“A hectic pleasure flushed her faded face;It fled, and deeper paleness took its place;Then a cold shudder thrilled her—and, at last,Her lip a smile of bitter sarcasm cast.”DRAKE.
“A hectic pleasure flushed her faded face;It fled, and deeper paleness took its place;Then a cold shudder thrilled her—and, at last,Her lip a smile of bitter sarcasm cast.”DRAKE.
A year and more had now passed, since the disaster on the Ohio, and the captive maiden had already gone through more adventures than fall to the lot of most heroines, or than even it is my intention to describe. And, with the lapse of time, came changes,—changes that we must all feel.—The girlish form which we last beheld indicated that time had added to it strength, and filled out its beautiful proportions, and the maiden was now as pretty as woman can be. Grief had left its traces, but even they were beautiful.
Reader, hast thou ever, in summer, watched a coming storm? Hast thou seen a cloud overcast the heavens, spreading abroad darkness and gloom?—The storm bursts,—the big drops come dancing to the earth, and the sky is cleared! How brightly then shines the sun! how the rain drops glitter in its beams! Beautiful as the rain drops are the traces of grief. Tears are to grief, what rain is to the parched earth. Oh! how beautiful are the remains of affection! Such were now the traces which time had left on the captive maiden. There are the cold and heartless, who, in the language of the world, would merely have said that she had broken,—how I hate the word in that sense,—and who would have thought her less beautiful than in girlhood she promised to be. With the world, it may be that she was. But to many, she would have been far dearer than in happier days; though less brilliant, there was something more touching in her melancholy,—something better calculated to sink deep into the heart, and call into play the finer feelings of our nature. The recollection of her family was now like a distant view, shadowy and undefined, and she rarely recurred to the sad evening of her misfortunes; but if she did, and would but for an instant dwell thereon, it was like applying the telescope to distant objects. The scene arose before her in all its startling horror, and she gave vent to her grief in a gush of tears.
But these scenes, as I have stated above, now occurred but rarely:—time had added its soothing power, and the captive now in her musings, began to turn her thoughts to still earlier days. The heart is more susceptible in misfortune, and loves then also to brood over moments which once were happy; probably because there is relief in indulging in anticipations or recollections which drive away heavier thoughts. So that now there were moments when she pondered over her heart's earliest joys, and dwelt with delight on the recollection of him who first, by his kind and gentle manner, won her affections, taught her to extract music from the gushing of fountains, and pleasure from the inspection of a flower, or the sight of a landscape.
This may not be intelligible to all my readers, for there are some persons who know nothing of the sympathies of the human heart. But is there one who has not felt his increased capability for enjoyment, when the heart is first warmed into life,—when the springs of affection first begin to flow. It is then that, stripped of sensuality, our thoughts seem purified. It is then, that even nature, seen through the first springings of pure affection, is lovelier than it is ever seen afterward, and we can then feel that we live. But delightful as those feelings are, like dew drops on flowers, they are beautiful, but last not;—no, an entrance into the world, is to them what frost is to the flowers. Yes, they wither and die, even while the functions of life are green on the tree. Feeling is to life, what malmsey is to wine. Yes, all that is beautiful and bright in life, dies while we are on the threshold. The loss of early feelings is beautifully described by Byron in the lines beginning
“There's not a joy the world can give,Like that it takes away,When the flow of early thought declinesIn feeling's dull decay.”
“There's not a joy the world can give,Like that it takes away,When the flow of early thought declinesIn feeling's dull decay.”
There is a sad truth in the lines here alluded to, which all who have read them, must have often felt.
Gentle reader, hast thou ever watched and wept over the loss of thy early feelings; hast thou seen them fast ebbing away, and felt thyself growing old, while thou wert yet young in years. I have, and like a mother over a dying child, like a lover over the sinking pulse of his mistress, I have watched and wept as they left me.
Reader, I have called thee gentle above, and I feel a sympathy for thee, though thou art unknown, for thou wilt see my wayward thoughts, and recollect that while tracing them, I held communion with thee. Yes, even at this moment, speculations float across my mind, as to the characters of the persons who may read them, and as to the impressions which my wayward fancies may produce. They may be glanced over, think I, by some early associate, and remind him perhaps of some long forgotten friend. But reader, whoever thou art, and whatever may be the cast of thy opinions, I sincerely hope, if thou wishest it, that the perusal of them may have the same effect upon thee, which the mere exertion of tracing them out has had upon me. It has served to rob life for a time of the tedium and weariness which often sits heavily upon me.
