“What do them chaps say?” asked le Bourdon of the Chippewa. “They yell as if striving to make the two men at the door of the hut hear them. Can you make out what they are bawling so loud?”
“Tell two warrior to come down and take care of canoe–dat all–let ’em come–find two here to take care of DEM–got good scalp, them two rascal Pottawattamie!”
“No–no–Pigeonswing–we must have no more of that work to-night, but must set about towing these four canoes off the shore as fast as we can. Have you got hitches on your two?”
“Fast ‘nough–so fast, he follow,” answered the Indian, who, notwithstanding his preparations to help to remove the canoes, was manifestly reluctant to depart without striking another blow at his enemies. “Now good time for dem rascal to lose scalp!”
“Them rascals, as you call them, begin to understand their friends in the marsh, and are looking to the priming of their rifles. We must be moving, or they may see us, and give us a shot. Shove off, Chippewa, and paddle at once for the middle of the bay.”
As le Bourdon was much in earnest, Pigeonswing was fain to comply. Had the last possessed a rifle of his own, or even a knife, it is highly probable he would have leaped ashore, and found the means of stealing on some of his enemies unawares, and thus secured another trophy. But the bee-hunter was determined, and the Chippewa, however reluctant, was compelled to obey; for not only had le Bourdon kept his rifle at his side, but he had used the precaution of securing his knife and tomahawk, both of which he carried habitually, the same as a red man.
The canoes had now a somewhat difficult task. The wind still blew fresh, and it was necessary for one of these light craft, pretty well loaded with its proper freight, and paddled by only a single person, to tow two other craft of equal size dead to the windward. The weight in the towing craft, and the lightness of those that were towed, rendered this task, however, easier than it might otherwise have proved. In the course of a couple of minutes all the canoes were far enough from the shore to be out of sight of the two Indians, who, by that time, had got down to the beach to look after their own craft. The yell these savages raised on finding themselves too late, not only announced their disappointment, but communicated the extent of the disaster to their friends, who were still floundering through the marsh.
The great advantage that the party of the bee-hunter had now obtained must be very apparent to all. In possession of ALL the canoes, their enemies were, or would be for some time at least, confined to the northern side of the river, which was so wide near its mouth as to present an effectual barrier between them and those who occupied the opposite bank. The canoes, also, enabled the weaker party to change their position at will, carrying with them as many effects as were on board, and which included the whole of the property of le Bourdon; while their loss deprived their enemies of all extra means of motion, and would be very likely to induce them to proceed on their expedition by land. The objects of that expedition could only be conjectured by the bee-hunter, until he had questioned the Chippewa; a thing he did not fail to do, so soon as he believed the party quite safe under the south shore. Here the fugitives landed, proceeding up a natural channel in the wild rice in order to do so, and selecting a bit of dry beach for their purpose. Margery set about lighting a fire, in order to keep the mosquitos at a distance, selecting a spot to kindle it, behind a swell on the land, that concealed the light from all on the other shore. In the morning, it would be necessary to extinguish that fire, lest its smoke should betray their position. It was while these things were in progress, and after le Bourdon had himself procured the fuel necessary to feed pretty Margery’s fire, that he questioned the Chippewa touching his captivity.
“Yes, tell all ’bout him,” answered the Indian, as soon as interrogated–“no good to hide trail from friend. ‘Member when say good-by up in openin’ to Bourdon?”
“Certainly–I remember the very instant when you left me. The Pottawattamie went on one path, and you went on another. I was glad of that, as you seemed to think he was not your friend.”
“Yes; good not to travel on same path as inimy, ’cause he quarrel sometime,” coolly returned the Indian. “Dis time, path come together, somehow; and Pottawattamie lose he scalp.”
“I am aware of all that, Pigeonswing, and wish it had not been so. I found the body of Elksfoot sitting up against a tree soon after you left me, and knew by whose hands he had fallen.”
“Didn’t find scalp, eh?”
“No, the scalp had been taken; though I accounted that but for little, since the man’s life was gone. There is little gained by carrying on war in this manner, making the woods, and the openings, and the prairies, alike unsafe. You see, to what distress this family is reduced by your Injin manner of making war.”
“How you make him, den–want, to hear. Go kiss, and give venison to inimy, or go get his scalp, eh? Which bess fashion to make him afeard, and own you master?”
“All that may be done without killing single travellers, or murdering women and children. The peace will be made none the sooner between England and America, because you have got the scalp of Elksfoot.”
“No haben’t got him any longer; wish had–Pottawattamie take him away, and say he bury him. Well, let him hide him in a hole deep as white man’s well, can’t hide Pigeonswing honor dere, too. Dat is safe as notch cut on stick can make him!”
This notch on a stick was the Indian mode of gazetting a warrior; and a certain number of these notches was pretty certain to procure for him a sort of savage brevet, which answered his purpose quite as well as the modern mode of brevetting at Washington answers our purpose. Neither brings any pay, we believe, nor any command, except in such cases as rarely occur, and then only to the advantage of government. There are varieties in honor, as in any other human interest: so are there many moral degrees in warfare. Thus, the very individual who admires the occupation of Algiers, or that of Tahiti, or the attack on Canton, together with the long train of Indian events which have dyed the peninsulas of the East in the blood of their people, sees an alarming enormity in the knocking down of the walls of Vera Cruz, though the breach opened a direct road into San Juan de Ulloa. In the eyes of the same profound moralists, the garitas of Mexico ought to have been respected, as so many doors opening into the boudoirs of the beautiful dames of that fine capital; it being a monstrous thing to fire a shot into the streets of a town, no matter how many came out of them. We are happy, therefore, to have it in our power to add these touches of philosophy that came from Pigeonswing to those of the sages of the old world, by way of completing a code of international morals on this interesting subject, in which the student shall be at a loss to say which he most admires–that which comes from the schools, or that which comes direct from the wilderness.
“So best,” answered the bee-hunter. “I wish I could persuade you to throw away that disgusting thing at your belt. Remember, Chippewa, you are now among Christians, and ought to do as Christians wish.”
“What Christians DO, eh?” returned the Indian, with a sneer, “get drunk like Whiskey Centre, dere? Cheat poor red man; den get down on knee and look up at Manitou? DAT what Christian do, eh?”
“They who do such things are Christian but in name–you must think better of such as are Christians in fact.”
“Ebberybody call himself Christian, tell you–all pale-face Christian, dey say. Now, listen to Chippewa. Once talk long talk wit’ missionary–tell all about Christian–what Christian do–what Christian say–how he eat, how he sleep, HOW he drink!–all good– wish Pigeonwing Christian–den ‘member so’ger at garrison–no eat, no sleep, no drink Christian fashion–do ebbery t’ing so’ger fashion–swear, fight, cheat, get drunk–wuss dan Injin–dat Christian, eh?”
“No, that is not acting like a Christian; and I fear very few of us who call ourselves by that name, act as if we were Christians, in truth,” said le Bourdon, conscious of the justice of the Chippewa’s accusation.
“Just dat–now, I get him–ask missionary, one day, where all Christian go to, so dat Injin can’t find him–none in woods–none on prairie–none in garrison–none in Mack’naw–none at Detroit–where all go to, den, so Injin can’t find him, on’y in missionary talk?”
“I am curious to know what answer your missionary made to that question.”
“Well, tell you–say, on’y one in ten t’ousant RAAL Christians ‘mong pale-face, dough all call himself Christian! DAT what Injin t’ink queer, eh?”
“It is not easy to make a red man understand all the ways of the pale-faces, Pigeonswing; but we will talk of these things another time, when we are more at our ease. Just now, I wish to learn all I can of the manner in which you fell into the hands of the Pottawattamies.”
“Dat plain ‘nough–wish Christian talk half as plain. You see, Bourdon, dat Elksfoot on scout, when we meet in openin’, up river. I know’d his ar’nd, and so took scalp. Dem Pottawattamie his friend– when dey come to meet ole chief, no find him; but find Pigeonwing; got me when tired and ‘sleep; got Elkfoot scalp wid me–sorry for dat–know scalp by scalp-lock, which had gray hair, and some mark. So put me in canoe, and meant to take Chippewa to Chicago to torture him–but too much wind. So, when meet friend in t’odder canoe, come back here to wait little while.”
This was the simple explanation of the manner in which Pigeonswing had fallen into the hands of his enemies. It would seem that Elksfoot had come in a canoe from the mouth of the St. Joseph’s to a point about half-way between that river and the mouth of the Kalamazoo, and there landed. What the object of the party was, does not exactly appear, though it is far from being certain that it was not to seize the bee-hunter, and confiscate his effects. Although le Bourdon was personally a stranger to Elksfoot, news flies through the wilderness in an extraordinary manner; and it was not at all unlikely that the fact of a white American’s being in the openings should soon spread, along with the tidings that the hatchet was dug up, and that a party should go out in quest of his scalp and the plunder. It would seem that the savage tact of the Chippewa detected that in the manner of the Pottawattamie chief, which assured him the intentions of the old warrior were not amicable; and that he took the very summary process which has been related, not only to secure HIS scalp, but effectually to put it out of his power to do any mischief to one who was an ally, and by means of recent confidence, now a friend. All this the Indian explained to his companion, in his usual clipped English, but with a clearness sufficient to make it perfectly intelligible to his listener. The bee-hunter listened with the most profound attention, for he was fully aware of the importance of comprehending all the hazards of his own situation.
While this dialogue was going on, Margery had succeeded in lighting her fire, and was busy in preparing some warm compound, which she knew would be required by her unhappy brother after his debauch, Dorothy passed often between the fire and the canoe, feeling a wife’s anxiety in the fate of her husband. As for the Chippewa, intoxication was a very venial offence in his eyes; though he had a contempt for a man who would thus indulge while on a warpath. The American Indian does possess this merit of adapting his deportment to his circumstances. When engaged in war he usually prepares himself, in the coolest and wisest manner, to meet its struggles, indulging only in moments of leisure, and of comparative security. It is true that the march of what is called civilization is fast changing the red man’s character, and he is very apt now to do that which he sees done by the “Christians” around him.
Le Bourdon, when his dialogue with the Chippewa was over, and after a few words of explanation with Margery, took his own canoe, and paddled through the rice-plants into the open water of the river, to reconnoitre. The breadth of the stream induced him to float down before the wind, until he reached a point where he could again command a view of the hut. What he there saw, and what he next did, must be reserved for a succeeding chapter.
CHAPTER VIII.
The elfin cast a glance around,
As he lighted down from his courser toad, Then round his breast his wings he wound, And close to the river’s brink he strode; He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, Above his head his arm he threw,
Then tossed a tiny curve in air, And headlong plunged in the water blue. DRAKE.
