——“But now he kneels,And, like a scout when listening to the trampOf horse or foot, lays his experienced earClose to the ground, then rises and explores,Then kneels again, and, his short rifle gunAgainst his cheek, waits patiently.”ROGERS.
——“But now he kneels,And, like a scout when listening to the trampOf horse or foot, lays his experienced earClose to the ground, then rises and explores,Then kneels again, and, his short rifle gunAgainst his cheek, waits patiently.”ROGERS.
The hunters, whom we left pursuing the Indians, remained so far behind as to lose sight of them in the open prairie, and following on until appearances indicated their near approach to the camp, took it for granted that thither they were bound. They were afraid to enter along with a party so much excited, lest they, to conceal all traces of their crime, should also put them to death, and crouching down in the grass, resolved not to venture nearer, until darkness should allow them to approach it in safety.
“Earth,” said Rolfe, “how is this thing likely to end?”
“Rather squally,” said Earth; “most probably with the loss of our hair.”
“You don't think so; they surely will not dare do it, they must know it will lead to war.”
“You did not think they would dare do what they did on the Ohio.”
“No, I did not; if I had heard it, as I hear other rumors of families disappearing and never being heard of, I should have regarded it as an idle story.”
“Now the truth is,” said Earth, “they'll dare do any thing. They'll give you one hand in friendship, while with the other, they put a knife between your ribs. We are in a ticklish situation, Rolfe, and I'm not so sure we shan't be used up.”
“How? what?”—said Rolfe, quickly.
“Why, these devils must conceal this thing; you see they've been hurrying along, that they might keep dark; now, were we to go up and demand the girl, and tell 'em of the murder, we should be butchered or roasted before you could take a chew of red-streak. They would'nt wish prettier fun, and instead of lying upon this soft grass, we should be dancing round a pole, with a parcel of lightwood splinters in us.”
“Earth, this is rather too serious a mater to joke about; but, if what you say of Tecumseh be true, he will not suffer it.”
“I told you,” said Earth, “what people say, not what I know of 'Cumseh; for myself, I have no confidence in any of 'em, I never knowed one that could be trusted; its just as natural for them to lie, and do every thing that is bad, as 'tis for a gourd to have a bitter taste.”
“Then it may be as bad in the morning,” said Rolfe, “as it is now.”
“No, they'll have time to cool a little,” said Earth, “but I'll slip round after a while, as soon as I think it safe to do so, and see what I can make of 'em.”
“Well, be cautious, Earth, for I should hate for them to get hold of you.”
“You let an ‘old coon’ alone,” said Earth, “for I reckon that perhaps, I should hate it a little worser than you.”
“Earth, I'll tell you a notion that strikes me.”
“What is it?”
“Why, that this party has not gone to the camp.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because, if Tecumseh is there, they would be afraid to go, for people generally say that he sticks to the treaty, and discountenances these things; and what every body says, you know, is right apt to have some truth in it. Another reason. If the Prophet is there, they would not go, because he preaches peace, and you know what a disturbance we have already had, about his refusing to give up a murderer.”
“There is something in what you say, Rolfe, but these Ingens are sly dogs; they are mighty tricky. If they are not here, where could they have gone?”
“They may have avoided the camp,” said Rolfe, “and have gone up the Wabash, where they are always assembling, or else have turned off, and gone to the west.”
“We'll see presently,” said Earth, and stretching themselves out they awaited the approach of night.
Several hours had now passed, when Earth rousing himself from a troubled sleep, left Rolfe, and proceeded cautiously to reconnoitre the camp. Cutting an armful of long prairie grass, and wrapping it about his body, so as to conceal, in some measure, the outlines of his person, he approached fearlessly until the fires of the Indians showed their exact position; when, crouching down, he gently stretched himself out, and began to pull his body slowly along. Feeling before him, he carefully removed every stick or reed which, if broken, would make the least noise, and crawling cautiously, continued his perilous task. Stopping every moment, he listened with suspended breath, to discover if his approach was heard, and proceeded in this way until he reached the southern edge of the encampment, where, by drawing his head down beneath his shoulders, and by a proper arrangement of the grass, a species of tact only known to a genuine hunter, he almost imperceptibly rose up, and appeared darkly shadowed forth as an old stump. At a few yards, and just before him were reposing a group of Indians half dosing, and whiffing in silence, their fumes of smoke to the midnight air. Earth gazed upon them for a short time and soon saw that from them, nothing was to be learned. Then, although not even the gentle waving of the grass disturbed the scene, he disappeared as though he had sunk into the ground.
Then escaping to some distance, he rose, and forming an extensive circuit, began in the same cautious manner to approach the camp on its northern boundary, where was situated the bower of Netnokwa. Having arrived as near as he wished, he stretched himself out and lay, to all appearance, a log upon the ground. Here, that old dame was croning a low ditty; Earth listened with the utmost attention, and endeavoured to catch some of her words, hoping by their import to find out who she was, when suddenly rising up, she left her bower, and as chance would have it, directed her steps towards him. At her approach, Earth involuntary pressed himself closer to the ground, but as Netnokwa had come out to learn the hour of the night, she saw him not. Stopping for a moment, within a few feet of him, she gazed at the stars, read the hour, plain as on the face of a dial, and returned. Soon after this, Earth slipped away, and proceeded with equal caution toward a cabin or hut, which he saw rising up in another direction on the outer border of the camp. Upon coming near this, he personated the body of a blasted tree; stooping low enough to avoid the dark shadows of the forest, you might have seen the outline of its bare limbs in relief on the horizon. These he had picked up as he moved along, and with the addition of the prairie grass which surrounded him, his figure was so much changed as to be scarcely distinguishable. The hut which he had now approached was that of the Prophet, who was chaunting in a wild melody, though in a low and suppressed voice, songs of vengeance.
Here Earth remained a short time, and as bending forward, he listened more eagerly, to catch the Prophet's words; the motion of the tree which he personated was the same as if there had swept over it a gentle breeze. A few moments passed and he disappeared.
There was now a rustling of the prairie grass, and Earthquake, gliding along, seated himself near Rolfe.
“What tidings, Earth?” said Rolfe, in a hurried tone.
“No news of the captive,” said Earth, “and moreover, the camp is quiet.”
“Whose camp is it?”
“The Prophet's.”
“How do you know?”
“From the humbug which hangs over his tent,” said Earth, “and a noise that I heard, which I suppose he intended for a prayer, but it sounded to my ears, very much like the whining of my old bitch Jupiter.”
“What do you mean by humbug over his tent, Earth?”
“Why, I could'nt make it out exactly, but it seemed to me that there were rags and skins strung together in curious shapes, hanging all about it.”
“Did none see you?”
“No, not one; there was an old squaw who came out star gazing; she mistook me for a log, and had like to have stumbled over me, but all went well.”
“And you did not see the captive,” continued Rolfe.
“No; and every thing seems so quiet, that I begin to doubt if these devils from the river went there. If they had, they would have been talking that thing over one half the night, and showing their scalps the other half.”
“Then, if they have not,” said Rolfe, “the Prophet will aid us in our search, and even lend assistance to rescue the maiden.”
