Chapter: "The flower that smiles to-day
    To-morrow dies;
    All that we wish to stay,
    Tempts and then flies:
    What is this world's delight?
    Lightning that mocks the night,
    Brief even as bright."

    Shelley, "Mutability," II.  i-v.

The picture next presented, by the point of land that the unfortunate
Hurons had selected for their last place of encampment, need scarcely be
laid before the eyes of the reader. Happily for the more tender-minded
and the more timid, the trunks of the trees, the leaves, and the smoke
had concealed much of that which passed, and night shortly after drew
its veil over the lake, and the whole of that seemingly interminable
wilderness; which may be said to have then stretched, with few and
immaterial interruptions, from the banks of the Hudson to the shores of
the Pacific Ocean. Our business carries us into the following day, when
light returned upon the earth, as sunny and as smiling as if nothing
extraordinary had occurred.

When the sun rose on the following morning, every sign of hostility and
alarm had vanished from the basin of the Glimmerglass. The frightful
event of the preceding evening had left no impression on the placid
sheet, and the untiring hours pursued their course in the placid order
prescribed by the powerful hand that set them in motion. The birds were
again skimming the water, or were seen poised on the wing, high above
the tops of the tallest pines of the mountains, ready to make their
swoops, in obedience to the irresistable law of their natures. In
a word, nothing was changed, but the air of movement and life that
prevailed in and around the castle. Here, indeed, was an alteration that
must have struck the least observant eye. A sentinel, who wore the light
infantry uniform of a royal regiment, paced the platform with measured
tread, and some twenty more of the same corps lounged about the place,
or were seated in the ark. Their arms were stacked under the eye of
their comrade on post. Two officers stood examining the shore, with the
ship's glass so often mentioned. Their looks were directed to that
fatal point, where scarlet coats were still to be seen gliding among
the trees, and where the magnifying power of the instrument also showed
spades at work, and the sad duty of interment going on. Several of the
common men bore proofs on their persons that their enemies had not
been overcome entirely without resistance, and the youngest of the two
officers on the platform wore an arm in a sling. His companion, who
commanded the party, had been more fortunate. He it was who used the
glass, in making the reconnoissances in which the two were engaged.

A sergeant approached to make a report. He addressed the senior of these
officers as Capt. Warley, while the other was alluded to as Mr., which
was equivalent to Ensign Thornton. The former it will at once be seen
was the officer who had been named with so much feeling in the parting
dialogue between Judith and Hurry. He was, in truth, the very individual
with whom the scandal of the garrisons had most freely connected the
name of this beautiful but indiscreet girl. He was a hard featured, red
faced man of about five and thirty; but of a military carriage, and with
an air of fashion that might easily impose on the imagination of one as
ignorant of the world as Judith.

"Craig is covering us with benedictions," observed this person to his
young ensign, with an air of indifference, as he shut the glass and
handed it to his servant; "to say the truth, not without reason; it is
certainly more agreeable to be here in attendance on Miss Judith Hutter,
than to be burying Indians on a point of the lake, however romantic the
position, or brilliant the victory. By the way, Wright--is Davis still
living?"

"He died about ten minutes since, your honor," returned the sergeant to
whom this question was addressed. "I knew how it would be, as soon as I
found the bullet had touched the stomach. I never knew a man who could
hold out long, if he had a hole in his stomach."

"No; it is rather inconvenient for carrying away any thing very
nourishing," observed Warley, gaping. "This being up two nights de
suite, Arthur, plays the devil with a man's faculties! I'm as stupid
as one of those Dutch parsons on the Mohawk--I hope your arm is not
painful, my dear boy?"

"It draws a few grimaces from me, sir, as I suppose you see," answered
the youth, laughing at the very moment his countenance was a little
awry with pain. "But it may be borne. I suppose Graham can spare a few
minutes, soon, to look at my hurt."

"She is a lovely creature, this Judith Hutter, after all, Thornton; and
it shall not be my fault if she is not seen and admired in the Parks!"
resumed Warley, who thought little of his companion's wound--"your arm,
eh! Quite True--Go into the ark, sergeant, and tell Dr. Graham I desire
he would look at Mr. Thornton's injury, as soon as he has done with the
poor fellow with the broken leg. A lovely creature! and she looked like
a queen in that brocade dress in which we met her. I find all changed
here; father and mother both gone, the sister dying, if not dead,
and none of the family left, but the beauty! This has been a lucky
expedition all round, and promises to terminate better than Indian
skirmishes in general."

"Am I to suppose, sir, that you are about to desert your colours, in the
great corps of bachelors, and close the campaign with matrimony?"

"I, Tom Warley, turn Benedict! Faith, my dear boy, you little know the
corps you speak of, if you fancy any such thing. I do suppose there are
women in the colonies that a captain of Light Infantry need not disdain;
but they are not to be found up here, on a mountain lake; or even
down on the Dutch river where we are posted. It is true, my uncle, the
general, once did me the favor to choose a wife for me in Yorkshire;
but she had no beauty--and I would not marry a princess, unless she were
handsome."

"If handsome, you would marry a beggar?"

"Ay, these are the notions of an ensign! Love in a cottage--doors--and
windows--the old story, for the hundredth time. The 20th--don't marry.
We are not a marrying corps, my dear boy. There's the Colonel, Old Sir
Edwin-----, now; though a full General he has never thought of a wife;
and when a man gets as high as a Lieutenant General, without matrimony,
he is pretty safe. Then the Lieutenant Colonel is confirmed, as I tell
my cousin the bishop. The Major is a widower, having tried matrimony
for twelve months in his youth, and we look upon him, now, as one of our
most certain men. Out of ten captains, but one is in the dilemma, and
he, poor devil, is always kept at regimental headquarters, as a sort of
memento mori, to the young men as they join. As for the subalterns, not
one has ever yet had the audacity to speak of introducing a wife into
the regiment. But your arm is troublesome, and we'll go ourselves and
see what has become of Graham."

The surgeon who had accompanied the party was employed very differently
from what the captain supposed. When the assault was over, and the dead
and wounded were collected, poor Hetty had been found among the latter.
A rifle bullet had passed through her body, inflicting an injury that
was known at a glance to be mortal. How this wound was received, no one
knew; it was probably one of those casualties that ever accompany scenes
like that related in the previous chapter.

