"So!" said Aunt Ursul. "There yon are, sir!"
She remained standing, took her rifle from her shoulder and looked with
large, round eyes on those who were approaching, like a beast of prey
on a coming victim.
"God bless you, aunt," said Lambert, extending his hand to his old
friend in salutation. "It is long since we have seen each other."
"And it might have been longer had it depended on you, sir," replied
Aunt Ursul. "But one must first visit his pinery. Relatives and friends
come later. It is fortunate that Aunt Ursul knows her people, or she
might have had to look long for you, sir."
She threw her gun with a powerful swing on her shoulder, turned short
on the heel of her man's boots, and began to stride back over the road
along the creek by which she had come. She had returned Lambert's
salutation but slightly, and had not noticed Catherine at all.
"How did you learn that I am back?" asked Lambert.
"Not from you, sir," replied Aunt Ursul.
"How is uncle?"
"As usual."
"You have taken such good care of my things--"
"One must, when the men are wandering about the country."
"You well know, aunt, that I did not remain so long away for release
from labor, nor entirely on my own account. Nor was my journey useless.
The business that took me to New York is so arranged that you and
others will be satisfied."
"So!" said Ursul.
"And I have likewise brought with me for you a young female friend,
whom you will love as she deserves, and whom you will receive kindly as
you do all who need your help."
"So!" said Aunt Ursul.
The path was so narrow that two could not walk abreast. Ursul did not
turn about, but Lambert now did so and observed that Catherine was
quite pale, and that tears stood in her eyes. The sight cut him to the
heart, as he had but a little before seen the beautiful face radiant
with happiness. "Have good courage, my girl," said he softly. "She does
not mean unkindly."
Catherine tried to smile through her tears, and bowed as if she would
say: "Let it pass. Since you love me I can bear anything."
"Lambert!" called Ursul, who was vigorously walking on, "come here!"
"Only go," stammered Catherine; "but, for God's sake, tell her nothing.
I could not endure it."
The young man tore himself away with a powerful effort and followed
Ursul Ditmar, whom he soon overtook.
"Come to my side," said Aunt Ursul; "the path is wide enough so you
need no longer trot behind me."
Lambert did as his aunt desired. Aunt Ursul could not bear opposition,
and Lambert had from his youth honored her as a second mother. However
he could not refrain from saying with mild reproach, "You are very
rough with the poor girl, aunt."
"So!" said the dame. "Do you think so? It is naturally very important
for an old person like me to know what such a look into the world
means. No, I may as well tell you what I think. You have done a foolish
thing, sir, do you hear--a besotted, foolish thing in that at such a
time you have burdened yourself with a woman. If, instead, you had
brought half a dozen men, these we could indeed have used to better
advantage."
"But, Aunt Ursul, first hear me--"
"I will not listen! I know the whole story as though I had been present
from the beginning. Poor famished creatures, who all looked as though
they had already for four weeks played the ghost. Surely! It is a sin
and shame, and may the evil one pay back the greedy sharpers and
Hollanders, and pour melted gold down their hungry throats! But when a
gun is fired off it is well not to be in front of it. Why did you stand
near and gaze when you knew that you had such a butter-heart in your
breast? Now you have the burden. What will be the result? You will
naturally marry the girl. And then? Then there comes every year a
crying brat until there are four or five. At the fifth the poor
creature dies and Aunt Ursul can then take the young brood and raise
them. But I tell you, that won't do, by any means! I would not
undertake it should you offer me a ton of gold for each child."
Aunt Ursul had spoken so excitedly and in so loud a voice that Lambert
was glad when, turning, he saw Catherine following slowly at a great
distance, her head bowed down and she often plucking a wood-flower.
"How can you talk in that way, aunt?" said Lambert.
