Books: The Pathfinder

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All this passed in much less time than has been required to relate
it, and all this did Mabel witness. She had stood riveted to the
spot, gazing on the whole horrible scene, as if enchained by some
charm, nor did the idea of self or of her own danger once obtrude
itself on her thoughts. But no sooner did she perceive the place
where the men had fallen covered with savages, exulting in the
success of their surprise, than it occurred to her that Jennie had
left the blockhouse door unbarred. Her heart beat violently, for
that defence alone stood between her and immediate death, and she
sprang toward the ladder with the intention of descending to make
sure of it. Her foot had not yet reached the floor of the second
story, however, when she heard the door grating on its hinges, and
she gave herself up for lost. Sinking on her knees, the terrified
but courageous girl endeavored to prepare herself for death, and
to raise her thoughts to God. The instinct of life, however, was
too strong for prayer, and while her lips moved, the jealous senses
watched every sound beneath. When her ears heard the bars, which
went on pivots secured to the centre of the door, turning into their
fastenings, not one, as she herself had directed, with a view to
admit her uncle should he apply, but all three, she started again
to her feet, all spiritual contemplations vanishing in her actual
temporal condition, and it seemed as if all her faculties were
absorbed in the sense of hearing.

The thoughts are active in a moment so fearful. At first Mabel
fancied that her uncle had entered the blockhouse, and she was about
to descend the ladder and throw herself into his arms; then the
idea that it might be an Indian, who had barred the door to shut
out intruders while he plundered at leisure, arrested the movement.
The profound stillness below was unlike the bold, restless movements
of Cap, and it seemed to savor more of the artifices of an enemy.
If a friend at all, it could only be her uncle or the Quartermaster;
for the horrible conviction now presented itself to our heroine that
to these two and herself were the whole party suddenly reduced, if,
indeed, the two latter survived. This consideration held Mabel in
check, and for full two minutes more a breathless silence reigned in
the building. During this time the girl stood at the foot of the
upper ladder, the trap which led to the lower opening on the opposite
side of the floor; the eyes of Mabel were riveted on this spot, for
she now began to expect to see at each instant the horrible sight
of a savage face at the hole. This apprehension soon became so
intense, that she looked about her for a place of concealment. The
procrastination of the catastrophe she now fully expected, though
it were only for a moment, afforded a relief. The room contained
several barrels; and behind two of these Mabel crouched, placing
her eyes at an opening by which she could still watch the trap.
She made another effort to pray; but the moment was too horrible
for that relief. She thought, too, that she heard a low rustling,
as if one were ascending the lower ladder with an effort at caution
so great as to betray itself by its own excess; then followed a
creaking that she was certain came from one of the steps of the
ladder, which had made the same noise under her own light weight
as she ascended. This was one of those instants into which are
compressed the sensations of years of ordinary existence. Life,
death, eternity, and extreme bodily pain were all standing out in
bold relief from the plane of every-day occurrences; and she might
have been taken at that moment for a beautiful pallid representation
of herself, equally without motion and without vitality. But while
such was the outward appearance of the form, never had there been
a time in her brief career when Mabel heard more acutely, saw more
clearly, or felt more vividly. As yet, nothing was visible at
the trap, but her ears, rendered exquisitely sensitive by intense
feeling, distinctly acquainted her that some one was within a few
inches of the opening in the floor. Next followed the evidence of
her eyes, which beheld the dark hair of an Indian rising so slowly
through the passage that the movements of the head might be likened
to that of the minute-hand of a clock; then came the dark skin and
wild features, until the whole of the swarthy face had risen above
the floor. The human countenance seldom appears to advantage when
partially concealed; and Mabel imagined many additional horrors as
she first saw the black, roving eyes and the expression of wildness
as the savage countenance was revealed, as it might be, inch by inch;
but when the entire head was raised above the floor, a second and
a better look assured our heroine that she saw the gentle, anxious,
and even handsome face of June.

CHAPTER XXII.

Spectre though I be,
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
But in reward of thy fidelity.
WORDSWORTH.

