The German Pioneers: A Tale of the Mohawk

by Friedrich Spielhagen

CHAPTER V

Lambert, having, in the early morning, lain down by the side of Conrad, awoke late and found his brother gone. He had left the block-house at sunrise. Catherine was up and occupied about the hearth when Conrad lightly descended the stairs. He was in a great hurry, and declined the morning soup which she offered him. He would certainly be back before night. Then he took his rifle, hung about him his game bag, and, with Pluto at his heels, went up the creek with long strides.

"The wild youth," said Lambert.

He was quite displeased with Conrad, but that he had intentionally avoided him did not enter his mind. Conrad had acted strangely enough last evening, but then the older brother was accustomed to the unreliable, crisp and often silly humors of the younger one. "Why should Conrad give up a hunt to-day which perhaps he had prearranged with his companions? He will doubtless return by noon with a fat deer and a woodman's appetite."

So said Lambert while, standing at the hearth, he partook of his morning meal. However he did not say that, on the whole, he was not so much put out by his brother's absence--that he reluctantly gave up the sweet habit of being alone with Catherine that he might talk freely with her.

But this morning the pleasant conversation was wanting. Catherine was still and, as Lambert now saw, was pale, and her beaming, brown eyes were veiled. Now that the end of her journey had been reached she felt how great the strain had been; but soon, smiling, accommodated herself to the situation.

"You need not feel concerned," said she. "In a couple of days--perhaps hours--all will be regained. I will not boast, but I have always been able to accomplish what others could, and often a little more, and, if you are not too strict a master, you shall be satisfied with your maid-servant."

To Lambert it seemed as if the sun had suddenly been overcast. With trembling hand he put down the cup which he had not yet entirely emptied.

"You are not my maid-servant, Catherine," he said gently.

"Yes I am, Lambert, yes I am, though you magnanimously tore up the evidence of my indebtedness," replied the young maiden. "I owe you none the less on that account. The debt is now doubled. You know it well and yet it is proper for me to say it. I desired to be to you a good and faithful maid-servant--to you and yours. I supposed nothing else but that your parents were still alive, and I heartily rejoiced that I could serve them. You said nothing about your parents, I think, because you did not wish to make me feel sad. Now your parents, like mine, are dead, and you live here alone with your brother, so I am your maid-servant and your brother's."

Lambert made a motion as though he wished to reply, but his half-raised arm fell powerless, and his opened lips again closed. He had intended to say: "I love you, Catherine. Do you not see it?" How could he now say it?

Catherine continued:

"I beg you, Lambert, with this understanding, to talk with your brother, if you have not already done so. You are the elder and know me better. He is young and impetuous, as it seems, and now sees me for the first time. And now, Lambert, you surely have something better to do than to stand here and talk with me. I have to clear away a little here yet, and will follow you should you not go far, if you do not object. I should like to see all, and know about every part."

She turned to him and gave him her hand. "Does that please you?" she asked smiling.

"Entirely, entirely," replied Lambert. Tears stood in his eyes, but the dear girl wanted it so, and that was enough.

"I will first go to the barn-yard," said he, "and then into the forest. This afternoon I intended to go to Uncle Ditmar's. Perhaps you will accompany me."

He went out hastily. Catherine looked at him with sad smiles. "You good, dear, best man," said she, "it is not my fault that I distress you, but I must think of us all. The madcap will probably now be satisfied."

Catherine now felt herself somewhat relieved of the weight that had lain on her heart since the peculiar scene with Conrad in the morning. Involuntarily she constantly thought about how alarmed Conrad appeared when, as he came down the narrow, steep stairs, he found her already on the hearth; how he had then approached her and stared at her with his large, glistening eyes, and had said: "Are you man and wife, or are you not? If you are, then it will be best for me to send a bullet through my head; but, lie not--for God's sake, do not lie, otherwise I will indeed shoot myself, but first surely both of you."

Then as Catherine drew back from the violence, he began to laugh. "Now, one does not lightly shoot such a brother dead, who is so good that he could not be better, and a girl who is so handsome, so wonderfully beautiful. So far as I am concerned I need feel no anxiety about being shot dead. This can happen to me any day. Pluto, beast, are you again staring at her? Wait! I will teach you manners." With this he hastened away. Outside Pluto howled grievously, as though she would teach Catherine that her master was not accustomed to indulge in vain threats.