"To you it would indeed be pleasanter should I utter what first comes
into the mouth, and say yea, and amen, to what you dumbheads have
hatched out. Furthermore, I have no sympathy for you, sir. You have
prepared your own soup. You must eat it yourself. Poor girl! Thrust out
into the world naked and bare, so to speak, and with such eyes--just
like your sainted mother's--by which all men were captivated. This is
itself already a heaven-appearing misfortune. I can sing a song about
it. Why do you laugh, you green woodpecker? Do you think, since now, in
my fifty-seventh year, I am not as slim as an osier-switch and as
smooth as an eel, I could not turn the heads of the men at seventeen?
You are getting on beautifully. I tell you how foolish they were,
though it isn't worth while to say it, for they are all so. But I had
half a dozen on every finger, and your girl has as yet but two."
"Surely I do not understand you, aunt," said Lambert, whose anxiety
kept increasing as long as she kept talking in her peculiar way.
"Well, then, I will speak plainly," said Ursul, after she had cast a
rapid glance toward Catherine. "This morning--I was just raking up my
hay--your brother came with such a leap over the gate that my first
impulse was to give him one over the head, and, distracted and wild, to
my horror, began to speak so incoherently, that no one besides me, who
know him from childhood, could have gathered his meaning; saying that
he must shoot himself dead since you could not both marry her, and
other foolish talk, all showing that he is madly and blindly in love
with the girl."
Lambert was frightened, as he now heard from the mouth of Aunt Ursul
what Catherine herself had told him a few minutes before. So the bad
temper had not been blown away by the first morning wind that fanned
the cheeks of the hunter, as he had hoped it would be. He had carried
it at least as far as Aunt Ursul's.
"Surely you have set his head right, aunt?" said Lambert.
"First set right the head of that pine," said Aunt Ursul, pointing to
an immense tree which had been shattered by lightning so that its top
now held by the bark, hung to the trunk. "And then, sir, you did not do
right in not keeping your promise to bring the young man a wife as you
have done for yourself."
"I promised nothing of the kind," replied Lambert earnestly. "It was
impossible for me to believe that Conrad was serious when he called
after me, as I was already trotting off down the valley: 'Bring
back with you a wife for each of us!' I never thought of it
again--especially not when heaven threw in my way a poor orphan, and I
offered her, forsaken by the whole world, a refuge with me. You see,
aunt, that I am indeed blameless."
"Then give him the girl," said Ursul.
"Sooner my life," earnestly replied Lambert.
"I would like to know," said Ursul, "whether I cannot justly say that
beauty is a woman's misfortune, and I suppose you will admit it. Nor is
it less so for the men who are bewitched by it. What do the poor
creatures gain by it? Nothing more than the turtledoves which I found
covered with blood near your house. What do you gain by it? Just as
much as the two eagles who, on account of those doves, tore the flesh
from each other's bodies. Alas, poor women! unhappy women!"
"Conrad will listen to reason," said Lambert, with trembling lips.
"I do not know," replied Ursul, shaking her large head. "It often
happens that men-folks become reasonable, but they usually wait until
it is too late. So I fear it will also be this time. Now he has gone
into the woods, and heaven knows how long he will wander about there,
and that at a time when we cannot spare a single man--and him least of
all."
"He won't fail us when we need him," said Lambert.
"He failed us last year, and did we not need him then? But so men are,
and especially you young men. You make a hunting match, or get up a
race, or, at a wedding, dance the soles off your feet, and do
everything as it pleases you, and the rest you let go as it pleases
God. We saw it last year. How I talked, and preached, urging you to
watchfulness, after I saw that General Abercrombie in Albany did not
bestir himself, and naturally your hands were lying in your laps. I
preached to deaf ears. Afterward when the abominable French broke
in and sunk, and burned, and murdered after their wicked heart's
desire--yes, now every one protected his own head as best he could. But
how many houses might still stand, how many wives and children could
to-day yet look at the lovely sun and praise their heavenly Father, if
you from the first had stood together as it became intelligent men? And
now, Lambert, there stands my horse and I do not know what more to say
to you; so help yourself out of the mire and me on my horse; and, as to
what concerns the lady, I will come again to-morrow, or you can bring
her to me. I will not bite her. Have no care. Today I won't stay
longer. God protect you, Lambert. Give my compliments to the lady. What
is her name?"