An hour had intervened between the time when le Bourdon had removed the canoes of the Pottawattamies, and the time when he returned alone to the northern side of the river. In the course of that hour the chief of the savages had time to ascertain all the leading circumstances that have just been related, and to collect his people in and around the hut, for a passing council. The moment was one of action, and not of ceremonies. No pipe was smoked, nor any of the observances of the great councils of the tribe attended to; the object was merely to glean facts and to collect opinions. In all the tribes of this part of North America, something very like a principle of democracy is the predominant feature of their politics. It is not, however, that bastard democracy which is coming so much in fashion among ourselves, and which looks into the gutters solely for the “people,” forgetting that the landlord has just as much right to protection as the tenant, the master as the servant, the rich as the poor, the gentleman as the blackguard. The Indians know better than all this. They understand, fully, that the chiefs are entitled to more respect than the loafers in their villages, and listen to the former, while their ears are shut to the latter. They appear to have a common sense, which teaches them to avoid equally the exaggerations of those who believe in blood, and of those who believe in blackguardism. With them the doctrines of “new men” would sound as an absurdity, for they never submit to change for change’s sake. On the contrary, while there is no positive hereditary rank, there is much hereditary consideration; and we doubt if a red man could be found in all America, who is so much of a simpleton as to cite among the qualifications of any man for a situation of trust and responsibility, that he had never been TAUGHT how to perform its duties. They are not guilty of the contradiction of elevating men BECAUSE they are self-taught, while they expend millions on schools. Doubtless they have, after a fashion of their own, demagogues and Caesars, but they are usually kept within moderate limits; and in rare instances, indeed, do either ever seriously trespass on the rights of the tribe. As human nature is everywhere the same, it is not to be supposed that pure justice prevails even among savages; but one thing would seem to be certain, that, all over the world, man in his simplest and wildest state is more apt to respect his own ordinances, than when living in what is deemed a condition of high civilization.
When le Bourdon reached the point whence he could get a good view of the door of the hut, which was still illuminated by the fire within, he ceased using the paddle beyond the slight effort necessary to keep the canoe nearly stationary. He was quite within the range of a rifle, but trusted to the darkness of the night for his protection. That scouts were out, watching the approaches to the hut, he felt satisfied; and he did not doubt that some were prowling along the margin of the Kalamazoo, either looking for the lost boats, or for those who had taken them away. This made him cautious, and he took good care not to place his canoe in a position of danger.
It was very apparent that the savages were in great uncertainty as to the number of their enemies. Had not the rifle been fired, and their warrior killed and scalped, they might have supposed that their prisoner had found the means of releasing his limbs himself, and thus effected his escape; but they knew that the Chippewa had neither gun nor knife, and as all their own arms, even to those of the dead man, were still in their possession, it was clear that he had been succored from without. Now, the Pottawattamies had heard of both the bee-hunter and Whiskey Centre, and it was natural enough for them to ascribe some of these unlooked-for feats to one or the other of these agents. It is true, the hut was known to have been built three or four years earlier, by an Indian trader, and no one of the party had ever actually seen Gershom and his family in possession; but the conjectures on this head were as near the fact, as if the savages had passed and repassed daily. There was only one point on which these close calculators of events were at fault. So thoroughly had everything been removed from the chiente, and so carefully the traces of its recent occupation concealed, that no one among them suspected that the family had left the place only an hour before their own arrival. The bee-hunter, moreover, was well assured that the savages had not yet blundered on the hiding-place of the furniture. Had this been discovered, its contents would have been dragged to light, and seen around the fire; for there is usually little self-restraint among the red men, when they make a prize of this sort.
Nevertheless, there was one point about which even those keen- scented children of the forest were much puzzled, and which the bee- hunter perfectly comprehended, notwithstanding the distance at which he was compelled to keep himself. The odor of the whiskey was so strong, in and about the chiente, that the Pottawattamies did not know what to make of it. That there should be the remains of this peculiar smell–one so fragrant and tempting to those who are accustomed to indulge in the liquor–in the hut itself, was natural enough; but the savages were perplexed at finding it so strong on the declivity down which the barrels had been rolled. On this subject were they conversing, when le Bourdon first got near enough to observe their proceedings. After discussing the matter for some time, torches were lighted, and most of the party followed a grim old warrior, who had an exceedingly true nose for the scent of whiskey, and who led them to the very spot where the half-barrel had been first stove by rolling off a rock, and where its contents had been mainly spilled. Here the earth was yet wet in places, and the scent was so strong as to leave no doubt of the recent nature of the accident which had wasted so much of a liquor that was very precious in Pottawattamie eyes; for accident they thought it must be, since no sane man could think of destroying the liquor intentionally.
All the movements, gestures, and genuflections of the savages were plainly seen by the bee-hunter. We say the genuflections, for nearly all of the Indians got on their knees and applied their noses to the earth, in order to scent the fragrance of the beloved whiskey; some out of curiosity, but more because they loved even this tantalizing indulgence, when no better could be had. But le Bourdon was right in his conjectures, that the matter was not to end here. Although most of the Indians scented the remains of the whiskey out of love for the liquor, a few of their number reasoned on the whole transaction with quite as much acuteness as could have been done by the shrewdest natural philosopher living. To them it was very apparent that no great length of time, a few hours at most, could have elapsed since that whiskey was spilled; and human hands must have brought it there, in the first place, and poured it on the ground, in the second. There must have been a strong reason for such an act, and that reason presented itself to their minds with unerring accuracy. Their own approach must have been seen, and the liquor was destroyed because it could not be removed in time to prevent its falling into their hands. Even the precise manner in which the whiskey had been disposed of was pretty nearly conjectured by a few of the chiefs, acute and practised as they were; who, accustomed to this species of exercise of their wits, had some such dexterity in examining facts of this nature, and in arriving at just results, as the men of the schools manifest in the inquiries that more especially belong to their habits and training. But their conclusions were confined to themselves; and they were also sufficiently enveloped in doubts, to leave those who made them ready enough to receive new impressions on the same subject.
All this, moreover, le Bourdon both saw and understood; or, if not absolutely all, so much of it as to let him comprehend the main conclusions of the savages, as well as the process by which they were reached. To obtain light, the Indians made a fire near the charmed spot, which brought themselves and their movements into plain view from the canoe of the bee-hunter. Curiosity now became strongly awakened in the latter, and he ventured in nearer to the shore, in order to get the best possible view of what was going on. In a manner, he was solving an enigma; and he experienced the sort of pleasure we all feel at exercising our wits on difficulties of that nature. The interest he felt rendered the young man careless as respected the position of his canoe, which drifted down before the strong breeze, until le Bourdon found himself in the very edge of the wild rice, which at this point formed but a very narrow belt along the beach. It was this plant, indeed, that contributed to make the young man so regardless of his drift, for he looked upon the belt of rice as a species of landmark to warn him when to turn. But, at no other spot along that whole shore, where the plant was to be found at all, was its belt so narrow as at this, immediately opposite to the new fire of the savages, and almost within the influence of its rays. To le Bourdon’s surprise, and somewhat to his consternation, just as his little craft touched the rice, the forms of two stout warriors passed along the beach, between him and the light, their feet almost dipping in the water. So near were these two warriors to him, that, on listening intently, he heard not only their voices, as they communicated their thoughts to each other in low tones, but the tread of their moccasined feet on the ground. Retreat, under the circumstances, would not be safe, for it must have been made under the muzzles of the rifles; and but one resource presented itself. By grasping in his hand two or three stalks of the rice-plant, and holding them firmly, the drift of the canoe was arrested.
After a moment’s reflection, le Bourdon was better satisfied with this new station than he had been on first gaining it. To have ventured on such a near approach to his enemies, he would have regarded as madness; but now he was there, well concealed among the rice, he enjoyed the advantages of observation it gave him, and looked upon the chance that brought him there as lucky. He found a thong of buckskin, and fastened his canoe to the stalks of the plant, thus anchoring or mooring his little bark, and leaving himself at liberty to move about in it. The rice was high enough to conceal him, even when erect, and he had some difficulty in finding places favorable to making his observations through it. When the bee-hunter made his way into the bow of his canoe, however, which he did with a moccasined and noiseless foot, he was startled at perceiving how small was his cover. In point of fact, he was now within three feet of the inner edge of the rice-plant, which grew within ten feet of the shore, where the two warriors already mentioned were still standing, in close communication with each other. Their faces were turned toward the fire, the bright light from which, at times, streamed over the canoe itself, in a way to illumine all it contained. The first impulse of le Bourdon, on ascertaining how closely he had drifted to the shore, was to seize a paddle and make off, but a second thought again told him it would be far safer to remain where he was. Taking his seat, therefore, on a bit of board laid athwart, from gunwale to gunwale, if such a craft can be said to have gunwales at all, he patiently waited the course of events.
By this time, all or nearly all of the Pottawattamies had collected on this spot, on the side of the hill. The hut was deserted, its fire got to be low, and darkness reigned around the place. On the other hand, the Indians kept piling brush on their new fire, until the whole of that hill-side, the stream at its foot, and the ravine through which the latter ran, were fairly illuminated. Of course, all within the influence of this light was to be distinctly seen, and the bee-hunter was soon absorbed in gazing at the movements of savage enemies, under circumstances so peculiar.
The savages seemed to be entranced by the singular, and to most of them unaccountable circumstance of the earth’s giving forth the scent of fresh whiskey, in a place so retired and unknown. While two or three of their number had certain inklings of the truth, as has been stated, to much the greater portion of their body it appeared to be a profound mystery; and one that, in some inexplicable manner, was connected with the recent digging up of the hatchet. Ignorance and superstition ever go hand in hand, and it was natural that many, perhaps most of these uninstructed beings should thus consider so unusual a fragrance, on such a spot. Whiskey has unfortunately obtained a power over the red man of this continent that it would require many Fathers Matthew to suppress, and which can only be likened to that which is supposed to belong to the influence of witchcraft. The Indian is quite as sensible as the white man of the mischief that the “fire-water” produces; but, like the white man, he finds how hard it is to get rid of a master passion, when we have once submitted ourselves to its sway. The portion of the band that could not account for the fact of the scent of their beloved beverage’s being found in such a place, and it was all but three of their whole party, were quite animated in their discussions on the subject, and many and crude were the suggestions that fell from their lips. The two warriors on the beach were more deeply impressed than any of their companions, with the notion that some “medicine charm” was connected with this extraordinary affair.
The reader will not be surprised to hear that le Bourdon gazed on the scene before him with the most profound attention. So near did he seem to be, and so near was he, in fact, to the savages who were grouped around the fire, that he fancied he could comprehend what they were saying, by the expressions of their grim and swarthy countenances. His conjectures were in part just, and occasionally the bee-hunter was absolutely accurate in his notions of what was said. The frequency with which different individuals knelt on the ground, to scent an odor that is always so pleasant to the red man, would of itself have given a clew to the general character of the discourse; but the significant and expressive gestures, the rapid enunciation, and the manner in which the eyes of the speakers glanced from the faces near themselves to the spot consecrated by whiskey, pretty plainly told the story. It was while thus intently occupied in endeavoring to read the singular impression made on the minds of most of those wild beings, by an incident so much out of the usual track of their experience, that le Bourdon suddenly found the bow of his canoe thrusting itself beyond the inner margin of the rice, and issuing into open water, within ten feet of the very spot where the two nearest of the savages were still conferring together, apart. The buckskin thong which served as a fastening had got loosened, and the light craft was again drifting down before the strong southerly wind, which still continued to blow a little gale.