It would be difficult to say which evinced the most satisfaction,
when Mabel sprang to her feet and appeared in the centre of the
room, our heroine, on finding that her visitor was the wife of
Arrowhead, and not Arrowhead himself, or June, at discovering that
her advice had been followed, and that the blockhouse contained the
person she had so anxiously and almost hopelessly sought. They
embraced each other, and the unsophisticated Tuscarora woman laughed
in her sweet accents as she held her friend at arm's length, and
made certain of her presence.

"Blockhouse good," said the young Indian; "got no scalp."

"It is indeed good, June," Mabel answered, with a shudder, veiling
her eyes at the same time, as if to shut out a view of the horrors
she had so lately witnessed. "Tell me, for God's sake, if you know
what has become of my dear uncle! I have looked in all directions
without being able to see him."

"No here in blockhouse?" June asked, with some curiosity.

"Indeed he is not: I am quite alone in this place; Jennie, the
woman who was with me, having rushed out to join her husband, and
perishing for her imprudence."

"June know, June see; very bad, Arrowhead no feel for any wife; no
feel for his own."

"Ah, June, your life, at least, is safe!"

"Don't know; Arrowhead kill me, if he know all."

"God bless and protect you, June! He _will_ bless and protect
you for this humanity. Tell me what is to be done, and if my poor
uncle is still living?"

"Don't know. Saltwater has boat; maybe he go on river."

"The boat is still on the shore, but neither my uncle nor the
Quartermaster is anywhere to be seen."

"No kill, or June would see. Hide away! Red man hide; no shame
for pale-face."

"It is not the shame that I fear for them, but the opportunity.
Your attack was awfully sudden, June!"

"Tuscarora!" returned the other, smiling with exultation at the
dexterity of her husband. "Arrowhead great warrior!"

"You are too good and gentle for this sort of life, June; you cannot
be happy in such scenes?"

June's countenance grew clouded, and Mabel fancied there was some
of the savage fire of a chief in her frown as she answered, --

"Yengeese too greedy, take away all hunting-grounds; chase Six Nation
from morning to night; wicked king, wicked people. Pale-face very
bad."

Mabel knew that, even in that distant day, there was much truth in
this opinion, though she was too well instructed not to understand
that the monarch, in this, as in a thousand other cases, was
blamed for acts of which he was most probably ignorant. She felt
the justice of the rebuke, therefore, too much to attempt an answer,
and her thoughts naturally reverted to her own situation.

"And what am I to do, June?" she demanded. "It cannot be long
before your people will assault this building."

"Blockhouse good -- got no scalp."

"But they will soon discover that it has got no garrison too, if
they do not know it already. You yourself told me the number of
people that were on the island, and doubtless you learned it from
Arrowhead."

"Arrowhead know," answered June, holding up six fingers, to indicate
the number of the men. "All red men know. Four lose scalp already;
two got 'em yet."

"Do not speak of it, June; the horrid thought curdles my blood.
Your people cannot know that I am alone in the blockhouse, but may
fancy my uncle and the Quartermaster with me, and may set fire to
the building, in order to dislodge them. They tell me that fire
is the great danger to such places."

"No burn blockhouse," said June quietly;

"You cannot know that, my good June, and I have no means to keep
them off."

"No burn blockhouse. Blockhouse good; got no scalp."

"But tell me why, June; I fear they will burn it."

"Blockhouse wet -- much rain -- logs green -- no burn easy. Red
man know it -- fine t'ing -- then no burn it to tell Yengeese that
Iroquois been here. Fader come back, miss blockhouse, no found.
No, no; Indian too much cunning; no touch anything."

"I understand you, June, and hope your prediction may be true;
for, as regards my dear father, should he escape --perhaps he is
already dead or captured, June ?"

"No touch fader -- don't know where he gone -- water got no trail
-- red man can't follow. No burn blockhouse --blockhouse good;
got no scalp."

"Do you think it possible for me to remain here safely until my
father returns?"

"Don't know; daughter tell best when fader come back." Mabel felt
uneasy at the glance of June's dark eye as she uttered this; for
the unpleasant surmise arose that her companion was endeavoring to
discover a fact that might be useful to her own people, while it
would lead to the destruction of her parent and his party. She
was about to make an evasive answer, when a heavy push at the outer
door suddenly drew all her thoughts to the immediate danger.

"They come!" she exclaimed. "Perhaps, June, it is my uncle or the
Quartermaster. I cannot keep out even Mr. Muir at a moment like
this."

