By this time the sun had not only risen, but it had
appeared over the eastern mountains, and was shedding a flood of
glorious light on this as yet unchristened sheet of water. The
whole scene was radiant with beauty; and no one unaccustomed to the
ordinary history of the woods would fancy it had so lately
witnessed incidents so ruthless and barbarous. As he approached the
building of old Hutter, Deerslayer thought, or rather felt that its
appearance was in singular harmony with all the rest of the scene.
Although nothing had been consulted but strength and security, the
rude, massive logs, covered with their rough bark, the projecting
roof, and the form, would contribute to render the building
picturesque in almost any situation, while its actual position
added novelty and piquancy to its other points of interest.
When Deerslayer drew nearer to the castle, however,
objects of interest presented themselves that at once eclipsed any
beauties that might have distinguished the scenery of the lake, and
the site of the singular edifice. Judith and Hetty stood on the
platform before the door, Hurry's dooryard awaiting his approach
with manifest anxiety; the former, from time to time, taking a
survey of his person and of the canoes through the old ship's
spyglass that has been already mentioned. Never probably did this
girl seem more brilliantly beautiful than at that moment; the flush
of anxiety and alarm increasing her color to its richest tints,
while the softness of her eyes, a charm that even poor Hetty shared
with her, was deepened by intense concern. Such, at least, without
pausing or pretending to analyze motives, or to draw any other very
nice distinction between cause and effect, were the opinions of the
young man as his canoes reached the side of the ark, where he
carefully fastened all three before he put his foot on the
platform.
Chapter VIII.
"His words are
bonds, his oaths are oracles;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate;
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart;
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth."
Two Gentlemen of Verona, II.vii,75-78
Neither of the girls spoke as Deerslayer stood before them alone,
his countenance betraying all the apprehension he felt on account
of two absent members of their party.
"Father!" Judith at length exclaimed, succeeding in
uttering the word, as it might be by a desperate effort.
"He's met with misfortune, and there's no use in
concealing it," answered Deerslayer, in his direct and simple
minded manner. "He and Hurry are in Mingo hands, and Heaven only
knows what's to be the tarmination. I've got the canoes safe, and
that's a consolation, since the vagabonds will have to swim for it,
or raft off, to come near this place. At sunset we'll be reinforced
by Chingachgook, if I can manage to get him into a canoe; and then,
I think, we two can answer for the ark and the castle, till some of
the officers in the garrisons hear of this war-path, which sooner
or later must be the case, when we may look for succor from that
quarter, if from no other."
"The officers!" exclaimed Judith, impatiently, her
color deepening, and her eye expressing a lively but passing
emotion. "Who thinks or speaks of the heartless gallants now? We
are sufficient of ourselves to defend the castle. But what of my
father, and of poor Hurry Harry?"
"'T is natural you should feel this consarn for your
own parent, Judith, and I suppose it's equally so that you should
feel it for Hurry Harry, too."
Deerslayer then commenced a succinct but clear
narrative of all that occurred during the night, in no manner
concealing what had befallen his two companions, or his own opinion
of what might prove to be the consequences. The girls listened with
profound attention, but neither betrayed that feminine apprehension
and concern which would have followed such a communication when
made to those who were less accustomed to the hazards and accidents
of a frontier life. To the surprise of Deerslayer, Judith seemed
the most distressed, Hetty listening eagerly, but appearing to
brood over the facts in melancholy silence, rather than betraying
any outward signs of feeling. The former's agitation, the young man
did not fail to attribute to the interest she felt in Hurry, quite
as much as to her filial love, while Hetty's apparent indifference
was ascribed to that mental darkness which, in a measure, obscured
her intellect, and which possibly prevented her from foreseeing all
the consequences. Little was said, however, by either, Judith and
her sister busying themselves in making the preparations for the
morning meal, as they who habitually attend to such matters toil on
mechanically even in the midst of suffering and sorrow. The plain
but nutritious breakfast was taken by all three in sombre silence.
The girls ate little, but Deerslayer gave proof of possessing one
material requisite of a good soldier, that of preserving his
appetite in the midst of the most alarming and embarrassing
circumstances. The meal was nearly ended before a syllable was
uttered; then, however, Judith spoke in the convulsive and hurried
manner in which feeling breaks through restraint, after the latter
has become more painful than even the betrayal of emotion.
"Father would have relished this fish," she
exclaimed; "he says the salmon of the lakes is almost as good as
the salmon of the sea."
"Your father has been acquainted with the sea, they
tell me, Judith," returned the young man, who could not forbear
throwing a glance of inquiry at the girl; for in common with all
who knew Hutter, he had some curiosity on the subject of his early
history. "Hurry Harry tells me he was once a sailor."
Judith first looked perplexed; then, influenced by
feelings that were novel to her, in more ways than one, she became
suddenly communicative, and seemingly much interested in the
discourse.
"If Hurry knows anything of father's history, I
would he had told it to me!" she cried. "Sometimes I think, too, he
was once a sailor, and then again I think he was not. If that chest
were open, or if it could speak, it might let us into his whole
history. But its fastenings are too strong to be broken like pack
thread."
Deerslayer turned to the chest in question, and for
the first time examined it closely. Although discolored, and
bearing proofs of having received much ill-treatment, he saw that
it was of materials and workmanship altogether superior to anything
of the same sort he had ever before beheld. The wood was dark,
rich, and had once been highly polished, though the treatment it
had received left little gloss on its surface, and various
scratches and indentations proved the rough collisions that it had
encountered with substances still harder than itself. The corners
were firmly bound with steel, elaborately and richly wrought, while
the locks, of which it had no less than three, and the hinges, were
of a fashion and workmanship that would have attracted attention
even in a warehouse of curious furniture. This chest was quite
large; and when Deerslayer arose, and endeavored to raise an end by
its massive handle, he found that the weight fully corresponded
with the external appearance.
"Did you never see that chest opened, Judith?" the
young man demanded with frontier freedom, for delicacy on such
subjects was little felt among the people on the verge of
civilization, in that age, even if it be today.
"Never. Father has never opened it in my presence,
if he ever opens it at all. No one here has ever seen its lid
raised, unless it be father; nor do I even know that he has ever
seen it."
"Now you're wrong, Judith," Hetty quietly answered.
"Father has raised the lid, and I've seen him do it."
A feeling of manliness kept the mouth of Deerslayer
shut; for, while he would not have hesitated about going far beyond
what would be thought the bounds of propriety, in questioning the
older sister, he had just scruples about taking what might be
thought an advantage of the feeble intellect of the younger.
Judith, being under no such restraint, however, turned quickly to
the last speaker and continued the discourse.
"When and where did you ever see that chest opened,
Hetty?"
"Here, and again and again. Father often opens it
when you are away, though he don't in the least mind my being by,
and seeing all he does, as well as hearing all he says."
"And what is it that he does, and what does he
say?"
"That I cannot tell you, Judith," returned the other
in a low but resolute voice. "Father's secrets are not my
secrets."
"Secrets! This is stranger still, Deerslayer, that
father should tell them to Hetty, and not tell them to me!"
"There's a good reason for that, Judith, though
you're not to know it. Father's not here to answer for himself, and
I'll say no more about it."
Judith and Deerslayer looked surprised, and for a
minute the first seemed pained.
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