You saw but sorrow in its waning form;
A working sea remaining from a storm,
Where now the weary waves roll o'er the deep,
And faintly murmur ere they fall asleep.
DRYDEN.
Men accustomed to a warfare like that we have been describing are not
apt to be much under the influence of the tender feelings while still
in the field. Notwithstanding their habits, however, more than one heart
was with Mabel in the block, while the incidents we are about to relate
were in the course of occurrence; and even the indispensable meal was
less relished by the hardiest of the soldiers than it might have been
had not the Sergeant been so near his end.
As Pathfinder returned from the block, he was met by Muir, who led
him aside in order to hold a private discourse. The manner of the
Quartermaster had that air of supererogatory courtesy about it
which almost invariably denotes artifice; for, while physiognomy and
phrenology are but lame sciences at the best, and perhaps lead to
as many false as right conclusions, we hold that there is no more
infallible evidence of insincerity of purpose, short of overt acts, than
a face that smiles when there is no occasion, and the tongue that is out
of measure smooth. Muir had much of this manner in common, mingled with
an apparent frankness that his Scottish intonation of voice, Scottish
accent, and Scottish modes of expression were singularly adapted to
sustain. He owed his preferment, indeed, to a long-exercised deference
to Lundie and his family; for, while the Major himself was much too
acute to be the dupe of one so much his inferior in real talents and
attainments, most persons are accustomed to make liberal concessions
to the flatterer, even while they distrust his truth and are perfectly
aware of his motives. On the present occasion, the contest in skill was
between two men as completely the opposites of each other in all the
leading essentials of character as very well could be. Pathfinder was
as simple as the Quartermaster was practised; he was as sincere as the
other was false, and as direct as the last was tortuous. Both were cool
and calculating, and both were brave, though in different modes and
degrees; Muir never exposing his person except for effect, while the
guide included fear among the rational passions, or as a sensation to be
deferred to only when good might come of it.
“My dearest friend,” Muir commenced,--“for ye'll be dearer to us all, by
seventy and sevenfold, after your late conduct than ever ye were,--ye've
just established yourself in this late transaction. It's true that
they'll not be making ye a commissioned officer, for that species of
prefairment is not much in your line, nor much in your wishes, I'm
thinking; but as a guide, and a counsellor, and a loyal subject, and
an expert marksman, yer renown may be said to be full. I doubt if the
commander-in-chief will carry away with him from America as much credit
as will fall to yer share, and ye ought just to set down in content and
enjoy yoursal' for the remainder of yer days. Get married, man, without
delay, and look to your precious happiness; for ye've no occasion to
look any longer to your glory. Take Mabel Dunham, for Heaven's sake, to
your bosom, and ye'll have both a bonnie bride and a bonnie reputation.”
“Why, Quartermaster, this is a new piece of advice to come from your
mouth. They've told me I had a rival in you.”
“And ye had, man, and a formidible one, too, I can tell you,--one that
has never yet courted in vain, and yet one that has courted five times.
Lundie twits me with four, and I deny the charge; but he little thinks
the truth would outdo even his arithmetic. Yes, yes, ye had a rival,
Pathfinder; but ye've one no longer in me. Ye've my hearty wishes for
yer success with Mabel; and were the honest Sergeant likely to survive,
ye might rely on my good word with him, too, for a certainty.”
“I feel your friendship, Quartermaster, I feel your friendship, though I
have no great need of any favor with Sergeant Dunham, who has long been
my friend. I believe we may look upon the matter to be as sartain as
most things in war-time; for, Mabel and her father consenting, the whole
55th couldn't very well put a stop to it. Ah's me! The poor father will
scarcely live to see what his heart has so long been set upon.”
“But he'll have the consolation of knowing it will come to pass, in
dying. Oh, it's a great relief, Pathfinder, for the parting spirit to
feel certain that the beloved ones left behind will be well provided
for after its departure. All the Mistress Muirs have duly expressed that
sentiment with their dying breaths.”
“All your wives, Quartermaster, have been likely to feel this
consolation.”
“Out upon ye, man! I'd no' thought ye such a wag. Well, well; pleasant
words make no heart-burnings between auld fri'nds. If I cannot espouse
Mabel, ye'll no object to my esteeming her, and speaking well of her,
and of yoursal', too, on all suitable occasions and in all companies.
But, Pathfinder, ye'll easily understan' that a poor deevil who loses
such a bride will probably stand in need of some consolation?”
“Quite likely, quite likely, Quartermaster,” returned the simple-minded
guide; “I know the loss of Mabel would be found heavy to be borne by
myself. It may bear hard on your feelings to see us married; but the
death of the Sergeant will be likely to put it off, and you'll have time
to think more manfully of it, you will.”