"Catherine Weise," said Lambert. "She is an orphan. Her father, who was
a preacher, and, out of love for his people, emigrated with them, she
lost eight days before the ship reached New York."
"Catherine," said Ursul. "Our dear Father in heaven! So I always wanted
to call my daughter, should I have one. Both my sainted grandmothers
had that name. Nay, things happen alike. Compliments to the girl, who
seems to be a well-behaved person, and God protect you, Lambert."
The Amazon arranged her clothes, which was somewhat difficult, as she
sat like a man in the saddle, chirruped to her horse, gave him a hard
cut over the neck, and trotted briskly away from the edge of the woods
where they had stood, down the hill, over the meadow, until she reached
the road which led from the creek to the other farm-houses.
The young man looked at the retreating figure with sad glances and a
deep sigh. He heard behind him a light step. He turned eagerly and
opened his arms to the beloved one. But Catherine shook her handsome
head. Her large, inquiring dark eyes, in which there were still some
traces of tears, rested on his face.
"For God's sake!" exclaimed Lambert, "why do you look in such a strange
way, Catherine? What have we to do with others? I love you."
"And I you," said Catherine, "but it must happen."
"What must happen? Catherine, dear Catherine," cried Lambert.
"Come," said the maiden, "let us sit down here and talk with each other
quietly, very quietly."
She sat down on the trunk of a half-buried pine and looked thoughtfully
before her.
Lambert seated himself at her side. He wished to speak, but before he
could find the right word, Catherine raised her eyes and said:
"See, Lambert, how much you have kindly done for me, a poor girl, and I
could not do otherwise than give you back the only thing I have--my
all--and love you with all the strength of my soul, with every drop of
blood in my heart. I could not do otherwise, and it will be so as long
as I live, and after this life throughout eternity. But, Lambert, it
was not right for me that, in addition to the much and the beautiful
that you have given me, I should also take your love. I felt this from
the first day on, and I tried to prevent your seeing my love, though I
confess it was a hard task."
Catherine's voice trembled, but she held back the tears that were ready
to break from her eyes, and continued:
"I felt from the beginning--and I have said to myself, and promised
thousands of times--that I would be a maid-servant to you and your
parents and relatives, and, should you bring home a wife, I would also
serve her and her children, and so help, as much as I could, to promote
your happiness and that of all related to you. When I yesterday learned
that you no longer have parents I fled. I wished to flee, while a
voice, which I only now rightly understand, said that it would come
about as it now has come, and as it should not have come. I have not
listened to the voice of my conscience, and the punishment follows at
its heels. Your brother is angry at you on my account. Your aunt has
left you in anger on my account. What a bad girl I must be, could I
calmly look on and see how unhappy I am making him for whom I would
give my blood, drop by drop. For this reason it must take place. You
have given me permission to go where I will--and God will guide my
steps."
Having uttered these words she arose, pale, having her hands folded
under her bosom, and her tearless eyes having a far-off look.
Immediately Lambert stood up before her, and her eyes met his, which
shone with a wonderfully clear and steady light. "Catherine!"
More he did not say. But it was the right word and the right tone--a
cordial tone full of tender suggestion, and yet so firm, so true, that
it resounded again in the heart of the maiden: "Catherine!" and filled
her soul with sweet pleasure. What she had just said, in the bitter
feeling of her injured pride, and in her painful conviction that she
must subordinate her own happiness and the happiness of him she
loved--it now seemed to her but idle breath, like the wind sweeping
above through the rustling tops of the pines and below over the bending
grass of the meadow. The pines stood firm, the grass rose again, and
everything remained as it was before--yes, more beautiful and
delightful than before. What was now her pride except a small
additional offering that she brought to her beloved who would not be
happy without her--who without her could not be happy? This Lambert
said to her again and again; and she said to him that separation from
her beloved and death would be the same for her, and that she would
never again think of it, but that she could live for him and be happy
with him.
