And yet the love of life was strong in him. He had so many joys in the bright treasury of nature; to his simple, nay, wild tastes, there were so many pleasures in the wide world, that to part with them was hard--very hard.
He had never known how valuable earthly existence was to him till that hour. He had never felt how different a thing it is to hazard it in bold daring, or to contemplate the throwing of it away in reckless passion, or disappointment and despair, from calmly and deliberately laying it down as a sacrifice, whatever be the end, the inducement, or the duty.
What was case of conscience he proposed to himself? Simply this: whether he should suffer another to die for his act, or place himself not only in the peril from which he had lately escaped, but in the actual grasp of death. Some men of enthusiastic spirit and great constitutional fearlessness might have decided the matter at a dash, and, with the first impulse of a generous nature, cast themselves under the uplifted tomahawk to save their innocent friend. But he was not such, and I do not intend so to represent him. He was not a man to do anything without deliberation, without calculating all things, though he was as generous as most men, as this world goes. All his habits, the very course of his previous life, disposed him to careful forethought. Every day had had its watchfulness, every hour its precaution. The life of the woods, in those days, was a life of peril and preparation, where consideration might be very rapid, but was always needful.
And now he debated the question with himself. Could he live on and suffer Walter Prevost to die in his place? There were strenuous advocates on both sides, but the love of life was the most subtle, if generosity was the most eloquent.
"Poor boy!" he thought. "Why should he die for what I have done? Why should he be cut off so soon from all life's hopes and blessings? Why should his father's eyes be drowned in tears, and his sister's heart wrung with grief, when I can save them all? And he so frank and noble, too! so full of every kindly feeling and generous quality--so brave--so honest--so true-hearted! Innocent, too! Innocent of every offence--quite innocent in this case!"
But then spoke self, and he thought: "Am not I innocent, too? As innocent as he is? Did I ever harm the man? Did I provoke the savage? Did I not slay him in pure self-defence? And shall I lay down the life I then justly protected at the cost of that of another human being, because a race of fierce Indians, unreasoning, bloodthirsty savages, choose to offer a cruel sacrifice to their god of revenge, and have found a victim?
"Still," he continued, taking the other side, "it is for my act the sacrifice is offered; and, if there must be a sacrifice, ought not the victim to be myself? Besides, were it any worthless life that was in jeopardy--were it that of some desperate rover--some criminal--some man without ties, or friendships, or affections, one might leave him to his fate, perhaps, without remorse; but this poor lad--how many hopes are centered in him! What will not his family lose? What will not the world? And I--what am I, that my life should be weighed against his? Is he not my friend, too, and the son of my friend, one who has always overflowed with kindness and regard toward me?"
His resolution was almost taken; but then the cunning pleader, vanquished in direct argument, suggested a self-deceit.
"It is strange," he thought, "that these Indians, and especially their chief, should fix upon one with whom they have ever been so friendly--should choose a youth whom they have looked upon as a brother, when they might surely have found some other victim. Can this be a piece of their savage cunning? They know how well I love the lad, and how much friendship has been shown me by his father. Can they have taken him as a bait to their trap, without any real intention of sacrificing him, and only in the hope of luring me into their power?"
At first sight, the supposition seemed reasonable, and he was inclined to congratulate himself that he had not precipitately fallen into the snare. "How they would have yelled with triumph when they found me bringing my head to the hatchet!"