CHAPTER VIII. "A land of love, and a land of light, QUEEN'S WAKE. THE rest that succeeds fatigue, and which attends a newly awakened sense of security, is generally sweet and deep. Such was the fact with Mabel, who did not rise from her humble pallet, such a bed as a serjeant's daughter might claim in a remote frontier post, until long after the garrison had obeyed the usual summons of the drums, and had assembled at the morning parade. Serjeant Dunham, on whose shoulders fell the task of attending to these ordinary and daily duties, had got through all his morning avocations, and was beginning to think of his breakfast, ere his child left her room, and came into the fresh air, equally bewildered, delighted, and grateful, at the novelty and security of her new situation. At the time of which we are writing, Oswego was one of the extreme frontier posts of the British possessions on this continent. It had not been long occupied, and was garrisoned by a battalion of a regiment that had been originally Scotch, but into which many Americans had been received, since its arrival in this country,—an innovation that had led the way to Mabel's father filling the humble, but responsible, situation of the oldest serjeant. A few young officers, also, who were natives of the colonies, were to be found in the corps. The fort, itself, like most works of that character, was better adapted to resist an attack of savages, than to withstand a regular siege; but the great difficulty of transporting heavy artillery, and other necessaries, rendered the occurrence of the latter, a probability so remote, as scarcely to enter into the estimate of the engineers who had planned the defences. There were bastions of earth and logs, a dry ditch, a stockade, a parade of considerable extent, and bar racks of logs, that answered the double purpose of dwellings and fortifications. A few light field-pieces stood in the area of the fort, ready to be conveyed to any point where they might be wanted, and one or two heavy iron guns looked out from the summits of the advanced angles, as so many admonitions to the audacious to respect their power. When Mabel, quitting the convenient, but comparatively retired hut, where her father had been permitted to place her, issued into the pure air of the morning, she found herself at the foot of a bastion, that lay invitingly before her, with a promise of giving a coup d'œil of all that had been concealed in the darkness of the preceding night. Tripping up the grassy ascent, the light-hearted, as well as light-footed girl, found herself, at once, on a point where the sight, at a few varying glances, could take in all the external novelties of her new situation. To the southward lay the forest through which she had been journeying, so many weary days, and which had proved so full of dangers. It was separated from the stockade, by a belt of open land, that had been principally cleared of its woods, to form the martial constructions around her. This glacis, for such in fact was its military uses, might have covered a hundred acres, but with it every sign of civilization ceased. All beyond was forest; that dense, interminable forest that Mabel could now picture to herself, through her recollections, with its hidden, glassy lakes, its dark, rolling streams, and its world of nature! Turning from this view, our heroine felt her cheek fanned by a fresh and grateful breeze, such as she had not experienced since quitting the far-distant coast. Here a new scenę presented itself; although expected, it was not without a start, and a low exclamation indicative of pleasure, that the eager eyes of the girl drunk in its beauties. To the north, and east, and west, in every direction, in short, over one entire half of the novel panorama, lay a field of rolling waters. The element was neither of that glassy green, which distinguishes the American waters in general, nor yet of the deepblue of the ocean; the colour being of a slightly amber hue, that scarcely affected its limpidity. No land was to be seen, with the exception of the adjacent coast, which stretched to the right and left, in an unbroken outline of forest, with wide bays, and low head-lands or points; still much of the shore was rocky, and into its caverns the sluggish waters occasionally rolled, producing a hollow sound, that resembled the concussions of a distant gun. No sail whitened the surface, no whale or other fish gambolled on its bosom, no sign of use, or service, rewarded the longest and most minute gaze at its boundless expanse. It was a scene, on one side, of apparently endless forests, while a waste of seemingly interminable water spread itself on the other. Nature had appeared to delight in producing grand effects, by setting two of her principal agents in bold relief to each other, neglecting details; the eye turning from the broad carpet of leaves, to the still broader field of fluid, from the endless but gentle heavings of the lake, to the holy calm and poetical solitude of the forest, with wonder and delight. Mabel Dunham, though unsophisticated, like most of her country women of that period, and ingenuous and frank as any warm-hearted and sincere-minded girl well could be, was not altogether without a feeling for the poetry of this beautiful earth of ours. Although she could scarcely be said to be educated at all, for few of her sex, at that day, and in this country, received much more than the rudiments of plain English instruction, still she had been taught