<p><SPAN name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"></SPAN></p>
<h2> Chapter XXXI. </h2>
<p>"The flower that smiles to-day<br/>
To-morrow dies;<br/>
All that we wish to stay,<br/>
Tempts and then flies:<br/>
What is this world's delight?<br/>
Lightning that mocks the night,<br/>
Brief even as bright."<br/>
<br/>
Shelley, "Mutability," II. i-v.<br/></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"If handsome, you would marry a beggar?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"'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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"'Twas an accident, poor Hetty; a sad accident it has been! No one would
willingly have injured you."</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"It was indeed fortunate, my sister; God's holy name be forever blessed
for the mercy!"</p>
<p>"I dare say, Judith, you know some of the officers; you used to know so
many!"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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,
today? 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!"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"For heaven's sake, dearest sister; for my sake, beloved Hetty,"
interposed Judith, imploringly, "say no more of this!"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Would to God, Hetty, that I lay there at this moment!"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"You will be an angel in heaven, Hetty," sobbed the sister; "no spirit
there will be more worthy of its holy residence!"</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"I here, poor girl—Why you no see me?"</p>
<p>"I do see you; but I couldn't tell whether 'twas you, or Judith. I believe
I shan't see you much longer, Hist."</p>
<p>"Sorry for that, poor Hetty. Never mind—pale-face got a heaven for
girl as well as for warrior."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"'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."</p>
<p>"Do you mean to be buried in the lake, too? If so, that may account for
the feeling."</p>
<p>"'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."</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"What shall I say, Judith?"</p>
<p>"Nay, whatever your own pure spirit teaches, my love. Trust to that, and
you need fear nothing."</p>
<p>"Good bye, Hurry," murmured the girl, with a gentle pressure of his hand.
"I wish you would try and be more like Deerslayer."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Of what are you thinking, my sweet sister?" whispered Judith "Tell me,
that I may aid you at this moment."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
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