Lambert, having, in the early morning, lain down by the side of Conrad,
awoke late and found his brother gone. He had left the block-house at
sunrise. Catherine was up and occupied about the hearth when Conrad
lightly descended the stairs. He was in a great hurry, and declined the
morning soup which she offered him. He would certainly be back before
night. Then he took his rifle, hung about him his game bag, and, with
Pluto at his heels, went up the creek with long strides.
"The wild youth," said Lambert.
He was quite displeased with Conrad, but that he had intentionally
avoided him did not enter his mind. Conrad had acted strangely enough
last evening, but then the older brother was accustomed to the
unreliable, crisp and often silly humors of the younger one. "Why
should Conrad give up a hunt to-day which perhaps he had prearranged
with his companions? He will doubtless return by noon with a fat deer
and a woodman's appetite."
So said Lambert while, standing at the hearth, he partook of his
morning meal. However he did not say that, on the whole, he was not so
much put out by his brother's absence--that he reluctantly gave up the
sweet habit of being alone with Catherine that he might talk freely
with her.
But this morning the pleasant conversation was wanting. Catherine was
still and, as Lambert now saw, was pale, and her beaming, brown eyes
were veiled. Now that the end of her journey had been reached she felt
how great the strain had been; but soon, smiling, accommodated herself
to the situation.
"You need not feel concerned," said she. "In a couple of days--perhaps
hours--all will be regained. I will not boast, but I have always been
able to accomplish what others could, and often a little more, and, if
you are not too strict a master, you shall be satisfied with your
maid-servant."
To Lambert it seemed as if the sun had suddenly been overcast. With
trembling hand he put down the cup which he had not yet entirely
emptied.
"You are not my maid-servant, Catherine," he said gently.
"Yes I am, Lambert, yes I am, though you magnanimously tore up the
evidence of my indebtedness," replied the young maiden. "I owe you none
the less on that account. The debt is now doubled. You know it well and
yet it is proper for me to say it. I desired to be to you a good and
faithful maid-servant--to you and yours. I supposed nothing else but
that your parents were still alive, and I heartily rejoiced that I
could serve them. You said nothing about your parents, I think, because
you did not wish to make me feel sad. Now your parents, like mine,
are dead, and you live here alone with your brother, so I am your
maid-servant and your brother's."
Lambert made a motion as though he wished to reply, but his half-raised
arm fell powerless, and his opened lips again closed. He had intended
to say: "I love you, Catherine. Do you not see it?" How could he now
say it?
Catherine continued:
"I beg you, Lambert, with this understanding, to talk with your
brother, if you have not already done so. You are the elder and know me
better. He is young and impetuous, as it seems, and now sees me for the
first time. And now, Lambert, you surely have something better to do
than to stand here and talk with me. I have to clear away a little here
yet, and will follow you should you not go far, if you do not object. I
should like to see all, and know about every part."
She turned to him and gave him her hand. "Does that please you?" she
asked smiling.
"Entirely, entirely," replied Lambert. Tears stood in his eyes, but the
dear girl wanted it so, and that was enough.
"I will first go to the barn-yard," said he, "and then into the forest.
This afternoon I intended to go to Uncle Ditmar's. Perhaps you will
accompany me."
He went out hastily. Catherine looked at him with sad smiles. "You
good, dear, best man," said she, "it is not my fault that I distress
you, but I must think of us all. The madcap will probably now be
satisfied."
Catherine now felt herself somewhat relieved of the weight that had
lain on her heart since the peculiar scene with Conrad in the morning.
Involuntarily she constantly thought about how alarmed Conrad appeared
when, as he came down the narrow, steep stairs, he found her already on
the hearth; how he had then approached her and stared at her with his
large, glistening eyes, and had said: "Are you man and wife, or are you
not? If you are, then it will be best for me to send a bullet through
my head; but, lie not--for God's sake, do not lie, otherwise I will
indeed shoot myself, but first surely both of you."
Then as Catherine drew back from the violence, he began to laugh. "Now,
one does not lightly shoot such a brother dead, who is so good that he
could not be better, and a girl who is so handsome, so wonderfully
beautiful. So far as I am concerned I need feel no anxiety about being
shot dead. This can happen to me any day. Pluto, beast, are you again
staring at her? Wait! I will teach you manners." With this he hastened
away. Outside Pluto howled grievously, as though she would teach
Catherine that her master was not accustomed to indulge in vain
threats.
