“Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame;
Thy private feasting to a public fast;
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name;
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter worm wood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last.”
Shakespeare, Rape of Lucrece, 11. 890-94.
Judith was waiting the return of Deerslayer on the platform, with
stifled impatience, when the latter reached the hut. Hist and Hetty were
both in a deep sleep, on the bed usually occupied by the two daughters
of the house, and the Delaware was stretched on the floor of the
adjoining room, his rifle at his side, and a blanket over him, already
dreaming of the events of the last few days. There was a lamp burning
in the Ark, for the family was accustomed to indulge in this luxury on
extraordinary occasions, and possessed the means, the vessel being of a
form and material to render it probable it had once been an occupant of
the chest.
As soon as the girl got a glimpse of the canoe, she ceased her hurried
walk up and down the platform and stood ready to receive the young man,
whose return she had now been anxiously expecting for some time. She
helped him to fasten the canoe, and by aiding in the other little
similar employments, manifested her desire to reach a moment of liberty
as soon as possible. When this was done, in answer to an inquiry of his,
she informed him of the manner in which their companions had disposed of
themselves. He listened attentively, for the manner of the girl was so
earnest and impressive as to apprise him that she had something on her
mind of more than common concern.
“And now, Deerslayer,” Judith continued, “you see I have lighted the
lamp, and put it in the cabin of the Ark. That is never done with
us, unless on great occasions, and I consider this night as the most
important of my life. Will you follow me and see what I have to show
you--hear what I have to say.”
The hunter was a little surprised, but, making no objections, both were
soon in the scow, and in the room that contained the light. Here two
stools were placed at the side of the chest, with the lamp on another,
and a table near by to receive the different articles as they might
be brought to view. This arrangement had its rise in the feverish
impatience of the girl, which could brook no delay that it was in
her power to obviate. Even all the padlocks were removed, and it only
remained to raise the heavy lid, again, to expose all the treasures of
this long secreted hoard.
“I see, in part, what all this means,” observed Deerslayer--“yes, I see
through it, in part. But why is not Hetty present? Now Thomas Hutter is
gone, she is one of the owners of these cur'osities, and ought to see
them opened and handled.”
“Hetty sleeps--” answered Judith, huskily. “Happily for her, fine
clothes and riches have no charms. Besides she has this night given her
share of all that the chest may hold to me, that I may do with it as I
please.”
“Is poor Hetty compass enough for that, Judith?” demanded the
just-minded young man. “It's a good rule and a righteous one, never to
take when them that give don't know the valie of their gifts; and such
as God has visited heavily in their wits ought to be dealt with as
carefully as children that haven't yet come to their understandings.”
Judith was hurt at this rebuke, coming from the person it did, but
she would have felt it far more keenly had not her conscience fully
acquitted her of any unjust intentions towards her feeble-minded but
confiding sister. It was not a moment, however, to betray any of her
usual mountings of the spirit, and she smothered the passing sensation
in the desire to come to the great object she had in view.
“Hetty will not be wronged,” she mildly answered; “she even knows not
only what I am about to do, Deerslayer, but why I do it. So take your
seat, raise the lid of the chest, and this time we will go to the
bottom. I shall be disappointed if something is not found to tell us
more of the history of Thomas Hutter and my mother.”
“Why Thomas Hutter, Judith, and not your father? The dead ought to meet
with as much reverence as the living!”
“I have long suspected that Thomas Hutter was not my father, though I
did think he might have been Hetty's, but now we know he was the father
of neither. He acknowledged that much in his dying moments. I am old
enough to remember better things than we have seen on this lake, though
they are so faintly impressed on my memory that the earlier part of my
life seems like a dream.”
“Dreams are but miserable guides when one has to detarmine about
realities, Judith,” returned the other admonishingly. “Fancy nothing and
hope nothing on their account, though I've known chiefs that thought 'em
useful.”
“I expect nothing for the future from them, my good friend, but cannot
help remembering what has been. This is idle, however, when half an hour
of examination may tell us all, or even more than I want to know.”
Deerslayer, who comprehended the girl's impatience, now took his seat
and proceeded once more to bring to light the different articles that
the chest contained. As a matter of course, all that had been previously
examined were found where they had been last deposited, and they excited
much less interest or comment than when formerly exposed to view. Even
Judith laid aside the rich brocade with an air of indifference, for she
had a far higher aim before her than the indulgence of vanity, and was
impatient to come at the still hidden, or rather unknown, treasures.
“All these we have seen before,” she said, “and will not stop to open.
The bundle under your hand, Deerslayer, is a fresh one; that we will
look into. God send it may contain something to tell poor Hetty and
myself who we really are!”
