"- That point
In misery, which makes the oppressed man
Regardless of his own life, makes him too
Lord of the oppressor's.-"
Coleridge, Remorse, V.i.201-04.
All this time Hetty had remained seated in the head of the scow, looking
sorrowfully into the water which held the body of her mother, as well as that
of the man whom she had been taught to consider her father. Hist stood near
her in gentle quiet, but had no consolation to offer in words. The habits of
her people taught her reserve in this respect, and the habits of her sex
induced her to wait patiently for a moment when she might manifest some
soothing sympathy by means of acts, rather than of speech. Chingachgook held
himself a little aloof, in grave reserve, looking like a warrior, but feeling
like a man.
Judith joined her sister with an air of dignity and solemnity it was not her
practice to show, and, though the gleamings of anguish were still visible on
her beautiful face, when she spoke it was firmly and without tremor. At that
instant Hist and the Delaware withdrew, moving towards Hurry, in the other
end of the boat.
"Sister," said Judith kindly, "I have much to say to you; we will get into
this canoe, and paddle off to a distance from the Ark - The secrets of two
orphans ought not to be heard by every ear.
"Certainly, Judith, by the ears of their parents? Let Hurry lift the grapnel
and move away with the Ark, and leave us here, near the graves of father and
mother, to say what we may have to say. "
"Father!" repeated Judith slowly, the blood for the first time since her
parting with March mounting to her cheeks-"He was no father of ours, Hetty!
That we bad from his own mouth, and in his dying moments."
"Are you glad, Judith, to find you had no father! He took care of us, and fed
us, and clothed us, and loved us; a father could have done no more. I do'n't
understand why he was'n't a father."
"Never mind, dear child, but let us do as you have said. It may be well to
remain here, and let the Ark move a little away. Do you prepare the canoe,
and I will tell Hurry and the Indians our wishes."
This was soon and simply done, the Ark moving, with measured strokes of the
sweeps a hundred yards from the spot, leaving the girls floating, seemingly
in air, above the place of the dead; so buoyant was the light vessel that
held them, and so limpid the element by which it was sustained.
"The death of Thomas Hutter," Judith commenced, after a short pause had
prepared her sister to receive her communications, "has altered all our
prospects, Hetty. If he was not our father, we are sisters, and must feel
alike and live together."
"How do I know, Judith, that you would n't be as glad to find I am not your
sister, as you are in finding that Thomas Hutter, as you call him, was not
your father. I am only half witted, and few people like to have half-witted
relations; and then I'm not handsome-at least, not as handsome as you- and
you may wish a handsomer sister."
"No-no-Hetty. You and you only are my sister-my heart, and my love for you
tell me that-and mother was my mother- of that too am I glad, and proud; for
she was a mother to be proud of-but father was not father!"
"Hush, Judith! His spirit may be near; it would grieve it to hear his
children talking so, and that, too, over his very grave. Children should
never grieve parents, mother often told me, and especially when they are
dead!"
"Poor Hetty! They are happily removed beyond all cares on our account.
Nothing that I can do or say, will cause mother any sorrow now-there is some
consolation in that, at least! -and nothing
you can say or do will make her smile, as she used to smile on your good
conduct when living."
"You do n't know that, Judith. Spirits can see, and mother may see as well as
any spirit. She always told us that God saw all we did, and that we should do
nothing to offend him; and now she has left us, I strive to do nothing that
can displease her. Think how her spirit would mourn and feel sorrow, Judith,
did it see either of us doing what is not right; and spirits may see, after
all; especially the spirits of parents that feel anxious about their
children.~
"Hetty - Hetty - you know not what you say!" murmured Judith, almost livid
with emotion - "The dead cannot see, and know nothing of what passes, here!
But, we will not talk of this any longer. The bodies of Mother and Thomas
Hutter lie together in the lake, and we will hope that the spirits of both
are with God. That we, the children of one of them, remain on earth is
certain; it is now proper to know what we are to do in future."
"If we are not Thomas Hutter's children, Judith, no one will dispute our
right to his property. We have the castle and the Ark, and the canoes, and
the woods, and the lakes, the same as when he was living, and what can
prevent us from staying here, and passing our lives just as we ever have
done."
