing ire of the half offended Indian beauty. It completely got the better of the prejudices of education, and turned all her thoughts to a gentler and more feminine channel. At first, she looked around her suspiciously, as if distrusting eavesdroppers; then she gazed wistfully into the face of her attentive companion; after which this exhibition of girlish coquetry and womanly feeling terminated by her covering her face with both her hands, and laughing in a strain that might well be termed the melody of the woods. Dread of discovery, however, soon put a stop to this naïve exhibition of feeling, and removing her hands, this creature of impulses gazed again wistfully into the face of her companion, as if inquiring how far she might trust a
stranger with her secret. Although Hetty had no claim to her sister’s extraordinary beauty, many thought her countenance the most winning of the two. It expressed all the undisguised sincerity of her character, and it was totally free from any of the unpleasant physical accompaniments that so frequently attend mental imbecility It is true that one accustomed to closer observation than common might have detected the proofs of her feebleness of intellect in the language of her sometimes vacant eyes; but they were signs that attracted sympathy by their total want of guile, rather than by any other feeling. The effect on Hist, to use the English and more familiar translation of the name, was favorable; and yielding to an impulse of tenderness she threw her arms around Hetty, and embraced her with an outpouring emotion so natural that it was only equaled by its warmth.

  “You good,” whispered the young Indian; “you good, I know; it’s so long since Wah-ta-Wah have a friend—a sister—anybody to speak her heart to! you Hist friend; don’t I say trut’?”

  “I never had a friend,” answered Hetty, returning the warm embrace with unfeigned earnestness; “I’ve a sister, but no friend. Judith loves me, and I love Judith; but that’s natural, and as we are taught in the Bible; but I should like to have a friend! I’ll be your friend, with all my heart; for I like your voice, and your smile, and your way of thinking in everything except about the scalps—”

  “No t’ink more of him—no say more of scalp,” interrupted Hist, soothingly; “you paleface, I redskin; we bring up different fashion. Deerslayer and Chingachgook great friend, and no the same color; Hist and—What your name, pretty paleface?”

  “I am called Hetty, though when they spell the name in the Bible, they always spell it Esther.”

  “What that make?—no good, no harm. No need to spell name at all. Moravian try to make Wah-ta-Wah spell, but no won’t let him. No good for Delaware girl to know too much—know more than warrior some time; that great shame. My name Wah-ta-Wah—that say Hist in your tongue; you call him, Hist—I call him, Hetty.”

  These preliminaries settled to their mutual satisfaction, the two girls began to discourse of their several hopes and projects. Hetty made her new friend more fully acquainted with her intentions in behalf of her father; and, to one in the least addicted to prying into the affairs of others, Hist would have betrayed her own feelings and expectations in connection with the young warrior of her own tribe. Enough was revealed on both sides, however, to let each party get a tolerable insight into the views of the other, though enough still remained in mental reservation, to give rise to the following questions and answers, with which the interview in effect closed. As the quickest-witted, Hist was the first with her interrogatories. Folding an arm about the waist of Hetty, she bent her head so as to look up playfully into the face of the other; and, laughing, as if her meaning were to be extracted from her looks, she spoke more plainly.

  “Hetty got broder, as well as fader?” she said; “why no talk of broder as well as fader?”

  “I have no brother, Hist. I had one once, they say, but he is dead many a year, and lies buried in the lake by the side of mother.”

  “No got broder—got a young warrior; love him almost as much as fader, eh? Very handsome and brave-looking; fit to be chief if he good as he seem to be.”

  “It’s wicked to love any man as well as I love my father, and so I strive not to do it, Hist,” returned the conscientious Hetty, who knew not how to conceal an emotion by an approach to an untruth as venial as an evasion, though powerfully tempted by female shame to err; “though I sometimes think that wickedness will get the best of me, if Hurry comes so often to the lake. I must tell you the truth, dear Hist, because you ask me; but I should fall down and die in the woods, if he knew it.”

  “Why he no ask you, himself? Brave-looking—why not bold-speaking ? Young warrior ought to ask young girl; no make young girl speak first. Mingo girls too shame for that.”

  This was said indignantly, and with the generous warmth a young female of spirit would be apt to feel at what she deemed an invasion of her sex’s most valued privilege. It had little influence on the simpleminded, but also just-minded Hetty; who, though inherently feminine in all her impulses, was much more alive to the workings of her own heart, than to any of the usages with which convention has protected the sensitiveness of her sex.

  “Ask me what?” the startled girl demanded, with a suddenness that proved how completely her fears had been aroused. “Ask me if I like him as well as I do my own father! O, I hope he will never put such a question to me, for I should have to answer, and that would kill me!”