“Ay, if some bundles could speak, they might tell wonderful secrets,”
returned the young man deliberately undoing the folds of another piece
of course canvass, in order to come at the contents of the roll that lay
on his knees: “though this doesn't seem to be one of that family, seeing
'tis neither more nor less than a sort of flag, though of what nation,
it passes my l'arnin' to say.”
“That flag must have some meaning to it--” Judith hurriedly interposed.
“Open it wider, Deerslayer, that we may see the colours.”
“Well, I pity the ensign that has to shoulder this cloth, and to parade
it about on the field. Why 'tis large enough, Judith, to make a dozen of
them colours the King's officers set so much store by. These can be no
ensign's colours, but a gin'ral's!”
“A ship might carry it, Deerslayer, and ships I know do use such things.
Have you never heard any fearful stories about Thomas Hutter's having
once been concerned with the people they call buccaneers?”
“Buck-ah-near! Not I--not I--I never heard him mentioned as good at a
buck far off, or near by. Hurry Harry did till me something about its
being supposed that he had formerly, in some way or other, dealings with
sartain sea robbers, but, Lord, Judith, it can't surely give you any
satisfaction to make out that ag'in your mother's own husband, though he
isn't your father.”
“Anything will give me satisfaction that tells me who I am, and helps to
explain the dreams of childhood. My mother's husband! Yes, he must have
been that, though why a woman like her, should have chosen a man like
him, is more than mortal reason can explain. You never saw mother,
Deerslayer, and can't feel the vast, vast difference there was between
them!”
“Such things do happen, howsever;--yes, they do happen; though why
providence lets them come to pass is more than I understand. I've knew
the f'ercest warriors with the gentlest wives of any in the tribe, and
awful scolds fall to the lot of Injins fit to be missionaries.”
“That was not it, Deerslayer; that was not it. Oh! if it should prove
that--no; I cannot wish she should not have been his wife at all. That
no daughter can wish for her own mother! Go on, now, and let us see what
the square looking bundle holds.”
Deerslayer complied, and he found that it contained a small trunk of
pretty workmanship, but fastened. The next point was to find a key; but,
search proving ineffectual, it was determined to force the lock. This
Deerslayer soon effected by the aid of an iron instrument, and it
was found that the interior was nearly filled with papers. Many were
letters; some fragments of manuscripts, memorandums, accounts, and other
similar documents. The hawk does not pounce upon the chicken with a more
sudden swoop than Judith sprang forward to seize this mine of hitherto
concealed knowledge. Her education, as the reader will have perceived,
was far superior to her situation in life, and her eye glanced over page
after page of the letters with a readiness that her schooling supplied,
and with an avidity that found its origin in her feelings. At first it
was evident that the girl was gratified; and we may add with reason, for
the letters written by females, in innocence and affection, were of a
character to cause her to feel proud of those with whom she had every
reason to think she was closely connected by the ties of blood. It does
not come within the scope of our plan to give more of these epistles,
however, than a general idea of their contents, and this will best be
done by describing the effect they produced on the manner, appearance,
and feeling of her who was so eagerly perusing them.
It has been said, already, that Judith was much gratified with the
letters that first met her eye. They contained the correspondence of
an affectionate and inteffigent mother to an absent daughter, with such
allusions to the answers as served in a great measure to fill up the
vacuum left by the replies. They were not without admonitions and
warnings, however, and Judith felt the blood mounting to her temples,
and a cold shudder succeeding, as she read one in which the propriety
of the daughter's indulging in as much intimacy as had evidently been
described in one of the daughter's own letters, with an officer “who
came from Europe, and who could hardly be supposed to wish to form an
honorable connection in America,” was rather coldly commented on by the
mother. What rendered it singular was the fact that the signatures had
been carefully cut from every one of these letters, and wherever a name
occurred in the body of the epistles it had been erased with so much
diligence as to render it impossible to read it. They had all been
enclosed in envelopes, according to the fashion of the age, and not an
address either was to be found. Still the letters themselves had been
religiously preserved, and Judith thought she could discover traces of
tears remaining on several. She now remembered to have seen the little
trunk in her mother's keeping, previously to her death, and she supposed
it had first been deposited in the chest, along with the other forgotten
or concealed objects, when the letters could no longer contribute to
that parent's grief or happiness.
Next came another bundle, and these were filled with the protestations
of love, written with passion certainly, but also with that deceit which
men so often think it justifiable to use to the other sex. Judith
had shed tears abundantly over the first packet, but now she felt a
sentiment of indignation and pride better sustaining her. Her hand
shook, however, and cold shivers again passed through her frame, as she
discovered a few points of strong resemblance between these letters and
some it had been her own fate to receive. Once, indeed, she laid the
packet down, bowed her head to her knees, and seemed nearly convulsed.