The Sumach, all the elderly women, and some of the Huron girls, had
fallen by the bayonet, either in the confusion of the melee, or from
the difficulty of distinguishing the sexes when the dress was so simple.
Much the greater portion of the warriors suffered on the spot. A few had
escaped, however, and two or three had been taken unharmed. As for
the wounded, the bayonet saved the surgeon much trouble. Rivenoak had
escaped with life and limb, but was injured and a prisoner. As Captain
Warley and his ensign went into the Ark they passed him, seated in
dignified silence in one end of the scow, his head and leg bound, but
betraying no visible sign of despondency or despair. That he mourned
the loss of his tribe is certain; still he did it in a manner that best
became a warrior and a chief.

The two soldiers found their surgeon in the principal room of the
Ark. He was just quitting the pallet of Hetty, with an expression of
sorrowful regret on his hard, pock-marked Scottish features, that it was
not usual to see there. All his assiduity had been useless, and he was
compelled reluctantly to abandon the expectation of seeing the girl
survive many hours. Dr. Graham was accustomed to death-bed scenes,
and ordinarily they produced but little impression on him. In all that
relates to religion, his was one of those minds which, in consequence
of reasoning much on material things, logically and consecutively, and
overlooking the total want of premises which such a theory must ever
possess, through its want of a primary agent, had become sceptical;
leaving a vague opinion concerning the origin of things, that, with
high pretentions to philosophy, failed in the first of all philosophical
principles, a cause. To him religious dependence appeared a weakness,
but when he found one gentle and young like Hetty, with a mind beneath
the level of her race, sustained at such a moment by these pious
sentiments, and that, too, in a way that many a sturdy warrior and
reputed hero might have looked upon with envy, he found himself affected
by the sight to a degree that he would have been ashamed to confess.
Edinburgh and Aberdeen, then as now, supplied no small portion of the
medical men of the British service, and Dr. Graham, as indeed his name
and countenance equally indicated, was, by birth a North Briton.

"Here is an extraordinary exhibition for a forest, and one but
half-gifted with reason," he observed with a decided Scotch accent, as
Warley and the ensign entered; "I just hope, gentlemen, that when we
three shall be called on to quit the 20th, we may be found as resigned
to go on the half pay of another existence, as this poor demented
chiel!"

"Is there no hope that she can survive the hurt?" demanded Warley,
turning his eyes towards the pallid Judith, on whose cheeks, however,
two large spots of red had settled as soon as he came into the cabin.

"No more than there is for Chairlie Stuart! Approach and judge for
yourselves, gentlemen; ye'll see faith exemplified in an exceeding and
wonderful manner. There is a sort of arbitrium between life and
death, in actual conflict in the poor girl's mind, that renders her an
interesting study to a philosopher. Mr. Thornton, I'm at your service,
now; we can just look at the arm in the next room, while we speculate as
much as we please on the operations and sinuosities of the human mind."

The surgeon and ensign retired, and Warley had an opportunity of looking
about him more at leisure, and with a better understanding of the nature
and feelings of the group collected in the cabin. Poor Hetty had
been placed on her own simple bed, and was reclining in a half seated
attitude, with the approaches of death on her countenance, though they
were singularly dimmed by the lustre of an expression in which all the
intelligence of her entire being appeared to be concentrated. Judith
and Hist were near her, the former seated in deep grief; the latter
standing, in readiness to offer any of the gentle attentions of feminine
care. Deerslayer stood at the end of the pallet, leaning on Killdeer,
unharmed in person, all the fine martial ardor that had so lately glowed
in his countenance having given place to the usual look of honesty and
benevolence, qualities of which the expression was now softened by
manly regret and pity. The Serpent was in the background of the picture,
erect, and motionless as a statue; but so observant that not a look of
the eye escaped his own keen glances. Hurry completed the group, being
seated on a stool near the door, like one who felt himself out of place
in such a scene, but who was ashamed to quit it, unbidden.

"Who is that in scarlet?" asked Hetty, as soon as the Captain's uniform
caught her eye. "Tell me, Judith, is it the friend of Hurry?"

"'Tis the officer who commands the troops that have rescued us all from
the hands of the Hurons," was the low answer of the sister.

"Am I rescued, too!--I thought they said I was shot, and about to die.
Mother is dead; and so is father; but you are living, Judith, and so
is Hurry. I was afraid Hurry would be killed, when I heard him shouting
among the soldiers."

"Never mind--never mind, dear Hetty--" interrupted Judith, sensitively
alive to the preservation of her sister's secret, more, perhaps, at such
a moment, than at any other. "Hurry is well, and Deerslayer is well, and
the Delaware is well, too."

"How came they to shoot a poor girl like me, and let so many men go
unharmed? I didn't know that the Hurons were so wicked, Judith!"

"'Twas an accident, poor Hetty; a sad accident it has been! No one would
willingly have injured you."

"I'm glad of that!--I thought it strange; I am feeble minded, and the
redmen have never harmed me before. I should be sorry to think that they
had changed their minds. I am glad too, Judith, that they haven't hurt
Hurry. Deerslayer I don't think God will suffer any one to harm. It
was very fortunate the soldiers came as they did though, for fire will
burn!"

"It was indeed fortunate, my sister; God's holy name be forever blessed
for the mercy!"

"I dare say, Judith, you know some of the officers; you used to know so
many!"

Judith made no reply; she hid her face in her hands and groaned. Hetty
gazed at her in wonder; but naturally supposing her own situation was
the cause of this grief, she kindly offered to console her sister.

"Don't mind me, dear Judith," said the affectionate and pure-hearted
creature, "I don't suffer; if I do die, why father and mother are both
dead, and what happens to them may well happen to me. You know I am
of less account than any of the family; therefore few will think of me
after I'm in the lake."

"No, no, no--poor, dear, dear Hetty!" exclaimed Judith, in an
uncontrollable burst of sorrow, "I, at least, will ever think of you;
and gladly, oh! how gladly would I exchange places with you, to be the
pure, excellent, sinless creature you are!"

