Aunt Ursul sat at Catherine's bed in the room carefully noticing every motion of the young girl who lay there, pale, with closed eyes, half asleep as it appeared. She repeatedly felt her pulse, and renewed the cold cloths on her forehead. She then again bent over her, listened to her quiet breathing, then bowed satisfied and murmured: "There's nothing more to be done here now. We will now look after the young man."
She arose and retired, as quietly as her heavy boots would permit, from the chamber, her face expressing displeasure as the door creaked a little, though she shut it very softly. Lambert, who had been sitting at the hearth, raised his head and looked at her who was entering with anxious eye. Aunt Ursul sat down by his side, placed her feet firmly on the hearth, and said, in a tone intended to be a whisper, but on account of her deep, rough voice was a dull growl:
"No, Lambert, on that side"--she at the same time inclined her large head toward the chamber--"so far it goes quite well. The girl is a brave child, and will to-morrow again stand firm in her shoes. If we women should at once discover your stupidities we would have much to do."
Lambert seized the hand of the kind woman. Tears stood in his eyes. Aunt Ursul did not know how it happened, but her eyelashes also became moist. She breathed deeply two or three times, and said: "You ought to be ashamed, Lambert. You really have a heart like a young chicken, and now it occurs to me that I have eaten nothing the whole day. Give me a piece of bread and some ham, or whatever you have, and if there is yet a swallow of rum in the flask it won't do any hurt--but add to it two-thirds water. A well-behaved person will not otherwise drink the fiery stuff. And now we will once have a little rational talk, Lambert. We need not be in a hurry. The girl sleeps so soundly that she will not wake under six hours."
Lambert had taken what was wanted out of the cupboard. Aunt Ursul moved her chair to the table, and while she was eating heartily, said:
"Do you know, Lambert, that the girl is a treasure?"
Lambert bowed.
"And that neither you, nor Conrad, nor any man in this earthly vale of tears, is good enough for the maiden?"
Lambert's eyes said: "Yes."
"I have now for the first time carefully looked at her," said Aunt Ursul; "as she lay there, white and bloody, like the doves this morning. There is not one false or distorted line in her lovely face. Everything is entire purity and innocence, as though the Lord God had opened a window in heaven and sent her forth upon the earth. And now to think that such a lovely angel is destined to all the suffering and anguish which is our inheritance from our mother Eve--Good God, it is dreadful! Since, rightly considered, Lambert, you cannot help it, as you did not make the world, and are all in all a good man, Lambert--yes, a right good man--what Aunt Ursul can do to smooth the way to your happiness that she will do with all her heart. Yes, surely, Lambert, that she will."
"I thank you, aunt," replied Lambert. "I can truly say that I have always been persuaded of your good will, and have constantly reckoned on you, but I am afraid that now nobody can any longer help us. How shall I stand with her before God's altar when I know that my brother begrudges me my happiness? Even could I do so, Catherine could not bear the thought that it is she on whose account Conrad is irreconcilably angry. She knows how I have loved the young man--how I still love him. I could shed my blood for him, and how did he renounce us even now--even now?"
Lambert supported his forehead with his hand. On Aunt Ursul's rough face there also lay a deep, helpless sadness. She wished to say something comforting to Lambert, but found nothing to say. Lambert proceeded:
"I am not angry at him. How could I be? You know, aunt, that we were long uncertain whether he or I should go to New York, since he had less to keep him, and we thought it would do him good to get out among other people. Then he would have found Catherine, and he would surely have dealt just as I did; and who knows how everything would then have fitted itself in?"
Aunt Ursul shook her large head.
"Do not sin against yourself, Lambert," said she. "I have always found that, rightly weighed, everything had to come out just as it did come out, and with this we pause."
"I, also, cannot conceive how it could have been different," replied Lambert. "As far as I can see, my hand has been little in this, and yet I might even surrender her could I thus bring Conrad back."
"And I my two hands and my head in addition," said Aunt Ursul, "could I by that means bring it about that my four boys might enter the door alive. Lambert, Lambert! let me tell you, 'if' and 'but' are very fine things, but one must keep them away from him or he will get crazy over them. I have had experience of it in myself and in my old man."
"But Conrad is not dead," said Lambert, "so all hope cannot be lost. I had also lost my head. I did not know what I said or did. He was without this already unhappy enough. Alas, aunt, I am also to blame. I would gladly tell him that. I would like to talk right into his heart. He has hitherto always been willing to listen to me. What do you advise, aunt?"
"What should I advise?" said Aunt Ursul fretfully. "It is always the old story: First you set the world on its head, and then you come running and cry: 'What do you advise, aunt?' Am I God? Many times there seems to be need of it. No, Lambert, in that you are indeed right. Conrad is not yet dead, and so we need not throw away our guns into the grain-field. But it will not do to pour out the child with the water in which you have bathed it. To pour oil into the fire increases the blaze. Should you now go to Conrad it would not be well. You can't gather ripe figs from a thorn-bush. In due time one can pick roses, Lambert, in due time."
Aunt Ursul repeated her last words several times as though she would thus help her inability to advise.
"But time is pressing," said Lambert. "Who knows how soon we shall have the French here?--Perhaps to-morrow. My God! to-morrow should be our wedding day."
He told his aunt what arrangement he had made with the minister.
