“Speed! Malise, speed! such cause of haste
Thine active sinews never braced.”
--Scott.
The roads of Otsego, if we except the principal high ways, were, at the
early day of our tale, but little better than wood-paths. The high trees
that were growing on the very verge of the wheel-tracks excluded the
sun's rays, unless at meridian; and the slowness of the evaporation,
united with the rich mould of vegetable decomposition that covered
the whole country to the depth of several inches, occasioned but an
indifferent foundation for the footing of travellers. Added to these
were the inequalities of a natural surface, and the constant recurrence
of enormous and slippery roots that were laid bare by the removal of the
light soil, together with stumps of trees, to make a passage not
only difficult but dangerous. Yet the riders among these numerous
obstructions, which were such as would terrify an unpracticed eye,
gave no demonstrations of uneasiness as their horses toiled through the
sloughs or trotted with uncertain paces along the dark route. In many
places the marks on the trees were the only indications of a road, with
perhaps an occasional remnant of a pine that, by being cut close to the
earth, so as to leave nothing visible but its base of roots, spreading
for twenty feet in every direction, was apparently placed there as a
beacon to warn the traveller that it was the centre of a highway.
Into one of these roads the active sheriff led the way, first striking
out of the foot-path, by which they had descended from the sugar-bush,
across a little bridge, formed of round logs laid loosely on sleepers of
pine, in which large openings of a formidable width were frequent. The
nag of Richard, when it reached one of these gaps, laid its nose along
the logs and stepped across the difficult passage with the sagacity of a
man; but the blooded filly which Miss Temple rode disdained so humble a
movement. She made a step or two with an unusual caution, and then,
on reaching the broadest opening, obedient to the curt and whip of
her fearless mistress, she bounded across the dangerous pass with the
activity of a squirrel.
“Gently, gently, my child,” said Marmaduke, who was following in the
manner of Richard; “this is not a country for equestrian feats. Much
prudence is requisite to journey through our rough paths with safety.
Thou mayst practise thy skill in horsemanship on the plains of New
Jersey with safety; but in the hills of Otsego they may be suspended for
a time.”
“I may as well then relinquish my saddle at once, dear sir,” returned
his daughter; “for if it is to be laid aside until this wild country be
improved, old age will overtake me, and put an end to what you term my
equestrian feats.”
“Say not so, my child,” returned her father; “but if thou venturest
again as in crossing this bridge, old age will never overtake thee, but
I shall be left to mourn thee, cut off in thy pride, my Elizabeth. If
thou hadst seen this district of country, as I did, when it lay in the
sleep of nature, and had witnessed its rapid changes as it awoke to
supply the wants of man, thou wouldst curb thy impatience for a little
time, though thou shouldst not check thy steed.”
“I recollect hearing you speak of your first visit to these woods,
but the impression is faint, and blended with the confused images of
childhood. Wild and unsettled as it may yet seem, it must have been a
thousand times more dreary then. Will you repeat, dear sir, what you
then thought of your enterprise, and what you felt?”
During this speech of Elizabeth, which was uttered with the fervor of
affection, young Edwards rode more closely to the side of the Judge, and
bent his dark eyes on his countenance with an expression that seemed to
read his thoughts.
“Thou wast then young, my child, but must remember when I left thee and
thy mother, to take my first survey of these uninhabited mountains,”
said Marmaduke. “But thou dost not feel all the secret motives that can
urge a man to endure privations in order to accumulate wealth. In my
case they have not been trifling, and God has been pleased to smile
on my efforts. If I have encountered pain, famine, and disease in
accomplishing the settlement of this rough territory, I have not the
misery of failure to add to the grievances.”
“Famine!” echoed Elizabeth; “I thought this was the land of abundance!
Had you famine to contend with?”
“Even so, my child,” said her father. “Those who look around them now,
and see the loads of produce that issue out of every wild path in these
mountains during the season of travelling, will hardly credit that no
more than five years have elapsed since the tenants of these woods were
compelled to eat the scanty fruits of the forest to sustain life, and,
with their unpracticed skill, to hunt the beasts as food for their
starving families.”