Until now, Captain Warley had stood leaning against the door of the
cabin; when this outbreak of feeling, and perchance of penitence,
however, escaped the beautiful girl, he walked slowly and thoughtfully
away; even passing the ensign, then suffering under the surgeon's care,
without noticing him.

"I have got my Bible here, Judith," returned her sister in a voice of
triumph. "It's true, I can't read any longer, there's something the
matter with my eyes--you look dim and distant--and so does Hurry, now
I look at him--well, I never could have believed that Henry March would
have so dull a look! What can be the reason, Judith, that I see so
badly, to-day? I, who mother always said had the best eyes in the
whole family. Yes, that was it: my mind was feeble--what people call
half-witted--but my eyes were so good!"

Again Judith groaned; this time no feeling of self, no retrospect of
the past caused the pain. It was the pure, heartfelt sorrow of sisterly
love, heightened by a sense of the meek humility and perfect truth of
the being before her. At that moment, she would gladly have given up
her own life to save that of Hetty. As the last, however, was beyond the
reach of human power, she felt there was nothing left her but sorrow. At
this moment Warley returned to the cabin, drawn by a secret impulse he
could not withstand, though he felt, just then, as if he would gladly
abandon the American continent forever, were it practicable. Instead of
pausing at the door, he now advanced so near the pallet of the sufferer
as to come more plainly within her gaze. Hetty could still distinguish
large objects, and her look soon fastened on him.

"Are you the officer that came with Hurry?" she asked. "If you are, we
ought all to thank you, for, though I am hurt, the rest have saved their
lives. Did Harry March tell you, where to find us, and how much need
there was for your services?"

"The news of the party reached us by means of a friendly runner,"
returned the Captain, glad to relieve his feelings by this appearance of
a friendly communication, "and I was immediately sent out to cut it off.
It was fortunate, certainly, that we met Hurry Harry, as you call him,
for he acted as a guide, and it was not less fortunate that we heard a
firing, which I now understand was merely a shooting at the mark, for
it not only quickened our march, but called us to the right side of the
lake. The Delaware saw us on the shore, with the glass it would seem,
and he and Hist, as I find his squaw is named, did us excellent service.
It was really altogether a fortunate concurrence of circumstances,
Judith."

"Talk not to me of any thing fortunate, sir," returned the girl huskily,
again concealing her face. "To me the world is full of misery. I wish
never to hear of marks, or rifles, or soldiers, or men, again!"

"Do you know my sister?" asked Hetty, ere the rebuked soldier had time
to rally for an answer. "How came you to know that her name is Judith?
You are right, for that is her name; and I am Hetty; Thomas Hutter's
daughters."

"For heaven's sake, dearest sister; for my sake, beloved Hetty,"
interposed Judith, imploringly, "say no more of this!"

Hetty looked surprised, but accustomed to comply, she ceased her awkward
and painful interrogations of Warley, bending her eyes towards the Bible
which she still held between her hands, as one would cling to a casket
of precious stones in a shipwreck, or a conflagration. Her mind now
adverted to the future, losing sight, in a great measure, of the scenes
of the past.

"We shall not long be parted, Judith," she said; "when you die, you must
be brought and be buried in the lake, by the side of mother, too."

"Would to God, Hetty, that I lay there at this moment!"

"No, that cannot be, Judith; people must die before they have any
right to be buried. 'Twould be wicked to bury you, or for you to bury
yourself, while living. Once I thought of burying myself; God kept me
from that sin."

"You!--You, Hetty Hutter, think of such an act!" exclaimed Judith,
looking up in uncontrollable surprise, for she well knew nothing passed
the lips of her conscientious sister, that was not religiously true.

"Yes, I did, Judith, but God has forgotten--no he forgets nothing--but
he has forgiven it," returned the dying girl, with the subdued manner
of a repentant child. "'Twas after mother's death; I felt I had lost the
best friend I had on earth, if not the only friend. 'Tis true, you and
father were kind to me, Judith, but I was so feeble-minded, I knew I
should only give you trouble; and then you were so often ashamed of such
a sister and daughter, and 'tis hard to live in a world where all look
upon you as below them. I thought then, if I could bury myself by the
side of mother, I should be happier in the lake than in the hut."

"Forgive me--pardon me, dearest Hetty--on my bended knees, I beg you
to pardon me, sweet sister, if any word, or act of mine drove you to so
maddening and cruel a thought!"

"Get up, Judith--kneel to God; don't kneel to me. Just so I felt when
mother was dying! I remembered everything I had said and done to vex
her, and could have kissed her feet for forgiveness. I think it must be
so with all dying people; though, now I think of it, I don't remember to
have had such feelings on account of father."

Judith arose, hid her face in her apron, and wept. A long pause--one of
more than two hours--succeeded, during which Warley entered and left the
cabin several times; apparently uneasy when absent, and yet unable to
remain. He issued various orders, which his men proceeded to execute,
and there was an air of movement in the party, more especially as Mr.
Craig, the lieutenant, had got through the unpleasant duty of burying
the dead, and had sent for instructions from the shore, desiring to know
what he was to do with his detachment. During this interval Hetty
slept a little, and Deerslayer and Chingachgook left the Ark to confer
together. But, at the end of the time mentioned, the Surgeon passed upon
the platform, and with a degree of feeling his comrades had never before
observed in one of his habits, he announced that the patient was rapidly
drawing near her end. On receiving this intelligence the group collected
again, curiosity to witness such a death--or a better feeling--drawing
to the spot men who had so lately been actors in a scene seemingly of
so much greater interest and moment. By this time Judith had got to be
inactive through grief, and Hist alone was performing the little offices
of feminine attention that are so appropriate to the sick bed. Hetty
herself had undergone no other apparent change than the general failing
that indicated the near approach of dissolution. All that she possessed
of mind was as clear as ever, and, in some respects, her intellect
perhaps was more than usually active.

"Don't grieve for me so much, Judith," said the gentle sufferer, after
a pause in her remarks; "I shall soon see mother--I think I see her now;
her face is just as sweet and smiling as it used to be! Perhaps when I'm
dead, God will give me all my mind, and I shall become a more fitting
companion for mother than I ever was before."

"You will be an angel in heaven, Hetty," sobbed the sister; "no spirit
there will be more worthy of its holy residence!"