“It will be to his interest to do so,” said Earth, “and if he gives us any real help, it may serve to cover over that ugly trick of his, in refusing to give up that fellow who killed the storekeeper. But, Rolfe, I don't believe in Ingens strong as I do in the Bible. I hate 'em; Ingens and 'possums are very deceitful.”
“Is there no danger, however, in entering the camp in the morning, Earth?”
“No; none, I reckon; we will try it all events:—come now, hush, Rolfe, let's go to sleep.”
“I can't help thinking of that girl,” said Rolfe, “some how or other she seems to haunt me. I keep fancying I have seen her before.”
“Seen her, indeed,” said Earth, “where did you see her?”
“It seems to me,” answered Rolfe, “that she is like a girl I used to know in Petersburg. But then,” said he, pausing, “her father was rich and happy.”
“And because you left him rich and happy,” said Earth, “you think she must have floated down the Ohio in a flat boat.”
“No, it is that which perplexes me,” said Rolfe.
“Well, it ought to bother you,” said Earth, “now I feel for that gal just as much as you do, and if she can be found, I mean to find her and take care of her. I don't care who she is. I expect she is some poor girl whose daddy couldn't live in the old states, and thought he would float out here and squat in a cane brake. You know corn is mighty scarce there on light land. But nothing will satisfy you, Rolfe, but you must make her the real grit, one you used to love; and with plenty of money, make her float all about here, looking for you, I suppose. Come, let's go to sleep.”
Rolfe, who felt the force of Earth's ridicule, was silent, and a few moments found them slumbering quietly.
Morning was far advanced, when the hunters leaving their cover proceeded fearlessly to the camp. They had nearly reached it, and were not yet discovered; but as soon as observed, there was passing to and fro with quickened pace, and several Indians entered the tent of the Prophet.
“See, Rolfe,” said Earth, “there is the tent of their mighty Prophet, that back hut which rises up, covered with skins.”
“I see it,” said Rolfe, and they walked into the camp.
The Indians were either sitting or lounging about, and paying no particular attention to their entrance, maintained the most perfect silence. Earth dropped the butt of his rifle on the ground, and leaning on its band coolly surveyed the group before him; but they spoke not, and believing that they were waiting for him to speak, he addressed in the Shawanee tongue the oldest before him, and demanded to be led into the presence of the Prophet. The Indian addressed, seemed not to comprehend the question, but upon Earth's repeating it, he said “umph!” and spoke in an under tone to a companion near him, who instantly rose, disappeared for a short time, and returning, motioned the hunters to follow. They obeyed in silence, and accompanying the messenger, soon stood in the presence of the Prophet. He was sitting on a buffalo skin, which served as a floor for his tent, which was unfurnished, if furniture consists in the comforts of life. A bowl of dry peas, which, from his appearance, formed his only sustenance, for his countenance was lean and haggard, together with several little bags well stuffed and closely tied, were all that at first view met the sight. But upon closer observation, a wicker basket of tolerable size was seen peeping forth from a bundle of skins which had evidently been placed there to conceal it, and in this no doubt was contained the medicine bag with which he worked his incantations. His person was wrapped in a blanket, and muffled up as closely as though it had been the dead of winter, for his sacred person was not to be gazed at by vulgar eyes. Still one might judge that an amulet was worn on his neck, from seeing the tooth of an alligator in the claws of an eagle. Eyeing the hunters for a time, he turned to address them, while they, disturbed by a slightly rustling noise, found to their surprise, that they were surrounded by a numerous band of Indian warriors, armed with rifles, tomahawks, and war clubs.
“Stand it like a man,” whispered Earth to Rolfe, “there must be no back out now.” And as he said so, the Prophet began.
“We are glad to see our brothers, the long rifles, in the camp of the red men. It tells us there is peace in the land; we always preach peace. Why come our brothers? are they hungry, let them speak, they shall have food.” He was silent, and Earth addressing him in his own language, said, “I speak to the prophet, and grieve to tell him that bad men are abroad. Many years ago we buried the tomahawk, but the Ingens have dug it up. They have burned a big canoe, and the river is red with the blood of the pale faces, and their spirits cry for vengeance. They sprung upon them like panthers upon deer. They gave them no notice, they killed all but one, a young woman; she is left alone and they dragged her to this camp; we followed on her tracks, and come to demand her and carry her back. The Prophet is great, he preaches peace, he is more wise than the red men, and tells them what is good for them. He will have the bad Ingens tried, and send them to the whites, and he will give up the maiden to the long rifles who wait for her, and make strong again the bands of peace. The hunter has spoken.”
Earth had no sooner commenced his reply, than the Prophet started wildly, as if receiving the most unexpected tidings, and increasing surprise continued to gather in his countenance, until Earth's remarks were finished, when answering quickly, he said, “My voice is almost silent, and my eyes are turned to tears with what our brother, the long rifle, tells me. The Great Spirit bids me preach peace to the red men; and I beg them in his name not to go to war. But there are bad red men, as there are bad white men. They will not take our advice. The Prophet must say, our brother, the long rifle, speaks false, when he says that bad men are in our camp. The Indians who did wrong, would be afraid of the Prophet, and they would not bring the young woman here. They know we would tie them, and send them to the settlements, as we have always done, and would send along the young woman too. We wish our brothers, the whites, would always follow our example. If an Indian kill a white man, we give him up; he is hung. If a white man kill an Indian we never hear of him.”
So soon as the prophet ceased, Earth turned to Rolfe, and repeated to him what had been said. Deep and inexpressible disappointment settled over his features; but after a moment, he said, “Earth, does he not know where it is probable they have gone, and can he not tell the tribe to which they belong?”
“I will see,” said Earth, and turning to the Prophet, he said, “Father, thou art great in wisdom, and the Manito tells thee the secrets of the world. Wilt thou make glad our hearts, by showing us the path along which the bad Ingens have travelled? The long rifle will thank thee, and say, the Prophet is the friend of white men.”
Pleased by these remarks, the Prophet with more gentleness in his manner than he had before manifested, said, “We are sorry our brother said that bad Indians were in our camp. It made our heart heavy to hear it. We have nothing to do with bad men. We are very sorry for what has happened, we are grieved for the young woman, and would show her to our brothers if we could. Our eyes are opened by what our brother has told us, and we will tell him what we think. It was last evening that the Prophet was alone in his tent, praying to the Great Spirit to tell him what to do, that he might make his red children happy, when afar off he saw red men crossing the prairie. He thought they were hunting, and was surprised that they did not come to see him. The Prophet thinks they were the bad men, and they feared to come.”
“The Prophet is good, he will show their path to the hunters,” said Earth.
“The long rifle,” answered the Prophet, “follows the game in the woods. He can find the tracks of the bad men. A runner from the Wabash came yesterday to see the Prophet. He said that bad red men were gathering together, and that the pale faces were trembling. We like not these things, and sent our brother Tecumseh to make them hunt the deer far away from the border. The Prophet thinks the bad men have gone there.”