"Now he will be satisfied," said Catherine, yet a couple of times, while she cleared away the breakfast and made some preparations for the simple dinner. To-day she did not, like yesterday, have to gather up laboriously what she needed; everything was at her hand. Everything appeared as if familiar to her--as though she had known it from youth up. She hummed her favorite song, "Were I a wild falcon I would soar aloft," and then interrupted herself and said: "It has been childish for me to be so fearful. He loves him; that one sees clearly. He has called him the best brother, and surely, at the bottom of his heart, he is kind though his eyes have so wild a look. Before glittering eyes which are so handsome one needs not be afraid. But Lambert's eyes are still handsomer."

Catherine stepped to the door. It was a most beautiful spring morning. Small white clouds passed quietly over the light blue sky. Golden stars danced in the creek. Dew-drops sparkled in the luxuriant grass of the meadow--here in emerald green, in blue and purple shades there. The woods which encircled the hill on which the house stood looked down quietly. Over a rocky height that projected steep out of the forest there hovered a great eagle with extended wings sporting in the balmy air that was breathing through the valley and whose every puff was charged with balsamic aroma.

Catherine folded her hands and her eyes filled with tears. It seemed to her as if she were again standing in the small church of her home village, and that she heard her father's mild voice pronounce the benediction over the congregation: "The Lord let the light of His countenance fall upon you and give you peace."

The last remains of unrest had passed away from her and, in her present mood, she went to seek Lambert, whom she supposed to be at the buildings which, as she passed around the block-house, she saw standing at some distance towards the forest.

She found him working at a hedge which inclosed part of a field in which the lance-shaped, bright leaves of the Indian-corn waved in the morning wind. Young, red-blossomed apple trees, whose trunks had been carefully wound with thorns, had been planted around the fields.

"This the deer did last night," said Lambert, as he approached a damaged place. "Here are the fresh tracks. Conrad knows how to keep them respectful, but during the eight days that he has been away they have again become bold."

"I will help you," said Catherine, after she had looked on for a few minutes.

"This is no labor for you," said Lambert, looking up.

"So, once for all, you must not speak," serenely replied Catherine. "If you want a princess in your house you must at once send me away again. I own myself unfit for that."

Lambert smiled with pleasure when he saw how skillfully she took hold of the matter, and how handy she was. He now noticed for the first time that the roses had again blossomed on her cheeks; and as she now, in helping him, bent over and back, the agreeable play of the lines of her slender, girlish body filled him with trembling delight.

"But you also should not be unemployed," said Catherine.

The young man, blushing deeply, returned to his work with redoubled zeal, so that it was soon completed.

"What comes next?" asked Catherine.

"I intended to go up into the woods to look after my pine trees. There will be probably more to do there than here, where my kind uncle has kept every thing so well in order. But about woodcraft he understands little or nothing; and Conrad concerns himself only with his hunting. It was fortunate that I could do the chief labor before I left home in the spring."

He hung the gun, which leaned against the hedge near him, over his shoulder and looked at Catherine.

Lingering he said: "Will you go with me? It is not far."

"That is truly fortunate," said Catherine. "You know I am shy of long roads. Will you not rather saddle Hans?"

She called the horse, grazing in an enclosure near by, in which there was also a small flock of black-wooled sheep. He pricked up his ears, came slowly, swinging his tail, and put his head over the bars.

"You good Hans," said Catherine, brushing the thick forelock out of the eyes of the animal, "I gave you a good deal of trouble on the long journey."

"The trouble was not so very great. Is it not so, old Hans?" said Lambert.

Hans seemed to think that to such an idle question no answer was necessary and went on quietly chewing his last mouthful of grass. The young people stood and looked on and stroked the head and neck of the animal, while in the branches of a blossoming apple tree a robin-redbreast sang. Their hands touched. Lambert's large eyes assumed a determined expression and then were raised with a cordial look to the blushing face of the maiden.

"Now you must also show me the barn-yard," said Catherine.

"Cheerfully," said Lambert.

They entered the barn-yard which like the house was inclosed with a stone-wall of the height of a man, and contained several low buildings formed of logs. First the stable in which, in the winter and in bad weather, Hans, the cows and the sheep stayed quietly together. This was now empty with the exception of a couple of half-grown pigs grunting within a partition, and a large flock of hens and turkeys which had been contentedly scratching in the straw, but now, frightened at the unwelcome intrusion, cackling and flying apart rushed out of the open door. Then they entered the work-shop, in which Lambert worked during the winter, and where, besides excellent timber and all kinds of tools, there were standing, begun and finished, tubs which would have done credit to a cooper.