"Yes, yes; man proposes, but God disposes," said Aunt Ursul. "We can now say nothing about tomorrow. This thing will probably not get so far as that by to-morrow. What concerns the other I will make my care, Lambert. Whether the maiden comes to me, or I to her, will be about the same in the minister's eyes, to say nothing about God, who has something better to attend to than to trouble himself about such hocus-pocus. I am here beforehand. I would gladly have looked after my old man, who was today quite desperate and heathenish, but if it must be I too will stay. There must be some one to lead the regiment when it comes. Still there, Pluto! What does the beast mean? I believe the young men are coming already. You look after them, Lambert. I will meanwhile look after the girl; and Lambert, if they are there, keep them before the house. The night is warm and you can keep watch there. Whoever wishes to sleep can come in here and lie down on the hearth, but I want him to be as still as a mouse."
Aunt Ursul went into the room. Lambert stepped to the front door and quieted the growling Pluto. He listened, and now clearly heard the steps of his comrades. Soon their forms emerged out of the light fog which had spread over the fields near the creek, though the moon already stood at some height over the woods. There were three of them. Lambert's heart beat. He expected only Fritz Volz and Richard Herkimer. Was Conrad the third? Surely, surely it must be Conrad.
But out of Pluto's broad chest sounds like rolling thunder now broke forth. Did not the intelligent and faithful beast know her own master? Lambert with great eagerness went to meet those who were coming.
"God bless you, Lambert," said Richard Herkimer.
"God bless you, Lambert," said Fritz Volz.
The third one had remained a few steps behind.
"Who is the other one?" asked Lambert with trembling voice.
"Guess," said Richard laughing.
"The crazy fellow," said Fritz Volz.
"He would go with us, though Annie herself thought that he would not fire away his powder for nothing," said Richard.
"Is it Adam Bellinger?" asked Lambert.
"Now come up, you hare's foot," said Fritz Volz.
"Are you holding the dog?" asked Adam, with uncertain voice.
Richard and Fritz laughed, but Lambert could not join them, as he might have done at another time. Adam instead of Conrad! What could have moved the silly fellow to such night-wandering except the desire again to be near Catherine? What would his friends think of Catherine? What would not the talkative Adam have told them on the way.
"Come a little nearer," said Richard, having taken Lambert's arm as they were walking toward the house. "I want to say a few words to you. You must not be angry, Lambert, that we brought Adam along. He would not be set right. Heaven knows what has come into his calf's head. We could have made nothing out of his crazy talk, but the ladies lit the candle so that it shone bright enough. That you--Nay, Lambert, old boy, I wish you happiness with all my heart. And I can also tell you that by this a heavy stone is lifted from my heart. You know I have always liked Annie, and she has not been unkind to me; but old Bellinger had got his head set that you must become his third son-in-law--and nobody else. Now if you marry the stranger girl it will help us all. Therefore once more, happiness and blessing, Lambert Sternberg, with my whole heart."
"That I also wish you," said Lambert.
"I know it," said Richard; "but now we must also say good evening to your girl, Lambert. If she is half as handsome as Adam swears, she must be something truly wonderful. Is she in the house?"
They stood before the door. The two others were still some distance behind. Lambert drew his young friend beside him on the bench and briefly told him everything which sooner or later he would have unfolded more fully, but which now could no longer be kept secret.
"This is my situation, Richard," concluded he. "You can conceive how heavy my heart is."
"I can well conceive it," said Richard Herkimer, heartily pressing Lambert's hand. "Dear friend, this is an unhappy record. Conrad should be ashamed, especially at this time, to forsake you and leave the cart sticking in the mud, when even such fellows as John Mertens and Hans Haberkorn are pulling with us at the same rope."
"You see, Richard, it is that which grieves me most," said Lambert, "You know how they talked about us last year--that we held with the French; that Conrad spoke Indian better than German, and other scandalous stuff. What will they now say when they hear that, at the very moment when the danger breaks in upon us, Conrad is not to be found among us?"
"Let them say what they will," said Richard. "My father, the minister, and all who are reasonably intelligent, you have always had on your side; and they will also this time know what to think. Perhaps Conrad also will yet consider."
"God grant it!" said Lambert, with a deep sigh.
"Now," said Richard, rising, "I will give a wink to Fritz Volz; and then you must tell us what we are to do for the night."
Richard Herkimer went to the two others, who had remained standing at some distance, engaged, as it appeared, in a discussion. At the same moment Aunt Ursul came out of the door.
"Is that you, Lambert?"
"Yes, aunt."
"Who are the others?"
Lambert named the friends.
"What, then, does Adam want?" said Aunt Ursul.
"The fellow has become quite foolish. Nay, Lambert, that is your business; but to-morrow send off the awkward fellow. We don't want useless eaters here. This evening he may come in with the rest. Catherine is up again. She says it is not a time now to be sick. In that surely she is right. She is standing at the fire, boiling an evening soup for your people, as though nothing had happened--the noble girl! I am now going home; and, Lambert, the minister meant well in what he said to you, but under the circumstances it is senseless. You are an honorable man, and the girl is not trifling, and God knows what your duty is in the case."
Lambert went with Aunt Ursul into the house. Catherine came to meet him, looking pale and having a cloth wound about her head, but greeting him with a friendly smile. "You must not scold me," she said. "To please your aunt I acted as though I was asleep. I have heard everything. I could not remain quietly in bed while you have so many guests. I again feel quite well."
She leaned her head against his breast and whispered: "And you love me notwithstanding, Lambert; not so?"