  “No—no—no kill, quite almost,” returned the other, laughing in spite of herself. “Make blush come—make shame come too; but he no stay great while; then feel happier than ever. Young warrior must tell young girl he want to make wife, else never can live in his wigwam.”

  “Hurry don’t want to marry me—nobody will ever want to marry me, Hist.”

  “How you can know? P‘r’aps everybody want to marry you, and by-and-by tongue say what heart feel. Why nobody want to marry you?”

  “I am not full-witted, they say. Father often tells me this; and so does Judith sometimes, when she is vexed; but I shouldn’t so much mind them as I did mother. She said so once; and then she cried as if her heart would break; and so I know I’m not full-witted.”

  Hist gazed at the gentle, simple girl for quite a minute, without speaking; when the truth appeared to flash all at once on the mind of the young Indian maid. Pity, reverence, and tenderness seemed struggling together in her breast; then, rising suddenly, she indicated a wish to her companion that she would accompany her to the camp, which was situated at no great distance. This unexpected change, from the precaution that Hist had previously manifested a desire to use in order to prevent being seen, to an open exposure of the person of her friend, arose from the perfect conviction that no Indian would harm a being whom the Great Spirit had disarmed, by depriving it of its strongest defense, reason. In this respect, nearly all unsophisticated nations resemble each other; appearing to offer spontaneously, by a feeling creditable to human nature, that protection by their own forbearance which has been withheld by the inscrutable wisdom of Providence. Wah-ta-Wah, indeed, knew that in many tribes the mentally imbecile and the mad were held in a species of religious reverence, receiving from the untutored inhabitants of the forest respect and honors, instead of the contumely and neglect that it is their fortune to meet with among the more pretending and sophisticated.

  Hetty accompanied her new friend without apprehension or reluctance. It was her wish to reach the camp; and, sustained by her motives, she felt no more concern for the consequences than did her companion herself, now the latter was apprised of the character of the protection that the paleface maiden carried with her. Still, as they proceeded slowly along a shore that was tangled with overhanging bushes, Hetty continued the discourse, assuming the office of interrogating, which the other had instantly dropped as soon as she ascertained the character of the mind to which her questions had been addressed.

  “But you are not half-witted,” said Hetty; “and there’s no reason why the Serpent should not marry you.”

  “Hist prisoner, and Mingo got big ear. No speak of Chingachgook when they by. Promise Hist that, good Hetty”

  “I know—I know,” returned Hetty, half whispering in her eagerness to let the other see she understood the necessity of caution. “I know—Deerslayer and the Serpent mean to get you away from the Iroquois; and you wish me not to tell the secret.”

  “How you know?” said Hist, hastily, vexed at the moment that the other was not even more feebleminded than was actually the case. “How you know? Better not talk of any but fader and Hurry; Mingo understand dat; he no understand t’udder. Promise you no talk about what you no understand.”

  “But I do understand this, Hist; and so I must talk about it. Deerslayer as good as told father all about it, in my presence; and as nobody told me not to listen, I overheard it all
, as I did Hurry and father’s discourse about the scalps.”

  “Very bad for paleface to talk about scalps, and very bad for young woman to hear! Now you love Hist, I know, Hetty, and so, among Injins, when love hardest never talk most.”

  “That’s not the way among white people, who talk most about them they love best. I suppose it’s because I’m only half-witted that I don’t see the reason why it should be so different among red people.”

  “That what Deerslayer call gift. One gift to talk, t’udder gift to hold tongue. Hold tongue your gift, among Mingos. If Serpent want to see Hist, so Hetty want to see Hurry Good girl never tell secret of friend.”

  Hetty understood this appeal; and she promised the Delaware girl not to make any allusion to the presence of Chingachgook, or to the motive of his visit to the lake.

  “Maybe he get off Hurry and fader, as well as Hist, if let him have his way,” whispered Wah-ta-Wah to her companion, in a confiding, flattering way, just as they got near enough to the encampment to hear the voices of several of their own sex, who were apparently occupied in the usual toils of women of their class. “T’ink of dat, Hetty, and put two, twenty finger on mouth. No get friends free without Serpent do it.”

  A better expedient could not have been adopted to secure the silence and discretion of Hetty, than that which was now presented to her mind. As the liberation of her father and the young frontierman was the great object of her adventure, she felt the connection between it and the services of the Delaware; and with an innocent laugh, she nodded her head, and in the same suppressed manner promised a due attention to the wishes of her friend. Thus assured, Hist tarried no longer, but immediately and openly led the way into the encampment of her captors.

  CHAPTER XI

  “The great King of kings

  Hath in the table of his law commanded,