Chapter 6

"So spake the apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair.'

Paradise lost, I. 125-26.

Shortly after the disappearance of Judith, a light southerly
air arose, and Hutter set a large square sail, that had once been
the flying top-sail of an Albany sloop, but which having become
threadbare in catching the breezes of Tappan, had been condemned
and sold. He had a light, tough spar of tamarack that he could
raise on occasion, and with a little contrivance, his duck was spread
to the wind in a sufficiently professional manner. The effect on
the ark was such as to supersede the necessity of rowing; and in
about two hours the castle was seen, in the darkness, rising out of
the water, at the distance of a hundred yards. The sail was then
lowered, and by slow degrees the scow drifted up to the building,
and was secured.

No one had visited the house since Hurry and his companion left
it. The place was found in the quiet of midnight, a sort of type
of the solitude of a wilderness. As an enemy was known to be near,
Hutter directed his daughters to abstain from the use of lights,
luxuries in which they seldom indulged during the warm months, lest
they might prove beacons to direct their foes where they might be
found.

"In open daylight I shouldn't fear a host of savages behind these
stout logs, and they without any cover to skulk into," added Hutter,
when he had explained to his guests the reasons why he forbade the
use of light; "for I've three or four trusty weapons always loaded,
and Killdeer, in particular, is a piece that never misses. But it's
a different thing at night. A canoe might get upon us unseen, in
the dark; and the savages have so many cunning ways of attacking,
that I look upon it as bad enough to deal with 'em under a bright
sun. I built this dwelling in order to have 'em at arm's length,
in case we should ever get to blows again. Some people think
it's too open and exposed, but I'm for anchoring out here, clear
of underbrush and thickets, as the surest means of making a safe
berth."

"You was once a sailor, they tell me, old Tom?" said Hurry, in
his abrupt manner, struck by one or two expressions that the other
had just used, "and some people believe you could give us strange
accounts of inimies and shipwrecks, if you'd a mind to come out
with all you know?"

"There are people in this world, Hurry," returned the other,
evasively, "who live on other men's thoughts; and some such often
find their way into the woods. What I've been, or what I've seen
in youth, is of less matter now than what the savages are. It's of
more account to find out what will happen in the