"In the fall these are all filled with tar and rosin," said Lambert, "and sent to Albany. It won't be long before I must stick to this, and my Uncle Ditmar, of whom I learned coopering, will help me, I suppose, and also Conrad, though he does not like mechanical labor. Still he can do anything he pleases, and does it better than one who devotes his life to it."

Catherine was pleased to hear that Lambert was so proud of his younger brother, but did not speak of it. It seemed to her as if a dark shadow had passed over her heart, which had but now been as sunny as the surrounding golden, spring landscape.

They left the barn-yard and, ascending by degrees, soon reached the edge of the woods, which here extended back farther from the level ground, so that, as they turned about, the valley lay like a great meadow in the woods, in the midst of which was the blockhouse on the hill. The creek was concealed by the reeds which fringed its shore. Deep peace rested in happy quietude on the earth in its morning freshness. But up in the air there appeared an unusual spectacle. The eagle which Catherine had before observed had been joined by another. They sailed directly over the house and wound their circles together swifter and ever swifter until, with loud outcries, they rushed against each other, striking with their mighty wings, whirling round each other, clasping each other, and falling like a stone. Then again they separated, sailed aloft, again rushed together, until at length one flew toward the woods followed by the other.

"A hateful sight," said Catherine. "The angry beasts!"

"We are accustomed to that," said Lambert.

Catherine was greatly disturbed by this battle scene. Involuntarily she had again to think of Conrad.

As they now turned into the woods she asked:

"Do you truly love your brother?"

"And he me," said Lambert.

"He is yet so young," Catherine began again.

"Ten years younger than I. I am thirty-two. Our mother died when he was born. Good Aunt Ditmar, our sainted mother's sister, took him home since my father and I, poor youngster, naturally did not know how to help ourselves. When he was a couple of years old he came again to us, though his aunt would gladly have kept him. But father did not stand any too well with uncle, and was jealous, fearing that his child would become entirely estranged from him. So I waited on and brought up the little orphaned rogue as best I could, and, since he grew so, I thought that any mother would be proud of the boy. Then, when I could no longer carry him, I played with him, and taught him the little I had learned, and so we have been together day and night, and an angry word has never passed between us, though he was as wild and intractable as a young bear. Father's position in respect to him was very difficult, being himself a determined man and quite passionate. Once, being at variance, father raised his hand against the eleven-year-old boy, who was as brave and proud as a man. He ran away into the woods and did not return, so that we thought that he had either committed suicide, or had been torn in pieces by the bears. Meanwhile my young gentleman stuck among the Indians at Oneida Lake and did not let anything be seen or heard of him for three years, until, a few days after father's death, he suddenly entered the block-house where I sat alone and sad. At first I did not know him, for he had grown a couple of heads taller and was dressed in Indian style. But he fell upon my neck and wept bitterly, and said:

"'I heard by chance that our father was lying on his death-bed. I have been walking three days and three nights to see him again.' In the midst of his weeping he threw back his head and, with sparkling eyes, exclaimed: 'But do not think that I have forgiven him for striking me; but I am sorry that I ran away.' So he came again as he had gone, wild and proud, and at the next moment soft and kind."

Lambert was silent. After a short pause he said: "I wish I had told you all this before; you would then not have been so frightened last evening."

"And this morning," said Catherine to herself.

Lambert continued: "They here call him the Indian, and the name fits him in more than one respect. At least no Indian would undertake to compete with him in those things in which they chiefly excel. In all their arts Conrad beats them; and then he loves the hunt, the forest and rambling ways just as the red-skins do. But his heart is true as pure gold, and in that he is not a red-skin, who are all as false as a jack-o'-lantern in the swamp. For this reason we all here on the Mohawk and on the Schoharie, old and young, love him. Wherever there are German settlers there he comes on his hunting expeditions, and is everywhere welcome. The people sleep without fear when he is there, for they know they are guarded by the best rifle in the colony."

Lambert's eyes brightened as he spoke about his brother. Suddenly his face became beclouded.

