The Deerslayer. Джеймс Фенимор Купер
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said in a sort of a soliloquy, as the young man went in quest of the fallen rifle. The piece was found where its owner had dropped it, and was immediately put into the canoe. Laying his own rifle at its side, Deerslayer then returned and stood over the Indian again.
“All inmity atween you and me’s at an ind red-skin,” he said; “and you may set your heart at rest on the score of the scalp, or any further injury. My gifts are white, as I’ve told you; and I hope my conduct will be white also.”
Could looks have conveyed all they meant, it is probable Deerslayer’s innocent vanity on the subject of color would have been rebuked a little; but he comprehended the gratitude that was expressed in the eyes of the dying savage, without in the least detecting the bitter sarcasm that struggled with the better feeling.
“Water!” ejaculated the thirsty and unfortunate creature; “give poor Injin water.”
“Ay, water you shall have, if you drink the lake dry. I’ll just carry you down to it that you may take your fill. This is the way, they tell me, with all wounded people—water is their greatest comfort and delight.”
So saying, Deerslayer raised the Indian in his arms, and carried him to the lake. Here he first helped him to take an attitude in which he could appease his burning thirst; after which he seated himself on a stone, and took the head of his wounded adversary in his own lap, and endeavored to soothe his anguish in the best manner he could.
“It would be sinful in me to tell you your time hadn’t come, warrior,” he commenced, “and therefore I’ll not say it. You’ve passed the middle age already, and, considerin’ the sort of lives ye lead, your days have been pretty well filled. The principal thing now, is to look forward to what comes next. Neither red-skin nor pale-face, on the whole, calculates much on sleepin’ forever; but both expect to live in another world. Each has his gifts, and will be judged by ’em, and I suppose you’ve thought these matters over enough not to stand in need of sarmons when the trial comes. You’ll find your happy hunting-grounds, if you’ve been a just Injin; if an onjust, you’ll meet your desarts in another way. I’ve my own idees about these things; but you’re too old and exper’enced to need any explanations from one as young as I.”
“Good!” ejaculated the Indian, whose voice retained its depth even as life ebbed away; “young head—old wisdom!”
“It’s sometimes a consolation, when the ind comes, to know that them we’ve harmed, or tried to harm, forgive us. I suppose natur’ seeks this relief, by way of getting a pardon on ’arth; as we never can know whether He pardons, who is all in all, til judgment itself comes. It’s soothing to know that any pardon at such times; and that, I conclude, is the secret. Now, as for myself, I overlook altogether your designs ag’in my life; first, because no harm came of ’em; next, because it’s your gifts, and natur’, and trainin’, and I ought not to have trusted you at all; and, finally and chiefly, because I can bear no ill-will to a dying man, whether heathen or Christian. So put your heart at ease, so far as I’m consarned; you know best what other matters ought to trouble you, or what ought to give you satisfaction in so trying a moment.”
It is probable that the Indian had some of the fearful glimpses of the unknown state of being which God, in mercy, seems at times to afford to all the human race; but they were necessarily in conformity with his habits and prejudices. Like most of his people, and like too many of our own, he thought more of dying in a way to gain applause among those he left than to secure a better state of existence hereafter. While Deerslayer was speaking, his mind was a little bewildered, though he felt that the intention was good; and when he had done, a regret passed over his spirit that none of his own tribe were present to witness his stoicism, under extreme bodily suffering, and the firmness with which he met his end. With the high innate courtesy that so often distinguishes the Indian warrior before he becomes corrupted by too much intercourse with the worst class of the white men, he endeavored to express his thankfulness for the other’s good intentions, and to let him understand that they were appreciated.
“Good!” he repeated, for this was an English word much used by the savages, “good! young head; young heart, too. Old heart tough; no shed tear. Hear Indian when he die, and no want to lie—what he call him?”
“Deerslayer is the name I bear now, though the Delawares have said that when I get back from this war-path, I shall have a more manly title, provided I can ’arn one.”
“That good name for boy—poor name for warrior. He get better quick. No fear there,”—the savage had strength sufficient, under the strong excitement he felt, to raise a hand and tap the young man on his breast,—“eye sartain—finger lightning—aim, death—great warrior soon. No Deerslayer—Hawkeye—Hawkeye—Hawkeye. Shake hand.”
Deerslayer—or Hawkeye, as the youth was then first named, for in after years he bore the appellation throughout all that region—Deerslayer took the hand of the savage, whose last breath was drawn in that attitude, gazing in admiration at the countenance of a stranger, who had shown so much readiness, skill, and firmness, in a scene that was equally trying and novel. When the reader remembers it is the highest gratification an Indian can receive to see his enemy betray weakness, he will be better able to appreciate the conduct which had extorted so great a concession at such a moment.
“His spirit has fled!” said Deerslayer, in a suppressed, melancholy voice. “Ah’s me! Well, to this we must all come, sooner or later; and he is happiest, let his skin be what color it may, who is best fitted to meet it. Here lies the body of no doubt a brave warrior, and the soul is already flying towards its heaven or hell, whether that be a happy hunting ground, a place scant of game, regions of glory, according to Moravian doctrine, or flames of fire! So it happens, too, as regards other matters! Here have old Hutter and Hurry Harry got themselves into difficulty, if they haven’t got themselves into torment and death, and all for a bounty that luck offers to me in what many would think a lawful and suitable manner. But not a farthing of such money shall cross my hand. White I was born, and white will I die; clinging to color to the last, even though the King’s majesty, his governors, and all his councils, both at home and in the colonies, forget from what they come, and where they hope to go, and all for a little advantage in warfare. No, no, warrior, hand of mine shall never molest your scalp, and so your soul may rest in peace on the p’int of making a decent appearance when the body comes to join it, in your own land of spirits.”
Deerslayer arose as soon as he had spoken. Then he placed the body of the dead man in a sitting posture, with its back against the little rock, taking the necessary care to prevent it from falling or in any way settling into an attitude that might be thought unseemly by the sensitive, though wild notions of a savage. When this duty was performed, the young man stood gazing at the grim countenance of his fallen foe, in a sort of melancholy abstraction. As was his practice, however, a habit gained by living so much alone in the forest, he then began again to give utterance to his thoughts and feelings aloud.
“I didn’t wish your life, red-skin,” he said “but you left me no choice atween killing or being killed. Each party acted according to his gifts, I suppose, and blame can light on neither. You were treacherous, according to your natur’ in war, and I was a little oversightful, as I’m apt to be in trusting others. Well, this is my first battle with a human mortal, though it’s not likely to be the last. I have fou’t most of the creatur’s of the forest, such as bears, wolves, painters, and catamounts, but this is the beginning with the red-skins. If I was Injin born, now, I might tell of this, or carry in the scalp, and boast of the expl’ite afore the whole tribe; or, if my inimy had only been even a bear, ’twould have been nat’ral and proper to let everybody know what had happened; but I don’t well see how I’m to let even Chingachgook into this secret, so long as it can be done only by boasting with a white tongue. And why should I wish to boast of it a’ter all? It’s slaying a human, although he was a savage; and how do I know that he was a just Injin; and that he has not been taken away suddenly to anything but happy hunting-grounds. When it’s onsartain whether good or evil has been done, the wisest way is not to be boastful—still, I should like Chingachgook to know that I haven’t discredited the Delawares, or my training!”
Part of this was uttered aloud,