“Ay!” cried Richard, who happened to overhear the last of this speech
between the notes of the wood-chopper's song, which he was endeavoring
to breathe aloud; “that was the starving-time,* Cousin Bess. I grew
as lank as a weasel that fall, and my face was as pale as one of your
fever-and-ague visages. Monsieur Le Quoi, there, fell away like a
pumpkin in drying; nor do I think you have got fairly over it yet,
monsieur. Benjamin, I thought, bore it with a worse grace than any of
the family; for he swore it was harder to endure than a short allowance
in the calm latitudes. Benjamin is a sad fellow to swear if you starve
him ever so little. I had half a mind to quit you then, 'Duke, and to
go into Pennsylvania to fatten; but, damn it, thinks I, we are sisters'
children, and I will live or die with him, after all.”
* The author has no better apology for interrupting the interest of a
work of fiction by these desultory dialogues than that they have ref-
erence to facts. In reviewing his work, after so many years, he is
compelled to confess it is injured by too many allusions to incidents
that are not at all suited to satisfy the just expectations of the
general reader. One of these events is slightly touched on in the
commencement of this chapter.
More than thirty years since a very near and dear relative of the
writer, an elder sister and a second mother, was killed by a fall from a
horse in a ride among the very mountains mentioned in this tale. Few
of her sex and years were more extensively known or more universally
beloved than the admirable woman who thus fell a victim to the chances
of the wilderness. “I do not forget thy kindness,” said Marmaduke, “nor
that we are of one blood.”
“But, my dear father,” cried the wondering Elizabeth, “was there actual
suffering? Where were the beautiful and fertile vales of the Mohawk?
Could they not furnish food for your wants?”
“It was a season of scarcity; the necessities of life commanded a high
price in Europe, and were greedily sought after by the speculators. The
emigrants from the East to the West invariably passed along the valley
of the Mohawk, and swept away the means of subsistence like a swarm of
locusts, Nor were the people on the Flats in a much better condition.
They were in want themselves, but they spared the little excess of
provisions that nature did not absolutely require, with the justice
of the German character. There was no grinding of the poor. The word
speculator was then unknown to them. I have seen many a stout man,
bending under the load of the bag of meal which he was carrying from the
mills of the Mohawk, through the rugged passes of these mountains, to
feed his half-famished children, with a heart so light, as he approached
his hut, that the thirty miles he had passed seemed nothing. Remember,
my child, it was in our very infancy; we had neither mills, nor grain,
nor roads, nor often clearings; we had nothing of increase but the
mouths that were to be fed: for even at that inauspicious moment the
restless spirit of emigration was not idle; nay, the general
scarcity which extended to the East tended to increase the number of
adventurers.”
“And how, dearest father, didst thou encounter this dreadful evil?”
said Elizabeth, unconsciously adopting the dialect of her parent in the
warmth of her sympathy. “Upon thee must have fallen the responsibility,
if not the suffering.”
“It did, Elizabeth,” returned the Judge, pausing for a single moment, as
if musing on his former feelings. “I had hundreds at that dreadful time
daily looking up to me for bread. The sufferings of their families and
the gloomy prospect before them had paralyzed the enterprise and efforts
of my settlers; hunger drove them to the woods for food, but despair
sent them at night, enfeebled and wan, to a sleepless pillow. It was not
a moment for in action. I purchased cargoes of wheat from the granaries
of Pennsylvania; they were landed at Albany and brought up the Mohawk in
boats; from thence it was transported on pack-horses into the wilderness
and distributed among my people. Seines were made, and the lakes and
rivers were dragged for fish. Something like a miracle was wrought
in our favor, for enormous shoals of herrings were discovered to have
wandered five hundred miles through the windings of the impetuous
Susquehanna, and the lake was alive with their numbers. These were at
length caught and dealt out to the people, with proper portions of salt,
and from that moment we again began to prosper.” *
* All this was literally true.
“Yes,” cried Richard, “and I was the man who served out the fish and
salt. When the poor devils came to receive their rations, Benjamin, who
was my deputy, was obliged to keep them off by stretching ropes around
me, for they smelt so of garlic, from eating nothing but the wild onion,
that the fumes put me out often in my measurement. You were a child
then, Bess, and knew nothing of the matter, for great care was observed
to keep both you and your mother from suffering. That year put me back
dreadfully, both in the breed of my hogs and of my turkeys.”