All this time Deerslayer sat a silent but attentive observer of every
thing that passed. As Judith read a letter she put it into his hands to
hold until she could peruse the next; but this served in no degree to
enlighten her companion, as he was totally unable to read. Nevertheless
he was not entirely at fault in discovering the passions that were
contending in the bosom of the fair creature by his side, and, as
occasional sentences escaped her in murmurs, he was nearer the truth, in
his divinations, or conjectures, than the girl would have been pleased
at discovering.
Judith had commenced with the earliest letters, luckily for a ready
comprehension of the tale they told, for they were carefully arranged in
chronological order, and to any one who would take the trouble to peruse
them, would have revealed a sad history of gratified passion, coldness,
and finally of aversion. As she obtained the clue to their import, her
impatience would not admit of delay, and she soon got to glancing her
eyes over a page by way of coming at the truth in the briefest manner
possible. By adopting this expedient, one to which all who are eager to
arrive at results without encumbering themselves with details are so apt
to resort, Judith made a rapid progress in these melancholy revelations
of her mother's failing and punishment. She saw that the period of her
own birth was distinctly referred to, and even learned that the homely
name she bore was given her by the father, of whose person she retained
so faint an impression as to resemble a dream. This name was not
obliterated from the text of the letters, but stood as if nothing was to
be gained by erasing it. Hetty's birth was mentioned once, and in that
instance the name was the mother's, but ere this period was reached came
the signs of coldness, shadowing forth the desertion that was so soon to
follow. It was in this stage of the correspondence that her mother had
recourse to the plan of copying her own epistles. They were but few, but
were eloquent with the feelings of blighted affection, and contrition.
Judith sobbed over them, until again and again she felt compelled to
lay them aside from sheer physical inability to see; her eyes being
literally obscured with tears. Still she returned to the task, with
increasing interest, and finally succeeded in reaching the end of the
latest communication that had probably ever passed between her parents.
All this occupied fully an hour, for near a hundred letters were glanced
at, and some twenty had been closely read. The truth now shone clear
upon the acute mind of Judith, so far as her own birth and that of Hetty
were concerned. She sickened at the conviction, and for the moment
the rest of the world seemed to be cut off from her, and she had now
additional reasons for wishing to pass the remainder of her life on the
lake, where she had already seen so many bright and so many sorrowing
days.
There yet remained more letters to examine. Judith found these were a
correspondence between her mother and Thomas Hovey. The originals of
both parties were carefully arranged, letter and answer, side by
side; and they told the early history of the connection between the
ill-assorted pair far more plainly than Judith wished to learn it. Her
mother made the advances towards a marriage, to the surprise, not to
say horror of her daughter, and she actually found a relief when
she discovered traces of what struck her as insanity--or a morbid
desperation, bordering on that dire calamity--in the earlier letters of
that ill-fated woman. The answers of Hovey were coarse and illiterate,
though they manifested a sufficient desire to obtain the hand of a woman
of singular personal attractions, and whose great error he was willing
to overlook for the advantage of possessing one every way so much his
superior, and who it also appeared was not altogether destitute of
money. The remainder of this part of the correspondence was brief, and
it was soon confined to a few communications on business, in which
the miserable wife hastened the absent husband in his preparations to
abandon a world which there was a sufficient reason to think was as
dangerous to one of the parties as it was disagreeable to the other. But
a sincere expression had escaped her mother, by which Judith could get a
clue to the motives that had induced her to marry Hovey, or Hutter, and
this she found was that feeling of resentment which so often tempts the
injured to inflict wrongs on themselves by way of heaping coals on the
heads of those through whom they have suffered. Judith had enough of the
spirit of that mother to comprehend this sentiment, and for a moment did
she see the exceeding folly which permitted such revengeful feelings to
get the ascendancy.
There what may be called the historical part of the papers ceased. Among
the loose fragments, however, was an old newspaper that contained
a proclamation offering a reward for the apprehension of certain
free-booters by name, among which was that of Thomas Hovey. The
attention of the girl was drawn to the proclamation and to this
particular name by the circumstance that black lines had been drawn
under both, in ink. Nothing else was found among the papers that could
lead to a discovery of either the name or the place of residence of the
wife of Hutter. All the dates, signatures, and addresses had been
cut from the letters, and wherever a word occurred in the body of the
communications that might furnish a clue, it was scrupulously erased.
Thus Judith found all her hopes of ascertaining who her parents were
defeated, and she was obliged to fall back on her own resources and
habits for everything connected with the future. Her recollection of her
mother's manners, conversation, and sufferings filled up many a gap
in the historical facts she had now discovered, and the truth, in
its outlines, stood sufficiently distinct before her to take away all
desire, indeed, to possess any more details. Throwing herself back in
her seat, she simply desired her companion to finish the examination of
the other articles in the chest, as it might yet contain something of
importance.
