The Pathfinder, James Fenimore Cooper [top reads .TXT] 📗

meal, she bounded back to the thicket, and soon renewed her communications with the young Indian woman.

Dew-of-June was quick of comprehension; and with half a dozen noiseless strokes of the paddles, her canoe was concealed in the bushes of Station Island. In another minute, Mabel held her hand, and was leading her through the grove towards her own hut. Fortunately the latter was so placed as to be completely hid from the sight of those at the fire, and they both entered it unseen. Hastily explaining to her guest, in the best manner she could, the necessity of quitting her for a short time, Mabel, first placing the Dew-of-June in her own room, with a full certainty that she would not quit it until told to do so, went to the fire and took her seat among the rest, with all the composure it was in her power to command.

“Late come, late served, Mabel,” said her uncle, between mouthfuls of broiled salmon; for though the cookery might be very unsophisticated on that remote frontier, the viands were generally delicious, — “late come, late served; it is a good rule, and keeps laggards up to their work.”

“I am no laggard, Uncle; for I have been stirring nearly an hour, and exploring our island.”

“It’s little you’ll make o’ that, Mistress Mabel,” put in Muir; “that’s little by nature. Lundie — or it might be better to style him Major Duncan in this presence” (this was said in consideration of the corporal and the common men, though they were taking their meal a little apart) —“has not added an empire to his Majesty’s dominions in getting possession of this island, which is likely to equal that of the celebrated Sancho in revenues and profits —Sancho, of whom, doubtless, Master Cap, you’ll often have been reading in your leisure hours, more especially in calms and moments of inactivity.”

“I know the spot you mean, Quartermaster; Sancho’s Island — coral rock, of new formation, and as bad a landfall, in a dark night and blowing weather, as a sinner could wish to keep clear of. It’s a famous place for cocoanuts and bitter water, that Sancho’s Island.”

“It’s no’ very famous for dinners,” returned Muir, repressing the smile which was struggling to his lips out of respect to Mabel; “nor do I think there’ll be much to choose between its revenue and that of this spot. In my judgment, Master Cap, this is a very unmilitary position, and I look to some calamity befalling it, sooner or later.”

“It is to be hoped not until our turn of duty is over,” observed Mabel. “I have no wish to study the French language.”

“We might think ourselves happy, did it not prove to be the Iroquois. I have reasoned with Major Duncan on the occupation of this position, but ‘a wilfu’ man maun ha’ his way.’ My first object in accompanying this party was to endeavor to make myself acceptable and useful to your beautiful niece, Master Cap; and the second was to take such an account of the stores that belong to my particular department as shall leave no question open to controversy, concerning the manner of expenditure, when they shall have disappeared by means of the enemy.”

“Do you look upon matters as so serious?” demanded Cap, actually suspending his mastication of a bit of venison — for he passed alternately from fish to flesh and back again — in the interest he took in the answer. “Is the danger pressing?”

“I’ll no’ say just that; and I’ll no’ say just the contrary. There is always danger in war, and there is more of it at the advanced posts than at the main encampment. It ought, therefore, to occasion no surprise were we to be visited by the French at any moment.”

“And what the devil is to be done in that case? Six men and two women would make but a poor job in defending such a place as this, should the enemy invade us; as, no doubt, Frenchman-like, they would take very good care to come strong-handed.”

“That we may depend on — some very formidable force at the very lowest. A military disposition might be made in defence of the island, out of all question, and according to the art of war, though we would probably fail in the force necessary to carry out the design in any very creditable manner. In the first place, a detachment should be sent off to the shore, with orders to annoy the enemy in landing; a strong party ought instantly to be thrown into the blockhouse, as the citadel, for on that all the different detachments would naturally fall back for support, as the French advanced; and an entrenched camp might be laid out around the stronghold, as it would be very unmilitary indeed to let the foe get near enough to the foot of the walls to mine them. Chevaux-de-frise would keep the cavalry in check; and as for the artillery, redoubts should be thrown up under cover of yon woods. Strong skirmishing parties, moreover, would be exceedingly serviceable in retarding the march of the enemy; and these different huts, if properly piqueted and ditched, would be converted into very eligible positions for that object.”

“Whe-e-e-w-, Quartermaster! And who the d–l is to find all the men to carry out such a plan?”

“The king, out of all question, Master Cap. It is his quarrel, and it’s just he should bear the burthen o’ it.”

“And we are only six! This is fine talking, with a vengeance. You could be sent down to the shore to oppose the landing, Mabel might skirmish with her tongue at least, the soldier’s wife might act chevaux-de-frise to entangle the cavalry, the corporal should command the entrenched camp, his three men could occupy the five huts, and I would take the blockhouse. Whe-e-e-w! you describe well, Lieutenant; and should have been a limner instead of a soldier.”