"Who knows," continued he, "how different it might have been last year had he been here with us? But when Belletre broke loose with his devilish Indians and his French, who are much worse devils, we were entirely unprepared. We would not believe the Indian who brought us the news. Conrad would have known what there was of it, and would soon have brought it out. But he remained above between the lakes on a hunt; so we missed his arm and rifle. Then took place the remarkable circumstance that they did not come here to Canada Creek, and that our houses escaped their ravages. This afterward caused bad blood, and one could hear whisperings about treachery, though, at the first alarm, we all hurried forward and did our share. Conrad helped us fight in his own way. He says nothing about it, but I think that many an Indian, who in the morning went hunting, was vainly waited for at his camp-fire in the evening, and has not to this day returned to his wigwam."

A shudder passed over Catherine. What had the wild man said this morning? "As far as it concerns me I need not trouble myself about being shot to death." Dreadful! Had she not seen as she came up the Mohawk valley where many houses had been burned which had not been rebuilt, the entire families having been killed by the merciless enemies? And how many plain wooden crosses in green fields, along the road, in the edge of the woods, where a peaceful farmer, a helpless wife, a playful child, had been pitilessly killed. No, no! It was an honorable conflict for house and home, for body and life--the same conflict through which her good father with his whole congregation had been driven out of Germany. They knew not how to resist their shameless and disorderly oppressors except by flight over the sea into this wilderness at the furthest west. Whither shall they yet fly, since the same enemy even here begrudges them life and freedom? Here one cannot say: "Let us forsake our houses and shake the dust from our feet." Here the word is wait, fight, conquer, or die. Not in empty threatening did the farmer as he went to his peaceful labor carry his gun on his shoulder.

"I wish I too knew how to handle the rifle," said Catherine.

"Like my Aunt Ursul," said Lambert laughing. "She shoots as well as any one of us, Conrad naturally being excepted. Nor does she leave her rifle at home. Here we are, at the pinery."

They had reached a tall forest, such as Catherine on her journey, had not hitherto seen. The powerful trunks shot up like the pillars of a dome and intertwined their mighty tops in an arch through whose dark vaults here and there red sun-rays flashed. The morning wind soughed through the wide halls, having now become stronger, and ascending, gently died at the top like the murmur of the sea.

"This seems to have stood so since the first day of creation," said Catherine.

"And yet its days are numbered," said Lambert. "In a couple of years there will be little more to be seen of it. I am sorry for the beautiful trees, and now, since you so admire them, I am doubly sorry. But there is no longer any remedy. See, here my labor begins."

A slight depression, through which a brooklet purled on its way to the creek, separated this piece of woods from another which had already been prepared the second year for the manufacture of tar. Lambert explained to his companion that each of the large trees was divided into four quarters. "In the spring, as soon as the sap begins to rise, the north quarter, where the sun has the least power, is peeled off for two feet in order to draw off the turpentine. In the fall, before the sap begins to slacken, the southern quarter is treated in the same way. The following spring the eastern side, and in the fall the western side, is in like manner peeled. Then the upper part of the tree, filled with turpentine, is cut down and split up and roasted in an oven so prepared as to secure the tar. This I will show you later. This indeed is not a pleasing sight," said Lambert, "nor will I take you farther, where the poor naked stumps stand and decay. It cannot well be otherwise. One must live, and we here on Canada Creek have nothing else, or scarcely anything else, since our small cultivated acreage must be devoted to our most urgent necessities. So must also our live stock, though we have plenty of fertile plow-land and rich meadow-land. But what can one do when he is every instant in danger, and his crops are destroyed, and his herds are driven off? They must leave us our pine trees, and our ovens can soon be rebuilt. To replace the burnt casks and utensils we make new ones. Hence it was for us a question of life or death when, last winter, Mr. Albert Livingston wished to confine us to the valley, and claimed the woods on the hills for himself, notwithstanding that we had first bought both valley and forest from the Indians, and again after that from the Government. But all this I told you often enough on the journey, and you have listened patiently, and rejoice that the business has been arranged in our favor. God be praised--"

"And your faithful care," said Catherine. "You had it hard enough on the long, tiresome journey, from which you did not return unencumbered. After you had been relieved of the old care you were laden with a new one in me, a poor, helpless girl."

"Shall I deny it?" replied Lambert. "Yes, Catherine, with you there came a new care to me. You know what I mean. I feared I had done wrong to bring you here, where everybody's life is in daily, yes, hourly danger. This indeed I did not conceal from you, though I felt that you would not on this account be frightened back. But--"

"Then don't distress yourself further about it," said Catherine. "Or do you think you have been deceived in me?"