“I'll do it, Judith; I'll do it,” returned the patient Deerslayer, “but
if there's many more letters to read, we shall see the sun ag'in afore
you've got through with the reading of them! Two good hours have you
been looking at them bits of papers!”
“They tell me of my parents, Deerslayer, and have settled my plans for
life. A girl may be excused, who reads about her own father and mother,
and that too for the first time in her life! I am sorry to have kept you
waiting.”
“Never mind me, gal; never mind me. It matters little whether I sleep
or watch; but though you be pleasant to look at, and are so handsome,
Judith, it is not altogether agreeable to sit so long to behold you
shedding tears. I know that tears don't kill, and that some people are
better for shedding a few now and then, especially young women; but I'd
rather see you smile any time, Judith, than see you weep.”
This gallant speech was rewarded with a sweet, though a melancholy
smile; and then the girl again desired her companion to finish the
examination of the chest. The search necessarily continued some time,
during which Judith collected her thoughts and regained her composure.
She took no part in the search, leaving everything to the young
man, looking listlessly herself at the different articles that came
uppermost. Nothing further of much interest or value, however, was
found. A sword or two, such as were then worn by gentlemen, some buckles
of silver, or so richly plated as to appear silver, and a few handsome
articles of female dress, composed the principal discoveries. It struck
both Judith and the Deerslayer, notwithstanding, that some of these
things might be made useful in effecting a negotiation with the
Iroquois, though the latter saw a difficulty in the way that was not so
apparent to the former. The conversation was first renewed in connection
with this point.
“And now, Deerslayer,” said Judith, “we may talk of yourself, and of the
means of getting you out of the hands of the Hurons. Any part, or all
of what you have seen in the chest, will be cheerfully given by me and
Hetty to set you at liberty.”
“Well, that's gin'rous,--yes, 'tis downright free-hearted, and
free-handed, and gin'rous. This is the way with women; when they take up
a fri'ndship, they do nothing by halves, but are as willing to part with
their property as if it had no value in their eyes. However, while I
thank you both, just as much as if the bargain was made, and Rivenoak,
or any of the other vagabonds, was here to accept and close the treaty,
there's two principal reasons why it can never come to pass, which may
be as well told at once, in order no onlikely expectations may be raised
in you, or any onjustifiable hopes in me.”
“What reason can there be, if Hetty and I are willing to part with the
trifles for your sake, and the savages are willing to receive them?”
“That's it, Judith; you've got the idees, but they're a little out of
their places, as if a hound should take the back'ard instead of the
leading scent. That the Mingos will be willing to receive them things,
or any more like 'em you may have to offer is probable enough, but
whether they'll pay valie for 'em is quite another matter. Ask yourself,
Judith, if any one should send you a message to say that, for such or
such a price, you and Hetty might have that chist and all it holds,
whether you'd think it worth your while to waste many words on the
bargain?”
“But this chest and all it holds, are already ours; there is no reason
why we should purchase what is already our own.”
“Just so the Mingos caculate! They say the chist is theirn, already; or,
as good as theirn, and they'll not thank anybody for the key.”
“I understand you, Deerslayer; surely we are yet in possession of the
lake, and we can keep possession of it until Hurry sends troops to drive
off the enemy. This we may certainly do provided you will stay with us,
instead of going back and giving yourself up a prisoner, again, as you
now seem determined on.”
“That Hurry Harry should talk in this-a-way, is nat'ral, and according to
the gifts of the man. He knows no better, and, therefore, he is little
likely to feel or to act any better; but, Judith, I put it to your heart
and conscience--would you, could you think of me as favorably, as I hope
and believe you now do, was I to forget my furlough and not go back to
the camp?”
“To think more favorably of you than I now do, Deerslayer, would not
be easy; but I might continue to think as favorably--at least it seems
so--I hope I could, for a world wouldn't tempt me to let you do anything
that might change my real opinion of you.”
“Then don't try to entice me to overlook my furlough, gal! A furlough
is a sacred thing among warriors and men that carry their lives in their
hands, as we of the forests do, and what a grievous disapp'intment would
it be to old Tamenund, and to Uncas, the father of the Sarpent, and to
my other fri'nds in the tribe, if I was so to disgrace myself on my very
first war-path. This you will pairceive, moreover, Judith, is without
laying any stress on nat'ral gifts, and a white man's duties, to say
nothing of conscience. The last is king with me, and I try never to
dispute his orders.”
“I believe you are right, Deerslayer,” returned the girl, after a little
reflection and in a saddened voice: “a man like you ought not to act
as the selfish and dishonest would be apt to act; you must, indeed,
go back. We will talk no more of this, then. Should I persuade you to
anything for which you would be sorry hereafter, my own regret would not
be less than yours. You shall not have it to say, Judith--I scarce know
by what name to call myself, now!”
