“You must fight a man with his own we’pons, Deerslayer,” cried Hurry, in his uncouth dialect, and in his dogmatical manner of disposing of all oral propositions; “if he’s f’erce you must be f’ercer; if he’s stout of heart, you must be stouter. This is the way to get the better of Christian or savage: by keeping up to this trail, you’ll get soonest to the ind of your journey.”
“That’s not Moravian doctrine, which teaches that all are to be judged according to their talents or l’arning; the Injin like an Injin; and the white man like a white man. Some of their teachers say, that if you’re struck on the cheek, it’s a duty to turn the other side of the face, and take another blow, instead of seeking revenge, whereby I understand-”
“That’s enough!” shouted Hurry; “that’s all I want, to prove a man’s doctrine! How long would it take to kick a man through the colony — in at one ind and out at the other, on that principle?”
“Don’t mistake me, March,” returned the young hunter, with dignity; “I don’t understand by this any more than that it’s best to do this, if possible. Revenge is an Injin gift, and forgiveness a white man’s. That’s all. Overlook all you can is what’s meant; and not revenge all you can. As for kicking, Master Hurry,” and Deerslayer’s sunburnt cheek flushed as he continued, “into the colony, or out of the colony, that’s neither here nor there, seeing no one proposes it, and no one would be likely to put up with it. What I wish to say is, that a red-skin’s scalping don’t justify a pale-face’s scalping.”
“Do as you’re done by, Deerslayer; that’s ever the Christian parson’s doctrine.”
“No, Hurry, I’ve asked the Moravians consarning that; and it’s altogether different. ‘Do as you would be done by,’ they tell me, is the true saying, while men practyse the false. They think all the colonies wrong that offer bounties for scalps, and believe no blessing will follow the measures. Above all things, they forbid revenge.”
“That for your Moravians!” cried March, snapping his fingers; “they’re the next thing to Quakers; and if you’d believe all they tell you, not even a ‘rat would be skinned, out of marcy. Who ever heard of marcy on a muskrat!”
The disdainful manner of Hurry prevented a reply, and he and the old man resumed the discussion of their plans in a more quiet and confidential manner. This confidence lasted until Judith appeared, bearing the simple but savory supper. March observed, with a little surprise, that she placed the choicest bits before Deerslayer, and that in the little nameless attentions it was in her power to bestow, she quite obviously manifested a desire to let it be seen that she deemed him the honored guest. Accustomed, however, to the waywardness and coquetry of the beauty, this discovery gave him little concern, and he ate with an appetite that was in no degree disturbed by any moral causes. The easily-digested food of the forests offering the fewest possible obstacles to the gratification of this great animal indulgence, Deerslayer, notwithstanding the hearty meal both had taken in the woods, was in no manner behind his companion in doing justice to the viands.
An hour later the scene had greatly changed. The lake was still placid and glassy, but the gloom of the hour had succeeded to the soft twilight of a summer evening, and all within the dark setting of the woods lay in the quiet repose of night. The forests gave up no song, or cry, or even murmur, but looked down from the hills on the lovely basin they encircled, in solemn stillness; and the only sound that was audible was the regular dip of the sweeps, at which Hurry and Deerslayer lazily pushed, impelling the ark towards the castle. Hutter had withdrawn to the stern of the scow, in order to steer, but, finding that the young men kept even strokes, and held the desired course by their own skill, he permitted the oar to drag in the water, took a seat on the end of the vessel, and lighted his pipe. He had not been thus placed many minutes, ere Hetty came stealthily out of the cabin, or house, as they usually termed that part of the ark, and placed herself at his feet, on a little bench that she brought with her. As this movement was by no means unusual in his feeble-minded child, the old man paid no other attention to it than to lay his hand kindly on her head, in an affectionate and approving manner; an act of grace that the girl received in meek silence.
After a pause of several minutes, Hetty began to sing. Her voice was low and tremulous, but it was earnest and solemn. The words and the tune were of the simplest form, the first being a hymn that she had been taught by her mother, and the last one of those natural melodies that find favor with all classes, in every age, coming from and being addressed to the feelings. Hutter never listened to this simple strain without finding his heart and manner softened; facts that his daughter well knew, and by which she had often profited, through the sort of holy instinct that enlightens the weak of mind, more especially in their aims toward good.
Hetty’s low, sweet tones had not been raised many moments, when the dip of the oars ceased, and the holy strain arose singly on the breathing silence of the wilderness. As if she gathered courage with the theme, her powers appeared to increase as she proceeded; and though nothing vulgar or noisy mingled in her melody, its strength and melancholy tenderness grew on the ear, until the air was filled with this simple homage of a soul that seemed almost spotless. That the men forward were not indifferent to this touching interruption, was proved by their inaction; nor did their oars again dip until the last of the sweet sounds had actually died among the remarkable shores, which, at that witching hour, would waft even the lowest modulations of the human voice more than a mile. Hutter was much affected; for rude as he was by early habits, and even ruthless as he had got to be by long exposure to the practices of the wilderness, his nature was of that fearful mixture of good and evil that so generally enters into the moral composition of man.
“You are sad tonight, child,” said the father, whose manner and language usually assumed some of the gentleness and elevation of the civilized life he had led in youth, when he thus communed with this particular child; “we have just escaped from enemies, and ought rather to rejoice.”
“You can never do it, father!” said Hetty, in a low, remonstrating manner, taking his hard, knotty hand into both her own; “you have talked long with Harry March; but neither of you have the heart to do it!”
“This is going beyond your means, foolish child; you must have been naughty enough to have listened, or you could know nothing of our talk.”
“Why should you and Hurry kill people — especially women and children?”
“Peace, girl, peace; we are at war, and must do to our enemies as our enemies would do to us.”
“That’s not it, father! I heard Deerslayer say how it was. You must do to your enemies as you wish your enemies would do to you. No man wishes his enemies to kill him.”
“We kill our enemies in war, girl, lest they should kill us. One side or the other must begin; and them that begin first, are most apt to get the victory. You know nothing about these things, poor Hetty, and had best say nothing.”
“Judith says it is wrong, father; and Judith has sense though I have none.”
“Jude