Had there been an opportunity for such a thing, the bee-hunter would have made an effort to escape. But so sudden and unexpected was this exposure, that he found himself almost within reach of a rifle, before he was aware of his approaching the two warriors on the shore, at all. His paddle was in the stern of the canoe, and had he used the utmost activity, the boat would have grounded on the beach, ere he could have obtained it. In this situation, therefore, he was absolutely without any other means than his hands of stopping the canoe, had there even been time.
Le Bourdon understood his real situation without stopping to reflect; and, though his heart made one violent leap as soon as he perceived he was out of cover, he immediately bethought him of the course he ought to pursue. It would have been fatal to betray alarm, or to attempt flight. As accident had thus brought him, as it might be on a visit, to the spot, he at once determined to give his arrival the character of a friendly call, and the better to support the pretension, to blend with it, if possible, a little of the oracular, or “medicine” manner, in order to impose on the imaginations of the superstitious beings into whose power he had so unwittingly fallen.
The instant the canoe touched the shore, and it was only a moment after it broke through the cover, le Bourdon arose, and extending his hand to the nearest Indian, saluted him with the mongrel term of “Sago.” A slight exclamation from this warrior communicated to his companion an arrival that was quite as much a matter of surprise to the Indians as to their guest, and through this second warrior to the whole party on the hill-side. A little clamor succeeded, and presently the bee-hunter was surrounded with savages.
The meeting was marked by the self-command and dignified quiet that are so apt to distinguish the deportment of Indian warriors, when they are on the war-path, and alive to the duties of manhood. The bee-hunter shook hands with several, who received his salutations with perfect calmness, if not with absolute confidence and amity. This little ceremony gave our hero an opportunity to observe the swarthy countenances by which he was surrounded, most of which were fierce in their paint, as well as to reflect a little on his own course. By a fortunate inspiration he now determined to assume the character of a “medicine man,” and to connect his prophecies and juggleries with this lucky accident of the whiskey. Accordingly, he inquired if any one spoke English, not wishing to trust his explanations to his own imperfect knowledge of the Ojebway tongue, which is spoken by all the numerous tribes of that widely-extended nation. Several could render themselves intelligible in English, and one was so expert as to render communication with him easy, if not very agreeable. As the savages, however, soon insisted on examining the canoe, and taking a look at its contents, previously to listening to their visitor’s explanations, le Bourdon was fain to submit, and to let the young men satisfy their curiosity.
The bee-hunter had come on his hazardous expedition in his own canoe. Previously to quitting the south shore, however, he had lightened the little craft, by landing everything that was not essential to his present purpose. As nearly half of his effects were in the canoe of Whiskey Centre, the task was soon performed, and lucky it was for our hero that he had bethought him of the prudence of the measure. His sole object had been to render the canoe swifter and lighter, in the event of a chase; but, as things turned out, he saved no small portion of his property by using the precaution. The Indians found nothing in the canoe, but one rifle, with a horn and pouch, a few light articles belonging to the bee-hunter’s domestic economy, and which he had not thought it necessary to remove, and the paddles. All the honey, and the skins and stores, and spare powder, and lead, and, in short, everything else that belonged to le Bourdon, was still safe on the other side of the river. The greatest advantage gained by the Pottawattamies was in the possession of the canoe itself, by means of which they would now be enabled to cross the Kalamazoo, or make any other similar expedition, by water.
But, as yet, not a sign of hostility was betrayed by either party. The bee-hunter seemed to pay no attention to his rifle and ammunition, or even to his canoe, while the savages, after having warily examined the last, together with its contents, returned to their visitor, to re-examine him, with a curiosity as lively as it was full of distrust. At this stage in the proceeding, something like a connected and intelligible conversation commenced between the chief who spoke English, and who was known in most of the north- western garrisons of the Americans by the name of Thundercloud, or Cloud, by way of abbreviation, on account of his sinister looks, though the man actually sustained a tolerably fair reputation for one of those who, having been wronged, was so certain to be calumniated. No man was ever yet injured, that he has not been slandered.
“Who kill and scalp my young man?” asked Cloud, a little abruptly.
“Has my brother lost a warrior?” was the calm reply. “Yes, I see that he has. A medicine-man can see that, though it is dark.”
“Who kill him, if can see?-who scalp him, too?”
“An enemy did both,” answered le Bourdon, oracularly. “Yes; ’twas an enemy that killed him; and an enemy that took his scalp.”
“Why do it, eh? Why come here to take Pottawattamia scalp, when no war-path open, eh?”
“Pottawattamie, the truth must always be said to a medicine-man. There is no use in trying to hide truth from HIM. There IS a war- path open; and a long and a tangled path it is. My Great Father at Washington has dug up the hatchet against my Great Father at Quebec. Enemies always take scalps when they can get them.”
“Dat true–dat right, too–nobody grumble at DAT–but who enemy? pale-face or red-skin?”
“This time it was a red-skin–a Chippewa–one of your own nation, though not of your own tribe. A warrior called Pigeonswing, whom you had in thongs, intending to torture him in the morning. He cut his thongs, and shot your young man–after which he took his scalp.”
“How know dat?” demanded the Cloud, a little fiercely. “You ‘long, and help kill Pottawattamie, eh?”
“I know it,” answered le Bourdon, coolly, “because medicine-men know most of what happens. Do not be so hasty, chief, for this is a medicine spot–whiskey GROWS here.”
A common exclamation escaped all of the red men, who comprehended the clear, distinct, and oracular-like language and manner of the bee-hunter. He intended to make an impression on his listeners, and he succeeded admirably; perhaps as much by means of manner as of matter. As has been said, all who understood his words–some four or five of the party–grunted forth their surprise at this evidence of their guest’s acquaintance with the secrets of the place, in which they were joined by the rest of their companions, as soon as the words of the pale-face had been translated. Even the experienced and wary old chiefs, who had more than half conjectured the truth, in connection with this mysterious odor of whiskey, were much unsettled in their opinions concerning the wonder, and got to be in that condition of mind when a man does not know what to think of any particular event. The bee-hunter, quick-witted, and managing for his life, was not slow to perceive the advantage he had gained, and he proceeded at once to clinch the nail he had so skilfully driven. Turning from Cloud to the head-chief of the party, a warrior whom he had no difficulty in recognizing, after having so long watched his movements in the earlier part of the night, he pushed the same subject a little further.
“Yes; this place is called by the whites Whiskey Centre,” he added– “which means that it is the centre of all the whiskey of the country round about.”
“Dat true,” said Cloud, quickly–“I hear so’ger at Fort Dearborn call him Whiskey Centre!”
This little circumstance greatly complicated the mystery, and le Bourdon perceived that he had hit on a lucky explanation.
“Soldiers far and near–soldiers drunk or sober–soldiers with scalps, and soldiers without scalps–all know the place by that name. But you need not believe with your eyes shut and noses stopped, chief, since you have the means of learning for yourselves the truth of what I tell you. Come with me, and I will tell you where to dig in the morning for a whiskey spring.”
This communication excited a tremendous feeling among the savages, when its purport came to be explained to the whole party. Apart from the extraordinary, miraculous nature of such a spring, which in itself was sufficient to keep alive expectation and gratify curiosity, it was so comfortable to have an inexhaustible supply of the liquor running out of the bowels of the earth, that it is no wonder the news spread infinite delight among the listeners. Even the two or three of the chiefs who had so shrewdly divined the manner in which the liquor had been spilled, were staggered by the solemnity and steadiness of the bee-hunter’s manner, and perhaps a little carried away by sympathy with those around them. This yielding of the human mind to the influence of numbers is so common an occurrence as scarcely to require explanation, and is the source of half the evils that popular associations inflict on themselves. It is not that men capable of SEEING the truth are ever wanting; but men capable of MAINTAINING it, in the face of clamor and collected power.
It will be readily conceived that a medicine-man who is supposed to possess the means of discovering a spring that should overflow with pure whiskey, would not be left without urgent demands for a speedy exercise of this art. This was now the case with le Bourdon, who was called on from all sides to point out the precise spot where the young men were to commence digging in order to open on the treasure. Our hero knew that his only hope of escape was connected with his steadily maintaining his assumed character; or of maintaining this assumed character, with his going on, at once, to do something that might have the effect, temporarily at least, of satisfying the impatience of his now attentive listeners. Accordingly, when the demand was made on him to give some evidence of his power, he set about the task, not only with composure, but with a good deal of ingenuity.
Le Bourdon, it will be remembered, had, with his own hands, rolled the two barrels of whiskey down the declivity. Feeling the great importance of effectually destroying them, he had watched their descent, from the top to the bottom of the hill, and the final disappearance of the staves, etc., into the torrent which brawled at its foot. It had so happened that the half-filled cask broke and let out its liquor at a point much more remote from the stream, than the filled. The latter had held together until it went over the low rocky precipice, already mentioned, and was stove at its base, within two yards of the torrent, which received all its fragments and swept them away, including most of the liquor itself; but not until the last had been spilled. Now, the odorous spot which had attracted the noses of the savages, and near which they had built their fire, was that where the smallest quantity of the whiskey had fallen. Le Bourdon reasoned on these circumstances in this wise:–if half a barrel of the liquor can produce so strong a scent, a barrel filled ought to produce one still stronger; and I will manifest my medicine-character, by disregarding for the present moment the spot on the hill-side, and proceed at once to that at the foot of the rocks. To this latter point, therefore, did he direct all the ceremony, as well as his own footsteps, when he yielded to the solicitations of the Pottawattamies, and undertook to point out the position of the whiskey spring.
The bee-hunter understood the Indian character too well to forget to embellish his work with a proper amount of jugglery and acting. Luckily, he had left in the canoe a sort of frock of mottled colors that he had made himself, to wear in the woods in the autumn as a hunting-dress, under the notion that such a covering would conceal his approach from his game, by blending its hues with those of the autumn leaf. This dress he now assumed, extorting a good deal of half-suppressed admiration from the younger warriors, by the gay appearance he made. Then he drew out his spy-glass to its greatest length, making various mysterious signs and gestures as he did so. This glass proved to be a great auxiliary, and possibly alone kept the doubters in awe. Le Bourdon saw at once that it was entirely new, even to the oldest chief, and he felt how much it might be made to assist him. Beckoning to Cloud, and adjusting the focus, he directed the small end of his glass to the fire, and placed the large end to that Indian’s eye. A solitary savage, who loved the scent of whiskey too much to tear himself away from the spot, was lingering within the influence of the rays, and of course was seen by the chief, with his person diminished to that of a dwarf, and his form thrown to a seeming distance.