"Now he will be satisfied," said Catherine, yet a couple of times,
while she cleared away the breakfast and made some preparations for the
simple dinner. To-day she did not, like yesterday, have to gather up
laboriously what she needed; everything was at her hand. Everything
appeared as if familiar to her--as though she had known it from youth
up. She hummed her favorite song, "Were I a wild falcon I would soar
aloft," and then interrupted herself and said: "It has been childish
for me to be so fearful. He loves him; that one sees clearly. He has
called him the best brother, and surely, at the bottom of his heart, he
is kind though his eyes have so wild a look. Before glittering eyes
which are so handsome one needs not be afraid. But Lambert's eyes are
still handsomer."
Catherine stepped to the door. It was a most beautiful spring morning.
Small white clouds passed quietly over the light blue sky. Golden stars
danced in the creek. Dew-drops sparkled in the luxuriant grass of the
meadow--here in emerald green, in blue and purple shades there. The
woods which encircled the hill on which the house stood looked down
quietly. Over a rocky height that projected steep out of the forest
there hovered a great eagle with extended wings sporting in the balmy
air that was breathing through the valley and whose every puff was
charged with balsamic aroma.
Catherine folded her hands and her eyes filled with tears. It seemed to
her as if she were again standing in the small church of her home
village, and that she heard her father's mild voice pronounce the
benediction over the congregation: "The Lord let the light of His
countenance fall upon you and give you peace."
The last remains of unrest had passed away from her and, in her present
mood, she went to seek Lambert, whom she supposed to be at the
buildings which, as she passed around the block-house, she saw standing
at some distance towards the forest.
She found him working at a hedge which inclosed part of a field in
which the lance-shaped, bright leaves of the Indian-corn waved in the
morning wind. Young, red-blossomed apple trees, whose trunks had been
carefully wound with thorns, had been planted around the fields.
"This the deer did last night," said Lambert, as he approached a
damaged place. "Here are the fresh tracks. Conrad knows how to keep
them respectful, but during the eight days that he has been away they
have again become bold."
"I will help you," said Catherine, after she had looked on for a few
minutes.
"This is no labor for you," said Lambert, looking up.
"So, once for all, you must not speak," serenely replied Catherine. "If
you want a princess in your house you must at once send me away again.
I own myself unfit for that."
Lambert smiled with pleasure when he saw how skillfully she took hold
of the matter, and how handy she was. He now noticed for the first time
that the roses had again blossomed on her cheeks; and as she now, in
helping him, bent over and back, the agreeable play of the lines of her
slender, girlish body filled him with trembling delight.
"But you also should not be unemployed," said Catherine.
The young man, blushing deeply, returned to his work with redoubled
zeal, so that it was soon completed.
"What comes next?" asked Catherine.
"I intended to go up into the woods to look after my pine trees. There
will be probably more to do there than here, where my kind uncle has
kept every thing so well in order. But about woodcraft he understands
little or nothing; and Conrad concerns himself only with his hunting.
It was fortunate that I could do the chief labor before I left home in
the spring."
He hung the gun, which leaned against the hedge near him, over his
shoulder and looked at Catherine.
Lingering he said: "Will you go with me? It is not far."
"That is truly fortunate," said Catherine. "You know I am shy of long
roads. Will you not rather saddle Hans?"
She called the horse, grazing in an enclosure near by, in which there
was also a small flock of black-wooled sheep. He pricked up his ears,
came slowly, swinging his tail, and put his head over the bars.
"You good Hans," said Catherine, brushing the thick forelock out of the
eyes of the animal, "I gave you a good deal of trouble on the long
journey."
"The trouble was not so very great. Is it not so, old Hans?" said
Lambert.
Hans seemed to think that to such an idle question no answer was
necessary and went on quietly chewing his last mouthful of grass.
The young people stood and looked on and stroked the head and neck
of the animal, while in the branches of a blossoming apple tree a
robin-redbreast sang. Their hands touched. Lambert's large eyes assumed
a determined expression and then were raised with a cordial look to the
blushing face of the maiden.
"Now you must also show me the barn-yard," said Catherine.
"Cheerfully," said Lambert.
They entered the barn-yard which like the house was inclosed with a
stone-wall of the height of a man, and contained several low buildings
formed of logs. First the stable in which, in the winter and in bad
weather, Hans, the cows and the sheep stayed quietly together. This was
now empty with the exception of a couple of half-grown pigs grunting
within a partition, and a large flock of hens and turkeys which had
been contentedly scratching in the straw, but now, frightened at the
unwelcome intrusion, cackling and flying apart rushed out of the open
door. Then they entered the work-shop, in which Lambert worked during
the winter, and where, besides excellent timber and all kinds of tools,
there were standing, begun and finished, tubs which would have done
credit to a cooper.