"No-no-poor sister-this can no longer be. Two girls would not be safe here,
even should these Hurons fail in getting us into their power. Even father had
as much as he could sometimes do, to keep peace upon the lake, and we should
fail altogether. We must quit this spot, Hetty, and remove into the
settlements."
"I am sorry you think so, Judith," returned Hetty, dropping her head on her
bosom, and looking thoughtfully down at the spot where the funeral pile of
her mother could just be seen. "I am very sorry to hear it. I would rather
stay here, where, if I was n't born, I've passed my life. I do n't like the
settlements - they are full of wickedness and heart burnings, while God
dwells unoffended in these hills! I love the trees, and the mountains, and
the lake, and the springs; all that his bounty has given us, and it would
grieve me sorely, Judith, to be forced to quit them. You are handsome, and
not at all half-witted, and one day you will marry, and then you wiil have a
husband, and I a brother to take care of us, if women can't really take care
of themselves in such a place as this."
"Ah! if this could be so, Hetty, then, indeed, I could now be a thousand
times happier in these woods, than in the settlements. Once, I did not feel
thus, but now I do. Yet where is the man to turn this beautiful place into
such a garden of Eden, for us?"
"Harry March loves you, sister," returned poor Hetty, unconsciously picking
the bark off the canoe as she spoke. "He would be glad to be your husband,
I'm sure, and a stouter and a braver youth is not to be met with the whole
country round."
"Harry March and I understand each other, and no more need be said about him.
There is one-but no matter. It is all in the hands of providence, and we must
shortly come to some conclusion about our future manner of living. Remain
here - that is, remain here, alone, we cannot - and perhaps no occasion will
ever offer for remaining in the manner you think of. It is time, too, Hetty,
we should learn all we can concerning our relations and family. It is not
probable we are altogether without relations, and they may be glad to see us.
The old chest is now our property, and we have a right to look into it, and
learn all we can by what it holds. Mother was so very different from Thomas
Hutter, that, now I know we are not his children, I burn with a desire to
know whose children we can be. There are papers in that chest, I am certain,
and those papers may tell us all about our parents and natural
friends."
"Well, Judith, you know best, for you are cleverer than common, mother always
said, and I am only half-witted. Now father and mother are dead, I do n't
much care for any relation but you, and do n't think I could love them I
never saw, as well as I ought. If you do n't like to marry Hurry, I do n't
see who you can choose for a husband, and then I fear we shall have to quit
the lake, after all."
"What do you think of Deerslayer, Hetty?" asked Judith, bending forward like
her unsophisticated sister, and endeavoring to conceal her embarrassment in a
similar manner. -"Would he not make a brother-in-law to your liking?"
"Deerslayer!" repeated the other, looking up in unfeigned surprise. "Why,
Judith, Deerslayer is n't, in the least, comely, and is altogether unfit for
one like you!"
"He is not ill-looking, Hetty, and beauty in a man is not of much matter."
"Do you think so, Judith? - I know that beauty is of no great matter, in man
or woman, in the eyes of God, for mother has often told me so, when she
thought I might have been sorry I was not as handsome as you, though she need
n't have been uneasy on that account, for I never coveted any thing that is
yours, sister;-but, tell me so she did-still, beauty is very pleasant to the
eye, in both! I think, if I were a man, I should pine more for good looks,
than I do as a girl. A handsome man is a more pleasing sight, than a handsome
woman."
"Poor child! - You scarce know what you say, or what you mean! Beauty in our
sex is something, but in men, it passes for little. To be sure, a man ought
to be tall, but others are tall, as well as Hurry; and active-and I think I
know those that are more active; - and strong; well, he has n't all the
strength in the world - and brave - I am certain I can name a youth who is
braver!"
"This is strange, Judith! - I did n't think the earth held a handsomer, or a
stronger, or a more active or a braver man than Hurry Harry! I'm sure, I
never met his equal, in either of these things. "
"Well-well-Hetty-say no more of this. I dislike to hear you talking in this
manner. Tis not suitable to your innocence, and truth, and warm-hearted
sincerity-. Let Harry March go. He quits us to-night, and no regret of mine
will follow him, unless it be that he has staid so long, and to so little
purpose."
"Ah! Judith; that is what I've long feared-and I did so hope he might be my
brother-in-law!"
"Never mind it now. Let us talk of our poor mother-and of Thomas Hutter."