Lambert held the dear girl fast in his arms as a loud ahem! was heard, and Aunt Ursul entered the door closely followed by the three young men.
"So, you young people," said Aunt Ursul, "come in and eat your supper--that is, if it is ready; and this is my Lambert's dear bride, and she is not standing there like Lot's pillar of salt. Adam Bellinger, you may as well shut your mouth. No roasted pigeons will fly into it. There is for this evening a soup, so that you must move your own hands to get it conveniently out of the bowl. So, Richard Herkimer, that is right that you at once offer your hand to the young lady. You are always polite, having learned it from your father. And now I'll be off. God protect you, Catherine, and you, Lambert, and you all. I shall come again to-morrow and perhaps with my old man. Now nobody needs to be farther concerned about me. Do you hear? Aunt Ursul can find her home alone."
While she thus spoke she took her rifle, kissed Catherine heartily, and shook hands with the young men one after the other. Then she walked out of the house into the windy night.
The three guests breathed more freely when austere Aunt Ursul had turned her broad back, and her heavy tread outside was heard. But it was some time before they began to look about them and to talk, though Catherine kindly invited them to take seats, and assured them that the soup would soon be ready.
Richard Herkimer said to Fritz Volz: "Better sit down, Fritz," though he himself remained standing. Fritz Volz pushed Adam Bellinger in the side and asked him if he did not see that he was standing in the way of the young lady. Then they rubbed their hands as if they were entirely frozen, though, at least on Adam's brow, clear sweat drops were impearled. And when they spoke it was in whispers, as though the steaming soup which Catherine now placed on the table was to be their last meal.
Adam Bellinger was not quite sure whether this would be the case with him. Fritz Volz had before told him that the chief business would be diligently to patrol against the enemy, and, since he had such a burning desire to measure himself against the French, he must make the beginning; that it was indeed no fun to walk about the woods in the night when there might be a Frenchman behind every tree; but that doubtless Adam would teach the fellows manners. Adam said that he had come to help defend the blockhouse against a possible attack, but not to let himself be shot by the French and scalped by the Indians in the woods in the night and fog. The contention about this, which had before been arrested, was now again taken up by the teasing Fritz, though with a little timidity. He wanted to know from Adam how he could distinguish between a tree-trunk and an Indian, in the night. Richard asked him how he would save himself if he were suddenly seized by his long, yellow hair from behind and jerked to the ground. By these and other similar questions of the two teasers, Adam was thrown into great distress. They laughed loud, while he came near crying, until Catherine interposed, saying that a courageous man would in danger hit upon the right thing, though he might not be able to tell beforehand what he would do.
"Yes, indeed," said Adam, "the young lady has more sense in her little finger than you have in your two heads. I shall doubtless know what I have to do."
He accompanied these brave words with such a thankful, tender look at Catherine, that both the merry rogues broke out in loud laughter, and a glimmer of mirthfulness passed over Lambert's earnest face.
"It is enough," said he. "Adam will do his duty as well as the rest of us. It is time that we assign the watch for the night; two for every two hours, and Adam and I will make the beginning. Good night, Catherine."
He gave his hand to Catherine. The others followed his example. As Lambert was leaving the house Fritz Volz and Richard Herkimer came out too.
"We will also rather stay outdoors," said Richard. "Fritz, as I know by experience, cannot do without snoring and that might disturb Catherine, who surely needs sleep."
Fritz Volz said he could do without snoring, but Richard could not stop talking, and that it was on the whole better that they should camp before the door.
"You kind young men," said Lambert.
"Is that kind?" said Richard eagerly. "I would stand all night on my head if I knew that Catherine would sleep better on that account."
"And I would lie there in the creek up to my neck in the water," said Fritz Volz.
Adam sighed, and looked at the moon which hung clear and large over the forest.
"Come, Adam," said Lambert, "we will go upon our round."
They set out, accompanied by Pluto. The others stretched themselves out upon the dry sand before the door, wrapped up in their blankets, their rifles in their arms. Fritz Volz did not snore. Richard Herkimer did not talk. Both looked up to the twinkling stars, lost in thoughts which happily remained concealed from Gussie and Annie Bellinger.
Never before had Catherine been so carefully guarded as during this night.
The following day was the Sabbath, though it brought the Germans on the Mohawk and on the creek no Sabbath rest; but only labor, fatigue, alarm, distraction. From early morning it swarmed in all the settlements as in a bee-hive. Wives prepared and packed. Holes were dug in carefully selected and well-concealed places, in which such valuable things as could not well be taken along were hidden. The men got their arms in readiness, or brought the cattle from the pastures and from the woods and shut them up in the yards so that they could at any moment drive them to the fort, or to Herkimer's house, as orders had been given yesterday afternoon. Boats went busily here and there. From time to time a rider hastened to one of the rendezvous appointed for the three flying corps. A feeling of security and pride took possession of all when such a squadron, consisting of twenty-four well mounted and armed young men, under the lead of Charles Herkimer, Richard's oldest brother, trotted up the river toward Black River to reconnoiter. By noon the two new ferries were also ready. All felt assured of the usefulness of these arrangements, now that it had come to the point of actual flight, though yesterday they had met with earnest opposition. However, more than one could hardly believe in such a possibility, for the sun in the blue sky shone down so golden, the birds sang so blithely in the trees, and over the fields from the little church on the hill came the clear sound of the small bell. But, indeed, on the twelfth of November of the year before, the sun also rose clear, and when it had gone down its last rays had fallen on the ruins of more than one burned house, and more than one was lying in the fields who would never again see it rise. The remembrance of that dreadful day was yet too fresh to allow the thoughtless to shut out the seriousness of the situation; and the bitter thought that they would have to answer for leaving house and home unprotected from the ruthless enemy, reminded them of Herkimer's words the day before, that everything, except life itself, can again be arranged, and can be more or less easily made to accommodate itself to the inevitable.