It would be tedious were we to trace minutely the movements of Netnokwa and her party, from the time that she left Rainy Lake, until her arrival among her own tribe—suffice it, that they all encountered more dangers and difficulties than belong to ordinary adventures, and after a long and toilsome journey arrived there safe. A longer acquaintance with the captive maiden only served to increase their affections, and they now strictly regarded her as a member of their family. No act of kindness on their part was wanting, and so devoted was Miskwa in her attentions, that she won the heart of the captive, whom she also cheered by giving a promise both for herself and mother, that as soon as the dread influence which the Prophet exercised over the tribes, should in some measure subside, or any other circumstance render it practicable, that they would restore her to the settlements. This promise rendered her cheerful at moments, and caused her to entertain for Miskwa the kindest possible feelings, nor was she otherwise than fond of Netnokwa; but Miskwa was of her own age, and though of a different complexion, still in her she found a kindred spirit. Thrown constantly in her company, they soon became inseparable companions, divided all their duties, and enjoyed together all their little amusements; and such was the power of culture and of mind, that Miskwa insensibly adopted many of the habits of the captive, and satisfied that in doing so she was improved, even attempted to learn her language. But grateful as was the captive, her heart was sad, her sources of amusement were only transient gleams of joy, flitting by like fleeting clouds—her thoughts were afar off—and when she recollected that it was the Prophet's influence which detained her from that land which she so much wished again to see—she began to inquire who he was, and what were his doctrines. The information received, only served to convince her of the futility of his pretensions; and when she heard a list of the victims which his doctrine of witchcraft had consigned to the stake, she no longer hesitated, but spoke of him as a bad man, and endeavoured to convince Netnokwa and Miskwa, that he was not even entitled to their good opinion. She spoke of the Great Spirit as the author of all goodness and mercy; it was the light in which Miskwa and her mother regarded him, and then asked them how, thinking as they did of him, they could believe that he would authorize the acts of the Prophet. Many conversations on this subject had taken place, and though always urged by the captive with the utmost timidity, and though Netnokwa and her daughter at first shrunk from them as from something fearful, yet their frequency, and the confident manner in which the captive, the more she spoke of it, now asserted, that his assumed character was a mere delusion, tended at least to familiarize them with the subject, and also caused the first dawnings of doubt.
It was a lovely evening, when two maidens were seen standing near the door of a neat little cottage situated on the banks of one of those many nameless tributaries which add their quota to the upper Red river. Many wild vines crept over and around it, and the sweetest flowers of the prairie and forest, tastefully arranged, bloomed in the richest luxuriance. It was not like an Indian wigwam, for taste, and refinement and cultivation, seemed blended in every thing therewith connected; and the wonder was, that so beautiful a spot, could be found so far from the white settlements, and embosomed in so vast and trackless a wilderness. Many hundred miles would scarcely have brought its inmates to the farthest advanced posts of civilization, and yet at that distance they now dwelt, and formed and fashioned for amusement their little Paradise with its garden of Eden which they themselves had created. One would have wondered and admired; and it was woman's delicate hands which had wrought it all.
Hast thou never observed that an accomplished and virtuous female seems, by her mere presence, to impart a charm to every thing around her, and add a beauty to every thing she touches. I mean not however to include the dispensers of fashion, or the mere creatures of art, for accomplished as they may be, there is always a frivolity of manner about them, which places them lower in the scale of excellence, and tends in a great measure to destroy their power; but I mean woman, lovely, beautiful and fascinating as she is, when her time is devoted to the improvement of her mind, and the cultivation of her heart. As pure in excellence as the snow in whiteness, was the captive maiden, for her intercourse with the world had never been sufficiently great to deform her either by fashion or by art, and the loss of her family had created in her breast no resentment against the authors of her misfortune, but had tended rather to soften her feelings towards the whole human race. This resulted partly from the destitute condition in which she found herself, and also from the resignation with which she submitted to the will of Providence.
As Miskwa, with the captive, stood before the door, the latter was gazing pensively in the direction of her far home, and as thoughts of the past rose before her, she sighed, and a shade of darker melancholy than was wont to rest upon her features, passed over her face. At that moment, Miskwa called her attention, and with a bow and quiver in her hand, proposed that they should walk. The sun's rays were mellowing the prospect, and the air was bland and mild. First turning to salute their flowers, they gathered some, and twining them into wreaths, decorated their brows. They then started on their walk, and Miskwa, with the mirth of a happy heart, ran bounding forward. As they continued it, thoughts which were sad passed from the mind of the captive maiden, and she too was apparently happy. They had proceeded in their rambles a mile or two, when their attention was suddenly aroused, by a stranger coming towards them. He was a son of the forest, yet there was something singular in his address, and peculiar in his manner. They knew not what to think, and as he approached, Miskwa bent her bow, and adjusted a keen pointed arrow. Yet he seemed not to notice it, but coming nearer, beckoned them to follow, and started off, leading the way to their own cabin. Miskwa spoke to him, but he refused to answer, and continued indicating to them signs that they must accompany him to their lodge. His eyes were cast upon the ground,—his countenance was grave in the extreme,—there was an air of mystery about him, and when he moved forward, Miskwa not being able to explain who or what he was, and feeling a vague fear, why or wherefore she knew not, spoke to her friend, and advised her to follow; and in silence they accompanied the stranger, who, to their great surprise, pursued the most direct path to their lodge. Having arrived there, he seemed not to regard Netnokwa, who was sitting just without the door, but uninvited, entered her lodge, and seating himself, began to smoke. Netnokwa at the same time, entering, made of him many inquiries; yet he paid not the least attention to her, but continued smoking.—Then calling in Miskwa and the maiden, they seated themselves to await his pleasure. None could divine the cause of his errand, and on account of it fear was felt by Netnokwa and her family. After a deep silence of half an hour, he stated that his name was Kenah, and that he had come with a message from the Shawanee Prophet. Then, after a few moments farther silence, he said:—“Henceforth, the fire must never be suffered to go out in your lodge. Summer and winter, day and night,—in the calm or in the storm,—you must remember that the life in your body, and the fire in your lodge, are the same, and of the same date. If you suffer your fire to be extinguished, at that moment your life will be at its end. You must not suffer a dog to live. The Prophet himself is coming to shake hands with you; but I have come before, that you may know what is the will of the Great Spirit, communicated to us by him; and to inform you that the preservation of your life for a single moment, depends on your entire obedience. From this time forward, we are neither to steal, to lie, or to go against our enemies. While we yield an entire obedience to these commands of the Great Spirit, the Sioux, even if they come to our country, will not be able to see us; we shall be protected and made happy.”1
1See note B.
