The German Pioneers: A Tale of the Mohawk

by Friedrich Spielhagen

Thus they, without needing to speak about winning back Conrad, had thought and brooded; and when Aunt Ursul, yesterday, brought in the minister, and scarcely left the good man time to sit down and eat his dinner, but soon drove him up again and with him left the block-house, and a few minutes after returned and called Pluto out, as though she no longer placed any reliance on Melac, her watch-dog at home, Lambert and Catherine gave each other an expressive look, and as soon as they were alone fell into each other's arms and said:

"Perhaps, perhaps everything will come out right yet."

However sad the minds of the lovers, they kept their sadness to themselves; and the rest were little inclined to trouble themselves about an anxiety which was so carefully concealed from them; though Richard Herkimer, Lambert remembered, had said it was a pity that Conrad should just at this time show his folly. The others had spoken in a similar manner, but with that on their part the matter was laid aside. With or without Conrad, they were determined to do their duty; and this certainty raised the spirits of the brave young men to unwonted courage. One added circumstance gave a peculiar impulse to this courageous feeling and enabled them to look upon the very important position in which they found themselves in an entirely poetic light. The excellent young men were all quite enchanted with Catherine's beauty and loveliness, and gave to this enchantment the most harmless and delightful expression. If Catherine at the table said a friendly word, there shone five pairs of white rows of teeth. If she expressed a wish, or only indicated one with her eyes, ten hands were stretched out--ten legs began to move. Wherever she went or stood, she had two or three attentive listeners at her side who watched with the greatest eagerness and sought to anticipate her wishes. It was a conviction firmly fixed in the mind of each that for Catherine's sake they were willing not only to be killed, but to die in the most barbaric manner the cruel nature of the Indian had discovered. So, on one occasion, when Lambert was not present, in an overflow of heroism, on Richard Herkimer's special suggestion, they all five had agreed and had shaken hands on it and promised that, whichever of them should outlive the rest, before he died himself he would kill Catherine, so that she should not fall into the enemy's hands.

This agreement of tragic sacrifice did not in any way hinder the five heroes from trying their wit on each other, and, together with their sympathy for the beautiful maiden, to tease and joke each other in every way. Poor Adam had to suffer the most from this habit. They tried to convince the good young man that Lambert had laid away a bullet which was not intended for the French, and that they were not surprised that Lambert should think no one dangerous to him besides Adam. Fritz Volz and Richard Herkimer--that he well knew himself--had already made their selection. Jacob Ehrlich and Anton Bierman were secretly weeping for their treasures that they had left on the Mohawk. Adam had already for years been going about like a roaring lion seeking whom he might devour; that he was a wandering terror and a constant care for all bridegrooms and unmarried young men; that the others had been commanded to come, but that Adam came of his own accord; and that he should tell them to what end and for what purpose, as he stood guard last evening, he had sung so sweetly: "How beautiful shines on us the morning star," that Catherine had cried and said: "Now listen to Adam, who sings sweeter than a nightingale."

Adam did not fail to reply to his tormentors. They should only concern themselves about their own affairs; that he knew what he was about. Then again, in a weeping tone, he would beg and beseech the friends to tell him truly whether Lambert had indeed formed such a shameful purpose, and whether Catherine had really found and declared his singing so fine, and that in this life she only wanted one thing and that was a blonde lock from the head of the singer to take with her into the grave. The friends swore high and low that each of them had heard it out of Catherine's own mouth, and that each of them had promised to fulfill her special wish, and that Adam should now freely give up his scalp-lock before the Indians took it by force and the skin with it. Adam resisted, and called for help until the surrounding space resounded with shouts and laughter.

It was in the afternoon when Lambert, driven from the house by unrest, walked slowly along the bank of the creek up toward the woods. He stopped a moment and shook his head as the noise from the house struck his ear, and then again went on. They could joke and laugh, those good comrades, in this hour of sorrow and need, which oppressed his soul with leaden weight. And yet they well knew that this hour might be their last. They also had parents at home and sisters, and one and another had a girl whom he loved, and the life of these people also hung on the cast of a die. But then, they were all much younger than he, and took life so much lighter--as light as one must take it at last and be done with it so as not to sink under the burden. Was he not already too old to load more on himself--he, to whom the old burden was already so heavy to carry? How often had the rest jeered him on this account; called him Hans the dreamer; using as a by-word when anything more serious occurred: "For this let God and Lambert Sternberg provide." Yes, indeed, he had learned to know care early enough, when his mother died leaving him alone with his peevish, passionate father; and he had to play the mediator between him and the wild Conrad, and their relatives and the rest. And then, after his father's death, all the labor for the common good fell upon him, if there was any failure on the part of the neighbors. So he had always labored and cared, and had well understood this spring that he must undertake the difficult and responsible mission to New York. He had undertaken it, as he did everything which was too burdensome for others, without thinking of pay, without expecting the thanks of those who had given him their commission. Now heaven had so arranged that he should find her from whom one look, one word was pay and thanks for all that he had done--for all that he had suffered. The pay was too great, the thanks were too much. He had perceived this from the beginning. Who could honorably begrudge him his unexpected happiness, obtained after fearful misgivings? Not the neighbors, who would hardly forgive him for preferring a stranger to their daughters. Not Aunt Ursul, who, though her honest and righteous disposition strove against it, yet would rather see Conrad in his place. And Conrad himself--his only, his beloved brother--yes, that was the deepest grief; that was the drop bitter as gall, poured into the sweet draught of love, and which he must always taste. It ought not to be so. If this should not be so what purpose, what meaning had the rest? Why care for a future that could no more bring him true joy? Why cling to a life that had become so burdensome to him? Why undertake the heavy conflict that was imminent? Why hope to come out of this battle as victor? There the grass was growing in his fields. Must it be trampled? There his cattle were, wandering in the wilderness. Must they fall as booty into the hands of the enemy? There stood his barn. Must it go up in flames? There was his strongly built house. Must he and she be buried beneath its fragments?

Thus, in deep, oppressive anxiety, Lambert stood at the edge of the forest, looking over the valley that contained his home, glittering in the bright sunlight. There was no noise in the wide circuit except the buzz of insects over the soft bending grass and flowers of the prairie, and an occasional bird-note from the branches of the dark-green pines which, motionless, drank in the heat of the sun. Was then everything which had passed through his brain a heavy, fearful dream, out of which he could wake when he pleased? Was the signal pile there, which with its smoke and fire should warn the rest down the creek, erected for a joke? Did Aunt Ursul, who, full of care, had the evening before sent Fritz Volz at a late hour to tell them that she had certain knowledge that the enemy was quite near, and that they should keep the sharpest watch--did Aunt Ursul only imagine that it was so?

There! What sound was that which that instant struck his sharp ear out of the woods? There was a cracking and crushing in the dry branches, as when a deer runs with full speed through the bushes. No, It is not a deer. He now clearly heard another sound which could only be produced by the foot of a man running for his life. Nearer and nearer, down the creek, down the steep, stony, bushy path, in mad leaps, as when a stone is pushed down over a slope, came the runner.

A sudden, joyful fear rushed through Lambert's soul. In all the world but one foot could step like that--his brother's foot. In breathless, intense emotion he stands there, his wildly beating heart almost leaping from his breast. He wishes to call, but the sound sticks in his throat. He tries to run to meet him, but his knees tremble under him. At the next moment Conrad, breaking through the bushes, is at his side, and his faithful dog with mighty leaps comes with him.

"Conrad!" cried Lambert, "Conrad!"