“Na, I’ve been very literal and upright in my exposition of matters. That there is no greater force here to carry out the plan is a fault of his Majesty’s ministers, and none of mine.”

“But should our enemy really appear,” asked Mabel, with more interest than she might have shown, had she not remembered the guest in the hut, “what course ought we to pursue?”

“My advice would be to attempt to achieve that, pretty Mabel, which rendered Xenophon so justly celebrated.”

“I think you mean a retreat, though I half guess at your allusion.”

“You’ve imagined my meaning from the possession of a strong native sense, young lady. I am aware that your worthy father has pointed out to the Corporal certain modes and methods by which he fancies this island could be held, in case the French should discover its position; but the excellent Sergeant, though your father, and as good a man in his duties as ever wielded a spontoon, is not the great Lord Stair, or even the Duke of Marlborough. I’ll not deny the Sergeant’s merits in his particular sphere; though I cannot exaggerate qualities, however excellent, into those of men who may be in some trifling degree his superiors. Sergeant Dunham has taken counsel of his heart, instead of his head, in resolving to issue such orders; but, if the fort fall, the blame will lie on him that ordered it to be occupied, and not on him whose duty it was to defend it. Whatever may be the determination of the latter, should the French and their allies land, a good commander never neglects the preparations necessary to effect a retreat; and I would advise Master Cap, who is the admiral of our navy, to have a boat in readiness to evacuate the island, if need comes to need. The largest boat that we have left carries a very ample sail; and by hauling it round here, and mooring it under those bushes, there will be a convenient place for a hurried embarkation; and then you’ll perceive, pretty Mabel, that it is scarcely fifty yards before we shall be in a channel between two other islands, and hid from the sight of those who may happen to be on this.”

“All that you say is very true, Mr. Muir; but may not the French come from that quarter themselves? If it is so good for a retreat, it is equally good for an advance.”

“They’ll no’ have the sense to do so discreet a thing,” returned Muir, looking furtively and a little uneasily around him; “they’ll no’ have sufficient discretion. Your French are a head-over-heels nation, and usually come forward in a random way; so we may look for them, if they come at all, on the other side of the island.”

The discourse now became exceedingly desultory, touching principally, however, on the probabilities of an invasion, and the best means of meeting it.

To most of this Mabel paid but little attention; though she felt some surprise that Lieutenant Muir, an officer whose character for courage stood well, should openly recommend an abandonment of what appeared to her to be doubly a duty, her father’s character being connected with the defence of the island. Her mind, however, was so much occupied with her guest, that, seizing the first favorable moment, she left the table, and was soon in her own hut again. Carefully fastening the door, and seeing that the simple curtain was drawn before the single little window, Mabel next led the Dew-of-June, or June, as she was familiarly termed by those who spoke to her in English, into the outer room, making signs of affection and confidence.

“I am glad to see you, June,” said Mabel, with one of her sweetest smiles, and in her own winning voice, — “very glad to see you. What has brought you hither, and how did you discover the island?”

“Speak slow,” said June, returning smile for smile, and pressing the little hand she held with one of her own that was scarcely larger, though it had been hardened by labor; “more slow — too quick.”

Mabel repeated her questions, endeavoring to repress the impetuosity of her feelings; and she succeeded in speaking so distinctly as to be understood.

“June, friend,” returned the Indian woman.

“I believe you, June — from my soul I believe you; what has this to do with your visit?”

“Friend come to see friend,” answered June, again smiling openly in the other’s face.

“There is some other reason, June, else would you never run this risk, and alone. You are alone, June?”

“June wid you, no one else. June come alone, paddle canoe.”

“I hope so, I think so — nay, I know so. You would not be treacherous with me, June?”

“What treacherous?”

“You would not betray me, would not give me to the French, to the Iroquois, to Arrowhead?”

June shook her head earnestly.

“You would not sell my scalp?”

Here June passed her arm fondly around the slender waist of Mabel and pressed her to her heart with a tenderness and affection that brought tears into the eyes of our heroine. It was done in the fond caressing manner of a woman, and it was scarcely possible that it should not obtain credit for sincerity with a young and ingenuous person of the same sex. Mabel returned the pressure, and then held the other off at the length of her arm, looked her steadily in the face, and continued her inquiries.

“If June has something to tell her friend, let her speak plainly,” she said. “My ears are open.”

“June ‘fraid Arrowhead kill her.”

“But Arrowhead will never know it.” Mabel’s blood mounted to her temples as she said this; for she felt that she was urging a wife to be treacherous to her husband. “That is, Mabel will not tell him.”

“He bury tomahawk in June’s head.”

“That must never