When the speech was finished, the countenances of Miskwa and Netnokwa seemed troubled, and the captive, not being able to comprehend all he had said, asked Miskwa for an explanation. Kenah hearing this, and himself speaking English imperfectly, began in the same mysterious manner, to repeat to her what he had before said. To his surprise, his remarks, instead of inspiring her with the same dread which they had Netnokwa and her daughter, only served to excite her laughter, and turning to Miskwa, she began to ridicule his opinions, and then to ask Netnokwa if she thought the Great Spirit wanted her to kill her dogs, which aided in supplying them with food? and why he should care whether the fire went out in their lodge or not?
When Kenah saw this, clouds of anger passed over his brow, and he began to tell how many times the Great Spirit had visited the Prophet, and what he had ordered him to do for his red children. But as he talked of it, they became familiarized to his person, and a discussion of the subject only served to exhibit the folly and cruelty of his doctrines. The eyes of Netnokwa and her daughter had been before opened by the opinions of the captive, and the fear of which his words would but for that have inspired, was now with Miskwa, rather a subject of merriment, and she with the captive, began to persuade Netnokwa not to kill her dogs, nor to regard what Kenah had said.
Kenah, seeing that nothing could be effected, was filled with rage, and internally vowing vengeance against the captive, to whom mainly he attributed his want of success, and likewise against Miskwa, who seemed so much under her influence, he sank to sleep. Rising with the first light of day, he left the cottage before its inmates had risen, and proceeded on his journey, leaving them ignorant of his intentions. His behaviour and sudden disappearance, were for some days, with them a subject of wonder and conversation, but with the lapse of time they were forgotten, and with them even the remembrance of his visit was effaced from their minds.
“They love their land because it is their own,And scorn to give aught other reason why—A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none,Such are they nurtured, such they live and die.”HALLECK.
“They love their land because it is their own,And scorn to give aught other reason why—A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none,Such are they nurtured, such they live and die.”HALLECK.
Rolfe and Earthquake, whom we left journeying homeward, proceeded on, according to the resolution they had formed, far into the settled portions of Indiana Territory, intending to communicate at once to the Governor the disaster which had occurred on the Ohio, and obtain his influence in having the murderers brought to justice and recovering, if possible, the maiden who was still a prisoner. Upon telling their story to many persons, they found that the Indians were generally believed to entertain hostile designs against the United States, that the chiefs had refused to exert any authority, in surrendering up murderers to justice, and that many aggressions had been committed by them; the consequence of all which was, that the governor of the territory was arming the militia, and its citizens were clamorous for offensive operations. They regarded the Prophet as the author of all their present difficulties, as well as of the threatened ruin which seemed to impend over them, and had united in petitions to the Executive, praying for the dispersion of the Prophet's band. His head quarters were now established at Tippecanoe, and his camp was considered a place of rendezvous, from which lawless parties would set out, commit depredations on the settlements and again return to it for concealment.
This state of things convinced Rolfe and Earth, that, as they did not even know where the prisoner was, no good could result from their application, and both entertaining doubts as to the identity of her they sought, they resolved to return to Kentucky, change their mode of life, and carve out their fortunes, by mingling with men. This resolution was carried into effect, and Rolfe soon after arriving at home, proclaimed his willingness to attend to all business which should be committed to him as an attorney, obtained an office, and in a few months was justly entitled to the appellation of a hard student.
One among the first things, however, which he did after his arrival, was to write to a friend in Petersburgh, stating his suspicions relative to her he loved, and begging that, as far as lay in his power, he would either confirm or remove them. As the answer received is the best explanation we can give, we shall here insert it.
“Truly glad am I, my dear Richard, to see that you once more recognize me as your friend. For such I have ever been, as many others are, and your taking up a different impression was not owing to me, or to their conduct, but to your own over sensitiveness. However, let us remember only the brightest spots in the past, and ‘look forward with hopes for the morrow.’ But I am saying nothing of that which most interests you. The bare suspicion is horrible; it cannot be true;—there could have been no motive whatever for his emigrating—but as from the tone of your letter I should judge that you had heard nothing from this place since you left, I will state to you such changes as have occurred. Your departure was unexpected to many, and I mean not to compliment you, when I say that no one could have left, whose absence would have been more deeply regretted by his friends. I did not see her for several weeks after your departure, and then her countenance bore delicate traces of grief; they would not have been perceptible to a stranger, but to me, who had known her long, they were plainly legible. She was calm, and I ventured to inquire if she had heard from you; her eyes filled with tears, she was silent, and after a moment changed the conversation. Her father has been very much censured for his opposition by the few to whom the circumstances are known.
“I think about six months elapsed, when he began to speculate largely, and soon after that time removed with his family to Baltimore, that he might have a wider theatre for action; and I suppose you will pardon the rhapsody, when I say that with his removal, went the brightest star which ever shed its influence over our goodly town. But, by the by, as you are a lover that is not pretty enough. As a friend of mine would say, every thing was quite opaque when she left us,—or, as I with more gallantry would say, for we have still many bright constellations of beauty, her departure was like the gloom which follows the bursting of the rocket.
“Now let me say, I think I can remove your fears, for these pretty things are called up by my having seen her some three months since in Baltimore. I was at her house, she was cheerful, and not a member of her family spoke of moving; so, my dear fellow, all your alarm was unnecessary farther than sympathy with a fellow creature had its claims. Come, quit hunting, and attend to your profession, and you may yet realize your early hopes. We lay in some of our goods in Baltimore, and I shall reserve to myself the pleasure of telling her in person, the wild fancy which entered your brain; it will serve to amuse, and yet she cannot fail deeply to appreciate your conduct.