An eloquent exclamation followed this exhibition of the medicine- man’s power; and each of the chiefs, and most of the other warriors, were gratified with looks through the glass.
“What dat mean?” demanded Cloud, earnestly. “See Wolfeye well ‘nough–why he so little?–why he so far off, he?”
“That is to show you what a medicine-man of the pale-faces can do, when he is so minded. That Indian is named Wolfseye, and he loves whiskey too well. That I know, as well as I know his name.”
Each of these exhibitions of intelligence extorted exclamations of wonder. It is true, that one or two of the higher chiefs understood that the name might possibly have been obtained from Cloud; but how was the medicine-man to know that Wolfseye was a drunkard? This last had not been said in terms; but enough had been said, to let those who were aware of the propensity feel that more was meant than had been expressed. Before there was time, however, to deliberate on, or to dissect this specimen of mysterious knowledge, le Bourdon reversed the glass, and applied the small end to the eye of Cloud, after having given it its former direction. The Indian fairly yelled, partly with dread, and partly with delight, when he saw Wolfseye, large as life, brought so near him that he fancied he might be touched with his own hand.
“What dat mean?” exclaimed Cloud, as soon as surprise and awe enabled him to find his voice. “Fuss he little, den he big–fuss he great way, den he close by–what dat mean, eh?”
“It means that I am a medicine-man, and this is a medicine-glass, and that I can see with it into the earth, deeper than the wells, or higher than the mountains!”
These words were translated, and explained to all three. They extorted many ejaculations of wonder, and divers grunts of admiration and contentment. Cloud conferred a moment with the two principal chiefs; then he turned eagerly to the bee-hunter, saying–
“All good, but want to hear more–want to l’arn more–want to SEE more.”
“Name your wants freely, Pottawattamie,” answered le Bourdon, with dignity, “they shall be satisfied.”
“Want to see–want to TASTE whiskey spring–see won’t do–want to TASTE”
“Good–you shall smell first; then you shall see; after that you shall taste. Give me room, and be silent; a great medicine is near.”
Thus delivering himself, le Bourdon proceeded with his necromancy.
CHAPTER IX.
He turned him round, and fled amain With hurry and dash to the beach again; He twisted over from side to side, And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide; The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, And with all his might he flings his feet, But the water-sprites are round him still, To cross his path and work him ill. –The Culprit Fay.
The first step in the conjuration of the bee-hunter was, to produce an impression on the minds of his untutored observers, by resorting to a proper amount of mummery and mystical action. This he was enabled to do with some effect, in consequence of having practised as a lad in similar mimicry, by way of pastime. The Germans, and the descendants of Germans in America, are not of a very high class, as respects education, taken as a body, and they retain many of the most inveterate of the superstitions of their Teutonic ancestors. Although the bee-hunter himself was of purely English descent, he came from a State that was in part peopled by these Germans and their descendants; and, by intercourse with them, he had acquired a certain knowledge of their notions on the subject of necromancy, that he now found was of use. So far as gravity of mien, solemn grimaces, and unintelligible mutterings were concerned, le Bourdon played his part to admiration; and by the time he had led the party half the distance he intended to go, our necromancer, or “medicine- man,” had complete possession of the imaginations of all the savages, the two or three chiefs already mentioned alone excepted. At this stage of the proceedings occurred a little incident, which goes to prove the disposition of the common mind to contribute in deceiving itself, and which was of considerable assistance to le Bourdon, in maintaining his assumed character.
It will be remembered that the place where the Indians had found their strongest scent was on the hill-side, or the spot where the half-filled barrel had let out most of its contents. Near this spot their new fire was still brightly blazing, and there Wolfseye remained, regaling one of his senses, at least, with an odor that he found so agreeable. But the bee-hunter knew that he should greatly increase the wonder of the savages by leading them to a NEW scent- spot, one to which there was no visible clew, and where the odor was probably much stronger than on the hill-side. Accordingly he did not approach the fire, but kept around the base of the hill, just enough within the influence of the light to pick his way readily, and yet so distant from it as to render his countenance indistinct and mysterious. No sooner, however, had he got abreast of the scent-spot known to the savages, than the crowd endeavored to lead him toward it, by gestures and hints, and, finally, by direct intimations that he was going astray. All this our “medicine-man” disregarded; he held his way steadily and solemnly toward that place at the foot of the hill where he knew that the filled barrel had let out its contents, and where he, reasonably enough, expected to find sufficient traces of the whiskey to answer his purposes. At first, this pertinacity provoked the crowd, which believed he was going wrong; but a few words from Crowsfeather, the principal chief, caused the commotion to cease. In a few more minutes le Bourdon stopped, near the place of his destination. As a fresh scent of whiskey was very perceptible here, a murmur of admiration, not unmixed with delight, passed among the attendants.
“Now, let the young men build a fire for ME” said the bee-hunter, solemnly–“not such a fire as that which is burning on the hill, but a medicine-fire. I SMELL the whiskey spring, and want a medicine- light to SEE it.”
A dozen young men began to collect the brush; in a minute a pile of some size had been accumulated on a flat rock, within twenty feet of the spot where le Bourdon knew that the cask had been dashed to pieces. When he thought the pile sufficiently large, he told Crowsfeather that it might be lighted by bringing a brand from the other fire.
“This will not be a medicine-light, for that can come only from ‘medicine-matches,'” he added; “but I want a fire to see the shape of the ground. Put in the brand, brothers; let us have a flame.”
The desire of the bee-hunter was gratified, and the whole of the base of the hill around the spot where the filled cask had broken, was illuminated.
“Now, let all the Pottawattamies stand back,” added le Bourdon, earnestly. “It might cost a warrior his life to come forward too soon–or, if not his life, it might give a rheumatism that can never be cured, which is worse. When it is time for my red brothers to advance, they will be called.”
As the bee-hunter accompanied this announcement by suitable gestures, he succeeded in ranging all of the silent, but excited savages on three sides of his fire, leaving that next his mysterious spring to himself, alone. When all was arranged, le Bourdon moved slowly, but unaccompanied, to the precise spot where the cask had broken. Here he found the odor of the whiskey so strong, as to convince him that some of the liquor must yet remain. On examining more closely, he ascertained that several shallow cavities of the flat rock, on which the cask had been dashed, still contained a good deal of the liquor; enough to prove of great assistance to his medicine character.
All this while the bee-hunter kept one portion of his faculties on the alert, in order to effect his escape. That he might deceive for a time, aided as he was by so many favorable circumstances, he did not doubt; but he dreaded the morning and the results of a night of reflection and rest. Crowsfeather, in particular, troubled him; and he foresaw that his fate would be terrible, did the savages once get an inkling of the deception he was practising. As he stood there, bending over the little pools of whiskey, he glanced his eyes toward the gloom which pervaded the northern side of the hill, and calculated the chances of escape by trusting to his speed. All of the Pottawattamies were on the opposite side, and there was a thicket favorably placed for a cover, so near that the rifle would scarce have time to perform its fatal office, ere he might hope to bury himself within its leaves. So tempting did the occasion appear, that, for a single instant, le Bourdon forgot his caution, and his mummeries, and had actually advanced a step or two in the direction toward which he contemplated flight, when, on glancing an uneasy look behind him, he perceived Crowsfeather and his two intimate counsellors stealthily preparing their rifles, as if they distrusted his intentions. This at once induced a change of plan, and brought the bee-hunter back to a sense of his critical position, and of the indispensable necessity of caution to a man in his situation.
Le Bourdon now seemingly gave all his attention to the rocks where he stood, and out of which the much-coveted liquor was expected to flow; though his thoughts were still busily employed in considering the means of escape, the whole time. While stooping over the different pools, and laying his plans for continuing his medicine- charms, the bee-hunter saw how near he had been to committing a great mistake. It was almost as indispensable to carry off the canoe, as it was to carry off himself; since, with the canoe, not only would all his own property, but pretty Margery, and Gershom and his wife, be at the mercy of the Pottawattamies; whereas, by securing the boat, the wide Kalamazoo would serve as a nearly impassable barrier, until time was given to the whites to escape. His whole plan was changed by this suggestion, and he no longer thought of the thicket and of flight inland. At the same time that the bee hunter was laying up in his mind ideas so important to his future movements, he did not neglect the necessary examination of the means that might be required to extend and prolong his influence over the minds of the superstitious children of the forest on whom he was required to practise his arts. His thoughts reverted to the canoe, and he concocted a plan by which he believed it possible to get possession of his little craft again. Once on board it, by one vigorous shove he fancied he might push it within the cover of the rice-plants, where he would be in reasonable safety against the bullets of the savages. Could he only get the canoe on the outer side of the narrow belt of the plant, he should deem himself safe!
Having arranged his course in his own mind, le Bourdon now beckoned to Crowsfeather to draw near, at the same time inviting the whole party to approach within a few feet of the spot where he himself stood. The bee-hunter had brought with him from the boat a fragment of the larger end of a cane fishing-rod, which he used as a sort of wand. Its size was respectable, and its length about eight feet. With this wand he pointed out the different objects he named, and it answered the very important purpose of enabling him to make certain small changes in the formation of the ground, that were of the greatest service to him, without permitting curious eyes to come so near as to detect his artifices.
“Now open your ears, Crowsfeather; and you, Cloud; and all of you, young braves,” commenced the bee-hunter, solemnly, and with a steadiness that was admirable; “yes, open wide your ears. The Great Spirit has given the red man a nose that he might smell–does the Cloud smell more than common?”
“Sartain–smell whiskey–this Whiskey Centre dey say–nat’ral dat such smell be here.”
“Do all the chiefs and warriors of the Pottawattamies who are present, also smell the same?”
“S’pose so–why he don’t, eh? Got nose–can smell whiskey good way, tell you.”
“It is right they should smell the liquor here, for out of this rock a whiskey spring will soon begin to run. It will begin with a very small stream, but soon will there be enough to satisfy everybody. The Great Manitou knows that his red children are dry; he has sent a ‘medicine-man’ of the pale-faces to find a spring for them. Now, look at this piece of rock–it is dry–not even the dew has yet moistened it. See–it is made like a wooden bowl, that it may hold the liquor of the spring. Let Crowsfeather smell it–smell it, Cloud–let all my young men smell it, too, that they may be certain that there is nothing there.”
On this invitation, accompanied as it was by divers flourishes of the wand, and uttered in a deep, solemn tone of voice, the whole party of the Indians gathered around the small hollow basin-like cavity pointed out by the bee-hunter, in order both to see and to smell. Most knelt, and each and all applied their noses to the rock, as near the bowl as they could thrust them. Even the dignified and distrustful Crowsfeather could not refrain from bending in the crowd. This was the moment for which le Bourdon wished, and he instantly prepared to carry out his design.