Also in the otherwise so quiet house on the creek there was to-day a restless urgency. Jacob Ehrlich and Anthony Bierman had come from the Mohawk, accoutered with their rifles and a large sack of ammunition, which Herkimer had given them, and which the stout young men had carried by turns the whole distance up the creek. Now the powder, to which each added his own store, was equally divided, and the caliber of the rifles was measured, whence it appeared that two different sizes of bullets must be cast. With this Lambert intrusted Adam Bellinger, after, under four eyes, not without a certain solemnity, he had said that it was his earnest desire to stay and take part in every danger with him and the rest. He knew about the French, but would rather hear the whistling of their bullets and the Indian's war-whoop than the laughter of the women at home should he now return without having accomplished anything. Lambert pitied the poor fellow, and the more since Catherine took kindly to her foolish admirer and laughed in a friendly way at his peculiarities.
In the council of war held by the young men it was decided that they must leave the door-yard, which for good reasons had been made to extend a considerable distance from the house, as it was, and that their defense must be confined to the house itself. The proposition of Richard to conduct the water of the creek into the dry ditch which encircled the foot of the hill outside of the stone inclosure was discarded as evidently requiring too much time. Instead of this it was decided to deepen the partly filled ditch as much as they could, and in many places where the wall was broken down to repair and raise it and entirely to block up the passage-way through it opposite the house-door with stones and plank, and meanwhile use a bridge over the wall and dug-way that could be easily removed. There was found little to do to the house itself, though they looked carefully after the strong shutters with which the port-holes of the ground-floor, like those of a war-ship, could be closed from within, and so also at those covering the round holes in the gallery, through which they could fire at an enemy from above, should he be able to reach the house and come beneath the gallery. In the roof were cut several trap-doors, so that here also those approaching could be greeted with two very long-range rifles.
While the men were thus engaged, Catherine and Aunt Ursul, who had again come early in the morning, did not remain unemployed. Fortunately water did not first have to be brought. The spring carried into the house by the intelligent and indescribable labor of Lambert's father, furnished plentifully all that was needed. But for the moment the supply of provisions seemed to be inadequate. During Lambert's absence Conrad had lived from hand to mouth, according to his hunter's custom, and Catherine had manifestly had no time to supply what was lacking. So Adam had repeatedly to go empty to the Ditmar house, which happily was not far, and come back loaded with loaves of bread, hams and other good things--every time received with a loud hallo by his merry companions--until Aunt Ursul declared that there was enough to last eight days. For still better provision a couple of wethers of Lambert's small flock were driven into the inclosure where also Hans was pastured on the short grass, and often shook his thick head and looked at Lambert with his intelligent eyes, as though he wished to know what the unusual rush to-day might mean, and whether he must walk about saddled all day. But it might be that at any moment a message had to be sent, and Hans had to be ready.
So they labored busily in the work of fortifying, and were toward noon engaged in erecting the fire-signal, when a rider on a gray horse became visible, as he was coming up the valley on a trot.
"Herkimer! Herkimer!" called out Fritz Volz, who first saw him.
"Yes, it is father," said Richard in confirmation.
A few minutes later the distinguished man stopped before the door, and was respectfully greeted by Lambert and the other young men.
"I have no time to stop," said Herkimer, "and only wanted to see how far you have got. Now this looks well. Could you fill the ditch with water it would indeed be better; but this would be a long and wearisome labor, and you will have to dispense with it. How are you off for ammunition? Do you think you have enough, Lambert?"
Herkimer had now dismounted, and he asked Lambert and Aunt Ursul, who had meanwhile come out of the house, to give him detailed account of the condition of things, by means of which he knew how to bring it about that they should get some distance from the others.
He then said, "I would like to speak to you alone. I feel sure of you, and of Richard, but I am not so certain of the others, whom I do not know so well. You will here, so far as one can now judge, have a difficult position. I this morning received intelligence that the French have at least three hundred men, and that besides this the Onondagas and the Oneidas will join them. The bargain is indeed not yet concluded, but will doubtless be made if our last means fail--I mean if Conrad is not in a position to bring his old friends into a different state of mind. I have from the governor the long-expected authority to yield to them everything possible, and can intrust Conrad with it. He or nobody is in a situation to turn away from us this great misfortune. Where is he? I have not yet seen him."
"Hurry over there, Lambert. Those sparrow-heads will not finish without you," said Aunt Ursul.
"The poor boy!" she proceeded, as Lambert went away with red cheeks and a thankful look at Aunt Ursul, "the poor, dear boy! his heart is being eaten out; and that so that now the whole world must become acquainted with his brother's shame, which is really his own shame. Nay, you are indeed not sponsor for the whole world, Herkimer, but in this case you must be satisfied with me."
She then briefly told Herkimer all that it was necessary for him to know.