“Now that we have began a correspondence, let me hope that you will continue it—and do, if you please, tell me more of your friend Earthquake, for he is perfectly an original, and although at first, his name prejudiced me against him, yet I think I could love such a man.
“Believe me, ever yours.”
The above letter served to remove all Rolfe's suspicions, and made him happy; since besides destroying the many painful apprehensions in which he had indulged relative to her he loved, it also served to convince him that he was still esteemed by his friends, and added a fresh impulse to the resolution he had formed to devote his time entirely to his profession. Seeking his friend Earthquake, he lost no time in communicating to him the happy tidings. He was almost as much delighted at them as Rolfe himself, and urging him to prosecute the resolution he had formed, he stated, that he was tired of the woods, and intended to run for the office of sheriff, which was to be filled in a neighbouring county at their next court. Rolfe suggested to him that he did not think he was sufficiently well acquainted with accounts. Earth admitted that he was not as smart at figures as some people he had seen, but said he knew as much as Bob Black, who was the only candidate he had heard spoken of, and added, “Rolfe, if I don't know how to make out a big account agin a poor fellow, why it don't matter much; and if one is able to pay, and wont, why 'taint worth while to be so particular, I will lick him until he settles up, so I think I can make the eends meet.”
“Very well then,” said Rolfe, “take a chance, and, if elected, try and qualify yourself for the office.”
“Well, now,” said Earth, “you have hit the nail right on the head, for that is just what I mean to do, and if I don't hull out Bob Black, I'm a heap worse than I look for.”
Time wore on:—court day arrived, and Bob Black and Earthquake were the only candidates. Near a large square log building, called the court-house, and which had been built for that purpose, until a better one could supply its place, a crowd had gathered, and appearances indicated that no very ordinary event was about to occur; for the multitude swaggered about with an important air, and each one felt larger than on ordinary occasions. Moreover, they seemed excited, not by artificial stimulus, but by the importance of some coming event. That the hour which custom had set apart as the time when they should begin to drink had not arrived, if you are a shrewd observer, you would have seen at a glance; for many of the crowd would change a heavy quid from the left to the right side, and cocking up their eyes at the sun, gaze for a moment to see the hour, then shake their heads and cast them down as if disappointed; and then, if you had been present, you would have heard inquiries of this sort:—“Who toats the silver time of day in his pocket?” and perhaps an answer to this effect:—“Lawyer Rolfe; he's a gentleman all over, and a nation fine man.” Then if you would keep a sharp look out, you might have seen several pressing forward towards Rolfe, who stood in earnest conversation just before a small tippling shop, and to the remark, “you toat the silver time of day, 'Squire, tell us the hour,” have heard Rolfe reply, “twelve, by every good watch, for you know time flies faster on election than on other days;” and then turning to the barkeeper, say, “give us a gallon of your best.” At that call, the tobacco fell in large wads upon the ground, and a pleasing smile played over their countenances.
Yes, it was both an election and court day.—Rolfe was to make his first appearance at the Kentucky bar, and our old friend Earth was to run for the sheriffalty. The space which was marked out as the court-yard, was merely a clearing in the forest, from which the trees had been lately removed, and which still presented an unseemly appearance, from the many stumps which were yet left standing. In this place, the multitude had collected, and it was as marked in its aspect as the spot it occupied. There were present persons of all ages, of all sizes, and of all shapes; and they were clad in garments as dissimilar as themselves. They were habited in hunting shirts, or wrapped in blankets, or wore buckskin breeches, which fitted them tightly, and on their heads they had hats or caps of every shape, and in the latter were exhibited the skins of almost every animal indigenous to our country. Besides these I have particularized, there were also present many well dressed, foppishly dressed, and genteel looking men, who were in fact no better than those we have described, for all were frank, honest, and hospitable; and throughout this multitude were poking about, wherever an opening in the crowd would permit it, women and children, as dissimilar in appearance as the men we have already characterized, and from it, the noise of a thousand jarring voices broke upon the ear. On the outside of the court-yard, and in every direction, fastened to every tree or limb which would swing a bridle, was seen a mule, a jackass, or a horse. They were in every condition, from Don Quixote's Rosinante to that of an Englishman's best hunter. On some there were saddles and bridles. Others had no saddles, but meal bags or blankets were made to serve the same purpose, and with them grape vines or twisted hickory withes, were used as bridles. They amused themselves in various ways,—the mules and jackasses by braying,—most of the horses by whickering, whenever any stranger came up,—and the whole by kicking occasionally, with the exception of a few, to whom years had given great gravity of character, and they seemed to derive much enjoyment by scraping, with their teeth, the bark from the trees.
Of the men who were present, at least three-fourths brought rifles, and soon began to amuse themselves by shooting for what they significantly denominated a quart. The remainder, gathered in groups, were either talking politics or discussing the claims of the respective candidates, with the exception of those who were in the Court-House, the Court being in session.
So much for the general appearance. Now let us enter some of these groups, and see if we cannot make ourselves familiarly acquainted with at least one of the actors. A tree is blazed,—a small black spot, made with moistened powder, is seen in its centre, and at a distance of about fifty yards, a crowd, composed chiefly of hunters, with now and then a woman or a child, have already collected. The candidates for the sheriffalty are also among the number.
“What shall we shoot for?” asked a hunter, as stepping out he toed the mark.
“Why, a quart to be sure,” was the reply.
Then throwing up his piece, crack went his rifle, and the crowd running to the target, cried, “not so coarse,—he grazed the black.”
“Coarse as rough bricks,” said a hunter, “he'll pay for the quart.”