“And why not? Why not, gal? Children take the names of their parents,
nat'rally, and by a sort of gift, like, and why shouldn't you and Hetty
do as others have done afore ye? Hutter was the old man's name, and
Hutter should be the name of his darters;--at least until you are given
away in lawful and holy wedlock.”
“I am Judith, and Judith only,” returned the girl positively--“until the
law gives me a right to another name. Never will I use that of Thomas
Hutter again; nor, with my consent, shall Hetty! Hutter was not even his
own name, I find, but had he a thousand rights to it, it would give none
to me. He was not my father, thank heaven; though I may have no reason
to be proud of him that was!”
“This is strange!” said Deerslayer, looking steadily at the excited
girl, anxious to know more, but unwilling to inquire into matters that
did not properly concern him; “yes, this is very strange and oncommon!
Thomas Hutter wasn't Thomas Hutter, and his darters weren't his darters!
Who, then, could Thomas Hutter be, and who are his darters?”
“Did you never hear anything whispered against the former life of this
person, Deerslayer?” demanded Judith “Passing, as I did, for his child,
such reports reached even me.”
“I'll not deny it, Judith; no, I'll not deny it. Sartain things have
been said, as I've told you, but I'm not very credible as to reports.
Young as I am, I've lived long enough to l'arn there's two sorts of
characters in the world--them that is 'arned by deeds, and them that is
'arned by tongues, and so I prefar to see and judge for myself, instead
of letting every jaw that chooses to wag become my judgment. Hurry Harry
spoke pretty plainly of the whole family, as we journeyed this-a-way,
and he did hint something consarning Thomas Hutter's having been a
free-liver on the water, in his younger days. By free-liver, I mean that
he made free to live on other men's goods.”
“He told you he was a pirate--there is no need of mincing matters
between friends. Read that, Deerslayer, and you will see that he told
you no more than the truth. This Thomas Hovey was the Thomas Hutter you
knew, as is seen by these letters.”
As Judith spoke, with a flushed cheek and eyes dazzling with the
brilliancy of excitement, she held the newspaper towards her companion,
pointing to the proclamation of a Colonial Governor, already mentioned.
“Bless you, Judith!” answered the other laughing, “you might as well ask
me to print that--or, for that matter to write it. My edication has been
altogether in the woods; the only book I read, or care about reading,
is the one which God has opened afore all his creatur's in the noble
forests, broad lakes, rolling rivers, blue skies, and the winds and
tempests, and sunshine, and other glorious marvels of the land! This
book I can read, and I find it full of wisdom and knowledge.”
“I crave your pardon, Deerslayer,” said Judith, earnestly, more abashed
than was her wont, in finding that she had in advertently made an appeal
that might wound her compan ion's pride. “I had forgotten your manner of
life, and least of all did I wish to hurt your feelings.”
“Hurt my feelin's? Why should it hurt my feelin's to ask me to read,
when I can't read. I'm a hunter--and I may now begin to say a warrior,
and no missionary, and therefore books and papers are of no account with
such as I--No, no--Judith,” and here the young man laughed cordially,
“not even for wads, seeing that your true deerkiller always uses the
hide of a fa'a'n, if he's got one, or some other bit of leather suitably
prepared. There's some that do say, all that stands in print is true,
in which case I'll own an unl'arned man must be somewhat of a loser;
nevertheless, it can't be truer than that which God has printed with his
own hand in the sky, and the woods, and the rivers, and the springs.”
“Well, then, Hutter, or Hovey, was a pirate, and being no father of
mine, I cannot wish to call him one. His name shall no longer be my
name.”
“If you dislike the name of that man, there's the name of your mother,
Judith. Her'n may sarve you just as good a turn.”
“I do not know it. I've look'd through those papers, Deerslayer, in the
hope of finding some hint by which I might discover who my mother was,
but there is no more trace of the past, in that respect, than the bird
leaves in the air.”
“That's both oncommon, and onreasonable. Parents are bound to give their
offspring a name, even though they give 'em nothing else. Now I come of
a humble stock, though we have white gifts and a white natur', but we
are not so poorly off as to have no name. Bumppo we are called, and I've
heard it said--” a touch of human vanity glowing on his cheek, “that the
time has been when the Bumppos had more standing and note among mankind
than they have just now.”
“They never deserved them more, Deerslayer, and the name is a good one;
either Hetty, or myself, would a thousand times rather be called Hetty
Bumppo, or Judith Bumppo, than to be called Hetty or Judith Hutter.”
“That's a moral impossible,” returned the hunter, good humouredly,
“onless one of you should so far demean herself as to marry me.”