“The Prophet is good,” said Earth, “he is the friend of the long rifles;” then turning to Rolfe, he told him of all he had learned.
“Then let us leave,” said Rolfe, “I shall breathe more freely, and we can resolve what to do, when we get out of sight of these grim and statue-like faces.” Earth then turning to the Prophet, said, “The long rifles wish peace to the Prophet, and will return to their wigwams.”
“They will go,” he replied, “after they have broken our bread, and smoked with us the pipe of peace.” He then motioned his hand, and with its wave the warriors disappeared, and a few moments after, an Indian girl approached with a rude breakfast, though composed of the choicest game of the prairie; and the hunters having partaken of it, since to have refused would have been regarded as an insult, smoked with the Prophet, and bidding him adieu, received many kind wishes. They were then conducted without his tent, and left to shape their course as inclination might suggest.
Having gotten clear of his camp, Rolfe said, “well, Earth, come, tell us what is best to be done.”
“Why, make tracks for the settlements as fast as we can.”
“And leave the poor girl to her fate?”
“Yes; what else can we do? If what the Prophet says be true, they have carried her up the Wabash, and I don't know that we could find her. Moreover, the Ingens are constantly skirmishing in that quarter, and they might jirk it into us.” “I think there's a storm brewing, and have my doubts if this Prophet don't know more of this thing than he has told us. So I think we had better return, and tell all we know, and the governor can then do about it as he chooses.”
“We will of course tell,” said Rolfe, “and unless these Indians are given up, I have no doubt it will lead to war, but I do not believe that the Prophet knows any thing about them or the captive, other than what he has told us. If he had, he would not have made us smoke and eat with him.”
“Come along, Rolfe,” said Earth, “when you live in these woods as long as I have, you wont believe every thing an Ingen tells you. You'll find out, as I said before, that they are mighty like 'possums;” and bending their way they began to tramp back in the direction they had come.
The sun was fast sinking below the horizon when leaving the path they were travelling, they turned off into the tall grass of the prairie, and using the same precautions as though they were followed by a warlike party, passed the night. With the light of morn they again resumed their journey.
The day had now several hours advanced, when in passing through the forest and amusing themselves with idle dialogue, their attention was arrested by an unusual number of carrion birds.
“Ah!” said Earth, “I wish every red devil was in the same fix. I suppose you know, Rolfe, why those birds are collected?”
“Yes,” answered he, “I well recollect, it reminds me again of that poor girl. I wish I could forget her.”
“Well,” said Earth, “I will go and bring the pack he was carrying; who knows but from it we may learn who she is.”
“Well, do,” said Rolfe, eagerly, “I had forgotten it, but now I am all anxiety to see it, come, make haste, Earth, I will walk on, you get it, and overtake me.”
“Very well,” said Earth, who leaving him, soon found the secreted bundle, and bore it along to his friend. Seeking the first spot which presented an agreeable shade and a seat, they stopped and proceeded at once to examine its contents. It was made up chiefly of blankets and articles of clothing, among which were some belonging to a female wardrobe, which were carefully drawn out, and laid aside. Rolfe's anxiety increased as he inspected each article, for they served to confirm somewhat the vague suspicion his mind had already adopted. The search continued, yet his fears were not diminished, nor was his suspicion much strengthened, when drawing out a cambric handkerchief, he saw traced on it, in his own hand writing, the words, “R. Rolfe.” Had a ball entered his heart, the pang would not have been greater than upon the recognition of those words. He grew pale and almost livid, and said, in a scarcely articulate voice, “Earth, it is she, we exchanged handkerchiefs the day I left her;” and with an agonized face, he gazed fixedly on the words “R. Rolfe.” Not a tear came to his relief. Earth kindly endeavoured to console him, by combating his suspicions with such reasons as his mind suggested, and then examined again every article of the bundle. There was not one but would as well have belonged to any other person. The handkerchief, however, had already carried conviction to Rolfe's mind. But with Earth's arguments against the probability that one rich and happy as Rolfe represented the lady of his love, should have emigrated, hope began to dawn in the shape of uncertainty. “Yes,” cried Rolfe, “I left her rich and contented, surrounded with all the comforts of civilized life, and aware of the unsettled state of the west. Her father even ridiculed the idea of my emigrating.”
“Then, rest sure, there is some mistake, it cannot be her,” said Earth, and the thought that the captive maiden was not his first and only love took possession of his mind. But it was only for a moment, for when he recollected the face and figure of her, of whom he had only caught a passing glance; and then when he gazed upon the wardrobe spread out before him, and saw the handkerchief with his own name, which he himself had traced, and believed, from the manner in which it had come into her possession, that she would never have parted with it, conviction forced itself upon him and his only relief was tears.
Then sprung up her light form before him, then crowded thick upon his memory associations of former days, and he saw her only in those moments in which she had been kind to him, or else when touching her guitar, with so much feeling and tenderness in her countenance, so muchnaivetéin her manner, that all those graces which give power to females, seemed to settle upon her without any effort of her own. And when these recollections swept over his mind, and then, when her present situation with all its startling horrors followed on, his heart grew deadly sick, and nature seemed almost to yield to the struggle. It was like the whirlwind which lasts for a moment, but during that moment, threatens to annihilate every thing which opposes its progress. So was it with Rolfe, the storm of passion and grief had vented itself, threatening for a time to unthrone reason, yet it had passed, and he now remained comparatively calm and unmoved, and was again capable of action. To an uninterested spectator this scene would have afforded some amusement. For Earthquake could not exactly comprehend the cause of Rolfe's grief, yet sympathized so deeply, that when he beheld the struggles of his friend, and saw tears burst forth; involuntarily they rushed from his own eyes like a spring flood. A few moments and they ceased to flow; yet another struggle from Rolfe, a flow of feeling, and Earthquake's floodgates were again opened.
“Come, Rolfe,” said he, blubbering, “no more of this, let us be moving, for my eyes leak like a cracked gourd, but the way I'll pay some of 'em for this, will be a caution for the future.”
“Where do you propose going, Earth?”
“Any where you please.”
“Shall we return to the camp, and follow on after the maiden?”
“No, I think we can fall on some better plan.”
“Then give it to us.”
“The only hope I see,” said Earth, “of finding the maiden, is to go up the Wabash, and learn where the gathering is, of which the Prophet spoke. The party he said were probably going there, and I think so too. If we can hear any thing of them, we will get some help and rescue her. This is the best plan that I know of, and if you say so, we will go along at once.”
“Thank you, Earth,” said Rolfe, “I will trust every thing to you, you know best what to do. But think you they will kill her?”
“No,” answered Earth, “if they intended to kill her, why didn't they do it at the river? it would have saved them a good deal of trouble. No, they will give her to some old squaw, who will perhaps take her in the place of a child she has lost.”
“Then, Earth, let's go, for I am almost dead to know something more about her.”
“Agreed,” said he, “but I think you are scaring yourself before you are hurt. I don't believe it's the same gal you think it is. But it makes no difference, Rolfe, who she is, if we can help her, we ought to do it; and I am determined to go on.”
“Earth, the more I think of it, the more sure am I, that she is the same, for in no other way can I account for finding my handkerchief.”