“Clear away for the candidates!” was now the cry. “Bob, step forward, and show your metal.” Bob did as desired, and blazed away. The crowd again ran forward, and cried, “hurrah! for Bob Black,—he is into the black, but upon the outer edge.”
“That's not so bad,” said Bob.
“Bad as green gourds,” said our old friend Earth, “if it was a varmunt, and you could only see his eye.—Clear the track, I'm coming, with my head and tail both up.” Then stepping forward, he took his position:—a moment more, and crack went his rifle. The crowd again ran forward, and cried,—“into the centre. Hurrah for Earth,—he's a caution, I tell you.”
“I knowed it,” said Earth, “she never lies if I point her straight;” then turning to his opponent, Bob Black, “don't you think you would make a beautiful sheriff,—can't shoot nearer than the outside of a black. Bob, I'd change my name if I couldn't always stick by it.”
At this moment, some one cried out, “'Squire Rolfe is going to speak in the Court-House,” and away they hastened, to hear his maiden speech. The Court-House, as before stated, was merely an unfloored log building. Upon a plank, a little elevated, and placed against the side fronting the door, the magistrates were sitting; and just before them, seated on a bench, were ranged the lawyers. Rolfe was to make his maiden speech. He had been employed by a man who was very badly beaten, to bring an action of assault and battery, with a hope of recovering damages enough to compensate him in some measure, for the injury inflicted.—This was the case now to be tried. The jury having been sworn, the witnesses examined, and all the other formalities gone through, Rolfe rose. “Now tear away,” said Earth, who was at his elbow, “as if you didn't care for nobody.”
Rolfe smiled at Earth's remark, and proceeded in a dignified and lucid manner to open his case, and bring forward to the notice of the jury, those points in the evidence which he thought would justly entitle his client to heavy damages, and upon which he intended to rest his claim. Having done so, in as brief a manner as practicable, and not seeing what possible ground his adversary could occupy, for the law and evidence were both against him, he was seated, and the opposing counsel, who was a genuine son of the west, and whom Rolfe had not before observed, rose in reply:
“Gentlemen of the Jury—The tremendous occasion which has called us together is one of the very darkest peril to my client.
“The poet has beautifully said, ‘loud roars the dreadful thunder.’ But, gentlemen, to be squeezed inside of a gaol, is not the thing that it is cracked up to be. The lightning's flash may blaze entirely athwart the heavens; but, gentlemen, to lie upon a dirt floor, and drink cold water, is an awful catastrophe. The poet has said, gentlemen, ‘all that glitters is not gold,’ and I ask you, if when this man came at my client like a roaring lion, and would have used him up in two minutes, if he was wrong just to take his eyes into his hands, and squeeze 'em for a short time. Gentlemen, I know there is not one of you so lost to feeling,—so lost to every thing that an honourable man owes himself,—but instead of letting them go, after squeezing them a short time, but would have put them into his breeches pocket, and have walked off, and let the fellow go about his business. Yes, gentlemen of the jury, I see it in you, there is not one of you but would have jumped upon him, and have galloped him around this Court-House a half a dozen times.—A good for nothing scoundrel, to pretend to come at my client in such a vig'rous manner. But, gentlemen of the jury, the poet has mighty prettily said, ‘the day of retribution is at hand,’—and, gentlemen, the counsel who is opposed to me, will try very hard to convince you that this is a sublime wound,—that my client ought to pay a tall, a very tall price for it; but the grapes are sour—they hang mighty high, I see it in your eyes. Gentlemen, you know all about the way in which a knife can be made to dig into one, when a man is in earnest.—Now, I ask you, if this is a sublime wound? Do you think my client was in earnest when he struck him? You all have seen it. It is not more than three inches long, and about two inches deep, and he has pretended to bring such a case as that into this Court-House. The time of the Court, gentlemen, ought not to be taken up with such trifling matters, and I beg your pardon for having detained you as long as I have. Gentlemen, I know your verdict,—I know what it will be,—I am satisfied;—I will close these few remarks, with a quotation—a very, very apt quotation to this case:—‘A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod.’—Yes, mark me, gentlemen:—
‘A wit's a feather, and a chief's a rod’
But—
‘An honest man's the noblest work of God.’”
It is needless to say any thing more about the case;—Rolfe could not contend with such an opponent, and was consequently beaten. His defeat, however, was more strongly characterized by Earth. The case having been decided, Earth left the Court-House, to electioneer with the crowd for the office he desired. Upon going out, some one who had not as yet heard the decision, cried out, “Well, Earth, how did the 'squire come out?”
“The fellow hulled him as clean as wheat,” said Earth, “he fairly tore the wool off; but Rolfe is a larning;—he did better the last time than he did the first. He don't rare and pitch enough;—I must talk to him, and I think I can make him come to it, artur a while.”
Earth having again entered the crowd, began to electioneer for the office he so much desired.—“Come, boys,” said he, addressing himself to all around him, including many whose locks were frosted over with age, “let's go and take a little, for I am as dry as a horse.” Away they went, and having drank, some one of the group was reminded of a good anecdote, which he told, and at which being in good humour, they all heartily laughed. When the merriment had somewhat subsided, “Come, Earth,” said an old hunter, “a sheriff ought always to be able to tell a good story, that he may amuse a fellow when he is making him shell out,—let us see what you can do in that way.”
“Time enough,” said Earth, “when I am elected; but at present, I must knock about, to see if I cannot pick up a vote or two.”
“The best way to pick up votes, Earth,” replied an acquaintance, “is to tell a good story.”
“Very well then, Jack,” said Earth, addressing the last speaker, “make a ring and give me fair play, and I will tell one, and whether it be good or bad, I leave you all to judge. It shall be the truth, that is, it shall be something which has happened to me at some time of my life, and if after telling it, you don't vote for me, if I don't lick you, I will agree never to take another 'coon hunt.”