Judith could not refrain from smiling, when she found how simply and
naturally the conversation had come round to the very point at which she
had aimed to bring it. Although far from unfeminine or forward, either
in her feelings or her habits, the girl was goaded by a sense of wrongs
not altogether merited, incited by the hopelessness of a future that
seemed to contain no resting place, and still more influenced by
feelings that were as novel to her as they proved to be active and
engrossing. The opening was too good, therefore, to be neglected,
though she came to the subject with much of the indirectness and perhaps
justifiable address of a woman.
“I do not think Hetty will ever marry, Deerslayer,” she said, “and if
your name is to be borne by either of us, it must be borne by me.”
“There's been handsome women too, they tell me, among the Bumppos,
Judith, afore now, and should you take up with the name, oncommon as you
be in this particular, them that knows the family won't be altogether
surprised.”
“This is not talking as becomes either of us, Deerslayer, for whatever
is said on such a subject, between man and woman, should be said
seriously and in sincerity of heart. Forgetting the shame that ought to
keep girls silent until spoken to, in most cases, I will deal with you
as frankly as I know one of your generous nature will most like to be
dealt by. Can you--do you think, Deerslayer, that you could be happy
with such a wife as a woman like myself would make?”
“A woman like you, Judith! But where's the sense in trifling about such
a thing? A woman like you, that is handsome enough to be a captain's
lady, and fine enough, and so far as I know edicated enough, would be
little apt to think of becoming my wife. I suppose young gals that
feel themselves to be smart, and know themselves to be handsome, find a
sartain satisfaction in passing their jokes ag'in them that's neither,
like a poor Delaware hunter.”
This was said good naturedly, but not without a betrayal of feeling
which showed that something like mortified sensibility was blended
with the reply. Nothing could have occurred more likely to awaken all
Judith's generous regrets, or to aid her in her purpose, by adding the
stimulant of a disinterested desire to atone to her other impulses, and
cloaking all under a guise so winning and natural, as greatly to lessen
the unpleasant feature of a forwardness unbecoming the sex.
“You do me injustice if you suppose I have any such thought, or wish,”
she answered, earnestly. “Never was I more serious in my life, or more
willing to abide by any agreement that we may make to-night. I have had
many suitors, Deerslayer--nay, scarce an unmarried trapper or hunter
has been in at the Lake these four years, who has not offered to take me
away with him, and I fear some that were married, too--”
“Ay, I'll warrant that!” interrupted the other--“I'll warrant all that!
Take 'em as a body, Judith, 'arth don't hold a set of men more given to
theirselves, and less given to God and the law.”
“Not one of them would I--could I listen to; happily for myself perhaps,
has it been that such was the case. There have been well looking youths
among them too, as you may have seen in your acquaintance, Henry March.”
“Yes, Harry is sightly to the eye, though, to my idees, less so to the
judgment. I thought, at first, you meant to have him, Judith, I did; but
afore he went, it was easy enough to verify that the same lodge wouldn't
be big enough for you both.”
“You have done me justice in that at least, Deerslayer. Hurry is a man I
could never marry, though he were ten times more comely to the eye, and
a hundred times more stout of heart than he really is.”
“Why not, Judith, why not? I own I'm cur'ous to know why a youth like
Hurry shouldn't find favor with a maiden like you?”
“Then you shall know, Deerslayer,” returned the girl, gladly availing
herself of the opportunity of indirectly extolling the qualities which
had so strongly interested her in her listener; hoping by these means
covertly to approach the subject nearest her heart. “In the first place,
looks in a man are of no importance with a woman, provided he is manly,
and not disfigured, or deformed.”
“There I can't altogether agree with you,” returned the other
thoughtfully, for he had a very humble opinion of his own personal
appearance; “I have noticed that the comeliest warriors commonly get the
best-looking maidens of the tribe for wives, and the Sarpent, yonder,
who is sometimes wonderful in his paint, is a gineral favorite with all
the Delaware young women, though he takes to Hist, himself, as if she
was the only beauty on 'arth!”
“It may be so with Indians; but it is different with white girls. So
long as a young man has a straight and manly frame, that promises to
make him able to protect a woman, and to keep want from the door, it is
all they ask of the figure. Giants like Hurry may do for grenadiers, but
are of little account as lovers. Then as to the face, an honest look,
one that answers for the heart within, is of more value than any shape
or colour, or eyes, or teeth, or trifles like them. The last may do for
girls, but who thinks of them at all, in a hunter, or a warrior, or a
husband? If there are women so silly, Judith is not among them.”
“Well, this is wonderful! I always thought that handsome liked handsome,
as riches love riches!”
