The Corporal must command; but you can counsel freely, particularly in all matters relating to the boats, of which I shall leave one behind to secure your retreat, should there be occasion.
I know the Corporal well; he is a brave man and a good soldier; and one that may be relied on, if the Santa Cruz can be kept from him.
But then he is a Scotchman, and will be liable to the Quartermaster's influence, against which I desire both you and Mabel to be on your guard."
"But why leave us behind, dear father?
I have come thus far to be a comfort to you, and why not go farther?"
"You are a good girl, Mabel, and very like the Dunhams.
But you must halt here.
We shall leave the island tomorrow, before the day dawns, in order not to be seen by any prying eyes coming from our cover, and we shall take the two largest boats, leaving you the other and one bark canoe.
We are about to go into the channel used by the French, where we shall lie in wait, perhaps a week, to intercept their supply-boats, which are about to pass up on their way to Frontenac, loaded, in particular, with a heavy amount of Indian goods."
"Have you looked well to your papers, brother?" Cap anxiously demanded.
"Of course you know a capture on the high seas is piracy, unless your boat is regularly commissioned, either as a public or a private armed cruiser."
"I have the honor to hold the Colonel's appointment as sergeant-major of the 55th," returned the other, drawing himself up with dignity, "and that will be sufficient even for the French king.
If not, I have Major Duncan's written orders."
"No papers, then, for a warlike cruiser?"
"They must suffice, brother, as I have no other.
It is of vast importance to his Majesty's interests, in this part of the world, that the boats in question should be captured and carried into Oswego.
They contain the blankets, trinkets, rifles, ammunition, in short, all the stores with which the French bribe their accursed savage allies to commit their unholy acts, setting at nought our holy religion and its precepts, the laws of humanity, and all that is sacred and dear among men.
By cutting off these supplies we shall derange their plans, and gain time on them; for the articles cannot be sent across the ocean again this autumn."
"But, father, does not his Majesty employ Indians also?" asked Mabel, with some curiosity.
"Certainly, girl, and he has a right to employ them --God bless him!
It's a very different thing whether an Englishman or a Frenchman employs a savage, as everybody can understand."
"But, father, I cannot see that this alters the case.
If it be wrong in a Frenchman to hire savages to fight his enemies, it would seem to be equally wrong in an Englishman.
You will admit this, Pathfinder?"
"It's reasonable, it's reasonable; and I have never been one of them that has raised a cry ag'in the Frenchers for doing the very thing we do ourselves.
Still it is worse to consort with a Mingo than to consort with a Delaware. If any of that just tribe were left, I should think it no sin to send them out ag'in the foe."
"And yet they scalp and slay young and old, women and children!"
"They have their gifts, Mabel, and are not to be blamed for following them; natur' is natur', though the different tribes have different ways of showing it.
For my part I am white, and endeavor to maintain white feelings."
"This is all unintelligible to me," answered Mabel. "What is right in King George, it would seem, ought to be right in King Louis."
As all parties, Mabel excepted, seemed satisfied with the course the discussion had taken, no one appeared to think it necessary to pursue the subject.
Supper was no sooner ended than the Sergeant dismissed his guests, and then held a long and confidential dialogue with his daughter.
He was little addicted to giving way to the gentler emotions, but the novelty of his present situation awakened feelings that he was unused to experience.
The soldier or the sailor, so long as he acts under the immediate supervision of a superior, thinks little of the risks he runs, but the moment he feels the responsibility of command, all the hazards of his undertaking begin to associate themselves in his mind: with the chances of success or failure.
While he dwells less on his own personal danger, perhaps, than when that is the principal consideration, he has more lively general perceptions of all the risks, and submits more to the influence of the feelings which doubt creates.
Such was now the case with Sergeant Dunham, who, instead of looking forward to victory as certain, according to his usual habits, began to feel the possibility that he might be parting with his child for ever.
Never before had Mabel struck him as so beautiful as she appeared that night. Possibly she never had displayed so many engaging qualities to her father; for concern on his account had begun to be active in her breast; and then her sympathies met with unusual encouragement through those which had been stirred up in the sterner bosom of the veteran.
She had never been entirely at her ease with her parent, the great superiority of her education creating a sort of chasm, which had been widened by the military severity of manner he had acquired by dealing so long with beings who could only be kept in subjection by an unremitted discipline.
On the present occasion, however, the conversation between the father and daughter became more confidential than usual, until Mabel rejoiced to fiud that it was gradually becoming endearing, a state of feeling that the warm-hearted girl had silently pined for in vain ever since her arrival.
"Then mother was about my height?" Mabel said, as she held one of her father's hands in both her own, looking up into his face with humid eyes.
"I had thought her taller."
"That is the way with most children who get a habit of thinking of their parents with respect, until they fancy them larger and more commanding than they actually are.
Your mother, Mabel, was as near your height as one woman could be to another."
"And her eyes, father?"
"Her eyes were like thine, child, too; blue and soft, and inviting like, though hardly so laughing."
"Mine will never laugh again, dearest father, if you do not take care of yourself in this expedition."
"Thank you, Mabel -- hem -- thank you, child; but I must do my duty.
I wish I had seen you comfortably married before we left Oswego; my mind would be easier."
"Married! -- to whom, father?"
"You know the man I wish you to love.