"Speak kindly then, sister, for you can't be quite certain that spirits do
n't both hear and see. If father was n't father, he was good to us, and gave
us food and shelter. We can't put any stones over their graves, here in the
water, to tell people all this, and so we ought to say it with our tongues."
"They will care little for that, girl. 'Tis a great consolation to know,
Hetty, that if mother ever did commit any heavy fault when young, she lived
sincerely to repent of it; no doubt her sins were forgiven her."
"Tis n't right, Judith, for children to talk of their parents' sins. We had
better talk of our own."
"Talk of your sins, Hetty! - If there ever was a creature on earth without
sin, it is you! I wish I could say, or think the same of myself; but we shall
see. No one knows what changes affection for a good husband, can make in a
woman's heart. I do n't think, child, I have even now the same love for
finery I once had."
"It would be a pity, Judith, if you did think of clothes, over your parents'
graves! We will never quit this spot, if you say so, and will let Hurry go
where he pleases."
"I am willing enough to consent to the last, but cannot answer for the first,
Hetty. We must live, in future, as becomes respectable young women, and
cannot remain here, to be the talk and jest of all the rude and foul tongu'd
trappers and hunters that may come upon the lake. Let Hurry go by himself,
and then I'll find the means to see Deerslayer, when the future shall be soon
settled. Come, girl, the sun has set, and the Ark is drifting away from us;
let us paddle up to the scow, and consult with our friends. This night I
shall look into the chest, and to-morrow shall determine what we are to do.
As for the Hurons, now we can use our stores without fear of Thomas Hutter,
they will be easily bought off. Let me get Deerslayer once out of their
hands, and a single hour shall bring things to an understanding."
Judith spoke with decision, and she spoke with authority, a habit she had
long practised towards her feeble-minded sister. But, while thus accustomed
to have her way, by the aid of manner and a readier command of words, Hetty
occasionally checked her impetuous feelings and hasty acts by the aid of
those simple moral truths, that were so deeply engrafted in all her own
thoughts and feelings; shining through both, with a mild and beautiful
lustre, that threw a sort of holy halo around so much of what she both said
and did. On the present occasion, this healthful ascendancy of the girl of
weak intellect, over her of a capacity that, in other situations, might have
become brilliant and admired, was exhibited in the usual simple and earnest
manner.
"You forget, Judith, what has brought us here," she said reproachfully. "This
is mother's grave, and we have just laid the body of father by her side. We
have done wrong to talk so much of ourselves at such a spot, and ought now to
pray God to forgive us, and ask him to teach us where we are to go, and what
we are to do."
Judith involuntarily laid aside her paddle, while Hetty dropped on her knees,
and was soon lost in her devout but simple petitions. Her sister did not
pray. This she had long ceased to do directly, though anguish of spirit
frequently wrung from her mental and hasty appeals to the great source of
benevolence for support, if not for a change of spirit. Still she never
beheld Hetty on her knees, that a feeling of tender recollection, as well as
of profound regret at the deadness of her own heart, did not come over her.
Thus had she herself done in childhood, and even down to the hour of her ill
fated visits to the garrisons, and she would willingly have given worlds, at
such moments, to be able to exchange her present sensations, for the
confiding faith, those pure aspirations, and the gentle hope that shone
through every lineament and movement of her, otherwise, less favored sister.
All she could do, however, was to drop her head to her bosom, and assume in
her attitude some of that devotion in which her stubborn spirit refused to
unite.
When Hetty rose from her knees, her countenance had a - glow and serenity
that rendered a face that was always agreeable, positively handsome. Her mind
was at peace, and her conscience acquitted her, of a neglect of duty.
"Now, you may go, if you want to, Judith," she said, ~for God has been kind
to me, and lifted a burden off my heart. Mother had many such burdens, she
used to tell me, and she always took them off in this way. Tis the only way,
sister, such things can be done. You may raise a stone, or a log, with your
hands; but the heart must be lightened by prayer. I do n't think you pray as
often as you used to do, when younger, Judith!"
"Never mind-never mind, child-" answered the other huskily-"'tis no matter,
now. Mother is gone, and Thomas Hutter is gone, and the time has come when we
must think and act for ourselves."