“It may be so with you men, Deerslayer, but it is not always so with us
women. We like stout-hearted men, but we wish to see them modest; sure
on a hunt, or the war-path, ready to die for the right, and unwilling to
yield to the wrong. Above all we wish for honesty--tongues that are not
used to say what the mind does not mean, and hearts that feel a little
for others, as well as for themselves. A true-hearted girl could die for
such a husband! while the boaster, and the double-tongued suitor gets to
be as hateful to the sight, as he is to the mind.”
Judith spoke bitterly, and with her usual force, but her listener was
too much struck with the novelty of the sensations he experienced to
advert to her manner. There was something so soothing to the humility of
a man of his temperament, to hear qualities that he could not but know
he possessed himself, thus highly extolled by the loveliest female he
had ever beheld, that, for the moment, his faculties seemed suspended
in a natural and excusable pride. Then it was that the idea of the
possibility of such a creature as Judith becoming his companion for life
first crossed his mind. The image was so pleasant, and so novel, that
he continued completely absorbed by it for more than a minute, totally
regardless of the beautiful reality that was seated before him, watching
the expression of his upright and truth-telling countenance with a
keenness that gave her a very fair, if not an absolutely accurate clue
to his thoughts. Never before had so pleasing a vision floated before
the mind's eye of the young hunter, but, accustomed most to practical
things, and little addicted to submitting to the power of his
imagination, even while possessed of so much true poetical feeling in
connection with natural objects in particular, he soon recovered his
reason, and smiled at his own weakness, as the fancied picture faded
from his mental sight, and left him the simple, untaught, but highly
moral being he was, seated in the Ark of Thomas Hutter, at midnight,
with the lovely countenance of its late owner's reputed daughter,
beaming on him with anxious scrutiny, by the light of the solitary lamp.
“You're wonderful handsome, and enticing, and pleasing to look on,
Judith!” he exclaimed, in his simplicity, as fact resumed its ascendency
over fancy. “Wonderful! I don't remember ever to have seen so beautiful
a gal, even among the Delawares; and I'm not astonished that Hurry Harry
went away soured as well as disapp'inted!”
“Would you have had me, Deerslayer, become the wife of such a man as
Henry March?”
“There's that which is in his favor, and there's that which is ag'in
him. To my taste, Hurry wouldn't make the best of husbands, but I fear
that the tastes of most young women, hereaway, wouldn't be so hard upon
him.”
“No--no--Judith without a name would never consent to be called Judith
March! Anything would be better than that.”
“Judith Bumppo wouldn't sound as well, gal; and there's many names that
would fall short of March, in pleasing the ear.”
“Ah! Deerslayer, the pleasantness of the sound, in such cases, doesn't
come through the ear, but through the heart. Everything is agreeable,
when the heart is satisfied. Were Natty Bumppo, Henry March, and Henry
March, Natty Bumppo, I might think the name of March better than it is;
or were he, you, I should fancy the name of Bumppo horrible!”
“That's just it--yes, that's the reason of the matter. Now, I'm
nat'rally avarse to sarpents, and I hate even the word, which, the
missionaries tell me, comes from human natur', on account of a sartain
sarpent at the creation of the 'arth, that outwitted the first woman;
yet, ever since Chingachgook has 'arned the title he bears, why the
sound is as pleasant to my ears as the whistle of the whippoorwill of a
calm evening--it is. The feelin's make all the difference in the world,
Judith, in the natur' of sounds; ay, even in that of looks, too.”
“This is so true, Deerslayer, that I am surprised you should think it
remarkable a girl, who may have some comeliness herself, should not
think it necessary that her husband should have the same advantage, or
what you fancy an advantage. To me, looks in a man is nothing provided
his countenance be as honest as his heart.”
“Yes, honesty is a great advantage, in the long run; and they that are
the most apt to forget it in the beginning, are the most apt to l'arn
it in the ind. Nevertheless, there's more, Judith, that look to present
profit than to the benefit that is to come after a time. One they think
a sartainty, and the other an onsartainty. I'm glad, howsever, that you
look at the thing in its true light, and not in the way in which so many
is apt to deceive themselves.”
“I do thus look at it, Deerslayer,” returned the girl with emphasis,
still shrinking with a woman's sensitiveness from a direct offer of her
hand, “and can say, from the bottom of my heart, that I would rather
trust my happiness to a man whose truth and feelings may be depended
on, than to a false-tongued and false-hearted wretch that had chests
of gold, and houses and lands--yes, though he were even seated on a
throne!”
“These are brave words, Judith; they're downright brave words; but
do you think that the feelin's would keep 'em company, did the ch'ice
actually lie afore you? If a gay gallant in a scarlet coat stood on one
side, with his head smelling like a deer's foot, his face smooth and
blooming as your own, his hands as white and soft as if God hadn't
bestowed 'em that man might live by the sweat of his brow, and his step
as lofty as dancing-teachers and a light heart could make it; and the
other side stood one that has passed his days in the open air till his
forehead is as red as his cheek; had cut his way through swamps and
bushes till his hand was as rugged as the oaks he slept under; had
trodden on the scent of game till his step was as stealthy as the
catamount's, and had no other pleasant odor about him than such as
natur' gives in the free air and the forest--now, if both these men
stood here, as suitors for your feelin's, which do you think would win
your favor?”
