James Cooper - LEATHERSTOCKING TALES – Complete Collection

Table of Contents

“I hear thee babbling to the vale

Of sunshine and of flowers,

But unto me thou bring’st a tale

Of visionary hours.”

—Wordsworth

One discovery mentioned at the close of the preceding chapter was of great moment in the eyes of Deerslayer and his friend. In the first place, there was the danger, almost the certainty, that Hutter and Hurry would make a fresh attempt on this camp, should they awake and ascertain its position. Then there was the increased risk of landing to bring off Hist; and there were the general uncertainty and additional hazards that must follow from the circumstance that their enemies had begun to change their positions. As the Delaware was aware that the hour was near when he ought to repair to the rendezvous, he no longer thought of trophies torn from his foes, and one of the first things arranged between him and his associate was to permit the two others to sleep on, lest they should disturb the execution of their plans by substituting some of their own. The ark moved slowly, and it would have taken fully a quarter of an hour to reach the point, at the rate at which they were going, thus affording time for a little forethought. The Indians, in the wish to conceal their fire from those who were thought to be still in the castle, had placed it so near the southern side of the point as to render it extremely difficult to shut it in by the bushes, though Deerslayer varied the direction of the scow both to the right and to the left, in the hope of being able to effect that object.

“There’s one advantage, Judith, in finding that fire so near the water,” he said, while executing these little manoeuvres, “since it shows the Mingos believe we are in the hut, and our coming on ’em from this quarter will be an unlooked for event. But it’s lucky Harry March and your father are asleep, else we should have ’em prowling after scalps ag’in. Ha! there — the bushes are beginning to shut in the fire — and now it can’t be seen at all!”

Deerslayer waited a little to make certain that he had at last gained the desired position, when he gave the signal agreed on, and Chingachgook let go the grapnel and lowered the sail.

The situation in which the ark now lay had its advantages and its disadvantages. The fire had been hid by sheering towards the shore, and the latter was nearer, perhaps, than was desirable. Still, the water was known to be very deep further off in the lake, and anchoring in deep water, under the circumstances in which the party was placed, was to be avoided, if possible. It was also believed no raft could be within miles; and though the trees in the darkness appeared almost to overhang the scow, it would not be easy to get off to her without using a boat. The intense darkness that prevailed so close in with the forest, too, served as an effectual screen, and so long as care was had not to make a noise, there was little or no danger of being detected. All these things Deerslayer pointed out to Judith, instructing her as to the course she was to follow in the event of an alarm; for it was thought to the last degree inexpedient to arouse the sleepers, unless it might be in the greatest emergency.

“And now, Judith, as we understand one another, it is time the Sarpent and I had taken to the canoe,” the hunter concluded. “The star has not risen yet, it’s true, but it soon must, though none of us are likely to be any the wiser for it tonight, on account of the clouds. Howsever, Hist has a ready mind, and she’s one of them that doesn’t always need to have a thing afore her, to see it. I’ll warrant you she’ll not be either two minutes or two feet out of the way, unless them jealous vagabonds, the Mingos, have taken the alarm, and put her as a stool-pigeon to catch us, or have hid her away, in order to prepare her mind for a Huron instead of a Mohican husband.”

“Deerslayer,” interrupted the girl, earnestly; “this is a most dangerous service; why do you go on it, at all?”

“Anan!— Why you know, gal, we go to bring off Hist, the Sarpent’s betrothed — the maid he means to marry, as soon as we get back to the tribe.”

“That is all right for the Indian — but you do not mean to marry Hist — you are not betrothed, and why should two risk their lives and liberties, to do that which one can just as well perform?”

“Ah — now I understand you, Judith — yes, now I begin to take the idee. You think as Hist is the Sarpent’s betrothed, as they call it, and not mine, it’s altogether his affair; and as one man can paddle a canoe he ought to be left to go after his gal alone! But you forget this is our ar’n’d here on the lake, and it would not tell well to forget an ar’n’d just as the pinch came. Then, if love does count for so much with some people, particularly with young women, fri’ndship counts for something, too, with other some. I dares to say, the Delaware can paddle a canoe by himself, and can bring off Hist by himself, and perhaps he would like that quite as well, as to have me with him; but he couldn’t sarcumvent sarcumventions, or stir up an ambushment, or fight with the savages, and get his sweetheart at the same time, as well by himself as if he had a fri’nd with him to depend on, even if that fri’nd is no better than myself. No — no — Judith, you wouldn’t desert one that counted on you, at such a moment, and you can’t, in reason, expect me to do it.”

“I fear — I believe you are right, Deerslayer, and yet I wish you were not to go! Promise me one thing, at least, and that is, not to trust yourself among the savages, or to do anything more than to save the girl. That will be enough for once, and with that you ought to be satisfied.”

“Lord bless you! gal; one would think it was Hetty that’s talking, and not the quick-witted and wonderful Judith Hutter! But fright makes the wise silly, and the strong weak. Yes, I’ve seen proofs of that, time and ag’in! Well, it’s kind and softhearted in you, Judith, to feel this consarn for a fellow creatur’, and I shall always say that you are kind and of true feelings, let them that envy your good looks tell as many idle stories of you as they may.”

“Deerslayer!” hastily said the girl, interrupting him, though nearly choked by her own emotions; “do you believe all you hear about a poor, motherless girl? Is the foul tongue of Hurry Harry to blast my life?”

“Not it, Judith — not it. I’ve told Hurry it wasn’t manful to backbite them he couldn’t win by fair means; and that even an Indian is always tender, touching a young woman’s good name.”

“If I had a brother, he wouldn’t dare to do it!” exclaimed Judith, with eyes flashing fire. “But, finding me without any protector but an old man, whose ears are getting to be as dull as his feelings, he has his way as he pleases!”

“Not exactly that, Judith; no, not exactly that, neither! No man, brother or stranger, would stand by and see as fair a gal as yourself hunted down, without saying a word in her behalf. Hurry’s in ‘arnest in wanting to make you his wife, and the little he does let out ag’in you, comes more from jealousy, like, than from any thing else. Smile on him when he awakes, and squeeze his hand only half as hard as you squeezed mine a bit ago, and my life on it, the poor fellow will forget every thing but your comeliness. Hot words don’t always come from the heart, but oftener from the stomach than anywhere else. Try him, Judith, when he awakes, and see the virtue of a smile.”

Deerslayer laughed, in his own manner, as he concluded, and then he intimated to the patient-looking, but really impatient Chingachgook, his readiness to proceed. As the young man entered the canoe, the girl stood immovable as stone, lost in the musings that the language and manner of the other were likely to produce. The simplicity of the hunter had completely put her at fault; for, in her narrow sphere, Judith was an expert manager of the other sex; though in the present instance she was far more actuated by impulses, in all she had said and done, than by calculation. We shall not deny that some of Judith’s reflections were bitter, though the sequel of the tale must be referred to, in order to explain how merited, or how keen were her sufferings.