"I don't understand it quite; still, I know it must be all true; I've
read it in the Bible. How dark it's becoming! Can it be night so soon? I
can hardly see you at all--where is Hist?"

"I here, poor girl--Why you no see me?"

"I do see you; but I couldn't tell whether 'twas you, or Judith. I
believe I shan't see you much longer, Hist."

"Sorry for that, poor Hetty. Never mind--pale-face got a heaven for girl
as well as for warrior."

"Where's the Serpent? Let me speak to him; give me his hand; so; I feel
it. Delaware, you will love and cherish this young Indian woman--I know
how fond she is of you; you must be fond of her. Don't treat her as some
of your people treat their wives; be a real husband to her. Now, bring
Deerslayer near me; give me his hand."

This request was complied with, and the hunter stood by the side of
the pallet, submitting to the wishes of the girl with the docility of a
child.

"I feel, Deerslayer," she resumed, "though I couldn't tell why--but
I feel that you and I are not going to part for ever. 'Tis a strange
feeling! I never had it before; I wonder what it comes from!"

"'Tis God encouraging you in extremity, Hetty; as such it ought to be
harbored and respected. Yes, we shall meet ag'in, though it may be a
long time first, and in a far distant land."

"Do you mean to be buried in the lake, too? If so, that may account for
the feeling."

"'Tis little likely, gal; 'tis little likely; but there's a region for
Christian souls, where there's no lakes, nor woods, they say; though why
there should be none of the last, is more than I can account for; seeing
that pleasantness and peace is the object in view. My grave will be
found in the forest, most likely, but I hope my spirit will not be far
from your'n."

"So it must be, then. I am too weak-minded to understand these things,
but I feel that you and I will meet again. Sister, where are you? I
can't see, now, anything but darkness. It must be night, surely!"

"Oh! Hetty, I am here at your side; these are my arms that are around
you," sobbed Judith. "Speak, dearest; is there anything you wish to say,
or have done, in this awful moment."

By this time Hetty's sight had entirely failed her. Nevertheless death
approached with less than usual of its horrors, as if in tenderness to
one of her half-endowed faculties. She was pale as a corpse, but her
breathing was easy and unbroken, while her voice, though lowered almost
to a whisper, remained clear and distinct. When her sister put this
question, however, a blush diffused itself over the features of the
dying girl, so faint however as to be nearly imperceptible; resembling
that hue of the rose which is thought to portray the tint of modesty,
rather than the dye of the flower in its richer bloom. No one but Judith
detected this exposure of feeling, one of the gentle expressions of
womanly sensibility, even in death. On her, however, it was not lost,
nor did she conceal from herself the cause.

"Hurry is here, dearest Hetty," whispered the sister, with her face so
near the sufferer as to keep the words from other ears. "Shall I tell
him to come and receive your good wishes?"

A gentle pressure of the hand answered in the affirmative. Then Hurry
was brought to the side of the pallet. It is probable that this handsome
but rude woodsman had never before found himself so awkwardly placed,
though the inclination which Hetty felt for him (a sort of secret
yielding to the instincts of nature, rather than any unbecoming impulse
of an ill-regulated imagination), was too pure and unobtrusive to have
created the slightest suspicion of the circumstance in his mind. He
allowed Judith to put his hard colossal hand between those of Hetty, and
stood waiting the result in awkward silence.

"This is Hurry, dearest," whispered Judith, bending over her sister,
ashamed to utter the words so as to be audible to herself. "Speak to
him, and let him go."

"What shall I say, Judith?"

"Nay, whatever your own pure spirit teaches, my love. Trust to that, and
you need fear nothing."

"Good bye, Hurry," murmured the girl, with a gentle pressure of his
hand. "I wish you would try and be more like Deerslayer."

These words were uttered with difficulty; a faint flush succeeded them
for a single instant. Then the hand was relinquished, and Hetty turned
her face aside, as if done with the world. The mysterious feeling
that bound her to the young man, a sentiment so gentle as to be almost
imperceptible to herself, and which could never have existed at all, had
her reason possessed more command over her senses, was forever lost in
thoughts of a more elevated, though scarcely of a purer character.

"Of what are you thinking, my sweet sister?" whispered Judith "Tell me,
that I may aid you at this moment."

"Mother--I see Mother, now, and bright beings around her in the lake.
Why isn't father there? It's odd that I can see Mother, when I can't see
you! Farewell, Judith."

The last words were uttered after a pause, and her sister had hung over
her some time, in anxious watchfulness, before she perceived that
the gentle spirit had departed. Thus died Hetty Hutter, one of those
mysterious links between the material and immaterial world, which, while
they appear to be deprived of so much that it is esteemed and necessary
for this state of being, draw so near to, and offer so beautiful an
illustration of the truth, purity, and simplicity of another.




    "A baron's chylde to be begylde!
    it were a cursed dede:
    To be felawe with an outlawe!
    Almighty God forbede!
    Yea, better were, the pore squy
    re alone to forest yede,
    Then ye sholde say another day,
    that by my cursed dede
    Ye were betrayed:
    wherefore, good mayde,
    the best rede that I can,
    Is, that I to the grene wode go, alone,
    a banyshed man."

    Thomas Percy, 'Nutbrowne Mayde,' 11.  265-76 from Reliques of
    Ancient English Poetry, Vol.  II.

The day that followed proved to be melancholy, though one of much
activity. The soldiers, who had so lately been employed in interring
their victims, were now called on to bury their own dead. The scene
of the morning had left a saddened feeling on all the gentlemen of the
party, and the rest felt the influence of a similar sensation, in a
variety of ways and from many causes. Hour dragged on after hour until
evening arrived, and then came the last melancholy offices in honor of
poor Hetty Hutter. Her body was laid in the lake, by the side of that of
the mother she had so loved and reverenced, the surgeon, though actually
an unbeliever, so far complying with the received decencies of life as
to read the funeral service over her grave, as he had previously done
over those of the other Christian slain. It mattered not; that all
seeing eye which reads the heart, could not fail to discriminate between
the living and the dead, and the gentle soul of the unfortunate girl
was already far removed beyond the errors, or deceptions, of any human
ritual. These simple rites, however, were not wholly wanting in suitable
accompaniments. The tears of Judith and Hist were shed freely, and
Deerslayer gazed upon the limpid water, that now flowed over one whose
spirit was even purer than its own mountain springs, with glistening
eyes. Even the Delaware turned aside to conceal his weakness, while
the common men gazed on the ceremony with wondering eyes and chastened
feelings.