“No, Bess,” cried the Judge, in a more cheerful tone, disregarding the
interruption of his cousin, “he who hears of the settlement of a country
knows but little of the toil and suffering by which it is accomplished.
Unimproved and wild as this district now seems to your eyes, what was
it when I first entered the hills? I left my party, the morning of
my arrival, near the farms of the Cherry Valley, and, following a
deer-path, rode to the summit of the mountain that I have since called
Mount Vision; for the sight that there met my eyes seemed to me as the
deceptions of a dream. The fire had run over the pinnacle, and in a
great measure laid open the view. The leaves were fallen, and I mounted
a tree and sat for an hour looking on the silent wilderness. Not an
opening was to be seen in the boundless forest except where the lake
lay, like a mirror of glass. The water was covered by myriads of the
wild-fowl that migrate with the changes in the season; and while in
my situation on the branch of the beech, I saw a bear, with her cubs,
descend to the shore to drink. I had met many deer, gliding through the
woods, in my journey; but not the vestige of a man could I trace during
my progress, nor from my elevated observatory. No clearing, no hut, none
of the winding roads that are now to be seen, were there; nothing but
mountains rising behind mountains; and the valley, with its surface of
branches enlivened here and there with the faded foliage of some tree
that parted from its leaves with more than ordinary reluctance. Even the
Susquehanna was then hid by the height and density of the forest.”
“And were you alone?” asked Elizabeth: “passed you the night in that
solitary state?”
“Not so, my child,” returned the father. “After musing on the scene for
an hour, with a mingled feeling of pleasure and desolation, I left my
perch and descended the mountain. My horse was left to browse on the
twigs that grew within his reach, while I explored the shores of the
lake and the spot where Templeton stands. A pine of more than ordinary
growth stood where my dwelling is now placed! A wind--row had been
opened through the trees from thence to the lake, and my view was but
little impeded. Under the branches of that tree I made my solitary
dinner. I had just finished my repast as I saw smoke curling from
under the mountain, near the eastern bank of the lake. It was the only
indication of the vicinity of man that I had then seen. After much
toil I made my way to the spot, and found a rough cabin of logs, built
against the foot of a rock, and bearing the marks of a tenant, though I
found no one within it--”
“It was the hut of Leather-Stocking,” said Edwards quickly.
“It was; though I at first supposed it to be a habitation of the
Indians. But while I was lingering around the spot Natty made his
appearance, staggering under the carcass of a buck that he had slain.
Our acquaintance commenced at that time; before, I had never heard that
such a being tenanted the woods. He launched his bark canoe and set me
across the foot of the lake to the place where I had fastened my horse,
and pointed out a spot where he might get a scanty browsing until
the morning; when I returned and passed the night in the cabin of the
hunter.”
Miss Temple was so much struck by the deep attention of young Edwards
during this speech that she forgot to resume her interrogations; but the
youth himself continued the discourse by asking:
“And how did the Leather-Stocking discharge the duties of a host sir?”
“Why, simply but kindly, until late in the evening, when he discovered
my name and object, and the cordiality of his manner very sensibly
diminished, or, I might better say, disappeared. He considered the
introduction of the settlers as an innovation on his rights, I believe
for he expressed much dissatisfaction at the measure, though it was in
his confused and ambiguous manner. I hardly understood his objections
myself, but supposed they referred chiefly to an interruption of the
hunting.”
“Had you then purchased the estate, or were you examining it with an
intent to buy?” asked Edwards, a little abruptly.
“It had been mine for several years. It was with a view to People the
land that I visited the lake. Natty treated me hospitably, but coldly,
I thought, after he learned the nature of my journey. I slept on his own
bear--skin, however, and in the morning joined my surveyors again.”
“Said he nothing of the Indian rights, sir? The Leather-Stocking is much
given to impeach the justice of the tenure by which the whites hold the
country.”