“Well, now there are forty ways in which I can account for it,” said Earth, “she might have lost it, or some other gal might have stole it, or some servant might have wiped it up, or she might have give it away, or,”—
“Stop, Earth,” said Rolfe, shaking his head sorrowfully, “I don't believe she would have done that.”
“Then come along,” replied Earth, “we shall see,” and a few moments after they were already on their march, bending their course North-east.
The following morning the air was mild and soft, and the sun shining out, sparkled in the dew drops. The hunters felt its cheering influence; their spirits became buoyant as the dewy grass which rebounded from beneath their footsteps, and they continued their journey amusing themselves with border stories. They had not ceased to feel for the maiden, nor were they at all unmindful of the errand upon which they were going, but, as it often happens, the mind, when long and painfully depressed, breaks through the thraldom which confines it, and assumes suddenly a degree of cheerfulness sometimes mistaken for levity, and which, when contrasted with its previous melancholy, seems an enigma in its character. I do not know that this idea is clearly expressed, nor do I know how to account for the fact, yet often have I seen persons suffering under intense grief, without any apparent cause become wild with joy.
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “we might just as well laugh as cry; 'twill do as much good.”
“That is very true, Earth, but at what shall we laugh?”
“Oh! I don't know; you spin us a yarn.”
“No! Earth, you are the man for yarns; give us one of your hunting stories.”
“A 'coon hunt?”
“Yes.”
“No, I won't give you a 'coon hunt. I'll give you a bear fight.”
“Well, give us a bear fight.”
“I know so many, I hardly know which one to tell. Did I ever tell you how near a panther was using me up.”
“No, give us that.”
“Then you shall hear it. It happened while I was living down by the big swamp. I was sitting in my cabin one night alone, thinking of a heap of things, and not thinking of much neither, when a notion struck me, that I should like some 'possum and hominy for supper. Well, I wa'nt hungry much, but the coals,—they were these large oak coals, you know; they looked so hot and clean that I thought it was a pity to let them burn out, as they were so nice for roasting. So I gits up. Says I, if there's a 'possum in these capes I'll have him, and calling along my old bitch Jupiter, I started out.”
“But,” said Rolfe, “Jupiter is of the masculine gender.”
“Do what!” said Earth.
“Jupiter,” said Rolfe, “must be the name of a dog, and not of a bitch.”
“Well, now I wan't speaking as to that; but if I don't know the name of my dog, who does? I tell you she was named Jupiter, and if you dont want to hear the story, I'll drop it.”
“Oh! by no means, Earth, go on.”
“Well, as I was saying, I called up old Jupiter and started;—the thing seemed to know directly I got out, what it was I wanted, for the way that she began to poke her nose in among the bushes was to the 'possum family quite curious. You see I had left my gun and took 'long with me an axe, and old Jupe seeing that, would no more have noticed a bear or a deer, than she would have done a horse. Well, I had'nt been out long before she opened. The trail was right warm, and she streaked it: I could'nt see her, but she fairly whistled as she came by me, and the first thing I know'd, she treed, from a mile and a half to two miles off. I started to go to her, but I soon found out from the vig'rous manner in which she barked, that it was no 'possum, but an old 'coon; and as old Jupe was never known to leave a tree, I concluded to go back.”
“Well,” said Rolfe, laughing; “that is the way the panther used you up, is it?”
“Now, Rolfe, that's no way to interrupt a man; if you want to hear the story, you must let me tell it in my own way.”
“I beg pardon, Earth, I did not at the moment recollect, that a hunter must tell all the particulars of a story, or he will tell none of them.”
“Well, that is a fact; if there are three or four out after a bear, and they kill him, when they get around a fire, they must all tell how it happened; each in his own way.”
“Well, as I was saying, I concluded to go back, and started off. It was some distance to my cabin, and after getting on a piece, the night was so very moony and pleasant, that I thought I had just as well sleep out; and, upon looking around, I discovered a piece of oak bark, about seven or eight feet long, which came off a large tree, and which, if shut up at each end, would make something like a trough, and, if turned oven, would make a safe cover, so I wheeled it over and crawled under.”
“Why did you take such precaution?”
“Because the panthers were mighty bad, and if you were out by yourself, and did not have a fire, they would crawl over you to a certainty. Did I never tell you how one lit upon me while I was stooping down drinking out of my spring. You know where my spring is?”
“Yes, I know where your spring is; but go on with your first story.”
“Oh, yes; where did I leave off? Old Jupe had treed”——
“No, you told that,” said Rolfe, “you had just crawled under a trough.”
“Ah! I recollect; but, Rolfe, I wish you would'nt call it a trough, for I told you plainly that it was a piece of bark,—oak bark too,—seven or eight feet long;—came off a right smart tree.”
“I am all attention, Earth.”
“Well, I had crawled under,—every thing was very quiet,—there was no noise, except every now and then Old Jupe would give a short yelp, as if she was tired waiting; and I had fallen into a sort of doze, when I was waked up by something scratching at the bark; my waking up made some noise, and it went off a little distance, and then I could hear a low restless whine, and hear it moving its tail. I knew by the noise, 'twas a panther. Said I, there will be tough work to night, and just as I said so to myself, the thing lit all in a heap, right over my breast, on the bark; the bark creened up a little, but I soon gathered it down and gave a whoop; the panther squalled, and cut dirt, and which was the worst scared, I never knowed. Well, I hugged the bark down agin, and thought all was quiet, and was getting into another doze, when what should I hear, but that same low whine, and with the whine came the panther, right upon the top of the bark agin. I pulled it down, and whooped like thunder, and the panther went off a little way, and screamed. I heard another one answer it, and, shortly after, I could hear them both walking round me. I now whooped agin and agin, and made a big noise; but they did'nt mind me, and if they did, it was only for a few moments; and then they would come back and scratch around the bark. All I could do was to keep them from turning it over, and hard work it was. I never slept a wink more that night; but worked hard until day, when they went away, and I got out;—and wa'nt I mad? Yes, I was swelled up like one of these high land moccasins. I do believe I could have poisoned any thing by biting it. Old Jupe was still at the tree, and I made right for her; and did'nt I make that old 'coon pay for all I suffered that night.”
“Well, now, Rolfe, give us a story, you have heard mine.”
“Thank you, Earth, I can't tell stories; but I would have let that 'coon off.”
Thus whiling away their time, they journeyed along through a country as beautiful and wild as boundless forests and extensive prairies could make it, and to all appearance untenanted, save by deer and buffalo, together with the hungry howling tenants of the waste. Avoiding the high bluffs and rivers, where the Indian villages were most likely to be situated, they travelled through the wildest portion of the country, and continued their journey in safety, governing their direction by the sun when it shone, and at other times by the moss, which indicated to them the north, as plainly as it could have been marked out by the magnet.