So they sat a long time at the edge of the primitive forest in the
shadow of the venerable trees--before them the sunlit prairie with its
bending flowers and grass, alone--speaking in whispers, as though the
mottled butterflies which were moving about the flowers must not hear.
And if a bird happened to fly past uttering his warning cry,
frightened, they crowded close to each other and then laughed, happy
that they were alone and might sink into each other's arms and say what
they had already said a hundred times, and yet did not get tired of
saying and hearing it.
Then they formed plans for the future--far-reaching plans--that during
the fall they would clear at least yet five acres, and that they would
in any case keep the calf of which Aunt Ursul had the care, and whether
it would not be best to partition off a chamber in the upper story of
the house, leaving sufficient space for the store-room; and, as the
stairway was very narrow and steep, they would make a new one. They
must also not fail to have a suitable garden in which to raise greens
and gooseberries and currants; and a honeysuckle-arbor, such as
Catherine had in her father's garden, there surely must be, though
Lambert was not sure that he quite understood what Catherine meant by a
honeysuckle-arbor.
The ascending sun suggested their return home. Lambert was disinclined
to leave the woods in whose shade the complete fullness of his
happiness had been revealed. But Catherine said: "No, you must not on
my account neglect a single duty that rests on you. Otherwise your
friends, who consider it a misfortune that you have taken up a poor
girl like me, will be right. So you must yet to-day ride to your
neighbors with your compliments. They would take it amiss should you
not do it, and they would be right. It is your duty to inform them
about your journey, which you undertook for their best interest as well
as your own. They will be pleased to see you again, and that everything
has turned out so well."
"And where shall I leave you, in the meantime?" asked Lambert, as they
now walked slowly along the creek toward the house.
"Where a woman should be--at home," said Catherine.
"I unwillingly leave you there," said Lambert. "I do not believe I
could return before evening, however I might hasten. It is six miles to
Adam Bellinger's, who lives near the mouth of the creek and who is the
last of us six who prepared the petition to the governor. On the way I
must stop three times, or rather four times, for I must not ride past
my old Uncle Ditmar. It is impossible for me to leave you so long
alone, since the French are stirring again, and I do not know how far
they have come already."
"Here good advice is dear," said Catherine laughing mischievously. "You
can't take me along to-day, after you yesterday went far out of your
way so that your neighbors should not see what a wonderful rarity you
had brought with you on your return from your journey."
"Nor shall it be different," said Lambert, but little pained by the
gentle raillery, accompanied as it was with a kiss. "Though you do not
go the whole distance, you can at least go as far as Ditmar's."
Catherine arched her eyebrows: "Are you quite sure that I should be
kindly received there?" she asked gently.
"Quite sure," said Lambert, earnestly, "the more so as my aunt was
unfriendly to you before. As far as I know her she has no stronger wish
than to repair the mischief. Believe me, Catherine, a better heart than
Aunt Ursul's cannot be found, though the severe fate that has befallen
her has made her peculiar and unmannerly."
"Tell me about it," said Catherine.
"It is a dreadful history," said Lambert, "and I would rather not
rehearse it; but you will think otherwise of my aunt when you meet her,
and so let it be.
"It is now thirteen years--it was in 'forty-four and I was
nineteen--when war broke out between the English and the French, which
they call King George's war. Neither the English nor the French could
raise many men, so they had to rely on the Indians, each party trying
by every means to win them to itself and set them against the opposite
party. Now, the English had a treaty of a long standing with the Six
Nations; but at this time they also began to waver and to unite with
the French, who knew better how to flatter them. So many fell away, and
entered into secret or open partnership with our foes. The uncertainty
daily increased. Nobody had any assurance of his life. The Germans
here on the Mohawk, and especially on the creek, had hitherto escaped;
but the danger came nearer and nearer to us, and then it was that
we went to our work with a rifle on the shoulder, and when father,
with the help of a couple of blacks from Virginia--secured for the
occasion--strengthened the block-house as it is now. Before, it was
more open.