"No," answered Lambert. "But since we are here, it has appeared to me as though I should have set the matter forth more pressingly. So I also blame myself that I let Conrad go away this morning without first more fully ascertaining what he knows about the enemy. He is too careless to take to heart anything of that kind, I should use better judgment."

"Better judgment, but not less courage," said Catherine. "If I must believe that my coming has robbed you of your cool courage, how could I forgive myself for having come here with you? No, Lambert, you must not so wrong me. I will also learn to use the rifle like Ursul. Why do you laugh?"

"I cannot think of you and the good old lady together without laughing," said Lambert.

"Perhaps I shall also live to be old, and, it is to be hoped, good. I shall then take it amiss if mischievous young people laugh at me."

"You old!" said Lambert, shaking his head. "You old! This I can conceive as little as how this rivulet must begin if it would flow up these rocks!"

They now went on between the tree-trunks down to the creek, and were walking along the edge where, in the mud of the shore, bison and deer had impressed their deep trails. The stream did not run as smoothly here as on the level ground. Its course was obstructed, now by rocks covered with moss a hundred years old, now by an immense tree-trunk which had fallen diagonally across, and whose withered branches stretched down into the brown water. A little further up it had to make its way over rocks, over which it leapt in indescribable, foam-covered cascades. From where they both stood one could see a part of the fall, like the fluttering ends of a white garment. The roar was softened by the distance and accorded remarkably well with the sound of the morning wind in the majestic tree-tops. With this exception there was an oppressive stillness in the primitive forest, which the occasional flight of a flock of pigeons overhead, the hammering of the woodpecker, the cawing of crows, the chirping of a little bird high above in the branches, and the piping of a little squirrel, seemed to make only the stiller. Soft vaporous shadows filled the woods. But in the clear space above the creek there was spread a golden twilight bewitchingly woven out of light and shadow. In this enchanting light how bright the beloved one appeared to her lover. He could not turn his eyes from her as he now sat near her feet in the moss. Her rich, dark hair which encircled her well-formed head like a crown; the beautiful, slanting brows, the long, silky eyelashes; the sweet face; the heavenly form--ah! all this, on the long journey, had made a deep impression; but now it seemed as if he had not known it before--as though he now saw for the first time that she was so beautiful, so wonderfully beautiful. Also her dark eyelashes were raised, and her glance wandered over the blue eyes which had never before seemed so deep and bright, turned back timidly, then looked again more keenly, and could no longer withdraw themselves; then out of their blue depths there came such wonderful flashes that her heart stood still, and suddenly again she felt it bounding and beating against the heart of the beloved man who held her infolded in his arms. Then they released each other. Each caught the other's hand. They sank again into each other's arms, exchanged warm kisses and promises, and laughed, and cried, and said they had loved each other from the moment in which they first saw each other, and would do so to the last.

Suddenly Catherine shrunk back. "Conrad!" she cried. "O, my God! Lambert, what are we beginning?"

"What has happened, my darling?" asked Lambert, while he sought again to draw the beloved one to him.

"No, no," said Catherine, "this must first be arranged. O, why did I not tell you? But how could I speak of it before? Now indeed I must speak, even though it be too late."

Without hesitating and in a becoming manner she told Lambert what Conrad had said in the morning, and how strange his conduct, and how threatening his appearance had been. "I seem constantly to hear his laugh," said she at last. "Great God, there he is!"

She pointed with her trembling hand up the creek to the place where, between the dark underwood, the foam-streaks of the waterfall fluttered.

"Where?" asked Lambert.

"Conrad! I thought I saw him slipping away between the trunks of the trees."

Lambert shook his head.

"Then he would be there yet," said he. "It must have been a deer that wanted to go to the spring. Surely you are causelessly frightened. I can well believe that the youth finds my beautiful girl handsome, but love as I do, that he cannot. Hereafter he will be happy in seeing me happy."

"But now I surely have heard a human voice," cried Catherine.

"I, too, this time," said Lambert, "but it came from up the creek. Hark!"

"He, holla, holla, he, ho!" it now sounded.

"That is Aunt Ursul," said Lambert. "How does she come now to be here?"

A dark shadow passed over his face, which however at once disappeared as Catherine impressed a hearty kiss on his lips, and said: "Quick, Lambert; let us now go to meet your aunt. See that she observes nothing. Do you hear?"

"There she is already," said Lambert, half vexed, half laughing, as now a large person, whose clothes were an unusual mixture of women's and men's clothing, and who, carrying a rifle on her shoulder, pressing through the bushes, soon reached the pair.