“I'll bear up against it; yes, I'll bear up against it, though my
heart-strings crack! And ye might help me, man, by giving me something
to do. Ye'll understand that this expedition has been of a very peculiar
nature; for here am I, bearing the king's commission, just a volunteer,
as it might be; while a mere orderly has had the command. I've submitted
for various reasons, though my blood has boiled to be in authority,
while ye war' battling, for the honor of the country and his Majesty's
rights--”
“Quartermaster,” interrupted the guide, “you fell so early into the
enemy's hands that your conscience ought to be easily satisfied on that
score; so take my advice, and say nothing about it.”
“That's just my opinion, Pathfinder; we'll all say nothing about it.
Sergeant Dunham is _hors de combat_--”
“Anan?” said the guide.
“Why, the Sergeant can command no longer, and it will hardly do to leave
a corporal at the head of a victorious party like this; for flowers that
will bloom in a garden will die on a heath; and I was just thinking I
would claim the authority that belongs to one who holds a lieutenant's
commission. As for the men, they'll no dare to raise any objaction;
and as for yoursal', my dear friend, now that ye've so much honor, and
Mabel, and the consciousness of having done yer duty, which is more
precious than all, I expect to find an ally rather than one to oppose
the plan.”
“As for commanding the soldiers of the 55th, Lieutenant, it is your
right, I suppose, and no one here will be likely to gainsay it; though
you've been a prisoner of war, and there are men who might stand out
ag'in giving up their authority to a prisoner released by their own
deeds. Still no one here will be likely to say anything hostile to your
wishes.”
“That's just it, Pathfinder; and when I come to draw up the report of
our success against the boats, and the defence of the block, together
with the general operations, including the capitulation, ye'll no' find
any omission of your claims and merits.”
“Tut for my claims and merits, Quartermaster! Lundie knows what I am in
the forest and what I am in the fort; and the General knows better than
he. No fear of me; tell your own story, only taking care to do justice
by Mabel's father, who, in one sense, is the commanding officer at this
very moment.”
Muir expressed his entire satisfaction with this arrangement, as well as
his determination to do justice by all, when the two went to the group
assembled round the fire. Here the Quartermaster began, for the first
time since leaving Oswego, to assume some of the authority that might
properly be supposed to belong to his rank. Taking the remaining
corporal aside, he distinctly told that functionary that he must in
future be regarded as one holding the king's commission, and directed
him to acquaint his subordinates with the new state of things. This
change in the dynasty was effected without any of the usual symptoms of
a revolution; for, as all well understood the Lieutenant's legal claims
to command, no one felt disposed to dispute his orders. For reasons best
known to themselves, Lundie and the Quartermaster had originally made a
different disposition; and now, for reasons of his own, the latter had
seen fit to change it. This was reasoning enough for soldiers, though
the hurt received by Sergeant Dunham would have sufficiently explained
the circumstance had an explanation been required.
All this time Captain Sanglier was looking after his own breakfast
with the resignation of a philosopher, the coolness of a veteran, the
ingenuity and science of a Frenchman, and the voracity of an ostrich.
This person had now been in the colony some thirty years, having left
France in some such situation in his own army as Muir filled in the
55th. An iron constitution, perfect obduracy of feeling, a certain
address well suited to manage savages, and an indomitable courage, had
early pointed him out to the commander-in-chief as a suitable agent to
be employed in directing the military operations of his Indian allies.
In this capacity, then, he had risen to the titular rank of captain; and
with his promotion had acquired a portion of the habits and opinions
of his associates with a facility and an adaptation of self which are
thought in America to be peculiar to his countrymen. He had often led
parties of the Iroquois in their predatory expeditions; and his
conduct on such occasions exhibited the contradictory results of both
alleviating the misery produced by this species of warfare, and
of augmenting it by the broader views and greater resources of
civilization. In other words, he planned enterprises that, in their
importance and consequences, much exceeded the usual policy of the
Indians, and then stepped in to lessen some of the evils of his own
creating. In short, he was an adventurer whom circumstances had thrown
into a situation where the callous qualities of men of his class might
readily show themselves for good or for evil; and he was not of a
character to baffle fortune by any ill-timed squeamishness on the score
of early impressions, or to trifle with her liberality by unnecessarily
provoking her frowns through wanton cruelty. Still, as his name was
unavoidably connected with many of the excesses committed by his
parties, he was generally considered in the American provinces a wretch
who delighted in bloodshed, and who found his greatest happiness in
tormenting the helpless and the innocent; and the name of Sanglier,
which was a sobriquet of his own adopting, or of Flint Heart, as he was
usually termed on the borders, had got to be as terrible to the women
and children of that part of the country as those of Butler and Brandt
became at a later day.