Previously, however, to completing the project originally conceived, a momentary impulse prevailed which urged him to adopt a new mode of effecting his escape. Now, that most of the savages were on their hands and knees, struggling to get their noses as near as possible to the bowl, and all were intent on the same object, it occurred to the bee-hunter, who was almost as active as the panther of the American forest, that he might dash on toward the canoe, and make his escape without further mummery. Had it been only a question of human speed perhaps such would have been the wisest thing he could do; but a moment’s reflection told him how much swifter than any foot of man was the bullet of a rifle. The distance exceeded a hundred yards, and it was altogether in bright light, by means of the two fires, Wolfseye continuing to pile brush on that near which he still maintained his post, as if afraid the precious liquor would start out of the scent-spot, and be wasted should he abandon his ward. Happily, therefore, le Bourdon relinquished his dangerous project almost as soon as it was entertained, turning his attention immediately to the completion of the plan originally laid.
It has been said that the bee-hunter made sundry flourishes with his wand. While the savages were most eager in endeavoring to smell the rock, he lightly touched the earth that confined the whiskey in the largest pool, and opened a passage by which the liquor could trickle down the side of the rock, selecting a path for itself, until it actually came into the bowl, by a sinuous but certain channel.
Here was a wonder! Liquor could not only be smelled, but it could be actually seen! As for Cloud, not satisfied with gratifying the two senses connected with the discoveries named, he began to lap with his tongue, like a dog, to try the effect of taste.
“The Manitou does not hide his face from the Pottawattamie!” exclaimed this savage, rising to his feet in astonishment; “this is the fire-water, and such as the pale-faces bring us for skins!”
Others imitated his example, and the exclamations of wonder and delight flew from mouth to mouth, in a torrent of vehement assertions and ejaculations. So great a “medicine” charm had never before been witnessed in that tribe, or in that region, and a hundred more might succeed, before another should equal this in its welcome character. There was whiskey, of a certainty, not much in quantity, to be sure, but of excellent quality, as several affirmed, and coming in a current that was slowly increasing! This last sign was owing to the circumstance that le Bourdon had deepened the outlet of the pool, permitting a larger quantity to flow down the little channel.
The moment had now come for a decisive step. The bee-hunter knew that his precious rivulet would soon cease to run, and that he must carry out his design under the first impressions of his charm, or that he probably would not be permitted to carry it out, at all. At this moment even Crowsfeather appeared to be awed by what he had seen; but a chief so sagacious might detect the truth, and disappointment would then be certain to increase the penalties he would incur.
Making many sweeps of his wand, and touching various points of the rock, both to occupy the attention of the savages, and to divert it from his pool, the bee-hunter next felt in his pocket and drew out a small piece of resin that he knew was there; the remains of a store with which he resined the bow of his fiddle; for our hero had a violin among his effects, and often used it in his solitary abodes in the openings. Breaking this resin on a coal, he made it flash and blaze; but the quantity was too small to produce the “medicine-fire” he wanted.
“I have more in my canoe,” he said, addressing himself to the interpreter; “while I go for it, the red men must not stir, lest they destroy a pale-face’s doings. Least of all they must go near the spring. It would be better for the chiefs to lead away their young men, and make them stand under the oak, where nothing can be done to hurt the ‘medicine-charm.'”
The bee-hunter pointed to a tree that stood in the direction of the canoe, in order to prevent distrust, though he had taken care to select a spot whence the little craft could not be seen, on account of an intervening swell in the land, Crowsfeather led his warriors to the indicated place, where they took their stations, in silent and grave attention.
In the mean while, le Bourdon continued his incantations aloud; walking toward his canoe, waving his hand, and uttering a great deal of gibberish as he slowly proceeded. In passing the tree, our hero, though he did not turn his head, was sensible that he was followed by the chiefs, a movement against which he did not dare to remonstrate, though it sadly disappointed him. Neither hastening nor retarding his steps, however, in consequence of this unpleasant circumstance, the young man continued on; once or twice sweeping the wand behind him, in order to ascertain if he could reach his followers. But Crowsfeather and his companions stopped when they reached the swell of land which concealed the canoe, suffering the “medicine-man” to move on alone. Of this fact le Bourdon became aware, by turning three times in a circle, and pointing upward at the heavens with his wand, as he did so.
It was a nervous moment when the bee-hunter reached the canoe. He did not like to look behind him again, lest the chiefs should suspect his motive, and, in shoving off from the shore, he might do so within a few yards of the muzzle of a hostile rifle. There was no time to lose, however, for any protracted delay on his part would certainly cause the savages to approach, through curiosity, if not through distrust of his motives. He stepped into his light craft, therefore, without any delay, still flourishing his wand, and muttering his incantations. The first thing was to walk to the stern of the canoe, that his weight might raise the bow from the shore, and also that he might have an excuse for turning round, and thus get another look at the Indians. So critical was his situation, and so nervous did it make our young hero, that he took no heed of the state of matters in the canoe, until the last moment. When he had turned, however, he ascertained that the two principal chiefs had drawn so near as to be within twenty yards of him, though neither held his rifle at “ready,” but each leaned on it in a careless manner, as if in no anticipation of any necessity to make a speedy use of the weapon. This state of things could not last, and le Bourdon braced his nerves for the final trial. On looking for his paddle, however, he found that of three which the canoe had contained when he left it, not even one was to be seen! These wily savages had, out of all question, taken their opportunity to remove and secrete these simple, but almost indispensable, means of motion.
At the instant when first apprised of the loss just mentioned, the bee-hunter’s heart sunk within him, and he fell into the seat in the stern of the canoe, nearly with the weight of so much lead. Then a species of desperation came over him, and putting an end of his cane wand upon the bottom, with a vigorous shove he forced the canoe swiftly astern and to windward. Sudden as was this attempt, and rapid as was the movement, the jealous eyes and ready hands of the chiefs seemed to anticipate it. Two shots were fired within a few seconds after the canoe had quitted the shore. The reports of the rifles were a declaration of hostilities, and a general yell, accompanied by a common rush toward the river, announced that the whole band now understood that some deception had been practised at their expense.
Although the two chiefs in advance had been so very prompt, they were not quick enough for the rapid movement of the canoe. The distance between the stern of the boat and the rice-plants was so small, that the single desperate shove given by the bee-hunter sufficed to bury his person in the cover, before the leaden messengers reached him. Anticipating this very attempt, and knowing that the savages might get their range from the part of the canoe that was still in sight, le Bourdon bent his body far over the gunwale, grasping the rice-plants at the same time, and hauling his little craft through them, in the way that sailors call “hand over hand.” This expedient most probably saved his life. While bending over the gunwale, he heard the crack of the rifles, and the whizzing of two bullets that appeared to pass just behind him. By this time the whole of the canoe was within the cover.
In a moment like that we are describing, incidents pass so rapidly as almost to defy description. It was not twenty seconds from the instant when le Bourdon first put his wand down to push the canoe from the land, ere he found his person emerging from the cover, on its weather side. Here he was effectually concealed from his enemies, not only on account of the cover made by the rice-plants, but by reason of the darkness; the light not extending far enough from the fire to illumine objects on the river. Nevertheless, new difficulties presented themselves. When clear of the rice, the wind, which still blew strong, pressed upon his canoe to such a degree as not only to stop its further movement from the shore, but so as to turn it broadside to, to its power. Trying with his wand, the bee- hunter ascertained that it would no longer reach the bottom. Then he attempted to use the cane as a paddle, but soon found it had not sufficient hold of the water to answer for such an implement. The most he could effect with it, in that way, was to keep the canoe for a short distance along the outer edge of the rice, until it reached a spot where the plant extended a considerable distance farther toward the middle of the river. Once within this little forest of the wild rice, he was enabled to drag the canoe farther and farther from the north shore, though his progress was both slow and laborious, on account of the resistance met.
All this time, the savages were not idle. Until the canoe got within its new cover, it was at no instant fifty yards from the beach, and the yells, and orders, and whoopings sounded as if uttered directly in le Bourdon’s ear. A splashing in the water soon announced that our fugitive was pursued by swimmers. As the savages knew that the beehunter was without a paddle, and that the wind blew fresh, the expectation of overtaking their late captive, in this manner, was by no means chimerical. Half a dozen active young men would prove very formidable to one in such a situation, more especially while entangled in the mazes of the rice-plant. The bee-hunter was so well convinced of this circumstance, that no sooner did he hear the splashes of the swimmers, than he redoubled his exertions to pull his canoe farther from the spot. But his progress was slow, and he was soon convinced that his impunity was more owing to the fact that his pursuers did not know where to find him, than to the rapidity of his flight.
Notwithstanding his exertions, and the start obtained, le Bourdon soon felt assured that the swimmers were within a hundred feet of him, their voices coming from the outer margin of the cover in which he now lay, stationary. He had ceased dragging the canoe ahead, from an apprehension of being heard, though the rushing of the wind and the rustling of the rice might have assured him that the slight noises made by his own movements would not be very likely to rise above those sounds. The splashing of the swimmers, and their voices, gradually drew nearer, until the bee-hunter took up his rifle, determined to sacrifice the first savage who approached; hoping, thereby, to intimidate the others. For the first time, it now occurred to him that the breech of his rifle might be used as a paddle, and he was resolved to apply it to that service, could he once succeed in extricating himself from the enemies by whom he was nearly environed, and from the rice.
Just as le Bourdon fancied that the crisis had arrived, and that he should soon be called on to kill his man, a shout was given by a savage at some distance in the river, and presently calls passed from mouth to mouth, among the swimmers. Our hero now listened to a degree that kept his faculty of hearing at a point of painful attention. The voices and plashes on the water receded, and what was startling, a sound was heard resembling that which as produced by a paddle when struck incautiously against the side of a canoe. Was it then possible that the Chippewa was out, or had the Pottawattamies one boat that had escaped his attention? The last was not very probable, as he had several times counted their little fleet, and was pretty sure of having taken it all to the other side of the river. The sound of the paddle was repeated, however; then it occurred to the bee-hunter, that Pigeonswing might be on the scent for another scalp.
Although the conjecture just mentioned was exceedingly unpleasant to le Bourdon, the chase of the strange canoe gave him an opportunity to drag his own light craft ahead, penetrating deeper and deeper among the wild rice, which now spread itself to a considerable distance from the shore, and grew so thick as to make it impossible to get through the waving mass. At length, wearied with his exertions, and a little uncertain as to his actual position, our hero paused, listening intently, in order to catch any sounds that might direct his future movements.
By this time the savages ceased to call to each other; most probably conscious of the advantage it gave the fugitive. The bee-hunter perfectly understood that his pursuers must be aware of its being entirely out of his power to get to windward, and that they would keep along the shore of the river, as he did himself, expecting to see his canoe sooner or later driven by the wind on the beach. This had made him anxious to drag his boat as much toward the outer edge of the rice as he could get it, and by the puffs of wind that he occasionally felt, he hoped he had, in a great measure, effected his purpose. Still he had his apprehensions of the savages; as some would be very apt to swim quite out into the stream, not only to look for him, but to avoid being entangled among the plants. It was only in the natural channels of the rice, of which there were a good many, that a swimmer could very readily make his way, or be in much safety. By waiting long enough, moreover, the bee-hunter was sure he should tire out his pursuers, and thus get rid of them.