As the canoe moved slowly away from the place, under the gentle impulsion of
the elder sister's paddle, the younger sat musing, as was her wont, whenever
her mind was perplexed by any idea more abstract and difficult of
comprehension than common.
"I don't know what you mean by 'future', Judith," she at length, suddenly
observed. "Mother used to call Heaven the future, but you seem to think it
means next week, or tomorrow!"
"It means both, dear sister- every thing that is yet to come, whether in this
world or another. It is a solemn word, Hetty, and most so, I fear, to them
that think the least about it. Mother's future is eternity; ours may yet mean
what will happen while we live in this world - Is not that a canoe just
passing behind the castle-here, more in the direction of the point, I mean;
it is hid, now; but certainly I saw a canoe stealing behind the logs!"
"I've seen it some time," Hetty quietly answered, for the Indians had few
terrors for her, "but I didn't think it right to talk about such things over
mother's grave! The canoe came from the camp, Judith, and was paddled by a
single man. He seemed to be Deerslayer, and no Iroquois."
"Deerslayer!" returned the other, with much of her native impetuosity-"That
cannot be! Deerslayer is a prisoner, and I have been thinking of the means of
setting him free. Why did you fancy it Deerslayer, child?"
"You can look for yourself, sister, for there comes the canoe in sight,
again, on this side of the hut."
Sure enough, the light boat had passed the building, and was now steadily
advancing towards the Ark; the persons on board of which were already
collecting in the head of the scow, to receive their visiter. A single glance
sufficed to assure Judith that her sister was right, and that Deerslayer was
alone in the canoe. His approach was so calm and leisurely, however, as to
fill her with wonder, since a man who had effected his escape from enemies,
by either artifice or violence, would not be apt to move with the steadiness
and deliberation with which his paddle swept the water. By this time the day
was fairly departing, and objects were already seen dimly under the shores.
In the broad lake, however, the light still lingered, and around the
immediate scene of the present incidents, which was less shaded than most of
the sheet, being in its broadest part, it cast a glow that bore some faint
resemblance to the warm tints of an Italian or Grecian sunset. The logs of
the hut and Ark had a sort of purple hue, blended with the growing obscurity,
and the bark of the hunter's boat was losing its distinctness in colours
richer, but more mellowed, than those it showed under a bright sun. As the
two canoes approached each other- for Judith and her sister had plied their
paddles so as to intercept the unexpected visiter ere he reached the Ark-even
Deerslayer's sun-burned countenance wore a brighter aspect than common, under
the pleasing tints that seemed to dance in the atmosphere. Judith fancied
that delight at meeting her had some share in this unusual and agreeable
expression. She was not aware that her own beauty appeared to more advantage
than common, from the same natural cause, nor did she understand, what it
would have given her so much pleasure to know, that the young man actually
thought her, as she drew nearer, the loveliest creature of her sex, his eyes
had ever dwelt
on.
"Welcome- welcome, Deerslayer!" exclaimed the girl, as the canoes floated at
each other's side; "we have had a melancholy-a frightful day-but your return
is, at least, one misfortune the less! Have the Hurons become more human, and
let you go; or have you escaped from the wretches, by your own courage and
skill?"
"Neither, Judith-neither one nor t'other. The Mingos are Mingos still, and
will live and die Mingos; it is not likely their natur's will ever undergo
much improvement. Well! They've their gifts, and we've our'n, Judith, and it
does'n't much become either to speak ill of what the Lord has created;
though, if the truth must be said, I find it a sore trial to think kindly, or
to talk kindly of them vagabonds. As for outwitting them, that might have
been done, and it was done, too, atween the Sarpent, yonder, and me, when we
were on the trail of Hist-" here the hunter stopped to laugh in his own
silent fashion - "but it's no easy matter to sarcumvent the sarcumvented.
Even the fa'ans get to know the tricks of the hunters afore a single season
is over, and an Indian whose eyes have once been opened by a sarcumvention
never shuts them ag'in in precisely the same spot. I've known whites to do
that, but never a red skin. What they l'arn comes by practice, and not by
books, and of all schoolmasters exper'ence gives lessons that are the longest
remembered."
"All this is true, Deerslayer, but if you have not escaped from the savages,
how came you here?"