"Why no look? plenty loophole, made purpose."

Mabel took the hint, and, going to one of the downward loops,
that had been cut through the logs in the part that overhung the
basement, she cautiously raised the little block that ordinarily
filled the small hole, and caught a glance at what was passing at
the door. The start and changing countenance told her companion
that some of her own people were below.

"Red man," said June, lifting a finger in admonition to be prudent.

"Four; and horrible in their paint and bloody trophies. Arrowhead
is among them."

June had moved to a corner, where several spare rifles had been
deposited, and had already taken one into her hand, when the name
of her husband appeared to arrest her movements. It was but for
an instant, however, for she immediately went to the loop, and was
about to thrust the muzzle of the piece through it, when a feeling
of natural aversion induced Mabel to seize her arm.

"No, no, no, June!" said the latter; "not against your own husband,
though my life be the penalty."

"No hurt Arrowhead," returned June, with a slight shudder, "no hurt
red man at all. No fire at 'em; only scare."

Mabel now comprehended the intention of June, and no longer opposed
it. The latter thrust the muzzle of the rifle through the loophole;
and, taking care to make noise enough to attract attraction, she
pulled the trigger. The piece had no sooner been discharged than
Mabel reproached her friend for the very act that was intended to
serve her.

"You declared it was not your intention to fire," she said, "and
you may have destroyed your own husband."

"All run away before I fire," returned June, laughing, and going
to another loop to watch the movements of her friends, laughing
still heartier. "See! get cover -- every warrior. Think Saltwater
and Quartermaster here. Take good care now."

"Heaven be praised! And now, June, I may hope for a little time
to compose my thoughts to prayer, that I may not die like Jennie,
thinking only of life and the things of the world."

June laid aside the rifle, and came and seated herself near the
box on which Mabel had sunk, under that physical reaction which
accompanies joy as well as sorrow. She looked steadily in our
heroine's face, and the latter thought that her countenance had an
expression of severity mingled with its concern.

"Arrowhead great warrior," said the Tuscarora's wife. "All the
girls of tribe look at him much. The pale-face beauty has eyes
too?"

"June! -- what do these words -- that look -- imply? what would
you say?"

"Why you so 'fraid June shoot Arrowhead?"

"Would it not have been horrible to see a wife destroy her own
husband? No, June, rather would I have died myself."

"Very sure, dat all?"

"That was all, June, as God is my judge! -- and surely that was
enough. No, no! there have been sufficient horrors to-day, without
increasing them by an act like this. What other motive can you
suspect?"

"Don't know. Poor Tuscarora girl very foolish. Arrowhead great
chief, and look all round him. Talk of pale-face beauty in his
sleep. Great chief like many wives."

"Can a chief possess more than one wife, June, among your people?"

"Have as many as he can keep. Great hunter marry often. Arrowhead
got only June now; but he look too much, see too much, talk too
much of pale-face girl."

Mabel was conscious of this fact, which had distressed her not
a little, in the course of their journey; but it shocked her to
hear this allusion, coming, as it did, from the mouth of the wife
herself. She knew that habit and opinions made great differences
in such matters; but, in addition to the pain and mortification
she experienced at being the unwilling rival of a wife, she felt
an apprehension that jealousy would be but an equivocal guarantee
for her personal safety in her present situation. A closer look
at June, however, reassured her; for, while it was easy to trace
in the unpractised features of this unsophisticated being the pain
of blighted affections, no distrust could have tortured the earnest
expression of her honest countenance into that of treachery or
hate.

"You will not betray me, June?" Mabel said, pressing the other's
hand, and yielding to an impulse of generous confidence. "You will
not give up one of your own sex to the tomahawk?"

"No tomahawk touch you. Arrowhead no let 'em. If June must have
sister-wife, love to have you."

"No, June; my religion, my feelings, both forbid it; and, if I could
be the wife of an Indian at all, I would never take the place that
is yours in a wigwam."