Just as le Bourdon began to think this last-mentioned purpose had been accomplished, he heard low voices directly to windward, and the splashing of water, as if more than one man was coming down upon him, forcing the stalks of the plants aside. He grasped the rifle, and let the canoe drift, which it did slowly, under the power of the wind, notwithstanding the protection of the cover. The swimmers forced their way through the stalks; but it was evident, just then, that they were more occupied by their present pursuit than in looking for him. Presently a canoe came brushing through the rice, forced by the wind, and dragged by two savages, one of whom swam on each bow. The last did not see the bee-hunter, or his canoe, the one nearest having his face turned in the opposite direction; but they were distinctly seen by the former. Surprised that a seizure should be made with so little fracas, le Bourdon bent forward to look the better, and, as the stern of the strange canoe came almost under his eyes, he saw the form of Margery lying in its bottom. His blood curdled at this sight; for his first impression was, that the charming young creature had been killed and scalped; but there being no time to lose, he sprang lightly from one canoe to the other, carrying the rifle in his hand. As he struck in the bottom of the boat of Gershom, he heard his name uttered in a sweet female voice, and knew that Margery was living. Without stopping, however, to inquire more, he moved to the head of the canoe, and, with a sharp blow on the fingers, made each of the savages release his grasp. Then, seizing the rice-plants, he dragged the little craft swiftly to windward again. All this was done, as it might be, in an instant; the savages and the canoe being separated some twenty feet, in much less time than is required to relate the occurrence.
“Bourdon, are you injured?” asked Margery, her voice trembling with anxiety.
“Not in the least, dear Margery–and you, my excellent girl?”
“They caught my canoe, and I almost died of fright; but they have only dragged it toward the shore.”
“God be praised! Is there any paddle in the canoe?”
“There are several–one is at your feet, Bourdon–and here, I have another.”
“Then, let us search for my canoe, and get out of the rice. If we can but find my canoe, we shall be safe enough, for the savages have nothing in which to cross the river. Keep your eyes about you, Margery, and look among the rice for the other boat”
The search was not long, but it was intently anxious. At length Margery saw the lost canoe just as it was drifting past them, and it was secured immediately. In a few minutes, le Bourdon succeeded in forcing the two craft into open water, when it was easy for him to paddle both to windward. The reader can readily imagine that our hero did not permit many minutes to elapse, ere he questioned his companion on the subject of her adventures. Nor was Margery reluctant to tell them. She had become alarmed at le Bourdon’s protracted absence, and taking advantage of Pigeonswing lying down, she unloaded her brother’s canoe, and went out into the river to look for the absent one. As a matter of course–though so feminine and far removed from all appearance of coarseness, a true American girl in this respect–Margery knew perfectly well how to manage a bark canoe. The habits of her life for the last few years, made her acquainted with this simple art; and strength being much less needed than skill, she had no difficulty in going whither she wished. The fires served as beacons, and Margery had been a distant witness of the bee-hunter’s necromancy as well as of his escape. The instant the latter was effected, she endeavored to join him; and it was while incautiously paddling along the outer edge of the rice, with this intention, that her canoe was seized by two of the swimmers. As soon as these last ascertained that they had captured a “squaw,” they did not give themselves the trouble to get into the canoe–a very difficult operation with one made of bark, and which is not loaded–but they set about towing the captured craft to the shore, swimming each with a single hand and holding on by the other.
“I shall not soon forget this kindness of yours, Margery,” said le Bourdon, with warmth, when the girl had ended her simple tale, which had been related in the most artless and ingenuous manner. “No man could forget so generous a risk on the part of a young woman in his behalf.”
“I hope you do not think it wrong, Bourdon–I should be sorry to have you think ill of me!”
“Wrong, dear Margery!–but no matter. Let us get ourselves out of present difficulties, and into a place of safety; then I will tell you honestly what I think of it, and of you, too. Was your brother awake, dear Margery, when you left the family?”
“I believe not–he sleeps long and heavily after drinking. But he can now drink no more, until he reaches the settlements.”
“Not unless he finds the whiskey spring,” returned the bee-hunter, laughing.
The young man then related to his wondering companion the history of the mummery and incantations of which she had been a distant spectator. Le Bourdon’s heart was light, after his hazards and escape, and his spirits rose as his narrative proceeded. Nor was pretty Margery in a mood to balk his humor. As the bee-hunter recounted his contrivances to elude the savages, and most especially when he gave the particulars of the manner in which he managed to draw whiskey out of the living rock, the girl joined in his merriment, and filled the boat with that melody of the laugh of her years and sex, which is so beautifully described by Halleck.
CHAPTER X.
The things that once she loved are still the same; Yet now there needs another name
To give the feeling which they claim, While she the feeling gives;
She cannot call it gladness or delight; And yet there seems to be a richer, lovelier light On e’en the humblest thing that lives. –WASHINGTON ALLSTON.
The history given by le Bourdon lasted until the canoes reached the south shore. Glad enough was Dorothy to see them both safe back, for neither of her companions had yet awoke. It was then midnight, and all now retired to seek the rest which might be so needful to prepare them for the exertions of the next day. The bee-hunter slept in his canoe, while Margery shared the buffalo-skin of her sister.
As perfect security, for the moment at least, was felt by the sleepers, their slumbers were sound, and reached into the morning. Then le Bourdon arose, and withdrawing to a proper distance, he threw off his clothes and plunged into the stream, in conformity with a daily practice of his at that genial season of the year. After bathing, the young man ascended a hill, whence he might get a good view of the opposite shore, and possibly obtain some notion of what the Pottawattamies were about. In all his movements, however, the bee-hunter had an eye to the concealment of his person, it being of the last importance that the savages should not learn his position. With the intention of concealment, the fire had been suffered to go down, a smoke being a sign that no Indian would be likely to overlook. As for the canoe and the bivouac of the party, the wild rice and an intermediate hill formed a perfect cover, so long as nothing was shown above them.
From the height to which he ascended, the bee-hunter, aided by his glass, got a very clear view of Whiskey Centre and the parts adjacent. The savages were already stirring, and were busy in the various avocations of the red man on a war-path. One party was disposing of the body of their dead companion. Several were cooking, or cleaning the wild-fowl shot in the bay, while a group was collected near the spot of the wished-for spring, reluctant to abandon the hopes to which it had given birth, at the very moment they were plotting to obtain the scalp of the “medicine-man.” The beloved “fire-water,” that seduces so many to their destruction, who have enjoyed the advantages of moral teaching, and which has been a withering curse on the red man of this continent, still had its influence; and the craving appetites of several of the drunkards of the party brought them to the spot, as soon as their eyes opened on the new day. The bee-hunter could see some of this cluster kneeling on the rocks, lapping like hounds at the scattered little pools of the liquor, while others scented around, in the hope of yet discovering the bird that laid the golden egg. Le Bourdon had now little expectation that his assumed character could be maintained among these savages any longer, did accident again throw him in their way. The chiefs, he saw, had distrusted him all along, but had given him an opportunity to prove what he could do, in order to satisfy the more vulgar curiosity of their young men. He wisely determined, therefore, to keep out of the hands of his enemies.
Although le Bourdon could hold a conversation in the tongue of the Ojebways, he was not fond of so doing. He comprehended without difficulty nearly all of what was said by them, and had observed the previous night that the warriors made many allusions to a chief whom they styled Onoah, but who he himself knew was usually called Scalping Peter among the whites of that frontier. This savage had a fearful reputation at all the garrisons, though he never showed himself in them; and he was now spoken of by the Pottawattamies present, as if they expected to meet him soon, and to be governed by his commands or his advice. The bee-hunter had paid great attention whenever this dreaded name was mentioned, for he was fully aware of the importance of keeping clear of an enemy who bore so bad a reputation that it was not considered prudent for a white man to remain long in his company even in a time of peace. His English sobriquet had been obtained from the circumstances of its being reputed that this chief, who seemed to belong to no tribe in particular, while he had great influence with all, had on divers occasions murdered the palefaces who fell in his way, and then scalped them. It was added, that he had already forty notches on his pole, to note that number of scalps taken from the hated whites. In short, this Indian, a sort of chief by birth, though of what tribe no one exactly knew, appeared to live only to revenge the wrongs done his color by the intruders, who had come from toward the rising sun to drive his people into the great salt lake on the other side of the Rocky Mountains. Of course there was a good deal that was questionable in these reports; a rumor in the “openings” and on the prairies, having this general resemblance to those that circulate in town, and in drawing-rooms, and at feasts, that no one of them all can be relied on as rigidly exact. But le Bourdon was still young, and had yet to learn how little of that which we all hear is true, and how very much is false. Nevertheless, as an Indian tradition is usually more accurate than a white man’s written history, so is a rumor of the forest generally entitled to more respect than the ceaseless gossipings of the beings who would be affronted were they not accounted civilized.
The bee-hunter was still on the elevated bit of ground, making his observations, when he was joined by Margery. The girl appeared fresh and handsome, after a night of sleep, and coming from her dressing- room in a thicket, and over a stream of sweet running water; but she was sad and thoughtful. No sooner had le Bourdon shaken her hand, and repeated his thanks for the succor of the past night, than the full heart of Margery poured out its feelings, as the swollen stream overflows its banks, and began to weep.
“Brother is awake,” she said, as soon as her sobs were quieted by a powerful effect; “but, as is usual with him after hard drinking, so stupid, that Dolly cannot make him understand our danger. He tells her he has seen too many Injins to be afraid of these, and that they will never harm a family that has brought so much liquor into their country.”
“His senses must be at a low ebb, truly, if he counts on Injin friendship because he has sold fire-water to the young men!” answered le Bourdon, with a nice understanding of not only Indian nature, but of human nature. “We may like the sin, Margery, while we detest the tempter. I have never yet met with the man, pale-face or red-skin, who did not curse, in his sober moments, the hand that fed his appetite while intoxicated.”
“I dare say that may be very true,” returned the girl, in a low voice; “but one has need of his reason to understand it. What will become of us now, it is hard to say.” “Why, now, Margery, more than yesterday, or the day before?” “Yesterday there were no savages near us, and Gershorn had all along told us he intended to start for the garrison at the head of the lake, as soon as he got back from his visit to the openings. He is back; but not in a state to protect his wife and sister from the red man, who will be looking for us as soon as they can build a canoe, or anything that will do to cross the river with.”
“Had they even a canoe,” returned le Bourdon, coolly, “they would not know where to look for us. Thank Heaven! that will be a job that would take some time; nor is a bark canoe built in a minute. But, Margery, if your brother be a little dull and heavy, after his debauch, _I_ am sober, and as much awake as ever I was in my life.”
“Oh! you have no weakness like that of poor brother’s, to make you otherwise; but, Bourdon, you will naturally wish to take care of yourself and your property, and will quit us the first good opportunity. I’m sure that we have no right to expect you will stay a minute longer than it is your interest to do so, and I do not know that I wish it.”