The excellent man listened with an earnest, thoughtful mien, and there lay a deep pain in the tone of his voice as now, shaking his gray head, he said:
"So we Germans will not unitedly resist our natural enemy. That Conrad should now fail us is a sad misfortune. His quarrel with Lambert at this moment means, not one friend less, but several hundred enemies more. Yes, why do I say hundred? The example of the Oneidas may become the measure of all the nations along the lakes, and then our well-being--our peace--is past for a long time, perhaps forever!"
Nicolas Herkimer sighed, and struck his forehead with his hand.
"Now," said he, "what one cannot hinder one must let happen, and, in any case, poor Catherine cannot help it. Let us go in a few moments, aunt, I would like to form the acquaintance of the maiden who so turns the heads of our young men."
Catherine, who was busily engaged at the hearth in her preparations for dinner, had paid no attention to what was going on outside. She had just stepped to the door to look for Aunt Ursul, and suddenly saw a strange and very stately man opposite to her, in whom she at once recognized Nicolas Herkimer. A deep blush flew over her cheeks; then, however, she approached without being confused, and put her hand in Herkimer's offered right hand.
"Poor child!" said he, holding her thin fingers for a moment, "the life that awaits you here is very rough. May the strength you need not be wanting to you."
"Ah, what, sponsor," said Aunt Ursul; "do not make the maiden shy. You think because she has hands like a princess--but it depends not on the hands, but on the heart, sponsor--and that I assure you is in the right place. So much I can tell you."
"Should you not say it, those eyes would do so," said Herkimer smiling--"at least to me, who am old enough to look into them without being punished for it. Now, my dear girl, you need not blush. You see my hair is getting gray, so a joke may be allowed. Live happy, Aunt Ursul. Live happy, kind maiden; and may heaven grant that we may joyfully meet again."
He said the last words also to the young men, who had finished their work and had come up. Then he pressed the hand of each one in turn, holding that of his son Richard perhaps a moment longer, swung himself on the gray, and rode off on a sharp trot without looking back.
"That is an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile," said Aunt Ursul. "And now, children, let us go to the table. I have an appetite like a wild wolf."
Notwithstanding this information, at the dinner to which they now sat down Aunt Ursul ate almost nothing, and also, contrary to her custom, was very still. Toward the last she took no part whatever in the conversation, and first woke from her absent-mindedness when Anthony Bierman, who had the watch, announced the minister.
"Who?" called Aunt Ursul, as she quickly rose from her chair; "the minister? He comes at the right time for me. God has sent him. Keep your seats; do you hear?"
Aunt Ursul hastily left the house and went to meet the minister, who, with rapid strides, was approaching, having his hat, wig and snuff-box in one hand, and in the other a colored pocket handkerchief with which he was wiping his bald head.
"I know it already," he called out, as soon as he caught sight of Aunt Ursul. "Herkimer, who met me between your house and Volz', has told me everything."
"So much the better," replied Aunt Ursul, "and now, dominie, don't talk as loud as if you were standing in the pulpit. The young folks are within, and must not hear what we are doing here. Come close."
She led the minister away from the house to the wall of the door-yard, where nobody could hear except Hans, who now raised his thick head and with a bit of grass in his mouth observantly looked at the two with his black eyes from under his bushy foretop.
"What business have you to listen? Go your way," said Aunt Ursul to the horse.
"But, Aunt Ursul, what in all the world is it all about?" asked the minister.
"You shall soon hear," replied Aunt Ursul, whose glances wandered from the edge of the woods to the sky, and from there again toward the woods, and at last, with a peculiar expression of face, rested on the minister.
"You are not married, dominie, and for what you do, or leave undone, you are accountable to nobody."
"What do you mean by that?" asked the minister.
"My old man is seventy-one, and I do not believe that he will last much longer," remarked Ursul thoughtfully.
The minister held the pinch of snuff, that he had meant to apply to his nose, between his fingers, and looked attentively at Aunt Ursul.
"Should he live longer, he has had me thirty years; and sometime everything must come to an end; so we are very properly called and chosen thereto."
The minister dropped the pinch of snuff. "For God's sake, Aunt Ursul, what are you driving at?"
"I took you to be more courageous," said Aunt Ursul.
"And I you to be more rational," said the minister.
"About such things one must ask his own heart," said Aunt Ursul.
"And the heart is a timorous, perverse thing," replied the minister.
"Yes, very timid," said Aunt Ursul, scornfully.
"Yes; truly perverse," said the minister guardedly.
"Now, without further parley, will you be my man, or not?" said Aunt Ursul who had lost patience.
"God forbid!" said the minister, who could no longer control his repugnance.
"Indeed, you look like a man," said Aunt Ursul contemptuously, turning on her heel.
"Are you then entirely God-forsaken, unhappy woman?" said the minister, laying his fleshy hand on Aunt Ursul's shoulder.
"Not I, but you, hare-hearted man," said Aunt Ursul, shaking off his hand and turning vigorously away. "You who always preach about sacrifice and love, and have neither the one nor the other; and shear the cuckoo for the lost lamb, if you can only sit quietly by your flesh-pots. Now then stay, in the devil's name--God forgive me the sin--I shall be able alone to find the road to my poor, misguided boy, and God will give me the right words to touch his heart."
Again Aunt Ursul turned away. The minister slapped his forehead, and with a few rapid steps overtook her as she was hastening from him.
"Aunt Ursul!"
"What do you want?"
"Naturally I will go with you."
"For once."
"For once and every time. By the thousand, woman! why did you not tell me at once that it was something about Conrad?"