“I remember that he spoke of them, but I did not nearly comprehend
him, and may have forgotten what he said; for the Indian title was
extinguished so far back as the close of the old war, and if it had not
been at all, I hold under the patents of the Royal Governors, confirmed
by an act of our own State Legislature, and no court in the country
can affect my title.”
“Doubtless, sir, your title is both legal and equitable,” returned the
youth coldly, reining his horse back and remaining silent till the
subject was changed.
It was seldom Mr. Jones suffered any conversation to continue for a
great length of time without his participation. It seems that he was
of the party that Judge Temple had designated as his surveyors; and
he embraced the opportunity of the pause that succeeded the retreat of
young Edwards to take up the discourse, and with a narration of their
further proceedings, after his own manner. As it wanted, however, the
interest that had accompanied the description of the Judge, we must
decline the task of committing his sentences to paper.
They soon reached the point where the promised view was to be seen.
It was one of those picturesque and peculiar scenes that belong to the
Otsego, but which required the absence of the ice and the softness of a
summer's landscape to be enjoyed in all its beauty. Marmaduke had
early forewarned his daughter of the season, and of its effect on the
prospect; and after casting a cursory glance at its capabilities, the
party returned homeward, perfectly satisfied that its beauties would
repay them for the toil of a second ride at a more propitious season.
“The spring is the gloomy time of the American year,” said the Judge,
“and it is more peculiarly the case in these mountains. The winter seems
to retreat to the fast nesses of the hills, as to the citadel of its
dominion, and is only expelled after a tedious siege, in which either
party, at times, would seem to be gaining the victory.”
“A very just and apposite figure, Judge Temple,” observed the sheriff;
“and the garrison under the command of Jack Frost make formidable
sorties--you understand what I mean by sorties, monsieur; sallies, in
English--and sometimes drive General Spring and his troops back again
into the low countries.”
“Yes sair,” returned the Frenchman, whose prominent eyes were watching
the precarious footsteps of the beast he rode, as it picked its
dangerous way among the roots of trees, holes, log bridges, and sloughs
that formed the aggregate of the highway. “Je vous entends; de low
countrie is freeze up for half de year.”
The error of Mr. Le Quoi was not noticed by the sheriff; and the rest of
the party were yielding to the influence of the changeful season, which
was already teaching the equestrians that a continuance of its
mildness was not to be expected for any length of time. Silence and
thoughtfulness succeeded the gayety and conversation that had prevailed
during the commencement of the ride, as clouds began to gather about
the heavens, apparently collecting from every quarter, in quick motion,
without the agency of a breath of air,
While riding over one of the cleared eminencies that occurred in their
route, the watchful eye of Judge Temple pointed out to his daughter the
approach of a tempest. Flurries of snow already obscured the mountain
that formed the northern boundary of the lake, and the genial sensation
which had quickened the blood through their veins was already succeeded
by the deadening influence of an approaching northwester.
All of the party were now busily engaged in making the best of their
way to the village, though the badness of the roads frequently compelled
them to check the impatience of their animals, which often carried them
over places that would not admit of any gait faster than a walk.
Richard continued in advance, followed by Mr. Le Quoi; next to whom rode
Elizabeth, who seemed to have imbibed the distance which pervaded the
manner of young Edwards since the termination of the discourse between
the latter and her father. Marmaduke followed his daughter, giving her
frequent and tender warnings as to the management of her horse. It
was, possibly, the evident dependence that Louisa Grant placed on his
assistance which induced the youth to continue by her side, as they
pursued their way through a dreary and dark wood, where the rays of the
sun could but rarely penetrate, and where even the daylight was obscured
and rendered gloomy by the deep forests that surrounded them. No wind
had yet reached the spot where the equestrians were in motion, but that
dead silence that often precedes a storm contributed to render their
situation more irksome than if they were already subject to the fury of
the tempest. Suddenly the voice of young Edwards was heard shouting
in those appalling tones that carry alarm to the very soul, and which
curdle the blood of those that hear them.
“A tree! a tree! Whip--spur for your lives! a tree! a tree.”