“Not wish it, Margery!” exclaimed the bee-hunter, in the manner of a disappointed man. “I had supposed you would have wished my company. But, now I know the contrary, I shall not much care how soon I go, or into whose hands I fall.”
It is strange how apt are those who ought to understand one another so readily, to misinterpret each other’s thoughts. Margery had never seen the bee-hunter twenty-four hours before, though she had often heard of him, and of his success in his art; for the fame of a man of good reputation and active qualities spreads far on a frontier. The very individual whose existence would be nearly overlooked in a crowded region, shall be spoken of, and known by his qualities, a hundred leagues from his place of residence, when settlements are few and far apart. In this way, Margery had heard of Boden, or of “Bourdon,” as she called him, in common with hundreds who, confounding his real name with his sobriquet, made the mistake of using the last under the impression that it was the true appellation. Margery had no other knowledge of French than the few words gleaned in her slow progress among a frontier on which, it is true, more of that language than of any other was heard, but heard under circumstances that were not particularly favorable to the acquisition of a foreign tongue. Had she understood the real meaning of “Bourdon,” she would have bitten off her tongue before she would have once called Boden by such an appellation; though the bee-hunter himself was so accustomed to his Canadian nickname as to care nothing at all about it. But Margery did not like to give pain to any one; and, least of all, would she desire to inflict it on the bee-hunter, though he were only an acquaintance of a day. Still, Margery could not muster sufficient courage to tell her new friend how much he was mistaken, and that of all the youths she had ever met she would most prefer to keep him near her brother and sister in their distress; while the young man, inspired by a pure and infant passion, was just in the frame of mind to believe the worst of himself, and of his claims to the attention of her who had begun to occupy so many of his thoughts.
No explanation occurring, our young people descended from the hill, misconceiving each other’s meaning and wishes, and unhappy under the influence of an ideal source of misery, when actual circumstances created so many that were substantial and real. Gershom was found awake, but, as his sister had described him, stupid and lethargic. The bee-hunter at once saw that, in his present condition, Whiskey Centre would still be an incumbrance rather than of any service, in the event of an occasion for extraordinary exertion. Margery had hinted that it usually took twenty-four hours to bring her brother entirely round, after one of his serious debauches; and within that time it was more than probable that the fate of the family would be decided.
Le Bourdon thought intently, during breakfast, of the condition of his party, and of the best mode of proceeding, while the pallid and anxious young creature at his side believed he was deliberating solely on the best means of extricating himself and his store of honey, from the savages on the other shore. Had the acquaintance between these young people been of longer date than it actually was, Margery could not have entertained a notion so injurious to the bee- hunter, for a single moment; but there was nothing either violent, or depreciating, in supposing that one so near being a total stranger would think first of himself and his own interests, in the situation in which this young man was now placed.
Little was said during the meal. Dorothy was habitually silent; the result of grief and care. As for her husband, he was too stupid to talk, though usually somewhat garrulous; while the Indian seldom did two things at the same time. This was the hour for acting; when that for talking should arrive, he would be found equal to its duties. Pigeonswing could either abstain from food, or could indulge in it without measure, just as occasion offered. He had often gone for days without tasting a mouthful, with the exception of a few berries, perhaps; and he had lain about the camp-fire, a week at a time, gorging himself with venison, like an anaconda. It is perhaps fortunate for the American Indian, that this particular quality of food is so very easy of digestion, since his excesses on it are notorious, and so common to his habits as almost to belong to his nature. Death might otherwise often be the consequence.
When the breakfast was ended, it was time to consult about the future course. As yet, the Pottawattamies had made no new discovery; but the sagacity of the red man was ever to be feared, when it came to be merely a question of finding his foe in a forest.
“We have obtained one advantage over the enemy,” said le Bourdon, “by crossing the river. Water leaves no trail; even had Crowsfeather a canoe, he might not know where to go in it, in order to find us.”
“Dat not so,” put in the Chippewa, a little dogmatically; “know we hab canoe–know cross river in him.”
“Why should they know this, Pigeonswing? We may have gone out upon the lake, or we may have gone up in the oak openings again, for anything the Pottawattamies can know to the contrary.”
“Tell you, not so. Know don’t go on lake, cause wind blow. Know don’t go up river, cause dat hard work; know come here, cause dat easy. Injin like to do what easy, and pale-face do just what Injin do. Crowsfeather make raft, pretty soon; den he come look arter scalp.”
“Yes,” said Margery, gently; “you had better load your canoe at once, and go on the lake, while the savages cannot reach you. The wind is fair for them that are to go north; and I have heard you say that you are bound to Mackinaw.”
“I shall load my canoe, and I shall load yours, too, Margery; but I shall not go away from this family, so long as any in it stand in need of my services.”
“Brother will be able to help us by afternoon. He manages a canoe well, when himself; so go, Bourdon, while you can. I dare say you have a mother at home; or a sister perhaps a wife–“
“Neither,” interrupted the bee-hunter, with emphasis. “No one expects me; no one has a right to expect me.”
The color stole into pretty Margery’s cheeks as she heard these words, and a ray of comfort gleamed on an imagination that, for the last hour, had been portraying the worst. Still, her generous temper did not like the idea of the bee-hunter’s sacrificing himself for those who had so few claims on him, and she could not but again admonish him of the necessity of losing no time.
“You will think better of this, Bourdon,” the girl resumed. “We are going south, and cannot quit the river with this wind, but you could not have a better time to go north, unless the wind blows harder than I think it does.”
“The lake is a bad water for a canoe, when there is much wind,” put in Gershom, yawning after he had spoken, as if the effort fatigued him, “I wonder what we’re all doing over on this side of the river! Whiskey Centre is a good enough country for me; I’m going back to look arter my casks, now I’ve breakfasted. Come, Doll; let’s load up, and be off.”
“You are not yourself yet, Gershom,” returned the sorrowful wife, “or you would not talk in this way. You had better listen to the advice of Bourdon, who has done so much for us already, and who will tell you the way to keep out of Injin clutches. We owe our lives to Bourdon, Gershom, and you should thank him for it.”
Whiskey Centre muttered a few half intelligible words of thanks, and relapsed into his state of drowsy indifference. The bee-hunter saw, however, that the effects of the brandy were leaving him, and he managed to get him on one side, where he persuaded the fellow to strip and go into the water. The bath did wonders for the poor creature, who soon got to be so far himself again, as to be of use, instead of being an incumbrance. When sober, and more especially when sober for several consecutive days, Gershom was a man of sufficient energy, possessing originally great personal strength and activity, which had been essentially lessened, however, by his excesses in liquor. It has already been stated what a different being he became, in a moral point of view, after having been sober for any length of time.
On his return from the bathing, le Bourdon again joined the females. Margery had been weeping; but she smiled in a friendly way, on meeting his eye, and appeared less anxious for his departure than she had been an hour before. As the day advanced, and no signs of the savages were seen, a sense of greater security began to steal over the females, and Margery saw less necessity for the departure of their new friend. It was true, he was losing a wind; but the lake was rough, and after all it might be better to wait. In short, now that no immediate danger was apparent, Margery began to reason in conformity with her wishes, as is so apt to be the case with the young and inexperienced. The bee-hunter perceived this change in the deportment of his fair friend, and was well enough disposed to hope it would admit of a favorable construction.
All this time, the Chippewa had taken little visible interest in the state of the party to which he had now attached himself. The previous evening had been fertile in excitement and in gratification, and he had since slept and ate to his entire content. He was ready to meet events as they might arise, and began to plot the means of obtaining more Pottawattamie scalps. Let not the refined reader feel disdisgust at this exhibition of the propensities of an American savage. Civilized life has had, and still has, very many customs, little less excusable than that of scalping. Without dragging into the account the thousand and one sins that disgrace and deform society, it will be sufficient to look into the single interest of civilized warfare, in order to make out our case. In the first place, the noblest strategy of the art is, to put the greatest possible force on the least of the enemy, and to slay the weaker party by the mere power of numbers. Then, every engine that ingenuity can invent, is drawn into the conflict; and rockets, revolvers, shells, and all other infernal devices, are resorted to, in order to get the better of an enemy who is not provided with such available means of destruction. And after the battle is over, each side commonly claims the victory; sometimes, because a partial success has been obtained in a small portion of the field; sometimes, because half a dozen horses have run away with a gun, carrying it into the hostile ranks; and, again, because a bit of rag has fallen from the hands of a dead man, and been picked up by one of the opposing side. How often has it happened that a belligerent, well practised in his art, has kept his own colors out of the affair, and then boasted that they were not lost! Now, an Indian practises no such shameless expedients. His point of honor is not a bit of rag, but a bit of his skin. He shaves his head because the hair encumbers him; but he chivalrously leaves a scalp-lock, by the aid of which his conquerors can the more easily carry away the coveted trophy. The thought of cheating in such a matter never occurs to his unsophisticated mind; and as for leaving his “colors” in barracks, while he goes in the field himself, he would disdain it–nay, cannot practise it; for the obvious reason that his head would have to be left with them.
Thus it was with Pigeonswing. He had made his toilet for the war- path, and was fierce in his paint, but honest and fair-dealing in other particulars. If he could terrify his enemies by looking like a skeleton, or a demon, it was well; his enemy would terrify him, if possible, by similar means. But neither would dream, or did dream, of curtailing, by a single hair, that which might be termed the flag-staff of his scalp. If the enemy could seize it, he was welcome to the prize; but if he could seize that of the enemy, no scruples on the score of refinement, or delicacy, would be apt to interfere with his movements. It was in this spirit, then, that Pigeonswing came to the canoe, where le Bourdon was holding a little private discourse with Margery, and gave utterance to what was passing in his mind.
“Good time, now, get more scalps, Bourdon,” said the Chippewa, in his clipping, sententious English.
“It is a good time, too, to keep our own, Chippewa,” was the answer. “Your scalp-lock is too long, to be put before Pottawattamie eyes without good looking after it.”
“Nebber mind him–if go, go; if stay, stay. Always good for warrior to bring home scalp.”
“Yes; I know your customs in this respect, Pigeonswing, but ours are different. We are satisfied if we can keep out of harm’s way, when we have our squaws and pappooses with us.”
“No pappooses here,” returned the Indian, looking around him–“dat your squaw, eh?”
The reader can readily imagine that this abrupt question brought blushes into the cheeks of pretty Margery, making her appear ten times more handsome than before; while even le Bourdon did not take the interrogatory wholly undisturbed. Still, the latter answered manfully, as became his sex.
“I am not so fortunate as to have a squaw, and least of all to have this” said le Bourdon.
“Why no hab her–she good squaw,” returned the literalminded Indian- -han’some ‘nough for chief. You ask; she hab–now squaw well–always like warrior to ask him fuss; den say, yes.”