"About whom else should it be?"
"About many things. Forget what I have said. I give you my word as a man and as a servant of God that it was a misunderstanding--of which I am ashamed--and for which I ask your pardon. When shall we start?"
Aunt Ursul shook her head. She could not conceive what her old friend had before thought, but she felt that he was now fully resolved, and minutes were precious.
"At once naturally," she replied to his last question.
"I am ready."
"So! Come in and say a friendly word to the girl, and let nothing be noticed. Lambert must not know what we have in hand. Nobody must know. If we succeed in bringing him back it is well; if not, let his shame be buried with us. In either case they must not feel concerned about us. It is possible, dominie, that we shall never return. You comprehend that clearly?"
"God's will be done," said the minister.
Two hours later, Aunt Ursul and the minister were already deep in the forest, away from the creek, on a narrow Indian path, which was as well the path of the buffalo and the deer. But Pluto, going before the wanderers, with her broad nose near the ground and her long, restless tail wagging, did not follow the tracks of buffalo or deer. More than once she turned away from a fresh track into the woods, every time soon to return into the path.
"You see now, dominie, how well it is that I went back to fetch the dog on an occasion like this," said Aunt Ursul. "You were impatient at the losing of time, but we are well paid for it."
"It was not on account of the delay," replied the minister. "I was afraid that, in spite of our large circuit, they would guess our purpose. Both Lambert and Catherine looked at us with an expression which, as I read it, meant: 'We know what you are up to!'"
"They know nothing," said Aunt Ursul. "Why should I not call out the dog for my own and my old man's greater security?"
"Because nobody would really believe that you are so disturbed by fear."
"Well," said Aunt Ursul, "let them think what they please. Without the dog we should fail, and so let us push on."
"I am not quite sure that we shall so reach our end, Aunt Ursul."
"Are you already tired?"
"I tire not so easily, in such an affair, you know. But who can assure us that Conrad, in his anger and despondency, has not walked as far as his feet would carry him, which at last must be farther than we with our best will can go. And there is another possibility, of which I think with trembling."
"That my young man has gone over to them?" cried Aunt Ursul, turning so quickly that the minister, who was close behind, jumped back a step. "Do you mean that?"
"God forbid!" replied the minister, displeased at Aunt Ursul's question, and that by its earnestness his opened snuff-box was almost knocked out of his hand. "But he who lays his hand upon his brother, as Conrad has done, may also lay his hand upon himself. As far as I know Conrad, the last will be at least as easy as the first."
"You, however, do not know my young man," said Aunt Ursul earnestly, and she went on in more quiet tones: "See, dominie, I admit that the young man, at this moment, does not value his life more than a pine cone, but, notwithstanding, I would swear that he will sell it dear. And who shall pay for it? The French and their base Indians. That you may depend on. And see, dominie, that is also the reason why I am thoroughly convinced that he has not gone as far as his feet could carry him, but is somewhere here near by, and is keeping sharp watch over the house in which his parents lived, whose door-sill he will never again cross. He may keep his word, but be assured, dominie, if the enemy get so far they will have to come over his dead body."
Deeply moved, Aunt Ursul was silent. The minister, though not entirely convinced, thought it prudent not to express his opinion.
So they went on for some time in silence. The dog ran ahead, or out to one or the other side of the path, at one moment stopping and smelling up in the air, then again eagerly following a track. Aunt Ursul's sharp, knowing eyes watched every movement of the animal, and often she gently said: "Search, Pluto!--that is right, Pluto," more to herself than to the dog, for she needed little encouragement. The minister kept his eyes fixed on Aunt Ursul's broad back, and conversed with her when the path did not require all his attention.
This indeed was often the case, and soon the path became so difficult for their unaccustomed feet that conversation stopped entirely. Ever rougher and steeper became the ascent over the great roots of the old forest pines. Ever more wildly roared the creek among the sharp rocks, until at length in a deep cleft under overhanging vines it entirely disappeared from the wanderers. Following the dog, they now turned off to the right into the woods, and, laboriously going up a few hundred steps, reached the top of the plateau.
Here the minister, whose strength was nearly exhausted, would gladly have rested a few moments; but Aunt Ursul, with an expressive look, pointed to the dog, which with great jumps, as though full of joy, ran about a pine which stretched up giant-like in the midst of a little opening.
"There he lay," said Aunt Ursul, almost breathless from excitement and joy. "Here, in this spot, he lay. Do you see, dominie, the impression in the moss and the crushed bushes? There also is a torn piece of paper. Here he put a new load in his rifle. Further, dominie, further. I would swear that in less than half an hour we will have himself. Further! Further!"
The energetic woman shoved her rifle, which had slid off by her bending over, more securely on her shoulder, and took several long steps, as the dog, which for a moment had stood motionless with raised head looking into the woods, suddenly, with a loud bark and breaking through the bushes with great leaps, disappeared in the forest.
"Now, God help us! what then has the beast?" said the minister, coming up panting.
"Her master," replied Aunt Ursul. "Still!"
Bending her body she stared with great round eyes at the thicket in which the dog had disappeared. The minister's heart throbbed ready to burst. He would gladly have taken a pinch of snuff, as he usually did when peculiarly excited, but Aunt Ursul had laid her hand on his arm, and her brown fingers pressed harder and harder.
"Still!" said she again, though the minister neither spoke nor stirred. "Don't you hear anything?"