The business of the day closed with this pious office. By order of the
commanding officer, all retired early to rest, for it was intended to
begin the march homeward with the return of light. One party, indeed,
bearing the wounded, the prisoners, and the trophies, had left the
castle in the middle of the day under the guidance of Hurry, intending
to reach the fort by shorter marches. It had been landed on the point so
often mentioned, or that described in our opening pages, and, when the
sun set, was already encamped on the brow of the long, broken, and ridgy
hills, that fell away towards the valley of the Mohawk. The departure of
this detachment had greatly simplified the duty of the succeeding day,
disencumbering its march of its baggage and wounded, and otherwise
leaving him who had issued the order greater liberty of action.

Judith held no communications with any but Hist, after the death of her
sister, until she retired for the night. Her sorrow had been respected,
and both the females had been left with the body, unintruded on, to the
last moment. The rattling of the drum broke the silence of that tranquil
water, and the echoes of the tattoo were heard among the mountains,
so soon after the ceremony was over as to preclude the danger of
interruption. That star which had been the guide of Hist, rose on a
scene as silent as if the quiet of nature had never yet been disturbed
by the labors or passions of man. One solitary sentinel, with his
relief, paced the platform throughout the night, and morning was ushered
in, as usual, by the martial beat of the reveille.

Military precision succeeded to the desultory proceedings of border men,
and when a hasty and frugal breakfast was taken, the party began its
movement towards the shore with a regularity and order that prevented
noise or confusion. Of all the officers, Warley alone remained. Craig
headed the detachment in advance, Thornton was with the wounded, and
Graham accompanied his patients as a matter of course. Even the chest
of Hutter, with all the more valuable of his effects, was borne away,
leaving nothing behind that was worth the labor of a removal. Judith was
not sorry to see that the captain respected her feelings, and that he
occupied himself entirely with the duty of his command, leaving her to
her own discretion and feelings. It was understood by all that the place
was to be totally abandoned; but beyond this no explanations were asked
or given.

The soldiers embarked in the Ark, with the captain at their head. He had
enquired of Judith in what way she chose to proceed, and understanding
her wish to remain with Hist to the last moment, he neither molested her
with requests, nor offended her with advice. There was but one safe
and familiar trail to the Mohawk, and on that, at the proper hour,
he doubted not that they should meet in amity, if not in renewed
intercourse. When all were on board, the sweeps were manned, and the Ark
moved in its sluggish manner towards the distant point. Deerslayer and
Chingachgook now lifted two of the canoes from the water, and placed
them in the castle. The windows and door were then barred, and the
house was left by means of the trap, in the manner already described. On
quitting the palisades, Hist was seen in the remaining canoe, where
the Delaware immediately joined her, and paddled away, leaving Judith
standing alone on the platform. Owing to this prompt proceeding,
Deerslayer found himself alone with the beautiful and still weeping
mourner. Too simple to suspect anything, the young man swept the light
boat round, and received its mistress in it, when he followed the course
already taken by his friend. The direction to the point led diagonally
past, and at no great distance from, the graves of the dead. As the
canoe glided by, Judith for the first time that morning spoke to her
companion. She said but little; merely uttering a simple request to
stop, for a minute or two, ere she left the place.

"I may never see this spot again, Deerslayer," she said, "and it
contains the bodies of my mother and sister! Is it not possible, think
you, that the innocence of one of these beings may answer in the eyes of
God for the salvation of both?"

"I don't understand it so, Judith, though I'm no missionary, and am but
poorly taught. Each spirit answers for its own backslidings, though a
hearty repentance will satisfy God's laws."

"Then must my poor poor mother be in heaven! Bitterly, bitterly has she
repented of her sins, and surely her sufferings in this life ought to
count as something against her sufferings in the next!"

"All this goes beyond me, Judith. I strive to do right, here, as the
surest means of keeping all right, hereafter. Hetty was oncommon, as
all that know'd her must allow, and her soul was as fit to consart with
angels the hour it left its body, as that of any saint in the Bible!"

"I do believe you only do her justice! Alas! Alas! that there should be
so great differences between those who were nursed at the same
breast, slept in the same bed, and dwelt under the same roof! But, no
matter--move the canoe, a little farther east, Deerslayer--the sun so
dazzles my eyes that I cannot see the graves. This is Hetty's, on the
right of mother's?"

"Sartain--you ask'd that of us, and all are glad to do as you wish,
Judith, when you do that which is right."

The girl gazed at him near a minute, in silent attention; then she
turned her eyes backward, at the castle. "This lake will soon be
entirely deserted," she said, "and this, too, at a moment when it will
be a more secure dwelling place than ever. What has so lately happened
will prevent the Iroquois from venturing again to visit it for a long
time to come."

"That it will! Yes, that may be set down as sartain. I do not mean to
pass this-a-way, ag'in, so long as the war lasts, for, to my mind no
Huron moccasin will leave its print on the leaves of this forest,
until their traditions have forgotten to tell their young men of their
disgrace and rout."

"And do you so delight in violence and bloodshed? I had thought better
of you, Deerslayer--believed you one who could find his happiness in
a quiet domestic home, with an attached and loving wife ready to study
your wishes, and healthy and dutiful children anxious to follow in your
footsteps, and to become as honest and just as yourself."

"Lord, Judith, what a tongue you're mistress of! Speech and looks go
hand in hand, like, and what one can't do, the other is pretty sartain
to perform! Such a gal, in a month, might spoil the stoutest warrior in
the colony."

"And am I then so mistaken? Do you really love war, Deerslayer, better
than the hearth, and the affections?"

"I understand your meaning, gal; yes, I do understand what you mean, I
believe, though I don't think you altogether understand me. Warrior I
may now call myself, I suppose, for I've both fou't and conquered, which
is sufficient for the name; neither will I deny that I've feelin's
for the callin', which is both manful and honorable when carried on
accordin' to nat'ral gifts, but I've no relish for blood. Youth is
youth, howsever, and a Mingo is a Mingo. If the young men of this region
stood by, and suffered the vagabonds to overrun the land, why, we might
as well all turn Frenchers at once, and give up country and kin. I'm no
fire eater, Judith, or one that likes fightin' for fightin's sake, but I
can see no great difference atween givin' up territory afore a war, out
of a dread of war, and givin' it up a'ter a war, because we can't help
it, onless it be that the last is the most manful and honorable."