“Then whack away,” said Jack.
“Well, well, well, well, once upon a time,” began Earth.
“And what happened then,” asked one of the group.
“Why, so many things have happened to me,” said Earth, “since I've been rooting about in these woods, that I hardly know what to tell, or which will interest most.”
“Then tell us of the time that you floated down the Ohio.”
“Well, well,” said Earth, bursting out in a loud laugh, “I will tell that, for I had almost clean forgot it; but I was in a predicament, wan't I?”
“Tell us the story and we shall then be able to judge,” said an old hunter, who, standing near, was leaning on his rifle; “do begin, Earth, and make no more preparation; you take as long to git under way as a man does who breaks a yoke of young steers, or greases a pair of cart wheels, before he sets out upon his journey.”
“Then I'm off, old man,” said Earth, “but I must take a running start, and begin agin.”
“Well, well, well, well—once upon a time I had taken my old bitch Jupiter, that you have often heard me tell of;—old Jupe was a nice thing,—I had taken her 'long, and gone off upon a bear hunt, had been absent two or three weeks, and had wandered very far from home. I was a venturesome lad in those days, and never better satisfied than when alone in the wild woods. I had worked my way down into the fork formed by the emptying of the Cumberland into the Ohio river, and I had worried the bears right badly. I had had rare sport. Old Jupe was in a good humour, and she and I was mighty loving, for she had fou't some fights which I never can forgit, and which made me love her like a new flint, and she loved me as if I was a bacon bone, for I had helped her out of some of her difficulties, when it would have been a gone case if I had'nt been present;—I say difficulties, for I never did see a dog so tired as she was. I do believe during some of these fights that I am now talking about, I saw the bears hug her, until they stretched her out into a long string. Yes, I have seen 'em squeeze her, until she wan't larger than my arm, and at least nine or ten feet long;—you might have wound her up into a ball, just as you would have done a hank of yarn,—”
“Then they must have killed her, Earth,” said one of the group.
“You know nothing about it,” said Earth, “don't interrupt me; but I am good for your vote;” then turning to the crowd, “ain't it so, gentlemen, don't he forfeit it for stopping me?”
“Certainly,” was the reply.—
“Then I have already made two votes,” said Earth.
All now cried, “go on Earth, go on with your story.”
“Well,” said Earth, “he stopped me something about the bears killing Jupe;—now old Jupe wan't of that breed of dogs at all, for when she was stretched out in a string, or even tangled up in a knot, I would shoot the bear, draw her off one side, throw a little cold water over her, leave her, and go to butchering. In an hour, and sometimes it would take longer, she would begin to come together like a jointed snake, and presently, she would fetch a yelp, and come streaking it to me, shaped as she ought to be, showing her teeth, and looking as fresh as if she was a new made dog. And then wan't she vig'rous? Yes, who says she wan't? You might have hung a cross-cut saw to a swinging limb, and she would have chawed upon it the balance of the day,—or have thrown her a bear's head, and she would'nt touch the meat, but draw all the teeth out merely for spite. But there was one thing I noticed about old Jupe,—whenever the bears stretched her out into a string, she always lost her appetite for the remainder of that day. Well, old Jupe and I were down there, and we had been doing pretty much what I have been telling you, when one day the bears spun her out rather longer than usual, and she got cut so badly, that we had to rest during the whole of the evening. I was sorry for old Jupe, but didn't care much about having to stop myself, for I was right tired and wanted rest, having seen hard times that week.
“The sun, I suppose, was about an hour high, and I was setting down under a big tree, nursing old Jupe, and trying to see if I could'nt set her upon her legs agin, when she raised up her nose, and snuffed the air,—then looked in my face and whined. As she did this, I saw the hair upon her back begin to rise. I knew that there was danger in the wind, and from what old Jupe had told me, I thought the red skins were about. The Ingens were not so rife then as they had been;—it was the fall before 'Squire Rolfe came out from the old state; but people had to keep a sharp look out, for they would come down upon the settlements once in a while, and they were mighty apt to carry off some body's hair with them.
“Well, as soon as old Jupe spoke to me, I looked about, and seed five coming right along in the direction in which I was. They were well loaded, and I knowed at once that they had been down upon the settlements, and were now making their way to the river, that they might cross over and get clear. Although I saw them, I knew they hadn't seen me; so I gathered up my things to start off, without thinking that old Jupe was so badly cut she could'nt follow. When I was ready, I looked at old Jupe,—she tried to get up, but could'nt,—my eyes felt watery, for I hated to leave her, and I had'nt a minute to spare. But old Jupe was a sensible dog; yes, as I said before, she was a nice thing, for without speaking a word, she poked her nose under the leaves, as much as to say, cover me over, and leave me. I did so, and gitting a tree between me and the Ingens, I streaked it. You ought to have seen me run, to know how fast a man ought to move when Ingens are after him. Well, arter streaking it awhile, I thought it would never do to go off that way, and know nothing about 'em, so I began to haul in my horns, and back a little. I got behind a tree, and kept a sharp look out:—presently I seed them all coming straight towards me; so I buckled off agin, and went for some distance, like a bear through a cane brake, and then stopped, and took a stand. I had'nt been there long, before I seed them coming agin. The reason why I saw them so often was, that I kept before them, knowing that they were making straight for the river. I watched them narrowly, looked at 'em with both eyes wide open, and saw they did'nt seem to have any notion of me, but were putting it down fast and heavy that they might git across. It was now getting dark, and I knew that under cover of the night, as they did not suspect any body was near 'em, I could keep close enough to watch them without their knowing it, and this I determined to do, thinking that by possibility something might happen, to pay me for my trouble. You all know I never spared an Ingen; no, there don't breathe one who can say I ever showed him any favour. Well, I kept on before 'em until I got down upon the river bank. It was then quite dark, and growing more so every minute; for a fog was rising from the surface of the water. I looked about to see if they had a boat there, thinking if they had one, I would take it, and let them git across as they could. I was searching longer than I thought for, and did'nt know how the time passed, for suddenly I heard them coming down to the river, at the very point where I was. I was now skeered, and looked about to see if I could get out of the way; but there was no place to hide, and it was too late to escape, either up or down the bank. I'm a gone case, thought I,—used up at last; but just at that moment, I saw a large log or tree, which had been lodged by some high freshet; for one end of it still rested on the bank, while the other extended out into the stream. Said I to myself, ‘I'll git upon this, for it is so dark that they can't see me, and I can then keep a bright look out upon their movements;’ so I stepped on it, and crawled along to the far end. I found that the log was floating, and getting as near the small end as I could, I straddled it, putting my legs in the water to steady me, and laid my rifle across my lap. ‘Oh! that it would but float off,’ said I, but it would'nt.