"In the fall these are all filled with tar and rosin," said Lambert,
"and sent to Albany. It won't be long before I must stick to this, and
my Uncle Ditmar, of whom I learned coopering, will help me, I suppose,
and also Conrad, though he does not like mechanical labor. Still he can
do anything he pleases, and does it better than one who devotes his
life to it."
Catherine was pleased to hear that Lambert was so proud of his younger
brother, but did not speak of it. It seemed to her as if a dark shadow
had passed over her heart, which had but now been as sunny as the
surrounding golden, spring landscape.
They left the barn-yard and, ascending by degrees, soon reached the
edge of the woods, which here extended back farther from the level
ground, so that, as they turned about, the valley lay like a great
meadow in the woods, in the midst of which was the blockhouse on the
hill. The creek was concealed by the reeds which fringed its shore.
Deep peace rested in happy quietude on the earth in its morning
freshness. But up in the air there appeared an unusual spectacle. The
eagle which Catherine had before observed had been joined by another.
They sailed directly over the house and wound their circles together
swifter and ever swifter until, with loud outcries, they rushed against
each other, striking with their mighty wings, whirling round each
other, clasping each other, and falling like a stone. Then again they
separated, sailed aloft, again rushed together, until at length one
flew toward the woods followed by the other.
"A hateful sight," said Catherine. "The angry beasts!"
"We are accustomed to that," said Lambert.
Catherine was greatly disturbed by this battle scene. Involuntarily she
had again to think of Conrad.
As they now turned into the woods she asked:
"Do you truly love your brother?"
"And he me," said Lambert.
"He is yet so young," Catherine began again.
"Ten years younger than I. I am thirty-two. Our mother died when he was
born. Good Aunt Ditmar, our sainted mother's sister, took him home
since my father and I, poor youngster, naturally did not know how to
help ourselves. When he was a couple of years old he came again to us,
though his aunt would gladly have kept him. But father did not stand
any too well with uncle, and was jealous, fearing that his child would
become entirely estranged from him. So I waited on and brought up the
little orphaned rogue as best I could, and, since he grew so, I thought
that any mother would be proud of the boy. Then, when I could no longer
carry him, I played with him, and taught him the little I had learned,
and so we have been together day and night, and an angry word has never
passed between us, though he was as wild and intractable as a young
bear. Father's position in respect to him was very difficult, being
himself a determined man and quite passionate. Once, being at variance,
father raised his hand against the eleven-year-old boy, who was as
brave and proud as a man. He ran away into the woods and did not
return, so that we thought that he had either committed suicide, or had
been torn in pieces by the bears. Meanwhile my young gentleman stuck
among the Indians at Oneida Lake and did not let anything be seen or
heard of him for three years, until, a few days after father's death,
he suddenly entered the block-house where I sat alone and sad. At first
I did not know him, for he had grown a couple of heads taller and was
dressed in Indian style. But he fell upon my neck and wept bitterly,
and said:
"'I heard by chance that our father was lying on his death-bed. I have
been walking three days and three nights to see him again.' In the
midst of his weeping he threw back his head and, with sparkling eyes,
exclaimed: 'But do not think that I have forgiven him for striking me;
but I am sorry that I ran away.' So he came again as he had gone, wild
and proud, and at the next moment soft and kind."
Lambert was silent. After a short pause he said: "I wish I had told you
all this before; you would then not have been so frightened last
evening."
"And this morning," said Catherine to herself.
Lambert continued: "They here call him the Indian, and the name fits
him in more than one respect. At least no Indian would undertake to
compete with him in those things in which they chiefly excel. In all
their arts Conrad beats them; and then he loves the hunt, the forest
and rambling ways just as the red-skins do. But his heart is true as
pure gold, and in that he is not a red-skin, who are all as false as a
jack-o'-lantern in the swamp. For this reason we all here on the Mohawk
and on the Schoharie, old and young, love him. Wherever there are
German settlers there he comes on his hunting expeditions, and is
everywhere welcome. The people sleep without fear when he is there, for
they know they are guarded by the best rifle in the colony."
Lambert's eyes brightened as he spoke about his brother. Suddenly his
face became beclouded.
"Who knows," continued he, "how different it might have been last year
had he been here with us? But when Belletre broke loose with his
devilish Indians and his French, who are much worse devils, we were
entirely unprepared. We would not believe the Indian who brought us the
news. Conrad would have known what there was of it, and would soon have
brought it out. But he remained above between the lakes on a hunt; so
we missed his arm and rifle. Then took place the remarkable
circumstance that they did not come here to Canada Creek, and that our
houses escaped their ravages. This afterward caused bad blood, and one
could hear whisperings about treachery, though, at the first alarm, we
all hurried forward and did our share. Conrad helped us fight in his
own way. He says nothing about it, but I think that many an Indian, who
in the morning went hunting, was vainly waited for at his camp-fire in
the evening, and has not to this day returned to his wigwam."