For subsistence, they had many wild fruits, and choice of all the game the country afforded. Herds of deer and buffalo, would browze along before them, seemingly fearless of the hunters, in the universal stillness of the scene around them. Yet when the sharp crack of the rifle was heard, and some selected victim fell prostrate to the earth, the remainder, both deer and buffalo, looking about them, and snorting wildly, bounded forward until they were lost to the view. Game was so abundant, that they rarely shot it, except at meal times, when a hasty fire was kindled, and a repast served up from the yet reeking carcass.
In a march through a country so wild and unsettled, there must have occurred many incidents sufficiently striking to impart an interest to our narrative; the sleeping out, night after night, in an enemy's country, surrounded only by wild beasts, or the still wilder savages; their long journey, and the loneliness of their situation, all conspired to create sensations, which are never felt under other circumstances.
On an evening, after a long day's march, the hunters selected a spot, whereon to pass the night, and while Earthquake prepared a fire, Rolfe was sent out to get a supper from a few buffalo which were seen feeding at no great distance. Moving along cautiously, he was enabled to approach sufficiently near, and having selected as his victim one which was separated from the herd, he fired; the ball entered, yet the animal seemed to regard it not, and Rolfe proceeded to load again. But no sooner, in order to do so, did he stand out from the tree behind which he was concealed, than the buffalo made at him; for security, he again retreated behind it, and the bark flew off, as the enraged animal dashing by, grazed its side. Turning as quickly as possible, it again bounded towards him, and for some minutes, the struggle was kept up with the most determined spirit, Rolfe only saving himself from destruction by means of the tree. The animal, after many fruitless attempts, became tired, and Rolfe seizing the opportunity, retreated to some distance, from which, still within rifle shot, he kept up a regular fire. The buffalo received it with great sullenness, only twitching his muscles as the balls plumped him, or else shaking them from his matted forehead, as he would have done a buzzing fly.
Earthquake attracted by the constant firing, had set out in search of Rolfe, whom he found posted at a safe distance from the buffalo, and each eyeing the other, with the most marked ferocity. He had shot until he began to think his rifle had lost all virtue; and upon Earth's coming up, detailed to him the narrow escape he had made, and also his inability to bring him down.
“I am surprised at you,” said Earth, “you have thrown away balls enough to kill half a dozen Ingens, and I had much rather go without any supper, than that you should have made so great a waste.”
“Waste or not,” said Rolfe, “I have never had a harder battle than I have had with that buffalo, and if it takes every ball I have, I will not leave here until he drops.”
“Then pass me your rifle, for I am tired waiting, and if we have not a steak soon broiling on the coals, from any part of him that you please, my name is not Earthquake.”
Rolfe did as desired, and Earthquake, having thrown up the rifle, before its report was heard, the buffalo had sunk upon the ground, and already lay quivering in the agonies of death.
“Earth, where did you shoot him?”
“In the heart, to be sure.”
“Well, if in the buffalo, that lies in the same place that it does in other animals, I have shot into it half a dozen times.”
“Ah! there is where you have missed it, the heart of a buffalo lies at least six inches lower than it does in any other animal;—you should have shot it just under the fore legs. Now mind this, Rolfe, and it will save you many a ball, which you can stick into an Ingen to much greater advantage.”
Having stripped up the hide, and cut therefrom as much as they wanted; they repaired to their fire, where they supped, and slept away the night.
“Why art thou thus in beauty cast,O lonely, loneliest flower!When the sound of song hath never passed,From human hearth or bower?I pity thee for thy wasted bloom,For thy glory's fleeting hour,For the desert place, thy living tomb,O lonely, loneliest flower!”MRS. HEMANS.
“Why art thou thus in beauty cast,O lonely, loneliest flower!When the sound of song hath never passed,From human hearth or bower?I pity thee for thy wasted bloom,For thy glory's fleeting hour,For the desert place, thy living tomb,O lonely, loneliest flower!”MRS. HEMANS.
Nearly a month had passed away, and the hunters might be seen on the lands of the Wabash, where they searched every avenue for information, which promised the least hope. Telling their story to the border settlers, they readily obtained assistance, and ranged the country for miles in every direction, yet nothing could they learn tending either to allay their fears, or remove their suspicions. The greatest excitement prevailed in consequence of several murders having been committed a short time before, by either party, and nothing was heard but threats of vengeance. To quiet this disturbance, and keep the Indians from breaking out, Tecumseh had been sent, and in accordance with that deep policy which enabled him so long to conceal his intentions, he had succeeded in persuading them to accompany him, and had gone, no one knew whither. With the departure of this party, went from the hunters all hope of finding the maiden. They would have gone to the residence of the Prophet, which was still higher up on the Wabash, but they had left him encamped with a roving band afar off in the prairies; and thither he in his wisdom had gone, to avoid the storm of excitement raging immediately on the frontier, which he himself had raised, and which, by means of his brother, he was now endeavouring to quell.
The hunters possessing now no clue whatever by which they could hope to find the maiden; and the unsettled state of the frontier rendering it dangerous as well as unpleasant to remain longer where they were, determined to return at once to Kentucky. The suspicion of Rolfe, that the lost maiden was she whom he had known in former days; and she whom alone he had ever loved, preyed upon his mind, until, what was before doubt, now almost became certainty. Earth did all in his power to cheer him, but his exertions produced scarcely any effect; worn with fatigue, and disappointed in the hope which had so long sustained him, that of finding her he loved, he became gloomy, and spent his time, brooding over visions of the past. This state of mind brought on a burning fever, and Earth, with a hope of recruiting him, rested on the bank of a streamlet which murmuring along, wound its way through the forest, and finally contributed its quota to the waters of the Wabash.
The intense anguish which Rolfe suffered, added to the fever, produced delirium, and while labouring under its effects, he gave vent to the smothered feelings of his bosom. Earth watched over him, not with the care of a friend, but with affection deep as that of a mother, bathed his heated temples, supplied all his wants, and still held out the hope of recovering her, who was the cause of all his sufferings. It was the second day, and Earth was still watching over his friend, when, approaching him from the direction in which his own journey lay, walked with hurried steps, one whose garb proclaimed him a border settler. He approached the hunters, and after the first civilities were over, addressing himself to Earth, said, in an audible whisper, “I've got him,” and turning, as he said so, peeped over his shoulder.
“Who?” said Earth.
“An Ingen,” was the brief reply, in a still lower whisper, and he looked back again.
“What do you keep looking back for,” said Earth, “afraid of a dead Ingen?”—
“No,” whispered the stranger, “I'm in a hurry, good morning;” and he hurried away.
“There, Earth,” said Rolfe, who had been roused by his presence, “you see the cause of the hostilities of the Indians; that fellow, most probably without the least cause, has shot one whom he caught out hunting.”
“Then, there's a devil less;” said Earth, “But I don't believe I would have cared much if the Ingen had killed him, for he is good for nothing; you see he is scared now.”
Soothing Rolfe, Earth gradually drew him into conversation, and finding that his fever was leaving him, obtained his consent to recommence their journey on the following day. Making short stages, his health began to improve, and they wound their way along the banks of the rivulet on which they had rested. The close of evening found them at a point, where the lands sinking, became flat, and the little stream, unconfined by its banks, spread over their surface, and lingering, coursed slowly away in many rills, which parted but to meet again at a place not far remote. The marshy ground over which the hunters would have to travel in pursuing the direct line of their journey, was, with Rolfe, as he was just recovering, an objection to proceeding farther; and he proposed to Earth to stay where they were until morning should enable them to compass the difficulty. Earth readily consented, and selecting a dry and agreeable spot, they seated themselves, and after a few moments, unloosing his wallet, he emptied out the remains of his breakfast, which served them for supper.