"Nicolas Herkimer settled on the Mohawk, and several others followed
his example. Most of them, however, took the matter more lightly, and
said the French or Indians should only come on; they would soon show
them the road, and send them home with bloody heads. About this they
debated with Uncle Ditmar, and became angry at him since he was always
full of courage and of bitter hatred of the French whom he had already
learned to know on the other side, where they had burned his parents'
house and driven them from their home. He thought that should we wait
until the French came to us it would be altogether too late. It was a
shame that now everybody should think only of himself. All should
assemble here, and on the Mohawk, and on the Schoharie; that no one
should stay at home who could fire off a rifle, and that some should go
to meet the French, and pay them back, in their own territory, what
before and since they have done to us. Perhaps the old man was right,
but nobody listened to him. Then came the year 'forty-six, when the
French with their Indians swept through the valley of the Mohawk as far
as Schenectady and Albany, and destroyed and robbed what they found,
and killed and scalped what came in their way, and committed every
conceivable horror. My uncle could stand it no longer. He went out with
his four sons--my cousins--of whom the eldest was twenty-six and the
youngest nineteen. Aunt Ursul would not stay at home, but went along,
with her rifle on her shoulder, just as you saw her awhile ago, and
they carried on war by themselves and killed many French and Indians,
until they were resting on a certain day among a small clump of trees
on the open prairie and, not noticing, were overrun from all sides.
There my aunt saw her sons fall, one after the other, while she was
loading the guns. At last old Ditmar was struck by a stray bullet and
sank at her feet apparently dead. Aunt Ursul fired off the gun she had
loaded once more and laid a Frenchman low, seized it by the muzzle, and
swinging the butt on high she rushed out and struck about her so, that
the Indians themselves, at sight of such bravery, did not kill her, but
overpowered her, and tied her, and took her along as prisoner. They
likewise took uncle, who gave signs of life, when an Indian had already
torn his scalp half off. Perhaps they intended to spare them for a
later, more painful death. But it did not go as far as that, thank God!
for the troop which was taking them along was attacked by another
tribe, which held with the English, and they were killed to the last
man. So my aunt, after a couple of months, came again, robbed of her
stalwart sons, with her husband, whose mind has never since been quite
right, and who has lived on for months and years without uttering a
word, though attending to his work like anyone else."
Lambert ceased speaking. Catherine took his hand and, with gentle
pressure, held it.
So they went, hand in hand, along the creek. Here and there a pair of
summer-ducks came out of the reeds and flew, swift as an arrow, toward
the woods. Fish sprang up in the crystal-clear water. The rushes waved.
The flowers and grass on the prairie swayed in the tepid wind. The sun
poured down its golden rays. But it seemed to both as if there had
fallen a veil over the clear, spring morning.
"I wish I had not told you this--at least not today," said Lambert.
"And I thank you that you did so," said Catherine. "The happiness would
be too great were our good fortune without a shadow. Did you not find
me helpless, forsaken, poor as a beggar, pressed to the ground by care
and grief, and did you not, without a moment's hesitation, stretch out
your hand to pick me out of the dust? So I will hold it fast--your dear
hand--and help you carry the cares and burdens of life, and with you go
into the battle, if it must be, as good Aunt Ditmar did, whom may God
bless for her bravery, and whose pardon I heartily beg for the injury I
did her in my feelings. Now I can see why she who has suffered so
dreadfully cannot, like other good people, heartily rejoice over the
good fortune which comes to them before her eyes. Poor soul! She no
longer believes in good fortune."
"Perhaps it is also something else," said Lambert thoughtfully, and
after a short pause proceeded: "See, Catherine, I love you so dearly,
and have kept still so long, that I would like to tell you about
everything that passes through my mind. So I will also tell you this: I
do not know, but I believe that my aunt would be better pleased were
Conrad in my place. She has not forgotten that she carried the
youngster, when a small and helpless creature, in her arms, and has
always loved him as though she were his own mother. So Conrad has also
hung to her; and, on account of the Ditmars, the difficulty arose
between him and our father. Conrad wanted to go and live at Ditmar's,
and father forbid it to the eleven-year-old youngster. The very Indian
tribe to which Conrad fled had rescued the Ditmars. I believe he was
himself present, though I do not know, since he has never said a word
about it; nor has aunt, to whom he may have forbidden it. All this aunt
has never forgotten."