“A tree! a tree!” echoed Richard, giving his horse a blow that caused
the alarmed beast to jump nearly a rod, throwing the mud and water into
the air like a hurricane.
“Von tree! von tree!” shouted the Frenchman, bending his body on the
neck of his charger, shutting his eyes, and playing on the ribs of his
beast with his heels at a rate that caused him to be conveyed on the
crupper of the sheriff with a marvellous speed.
Elizabeth checked her filly and looked up, with an unconscious but
alarmed air, at the very cause of their danger, while she listened to
the crackling sounds that awoke the stillness of the forest; but the
next instant her bridlet was seized by her father, who cried, “God
protect my child!” and she felt herself hurried onward, impelled by the
vigor of his nervous arm.
Each one of the party bowed to his saddle-bows as the tearing of
branches was succeeded by a sound like the rushing of the winds, which
was followed by a thundering report, and a shock that caused the very
earth to tremble as one of the noblest ruins of the forest fell directly
across their path.
One glance was enough to assure Judge Temple that his daughter and those
in front of him were safe, and he turned his eyes, in dreadful anxiety,
to learn the fate of the others. Young Edwards was on the opposite side
of the tree, his form thrown back in his saddle to its utmost distance,
his left hand drawing up his bridle with its greatest force, while the
right grasped that of Miss Grant so as to draw the head of her horse
under its body. Both the animals stood shaking in every joint with
terror, and snorting fearfully. Louisa herself had relinquished her
reins, and, with her hands pressed on her face, sat bending forward
in her saddle, in an attitude of despair, mingled strangely with
resignation.
“Are you safe?” cried the Judge, first breaking the awful silence of the
moment.
“By God's blessing,” returned the youth; “but if there had been branches
to the tree we must have been lost--”
He was interrupted by the figure of Louisa slowly yielding in her
saddle, and but for his arm she would have sunk to the earth. Terror,
however, was the only injury that the clergyman's daughter had
sustained, and, with the aid of Elizabeth, she was soon restored to her
senses. After some little time was lost in recovering her strength, the
young lady was replaced in her saddle, and supported on either side
by Judge Temple and Mr. Edwards she was enabled to follow the party in
their slow progress.
“The sudden fallings of the trees,” said Marmaduke, “are the most
dangerous accidents in the forest, for they are not to be foreseen,
being impelled by no winds, nor any extraneous or visible cause against
which we can guard.”
“The reason of their falling, Judge Temple, is very obvious,” said the
sheriff. “The tree is old and decayed, and it is gradually weakened by
the frosts, until a line drawn from the centre of gravity falls without
its base, and then the tree comes of a certainty; and I should like
to know what greater compulsion there can be for any thing than a
mathematical certainty. I studied math--”
“Very true, Richard,” interrupted Marmaduke; “thy reasoning is true,
and, if my memory be not over-treacherous, was furnished by myself on a
former occasion, But how is one to guard against the danger? Canst thou
go through the forests measuring the bases and calculating the centres
of the oaks? Answer me that, friend Jones, and I will say thou wilt do
the country a service.”
“Answer thee that, friend Temple!” returned Richard; “a well-educated
man can answer thee anything, sir. Do any trees fall in this manner but
such as are decayed? Take care not to approach the roots of a rotten
tree, and you will be safe enough.”
“That would be excluding us entirely from the forests,” said Marmaduke.
“But, happily, the winds usually force down most of these dangerous
ruins, as their currents are admitted into the woods by the surrounding
clearings, and such a fall as this has been is very rare.”
Louisa by this time had recovered so much strength as to allow the party
to proceed at a quicker pace, but long before they were safely housed
they were overtaken by the storm; and when they dismounted at the
door of the mansion-house, the black plumes of Miss Temple's hat were
drooping with the weight of a load of damp snow, and the coats of the
gentlemen were powdered with the same material.
While Edwards was assisting Louisa from her horse, the warm-hearted girl
caught his hand with fervor and whispered:
“Now, Mr. Edwards, both father and daughter owe their lives to you.”
A driving northwesterly storm succeeded, and before the sun was set
every vestige of spring had vanished; the lake, the mountains, the
village, and the fields being again hidden under one dazzling coat of
snow.