"No woman would ever wish to see her husband or brother stand by and
submit to insult and wrong, Deerslayer, however she might mourn the
necessity of his running into the dangers of battle. But, you've done
enough already, in clearing this region of the Hurons; since to you
is principally owing the credit of our late victory. Now, listen to
me patiently, and answer me with that native honesty, which it is as
pleasant to regard in one of your sex, as it is unusual to meet with."

Judith paused, for now that she was on the very point of explaining
herself, native modesty asserted its power, notwithstanding the
encouragement and confidence she derived from the great simplicity of
her companion's character. Her cheeks, which had so lately been pale,
flushed, and her eyes lighted with some of their former brilliancy.
Feeling gave expression to her countenance and softness to her voice,
rendering her who was always beautiful, trebly seductive and winning.

"Deerslayer," she said, after a considerable pause, "this is not a
moment for affectation, deception, or a want of frankness of any sort.
Here, over my mother's grave, and over the grave of truth-loving,
truth-telling Hetty, everything like unfair dealing seems to be out of
place. I will, therefore, speak to you without any reserve, and without
any dread of being misunderstood. You are not an acquaintance of a week,
but it appears to me as if I had known you for years. So much, and so
much that is important has taken place, within that short time, that the
sorrows, and dangers, and escapes of a whole life have been crowded
into a few days, and they who have suffered and acted together in such
scenes, ought not to feel like strangers. I know that what I am about
to say might be misunderstood by most men, but I hope for a generous
construction of my course from you. We are not here, dwelling among the
arts and deceptions of the settlements, but young people who have no
occasion to deceive each other, in any manner or form. I hope I make
myself understood?"

"Sartain, Judith; few convarse better than yourself, and none more
agreeable, like. Your words are as pleasant as your looks."

"It is the manner in which you have so often praised those looks, that
gives me courage to proceed. Still, Deerslayer, it is not easy for
one of my sex and years to forget all her lessons of infancy, all
her habits, and her natural diffidence, and say openly what her heart
feels!"

"Why not, Judith? Why shouldn't women as well as men deal fairly and
honestly by their fellow creatur's? I see no reason why you should not
speak as plainly as myself, when there is any thing ra'ally important to
be said."

This indomitable diffidence, which still prevented the young man from
suspecting the truth, would have completely discouraged the girl, had
not her whole soul, as well as her whole heart, been set upon making a
desperate effort to rescue herself from a future that she dreaded with
a horror as vivid as the distinctness with which she fancied she foresaw
it. This motive, however, raised her above all common considerations,
and she persevered even to her own surprise, if not to her great
confusion.

"I will--I must deal as plainly with you, as I would with poor, dear
Hetty, were that sweet child living!" she continued, turning pale
instead of blushing, the high resolution by which she was prompted
reversing the effect that such a procedure would ordinarily produce on
one of her sex; "yes, I will smother all other feelings, in the one that
is now uppermost! You love the woods and the life that we pass, here, in
the wilderness, away from the dwellings and towns of the whites."

"As I loved my parents, Judith, when they was living! This very spot
would be all creation to me, could this war be fairly over, once; and
the settlers kept at a distance."

"Why quit it, then? It has no owner--at least none who can claim
a better right than mine, and that I freely give to you. Were it a
kingdom, Deerslayer, I think I should delight to say the same. Let us
then return to it, after we have seen the priest at the fort, and never
quit it again, until God calls us away to that world where we shall find
the spirits of my poor mother and sister."

A long, thoughtful pause succeeded; Judith here covered her face with
both her hands, after forcing herself to utter so plain a proposal, and
Deerslayer musing equally in sorrow and surprise, on the meaning of
the language he had just heard. At length the hunter broke the silence,
speaking in a tone that was softened to gentleness by his desire not to
offend.

"You haven't thought well of this, Judith," he said, "no, your feelin's
are awakened by all that has lately happened, and believin' yourself to
be without kindred in the world, you are in too great haste to find some
to fill the places of them that's lost."

"Were I living in a crowd of friends, Deerslayer, I should still think
as I now think--say as I now say," returned Judith, speaking with her
hands still shading her lovely face.

"Thank you, gal--thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Howsever, I
am not one to take advantage of a weak moment, when you're forgetful of
your own great advantages, and fancy 'arth and all it holds is in this
little canoe. No--no--Judith, 'twould be onginerous in me; what you've
offered can never come to pass!"

"It all may be, and that without leaving cause of repentance to any,"
answered Judith, with an impetuosity of feeling and manner that at once
unveiled her eyes. "We can cause the soldiers to leave our goods on the
road, till we return, when they can easily be brought back to the house;
the lake will be no more visited by the enemy, this war at least; all
your skins may be readily sold at the garrison; there you can buy the
few necessaries we shall want, for I wish never to see the spot, again;
and Deerslayer," added the girl smiling with a sweetness and nature that
the young man found it hard to resist, "as a proof how wholly I am and
wish to be yours,--how completely I desire to be nothing but your wife,
the very first fire that we kindle, after our return, shall be lighted
with the brocade dress, and fed by every article I have that you may
think unfit for the woman you wish to live with!"

"Ah's me!--you're a winning and a lovely creatur', Judith; yes, you are
all that, and no one can deny it and speak truth. These pictur's are
pleasant to the thoughts, but they mightn't prove so happy as you now
think 'em. Forget it all, therefore, and let us paddle after the Sarpent
and Hist, as if nothing had been said on the subject."

Judith was deeply mortified, and, what is more, she was profoundly
grieved. Still there was a steadiness and quiet in the manner of
Deerslayer that completely smothered her hopes, and told her that for
once her exceeding beauty had failed to excite the admiration and homage
it was wont to receive. Women are said seldom to forgive those who
slight their advances, but this high spirited and impetuous girl
entertained no shadow of resentment, then or ever, against the fair
dealing and ingenuous hunter. At the moment, the prevailing feeling was
the wish to be certain that there was no misunderstanding. After another
painful pause, therefore, she brought the matter to an issue by a
question too direct to admit of equivocation.