“Well, down to the water they all came, and stood in about fifteen or twenty feet of me. ‘It is all over now,’ thought I; ‘if discovered, I am used up as fine as salt;—if I ain't, there is no bad taste in a rough 'simmon.’ Well, there they stood in a good humour, laughing and talking, about I hardly know what, for I could'nt catch many of their words. At last, I heard one of 'em say, in Shawanee, ‘where is the canoe? It must be close by. Step upon the log and find it.’
“‘Hold my gun,’ answered one of 'em, and passing it to one of his friends, he stepped upon the log and began to walk right to where I was. Now did'nt I squat low, and feel mean? But hush; he had'nt got far before another must jump on, to help him find the boat. This last one had only walked a few steps, when the log slipped, and splash it came right in the river with the two Ingens. They both held on, though they got a little wet, and the first thing I knowed the log was going out into the stream with all three of us on it. It was slanting at first, and slipping, got pushed off. Those on shore set up a loud laugh, and they would'nt hear any thing until it was too late to give any help. But for those on the log, it was no joke; for they were already out in the stream, and going down it, with a smart current. They now hallooed manfully for help, and those on shore, seeing how it was, told them to hold on, and that they would find the boat and take them off. Well, I have often told you I had seen hard times, now wa'nt here apredicament?On a log with two Ingens, and floating along at night down the Ohio. Well, sure enough, there I was, and what did I think of? why, of every thing in this world; it raily made me feel right knotty, and what to do, I did'nt know. We had now floated two or three hundred yards, and I was sitting as I told you before straddled on the small end, and jest as silent as a deer listening for the dogs, thinking how the affair would terminate, when one of the Ingens who was still standing upon the log, stepped off upon one of the limbs to make room for his companion. His stepping caused the log to creen me in the water, and forgetting where I was, and what I was about, I cried, ‘stop! stop! you'll turn me over.’ ‘Oh hell!’ said I to myself, ‘it is all over now—clean gone this time.’ How the Ingens looked, I don't know, for it was so dark I could'nt see their faces, but they must have been worse skeered than I was, for I knew who they were, and they did'nt know who or what I was. They kept muttering something very fast, and I thought they were going to quit the log and streak it, but arter a few minutes they became silent, and began peeping towards where I was, like a couple of turkies looking for worms. And then one said, ‘dont you see something?’ ‘Yes,’ answered the other, ‘dark lump; bear perhaps;’ and then the one who first spoke, cried out ‘who's there?’ I did'nt answer, but I growed small so fast, trying to squeeze myself out of sight, that my skin hung as loose as if it was a big jacket. They kept peeping at me, and I heard one say, ‘It is no bear. It is a man, look at his head.’ When I heard him say so, I was so mad I wished my head was under the log, but then I thought if it was, I would'nt be any better off than I was then, so I straightened up; I knowed they had seen me, and I thought twa'nt worth while to play 'possum any longer. Well, when I straightened up, he cried out agin, ‘who's there,’ ‘I am here,’ said I, speaking in his own language. The moment I spoke, he laughed, and said to the other, ‘he is a pale face.’”
“How could he tell that, Earth,” inquired another of the group, “you say that it was dark, and a fog was rising.”
“I've got you, Jim,” said Earth, then pausing he began to count on his fingers, saying, “that is four, no, three; now don't forget it, Jim.”
“Go on, go on, Earth,” cried half a dozen voices.
“Well, the reason he knowed me so quick, was that he seed I did'nt speak the real Ingen. Arter he had told the other that I was a pale face, he turned to me, and said, ‘what you doing there?’ ‘sitting down straddle on the small eend,’ said I. When I said this, they burst out into a laugh; I myself was in no laughing humour, and it did'nt sound to me like a laugh, but like a sort of a chuckle, and one said to the other ‘he is a pale face, a lean dog, sleeping on a log, we did catch him good,’ and saying this, they put their hands to their mouth, and gave the war whoop. I tell you what, it was an awful sound, and then they told their companions on shore that a pale face was on the log with them, to get the boat and come quick. Those on shore answered them, and ran laughing down the river looking for the boat, and keeping along with the log. I now found that I must go at the old work, and my bristles began to rise.
“‘Come here,’ said one of 'em, beckoning to me. ‘Come quick, before the others come; I want your hair.’”
“What did he mean by that?” said one, who with the most fixed attention had been standing by eagerly devouring all that Earth had been telling.