"No," said the minister.
"But I do."
A peculiar sound, half a call, half a sob, came from her throat. She let go the arm of the minister and hastened in the same direction the dog had taken. But she had not yet reached the edge of the opening, when the bushes separated and Conrad stepped out, accompanied by Pluto, barking with joy and jumping up against her master. Aunt Ursul could not or would not check her walk. She threw herself forward on Conrad's breast, who with strong arms embraced the good aunt, his second mother, bending his face over her shoulder to conceal the tears streaming from his eyes.
So the two stood, encircled in each other's arms, and the light of the evening sun played so beautifully about the handsome picture that the eyelashes of the minister became moist.
He stepped up gently, and, laying one hand on Conrad's shoulder and the other on that of his aunt, said heartily: "Here my blessing is not needed, but I must be permitted to rejoice with you."
"God bless you, dominie!" said Conrad, raising himself up and reaching out his hand to the worthy man. "This is handsome in you that you have accompanied aunt. I did not expect you, at least not both of you."
"Yet, Conrad," said Aunt Ursul, interrupting him, "why are you ashamed to tell the truth? You did expect me!"
"Well, yes," said Conrad.
"And I have brought him along." Aunt Ursul added, "because you know him from childhood, that he's a good and righteous man; and in such a case a man can speak better to a man than a poor woman like me, for the cuckoo knows how it looks in your hard hearts."
Conrad's handsome countenance darkened while his aunt spoke in this manner. His eyes looked angry from under his sunken eyelashes. However, he forced himself to speak with apparent calmness, saying: "I thank you again; but, aunt, and you, dominie, I beg you say nothing about him--you know whom I mean--and also nothing about her. I can't hear it and I won't hear it. It may be that I am wrong, but I have taken my stand and will take the consequences."
"Now," said Aunt Ursul to the minister, "you must open your mouth. For what else did I bring you along?"
Aunt Ursul was quite angry. She felt a secret sympathy with Conrad, and had at the same time an obscure feeling that, in his condition, she would think and speak and act in the same manner. She could say nothing more, in a case in which her heart sided so painfully with the one who was in the wrong.
The minister, in his excitement, took one pinch of snuff after the other. Then he sought unavailingly for the few remaining particles, closed his box, put it in his pocket, and said: "Conrad, listen quietly to me a few minutes. I think I can tell you something of which you have, perhaps, not so earnestly thought. Whether you are wrong in regard to your brother and the maiden--whom I to-day first learned to know, and who appears to be a good, brave girl--or not, I will not decide, nor will I examine into the matter. I have never been married, nor, so far as I know, in love, but once, and that so long ago that it may well be that I do not understand such things. But, Conrad, there are brothers whom we cannot renounce. There are father's houses which must be sacred to us under all circumstances. In the one case we are of the same lineage; in the other it is our home-land. On this account, to us driven away and thrust out--to us pressed down and shaken together by strangers in a strange land--must those relatives who are still left--must the country of our new home, be twice and thrice holy. And there is nothing, Conrad, that can release us from this duty; no strife with a brother, no wish to have a wife, no rights as to mine and thine, for here there is no mine and thine, but onlyour, as in the prayer we offer to God in whom we all believe. I know well, Conrad, that this feeling of holy duty has not died out of your heart; that, on the other hand, you will in your own way satisfy it. But, Conrad, your way is not a good one, even were you determined, as we all suppose, to sacrifice your life. I tell you, Conrad, God will not accept the offering. He will reject it, as he did Cain's sacrifice, and your precious blood will run down into the sand useless and unhonored."
The minister's deep voice had an unusually solemn tone, in this forest stillness; and as he now, on account of his emotion, which beautifully illuminated his plain face, was silent a few moments, it roared through the branches of the giant pines as if God himself and not a man had spoken.
So at least it seemed to good Aunt Ursul, and the same feeling was able also to touch the wild and perverse heart of Conrad. His broad breast rose and fell powerfully; his face had a peculiar, constrained expression; his eyes were fixed on the ground, and his strong hands, which grasped the barrel of his gun, trembled.
The minister began anew: "Your precious blood--I say, Conrad, precious, as all human blood is precious, but doubly precious in the hour of danger, thrice precious when it flows in the veins of a man to whom the God of all has given the power to be the protection and defense of those nearest to him. Moreover, Conrad, to whom much is given, of him shall much be required. The rest of us are only like soldiers in rank and file, and we need not be ashamed of it. But you are looked upon as holding a more important position, and I need only to mention it so that you may return to yourself. You will not shrink from a task that you and you only of us all are fitted for. Nicolas Herkimer has learned that negotiations are taking place between our enemies and the Oneidas; that they are only delaying their attack until a treaty is concluded, in order that then they may fall upon us with resistless power. You know that our holding of the Oneidas will secure to us the other nations on the lakes. You know that thus far they have been a wall to us behind which we felt measurably secure. You have lived for years with the Oneidas. You speak their language; you are highly respected by them; you know the way to their hearts. Now then, Conrad, it is the wish and will of Herkimer, our captain, that you go at once to them, and in his name, and in that of the governor, assure them of the yielding of all points lately in controversy between them and the government to their satisfaction, and according to their own views, if they will abide by the old protection and alliance which they entered into with us--yes, if they only will not take part against us in the present war. You notice and understand the proposition, so that I, a man little accustomed to such things, need not go into particulars. I now ask you, Conrad Sternberg, will you, as is your bounden duty, carry out the orders of our captain?"