"And shall not forget it," observed Catherine with animation. "See,
Lambert, now that we have honorably acknowledged that we love one
another, I am no longer so timid. We must now be equally honest toward
the others. Your aunt knows it, you say, and she will adapt herself to
the actual state of affairs. Conrad must also know it, and then he
won't be angry at you any longer. It perhaps sounds a little bold, but
if I am indeed pleasing to him, let me manage it, Lambert. I will tame
the young bear for you."
Lambert shook his head, and had again to laugh as he now looked into
the face of the beloved one, which beamed with happiness as before.
"Yes, yes, who could withstand you? Who would not willingly do what you
wish?"
They had reached the block-house, and entered the open door. Lambert
looked about the room with as much wonder as though he now saw it for
the first time. About the hearth, on the shelves, there hung and stood
kettles, pitchers and pots clean and burnished. They had heretofore
always been in confusion. On the hearth itself the live coals glimmered
under the ashes, and only needed to be uncovered and fanned again to
start the fire. Near by lay the fire-wood carefully piled up. The table
was brightly scoured. The chairs were set in order. The floor was
sprinkled with white sand. The hunting and fishing apparatus neatly
hung against the wall. The small mirror which, dusty and dull, had
hitherto leaned in a dark corner, had found a suitable place between
the silhouettes of his parents, while they were encircled with simple
garlands.
"You best one!" said Lambert, as with deep emotion he locked the
beloved one in his arms. "You will prove the good angel of us all."
"To that may God help me!" ejaculated Catherine. "And now, Lambert, we
must think about the obligations resting on us. While you go and feed
Hans, I will prepare our noonday meal. After dinner we will start, for
I suppose you mean to take me along. Now, no more talking; we have
already trifled away too much time."
She drove out the beloved one with kisses and scolding, and then turned
to her work, which she pushed forward in a lively manner, though she
often pressed her hand on her heart, which it seemed would burst with
sheer happiness. Wherever she looked, she, in imagination, saw the form
of her beloved--the true, good, thoughtful eyes; the face embrowned by
exposure, with its handsome, clear expression; the powerful frame,
which moved with such calm assurance. In the crackling of the fire; in
the measured tick-tack of the old Swartzwald clock, she seemed ever to
hear his deep, friendly voice; and she mentally recalled the words he
had said to her, and trembled with pleasure as she thought how her name
rang out from his lips: "Catherine!" So she had always been called. Her
father, friends, neighbors, all the world had called her Catherine, and
yet it seemed as though to-day she had heard it for the first time.
Oh! everything had turned out so different and so much better than she
had dared to hope. How doubtingly she had looked toward the land with
fixed eyes, which had already learned to weep on the torture-ship. What
more could it bring her besides terrible, inconceivable misery? How
unhappy she had yesterday felt on her arrival, and again this morning.
Could she then now be in reality happy, so very happy that her dear,
dead father, were he still living, could wish for her nothing
better--nothing more desirable?
Catherine bowed her head and folded her hands in prayer, and then
looked up with brightened glances.
"Yes," said she softly, "he would have blessed our engagement with his
fatherly, priestly blessing. I can call myself his before men, as I am
before God and in my own heart. And though I have no friend, male or
female, to rejoice with us and to wish us joy, I am on that account
none the less his and he mine. But I will make friends of the whole
world--the strange old aunt and the wild Conrad. I am no longer afraid
of anybody--of anything."
So spoke Catherine to herself as she was setting the table, and yet she
was badly scared as, at that moment, she heard the stamping of a horse
before the house, and a loud human voice calling:
"He, holla! Lambert Sternberg!"
Trembling, she laid down the plates and stepped to the door to see the
caller, who again and again screamed: "Lambert Sternberg! He, holla,
Lambert Sternberg!"