Judith's fine face flushed, for the picture that her companion had
so simply drawn of a gay officer of the garrisons had once been
particularly grateful to her imagination, though experience and
disappointment had not only chilled all her affections, but given them a
backward current, and the passing image had a momentary influence on her
feelings; but the mounting colour was succeeded by a paleness so deadly,
as to make her appear ghastly.
“As God is my judge,” the girl solemnly answered, “did both these men
stand before me, as I may say one of them does, my choice, if I know my
own heart, would be the latter. I have no wish for a husband who is any
way better than myself.”
“This is pleasant to listen to, and might lead a young man in time to
forget his own onworthiness, Judith! Howsever, you hardly think all that
you say. A man like me is too rude and ignorant for one that has had
such a mother to teach her. Vanity is nat'ral, I do believe, but vanity
like that, would surpass reason.”
“Then you do not know of what a woman's heart is capable! Rude you are
not, Deerslayer, nor can one be called ignorant that has studied what
is before his eyes as closely as you have done. When the affections are
concerned, all things appear in their pleasantest colors, and trifles
are overlooked, or are forgotten. When the heart feels sunshine, nothing
is gloomy, even dull looking objects, seeming gay and bright, and so it
would be between you and the woman who should love you, even though your
wife might happen, in some matters, to possess what the world calls the
advantage over you.”
“Judith, you come of people altogether above mine, in the world, and
onequal matches, like onequal fri'ndships can't often tarminate kindly.
I speak of this matter altogether as a fanciful thing, since it's not
very likely that you, at least, would be apt to treat it as a matter
that can ever come to pass.”
Judith fastened her deep blue eyes on the open, frank countenance of
her companion, as if she would read his soul. Nothing there betrayed
any covert meaning, and she was obliged to admit to herself, that he
regarded the conversation as argumentative, rather than positive, and
that he was still without any active suspicion that her feelings were
seriously involved in the issue. At first, she felt offended; then she
saw the injustice of making the self-abasement and modesty of the hunter
a charge against him, and this novel difficulty gave a piquancy to the
state of affairs that rather increased her interest in the young man. At
that critical instant, a change of plan flashed on her mind, and with
a readiness of invention that is peculiar to the quick-witted and
ingenious, she adopted a scheme by which she hoped effectually to bind
him to her person. This scheme partook equally of her fertility of
invention, and of the decision and boldness of her character. That the
conversation might not terminate too abruptly, however, or any suspicion
of her design exist, she answered the last remark of Deerslayer, as
earnestly and as truly as if her original intention remained unaltered.
“I, certainly, have no reason to boast of parentage, after what I have
seen this night,” said the girl, in a saddened voice. “I had a mother,
it is true; but of her name even, I am ignorant--and, as for my father,
it is better, perhaps, that I should never know who he was, lest I speak
too bitterly of him!”
“Judith,” said Deerslayer, taking her hand kindly, and with a manly
sincerity that went directly to the girl's heart, “tis better to say no
more to-night. Sleep on what you've seen and felt; in the morning
things that now look gloomy, may look more che'rful. Above all, never
do anything in bitterness, or because you feel as if you'd like to take
revenge on yourself for other people's backslidings. All that has been
said or done atween us, this night, is your secret, and shall never be
talked of by me, even with the Sarpent, and you may be sartain if he
can't get it out of me no man can. If your parents have been faulty, let
the darter be less so; remember that you're young, and the youthful may
always hope for better times; that you're more quick-witted than usual,
and such gin'rally get the better of difficulties, and that, as for
beauty, you're oncommon, which is an advantage with all. It is time to
get a little rest, for to-morrow is like to prove a trying day to some
of us.”
Deerslayer arose as he spoke, and Judith had no choice but to comply.
The chest was closed and secured, and they parted in silence, she to
take her place by the side of Hist and Hetty, and he to seek a blanket
on the floor of the cabin he was in. It was not five minutes ere the
young man was in a deep sleep, but the girl continued awake for a long
time. She scarce knew whether to lament, or to rejoice, at having
failed in making herself understood. On the one hand were her womanly
sensibilities spared; on the other was the disappointment of defeated,
or at least of delayed expectations, and the uncertainty of a future
that looked so dark. Then came the new resolution, and the bold project
for the morrow, and when drowsiness finally shut her eyes, they closed
on a scene of success and happiness, that was pictured by the fancy,
under the influence of a sanguine temperament, and a happy invention.