"That's a nat'ral question, and charmingly put. You are wonderful handsome
this evening, Judith, or, Wild Rose, as the Sarpent calls you, and I may as
well say it, since I honestly think it! You may well call them Mingos,
savages too, for savage enough do they feel, and savage enough will they act,
if you once give them an opportunity. They feel their loss here, in the late
skrimmage, to their hearts' cores, and are ready to revenge it on any
creatur' of English blood that may fall in their way. Nor, for that matter do
I much think they would stand at taking their satisfaction out of a Dutch
man."
"They have killed father; that ought to satisfy their wicked cravings for
blood," observed Hetty reproachfully.
"I know it, gal - I know the whole story - partly from what I've seen from
the shore, since they brought me up from the point, and partly from their
threats ag'in myself, and their other discourse. Well, life is unsartain at
the best, and we all depend on the breath of our nostrils for it, from day to
day. If you've lost a staunch fri'nd, as I make no doubt you have, Providence
will raise up new ones in his stead, and since our acquaintance has begun in
this oncommon manner, I shall take it as a hint that it will be a part of my
duty in futur', should the occasion offer, to see you don't suffer for want
of food in the wigwam. I can't bring the dead to life, but as to feeding the
living, there's few on all this frontier can outdo me, though I say it in the
way of pity and consolation, like, and in no particular, in the way of
boasting."
"We understand you, Deerslayer," returned Judith, hastily, "and take all that
falls from your lips, as it is meant, in kindness and friendship. Would to
Heaven all men had tongues as true, and hearts as honest!"
"In that respect men do differ, of a sartainty, Judith. I've known them that
was n't to be trusted any farther than you can see them; and others ag'in
whose messages, sent with a small piece of wampum, perhaps, might just as
much be depended on, as if the whole business was finished afore your face.
Yes, Judith, you never said truer word, than when you said some men might be
depended on, and other some might not."
"You are an unaccountable being, Deerslayer," returned the girl, not a little
puzzled with the childish simplicity of character that the hunter so often
betrayed-a simplicity so striking that it frequently appeared to place him
nearly on a level with the fatuity of poor Hetty, though always relieved by
the beautiful moral truth that shone through all that this unfortunate girl
both said and did-"You are a most unaccountable man, and I often do not know
how to understand you. But never mind, just now; you have forgotten to tell
us by what means you are here."
"I! -Oh' That's not very onaccountable, if I am myself, Judith. I'm out on
furlough."
"Furlough! - That word has a meaning among the soldiers that I understand;
but I cannot tell what it signifies when used by a prisoner."
"It means just the same. You're right enough; the soldiers do use it, and
just in the same way as I use it. A furlough is when a man has leave to quit
a camp, or a garrison for a sartain specified time; at the end of which he is
to come back and shoulder his musket, or submit to his torments, just as he
may happen to be a soldier, or a captyve. Being the last, I must take the
chances of a prisoner."
"Have the Hurons suffered you to quit them in this manner, without watch or
guard."
"Sartain - I woul'n't have come in any other manner, unless indeed it had
been by a bold rising, or a sarcumvention."
"What pledge have they that you will ever return?"
"My word," answered the hunter simply. "Yes, I own I gave 'em that, and big
fools would they have been to let me come without it! Why in that case, I
should n't have been obliged to go back and ondergo any deviltries their fury
may invent, but might have shouldered my rifle, and made the best of my way
to the Delaware villages. But, Lord! Judith, they know'd this, just as well
as you and I do, and would no more let me come away, without a promise to go
back, than they would let the wolves dig up the bones of their fathers!"
"Is it possible you mean to do this act of extraordinary self-destruction and
recklessness?"
"Anan!"
"I ask if it can be possible that you expect to be able to put yourself again
in the power of such ruthless enemies, by keeping your word."
Deerslayer looked at his fair questioner for a moment, with stern
displeasure. Then the expression of his honest and guileless face suddenly
changed, lighting as by a quick illumination of thought, after which he
laughed in his ordinary manner.
"I didn't understand you, at first, Judith; no, I did n't! You believe that
Chingachgook and Hurry Harry won't suffer it; but you do n't know mankind
thoroughly yet, I see. The Delaware would be the last man on 'arth to offer
any objections to what he knows is a duty, and, as for March, he doesn't care
enough about any creatur' but himself to spend many words on such a subject.