Night had advanced an hour or two, and the hunters were still awake, when a flickering flame shooting up, threw abroad its glare, and often changed its position. It was soon observed, and at once gave rise to excitement and to speculation.
“What can it be,” said Earth, “is it a spirit?”
He had scarcely spoken when another light began to dance in the air, then a third, and a fourth, flitting about, and changing position with the rapidity of thought.
“A four handed reel, by the powers above! Rolfe, Rolfe, it is all over,” and Earth, crouching upon the ground, sank overpowered with fear.
“What dost thou fear,” said Rolfe?
“Those spirits,” said Earth. “Hush, Rolfe; hush, or let us fly.”
“Nonsense,” said Rolfe, “they are merely ‘ignes fatui.’”
“Fat what, Rolfe?”
“Fat nothing;—they are what are termed grave lights, orjacks with their lanterns, produced in some measure by the decomposition of the dead animal matter.”
“No,” Rolfe, “it cannot be, see how they cross over, and leap up, and dart across, and then fly away;—they must be troubled spirits.”
“Earth, you are mistaken; I have seen them often before, and I assure you I have given the correct solution.”
“Now, Rolfe, tell me, is it true? You know I can face the living, but I cannot bear to meet the dead.”
“It is, I assure you. Have you never, while hunting, seen ajack-a-lantern?”
“Ajack-a-lantern!yes, often; although I don't even likethemmuch.”
“Well, these are the same.”
“Oh, no.”
“Indeed they are.”
“Well, now, Rolfe, if you have any respect for me, hereafter call things by their proper names; if you had said they werejack-a-lanterns, I would have known at once what they were; but you said something aboutknees fat, and I took it for granted at once that they were spirits; although I might have known, if I had thought, thatjack-a-lanternsweregreasy.”
Rolfe, amused at the idea of their being greasy, laughed outright, asking, “In the name of heaven, Earth, how did you find out they possessed that property?”
“Because I once caught one,” said Earth, “and laid it out upon an old stump, as cold as a wedge.”
Still more amused by this conceit, Rolfe replied, “you are the first man I ever heard of, Earth, who could catch one. Do tell us all about it, and rise up; I believe you are still frightened.”
“No, I am not now;” then rising up, he said, “Rolfe, give me your hand,” and Earthquake seizing it, drew it across his forehead. Rolfe again burst into a fit of laughter; for the perspiration stood in large cold drops.
Even Earth was now amused at the groundlessness of his fears, and together they proceeded to inspect more narrowly the moving lights.
“Suppose I put them out,” said Earth?
“Well, do,” said Rolfe.
“Then, hold my gun,” said Earth, and he passed it to him, and began to make preparation for stripping.
Rolfe was convulsed with laughter, and Earthquake had already taken off his hunting accoutrements, before he was able to inquire into the nature of the attack he proposed to make on them. Having at length found a tongue, “Earth,” said he, “do tell us how you mean to proceed.”
“I know two ways to catch 'em,” said Earth. “Now suppose you let me tell you how Ilaid outthat one we were talking about.”
“Do, I should like of all things to hear it.”
“Well, one night, in the early part of the spring before we met, I was going through a part of that green swamp you have heard me speak of, when Iseeda jack-a-lantern just ahead of me, dodging about in the swamp. So it turned out to be, but what sort of an animal it was, at that time I had not the least idea. Itrapesedon after it, wondering what it was, and expecting every minute to catch it, for pretty near a mile and a half, when I found myself just about as near it as when I started. 'Twas a thing that old Jupe was afraid of, for she kept gitting between my legs and tripping me up, until I was so mad that I took a stick and beat her up into a big lump.”
“Earth, what sort of a time had you?”
“Hush, Rolfe, I did'nt want to say any thing about that, for the meanest thing I ever did was to follow a jack-a-lantern through a cane-brake. You may guess what sort of a place it was, when I tell you I was obliged to give over hunting, and lay by for two days, to darn my breeches. It bothered me mightily; and I was sticking fast, up to my hips in mud, wondering what the devil it could be, when a notion struck me, that it must be a jack-a-lantern. All at once, I recollected how they used to tell me to ketch 'em; so I got out, and followed on a bit farther, and, thinking I should like to see what it was made of, I determined to put thethingout. Well, I stopped,—the jack-a-lantern kept dancing before me,—I took off my jacket,—the jack-a-lantern got scared, and looked sorry,—I turned the inside towards him,—he grew fainter,—I began to pull the sleeves through, and by the time the whole jacket was wrong side out, he settled down and went out upon an old stump. Well, now you may laugh, but it is every word true.”
Rolfe was scarcely able to speak:—“how do you know,” said he, “that it did not merely go out for a little time, and then fly away to another place as these are now doing.”
“What! that jack-a-lantern fly away,—the one that I put out;—I tell you, it has never troubled any body from that day to this; if it has, I don't know when a thing is dead.”
“What proof have you of it?”
“Why, I saw it the next morning,laid outas I told you before, as cold as a wedge.”
“Then, do tell us all about it, Earth.”
“Well, when the thing fell upon the stump, as I knowed it would, when I took off my jacket,—for turning a jacket wrong side out never fails to kill 'em,—I look my hatchet and marked the place, that I might find it the next morning. So, soon after breakfast, I walked down there, merely that I might satisfy myself; and I had hardly got to the stump, before I seed the jack-a-lantern lying upon it, as I said before, cold as a wedge.”
“How was it shaped,” said Rolfe, “and what was its appearance?”
“I don't exactly know how it was shaped,” said Earth, “but it looked all in a heap, as if you had emptied your two hands full of jelly upon the top of the stump.”
Rolfe had been convulsed with laughter throughout Earth's narrative, and now sunk down overpowered at the finale.
“Earth,” said he, “you are mistaken; what you saw was merely the gum which had exuded from the stump.”
“Gum!”—said Earth, with a contemptuous sneer, “you must think I am a damn——” then stopping, and looking in another direction, “look there, Rolfe,—look, look.”
He obeyed, and beheld a torch, borne by a human being.
“Can'st thou move?” said Earth.
“I can,” said Rolfe.
“Then nerve yourself for a contest, if necessary, and let us see who venture here at this hour of the night. Who knows but this may furnish some clue to the lost maiden.”
The above sentence infused strength into Rolfe; for it brought hope, and excitement, and but little time elapsed before he announced to his friend, that he was ready; and, moving forward, they began at once to reconnoitre the ground.
“There may be danger here,” said Rolfe, “we must be cautious, or we shall be offered as a sacrifice to the spirits of those who have been lately murdered.”
Then crouching down, they remained for some time silent, gazing at the light.
“It is borne by a woman,” said Earth; “an Ingen woman.”