"It is too late," said Conrad, with broken voice.
"Why too late?"
"What you fear has already taken place. The Oneidas have joined the French and the Onondagas. This morning--yes, an hour ago--I could yet have gone to them unobserved to bring about what you propose. Now it is impossible."
"How do you know it, Conrad?" asked the minister and Aunt Ursul, as if out of the same mouth.
"Come," said Conrad.
He hung his rifle over his shoulder, and now walked before them both diagonally through the forest, which was constantly becoming lighter until the tall trees stood singly among the low bushes. Here he moved carefully in a bent posture and indicated to the two by signs that they should follow his example. At last he fell on his knees, bent a couple of bushes slowly apart, and winked to the others to come up in the same way. They did so, and looked through the opening, as through a little window for observation in a door, on an unusual spectacle.
Beneath them, at the foot of the steep mass of rocks on the edge of which they were, there spread out a broad, meadow-like valley, which on the opposite side was encircled by precipitous, wood-covered rocks, and through it in many windings a creek gently ran. On the bank of the creek next to them there was a space covered with small, canvas-walled tents and lodges, standing without order. Between the tents and lodges there burned a couple of dozen fires whose rising smoke, glowing in the evening sun, spread out above in a dark cloud, through which the scene below looked more phantasmal. There was a mass of people in active movement--French, some regulars and some volunteers, many without any distinctive mark--and, in greater number, Indians, whose half-naked bodies, adorned with variously colored war-paint, shone in the light of the sun. The groups on the bank of the creek stood close together, and it was not difficult to discover the reason. On the other side, the band of Indians there gathered must have arrived recently. Some were engaged in putting up their wigwams, others were kindling fires. The most of them, however, stood at the edge of the creek talking with those on the other side. The creek, of moderate breadth, had washed out for itself a deep bed in the meadow-land, with steep sides. They could not well come together without bridges, and these were hastily made for the occasion with tree-trunks, while here and there the willful or eager swam across, or, trying to jump across and in most cases falling short, occasioned every time shouts of laughter among those looking on.
With beating hearts Aunt Ursul and the minister in succession observed the spectacle which had to them such a terrible meaning. Then following Conrad's whispered request, they withdrew as carefully as they had crept up, back through the bushes into the woods.
"How many are there?" asked Aunt Ursul.
"Four hundred besides the Oneidas," replied Conrad. "The Oneidas are quite as strong, if they allow all their warriors to be called into the field. I have just counted two hundred and fifty. Anyhow, the others will follow, otherwise they would find no preparations for the night."
"But will they go on at once?" asked Aunt Ursul.
"Certainly, for they know that the hours are precious. So you will doubtless by to-morrow noon have them on your necks."
"You?" said the minister impressively. "You should say 'We,' Conrad."
Conrad did not answer, but went silently and without turning into the border of the woods far enough from the edge of the plateau to prevent their being seen. After going about two hundred steps they came to a place where there was a deep ravine, which led from the heights above by a sort of natural rock-stairs into the valley. Above, where the stairs opened on the plateau, there was a narrow, deep-cut path entirely blocked by a cunningly devised obstruction of tree-trunks, stones and brush. Other stones, some of them very large, were pushed so close to the sides of the ditch that with a lever, or perhaps even with the foot, they could be slid of! on those coming up the path. It looked as if a dozen strong men must have labored for days to perform such a work. Conrad's giant strength accomplished it in a few hours.
"Here," said he, turning to his companions with his peculiar laugh, "here I intended to wait until the last stone had been thrown off and my last cartridge had been shot."
"And then?" asked Aunt Ursul.
"Break in two my rifle on the head of the first one that should come up into the narrow path."
"And now?" asked the minister, seizing the hand of the wild man; "and now, Conrad?"
"Now I will carry out the orders of Herkimer."
"For God's sake!" cried Aunt Ursul. "It would clearly be your destruction; the Onondagas, your enemies, would pull you to pieces!"
"Hardly," replied Conrad. "The Oneidas would not consent to it--at least without quarreling and strife. By this means already much would be gained, and thus I would keep them back longer than if I opposed them here, where I would in a few hours be killed. But I hope it will come out better. I would already have gone over to the Oneidas this morning, when they lay in the woods, but I had nothing to offer them. Now this is different. Perhaps I may be able to talk them over. At least I will try. Goodbye, both of you."
He reached out his hands to them. Aunt Ursul threw herself into his arms as though she would not again let her beloved young man be separated from her; but Conrad, with gentle force, freed himself and said:
"There is not a minute to be lost. I must make a wide circuit in order to come from the other side into the valley, and you have a long journey. The dog I shall take along. She can be of no use to you on the way home. Can you find the way without her, aunt? Now then good-bye; good-bye all!"
"In the hope of again seeing you," said the minister.
Conrad's face was convulsed for a moment. "As God will," he answered, in subdued tones.
The next minute they two were alone. For a moment they heard his retreating steps. Then all was still.
"We shall not see him again," said Aunt Ursul.
"Weshallsee him again," said the minister, looking at the purple clouds shining through the branches. "God helps the courageous."
"Then he will help him," said Aunt Ursul. "A more courageous heart than that of my young man beats in no human breast. God be gracious to him!"
"Amen!" said the minister.
They turned back on their homeward journey, back through the primitive forest, over which now the evening shadows were fast gathering.