A shudder passed over Catherine. What had the wild man said this
morning? "As far as it concerns me I need not trouble myself about
being shot to death." Dreadful! Had she not seen as she came up the
Mohawk valley where many houses had been burned which had not been
rebuilt, the entire families having been killed by the merciless
enemies? And how many plain wooden crosses in green fields, along the
road, in the edge of the woods, where a peaceful farmer, a helpless
wife, a playful child, had been pitilessly killed. No, no! It was an
honorable conflict for house and home, for body and life--the same
conflict through which her good father with his whole congregation had
been driven out of Germany. They knew not how to resist their shameless
and disorderly oppressors except by flight over the sea into this
wilderness at the furthest west. Whither shall they yet fly, since the
same enemy even here begrudges them life and freedom? Here one cannot
say: "Let us forsake our houses and shake the dust from our feet." Here
the word is wait, fight, conquer, or die. Not in empty threatening did
the farmer as he went to his peaceful labor carry his gun on his
shoulder.
"I wish I too knew how to handle the rifle," said Catherine.
"Like my Aunt Ursul," said Lambert laughing. "She shoots as well as any
one of us, Conrad naturally being excepted. Nor does she leave her
rifle at home. Here we are, at the pinery."
They had reached a tall forest, such as Catherine on her journey, had
not hitherto seen. The powerful trunks shot up like the pillars of a
dome and intertwined their mighty tops in an arch through whose dark
vaults here and there red sun-rays flashed. The morning wind soughed
through the wide halls, having now become stronger, and ascending,
gently died at the top like the murmur of the sea.
"This seems to have stood so since the first day of creation," said
Catherine.
"And yet its days are numbered," said Lambert. "In a couple of years
there will be little more to be seen of it. I am sorry for the
beautiful trees, and now, since you so admire them, I am doubly sorry.
But there is no longer any remedy. See, here my labor begins."
A slight depression, through which a brooklet purled on its way to the
creek, separated this piece of woods from another which had already
been prepared the second year for the manufacture of tar. Lambert
explained to his companion that each of the large trees was divided
into four quarters. "In the spring, as soon as the sap begins to rise,
the north quarter, where the sun has the least power, is peeled off for
two feet in order to draw off the turpentine. In the fall, before the
sap begins to slacken, the southern quarter is treated in the same way.
The following spring the eastern side, and in the fall the western
side, is in like manner peeled. Then the upper part of the tree, filled
with turpentine, is cut down and split up and roasted in an oven so
prepared as to secure the tar. This I will show you later. This indeed
is not a pleasing sight," said Lambert, "nor will I take you farther,
where the poor naked stumps stand and decay. It cannot well be
otherwise. One must live, and we here on Canada Creek have nothing
else, or scarcely anything else, since our small cultivated acreage
must be devoted to our most urgent necessities. So must also our live
stock, though we have plenty of fertile plow-land and rich meadow-land.
But what can one do when he is every instant in danger, and his crops
are destroyed, and his herds are driven off? They must leave us our
pine trees, and our ovens can soon be rebuilt. To replace the burnt
casks and utensils we make new ones. Hence it was for us a question of
life or death when, last winter, Mr. Albert Livingston wished to
confine us to the valley, and claimed the woods on the hills for
himself, notwithstanding that we had first bought both valley and
forest from the Indians, and again after that from the Government. But
all this I told you often enough on the journey, and you have listened
patiently, and rejoice that the business has been arranged in our
favor. God be praised--"
"And your faithful care," said Catherine. "You had it hard enough on
the long, tiresome journey, from which you did not return unencumbered.
After you had been relieved of the old care you were laden with a new
one in me, a poor, helpless girl."
"Shall I deny it?" replied Lambert. "Yes, Catherine, with you there
came a new care to me. You know what I mean. I feared I had done wrong
to bring you here, where everybody's life is in daily, yes, hourly
danger. This indeed I did not conceal from you, though I felt that you
would not on this account be frightened back. But--"
"Then don't distress yourself further about it," said Catherine. "Or do
you think you have been deceived in me?"
"No," answered Lambert. "But since we are here, it has appeared to me
as though I should have set the matter forth more pressingly. So I also
blame myself that I let Conrad go away this morning without first more
fully ascertaining what he knows about the enemy. He is too careless to
take to heart anything of that kind, I should use better judgment."