“It is,” said Rolfe, “and she is alone.”
“I think so, for as yet I can see no one with her.”
“There may be,” said Earth, “but what can they have come for,—what can they be arter? Rolfe, I tell you what, I feel right ticklish.”
“Hush, Earth, the torch is approaching; let us conceal ourselves, that we may examine more closely.”
“Agreed.”
“See, she stoops, and searches;—what can it be for?”
“I know not. Let us approach, and obtain her history.”
And leaving their cover, they soon stood before an Indian woman, who, at the moment of their approach, was stooping down, and examining an indentation, apparently made by a human foot. Having scrutinized it for a time, she shook her head, gathered up her torch, and moved on.
“Come, speak to her, Earth,” said Rolfe, “and find out what she is after.”
Whereupon, addressing her in the language common among the Indians residing near the frontiers, and which was a compound of the languages of several tribes, Earth said: “Our mother seeks for something lost,—does she mark the steps of the pale face, to find out the path to his wigwam, or does she seek for a red man, whose blood is crying from the ground.”
At this speech she turned whence the voice came, and gazed on the hunters, without discovering the least emotion or even surprise, and seeing the mark of another foot-print, she approached, caused the light to fall on it, closely examined its proportions, and again moved on.
“The white man's heart is sorry,” said Earth, “he will help our mother.—Will she tell him for what she searches?”
Raising herself, and gazing for a moment on the speaker, she said, with a faultering voice, “I call, and he comes not; the vine has lost the tree which supported it.”
There was something so touching in her manner that even Earthquake was affected, and turning to Rolfe, he interpreted her words.
“Earth, she is the mother of that Indian whom that fellow killed.”
“Yes,” said Earth, “I'll lay any thing she is;” and the only feeling of sorrow which ever crossed his breast for the death of an Indian, then passed over it. The hunters remained for some moments silent, not knowing what to do, while the old woman continued her sad yet holy purpose.
“Come, Earth,” said Rolfe, “speak to her again; speak gently, and try and make her tell you her story, for there is something about her which very much affects me.” And following on, Earth again sought to draw her into conversation.
“Has thy husband gone to the settlements, and returned not,” continued he, “or dost thou seek in a son, the hope of thy evening hours?”
“He is gone,” said the mother, “he is gone. The tree was just beginning to cast its shade, the fountain would soon have become a running stream; but, alas! it is now dry. He is gone, he is gone, I call, and he comes not.”
There was something beautiful and touching in the mother's grief, and there was something startling, yet thrilling in her occupation. Alone, and in the dark hour of night, searching the forest that she might again behold the face of the dead. Her affection was so pure and deep, that even the hunters felt awed by the holy feeling which influenced her, and forgetting their own situations, sank for a time into silence, overcome by the emotions of the moment. Never was there a scene more striking, never was there one better calculated to make an impression lasting as memory itself.
“Earth,” said Rolfe, “how often have I thought of a battle-field, the scene of glory and of triumphs. While the contest rages, and victory having hovered doubtful of the issue, at last perches on some favoured standard, Oh! what a moment of thrilling interest, of wild delight. Yet view the same field, the day after the battle, how sad the contrast! When the loud thunders of war have given place to deep silence; when the unburied dead still sleep upon the surface, and the helpless dying are seen writhing on the cold ground. So is it here; the border settler who caused the distress we see, was proud of his victory, and perhaps, at this moment, is telling its details; yet, think you, he could look upon the scene before us, and feel happy, in what he deems his hard won laurels?”
“I think not,” said Earth, “I have never seen a sadder sight.”
“And, yet,” said Rolfe, “it is to gaze on a scene like this, that we peril our lives, and our fortunes. I have never felt satisfied, Earth, of the justice of the war we have waged, and perhaps ere a month passes may wage again; and there are moments, when I cannot but think, Heaven will pay us off with a just retribution at last.”
“I know not how it will be,” said Earth, “when I am in open warfare with them, I am clean without conscience, and I haint got much no how, where an Ingen is. Rolfe, I'll tell you some of these days how they sarved me. But in old mad Anthony's time, that was long before you ever heard of an Ingen, we use to use 'em up till I was right sick and tired of the business; and then, when I was so very tired, I use to think it wrong. But what are the opinions of Heaven upon the subject, I don't know, for the Ingens have done some shocking deeds?”
“Nor do I,” said Rolfe, “but we were the aggressors, we have forced them into hostilities, and the time will come, I fear, when they will live only in story.”
“And do you seriously think, Rolfe, that Heaven will hold us accountable for merely killing Ingens?”
“Perhaps not us, Earth, but when we shall sleep with our fathers, and our little republic become the first power upon earth, their fate may then rise up in judgment against it.”
“How; what is to happen?” said Earth, then stopping abruptly, “hush,—hush,—what noise is that?” and the next moment there galloped by a gang of wolves, frightened from their anticipated prey by the torch of the Indian mother, and having fled but a short distance within the forest, their dismal howls broke upon the stillness of night.
“See,” said Rolfe, “those howling beasts have been feeding upon the dead, or else, perhaps, watching for the death of the dying; let us again seek the mother and aid her in her search; her son may yet live.”
“With all my heart,” said Earth, “for we cannot sleep while she continues it.”
“Earth, is it not strange, that, entertaining so much hatred for the whites, and knowing that if her son be dead, a white man must have killed him, she did not vent either abuses or curses upon us.”
“Yes, it is;—if she had, I should have felt less sorry than I do, and can only account for her conduct, by her whole soul being taken up with the object of her search.”
“Is she not unusually devoted for an Indian mother? I always thought their feelings were less ardent than ours.”
“That is a mistake;—the way they are brought up causes them to suppress their feelings, and to seem indifferent towards each other. Yet, there is no race under heaven who will suffer more privations for their children than will the Ingens.”
Thus conversing, they again sought the mother, sympathized with her, and assisted in the search; and Earth, drawing her into conversation, learned the following particulars of her history:—
She resided several miles within the forest, and was seeking a son, her only child, who, a day or two before, had left her wigwam in search of game. Circumstances had induced her to believe that he had been murdered by the whites, and to confirm or remove her suspicions was now her object. Owing to the deadly enmity which existed between the two races, she feared to venture far from her wigwam during the day, and had prosecuted her search chiefly at night. One entire night she had passed in this way, and she had now commenced the second in the same fruitless manner.
Earth, with a view of consoling her, said, “Mother, thy son may think the long knives seek his death; he is swift of foot as the deer on the prairie; the deer, to avoid the dogs, flies.”
“Stop,” said the mother, “tell me not he fled:—could I believe that he, in whom my blood flows, would flee from a pale face, I would seek him, but it would be, to bury my knife in his heart. Oloompa fled!” and she burst into a flood of tears;—“No, no, my son, thou didst not know how to flee. Thy blood lies clotted on this cold ground. Leave me, leave me,” she continued, “my son would rise from the dead, didst thou tell him he would flee from a pale face.”
Rolfe and Earthquake perceiving her distress, and appreciating her feelings, again endeavoured to soothe and console her.