The meeting between Pathfinder and Sanglier bore some resemblance to
that celebrated interview between Wellington and Blucher which has
been so often and graphically told. It took place at the fire; and the
parties stood earnestly regarding each other for more than a minute
without speaking. Each felt that in the other he saw a formidable
foe; and each felt, while he ought to treat the other with the manly
liberality due to a warrior, that there was little in common between
them in the way of character as well as of interests. One served for
money and preferment; the other, because his life had been cast in the
wilderness, and the land of his birth needed his arm and experience.
The desire of rising above his present situation never disturbed the
tranquillity of Pathfinder; nor had he ever known an ambitious thought,
as ambition usually betrays itself, until he became acquainted with
Mabel. Since then, indeed, distrust of himself, reverence for her, and
the wish to place her in a situation above that which he then filled,
had caused him some uneasy moments; but the directness and simplicity of
his character had early afforded the required relief; and he soon came
to feel that the woman who would not hesitate to accept him for her
husband would not scruple to share his fortunes, however humble. He
respected Sanglier as a brave warrior; and he had far too much of that
liberality which is the result of practical knowledge to believe half of
what he had heard to his prejudice, for the most bigoted and illiberal
on every subject are usually those who know nothing about it; but he
could not approve of his selfishness, cold-blooded calculations, and
least of all of the manner in which he forgot his “white gifts,” to
adopt those that were purely “red.” On the other hand, Pathfinder was a
riddle to Captain Sanglier. The latter could not comprehend the other's
motives; he had often heard of his disinterestedness, justice, and
truth; and in several instances they had led him into grave errors, on
that principle by which a frank and open-mouthed diplomatist is said to
keep his secrets better than one that is close-mouthed and wily.
After the two heroes had gazed at each other in the manner mentioned,
Monsieur Sanglier touched his cap; for the rudeness of a border life had
not entirely destroyed the courtesy of manner he had acquired in youth,
nor extinguished that appearance of _bonhomie_ which seems inbred in a
Frenchman.
“Monsieur le Pathfinder,” said he, with a very decided accent, though
with a friendly smile, “_un militaire_ honor _le courage, et la
loyaute_. You speak Iroquois?”
“Ay, I understand the language of the riptyles, and can get along with
it if there's occasion,” returned the literal and truth-telling guide;
“but it's neither a tongue nor a tribe to my taste. Wherever you find
the Mingo blood, in my opinion, Master Flinty-heart, you find a knave.
Well, I've seen you often, though it was in battle; and I must say it
was always in the van. You must know most of our bullets by sight?”
“Nevvair, sair, your own; _une balle_ from your honorable hand be
sairtaine deat'. You kill my best warrior on some island.”
“That may be, that may be; though I daresay, if the truth was known,
they would turn out to be great rascals. No offence to you, Master
Flinty-heart, but you keep desperate evil company.”
“Yes, sair,” returned the Frenchman, who, bent on saying that which was
courteous himself, and comprehending with difficulty, was disposed to
think he received a compliment, “you too good. But _un brave_ always
_comme ca_. What that mean? ha! what that _jeune homme_ do?”
The hand and eye of Captain Sanglier directed the look of Pathfinder to
the opposite side of the fire, where Jasper, just at that moment, had
been rudely seized by two of the soldiers, who were binding his arms
under the direction of Muir.
“What does that mean, indeed?” cried the guide, stepping forward and
shoving the two subordinates away with a power of muscle that would not
be denied. “Who has the heart to do this to Jasper Eau-douce? And who
has the boldness to do it before my eyes?”
“It is by my orders, Pathfinder,” answered the Quartermaster, “and
I command it on my own responsibility. Ye'll no' tak' on yourself
to dispute the legality of orders given by one who bears the king's
commission to the king's soldiers?”
“I'd dispute the king's words, if they came from the king's own mouth,
did he say that Jasper desarves this. Has not the lad just saved all our
scalps, taken us from defeat, and given us victory? No, no, Lieutenant;
if this is the first use that you make of your authority, I, for one,
will not respect it.”
“This savors a little of insubordination,” answered Muir; “but we can
bear much from Pathfinder. It is true this Jasper has _seemed_ to serve
us in this affair, but we ought not to overlook past transactions. Did
not Major Duncan himself denounce him to Sergeant Dunham before we left
the post? Have we not seen sufficient with our own eyes to make sure of
having been betrayed? And is it not natural, and almost necessary, to
believe that this young man has been the traitor? Ah, Pathfinder! Ye'll
no' be making yourself a great statesman or a great captain if you put
too much faith in appearances. Lord bless me! Lord bless me! If I do
not believe, could the truth be come at, as you often say yourself,
Pathfinder, that hypocrisy is a more common vice than even envy, and
that's the bane of human nature.”