"God forbid that we lay up regrets, in after life, through my want of
sincerity now," she said. "I hope we understand each other, at least.
You will not accept me for a wife, Deerslayer?"

"'Tis better for both that I shouldn't take advantage of your own
forgetfulness, Judith. We can never marry."

"You do not love me,--cannot find it in your heart, perhaps, to esteem
me, Deerslayer!"

"Everything in the way of fri'ndship, Judith--everything, even to
sarvices and life itself. Yes, I'd risk as much for you, at this moment,
as I would risk in behalf of Hist, and that is sayin' as much as I can
say of any darter of woman. I do not think I feel towards either--mind I
say either, Judith--as if I wished to quit father and mother--if father
and mother was livin', which, howsever, neither is--but if both was
livin', I do not feel towards any woman as if I wish'd to quit 'em in
order to cleave unto her."

"This is enough!" answered Judith, in a rebuked and smothered voice.
"I understand all that you mean. Marry you cannot with loving, and that
love you do not feel for me. Make no answer, if I am right, for I shall
understand your silence. That will be painful enough of itself."

Deerslayer obeyed her, and he made no reply. For more than a minute, the
girl riveted her bright eyes on him as if to read his soul, while he
was playing with the water like a corrected school boy. Then Judith,
herself, dropped the end of her paddle, and urged the canoe away from
the spot, with a movement as reluctant as the feelings which controlled
it. Deerslayer quietly aided the effort, however, and they were soon on
the trackless line taken by the Delaware.

In their way to the point, not another syllable was exchanged between
Deerslayer and his fair companion. As Judith sat in the bow of the
canoe, her back was turned towards him, else it is probable the
expression of her countenance might have induced him to venture some
soothing terms of friendship and regard. Contrary to what would have
been expected, resentment was still absent, though the colour frequently
changed from the deep flush of mortification to the paleness of
disappointment. Sorrow, deep, heart-felt sorrow, however, was the
predominant emotion, and this was betrayed in a manner not to be
mistaken.

As neither labored hard at the paddle, the ark had already arrived
and the soldiers had disembarked before the canoe of the two loiterers
reached the point. Chingachgook had preceded it, and was already some
distance in the wood, at a spot where the two trails, that to the
garrison and that to the villages of the Delawares, separated. The
soldiers, too, had taken up their line of march, first setting the Ark
adrift again, with a reckless disregard of its fate. All this Judith
saw, but she heeded it not. The glimmerglass had no longer any charms
for her, and when she put her foot on the strand, she immediately
proceeded on the trail of the soldiers without casting a single glance
behind her. Even Hist was passed unnoticed, that modest young creature
shrinking from the averted face of Judith, as if guilty herself of some
wrongdoing.

"Wait you here, Sarpent," said Deerslayer as he followed in the
footsteps of the dejected beauty, while passing his friend. "I will just
see Judith among her party, and come and j'ine you."

A hundred yards had hid the couple from those in front, as well as those
in their rear, when Judith turned, and spoke.

"This will do, Deerslayer," she said sadly. "I understand your kindness
but shall not need it. In a few minutes I shall reach the soldiers. As
you cannot go with me on the journey of life, I do not wish you to go
further on this. But, stop--before we part, I would ask you a single
question. And I require of you, as you fear God, and reverence the
truth, not to deceive me in your answer. I know you do not love another
and I can see but one reason why you cannot, will not love me. Tell me
then, Deerslayer," The girl paused, the words she was about to utter
seeming to choke her. Then rallying all her resolution, with a face that
flushed and paled at every breath she drew, she continued.

"Tell me then, Deerslayer, if anything light of me, that Henry March has
said, may not have influenced your feelings?"

Truth was the Deerslayer's polar star. He ever kept it in view, and it
was nearly impossible for him to avoid uttering it, even when prudence
demanded silence. Judith read his answer in his countenance, and with a
heart nearly broken by the consciousness of undue erring, she signed to
him an adieu, and buried herself in the woods. For some time Deerslayer
was irresolute as to his course; but, in the end, he retraced his steps,
and joined the Delaware. That night the three camped on the head waters
of their own river, and the succeeding evening they entered the village
of the tribe, Chingachgook and his betrothed in triumph; their companion
honored and admired, but in a sorrow that it required months of activity
to remove.

The war that then had its rise was stirring and bloody. The Delaware
chief rose among his people, until his name was never mentioned without
eulogiums, while another Uncas, the last of his race, was added to the
long line of warriors who bore that distinguishing appellation. As for
the Deerslayer, under the sobriquet of Hawkeye, he made his fame spread
far and near, until the crack of his rifle became as terrible to the
ears of the Mingos as the thunders of the Manitou. His services were
soon required by the officers of the crown, and he especially attached
himself in the field to one in particular, with whose after life he had
a close and important connection.

Fifteen years had passed away, ere it was in the power of the Deerslayer
to revisit the Glimmerglass. A peace had intervened, and it was on the
eve of another and still more important war, when he and his constant
friend, Chingachgook, were hastening to the forts to join their allies.
A stripling accompanied them, for Hist already slumbered beneath
the pines of the Delawares, and the three survivors had now become
inseparable. They reached the lake just as the sun was setting. Here all
was unchanged. The river still rushed through its bower of trees; the
little rock was washing away, by the slow action of the waves, in the
course of centuries, the mountains stood in their native dress, dark,
rich and mysterious, while the sheet glistened in its solitude, a
beautiful gem of the forest.

The following morning, the youth discovered one of the canoes drifted
on the shore, in a state of decay. A little labor put it in a state for
service, and they all embarked, with a desire to examine the place. All
the points were passed, and Chingachgook pointed out to his son the
spot where the Hurons had first encamped, and the point whence he had
succeeded in stealing his bride. Here they even landed, but all traces
of the former visit had disappeared. Next they proceeded to the scene of
the battle, and there they found a few of the signs that linger around
such localities. Wild beasts had disinterred many of the bodies, and
human bones were bleaching in the rains of summer. Uncas regarded all
with reverence and pity, though traditions were already rousing his
young mind to the ambition and sternness of a warrior.