"Better judgment, but not less courage," said Catherine. "If I must
believe that my coming has robbed you of your cool courage, how could I
forgive myself for having come here with you? No, Lambert, you must not
so wrong me. I will also learn to use the rifle like Ursul. Why do you
laugh?"
"I cannot think of you and the good old lady together without
laughing," said Lambert.
"Perhaps I shall also live to be old, and, it is to be hoped, good. I
shall then take it amiss if mischievous young people laugh at me."
"You old!" said Lambert, shaking his head. "You old! This I can
conceive as little as how this rivulet must begin if it would flow up
these rocks!"
They now went on between the tree-trunks down to the creek, and were
walking along the edge where, in the mud of the shore, bison and deer
had impressed their deep trails. The stream did not run as smoothly
here as on the level ground. Its course was obstructed, now by rocks
covered with moss a hundred years old, now by an immense tree-trunk
which had fallen diagonally across, and whose withered branches
stretched down into the brown water. A little further up it had to make
its way over rocks, over which it leapt in indescribable, foam-covered
cascades. From where they both stood one could see a part of the fall,
like the fluttering ends of a white garment. The roar was softened by
the distance and accorded remarkably well with the sound of the morning
wind in the majestic tree-tops. With this exception there was an
oppressive stillness in the primitive forest, which the occasional
flight of a flock of pigeons overhead, the hammering of the woodpecker,
the cawing of crows, the chirping of a little bird high above in the
branches, and the piping of a little squirrel, seemed to make only the
stiller. Soft vaporous shadows filled the woods. But in the clear space
above the creek there was spread a golden twilight bewitchingly woven
out of light and shadow. In this enchanting light how bright the
beloved one appeared to her lover. He could not turn his eyes from
her as he now sat near her feet in the moss. Her rich, dark hair
which encircled her well-formed head like a crown; the beautiful,
slanting brows, the long, silky eyelashes; the sweet face; the heavenly
form--ah! all this, on the long journey, had made a deep impression;
but now it seemed as if he had not known it before--as though he now
saw for the first time that she was so beautiful, so wonderfully
beautiful. Also her dark eyelashes were raised, and her glance wandered
over the blue eyes which had never before seemed so deep and bright,
turned back timidly, then looked again more keenly, and could no longer
withdraw themselves; then out of their blue depths there came such
wonderful flashes that her heart stood still, and suddenly again she
felt it bounding and beating against the heart of the beloved man who
held her infolded in his arms. Then they released each other. Each
caught the other's hand. They sank again into each other's arms,
exchanged warm kisses and promises, and laughed, and cried, and said
they had loved each other from the moment in which they first saw each
other, and would do so to the last.
Suddenly Catherine shrunk back. "Conrad!" she cried. "O, my God!
Lambert, what are we beginning?"
"What has happened, my darling?" asked Lambert, while he sought again
to draw the beloved one to him.
"No, no," said Catherine, "this must first be arranged. O, why did I
not tell you? But how could I speak of it before? Now indeed I must
speak, even though it be too late."
Without hesitating and in a becoming manner she told Lambert what
Conrad had said in the morning, and how strange his conduct, and how
threatening his appearance had been. "I seem constantly to hear his
laugh," said she at last. "Great God, there he is!"
She pointed with her trembling hand up the creek to the place where,
between the dark underwood, the foam-streaks of the waterfall
fluttered.
"Where?" asked Lambert.
"Conrad! I thought I saw him slipping away between the trunks of the
trees."
Lambert shook his head.
"Then he would be there yet," said he. "It must have been a deer that
wanted to go to the spring. Surely you are causelessly frightened. I
can well believe that the youth finds my beautiful girl handsome, but
love as I do, that he cannot. Hereafter he will be happy in seeing me
happy."
"But now I surely have heard a human voice," cried Catherine.
"I, too, this time," said Lambert, "but it came from up the creek.
Hark!"
"He, holla, holla, he, ho!" it now sounded.
"That is Aunt Ursul," said Lambert. "How does she come now to be here?"
A dark shadow passed over his face, which however at once disappeared
as Catherine impressed a hearty kiss on his lips, and said: "Quick,
Lambert; let us now go to meet your aunt. See that she observes
nothing. Do you hear?"
"There she is already," said Lambert, half vexed, half laughing, as now
a large person, whose clothes were an unusual mixture of women's and
men's clothing, and who, carrying a rifle on her shoulder, pressing
through the bushes, soon reached the pair.