“Aye, that may do with your red-skin squaws,” le Bourdon hastily replied; for he saw that Margery was not only distressed, but a little displeased–“but not with the young women of the pale-faces. I never saw Margery before last evening; and it takes time for a pale-face girl to know a youth.”
“Just so wid red-skin–sometime don’t know, till too late! See plenty dat, in wigwam.”
“Then it is very much in the wigwams as it is in the houses. I have heard this before.”
“Why not same?–skin make no difference–pale-face spile squaw, too- -make too much of her.”
“That can never be!” exclaimed le Bourdon, earnestly. “When a pretty, modest, warm-hearted young woman accepts a youth for a husband, he can never make enough of her!”
On hearing sentiments so agreeable to a woman’s ears, Margery looked down, but she looked pleased. Pigeonswing viewed the matter very differently; and being somewhat of a partisan in matters relating to domestic economy, he had no thought of leaving a point of so much importance in so bad a way. Accordingly, it is not surprising that, in pursuing the subject, he expressed opinions in several essentials diametrically the reverse of those of the bee-hunter.
‘”Easy ‘nough spile squaw,” rejoined the Chippewa. “What she good for, don’t make her work? Can’t go on the warpath–can’t take scalp- -can’t shoot deer–can’t hunt–can’t kill warrior–so muss work. Dat what squaw good for.”
“That may do among red men, but we pale-faces find squaws good for something else–we love them and take care of them–keep them from the cold in winter, and from the heat in summer; and try to make them as comfortable and happy as we can.”
“Dat good talk for young squaw’s ears,” returned the Chippewa, a little contemptuously as to manner; though his real respect for the bee-hunter, of whose prowess he had so lately been a witness, kept him a little within bounds “but it bess not take nobody in. What Injin say to squaw, he do–what pale-face say, he no do.”
“Is that true, Bourdon?” demanded Margery, laughing at the Indian’s earnestness.
“I shall be honest, and own that there may be some truth in it–for the Injin promises nothing, or next to nothing, and it is easy to square accounts, in such cases. That white men undertake more than they always perform, is quite likely to be the fact The Injin gets his advantage in this matter, by not even thinking of treating his wife as a woman should be treated.”
“How should treat woman?” put in Pigeonswing with warmth. “When warrior eat venison, gib her rest, eh? Dat no good–what you call good, den? If good hunter husband, she get ‘nough–if an’t good hunter, she don’t get ‘nough. Just so wid Injin–sometime hungry, sometime full. Dat way to live!”
“Aye, that may be your red man’s ways, but it is not the manner in which we wish to treat our wives. Ask pretty Margery, here, if she would be satisfied to wait until her husband had eaten his dinner, and then come in for the scraps. No-no-Pigeonswing; we feed our women and children first^ and come in last, ourselves.”
“Dat good for pappoose–he little; want venison–squaw tough; use to wait. Do her good.”
Margery now laughed outright, at these specimens of Indian gallantry, which only too well embody the code of the red man’s habits. Doubtless the heart has its influence among even the most savage people, for nature has not put into our breasts feelings and passions to be discarded by one’s own expedients, or wants. But no advocate of the American Indian has ever yet been able to maintain that woman fills her proper place in his estimate of claims. As for Margery, though so long subject to the whims, passions. and waywardness of a drunkard, she had reaped many of the advantages of having been born in that woman’s paradise, New England. We are no great admirers of the legacy left by the Puritan to his descendants, taken as an inheritance in morals, manners, and customs, and as a whole; though there are parts, in the way of codicils, that there is no portion of the Christian world which might not desire to emulate. In particular, do we allude to the estimate put upon, and the treatment received by their women. Our allusion is not to the refinements and gracefulness of polished intercourse; for of THEM, the Blarney Rock of Plymouth has transmitted but a meagre account in the inventory, and perhaps the less that is said about this portion of the family property the better; but, dropping a few degrees in the social scale, and coming down to the level where we are accustomed to regard people merely as men and women, we greatly question if any other portion of the world can furnish a parallel to the manly, considerate, rational, and wisely discriminating care, that the New England husband, as the rule, bestows on his wife; the father on his daughter; or the brother on his sister. Gershom was a living, and, all things considered, a remarkable instance of these creditable traits. When sober, he was uniformly kind to Dorothy; and for Margery he would at any time risk his life. The latter, indeed, had more power over him than his own wife possessed, and it was her will and her remonstrances that most frequently led him back from the verge of that precipice over which he was so often disposed to cast himself. By some secret link she bound him closest to the family dwelling, and served most to recall the days of youth and comparative innocence, when they dwelt together beneath the paternal roof, and were equally the objects of the affection and solicitude of the same kind mother. His attachment to Dorothy was sincere, and, for one so often brutalized by drink, steady; but Dorothy could not carry him as far back, in recollections, as the one only sister who had passed the morning of life with him, in the same homely but comfortable abode.
We have no disposition to exaggerate the character of those whom it is the fashion to term the American yeomen, though why such an appellation should be applied to any in a state of society to which legal distinctions are unknown, is what we could never understand. There are no more of esquires and yeomen in this country than there are of knights and nobles, though the quiet manner in which the transition from the old to the new state of things has been made, has not rendered the public mind very sensible to the changes. But, recurring to the class, which is a positive thing and consequently ought to have a name of some sort or other, we do not belong to those that can sound its praises without some large reservations on the score of both principles and manners. Least of all, are we disposed to set up these yeomen as a privileged class, like certain of the titular statesmen of the country, and fall down and worship a calf–not a golden one by the way–of our own setting up. We can see citizens in these yeomen, but not princes, who are to be especially favored by laws made to take from others to bestow on them. But making allowances for human infirmities, the American freeholder belongs to a class that may justly hold up its head among the tillers of the earth. He improves daily, under the influence of beneficent laws, and if he don’t get spoiled, of which there is some danger, in the eagerness of factions to secure his favor, and through that favor his VOTE–if he escape this danger, he will ere long make a reasonably near approach to that being, which the tongue of the flatterer would long since have persuaded him he had already more than got to be.
To one accustomed to be treated kindly, as was the case with Margery, the Chippewa’s theory for the management of squaws contained much to excite her mirth, as well as her resentment, as she now made apparent by her remarks.
“You do not deserve to HAVE a wife, Pigeonswing,” she cried, half- laughing, yet evidently alive to the feelings of her sex–“can have no gratitude for a wife’s tenderness and care. I wonder that a Chippewa girl can be found to have you?”
“Don’t want him,” coolly returned the Indian, making his preparations to light his pipe–“got Winnebagoe squaw, already; good ‘nough for me. Shoot her t’other husband and take his scalp–den she come into my wigwam.”
“The wretch!” exclaimed Margery.
But this was a word the savage did not understand, and he continued to puff at the newly lighted tobacco, with all of a smoker’s zeal. When the fire was secured, he found time to continue the subject.
“Yes, dat good war-path–got rifle; got wife; got TWO scalp! Don’t do so well, ebbery day.”
“And that woman hoes your corn, and cooks your venison?” demanded the bee-hunter.
“Sartain–capital good to hoe–no good to cook–make deer meat too dry. Want to be made to mind business. Bye’m by teach him. No l’arn all at once, like pale-face pappoose in school.”
“Pigeonswing, have you never observed the manner in which the white man treats his squaw?”
“Sartain–see him make much of her–put her in warm corner–wrap blanket round her–give her venison ‘fore he eat himself–see all dat, often–what den? DAT don’t make it right.”
“I give you up, Chippewa, and agree with Margery in thinking you ought not to have a squaw, at all.”
“T’ink alike, den–why no get marry?” asked the Indian, without circumlocution.
Margery’s face became red as fire; then her cheeks settled into the color of roses, and she looked down, embarrassed. The bee-hunter’s admiration was very apparent to the Indian, though the girl did not dare to raise her eyes from the ground, and so did not take heed of it. But this gossiping was suddenly brought to an end by a most unexpected cause of interruption; the manner and form of which it shall be our office to relate, in the succeeding chapter.
CHAPTER XI.
So should it be–for no heart beats Within his cold and silent breast;
To him no gentle voice repeats
The soothing words that make us blest. –PEABODY.
The interruption came from Dorothy, who, on ascending the little height, had discovered a canoe coming into the mouth of the river, and who was running, breathless with haste, to announce the circumstance to the bee-hunter. The latter immediately repaired to the eminence, and saw for himself the object that so justly had alarmed the woman. The canoe was coming in from the lake, after running before the wind, which now began to abate a little in its strength, and it evidently had been endeavoring to proceed to the northward. The reason for its entering the river, was probably connected with the cookery or food of the party, since the lake was each minute getting to be safer, and more navigable for so light a craft. To le Bourdon’s great apprehension, he saw the savages on the north shore making signal to this strange canoe, by means of smoke, and he foresaw the probability of his enemies obtaining the means of crossing the stream, should the strangers proceed in the desired direction. To counteract this design, he ran down to a spot on the beach where there was no rice-plant, and showing himself to the strangers, invited them to land on the south side, which was much the nearest, and in other visible respects quite as convenient as the opposite bank of the river. One of the strangers soon made a gesture with an arm, implying assent, and the bows of this strange canoe were immediately turned toward the spot where the bee-hunter stood.
As the canoe drew near, the whole party, including Pigeonswing, came to the margin of the water to receive the strangers. Of the last, there were three; one paddling at each end of the light bark, and a third seated in its centre, doing nothing. As the bee-hunter had his glass, with which he examined these visitors, he was soon questioned by his companions concerning their character and apparent purposes.
“Who are they, Bourdon?” demanded the impatient Margery–“and why do they come here?”
“The last is a question they must answer for themselves, but the person paddling in the bows of the canoe seems to be a white man, and a soldier–or a half-soldier, if one may judge from his dress. The man in the middle of the canoe is white, also. This last fellow seems to be a parson–yes, he is a clergyman, though pretty well used up in the wilderness, as to dress. The third man is a red-skin, beyond all doubt.”
“A clergyman!” repeated Margery, in surprise. “What should a clergyman be doing here?”
“There are missionaries scattered about among the savages, I suppose you know, and this is probably one of them. A body can tell one of these parsons by his outside, as far as he can see him. The poor man has heard of the war, most likely, and is trying to get back into the settlements, while his scalp is safe on his head.”
“Don’t hurt HIM” put in the Chippewa, pointedly. “Know MEAN well– talk about Great Spirit–Injin don’t scalp sich medicine-men–if don’t mind what he say, no good to take his scalp.”
“I’m glad to hear this, Pigeonswing, for I had begun to think NO man’s scalp was safe under YOUR fingers. But what can the so’ger be doing down this-away? A body would think there was business enough for all the so’gers up at the garrison, at the head of the lake. By the way, Pigeonswing, what has become of your letter to the captain at Fort Dearborn, to let him know of the war?”
“Chaw him up, like so much ‘baccy,” answered the Chippewa–“yes, chaw him up, lest Pottawattamie get hold on him, and ask one of King George’s men to read him. No good to hab letter in sich times.”
“The general who employed you to carry that letter, will scarce