June made no answer, but she looked gratified, and even grateful.
She knew that few, perhaps no Indian girl within the circle of
Arrowhead's acquaintance, could compare with herself in personal
attractions; and, though it might suit her husband to marry a
dozen wives, she knew of no one, beside Mabel, whose influence she
could really dread. So keen an interest, however, had she taken
in the beauty, winning manners, kindness, and feminine gentleness
of our heroine, that when jealousy came to chill these feelings,
it had rather lent strength to that interest; and, under its wayward
influence, had actually been one of the strongest of the incentives
that had induced her to risk so much in order to save her imaginary
rival from the consequences of the attack that she so well knew
was about to take place. In a word, June, with a wife's keenness
of perception, had detected Arrowhead's admiration of Mabel; and,
instead of feeling that harrowing jealousy that might have rendered
her rival hateful, as would have been apt to be the case with a
woman unaccustomed to defer to the superior rights of the lordly
sex, she had studied the looks and character of the pale-face
beauty, until, meeting with nothing to repel her own feelings, but
everything to encourage them, she had got to entertain an admiration
and love for her, which, though certainly very different, was
scarcely less strong than that of her husband's. Arrowhead himself
had sent her to warn Mabel of the coming danger, though he was
ignorant that she had stolen upon the island in the rear of the
assailants, and was now intrenched in the citadel along with the
object of their joint care. On the contrary, he supposed, as his
wife had said, that Cap and Muir were in the blockhouse with Mabel,
and that the attempt to repel him and his companions had been made
by the men.

"June sorry the Lily" -- for so the Indian, in her poetical language,
had named our heroine -- "June sorry the Lily no marry Arrowhead.
His wigwam big, and a great chief must get wives enough to fill
it."

"I thank you, June, for this preference, which is not according
to the notion of us white women," returned Mabel, smiling in spite
of the fearful situation in which she was placed; "but I may not,
probably never shall, marry at all."

"Must have good husband," said June; "marry Eau-douce, if don't
like Arrowhead."

"June! this is not a fit subject for a girl who scarcely knows if
she is to live another hour or not. I would obtain some signs of
my dear uncle's being alive and safe, if possible."

"June go see."

"Can you? -- will you? -- would it be safe for you to be seen on
the island? is your presence known to the warriors, and would they
be pleased to find a woman on the war-path with them?"

All this Mabel asked in rapid connection, fearing that the answer
might not be as she wished. She had thought it extraordinary that
June should be of the party, and, improbable as it seemed, she had
fancied that the woman had covertly followed the Iroquois in her
own canoe, and had got in their advance, merely to give her the
notice which had probably saved her life. But in all this she was
mistaken, as June, in her imperfect manner, now found means to let
her know.

Arrowhead, though a chief, was in disgrace with his own people,
and was acting with the Iroquois temporarily, though with a perfect
understanding. He had a wigwam, it is true, but was seldom in
it; feigning friendship for the English, he had passed the summer
ostensibly in their service, while he was, in truth, acting for
the French, and his wife journeyed with him in his many migrations,
most of the distances being passed over in canoes. In a word,
her presence was no secret, her husband seldom moving without her.
Enough of this to embolden Mabel to wish that her friend might
go out, to ascertain the fate of her uncle, did June succeed in
letting the other know; and it was soon settled between them that
the Indian woman should quit the blockhouse with that object the
moment a favorable opportunity offered.

They first examined the island, as thoroughly as their position
would allow, from the different loops, and found that its conquerors
were preparing for a feast, having seized upon the provisions of
the English and rifled the huts. Most of the stores were in the
blockhouse; but enough were found outside to reward the Indians
for an attack that had been attended by so little risk. A party
had already removed the dead bodies, and Mabel saw that their arms
were collected in a pile near the spot chosen for the banquet.
June suggested that, by some signs which she understood, the dead
themselves were carried into a thicket and either buried or concealed
from view. None of the more prominent objects on the island,
however, were disturbed, it being the desire of the conquerors to
lure the party of the Sergeant into an ambush on its return. June
made her companion observe a man in a tree, a look-out, as she
said, to give timely notice of the approach of any boat, although,
the departure of the expedition being so recent, nothing but some
unexpected event would be likely to bring it back so soon. There
did not appear to be any intention to attack the blockhouse
immediately; but every indication, as understood by June, rather
showed that it was the intention of the Indians to keep it besieged
until the return of the Sergeant's party, lest, the signs of an
assault should give a warning to eyes as practised as those of
Pathfinder. The boat, however, had been secured, and was removed
to the spot where the canoes of the Indians were hid in the bushes.