“Earth,” said Rolfe, “talk to her; try, and persuade her to quit, she can do no good by remaining here.”
“I wish she would,” answered Earth, “for I am tired of it;” and again approaching her, he said, “Mother, thou hadst better give over thy search, and return to thy wigwam.”
“And wherefore shall I do that?” she replied; “Is it that my lodge shall tell of past joys no more to be enjoyed. Is it that I may listen to the voice of the lost, in every whispering breeze that passes? or is it to watch and see pass away the last tint from a drooping flower?”
“Thou hast spoken of a drooping flower, lives she still in thy wigwam, mother?”
“The sun gilds the morning and we are here,” said the mother, “evening comes, and we are gone.” And forgetting the question of Earth, she cried, “Oloompa!—Oloompa!—why wilt thou not answer me, my son?”
“Is the drooping flower thou spokest of a plant of the prairie,” said Earth, “or grew it far off on the lands of the white men?”
“It may have come from the clouds;” said the mother:—“I sat in my wigwam, and cried for Oloompa, a vision appeared, and a maiden remained.”
“And is she a pale face? mother, tell, we too seek the lost.”
“Yes; as pale as the moon-beams which sleep on the snow.”
“And lives she still?”
“The sun gilds the morning, and we are here,” said the mother, “evening comes, and we are gone.”
Earth, turning to Rolfe, quickly communicated the information obtained, and a vague impression was made on the minds of both that the maiden alluded to was she whom they sought. Rolfe was all anxiety, and repeated question after question in rapid succession for Earth to ask the mother, but he himself was now deeply interested, and addressing himself to her, continued; “Mother, if thou knowest any thing of the maiden, tell us, and make our hearts glad. She is dear to us; we seek to protect her. She had friends, they were many, they were happy, but the red men came among them, and she alone is left. Make glad our aching hearts, and accept our blessings.”
“And what shall I tell thee?” said the mother. Then forgetting the hunters, again she cried, “Oloompa! Oloompa! Oh! answer thy mother,” and she continued searching the forest.
Rolfe was now excited to the highest degree, and continued begging Earth to elicit quickly some particulars which would either dispel or confirm their suspicions.
“Let me alone, Rolfe,” said Earth, “I'm doing all I can; don't be in sich a swivet; if the gal is there, we'll git her;” then turning to the mother, he said, “Remains the maiden thou didst mention in thy wigwam still? If she does, mother! wilt thou tell us her condition?”
“Hast thou seen a deer,” said the mother, “when after a long chase it escapes the dogs? It is fatigued,—it pants,—it lies down and sleeps,—so does the maiden.”
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “the old woman says the gal is there, and that she is tired and asleep.”
“Then, oh! Earth, ask her if she is very beautiful, if her hair is light, and if she is very timid,—come, quick!”
Earth put the questions desired, and the mother replied: “Hast thou gathered the loveliest flower which blossoms on the prairies,—cast it away, and a short time after seen it again? It is still beautiful, but withered,—the maiden reminds me of that. Knowest thou the golden colour of the sands on the Wabash? The same is the colour of the hair of the pale face. Hast thou caught a bird, and felt it tremble, and its little heart beat, when thy fingers pressed it? It is timid,—even so is the maiden.”
“Rolfe,” said Earth, “I have asked the old woman.”
“Oh! tell me what she says, Earth?”
“She says, the gal is like a flower, that her hair is like yaller sand, and that she trimbles like you were to squeeze a bird in your hand.”
“She is the same!” cried Rolfe.
Believing that he recognized her even in Earth's unpoetical description, tears of joy gushed from his eyes, and falling upon his knees, he poured out in fervent prayer, a thousand thanks to the God of heaven, for having so conducted his footsteps as to create a full hope of finding her who was the object of his search. Earth and the mother listened to it, as to the voice of inspiration. It was beautiful as an act of devotion, and, regarding the time and circumstances, nothing could be more impressive.
While Rolfe was speaking, Earth several times drew his sleeve across his eyes; but scarcely, however, had the last words of the prayer died away, and silence again resumed her reign, when a voice as if of anguish seemed to rise up from the ground. It was startling, and a feeling of horror thrilled through the frames of the hunters. But it touched a kindred chord in the ear of the Indian mother; and, moving forward, again she cried, “Oloompa!” and a voice answered, “Mother, art thou here?” Then burst forth a woman's shriek, and a shriek so loud, that the feeding beasts fled, galloping away,—owls flapped their wings, and hooted,—and the startling scream seemed to leap from tree to tree, as it entered the depths of the forest.—There was silence, and the Indian mother lay bending over the sinking frame of her son.
“Heard you that scream, Earth?”
“Do you see that Ingen, just behind you, Rolfe?”
“Where?” said Rolfe, starting, and at the same moment throwing up his gun, he looked about him.
“I don't see him now,” said Earth, “but I thought I saw one when that woman screamed.”
“You are mistaken, Earth, it was mere fancy.”
“Nancy who, Rolfe? I wish we were well clear of her; if I was, I'd bind myself to quit chawing tobacco; that is, except a piece of red streak, now and then, if ever she laid eyes on me agin:—I don't like her any how.”
The entire misconception of Rolfe's speech, by Earth, caused a smile, sad as the moment was; but he suppressed it, having no time for explanation.
“Come, Earth, we must assist the mother.”
“I don't wish to do it, Rolfe; for since she screamed, I have my doubts.”
“Then you must lay them aside, Earth, for you know the maiden whom we seek is at her lodge; moreover, humanity requires that we should render all assistance in our power.”
This remark brought Earth quickly to his duty, and approaching the mother, he began to make a light, and tenderly to inquire into the situation of her son. He proved to be an Indian youth, who had been shot down two days before, as was expected, by the border settler, and who with the constancy of a hero, had suffered until the present time, without either nourishment or assistance. The call of his mother, had for a moment aroused him; but the first flow of excitement having subsided, he again sunk into a stupor, and life seemed fast ebbing away.
The mother was still bending over her son, and moistening his cheeks with the tears of affection,—when, “Rolfe,” said Earth, “do you make a large fire, and assist her, while I run to the stream we left, and bring some water.” It was soon done, and Rolfe returned with his hunting cup filled, moistened the lips of the Indian boy, and gave him drink; and with it, came returning animation, and with returning animation, came hope; and with hope, came cheerfulness to the heart of the mother.
Raising the boy, they discovered that both legs had been shot through, and yet no murmur escaped him. Even Earth, touched by his fortitude, now became more gentle and attentive, and lent his assistance to make him comfortable. A few moments sufficed to determine, that the only hope of recovery lay in his being carried to his mother's lodge, where he might receive such attentions as were absolutely necessary. Although this proposition was made in a spirit of humanity, still the hunters had another inducement, namely, the desire of proceeding at once to the lodge of the mother, for the purpose of finding the maiden. It was agreed to, and Earth at once began to prepare a litter. Every moment now seemed to give renewed strength to the Indian boy, and he was soon able to converse a little. As Earth trimmed the sticks for the litter near the fire, the light fell on his features, and the boy observing this, asked, “Mother, is not that a pale face?”