Captain Sanglier shrugged his shoulders; then he looked earnestly from
Jasper towards the Quartermaster, and from the Quartermaster towards
Jasper.
“I care not for your envy, or your hypocrisy, or even for your human
natur',” returned Pathfinder. “Jasper Eau-douce is my friend; Jasper
Eau-douce is a brave lad, and an honest lad, and a loyal lad; and no man
of the 55th shall lay hands on him, short of Lundie's own orders, while
I'm in the way to prevent it. You may have authority over your soldiers;
but you have none over Jasper and me, Master Muir.”
“_Bon!_” ejaculated Sanglier, the sound partaking equally of the
energies of the throat and of the nose.
“Will ye no' hearken to reason, Pathfinder? Ye'll no' be forgetting our
suspicions and judgments; and here is another circumstance to augment
and aggravate them all. Ye can see this little bit of bunting; well,
where should it be found but by Mabel Dunham, on the branch of a tree on
this very island, just an hour or so before the attack of the enemy; and
if ye'll be at the trouble to look at the fly of the _Scud's_ ensign,
ye'll just say that the cloth has been cut from out it. Circumstantial
evidence was never stronger.”
“_Ma foi, c'est un peu fort, ceci,_” growled Sanglier between his teeth.
“Talk to me of no ensigns and signals when I know the heart,” continued
the Pathfinder. “Jasper has the gift of honesty; and it is too rare a
gift to be trifled with, like a Mingo's conscience. No, no; off hands,
or we shall see which can make the stoutest battle; you and your men of
the 55th, or the Sarpent here, and Killdeer, with Jasper and his crew.
You overrate your force, Lieutenant Muir, as much as you underrate
Eau-douce's truth.”
“_Tres bon!_”
“Well, if I must speak plainly, Pathfinder, I e'en must. Captain
Sanglier here and Arrowhead, this brave Tuscarora, have both informed me
that this unfortunate boy is the traitor. After such testimony you can
no longer oppose my right to correct him, as well as the necessity of
the act.”
“_Scelerat,_” muttered the Frenchman.
“Captain Sanglier is a brave soldier, and will not gainsay the conduct
of an honest sailor,” put in Jasper. “Is there any traitor here, Captain
Flinty-heart?”
“Ay,” added Muir, “let him speak out then, since ye wish it, unhappy
youth! That the truth may be known. I only hope that ye may escape the
last punishment when a court will be sitting on your misdeeds. How is
it, Captain; do ye, or do ye not, see a traitor amang us?”
“_Oui_--yes, sair--_bien sur_.”
“Too much lie!” said Arrowhead in a voice of thunder, striking the
breast of Muir with the back of his own hand in a sort of ungovernable
gesture; “where my warriors?--where Yengeese scalp? Too much lie!”
Muir wanted not for personal courage, nor for a certain sense of
personal honor. The violence which had been intended only for a gesture
he mistook for a blow; for conscience was suddenly aroused within him,
and he stepped back a pace, extending his hand towards a gun. His face
was livid with rage, and his countenance expressed the fell intention
of his heart. But Arrowhead was too quick for him; with a wild glance of
the eye the Tuscarora looked about him; then thrust a hand beneath his
own girdle, drew forth a concealed knife, and, in the twinkling of an
eye, buried it in the body of the Quartermaster to the handle. As the
latter fell at his feet, gazing into his face with the vacant stare of
one surprised by death, Sanglier took a pinch of snuff, and said in a
calm voice,--
“_Voila l'affaire finie; mais,_” shrugging his shoulders, “_ce n'est
qu'un scelerat de moins._”
The act was too sudden to be prevented; and when Arrowhead, uttering
a yell, bounded into the bushes, the white men were too confounded to
follow. Chingachgook, however, was more collected; and the bushes had
scarcely closed on the passing body of the Tuscarora than they were
again opened by that of the Delaware in full pursuit.
Jasper Western spoke French fluently, and the words and manner of
Sanglier struck him.
“Speak, Monsieur,” said he in English; “_am_ I the traitor?”
“_Le voila_,” answered the cool Frenchman, “dat is our _espion_--our
_agent_--our friend--_ma foi_--_c'etait un grand scelerat_--_voici_.”
While speaking, Sanglier bent over the dead body, and thrust his hand
into a pocket of the Quartermaster, out of which he drew a purse.
Emptying the contents on the ground, several double-louis rolled towards
the soldiers, who were not slow in picking them up. Casting the purse
from him in contempt, the soldier of fortune turned towards the soup he
had been preparing with so much care, and, finding it to his liking,
he began to break his fast with an air of indifference that the most
stoical Indian warrior might have envied.