From the point, the canoe took its way toward the shoal, where the
remains of the castle were still visible, a picturesque ruin. The storms
of winter had long since unroofed the house, and decay had eaten into
the logs. All the fastenings were untouched, but the seasons rioted
in the place, as if in mockery at the attempt to exclude them. The
palisades were rotting, as were the piles, and it was evident that a few
more recurrences of winter, a few more gales and tempests, would
sweep all into the lake, and blot the building from the face of that
magnificent solitude. The graves could not be found. Either the elements
had obliterated their traces, or time had caused those who looked for
them to forget their position.

The Ark was discovered stranded on the eastern shore, where it had long
before been driven with the prevalent northwest winds. It lay on the
sandy extremity of a long low point, that is situated about two miles
from the outlet, and which is itself fast disappearing before the action
of the elements. The scow was filled with water, the cabin unroofed, and
the logs were decaying. Some of its coarser furniture still remained,
and the heart of Deerslayer beat quick, as he found a ribbon of Judith's
fluttering from a log. It recalled all her beauty, and we may add
all her failings. Although the girl had never touched his heart, the
Hawkeye, for so we ought now to call him, still retained a kind and
sincere interest in her welfare. He tore away the ribbon, and knotted it
to the stock of Killdeer, which had been the gift of the girl herself.

A few miles farther up the lake, another of the canoes was discovered,
and on the point where the party finally landed, were found those which
had been left there upon the shore. That in which the present navigation
was made, and the one discovered on the eastern shore, had dropped
through the decayed floor of the castle, drifted past the falling
palisades, and had been thrown as waifs upon the beach.

From all these signs, it was probable the lake had not been visited
since the occurrence of the final scene of our tale. Accident or
tradition had rendered it again a spot sacred to nature, the frequent
wars and the feeble population of the colonies still confining the
settlements within narrow boundaries. Chingachgook and his friend left
the spot with melancholy feelings. It had been the region of their First
War Path, and it carried back the minds of both to scenes of tenderness,
as well as to hours of triumph. They held their way towards the Mohawk
in silence, however, to rush into new adventures, as stirring and as
remarkable as those which had attended their opening careers on this
lovely lake. At a later day they returned to the place, where the Indian
found a grave.

Time and circumstances have drawn an impenetrable mystery around all
else connected with the Hutters. They lived, erred, died, and are
forgotten. None connected have felt sufficient interest in the disgraced
and disgracing to withdraw the veil, and a century is about to erase
even the recollection of their names. The history of crime is ever
revolting, and it is fortunate that few love to dwell on its incidents.
The sins of the family have long since been arraigned at the judgment
seat of God, or are registered for the terrible settlement of the last
great day.

The same fate attended Judith. When Hawkeye reached the garrison on the
Mohawk he enquired anxiously after that lovely but misguided creature.
None knew her--even her person was no longer remembered. Other officers
had, again and again, succeeded the Warleys and Craigs and Grahams,
though an old sergeant of the garrison, who had lately come from
England, was enabled to tell our hero that Sir Robert Warley lived on
his paternal estates, and that there was a lady of rare beauty in the
Lodge who had great influence over him, though she did not bear his
name. Whether this was Judith relapsed into her early failing, or some
other victim of the soldier's, Hawkeye never knew, nor would it be
pleasant or profitable to inquire. We live in a world of transgressions
and selfishness, and no pictures that represent us otherwise can be
true, though, happily, for human nature, gleamings of that pure spirit
in whose likeness man has been fashioned are to be seen, relieving its
deformities, and mitigating if not excusing its crimes.

 On the following day, Glimmerglass and its shore show no visible traces of the past battle because Captain Warley, in charge of the soldiers, has ordered all the bodies to be buried. Rivenoak has been taken a prisoner, but he behaves in defeat like a true warrior and proud chief. Hetty has been accidentally wounded during the battle, and the surgeon accompanying the troops announces that she is dying. Judith is humble as she begins to realize her sister's good influence and counsel. Hetty, surrounded by her friends, talks finally to Hurry Harry and wishes that he would imitate Deerslayer. She dies peacefully after impressing everyone, including Deerslayer, with her kindness and sincerity. Meanwhile, Captain Warley explains the circumstances which brought him to Glimmerglass. A friendly runner first brought the report of a Mingo war party to the garrison; and the troops, meeting Hurry Harry on the trail, were directed by him to the lake. The soldiers heard the shots fired by Deerslayer and Chingachgook, which helped the rescue expedition arrive in time. At sunset, Hetty is buried near the place in Glimmerglass where her mother and Tom Hutter were laid to rest. Judith makes one last effort to win Deerslayer's love, but he confesses that he does not want to settle down, which marriage would demand. She even tempts him with descriptions of a serene, isolated life at Glimmerglass where they would not be in contact with the settlements he abhors. Finally, Judith asks Deerslayer if the gossip he heard from Hurry Harry had initially prejudiced him against her. Deerslayer's face betrays him; Judith's fears are confirmed. Judith accompanies Captain Warley and the soldiers as they head back to the settlement; Deerslayer, Chingachgook, and Hist set out in the direction of the Delaware territory. Fifteen years pass before Deerslayer and Chingachgook see Glimmerglass again. Hist has died, but her son, Uncas, joins his father and Deerslayer on the trail to the garrison on the Mohawk. Deerslayer, better known as Hawkeye because of the fame he has won in the intervening years, is overcome by the memories of those few, exciting days on the lake. He and Chingachgook are also overwhelmed with melancholy by the changes of time. The castle and the ark are in a state of decay. Other mementoes of the first warpath, such as the canoes and the Mingo battleground, likewise bear the signs of neglect. The graves in the lake have been disturbed by storms, currents, and other natural phenomena so that all traces of the burial sites have disappeared. Glimmerglass, nevertheless, is the same mirror of beauty; and the area, happily for Hawkeye and Chingachgook, shows no evidence of any settlers or visitors during their absence of 15 years. When Hawkeye reaches the garrison, he learns that Captain Warley now lives in England and that a beautiful lady, not his wife, resides on his estate. Hawkeye's rejection of Judith's love has evidently led her back to the path of sin and perdition, as Hetty had feared.