June now announced her intention to join her friends, the moment
being particularly favorable for her to quit the blockhouse. Mabel
felt some distrust as they descended the ladder; but at the next
instant she was ashamed of the feeling, as unjust to her companion
and unworthy of herself, and by the time they both stood on the
ground her confidence was restored. The process of unbarring the
door was conducted with the utmost caution, and when the last bar
was ready to be turned June took her station near the spot where
the opening must necessarily be. The bar was just turned free of
the brackets, the door was opened merely wide enough to allow her
body to pass, and June glided through the space. Mabel closed the
door again, with a convulsive movement; and as the bar turned into
its place, her heart beat audibly. She then felt secure; and the
two other bars were turned down in a more deliberate manner. When
all was fast again, she ascended to the first floor, where alone
she could get a glimpse of what was going on without.

Long and painfully melancholy hours passed, during which Mabel had
no intelligence from June. She heard the yells of the savages,
for liquor had carried them beyond the bounds of precaution; and
occasionally caught glimpses of their mad orgies through the loops;
and at all times was conscious of their fearful presence by sounds
and sights that would have chilled the blood of one who had not so
lately witnessed scenes so much more terrible. Toward the middle
of the day, she fancied she saw a white man on the island, though
his dress and wild appearance at first made her take him for a
newly-arrived savage. A view of his face, although it was swarthy
naturally, and much darkened by exposure, left no doubt that her
conjecture was true; and she felt as if there was now one of a
species more like her own present, and one to whom she might appeal
for succor in the last emergency. Mabel little knew, alas! how
small was the influence exercised by the whites over their savage
allies, when the latter had begun to taste of blood; or how slight,
indeed, was the disposition to divert them from their cruelties.

The day seemed a month by Mabel's computation, and the only part
of it that did not drag were the minutes spent in prayer. She had
recourse to this relief from time to time; and at each effort she
found her spirit firmer, her mind more tranquil, and her resignation
more confirmed. She understood the reasoning of June, and believed
it highly probable that the blockhouse would be left unmolested
until the return of her father, in order to entice him into an
ambuscade, and she felt much less apprehension of immediate danger
in consequence; but the future offered little ground of hope, and
her thoughts had already begun to calculate the chances of her
captivity. At such moments, Arrowhead and his offensive admiration
filled a prominent place in the background: for our heroine well
knew that the Indians usually carried off to their villages, for
the purposes of adoption, such captives as they did not slay; and
that many instances had occurred in which individuals of her sex
had passed the remainder of their lives in the wigwams of their
conquerors. Such thoughts as these invariably drove her to her
knees and to her prayers.

While the light lasted the situation of our heroine was sufficiently
alarming; but as the shades of evening gradually gathered over the
island, it became fearfully appalling. By this time the savages
had wrought themselves up to the point of fury, for they had
possessed themselves of all the liquor of the English; and their
outcries and gesticulations were those of men truly possessed by
evil spirits. All the efforts of their French leader to restrain
them were entirely fruitless, and he had wisely withdrawn to
an adjacent island, where he had a sort of bivouac, that he might
keep at a safe distance from friends so apt to run into excesses.
Before quitting the spot, however, this officer, at great risk
to his own life, had succeeded in extinguishing the fire, and in
securing the ordinary means to relight it. This precaution he
took lest the Indians should burn the blockhouse, the preservation
of which was necessary to the success of his future plans. He
would gladly have removed all the arms also, but this he found
impracticable, the warriors clinging to their knives and tomahawks
with the tenacity of men who regarded a point of honor as long as
a faculty was left; and to carry off the rifles, and leave behind
him the very weapons that were generally used on such occasions,
would have been an idle expedient. The extinguishing of the
fire proved to be the most prudent measure; for no sooner was the
officer's back turned than one of the warriors in fact proposed to
fire the blockhouse. Arrowhead had also withdrawn from the group
of drunkards as soon as he found that they were losing their senses,
and had taken possession of a hut, where he had thrown himself on
the straw, and sought the rest that two wakeful and watchful nights
had rendered necessary. It followed that no one was left among the
Indians to care for Mabel, if, indeed, any knew of her existence
at all; and the proposal of the drunkard was received with yells
of delight by eight or ten more as much intoxicated and habitually
as brutal as himself.

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