much more than was usual for young women in her own station in life, and, in one sense certainly, she did credit to her teaching. The widow of a field-officer, who formerly belonged to the same regiment as her father, had taken the child in charge at the death of its mother, and under the care of this lady, Mabel had acquired some tastes, and many ideas, which otherwise might always have remained strangers to her. Her situation in the family had been less that of a domestic than of a humble companion, and the results were quite apparent in her attire, her language, her sentiments, and even in her feelings, though neither, perhaps, rose to the level of those which would properly characterize a lady. She had lost the coarser and less refined habits and manners of one in her original position, without having quite reached a point that disqualified her for the situation in life that the accidents of birth and fortune would probably compel her to fill. All else that was distinctive and peculiar in her, belonged to natural character. With such antecedents, it will occasion the reader no wonder, if he learns that Mabel viewed the novel scene before her with a pleasure far superior to that produced by vulgar surprise. She felt its ordinary beauties, as most would havo felt them, but she had also a feeling for its sublimity; for that softened solitude, that calm grandeur, and eloquent repose that ever pervades broad views of natural objects which are yet undisturbed by the labours and struggles of man. "How beautiful!" she exclaimed, unconscious of speaking, as she stood on the solitary bastion, facing the air from the lake, and experiencing the genial influence of its freshness pervading both her body and her mind. "How very beautiful; and yet how singular!" The words, and the train of her ideas, were interrupted by a touch of a finger on her shoulder, and turning, in the expectation of seeing her father, Mabel found Pathfinder at her side. He was leaning quietly on his long rifle, and laughing in his quiet manner, while, with an outstretched arm, he swept over the whole panorama of land and water. "Here you have both our domains," he said, "Jasper's and mine. The lake is for him, and the woods are for me. The lad sometimes boasts of the breadth of his dominions, but I tell him my trees make as broad a plain on the face of this 'arth, as all his water. Well, Mabel, you are fit for either, for I do not see that fear of the Mingos, or night marches can destroy your pretty looks." "It is a new character for the Pathfinder to appear in, to compliment a silly girl." "Not silly, Mabel; no, not in the least silly. The serjeant's daughter would do discredit to her worthy father, were she to do, or say, any thing that, in common honesty, could be called silly." "Then she must take care and not put too much faith in treacherous, flattering words. But, Pathfinder, I rejoice to see you among us again; for, though Jasper did not seem to feel much uneasiness, I was afraid some accident might have happened to you and your friend, on that frightful rift." "The lad kows us both, and was sartain that we should not drown, which is scarcely one of my gifts. It would have been hard swimming, of a sartainty, with a long-barrelled rifle in the hand; and what between the game, and the sa vages, and the French, Killdeer and I have gone through too much in company, to part very easily. No-no-we waded ashore, the rift being shallow enough for that, with small exceptions, and we landed with our arms in our hands. We had to take our time for it, on account of the Iroquois, I will own; but, as soon as the skulking vagabonds saw the lights that the serjeant sent down to your canoe, we well understood they would decamp, since a visit might have been expected from some of the garrison. So it was only sitting patiently on the stones, for an hour, and all the danger was over. Patience is the greatest of virtues in a woodsman." "I rejoice to hear this, for fatigue itself could scarcely make me sleep, for thinking of what might befall you." "Lord bless your tender little heart, Mabel! But this is the way, with all you gentle ones. I must say, on my part, however, that I was right glad to see the lanterns come down to the water-side, which I knew to be a sure sign of your safety. We hunters and guides are rude beings, but we have our feelings, and our idees, as well as any general in the army. Both Jasper and I would have died, before you should have come to harm-we would !" "I thank you for all you did for me, Pathfinder; from the bottom of my heart, I thank you, and depend on it my father shall know it. I have already told him much, but have still a duty to perform, on this subject." "Tush, Mabel! The serjeant knows what the woods be, and what men-true red-men be, too. There is little need to tell him any thing about it. Well, now you have met your father, do you find the honest old soldier the sort of person you expected to find?” "He is my own dear father, and received me as a soldier and a father should receive a child. Have you known him long, Pathfinder ?” "That is as people count time. I was just twelve when the serjeant took me on my first scouting, and that is now more than twenty years ago. We had a tramping time of it, and as it was before your day, you would have had no father, had not the rifle been one of my natural gifts." "Explain yourself." "It is too simple for many words. We were ambushed, and the serjeant got a bad hurt, and would have lost his |