If he did, 'twould make no great difference howsever; but not he, for he
thinks more of his gains than of even his own word. As for my promises, or
your'n, Judith, or any body else's, they give him no consarn. Don't be under
any oneasiness, therefore, gal; I shall be allowed to go back according to
the furlough; and if difficulties was made, I've not been brought up, and
edicated as one may say, in the woods, without knowing how to look 'em down."
Judith made no answer for some little time. All her feelings as a woman, and
as a woman who, for the first time in her life was beginning to submit to
that sentiment which has so much influence on the happiness or misery of her
sex, revolted at the cruel fate that she fancied Deerslayer was drawing down
upon himself, while the sense of right, which God has implanted in every
human breast, told her to admire an integrity as indomitable and as
unpretending as that which the other so unconsciously displayed. Argument,
she felt would be useless, nor was she, at that moment, disposed to lessen
the dignity and high principle that were so striking in the intentions of the
hunter, by any attempt to turn him from his purpose. That something might yet
occur to supersede the necessity for this self immolation she tried to hope,
and then she proceeded to ascertain the facts in order that her own conduct
might be regulated by her knowledge of circumstances.
"When is your furlough out, Deerslayer," she asked, after both canoes were
heading towards the Ark, and moving, with scarcely a perceptible effort of
the paddles, through the water.
"To-morrow noon; not a minute afore; and you may depend on it, Judith, I
shan't quit what I call christian company, to go and give myself up to them
vagabonds, an instant sooner than is downright necessary. They begin to fear
a visit from the garrisons, and would n't lengthen the time a moment, and
it's pretty well understood atween us, that, should I fail in my ar'n'd, the
torments are to take place when the sun begins to fall, that they may strike
upon their home trail as soon as it is dark."
This was said solemnly, as if the thought of what was believed to be in
reserve duly weighed on the prisoner's mind, and yet so simply, and without a
parade of suffering, as rather to repel than to invite any open
manifestations of sympathy.
"Are they bent on revenging their losses?" Judith asked faintly, her own high
spirit yielding to the influence of the other's quiet but dignified integrity
of purpose.
"Downright, if I can judge of Indian inclinations, by the symptoms. They
think howsever I don't suspect their designs, I do believe, but one that has
lived so long among men of red skin gifts, is no more likely to be misled in
Injin feelin's, than a true hunter is like to lose his trail, or a stanch
hound his scent. My own judgment is greatly ag'in my own escape, for I see
the women are a good deal enraged on behalf of Hist, though I say it,
perhaps, that shouldn't say it, seein' that I had a considerable hand myself
in getting the gal off. Then there was a cruel murder in their camp last
night, and that shot might just as well have been fired into my breast.
Howsever, come what will, the Sarpent and his wife will be safe, and that is
some happiness in any case."
"Oh! Deerslayer, they will think better of this, since they have given you
until to-morrow noon to make up your mind!"
"I judge not, Judith; yes, I judge not. An Injin is an Injin, gal, and it's
pretty much hopeless to think of swarving him, when he's got the scent and
follows it with his nose in the air. The Delawares, now, are a half
christianized tribe-not that I think such sort of christians much better than
your whole blooded onbelievers-but, nevertheless, what good half
christianizing can do to a man, some among 'em have got, and yet revenge
clings to their hearts like the wild creepers here to the tree! Then, I slew
one of the best and boldest of their warriors, they say, and it is too much
to expect that they should captivate the man who did this deed, in the very
same scouting on which it was performed, and they take no account of the
matter. Had a month, or so, gone by, their feelin's would have been softened
down, and we might have met in a more friendly way, but it is, as it is,
Judith, this is talking of nothing but myself, and my own consarns, when you
have had trouble enough, and may want to consult a fri'nd a little about your
own matters. Is the old man laid in the water, where I should think his body
would like to rest?"
"It is, Deerslayer," answered Judith, almost inaudibly. "That duty has just
been performed. You are right in thinking that I wish to consult a friend;
and that friend is yourself. Hurry Harry is about to leave us; when he is
gone, and we have got a little over the feelings of this solemn office, I
hope you will give me an hour alone. Hetty and I are at a loss what to do."
"That's quite nat'ral, coming as things have, suddenly and fearfully. But
here's the Ark, and we'll say more of this, when there is a better
opportunity.
Read next: CHAPTER XXIII
Read previous: CHAPTER XXI
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