“Why, he wanted to scalp me, but recollect, if you please, I have your vote too,” said Earth, again pausing an instant, “That is five, no, four. Well, when he called me to him to let him have my hair, I could'nt stand it any longer, but throwing up my rifle, blazed away; he jumped up like a buck, and fell splash in the water. My rifle made a mighty pretty noise, and I heard the report rolling away for miles up and down the river. As soon as I fired the Ingens on the bank also screamed the war whoop, and the fellow on the log cried out to 'em to bring his gun. I jumped up and crawled at him, he gathered up an old limb and stood his ground. The first thing I knowed, he come down upon me all in a heap, breaking the old limb into a dozen pieces over my head and shoulders; it was a good thing for me, that the limb wa'nt sound. His blow staggered me, but I soon rose up, and seizing my rifle with both hands brought him a side wipe with the barrel. As I did, he slipped off the log in the water, I then hit him another lick, and stooping quickly down, seized him by the head, as he tried to crawl up upon the log. I was now upon the log, and he in the water, so I had him at a disadvantage.
“Well, I kept bobbing his head under;—when I first did it, the bubbles came up just like you were filling a bottle with water; you know, after a bottle is full, it won't bubble; well, I kept bobbing his head under until he would'nt bubble, so I concluded he was full of water, and then let him go; he went down to the bottom, and I never seed him any more.
“All was now quiet, for both Ingens had sunk, and I was master of the log, but I had yet another struggle to make, for I heard the Ingens on shore push off their boat, and seed the waters splash as they darted towards me. It was too late to load, and then I could kill but one; that wouldn't do—no, the only hope was to hide; so I took out a string, and placing my rifle in the water, lashed it to the log, I then threw away my hat, and crawling as far as I could towards the small eend, eased myself gently down into the water, leaving nothing out but my head, and holding on with both hands by a small limb—another minute, and the canoe grated as it run up upon the log. The Ingens looked about and spoke to each other, but could see nothing, they then called their companions by name, but there was no answer. They were now very much distressed, and all got out upon the log, and began to walk about and examine it. When they came to the end where I was, I sunk altogether, and it being the small end of the log, it began to sink, and the Ingens soon went back. I then threw my head back, and put my mouth out that I might breathe, just as a crippled duck sometimes does its bill. I made no noise, it was dark, they could not see me, and all went well. I heard them say ‘they must have killed him,’ and then that ‘they are all gone;’ they seemed very much distressed, wondered much at the whole affair, and none could explain it. After about fifteen minutes, they again stepped into their boat and pushed off. I waited until I could hear nothing of them, then crawled up upon the log, and as I did not wish to run any farther risk, I sat there till day-break.
“The sun was just about to rise, when the log which I was on washed up against the bank not far from where the Ohio empties into the Mississippi. I caught hold of some bushes and pulling the log up along side of the bank, unloosed my rifle, and got out. I had been in the water so long that I was mighty weak, and I was shrivelled up, but as I began to stir about I felt better, and setting off I went back up the river to where I started upon the log. The first thing I seed upon getting back, was old Jupe sitting on the bank waiting for me, at the very spot where the log had slipped off. The thing wanted to lick me all over, she was so glad to see me. I was then right tired, so I started off home, and in about a week or two, Jupe and I arrived there safe and sound, and that is the end of my story.”
“Well, Earth,” said one of the company, “you are all sorts of a looking crittur.”
“Yes,” said Earth, “I know that, I am ring striped, speckled and streaked, but I ain't thinking about that, I'm thinking about the votes. Now gentlemen,” continued Earth, “don't you think they ought to make me sheriff? I say, if Bob Black has floated farther on a log, killed more Ingens, or staid longer under the water than I have, elect him; if not, I say, what has he done to qualify him for the office of sheriff? I have killed more bears than Bob could eat if they were 'coons, and I have fou't some harder fights than Bob ever saw;—now I say agin, tell me what has he done that he ought to be made sheriff. Did any of you ever know him to call for a quart? I never did;—I have known him to call for several half pints in the course of a day, but I never did know him to step forward manfully, and say ‘give us a quart of your best.’ Then I say agin, what the hell has Bob Black done to qualify him for sheriff? Now, if you beat me, beat me with somebody, beat me with a man who knows something which ought to qualify him for sheriff, and not with Bob Black. Bob can't tell you this minute when a bear begins to suck his paws!” Then apparently disgusted with the character and acquirements of his competitor, Earth turned away to seek other company. As he did so, one of the group who had taken more than his proportion of a quart, staggered forward, and cried out “hurrah for Earth, I tell you what, he's a squealer.”
While Earth was thus electioneering, his friend Rolfe, who had left the Court House, after the decision of his case against him, was on another part of the ground, modestly stating what he conceived to be his qualifications, but which, by the by, Earth had never regarded in that light, and was also urging his claims to the office about to be bestowed. Seeing Earth leave the circle which he had been last entertaining, Rolfe approached him and said, “Earth, you must make a speech.”
“Do what, Rolfe?”
“You must make a speech, Earth.”
“What, stand up and speak to 'em all like you did in the Court House.”
“Yes.”
“Oh hell!” said Earth, “I make a speech! I wouldn't do it to be made Governor. But if I was, I would jerk it into 'em mighty curiously.”
“Then we will say no more about it,” said Rolfe.
“You are right about that,” said Earth, and they parted each to electioneer after his own manner.
Night came; the election was over, and our old friend Earth proclaimed Sheriff.
Leaving Rolfe to attend to his profession, and Earthquake to discharge the duties of the office which had just been conferred on him, let us proceed with other parts of our story.